"Sorry," she mumbled. While nearly beheading the duke with her pall mall ball caused heat to sear her cheeks, his shocked expression made a giggle bubble in her chest.
Glancing at Jacob, she caught the twinkle in his gaze, one side of his mouth quirking up in a grin. Hastily, Elle looked away, choking back unruly laughter. A sharp sigh told her the duke was not amused in the least, and she cleared her throat and stepped to the side. “Forgive me. I believe it’s your turn.”
She didn't look toward Jacob for the rest of her game with Langley, and when they retired to the house for tea, he had disappeared again.
The warmth that had settled over her, however, at the amused approval in his earlier gaze stayed with her for the rest of the afternoon.
Jacob glanced up as Langley entered his study, whistling a cheerful tune.
"Your mood seems much improved, cousin. Did you win your game?"
Langley shook his head ruefully as he paused next to his desk, then leaned one hip on it instead of sitting in his customary chair. "No, not at all. Lady Eleanore is a masterful player, even when she is distracted."
A lump formed in Jacob's throat, and he cleared it, striving for a casual curiosity. "Oh?"
"She had her head in the clouds all afternoon. It was the only reason I was even able to compete with her, I fear." Langley tapped one finger against his bottom lip. "The lady is not usually this vacant, is she? I do not recall her being so, but—"
"Elle is quite sharp. I assure you that no one who knows her well would question her intelligence."
There was a pause, then his cousin raised one arrogant eyebrow at him.
"Are you criticizing my relationship with my betrothed? I did not realize that the two of you were so close. Do enlighten me on how I should proceed, cousin."
Jacob blew out a slow breath. His jealousy was making him careless.
"I'm not criticizing, merely pointing out you need not worry that you will be breeding stupidity into the ducal line." He shrugged one shoulder in an irritated movement, chafing under Langley's close study. "Truth be told, I'm regretting our bargain. I've not the time, nor the inclination, to watch your bride flit around. The duchess seems to have the wedding arrangements well in hand, and I could use the time to concentrate on winning over some of your friends' support, frankly."
His cousin straightened, smacking his gloves in one hand as he wandered over to the fireplace, dark brows furrowed in thought. "Then, of course you must consider yourself relieved of any obligation to me. It is of little matter, since I was planning to release you this evening anyway. I find that spending time in Lady Eleanore's company is not quite the burden I'd once felt." The small smile that played over Langley's lips twisted Jacob's stomach.
"Another man fallen," Jacob muttered, but his cousin's sharp bark of laughter brought him up short.
"Fallen? As in, in love? Hardly. She is amusing, I'll grant you, and pleasant on the eyes, but I have no plans to start making calf eyes at Lady Eleanore." Langley shook his head, and after giving his gloves one last slap, he tucked them into his pocket decisively. "Men such as myself do not require love when forming a match. Once cannot fall in love with every pretty face he sees. If that were the case, he might end up married to his mistress. Marriage for a duke is pure business, cousin, you know this. I've no time for love."
"That's the most pompous, asinine thing I've ever heard come tumbling from your lips, Langley, and that's saying something." Jacob jerked to his feet and stalked to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy. He removed the stopper from the bottle, then slammed the bottle back on the wooden surface, his glass still empty. Rage on Elle's behalf burned in his chest. "She deserves more than cool civility from you. And she sure as hell doesn’t deserve the embarrassment of you traipsing about Town with a mistress. Don't you see the disservice you do to her, and yourself, by not allowing yourself to truly see her?"
"Do not tell me how to conduct my affairs. You, who has never managed to even come close to properly courting a woman," Langley retorted, his gaze furious.
If only his cousin knew the reason Jacob had never flirted with the idea of marriage was because the one woman he wanted was already promised to him.
"At least, I'm honest about my intentions."
He wasn't, not really. He was a blasted coward, and she would never know how he felt about her, not if he had anything to say about it.
