“Syl—Sylvester?” Eleanor said before she could prudently shut her mouth. “I—I don’t believe it.”
“Smile, my lady, and believe it. I made it my concern to have one of my staff visit the earl’s estate, work there for a space, and learn what he could learn. The Buckland bloodline courses willy-nilly through every village within twenty miles. Perhaps this does not bother you, but I would not spend my married life running into duplicates of my husband, shining silver, mending fences, cleaning the family chamber pots.”
“My goodness,” Eleanor said, and finally her smile was real. “You’re beautiful, Miss Halstead. You’re all the thing, this Season’s diamond of the first water, all of that. And you’re stupid. You’re really, really stupid. Oh—and thank you. You may kiss me now.”
Eleanor was to be denied that kiss meant to impress the ton, as Miss Halstead all but leaped from her chair and raced out of the box, leaving Eleanor to open her fan once more, look out over the facing boxes, nod and smile in real pleasure.
Because now she understood. She understood so many things.
NICHOLAS, carrying a glass of wine and one of lemonade, stepped back as Susan Halstead raced past, one hand to her mouth, her splendid blue eyes brimming with tears.
“I say, Nick, did you see that? The Halstead seemed a trifle overset,” Sir James commented, losing some of the lemonade in his companion’s glass as he gestured toward Miss Halstead’s departing back. “Well, blast, that puts paid to my cuff, don’t it? What do you suppose set her off?”
Nicholas looked toward the curtains around his private box. “Not what, Jamie, but who. And there’s Miss Simmons, talking to Georgie Fox, who seems to have already brought her refreshments. I hate to crush you, but I think the chit has someone other than you in her sights. Better go scoop her up before Fox cuts you out. Just stay away from the box for a while, all right? Excuse me.”
“Yes, but if the dratted chit already has got a glass, what am I supposed to do with—she had me bring her here so she could sniff around that buck-toothed Georgie? Oh, the devil with it, I didn’t much like her, anyway,” he ended, and downed the contents of both glasses, following the lemonade with his glass of wine, then headed back toward the bar.
Nicholas pulled back the curtain and entered the box, to see Eleanor sitting there, facing front, fanning herself with an energy that could have her lifting off the chair at any moment. “Wife? I believe I’m catching a whiff of brimstone in here. What have I missed?”
She turned toward him, her smile so wide it was almost ghastly. “I’m smiling. Sit down, and smile with me.”
“I’d rather not,” he told her, handing her the glass of lemonade. “You’re rather frightening like that, you know.”
“Good. Now, if you would be so kind—kiss my hand. Kiss my wrist, kiss my palm, kiss anything at all that makes it look as if you’d like nothing better than to take me home and ravish me the whole night long.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, as ideas go, I just might wish to…”
“Just do it. Please?”
She left him with little choice, having extended her hand to him, so that the only alternative would be to let it hang there at the end of her arm.
“My pleasure, lady wife,” he said, putting down his own glass and bending over her hand, turning it. He pressed a kiss on the small circle of skin left exposed by the button of her elbow-length gloves, all while he looked at her, looked straight into her eyes.
The fan moved faster, creating quite a breeze.
“More,” she said, her voice rather breathless.
“If you’d just tell me what—”
“Just one more time, all right. Then we can leave, before my cheeks simply crack and fall off from all this smiling.”
“I think not, wife,” Nicholas said, but he did stand up, pulling her with him, and reached for her shawl. “We’ll talk at home. Now, keep smiling, and for God’s sake, don’t wave to everyone before you leave the box. You’re not the Prince Regent.”
Eleanor’s smile disappeared the moment her back was turned to the curious ton, and he could feel the tenseness in her shoulders as he laid her wrap around her. He was tempted, so tempted, to bend down and place a kiss on the nape of her neck, but he resisted the impulse. Tongues were wagging enough as it was.
“Jamie?” he called to his friend, who was heading back from the refreshments table carrying two more glasses of wine. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“We will? But it’s only intermission.”
