She must go. Before he woke. Before she saw him and recalled his filthy hands all over her. Worse, how she’d begged him to touch her.
Her stomach revolted again, but she placed a quelling hand over it. She might want to curl up somewhere dark and lonely and hide for the rest of her life. But she’d promised her beloved half-sister vengeance, and by God, she meant to get it.
Lifting her chin and squeezing her betrayed love into a tiny rancid ball deep in her soul, she rushed into the house and collected the letters. All the time, she strained to hear any sound from upstairs.
If Leath knew her plans, heaven knew what he’d do to her. Once she’d thought he was the last man to resort to violence. But then, she’d also convinced herself that he wasn’t Dorothy’s seducer. Nell’s instincts when it came to the marquess were tragically flawed.
She flung her cloak around her and ran, slipping and sliding through the rain, to the stables. In her heart, one prayer echoed over and over: that she’d never see the Marquess of Leath’s lying, handsome face again as long as she lived.
Leath stirred to what sounded like a horse galloping away. But surely that couldn’t be. He’d chosen this cottage for its seclusion—and for the rugged beauty of the countryside. It must just be the wind rattling the windows.
He yawned and stretched luxuriously. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. He had no idea of the time, but the light outside, even with the rain, indicated a morning well advanced. He’d stayed awake most of the night, dwelling on transcendent pleasure, the woman who lay so confidingly beside him, and the paths his life had taken. And might yet take.
Through the long, quiet hours, Eleanor’s presence had filled him with gratitude. What had happened extended beyond the physical realm. Their union changed everything. He wasn’t a fool. He knew this bond was rare and precious. He knew that to prove himself worthy of this gift, he must overturn all his old certainties.
When he’d stirred in the early hours and found her so sleepily sensual, he couldn’t stop himself. She’d taken him into her body and he’d felt like he’d found home. In a way he didn’t understand, she turned the world to light. But he understood too well that if she took the light away, he’d languish in eternal darkness.
Now he was hard and ready for Eleanor who, by the feel of the sheets, had left the bed hours ago. He shivered. Odd to be so cold and so hot at once. And he was hungry. Unprecedented sexual satisfaction gave a man a big appetite. For food and for the woman he wanted.
He rose against the pillows. Where was Eleanor? The cottage was eerily quiet. He was a little disappointed that she hadn’t wakened him with a kiss—and with what came afterward. When he found her, he’d seduce her back to bed. After breakfast. Smiling at his plans, he scratched his chest and rolled out of bed.
To save her modesty, he tugged on his breeches. He let his shirt hang loose around his hips. He should wash. He should definitely shave—which meant retrieving his luggage from where he’d abandoned it in his elation at seeing Eleanor.
He pounded down the stairs to the neat parlor. But it was empty. Clearly Nell had been about. The room was tidy and he was almost sure that the roses on the windowsill hadn’t been there last night. A fire blazed in the grate, making the room deliciously warm.
Where the devil was she? The weather was vile, too vile for a ramble across the hills. Frowning, more curious than worried, he searched for his mistress. He didn’t need long. The house was little more than a cottage.
Leath grabbed his greatcoat, now neatly hung beside the door, and noticed with relief that her cape wa
sn’t there. She must be in the stables.
His increasingly frenetic hunt through the outbuildings turned up no Eleanor Trim. And no sign of the Arab mare he’d bought her. He burst into the windswept yard between the stables and the house, flummoxed. The weather had deteriorated, yet she’d gone riding. Why?
He recalled those pounding hoofbeats. Not the wind after all.
What on earth was her game? The house was stocked with all they needed. And this wasn’t a day for a pleasure jaunt.
Had he mistaken everything last night? Had he frightened her into running away? Dear God, don’t let him have hurt her. He’d tried his best to be gentle.
Sick with worry, he trudged back to the house, huddling into his coat against the driving rain. He hoped to Hades that wherever Eleanor was, she was warm and dry and safe. He tried to reassure himself that she’d merely wanted some fresh air. But he couldn’t quash the certainty that something was vitally wrong.
He let himself back into the house and searched more thoroughly for some clue to her whereabouts. This time, he noticed his satchel on the sofa.
He frowned and crossed to empty it onto the upholstery. The contract slid out. Had that scared her away? Everything there was for her benefit—and the benefit of any children they produced. But after a night of passion, perhaps she balked at hard practicalities. He grimly recalled her reaction to his last attempt to discuss provisions for her welfare.
Eleanor Trim hadn’t easily consented to be his mistress and only powerful desire—and he hoped, something stronger—lured her to his bed. Perhaps seeing herself as a kept woman in black and white had chased her off.
Except she was braver than that. And if the agreement didn’t meet her approval, the woman who had stood up to him so often was perfectly capable of expressing her displeasure.
Leath supposed that he should be annoyed that she riffled through his private papers but right now, he was too desperate to learn where she’d gone—and more important, why—that he hardly cared. He’d lifted the satchel to slip the contract inside before he noted the absence of the other papers he’d carried ever since they’d started arriving at Alloway Chase in appalling numbers.
No, no, no. If she’d found those heartbreaking letters, what the hell had she thought?
He’d been worried since he’d come downstairs. Now horror shrank his belly to the size of a walnut. He checked each pocket in the satchel. The letters from the women the Marquess of Leath had betrayed were missing.
At last he knew exactly why Eleanor had left.
Chapter Twenty-Two