One Illicit Night Read online

  Safety.

  In the throws of change she felt her fingers clench into a fist, the dread that she had woken up with thinking about this visit mounting as the Wellingham town house came into view. If Cristo Wellingham were here, she would turn and leave no matter what explanation might be offered. The very danger of it all sapped what little energy she had left and she swayed.

  ‘Are you all right, my lady?’ Patricia, her maid travelling with them, looked concerned, though nothing seemed to faze her daughter, whose whole attention was on the puppies.

  ‘I hope the puppies have not grown too much, Mama. I hope I can hold one and give it a cuddle. Will they let me carry it around, do you think?’

  ‘Shush, child. Can you not see your mother is tired and all these questions are sapping her energy further?’

  Florencia’s dark eyes came around to hers, the joy in them squashed by criticism.

  ‘I did not mean…’

  ‘No.’ Eleanor shook her head. ‘It is lovely to see you so excited and I am certain you will be able to hold a puppy if you are careful.’

  Her daughter’s smile blossomed and in that second she looked so like Cristo Wellingham that Eleanor was frightened.

  Would Emerald Wellingham see it? Would the distance the wider family seemed happy to keep her at still stand should others determine the truth?

  The Wellinghams were powerful and ruthless and anyone crossing the needs of its members could find themselves with more than a fight on their hands. The wisdom of this visit became less obvious and had they not been outside the front steps Eleanor might have bade the driver to have taken them straight home. But with the door opening and the Duchess walking out with three infants of various ages at her side, she could do nothing but wait as the steps to climb down from the conveyance were put into place.

  ‘It is only us here today, I am afraid, as my husband and his two brothers are at Falder until tomorrow.’

  Emerald Wellingham’s eyes were warm, an undercurrent of a smile lingering beneath the welcome as her gaze touched on the silver hair of her guest’s daughter, suddenly shy in the company of all the children.

  ‘Perhaps Ashton could take your daughter to see the puppies? We have not as yet named them all and the children thought that she might like to help in the process.’

  Florencia immediately came out from behind her skirts, the promise of naming a dog more thrilling than even shyness could overcome.

  ‘Mama said that I might hold one…’

  ‘Indeed.’ Emerald had bent down, her glance taking in every feature on Florencia’s face. ‘You are as beautiful as your mother is, my love,’ she said after a moment and Eleanor released the breath that she had been holding. Not the comparison that she had been dreading after all. The tight unease in her stomach uncoiled slightly and she watched as her daughter was enfolded by young Wellinghams and led off around the corner of the town house, two maids in tow.

  ‘I have asked for tea to be served in the green salon overlooking the garden,’ Emerald Wellingham said. ‘The room is one that has always been my favourite and we would be able to hear the children.’

  ‘That sounds lovely.’

  Following the Duchess, she saw that the impressive hall opened out into a large room with windows and doors along one whole side facing onto a small garden. The wall opposite was filled with drawings of the wider family and Eleanor’s gaze fastened instantly on the ones of Cristo Wellingham.

  Emerald must have seen her looking. ‘My brother-in-law has recently bought the Graveson property, which lies on the eastern boundary of Falder, and is in the process of having it completely modernised. The house sits near the sea and has always been one of my favourites. I do hope that you might see it some time.’

  ‘If he was there, I should doubt he would wish me anywhere near him.’ Suddenly Eleanor had had enough of pretence and the interminable drudgery of manners, though surprisingly Emerald laughed.

  ‘You talk of the fiasco with the kidnapping, I presume. I always wondered why you did not speak out in his defence over that?’

  ‘Speak out? But my husband sent word to the constabulary ordering his release.’

  ‘I think it may have been your word Cristo sought, Lady Dromorne.’

  Eleanor reddened. Martin had told her Cristo had been relieved to know she did not seek further contact and he had never once tried to see her again, staying out of Bath with all the determination of a man who had long since let go of any other feelings. Even when he had come to offer his condolences and she had squeezed his hand he had merely pulled away while offering shallow words of sympathy.

