Devil in My Arms (7 page)

“Really?” she asked, not sure how to respond. She leaned over to smell some red roses growing in pots. Their scent was faint and their beautiful petals were beginning to curl in distress. “ 
‘Oh rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm, has found out thy bed of crimson joy, and his dark secret love, does thy life destroy.’
 ” She looked at Sir Hilary. “William Blake,” she explained.

“I know who wrote it,” he said, looking astonished she’d think otherwise. “I know a great many poems about flowers. What about,
‘Ah, sunflower, weary of time’
? Also
Blake.”

“There are no sunflowers here,” she observed flirtatiously, then wanted to bite her tongue. What was she doing, playing with a Devil? This girlish behavior was foolish in the extreme. He’d said ‘fascinated,’ not infatuated. It was her ability to outwit him he admired, not her womanly charms, despite that heated glance she’d caught. She was quite ordinary in most respects, with her boyish hair and slim figure. She’d heard Sir Hilary preferred curvaceous beauties.

“Fine.
‘The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, the humble sheep, a threat’ning horn: while the Lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.’
Also Blake. The man was obsessed with flowers.”

“A fan of the lily, are you? My point was that I do not think this garden party is good for the flowers.”

“Lady Gaston is not concerned about the flowers. She will grow more. She merely cares that her party is a huge success, which it is.”

“How can you tell?” she asked as she perused the room. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The ladies were staring at him with longing and her with envy, and the men were wary. The typical reaction to his presence.

“I came.”

She laughed at him again in delighted astonishment. “Roger was right. You are very full of yourself.”

“I merely state the facts, madam. I have never darkened the door of a garden party before.”

She gave him a coy little curtsy. “I am honored.” But also cautious. Why was he so interested in her? After a moment of silence as they walked past the French doors leading out to the real garden, which was still dormant and chill, she prodded, “I thought you made a practice of playing catch-up, finding lost people and things and such.”

“I do, but that is not the same thing as chasing you around ballrooms.”

“I am more easily caught, I suspect, since I am hardly running away. I sought you out today.” Because she found him equally fascinating, though she was not as brave as he and wouldn’t admit it. He was too smart, too observant, and far too unsettling for her peace of mind. A dalliance with a well-known rake such as Sir Hilary was most definitely
not part of her plans.

“You did,” he agreed. “Why?”

“We are acquaintances, are we not?” she countered, feigning ignorance. “When I saw you I felt compelled to offer a greeting. It would have been rude not to. Also, you looked lost.”

“I am never lost.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. She could tell it infuriated him. “I am not interested in a love affair,” he stated bluntly.

Eleanor actually gasped at that and frantically looked around to make sure no one had heard him. “Are you mad?” she whispered roughly, gripping his arm. “Are you trying to draw censure to me? You will destroy my new identity.” Shock caused her to overreact. It was as if he’d read her mind. The crushing disappointment she felt at his declaration was troubling. Surely she didn’t desire such a thing either, did she?

“I am merely trying to put your mind at ease about my motives in seeking you out,” he explained. They were now facing one another. “I wish to know the person who can best me, who can outwit me. What flaw in me has allowed you to do so? There must be some explanation. It can’t be your intellect, which, though by no means small, is not as great as mine. You are passing fair, true, but hardly a beauty of renown. Why do you trouble me so?”

“That was not only blunt, but beyond rude,” she said without rancor. She’d been thinking the same thing. And of course they were both right. “Consider my mind at ease.” She crossed her arms and tapped her chin with her forefinger as if thinking very hard. “My intellect is too weak to help you with this conundrum, Sir Hilary. I am afraid you will have to play catch-up to figure it out. Good afternoon.” Irrational anger made her voice sharp, and she turned away with a flick of her skirts, disgusted with herself and with him. She left him standing there fuming as she went to look for Harry. Oh, he was an infuriating man.

* * *

“What on earth is wrong with Sir Hilary?” Harry asked her as the two were leaving the
garden party. “I offered him a hallo, and got a glare for my trouble as he stomped out the door. I saw you two talking earlier. Did he say anything to you?”

