“Ellie, don’t let him see you cry,” he whispered fiercely in her ear. She pulled herself upright and held her head high.
“That’s my brave Lady Moonlight,” he said softly as he handed her back into his coach.
———
Beside Garrick, in front of the altar of St Mary’s in the City of London, Eleanor’s heart seemed determined to make a quick escape. Was it fear or joy making it beat so hard? Perhaps both. Behind them stood Lieutenant Dan Smith, Joshua Nidd and Johnson the coachman, and rows of empty pews. Eleanor wore the gown she’d worn the previous evening.
The vicar perused the special licence. “Everything seems in order.”
The sound of the church door opening interrupted the hushed solemnity. Garrick signalled impatiently for the man to go on, but Dan held up a restraining hand. Boot heels echoing, the young officer walked back to greet the latecomer.
Curious, Eleanor turned. A slight figure in a peach gown and green spencer hurried up the aisle on the Lieutenant’s arm.
“Cecilia?”
“What the deuce?” Garrick said, looking beyond her, as if expecting someone else.
Cecilia brushed a dark curl off her shoulder. “William forbade me to come. I left as soon as he went out.” She handed Eleanor a bouquet of silk flowers. “I thought you might need these.” She looked accusingly at Garrick, who merely raised a dark arching eyebrow and turned back to the minister.
To Eleanor, the next few minutes passed in a blur, but throughout the ceremony she clung to Garrick, her lifeline in a storm-tossed sea while the necessary words were spoken.
He, on the other hand, seemed preoccupied, impatient for the conclusion, speaking his words crisply and clearly, tensing when she spoke hers. Considerate, and gentle when he kissed her, bland as he received the well wishes of those present, even generous as he hugged Cecilia and called her his chère sister, he clearly wished it over. Was he already regretting his hasty offer? Eleanor had a strange sense of foreboding, when she should have been happy.
The moment the vicar sprinkled sand on their signatures in the register, Garrick hurried her down the aisle with his hand in the small of her back, almost pushing her into the carriage when she would have lingered with Sissy at the steps.
He turned to clasp the Lieutenant’s hand. Garrick clapped a hand to the young man’s shoulder. A look of regret passed between them. This was more than just a casual parting. The thought stuck her like a blow.
Garrick was leaving. Despite their marriage he was still going to France. And soon. Her stomach roiled as if the lifeline had snapped and all hope of rescue was disappearing into the distance. Somehow she had to stop him.
“Take Lady Cecelia home, Dan,” Garrick ordered, then climbed into the carriage.
———
Married. Garrick eyed his lovely wife on the opposite carriage seat. She smiled at him tentatively. He wanted to smile back, to pull her on to his lap, to bury his face in her hair and inhale her sweet perfume, when what he must do was get ready to leave. And he was going to have to tell her.
The carriage pulled up outside the door to Beauworth House. “Here we are,” he said to fill the awkward silence when they’d never been short of conversation.
He handed his bride down. His bride? The beautiful English rose he’d thought he’d lost. But she’d married him to save her brother and her reputation. Would she constantly remind him of her sacrifice, or would she be content? If they never learned the truth about his mother’s death, would she fear him? Hell, if she didn’t she’d be a fool.
And yet she’d married him. Trusted him with her body and soul. He felt humbled and very afraid.
She peeked up at him, looking more nervous than she’d been last night, when she ought to have been terrified witless. A need to protect cut a swathe through his determination to remain uninvolved. He swept her up in his arms, bearing his burden with pride. It was what bridegrooms were supposed to do on their wedding day. He liked the way she clung around his neck, the weight of her, the curve of her waist, the bend of her knee, the glimpse of slender ankles when he glanced down to mount the steps to his open front door.
“This is your home now,” he said, putting her down when he wanted to keep her in his arms and run straight upstairs. “Order it as you will.”