  Not knowing what to do, she placed her teacup on the small side table, taking care not to spill a single drop. ‘I am not quite certain what you mean, your Grace.’

  ‘Are you not? Perhaps then there is another drawing you might wish to look at.’ She picked up an oval frame from a small table beside her. ‘This is of Cristo when he was a young boy of about five. Beatrice found it amongst some books she kept for him whilst he was away.’

  With her hands shaking, Eleanor took the velvet-covered frame.

  Florencia’s face appeared from the faded image, her hair longer and the line of her cheek a little more rounded, but every other feature unmistakably similar.

  Eleanor turned the portrait over and placed it down beside her cup of tea. The anger in her was sharp.

  ‘Are you warning me away by showing me this?’

  ‘Oh, I think you have managed to do that all by yourself, Eleanor. In fact it is quite the opposite effect that I am after.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I want to give Cristo the chance to get to know his daughter.’

  Standing, a dizzy horror consumed Eleanor. ‘By taking her from me?’

  ‘It’s not retribution I am after, but accord. If the ties that hold you to our family must remain a secret to protect Florencia, then so be it, but that does not mean the child should know nothing of her Wellingham ancestry.’

  The knowledge that Emerald Wellingham was not implying ruin, but rather some form of compromise, fortified Eleanor. The cards were stacked against her, but she needed to give the woman some sense of what had happened before now. She sat down again and lowered her voice. ‘I was eighteen when I became pregnant, a young and foolish girl who had no capacity for brandy and a great desire for independence. I made a mistake one night five years ago and your brother-in-law has made it very plain that he desires no further communion with me.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Eleanor stopped to regroup.

  Love. Him.

  The ache inside hollowed with the effort of hiding all that she felt and the determination she saw in the Duchess of Carisbrook’s turquoise eyes made her pause. It was not condemnation that Eleanor saw, but strength. ‘If you do, my advice would be to fight for him.’

  ‘How?’ Her heart raced as she enunciated the single word, because in the query she admitted everything.

  ‘The house I told you a friend has to the north-west of London may be the place to begin. You are, after all, a sensible widow with the freedom to travel alone wherever you might wish to. Once there, we could contrive a way to have my brother-in-law visit.’

  ‘Visit?’

  ‘Make what you want of the word. If it were me, I should be deciding what makes a man stay with a woman and never look further afield.’

  A thrill of something forbidden raced through Eleanor’s body. Alone with Cristo and in the countryside with no other distractions—would she have the courage to place her heart in his hands? The sheer boldness of the plan was exhilarating. But what if he did not wish to see her, despite all that Emerald Wellingham was saying? And what of Martin, only a week past being buried? Grief and guilt vied with desire and lost.

  ‘Is this house available soon?’

  ‘You just need to say the word and I will send instructions to the housekeeper.’

  Cristo paced up and down on the intricate Aus
busson rug in the library at Graveson. It had been almost two weeks since the funeral of Martin Westbury and the anger that ate at him did not seem to be abating in the slightest.

  The touch of Eleanor’s gloved fingers had ignited all the emotion that he had thought to have discarded. Hell, she had never once tried to contact him and their daughter was growing by the day.

  He wished Ashe and Emerald might depart soon, the dinner long since finished and the hour near to eleven, though the thought made him frown. Not too long ago he would have just been beginning his night, the haunts of Paris better after midnight when the true character of the city was revealed. These days he was tired before the clocks struck eight.

  ‘I have a plan to breed horses as you will be doing here at Graveson, Cris.’ Emerald stood and fiddled with an ornament on the mantel and a vague sense of disquiet filled Cristo. Something was not quite as it seemed and he had had enough practice in his life to be certain of a veiled purpose.

  ‘At Falder?’

