when he had questioned her as to whether or not she suffered from a guilty conscience.
Adam was now even further convinced that this woman was indeed hiding something. Quite what that something was, he had no idea as yet. But he had every intention of finding out. At the earliest opportunity. After all, he had entrusted this woman with the day-to-day care of his young and impressionable daughter.
Adam looked at her down the length of his nose. ‘I must return to the schoolroom now, but be aware I do not consider this conversation over.’
She gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. ‘As your employee, I of course await your further instruction.’
Now there was something to contemplate. Having Elena Leighton—the young and extremely beautiful Elena Leighton, the widowed Elena Leighton—awaiting his further instruction…
Adam pondered the dilemma of what he might choose to instruct her to do first. That she take the pins from that unbecoming bun and release that abundance of silky black hair, perhaps? Or that she unfasten those widow’s weeds and reveal the fullness of her breasts to him? Or perhaps he would enjoy something more personal to himself?
His gaze moved to the fullness of her lips. What, he wondered, would it feel like to have Elena Leighton on her knees before him and those lips skilfully wrapped about his engorged length? Teasing him, testing him, satisfying him?
Damn it all! What was he thinking?
He was not a man to be led about by that part of his anatomy. If his ill-fated marriage to Fanny had succeeded in nothing else, then it had served to cure him of that particular folly!
Adam stepped away abruptly, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘We will talk of this further tomorrow.’ He gaze swept over her coldly before he turned on his heel and strode from the room, closing the door forcefully behind him.
Elena staggered back to collapse down on to the chair once more, her breathing fast and shallow, her heart beating erratically in her chest as she endeavoured to calm herself and the panic which had engulfed her, and which she had tried her best to hide, when he had touched her.
She had no idea what had happened to bring about that sudden conversation with him, or the subject of it. Why he had chosen to follow her to Amanda’s bedchamber at all even, let alone take hold of her wrist, albeit gently?
What she did know, from the tenor of his questions, and the merciless coldness in his eyes before he left so abruptly, was that he was not a gentleman who would easily forgive being deceived. As Elena had deceived him from the first…
For not only was her name not Elena Leighton, but she was not a widow either—indeed, she had never been married.
Nor had she ever been tutor and companion to Fiona Bambury, the real Mrs Leighton, after leaving the Bamburys’ employment, having decided to move to Scotland to care for the elderly parents of her deceased husband.
All of which Elena knew because she had been acquainted with the Bamburys, their country estate some twenty miles distant from her own grandfather’s home, the couple occasional guests at his dinner table, as Elena and her grandfather had been occasional dinner guests at theirs’.
Because her name—her true name—was not Elena Leighton, but Miss Magdelena Matthews.
And she was the granddaughter of George Matthews, the previous Duke of Sheffield, and the young woman whose disappearance, so quickly following her grandfather’s funeral, still had all of society agog with speculation…
‘Thorne? Damn it, Hawthorne, wait up there, man!’
Adam came to a halt in the hollow-sounding hallways of the House of Lords before turning to see who hailed him. A frown appeared between his eyes as he recognised Justin St Just, Duke of Royston, striding purposefully towards him, several other members moving hastily aside to allow him to pass.
A tall, blond-haired Adonis, with eyes of periwinkle blue set in an arrogantly handsome face, and a powerful build that the ladies all swooned over, Royston was also one of the more charismatic members of the House. Although the two men were of a similar age and regularly attended sessions, and their respective grandmothers had been lifelong friends, the two men had never been particularly close. Their views and lifestyles were too different for that, especially so in recent years, when Adam had avoided most of society events, and Royston was known to have the devil’s own luck with the ladies and at the card tables.
Also, Adam had never been sure whether or not Royston had been one of Fanny’s legion of lovers…
‘Royston,’ he greeted the other man coolly.
The duke eyed him with shrewd speculation. ‘You seem in somewhat of a hurry to get away tonight, Hawthorne. Off to see a lady friend?’ He quirked a mocking brow.
Adam drew himself up stiffly, the two men of similar height. ‘I trust that, as a gentleman, you do not expect me to confirm or deny that question?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Royston drawled unapologetically. ‘You appear to have become something of a…recluse in recent years, Hawthorne.’
Adam’s gaze became glacial. ‘Did you have something specific you wished to discuss with me, or may I now be on my way?’
‘Damn, but you have become a prickly bastard!’ The duke’s expression turned to one of deep irritation. ‘Join me in a drink at one of the clubs so that we might talk in a less public arena?’ he added impatiently as several people jostled them in their haste to leave and received a legendary St Just scowl for their trouble.
Adam’s demeanour lightened slightly. ‘As it happens I was on my way to White’s.’
The other man grimaced. ‘I had a less…respectable club in mind, but certainly, White’s will do as a start to the evening. I have my carriage outside.’
‘As I have mine.’
The duke regarded him enigmatically for several long seconds before acquiescing. ‘Very well. We shall both travel in your coach and mine will follow. Unless you have it in mind to join me in visiting the other clubs later?’
‘No.’ Adam’s tone was uncompromising.
‘As you wish.’ Royston shrugged.
They did not speak again until they were safely ensconced at a secluded table at White’s and both nursing a large glass of brandy, the duke slumped comfortably in his chair, Adam sitting upright across from him.
The two men had met often in past years at one ton function or another. In truth, Adam had always liked the man’s arrogant disregard for society’s strictures. Indeed, his own reserve towards the man this past few years was caused by his doubts regarding any past involvement between Royston and Fanny; Fanny’s affairs had been so numerous during their marriage that Adam was sure even she had forgotten half her lovers’ names.
That Adam and Fanny had occupied separate bedchambers after the first month of their marriage had not been generally known and made Fanny’s adulterous behaviour, after Amanda was born, all the more of a humiliation. It would have been easier by
