An odd bubble of joy filled her heart. The relief of knowing she’d been right about him all along seemed to take a heavy weight from her shoulders. “Yes. I do. I wish I had known when—”
“So do I. Setting the record straight about your brother, however, wasn’t my primary reason for wishing to have a private conversation.”
“Then what?”
“Cast your mind back to the day of the ransom. To Piggot’s letter, if you will?”
They passed a barouche with an elderly woman and a pretty young lady. Garrick bowed an acknowledgement as they shot by.
She remembered too much about those days. But the letter? She frowned. “William dropped it at your feet.”
“I left it there. Didn’t want to give them a shot at you.”
He’d been brave that day, saving her life and William’s. “It was addressed to you. That is all I remember.”
His grip tightened on the reins as the horses started forwards. It was a few moments before he had them in hand again. “Why?” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why was it addressed to me, the accused? And what happened to it?” While his expression remained calm, if a little grim, anger tinged his voice.
“I have no idea. I’m sorry.”
“I want that letter.”
What did this have to do with her? “Le Clere must have picked it up during the mêlée.”
“Impossible. No. Someone else picked it up.”
“Who?”
He looked as her sideways. “Who do you think?”
“If William had retrieved the letter, all he had to do was hand it over to the authorities and send you back to prison.” Her stomach dipped.
“Precisely. I want that letter, Ellie.”
The blood in her veins seemed to have been exchanged for melted snow. She took a breath. “You think I have it.”
He didn’t have to answer.
She did not have his stupid letter, but from the look on his face he wasn’t going to believe a word she said. “Why would you want it after all this time?”
His gloved hand tightened on the reins. “Because it was addressed to me.”
“I don’t have it.”
He sighed. An impatient male huff of breath. “All right. Let me tell you what happened. You climbed aboard that cart and bandaged me up. For which I thank you. Then you walked back across that field and picked up the letter. Did you read it?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Answer me, Ellie. Did you read it?”
The man of ice from minutes before evaporated in the heat of his anger. And beneath the rage, she heard the cry of a small boy, afraid and hurt and very lonely. It made her feel sad. Hot prickles burned behind her eyes. Her heart felt wrenched into a thousand pieces. “I do not have your letter. Even if I did, why dredge up history?”
He inhaled a long, slow breath and let it go. “For the sake of my sanity. If you won’t help me willingly, I will find the truth without your help.”
She reached out, put her hands on his forearm, felt the quiver of sinew and muscle as he steered the horses in a tight circle. “Please, leave well alone. If anyone had the letter, they would have used it by now. Perhaps the wind blew it away.”
He shook her hand off, flicked his whip above his leader’s head and set the team into a gallop.
“Slow down,” she said as they turned on to the Mall. He didn’t seem to hear. Too busy driving to an inch, setting his team at impossibly narrow spaces with mere inches to spare, his face set like granite. He was angry, but he really had the wrong end of the stick.
It wasn’t very many minutes before he set her down at her door. He didn’t bother to escort her inside. He helped her climb down, then whipped up his horses and left her standing on the curb.
She nibbled at the tip of her glove, remembering those long-ago days. They’d all changed so much. Her, Garrick, William. Only Sissy remained the same.
She shivered.
Chapter Ten
Eleanor thought she might expire from lack of air. The Smithwicks’s ballroom was far too small for the number of guests invited. She couldn’t see the dance floor for the crowds as she squeezed her way back to her aunt from the withdrawing room.
She sat down. “Where is Cecelia?”
“She was here a moment ago. Beauworth asked her to dance.”
Her heart jolted. “Beauworth?”
“Mmm. Asked very prettily, too. Made her laugh.”
Why would Beauworth ask Sissy to dance? She didn’t like the unpleasant little twinge in her stomach. She craned her neck to see around the group of friends clustered in front of her. “I don’t see her.”
