Justin’s top lip curled. ‘So it would appear.’
Richmond nodded. ‘I had the displeasure of serving in the army with him in India many years ago and know him to be a bully with a vicious temper. The men did not like him any more than his fellow officers did.’
‘If that were the case, I am surprised one of them did not take steps to rid themselves of such a tyrant.’ It was well known in army circles that the enlisted men—enlisted? Hah! They were usually men who had been forced into taking the king’s shilling for one nefarious reason or another—occasionally chose to dispose of a particularly unpopular officer during the confusion of battle.
Richmond gave a rueful smile. ‘That should have been the case, of course, and likely would have happened if he had lingered in the army overlong, but there was some indiscretion with another officer’s wife, which caused his superior officer to see that he left India sooner rather than later.’
Justin studied the older man’s bland expression for several seconds. ‘And would that superior officer happen to have been yourself, sir?’
‘It would,’ Richmond said grimly.
‘In that case I will bear your warning in mind,’ Justin said. ‘I wish you a good night, Richmond.’ He lost no more time in making his departure as he proceeded out into the hallway to collect and don his hat and cloak in readiness for stepping outside.
‘Hanover Square, if you please, Bilsbury,’ he instructed his driver tersely as he climbed inside the ducal coach and relaxed back against the plush upholstery, the door closing behind him seconds before the horses moved off smartly into the dark of the night.
If any woman was worth the loss of a fabulous hand at cards, then it was surely the one he now hurried to...
* * *
Miss Eleanor—Ellie—Rosewood paced restlessly in the vast entrance hall of the house in Hanover Square as she awaited for word of the response to the note she had instructed be delivered earlier this evening. Hopefully none of her inner anxiety showed on her face as she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles outside, followed by a brief murmur of conversation. Stanhope moved forwards and opened the door just in time to allow the handsome Duke of Royston to sweep imperiously inside, bringing the cool evening air in with him.
As always happened, at first sight of this powerful and impressive gentleman, Ellie was struck momentarily speechless, as she could only stand and stare at him.
Excessively tall, at least a couple of inches over six feet, with fashionably ruffled hair of pure gold, Justin St Just’s features were harshly patrician—deep blue eyes, high cheekbones aside a long and aristocratic nose, chiselled lips and a square, determined jaw—and his wide shoulders and tapered waist were shown to advantage in the black superfine and snowy white linen, buff pantaloons and high black Hessians fitting snugly to the long length of muscled calf and thigh; he was without doubt the most handsome gentleman Ellie had ever beheld—
‘Well?’ he demanded even as he swept off his cloak and hat and handed them to Stanhope before striding across the vast hallway to where Ellie stood at the bottom of the wide and curving staircase.
—as well as being the most arrogant—
She drew in a breath. ‘I sent a note earlier this evening requesting that you call—’
‘Which is the very reason I am here now,’ he cut in.
—and impatient!
And considering that Ellie had sent the note over two hours ago, she found his delayed response to that request to be less than helpful! ‘I had expected you sooner...’
He stilled. ‘Do I detect a measure of rebuke in your tone?’
Her cheeks felt warm at the underlying steel beneath the mildness of his tone. ‘I—no...’
He relaxed his shoulders. ‘I am gratified to hear it.’
Her chin rose determinedly. ‘It is your grandmother whom I believe may have expected a more immediate response from you, your Grace.’ Indeed, that dear lady had been asking every quarter of the hour, since she had requested Ellie, as her companion, to send a note to her grandson, as to whether or not there had been any word from him. The duke’s arrival here now, so many hours after the note had been sent, was tardy to say the least.
‘This is my immediate response.’
She raised red-gold brows. ‘Indeed?’
Justin looked at her as if seeing her for the first time—which he no doubt was; companions to elderly ladies were of no consequence to dukes!—his eyes glinting deeply blue between narrowed lids as that disdainful glance swept over her from the red of her hair, her slenderness in the plain brown gown, down to the slippers upon her feet, and then back up to her now flushed face. ‘The two of us are related in some way, are we not?’
Not exactly. Ellie’s mother had been a widow with a nine-year-old daughter—Ellie—when she had married this gentlemen’s cousin some ten years ago. But as both her mother and stepfather had since been killed in a carriage accident, it rather rendered the relationship between herself and the duke so tenuous as to be practically non-existent. And if not for the kindness of his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Royston, in taking Ellie into her own household as her companion when she had been left alone in the world without a penny to call her own, Ellie very much doubted she would have seen any of the St Just family ever again following her mother’s demise.
‘We are stepcousins once removed, at best, your Grace,’ she now allowed huskily.
He raised an eyebrow, the candlelight giving a gold lustre to his fashionably tousled hair, the expression in those deep-blue eyes now hidden behind those lowered lids. ‘Cousin Eleanor,’ he acknowledged mockingly. ‘The fact of the matter is, I was not at my rooms when your note was delivered earlier this evening and it took one of my servants some time in which to...locate me.’