He stepped away while the butler relieved her of her outer raiment, the damned cloak she’d worn the night before, and beneath it the pale blue gown. He’d like to see her dressed in nothing but satins and silks in shades of gold and sapphire. Hell, he’d like to see her naked.
“Dinner is served, my lord,” the butler said.
“No point in waiting,” Garrick said. “Unless you feel the need to freshen up.”
She shook her head.
“Good.” He held out his arm. He escorted her into the panelled dining room, with its twenty-foot table and two places set at one end.
“Will Lieutenant Smith not be joining us?” she asked, hesitantly.
The tiny hesitation scoured his heart. He could not allow her to wound him again, not with all that was at stake. “Afraid to be alone with me, Ellie? Do you think I will devour you instead of the meal?”
At that she smiled, a glorious lightening of her beautiful face, and the band around his chest eased.
“Of course not,” she said. The butler placed several platters on the table, filled their glasses with red wine, then retreated to stand silent at the wall.
Garrick filled her plate with slices of roast duck, an assortment of vegetables and a slice of beef pie. They addressed themselves to the dinner. Or rather she pushed the food around on her plate, while he drank wine. After ten minutes of utter silence, he waved the butler away. The door closed softly behind him.
“What is the matter, Ellie?”
She bit her bottom lip, then raised her gaze to his face, her eyes swirling with shadows. “I hope you don’t regret…” she waved her fork as if words failed her “…this. Us.” A tinge of colour stained her cheekbones.
What had he hoped for? A declaration that her marriage to him was more than a saving of face? He leaned back, keeping his voice cool. “To be honest with you, I had not thought of marriage at all. My life is already full.”
She responded with a lift of her chin. Proud and heartbreakingly vulnerable. He found himself wanting to kiss her. But he wasn’t going to humble himself before the one woman with the power to bring him to his knees. Not again.
“Then I do hope I won’t be in the way,” she said in bright, brittle tones. “After all, it is no business of a wife’s what a man does for entertainment.” She inspected the fruit centrepiece, as if expecting maggots to crawl out of it. “I do not ask you to change.”
Bloody hell. So this is how she thought they would go on. “How understanding, ma belle mie.”
Her eyes flashed, but she presented an innocent smile. “I assume, of course, that I shall have the same level of freedom.”
So, she would once more cross swords with him. This was more the Ellie he knew, rather than the crushed little figure who had stood at his side in church. But he didn’t have time for games. “Not at all.”
Her hand gripped her knife, as if she contemplated thrusting it into his anatomy. Then her shoulders relaxed and she smiled as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, the little witch. “La, sir, shouldn’t what is sauce for the gander be also sauce for the goose?”
His back teeth ground together. He knew her little games too well. She thought to keep him in England with threats of infidelity. God, he’d always admired her spirit, but in this she’d be disillusioned. He forced a smile and inclined his head. “I see.”
Her disappointment, her hurt, flashed in her eyes, quickly hidden. It was wicked of him to be pleased, but then she should know better than to play her tricks off on him.
He pushed to his feet and moved to stand behind her. “Perhaps I need to remind you that you are mine, chérie.” He placed his hands under her elbows, bringing her to her feet, unre
asonably pleased when she didn’t resist. He kicked the chair out of the way and spun her around to face him. Her gaze searched his face. Looking for what? His surrender? If he had any sense, he’d put her across his knee and spank her bottom. Lust flared at the thought.
Her eyes widened as if she had read his thoughts. He thought he might drown in their brilliant silver depths.
He had his orders. Dover tonight, France in the morning. In the time he had available, he wanted her settled and secure, even if he could not ease her fears. He didn’t want her throwing herself at another man in a fit of rebellion.
He bent his head and kissed her lips. She stiffened and he smiled. She would not resist him for long, she never did. He kissed her gently, a whispering brush of lips, a flicker of tongue. Her breathing shortened to little gasps, her hand came to his shoulder, she pressed her mouth against his and parted her lips. Oh, yes. His woman. His love.
