Chapter 20
Eli turned sharply, pacing down the corridor once more.
His mind swirled with the words he couldn’t seem to place in the right order.
And there was no room for error when he finally spoke with Sam.
To declare his warmth for her immediately, or take a slower, more paced approach and start with a walk on the terrace or a social call on the morrow or even a ride through the park?
His time in London was limited. How limited, he hadn’t decided, but keeping residence with Lord Cartwright and his new bride for any period of time seemed an invasion of their privacy.
Which led Eli to his current predicament.
He’d arrived at the ball after the meal had been completed and stood in the shadows of the room, watching Sam flirt with several gentlemen, dance with still more, and in the end, slip from the room with a man whose midnight hair and tanned complexion had coils of jealousy coursing through Eli.
She’d given several lords the coy grin he’d thought only for him.
And all the while, she’d ignored Eli’s presence, acted as if she hadn’t seen him lurking on the fringes of the room.
This all should have reinforced that their time together had only been a convenience and not mutual affection and attraction; however, it simply increased Eli’s need to be with her, share his deep feelings for her, and pray she returned them.
It had been pure and utter torture watching another man swirl her around the dance floor while another fetched her a flute of champagne.
He should be her dance partner. He should be fetching her refreshments. He should have slipped from the room with her held close. Not those men who certainly knew nothing of Sam past her outer beauty.
He’d never envisioned himself a possessive man, but maybe it had only been that he’d never possessed something worth fighting for, worth coveting, worth protecting at all cost. A large portion of him knew his extreme sentiments were unjustified and verging on obsessive, though that reality hadn’t taken root until he’d spied her on the arm of another man; a man who was far more learned in the ways of the ton than he, a man who’d certainly played the coy game of cat and mouse as he acted unaffected by her coquettish grin and lowered lashes.
Bloody hell, Eli was affected, and he’d stood across the room from the pair—not directly before her.
It was utterly maddening. The vexing woman had been on his mind since he’d happened upon her along that deserted road.
One could say he’d been blessed; though lately, it settled on him more like a curse.
Sam had enjoyed herself…immensely, while he’d hidden in the shadows. She’d laughed. She’d playfully tapped her fan on a gentleman’s arm. She’d flitted between guests. Always poised and graceful.
And then, in a final dagger to his heart, she’d slipped from the room with the dark-haired lord. She’d stood too close. The man had tilted his head in her direction. She’d whispered something in is ear.
Eli’s blood had boiled, and his heart beat erratically.
Jealous. Eli was jealous.
His jaw ached from being clamped shut to keep in his shout of anger—at himself, at Sam, and at the man who dared take Eli’s place at her side.
That should be him, not that…rakehell. Eli knew nothing of the man, but he did not approve of their association on principle. Even Eli, who’d been sheltered from society, understood the scandal that could result from a man escorting a lone female about a darkened home without a chaperone.
Certainly, even with a proper lady’s companion trailing them, there would still be gossip.
Miss Samantha enjoyed herself…and Eli had no right to interfere, even if the pair were on the brink of ruination. Maybe she’d been properly courted and had gotten betrothed while he’d been in Liverpool these six weeks? It would not be honorable of him to impede the course she’d settled on.
Lord Cartwright had been correct. Sam’s outward display of affection for Eli had been false, brought on by the shock of her father’s reappearance and her sister’s wedding.
Their connection—something Eli had thought ran deeper than any he’d ever known—had been nothing but a woman’s need to grasp on to something tangible as her life spiraled out of control.
Odd to ever imagine Sam not being fully in control of her life, and that of those around her.
She’d overcome all the obstacles set in her path. Her sister’s marriage and resulting departure from Sam’s daily life, her father’s sudden and unexplained interest in his twin daughters, and lastly, him. She’d moved on from him. She was happy.
He should allow her to be happy.
Yet, Eli was miserable.
He squeezed his eyes shut and twisted around once more, noting how his footfalls matched the beat of his heart.
He had been miserable for a long time. Far longer than he’d realized. Before his grandfather’s untimely passing, before his decision to find his mother, possibly as far back as his time at Eton. Only he hadn’t known it wasn’t something that was missing but someone.
He’d mistakenly assumed finding his mother would fill the void so clearly taking over every part of him. When that hadn’t worked, Eli had wagered the only way to move past it all was to remove all the reminders of his grandfather from their home and donate them for all to enjoy.
The spark of life had clearly infused him during his short stay at Hollybrooke, and it had led him to believe his decision was the correct one.
Belatedly, he’d discovered it had all been due to Miss Samantha Pengarden.
It had been his destiny to happen upon her that fateful day.
He hadn’t fully comprehended it then, but now, he had no doubt.
