Love Letters by Lori Brighton
As if he sensed her attention, he glanced her way. Cynthia spun around, hiding behind the column. He would know. He must know who she truly was. If he didn’t know she was not Helen, it would mean he’d barely paid Cynthia the least bit of attention the few times they’d met.
Please, let him know.
Oh, how she had paid attention to him! She closed her eyes, dredging up every detail. The way he’d slid her a glance when he didn’t think she was looking, or when Helen was discussing something particularly ridiculous. She remembered that conversation they’d had when Helen had been late coming downstairs. They’d talked of silly things, the garden, the weather, but it hadn’t mattered to her. He’d even kissed her hand that one time he’d helped her into the carriage after she and Helen had met him in Hyde Park.
He would know her. She certainly knew him. How many letters had she written Gabriel in Helen’s name?
“A letter? How boring! You write him, Cynthia.” She could still hear her cousin’s voice, remember the words she’d said two years ago.
It wasn’t the first time she’d responded to Helen’s missive. She’d become her personal secretary. And so she had again without much thought. In Helen’s name she’d written to Gabriel Baston, The Earl of Kennwick. At first their letters had been polite missives, two people fated to marry since birth, merely attempting to know each other. But a year ago, she’d noticed a change. The letters had become flirtatious, teasing and even heartfelt. She’d fallen for the man in those letters. She’d fallen for her cousin’s fiancé while he had no idea who he poured his heart out to. And at times the guilt was almost unbearable.
“Cynthia? Is that you?”
She snapped her head left. The woman next to her wore a plain blue mask and brown dress but that blonde hair and trim figure was unmistakable, Belinda. She wasn’t surprised her friend recognized her.
“Belle! Thank God you’re here.” She latched onto her friend’s gloved hand and jerked her behind the column.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Those soft brown eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why ever are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding, I’m….I’m Helen.”
Belle froze, her mouth parted in surprise. “Umm, no. I’m quite sure you’re not. For one, Helen wouldn’t speak to me, let alone touch me.”
Cynthia drew her hands back, flustered. How to explain without sounding utterly mad? “Yes, but you’re the only one who knows that.”
Belle glanced behind her, no doubt making sure Lady Williams, her employer, was fully occupied. “Whatever are you talking about?”
Cynthia sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. She felt a headache coming on. “Helen was ill and refused to attend.” She frowned. “She’s been ill often lately.” She shook her head, scattering her wayward thoughts. “Auntie asked me to pretend to be Helen because she’s heard rumors that Lord Kennwick is losing interested in her daughter.”
Belle laughed. “You aren’t serious?”
She nodded, feeling rather miserable now that the ridiculous plan had been admitted. “She’s worried he’ll forget Helen if she isn’t in attendance.”
Belle shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing. Her friend was beautiful, even dressed in the dowdy brown gown forced upon her. Too pretty to be a companion to the old and dour Lady Williams. But as with Cynthia, Belle had no choice.
Belle frowned. “She’s ill every day? How peculiar.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Your cousin doesn’t have the best of reputations.”
“Yes,” Cynthia sighed, “But what is your point?”
Belle patted her hand. “Cynthia, my dear, sometimes I worry about your innocence.” Her friend looked around, then leaned closer. “It sounds as if your cousin is expecting.”
Cynthia laughed. “What? No…no…” Was she?
“Merely a thought.” Her attention slid to the area beyond Cynthia’s shoulder and Belle sighed. “Your aunt is coming, which means it’s my time to leave.” She dropped into a quick curtsey then scurried away.
“Cynthia,” Auntie hissed. Suddenly she was there, grasping onto her arm and jerking her forward. “I told you not to talk to that servant.”
Belle was hardly a servant, but she knew it was pointless to argue that fact.
“Two dances only, understand? No matter how persuasive he may be, only two dances. Then have him escort you back to me and we’ll take our leave.”
“Yes, Mum.”
She paused and looked directly into Cynthia’s eyes; the woman’s hatred was almost palpable. “You owe me this much. If not for us, you would have been sent to an orphanage. We took you in, of our own good will.”
“Yes, Mum,” Cynthia replied, ignoring the burn of shame that twisted her gut.
What else could she say? That at times she would have preferred the orphanage to the hatred she’d found with her family?
Her aunt smirked. “Wonderful, because he’s coming this way.”
Cynthia spun around, the skirt of her dress flaring wide. Sure enough, Gabriel was strolling toward her, guests scurrying out of his way. He was lean, elegant, and his confident pace spoke of an arrogance only a man who’d been titled his entire life could hold. He was completely and utterly above her station.
Those silver eyes shone through his black mask and pinned her, like an animal stalking prey. Instinct told her to turn, to hide, to flee. But she couldn’t. She would stand her ground. She would lie about who she was, and she would savor every moment.
Cynthia had loved Gabriel Baston after reading that first letter and she knew, without a doubt, her heart would break because of it.
