Brahm closed the book. He had read enough.
"I did not pay her," he informed Merrott as he pushed the book toward Birch.
Merrott snorted, wrinkling his long nose. "You lie. No man treats a woman like that. Everyone knows women are incapable of sexual pleasure."
The rest of the men turned their gazes on the old lord.
"No wonder your wife has had more lovers than a dockside doxy," Lord Farnsworth, a Byron-esque man of charm and wit, remarked dryly. "You are clearly an idiot, Merrott."
Old lord turned on the young. "I could call you out for that, Farnsworth."
"But you won't," Lord Burrough informed him, "because he speaks the truth."
As the men around him raised their voices either defending or deriding Merrott and his views on women, Brahm slumped back in his chair and ignored them all.
No wonder the women looked at him as they had. "Massive maleness"? What the hell had Fanny been thinking? His "maleness" wasn't massive. Was it? It always seemed fairly ordinary to him— and over the years he had become well acquainted with it— more so than Fanny Carson had.
Good God, the things she had said about him! At least they'd been favorable. Apparently she hadn't been so kind to Merrott, not that the arse deserved it.
Frig. Had Eleanor seen it? She must have heard snippets at the very least. Snippets were often worse than the entire truth. No doubt she had heard only the scandalous bits, the bits that made him sound every inch the libertine he had professed not to be. No doubt she believed he had lied about that. All his adult life he had preferred long-term assignations to casual slap and tickles, although the latter had happened on more than one drunken occasion. He had kept Fanny for several years. Perhaps that was why she chose to be so…
kind
when she wrote of him.
He bit back a sigh and the urge to run his hand through his hair. He could not let his companions see how bothered he was. It wasn't that he had been outed as a courtesan's lover, many men in England held such a title at one time or another. What disturbed him was that Fanny's book might damage his chances with Eleanor. He didn't care how the ladies at this party looked at him. He didn't care what the men said about him, but he did care about Eleanor's opinion of him, and right now it didn't look as though that opinion was in his favor.
He was going to have to talk to her. He was going to have to try to make it right. Would she let him?
Fate, it seemed, had made a change of plans.
Chapter 6
"A
re you looking for something, Lord Creed?"
Brahm had been in the library for a total of one and a half minutes before Eleanor's sisters descended upon him. After cigars he had accompanied the other men to the drawing room, only to discover that Eleanor had left. He played the part of contented guest for half an hour before going in search. Her sisters must have been watching him.
"Someone, actually," he answered Muriel honestly, pretending interest in a volume of Pepys on one of the numerous shelves.
"Not Eleanor, we hope."
He turned his head, his gaze going directly to Lydia. Who did she think she was pretending such hauteur with him?
He smiled coolly. "Then I am sorry to disappoint you. That is exactly who I am looking for."
Her hands fisted on her hips— no doubt because the action drew attention to her figure. "Have you not done enough damage where Eleanor is concerned?"
He feigned ignorance. "What damage would that be?"
It was Phoebe who answered, "Fanny Carson's memoirs for one."
Brahm turned his attention to the younger sister. How alike yet different they all were. They stood in the dying rays of sunshine filtering through the window like the Furies sent to avenge a wrong.
He could see a bit of Eleanor in each of them even though their hair colors were different shades of blond and brown, their eyes different shades of blue. Arabella had a touch more softness to her looks, a bit more kindness in her gaze.
"That was not of my doing." Why was he defending himself to these women who were so set on declaring him guilty? "I did not write the book and I certainly did not call Eleanor's attention to it."
Muriel stepped forward. "What about the damage you did when you broke her heart years ago?"
He had broken her heart, had he? Then he deserved to suffer for it, despite the perverse sense of joy it gave him. She had cared for him. Truly cared. "That is between Eleanor and myself."
"The point remains that you have a habit of hurting our sister, my lord." It was Lydia again.
"Do I?" He slipped the Pepys from the shelf. It would be good for helping him sleep later.
He ignored her for a count of five before meeting her gaze once more. Cold blue eyes bored into his. "We do not want to see her injured by your folly."
Brahm's lips curved upward in a mocking half smile. "It is not my folly you need worry about."
Lydia frowned. "I do not understand."
"You really do not want me to explain, my lady. Trust me."
She understood what he was saying; he could tell from the way the color drained from her face. If she thought for a moment that he was too much of a gentleman to reveal in front of her sisters that Eleanor had seen them together that night, then Lydia was too dull-witted to exist.
Arabella glanced from her sister to Brahm, curiosity plain in her pretty features. It was time to divert her. He didn't particularly care to have the rest of Eleanor's family know what had transpired between him and Lydia, and even if he did, it wasn't his place to reveal it.
"Ladies"— he gestured toward them with the book— "your concern for your sister does credit to each of you, but I have no intention of hurting Eleanor. I only want to try to make amends for the past." Even that admission was more information than he cared to reveal.
"That is very good of you, Lord Creed." Even Arabella's voice was soft. "You have brothers that you care for; surely you can sympathize with our situation?"
He nodded. He liked Arabella. She obviously got all the sense that the other three missed. "I do, just as I'm certain you can understand that Eleanor is a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions."
