Candace Camp (24 page)

Eleanor’s head lolled back, a long, shaky sigh of pleasure escaping her, as his fingers dug into her flesh, squeezing and stroking. Slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her pantalets, he shoved them down in one swift movement, exposing her to his intimate touch.

His mouth came up to take hers in a long, deep kiss as his fingers slid between her legs, caressing and arousing her, sending the heat already there flaming into an inferno. Eleanor moaned, wrapping her arms around him and pressing into him. She ached to take him inside her once again, to feel him fill her in a way so complete that she could want nothing else.

“Anthony, please,” she murmured against his lips.

He let out a low growl, his hand going to the buttons of his breeches. He pulled her up and set her down on the edge of her desk. His face, only inches from her, was fierce with hunger as he thrust her skirts up roughly and opened her to him. Eleanor wrapped her legs around him eagerly, urging him to her.

He sank deep within her, his eyes closed, his breath ragged in his throat, his face stark with a pleasure that was almost pain. She buried her face in his neck as he thrust into her again and again. They teetered on the edge of dark oblivion, desire lashing them further and further beyond where they had gone before.

Eleanor let out a cry, stifling it against his skin, her teeth sinking into his flesh. Anthony groaned, holding on to her desperately, as they tumbled blindly over the edge.

T
HE MORNING DRAGGED
for Eleanor. It had taken her some time to fall asleep after Anthony left. She had lain in the darkness in her bed, all too aware of the vast emptiness beside her. Her body was soft and faintly sore, her flesh still awash with pleasure. Yet at the same time, she was aware, in a way she had never been before, of how very alone she was.

She awoke late and therefore found herself alone at the breakfast table, a state she welcomed after a week of breakfasts spent listening to Lady Honoria’s litany of complaints.

Accounts awaited her in her office, but she found it difficult to concentrate on them. She kept thinking about the list in the safe down the hallway. It would be a relief when Dario came and she was able to hand the thing over to him. Then her duty to Edmund would be done, and she would, she hoped, be free of the men who wanted it.

She endured a light lunch with Honoria, then returned to her office to work until Anthony arrived for their appointment with Dario. Her head was bent over her work when she sensed that someone was at her door. She looked up, and her heart rose into her throat when she saw the man standing there.

“Conte di Graffeo.”

Eleanor rose to her feet.
How had he gotten in here?
No servant had announced him. She had not even heard his footsteps in the hall.

“I am sorry,” she said, admirably quelling any tremor in her voice. “I did not realize you were here.”

“I told the maid I would show myself in,” he said easily, coming into the middle of the room. “I hope I am not disturbing you, but I had some matters of importance I wished to discuss with you.”

“Of course.” Eleanor mustered a faint smile and stepped around her desk to sit in one of the chairs, gesturing toward the chair across from hers. “Please, sit down.”

She could not help but wonder if the count had somehow found out about their discovery of the coded list. It seemed bizarre that he should show up the very morning after they had found it, yet she did not see how he could know what they had done. She and Anthony had told no one about it.

Di Graffeo sat down across from her, flashing her his urbane smile. “I am a straightforward man, Lady Scarbrough. I do not wish to engage in a round of accusations and lies. Let me begin by saying that I know you are in possession of the list of the members of
L’unione.
”

“Conte, really, I have told you before—”

“Please, my lady, no more subterfuges.” The count held up a hand as if to stop her. “You think that I do not know what goes on in this household? I have had an employee among your servants for some time now. I know everything that happens here. I know that you and Lord Neale were celebrating, jubilant, last night. That you were talking about the list and how you decoded it from Sir Edmund’s music. A clever ploy on Sir Edmund’s part, I must say.”

Eleanor’s mind flashed to the maid she had seen standing in the doorway last night. At the time, her only concern had been embarrassment that the girl had seen her and Anthony kissing. But now she wondered exactly how long the maid had been there and how much she had heard, as well as seen.

She stood up, eyes flashing. “You dare to bribe my servants to spy on me? I think it is time you left now.”

“Don’t be so hasty, my lady,” he said, also rising. “You should hear me out.”

“There is nothing you could say that I wish to hear.”

“I am prepared to pay quite handsomely for that list,” he went on.

“I would not dishonor my name nor my husband’s memory by selling it to you,” Eleanor told him flatly.