“He is infuriating, and quite self-centered,” Eleanor said under her breath. “We had words and I expected him to leave with dignity. I did not expect him to make a cake of himself over it.”

“Really?” Harry said with glee. “How marvelous! I’ve never seen him so upset by a woman.”

“It is not marvelous,” Eleanor argued. “People will talk. I cannot afford to be the latest on-dit.” How society would laugh if they knew he’d declared her unworthy of him.

“I don’t see why,” Harry said. “The fact is, Enderby has remarried. Surely he will want to keep his new wife, whoever she is, rather than put himself through a thoroughly messy legal battle over your death, or lack thereof. I hardly think a love affair would make your return from the dead more appealing to him.”

Eleanor started to protest, but stopped. Was Harry right? She needed to think about that. It seemed too simple an answer. She still feared Enderby would track her down and denounce her if he discovered she was alive. But the truth was that there would be more trouble at his door if he did. Eleanor did not have great confidence in his common sense, but surely even he would see that, if he ever figured out Elizabeth Fairchild was his late, unlamented wife.

“You can see I’m right,” Harry said smugly.

“I do not concede you are right,” Eleanor told her, “but will consider your idea.”

“Ha,” was Harry’s rejoinder. “That means I’m right.” After a moment she said, “I think Sir Hilary is an excellent choice for an affair.”

“Harry,” Eleanor said sharply, hoping to end the discussion. She thought so, too, but she very much doubted she would be the one he was having the affair with.

“He’s quite handsome, don’t you think? I believe his red hair is indicative of a passionate personality. He doesn’t display that often, of course, in his line of work, but I do believe his Devil’s reputation more than corroborates it. According to Roger, his bedroom skills are legendary among the ladies. I honestly can’t believe anyone is better than Roger, but I’m just repeating the gossip.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and counted to ten. She would not think of Sir Hilary in
the bedroom. Her bedroom skills were rudimentary at best. Sir Hilary, on the other hand, was the original Devil. A man who, rumor had it, pursued knowledge of the sensual as ardently as he studied science, detection, and poetry. She was a dismal prospect for a man of his stature and experience. “I do not think I am ready to take a lover.” The excuse tasted like a lie as soon as she said it, and she made a face.

Harry hugged her with one arm. “Was it awful, then, with Enderby? It was awful, you know, with my first husband.” She noticeably shuddered. “I didn’t expect what I found with Roger. It is … it is incandescent.”

“Incandescent?” Eleanor said disbelievingly. “That is hardly a word I would use to describe relations.”
Unpleasant, messy, painful, and embarrassing, yes. Incandescent? No
.

“I wouldn’t have either, before—”

“Before Roger,” Eleanor finished for her. “Yes, I believe you mentioned that.”

“Just think about it, Eleanor,” Harry begged. “I think Sir Hilary would be very good for you.”

“Sir Hilary said he didn’t find me particularly intelligent or beautiful,” she told Harry. “I don’t need another man who doesn’t appreciate me. No, thank you.” But she knew he appreciated her, at least as a worthy opponent. He’d told her as much. Unlike other men, he acknowledged her intellect and cleverness and challenged her. Most of his life was shrouded by mystery, which only added to his allure, she had to admit. She was fascinated with puzzles, and he was an enigma, an impossible cipher she wanted to solve.

She shook off the notion. She had no plans for a love affair right now, particularly with Sir Hilary. To indulge that fantasy was foolish and dangerous. But there was a very small voice in her head arguing that his legendary bedroom skills might be just what she needed to rejoin the land of the living.

Chapter Five

Eleanor looked around the ballroom for the fifteenth time and then forced herself to stop. She stood still, bit her lip, and stared at the ceiling. She would not look for him again. The temptation was nearly irresistible, but she was making a fool of herself. Yet another reason to avoid involvement with Sir Hilary. He made her feel like a fool, and she didn’t like it.

