Chapter 7
Eli peered at the woman, everything within him screaming for him to pull away from her and find his chambers. The hall was no place to discuss such intimate matters. Though, no part of him wanted to address the situation, only run and forget her treachery.
It was the thing he’d guarded himself against since his mother’s final betrayal. Eli had been right to not trust another, never allow someone so close they could wound him.
He wanted to linger—demand she tell him why she’d lied to him, but from his own mother, he’d learned that people often have no notion why they do the things they do.
His connection with Miss Samantha—Miss Judith?
—had been true, to the point of being almost tangible.
Just as his lips had touched hers, he thought he could grasp hold of their passion and never let go.
The worst part was, he hadn’t worried about trusting her.
He’d taken her for who she’d claimed to be, and what she’d appeared to offer with no question.
Elijah had unwittingly caused irreversible harm to a man he respected. Lord Cartwright had asked for none of this, yet the most damaging part of the situation would fall upon him. It was within the earl’s right to challenge Eli to a duel in Miss Judith’s honor.
“We spoke of very private matters.” It seemed oddly strange to be concerned about details of his past when his future was in jeopardy. “What you have done is treacherous.”
A door opened behind him, closing quietly as footsteps rounded the corner.
“Miss Samantha, I thought you were on your way to the breakfast parlor.” Lord Chastain paused briefly, eyeing her hold on Eli’s arm. Her grasp fell away, freeing Eli to depart. “Lord Ridgefeld, a pleasure to see you again.”
Chastain had called her Samantha—but she was Judith. Surely the woman hadn’t made a habit of duping others, as well. At the same time, he found he was content to believe she’d set out to not only deceive him but others, as well.
Eli waited until Chastain started down the stairs before facing her once more.
She had the nerve to smirk, folding her arms across her chest.
Elijah turned in stunned silence, but Chastain had moved out of sight, none the wiser to the conversation he’d interrupted.
Eli had been so certain the woman from the breakfast parlor, and the one before him were one in the same—Elijah had allowed his emotions, feelings of rage, betrayal, and shame, to overpower his intuitive nature.
His accusation and thinly veiled threat to go to Cartwright had been unmistakable. He’d meant his words to be hurtful, even if only a fraction of how much her deceit had injured him.
That was not completely true. He’d indeed sensed something strange—roughly different—about the woman below.
They shared the same eye color and shape, their hair was the same hue, and their necks were similarly slender; however, this woman’s voice held a deeper, throaty tone, her hair was a bit longer, and a certain essence of command filled her as she stared intently at him.
“Twins?” he asked. “You never mentioned in our time together that there was a woman roaming about Lord Cummings’ home who was a mirror image of you.”
“You never asked.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “I did tell you of my three sisters here for the wedding.”
“…but not that your sister—your twin sister—was to wed Cartwright!”
“It must have slipped my mind, my lord.” A spark of mischief twinkled in her green eyes. “I might have been on the verge of telling you when your lips landed on mine.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Do you have refutable evidence to the contrary, my lord?”
“Will you discontinue addressing me as my lord?” She’d been in his arms, their lips pressed together as their hands explored one another. He’d had quite scandalous thoughts of her since. Certainly, they had moved past formalities. “It is Elijah or Eli, blast it all.”
Eli wanted to grab the woman and shake her—furious with the situation and with her—but, instead, he insisted she call him by his given name. It made little sense beyond his insatiable need to hear his name on her lips. He had no right to crave her as he did.
“Certainly, Elijah.” She enunciated each syllable, giving far too much attention to the last as his name rolled off her tongue. It was as if she felt like the wronged party, and he was not the victim in her ploy. “It was not my intent to mislead you in any way.”
“And you are Miss Samantha, not Miss Judith who is to marry Lord Cartwright?” He needed her to say it aloud.
His attraction to her could not continue, but he needed to know he’d not done anything utterly damaging.
Not that kissing an innocent, young woman wasn’t detrimental—but it was repairable, especially as no one had witnessed their compromising situation.
“I am who I’ve always claimed. Samantha.”
He continued. “Then I do owe you an apology for my outlandish behavior and accusations.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “I accept your apology, Elijah, under one condition…”
He was unsure he’d agree to any condition, especially if it had to do with the naughty book currently stashed under his bedding in his chambers. “I am willing to hear what the condition is and assess if we can come to a truce.”