********
There was one thing Gabriel Baston was sure of; he couldn’t trust bloody anyone. That included his soon to be fiancé. Oh, he’d trusted her for the past couple years; she’d given him hope through her sweet and emotional letters that they’d have a marriage of more than just convenience.
But since he’d arrived in London, after traveling abroad for years, he’d come to the conclusion that Helen was completely and utterly different from the woman she’d portrayed herself to be. Helen annoyed and fascinated him. But mostly annoyed.
He never knew what he’d find when visiting the woman; sweet and shy, or flirtatious and silly. For some men, he supposed the mystery would be exciting. But for him, it was bloody exhausting. Even tonight, across a crowded ballroom, he could tell that once again, Helen was acting oddly. That arrogant tilt of her chin was missing. That smugness gone. She seemed like a deer at the end of a hunting rifle.
Usually, she adored attention. But not tonight. Tonight she was attempting to hide behind a potted palm, although her mother was doing her best to pull her onto the floor. Earlier he was sure he’d spotted her spying on him from behind a marble column. Spying, for God’s sake!
Gabriel frowned and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray. He nodded his appreciation to the footman and then downed the disgusting, bubbly liquid. Steeling his resolve, he set the empty flute on a tray as another servant swept by.
She was up to something. Yes, he’d be a fool to trust her. He still couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened between that last letter and his first visit with her. For two years now she’d written him wonderful, beautiful letters. She’d bared her soul in those missives. He thought he knew her. He’d bared his soul in his as well. He’d discussed his feelings toward his father. The admittance that he hated the city. He’d completely and utterly destroyed his reputation as an uncaring cad.
When he’d arrived in London only a few months ago, he’d expected to connect with her immediately. Instead she’d been cold, aloof, silly. Hell, he’d more spark with that quiet and demure companion of hers. Cynthia. She was the complete opposite of Helen. And after a half an hour of silly chatter from Helen, she was a breath of fresh air.
Bloody hell, he didn’t understand women in the least.
“Kennwick! Lad, how are you?”
&nb
“Going to visit your fiancé?” He patted his belly, bloated with age and too much whiskey. “Aww, now she’s a looker, she is.” He leaned closer, his foul breath fanning Gabriel’s neck. “But you know who I’d like to get my hands on? That quiet companion of hers. I have a feeling she’d be a tigress in bed.” Annoyed, Gabriel started forward, but not quick enough to avoid the second slap, a loud whack to his shoulder. “See what you can do about that, won’t you lad?”
Gabriel curled his fists, his anger boiling. Bastard. He wanted to hit the man. Instead he merely gave him a tight smile and continued on. Cynthia certainly deserved better than Roberts. He’d only seen her three times, always sitting quietly while he talked with Helen. But he knew enough to know she was a sweet girl, kind, shy. She deserved a nice farmer…no. A Vicar? No, he had a feeling she had some fire underneath her quiet façade. She deserved…perhaps a baron. Someone who would respect her, dress her in fine things.
He wasn’t an idiot, he’d noticed the few times he’d visited Helen that Cynthia wasn’t treated well. It certainly wasn’t uncommon for companions to be ignored. But he’d see an end to it once they married. He wouldn’t have her treated as a servant, as he’d been treated as a child, forgotten, invisible. No one deserved to be treated that way.
The closer he got to Lady Hogar, the more suspicious he became. She was angry with her daughter, that was obvious. Was she actually pinching her? How very odd! Disgusted, he almost turned to leave. He felt no connection to the woman who would be his mother-in-law. He supposed she wasn’t bad to look at, but she was flamboyant, annoying, greedy. Completely opposite of his mother’s cold demeanor, yet just as bad. A woman to be endured until he and Helen were married, if they married.
“My Lord!” The older woman chimed at his approach, giving him an overly wide smile that ate up half her narrow face. “How wonderful to see you.” She nudged her elbow into Helen’s side.
The girl dropped into a quick curtsey. Her bosom practically popped from the low neckline of her garish red gown. From what he could tell, simplicity was not Helen’s choice of fashion. Yet, still, he remembered Helen being rather flat in the chest area. Amazing and wonderful, what corsets could do. He lifted his gaze to her face, but could see little through the black veil posing as a mask.
“My lord,” she muttered, her soft voice barely audible over the music and conversation surrounding them.
“Have you come to dance?” Lady Hogar asked, pushing her daughter forward before Gabriel had a chance to answer.
Helen fell into him, her body soft and warm and wonderful. He forced his thoughts to remain pure, forced his body not to harden at the contact. His opinion would not be swayed by a lovely body. His hands clasped her upper arms, holding her steady.
Her shimmering red hair caught the candle light and practically glowed. Lighter in color than he remembered, but then he hadn’t seen her in months.
“Of course. I would love to dance,” he said. She was staring at his jacket, acting the timid mouse. What was her game? “If she’ll have me.”
Lady Hogar laughed an annoying shrill, nervous sound. “Of course she’ll have you.”
Helen smelled different, he realized. Not the heavy, suffocating French perfume she usually wore, but something soft, sweet, natural. Something that quite stirred his blood. Perhaps he’d been too quick to dismiss their relationship.
