“Some more than others,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “But you see, my lady, every time you’re kind to Amelia, you make me want you more.”
She watched as if in a dream as he lifted his hand and stroked one long finger down her cheek, lingering just at the corner of her mouth. Eleanor’s eyes drifted closed. Her bottom lip gave under the slight pressure of that warm finger, and her mouth opened for him.
A harsh, ragged sound tore from his chest. Eleanor opened her eyes. He was staring at her mouth, at the place where his finger caressed her.
When he said he wanted her, did he mean . . .
She jerked her head back in a sudden panic. “You’ll never know who you’ve married. Kind or cold, foolish or clever. How will you be able to tell the difference?”
His fiery green eyes chilled and the cold mask descended over his face again. “Ah, my dear Lady Eleanor. What makes you think it matters either way?”
Chapter Nine
“How can it not matter? Unless . . .”
Her voice trailed off into silence. Cam watched her, waited for the moment when she realized whatever his reasons for choosing her as his bride, they hadn’t anything to do with her at all.
It didn’t take long. Her features stiffened and her face went so pale he began to fear she might swoon. For the first time since this began, he saw real fear darken her eyes.
“Perhaps you’d better tell me what’s truly going on here, Mr. West.”
Maybe it was her quiet dignity, or maybe it was the way her eyes had gone so huge in her white face, but Cam felt an odd squeezing sensation in his chest, and Julian’s words from the night of the Foster’s ball echoed in his head.
I don’t like it. This is badly done, Cam.
Perhaps it was. It had begun badly enough, but he’d end it neatly. Quickly.
But to do that, he needed to see Eleanor Sutherland as nothing more than the last act in a play that began eleven years ago, a play with all the wrong players, all the wrong lines. This was a performance, nothing more—a tragedy from the start, both for his mother and Amelia. It was too late for his mother, but he’d sworn to himself he’d put things right for Amelia with this one final act—a final player across the stage.
It was justice, nothing more. Parity. He didn’t wish to punish Lady Eleanor—he had no wish to hurt her. He’d be kind to her, and generous. She’d be happy enough. As happy as she’d be in any aristocratic marriage.
He’d told himself this story over and over again, ever since he decided she’d pay the price for another’s sins. But what seemed simple enough in theory became another thing altogether when he looked into Eleanor Sutherland’s enormous dark eyes.
“Mr. West? Will you answer my question?”
He stared at her, at the stubborn raised chin, the sleek dark hair pulled away from her brow. If anything, her face had grown paler.
Just now, when he’d seen her with Amelia . . .
She’d been kind to his sister. She’d made Amelia laugh, put her at ease with a gentle, warm humor he would have thought a lady like her incapable of. For one moment as he watched them together, he’d felt the cold weight inside him lift, as if a stone had rolled off his chest.
Part of him had welcomed that feeling, had hoped he’d be able to breathe at last—deep warm breaths to thaw the ice that settled around his heart eleven years ago.
He’d almost kissed her.
That part of him, the same part that wanted to breathe, wanted her lips. Craved them. Even now he could feel the soft skin of her cheek against the pad of his finger, the seductive warmth at the corner of her mouth.
But the other part of him, the part he recognized, held back. That part didn’t want to know her, that woman he’d gotten a brief glimpse of just now, that warm woman who’d taken pains to make a child feel welcome.
If he knew her, he’d never be able to do this to her.
He could manipulate Hart Sutherland’s daughter. He could threaten thetondarling and never suffer a pang of conscience. He could force the grand Lady Eleanor Sutherland into marriage with no regrets whatsoever.
But Eleanor? Ellie.
Could he do this to her?
With the Sutherland name behind her, Amelia would have every advantage he could give her. If not true acceptance, then what amounted to the same thing when it came to the ton.
