The Second Seduction of a Lady

by Miranda Neville

  Eleanor snorted. “If I have anything to say about it we’ll never find out. I intend to save her. I shall find her and take her home. We’ll tell everyone she was with me all the time.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t work. Her mother and brother have already disowned her.”

  “The devil they have!” It took a lot to make Eleanor utter a profanity.

  “I went to Mrs. Brotherton to discuss what should best be done. Good God, Eleanor! What a foolish and disagreeable woman she is. She fed me some nonsense about wishing her daughter to marry Kendal or a marquess, and told me that under no circumstances would she ever speak to her daughter again. I soon found she’d made not the least effort to hush the business up and the news was already spread around the neighborhood.”

  “If only I had been there! I could have reasoned with her.”

  “Why weren’t you?” he asked. “Why did you leave?”

  “I—” She paused. “You know why. I don’t wish to speak of it. We must decide what to do about the children.”

  Max’s ears strained to hear her words. She’d started to say something different and changed her mind. Something important. His bewildered anger at her fickleness had haunted the long journey into Lancashire. Yet he’d have sworn on any ancestral grave anyone cared to produce that Eleanor was not capricious. Her affections to all but him were unchangeable. And her flight had been irrational.

  A tinge of dark humor tugged the edge of his mouth when he considered her probable reaction to such an accusation. He loved her for her much vaunted common sense, of which commodity she’d shown precious little in her dealings with him. The human heart rarely traded in logic. An acorn of hope sprouted in his breast. Lips pursed, eyes straight ahead, she was not to be argued with…yet.

  “Let us agree that we are neither without fault and try to make the best of the situation.” He spoke dispassionately and resisted a strong desire to take her hand, to comfort her distress if nothing more. “Her only choice is to marry Robert. And since it’s what she wants, what they both want, it could be worse. If I, Robert’s former guardian, and you, representing Caro’s family, are present for the wedding, perhaps we can salvage things enough that they will be received. That she will be received. You are conversant enough with the way things are to know that it is always the lady who pays.”

  “You are right,” she said in a subdued tone. “Caro does need me.”

  Riding in silence for several miles, Max took quiet satisfaction each time a bump in the road marred the unyielding line of Eleanor’s back and lurched her to his side of the bench. Every brush of her shoulder gave him promise for the future. He was prepared to take one stage of their journey at a time. He and his infuriated beloved were speeding for Gretna Green, and not to take advantage of the place’s famous facilities would be a travesty. One particularly sharp jolt almost knocked her off the seat. The hand she extended to save herself landed on his thigh, inches from causing him extreme pain. “You’ll pay for that, my love,” he murmured, too low for her to make out the words. She glared at him, resumed her rigid posture, and stuck her nose into the air without uttering a word.

  Thus she remained when they pulled into the innyard at Burton. “Stay here,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll inquire about hiring another carriage for you.”

  A few words, a couple of coins, and a promise of further largesse, and the change was made at record speed. In the past, he’d made the mistake of accepting her refusal. Never again. He had Eleanor where he wanted her and he intended to keep her there until she agreed to marry him. He returned to the carriage and closed the door as the post boy whipped up the leader and they trotted smartly out into the road.

  “Stop!” The single word broke almost half an hour’s silence.

  “I’ve decided there’s no point traveling in two vehicles,” he said. “It wouldn’t be thrifty.”

  “You have no right to make such a decision. How I spend my money is my own affair.”

  “That I don’t dispute. But when our destination and our goal is the same it seems foolish not to join forces.”

  “I’m getting out at the next inn,” she said.

  “You may do as you wish. But the post boy says there’s no likelihood of finding another vehicle for hire before Penrith.”

  Her irritated sniff told him his information was correct. “I cannot stay at an inn in your company! The innkeeper will think we are eloping.”

  No need to mention that the post boys already thought so. “If we make good time there’s no reason we shouldn’t reach the border tonight. Then we can stay in different inns.”

  For the first time since they’d met at the inn, she smiled. “Are you familiar with this part of the country?” He made a noncommittal noise. He hadn’t spent much time in the north. “More familiar with East Anglia, I think?” she said.

  “I have a map.”

  “Very flat was how you described your home,” Eleanor said. “Well it does not describe the terrain between here and Carlisle. We’ll be lucky to make it by tomorrow evening, and only if it doesn’t rain and turn the roads to mud.”

  “Damn,” he cursed. “I beg your pardon, but I hoped I had overtaken Robert. I lost track of him in Somerset and don’t know which road they took.”

  She explained about Robert’s plans as detailed in Caro’s letter, drawing an incredulous shake of Max’s head. “I suppose,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement, “he couldn’t ask you for advice about how to obtain the money to elope. I hope his ability to read a map is better than yours. The Red Lion Inn was quite out of your way.”

  “I came to find you. I was on my way to call on you at home.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from wishing to discover why the lady I’d proposed to had traveled half the length of England without giving me an answer? I came to tell you about the elopement.”

  “There was no need, as you know.”

  “I told you my plan to restore her respectability. She needs your help.”