"I'm honest!" Langley's face grew red as his large hands fisted at his sides. "I've never claimed to love Lady Eleanore, nor will I, but I will take care of her and see that she's as happy as I can make her."
"Without love and faithfulness, how happy can you make her, cousin?"
He must stop baiting Langley, but the selfishness of his cousin's words ricocheted around in Jacob's brain, wrecking havoc on his self control. He knew the wedding plans had frustrated his cousin, but he hadn't dreamed of the callous depths of disregard the man had for his own bride.
Langley stiffened, drawing himself up regally, and looked down his nose at Jacob. "I believe we've exhausted the limits of this conversation for the moment. The Earl of Worthington is waiting for me in the billiards room, and we have important matters to discuss. I will see you at supper."
Jacob said nothing as his cousin strode from the room, boot heels clicking in precision on the marble floor. He was getting good at watching people flee his presence from that particular door. One might even call it his newest hobby. Christ knew he could use a distraction from brooding over the situation with Elle and fighting with Langley.
He was so damned tired of feeling guilty all the time, of burying his feelings, and doing what was expected of him. It was part of being an adult, he supposed, but it was wearying. He was tired of pretending that he had nothing to hide.
Even the best of men broke sometimes, and he could hardly be counted in their number. He was fair to middling, when it came down to the grit of it, it seemed.
Jacob thought of Elle's mischievous blue gaze as she had struggled not to laugh after nearly taking off Langley's head with the pall mall ball earlier. His own lips curved as he lifted the decanter and poured himself a drink.
Perhaps he wasn't even as good a man as middling, but with the memory of Elle in the sunshine warming him, he found he didn't care in the least.
Chapter Five
Elle knew the moment she pushed open Langley's study door that he wasn't there. The place behind his desk was empty, the piles of papers from the other day gone, and his pen neatly lined up on the blotter. She stepped inside the room anyway, and dropped down on the settee near the fireplace with a defeated sigh.
She had decided to give her experiment with the duke one last shot, since the house party ended in just two days. Perhaps, if he would just kiss her already, then she could see if there was hope for them. But he had vanished after their pall mall game, and she feared he might be sulking over her victory.
Well, wasn't that too bad? She wasn't going to throw her game to soothe Langley's ego. He'd just have to get used to losing.
Unfortunately, she seemed to be losing in the game of Corner the Duke. Langley wasn't even aware they were playing, and the blasted man still managed to evade her. She folded her arms and sighed.
"How am I supposed to make him kiss me if I can't catch him?"
The sound of choked laughter had her spinning around, nearly slipping off the settee in her haste. How mortifying to be caught in the truth.
Jacob stepped out from behind the open door, giving it a shove with his fingertips that had it swinging shut on silent hinges. His gaze glittered with amusement, at her expense, of course. All the warmth that had been in his eyes that afternoon as he watched her play pall mall was quite gone.
"Looking for Langley?"
"I certainly wasn't looking for you," Elle muttered, pleating the material of her skirts between nervous fingers. The man was constantly in her way. Making her feel things she shouldn't. Causing her to behave in ways that would turn Mama's hair pure white. H
e was surely the very Devil.
Picking up the snifter of brandy she now saw that he had been pouring when she had invaded the duke's study, Jacob wandered to where she sat and dropped down next to her. He crossed one long, elegant leg over the other and studied her over the top of his glass with lowered lids.
"Looking for trouble is what you're doing. Entering Langley's study with the intent to catch him alone?" The smile that slid over his lips was no smile at all, laced with something bitter enough to make her heart ache. "Tsk, tsk, Lady Eleanore. I didn't realize you were so bold."
Her stomach fluttered at the dark velvet caress of his murmur. Elle rubbed her lips together, suddenly feeling out of her depth. She was more than aware of Jacob's reputation with the merry widows of the ton, but he would never touch her as long as she was betrothed to his cousin. His sense of honor would keep her safe.
