Devil in My Arms (3 page)

“You’re sorry?” Roger said disbelievingly. “My heart is still palpitating from your scream. What happened?”

“Just a silly nightmare, I suppose,” she said, avoiding the truth. She wrapped her arms around her middle so they wouldn’t see her shaking. She didn’t want them to know
how foolish she was about it all. This was Harry’s, not Enderby’s. They weren’t going to lock her in. She could leave whenever she wanted.

“Ellie, you must tell us,” Harry pleaded. “How can we help?”

That caught Eleanor’s attention. She brushed aside the last remnants of the dream and focused on Harry and Roger. She’d need their help if she was to escape Enderby for good. No time like the present to discuss that. She certainly wasn’t going back to sleep right away. “I have a plan,” she declared. “One that will disgrace Enderby and gain me my freedom. But I have to remain lost for some time more. I need Enderby to be so convinced I’m dead that he remarries.”

Harry looked stupefied. “But that could take years!”

“That’s what woke you up, screaming?” Roger asked, clearly bewildered. He still looked half-asleep.

“No, Roger,” Eleanor said patiently. “But Harry asked how you could help. And the greatest thing you can do for me is to help me gain my freedom from Enderby, once and for all.”

“Is everything all right, sir?” A tall, older man stood at the door. The butler, if Eleanor remembered correctly.

“Yes, Mandrake. Mrs. Enderby simply had a nightmare.”

The butler never even glanced in her direction. “Very good, sir,” he said. He turned and shooed the gathered servants away before he closed her door.

“All right,” Roger said, rubbing his hands over his face. “And how are we to do that? As Harry said, it can take years to have someone declared dead.”

“It won’t take him years,” Eleanor drawled, as she walked over and sat down in the chair by the open window. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t kill me long ago so he could remarry. He’s sired several illegitimate children in the last few years, and his desire for a legitimate heir has grown. It has been the main cause of his discontent for some time. As soon as he can have me legally declared dead, he will do so and he will remarry with haste. Mark my words. In a few months, I shall be the late, first Mrs. Enderby, and the second one shall have taken my place.”

“And then?” Harry asked.

“And then I will miraculously return from the dead,” she said. “Enderby will be
forced to choose: admit I’m still alive and take me back, which would mean casting aside his blushing, most likely pregnant bride, or leave me alone and keep her and his heir. I think I know him well enough to know which he will choose. And I will make it even more difficult for him to find me. Because I will not be Eleanor Enderby anymore. I’ll assume another identity. Surely he will leave me alone then. If he does find me, Enderby will not only have to renounce his claim that I am dead, but prove that I am not who I say I am.”

“It won’t work,” Roger said flatly. “I know the law, Eleanor. I’m a barrister. It will be very difficult to have you declared dead, and even more difficult to create a believable identity for you.”

Eleanor’s heart rose into her throat at his words. “It will work. He has most of the county in his pocket. They’ll do as he tells them, including declaring me dead.”

Harry looked unconvinced. “You’ve left out option three,” she said. “Make sure your fake death becomes a very real one.”

Yes, Eleanor had thought of that. “He won’t,” she said with false bravado. “He won’t want to be bothered after he has a new wife and a new life. I shall be free at last.”

Roger looked skeptical. “Perhaps we should just start with a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we’ll find some place to hide you until we can figure this all out.” He turned to usher Harry out of the room.

Harry turned back with a worried expression. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do tonight?”

Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to quell the uncertainty assailing her. She bit her lip for a moment and then gave in, blurting out, “Could you leave the door open when you leave, please?”

Chapter Two

Surrey, December 1819

“Wiley,” Eleanor asked as she perused the chessboard between them, “tell me more about Sir Hilary.”

They were in the country at the Earl of Throckton’s estate. The earl was a cousin to one of Roger’s closest friends, Mr. Alasdair Sharp. The truth was, she owed Mr. Sharp a huge debt. He and his wife, Julianna, great friends of Roger and Harry’s, had resided at the earl’s country estate with Eleanor, Wiley, and Mr. Sharp’s cousin Lady Anne Moore, the earl’s sister, off and on for several months. Eleanor knew both Wiley and Mr. Sharp stayed at Harry and Roger’s request, to keep an eye on her and protect her identity. They had all grown rather close these last few months. Alasdair and Julianna had returned to London to spend the holidays with her father and stepmother while Eleanor, Wiley, and Lady Anne had stayed here and celebrated. It had been the most joyous Christmas of Eleanor’s adult life, no matter that it had been a quiet and subdued celebration.