“Not you, Jamie. Us. We’re leaving.”
Sir James blinked. “But…but we came in your carriage, Nick. Oh, wait. I suppose I could fob Miss Simmons off on Georgie. The idiot looks eager enough. All right, toddle off home if you must. Leave me here. But I’ll expect an explanation in the morning, blister me if I won’t.”
“And you’ll get it,” Nicholas promised, ending under his breath, “if we’re here.” But Jamie couldn’t hear that, because it would only start another round of questions he couldn’t answer. But something was going on, damn it. Susan Halstead had done something…and he could cheerfully throttle the woman if she’d upset his wife.
My, he was feeling protective these days. He barely recognized himself.
The ride back to the mansion was uncomfortably silent, and as Eleanor seemed to wish to lose herself in thought, Nicholas believed he might be prudent to do the same.
That his thoughts kept straying to how lovely his wife looked in her peach satin gown, how his fingers itched to loose the ribbon holding up her fine dark hair, so that it tumbled over those eager fingers, serious thought was proving difficult, if not impossible.
Still, there was the matter of Susan Halstead and the tears in her eyes.
It didn’t take much effort to imagine Susan Halstead dropping in to “visit” with Eleanor in her box, especially since that feather-witted Miss Simmons had actually deserted her, probably to spread more gossip, as if there weren’t enough flying about Mayfair like a flock of chattering birds on the wing.
What had Susan said to have Eleanor wishing to go home—after first putting on a small show for Society?
Even more to the point, what had Eleanor said to make Susan bolt from the box, forgetting that she was the grande dame, and not one to ever show emotion. Most certainly not one to be routed, and let the world know she had been routed.
So Nicholas pondered this as the carriage wended its way through uncrowded streets, and settled on being amused. Amused, and rather delighted, that his wife—gad, his wife—was no milk-and-water puss, neither shy nor prone to hysterics.
“Good evening, my lord, my lady,” Clarke said, bowing as he all but skidded into the foyer, and without so much as a blink betraying the confusion he must be feeling. After all, his master and mistress had only departed the house two hours ago. He hadn’t expected them until at least three.
“Interrupted your game of whist, Clarke? My apologies. Are you winning?”
It was only then that Clarke realized his cuffs had been turned back, and he quickly unfolded them. “I am being thoroughly trounced, your lordship, thank you. By tomorrow at this time, Sylvester may well own my eye teeth.”
Nicholas laughed as he handed over his cape and curly brimmed beaver, then escorted his wife upstairs.
And now, the dilemma.
Did he take her into his rooms…into her rooms…leave her at the door to her rooms, where her dragon of a Cloris awaited?
“Give me a few minutes to shoo Cloris, Nicholas, and then, please, join me?”
He bowed as she stopped in front of her door. “It would be my pleasure, wife.”
“Eleanor,” she said, tipping up her chin. “My name is Eleanor. My position is your wife.”
“Eleanor,” Nicholas repeated. “No, I’d rather Elly, if you don’t mind. Only in private, you understand.”
She shrugged, but her cheeks went rather pink. “I won’t argue the point, Nick.”
He shook his head and he
aded down the hallway to his own door, wondering if she’d been spanked much as a child. Probably not. She probably had run the entire household from her cradle.
Sylvester, about as breathless as Clarke, was waiting for him in his bedchamber, already laying out his dressing gown and slippers.
“Thank you, Sylvester, but you needn’t linger as I’ve heard your luck is running high. Best get back, before the tide changes.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sylvester said, bowing. Then he backed up three paces, turned, and all but ran from the room. His half brother, Nicholas had concluded long ago, had inherited their father’s love of the cards but, fortunately, not the man’s terrible luck.
He stripped off his neck cloth, opened the top two buttons of his shirt. Rolled up his sleeves, kicked off his evening shoes. Looked at his dressing gown and slippers, and decided against either.
