Devil in My Arms (13 page)

“My future is uncertain,” she said sadly. “It isn’t right to drag you into my problems.” She didn’t even want to think about how complicated her life was. And now she’d gone and made it worse. She’d tasted the forbidden and very much feared she couldn’t live without it after this.

“Your future is wide open, my dear. You are in the enviable position of being able to do any damn thing you want. You have no past, no obligations.” He sighed and sat up and pushed the bed pillows against the headboard. Then he pulled her into his embrace and rested his chin atop her head. “Don’t be scared, Eleanor. Of anything.” She sank into his arms, letting him support her for now. A lady needed a strong shoulder now and then, among other things. She couldn’t believe that when they’d first met, she’d found him as dangerous as a wild cat hunting prey, the very Devil he pretended to be. Now he was the rock she leaned on. But only temporarily.

“You are the most formidable woman I’ve ever known.” She was humbled by his words, and glad he didn’t see the constant fear she worked so hard to hide. “You shall prevail, and you shall be victorious. I know it. Let me help you. Because I want to help you, not because you’ve dragged me into it, as you put it.”

She didn’t know how to respond without revealing her own turmoil and uncertainty. She brushed his offer away with a witticism. “By help me, do you mean bed me?” she asked mischievously.

“Not exactly, but the two are not mutually exclusive,” he murmured into her hair. He kissed the top of her head and then tilted her face up with a finger under her chin. “I am not normally an impulsive man, either, Eleanor,” he admitted. “My attraction to you was confounding and unexpected, but real and powerful, just the same. I am not looking for an intimate relationship. I do not do well in them, you see.” He looked quite
uncomfortable at the confession. “I have hurt others in the past with my transient and often negligent affections. I do not want to hurt you, Eleanor.”

“Nonsense,” she said firmly, her ire rising at the very notion someone would criticize his loyalty or devotion. “Negligent affections, indeed. Your lifelong friendships belie such a claim, Hilary. If affection was not present in your previous affairs, it was not your fault. Affection is not produced by circumstance, but by circumstances of the heart. If your heart was not engaged, then those were doomed relationships regardless.”

“I’m not sure my heart is engaged here, either,” he said gently.

That took the wind out of her sails, but she forced herself to acknowledge her own misgivings about their liaison. “I am not sure, either,” she had to admit. “I know that physically, I find you pleasing.” There was more to it, of course, but she refused to make a cake of herself by admitting to her girlish infatuation.

“Thank you,” he said politely, while caressing her bare hip. “I also find you physically appealing.”

“Why must it be more? At least, right now?” she asked, already desperate to see him again, even as they were still abed. “Can we not just enjoy each other’s company?” She didn’t want him to think too hard about their affair. If he did, he’d surely see the futility of it. A romance between them could go nowhere. She wasn’t as free as he pretended she was, was she?

“Why, Mrs. Fairchild,” he murmured as he slid down onto the bed and pulled her closer. “What a marvelous idea.”

It was then she realized she’d been manipulated into agreeing with what he’d wanted from the start. “Oh, you are devilishly clever,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him in relief. “Carnal relations seem to slow my thinking processes.”

“Don’t think,” he whispered. “Just feel.” As he kissed her, she was very much afraid of exactly how much she was going to feel about Sir Hilary St. John.

* * *

In the early morning hours, Hil and Eleanor snuck out of his room. She was carrying her cloak and he was holding her hand as they tiptoed down the stairs. The secrecy was to
satisfy her sensibilities. He knew damn well it was his house and whatever happened here wouldn’t go past the front door. His staff had been chosen very carefully, and had been put to the test before. Discretion was always the operating rule in his house, no matter the situation. He looked about. His footman had quietly vanished at their appearance, which only proved his point.

At the bottom of the steps he helped Eleanor into her cloak. He couldn’t resist a last kiss before pulling the hood over her head. She looked up at him and he was struck by her vulnerability. Her short hair gave her the appearance of extreme youthfulness. There were still questions in her eyes, and a good bit of uncertainty written in the expression on her face. He cupped her cheek and smiled in reassurance before he pressed his lips to hers. He hadn’t meant the kiss to be more than a brief good-bye, but Eleanor wrapped her arms around him, pressed close, and opened her mouth. He fell into her response. God he loved her mouth. Too big for fashion, but so enticing it was going to be difficult to resist sampling it whenever they met.

