Charles opened the cover, regardless. The spine creaked and crackled in protest at its disuse. Clearly the journal was older than the others he’d gone through previously. Indeed, the first page placed the previous Duke thirty years ago, somewhere off the Nile in Egypt. A careful perusal revealed only his father’s handwriting.
Charles strode to the desk, hesitated, and then reverently sat upon the chair his father had occupied for so many decades. The leather was cold beneath him, and stiff to the point of providing little comfort. He would have Thomas find him a more accommodating one the following day.
For the time being Charles settled back rigidly and perused the aged book. He’d read all the Adventure Club’s journals in his possession, and traveled their adventures vicariously. This was the oldest he’d seen, and the first written only by his father.
Thomas came in and placed the brandy before Charles. “Shall I open another box?”
Charles shook his head. “This will do for now. Thank you, Thomas.”
The valet nodded and left Charles alone with the journal.
The brandy remained untouched while he delved into the words written by his father.
The pyramids rose before me, dotting the horizon with triangles, their tips pointing toward the sun. These wondrous fossils of an age long dead are rife with treasures beyond my wildest dreams, ready for presenting to England.
Thus far my findings have been well received, at least by the English. It would appear there are some within Egypt who begrudge my presence. People who declare the excavations pillaging and deem these sites sacred.
For those unable to apply reason, certain documents can be replicated to allow us the access we require.
It was a perfectly constructed plan from one of our members—a man who has proved himself a genius in his approach to dealing with these obstacles as well as finding treasure.
He shall surely be a worthy asset among us, especially in gaining access to the most guarded treasures.
Charles paused in momentary confusion. Surely his father didn’t mean he’d bribed people and forged documentation? There had been many instances when Charles had heard descriptions of finding tombs and temples long-ago abandoned and left to fall in on themselves in the middle of nowhere.
Charles’s father had been a good man, with a name honorably built on the findings of great pieces which he’d shared with England. He’d been a hero—one who would never have stooped to such low levels as deceit and theft.
Not his father.
Charles read through the rest of the journal, which described the findings within the tomb in considerable detail. No further suggestion or implication was made of any untoward acts.
The absence of such eased the twist in Charles’s stomach. Surely his father’s earlier words had been written merely as a precaution, in the event that he’d need to go beyond the rules a little in order to bring an item home. The Duke had been an honorable man whose efforts had always been morally sound.
Charles closed the book and lifted the glass of brandy. He drank half in one great swallow before settling back in the seat. His mind nudged from his father to the distraction of Lady Eleanor.
There was something strange about the way the lesson that evening had gone—how she’d seemed so fully connected one minute and then separated the next. Regardless, she had appeared to be positively affected by his more pleasant demeanor.
He would need to meet with her again and ensure she did not fall prey to discouragement. She had to continue her lessons with Lottie and her association with him.
He was surprised to find he rather looked forward to it.
Chapter Six
Eleanor didn’t much care for a walk in the park two afternoons later—any more than she’d cared for the soiree she’d been forced to attend the prior evening. Not when all she could ruminate on was her utter failure.
And Lord Charles.
Blast it. Why had he regarded her with such appeal? And why had she reacted to it so?
She would be meeting with Lottie again that evening. Perhaps Lord Charles, too.
The very idea of it made her insides flutter and her palms grow damp. A sensation that was as pleasant as it was disconcerting.
She thought again of how he’d looked at her...when everything had faded to a dull focus and her world had seemed to right itself. A grin played over her lips.
Eleanor strode along the worn paths of Hyde Park with Amelia walking at her side. While her maid had been all too eager to join Eleanor that fine spring day, she seemed to sense her mistress’s need for solitude and remained in pleasant silence.
“Lady Eleanor.”
A familiar, warm voice interrupted Eleanor’s musings. Her stomach churned with myriad emotions: trepidation, fear, and most of all excitement. They all swooped and tangled together into a nervous whirl.
“Lord Charles.”
She turned in his direction and nodded politely as he bowed. There was just enough time for her to salvage her composure before he straightened.
“I hoped I might find you here,” he said.
He wore a pair of fine buckskin breeches and they gave him a casual, comfortable appearance. It was altogether very attractive, that look...
“You were looking for me?” She lifted a brow in the manner her mother often affected, hoping her face mirrored skepticism and not hope. Hope would be foolish.
Amelia quietly shifted to walk behind Eleanor, allowing her a modicum of privacy with Charles.
“I feared you might be disappointed after the last lesson,” Charles said.
“I wasn’t pleased,” she conceded. “I’m not doing as well as I’d hoped.”
He held out his arm to her. “May I walk with you a moment?”
There was no hesitation on her part, as there had been previously. She slipped her arm through his. “Of course. Thank you.”
