ly she didn’t want that. She didn’t want their budding romance spoiled by such worldly considerations.
She moved toward the horse, and he allowed his hands to drop from her. She didn’t look back. “Can you take me home now, Your Grace? Or do I have to find my own way?”
For a moment she thought he might be going to tell her just that, and then he was helping her up onto the horse. His face, the brief sight she had of it, looked closed and troubled, his lips white and thin. Perhaps she had insulted him as badly as he’d been about to insult her, but she didn’t care. To be his mistress wasn’t what she wanted. That wasn’t what the Husband Hunters Club was about.
And yet Eugenie understood just how naïve she had been to believe even for a heartbeat that she could ever marry a man so far above her in station. Just because he liked her—and yes, he did like her—and just because he obviously desired her, did not mean he would dream of marrying her. It would not even occur to him.
As they rode back in silence, she still found herself hoping despite all evidence to the contrary that he might realize that to ask her to be his mistress would be a mistake. That, like a beam of sunshine falling on him, the truth would be revealed to him and he would throw aside all that held him back, and ask for her hand.
But it was another of her silly daydreams and Eugenie knew that this was one occasion when she could not twist the ending to suit herself. He was a duke and dukes took mistresses, usually dancers or actresses, women far below themselves on the social scale. That was how he saw her. As a woman far beneath him in every way.
When they reached the place in the lane where he’d abducted her, he stopped and set her down. Subdued, she thanked him and turned away. He did not speak and after a moment she heard him ride off.
Her heart still felt heavy and she knew it was partly due to disappointment and partly an acknowledgment of the cold, hard facts of life. But it was also because she’d become fond of him. She enjoyed his company and his conversation and the feel of his arms about her.
Eugenie clenched her jaw and told herself she would not cry. She would not! But a tear slid down her cheek, and then another one. Life was not fair. But at least she knew it now. She would make a new plan, and this time she would be practical about it.
Chapter 8
Terry Belmont glanced sideways at the girl beside him. Lady Annabelle’s face was streaked with drying tears and her mouth was turned down at the corners. Although he would have loved to take her into his arms and comfort her, he didn’t. He knew she wouldn’t want him to. They were friends, companions in adversity, and it would be wrong to cross that boundary. If she thought he was just another rake trying to inveigle his way into her affections—or out of her fortune—then she would no longer turn to him for help. She would no longer trust him.
And Terry found he valued Annabelle’s trust more than anything.
“I can’t bear the thought of marrying Lucius and living in his house in London. I do not say he is a cruel man or—or cruel to me. He is a gentleman, but when I tell him all the things I want to do, he smiles at me as if I am a—a child. There is so much more to my life, so much to do. I never wanted to marry him, but my mother tells me I must and . . . She and Sinclair want me to be someone I do not want to be. Just because they only live for the Somerton name and care for nothing but our position in society, they think I should be the same. But I’m not, and I won’t!”
Her passion spent, she mopped her eyes with her lacy sleeve like a child.
“What can you do?” Terry asked. “You say the wedding arrangements are all in place. Can you really back out now?”
Her dark eyes were almost wild. “I have a friend in Scotland, a girl I knew at school. We write often. She is married now, but she has promised to shelter me, if only I could get to her.” She took a shaky breath, and reached to grasp his forearm, her fingers painfully intense. “Will you help me, Terry?”
Terry felt something major shift inside him. No one had ever asked him for help before. His younger brothers all turned to Eugenie if they were in need of help, while Eugenie never seemed to need help from anyone, especially not Terry. She still saw him as a little boy, someone who needed guidance and scolding, in equal measure. But now Annabelle was asking him for help as if he was the only one in the world she trusted.
“Of course I will help you,” he said, and meant it with all his heart.
Her lips trembled into a smile. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I wish I wasn’t so ignorant of the world and how to make my way in it. I would run off to Scotland alone, but I fear I would lose my way or make some foolish error, and then I’d be captured and brought home to Somerton, and then they’d watch me so closely I would never have another chance.” She gave him a confident look. “You know how to get to Scotland, don’t you, Terry?”
Terry wasn’t sure he did but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He gave a worldly wise shrug. “Of course.”
“Good. I’d better get back to Lizzie before she tattles to my brother.”
Lizzie Gamboni had seemed small and insignificant to Terry, someone who needed looking after rather than someone inclined to cause trouble.
“I’m sure Miss Gamboni wouldn’t tattle,” he said without thinking, and then wished he hadn’t when Annabelle gave him a narrow look. “I meant to say, she seems very loyal to you.”
“Yes, well, I won’t have to worry about her much longer.” She sighed. “I’m so glad we met, Terry. I don’t know what I would do without you to help me.”
Terry felt like a hero—he was the soldier who took the hill fort single-handed, and saved the day. It was only later, on his way home to Belmont Hall, that doubts began to set in. He supposed, when she asked for help, he should have refused. That was the sensible course of action. Helping the duke’s sister could only mean trouble for someone like Terry.
But how could he refuse? She needed his help and he needed to give it. Somehow he would have to get her to her friend in Scotland. Because Terry knew he couldn’t tell anyone else. Eugenie would only scold him and insist he explain himself to the duke. And if he told his father . . . Mr. Belmont would rub his hands together and inveigle him in some devious scheme to make money from Annabelle’s misfortune. No, there was no one he could tell. He must deal with this himself.
As he opened the door to Belmont Hall, Terry could hear the twins arguing interspersed with his mother’s long-suffering wails. Avoiding them, he hurriedly climbed the ramshackle stairs to the room he shared with his brothers. Jack was there with his injured magpie sitting on his shoulder, his head buried in a book on horses.
“Benny and Bertie are at it again,” he said, without looking up. “They decided to decorate the sitting room with some black dye they found in the washhouse. They thought Mama would be pleased.”
They grinned at each other in horrified glee.
“Don’t go down there unless you want to scrub walls,” Jack advised, turning back to his book.