Page 74 of An Earl Like You
A tear slid down her cheek. “Was everything a lie?”
“A lie? No.” His gaze tracked down her figure, over her plump, soft breasts, her slender waist, the curve of her hips, back to her face, which had become so beautiful and so dear to him. “When I kissed you it was not a lie. When I made love to you, it was not a lie.”
“But not because you cared for me, not then.”
His hands were in fists.No more lies.“Not the way I do now.”
“Now?” She snatched up the balled-up debts and threw them at him. “You expect I’ll believe anything, don’t you? You let me believe you cared for me—even loved me!”
“I never said it,” he pointed out, “until I meant it.”
“No,” she said bitterly. “You never said it. You paid compliments to turn my head so I wouldn’t realize the truth. You sent me bloodyflowers, and like an idiot I fell for it. Your mother knew, didn’t she? That’s why she was so cool when I came to tea!” Her eyes widened. “You made her invite me, didn’t you? Dazzle the awkward spinster so she’ll fall desperately, stupidly in love.”
Hugh flinched. That was exactly what he’d done. “I am sorry for that.”
“I never expected a man would fall in love with me and be swept away by passion,” she said in a slightly calmer voice. “I should have known. It was too good to be real.”
“But it is real,” he said in a low voice. “Now.”
“Now.Now.” She was crying, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Why should I believe that? Is Papa dangling some other enticement in front of you now?”
His temper broke. Hugh knew he deserved her wrath, but her father—her beloved papa—was the one who had caused the whole thing, and she’d said not one word against him. “You should ask him,” he lashed out. “Ask your dear papa why he did it. Ask him what conditions he put upon the bargain he offered me—that I not tell you, that I court you properly, that I win your heart—conditions I had no way to counter, since he owned enough debt to ruin me and my family. And before you protest that he wouldn’t have done such a thing,” he added in a near-snarl, as she opened her mouth in outrage, “he said he’d set the bailiffs on me if I breathed a word of his plan to you. Do you envy my choice? Go to prison, or court a girl.” They stared at each other, Eliza white-faced and infuriated and Hugh breathing violently. “I only agreed to it because you didn’t know,” he said, some of his fury spent. “You were kind and lovely, and I thought there was a chance...”
“A chance I would be gullible enough to fall for it?”
A chance he would come to care for her. God alone knew how well that chance had paid off. He loved her to distraction. But now she was staring at him with revulsion, and a little piece of his heart died. As she’d said: it was too good to be real. “A chance we would be happy together,” he said quietly. “Go ask your father.” He turned on his heel and left.
Chapter 28
Eliza stood gasping in shock as her husband walked away from her. He hadn’t denied a thing. His footsteps sounded like shots as he walked away, until the distant slam of the door told her he’d left the house.
Willy nudged her hand and whined. Eliza started, and reached down to comfort her dog without thinking.
Dear God. It was all true. Papa had coerced Hugh to court her and marry her. Even if he did care for her now, it had all been a lie. She’d been duped, conned, swindled, made a perfect fool.
By her own father.
She didn’t consciously start moving, but somehow she went up the stairs to her bedchamber, Willy at her heels, and rang for Mary. When the girl appeared, Eliza was sitting at her dressing table, pulling the pins from her hair. “Fetch my blue serge,” she said.
“Now?” the maid blurted in astonishment. “I thought you were unwell, my lady...”
“I’m perfectly well.” Aside from a brutal wound to her heart. “Bring the dress. I’m going out.”
“But...” Mary’s protest faded under a quelling look from Eliza. “Did the tea not please you?” she ventured.
Eliza hadn’t touched it. “There’s nothing wrong with the tea. You may bring it here.” Mary scurried over with the tray and poured the cup. “Please just brush out my hair and pin it up as usual.”
She could see her maid in the mirror. Mary was confused and upset as she ran the brush through Eliza’s hair, taking down the soft twists and pinned-up tendrils that had looked so lovely earlier. “Don’t be alarmed, Mary,” she said, reaching for the tea. “I have to go somewhere, and wish to travel more comfortably.”
“So late, madam?” Mary coiled her hair into the chignon she wore every day.
“I have to go at once,” she softly replied. She couldn’t sleep in her bed—Hugh’s bed—without knowing exactly what her father had done. Had Hugh exaggerated? Had he told her everything, or was there worse to come?
Most of all, though, she wanted to knowwhyher father would do such a thing to her. How many times had he told her it was just the two of them? How many times had he promised to protect her always, never to hurt her, even when her hurts were as trivial as a broken stem of the flowers she picked? Could he really have stolen her choice of husband, forced Hugh to deceive her, and set her up to look like the stupidest girl in Britain? Her heart hurt until she thought it might rupture.
Clothed in her sturdy blue dress, no longer in silk and jewels, she went down and sent the footman out to hire a hackney.
“My lady?” he asked uncertainly.
