Rules of Engagement

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  It was a heavenly kiss. There had been so few of them, yet her lips were familiar, her scent as he remembered and the softness of her body overpowered his thoughts. He groaned and deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms.

  Eleanore flowed up against him, willing and pliant. It inflamed him even more. When she moaned softly against his lips, he thought he might explode with the need to have her. He tasted every inch of her face and her throat and resented the barrier of wool tweed which prevented him from exploring any farther.

  Eleanore’s arms encouraged him. Her body pressed against him, goading him.

  He had no idea what made him stop. There was no brake in his mind. Perhaps it was where they were, of which he was finally cognizant. A public cab, with both kneeling on the floor, pressed so firmly against each other their combined body heat should have melted the layers of clothing between them.

  He groaned and let her go. He was shaking with the yearning throbbing in every limb and juncture.

  Eleanore’s lips were swollen, her eyes half-lidded with the same lust. “Cian…” she pleaded, her voice throaty and rich.

  He closed his eyes against the temptation to take this further. Then, before he could reconsider, he picked her up by the waist and put her back on her seat. He made himself sit on the other bench, breathing hard.

  Eleanore watched him, her eyes still smoky with a wanting which mirrored his own.

  Cian’s body tightened even more. He tore his attention away from it and sought for the mundane. The ordinary. “You never did like Smithers,” he made himself say. “You accepted her service because your uncle insisted. Perhaps next time you should trust your instincts, Eleanore. You are smarter about people than anyone gives you credit for.”

  “Except you,” she murmured. The sunset colored her flesh in rose tones.

  The carriage slid to a halt and Eleanore swept up the shawl and got up. “Don’t come in,” she said as Cian reached for the door.

  He sat back, his heart thrumming.

  Eleanore held out her hand. “May I have my book?”

  Silently, he held the book out to her. She reached for it, her fingers brushing over his. It was as if he had been touched by dazzling fireworks. The impact traveled up his spine and made the back of his neck ripple and his body to tighten.

  Her eyes met his. The heat and longing were still there, banked now, but enough to squash his breath and hold him still. The moment seemed to last forever.

  Then the book slid out of his fingers.

  “Thank you for your help, Cian,” she whispered and was gone.

  The inside of the cab felt empty and cold and enormous.

  It took effort he didn’t know he had left in him, but finally, he stirred and gave the cabbie his address.

  The trembling didn’t subside, not for hours. He remembered Raymond’s confession and now he understood it. Hope had ignited in his heart and now he was afraid.

  He was terribly afraid his hope might not be realized.

  Chapter Seven

  Trenton Belmont, Esq., strolled into the pavilion just when the cricket game had halted for afternoon tea. The players sat in their shirtsleeves among the spectators, sipping tea and eating cake and fruit tarts, and draining many glasses of lemonade, for the June day was unseasonably warm.

  Eleanore measured Belmont against the sweaty players, who sported patches of green on their knees and shirts from diving to catch cricket balls. Belmont, in comparison, wore a white suit which was immaculate and the very latest in fashionable attire, from the natty afternoon bowtie to the ivory-topped cane and straw boater.

  Belmont spotted her sitting with the players and smiled. He touched the brim of his hat with his cane and moved around the chairs and tables, heading in Eleanore’s direction.

  “That’s Belmont, isn’t it?” Gregory Harrison asked, leaning a little toward Eleanore. “The industrialist’s son?”

  “That is he,” she confirmed, putting down her teacup.

  Trenton Belmont bowed when he reached her. “Lady Eleanore. I would say what a surprise, only I am not surprised at all. We do keep running into each other, don’t we?”

  “As you are attending every public event of the season, it really is not a surprise,” she said lightly.

  Harrison cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Harrison. Let me introduce to you Trenton Belmont esquire. Trenton, this is Gregory, Marquess of Sacombe, and the captain of the visiting team.”

  The two men nodded stiffly.