As they began to walk together she could not help but notice the solidness of him beneath his sleeve. And he smelled of foreign spices—something pleasant and exotic she could not quite place.
“I’d like to be frank with you once more,” Lord Charles began. “That is, if you are inclined to hear my opinion on the matter?”
“I am,” she replied, despite the jangle of her nerves. “I wish to learn.”
But, while she was being truthful in expressing her wish to learn, the idea of hearing more criticism of her person dragged her lower into herself.
“Why do you wish to learn?” he asked.
“To obtain a husband befitting my station,” she replied readily. After all, it was what was expected of her—what was necessary.
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
His response took her aback, and the subsequent silence left her contemplation hanging between them. It would be easy to push the answer down inside her and bury it beside the rest of her emotions. But wasn’t she trying to unearth them all? Wasn’t she trying to be warmer? More approachable? Didn’t she want to have depth?
“I don’t want to live a life without passion,” she said, in a quiet voice only he would be able to hear. “I enjoy reading so I can experience the emotions of the characters, to revel in their liberation to express them. But they are fictional and do not suffer the consequences we do. I have always been envious of the ability to express oneself so completely. I want to be free to feel.”
Her heart raced at her confession. She had given merit to the truth and said it aloud for the first time in all her adult life.
Charles smiled warmly. “I think you are on the right path, Lady Eleanor.”
“Why, then, is it so difficult?” she asked.
“You did well initially the last time,” he answered. “But then you changed. I feel there was a reason for that, and I hope I might be able to help you identify what it might be.”
Eleanor
was glad to be walking beside him, with the brim of her bonnet covering her face, lest he see the heat blazing through her cheeks. After all, such things were impossible to mask, no matter how one schooled one’s face.
She knew exactly what had been responsible for the change in her at their prior lesson. It had been her own foolishness. The way she’d so easily reacted to Lord Charles’s kindness, the recollection of her mistakes, and the reminder of how painful it was to love.
“Have I overreached in my frankness?” he inquired.
Eleanor realized she’d been contemplative for too long. “No.”
“How did you feel when you made the first introduction?” Charles asked.
Beautiful.
Desired.
“More genuine,” she answered. “As though you were meeting me as a person and I you, rather than just performing the stiff formality of introduction.”
“I thought as much.” There was a note of delight to his tone. “I felt the connection as well.”
Eleanor hated the little flip her stomach gave, and hated how difficult it was to force herself not to turn toward the allure of his handsome smile.
Lord Charles deftly guided her around an aging couple in front of them who walked at a much slower pace.
“And how did you feel after?” he prodded.
Foolish.
Embarrassed.
“Exposed...” she breathed, almost choking on the suffocating memory.
“Ah, yes.”
This time she did glance up at him and found him nodding to himself.
“You do realize the appeal of such openness?” he asked.
“No,” she said slowly.
“The stiffness of your formality is what you’ve conformed to. It’s not who you are. The feeling of exposure is what comes when you let your shield slip and grant others the opportunity to see who you are.”
His explanation served to heighten her sense of vulnerability.
“I don’t think I like that.” No, she knew she did not like that.
“Because it feels foreign?” He paused. “Lottie once asked what you were afraid of. Perhaps this is your answer.”
“Perhaps.” It was all she would allow. The full truth would stay locked within her.
A gentleman tilted his hat to Eleanor from a passing carriage, catching her eye. Only then did she realize it was Hugh, with Lady Alice. Clearly they had been in her line of sight for some time on the road ahead and she was seeing them only now.
Interesting...
So, too, was the lack of heady anxiety seeing the two of them typically produced in her.
“When the shield slips away,” Charles was saying, “it lets a man glimpse the true woman beneath.”
“And you saw me?” she queried.
“I did.” He said it softly, as if he were considering something.
“What did you see in me?”
Her pulse ticked wildly. After their last conversation, did she truly want to hear this?
“You’re bold...you meet challenges head-on rather than cowering back from them. And there is passion in you. It’s simmering below the surface, but it’s there and it’s beautiful.”
“Do you find me beautiful?” Eleanor immediately regretted the brashness of her question.
Lord Charles stopped walking. Improper though it might be for him to stop her rather than her stopping him, the offense fell away when she met the blue of his eyes and felt the way they seemed to swallow her whole.
“I do,” he said earnestly.
But Lord Charles was not a man she ought to want. Not a man who should make her stomach flutter with such confusing emotion. Certainly not a man who stayed in the company of a beautiful courtesan.
“Do you think other men will find me so?” she asked.
A muscle worked in his smooth jaw and he stared down at her for so long she felt all the hope in her begin to wilt.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I do.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and gently nudged them both forward into a walk, to avoid attention after being gone too long. Already she knew her mother would have more questions about the mysterious man at Hyde Park.