Safe.
Her marriage to Langley would be quite, quite safe. He would never look at her like he could perfectly imagine her without a stitch of clothing. He would never make her skin heat and tingle with the anticipation of his lips on hers. Their union would never produce this odd feeling of breathlessness in her.
She shifted on the cushion, and the gypsy locket bumped gently against her chest. The metal was warm and silky smooth against her skin. As she studied Jacob, she absently lifted the heart on its chain and tucked it into the low scoop of her neckline.
His eyes followed her movements, then flicked back to hers, something indefinable swimming in the golden green depths of his gaze.
"It was not boldness that pushed me to search out the duke this evening, but desperation, I fear." A smile wobbling on her lips, Elle rose. She moved to stand in front of one of the tall bookcases that lined the walls, pretending to study the titles of the thick, leather-bound volumes. What she needed to confess would not be easy. "Perhaps it was for the best he was not here. I've been asking myself a question now for some time, and I now realize I've been looking for the answer in all the wrong ways."
"That sounds... ominous."
She turned to look at him, amusement sparking through her at the wary tone in his voice. "That would depend on how one looks at it, Mr. Farrish."
"I think, seeing as we will be family within a month and we've always been friends of a sort, you might call me Jacob instead."
"I don't think we will, actually."
His brows drew together, and he set down his crystal tumbler with a precise click on the side table. "Won't be friends?"
Elle drew in a deep breath, tension breaking free in her chest.
"Won't be family."
Jacob blinked, looking nonplussed. Opened his mouth, then shut it again. After a moment, he unfolded himself from the settee, standing to face her.
"Is this a joke?"
She shook her head. "I promise you this is not a rash decision—"
"How could it be anything but?"
"I've been unhappy for some time, and while I'm quite certain Langley has a mild fondness for me, that is not enough. Not anymore."
He moved toward her, but Elle backed away. She did not want his sympathy, or his pity.
"Eleanore." The intensity in Jacob's voice halted her, and he stepped closer. Placing one palm on her cheek, he gently forced her to face him. The compassion in his gaze was nearly her undoing. "Do not do this. You'll be ruined. You'll lose everything."
The tenderness with which he brushed his fingers along her jaw pushed her to ask, "Will I lose your friendship? You stated earlier we were friends, of a sort."
His gaze sharpened, studying her.
"Will I lose you too?" she whispered, reaching up to fold her fingers over his, frightened by the strength of sorrow that thought brought her.
His expression blanked, and slowly he drew his hand away from her. Dismay filled her as he took one step back, then another.
"Of course not. You may always count on my friendship."
But he didn't look at her as he said it.
"Of course," Elle echoed, numbness overtaking the hurt, giving her the distance she needed to summon a smile and drop into a curtsey. She did not wait for his bow, hurrying past him. Forcing herself to take measured steps down the hall, her mind raced ahead, sorting the things that must be done.
She could not go home. Papa was there, and he would just put her back into a coach to Brookdale. Any of her loving friends would offer refuge, but she knew she could not ask any of their families to stand against hers and the duke.
Only one person had ever intimated that Elle might have the right to choose her husband for herself.
Grandfather.
She had been eleven, and Mama had taken them to visit her childhood home in Scotland for the summer. Grandfather had taken Elle fishing, against Mama's wishes. She had been dirty, shoeless... and never happier in her life. He had cast his line out onto the loch, and looked down at her from under thick bushy eyebrows, his blue eyes twinkling.
"So you're to marry Langley's boy, eh? An' how do you feel about that?"
Elle had scratched her nose and lifted her face to the morning sun, wiggling her dirty toes in the soil. "Fine, I suppose."
"Hmmph. Do you like the boy?"
A careless shrug made him smile.
"I suppose. He's rather bossy, but most boys are, I've noticed. Perhaps it will be different when we are married. It's so far off, I don't think on it much."
