Candace Camp

by A Dangerous Man

  He had, Eleanor noted, the sort of grin that made one’s heart flutter a little in one’s chest. A long masculine dimple popped into one cheek, giving his usually stoic expression a sudden, compelling charm. Watching him, she could not help but smile, as well.

  “Am I among this group of which you speak?” Anthony went on. “For I intend to ask you to dance when you reach seventeen. Perhaps even before.”

  Samantha giggled and dimpled prettily. “No, of course not, Uncle Anthony. You aren’t old. Well, not old like General Havermore or Mr. Sotherton, or any of those other men who dance attendance on Mama.”

  “And are any of them gaining ground?” Anthony asked. “I have a fiver on the general, you know.”

  Samantha chuckled again. “No, you don’t. You are being silly. You know Mama would never marry the general. He’s ancient, and besides, he hasn’t enough fortune.” She covered her mouth, looking guilty, and said quickly, “Oh! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean…” She trailed off, obviously not wishing to lie, but regretting what her words had implied about her mother.

  “Of course you didn’t mean anything bad,” Eleanor told her quickly. “A mother has to be especially careful about making such decisions, and I am sure Lady Honoria is. After all, when one has a child, one has to consider her welfare above all else. Lady Honoria could not possibly consider tying herself to someone who could not support both of you in the manner appropriate to you.”

  Samantha looked relieved. “Yes, of course. That’s right.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw Lord Neale watching her, a considering expression on his face. No doubt he would have expected her to seize the opportunity to encourage Lady Honoria’s daughter to speak ill about her. That was the sort of person he presumed her to be. Eleanor wondered, with some degree of hurt, what it was about her that had made him take such a thorough and immediate dislike to her.

  Eleanor pulled her thoughts back from that unproductive path and resumed her conversation with Samantha. “When you are older and make your debut, you will be able to dance with many more people. And I can assure you that a great number of them will be young men, not old ones.”

  Samantha sighed. “Mama doesn’t want to take me to London for my debut. She says we are quite poor now that Edmund is gone.”

  “What nonsense,” Anthony responded, his voice edged with irritation. “Of course you will have a season when you are eighteen.”

  “Certainly,” Eleanor agreed. “There will be ample money for that.”

  “Really?” Samantha’s face brightened. “But Mama dislikes going to London. She says it is quite wearing.”

  “She will go,” Anthony responded, his voice grim.

  “If she does not, you can come stay with me while you make your debut,” Eleanor offered.

  “Truly? Do you mean it?” Samantha asked eagerly.

  “Of course I do,” Eleanor replied. “Edmund entrusted me with your money, and I am sure that he wanted me to do my best to take care of you in other areas, as well. I do not have enough social position myself, but I shall make arrangements, so that you are presented by someone more important in the ton.”

  “Samantha’s name will ensure her a good place in the ton,” Anthony said firmly.

  “Of course,” Eleanor agreed evenly. “But she needs, as well, a sponsor of the highest pedigree. Would my friend Lady Barre do, do you think? I am sure that Juliana would be happy to help me. And if she cannot, I will have no problem finding someone else of high station.”

  Anthony looked at her quizzically. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  Eleanor gazed back at him, a challenge in her eyes. “I have found that there is always an aristocrat somewhere who has fallen on hard times and will, for an infusion of cash, be quite willing to act as one’s friend.”

  “Such cynicism from one so young and beautiful,” Anthony murmured, his eyes dancing.

  His words warmed her, and Eleanor glanced away quickly so that he would not see the reaction in her face. “Anyway, Samantha, I suspect that when your mother hears about you making your debut, she will immediately realize that she wants to be the one to see you through your season. A girl’s first season is the sort of memory mothers thrive on.”

  She noticed that the girl’s face lost some of its enthusiasm at her words, but Samantha only nodded and said wistfully, “Still…’tis a long time away. I wish I could see London. It must have been so exciting to go to Italy, as you and Edmund did.”

  “Italy is beautiful,” Eleanor agreed. “We both enjoyed it very much. And someday you shall see it, if you wish.”