He had never not been fully satisfied by one night in a woman’s bed. But with Eleanor, there was still so much he wanted to do to and with her, so much more to be explored between them. She had been untried in the ways of true sexual congress, and he’d gone slowly with her, initiating her to real passion with a care he hadn’t taken with a woman in a very long time. She had been exquisite in her response to him; her wonder and delight in the pleasure he gave her was a source of immense satisfaction, and he wanted it all again. He wanted to drag her back upstairs and continue their illicit play, until he was either sated at last or too exhausted to go on. And then he wanted to rest just long enough to regain his strength and dive into her again. When had he ever felt that way about a woman? About an inquiry, a puzzle, a challenge, yes, but never a person. Not this intensely. He feared what that might mean.

He broke the kiss slowly, so that they stood there, their mouths open, their lips barely touching, their warm breath mingling in the cool air of the entry. As if part of their souls were slipping into each other. And that intimacy was what made his heart race until he was dizzy with it. This wasn’t like him. Not at all.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Wiley say behind him. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Eleanor jerked back with a gasp. Hil held on to her arms, preventing her escape.
“What the devil are you doing up this early?” he inquired of Wiley in a mild tone, slipping an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders as he moved to stand beside her.

“I had a few errands to take care of before we searched for Mrs. Goode’s love letters. I figured after your foul mood last night, you’d want to get started right away.”

“In other words, you never made it to bed,” Hil guessed.

“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” he told Hil. He bowed in Eleanor’s direction. “How do you do, Mrs. Fairchild?” he said in a perfectly polite tone. They might have been meeting in a ballroom. Oh, he’d learned quite a bit, most definitely.

“Fine, thank you, Wiley. And you?” Eleanor replied, just as politely. She smiled at him then, a wide, happy smile, and held out her hand. Wiley shook it with a matching wide grin. He started to bow down to kiss it, but Hil glared at him and he let go. Wiley had an uncanny way with the ladies, and Hil was unaccountably jealous of his previous acquaintance with Eleanor.
Inconceivable
.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she started. “I must apologize for my appearance.”

“No you mustn’t,” Hil interrupted her.

“But I wasn’t planning on seeing anyone else this morning,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Wiley. It has been ages. Alasdair and Julianna were just speaking of you the other day.”

“Believe
her
,” Wiley said. “You know Alasdair lies like a devil.”

Eleanor laughed and relaxed within the circle of Hil’s arm. “He does, but he does it badly,” she agreed. “He never could bluff me at cards, no matter how he tried, the poor thing.”

Wiley crossed his arms and wagged a finger at her. “Never could take me in, though. Figures Hil would get a smart one who was pretty, too. Damn lucky, the sod.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said with a little curtsy. “What love letters were you talking about?”

Wiley started to answer, but then looked at Hil, unsure. Because he trusted Eleanor, Hil told her the truth. “A young man came to me and asked me to find his deceased grandmother’s love letters from Tsar Alexander. He claims she told him that
they had an affair when she was young, and his father was the tsar’s son.”

“Hmm,” Eleanor said thoughtfully. “And you’re sure that his claim is credible?” At Hil’s nod, she stared over his shoulder for a minute or two. “I assume he wouldn’t be in the line of succession, as he is illegitimate. Goode. Goode. It’s not a name I recognize. How might they have met?”

“The late Mrs. Goode was lady’s maid to the wife of a British diplomat in Russia,” Hil said. “They must have met there.”

“Oh, Alexander,” she murmured, “you naughty boy. Diddling with the servants. I assume he looked in her personal effects, of course.”

“Of course,” Hil said. “He’d checked her personal effects and her private accounts, as well. As her heir, he had complete access. And he gave me the same courtesy. I have double-checked all of those places. I’ve very nearly torn the apartments down looking for them.”