"It's no' that far off, wee one. You donna have to settle for fine, just because your father made some archaic deal with a Sassenach." He laughed at Elle's wide eyes and tugged on his dark, full beard. Leaning down toward her, his gaze turned serious, blue eyes searching her face. "You are descended from Scottish royalty, Eleanore Barnaby, and never forget it. The song of the Highlands resounds in your blood and you will always have a place here. You need not marry the Englishman."
"But Papa said—"
"Your father doesn't know what he's speakin' of." Her grandfather's voice went flat. "He's never been in love. He picked my Hannah because she was a beauty, and he thinks my lands will be of use to him when I tip my toes up for the las' time."
He shifted on the bank of loch, laying down his pole to stare out over the water. Elle held her breath, amazed at this new side of him she was seeing, a man who guarded his privacy well.
"Donna make your mother's mistake. She married for prestige an' money, an' has paid a heavy price for it. Marry for love, little Ellie, like I did." His gaze went distant and dreamy, a faint smile tipping up the ends of his mouth. "Ah, your grandmother was a one. You shoulda seen her, in our youth. I couldna keep away from her, she drove me mad with love."
Elle wrinkled her nose. "Grandfather, please."
He raised his bushy brows. "I may seem more ancient than these mountains around us, but once I was young, an' in love. I would not trade my fifteen years with tha' glorious woman for anything in th' world."
When Elle had merely shrugged in discomfort and changed the subject, her grandfather packed up the fishing poles and they strolled back to the house. It had not been spoken of again, and after a while, she put it aside. Over the years she had learned that duty to her family trumped any small, private desires of her own. And for the most part, it had not bothered her to think of marrying the duke.
Until recently.
Now she needed an ally in her rebellion, and there was only one place she could go.
Scotland.
Chapter Six
Elle straightened as tall as she could and looked down her nose at the head groom, her heart thundering in her throat. She only hoped she could play the haughty lady well enough to convince him.
"My grandfather has taken ill, and the duke kindly lent me his fastest carriage to take me north."
The older man peered past her into the shadows of the deserted courtyard, scratching his head doubtfully. Oh, please, let him ask no more questions.
"D' ye have a maid or chaperone to travel with ye, m' lady?"
Dear God, she was going
to be caught if they lingered much longer. Elle summoned her most charming smile and gestured to where Julia stood in miserable silence against the stable wall, her hood drawn up. "Of course I do. What lady would travel without one?"
"Well... I guess it's a'right. If the duke said so." The groom turned and went back in to arrange the carriage for them.
Still, she didn't dare breathe until they rumbled out of the courtyard and turned onto the road that would take her northward. The darkness outside the carriage was absolute, the inky color of the sky only found in the wee hours of the night. They had left the duke's residence at just a few minutes after two o'clock, which would hopefully give her six or seven hours before anyone arose and missed her.
Perhaps more if Julia was able to disguise her absence the way Elle hoped.
She commanded the driver to stop just down the road from the manor as soon as they were out of sight, and let Julia out of the carriage. The girl cried and begged her to come back, but Elle refused, reminding Julia of the promise she had made. The maid was to tell everyone that her mistress was ill, taken to her bed with an aching head, and merely wanted to sleep. If Elle was lucky, she could even gain an entire day's start ahead of whoever was sent after her.
For they would send someone after her.
It was madness, what she was doing.
Deserting her betrothed, running to Scotland, fleeing to a grandfather who might turn her away at the door. Her only hope was that he would recall the words he had spoken to her on that long ago summer day and help her. If nothing else, Peter would be there. Her brother would persuade Grandfather to let her stay, if it came to that.
Elle closed her eyes and settled into the corner of the carriage as it started down the road again, trying to ignore the way her head smacked the wall every time they hit a rut, and the painful knot of doubt and fear in her stomach. Something cool touched the base of her throat, and she remembered she was still wearing the gypsy locket.
The Heart of a Duke Page 5