I will find the truth without your help. That was what he had said. He had better not involve her sister in his plans. A chill breeze came out of nowhere, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck, a feeling of impending doom. “I’ll go and look for her.”
“She’ll be back when the music stops,” Aunt Marjory said. “I’ve never heard it said Beauworth had a taste for misses in their first Season.”
He’d had a taste for one young miss. Years ago.
“I will be less than a moment,” she said. The air reeked of attar of roses, bay rum and hot bodies. Eleanor plied her fan, hoping to stir up enough air to give some respite from the heat as she strolled around the dance floor, twice. No sign of them. Nor were they anywhere else in the room. She was sure of it. She’d know if Garrick was present.
She headed for the doors, squeezing between tight knots of people trying to make themselves heard over the din.
Finally, she made it into the hallway. It was like going from Bedlam into a sanctuary. She took a breath. Where would they have gone? She would certainly have a word with Cecelia about disappearing without a chaperon. And Garrick would also get a piece of her mind.
Halfway along the corridor, she met a blond fresh-faced lieutenant in a dark green uniform coming the other way. He hesitated as she approached.
“Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor frowned. He looked familiar, but she could not place him.
He smiled and bowed, his vivid blue eyes twinkling. “Dan Smith, my lady.”
“Dan? Oh, my goodness, I would never have recognised you. A lieutenant, too. Congratulations.” He had been a bright young lad four years ago and the war had obviously given him a golden opportunity for advancement.
“My lord, the Marquess, put in a good word.” Dan spoke with pride and affection.
His words brought Eleanor back to her quest. “Have you seen the Marquess and Lady Cecilia?”
“I believe they went into the drawing room. They have cards set out there. May I escort you?”
She smiled her agreement and took his arm. They walked along the brightly lit corridor, their footfalls making no sound on the thick Aubusson rug. Her heart knocked a protest at the thought of facing Garrick. She’d hoped to avoid him entirely.
The card room proved to be vacant except for a couple of elderly men playing whist. Dan looked around nonplussed. Disappointed, she turned to leave. The curtains rippled in the draught of an open window. She glanced at Dan. His expression tightened.
Before Eleanor could say anything, the young man strode to the curtain and drew it back, revealing an open French door. He stepped through. Eleanor followed on to the torch-lit balcony.
Sitting on a stone seat with her skirts above her calf, Sissy’s stockinged foot rested on the bent knee of the gentleman kneeling before her. The Marquess, for that was who it was filling her pink satin slipper with champagne, glanced up with a wicked grin.
Eleanor’s ribs squeezed tight. She could not hold back her gasp. “Cecelia! What are you doing?”
Her face alight with laughter, the child looked up. “Len? Isn’t he the most ridiculous man alive?” She giggled. “I think I’m going to lose my wager.”
She sounded foxed. They were on the brink of disaster. Scandal loomed a mere whisper away. Eleanor’s lips felt ti
ght, her jaw felt tight, her skin felt tight—if she took a breath, she might fly apart. She kept her voice low. “And what did you wager, may I ask?”
“A kiss.”
Dan stiffened.
Even a commoner found this kind of behaviour appalling. She snatched the slipper from the Marquess and emptied its contents over the railing. “Sissy, put this on, at once.”
As he rose to his feet, Garrick’s mouth curled in a cynical smile. “Good evening, Lady Eleanor.”
She ground her teeth, rather than throw the slipper at his head.
“Lady Cecilia,” Garrick said softly, “I’m afraid your sister doesn’t believe in the principle that one’s word is one’s bond, do you, my lady?”
A low blow, indeed, directed at her reneging on their bargain and far more painful than a slap to the face. Eleanor knew she must have gone red from the prick-ling heat in her cheeks and throat. Pretending not to hear, she pushed Cecilia’s foot into her damp footwear and pulled her upright. “Come back to the ballroom before anyone notices.”