“Your husband was wrong. It is no dishonor to admit that someone behaved foolishly.”

“Acting on one’s convictions is not ‘behaving foolishly’,” she retorted. “Edmund believed in what he did, and I would not in any way undermine his actions.”

“Not even to save your good name?” he asked. His voice was a lazy drawl, but his eyes were sharp and bright as he gazed at her. “I know a great deal about you, you see. I am aware that you and Lord Neale are engaged in an affair.” He tsk-tsked in an exaggerated way. “I do not think English society would approve, do you?”

“I don’t give one bloody damn what English society would approve or not approve,” Eleanor retorted, her hands curling into fists and her eyes blazing with fury. “You can spread your dirty little secrets all over London, and it will not make me give you those names. Now, get out of my house, or I will call a servant to throw you out.”

She started toward the bell pull to summon one of the footmen, but the count reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her. She swung around, furious, to face him, and saw that he held a pistol in his hand, leveled at her heart.

“I am not fool enough to come unprepared, my lady,” he said quietly. “I did not expect you to immediately see the sense of my suggestion. Now…I suggest that you give me the list.”

Eleanor’s mind was racing. Anthony was supposed to join her, and they were going to talk to Dario about the list. She had sent Dario a note asking him to call upon her at two o’clock. Anthony, she thought, would arrive before that time. If only she could keep the count occupied, Anthony might arrive before di Graffeo could take the list and leave.

“I suppose I have little choice,” she said, wishing that she could see the clock. It was not in her line of sight, and she feared that turning her head to look at it would make the count immediately suspicious. “Unfortunately, however, I do not have the list. I gave it to Lord Neale.”

Di Graffeo’s lip curled up in a sneer. “A nice little fabrication, Lady Scarbrough. But, you see, I know that you and Lord Neale put those papers in your safe last night.” He motioned impatiently with the gun. “Now, please, let us go retrieve them.”

Eleanor turned and walked to the door. She thought about what she could do. There was certainly a possibility that there would be servants about as she walked to the safe. Would the count hesitate to shoot her in front of a witness? Or would she only be putting the servant in danger, as well?

As she stepped out into the hall, she heard her name called. “Eleanor.”

It was Anthony’s voice. He had arrived at the worst possible moment. He could not see di Graffeo or his gun, because the count was still behind her in the room. But the count had heard his voice and would know that Anthony was there. He would be prepared, whereas Anthony, unaware, would be walking straight into danger.

She had hoped that Anthony would arrive in time to help her, but her only thought now was to warn him away. She whirled, crying, “Anthony, no!”

Before she could say anything else, however, the count stepped out into the hall, grabbing her arm to hold her where she was and bringing the pistol up to her head.

“Stop right there, Lord Neale,” di Graffeo commanded.

Anthony came to a halt, staring at the scene in front of him. “What the devil is going on here?” he exclaimed, his voice reverberating with fury. “Unhand her, di Graffeo, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

“You will regret it much more, sir, if you try to stop me.”

“I see only one pistol,” Anthony retorted. “You cannot shoot both of us.”

“No. But I can promise you that Lady Scarbrough will be dead before you ever reach me. Is it worth it?”

“You know it is not,” Anthony replied.

“Very well, then. Now, walk toward us…slowly.”

Anthony did so, his eyes intent upon the count and the pistol he held to Eleanor’s head. “I don’t know how the devil you think you are going to get away with this,” he told the count. “You will have the list, but I think you will have a hard time getting out of the country before I catch up with you.”

“Ah. Well, then, you give me a very good reason to incapacitate you,” di Graffeo replied, his voice amused. “Now, walk past Lady Scarbrough. My lady, step back a little, please.”

The count wrapped his arm around Eleanor, effectively pinning her arms to her sides, and pulled her back against him, taking a step back into the room so that she would be out of Anthony’s reach as he walked by. Anthony strode past them and paused. Count di Graffeo released his hold on Eleanor’s waist and once again grasped her arm, guiding her into the hallway in front of him.

