Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  Julian wasn’t willing to let the matter drop, however. “Did you find her cold?”

  “Let’s just say I should have brought a greatcoat into the drawing room with me when I spoke with her. By the time I took my leave, the windows had iced over.”

  Julian laughed. “I hope you weren’t foolish enough to expect a warm welcome from her. Threats and blackmail do tend to cool a lady’s ardor.”

  Cam only grunted in reply. His cousin was showing a disturbing inclination to champion Lady Eleanor. There was no point in arguing with him, for it would only make him more insistent. Julian could behave with stunning perversity on occasion. Before long he’d have Eleanor Sutherland as some poor victimized maiden, and Cam as Lucifer himself.

  Julian stared down at the last swallow of amber liquid in his glass. “I don’t suppose you happened to see Lady Charlotte while you were there?”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. “Christ, Julian, that’s the third time you’ve mentioned Lady Charlotte since last night. Don’t tell me you’ve let that chit crawl under your skin.”

  “Unlike you, Cam, I do have a conscience.”

  Cam gave his cousin a sour look. “Yours is a recent affliction, I think. You’ve pawed through dozens of bodices without suffering any ill effects.”

  “Bodices of actresses, yes, and opera singers. Those are a different matter altogether. I wasn’t the first to get a handful of those ladies’ charms, and I won’t be the last. But Charlotte Sutherland is—”

  “A flirt, if the gossip can be trusted.”

  “A flirt, Cam. Not a whore.”

  “Still—”

  Julian’s foot dropped from his knee to the floor with a heavy thump. “Bloody hell, Cam. Just answer the question, will you? Did you, or did you not see Lady Charlotte this afternoon?”

  Cam jerked back in surprise at his cousin’s harsh tone. “Very well. No, I did not. Lady Eleanor said—”

  He stopped. Did Julian need to know Lady Eleanor had said her sister hadn’t left her bedchamber all day? One never knew when his cousin would be taken with some wild notion or other. He might visit Lady Charlotte to beg her pardon for his behavior. It wouldn’t do for Julian to complicate things now—not when Cam had Eleanor Sutherland where he wanted her.

  Conquest, then surrender.

  No, the sooner Charlotte Sutherland’s part in this scheme was forgotten, the better. She’d served her purpose. He had no further use for her now, and he’d rather Julian didn’t, either.

  “Lady Eleanor said she was out.”

  Julian finished off his whiskey and dropped the empty glass onto Cam’s desk with a crack. “No lasting ill effects from last night, then?”

  Cam avoided his cousin’s eyes. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

  Oddly, this seemed to anger Julian rather than reassure him. “I congratulate you then, Cam. It’s all fallen into place just as you said it would. You’ll have your Sutherland bride. Not just any bride either, but a rich and beautiful one, and despite your reprehensible methods, neither Lady Eleanor nor her sister will end up the worse for it. At least,” he added, “that’s what you tell yourself.”

  Cam jerked up straight in his chair. Damn it, he would not feel guilty about this. Julian knew better than anyone he hadn’t any choice. “Neither of them will end up the worse for it. Charlotte Sutherland’s reputation will remain intact, and she’ll go on to marry some wealthy, titled lordling, with no harm done.”

  But this only made Julian angrier. “Will she? But what of Eleanor Sutherland? Won’t she be harmed? She’s to be forced into a marriage she doesn’t want to satisfy some twisted need for revenge on your part—”

  “Not revenge.” Cam kept his voice calm with an effort. “Justice. I only want what’s owed to me, and what’s owed to Amelia.”

  Julian shook his head. “There’s only one problem with that logic, Cam. It’s not Eleanor Sutherland who owes you. Either of you.”

  Cam jerked to his feet and strode to the window. She didn’t owe him, no, and yet she’d pay nonetheless, because someone had to, and she was one of only two people left in the Sutherland family who could. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but then life rarely was. Amelia would find that out soon enough. Why shouldn’t Eleanor Sutherland find it out as well?

  “She’d be forced into a marriage one way or another, likely to a man who wouldn’t give her any of the freedoms I will.” Cam didn’t look at Julian. “She’ll get everything from a marriage to me she could reasonably expect to get from marriage to an aristocrat.”