  Samantha drew in a sharp breath. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes. I had a tour of the Continent after I left school, and I absolutely recommend it. The art, the history, the music—oh, there are so many wonderful things to see and do. It is an invaluable part of one’s education.” Eleanor’s eyes sparkled at the memory.

  She and Samantha launched into a long conversation regarding the wonders that waited for one on the Continent, taking up the rest of the trip to the village church. Across from them, Lord Neale contented himself with watching the two of them talk, offering only a comment now and then when called upon by his niece.

  It was, he thought, a thoroughly enjoyable exercise. Eleanor was dressed all in black today, a plain gold locket her only ornamentation. But she was not a woman who needed ornamentation, and the severe color was an excellent foil to her dramatic beauty. Her beauty jolted him every time he saw her, just as it had the first time.

  But there was more to her than beauty. She was quick-witted, as well, and a delight to converse with, whether she was extolling the virtues of Italy or exchanging acerbic ripostes with him. It was no wonder that Edmund had fallen in love with her. The wonder, he thought, was that half the ton had not. He had always regarded himself as made of sterner stuff than many men, who seemed to be guided more by their loins than by their wits, but after a few minutes in her company, he had found himself kissing her without thought to the consequences.

  Even now, thinking about that kiss, he felt lust curl through him. He was not fool enough to try to tell himself that he had not been under her spell when he kissed her. He had known he should not, but his desire had overcome his reason.

  Worse, she was making him doubt his own convictions. Watching her with Samantha, he found himself wondering if he had been wrong about her all along. He had come along with the two of them because he had wanted to protect his niece from Eleanor’s machinations. But she had surprised him by not undercutting Honoria’s influence with her daughter. She obviously had Honoria pegged—she had phrased it nicely enough, but he had known what she meant when she said that Honoria would doubtless change her mind about accompanying her daughter for her debut in London. Honoria might drag her feet now—she always preferred the small pond of the Kentish countryside to the large pool of London, and Anthony had his suspicions that she did not like the prospect of sitting on the sidelines as a chaperone. But let Samantha suggest that Eleanor was happy to present Samantha, and Honoria would let nothing stand in the way of keeping Eleanor from doing so.

  But Eleanor had not taken the opportunity to underscore Honoria’s flaws. Indeed, she had couched every reference to Samantha’s mother with respect and had even offered the girl an acceptable reason for what they all knew was her mother’s greedy motivation in any consideration of marriage.

  It would have been easy for Eleanor to turn Samantha away from her mother and toward her. Eleanor was a much easier person to like, and she would be an adult companion who would not domineer and suppress Samantha’s spirit. God knows, the poor girl needed such a woman in her life. Anthony had no illusions about his sister’s qualities as a mother. Yet Eleanor had offered friendship to Samantha without using her as pawn in her struggle with Honoria.

  On the other hand, his rational mind reminded him, her behavior might not be proof of anything other than her skill at manipulating peo
ple. She had laid a foundation with Samantha, and there was nothing to say that in the future she would not use that foundation to drive a wedge between the girl and Honoria. And, by behaving so circumspectly, she was causing him to wonder if he had been wrong in his evaluation of her. Winning him over would be an essential step in any designs she had on Samantha’s fortune. She would know that he was the person who would find any false figures in the books, who would realize it if she was taking money from Samantha’s trust. If she could entrap him, she would have a free rein with the money.

  Nor was there anything to say that she might not have her sights set on him as bigger game than Edmund. He had betrayed his desire for her with that kiss the other night. Was it not possible that she might have decided to try to lure him into marriage next?

  It would never happen, of course. He was the last person to tie himself to the sort of adventuress his father had. That was a lesson he had learned well and young. No woman would ever have such control over him.

  It was ridiculous to even think about it.

  But Eleanor did not know that. She was no doubt a woman confident in her beauty and her skills; she would think she could turn even a man who disliked her into one panting to have her. She could hope to get a great deal more out of all this than merely skimming off money from Samantha’s trust. Indeed, now that he thought about it, that was probably why she had brought that foppish Italian with her. She may have hoped to arouse his own jealousy.