They started down the hallway toward the butler’s room, Anthony walking with a slow, measured pace. Eleanor waited, alert, for whatever opportunity might arise. It had occurred to her that Anthony had spoken rather loudly, and she wondered if he had known of the presence of a servant outside their range of vision, if he had perhaps been informing a footman or someone of what was going on. With luck, the footman might have enough sense to arm himself. She wished, quite fervently, that Bartwell was there. But she knew that whatever happened with the footman or anyone else, Anthony was biding his time, waiting for the best chance to attack di Graffeo. Eleanor needed to be ready to jump aside so she would no longer be leverage for the count to hold over Anthony.

“Conte!” a man’s voice called from behind them.

Di Graffeo turned his head. “Paradella!”

Eleanor felt, more than saw, the count’s gun hand relax, moving a little from her head as di Graffeo turned toward the new threat. She dropped to the floor just as Anthony let out a roar and threw himself at the count.

Di Graffeo turned back, bringing up the gun, but Anthony wrapped both hands around the count’s arm, jerking it upward as he crashed into the man, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Eleanor scrambled to her feet and looked down at the two men thrashing and wrestling across the floor. She glanced up. Dario stood a few feet away from them, a pistol in his hand and leveled at the men on the floor. He watched, his face stamped with frustration, clearly unable to get off a clear shot.

Eleanor ran to the table against one wall of the hallway and grabbed a vase, intending to smash it down on di Graffeo’s gun hand and separate him from his weapon. Once that was done, she was certain, the two men could restrain the count. But even as she turned, vase in hand, di Graffeo managed to land a blow on Anthony’s chin with his free hand, stunning him enough to allow the count to roll out from under Anthony and start to rise.

In that instant Dario fired. The ball hit the count in the chest, and he went sprawling, blood welling from the wound.

Anthony pulled the gun from the count’s hand and stood up. Eleanor dropped the vase back on the table and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. Anthony hugged her tightly to him, and they both turned to look down at their enemy.

The count was sprawled on his back, blood staining his shirtfront. He looked faintly surprised. “Paradella,” he said, contempt in his voice. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“Traditore!”

“No, di Graffeo,” Dario replied, his face as hard as his tone. “I am not a traitor. Just a man who loves freedom.”

The light faded from di Graffeo’s face, and he settled into the stillness of death.

Eleanor shuddered and turned her face into Anthony’s shoulder. He rubbed his hand down her back soothingly. “Perhaps you should go lie down. I’ll send for a magistrate.”

“No. I am all right.” She straightened. “I intend to get this over with right now.” She looked at Anthony. “I think we should give it to Dario.”

He nodded. “Agreed.” He cast a half smile at the other man. “It is little enough thanks for saving our lives.”

Dario shrugged. “I am just happy that I was far enough behind you that di Graffeo did not see me, too. I apologize for taking so long. I had to return to my coat to get the pistol.”

“Do you always carry a pistol with you?” Eleanor asked in astonishment.

“Only since I found out that he was in town.” He jerked his head toward the body at their feet. “Even though he could not prove it, the count was certain that I was among
L’unione.
I could not help but wonder if he would decide to get rid of me here, where there would be no one to retaliate.” He turned toward Eleanor. “But what do you mean? What are you giving—”

They were interrupted by a loud scream from above, followed by running footsteps and a man’s voice shouting, “No, my lady, no, you don’t understand!”

“Eleanor! Anthony! The footman has a gun!” Honoria came flying down the staircase and into the hall at a faster pace than Eleanor would have thought possible. Right on her heels came one of the footmen, carrying a dueling pistol.

Honoria came to a sudden halt when she saw the group gathered beside the body on the floor and stared, for once rendered speechless. The footman, unable to stop, slid into her back, sending her tumbling to the floor.

Honoria began to shriek, over and over, while the footman babbled apologies and asides to Eleanor to the effect that he meant no harm, but had only run to fetch Eleanor’s pistol when he heard Lord Neale’s words.

At the commotion, everyone in the household came running, including Samantha and all the servants. Eleanor groaned and looked at Anthony. The babble rose all around them until, finally, Anthony put his fingers to his lips and gave a loud, piercing whistle.

Silence fell immediately.

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, then turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Jasper, in Bartwell’s absence, I expect you to take charge of the servants. Keep them in the kitchen until such time as the magistrate decides whether he needs to talk to them. Everson, fetch the magistrate. Harmon, stand guard over the body. And Janet…” She turned to address her maid. “If you will take Samantha and Lady Honoria upstairs…”