Eleanor moved her white queen. She effectively controlled the center of the board now. Wiley had, of course, started with a gambit to try to expose her king. Now in the middle game, she was working on her pawn structure, playing a closed game. Wiley operated better with an open board, consistently sacrificing material for the endgame, a weakness she’d exposed over and over. True to form, he moved another pawn, and she was able to take it
en passant
on her next turn.

“Wiley, dear,” she said gently to the younger man, “you must control the center.”

“Damn,” he swore under his breath. “Why can I not defeat you? I have defeated everyone else.” He glared at her. “Everyone but Hil. You’re as diabolical as he is.”

“Speaking of Sir Hilary …” she prompted.

“Why are you so interested in him?” Wiley asked, studying the board.

She wasn’t sure. She rather enjoyed the stories they all told about him. He was a
bit of a chameleon, changing his colors to suit any situation. Whatever was needed, it seemed Sir Hilary provided, be it a brilliant detective, a sympathetic ear, or a mentor for an ingenious young man from St. Giles, such as Wiley. “He is an interesting person,” she said. “I enjoy hearing stories about his adventures.”

“So you want to hear about his adventures and not him? Shall I tell you again about the night we saved Julianna from the murderous receiver of stolen goods? Or what about when we rescued Roger and Harry from that mad fellow who was trying to marry her for her money and nearly killed them both?” Wiley gave her a sly look.

She blushed. He’d caught her, hadn’t he? Today she had wanted to hear about him and not his adventures. She’d only met him briefly, but through the stories Wiley and the others told her she’d developed a bit of a schoolgirl crush on him. She laughed at herself about it. But he was safe, wasn’t he? He wasn’t here. He was, for all intents and purposes, a figment of her imagination at this point, since she didn’t know him at all. She could barely even remember his features. He was more like a dashing adventurer from some novel.

“I think he’s lonely,” Wiley offered suddenly, sitting back in his chair and looking at her speculatively.

“Lonely?” she asked in astonishment. “But you’ve all described him as a bit of a rake. He’s a Devil, isn’t he? The original Devil.” She was referring to the group of friends from their schooldays who had been dubbed The Saint’s Devils, a sly reference to Sir Hilary St. John, their unofficial leader. Apparently Roger and Alasdair Sharp had been Devils, and Julianna insisted they still were. Eleanor, frankly, could not see either of them gallivanting about London seducing ladies and gambling their lives away, but according to Lady Anne, who had known them all the longest, that’s exactly what they had done. Time, and love, had tempered her brother-in-law, Roger, and Mr. Sharp. Had it done the same for Sir Hilary?

“Used to be, I gather,” Wiley said. “Not much anymore. He spends more time in his library with his books and experiments than he does in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.” He winked and Eleanor felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment again. She feared she’d never get used to Wiley’s blunt speech.

“Yes,” she said. “But why do you think he’s lonely? Simply because he likes to
read and pursue intellectual interests?”

Wiley scoffed. “He hasn’t got anyone to tell his secrets to.”

It was such an insightful observation from an unlikely source that Eleanor was speechless for a moment.

“Nobody knows much about him, do they?” Wiley told her, leaning forward and looking at the board again. “Not his past anyway, nor much about what he does now. He keeps most of his inquiries private, although he tells me some since I’ve become his errand boy. But he never talks about his past, before he knew Roger and Alasdair. Not a word. Why? Seems like he’s got something to hide. Hard to carry a burden like that around without being able to share it with someone.”

“Yes, it is,” she said with the knowledge born of experience. It had been dreadful sneaking around for all those months, hiding her identity, on the run from her past and unable to share her burden. That is, until she finally reached Harry and Roger. And now she had a most unlikely group of friends, Devils and earls, and they were all shouldering some of the burden for her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she rose and walked to the window, her back to Wiley so he couldn’t see.

