Being with him this week, helping him recover, had taught her so many things. The sight of him drunk didn't bother her as she thought it might. She felt pity for him that something could bring him to his knees as alcohol did, and she realized it was indeed a sickness that he would battle for the rest of his days. She also knew that he had the strength to fight it, and this relapse had been caused by Brahm's own self-pity. Yes, perhaps her refusal of him had begun it, but she wasn't the one who made him take that first drink.
They were past all that now. She would do whatever was necessary to spend the rest of her life with him. His compulsion to drink was something they could overcome together. The fact that he was still considered a social pariah in some circles didn't matter. Did he love her? That was the question. And if so, did he love her enough to forgive her for being such a frightened idiot?
And did she have the strength to ask for his forgiveness? For his love?
She fastened diamond drops to her ears. There was a matching choker, but it obscured most of her throat, and she knew how Brahm liked to kiss her neck. She wasn't above revealing the line of her throat to its best advantage for that reason.
Finally Eleanor rose from her vanity, twisting and turning before the cheval glass in grim study of her appearance. Her hair was perfect. Her skin glowed with dewy softness, thanks to Mary's creams and potions. Her blue satin gown flattered her figure from every angle, displaying a generous— but not vulgar— amount of bosom. She hoped Brahm would appreciate her cleavage as well. She intended to make it as difficult as she could for him to continue avoiding physical contact with her. She had seduced him once, surely she could do it again.
But first she was going to have to confess her feelings for him, because it was apparent that he was going to hold out as long as he could. His pride was like that. The fact that he had swallowed enough of it to come looking for her forgiveness in the first place should tell her just how high his regard for her was. Or at least how high it had been. It would be that high again. She would make certain of it.
"You look beautiful, my lady." Her maid beamed at her.
Eleanor returned the smile. "And it is all due to you." She might be vain enough to realize that she had pleasant features, but it was Mary's adornment that made her look as good as she did this night.
By the time Eleanor reached the drawing room, the rest of the Ryland family were already gathered. Brahm's brother Devlin and his wife, Blythe, had come up from the country with their young son, who was already showing signs of being as tall as his parents. Blythe and Devlin reminded Eleanor of some great warrior king and queen, and they were so in love, it was almost embarrassing to witness— as though one was intruding on a private moment between the two of them.
North and Octavia were there, as well as Moira and Wynthrope. Octavia was so very pregnant, and Moira, though not visibly showing yet, was very openly excited about her impending motherhood. How Eleanor envied them.
As she caught sight of them, she was very glad she had chosen to dress as she had. The three of them were dressed in elegant but rich gowns in varying colors of silk and satin. Blythe wore a lush green that set off the deep red of her hair. Octavia wore a pale gold that brought out the gold in her strawberry hair, and Moira wore an intense plum that complemented her fair skin and dark hair. Jewels twinkled in the lamplight, their quality apparent but not gaudy.
The men rose as she entered the room. "Forgive me," she said, coming fully into the room. "I hope I have not kept you waiting long."
"Not at all," North replied with a bow. His brothers bowed as well.
Eleanor's attention went to Brahm. Could he see how hopeful she was as she stood under his inspection?
His well-shaped mouth curved into a crooked smile. Yes, he appreciated her appearance all right. In fact, his appreciation made her mouth suddenly very dry. "A woman as lovely as you need never apologize, Lady Eleanor."
Lady Eleanor. Her heart drooped a bit. Yes, it was proper etiquette for him to use her title, but it felt like a slight all the same. "You are too kind, Lord Creed."
"Allow me to introduce the members of my family you have not had the pleasure of meeting."
Within minutes of the introductions, Eleanor felt as though she was part of the family. The Ryland wives wasted no time getting to know her. Blythe was the most talkative, Moira the most reserved, but all three of them were kind and open, instantly relieving her of any apprehension she might have had over meeting them.
She felt the strongest kinship with Moira, which was odd given that Brahm and Wynthrope got along the least well of all the brothers. Maybe because they were too much alike in some ways.
The nanny brought Devlin and Blythe's son to visit just before the infant's bedtime. Everyone swarmed around as Blythe took the baby in her arms, glowing as only a new mother could.
"Hand him over," Brahm demanded with a grin.
Eleanor was surprised that Blythe obeyed so easily. She obviously trusted Brahm implicitly. Cradling her son's head, she placed him in the crook of Brahm's arm. He held the baby with one arm as though he had been doing it his whole life. His other hand, of course, held his cane.
A lump caught in Eleanor's throat at the sight of him. There should be a law against virile, handsome men holding babies in front of vulnerable, single women, especially when they looked as marvelous doing it as Brahm did.
"You, my little man, are my only heir," Brahm told the cooing infant, who waved his arms in response. "How do you like the sound of that?"
The words spilled out before Eleanor could stop them. "You may have a child of your own one day."
The look Brahm shot her scorched her right down to the soles of her feet. She could almost smell the smoke.
"You are right, Lady Eleanor, I just might." His voice was so low, so full of meaning that she shivered. Could anyone else see the energy passing between them?
No, no one else was paying the least bit of attention to them. They were all talking among themselves— or doing a good job of pretending to do just that.
Yes, she was going to have to seduce this man, or at least coerce him into admitting his feelings for her. She couldn't take much more of this. She wanted him so badly, her body itched in places she didn't know it was possible to itch— and proved even more impossible to scratch.