  “She needs my help not getting married. I shall lend her countenance, claim I have been with her all along.”

  He gave up the argument and set his mind to another problem. He had fifty miles to discover why Eleanor was so set against marriage and to change her mind.

  “The road seems in excellent condition.”

  “Lucky,” she said, replying to his opening for the first time in a couple of hours. “It seems the weather has been unusually dry.” It was annoying to be proven wrong, but at least she’d reach Penrith and the safety of her own carriage that much sooner. Being cooped up in close quarters with Max was addling her mind. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. The farther they went, the less she remembered exactly why she was so angry at him.

  “I don’t believe, “she continued, “they can be ahead of us, but there’s a chance we will reach Carlisle tonight. They have to pass through the town and it shouldn’t be hard to get word of them if they’ve already been there.”

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “Even if we are too late for the wedding, we can still save Caro’s reputation.”

  He thought Caro should be married and there was no point arguing. It was safer to remain silent. She had her plans laid for escaping him and reaching Scotland first. The alternative was too dreadful. She squeezed back a tear.

  “Are you crying?” His large hand covered hers, clenched together in her lap. “It’ll be all right. We’ll make it so, I promise.”

  Her unwilling heart responded to the kindness of his tone. He was a good man, despite his errors. She didn’t agree with him, but his faults were of carelessness, not malice.

  “You should have children, Eleanor,” he said. “I’ve seen you with Caro, and with young people of different ages. You will be a wonderful mother.”

  The devil. He’d found her weakness. Though she tried not to admit it to herself, there had been a seed of regret that she hadn’t been with child after their union. Regret quickly
smothered with relief because she wouldn’t have to marry him.

  “I am content with the company of other people’s offspring for I shall never marry.” She was uneasily aware that she sought to convince herself, as well as him.

  “Because of me? Because of what happened between us?” Anguish lay beneath his gentle tone. It had never occurred to her that he’d also been hurt. Yet if what he’d told her about the wager and Ashdown was true—and she believed it was—he deserved some kind of explanation.

  She shook her head, then met his gaze with as much calm as she could muster. “What happened five years ago was an aberration on my part. For a few days you made me forget a lifetime’s resolution. Long observation has taught me that marriages rarely turn out well.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I know many happily married men and women.”

  “And I know many who are unhappily married.”

  “I grant you there are no certainties, but the odds seem good. Better than even, I would venture to say. And think of the rewards, the great happiness a loving partnership can bring.”

  “And think of the misery of a poor one. Think of Sylvia and Ashdown.”

  “Not all husbands are oafs.”

  “No. Wives can inflict unhappiness too. Think of my Cousin Elizabeth, who made two husbands miserable.”

  “Think of Mr. Walpole and his loving wife who shares his concerns and warms his bed.”

  She blushed, remembering his subtle paean to the marriage bed in Mrs. Markham’s drawing room. If only the marriage bed was all there was to it. But he’d spoken of a marriage of true minds that day.

  She shook off his hand and the dangerously attractive notion of marriage to him. “The chance of grief is too great to be worth the risk. Take my own parents. I don’t know why they wed, for they had nothing in common. I believe my father wished for someone to keep house for him so he wouldn’t be troubled with practicalities while he pursued his studies. My mother was a sweet, warm creature, fond of conversation and company. She withered away under his neglect.”

  “She had you.”

  Her mouth pinched in distress. “The company of a little girl wasn’t enough to make up for the lack of affection from her spouse.”

  “How old were you when she died?”

  “Ten.”

  “Poor lonely little girl. No wonder you spend your time traveling, looking for companionship.”

  “Don’t pity me,” she said fiercely. “I am the most fortunate of women. My fortune is sufficient for my needs and no husband tells me how to spend it, or squanders it on horseflesh or the gaming tables. No one tells me where I may go or with whom I may speak or complains when I buy a new hat.”

  “I do not squander my money and I make a good income from horseflesh,” he replied. She knew that, and even admired his knowledge and hard work. “I can safely promise I would never object to your millinery. I find it absurd and delightful in equal parts.”

  “Men are April when they woo, December when they wed. You see, Mr. Quinton, I can quote Shakespeare too. And I have had many occasions to observe the truth of those words.”

  “The Bard of Avon has a phrase for every occasion. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” His voice sank to a caress and she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Don’t you wish for a family and a home of your own, instead of living through the trials of others? That’s what I offer. I make no guarantee, but you can be assured of my love.”

  He slid his arm around her shoulders and she stiffened her spine as longing flooded her veins, fighting the wild instinct of flight. “Eleanor,” he whispered. Her name was a siren call, buzzing in her ear. The chaise was slowing down and a glance through the window told her they were coming into Penrith. She need only be strong for a few more minutes. “My love.”