“You are to call me Sam from now on when we are in private.” When he didn’t readily agree, she added as she took a step toward him, “You said some very hurtful things, Elijah. I would hate to see our animosity continue over a misunderstanding that was quickly rectified.”
She took another step forward as if daring him to back down. He’d never been one to allow others to intimidate him, and this slip of a woman before him would not be his undoing.
“Sam. That is a man’s name, is it not?” he asked.
“Just as Jude is a man’s name,” she quickly retorted.
“My dear mother, the lord bless her soul, was fond of masculine nicknames. She was under the impression a woman could attain more if gifted with a strong name. As twins, barely larger than the palm of a man’s hand, we needed all the strength we could get. ”
He felt his anger recede slightly, and he dug deeply to hold onto an ounce of the betrayal that had assaulted him when he’d entered the breakfast parlor.
“I will address you as Sam while in private,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
Thankfully, he was only at Hollybrooke for an additional two days, at most. Another one-on-one meeting was unlikely to happen—no matter how much his treacherous body longed for it.
Their misunderstanding had indeed been rectified, yet Eli grasped for strands of anger.
..to remember what every woman was capable of, least he forget once more.
He had no reason to remain furious at Sam, but his displeasure with himself was valid.
Certainly, she should have been more forthcoming during their acquaintance, though he should not have been so quick to trust her, and then be even quicker when coming to an incorrect conclusion.
“Samantha Jane!” Her eyes widened, and she glanced toward the stairs as heavy boots thundered toward them.
“Samantha Jane?” Eli cocked one eyebrow.
“It is not Samantha Jane—it is plain Samantha,” she hissed. “My dear brother thinks it funny to invent absurd middle names for us.”
Before she could say another word, her brother had reached the top of the stairs and was almost upon them. “Sam,” his breath heaved from his exertion. “Marce requires your attendance—immediately.”
“That sounds awfully dire, dear Garrett Mallory,” she cooed, returning his affection for names in a teasing manner they obviously had in common. “I will be down straight away.”
“See that you are. It is most urgent.” The man blinked several times and looked between Samantha and Eli as if noticing him for the first time and wondering what Elijah was doing alone in his sister’s company. “Ridgefeld, is it?”
His scalp prickled at the man’s intense scrutiny.
“Lord Ridgefeld rescued me from the storm yesterday, Garrett,” she chastised. “Do be cordial.”
“Rescued you, you say?” Garrett’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You would have done us a far greater service by leaving her to the elements, I assure you.”
“Might have saved me a lot of trouble, as well,” Eli mumbled.
He chuckled along with Garrett, realizing he quite liked the man.
“Stellar to meet you, Ridgefeld.” His chuckle subsided. “Call me Garrett, everyone does.”
“It is a pleasure, Garrett.”
“Ridgefeld, I hope to see you about. Samantha Constantine, we will await you in Cummings’ study.” Her brother sobered, his lips pressed together sternly. “Hurry.”
Eli watched as the man retraced his steps down the hall and hurried down the stairs. “You look nothing like any of your siblings but Miss Judith.” He’d gained a quick introduction to them in the breakfast room.
“We have different fathers—one mother,” she sighed.
“I am not the first to inquire on the dissimilarities?”
“Someone mentions it at least a dozen times per year.” Her shoulders straightened. “Have we mended our misunderstanding, my lord?”
As much as he wanted to hold onto his anger, it was not specifically directed at her. And he must let it go, at least until he departed Hollybrooke and was safely in his traveling carriage. “I think we have, Miss Samantha.”
“Wonderful,” her coy smile returned. “You shall escort me to dinner. Do not arrive late.”
Eli allowed himself to smile at her demanding request—the woman was a hellion with no disguise.
“Of course, miss. I would be delighted.” Judging from her brother’s comment, she’d been a handful her entire life.
It was something he wasn’t used to, a woman with a backbone who stood up and spoke her demands loud and clear—and didn’t run off at the first sign of trouble.
It was the only reason he was honoring her request without questioning her in regards to her commanding nature.
Sam—it sounded odd, even in his mind—pivoted and followed her brother down the stairs.
Eli would escort her to dinner and likely sit at her side to enjoy an entire evening of her coy laughter and peculiar banter.
The only question remaining was: what would occupy the next nine hours until he could see her again?