Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (29 page)

"Would you like to go to the country?"

She considered this. "To Somerset?"

"Or you could go to Grattingley, if you would prefer that."

She looked hard at him, trying to read his impassive countenance. Why on earth would he think she wanted to go there? Was he handing her over? "I would choose Somerset, I think. Would you be with me?"

"I would escort you, of course, but I'd have to return to town for a little longer."

It was tempting to think of having him to herself for a long, slow journey into the West Country, and she thought it would do him good. But having him return here for heaven knows how long would be a heavy price to pay.

"I would like to leave town," she replied. "But I would find it lonely. I know no one at the Somerset house. I'll wait until you're ready to go with me, I think." She was quite pleased by the polite challenge this represented. He was not going to shuffle her off so easily. "Would it be a suitable place to have the child if we stay there?"

"I've only visited Redoaks twice. I'm told the local midwife is excellent, but it will be for you to say when you meet her. I want the best care for you, my dear."

Eleanor acknowledged this with a polite smile, but her thoughts had taken another turn. She decided this was the best opportunity she was likely to have to raise a delicate subject. "I'm afraid this will seem rather morbid, Nicholas, but I have found myself wondering what would happen to me and the child if you were to die."

He looked fully at her. "Do you fear to find yourself in poverty again? You and the child will be provided for in my will, independent of my brother. There will be an adequate inheritance for the baby, and you will have an income of your own. It should amount to some six thousand pounds a year. Kit will be a trustee for the child, that is all. I should have explained all this to you before. I'm sorry."

Eleanor was overwhelmed both by the generosity of the settlement and by the fact that he had obviously given thought to the matter without prompting.

"I'm to be left in charge of my life then," she said. "You show great faith in my ability to manage."

He came over to rest his hands upon her shoulders. "I have great faith in you, Eleanor."

She searched his face and saw honesty. "Then why do you not trust me?"

She sensed his withdrawal, though he did not move. "But I do."

Having begun a confrontation of sorts she was determined to persist with it. "You don't trust me enough to tell me what is wearing you down so. You avoid me. Perhaps," she continued, summoning all her courage, "you don't trust me not to do this..."

She pressed forward and raised her lips to gently touch his. She felt the air pass as he inhaled sharply. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

"Eleanor." His lips moved against hers as he spoke.

She did not know whether the word was protest or plea, but she took strength from it. He was not indifferent.

Carelessly she let the books fall, and raised her hands to cradle his worn face, moving back a little so she could look at him. Oh, the pain in his eyes!

She spoke softly. "I don't know what's going on, my dear. I don't understand anything except that I have nothing. Give me a little of yourself, Nicholas."

He surrendered.

She saw it in his eyes a moment before his forehead came to rest against hers and his arms surrounded her. "Oh, Eleanor. Do not do this now. I can't bear it. Give me just a little longer."

She moved to lay her head upon his shoulder and held him tight. The warmth from his body and the spicy scent that was his alone seemed to surround her. What did he mean? She had begun in a selfish search for her own comfort, but now she wanted his.

After a while, as if struggling against a great force, he drew back a little. "Can you, Eleanor? Can you endure it just a little longer?"

"Can you not be a little kind to me, Nicholas?" she begged, not understanding, seeing only his need and knowing only her own.

He seemed to gather some reserve of strength. "Yes, of course I can," he said with a genuine smile that didn't quite relieve the pain in his eyes. "Why don't we go for a drive?"

And so, in the summer sunshine, they drove through the streets and around Hyde Park, which still contained some of the buildings erected for the great celebrations and was still cluttered with stall and sideshows catering to those who came to gawk.

There were quieter areas, however, and they found them. They met few members of Society so late in the year. They talked of politics, in a light way, and of flowers and the weather. They laughed at the antics of children and animals. They admired the clean lines of the new buildings and the baroque details of the old. They discussed nothing personal, but for once he laid his social skills, his charm, and the treasures of his mind before her as a gift. Eleanor took the golden hours and stored them in her heart.

When at last he escorted her back into the house she looked at him for a moment, wishing to make some gesture to show how much she had received. The interlude had done him good too. She did not think she was deluding herself in that.

She contented herself with a light kiss on his cheek and let him go.

Nicholas drove over to Lord Middlethorpe's and sank with a groan into a chair. "Francis, I'm going to go mad!"

"I'm not surprised. What's happened now?" asked his friend, thrusting a brandy into his hand.

"Eleanor," said Nicholas, taking a deep swallow. "I think her patience is giving out. I can't blame her, but I could wish she could hold on for a few days yet."

Lord Middlethorpe regarded Nicholas with concern. As much as Eleanor he had noticed the toll all this was taking on him. "It is close, then?"

"It's all arranged, but Therese keeps to this obsession of taking me with her. I daren't weaken at this point or we could lose all. I can scarcely bear to touch her," he said with a shudder.

Lord Middlethorpe came over and rested a strengthening hand on his friends shoulder. "It's Eleanor?"

Nicholas sighed. "Of course. I've never known this before, Francis. I've no interest in any other woman. I even dream of her... I suppose it must be love, but it's a damnable time to catch the affliction."

Lord Middlethorpe laughed at the despairing complaint but could think of nothing to say.

