She did not see how he could have done so, when she had been so careful in her choice of an alias, her acquaintance with the Bambury family allowing her to write as accurate a reference as possible, considering she was not really Mrs Leighton. But that did not stop Elena from now chewing worriedly on her bottom lip. If Hawthorne chose to dismiss her—
‘I said come, damn it.’ There was no mistaking the impatient irritation in his lordship’s voice.
Elena’s cheeks felt flushed as she opened the door and stepped gingerly into a room lined with bookcases halfway up the mahogany-panelled walls, with several original paintings above them, and a huge mahogany desk dominating the room.
At least…it would have been the dominating feature of the study if the gentleman seated behind that desk had not so easily taken that honour for himself!
Tall and broad-shouldered in a superfine of the same dark grey as his eyes over a paler-grey waistcoat, his linen snowy white, the neckcloth at his throat arranged meticulously, his stylish hair dark as a raven’s wing above that austerely handsome face, Lord Adam Hawthorne effortlessly filled the room with his overwhelming presence.
But it was a presence that Elena did not find in the least frightening, as she did so many other men following her cousin Neville’s cruelty to her. Indeed, Adam Hawthorne, despite—or because of?—his air of detachment, was a man who inspired trust rather than fear…
His mouth thinned disapprovingly as he leant back his chair. ‘Did you have some difficulty just now in understanding my invitation to enter?’
‘No. I—’ She breathed out softly through her teeth before straightening her shoulders determinedly. ‘No, of course I did not,’ she answered more strongly. ‘I merely paused before entering in order to…to adjust my appearance.’ It took all of her considerable self-will to withstand that critical gaze as it swept over her slowly, from the neat and smoothly styled bun at her nape, the pallor of her face, down over the black of her gown, to the toes of her black ankle boots peeking out from beneath the hem of that gown, before once again returning to her now-flushed and discomforted face.
He observed her coolly. ‘Might I enquire why it is you still choose to wear your widow’s weeds when your husband died almost two years ago?’
Elena was visibly taken aback by the directness of his question. Nor did she intend—or, in the circumstances, was able—to explain that she chose to wear black out of respect for the death two months ago of her beloved grandfather, George Matthews, the previous Duke of Sheffield!
He raised a dark brow. ‘Perhaps it is that you loved your husband so much that you still mourn his loss?’
‘Or perhaps it is that I am simply too poor to be able to replace my mourning gowns with something more frivolous?’ Elena felt stung into replying as she easily heard the underlying scepticism in his derisive tone.
Adam eyed her thoughtfully. ‘If that should indeed be the situation, would it not have been prudent to ask me for an advance on your wages?’
Elena’s eyes widened. ‘I trust you are not about to insult me further by suggesting I might use your money with which to purchase new gowns, my lord?’
Adam frowned his irritation with this young woman’s prickliness. He tried to not remember Royston had accused him of having the very same fault only yesterday evening…
Adam owed his own withdrawal from society to the adulterous behaviour of his deceased wife. His fierce pride would not allow him to relax his guard when in the company of the ton. Elena Leighton’s surliness also appeared to be a matter of pride, but in her case, it was pride over her lack of finances. ‘It would be money you have earned in taking care of Amanda,’ he pointed out calmly.
‘Except, as I suggested might be the case yesterday, I believe you may be dissatisfied with my services…?’
Damn it, Adam wished she would not use such words as that!
The word ‘service’ once again conjured up images of this woman performing all manner of intimacies he would rather not be allowed to distract him at this moment…
Adam found had already been distracted—and aroused—enough already by the pretty pout of her reddened lips when she entered his study a few minutes ago. So much so that the material of his pantaloons was now stretched uncomfortably tight across the throb of his swollen shaft beneath his desk.
He stood up to try to ease that discomfort before realising what he had done and turning away to hide the evidence of his arousal, gazing out of the window into the garden at the back of his London home. ‘I do not recall making any such remark.’
‘You implied it when you questioned my lack of years—’
‘Mrs Leighton!’ Adam turned back sharply, linking his hands in front of him to hide that telltale bulge as he observed her through narrowed lids. ‘I believe we have already discussed my views regarding you making assumptions about any of my comments or actions. If I have something to say, then be assured I will not hesitate to say it. How long will it take you to make ready to leave Hawthorne House?’
Elena stepped back with a gasp, her face paling as she raised her hand in an effort to calm her rapidly beating heart at the mere thought of being cast out alone into the world once again. ‘You are dismissing me…?’
‘For heaven’s sake, woman, will you stop reading meanings into my every word, meanings that are simply not there!’ Adam exploded as he scowled down the length of his aristocratic nose at her. ‘I have several things in need of my attention on my estate in Cambridgeshire, and it is my wish for you and Amanda to accompany me there.’
‘To Cambridgeshire?’
He nodded tersely. ‘That is what I have just said, yes.’
‘Oh…’
He flicked a black brow. ‘There is some problem with that course of action?
It was a county in England that Elena had never visited before, but of course she had no objection to accompanying Lord Hawthorne and his daughter there.
Not as such…
The truth of the matter was that Elena had made a conscious decision to move to London after her grandfather had died so suddenly, and following the terrible scene with her cousin, which had occurred after the funeral.
Her grandfather, once a soldier, had told her that the best way to hide from the enemy was in plain sight, which was the reason Elena had chosen to change her appearance as far as she was able and adopt an assumed name, before accepting the post as governess to Amanda Hawthorne, a post that largely involved staying inside the house with her charge. Even if Neville Matthews, her cousin and abuser, and the new Duke of Sheffield, did decide to come to town, then he was unlikely to accept any but private invitations following the recent death of their grandfather.
She did not believe that she had any acquaintances living in Cambridgeshire, but she nevertheless felt safer in the anonymity of London…
‘Perhaps,’ Adam continued relentlessly as he saw the uncertainty in her expression, ‘it is that you have…acquaintances, here in London, you would be reluctant to be parted from, even for a week or so…?’ Just because the woman had been widowed for almost two years, and she still wore her black clothes as a sign of her continued mourning, did not mean that she had not taken a lover during that time. Several, in fact.
Indeed, Adam had heard it said that physical closeness was one of the things most lamented when one’s husband or wife died. Not true in his case, of course; he and Fanny had not shared so much as a brief kiss from the moment he had learnt of her first infidelity just a month after their wedding.
But Elena Leighton was a young and beautiful woman, and she had already explained that she still wore her widow’s attire for financial reasons rather than emotional ones. It was naïve on Adam’s part to assume that she had not taken a lover. Quite when she met with that lover—perhaps