He picked her up, so light, a creature of air and light and liquid silver who would slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. He carried her upstairs to his bed. He did not know where his next meal was coming from once he left here, but the next hour would be food for his soul. And he would feast.
———
Overwhelmed by languor, Eleanor barely realised he was out of bed and dressing. Their lovemaking had been wild, almost desperate. Its intensity had left her limp and replete. Her eyes slid open as she heard movement beyond the bed.
He wore his usual black and his face looked bleak, as if he faced an unpleasant duty. Her heart sank. He was leaving. If the threat of her cuckolding him was not enough to keep him at her side, perhaps another weapon would work.
She smiled and reached out. “It is too early. Come back to bed.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He leaned over her and kissed her almost absently. “I will return.” He moved towards the door.
“It is dark.” Panic laced her voice, but she didn’t care. “Stay until morning at least.”
“I’m sorry.” He turned the handle.
He did sound sorry. A small victory. “You are going to France, aren’t you?” she said, her voice rising, sounding shrill to her own ears. “It is true what they say? You have changed your allegiance?”
He didn’t look at her. Just opened the door. Finally he spoke in flat tones. “I will not tolerate another man in your bed, Eleanor. If you so much as look at a man, I will kill him. You do understand, don’t you?”
He shut the door behind him.
A hysterical laugh escaped her. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. As if she would ever want anyone else. How little he understood. Less than a day married and he’d left.
The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. If he really was a spy and he was caught, he would be shot.
A tear slipped over her lower lashes and made its way down her cheek. She swiped it away.
No, she would not believe such a thing of him. Betraying his country was dishonourable, and whatever Garrick was, he had never been that.
Wherever he was going, he had to return, because she hadn’t said goodbye.
———
Waiting in the drawing room for Sissy to call as usual, Eleanor pressed her hand flat to her stomach. She still could not believe it. She and Garrick has made a baby on their final night together. After all the years of assuming she would never marry, she was going to be a mother. How she longed for Garrick to share her joy.
A contentment filled her, the thought of the future a bright shining horizon. Her and Garrick and their babe.
This news would bring him home now the war was over. Napoleon was finally defeated at Waterloo. All the reports spoke of a great victory.
Nidd knocked on the door. “Lady Hadley,” he announced in solemn tones, as if Sissy did not arrive at the same time every day. Bless her, she’d ignored William’s admonition to stay away and had visited almost daily these past few weeks.
“Have the papers arrived yet, Nidd?” Sissy asked with a jaunty smile.
Poor old Nidd could not resist her. “I’ll bring them directly, my lady.” He scuttled away.
“Len, don’t think of getting up,” Sissy said, leaning over her. “You need to be careful in your condition.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Eleanor said, kissing the soft cheek presented at her level.
A moment later, Nidd returned with a freshly ironed newspaper. “The Times, my lady,” Nidd said, offering it to Eleanor.
Sissy whisked it out of his hand. “Thank you.”
“Will that be all, my lady?” Nidd asked.
“Tea, please, Nidd. And cake. And perhaps some of those cucumber sandwiches Cook makes.” The butler disappeared.
“Good Lord, Len, it is barely ten o’clock. You can’t have finished breakfast more than an hour ago.”
“I feel nauseous if I don’t eat,” Eleanor said.
“Oh, poor you. It must be simply dreadful.”
Eleanor smiled at her sister. “No. It is wonderful.”
With much rattling and cursing, Sissy opened the paper. Everyone in London was doing it. Looking at the endless lists of the fallen. There was not a family among the ton who had not lost a brother, a son or a close friend.
Dark head bent over the paper, Sissy ran her finger down the columns of names. Her finger stopped its downward course a few lines down. She looked away, blinking, as if trying to clear her sight.
Eleanor snatched the sheet from her hand.
“Captain Lord Castlefield,” she read slowly. “Missing.”
Sissy flung herself at Eleanor’s chest, hugged her tight. “Missing. It says missing, not dead.”