  She turned at that, a look in her eyes that was difficult to interpret. ‘No. At Azziz’s house in High Wycombe. The hills are rolling and the paddocks are filled with clover and he took quickly to the idea.’

  ‘Sounds ideal.’

  Asher laughed. ‘You have not spoken about this to me before, Emmie, but Cris and I can take a look at the place if you want. Would you be up to the task, brother?’

  Appreciation wreathed Emerald’s face, giving the impression that the subject had been closed to her satisfaction, but Cristo, on his part, watched Ashe. Could he not see that his wife was up to something or was he in on the scheme as well? Lord, trust was something that had to be fostered. He downed the brandy in his hand and the scepticism that had dogged him since he was a youth receded a little.

  ‘I saw Eleanor Westbury a week ago by the way, Cristo. She came to our London town house with that lovely little daughter of hers to look at the puppies.’ The glass he was about to carefully place on the table landed with a jolt.

  ‘I thought as a family we had decided she should be avoided at all costs, Emmie?’ Ashe’s question had a thread of irritation in it, heartening Cristo. ‘We certainly don’t want that whole business of the fiasco at the docks to be raised again in the public mind.’

  ‘It was a quiet meeting at home, my love, and the woman is not as I expected her to be.’

  ‘How would you describe her then?’

  ‘Alone.’

  The single word rang around the library, and the fury that had held Cristo ransom began to form into something else.

  ‘Doesn’t she have Dromorne’s family about her?’ He tried to make the query perfunctory.

  ‘The sister and her entourage never even came to the funeral and the cousin wants them out of the house before the end of July. He was always set to inherit the titles, it seems, and by all accounts is a greedy man. Eleanor Westbury’s immediate family died years back, so she is truly alone.’

  ‘Lord.’

  ‘She talks of moving to the country and buying an estate. Her child adores animals, it seems. She fell in love with a little black-and-white puppy whilst at the town house and the children allowed her to name it.’

  Before he could stop himself Cristo asked the question. ‘What did she come up with?’

  ‘Patch. She said he reminded her of a pirate and I could not help but agree to the name.’

  ‘Has the dog found a home yet?’

  ‘No. Are you interested in giving him one?’

  Again Cristo felt deception in the air. ‘Graveson Manor could do with the presence of a hound. One is as good as another.’

  ‘Then I shall mark him down as yours. He should be ready to take home next week, though I should probably warn you the dog is the runt of the litter and will need a great deal of attention. Have you had a pet before?’

  ‘No.’

  That made Asher start. ‘Surely you did at Falder, Cris. We all did, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Ashborne decided I was not responsible enough to be given authority over an animal and never allowed it.’

  Cristo smiled to take the sting away from the hurt. His father had been a man who was distant and reserved at best. When Alice was not there to intervene and when the older boys had gone off to school he had made certain that his bastard son understood exactly the sacrifices he was making to house him.

  A by-blow from one moment of madness in a country he had never returned to. Only that! A son he had not had the inclination to truly know. Cristo frowned, thinking of something that had not occurred to him before. Was he doing exactly the same to his own daughter?

  His mind raced ahead to the puppy. Florencia had loved it. Perhaps she might find out that it now resided with him and would want to come and visit.

  He pushed such fanciful thoughts aside. Eleanor would never allow it.

  ‘Ashborne was a man to seldom show his feelings to anyone, Cris. Taris and I would talk about it often and see the difference with Jack’s papa. I can’t remember him ever laying a hand on me save in discipline, though Alice would say it was in his nature to be reserved. We were glad to go off to school.’

  A chunk of ice fell from Cristo’s heart. Just like that. Drip, drip, drip. For he remembered exactly the same thing. A mantle of guilt dislodged anger.

  ‘I wish you might have said something to me at the time.’

  Asher looked at him keenly. ‘You thought it was only you he was aloof with?’