  Her idiot body betrayed her. Her breasts swelled, remembering the one time they’d enjoyed the touch of a man’s hand. Heat bloomed in the core he’d once filled. Because it could be for only a minute, she surrendered to temptation and turned to meet the rock of his chest. They melted into each other and she knew he shared her weakness. But the advantage was hers for she also knew it was for only a minute and she put all her desire and regret into a kiss that would be their last. She tried to imprint the texture and taste of him on her memory so she could take it with her. When the chaise jolted to a halt, she was ready to run for her life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  Like Samson betrayed by lust, Max watched his Delilah disappear into the inn. But he still had his hair, and he recovered philosophically from his defeat. Whatever she claimed, she wanted him and he wouldn’t let her escape. He understood her now. Let her waste her money, which would be better spent on the personal adornment that he fully intended would be worn in the future for his own pleasure. He’d let her play it her way for a while. They still had a couple of hours of daylight and he knew where she was going. Carlisle was only twenty miles on. Flee him as she might, his pursuit was steadfast and wily.

  Inside he found her negotiating with the innkeeper. He passed her with a nod and proceeded to the taproom to order a bite to eat for the road. Emerging refreshed to the innyard he learned his clever darling had outwitted him. She was climbing into a chaise harnessed with four horses—at an additional cost of at least two expensive bonnets. She gave him a triumphant wave as the equipage trotted smartly into the road and he tipped his hat to her with a grin. Without a companion or much baggage, he could travel on horseback and if there was one thing Max did well it was ride.

  It was a decent nag, though not up to his standards. At the ten-mile change he was only a few minutes behind her. His new mount was slower, but he sensed excellent stamina that would keep pace all the way to their destination. About five miles on he spotted a splash of yellow that could only be a post chaise up ahead at the side of the road.

  “Do you need help?” he asked. The postillion assured him the broken trace could be mended in little time. Having examined the harness himself he saw that it was true. The man seemed competent, so there was no danger that Eleanor would be left on the road all night. Nevertheless, it would be ungentlemanly not to offer.

  “Shall I take you up before me?” he asked her.

  Her response was a scowling and emphatic negative. Whistling merrily, he rode on with a new plan in mind.

  With the patched-up trace, they had to take the rest of the journey slowly. Eleanor kept telling herself she must be well ahead of the eloping couple. She could spend the night at Carlisle and hire someone to take her to the Scottish border in the morning to intercept Caro. But mostly she tried, and failed, not to think about that unwise kiss. How was she to face Max Quinton again?

  Alas for her desperate hope that Max, being on horseback, would have chosen a different inn. He was waiting in the entrance hall.

  “Here she is,” he said, before she had a chance to speak to the innkeeper. “What kept you, my dear? I was concerned.” Her rumbling stomach fought the instinct to dash out before the horses were unhitched. “You must be hungry and tired but don’t worry. I have ordered a fine supper in our rooms, then you can seek your bed.” Before she could utter a snappish refusal he turned to the waiting host. “My wife is travel worn. Pray have hot water sent up immediately. Come, Eleanor. I will show you the way.”

  He was devilishly clever. She couldn’t proclaim her true identity without causing a scandal. If she gave a false name and denied him, there would be a most unpleasant scene. She let him remove her valise from her nerveless grasp. In her state of starvation she’d let him feed her, but only the fact that he’d inserted the pronoun your before the word bed saved him from imminent murder. She summoned enough strength to dig her nails into his offered arm and hoped it hurt through the broadcloth of his sleeve.

  The presence of servants kept her from responding to his string of soothing platitudes on the way upstairs to a pleasant parlor, then she had to suffer having her linen jacket tenderly removed, her fichu straightened. He ev
en took off her high crowned hat for her.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen this one before. Is it new? Very fetching. You must buy more in different colors.” Since the oversized bow decorating the crown had got in his way when they kissed in the close quarters of the post chaise, only extreme annoyance kept her from smiling. Instead she broke away, followed a maid with a can of hot water into the adjoining chamber, and slammed the door.

  She grudgingly admitted it was agreeable not to have to wait for a room. Clearly this was one of the best in the house, possessing its own water closet and handsome furniture. But how Max spent his money was no business of hers. She was not his wife and she had every intention of occupying that large bed alone. Washed and refreshed, she pursued enticing smells back to the parlor where servants were laying out a repast.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered beneath the clatter of dishes.

  “Demonstrating the benefits of having a husband,” he said, and kissed her neck as he pushed in her chair.

  There was a dreamlike quality to the meal, sitting across from Max, being served delicious food and good wine by well-trained attendants. He kept up a flow of talk to which she had to respond or look petty. Cleverly, he described a visit to a horse-loving peer. He spoke as though they’d been apart for some weeks and he was filling her in on his news. She found it alluring to listen to his concerns and successes, to hear of the pride and pleasure he took in his affairs. Dangerously alluring.

  She ate half a dish of syllabub and felt warm, contented, and well fed. Silence fell, thick with unspoken wishes. The clatter of her spoon on the saucer cracked like a gunshot. She fixed her attention on the melting pudding because it was perilous to look up and meet the heated gaze she sensed on her downcast face. The presence of the bed next door loomed large. The servants were clearing the table. Soon they would be alone. She felt soft and weak.

  The last servant closed the door behind him.

  “So, Mrs. Q.,” he said, stretching across the table to take her hand. His was warm and large and shot heat through her. Her heart flipped over. “Are you ready for bed?”