She should have been there for him. If things had gone as they should have years ago, she would have been the one to help him through such a difficult time. But that hardly signified now. All that mattered now was that he had won his personal battle. He had come out of it a better and wiser man.
And to think she had been so prepared to toss him out of her house when he arrived a fortnight ago! Eleanor had to shake her head when she thought of it. He had come there determined to prove to her that he had changed. Had he not done that? Two weeks in his presence should have provided ample proof that he was not the same man he had once been, and it had. She had watched him struggle to resist the temptation to drink, and she had seen him triumph. He had not paid a worrisome amount of attention to any other woman at the party— even though a few of them tried to win his favor— and that included Lydia.
In fact, Lydia's story— and lack of sincerity— only seemed to enforce Brahm's explanation that he thought it was Eleanor in his room that night. He thought he was seducing his betrothed. Somehow, that made the whole situation a little more understandable. It still hurt her to remember. It still hurt to think about it, but the hurt was less now. The wound, so raw and open for so many years, was healing.
But that was the past, and she needed to concentrate on the future. For so much of her life she had thought only of her father and her sisters. She tended to their needs and wants as her mother would have. Now it was time to think of herself, and it was proving much easier than she'd ever thought it would be. Now that she had all the world available to her, what did she want from it?
She wanted Brahm. She wanted his kisses, his touches. She wanted his companionship. She wanted to experience life with him. Did she love him? If she didn't, she was certainly on her way. And the thought of his sharing the rest of his years with another woman filled her with an emotion very much like rage— a feeling so intense, her jaw tightened with it.
No. No one would have Brahm but she. She knew what she must do, if she could only summon the courage to do it. She would do the one thing that would prove to him that she wanted him and force him to admit his own feelings for her. If he was waiting for a sign from her, this would certainly be it.
But it was still early. Her plan would have to wait until that evening. She rolled over onto her side on her bed and closed her eyes. She was asleep within minutes, secure in the knowledge that she was going to ensure that by the end of the week she was betrothed to Brahm Ryland.
* * *
"Ellie, might we talk?"
Eleanor glanced at Arabella. She looked concerned, not her usual jovial self. Whatever she wanted to discuss was of some gravity.
Eleanor hoped Arabella wasn't going to inform her that she had been seduced by Brahm several years ago.
"Of course."
They were in the drawing room following dinner. The gentlemen had just joined them, and conversation buzzed throughout the room. In one corner Lady Dumont was arranging a game of whist. In another corner Lord Merrott entertained guests with tales of his hunting prowess. A chess game began in another. Ladies took a turn about the room on each other's arms, chatting to everyone who would listen. Lord Locke sullenly drank by himself. Stories were read aloud to eager audiences, bawdy jokes were shared and met with raucous laughter. It was the perfect after-dinner soiree.
Because of all this gaiety, no one noticed when Eleanor and her sister slipped from the room. It was raining, so they were forced to make their escape into the house rather than out of it. Arabella led the way to their mother's parlor— a room in which they were certain not to be interrupted, unless it was by one of their sisters.
"What is it, Belle?" Eleanor said once the door was closed and she felt it safe to ask.
Arabella twisted her fingers together as she seated herself on a small dark pink sofa. "You will think me meddlesome."
Eleanor smiled. "You are my sister. I always think you meddlesome."
Normally Arabella would have smiled, perhaps even giggled at that. Tonight Eleanor's humor was met with nothing more than an apprehensive gaze.
Eleanor sank into a nearby chair. Good Lord, Arabella was going to tell her she'd had an affair with Brahm as well. As forgiving as she was, even she could not forgive that.
"Belle, I think you had better tell me what this is all about."
"I had a disturbing conversation with Lydia last night," her sister confessed.
"About Lord Creed?"
Arabella looked surprised. "Why, yes."
Eleanor nodded, already knowing where this was going. "She spoke to me as well."
Arabella raised her brows, her expression beyond surprise now. "Truly?"
"Obviously that surprises you."
"Well, yes."
If Lydia had started a dialogue with Arabella, then Eleanor saw no harm in continuing it. This whole situation was beginning to leave a bad taste in her mouth. She had kept silent all these years out of respect for her sister. Obviously Lydia was not going to offer the same.
"Did she tell you that he seduced her?"
Arabella colored. "Yes."
"That is what she told me as well." Eleanor's tone was carefully neutral. "Obviously you believed her."
Her sister's blue eyes widened. "Of course I did. She is my sister."
"She is my sister as well, but I do not believe she and Brahm had an affair."
Arabella sighed. "He has blinded you to the truth."
"No, Belle. Lydia has blinded you." Of this she was certain. How clever of Lydia to send Arabella after her. She knew Eleanor would be more tempted to believe Arabella.
"Dearest, I know this is hard for you to accept— "
Eleanor cut her off with a lift of her hand. "There is nothing to accept. Brahm told me his side of what happened and I believe him."
"But Lydia is family. Why would she lie?"
"I'm not sure. You would need to ask her."
Arabella was not impressed. "Eleanor, why would you believe this man? A month ago you thought him no better than dirt."
"A month ago I thought as you do."
Frowning, Arabella shook her head as though to clear it. "What do you mean? I thought Lydia confessed to you last night."
"She did. Only she did not know— and does not still— that I already knew about her and Brahm."