Brahm passed his nephew on to North, who then turned to Wynthrope. How odd that the men got to hold the baby before the women. It must be some kind of Ryland tradition. Finally Octavia and Moira took a turn, and then the bundle was offered to Eleanor.
"Do you mind?" She directed the question at Blythe. She had always been a pushover where babies were concerned, and this adorable little person was no different.
Blythe shook her head. "Of course not."
A look passed between the family that Eleanor couldn't decipher as she took the baby in her arms. It felt almost as though she had been given a secret seal of approval.
Little Aidan was warm in her arms. His fingers twined together as he kicked his feet against each other. He stared up at Eleanor with big brown eyes that were wide at the sight of a new person, but not the least bit fearful. How lovely and new everything must look through those eyes.
"Perhaps you too will have one of your own someday," murmured a voice near her ear.
Another shiver raced down her spine. Blast the man and the effect he had on her! Eleanor raised her gaze to meet his smoldering one. "Perhaps." Did he find her voice as full of meaning and promise as she had found his?
If the darkening of his eyes meant anything, then yes he did. "I would think the two of us would have had enough of raising children, having as many siblings as we do."
Eleanor shrugged, tearing her attention away from him long enough to smile at the infant in her arms. "It is different, I believe, when the child is actually your own."
"You will make a good mother, Eleanor." His tone was full of conviction, and to someone such as Eleanor, who prided herself on her ability to care for and look after those dear to her, it was the highest of compliments.
"Thank you. Hopefully I would do better by my own children then I did by my own sisters." Excluding Arabella, of course. Phoebe, Muriel, and Lydia seemed so malcontent in their lives. Eleanor couldn't help but wonder if she might have been able to do something differently. If she had been a better sister and surrogate mother, then perhaps her sisters would have ended up happier.
Although she didn't think there was anything she could have done for Lydia. Lydia made her own unhappiness, and sought happiness in all the wrong places. The poor thing. It would be a long time before Eleanor forgave her sister, but she felt for her all the same.
"I am certain any child of yours will never lack for love and support."
Her gaze locked with his again. She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat. There could be no mistaking the regard in his eyes. She had vowed to seduce him before the evening was over, and he was the one doing all the seducing, talking about these things that were so personally dear to her.
"I could say the same for you, my lord."
There was that hint of a smile he was so good at. "Then it would be a waste for either of us to remain childless."
Eleanor's heart slammed against her ribs. "Indeed," she whispered hoarsely.
Brahm's brow puckered thoughtfully as he watched her. Could he see the love in her eyes? Could he tell how badly she wanted those loved and supported children of hers to be his as well?
"Eleanor— " He took a step toward her, but was cut off by Devlin.
"Time for this little fellow to go to bed." The youngest Ryland brother scooped the baby out of Eleanor's arms with a proud grin. How tiny the child looked next to his father.
Everything
looked tiny next to Devlin Ryland.
Eleanor returned the smile and watched him walk away. When she turned her attention to Brahm, she found him gone, and with him he had taken whatever he had been about to tell her. Her heart plummeted, but she rallied once more. He would not escape her so easily next time, she vowed to herself as they went in for dinner.
Next time he was not going anywhere until she was done with him.
* * *
Brahm couldn't hold out much longer. He was going to propose again if he wasn't careful.
More than a week had passed since Eleanor's arrival at his house. He was almost totally himself again. All that was left was to try to get himself under control again, get to the point where the cravings weren't so strong.
That and figure out what to do with Eleanor.
All through dinner he watched her interact with his family, charming them all and being charmed in return. She cooed over Devlin's son in the drawing room, damn near breaking Brahm's heart with the serenity of her expression. She expressed sympathy over Moira's morning sickness and joined in when the topic turned to naming North and Octavia's child. Octavia was convinced it was going to be a girl. North maintained it would be a son. Wynthrope told them it didn't matter what it was,
his
child would be superior in every way to North's.
And of course, there was the conversation she and he had concerning children. Was he foolish to suspect that she wanted to be the mother of his children as badly as he wanted to be the father of hers? If so, what had changed in her mind since rejecting his proposal a fortnight before?
Lord, he was getting so tired of trying to guess what was going on in that head of hers. It would be easier in the long run if he didn't try to figure it out. It would make it that much easier to say good-bye.
If everything had gone as Brahm had originally planned, this dinner might be in honor of his engagement. His family might be teasing him and Eleanor about soon starting their own family. But it wasn't a celebration. It was a thinly veiled investigation by his brothers and their wives. They wanted to investigate Eleanor. They wanted to add their own assumptions to what her reasons were for staying. They wanted to interfere in his life and see for themselves whether he could be trusted near a bottle of wine, such as the one on the table.
Oddly enough, he didn't care about the wine. All he wanted was Eleanor— the one thing he could not have.
Growing up, he had seen how his mother had looked at his father. He had seen the disgust in her eyes when his father would come home foxed. The last thing he wanted was for Eleanor to look at him that way. She deserved better than that.
As hard as it was, he was finally beginning to accept that they were a poor match, no matter how much his heart railed against the idea. He would rather die a bachelor than live his life slowly watching her regard for him turn to hate when he did not live up to expectations.
And he wouldn't live up to expectations, even if she had lowered them. His was a hard battle. There would always be doors closed to him because of things he had done. There would always be those who thought the worst. Eleanor did not need such stigmas placed on her as well. And there would always be the chance that he might fall off his high horse once again and get stone-faced drunk. Asking her to live with that was too unfair.
