Eleanor's lip curled. Had he mistaken Lady Dumont for her? Would that be his convenient excuse for having another woman in his bed when he was supposed to be with her?
He was supposed to be with her.
Eleanor stopped. This was just too bizarre to be true. Why would Brahm make an assignation with Lady Dumont in his room when he was supposed to meet her there? And why was Lady Dumont in his bed alone? Lady Dumont had looked so stricken to see Eleanor standing there. She said she could explain. Explain what exactly? What she was doing in Brahm's bed?
Had they been carrying on an affair since his arrival, and Lady Dumont planned a surprise visit? No. She would have heard gossip if they had been. Lady Dumont was far from discreet; she herself would have been the first to let it slip that Brahm was warming her bed— or vice versa.
No, it didn't make any sense at all. Brahm was not a stupid man. He would not have arranged an assignation with Lady Dumont when he was supposed to be with her. And knowing Eleanor as he did, he would not be foolish enough to let any other woman come to his room. He would go to his lover, not have her come to him. He knew Eleanor was just impulsive enough to sneak off to his room; after all, she had done it once before.
How could she marry Brahm when she had such doubts? She knew now that there had to be some kind of explanation for Lady Dumont being in Brahm's bed. Most likely she had gone there of her own accord, hoping to seduce him. Brahm probably didn't even know she was there.
But where was he? He was supposed to have been waiting there for her.
She didn't trust him.
No, that wasn't entirely so. As long as she held Brahm's interest, she knew he would be faithful to her. It was herself that she did not trust. She did not believe she was capable of holding his interest; she believed that he would find someone better than she. Even though she had forgiven him for that night with Lydia, she couldn't help but feel that some part of him had known it wasn't Eleanor in his bed. He had never tried to seduce her back then, and yet it had been so easy for Lydia.
If she did not trust him, it was in the fact that she did not trust his feelings for her were lasting. How unfair of her. She had faith in her own feelings, but not in his. Of course she had feelings for him, she had shared his bed, given him her innocence. Men were not the same in that regard. Hadn't Brahm himself told her that he hadn't loved Fanny Carson or his late mistress?
She wanted to be more than a companion, more than a bed partner. She wanted to be loved. She deserved no less, and neither did Brahm. And both of them deserved to be honored and treated with respect and trust.
Rushing out of his room as she had and thinking the worst proved that she obviously didn't have much respect for him either. How had Lady Dumont gotten into his room? How long had she been there?
And why? As morally lax as Lady Dumont might be, she was not the kind of woman to simply hop into a man's bed without some kind of invitation. So who had invited her? It did not make sense for Brahm to have done so and then not be there.
Unless he had wanted Eleanor to find Lady Dumont. Perhaps he was testing her— testing her trust. No, that was absurd. No one in his right mind would do something so ridiculous.
Perhaps he had changed his mind about wanting to marry her? Perhaps this was his way of breaking their engagement?
That was almost as ridiculous as her "testing" theory. There had to be a good and rational explanation for this situation. Lady Dumont had tried to offer her one, but Eleanor had been too upset to listen. Blast! Why could she not have better hidden her emotions? She had always prided herself on being able to put on the perfect serene face, but tonight that ability had deserted her. If only she had stayed, Lady Dumont would have told her what she was doing in Brahm's room.
She had so many questions that needed answers. So much of this evening did not add up in her mind. Every theory she formed seemed more far-fetched than the last. She should go back to Brahm's room. Lady Dumont had some of the answers she sought, and when Brahm returned— if he hadn't already— he would have the rest.
The challenge then would be believing anything either of them said.
She couldn't go back, she just couldn't. Even if Brahm was still absent, her reappearance in his room would do nothing more than convince Lady Dumont that she was correct in thinking Eleanor in love with him. That was the last thing Eleanor wanted at this point. To be sure, Lady Dumont had looked sincerely concerned, but Eleanor had been privy to gossip told by that woman, and she did not want to have herself talked about in the same manner— not if she could help it.
No, the only person who could tell her the truth was Brahm, although there was the very strong chance that by the time he got around to telling her, it would already be too late.
* * *
Something was not right.
Cautious in the darkness, Brahm slowly looked around at his surroundings. The cottage was musty and dusty, the furniture covered. The air was thick and warm, indicating that it had been a long time since the building had been used. His own tracks were the only ones that disturbed the dust on the floor.
This
was where Eleanor wanted to meet him? Where she wanted them to spend their precious few hours alone that night? Impossible. But the directions and instructions in her note were clear. This cottage was the spot she had chosen.
At first he had thought something had detained her from making the place presentable, but now he wasn't so sure. Not having the time to tidy the cottage was one thing. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to send a servant to do it, and perhaps her duties as party hostess had interfered, but he'd been waiting for almost a half hour now, and still no Eleanor. It was unlike her to be late. However unlikely that she would find this dirty cottage romantic, it was even more unlikely that she would keep him waiting this long.
It worried him, but not to a great extent. No doubt there was a reasonable explanation for her not joining him. There might even be a note waiting in his room. There was no point in waiting here any longer. Eleanor was not coming.
Using his cane to search out obstacles before him, he slowly moved toward the exit. Had he been the man he once was, this cottage wouldn't have held any trial for him at all, but broken as he was, every unknown inch held potential danger. Of course, if he was the man he used to be he'd be passed out somewhere right now and not engaged to Eleanor.