Arabella nodded. "Of course. And we will support her in whatever decision she makes."
Muriel tossed her an incredulous look. "You cannot be serious, Belle! What if he hurts her again?"
Brahm was so tired of this topic. It was going to put him to sleep far quicker than Pepys would. "What if I end up the injured party?"
The astounded gaze turned to him. "You?"
He nodded. "Eleanor might break my heart; you never know how these scenarios might play out."
Only Arabella caught the dry humor in his tone. She didn't smile, but amusement lit her pale eyes. The remaining sisters simply stared at him as though he was an attraction in a circus.
"Eleanor might break your heart?" Phoebe's tone was one of complete disbelief.
"What Eleanor does is no one's business but Eleanor's," came a voice from the door.
Brahm's heart recognized the sound of her voice before his ears did. A frantic pounding began behind his ribs, and despite the realization that he might never succeed in wooing her, he rejoiced in her presence all the same. God, he hoped that joy wasn't apparent for all to see.
Not that Eleanor could see it even if it was there. She didn't spare him so much as a glance. Her attention was centered on her sisters, and it was obvious that she was not impressed with any of them.
He couldn't help but smile as four grown women became children before his eyes. They were cowed in the face of their oldest sister's anger and avoided her disapproving gaze.
God, but she was lovely. Even with her looking so stern, he found himself completely enamored of her appearance. Her hair was still in the elegant knot she had worn to dinner. Little tendrils of bright gold curled around her ivory cheeks. Her gown was dark blue trimmed with silver, and the low neckline displayed a delicious amount of soft bosom. He remembered the feel of those breasts pressed against his chest. He remembered the taste of those full pink lips. He wanted to feel her again. He wanted to taste her again. He must have no pride at all where she was concerned if he could want a woman who no doubt thought the worst of him.
"Please leave Lord Creed and me," she instructed her sisters in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Without argument her sisters filed from the room as though they were being sent to bed without supper.
"You really are quite good at that," he praised her when they were alone.
Eleanor's expression didn't change as she closed the door behind her sisters. "They meant well."
He nodded. "They love you very much."
"I know."
Meaning she didn't need him to tell her that. Obviously she was not going to give him any quarter whatsoever.
There was no point in delaying it. "Eleanor, I know you have heard about Fanny Carson's book."
She laughed humorlessly. "Not merely about it, I've heard parts of it read aloud."
Brahm closed his eyes.
Frig
. "I can explain."
She held up her hand. "You do not owe me an explanation."
"I think I do. I want to give you one all the same."
"I do not need to hear any more, Brahm. I have heard enough."
She was persistent; he'd give her that. Stubborn too. Was she that determined to think the worst of him? And how much of the book had she been read? Just selected parts? No doubt they were the worst possible parts, such as the remark about his "maleness." At least she was still calling him by his Christian name. That was a good sign.
"Eleanor, you and I both know how malicious gossip can be. I am not ashamed of my relationship with Fanny, and if you knew the truth of it, you would not want me to be."
"Do not presume to know what I would and would not want." Bright spots of crimson formed high on her cheeks. "You have no idea what I want!"
Brahm's temper rose as well— so much that he forgot to be pleased that he had managed to get some emotion out of her. "Forgive me for not being able to read your mind. Why do you not simply tell me what you want and save me the trouble of trying to guess?"
She blinked at his caustic tone. "I…honesty, for one thing."
The Pepys slapped against his palm. "I have been nothing but honest with you since my arrival."
She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. "Sincerity."
"Have I given you an impression of anything else?"
She thought for a moment. "Are you and Lydia still lovers?"
If he had twenty years to plan out this conversation, that question still wouldn't have occurred to him. It was absurd, really, but totally understandable that she would ask. He shook his head with a chuckle. This party had already provided in a few days more entertainment than he had enjoyed all year.
"I could tell you that is none of your business, but given the circumstances, I suppose it is. No. Our 'relationship' lasted the one drunken night that I cannot remember."
"There were no other nights you cannot remember?"
She wanted honesty; he would give it to her. "Not with her, no."
She paled. "With other women?"
Brahm sighed. Her interest, her apparent deflated pride should have warmed him, should have given him hope, but it only made him weary. "Eleanor, do you know what too much drink does to a man?"
She made a face. "I have seen some of the effects, yes."
Again she referred to his indiscretion with Lydia. Or to the punch bowl. Damn, but the woman was like a wheel churning in a rut.
Swallowing a healthy amount of his pride, Brahm drew a breath. "It often renders a man unable to perform sexually."
Eleanor stared at him, her face perfectly blank.
Damn her to hell, she was going to make him come right out and say it. "There were many nights I could not have bedded a woman no matter how badly I wanted to."
She cocked a haughty golden brow, obviously doubting the validity of that statement. "Not even Lydia?"
"Not even you."
That drove the sarcasm out of her. She faltered, but only for a moment. "But you bedded Fanny Carson."
"On occasion." He had promised her honesty and he'd give it to her. "But there were just as many nights that both Fanny and myself were too foxed to do anything but pass out in our clothes."
She didn't understand such behavior; he could tell from her expression. Hell, he didn't understand it himself and he had lived it.
