Carrying The Gentleman's Secret

‘Quite. You care for nothing but your own self-indulgence. How dare you treat my sister in this despicable manner! You disgust me.’

‘You must listen—let me explain...’

Alex shot him a look that would have stopped a racehorse in its tracks. ‘Hold your tongue! I don’t have the stomach for it now. I would like to spare Miranda the details of what you have done, but I do not see how it can be avoided. She will be deeply wounded by your betrayal, but no doubt she will forgive you eventually—foolish girl. You are undeserving of her devotion. I believe you hired a coach to come here?’

Scowling and tight-lipped, Henry nodded.

‘I want you to leave here without delay, even if it means travelling through the night. You will go straight home to your wife, where you will confess what you have done and beg for her forgiveness. Is that understood, Henry?’ Henry flinched before his cold anger. ‘Damn it all, Henry, I will not rake over the sordid events that have brought you here. My anger will probably get the better of me and I won’t be responsible for my actions. I have to remain in the north for a few days. When you reach Surrey you will remain at home—close to your wife—and keep a clear head. Where your friends are concerned you will maintain a discreet silence. I expect your full cooperation in this. You and I have important matters to discuss.’

‘Lydia—Miss Brook, she...’

‘Has no wish to see you. You will not try to approach her. Is that understood?’

Henry nodded and swallowed audibly. ‘Yes.’

Alex turned and walked away.

* * *

Alone in her room at the hotel and hidden from prying eyes, Lydia felt her whole body tightening as something tried to escape her, yet as fierce as she tried to suppress it, it was to no avail. Tears started to her eyes and began to flow, in sheer frustration and desperation. She wept for the present, in which her dreams and every wish seemed to be shattered, and she wept for the future, which now looked empty and bleak.

Henry’s appearance into her life and his proposal of marriage had meant a liberation from a life that had held her chained to Alistair’s workshop. Alistair, who had been her mother’s lover and her employer, worked her hard, the constant pressure he put on her making her long to be free, to own her own establishment and create her own designs. Her dream had been her mother’s dream, too. Before she had died she’d said it didn’t matter that she hadn’t realised her dream because she, Lydia, would carry forward her dream. Through her she would live on.

Henry had been a means of escape.

As his wife Lydia would have had a freedom from responsibility she had always dreamed of. Marriage to him promised great changes in her life. If she did actually marry him, her circumstances would alter dramatically. In short, she thought bitterly, he was a means to an end. But it had not been like that and now, with hindsight, she saw how he had skilfully manipulated her during the time she had known him. Determined to possess her, he had used patience, cunning and ruthlessness to gain her trust and devotion to get her into his bed.

Chapter Two (#u9698cb9b-b03c-512d-aeb0-a4d79a370ba0)

From his vantage point inside the dining room of the hotel, Alex watched Lydia enter. She stood in the doorway, her gaze doing a slow sweep of the room. Seeing him rise from the table, she walked towards him. Instead of the pale, humiliated woman he’d feared to see, she had lost none of the quiet, regal poise that had struck him earlier. She was the personification of calm, giving no indication of what had transpired earlier—or the tears that unbeknown to him she had shed in her room. Alex felt his admiration for her grow. He reacted to her. It was automatic after too long a period of celibacy.

Her body moved serenely as she crossed the room. Her ivory skin was flawless. In contrast to this, her hair, parted in the centre with a profusion of heavy corkscrew curls on either side, with the rest of her thick hair braided and pinned at the back, glistened like polished jet. Her eyes, surrounded by a heavy fringe of dark lashes, were large and luminous green. She was darkness and light, shadows and moonlight. Completely enchanted, he stepped round the table and held out her chair. As she took her seat and thanked him he breathed in the heady scent that came from her. She really was quite stunning. Little wonder Henry had been unable to resist her. How could any man with blood in his veins withstand her?

‘My compliments,’ he remarked softly, his eyes appraising her as he took his seat across from her. ‘You look lovely. How are you holding up?’

Lydia’s flesh grew hot and a tremor passed through her now she was face to face with him once more. A smile of frank admiration gleamed in his eyes when he looked at her, his sternly handsome face stamped with nobility and pride, his powerful, muscular body emanating raw power and sensuality. She smiled at him, the smile lighting her eyes with intelligence.

‘I am very well—considering what has happened,’ she replied, frustrated by the slight quaver in her voice. ‘Where is Henry?’