  Belmont turned to her. “You enjoy watching cricket, Lady Eleanore?”

  “I do,” she said evenly. “I presume you do, as well, or you would not be here.”

  “Actually, I don’t understand the game at all. Someone tried to explain it to me, once. The rules are endless, aren’t they? However, the club invited me to the supper after the game and that sounded worthwhile.”

  Harrison made a sound in his throat which might have been a disguised snort of contempt, or a smothered laugh. “You’re another who considers the season a primary marriage market, too?”

  Belmont did not show any offence, although his eyes glittered with an emotion Eleanore could not fathom. She had got to know Belmont quite well over the last few weeks, for it was true, they both attended the season. There were few public affairs or private invitations Eleanore failed to attend and Belmont was at all of them, too. Society’s mothers had decided that, for now, Belmont was a worthy suitor for their daughters.

  “The money helped them decide in my favor, of course,” Belmont told Eleanore in a private moment, his smile touched with cynicism.

  “Now you have won their wallets, you can win their hearts with your sterling character,” Eleanore replied.

  His smile grew warmer. “There’s only one heart I’m interested in winning.”

  “The one heart you cannot have,” she said lightly.

  “I have not yet given up,” Belmont warned her.

  She did not reply to that sally, nor any of attempts he made to turn the conversation to the intimate and the emotional. While Belmont was ostensibly attending the season to find himself a suitable marriage partner, it was not her reason for accepting the many invitations which came her way. For the first time in her life, Eleanore found the endless daily and sometimes hourly events were a distraction from her thoughts, which had snapped from hazy and fragmented to the sharpest focus—a focus she could not afford to have.

  If she could fill her days with mindless banter and chitchat, then she might stop herself from thinking about Cian’s kiss.

  It had been weeks, yet she had not forgotten it. Of all the memories she had lost, why was that moment not one of them? It lived in the forefront of her mind, leaping into her consciousness whenever she relaxed, making her body tighten and her heart to flutter.

  Oh, how she had wished he would not let her go! While she had been in his arms, she had no thought of halting what was happening. Cian could have taken her right there in the cab and she would not have protested.

  She should be thankful he had the restraint necessary to let her go and put her back on the seat, for she’d had none. Not then.

  It was only when she stepped into the house and saw James resting on the sofa before supper that the ache in her body disappeared and she realized how foolish she had been.

  She had made a promise to James. She must keep it, for there would be few other promises between them. Her heart oozed with sadness, instead of the intense longing which had sprung from Cian’s touch. Eleanore sat on the hassock beside the sofa and told James what had happened with Smithers.

  “I suppose you are in need of another maid, then,” James observed, turning the china doll around. He wore a small, reminiscent smile, for they had fought over the doll when they were children.

  “I would like to interview the applicants myself, this time,” Eleanore said. “I would prefer someone who understands me and can get along with my quirks.”

  Coleman, who stood by the he
arth, snorted softly.

  “I will put an advertisement in the Times tomorrow,” James assured her, ignoring Coleman. He reached for the sapphires and Eleanore slid the book out from under his fingers and lifted the necklace up for him to grasp.

  Shortly after that, dinner had been announced. Nothing else was said about the day, or Cian’s great assistance. It was as if the incident had not happened.

  Eleanore could not relax, though. Her heart ran too fast. The memory of the kiss plagued her. She recalled not just the touch of his lips, but every little detail. The way his hands had run over her, the feel of his body against hers and the intervening corsetry, which had stopped the sensation from properly registering. How she had longed to be rid of it, in that moment!

  Even now, as Eleanore considered Trenton Belmont and his insistent seduction, she could still feel Cian’s lips against hers. The taste of him.

  Her heart stirred.

  “Mr. Belmont, you would be better to spend your time pursuing a different lady,” she said carefully. “I will only disappoint you.”

  “You haven’t so far,” Belmont assured her. He frowned and gently gripped her elbow, turning her slightly. “I know it is impolite to draw attention to deficiencies in a lady’s wardrobe, although you may be more embarrassed if I do not. Are you aware that both sleeves of your dress are torn at the back?”