“My lady,” Lieutenant Smith said, his voice low, full of concern. “Might I suggest that if I escort Lady Cecilia and my lord takes your arm, it will look as though the four of us took a stroll?”
Eleanor glanced at him with gratitude “You are very kind, Lieutenant Smith.”
“An outflanking manoeuvre, Dan?” The Marquess’s voice from the shadows sounded dangerous. Then he gave a short laugh. “I surrender. This time.”
Dan offered his hand to Cecilia and she looked up at him.
“Cecilia, this is Lieutenant Dan Smith,” Eleanor said.
“Lady Cecilia,” Lieutenant Smith murmured, his ears pink.
“Lieutenant, a pleasure.” Cecelia’s smile was a little lopsided, but very sweet.
A slightly bemused expression on his face, the young man placed her outstretched hand on the green sleeve of his uniform.
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. Heaven help them all. Cecilia was positively dangerous.
She ignored Garrick’s glower and took his arm. “How dare you?” she muttered.
He glanced down at her. “I dare anything to get what I want, Lady Eleanor. As do you.”
A rush of heat flared in her face. “You have no idea how much I regret what I did.”
His breathing changed, a slight hitch, and she had the sense she’d touched a nerve, yet when she glanced up, his expression was one of utter boredom.
“Promise me you will stay away from Sissy,” she said.
“Would you believe my promise?” he asked with a cynical smile.
She had no time to answer. They’d already entered the ballroom, where any chance word might be overheard. Whether he promised or not, she would make sure Sissy didn’t come within ten feet of the Marquess of Beauworth in future.
A few heads turned in their direction as they traversed the room, but no buzz of conversation or sly whispers. Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Lieutenant Smith saw Sissy to her seat and bowed very properly. Eleanor took the chair on the other side of her aunt. “Thank you, both,” she said, intending it for a dismissal.
“Do you not dance, Lieutenant?” Sissy asked.
Lieutenant Smith turned as red as a poppy. The Marquess, rot him, grinned wolfishly at his protégé’s obvious discomfort. Eleanor wanted to bash him over the head with her reticule. She pretended not to notice.
“I do, my lady,” Lieutenant Smith said. “I would be honoured if you would grant me a cotillion later this evening.”
The little minx grinned. “I have one free after supper.”
Serious and courteous, the young soldier bowed. “I will return then. Thank you.” He took the Marquess by the arm and led him away.
A considering expression on her face, Cecelia watched the angelic soldier and the dark rake depart, an odd combination to be sure. And the poor young lieutenant was no more suitable for Sissy than the Marquess of Beauworth.
Eleanor sighed. “Really, Cecilia, what has got into you, going off alone with a well-known rake? You could be facing ruin right now. Not to mention it is shockingly rag-mannered to ask a man to dance.”
“You are a jealous old maid.”
It was unforgivably rude and hurtful, but Eleanor swallowed her pride. It was Garrick’s fault Sissy had drunk too much champagne and there was no point in getting into an argument with her in a crowded ballroom. And besides, after playing mother to Sissy for so many years, she felt like an old spinster.
Her summer of madness with Garrick was the last time she’d felt truly young. It had been a wild and wonderful adventure and had led to nothing but pain. Not to mention the financial disaster she’d caused. No more adventures for her. She’d settled down. She was happy. Very happy. She sniffed into her handkerchief, blinked, then turned and entered a conversation between her aunt and the elderly widow beside her, just as she ought.
———
“What are you about letting her make a fool of herself with a man who comes straight from the stews?” William paced the floor in front of the table where she sat waiting to pour him a cup of tea.
It had been too much to hope that he would not hear the gossip and the guilt written on her face wasn’t helping. She loved her twin dearly, but since inheriting the title he’d become one of the world’s most intolerant men.
“William, dear, Lieutenant Smith is a brave and honourable young man. Everyone likes him, despite his lack of birth. He is but one man among many in Cecilia’s court and I promise you she does not favour any one of them. You should be proud of her success.”
