Eleanor And The Duke (Berkshire Brides Book 1) (25 page)

Maybe more.

Andrew had no intention of allowing it. Joshua Parris was not the man who’d shared Eleanor’s bed last night. And no matter how often Parris turned up at Primrose Manor, or how convivial his relationship was with Eleanor, he was not the man who was going to possess her heart.

Eleanor started for the barn where one of the men would bring the horse, and Andrew fell into step next to her. “Where is your aunt?”

“My aunt is none of your concern,” she said. “And neither is my horse.”

“On the contrary, sweet,” Andrew retorted, taking Eleanor’s hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. “Your welfare as well as your reputation are important to me.”

“These days, my business is my own. In spite of—”

“Ah, but your safety will always be a priority of mine. I wouldn’t want you riding a skittish horse.”

“You know I am an accomplished rider, Beckworth. I know horses as well as anyone.”

Her color was high, and Andrew would have kissed her to remind her of the passion they’d shared the previous night if he hadn’t caught sight of the groom riding the horse in question toward the barn. Eleanor took back her hand as she stopped to watch the horse’s form and gait as it approached.

A fine trimming of white lace framed her delicate neck, accentuating the spot just beneath her ear that was exquisitely sensitive to his kiss. He looked up from the spot and caught her eye, and he could not doubt she was remembering their lovemaking.

She was not indifferent. He could feel resolve against him wavering. “Ellie, tell me what it was that Weatherby—”

“Here she is!” Hermon said, coming into the barn just ahead of the groom riding Eleanor’s horse.

Andrew took Eleanor’s elbow and escorted her inside. “Your Grace, Miss Easton,” Hermon said, “here is the mare. She’s got spirit, but she is steadfast.”

“What is her name?” Eleanor asked. She cast him a sidelong glance and bit down on a corner of her lip. Andrew recognized her familiar sign of consternation. Good.

“The lads call her Blossom.”

Andrew turned his attention to the horse for the moment. “How old is she?” He ran his hands over the mare’s forehead and muzzle and made a quick examination of the mare’s teeth.

“Nearly six years,” Hermon replied. “She comes from fine, sturdy stock. The lady will get many a good year out of her.”

Andrew could see that the horse was sound, but he kept his opinion to himself, waiting for Eleanor to make her decision.

“Does Miss Easton have a lady’s saddle, Your Grace?” Hermon asked.

“Yes, I do,” Eleanor replied in Andrew’s stead. She smoothed her hands across the mare’s withers and back. “Mr. Hermon, I am the one purchasing the horse, not the duke. So, if you would address your remarks and your questions to me . . .”

The man acknowledged Eleanor with a slight tip of his head and a quick glance toward Andrew, who concentrated on the horse. He was not about to raise Eleanor’s ire by interfering.

“What is your price for Blossom?” Eleanor asked.

Hermon made a slight choking sound, turning toward Andrew, then back to Eleanor when he saw that Andrew would not intervene. Clearly, the man was unaccustomed to dealing with women buyers. “One hundred thirty pounds,” he finally said.

“One hundred thirty? That is exceedingly dear, sir,” Eleanor said, and Andrew had to suppress a laugh. “I will give you seventy-five.”

“No, Miss, she is far too fine a horse. I could let her go for one-twenty, but no less.”

Eleanor handed her reticule to Andrew and proceeded to examine the mare with more depth. She slid her hands over the mare’s body, checking its fetlocks and hoofs, its knees and cannons.

Andrew almost sighed aloud at the memory of those lovely hands caressing his body, pressing kisses across his chest, moving downward toward—

“Ninety pounds, Mr. Hermon.”

“Well . . .” He looked across to Andrew, who shrugged. Eleanor was doing just fine on her own. Better than fine, and he was proud of her. He wondered if she had learned the art of haggling in Italy. Or perhaps she had a natural talent, the use of which had been unnecessary during their engagement.

“I must repeat, Miss Easton, Blossom is too fine a horse to let her go so cheap. One-ten.”

Eleanor patted Blossom’s forehead. “One hundred.”

Hermon hesitated, but Eleanor seemed unruffled.

Finally, Hermon spoke. “Aye, then. One hundred pounds it is, Miss Easton.”

“Good. You may send your bill to my solicitor in Reading.” Eleanor gave him Mr. Evanhurst’s name and street, then turned and exited the barn.

Eleanor wanted to squeal her delight and grab Beck’s lapels to pull him in for a long, hard victory kiss. She almost wished he would lift her into his arms and press her against his long, hard body in a congratulatory hug.

But such a public display would be scandalous. Not to mention the fact that she did not really want any kisses or embraces from the Duke of Beckworth. Not now, not until she sorted out truth from falsehoods.

Still, Eleanor felt as though she owned the world. Or at least, a goodly portion of it. She’d succeeded in purchasing her own horse while Beckworth looked on. And she’d paid a fair price for the mare. If Hermon had allowed her to go any lower, she’d have questioned the quality and reliability of the animal.

As Mr. Hermon arranged for the mare to be taken to Primrose Manor, Eleanor turned to Beck. “I suppose I should thank you for staying out of it, Beckworth.”

“No thanks necessary, Ellie,” he replied, moving to walk beside her. He took her hand and kissed it before drawing it into the crook of his arm. “You did so well, I might just have to take you with me to Tattersall’s when I am in the market for some new stock.”

His remark made her laugh, but she still felt entirely too uncertain about everything. Truth was so illusive. She removed her hand from his arm and put some space between them, though she still smiled at his compliment. She knew she had done well.