A glance at the mantel clock told him not quite five minutes had passed, so he poured himself a glass of wine at the drinks table and sat himself down to wait.
Would tonight be the night? He had planned to woo her more slowly, then have their wedding night only after this second infernal ceremony. But their kiss tonight had been more than he’d expected, her reaction definitely more than he’d hoped for so soon in their marriage. And then there was that business about kissing her hand—“anything at all”—at the theater. Now there was an invitation!
He did not have to be hit over the head with a redbrick to know when a woman was interested, even a virgin. Even a wife.
“So what are you doing, sitting here?” he asked himself as he pushed up from his chair, straightened his shoulders and headed for the door connecting the two rooms.
The door opened even as he approached it, and there was Elly, dressed in her white dressing gown and night rail, her hair loose on her shoulders, her feet bare, although he knew damn well he’d seen slippers on her at least once since they’d come to town.
She probably ran barefoot through the grass at her father’s home, and dabbled those feet in a nearby stream. Made crowns out of strung daisies. She hugged dogs. She had no fear. She threw things when she was angry. She colored delightfully when she was embarrassed. And her mouth was so soft, so warm…
“We have to talk,” she said, turning her back on him as she headed for the pair of chairs in front of the fireplace.
“That sounds familiar,” he said, following after her. “What do I want to talk about now?”
She had the good grace to flush. “Please, I’m being serious. We have to talk about…about your father.”
Nicholas dropped heavily into the chair, sat very still. Of all the possibilities he had entertained on the ride home from the theater and while in his rooms, his father had not entered the mix. “My father? What of him?”
“You didn’t marry me because you compromised—no, because I compromised myself. You did it for honor, yes, just as you said, but that was only because your own father behaved so dishonorably, not because you didn’t want to be involved in a duel. You said it didn’t matter who you married, but you also said you would be a faithful husband, that you would give me no reason to divorce you. I should have known something then, because it is the rare ton husband who is faithful if he can avoid it. Even Walter, more’s the pity, because Francesca really does love the sorry creature.”
“My, my, my,” Nicholas said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “You have been doing a lot of thinking, haven’t you? What did Susan Halstead say to you?”
She put her head down for a moment, then lifted it again, looking straight into his eyes. “She told me about Sylvester. And…and the others.”
Nicholas tried to return her steady gaze, but found he couldn’t. “Go on.”
“Is there anything else to say? I’ve spoken to a few people here, not that anyone was divulging secrets, because they all love you and only want your happiness. I already knew that you loved your mother very much, and that you perhaps were not so fond of your father. That you had his chambers completely redecorated upon his death eighteen months ago. And then Miss Halstead…well, she told me the rest. She actually threatened me, telling me that the news of your father’s…philandering, would become public knowledge unless I did everything she said. Mostly, all she said was that I was to smile, pretend to be friendly…and let her kiss me on my cheek there at the theater.”
“And did you?” Nicholas asked, looking at her again.
“I gave my permission, but she left the box instead.”
“Yes, I saw her. Running, and crying. Now, why do you suppose that was?”
Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps it was when I laughed at her horrible gossip and called her stupid. That…that could be it.”
Nicholas bit on the insides of his cheeks and nodded. “Yes, that might have done it. I doubt anyone has ever spoken to The Halstead like that. Cheeky brat.”
“This one time, Nick, thank you. I’d like to think so. However, this does not settle our problem.”
“We have a problem? It sounds to me as if you’ve taken care of it.”
“I don’t mean Miss Halstead,” Eleanor said, dismissing the absent woman with a wave of her hand. “I’m talking about the reason you married me. It was because your father was such a rotter. Sorry, but, by all indications, he was. And, while I find that very noble of you, now that I know, I believe we could still apply for that annulment. Especially if we don’t go through with the second ceremony. The first one was barely legal, don’t you think?”
Nicholas stood up, picked up his empty glass, and went into his rooms to refill it. He was getting the headache and he needed a few moments to think.