“So I ought to allow myself to show flashes of vulnerability?” she surmised.
“Yes.”
She was indeed fortunate to have a man like Lord Charles at her side in this process of social edification, someone insightful and honest. The entire process had begun to pry apart her instilled ideals. Where once politeness and emotional stoicism had dominated her world, now she began to find an appreciation for the candor of her conversations with Lord Charles, and even the instructional detail Lottie provided.
The idea of the two together nipped once more at Eleanor. A reminder, yes, but still a curiosity.
“I confess lowering my shield, as you put it, is difficult,” she confided. “I was raised to keep my emotions reined in, that only the common show emotion.”
“Most of us are raised to eschew passion and exuberance,” Charles replied. “But not to the degree you were.”
Eleanor considered his words before replying. “My father was Scottish, and worried he might be judged by the ton for it. But he was also a man used to controlling everything. Including his emotions.”
“Including you?”
Eleanor flinched at the idea, and at the truth behind it. Everything had always had to be just so with her father. The servants, her mother, the preparations prior to his adventures, even the silly little club he’d been in with his friends and his need to dictate how everything went. She had never really considered the element of his control, and how far it had truly extended.
“Might I ask you something?” she inquired.
“Of course.”
Charles’s arm was warm under hers...strong. A deep, dormant part of her was tempted to stroke her fingers over his forearm. She shoved the thought aside and held her hand stiffly in place.
“It’s not my place to know,” she said. “I am merely curious.”
“Ask your question, Lady Eleanor.”
Very well. She drew in a deep breath and asked the question she couldn’t get out of her head. “Are you one of Lottie’s lovers?”
* * *
Charles’s mouth twitched with the beginnings of a laugh. He and Lottie! Lovers!
Truly, the idea was preposterous to imagine. Lottie with her sharp tongue and how well she knew him. He would have all the trouble in the world with a woman like her. And not the kind he might enjoy.
He pressed his lips together to suppress his mirth but a choking chuckle emerged from his throat.
“Lord Charles?” Lady Eleanor peered up at him from beneath the rim of her bonnet. Her brows had pinched downward in an expression of apparent concern.
“Forgive me.” He shook his head. “No, I am not one of Lottie’s lovers, nor will I ever be.”
Lady Eleanor pulled her head forward once more, shadowing her face with that damned bonnet. Her arm on his had gone stiff again.
“I see my mother ahead.” Eleanor nodded to a group of women visible through the trees. “I should join them.”
Charles found himself disinclined to leave Lady Eleanor’s company—a surprising realization. After all, she was Westix’s daughter.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” he offered by way of quick apology. “Lottie and I grew up together as children. I’ve always viewed her as a sister. So you see I could never possess any romantic inclination toward her. In fact, the very idea... It was unexpected and I found it amusing. Please know I was not laughing at you.”
Why was he working so damned hard to reassure her?
“I truly must go.” She glanced toward the group of ladies once more. “But I want to tell you how I appreciate the honesty of our discussions. I’ve never had anyone I could speak so can
didly with before. I find it...refreshing.”
Her expression was soft—hopeful, even. Had she truly not had anyone she could be sincere with? If that were the case, she had gone her entire life hiding behind the severity of society. Was it any wonder she worried now at pulling down her mask? Especially being the daughter of the Earl of Westix.
Charles was glad he had accepted Lottie’s offer to aid Eleanor. It appeared she was as much a victim of her father as they had all been.
“I enjoy our conversations as well.” Once the words were out of Charles’s mouth he realized he’d spoken with truth. He did appreciate them. Which was an idea that would have rendered his father truly disheartened. The daughter of the Earl of Westix was still a part of the terrible Earl.
She gave Charles a smile that hovered between pleasure and reticence. Her teeth sank into her full lower lip in a most becoming way. Most ladies did it purposely. Lady Eleanor, however, was not the type to attempt so silly a girlish gesture with intent, which made the action all the more alluring.
And, God, but didn’t she have a sensual mouth? Full and shaped for kissing, with a slight cleft in her bottom lip. How had he not noticed before?
He watched as she headed in the direction of her mother. Had it been his imagination, or had her cheeks been stained with a blush before she left him...?
Several hours later he found himself in Lottie’s drawing room as they awaited Eleanor’s arrival.
She was fascinating, this daughter of his enemy. Through their conversations he was beginning to obtain a comprehension of what had established her unbending fortitude. Her brazen questions had helped him glean a hint of the woman beneath. There was strength there, of course—an inner strength he did not often see in most people—but there was also a hidden hunger for life, something she was afraid to unleash.
“You’re smiling,” Lottie accused. She pointed at his face. “Did you find what you need for the Coeur de Feu?” She stood up a little taller with excitement. “Do you know where it is?”
How to Tempt a Duke Page 6