“Did you speak to Lord Weatherby this morning?” she asked, remembering the task that had taken him from Primrose Manor so early that morning.

“No, it seems the earl has absconded,” he said. “More importantly, why don’t you tell me what he—”

“Absconded? What do you mean?”

Beckworth sighed. “The earl is not at Weatherby Hall – at least, he was not at home to me or Baron Stillwater when we called. And we did not find him in Reading.”

“That does not mean he is guilty,” she said, frowning. She rubbed her forehead as though she could knead away her confusion.

“No? Why do you think he would disappear on the day before the Reading race? Considering that horseracing is Weatherby’s passion.”

“It is?” She remembered that he enjoyed the races, but . . . it was his passion?

Beckworth gave her a tight smile in reply.

“Are you certain you do not assume the worst about Lord Weatherby because of his part in our . . . Because I—”

“You mean because he told you lies about me? No. The man is a worm and should never be trusted. By anyone. Ever.”

“But would he resort to violence? He is a gentleman and a peer, for heaven’s sake.” And she needed to talk to him about those damning purchase papers he’d shown her. She needed to determine for herself what was true and what was not. In the meantime, she needed to keep some distance between herself and Beckworth. It was a challenge to think rationally when he was so near.

“He is hardly a gentleman, Ellie, and most of the ton knows it.”

Of course that was his opinion of Weatherby. But it bothered her that apparently even Lucy’s father thought the same.

“Beckworth—”

“Andrew.”

She bit her lip. “Andrew . . .”

“What is it, love?”

“If your secretary needs to stay at Primrose Manor for a few days to recover, I would not object.”

“I appreciate that very much, Eleanor,” Beckworth replied, and the tone of his voice indicated some disappointment in her. “But I hope he will be able to return to London with me.”

Eleanor’s throat suddenly felt tight. “You’re leaving?”

Beckworth nodded.

She ought to be pleased that he was finally going. It was what she’d wanted from the moment she’d arrived at Primrose Manor and found him already there. And yet he was so . . .

She pulled her hand from his arm and faced him. “Beckworth, there is something I must—”

“There you are, Eleanor! And Beckworth, too!” Minerva called out as she came around the side of Hermon’s house alongside another well-dressed lady. The woman waved and retreated into the house, while Minerva came toward them. “I just saw you come out from the barn.”

“Yes. Lovely,” Eleanor muttered. She should not feel so confounded by Beckworth’s respect, for he’d always treated her well. That had never been a problem. It was when she was not with him that worried her – the kind of worry that had caused her mother so much grief.

But, no. Eleanor’s father was not the villain he’d allowed everyone to believe. And yet he had become a rake and a wastrel.

“Did you find a horse that suits you?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, I did,” she said quietly.

Beckworth stepped away, and Eleanor felt as though she’d lost an important opportunity. For what, exactly, she was not sure.

She looked down at the ground as though the sight of it could bring her back to earth. She hardly knew what to believe any more. What to think.

Only that she had to put distance between herself and Beckworth until she got at the heart of Weatherby’s accusation. But how could she do it when he was so determined to seduce her?

Caroline and her husband reappeared, with Joshua alongside them, and Eleanor knew the only solution was to avoid being alone with him. Because she couldn’t even trust Minerva to chaperone them properly.

“I don’t suppose you and Reverend Gedding would care to come to lunch at Primrose Manor?” Eleanor asked Caroline.

“I am sorry, Eleanor, but I cannot,” Caroline said. “I promised Mama to help her this afternoon with preparations for tomorrow’s supper party.”

Eleanor did not feel as much disappointment as she did panic. The more she anticipated spending the rest of the day alone with Beckworth, the more worried she became. All it would take was one caress, one brush of his lips— “D-do you think Lucy is engaged as well?”

Caroline shook her head. “I am not sure. She has been busy packing her things, and Mama has not given her any other chores since our aunt and uncle arrived.”

“Well, then Beckworth can ride out to Stillwater House and see if Lucy can join—”

“Eleanor!” Minerva said with a gasp.

She knew it was wrong to even suggest that Beckworth run an errand for her. “I’m sorry. It just seemed . . . expedient since he is the only one on horseback.”

“No need to apologize, Eleanor,” Andrew said quietly.

And for the first time since her arrival in Berkshire, she felt him draw away. It was subtle and fleeting, but Eleanor felt it nonetheless.

Minerva faced Eleanor. “Of course she was not thinking, Duke,” her aunt said in a chiding tone. “Eleanor, if you wish to invite Lucy Stillwater to luncheon, William can carry an invitation to her after we return home.”

“Of course,” Eleanor said quietly.

Feeling duly chastised, and more than a little embarrassed, Eleanor walked to her gig and climbed in without assistance. Minerva, in a very ladylike manner, waited for Beckworth to give her a hand up. Which he did, quite graciously.

Beckworth mounted Skye, his favorite riding horse, and they were off, with the Geddings in their carriage right behind them, and Joshua riding just ahead until they reached the Reading road.

Since Andrew rode right beside them, Minerva did not chastise Eleanor any further for her disrespect. Not that her aunt’s opinion mattered so much to Eleanor, for the woman had no idea what had transpired in her bedroom the night before. If she did, she’d be aghast.

But Minerva did manage to cluck her tongue in quiet chastisement, and Eleanor felt sure Beckwith’s disenchanted gaze was upon her. Somehow, she managed not to squirm on her seat.

Joshua turned and called to Beckworth, “Do you plan to stay at the races all day tomorrow, Duke?”