  “Not everything. You don’t love her.”

  Cam swung around to face his cousin. Love her? He didn’t even like her. “No. I don’t love her, but she’s a daughter of the ton, Julian. She doesn’t expect love from marriage. She expects to be taken care of. She will be, and handsomely at that.”

  Julian’s expression darkened. “You call her cold? You turn everything into a business transaction, Cam, even marriage.”

  Cam held onto his temper by a thread. “Marriage is a business transaction, Julian, and Lady Eleanor knows it as well as I do. Why do you think I’ll succeed in securing her when all those fine lords have failed? No false protestations of romantic love will move the lady, but force will, just as it does in business.”

  “What about real protestations of love? Did you ever consider you’re stealing those from her?”

  It’s not more than what was stolen from Amelia and me.

  Cam didn’t bother to say the words aloud, however. He and Julian had had this same argument time and time again, always without a resolution. “I will never love her, it’s true, but I will treat her with respect. I’ll be kind to her. Kinder than many husbands are to their wives.”

  Julian raised his eyebrows, then cleared his throat.

  Cam stiffened. He knew what was coming. Julian was about to say something he didn’t want to hear, but hear it he would. He and Julian had been inseparable since Cam was nine years old, and Julian had earned the right to have his say.

  “You’re not her equal socially, Cam. You’re rich, yes—richer than any man should be—but you’re still in trade. She’s a lady, the daughter of an earl. Even with your money, her friends will see this marriage as beneath her.”

  Bitterness welled in Cam’s throat at Julian’s words. Cam’s father had been landed gentry, and his mother the only child of a respectable country solicitor. His family was genteel, but he couldn’t claim an equal social footing with Lady Eleanor.

  “That’s the price she’ll pay for being a Sutherland.” Cam’s voice was frigid. “She can’t have everything, any more than the rest of us can. Do you think Amelia will have everything she deserves, Jules?”

  He didn’t give a bloody damn if the ton shunned Lady Eleanor after their marriage. It was fitting she should experience some of the shame he’d felt as a young boy, a shame that was still part of him even now, like a broken bone that hadn’t healed properly.

  Perhaps Julian was right—perhaps he did want revenge. The dark thing that clawed at his heart whenever he thought about the Sutherlands didn’t feel like justice. He could admit the possibility to himself, but he’d never confess it to Julian, who’d batter relentlessly if he saw the tiniest chink in Cam’s armor.

  He changed the subject instead. “Where’s Amelia now?”

  Julian didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, and Cam knew the argument was over. For now.

  “My mother took her to Gunter’s for an ice.”

  Cam’s spirits lifted. Since he’d returned to London, he’d invited his Aunt Mary numerous times to come stay in Bedford Square to see Amelia, but she’d declined every invitation. “My aunt is in London, then?”

  Julian rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes, and no. She’s come to London, but she’s staying with Mrs. Drumwhistle in Leicester Square.”

  Cam’s heart sank. “Ah. Well, at least she’s here.”

  “It’s not her choice to stay away, Cam. You know that.”

 
; “I know. No doubt your father refuses to allow her to spend a night under my roof.”

  His dear Uncle Reginald hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him since Cam returned to London and informed him he’d be moving into the Bedford Square townhouse.

  He did own it, after all.

  The townhouse became available while Cam was still in India—some young earl or other lost his family’s fortune at dice and cards and was obliged to sell it to pay his debts. Julian discovered the house, and he’d written to Cam, who’d leapt at the chance to buy it. Julian arranged the purchase for him, and Cam agreed to allow his uncle and aunt to use the house while he remained in India.

  Now he was back, but his uncle hadn’t welcomed him with open arms. “Your father still hasn’t reconciled himself to my return, then?”

  Julian snorted. “No, not yet. Give him time. Another ten years or so, perhaps.”

  “If he hasn’t made peace with my existence these first twenty-nine years of my life, I doubt another ten will help.”

