Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (10 page)

Patiently his soft voice soothed her again and she relaxed. His hand stroked her hair from the crown of her head down over her shoulder, her breast, her side. "That," he said reverently, "is beautiful."

It was strangely wonderful to be thought beautiful.

He began to kiss her, little kisses in unlikely places such as on her eyelids and her earlobe. All the time his hands stroked and his voice murmured nonsense.

She had never thought humor a part of this business. Perhaps he was mad. If so, he was carrying her into madness too, for she found herself smiling and in danger of laughing outright.

"...a little neglected spot, I think," he said. "My nurse always told me to remember the back of the neck. How many yards of material are there in this garment?"

His hands were underneath and she couldn't help tensing again, but she tried to answer in a light tone. "About ten, I should think."

"Good God," he said, laughing. "If you have enough of them our fortune is made, my dear."

His voice had become a little less controlled, but perhaps that was just laughter. Then his mouth touched hers again. This time it was different. His tongue played about her lips and his breath was hot and moist against hers. Gently his lips insisted that hers soften and open to him. She found strange pleasure in the intimacy. In some way that surrender helped her not to tense as his hand parted her thighs and his hard body came between her legs.

A hand gently positioned her and he entered, smooth and slow.

There was no pain. Relief drained all the tension from Eleanor, leaving her lightheaded and floating. Just as she had felt as a child when she had expected a whipping and escaped.

He moved steadily in and out of her—an extraordinary sensation, but since it was painless she could accept it. After a moment, as it seemed she should, she moved with him. Rather, she thought, like rowing a boat.

His breathing became clearly audible, faster and faster. He moved faster and faster. Eleanor wondered whether his face had assumed that monster mask, but she shut her eyes and kept them tightly closed. She didn't want to know.

With a series of gasping shudders he came to rest, his warm breath rippling against her neck. Instinctively she ran a soothing hand through his soft hair like a mother with a child, wondering what they were supposed to do now.

With a suddenness that startled her the Nicholas of before was back, his hand tracing the planes of her face.

"Eleanor, how are you? Damnation, I knew I should have left a light."

"I'm fine," she said. "I—" His hand gently covered her lips.

"Don't say anything now," he whispered as he moved off her carefully. "It would be better not, and we both need our sleep."

He gathered her once more into his arms, and she settled there as if she had known this comfort all her life. He said softly, "I'm sorry, my dear. I never could resist hair such as yours."

After a minute or two she realized he was, in fact, asleep. With a smile she eased out of his arms and settled down to do likewise. That had not been too bad. If he found it necessary, she could endure it from time to time.

Eleanor awoke once in the night, the remnants of her familiar nightmare blending with the body beside her. She jerked upright with shock, but then memory came flooding back. She could hear his soft breathing, but the fire had died and she could see nothing in the solid dark. Seeking comfort, she stretched out a hand to touch him-his shoulder, his torso...

He stirred and she hastily drew back.

"Ah, non cherie," he mumbled.

Eleanor choked back a giggle.

She must have slipped back into sleep, for she remembered nothing more.

In the morning she woke to a thin, gray light with Nicholas still asleep beside her. The worst was over. She was safely a wife; her husband was no monster. In fact, he was a great deal better than a monster. She took delight in studying him as he lay in defenseless sleep.

He was definitely handsome, though his features, like his brother's, were a little too fine. She found the casual fall of his hair over his brow very attractive.

She thought back to last night. He had been kind and patient. She owed him a great deal for that and she resolved to try to be a dutiful and un-troublesome wife.

But how, she wondered sickly, was she to greet Lord Stainbridge today?

There was a scratch on the adjoining door. Her husband did not wake. Hesitantly, she shook him. "Nicholas." The only response was a groan. In alarm, she flung on her wrap and ran to open the door to the valet.

"Clintock, I cannot wake him!"

The valet tut-tutted and came over. "I warned him, ma'am. I warned him clear as day. But did he take a blind bit of notice?"

"What ails him, Clintock?"

"Tiredness, ma'am, nothing more. He won't listen to a soul. A couple of hours a night the last few nights. It catches up on a body, it does."

Suddenly he seemed to recollect himself and his surroundings and draw on the manner of the perfect gentleman's gentleman. "Begging your pardon, ma'am. There's nothing to be concerned about. A breakfast is spread next door as the master ordered. I'll just wake him."

"Oh no," Eleanor protested. "Do not. There is no need."

He approved of this wifely consideration but shook his head. "Orders, ma'am. It's more than my job's worth. The master said he was to be woke at this time—considerably later than usual, I assure you—and he isn't one whose orders are gainsaid."

Eleanor thought a clap of thunder by the bedside wouldn't wake her husband, but Clintock was obviously no novice at the job. By talking and firm shaking he broke down the resistance in Nicholas Delaney's mind until his eyes opened.

"Hell!" He closed them again. "What godforsaken hour is it?"

"Pushing nine o'clock, sir," said Clintock woodenly. "Your lady wife is present, sir."

"Who?" The heavy eyes scanned the room and then lightened when they rested on Eleanor. "I'm sorry, my dear. Bachelor habits."

"Breakfast is laid out next door, sir," said Clintock as he held up his master's robe discreetly. Nicholas slipped out of bed and into its concealment.

"Come and breakfast, Eleanor." Her husband took her hand in a casual, friendly manner and drew her to the next room. Eleanor felt no constraint at all.

They both made a hearty meal, talking only on inconsequential matters in the presence of the servant. When they had finished, Eleanor returned to her room and rang for one of the inn's maids to assist her with her hair. The girl worked out the tangles and braided it into its normal long plait. Eleanor twisted it up into a tight knot and then dressed in her traveling clothes.