Eleanor, being Eleanor, didn’t give them to him, but merely followed after him, plopping her barefooted self down on one of his fireside chairs.
“Was it difficult, knowing Sylvester is your half brother?”
He poured a second glass, carried it over to her. “I didn’t know. Not until my father died. For ten years, Sylvester was my valet, my companion, my friend. But I was his employer, at least of sorts. His master. When I read the letter from my father, informing me of the truth, I threw up. Sorry, but I find I can’t seem to lie to you.”
“Did Sylvester know? He’s quite a bit older than you are, isn’t he?”
Nicholas sat down, nodded. “He knew. Sylvester is the product of our father’s first tumble with a barmaid from the village when he was but fifteen. By my last count, there are at least a dozen more, some older than me, many younger. At least three, besides Sylvester, were employed on our estate, two of them in the house. He flaunted his by-blows. I always wondered why my mother was so perpetually sad.”
“I’m so sorry. But is that any reason to marry a woman who doesn’t love you? You must have known that Miss Halstead would only have been marrying your title. She may be stupid, but you’re not. I was easily interchangeable with Miss Halstead, one bride being as good as another, to get you heirs, but without your hearts ever being involved, because you’d seen too much pain? Is that it, Nick? Do I understand correctly?”
He looked at her, this time holding her gaze. “I will never do as my father did.”
“So you married a woman you didn’t even know, even promised fidelity? That’s very…honorable of you, Nick. But I need more than that, fanciful creature that I am. So, no, thank you.”
And she stood up, flung her glass of wine into the fire, and left the room.
HE’LL FOLLOW. He’ll follow. He’ll follow. Why isn’t he following? Did you gamble everything on one roll, just to lose?
Eleanor paced the carpet for some minutes, nervous and baffled and more than a little angry, behind the door she had slammed as she’d stormed back to the chamber, then finally gave up, ripped off her dressing gown and climbed into bed.
She’d leave tomorrow, taking Cloris with her and returning to Oglesby House, here in the city. From there, it would be a simple thing to be driven back to the country.
Why hadn’t he come af
ter her?
He didn’t love her. Not yet. She wouldn’t expect that of him, no matter how many novels she had read during the long winter nights in front of the fire.
She might love him, might have loved him from the first time she’d seen him at Almacks, but that had been the love of a girl. A silly girl, full of dreams.
Somehow, in these past few days, she had become a woman. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know when, but she did know that what she felt for Nicholas could grow, change, deepen. They just needed time. Time to get to know each other better, so that secrets shared replaced secrets kept, and all the shadows he’d lived with, that shadow she’d seen in his eyes, would be replaced by light.
And that sounds just like one of your dreams, Eleanor Therese. Shame on you.
She had almost slipped into a fitful sleep when the door opened, sending a pie-shaped slice of light into the room. She could see Nicholas standing there, outlined by the light.
She quickly closed her eyes once more. Should she feign sleep? Should she pretend not to know he was there? Should she take a breath, because there were little blue lights beginning to dance behind her closed lids…
“Wife?”
Eleanor bit her lips together and remained silent.
She heard him walk toward the bed, walk around the bottom of it. Felt his weight on the mattress as he climbed beneath the covers.
She could still pretend to be asleep. If she was an idiot.
Eleanor turned onto her back and looked at him in the light from the fire. He was lying on his side, his cheek propped on one bent arm, grinning at her.
“Hello, wife,” he said in this amused, almost-maddening voice. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, her tongue fairly well stuck to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth.
“I’ve never met anyone like you, you know,” he told her, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. “You don’t care about Sylvester. You don’t care about Susan Halstead, who should be soundly horsewhipped but will probably find herself a meek and willing male to hop to her bidding for the rest of her days. You don’t care about the gossips, the biddies. In fact, all you do seem to care about is rescuing me from what you see as my folly in marrying you. Now, why is that?”
The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman Page 8