Chapter 5
Eli took the stairs two at a time, following the sound of voices—female laughter and male chuckles—toward where he assumed a meal was being served.
The delicious aroma of salted meats and fresh bread met him as he entered a large room.
The massive table was nearly overflowing as men and women ate while a child ran to and fro around the room.
A boy, likely less than two, sang at the top of his lungs as a woman reached out and snagged his arm, trying to coax him into taking a bite of the eggs tentatively perched on the fork an inch from his mouth.
It was utter chaos, yet it appeared only he noticed. Everyone else enjoyed their meals while speaking with other guests—some shouting all the way to the far end of the table.
He’d spent far too many years with only his grandfather for company.
The notion of entering the fray that was the breakfast room was scary.
The room shrank around the gathering, certainly not large enough to hold everyone gathered.
His heartbeat thrashed in his ears. Not loud enough to drown out the noise, but deafening to the point where it made the conversations unintelligible.
Eli stood rooted to his spot just beyond the threshold, debating returning to the quiet safety of his chambers and requesting his meal be served there.
“Lord Ridgefeld!” Cartwright called to him, banishing any hopes of escape—at least until he’d been properly introduced and fed. The beat of his heart doubled, and the room exploded around him with noise and laughter. “Come in. Come in. I have many people for you to meet.”
His grandfather had always described Simon Montgomery as a quiet, shy, introverted scholar, who shied away from situations unknown. It seemed his pending nuptials had disrupted his norm—for the better.
Eli stepped into the room as every eye turned to him. Utensils hung in midair, conversations ceased, and even the child stopped struggling against his mother’s hold.
The sense that everyone knew everyone and he was the only outsider overtook him. Eli took a moment to straighten his already perfect coat and clear his dry throat.
Plastering a weak smile on his face, Eli continued toward Cartwright where he sat at the head of the table. At least twenty other gentlemen and ladies cluttered the room as servants came and went, delivering food and refilling empty glasses.
An open seat was pulled out for him next to the bridegroom. As he rounded the table, he noted that a very familiar halo of auburn hair sat across from his intended seat. His smile, a moment ago feeble, now spread wide with certainty.
The long night had been spent wrapped in dreams of her—his fingers running through her long hair, his mouth exploring hers, his hands slowly unbuttoning her blouse once more as he breathed deeply of her scent of lavender.
He’d awoken several times, his body drenched in sweat from his passionate longings for a woman he barely knew.
However, in his dream state, she’d whispered promises of banished loneliness and a yearning to be by his side forevermore.
“Lord Ridgefeld,” Cartwright set his hand on Eli’s shoulder and turned to face the woman who’d invaded and stolen Elijah’s slumber the previous night. “My I introduce my intended, Miss Judith Pengarden.”
“Pardon?” Eli stammered, his stomach tightened. “Miss Judith Pengarden?”
“Yes.” Cartwright squeezed his shoulder, but Eli was helpless to look away from the auburn-haired vixen. “This woman is to be my bride.”
She stood with a welcoming smile, not the coy slant from the study.
Any further utterance stuck in his throat. Cartwright’s intended? Miss Judith?
It could not be. No, this woman—her name was Samantha, not Judith.
“My lord,” she nodded in greeting before resuming her seat. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Simon has told me much about your grandfather. It is an honor to count you among our guests for our special day.”
He saw no recognition in her eyes; she didn’t betray their association in the slightest, and she nodded to him to take his own seat.
This was impossible. Cartwright knew they’d met—he’d greeted them outside the previous day…
witnessed his intended departing Eli’s traveling coach.
The beat of his heart hurried once more, and a sheen of sweat rippled across his forehead.
Unlike the previous night, this was not from erotic dreams of a maiden with a fiery wit to match her long tresses.
“I am also glad to be here…” His words trailed off, unable to add “Miss Judith.” She was not Judith, or maybe she was, and it was he who’d been lied to.
“Elijah.” Cartwright regained his seat and made introductions down the line of guests. “Lord and Lady Haversham—with their son, Neill. Mr. Jakeston and his wife, Ruby.”
He continued down the table until Elijah finally recognized a name.
“Jude’s siblings, Garrett, Marce, and Payton.”
The sight of the trio was unexpected. Siblings?
Not a single one appeared similar. Garrett and Marce had hair like spun gold, and Payton’s mane was so dark, it verged on ebony while Cartwright’s intended had hair of the deepest auburn.
He could almost feel its length between his fingers—soft and bouncy with curls threatening to take over.
Each offered a polite greeting; however, Eli could barely muster a reply as his head swam.
He’d been invited—an honored guest—to Lord Cartwright’s wedding in Derbyshire…
and he repaid the man’s kindness by kissing his betrothed, unbuttoning the woman’s gown, smelling the lavender scent of her hair.
Maybe Eli’s most debauched act had been he and the woman’s witty, flirtatious banter, their easy conversation—a connection far deeper than lust.
Eli was a scoundrel. A rakehell. A dishonorable lord. A depraved man of the worst kind. He’d dreamed most of the night of deflowering another man’s bride. His chest tightened as he ran his fingers through his hair.
