“I know I can count on you,” he answered, his gaze warm.
Eleanor glanced away, for there were other issues bothering her. “Did you know Millard Banning had died?”
For the first time, he looked chagrined. “Yes. I knew.”
“And you didn’t think it was important to tell me?”
“Why? What has his death got to do with us?”
She stifled a mirthless laugh. “You missed his widow’s performance. She showed not one shred of remorse until she saw you, Dante. Not one shred. I can’t believe you were taken in by her theatrics.”
Dante appeared to weigh her words, then asked, “You aren’t jealous, are you, Ellie?”
His use of her pet name startled her, causing her determination to crumble just a little. She sat down across from him, slumping deep into the chair, her voluminous petticoats billowing out in front of her.
“I don’t know what I am, Dante. All I know is that I had promised myself that the subject of mistresses would never come up.”
He gave her a brief smile. “And you said you would sooner live in a nunnery than live with a husband who had one,” he reminded her. “A mistress, that is, not a nunnery.”
Unable to rise to his attempt at humor, she merely stared at her hands, which were partially hidden in the folds of her gown. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what I said.”
“If you thought I would have one, why did you marry me? Are you that anxious to run off and take a vow of chastity? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
He was taking the entire conversation far too lightly, and it hurt. But how could she answer him? How could she possibly tell him that she loved him? She felt the damned sting of tears again. She swallowed convulsively until she was back in control. “I thought that perhaps the subject would never rear its ugly head, and I could pretend it didn’t exist.”
He studied her again for a long moment, then asked, “Does Marguerite’s widowhood threaten you?”
Eleanor replayed the confrontation in her mind, still feeling sick as she recalled the scene. “She’s already told half of Boston that now you will be hers. Then she creates that little scene for you and you fall right into the trap by dragging her off into the library so you can be alone.”
His scrutiny was almost painful. “Is that what you think?”
“Can you deny it?”
“Must I answer to you, Ellie? Is that what I must do? For if it is, then we’re in trouble already, because I haven’t answered to a woman since I was ten years old.”
Releasing a sigh, Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose. He was right, of course. He had no reason to tell her everything. And even if they had married under different circumstances, he didn’t have to tell her anything he didn’t want her to know.
“I suppose not. After all,” she continued, trying to mask her sarcasm, “your vows didn’t include the word ‘obey’ as mine did. Another set of rules written by a man, no doubt.”
His smile was almost gentle. “Obedience is a hard lesson for you, isn’t it?”
“I took the vow, I will try to abide by it,” she answered.
“Don’t become too dutiful, Ellie. It doesn’t suit you.”
The warmth of his words nearly undid her. “We’ve gotten off the subject, Dante.”
“Ah, yes. The Widow Banning. You want to know why I ushered her into the library tonight.”
“It’s none of my business, really,” she demurred.
“Of course it is. I guess I didn’t realize how bad it would look, nor did I think that everyone was watching. For that, I must admit some naïveté. I also didn’t know what had gone on between the two of you before she flung herself at me.”
“I can hold my own against her, Dante, and although I don’t give a whit what anyone thinks, it seems pointless to give them any more fodder than they already have.”
“Then, my seeing Marguerite alone tonight has given them extra feed to fuel their imaginations?”
“Of course.”
“But you saw me nearly toss her out of here, Ellie,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “Yes. And were this a different kind of marriage—”
“Ellie,” he interrupted, “none of that should matter. It was my fault, and I apologize. Does that settle it, then?”
So he didn’t want to acknowledge what kind of marriage they had, either, but something Willa had said continued to eat at her.
“There’s one more thing.” Eleanor bit down on her trembling lower lip.
He sat forward. “What is it?”
“Why did we go to Nahant for our honeymoon?”
He looked surprised. “Because I love it there, and I thought you would, too.” He paused, then asked, “You did, didn’t you?”
She gave him a quick, jerky nod. “Yes, but…” She didn’t want to tell him. She couldn’t expose her vulnerability by asking him why he hadn’t taken her somewhere where they could be seen together.
“But, what?” He sounded patient, baffled.
She inhaled, shaking her head as she laughed at her foolishness. “It’s nothing, really. Just something Willa said that has sort of bothered me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you let anything that woman says bother you.”
Eleanor looked at her lap. “I usually don’t.”
“I gather this has something to do with my choice of honeymoon locations.”
She answered with a small, one-shouldered shrug.
“Let me guess.” He put the snifter on the table then tented his fingers on his chest. “She wondered why I hadn’t taken you somewhere exciting. Somewhere exotic. And she implied that I had taken you to Nahant because I was ashamed to be seen with you.”
She lifted her gaze. “You’re very perceptive.”
“Eleanor, Eleanor, I’m surprised that you let that harridan get to you.”
But her feelings for Dante were new and fragile, and anyone, especially peevish Willa, could make them all crack like an old mirror.
Eleanor stood and started for the door. “I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to bring it up.” Although he hadn’t answered the question, either.
“Ellie?”