Justin had no idea why it was he was even bothering to explain himself to this particular young woman. She was only a distant relative by marriage. Indeed, he could not remember even having spoken to Miss Eleanor Rosewood before now. He had noticed her, of course—bored and cynical he might be, but he was also a man!
Her hair was an intriguing shade of red, despite attempts on her part to mute its fieriness and curl in the severity of its style. Her eyes were a stunning clear green and surrounded by thick dark lashes, freckles sprinkled the tops of her creamy cheeks and the pertness of her tiny nose, and her mouth—
Ah, her mouth... Full and pouting, and naturally the colour of ripe strawberries, it was far too easy for a man to imagine such a mouth being put to far better uses than talking or eating!
She was tiny in both stature and figure, and yet the fullness of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her plain and unbecoming brown gown, emphasised the slenderness of her waist and thighs, her hands also tiny and delicate, the fingers long and slender in wrist-length cream lace gloves.
Justin was well aware that his grandmother had lost no time in gathering this orphaned chick into her own household as her companion after Eleanor had been left alone in the world, following the death of her mother and stepfather, Justin’s own profligate cousin Frederick; Edith St Just might like to give the outward appearance of haughtiness and disdain, but to any who knew her well, it was an outer shell which hid a soft and yielding heart.
‘Your note implied the request was urgent in nature,’ Justin now drawled pointedly.
‘Yes.’ Colour now warmed those creamy cheeks. ‘I—the physician was called to attend the dowager duchess earlier this evening.’
‘The physician?’ he repeated sharply. ‘Is my grandmother ill?’
‘I do not believe she would have requested the physician be called if that were not the case, your Grace.’
Justin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he privately questioned whether or not she was daring to mock him; the green of her gaze was clear and unwavering, with no hint of the e
motion for which he searched. Which was not to say it was not there, but merely hidden behind that annoyingly cool façade. ‘What is the nature of her illness?’ he enquired coldly.
She shrugged. ‘Your grandmother did not confide in me, sir.’
Justin barely restrained his impatience with her unhelpful reply. ‘But surely you must have overheard some of her conversation with the physician?’
Her gaze lowered from his piercing one. ‘I was not in the room for all of his visit—’
‘Might I ask why the devil not?’
Eleanor blinked those long dark lashes as the only outward sign of her shock at the profanity. ‘She asked that I collect her shawl from her private parlour. By the time I returned Dr Franklyn was preparing to leave.’
Justin’s impatience deepened. ‘At which time I presume my grandmother asked that I be sent for?’
She nodded. ‘She also requested that you go up to her bedchamber the moment you arrived.’
A request this lady had obviously forgotten to relay to him until now. Because his arrival had diverted her from the task, perhaps...? It was a possibility he found as intriguing as he did amusing.
He nodded. ‘I will go up to her now. Perhaps you would arrange for some brandy to be brought to the library for when I return downstairs?’
‘Of course.’ Ellie found she was relieved to have something practical to do, her usual calm competence seeming to have deserted her the moment she found herself in Justin’s overpoweringly masculine presence. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’
The duke came to a halt on the second step of the wide staircase in order to turn and give her a pointed look. ‘I believe I am well aware of where my grandmother’s bedchamber is located, but you may accompany me up the stairs, to ensure I do not attempt to make away with the family silver, if that is your wish.’
‘Is that “family silver” not already yours?’ she asked, trying hard to keep hold of her composure against his needling.
‘It is.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Then perhaps you fear I may become lost in my own house, Cousin?’
Ellie was well aware that this was his house. As was everything connected with the Duchy of Royston. ‘I believe my time might be better served in seeking out Stanhope and requesting the decanter of brandy be brought to the library.’ Even the thought of accompanying the duke up the stairs was enough to cause Ellie’s cheeks to burn—something she knew from past experience to be most unbecoming against the red of her hair.
‘And two glasses.’
She raised surprised brows. ‘You are expecting company?’ The fact that the duke had been so difficult to locate this evening would seem to imply that he had been otherwise...occupied, and perhaps less than reputably. Even so, Ellie could not imagine him inviting one of his less-than-acceptable friends here, especially if he had been spending the evening in the company of a lady.
‘It is you whom I am expecting to join me there,’ he explained with a sigh.
Ellie’s eyes widened. ‘Me?’
Justin almost laughed at the stunned expression on her face. A natural reaction, perhaps, when this was the longest conversation they had ever exchanged.
Surprisingly, he found her naivety amusing, and, Justin readily admitted, very little succeeded in amusing him.
His childhood had been spent in the country until the age of ten, when he had been sent away to boarding school, after which he had seen his parents rarely and had felt an exclusion from their deep love for each other when he did, to the extent that it had coloured his own feelings about marriage. He accepted that a duke must necessarily marry, in order to provide an heir to the duchy, but Justin’s own isolated upbringing had dictated his own would be a marriage of convenience, rather than love. A marriage that would not exclude his children in the way that he had been excluded.
His three years as the Duke of Royston had ensured that he was denied nothing and certainly not any woman he expressed the least desire for—and, on several occasions, some he had not, such as other gentlemen’s wives and the daughters of marriage-minded mamas!