  “Uncle! Why are you scowling like that?” Samantha’s voice startled Anthony out of his reverie.

  “What? Oh.” Anthony relaxed his brow. “Just thinking about a problem. Nothing important.”

  Eleanor, watching him, had the distinct impression that Lord Neale’s “problem” was her. He had been watching her the entire time she and Samantha had been talking, and when the considering look on his face darkened into a fierce frown, she felt certain it had to do with her. He probably disliked the fact that Samantha and she were getting along well. No doubt he had come along with them precisely for the purpose of observing what she said and did with his niece. However friendly he had seemed during the ride over, she must keep in mind that it did not mean he liked her. No doubt he felt only that she must be lulled into thinking that he was no longer her enemy.

  Eleanor gave him one long, cool look, then returned to her conversation with Samantha.

  It was only minutes later that the carriage slowed and stopped. Eleanor looked out the window. They had arrived at the cemetery. It lay behind the village church, a gray stone structure with the Norman tower that proclaimed its age. Before them was the lych-gate, where Sir Malcolm, Dario and Lady Honoria already stood, waiting for them. Lady Honoria leaned heavily on Dario’s arm, her dark veil now covering her face.

  Eleanor disembarked from the carriage and turned to her coachman, who had climbed down from his high seat and now held out a teak box to her. Eleanor’s face saddened, and she reached out to take the box containing Edmund’s ashes. Lord Neale quickly moved to help her, and she handed the box into his care. Whatever their dislike of each other, she knew that he, too, had cared for Edmund.

  Beside her, tears welled in Samantha’s eyes. Eleanor curved a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders, and they started the walk into the cemetery.

  The vicar met them at the Scarbrough family vault and said a prayer over the box of ashes. After a few words from the Bible and a short eulogy for Edmund, the box was laid in the family mausoleum. It was a short, affecting ceremony, and Eleanor’s eye welled with tears. Lady Honoria, predictably, sobbed through much of the eulogy, leaning against Dario’s supportive shoulder. Eleanor kept her arm around Samantha, who dabbed away her tears as they slowly and quietly trickled down her cheeks. Lord Neale, not surprisingly, remained stoically inexpressive.

  They left the crypt, Dario leading the way with the sobbing Honoria, and the others following behind. They stopped outside the lych-gate, standing for a moment in an awkward little group.

  “It would seem rather late now for the discussion about Edmund’s will,” Eleanor began carefully. Nor did she feel like dealing with Honoria’s histrionics. The ceremony had brought a fresh soreness to her heart as she thought of Edmund, and she feared that his mother’s sense of drama and her general obstructiveness might prod her into making a remark to the woman that she would later regret.

  “Oh, yes,” Lady Honoria agreed with feeling. “I could not face the matter now, not after…oh, my child, my child…” Her words trailed off into a fresh bout of tears.

  Eleanor, with a quick glance at Dario, suspected that he was growing rather weary of his role as comforter. “If you would direct us toward the nearest inn, we shall meet for our discussion tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense. There is no need for you to stay at an inn. The local one is quite small, and not, I am sure, up to your standards,” Lord Neale told her.

  “Oh, but Anthony, I haven’t room at my house,” Honoria responded, looking alarmed, her tears vanishing in an instant. “You know how small my house is, now that we have had to leave Tedlow Park.”

  For the first time, Eleanor saw emotion flicker across Sir Malcolm’s face. Looking irritated, he said quickly, “Lady Honoria, I told you that you and Samantha were more than welcome to continue living at the Park. I would never have asked you to leave.”

  “No, it is no longer my home,” Honoria went on in a martyred voice. “And I could not live there, with all its memories. Samantha and I must become used to getting by on our own. Of course, our funds won’t enable us to live in aught but a cottage.”

  “The manor is scarcely a cottage, Honoria,” Lord Neale corrected her dryly. “You will have our guests thinking that you live in a hovel.”