  Eleanore glanced over her shoulder. She saw the frayed edges of the split seam from the corner of her eye. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Belmont. I was aware of it, but you are kind to point it out.”

  Gregory Harrison laughed.

  Belmont glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. “That is amusing?”

  “Very,” Harrison told him. “Ah, look. We’re returning to the pitch.” He leaned over the table and picked up the red, highly polished cricket ball. “Time for the last session. Ready, Eleanore?” He tossed the ball to her.

  She caught it and got to her feet and brushed down the shortened white dress she wore for cricket games. The boots had low heels, which allowed her to run.

  Belmont’s mouth dropped open. “No!” he said, astonishment underlining the word.

  Eleanore smiled at him. “Yes.”

  “Lady Eleanore is not our fastest bowler,” Harrison told him, “although she is by far our most accurate. Any batter who fails to fend off the ball is usually bowled out.”

  “They let you play?” Belmont breathed.

  “Let?” Harrison repeated. He rolled his eyes. “We’d be fools to exclude her. My team is at the top of the league, thanks to her.” He held out his elbow toward her. “Austria, wasn’t it, Eleanore? Where you learned to throw?”

  “Where I grew up,” she confirmed. “The boys wouldn’t teach me how to throw stones as they could, so I taught myself.”

  Harrison winked at Belmont, who was speechless. “Never tell a strong-minded woman ‘no’, Belmont.” He walked Eleanore onto the field.

  “That was mean, Gregory,” she chided him as they moved to the pitch.

  “He deserved it,” Harrison said calmly. “What do you see in him?” he added. “No, never mind. It is none of my business. I retract the question.”

  “He is honest, which is refreshing,” she replied.

  “Is that what he is?” Harrison said darkly. He let her arm go and pushed her toward the end of the pitch. “You’re up.”

  THE GAME WAS ANOTHER victory for Harrison’s team.

  Eleanore concentrated on hitting the stumps behind the batter, instead of aiming for the batter’s calves, which improved her accuracy and confounded most batters. She did not take a long run up to bowl, as some players did. She wore a petticoat and skirt and hose and far more layers than the average gentleman player, who stripped down to his shirt sleeves and rolled them up and opened the neck of his shirt.

  Although she would never tell anyone, she also left off her corset for the games. It gave her a flexibility and freedom which helped her bowling enormously.

  Harrison kept her bowling for the rest of the afternoon and she finished the game feeling pleasantly tired, which was exactly what she had hoped for.

  It amused her to realize that toward the end of the game, Trenton Belmont had recovered from his shock well enough to emerge from the pavilion and stand at the edge of the field. He cheered and clapped each time she bowled and his was one of the louder voices.

  When the game was over, she excused herself from the usual player melee to hurry to the ladies’ facilities to wash at the sink and change back into normal attire. From the main room of the pavilion, she could hear more people had arrived for the supper which always accompanied games. Cricket suppers were becoming a fashionable season event, which was a pity in a way, for Eleanore had been playing cricket for the longest time, completely unnoticed by the ton. Now, everyone knew of her peculiarity.

  However, few people ever disapproved of her family’s doings. Her father had been such a powerful man in the peerage that no one wanted to slight the Nevilles in any way. It was his name and reputation which allowed her to play cricket and not damage her reputation.

  As she re-pinned the back of her hair, Eleanore noticed in the mirror that the window behind her was no longer streaming the last of the day’s sunlight through it. The sky was dark with rain clouds.

  She turned to study the sky, her heart giving a little uneasy flutter. It had been a sweltering day. Completely cloudless and still. The sort of day, she realized now, which usually brought on thunderstorms.

  Eleanore pressed her hand against her now-corseted torso. She had spared no thought for the weather. How could she have missed the signs?