“Aw, now, none of that,” Wiley said, alarmed. “It’s my hide if I make you cry again. Julianna will drag me over the coals.”

Eleanor hiccupped a little laugh. “I’m sorry, Wiley. It’s just that I wouldn’t let myself cry for so long. Now that I have my freedom, well, it seems I’ve let my tears out, too.”

“Going to talk about it?” he asked mildly. “Good to share things, you know, just as we’ve been saying.”

She turned and gave him a wry smile. “You sly boots. Hoping to wrangle my secrets out with your talk of the oh so lonely Sir Hilary. I should have known what a ruse that was.”

Wiley laughed. “It was the truth. Someday he’s going to get hit right between the eyes, just like Roger and Alasdair, mark my words. And he’s not going to know what to do. He likes to be in control of everything, all the time. He’s like a puppet master.”

She made a face. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“He may not share his secrets,” Wiley said, moving another pawn into a sacrifice,
“but he knows just about everyone else’s, right up to the prince regent.”

“Good heavens,” she said, her eyes wide as she slid back into her seat across from Wiley. “He knows the prince regent?”

“Knows him?” Wiley said with a snort of disbelief. “He’s at his beck and call. Saved the monarchy more than once, I think.”

Eleanor was speechless again. A man such as that, with royal connections, had bothered himself to look for her? He must be great friends with Roger, indeed. Without much thought she moved her queen and took Wiley’s rook. “Where is he now?” she asked.

“Told you before,” Wiley said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair as he looked hopelessly at the board. “Even I don’t know this time. I think it’s royal business again.”

“How fascinating,” she said breathlessly. Was Sir Hilary even now in danger? Were some dangerous spies pursuing him across the continent?

The door to the drawing room flew open and Lady Anne rushed inside. She was a tall, beautiful woman. Cool and sophisticated in that way that nobility had, with her china-blue eyes, and soft-brown hair always dressed to perfection. She had intimidated Eleanor when she’d met her wearing a borrowed gown from Harry, which had not fit properly. But Lady Anne had turned out to be as beautiful inside as she was out. She was actually in exile in the country. Her rather stern brother, whom Eleanor had met her first day here and spoken with twice more before he went back to London, had sent her here after an ill-fated love affair. Eleanor didn’t know the details, and Lady Anne did not seem too heartbroken, so her exile had turned into benefit for Eleanor. The two had discovered a mutual love for poetry and literature, and Eleanor had started embroidering again under her tutelage. She hadn’t done that since she was a girl. Enderby had forbidden it when he’d discovered how much she enjoyed it.

“Eleanor,” Lady Anne said breathlessly. “A courier from my brother just arrived with an urgent note for you from Mr. Templeton.”

Eleanor stood up abruptly, her heart beating madly. Was Harry all right? The children? Had Enderby discovered where she was hiding? “What does it say?”

Lady Anne looked at her in surprise. “Well I didn’t read it. It’s not for me.”

“Open it,” Wiley said, standing as well. He knocked his leg against the table and the chessboard tipped over, spilling pieces onto the floor. “Oops,” he said with a grin.

Eleanor frowned at him. “Wiley,” she chastised him as if he were a child. “You forfeit and I win.” She turned away from his sputtering protestation and held out her hand to Lady Anne. The sealed note burned in her palm as if it contained her doom.

“There’s one for Wiley, too,” Lady Anne said, handing it to him.

“You first,” Wiley said, gesturing to the note in her hand. Eleanor took a deep breath and tore open the seal. It was actually from Harry.

Dearest Eleanor,

Enderby has had you declared dead! He produced a body. We are trying to discover the identity of the unknown victim, but to no avail. But to the world, dearest sister, you are dead, and have been since last month. Enderby did not deem it important to inform your sister of your death at the time.

Eleanor had to sit down, her legs had begun to shake so dreadfully. She read it aloud to the cheers of Wiley and Lady Anne, and then continued.

There is even better news. No sooner had he declared you dead and buried a stranger, he remarried. Some poor girl from Shropshire whose father, a baronet, I believe, was greatly in debt.