Eleanor smiled. “Not complete access. I’m guessing he left the funeral arrangements to someone else. Something like that … If she kept them all that time, they meant something to her. They had a
love
affair. She took them with her.”

“I—she what?” Hil stared at her, uncomprehending.

Eleanor pulled her hood over her head. “You will need to exhume her body. You will find the letters either on her person, perhaps sewed into the lining of her petticoats, or in the casket.” She looked up at him with a serious expression. “If it’s that important to find them, of course. You must weigh the need against the disrespect of desecrating her grave. If she’d wanted her grandson to have them, she’d have given them to him. If she took them with her to the grave, then the grave is where they belong. In my opinion.”

“Damn me if she isn’t as bloody brilliant as you,” Wiley muttered. “Always suspected as much.”

Hil was aghast. “I never, madam, even considered such a possibility.”

“You, sir,” she said as she walked over to the door, “are a man.” She turned and faced him. “And as such, you must escort me home immediately. The sun is rising. Good morning, Wiley.”

Wiley tipped a nonexistent hat. “Good morning, ma’am.” He turned to Hil. “I like her. Let’s keep her. She keeps you in line and lightens my workload.”

Hil had no response to that as he followed Eleanor out the door.

Chapter Nine

“Why, Mrs. Fairchild,” Hil said as he bowed over her hand, “imagine my surprise at finding you here. I had no idea you would be in attendance this evening.”

Eleanor raised a brow and smiled wryly at him. They had both been in attendance at almost every single event to which Eleanor had been invited in the past three weeks. Tonight’s supper party was just the last of a long line of not-so-secret assignations. The script varied little at each event. He would express surprise and then engage her in mundane conversation for most of the evening, never leaving her side. People were not only talking, they were speculating furiously. So much for discretion. But she was so deliriously happy she found it hard to care.

“Really?” she replied with mock bewilderment. “I’m sure I made no secret of it. How are you this evening, Sir Hilary?”

“Much better now, madam,” he said on cue. He straightened and took his place at her side.

“Oh, look,” Roger said in a monotone, “Hil is here. What a shock.”

“Hush,” Harry told him, not very quietly. “I think it’s charming.”

“I am charming,” Hil agreed, and Eleanor giggled. He smiled at her as he placed her hand on his arm. “Let’s walk.”

“I like to walk,” Eleanor said. “I try to do it every day, when flying is unavailable to me.”

“Just so,” Hil said. “Fly away, little bird.”

“They are disgusting,” she heard Roger say to Harry as she and Hil moved off.

The supper party was small by some standards. Only twenty people or so. The drawing room doors were open to the adjoining music room, creating a larger area in which to walk. There were lively conversations going on all over, and Miss Millette was playing the piano.

“We are disgusting, you know,” she said to Hil in an undertone. “Neither one of us is showing an ounce of discretion.” And it was the most glorious time she’d ever had.

“You are absolutely correct,” Hil said seriously. “Not an ounce.”

“You don’t care a bit,” Eleanor told him, not sounding even mildly censorious, because she felt the same. They’d had this discussion numerous times over the past few weeks. He was incorrigible. And every time she climbed into his waiting carriage in the middle of the night, and then let him sweep her into his bed to make mad, passionate love to her, she only encouraged him more. She really ought to stop doing that. But it had only been six times in three weeks, which was really quite negligible. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking particularly dashing this evening, if somber, in an all-black ensemble, broken only by the white of his shirt and the silver stars embroidered on his waistcoat. She nearly sighed like a moonstruck young girl, but stopped herself just in time. His blue eyes twinkled and she noticed his hair was even longer, making her fingers itch to touch the curls on his collar. Or pull them until he put his mouth just where she wanted it. She cleared her throat and blinked a few times to clear those thoughts out of her head.

“Stop it,” he murmured, smiling at Lord and Lady Toomey on his right.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“I can read your thoughts just by the look on your face. You are shameless.”

“This is true. I am hopeless.” She almost sounded as if it bothered her. Almost. She couldn’t quite achieve the proper remorse.

“Good,” he said, heartily. “Less work for me.”