Eli paused once more and pulled at his neckcloth.
After his return to Liverpool to sort, pack, and transport the late marquis’ treasures, she’d haunted him.
Every day. Every night. While he worked.
While he ate. While he met with his steward.
While he bathed. When he’d tried to find peace in slumber, his dreams were filled with images of her.
If they hadn’t been disturbed in Cummings’ library that night.
If they hadn’t been interrupted in her bedchambers that afternoon.
If he’d been man enough to cast off Lord Cartwright’s warning and remain in Derbyshire to escort her to the wedding and feast that followed…
He quivered when he thought where their private moments alone would have led.
But he hadn’t stayed to discover what could have transpired between them, and he was miserable all the more.
The difference was, now he could not deny it. Now, he knew the source of his discontent. Now, he was given no alternative but to claim her for his own or walk away and allow her to live the life she’d chosen for herself.
Neither choice was easy. Neither decision would mean contentment for Elijah.
Sam could very well rebuff his advances. She may be in love with the raven-haired man, with Elijah a distant memory.
What would Eli do then?
He could not return to Liverpool as if none of it had happened, push his affection and longing for her to the side and continue on with life.
Possibly attend the country parties hosted by neighboring lords, meet a young miss, and marry, forgetting the blaze within him only a certain fiery-haired hellion could bring to life.
Continue with a mundane life of caring for his estate, being an attentive husband, and praying a horde of little Ridgefeld children populated his home.
How was that fair to anyone, especially him?
Eli shoved his hands deep into his pockets, frustrated that he’d allowed such a mess to develop.
His grandfather hadn’t embarked on any journey that did not suit his needs and wants.
The old man had wanted to see Africa, and so he did.
Longed to travel along the clear beaches of Greece.
Felt inspired by the ruins in Egypt. He’d traveled near and far because it gave him pleasure, happiness, and purpose.
The late marquis would want nothing less for his grandson.
That Eli’s happiness lay with a woman should not make it less important.
Happiness was happiness, no matter the form it took.
However, the evening had shown Eli one very important thing: Sam appeared happy without him. While his future depended on her, Sam’s may not be contingent on him.
“I should leave now, depart—return home,” he mumbled.
At some point, he’d stopped pacing and stood stock-still, his eyes unfocused as his mind swirled.
Certainly, it would injure him far less to never voice his deep affection for her as opposed to speaking out and having his feelings thrown back in his face when she informed him that she’d chosen another.
“It is ludicrous to think matters of the heart are worth all of this—“
A sharp inhale and the groan of an opening door had Elijah spinning around, an explanation on the tip of his tongue. Dreadfully embarrassing to be caught mumbling to oneself in a darkened, deserted hallway in an unfamiliar house.
“My apologies—“ He could not bring himself to utter another word through his tightened throat. His eyes widened as a gowned figure stepped from the room down the hall.
His eyes focused on her feet as she walked toward him, her muddied, slippered toes peeking out from below her long, satin dress.
As she came near, his gaze traveled to her narrow waist, a sash tied about it, and farther heavenward to her daringly low bodice.
As much as he tried, Eli could not keep from taking in the beauty of her face, her auburn hair piled high atop her head with a ribbon pinned within her curls, and the teardrop earbobs that only brought attention to her long, graceful neck.
How much of his ramblings had she heard?
The only question overshadowing that thought was where the raven-haired lord had disappeared to.
Did he await Sam’s return in the dark recesses of the room she’d exited?
The thought of another man having impure thoughts about Sam—touching her, kissing her, holding her—caused spots to invade his vision.
“Miss Samantha!” Though he’d kept watch on her from afar all evening, up close, she was exactly as he remembered.
His mind’s wandering over the long six weeks had never veered far from the truth: her delicate, unblemished skin was that of a proper English rose; her straight back and lifted chin showed her confidence and trust in her own worth.
She was elegance personified. She was demure, yet commanding. She was well-spoken and poised.
What her narrowed eyes, and silent perusal of him said was a mystery.
Her lips pulled back in a smile, a grin he’d never witnessed before though it was familiar, sparking memories of a long ago time…in a place far from London.
Her assessing glare, solid yet unassuming movements, and the hypnotic sway of her hips kept him focused solely on the progress she made toward him. He was helpless to look away. Unable to say a word.
Powerless to run, yet incapable of screaming for help.
She was the lioness of the African safari…ready to attack.
And Eli was her prey.
As she bore down on him, he noted the fury in her eyes, the anger in her steps, and the solid set of her shoulders.
Yet, he was too weak to break eye contact, too fragile to even know he should run.
He was caught in her snare, entranced—so much so he truly believed he would revel in her wrath.