  It was most inconvenient for his uncle Cam had managed to survive his travels, and then he’d had the nerve to return not only sound in mind and body, but disgustingly wealthy, as well. He’d upset all his uncle’s plans, and Uncle Reggie had responded like any rabid animal backed into a corner—with teeth bared, snarling curses and threats.

  Except Uncle Reggie hadn’t threatened Cam.

  He’d threatened Amelia.

  It could be an empty threat. His uncle stood to lose a great deal if he angered Cam, but Cam wasn’t willing to take any chances with Amelia’s future. If the truth were to come out, his sister would need protection. Cam intended to secure it for her, and soon—no matter what it took.

  If Amelia was out of time, then so was Eleanor Sutherland.

  “Amelia doesn’t have ten years.” Cam’s voice was quiet. “You know that, Jules.”

  Julian flushed a dull red. He didn’t have any illusions about his father. “He thinks he’s doing what he must to hold onto Lindenhurst.”

  Lindenhurst. Cam both loved the place and hated it at once. Sometimes he thought the beautiful memories of his childhood home haunted him even more than the heartbreaking ones. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want Lindenhurst. As long as your mother chooses to live there, it’s hers.”

  Cam didn’t forget debts, either those owed to him, or those he owed to others, and he owed his aunt a debt of gratitude. Aunt Mary had taken Amelia in less than a week after she was born, leaving Cam free to go off to seek his fortune in India. It was the only time he’d ever seen his meek aunt defy his uncle, but Mary had fallen in love with the child, and had refused to be parted from her. Mary was the closest thing to a mother Amelia had ever known, and she’d done a wonderful job with her. His sister had become everything Cam hoped she would—lovely and quick-witted, a child who smiled often, and laughed easily.

  Cam was in India for eleven years. The time he’d been away hadn’t felt long to him—not until he returned and found not an infant, but his eleven-year-old sister, her angel’s face so like his mother’s. He realized eleven years might not be a long time in his head, but it was a lifetime in his heart.

  Amelia’s entire lifetime.

  But he’d written his sister every day, and his aunt read Amelia his letters, even when Amelia was too young to understand them. To Amelia, it was as if he’d always been there, and Cam had his Aunt Mary to thank for that.

  “She looks just like your mother,” Julian said, with that uncanny ability he had of reading Cam’s mind. “The fair hair, and the shape of her nose and mouth—”

  “Not her eyes, though.” Cam’s voice was hoarse.

  Julian didn’t try to deny it. He couldn’t. “Shall we ride over to Berkley Square and meet them? You can buy Amelia another ice and ruin her appetite for dinner. It will drive my mother mad.”

  Cam took a deep breath to work the pang from his chest, then smiled at his cousin. “Let’s take the carriage. I’ll go straight from Gunter’s to collect Lady Eleanor for our drive.”

  Julian’s smile dimmed. “It’s not too late to put a stop to this, Cam.”

  Cam’s jaw went hard. “But it is too late, cousin. Eleven years too late.”

  Chapter Five

  Camden West arrived at the Sutherland townhouse just as the long-case clock on the first floor landing struck five.

  Eleanor swept down the stairs at precisely one minute after five, wearing a demure blue carriage dress that flattered her trim waist. “Good afternoon, Mr. West. My, you’re prompt.”

  She’d hadn’t chosen the dress to entice Mr. West—she’d chosen it because the matching hat was so large it looked like a ship heaving into port. If Mr. West wished to see her face, he’d have to tread water to get under the brim.

  Clever idea, accessories that both flattered and disguised a lady at once.

  He bowed. “I said five o’clock. You’ll find, Lady Eleanor, once I’ve decided on a course of action, I pursue it through to the end, no matter what.”

  Eleanor hovered two steps above the bottom of the staircase. A warning, already? For goodness’ sake, they hadn’t even left the entryway yet. “What a fascinating personal philosophy, Mr. West, but a simple, ‘Yes, I am prompt,’ would have been sufficient.”

  He stiffened. “I think it best we understand each other from the start.”

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow. She understood him already, far better than he suspected she did. “All right, then. What would you have me understand from that speech, Mr. West?”

