Instinctively, her trembling hands yanked the counterpane up to cover her breasts. She bolted to a sitting position.
He allowed his words to permeate before angling a glance in her direction, his eyes cold and remote. “Tell me, Elizabeth, do I have my facts correct?”
Oh God, he knew, was her first painful thought.
But yet he’d made love to her.
How long had he known? came a more disquieting question.
And then she knew.
“How long have you known? From the beginning?” Elizabeth desperately needed the answer, yet didn’t really want to know.
“Long enough.” His tone was brisk and no nonsense.
She clutched the sheet closer to her, now too aware of her nakedness. “So all this time you were—”
“Don’t you dare try and turn this on me,” he warned between clenched teeth, rising swiftly from the bed. “I was not the one pretending to be someone I’m not.”
He located his discarded clothes and began yanking them on. His movements were hurried and abrupt as if he couldn’t wait to remove himself from her presence.
“I never once pretended with you. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. I knew you’d think—”
“That you are as much a liar and a conniver as your sister.”
Elizabeth’s head jerked back, his words as hurtful as a physical blow. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Just as you accepted your brother’s word as truth because he is your blood, I feel the same about my sister. I won’t sit here while you malign her character.”
“I notice you didn’t deny that you are a liar and a conniver.”
“I’m not,” she whispered in a choked voice. She was living her worst nightmare, the one day she’d feared the most. “And what of you? Yes, you’re correct, I didn’t tell you who I was because I knew how you feel about my family. But that is the full extent of my sins. I didn’t set to hurt you but you deliberately set out not merely to hurt me, but to ruin me.”
Something flickered in his eyes. If he possessed a conscience under all his condescension and judgment, she might have thought it had just been pricked.
“I am no longer a virgin.” But in truth, she’d lost more than her virginity the past hour.
He gave a dark laugh and sent her a sidelong glance as he tugged on his trousers. “I did not take your virginity.”
Elizabeth blinked certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“But you did.” It wasn’t so much as statement as it was a protest.
In a sweeping motion, he gestured toward the bed sheets. “Where is the blood? In any case, I tried to stop but you wouldn’t let me go. Did you forget how you were, scratching, biting to get your way,” he cruelly reminded her. “I’m no bloody saint. When a beautiful woman begs me to make love to her, who am I to refuse her.”
Elizabeth’s face burned as she vacillated between shock and shame. In the end, she’d been the sexual aggressor, lustful, demanding and greedy. But despite her behavior and the sexual fire he’d been responsible in igniting in her, she had been a virgin.
“Exactly how many virgins have you had?”
He stilled in tucking his shirt into his trousers. His face was in profile so she couldn’t see his eyes to try to read him.
After a moment’s silence, he resumed dressing. When his clothes were in order, he turned and faced her. “You’ve played me for a fool once. I’ll not let it happen again.” His tone held a bitter, hard edge. “I will leave you to dress and await you downstairs.”
The door clicked closed seconds later and she was alone. But for the unfamiliar ache between her thighs, she felt alone and numb.
The tears fell then. They fell slowly at first before becoming a constant stream, vivid reminders of the crippling pain of heartbreak.
He had deceived her, exacting his vengeance by targeting her where she was weakest. Her desire for him. But she could blame no one but herself for what had taken place tonight. It had been a risky and dangerous game of who would blink first. She’d done a great deal more than blink and for that he would make sure she paid.
Dear Lord, what was she going to do?
She heard his footsteps downstairs where he was undoubtedly impatiently pacing the hall.
Elizabeth scrambled off the bed. At present, she hadn’t the time to indulge in self-pity and a good bout of weeping.
As she dressed, she tried not to think about what had occurred on the bed. But for all her attempts to keep the memories at bay, they flooded her thoughts vivid and hot.
She had thought the first time would be painful. That had not been the case. His initial possession had caused a tinge of discomfort, but that had been swept away under a storm of pleasure. So much pleasure.
No, don’t think of it.
In order to slip her dress over her head, she had to leave half the buttons unfastened. She pulled on her pelisse and buttoned it up to her neck to hide the way the bodice sagged in the front. She then bundled her mussed hair under her bonnet.
There, she was finished but not ready to face him. Summoning up her courage, she exited the room and descended the stairs.
Derek stood rigid as a palace guard by the front door. His expression was closed and his eyes cold. They proceeded to the carriage parked in front of the residence and completed the journey back to Laurel House in silence.
Upon their arrival at the manor, the viscount insisted on escorting her to the door over her vehement protests. One would imagine he’d be happy to see the back of her.
Why must he insist on torturing me more than he’s already done?
Just when Elizabeth had thought the day could not possibly get worse, the front door swung open to reveal her mother standing on the other side.
Chapter Nine
“Mama!” It wasn’t a greeting. Elizabeth had glimpsed her face in the mirror of the vanity in the bedchambers, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her face a mottled mess.
“Lizzie,” her mother practically shrieked in delight.
Soon Elizabeth was enfolded in slender arms, breathing in the scent of her mother’s favorite perfume. It reminded her of lilies and the tiny garden they’d had at their home in Penkridge.
Considered a beauty in her time, her mother had managed to maintain much of her looks, her complexion smooth, her brown eyes crinkled lightly at the corners and her hair, light brown and subtly streaked with gray.
Elizabeth found herself hugging her mother’s slight frame tightly, suddenly homesick and craving the warmth and loving security of family. But she refused to get misty eyed, especially in front of the viscount.
Her mother set her away from her. “Are you surprised?”
“Mama, what are you doing here? What about the house?”
“I didn’t receive a letter from you the week past. You know how I worry.”
“But I posted it.” Her mother would use any excuse to come to London. But their new residence had been in desperate need of renovations. And her mother trusted no one to oversee the effort and that included Elizabeth’s father and sister, Rebecca.
“I did receive a letter from Teresa.”
Mrs. Abernathy. Elizabeth suppressed a groan. That explained everything.
It was only then that her mother directed her attention to Derek. He hadn’t left but stood quietly behind them watching their reunion.
“Who is this, Lizzie?” Her mother’s smile welcomed the viscount. It was obvious she didn’t recognize him.
An awkward silence followed. Her mother’s smile fell as her gaze darted between them. Two lines formed on her brow.
“Mama, this is Lord Derek Creswell.”
A sharpened gaze returned to the viscount. Comprehension dawned on her mother’s face. She stood back and switched her scrutiny to Elizabeth.