Understanding lit her sister's gaze. "That was why you refused to marry him."
Eleanor nodded. "Yes. I walked in on him and Lydia."
"Oh, Ellie! How awful!"
"It was."
"Then how can you believe him when you saw the truth with your own eyes?" The anguish and bewilderment in Arabella's expression was painful to look upon.
"Because what I saw was very different from what Lydia told us both. Brahm admitted to me that he was foxed when Lydia came to him. It was the night he proposed to me. Belle, he thought she was I."
Arabella shook her head. "It cannot be. He's lying."
"His story makes more sense and is more truthful than Lydia's. At the time she did not know he and I had an understanding. She was simply an unhappy woman looking for something she believed he could give her."
"No. I cannot believe it."
"She waited ten years to confess the truth, Arabella. She could have told me a long time ago but she waited until Brahm came back into my life. She has done nothing but try to keep me from forgiving him from the moment he entered this house. Why? Why did she wait until Brahm made a public declaration of his intentions by asking me to dance three times?"
"Because she didn't want to hurt you. Because she does not want to see you marry a man who will treat you badly."
"What about Brahm and Lydia sharing a bed makes you think he will treat me badly?"
"He betrayed the promise he made to you!"
"He believed her to be me. He was drunk. He has very little memory of what happened."
"That is very convenient, do you not think?"
"I think that if he thought that little of me then, he would not be here now. And he would not be trying so very hard to prove to me that he is not that man anymore."
For a moment Arabella looked uncertain. Then she sighed. "You will not be dissuaded, will you?"
Eleanor shook her head, her jaw set with conviction. "I will not."
"I cannot believe you would believe him over your own sister. You read that Carson woman's book! You know what he is capable of."
"Yes, I do. I also know that Lydia confided in you so you and I would have this exact conversation. I would not doubt it if she went to you directly after leaving me."
"That is an awful thing to accuse her of."
"It was a quarter to six when she came to my room. What time did she come to you?"
Arabella swallowed. "Quarter past."
Eleanor was silent. There was really no need to say anything. "Brahm has been very open with me, Belle. I believe he regrets what happened. I have no reason to doubt him— unless Lydia gave you reason to believe that their 'affair' is still going on?"
"No. Oh, Ellie. I do not like to think that Lydia would try to cause trouble for you."
"Neither do I. I can only think that she believes that Brahm is not worthy of me and seeks to keep me from making a poor choice. Anything else is too awful to consider."
They talked for a few more moments before leaving the parlor and returning to the other guests. Lydia, Eleanor noticed, was absent.
Across the drawing room, Brahm met her gaze. The warmth in his eyes sent a shiver through her so acute, the bottoms of her feet tingled. In just a few more hours she would go through with her plan.
Brahm would be hers before morning.
* * *
The corridor was quiet as Eleanor slipped from her room. The wall sconces were lit so guests still awake could find their way through the house, but were dim enough not to disturb those trying to sleep. It wouldn't matter if the corridor was pitch black, Eleanor would be able to find her way.
Brahm's room was at the far end of the east wing where all the nonfamily guests had been put. The family rooms were in the west. Eleanor crept on sure feet, avoiding every creak and groan the floor held within.
She didn't dare knock on his door. Didn't dare risk alerting other, curious ears to her presence. Her heart pounded violently in her chest. If she was caught now, she would be ruined for certain. Brahm would feel duty-bound to marry her, and she would never know if he did it because he loved her or because he had no choice.
The click of the door catch releasing was no more significant than the tap of a fingernail upon a table, but it seemed to echo through the dark house like the dropping of a pianoforte lid. Eleanor winced, pulse thumping in her ears. Quickly she shoved the door open and dived inside, lest anyone decide to investigate the noise.
Inside the darkened bedchamber, she closed the door and leaned against the heavy oak, desperately trying to calm her heart and lungs. There were no sounds from the corridor, no opening doors, no questing footfalls. The only sound inside the room was the gentle breathing— and occasional snore— of the man in the bed.
There was little light in the room, despite the open draperies. Only the shadowy outlines of furniture were discernible. Eleanor tiptoed toward the bed, her gaze fastened on the dark lump beneath the covers. It was Brahm. He was alone.
Of course he was alone. Dear God, did she actually just have that thought? Why wouldn't he be alone?
It was her apprehension, that was all. She was so scared of discovery, so nervous of what might happen once Brahm woke up, that she suspected being found at every turn.
Gingerly she lowered herself to the bed. Her eyes had adjusted to the murky light enough that she could just barely make out the features of the man before her. He slept on his side, one bare arm over the blankets. She laid her hand on that arm— near the muscled slope of his shoulder. How warm his flesh was, how surprisingly soft. Her fingers explored in fascination.
The bones in his shoulder were hard, almost sharp. His muscles were firm, only slightly yielding, even in sleep. It wasn't until her fingers slid past his slightly stubbled jaw into his hair that he began to stir.
Startled, Eleanor jerked her hand away, only to have it seized in a strong grip that set her heart pounding even faster.
"What the— Eleanor?"
"Yes," she croaked.
He pushed himself up on an elbow. "What the devil are you doing here?"
Eleanor shivered. His voice was so low and scratchy, thick with slumber. She never would have thought a man's voice could be so…arousing.
