looks, and that though many years had passed, they had been kind to her. She knew she was aging well. In fact, she was more pleased by her own appearance now than she had been ten years ago. Of course, Brahm was weathering time well himself, but that was beside the point. She wanted him to see that her marriageless state was of her choosing, not because no one would have her. She wanted him to admire her, perhaps even try to renew his addresses just so she could have the pleasure of grinding his hopes beneath her heel.
God help her, after all these years she wanted at least some retribution for what he had done.
Thank God she hadn't been in love with him. What a mess that would have been! Her heart might never have recovered. As it was it took her pride— and yes, her heart— longer than it should have to repair the damage done. She had liked Brahm— liked him very much— and her disappointment had been keenly felt.
Much like the lurch of her heart when he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and joined the rest of their party.
Even as Eleanor cursed her own body's reaction to the blasted man, her gaze fastened on him greedily, drinking in every detail of his appearance. How easy and composed he seemed— how uncaring. People stared at him, and he didn't seem the least bit bothered, but then he was probably used to stares by now, given some of his past exploits.
The sun brought out warm shades of gold and red in the waves of his too-long hair. Did the man not have a valet to tend to such things? Most men would have looked shabby with such locks, but not Brahm. He looked boyish and tousled, and more than a little rakish. The lines around his eyes and mouth should have made an old man of him, but they only added to his carefree appearance. He had the look of a man who laughed often.
Laughter. What amusement could life have possibly afforded Brahm Ryland? He had been disowned by society. He had earned a lame leg from the same accident that killed his father. Surely he found no laughter in such things?
She had more reason to smile than he did, and yet she knew her own face to be as smooth as a porcelain doll's. She could be just as cool and expressionless as a doll as well, though there was no explaining it. Despite the fullness of her life, she sometimes felt utterly empty inside. Somewhere along the way she had become so amazingly adept at concealing her emotions that she hid them even from herself.
Brahm smiled at someone who spoke to him, crinkling the skin around his russet eyes and revealing straight white teeth. With his impeccable buff trousers and chocolate jacket, polished boots and snowy cravat, he looked every inch the gentleman. The gold top of his cane flashed in the sun, adding to his elegant aspect. He had obviously taken pains with his appearance as well. But for whose benefit? Hers? Impossible.
"He is a fine-looking man, is he not?"
Despite the heat, a chill passed over Eleanor as she gazed upward. Lydia stood beside her, her gaze lingering on Brahm in what Eleanor suspected might be a hungry manner.
"Who?" How difficult it was to feign ignorance.
It seemed to take great effort for the younger woman to tear her gaze away from the man across the lawn, but when she did, she directed those pale blue eyes at her sister. "You know who. Take care not to stare, dearest. The gossips will say you still have feelings for him."
The words were said without a hint of malice or poison, and yet Eleanor flushed at them. It was on the tip of her tongue to give Lydia a similar warning, but she held her silence. Her sister was only thinking of her best interests and did not deserve such vitriol in return.
"The gossips will say whatever they wish regardless," she responded coolly. "Do not concern yourself, Lydia. I am in no danger where Brahm Ryland is concerned."
The look her sister flashed her was hard to
God help her, after all these years she wanted at least some retribution for what he had done.
Thank God she hadn't been in love with him. What a mess that would have been! Her heart might never have recovered. As it was it took her pride— and yes, her heart— longer than it should have to repair the damage done. She had liked Brahm— liked him very much— and her disappointment had been keenly felt.
Much like the lurch of her heart when he stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and joined the rest of their party.
Even as Eleanor cursed her own body's reaction to the blasted man, her gaze fastened on him greedily, drinking in every detail of his appearance. How easy and composed he seemed— how uncaring. People stared at him, and he didn't seem the least bit bothered, but then he was probably used to stares by now, given some of his past exploits.
The sun brought out warm shades of gold and red in the waves of his too-long hair. Did the man not have a valet to tend to such things? Most men would have looked shabby with such locks, but not Brahm. He looked boyish and tousled, and more than a little rakish. The lines around his eyes and mouth should have made an old man of him, but they only added to his carefree appearance. He had the look of a man who laughed often.
Laughter. What amusement could life have possibly afforded Brahm Ryland? He had been disowned by society. He had earned a lame leg from the same accident that killed his father. Surely he found no laughter in such things?
She had more reason to smile than he did, and yet she knew her own face to be as smooth as a porcelain doll's. She could be just as cool and expressionless as a doll as well, though there was no explaining it. Despite the fullness of her life, she sometimes felt utterly empty inside. Somewhere along the way she had become so amazingly adept at concealing her emotions that she hid them even from herself.
Brahm smiled at someone who spoke to him, crinkling the skin around his russet eyes and revealing straight white teeth. With his impeccable buff trousers and chocolate jacket, polished boots and snowy cravat, he looked every inch the gentleman. The gold top of his cane flashed in the sun, adding to his elegant aspect. He had obviously taken pains with his appearance as well. But for whose benefit? Hers? Impossible.
"He is a fine-looking man, is he not?"
Despite the heat, a chill passed over Eleanor as she gazed upward. Lydia stood beside her, her gaze lingering on Brahm in what Eleanor suspected might be a hungry manner.
"Who?" How difficult it was to feign ignorance.
It seemed to take great effort for the younger woman to tear her gaze away from the man across the lawn, but when she did, she directed those pale blue eyes at her sister. "You know who. Take care not to stare, dearest. The gossips will say you still have feelings for him."
The words were said without a hint of malice or poison, and yet Eleanor flushed at them. It was on the tip of her tongue to give Lydia a similar warning, but she held her silence. Her sister was only thinking of her best interests and did not deserve such vitriol in return.
"The gossips will say whatever they wish regardless," she responded coolly. "Do not concern yourself, Lydia. I am in no danger where Brahm Ryland is concerned."
The look her sister flashed her was hard to
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