  Despite meaning not to, he nodded, the many years between his brothers and him compounding the problem. If he had been older they might have said something, included him more. As it was he had had the company of a younger sister and a bunch of wild friends at Eton. No wonder he had taken the track of least resistance. When Ashborne had shouted at him for the next unwise and hare-brained escapade at least he had looked him in the eye and known that he still existed.

  Fact skewered fiction. Perhaps it was not the circumstances of his birth after all that had alienated them. Perhaps it was just Ashborne’s character that had left a truth unsaid. The softer edge of England reached around him and held him close.

  The many lights of Falder could be seen on the hill beside Graveson and in the western horizon the new moon was low and huge.

  Home and a place.

  And a puppy now. Patch.

  He would ask Milne to prepare a bed for the dog to sleep on in the small dressing room off his chamber. He only hoped Patch might effect the sort of joy in his daughter that he had a great wish to see.

  He should not have brought the damn dog! He knew that the moment he had set foot in the carriage for High Wycombe and it had climbed upon his knee with its sad drooping eyes and been sick upon his lap.

  A runt was no real description of the physical attributes of this animal and he wondered at his daughter’s decision to choose a dog with no thought for its future development. He was the size of a large kitten with a tail that defied gravity and if Emerald still insisted that the family King Charles spaniel had found another of its like then she had to be kidding herself.

  This puppy looked like the result of a mongrel from the backstreets of east London taking one very lucky chance.

  ‘Sit still,’ he ordered the wriggling hound and was surprised when it did so and fell instantly asleep. He liked the feel of its breath against the back of his hand as the carriage hurled through the last of the countryside towards the house that Emerald’s friend Azziz owned.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Florencia. Where are you?’

  A small giggle alerted Eleanor to the fact that her daughter now hid behind the oak tree at the far end of the garden and she made her way down the line of ill-cut box hedging.

  ‘Is she here? No. Could she be here?’ She lifted the leaves of a large plant that drooped across the garden. ‘No, not there either.’ The giggles began again and the skirt of Florencia’s dress was blowing in the wind outside the line of bark.

  With a quick dash to the left she caught
her daughter to her and swung her round, their hair catching together, undressed and falling long in the slight edge of sun.

  It was how Cristo saw them first, laughing and entangled, a mother showing all the affection in the world to a child who plainly loved her. Eleanor was in black, though the lace at her bodice was loose and the swell of her breasts made the colour alluring in a way the pastel shades had never been. His daughter was wreathed in dark blue with a string of what looked to be her mother’s pearls draped in a single strand around her neck.

  Interest replaced shock, which in its own turn was replaced by wariness. Had Eleanor fashioned this meeting?

  When their eyes caught the rose in her cheeks was flushed high.

  He stepped forwards and removed his hat, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard he wondered how it did not tear.

  ‘Lady Dromorne?’ Florencia lost her smile in the instant of his question and hid in the dark skirts, but Eleanor said nothing, the edges of her lips bound together as though she would not allow even the hint of an answer.

  Emerald’s evasive dissembling was suddenly explained. She had set this whole thing up and Asher’s withdrawal from the trip five minutes before departure meant that he was also in on the plot. Lord, when he returned he would strangle them both. He swore he would.

  Right now he needed to at least address the worry he saw so prominently in Eleanor’s eyes.

  But how?

  The wriggling bundle under the jacket of his coat solved the whole problem for, as a small black-and-white head poked out from beneath the lapels of his jacket, he saw in the wide smile on his daughter’s face an absolute delight.

  She ran forwards, stopping only a foot or so away from him, the silver in her hair whipped by wind and for the first time ever he heard her speak.

  ‘Patch? You brought Patch here?’ A small hand reached out to tickle the dog’s nose, wonder in her eyes.

  ‘Florencia, this is Lord Cristo Wellingham.’

  Cristo’s brows were raised, but he did not correct her. Not father, not papa, only a title that a child might or might not remember. The smile looked as fixed on Eleanor’s face as it was on his.