“What say you,” he whispered to the top of her head. “Will you have me?”
She looked up briefly through the lace, her eyes a flash of blue like a cloudless summer sky, and he felt her glance like a torch, burning his skin.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the warning heat that taunted his body. Something was odd. Something was different. Something was wrong. Yet, he couldn’t seem to care at the moment. All he cared about was touching her. She was a beautiful woman and from the first moment he’d seen her, he’d been interested. But tonight, tonight with her lush body in his arms, he suddenly felt as if he must have her. He slid her arm through his and led her toward the dance floor. Her steps were soft beside him, soft and hesitant.
Why did he feel as if he was a wolf leading a lamb to slaughter? He pulled her close, one hand resting on her back, the feel of her silky gown making him think all sorts of lustful thoughts, the other hand clasping her gloved fingers in his. She didn’t look at him, but continued to stare at the buttons of his jacket. The music started, giving him an excuse to pull her closer, twirling her into a waltz. Closer than was appropriate, so close, those soft breasts brushed against his chest in an erotic way with each step they took. Suddenly the entire world fell away and only they were on that floor, dancing.
“There’s something different about you.”
She started and missed a step. His grip around her waist tightened as he pulled her closer, chest to chest, hips to hips. His cock stirred to life, desire pulsing through him. Blast, but how he wished he could see her face. Rip that ridiculous lace mask from her features. As it was, her eyes were shaded, her lush mouth barely visible. He had no idea what she was thinking.
“Nothing different,” she blurted out.
“Nonsense, you’re acting odd.”
She looked down, left, right, anywhere but at him. Like a newborn kitten, the woman actually trembled in his embrace.
Any desire he felt turned to pure annoyance. He was tired of her games. She either wanted him or not and he’d be damned if he’d wait until after marriage to find out. He twirled her into a particularly dizzying spin. With her balance off, he took the opportunity to lean close, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. “When our dance is over, you’ll meet me in the garden.”
She gasped, finally looking up at him. “But…but it’s raining!”
“Barely a drizzle. There’s a folly. Go to it.”
“But…but my silk gown will be ruined.”
He smiled briefly. “I shall buy you a new one.”
She continued to frown. And her frown was not a good sign at all. She didn’t want to meet him. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Had he mistaken the connection in their letters? He watched her as he twirled, her fine figure elegant. She was made to dance. Would she be just as elegant in bed?
The thought sent his heart racing, his breath coming out in harsh pants that he couldn’t seem to control. Since he’d arrived in London, he’d been unsure about Helen. But now, at this moment, there was no doubt that he wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted her before. And tonight, he would find out if she wanted him as much.
Chapter 2
Cynthia couldn’t stop trembling. She never should have agreed to this nonsense. Not only could it ruin what little reputation she held, but it was wrong! Bloody wrong! Gabriel didn’t deserve this. How badly she wanted to tell him the truth. But then what? Lady Hogar would toss her from the home without a pence and even worse, Gabriel would hate her for lying.
And now…now she was sneaking out the French doors like a trollop, while everyone else was dancing in the warmth of the ballroom. The weather only added to her unease. The night sky overcast, the clouds stripping the stars of any chance to display their light. The very air had seemed to change with his presence; vibrating, pulsing with a steady energy. She paused on the veranda, the slate slippery with rain. A mist dampened her hair and covered her exposed arms and upper chest in a chill kiss.
Spotting the Greek looking folly of marble, she hesitated. Anticipation thrummed through her body, tempting her to move down the steps until her slippers sank into damp grass. Halfway there, s
The round space was empty but for shadows. He wasn’t there. Her heart squeezed painfully. He hadn’t come. He hadn’t bothered. Or had his request been a jest meant to humiliate? Perhaps he knew her secret and meant to punish her. Part of her was relieved he wasn’t here. Part of her miserable.
She wrapped her arms around a marble post and held tight. He hadn’t come. How utterly alone she felt as she stared at the manor. To many she supposed the windows were a bright beacon of safety and happiness; couples dancing and mingling. But she did not belong, never had.
How often had she stood at the perimeter of a ballroom, watching, always watching. Barely noticed and when noticed, only by the rakes who thought she would be an easy target. But those letters from Gabriel …those letters had made her feel as if she belonged…belonged somewhere…belonged with him.
“You came.”
Cynthia gasped and spun around. From the shadows a tall, lean figure stepped forward. Her heart thundered madly. Even in the dark, she recognized him. How long had he been watching her?
“You told me to,” she stammered, her hands coming to rest on her quivering belly. The folly seemed smaller now that he was here.
“Yes, but you never seem to do anything anyone tells you.”
She had to remember he was speaking of her cousin, not her. No, because meek Cynthia did everything she was told. He started forward slowly, his shoes tapping against the marble floor. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Her lungs had shrunk. She squeezed backward but found her exit blocked by cold stone walls.
“I do listen, upon occasion,” she murmured softly, too afraid to speak louder for fear he’d recognized her voice. “When I want to.”