Eleanor took a deep breath, tried to keep the shake from her voice. “He might well be wounded and not yet recognised.” Surely she would know if her twin was dead? A breath seemed to catch on a lump in her throat. So many of those listed as missing at the beginning of the week had more recently been reported among the dead. And what about Garrick? There had been no word. No information about those killed or wounded on the French side.
“I will write to Captain Smith,” Cecilia said, her eyes glistening with tears. “He will search the hospitals.” She ran to the writing table.
Dan Smith, now a captain, had sent word immediately after the battle by way of a friend ordered to London with dispatches.
“Good idea,” Eleanor said, though why Captain Smith, so vilified by her brother, would feel obligated to seek him out wasn’t clear. And what if he found him dead? She gulped a painful breath. “Cecilia, we must prepare for the worst.”
Sissy looked up from sharpening her pen. “No. William is all right. He has to be. And your Marquess, too.”
Eleanor swallowed what felt like a handful of pins. “I am sure you are right.”
If that was so, why hadn’t she heard? She held her hands to her waist for a second. Would his child ever see its father?
———
A week later, Sissy dashed into her drawing room, laughing and crying at once and waving a letter. “He’s safe! Oh, Len, William is safe. I received a letter from him this morning. He was unconscious for a while, but is recovered now. Captain Smith found him in a field hospital with other men from his regiment. They were at Hougoumont. Here, see for yourself.” She pressed the crumpled paper into Eleanor’s hand.
Relief washed through her in a torrent. As Eleanor read William’s letter, tears stole down her face, for his last lines touched her deeply.
Tell Len I send my love. I have had a great deal of time to think, lying here in hospital, with so many other good and brave fellows dying around me. I could not have borne it if I had left this world without a chance to beg her forgiveness. I have enclosed a letter for her eyes only.
“See,” Cecilia said triumphantly, “I knew he could not be angry at you forever.” Four years had felt like a lifetime. “Did you see where he mentioned Captain Smith? Not a word of censure. In fact, he says he’s a good sort of chap and very brave. Oh, Len, everyt
hing is going to be all right.”
William sounded like a changed man. Eleanor smiled at her sister through her tears. “I do hope so,” she whispered. “Sissy, is there another letter for me?”
“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry, I almost forgot.” She pulled out a fold of paper from her reticule. While Sissy once more pored over the part of William’s letter that spoke of Captain Smith, Eleanor went to the window where the light was better. Fingers trembling, she broke the seal. Her heart felt too large for her chest. William had forgiven her.
My Dearest Len,
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I feel it is my duty. One of the men who died here yesterday told me he saw Beauworth just before the battle started. He had been captured by a company of Dutch. He was being held at their headquarters. No doubt, by now he has been executed.
A pain spasmed in her chest. She clutched her throat. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t breathe. The paper shook so hard, she couldn’t make out the words. She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and forced herself to read on.
I am so sorry. But I feel obliged to unload my burdens and tell the truth at last. Beauworth was innocent of any crime against his mother. Le Clere was her murderer. I have Piggot’s letter in my safe at Castlefield explaining it all. I picked it up and read it the day of the ransom and have kept it ever since. Dishonourable, I know.
When I read of his exoneration, I couldn’t stand to think of him getting away with what he did to you. And, God help me, to me. Though I now know the truth of that, too, from young Smith. I can only blame it on some sort of madness. It has haunted me every day since. Part of the reason I returned to my regiment. A sort of atonement, I think.
To my shame, I believe my vengeful actions drove Beauworth into the arms of the French. I can only beg your forgiveness. I pray you will find it in your heart, though I cannot blame you if you turn away.
No matter what, I will take care of you always, if you will allow. Your loving brother, William.
Eleanor stared at the paper. Garrick. Dead. What William had done paled in comparison. The tears that had flowed so freely at the miraculous news of William’s survival dried on her cheeks. Her mind seemed numb. The words shot as a spy reverberated like an echo in an empty vessel. He would never see his child.
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress Page 21