And she was being irrational. Here she was in a beautiful ballroom, surrounded by the cream of London society, and was she enjoying it? No. She looked around and deliberately set about appreciating the scenery. Lady Carrey was said to have impeccable taste. At least that’s what she’d been overhearing all night. The walls were painted a muted pink and the marble columns near the entry doors had just a tinge of pink hidden in the creamy stone. There were plaster angels, gilded to gleam in the candlelight, adorning the four corners of the ceiling. The chandeliers were quite the largest Eleanor had ever seen. She was a little afraid of dancing under them, actually.

“I feel as if I stepped into a nightmarish bordello,” a bored voice said from behind her, “every time I enter Lady Carrey’s ballroom.”

Eleanor swallowed a gasp, but she was sure her surprise had still been obvious to Sir Hilary. Had he been observing her from some hidden corner? There were large potted palms all over. Had he seen her looking for him? How humiliating. “Do you? I’m afraid I have no experience for comparison when it comes to bordellos.”

“No? That’s a shame. Although it is not my favorite decorating scheme by any means.”

“I’m afraid you’ve once again touched upon an improper topic of conversation,” she told him, annoyed. Was he determined to ruin her reputation before she’d actually had time to build one? Or was he merely trying to aggravate her? He seemed to enjoy doing that.

“Again?” He sounded as exasperated as she felt. With a sigh he walked up to stand next to her and bowed slightly in her direction. “Mrs. Fairchild,” he said in a
belated greeting.

She bowed her head slightly in response, but refused to look directly at him. “Sir Hilary.” Very polite, as if they had not parted on ill terms the last time. She could feel her jaw clenching.

“Ah,” he said. “I see that you are still annoyed with me. You shall have to get over that.”

“I shall have to—,” she said, cutting off her incredulous response. “Good evening, Sir Hilary,” she said coolly, taking a step away from him. Why had she longed to see him again?

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t be a silly female. I gave you more credit than that. Surely you can see that we must indulge this obsession with one another and then we can move on.”

She said nothing as she started counting slowly to one hundred in her head, lest she show her temper again. Obsession? He had an odd way of showing it. And when had fascination turned to obsession?

“Have you nothing to say? Surely this must be a remarkable occasion.” His sly wink made her lose count.

“I am not obsessed with you,” she said dismissively, hoping desperately that it sounded more sincere to him than it did to her. “You are the one who seeks me out. You said so yourself.”

“If we’re keeping score, you sought me out at Lady Gaston’s.”

“Only after you came to the party expressly to see me. Which you admitted,” she hastily added.

“Touché. We will stop keeping score now.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “I will keep score if it suits me. You are duly warned.”

“Women rarely give warnings, so I appreciate your effort,” he said. “You look lovely, by the way.”

His compliment was offhand, and when she glanced over at him he was looking across the room at something else. “Do I? Then, without looking, describe my attire.” She knew very well he’d barely looked at her. Mrs. Waylan, a very comely widow with the
body of Venus, was staring hungrily at him from across the room. She was shameless. Surely he had hardly noticed Eleanor with the widow’s bounteous charms on display.

He started to turn his head and she ducked behind him, embarrassed at her challenge. “I said without looking.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “You do me a disservice. All right. You are wearing a very attractive frock in a modest lavender, which suits you, by the way. It brings out the pink in your cheeks and makes your eyes look exceptionally bright. The décolletage, however, is anything but modest. I find I am charmed by your … charms.” Her hand flew up to cover her exposed bosom in mortified embarrassment. She rolled her eyes when she remembered he couldn’t see her. “Your gloves are cream silk, your slippers dyed to match your gown. I especially enjoy the little flowers on the toes of your shoes, which match the flowers in your hair. Are they pinned to your head? They seem to grow right out of your curls.”

She didn’t answer right away, astonished at the detail of his description. “They are pinned to my curls, not my head. Do you imagine women stick pins in their scalp for fashion?”

“I am no longer surprised at the lengths to which women will go for fashion. But I am pleased you have not pierced your skull.” He peered over his shoulder at her. “Did I pass your test?”

She nodded graciously, trying to hide her shock at how well he’d described her. “You did. My apologies for doubting your sincerity.”

He accepted her apology with a smile. “Now, without looking down, describe my attire.”