She turned, her heart on the verge of shattering. “Yes?”
He swirled his brandy, the firelight making it glint amber. “You were very courageous tonight.”
Her laugh caught on the tears snagged in her throat. “Oh, by all means, if I have anything at all, I have courage.”
“And you could have made quite a scene, if you’d put your mind to it,” he offered.
“I don’t like to draw attention to myself, Dante; that isn’t my style. Unlike others,” she reminded him.
He smiled at her, quietly toasting her with his snifter. “Ellie?”
“Yes?” She tried to sound patient, but she just wanted to get away from him.
“Would you rather have gone to Paris?”
She swiped at an unwanted tear and sniffed. “No.” Nahant had been perfect. Everything had been perfect until she’d fallen so deeply in love with him.
She hurried from the room, rushed up the stairs, pulled off her clothes, and climbed into bed, curling into a protective ball.
But as Eleanor lay there, she realized how much she hated feeling so threatened and insecure. Not only had she had been victimized by Marguerite Banning, a woman who had no scruples, no morals, and no compassion, but she had allowed Willa, a woman she neither liked nor admired, to strip her of her own valued self-confidence. It was time for all of that to stop.
Dante continued to study the fire long after she’d left the room. He knew the Taft party would be hard on Eleanor, but she would have to get over her unwillingness to socialize sooner or later, because like it or not, many of those people supported his work.
On the subject of Marguerite, Dante knew that he had not helped the situation by ferrying the woman off into the library in front of an entire room full of people.
He�
�d only done it because he wanted to avoid a scene. Instead, he had set the stage for one that was far more dangerous than if he’d let her beat on his chest in front of everyone.
He’d known she was dramatizing, of course. She was exceptionally good at it. Once they were alone, he had expressed his sympathy at Millard’s passing. She had all but brushed his condolences aside, telling him of Millard’s avaricious children, and how they had descended upon her immediately upon hearing of their father’s death. She emphasized how much they had always disliked her, and how now, they were going to take all that was rightfully hers.
Dante was certain that Millard had left Marguerite comfortable, but no doubt he had left something substantial for each of his children. And Marguerite was not a woman who lived like a Spartan. With Millard’s wealth divided among her and his heirs, she was not likely to have as much to spend as she was used to.
Horace entered. “Was the evening a success, sir?”
Dante exhaled and settled deeper into his chair. “I guess that depends on your point of view.”
“She looked especially beautiful tonight, don’t you agree, sir?”
“I do indeed.” He couldn’t forget what he had felt when Eleanor stood there, at the top of the stairs, more exquisite than he’d ever imagined she could be. She had taken his breath away. “Horace, was I wrong to take her to Nahant? Does a woman expect more on a honeymoon? Something more exciting?”
“Some women might, but not Miss Eleanor.”
Dante nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. In fact, I had considered going abroad, but first of all, I couldn’t really spare the time, and secondly, I truly believed she would enjoy the cottage.”
Horace cocked his head, surprised. “And she didn’t?”
“Oh, yes,” Dante said quickly. “I’m sure she did. But someone put doubts in her head, doubts that made her wonder if I had merely taken her there because I didn’t wish to be seen with her in public.”
“Who would do such a thing, sir?” Horace asked, his voice filled with quiet outrage.
Dante slanted him a glance. “No one important. That’s why it surprised me when she mentioned it.”
“She…doesn’t appear very happy, sir.”
Dante suddenly felt glum. “I know.”
“Then why not do something about it?”
“I plan to, Horace, I plan to.” He didn’t like seeing Eleanor defenseless. It hurt him, because she was normally strong and self-assured, and marrying him had somehow punched a hole in her armor and allowed the vulnerabilities to seep out.
They were quiet for a while, then Dante said, “I want to get her something special, Horace. Something very special.”
“Pardon me, sir, but I don’t think she wants more belongings or possessions.”
Dante looked into the fire and smiled. “She’ll want this, Horace. Believe me, she’ll want this.”
“As you say, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“No. Thank you, Horace. As always, you have the ability to clear my head.”
After Horace left, Dante went to his desk, rummaged through the mess of papers, and found what he was looking for. He sat down, quickly wrote off a letter, signed it, sealed it, and addressed an envelope.
If Eleanor wasn’t thrilled with this attempt to make amends, he would give up trying to impress her.
Eleanor had just dozed off when the door opened and Dante crossed, none too quietly, to his wardrobe. She sat up when he lit the lamp.
“Oh,” he said, plainly sorry, “did I wake you?”
Squinting at him, she brushed the hair from her eyes. “What are you doing?”
He removed his waistcoat and shirt, tossing them onto a chair, then unhooked his trousers. “I’m preparing for bed,” he answered nonchalantly.
Suddenly awake, she said, “You’re sleeping up here?”
He looked around, as if puzzled. “This is my bedroom, isn’t it?”
She gave him a dry look and pushed her hair from her eyes again. “I was beginning to wonder. You haven’t slept here since we returned from Nahant.”
“Then it’s about time I did, don’t you think?”