Activity started once more around him, a steaming plate loaded with eggs, ham, bread, and berries was placed before him. The savory scent nauseated him—or was it his wretched deceit that gnawed at him from the inside out?
There was little chance he’d be able to keep the food within his belly.
Eli should excuse himself from the meal, return to his bedchambers and pack his bags. Instruct Mathers to ready his carriage for departure. It was the proper course of action—and he truly needed to grab hold of his honorable nature, despite his disgraceful engagements from the previous night.
Blast it all. He was a marquis, a gentleman most noble—and the man his grandfather had been proud to call kin. How had he taken a wrong turn down this harrowing path?
And bloody hell, why did images of the siren keep swimming through his thoughts…even now, when he knew she belonged to another?
“Did you travel far, my lord?”
He brought his eyes from his plate to meet hers across the table, scrutinizing her before replying to her question.
She—Miss Samantha—knew exactly how far he’d journeyed to reach Derbyshire, why now did she pretend ignorance?
He’d answered her question the day before.
Still, the inquiry required his reply, for he was cornered.
He sensed the attention of several guests focused on him. “Over ten hours.”
“That is quite a distance.” She brought a bite to her mouth, delicately setting it upon her tongue, smiling as if it were the single best morsel of bread with jam she’d ever eaten. “You are more than welcome to stay at Hollybrooke as long as it suits.”
“I am in no need of a permanent houseguest, thank you very much, Jude.” It seemed their host had arrived. Eli dragged his intense stare from the woman long enough to see a tall, slight man enter the room. “You must be Lord Ridgefeld. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I am certain you could use a companion around this massive house,” Cart retorted, hiding his grin with another bite of toast. “My betrothed was only trying to secure your future, Cummings.”
Elijah had met Lord Cummings once before. Long ago when he and his grandfather had visited London for the purpose of visiting the museum; however, Cummings hadn’t left any lasting impression.
“I have much to do at my own estate, my lords,” Eli retorted. “I have no plans to overstay my welcome.”
Cummings took a seat and spoke quietly with Mr. Jakeston, giving Eli the opportunity to inspect the woman across from him as she and Cartwright shared a private jest. Her laugh was not the deep, throaty chuckle he’d become familiar with—no, it held the tone of a light breeze.
Her voice also rang like the melody of a cheerful song.
It was something easily masked, but the woman before him lacked the presence he’d enjoyed during his time with Miss Samantha.
Miss Judith Pengarden was the mirror image of the woman he’d held in his arms in the study.
The one he’d happened upon, reading a most scandalous old text.
The same miss he’d wrapped his arms around, placing his lips to hers and drinking in her lavender scent as their mouths danced.
But the woman sitting across from him possessed no coy smile. She looked directly at him, not from under lowered lashes. He could not envision this woman stealing into a man’s private study in search of a risqué novel no innocent female should even suspect existed.
“Are you feeling ill, Lord Ridgefeld?” she asked.
He’d been staring—impolitely. Studying her every detail: the length of her hair, the lift of her chin, the exact shade of her green eyes.
“Elijah?” Cartwright inquired, his severe tone said others had noted Eli’s interest, as well.
He shook his head. “My apologies, my lord. Miss Judith. I think I find myself suffering exhaustion from my travels. I believe it would be wise to retire to my chambers and rest for the morning.”
Concern knitted Miss Judith’s brow, and Cartwright nodded his agreement. “Certainly. Long carriage rides are overly taxing on the body. Please send word if you need anything.”
“If you will excuse me.” Eli pushed his chair back and stood, avoiding eye contact with the woman across from him.
Something was off—direly wrong. Could the woman so easily betray Lord Cartwright and then sit across the table from Eli with her betrothed at her elbow as if nothing untoward had occurred the previous night.
“I will hope to see everyone later in the day.”
Eli stumbled to the door, mumbling apologies as he passed guest after guest until he was finally free of the room.
He threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any eyes followed, but no one paid him any mind—Cart and his betrothed were already deep in conversation amongst themselves.
He listened to the chatter of conversation as he made his way back to the staircase.
Nothing was as it should be. Lord Cartwright’s betrothed had hoodwinked him only two nights before they were to be wed—and with a stranger, no less.
Though if you’d have asked Eli only an hour prior, he would have challenged anyone who called him and Miss Samantha strangers—correction, Miss Judith.
Why the false name? Did the woman think she would not be found out, her duplicity not made known?
Maybe betraying your intended was more acceptable if done with a stranger you were not likely to see again—therefore, any lingering guilt or reminders would be out of sight.
That would only put Elijah in the earl’s crosshairs—he’d lusted after Lord Cartwright’s betrothed.
It didn’t matter that she’d lied to him.
He was the gentleman; he was supposed to be above reproach.
He was the one who’d entered the study knowing full well they were alone—and their position would lead them both down an unsavory path.
Elijah Watson, the eighth Marquis of Ridgefeld, had compromised another man’s betrothed. He only had himself to blame for his predicament. His blood ran cold at the thought—he’d become the man his mother would love, and one his grandfather would despise.
Only now, it left him wondering if he was his mother’s son or the man his grandfather had raised to carry on their family name.
Elijah had many decisions to make—his course of correcting the wrongs he’d done first and foremost.