  The window was too small to check the width of the horizon and assess how likely a storm would be. The exceptionally large glass windows at the front of the pavilion, designed to give a full view of the cricket field, would let her better judge the weather.

  She hurried to the main room of the pavilion where everyone gathered for pre-dinner aperitifs.

  Trenton Belmont came up to her the moment she appeared and pressed a sherry glass into her hand. “You are a scandal, aren’t you, Lady Eleanore?”

  She took the glass absently, trying to peer around his shoulder and the heads of everyone standing between her and the windows. The light was dim in here—far dimmer than usual. Her heart gave an extra heavy thud.

  “Is something wrong?” Belmont added.

  Eleanore shook her head. “I’m only trying to check the weather outside. Is it about to rain?”

  “Lord knows,” Belmont replied carelessly. He sipped his own glass of sherry. “I’ve learned some interesting things about you, lately, Lady Eleanore.”

  No one else was looking out the windows. Perhaps it was simply the lateness of the hour. “I should perhaps go home,” she murmured.

  Belmont frowned. “My company is clearly not an adequate distraction. I can see I will have to try harder to hold your attention.” There was a note in his voice which made Eleanore think she had offended him.

  She took a sip of the sherry and smiled at him. “I’m sorry…you were saying?”

  Belmont’s smile was taut. “You have an astonishing history which you have been keeping from me, Eleanore.”

  “I warned you about the Prince,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but you completely omitted to mention your adventures upon the high seas.”

  The fine stem of the sherry glass cracked softly. She threw out her other hand to catch the base as it dropped.

  “Oh, lord, blood,” Belmont said, his voice holding a note of alarm. He pulled out his pocket handkerchief and held it out. “Here, quickly.”

  Eleanore handed him the disfigured glass and the broken base, took the handkerchief and wrapped it around her cut fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured, her heart hammering. Then, to shift the subject, she added, “Did you enjoy watching the game, Mr. Belmont?”

  “With you in it, I did,” he said.

  She sighed.

  Louder than the chatter of the full pavi
lion of people came the low rumble of distant thunder.

  Eleanore froze—all except her heart, which leapt and jammed at the base of her throat, making it ache. Her temples throbbed. “That was thunder!”

  “I believe so,” Belmont said carelessly. “I say, the captain…that Harrison fellow. He is rather protective of you. Is there a relationship there I should be aware of, Eleanore?”

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the windows. Over the heads of the people clustered together to chat and laugh, she saw angry black clouds scudding into view.

  Her breath shallowed and increased. The cold tendrils of alarm were making her feel sick. She looked at Belmont. “I wonder, Trenton, would you mind taking me home?”

  “Now?” Belmont asked, astonished.

  “Yes.”

  He frowned. “But…there is supper, yet.”

  “I have lost my appetite,” she said truthfully. “Please, Mr. Belmont. It will take too long to find a cab. I am sure you came in your family carriage and it waits for you. We could be on our way in a moment.” It was a handy lie. She had no intention of telling him she was afraid to step outside alone when the sky boiled darkly this way.

  “Oh, let’s have another drink, first,” he said dismissively. “I’ll get you a fresh glass and be right back.”

  He moved away, his head turning as he looked for a footman. Eleanore watched him go, all the air in her lungs escaping in a harsh, silent gasp.

  She looked around for anyone who might help her. No one looked her way or caught her gaze, not even the players in her team, who now wore their ties and striped jackets.

  Time was ticking on. The later she left it, the less chance she would have of getting home unscathed. Time marching in concert with the throbbing in her temples, Eleanore whirled and hurried to the front doors of the pavilion.

  A footman pushed open one of the heavy doors for her and she hurried outside. All her belongings were still in the ladies’ refreshing room. She could not afford the time to collect them. The club would have to send them to her.

  She halted, dismayed, staring at the sky. The storm was coming from this direction and the bruised gray clouds were thicker here. They roiled and in the middle of them, lightning flashed. It was not yet a jagged renting of the sky, although that was not far off.