Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (56 page)

Eleanor relaxed as usual into the pleasure of his company. They were studying the prints, Eleanor seated and Francis leaning over her shoulder, when the door opened and Nicholas entered. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Eleanor blushed, and Francis smiled.

Nicholas could not be said to be angry, and yet there had been a flash in his eyes when he first entered. Eleanor had to force herself not to leap to her feet and stammer out excuses.

He strolled over to the table. "You are admiring these? I think we should have them mounted."

"Yes," Francis replied, in an equally light tone. "A shame to hide them, but be careful the light does not spoil them. Treasures need to be cherished." He quietly left the room.

At the click of the door Eleanor looked up in alarm. Nicholas was studying her with careful attention.

"Has something in particular upset you?" They both knew he was not referring to the state of their marriage.

"No, nothing at all," she said hurriedly. "We must go back. It does not do for us both to be neglecting our guests."

"I think everyone is quite content for the moment."

He perched on the corner of the table beside her chair. It was a more intimate situation than any they had been in for weeks. Idly, he twirled one of her curls around his finger.

She found she could not look at him.

His voice came softly in the quiet room. "You are being very brave and very careful, Eleanor. You cannot know how grateful I am."

There was a magic in the moment, but it evaporated when she remembered what he was doing with the time she was so generously allowing him. She was trying, head still lowered, to decide on her response when he spoke again.

"Would it help to know that I am finding this time as difficult as you? And, I suspect, for many of the same reasons."

Surprised, she responded with a slight nod, anger melting into swallowed tears, equal parts grief and happiness. She did not understand what he was saying but his tone of deep concern was balm for her pride. At least he felt something for her.

But then he stood up abruptly, facing away from her. His voice was rough as he said, "I cannot explain things, Eleanor, and believe me, it wouldn't help if I could. Come, we must go back."

When he turned to offer her his arm she rose obediently, knowing no way to make any sense of him. His movement was arrested, and then changed. He raised his hands to cradle her face and she knew the hint of tears must be there, no matter how gallantly she smiled.

"Oh, Eleanor. I cannot even ask forgiveness, my dear."

He leant forward until his lips caressed hers. It was a kiss which spoke more of caring than of need, but there was a sweetness to be so close, to be wrapped in his concern, if not in his arms...

"Oh God." He wrenched back. She saw the bewildering need in his tortured eyes before he turned and left the room.

An Arranged Marriage

The Company of Rogues

Book One

by

Jo Beverley

New York Times & USA Today

Bestselling Author

~

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An Arranged Marriage

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Page forward and complete your journey

with an excerpt from

AN UNWILLING BRIDE

The Company of Rogues Series

Book Two

Excerpt from

An Unwilling Bride

The Company of Rogues

Book Two

by

Jo Beverley

New York Times & USA Today

Bestselling Author

AN UNWILLING BRIDE

Awards & Accolades

Romance Writers of America RITA Award, Winner

Best Regency Romance, Romantic Times

Golden Leaf Award, Historical

"Miss Beverley is a storyteller par excellence whose vivid and mesmerizing characters totally engage all of the reader's emotions. Top notch Regency reading pleasure."

~Romantic Times

"Spending time reading about these two intelligent, strong people was such a treat, I'm dreading starting a new book. It can't possibly make me smile, laugh, or root for its characters the way I did for Beth and Lucien."

~All About Romance

Beth stopped before the large mirror hanging over a mahogany half-table and straightened her formal cap, tucking a stray brown curl back under it. To hold her position in the school in which she had recently been a pupil she found it useful to adopt severity.

She stepped back to make sure her gray wool round gown hung smoothly from the high waistband and that no grubby or bloody fingers had marred it. Satisfied that Aunt Emma would have no cause to blush for her, she stepped over to scratch at the parlor door.

When she entered she decided it was a parental matter, though she did not know the man who had risen upon her entrance. He was, she supposed, middle-aged, but had none of the vagueness of that description. He was tall, slim and elegant, with thinning, well-cut hair touched with silver at the sides, and very regular features. He was, however, studying her with more attention than was polite. Beth raised her chin slightly.

"Your grace," said Miss Mallory in an odd voice, "allow me to present Miss Elizabeth Armitage. Miss Armitage, this is the Duke of Belcraven who wishes to speak with you."

Beth dropped a curtsy but did not attempt to conceal her astonishment. She had never heard of the Duke of Belcraven and was sure there had been no daughters of that house in the school in her time.

The duke was still inclined to stare and with something of a disapproving frown in it. Beth returned the look. She did not believe in kow-towing to the aristocracy, particularly if they were not parents of Miss Mallory's pupils.