“I am proud of her,” he said. “But, Eleanor, the man hangs on Beauworth’s lips.” And that was the real reason for his anger. Dare she speak to him about Garrick? Her heart picked up speed.
“About Beauworth…”
His brow lowered.
She gulped a breath. “I met him the other day.”
“I told him I would kill him if he came near you.”
“William, he has proof he was not the person who injured you.”
“Are you really so gullible? Stay away from that man. I don’t want him near this house.”
She was unable to control the pain in her expression.
He sat down beside her. “I’m sorry, Len. But if anything were to happen to Cecilia, I would never forgive myself.”
As he had never forgiven himself for what had happened to her. The reason she forgave him his ill humours.
He grimaced. “Beauworth was seen in France, you know, but no one will come right out and accuse him to his face, even though he is half-French.” His lip curled. “He curries favour with the Prince.”
“Rumour, William. Not fact.” She kept her face calm and her voice steady. “William, there are other rumours about Beauworth, involving me. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“What do you think I am?”
He sounded defensive and he hadn’t answered the question. Her heart sank. What had he done?
She handed him a white bone-china cup with a smile. “You know, I always wondered what was in that letter Le Clere asked you to bring that day. Did you read it?”
He shifted in his seat, the cup rattling in the saucer. “Of course not. Do you think I would have risked your life?”
Her heart softened at his obvious indignation and yet the way he sat sipping his tea, all stiff and uncomfortable, not meeting her gaze, stirred up a feeling that something wasn’t right. “And you didn’t pick it up afterwards?”
“Eleanor, you are changing the subject. Make sure that young puppy Smith keeps within bounds and Beauworth does not enter this house and I’ll say no more.”
It was he who had changed the subject, and he’d given in far too easily on the issue of Captain Smith. He was hiding something. Something to do with the letter? Surely not. What would it benefit him to keep Garrick’s guilt a secret? Dash it all, now she would have to look for the letter. If only for her own peace of mind. She would send word to Martin. Ask him to look for it.
As steward, he had access to all of William’s papers. He wouldn’t like it, but somehow she’d convince him to help her one last time.
She realised William was watching her, expecting some reaction to his generous surrender. She smiled. “Thank you. Besides, I think the question will soon be moot. Lieutenant Smith expects to be called back to his regiment any day now. He thinks we will go to war again.”
His brow furrowed. “No doubt about it.”
“Thank heavens you are out of it.”
“Damn it, Eleanor. I wish I could go. See the end of the little Corsican once and for all.” His expression betrayed an unusually boyish eagerness. A look she hadn’t seen for years. Her stomach dipped.
“William, no! Think of me. Of Sissy. How would we go on if something happened to you? Your duty is here.”
He huffed out a breath. “To be in at the end would be tremendous. If Michael hadn’t died, I would have been there.”
“I wish he was still with us, too, but not if it meant you going to war again.”
He smiled at that, but still, frustration showed in the set of his shoulders and his pursed lips. He’d given up his military ambitions for the sake of the title, for his family, a sacrifice she knew he regretted deeply.
He set down his cup. “I must be off. I am meeting with the fellows from my old regiment at Whites’.”
He rose awkwardly to his feet and kissed her cheek. “Promise you will keep a close eye on Sissy?”
“Yes, William, I promise.” She walked with him to his carriage and waved him farewell. She sighed. He had his purpose, he would not shirk his duty, and she had hers, though what she would do when Sissy married, she couldn’t imagine.
A footman approached her as she turned to re-enter the house. She didn’t recognise the livery. “Do you live here, miss?”
Lord, did he take her for a servant? She knew her gown was plain, but really. “I do,” she said.
“Got a letter for one of the ladies of the house. Lady Sissy.” He thrust it in her face and ran off. Affronted, she watched him go.
She glanced down at the note, turned it over to see from whence it came. It was fastened with a red seal she recognised. Beauworth.
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress Page 18