Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (15 page)

By mutual consent they retired to the library and she reenacted the afternoon's battle so well that they both ended in fits of laughter.

"Dreadful women," he said, but then he sobered. "I wish they would leave Juliette out of it, though, for Kit does feel that. But never mind. Tell me what else you have been about. I think I recognize the skills of Madame Augustine." He pulled her to her feet and gently twirled her for his inspection. "Very becoming."

"I'm afraid I have ordered quite a few more outfits."

"I would be angry if you hadn't. But there is something else..." He turned her face to the lamplight. "You have done something to your eyebrows."

Eleanor blushed. "I didn't think you would notice."

"What an unobservant person you must think me," he said. "And besides," he added with a mock frown, "what possible purpose could there be except for me to notice? Unless you already have another conquest in your sight."

Conquest? Eleanor stared at him, feeling a blush heat her cheeks.

"I'm sure it must be painful, though," he carried on before she could think what to say. He gently traced the curve of one brow with his finger. "Do not torture yourself on my account."

"It doesn't hurt at all," lied Eleanor cheerfully as, unconsciously it seemed, he traced the other brow. She began to feel a little breathless. "I like the improvement it makes in me."

"Excellent. But I warn you," he said with a lazy smile, and his finger trailed idly down her cheek, "do not take to wearing creams and lotions when I wish to kiss you." He tapped gently on her parted lips.

Bedazzled, Eleanor had nerve enough to challenge him. "And what would you do to stop me, sir?"

His eyes twinkled but he assumed a stern expression. "I would scrub it all off with unnecessary brutality, madam, and then condemn you to wear clothes of my brother's choosing for the rest of your life."

She laughed, and he dropped a kiss on her smiling lips. Eleanor felt ridiculously happy.

"Now, I have a confession. I am turning you up sweet for a purpose. I have a favor to ask."

She would give him the moon and the stars. "Anything!" she declared.

He shook his head. "Next lesson is caution, I think. I would like you to preside over a bachelor dinner here tomorrow night. It is a longstanding arrangement."

That was more daunting than obtaining the heavens for him. Eleanor was unused to full-blown social occasions. "I am willing to attend," she said hesitantly, "but I would be equally happy to have a tray in my room."

"I would like you to be there. I need a restraining influence, my dear. Some friends and I get together at fairly regular intervals, but it generally degenerates into a maudlin drunk. I particularly wish them to keep their faculties this time. Anyway, it will be good for you to meet my closest friends."

Eleanor hoped they were less challenging than his relatives, but she couldn't help but rejoice that it was she, not Madame Therese who had been asked for this assistance.

How foolish to even think of it as a contest when she was his wife. She had no evidence that he had seen the woman since Newhaven.

But the memory of that tableau in the inn haunted her, especially the way he'd carried the woman's hands to his lips. As well have ravished her then and there...

Such thinking did no good. She could at least attempt to be a perfect wife. Eleanor dutifully noted the number of guests and summoned Hollygirt and Mrs. Cooke. Together they planned the food and drink most suitable for a group of healthy young men.

* * *

Francis, Lord Middlethorpe, opened the letter brought to his home in Hampshire by an exhausted groom. He recognized the writing immediately.

What on earth are you doing at the Priory when I need you in London? The reunion is for tomorrow and it is vitally important you be here. I would have thought mere curiosity to see my wife would have brought you hot-foot! Nicholas

His lordship stared at the note in dumbfounded silence for long enough to convince the butler that disaster had fallen on the house of Haile and then tore off to his mother's room. When he eventually gained admittance she was putting the final touches to a meticulous toilette and stared at his riding clothes in horror.

"Francis, it lacks only fifteen minutes to dinner! What has happened?"

"Mama, why didn't you tell me Nicholas was married?"

"Nicholas?" queried Lady Middlethorpe vaguely.

"Don't play your tricks on me, Mama! Nicholas Delaney, your pet shibboleth. And don't tell me you didn't know, because it must have been announced, and you read every word of the social news."

Lady Middlethorpe gave him her best look of hurt reproof, which, since she had been gifted with a frail appearance and big blue eyes, was uncommonly effective. This time, however, her normally sensitive son was unmoved, and so she answered him on a sigh. "My dear boy, was it my place to draw your attention to his follies when he did not care to inform you of them himself?"

"What follies? You were always dashed eager to get him married before. Said it would steady him."

His mother sat up straight. "Marriage to a well-bred girl of high principles might well have done so," she said tartly. "An elopement—for that is what it amounts to—with Eleanor Chivenham will not!"

Her son missed the point. "The well-bred girl being Amelia," he said, referring to his youngest sister. "You were always going to catch cold at that, Mama. Nick was bound to settle for a high flyer."

An unkind critic might have said that her ladyship smirked. "A high flyer! Permit me to inform you that Eleanor Chivenham, now Delaney, must be well into her twenties. She cannot be described as having been on the shelf simply because she was never off it. She lived her entire life in a rundown place in Bedfordshire until recently, when she moved to London. To her brother's house."

Her son's face finally showed all the consternation and horror she could have wished. "
Lionel
Chivenham?"