Despite their earlier conversation, her body tingled and she couldn’t wait for him to join her, even if it was just to sleep. “It’s your room,” she murmured, slipping beneath the covers.
“And you aren’t going to keep me from my own bed?” It sounded like a threat.
She gazed up at him, hoping the love she felt wasn’t blatantly evident in her eyes. “I would never keep you from your own bed, or mine, Dante.”
He stood before her, naked and glorious. His tattooed torso was not threatening to her; in fact she’d learned it meant he was vulnerable.
He gazed down at her, feet apart, hands on his hips, Mr. Johnson standing at attention. “And what are you wearing, Ellie?”
Beneath the covers, she quickly unbuttoned her nightgown, grateful it opened nearly to her waist, and slipped out of it, shoving it to the bottom of the bed with her feet.
“The same thing you are,” she responded, wanting him so badly she thought she might erupt.
He slid in beside her and took her in his arms. “God, Ellie Templeton, you feel so damned good.”
Her eyes drifted shut, and she released a long sigh as she ran one hand over his back, his hip, his firm backside. “You feel pretty good yourself.” He nudged her, and she put one leg over his hip. “Mr. Johnson feels pretty good, too,” she whispered on a breath as his hard length touched her wet, aching nether lips.
After they had made love, Eleanor nestled against him.
Dante pulled her close. “Ellie,” he murmured, sounding content, “you’ve come a long, long way.”
She hugged him, celebrating his return to her bed. “All thanks to you. You were a consummate teacher.”
“And you, luscious woman, were the ideal pupil.”
Eleanor slept peacefully and content for the first time since their return from the honeymoon.
Twenty-three
One day the following week, as she returned from the orphanage, Dante met her at the door. He seemed unduly anxious, although his eyes were bright.
A bite of concern swept through her. As he removed her cape and hung it on the coat tree, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid so, Ellie.”
Alarmed, she asked, “What? What is it?”
He took her arm and led her toward the salon. “You’ll see,” he answered somberly.
He allowed her to enter, then came in behind her.
Eleanor gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Dante,” she murmured on a breath.
“Do you like it?”
She swung around and looked at him, then returned her gaze to the pianoforte. “Like it? Oh, oh, I absolutely love it.” She hurried to it and sat on the stool, staring at the black and ivory keys, almost afraid to touch them.
“Play something for me, Ellie.”
Tears clogged her throat. She closed her eyes, feeling the wetness run down her cheeks as she started a passage from Mozart.
The touch was perfect; the tone impeccable.
Dante stood behind her; she felt his warmth. “This is the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me.” She continued to play, trying hard not to expose every bare shred of her feelings.
“You deserve it, Ellie.”
She stopped, turning once again on the stool, and gazed up into his handsome face. “Why?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. A warm tingling moved through her. “Because you’ve been through much in your life, and I’m to blame for some of it.”
She lifted an eyebrow, feigning sarcasm. “It’s a pity present?”
“Don’t be foolish,” he scolded softly. “I just wanted to hear you play every day for the rest of my life.”
She blinked repeatedly and glanced away. Every day. Every day.
As she had thought many times before, marri
age to Dante was not an easy way to live. Her love for him continued to grow, and she knew he cared for her, but she also knew it would never be enough. Days could go by when nothing undue would happen, and she would get comfortable, forgetting just how tentative their union was.
Days like this, when he surprised her with something so totally thoughtful, were often cancelled out by days like yesterday, when she’d picked up a note from the table in the foyer and discovered it was from his former mistress, pleading with him to meet with her. She would rather not have found the note at all, than to wonder if he had.
“Ellie?”
The sound of her name startled her, and she shook herself. “I’m sorry, Dante, my mind wandered.” She gave him a wan smile. “My life has been pretty decent, really,” she mused.
“Of course it has.” His dry tone was meant to remind her of the hell she had lived through in the last few months.
“Oh, I know some unpleasant things have happened to me, but,” she said, feeling warm and smiling, “nothing so terribly tragic, except when my mother died. And let’s face it,” she continued, “you were less fortunate than I, because you didn’t even know your mother.”
She turned back to the pianoforte and played while Dante massaged her shoulders. “That may be true, Ellie, but still, there are those far more hapless than I was, too.”
All of a sudden, she thought of Amos’s sick wife and his mentally ill children and the insurmountable bills the family certainly had. She abruptly stopped playing, feeling selfish and confused.
“What is it?” Dante’s voice held concern.
She turned on the stool once again and gazed at him, her eyes pleading for understanding. “Oh, Dante, it’s…it’s a wonderful gift.”
“But?” It was a threatening sound.
She released a sigh. “But I can’t keep it.”
“And why the hell not?” he all but roared.
With a shake of her head, she answered, “Amos’s family.”
His expression was puzzled.
“Dante, how can I accept such a gift when I know his family is suffering so? I’ve been so lucky. And what luck have they had? I know that when the lawyer from San Francisco left me, he found nothing that could possibly have benefited those poor women.”
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