  He observed her through narrowed eyes. “That I pay close attention to details, my lady.”

  “Do you, indeed? How reassuring.” She took care to sound bored, but Eleanor ducked back under her hat to hide her uneasiness. There was no denying Mr. West was wilier than her previous suitors. He’d skirted the problem of Alec rather neatly, and she and Charlotte had fallen right into the trap he and his loathsome cousin had set at the Foster’s ball.

  Then again, anyone could stumble into a trap they didn’t know was there. He’d have a much harder time of it when he tried to stuff and mount his trophy.

  He might be clever, but her task was a simple one—discover what he wanted, and make it difficult for him to get it. And after all, his motives were transparent enough. He wanted her because she’d eluded everyone else. No doubt he expected to find a shallow, pliable female—one he could easily manipulate. He didn’t seem to understand she’d become rather an expert at dodging unwanted suitors over the past two seasons. He’d give up soon enough when he found she wouldn’t be led meekly down the aisle. No, she’d kick and scream the entire way, and by the end of it, Mr. West would be relieved to be rid of her.

  After all, stubbornness was such an unbecoming trait in a woman, particularly a wife.

  He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

  She frowned at him. “Why no, of course not. You can’t imagine I’ll ride in the park with you without a chaperone, can you?”

  “A chaperone? That’s not necessary, Lady Eleanor—”

  “But of course it is, Mr. West. My goodness. I wouldn’t dream of venturing out the door with a gentleman without a proper chaperone.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Now, wherever has Tilly got to? Can you fetch her please, Rylands? Mr. West is anxious to be off.”

  Rylands bowed and disappeared down the hallway.

  “Tilly, is it?” The faintest hint of a smile touched one corner of his mouth.

  Eleanor’s own smile wavered. If he was furious about her trick, he showed no sign of it. He even looked amused, in a tolerant sort of way, as if she were a child who’d hid in plain sight during a game of hide and seek.

  Well, no matter. He wouldn’t be quite so amused when he met Tilly.

  They heard her before they saw her—a heavy thud, the tread measured and slow but determined, every other step punctuated by an irritated grunt. Tilly, the dear, had a habit of muttering what sounded like dark
curses and magical incantations as she walked.

  Eleanor glanced over at Mr. West. He shifted from foot to foot, his gaze fixed on the hallway from whence these ominous noises originated. She could have clapped her hands with glee. If the sound of Tilly’s approach gave him pause, she couldn’t wait to see what happened when he saw her.

  For her part, Eleanor adored Tilly. The whole family did. She’d been their nursemaid for years, but despite their affection for her, there was no denying Tilly was a cross old thing—

  Ah! Here she was. The dragon had emerged from her lair. With steel gray hair pulled tight under a prim, white lace cap, a stiff, gray wool gown, rounded shoulders that ended in startlingly large, meaty hands, and grey eyes set deep into a rough, ruddy face, Tilly looked like a steel trap right before it snapped closed on one’s leg. In other words, she was the perfect chaperone.

  The heart of a lamb beat under that frightening exterior, but Camden West didn’t know that, and Eleanor could swear she heard a faint, distressed sound escape him when he got his first look at Tilly. Was it a gasp? Or a whimper?

  Oh, please let it have been a whimper.

  Tilly lumbered to a halt in front of Eleanor. “That him, then?” She jerked her chin in Mr. West’s direction.

  Tilly never stood much on ceremony.

  “Yes.” Eleanor had to concentrate to keep the delight out of her voice. “Tilly, this is Mr. West. He’s kindly offered to take us for a drive in the park today.”

  Tilly surveyed Camden West as if he were a rodent she’d just smacked with her broom. “A drive, is it? Well then, Mr. West. Take care that’s all you’re offering.”

  Eleanor tried to dive back under her hat in time, but she was sure Mr. West saw her bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

  As far as Tilly was concerned, every gentleman was a notorious rake, and every outing a potential seduction. Tilly was a staunch defender of maidenly virtue, and her stratagems were as complex and precise as a military campaign. No gentleman would successfully storm a lady’s fortress on Tilly’s watch.