Eleanor Rosewood, as companion to his grandmother, was not of that ilk, of course, just as their tenuous family connection ensured she could never be considered as Justin’s social equal. At the same time, though, even that slight family connection meant he could not consider her as a future mistress, either. Frustrating, but true.
‘Your Grace...?’
He frowned his irritation with her insistence on using his title. ‘I believe we established only a few minutes ago that we are cousins of a sort and we should therefore address each other as Cousin Eleanor and Cousin Justin.’
Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm at the mere thought of her using such familiarity with this rakishly handsome gentleman; Justin St Just, the twelfth Duke of Royston, was so top-lofty, so arrogantly haughty as he gave every appearance of looking down the length of his superior nose at the rest of the world, that Ellie would never be able to even think of him as a cousin, let alone address him as such.
‘I believe that you may have implied something of the sort, yes, your Grace,’ she said stubbornly.
He arched one blond brow over suddenly teasing blue eyes. ‘But you did not concur?’
‘I do not believe so, no, your Grace.’
He eyed her in sudden frustration. ‘Perhaps it is a subject we should discuss further when I return downstairs?’
She frowned. ‘I—perhaps.’
He scowled darkly at her intransigence. ‘But again, you do not agree...?’
Ellie believed such a conversation to be a complete waste of his time, as well as her own. What was the point in arguing over what to call one another? They’d probably not speak to each other again for at least another year, if this past year—which consisted of this last few minutes’ conversation for the entirety of it—was any indication! ‘It is very late, your Grace, and I believe the dowager duchess, if she has been made aware of your arrival, will be becoming increasingly anxious to speak with you,’ she prompted softly.
‘Of course.’ He now looked annoyed at having allowed himself to become distracted by talking to her. ‘I will expect to find you in the library, along with the decanter of brandy and two glasses, when I return,’ he added peremptorily before resuming his ascent of the staircase.
Almost, Ellie recognised indignantly, as if he considered her as being of no more consequence than a dog he might instruct to heel, or a horse he halted by the rein.
Chapter Three
‘I must say, you took your time getting here, Royston.’
Justin, as was the case with most men, was uncomfortable visiting a sickroom, but especially when it was that of his aged grandmother, the dowager duchess being a woman for whom he had the highest regard and affection.
Tonight, the pallor of her face emphasised each line and wrinkle, so that she looked every one of her almost seventy years as she lay propped up by white lace pillows piled high against the head of the huge four-poster bed. A state of affairs that was not in the least reassuring, despite the fact that her iron-grey hair was as perfectly styled as usual and her expression as proudly imperious.
The St Justs, as Justin knew only too well, after learning of his grandfather’s long and private struggle with a wasting disease, were a breed apart when it came to bearing up under adversity; his grandmother might only be a St Just by marriage, but her strength of will was equal to, if not more than, any true-born St Just.
He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside the four-poster bed. ‘I apologise for my tardiness, Grandmama. I was not at home when Cousin Eleanor’s note arrived—’
‘If you lived here as you should that would not have been a problem,’ she said querulously.
‘We have had this conversation before, Grandmama. This is your home, not mine—’
�
�You are the Duke of Royston, are you not?’
Justin sighed. ‘Yes, for my sins, I most certainly am.’
Edith eyed him disapprovingly. ‘No doubt living here with me would put a dampener on your gambling or wenching—or both! Which diversion were you enjoying this evening to cause your delay?’ She gave a disgusted sniff, but couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eye.
Justin kept his expression neutral so as not to upset his grandmother; his reluctance to live at Royston House was due more to the fact that he associated this house with the frequent absences of his parents during his childhood, and his subsequent loneliness, than because he feared his grandmother would put a crimp in any supposed excesses of his in gambling and wenching, as she put it. As a consequence, he preferred to remain at the apartments he had occupied before the death of his father. ‘I am sure this is not a suitable conversation for a grandson to be having with his aged grandmother—’
‘Less talk of the aged, if you do not mind! And why should we not talk of such things?’ She looked up at him challengingly. ‘Do you think me so old that I do not know how young and single gentlemen of the ton choose to spend their evenings? Many of the married ones, too!’
‘I believe I may only be called young in years, Grandmama,’ he drawled ruefully; these past three years as the Duke of Royston, and the onerous responsibilities of that title, had required that Justin become more circumspect in his public lifestyle, and at the same time they had left him little or no time for a private life either.
Perhaps it was time he thought seriously of acquiring a permanent mistress, a mild and biddable woman who would be only too pleased to attend to his needs, no matter what the time of day or night, but would make no demands of him other than that he keep her and provide a house in which they might meet. It was an idea that merited some further consideration.
But not here and now. ‘I did not come here to discuss my own activities, when it is your own health which is currently in question.’ he changed the subject deftly. ‘Cousin Eleanor has informed me that Dr Franklyn was called to attend you earlier this evening. What is the problem, Grandmama?’
NOT JUST A WALLFLOWER Page 2