Helen Dickson - Carrying The Gentleman's Secret

She returned his smile, a soft flush staining her cheeks. ‘Perhaps not as humble as I ought to be—but stupidity cannot be ruled out. I thought it odd at first that he paid me so much attention. Me! A seamstress—and the daughter of a seamstress! He gave me flowers, presents—he flattered me. It had never happened to me before. I let him lead me on. My behaviour was a reaction to a weakness in myself that caused me to fall victim to his plethora of charms.’

‘You were flattered by his attentions. You cannot be blamed for that.’

‘No, perhaps not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Why does Henry’s wife put up with his philandering?’

‘At first, in her blissful state of a new wife, Miranda, secure in her marriage, didn’t react to the attention Henry was getting from other women. His infidelities were subtle initially. Happier than she had ever been, even when she heard the whispers, she was unwilling to believe them. And then the knowledge grew from a practical examination of the facts at hand—his absences from home, from the marital bed, returning reeking of another woman’s perfume. During one particular amorous encounter, when the lady Henry was pursuing refused his advances, she made it known to Miranda. Naturally, she was devastated and had cause to wonder where Henry’s infatuation for other women was going to lead them—not to mention what potential for unhappiness lay in his seeming inability to control it.’

‘I cannot understand why she doesn’t leave him?’

He shook his head. ‘She’s become resigned to it—not that she likes it, not one bit, but she knows she will never change him so she gets on with her life regardless. She insists on discretion. He always leaves them in the end. Yes, Miranda loved him as soon as she set eyes on him. But apart from the emotional side of their relationship marriage was mutually beneficial to both of them. She hankered after a title and, financially, Henry needed the money from her dowry to restore his crumbling estate.’

‘I see. Then I wish her joy of him. Knowing what I do now, I cannot envy her. I can only fear for her. He is a baron, you say? I did not know that he was titled, but I knew he was different from me. But what of you? Are you titled, too?’

‘No.’ As a self-made businessman, Alex chafed beneath the privilege of meaningless titles, family history, and velvet capes and ermine.

‘Then what do you do?’

‘I am a businessman, among other things.’

‘I see.’ She didn’t really, but considering it rude to appear too inquisitive, she let it go at that and began eating the food the waiter had placed before her. ‘And do you have a wife, Mr Golding?’

‘My wife died.’

‘Oh—I’m sorry.’

‘There is no need. Blanche, my wife, was killed when the carriage she was travelling in overturned.’

‘How tragic. You...you must miss her.’

His face became guarded. ‘Yes.’

‘I...I hope you don’t mind me asking. My mother always did say I talk too much.’

He looked at her and met her eyes, staring at her for a moment, then he shrugged and smiled, the moment of melancholy having passed. ‘I don’t mind. It happened three years ago. I have no need to hide anything. It is better to speak of such things than keep them hidden,’ he said, but Lydia saw his eyes held more seriousness than his voice, which told her it still affected him more than he would have her know.

‘I agree. It is always best. You...have not thought of remarrying?’

‘I am not looking for a wife,’ he told her, his words and his eyes conveying a message. ‘I am quite content to remain as I am, to go my own way and to enjoy female company from those who desire my company.’

‘And always careful to elude capture,’ Lydia said softly.

‘Always.’ He smiled. ‘I have not known you twenty-four hours, Miss Brook, and already you are beginning to know me a little too well.’ He looked down at his plate. ‘We should eat before the food gets cold.’

Picking up his fork, after toying with his food, Alex gazed across the table at her lovely face. My God, he thought, she really was a beauty. Her long lashes drifted down as she looked at her plate, her soft red lips slightly parted. Her hair and gown were both unadorned, yet the effect was almost like nakedness, and Alex was both embarrassed and ashamed of the animal thoughts that flew through his mind as he looked at her.

Looking up, Lydia met his gaze and raised her brows in silent enquiry.

He smiled. ‘What?’

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Why shouldn’t I look at a beautiful woman? You, Miss Brook, would make a saint forget his calling.’

Lydia swallowed, feeling her cheeks redden. The very fact of this weakness was an irritant to her, making her vulnerable to her own body. ‘I’ve heard many flowery compliments in my time, but that, Mr Golding, is the most flowery of them all.’ Later she would realise her mistake. The delicious food and the quiet, warm atmosphere of the room had lulled her into regarding her companion as an equal, a person whom she could relax with.

‘You are a strange young woman, Miss Brook. I find your company both pleasurable and enlightening.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You are more intelligent than most women of my acquaintance and, if you are not careful, you will have me falling in love with a woman’s mind—but her physical attributes cannot be ignored,’ he murmured, his gaze languidly sweeping over her, his eyes settling on the gentle swell of her breasts straining beneath the raspberry dress, measuring, lingering, a slow smile curling his lips.

The soft sincerity of his voice, the tone of it, rippled over Lydia’s flesh and took her breath away—behind the words she detected an intractable force, coercing, seducing, and she was drawn to it, but then she remembered her purpose for being there. She tried to think of something to say, something that would restore the camaraderie and repartee of a moment before, but she was unable to say anything for the moment.

‘What else did Henry tell you about himself, Miss Brook?’ Alex asked, aware of the awkwardness of the moment and trying to steer clear of the direction in which his mind was wandering, but unable to take his eyes off her.

‘That—that his home was in America. When he proposed marriage I told him we should wait, to give it time until we knew each other better. But he said time was something he didn’t have. His father was dying across the Atlantic Ocean and he had to go home as soon as possible. I had no reason to doubt him. I cannot match him in education or experience—what knowledge I have was taught me by my mother. She was the daughter of a clergyman in Yorkshire. I have to work to make my living. Our backgrounds are dissimilar in every way.’

‘And yet you were prepared to marry him.’

‘Yes. He promised me so much.’

Alex smiled, noting that her every movement as she sat was graceful and ladylike. There was a serenity of expression and stillness that hung about her like an aura and just being with her was an experience he had not sufficiently prepared himself for. She really was quite beautiful, far more beautiful than any woman present, and she intrigued him, troubled him. His instinct told him that hidden desires were at play beneath her layer of respectability. He noted a certain unease in her eyes and what lay behind the unease was a sense that something was not quite right. Yet exactly what it was, not knowing anything about her, Alex couldn’t have said.

‘You saw Henry as a purveyor of dreams.’

‘Perhaps it is best not to dream at all,’ she said softly.

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Three months.’

‘Where did you go? Where did he take you?’