Thanking the maid with a small coin, Eleanor looked around the room. She would remember it.

As she descended the stairs, however, she wondered again how she should treat Lord Stainbridge. Surely Nicholas would say something to his brother about the deception he had practiced.

When she entered the parlor she knew something had occurred between the brothers. Nicholas was as before, but Lord Stainbridge reacted to Eleanor like a twice-burned cat. He was doubtless expecting recriminations from her, but she found she could not refer to the subject of her rape. She just wanted to put the memory behind her.

When she recalled that they were to all live together in Lord Stainbridge's house, however, she quailed. She could not possibly stay there once her husband left. She must discuss it with Nicholas as soon as possible.

She need not have worried. When they arrived in London Nicholas informed his dismayed brother that they would not be living in the earl's house but in his own home.

"Nicky," protested Lord Stainbridge. "You cannot take Eleanor off to live in some dingy rooms somewhere. You and she will do very well here until you find a respectable address. I will get you a house if you want one."

Nicholas's smile was rueful. "Thank you, Kit, but it's not necessary. I have a respectable address. Five Lauriston Street."

There was a moment's silence, and Eleanor could see that Lord Stainbridge was stunned, but he made a good recovery. "That's fine, fine. But it will take time to fix the place up—"

"Oh, I don't think so. The nurseries will need some attention"—that caused Lord Stainbridge to redden—"but I have owned the house for three years and visit it occasionally." He met his brother's hurt look. "I'm sorry, Kit."

"But why?"

"A house is an excellent investment. I haven't lived there much, but sometimes when you've thought me to be staying with friends I have stayed there, safe from the giddy social whirl. I'm sorry for not telling you, Kit, but you really aren't very good at keeping secrets."

Obviously shocked and hurt, Lord Stainbridge took Eleanor aside to tell her she was free to remain in his home if she wished. She refused as politely as she could, amazed that he would even make the suggestion. Even had she wished to do so, it would be an impossible arrangement, one that would cause a great deal of talk.

Despite her refusal of this offer, however, Eleanor's feelings were mixed. She no longer felt that she needed protection from her husband, and she now knew Lord Stainbridge was not the paragon she had supposed. She suspected, however, that Nicholas Delaney was something of a libertine and she feared finding herself in a ménage similar to that of her brother.

Number 5 Lauriston Street, however, turned out to be a charming, stylish residence. The glossy black door with shiny brass fittings was opened by a dauntingly respectable butler. Eleanor was immediately surrounded by an aura of wealth, good taste, and above all, respectability. She could smell it along with the aroma of beeswax polish. It was wonderful.

It was a masculine household, however, and when Nicholas led her aside to await the assembling of the staff, it was to a functional library, completely lined with books.

"What a lovely room," she said, running a cherishing hand along the surface of a walnut desk. "I suppose you will guard it jealously."

"Not from you, Eleanor," he said with a pleased smile. "You are welcome to come here whenever you wish. If I need to be private then I will tell you. We will fix up a boudoir for you as soon as possible, but for the moment this is the coziest room for informal use. I'm afraid I was not quite honest with Kit. I have been used to using only one bedroom, the dining room, and this library. But it will not take long to arrange matters."

"Lord Stainbridge seemed very upset to find you had not told him of this house."

He was riffling through a stack of letters on the desk. "My brother is a strange fellow, Eleanor. He dislikes many of his responsibilities but he relishes playing the benevolent despot with me. I have no doubt he did the same with you. And for all that I love him, I will not live in his pocket. It would not be good for either of us."

Eleanor silently agreed with this. "But this house must cost a great deal of money for such little use."

He laid the post aside, having found nothing of urgent interest. "My one indulgence. But as I said, a good investment. I have appreciated having a home where I can live quietly—and escape the matchmaking mamas." He grinned at her. "That is one burden you have relieved me of, my dear."

In one sense it was a gracious statement, and yet it reminded her that he had not wanted to marry. It also reminded her of his skills in dissimulation and manipulation. "How frank you appear. But then, all this must be known to the servants here, I suppose."

A faint hauteur on his face warned of his displeasure. "Useless to expect, of course, that you would hesitate to question the staff about your husband?"

She reacted instinctively. "Oh, one never questions. One need only give them leave to talk and talk they will. They know everything."

"Good God, I hope not, for all our sakes." He appeared deadly serious.

Eleanor remembered the mysterious events before their wedding and all her newborn confidence ebbed away.

"In many ways, Eleanor," he said, "the next few weeks would be a great deal easier if you were a simpering ninny. But then," he added in a lighter tone, "when I envisage a lifetime with such a female I am not unhappy with my lot."

Eleanor found scant comfort in this. What was to happen over the next few weeks and how would it affect her? Before she could decide whether to question him the butler came to tell them the staff was assembled.

Hollygirt, the butler, presented his wife, the housekeeper; Mrs. Cooke, who was in fact the cook but unmarried; a footman; a parlor maid; a groom; and a gaggle of awed lower servants. Hollygirt formally offered the couple the best wishes of the staff, and then Eleanor followed the housekeeper upstairs.

Mrs. Hollygirt flung open a door. "The master bedroom, ma'am."

This room too, delighted her, being large with full-length windows filling the room with light. The furniture was in the slender, modern style, and the draperies were of brown velvet trimmed with gold. On the floor, however, were two dark bearskins, complete with head and claws.

"Good heavens!" Eleanor exclaimed.

"Nasty, barbarous things," said Mrs. Hollygirt with a sniff. "The master has some funny stuff, begging your pardon, ma'am. It will be a pleasure to have a lady here."