  “Oh, no, it is not a hovel…” Honoria demurred without much enthusiasm.

  “It is a very nice house,” Samantha put in, looking embarrassed. “And, really, Mama, there are two other bedchambers.”

  Honoria shot her daughter a fierce look, and the girl subsided, flushing.

  “Not made up, I fear,” Honoria told Eleanor. “Hardly even furnished, really.”

  “Of course,” Eleanor replied gravely, suppressing a smile. “I would not dream of putting you to the trouble, my lady. I am well able to stay at the local inn. I have weathered a few rustic places before, I assure you.”

  “Do not be absurd,” Anthony said. “I intended for you and Mr. Paradella to be my guests at the Hall. The rooms are already made up for you.”

  “Oh.” Eleanor, nonplussed, could think of nothing to say. She had more or less assumed that she would spend the night at an inn after the ceremony and the discussion about Samantha’s trust, or perhaps at Honoria’s home, but she had never considered staying at Lord Neale’s house. She would have expected him to be as opposed to her presence as was Lady Honoria. “Well, yes, then, thank you. That would be very nice.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Dario agreed politely. “It is most kind of you to offer.”

  Anthony glanced noncommittally at the Italian, then gave him a short nod. “All right then. If you and Mr. Paradella would follow me…”

  He tipped his hat to his sister and niece, then untied his horse from the back of the carriage and mounted it. After a few brief words with Eleanor’s coachman, he started off down the lane. Eleanor and Dario entered the carriage, and they rolled off after him.

  Dario let out a sigh and leaned his head back against the leather squab.

  “Tired?” Eleanor asked, amusement lurking in her eyes.

  Dario gave her a rueful grin. “I had always thought that English ladies were unemotional. Lady Scarbrough could be from Napoli.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “It was very kind of you to look after her.”

  He shrugged. “It was not so hard. You forget, I have three sisters, a mama and several aunts. I am used to tears. It was the least I could do for Edmund…and it saved you a little aggravation, I think.”

  “Yes, it did. I am very grateful for it.”
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  “Then I am glad,” he replied simply.

  The Hall was only a few minutes from the village church, and it did not take them long to reach it. They approached the house down a long, curving drive. Eleanor had seen grander houses. The Hall had no tier of steps leading up to a magnificent front door, no mullioned windows, no statues ornamenting the ends of the roof beams. It was built of plain gray stone, some of it great matching blocks and others of varying shapes and sizes, some of it blackened by lichen and time. But it had a majestic symmetry, with its massive square gatehouse and battlemented wings stretching out on either side. There was a sturdiness to it, a sense of age and security, that was appealing. Over time, bushes had grown up along the walls, softening their harsh appearance, and a blanket of ivy clung to one side. The sun, now growing lower in the sky, bathed the walls with a warm golden light.

  Eleanor could not help but let out a little sigh of pleasure. “How lovely.”

  Dario took one look at the Hall and, doubtless comparing it to the graceful red-tiled villas of his homeland, arched an eyebrow. “It looks suited to him,” he pronounced.

  Eleanor let out a chuckle. “Yes. It does.” She cast a doubtful glance at her friend. “I hope he does not bother you too much.”

  Dario laughed. “Not I. I think he is the one who is bothered by me,” he commented astutely. “It is, I think, amusing to watch the oh-so-stoic British gentleman struggle with his jealousy.”

  “Jealous? I hardly think so. The man disapproves of me.” Yet Eleanor could not deny that the other night she had thought the very same thing.

  “It is not impossible to feel both at once. Which makes his struggle even more entertaining to watch.”

  Eleanor was glad that Dario found himself entertained by it, for all through dinner Lord Neale was at his tight-lipped British worst where Dario was concerned. It was clear that Dario annoyed him, and Dario seemed to delight in stirring the fires of Anthony’s irritation, his speech and gestures growing more effusive by the minute, his compliments to Eleanor more flowery, his gazes at her more lover-like. Watching Anthony’s tight-jawed face, Eleanor was unsure whether she wanted more to give Dario a kick in the shins or to laugh.