‘You will be relieved to know he has left Gretna.’

‘Yes, I am—extremely relieved. I trust he has gone back to his wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the gentleman you were with earlier. I do so hope I have not deprived him of your company at dinner.’

‘You mean Harris. He’s my valet—secretary—whatever he wishes to call himself on the day and he’s been with me for longer than I care to remember. What I will say is that he’s indispensable. I am a busy man, Miss Brook. Harris takes care of my needs. At present he’s making the most of some time to himself.’

The hotel dining room was filled with elegant, fashionable people. But it was these two that caught the eye and drew the most attention. They were a striking couple, Lydia still attired in the dress she had designed and made herself for her wedding. She knew light-coloured gowns were popular for brides, but Lydia had had to make do with the fabrics available to her. With its sloping shoulders, full sleeves and close-cut bodice tapering to a small point at the waist, the full skirt pleated into the waistband, it drew many an admiring glance. Alex, over six feet tall when standing, created a strong presence in the room in a way other men failed to do.

The waiter poured the wine. Alex sat looking at it, but he didn’t drink it at once. His countenance was brooding and something vibrated off him, some sort of curious life force akin to restless energy.

‘Did you not consider accompanying Henry to London?’ Lydia asked.

He shook his head. ‘At present I have no wish to spend time in his company if it can be avoided. Besides, I have business in the north to take care of. I expect to be here for at least a week.’

‘I see.’ Taking a sip of her wine, Lydia glanced at him over the rim of the glass. ‘Does your sister know about me—about what Henry intended?’

‘She is aware that he left London with a woman—not her identity,’ he replied, fascinated by her, noticing how her face captured and absorbed the soft glow of the candles on tables and in wall sconces around the room. ‘As far as I am concerned that is how it will remain. I have no doubt she will deal harshly with him, but she will not leave him. Her marriage means everything to her. She made vows. She said until death.’

‘I’m sorry—truly. If I have caused her further grief, it was not intentionally done. I was quite taken in by him. He appeared genuine. I had no reason to doubt him. But the truth is that once you begin to trust someone, to allow them into your life, to allow yourself to be touched by what you believe to be someone’s inherent goodness, then not only have the walls been breached but also the armour has been pierced. He has made a fool out of me and I have no one but myself to blame for trusting him.’

‘You are too harsh on yourself, Miss Brook.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She managed to smile thinly. ‘At this moment I am feeling more than a little bewildered, ill used and extremely angry.’

‘I can understand that. What is your profession, Miss Brook?’

She hesitated. ‘I am a seamstress. My employer, Alistair, also employed my mother—until her death a year ago.’

‘I am sorry. Were you close?’

‘Yes, very close. I miss her greatly.’

‘And are you good at what you do?’

‘Yes, I believe I am. I also like my work—which I will have to return to even if I have to grovel to Alistair to take me back.’

‘Henry has much to answer for.’

‘I cannot argue with that.’

‘He has a chequered past—you weren’t to know. Life is one huge lark to him. He has a weakness for a pretty face. I have come to know him well since he married my sister and I have become familiar with his appetites. Like those he associates with—a pack of wild, swaggering, privileged young lordlings—he is known for his excesses and is one of the very worst examples of the ruling class and his upbringing.’

‘Are his parents still living?’

Alex shook his head. ‘As an only son, an only child, he was the pride of his parents with his future laid out. While those less privileged had to fight their way through life, Henry had it all handed to him. But he didn’t realise that. He did not have the perspective that allowed him to recognise how lucky he was. He thought that whatever he wanted he could have.’

‘Are his parents alive? He never spoke of them?’

‘No. On the death of his mother his father drank and gambled the estate into the ground, leaving a heap of debts which forced Henry to make an advantageous marriage.

‘Hence his marriage to my sister, who presented him with a generous dowry and who doted on him. He was raised in the belief that he is entitled to do anything his privileged birth tells him is his due. Not only is he charm personified, he is also expert in the art of persuasion. He has a habit of dazzling young ladies.’

‘Especially a humble seamstress who doesn’t know any better,’ Lydia said, beginning to suspect that her companion’s family must be very rich to have settled such a large dowry on their daughter.

Alex gave a lift of one eyebrow and he smiled suddenly, a startlingly glamorous white smile that unbeknown to him made his companion’s heart skip a beat. ‘Humble? Miss Brook, I suspect you are many things, but humble is not one of them.’