"Keep calm, if you please. Yes, Sir Lionel Chivenham. Even I have heard something of the goings-on in his set. Doubtless you know more. A fine bride," she sneered, "for one of our oldest families." Having begun to gain the response she sought, she affected sorrow and rested her head upon her hand. "What his poor brother must be feeling I can only imagine. Such a cultured man. She trapped him into it, of course. One can only feel sorry for him, though he could be said to have come by his just—"

"I can't believe the half of what you say, Mama," her son interrupted ruthlessly. It was the only way. "You must have been misinformed. I certainly don't believe Nick was trapped into anything, and," he added severely, "you'd do well not to spread such notions. I'm off to change for dinner. I will be going to Town tomorrow."

He left his widowed mother to regret having lost control of herself yet again on the subject of Nicholas Delaney. It never served any purpose except to alienate her only son.

Her husband had died just before Francis was due to leave for Harrow, and she had resolutely resisted the temptation to keep the sensitive and grieving boy at home. He was a charming child, and her dearest, but his father had been ailing for some years and he had not developed the manly characteristics he would need.

She had felt sure he would do better in a new environment with plenty of male companionship. She had been proved correct, but when he returned home for Christmas she had been stunned to find that he had transferred all the dependence that he had previously reposed on his father to a boy of his own age. "Nick says,"

"Nick thinks," battered her ears until she wanted to scream.

Meeting the paragon had not helped. She had invited Nicholas Delaney to the Priory and been frightened by him. Even at fourteen, with his voice inclined to escape his control, he was a strikingly handsome and self-assured young man. She'd had to admit he was polite and well behaved, but he was so mature she frequently found herself talking to him as if he were an adult. She had found him impossible to cope with and had come close to hating him when she saw his influence over her son, and how he could control all her children better than she could herself.

Over the years she had waged a war that varied from subtle to overt in an attempt to detach her son from his friend. She had failed, partly because she could not put her objections into clear terms, even to herself.

She had refused to invite Nicholas to the Priory again for nearly two years. When Francis had finally worn down her resistance the invitation had been politely refused. It had apparently been made tactfully clear that all future invitations would be refused also. She had felt no gratitude. All that had been achieved was that her beloved son spent a large part of his time away from his home, at Grattingley.

She had only felt relief when Nicholas Delaney had taken it into his head to travel instead of going to university.

They had only met once in the past four years, when he and Francis had just returned from a short trip to Ireland. They had only been gone two weeks, but him taking Francis anywhere had scared her, and it always irritated her to see the way her handsome son faded beside Nicholas Delaney's vitality.

His behavior had been exemplary at first, even though she knew she had shown antagonism. She was ashamed to remember how she had been betrayed by her feelings into open attack.

"I suppose I should thank you," she had said, "for returning my son to me like a borrowed pet."

Those bright brown eyes had not been unkind. "Let us say," he had responded, "that pettishness is in the eye of the beholder. I really do not know what you fear from me, Lady Middlethorpe, but I assure you it is illusory. Take consolation from the fact that I will be well out of Francis's way for some time. Unless," he added dryly, "you think I should take him to the Americas?"

The idea had terrified her and she had replied sharply. "I am sure you can persuade him."

He had shaken his head with a genuine and singularly sweet smile. "And I am sure I cannot. He knows his duty to his family, and I would not and could not draw him from you all, for he loves you."

She had been baffled but not disarmed. She had made a rather meaningless retort in order to cover it. "And what of your family?"

Firing at random, she realized she had hit a target. He merely said, more to himself than to her, "My duty is clear. Just to stay alive, and out of everyone's way."

She had never understood what he meant by it. It could be interpreted that his family wanted the black sheep out of the way, and yet, despite a certain unconventionally, she had never heard anything shaming about him. It was equally untrue that his family wanted him out of the way. She had heard his twin brother was distressed almost to sickness by his absence.

When the dinner gong sounded Lady Middlethorpe went below, resolved to obliterate any unpleasantness between herself and her son. She only hoped she could keep the resolution if the talk should veer to the subject of Nicholas Delaney.

Chapter 6

Eleanor woke to her second day as mistress of the house in Lauriston Street to find Nicholas had already left the bed in which he had again done no more than kiss her good night. She told herself that, on the whole, this state of affairs suited her very well.

She had little time for analyzing her marriage anyway, for this was the day of his bachelor dinner and she was determined to fill the role he had set for her. After arranging the final details of the meal with Mrs. Cooke, checking the wines with Hollygirt, and choosing decorations for the table, Eleanor decided to reward herself with a brisk walk in the open air.

She took Jenny as her companion and began to explore the neighborhood. Lauriston Street was formed of new, elegant houses close enough to the fashionable centers to be convenient but far enough away to be quiet. In the central gardens of the surrounding squares the spring flowers made a pretty show, and the trees were beginning to bud. The occasional pair of birds swooped and twittered in mating rituals.

The atmosphere of renewal was irresistible, especially as Eleanor felt as if her life was preparing for new bloom.

As they retraced their steps to Lauriston Street, however, Jenny said, "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I think there is a man a-following us."