The walk back to the house would not have been much of a trial in the daylight, but at night, with clouds covering the moon, it was much like the cottage— riddled with obstacles for a man with a cane. The path was reasonably well kept, but there were still ruts and roots to contend with. One misstep might land him in the burrow of an animal, leading to injury, a rebreak in his leg, or God forbid, a break in the other. The last thing he wanted was to try and explain what he was doing this far from the house this late at night, never mind that he'd either have to wait to be found or attempt to drag himself back to civilization.
So he picked his way along, cursing his leg and the lack of willpower that had led to its being lame in the first place. Finally he entered the garden, his footsteps crunching on the familiar gravel of the whitewashed path.
By the time he entered the house, Brahm's leg was aching around the knee. It had been a long walk to the cottage and back, plus he had remained standing the entire time he was there. He did not blame Eleanor for his discomfort, but, damn, the woman had better have a good reason for not joining him.
Making his way through the darkened house was not an easy affair either. Twice his cane snagged on an unseen piece of furniture and almost toppled both Brahm and the item that had snagged it. Neither of these close calls did anything to improve his mood or the burgeoning ache in his leg. If there wasn't a note from Eleanor awaiting him in his room, he would just have to assume she had been called away by something more pressing and get her explanation in the morning. Once he made it to his chamber, he was going to stay there.
His room was not empty.
Lady Dumont sat on his bed— his
unmade
bed— in a nightgown and wrapper, her golden blond hair spilling down her back in disarray. For many men it might have been a seductive sight— were the man anyone but Brahm and if Lady Dumont didn't look like Joan of Arc on her way to the stake.
Brahm was cautious as he closed the door. This would not look good were they caught together. He would never be able to explain this to Eleanor. She would no doubt think the worst, and how could he blame her when Lady Dumont looked as though she had just crawled out of his bed?
"Please explain why you are in my room in your nightclothes." It wasn't terribly polite, but it was the best he could manage under the circumstances. She was, after all, in his room, uninvited and scantily clad.
Lady Dumont looked at him with remorseful eyes— an expression he had never seen on her face prior to this night. "You invited me."
Brahm blinked, not just at the words but at the plaintive manner in which they were spoken. "I beg your pardon? I believe I would remember issuing such an invitation, and I assure you I do not."
She nodded. "I would have thought receiving such correspondence from you a strange thing as well, had I not been told just yesterday that you had confessed your regard for me to another."
Were this but a few years ago, he would automatically assume he had been drunk at the time of uttering said sentiment. However, that was impossible in this case.
"My dear lady, while I believe you to be of fine character"— he was going to hell for his— "I have never had the urge nor the opportunity to confess such to anyone. I must ask you who it was that so misguided you."
Lady Dumont glanced away, clutching her wrapper tightly around her. He never would have believed her capable of such modesty. "You must think me a fool."
Why did women do that? Why did they say such things in a manner that required the man to answer? Why not simply say, "I feel like a fool" or "I am such a bloody idiot." Why bring the poor man into the equation? No matter what his answer, it wouldn't be the right one. If he said yes, then he was cruel. If he said no, then he was giving her license to behave similarly in the future.
"I believe there might be something foul afoot." That was putting it mildly in a theatrical turn of phrase. "Please, who told you I had voiced my regard?"
For a moment he thought she might not answer. "Lady Brend."
Brahm's shoulders tingled as a shudder tried to force its way down his spine. He should have known that Lydia was behind this. He wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who had sent him the note supposedly from Eleanor.
He ran a hand over his face. This went beyond the excusable as far as he was concerned. He tried to maintain some degree of belief that there was goodness in Lydia for Eleanor's sake, but now he was convinced that the woman was evil through and through. "Do you have the note I allegedly sent you on your person?"
She held out a hand— there was a crumpled sheet of paper in it. Had she abused it out of spite when he did not come as she expected? Or had she twisted it so much in anxious fingers waiting for him to come so she could explain?
Brahm took the paper and opened it. Not surprisingly, the hand that wrote this note had also written his. It was definitely a feminine hand. Had Lady Dumont not noticed that?
"I thought the script a little fancy," she remarked, as though reading his thoughts. "But your brother Wynthrope has very fine penmanship, and I thought perhaps it was a family trait."
He handed the paper back to her, ignoring her remark about Wyn. There were no clues in the note, only a few brief lines asking Lady Dumont to come to his chamber that night if she so "desired." However, the time given was the same time that had been given in the note he received.
He hoped Lydia's timing had been ill-conceived enough that only Brahm and Lady Dumont need know of this fiasco— at least until Brahm could tell Eleanor. He would not keep it from her, that would be as good as lying.
"It seems we are victims of a well-planned ruse, Lady Dumont. And for that, you have my sympathy."
She shook her head ruefully. "How humiliating."
Brahm actually did feel bad for her. "Please, do not berate yourself. I was duped as well by a similar note. We will keep it our little secret."
Something in her expression made his heart skip a beat. It
was
their little secret, was it not? "Does anyone else know of this?"
Again she looked away. She seemed to have a deuced hard time looking him in the eye. Perhaps she wasn't as innocent in this as she claimed. "That is why I waited for you."
There was that shudder again; cold insistent bastard. "Why?"
"I was in…" She glanced toward the bed. "Waiting for you when a visitor came to your room."
Good God, no. No, this could not be. "Who?"
"Lady Eleanor."