"Do you know," said Nicholas, "I think of her constantly? I can hardly bear to be in the house when she's there, because the need to seek her company is overwhelming. Sometimes she comes in search of me and it's all I can do to escape..."

"Have you thought of telling her the whole?"

Nicholas gave a bark of bitter laughter. "Dear Eleanor," he parodied, "excuse me while I go off and make mad passionate love in a number of novel, and occasionally disgusting, ways to a woman I hate. You don't mind, do you, my dear? It is, after all, for the good of our country."

Lord Middlethorpe colored at this speech. He didn't like to think of what Nicholas had to do as that woman's plaything. "It might be less painful for her. At least the fact that you hate Therese."

Nicholas sank his head into his hands. "I can't, Francis. I just can't."

The mantle clock marked the passage of silence, and then Nicholas added, his voice muffled by his hands, "Each time I go to Therese I wonder if I will be able to go through the motions for her. I think I hope that despite my best efforts I'll fail." He gave a choked laugh. "I never do. Such bravery in the face of the enemy! Do you think they'll give me a medal?"

Lord Middlethorpe tightened his hand. It was all he could do.

"Do you know, Francis," said Nicholas in an almost conversational manner, lifting his face, drawn and pale and with the glimmer of wetness near his eyes, "it has occurred to me it would be fitting retribution if my vaunted virility left me when I'm finally free to seek Eleanor's bed."

"You don't deserve retribution, Nick," said Lord Middlethorpe firmly. "Don't torment yourself. You are suffering enough to wipe away any number of sins. And," he added with a slight smile, "such a fate would hardly be fair to Eleanor, now would it?"

Nicholas laughed shakily. "No, I don't suppose it would. Do you wish I'd never involved you in this?"

"No, of course not. Though I would prefer to be in the country by now. I could wish you had never become involved—and Eleanor, certainly—but not, to be honest, if the consequence were to be another war."

Nicholas took a deep breath. "No. That's the point, isn't it? Thank you. I think you've given me the strength to endure one or two more nights. And then, God willing, this whole ghastly mess will be over."

"God willing," assented Lord Middlethorpe, and then persuaded his friend to lie down and rest on his bed for a while.

* * *

Two days later Sir Lionel again joined Eleanor on her morning walk. She should change her route or her time so as to be less predictable.

"My dear sister. Such a delightful picture of felicity."

"My dear brother. You are, alas, a picture of dissipation."

"Drowning my sorrows, Nell," he said. "I think of poor little Deborah constantly."

"Her fortune more like," Eleanor responded dryly.

"Both, both. Alas, both gone. Which brings me nicely to the subject of my fortune."

Eleanor braced herself for trouble. "I have already said I will not lend you money. My husband wouldn't allow it."

He gave a little laugh. "So strict a husband. So obedient a wife. But wouldn't a dutiful wife wish to safeguard her husband against himself?"

"What do you mean?" Eleanor felt relief. He was going to tell her about Madame Bellaire and offer to help to disentangle Nicholas. He would catch cold at it, and she would enjoy the situation.

He glanced back to make sure Jenny, a few steps behind, was out of earshot.

"My dear Eleanor," he said, sotto voce, "your husband is up to his neck in a Napoleonic plot. No, no, do not gape so. I know of what I speak. I, for my sins, am also involved. Madame Bellaire, of whom I am sure you know, is one of the principals. She is coordinating activities in this country, but the plot spreads throughout the continent, the world even."

He took in her astonished, incredulous expression. "You do not believe it. You will if you think about it. Your husband has been neglecting you, and even I have to admit he's not the man to be so crass merely for another woman, any woman. But for a dream, an ideal?"

Eleanor was stunned, but it did seem to provide an explanation for the state of affairs. At the same time it was ridiculous. "Who would want Bonaparte back?" she asked.

"Many people for many reasons, both selfish and idealistic. But not me. I'm sick of the whole business and I plan to betray the plot. I will do so without involving your husband for ten thousand pounds."

At the figure, Eleanor's heart almost stopped. It was a fortune. Then she remembered it was her brother making this proposal. There had to be a trick to this. "If I tell Nicholas what you've said he would stop you from revealing anything."

He was not disconcerted. "Perhaps, but I have left documents with friends. Besides, I thought you had always been so patriotically against Napoleon. And would you not like to see your husband free of Madame Bellaire's web?"

Eleanor resolutely ignored the last part of his speech and concentrated on the plot. "Of course I'm anti-Napoleon. However, I can't imagine Nicholas supporting that monster and I don't have ten thousand pounds."

There was a short pause as he assessed her state of mind. "You do, however, have a remarkable string of pearls."

Eleanor stared at him in horror. "You want me to steal the pearls?"

"I am sure your husband will consider them of less worth than his life."

Eleanor knew she would give the pearls, the house, everything, to ensure Nicholas's safety, but then she ruthlessly called to mind her brother's lifelong perfidy.

"I won't do it, Lionel. I'm convinced this is a farrago of nonsense. I'll speak to you no longer."

He smiled confidently. "Think it over. I will be here tomorrow at the same time. If you change your mind, Nell, bring the pearls. Strictly payment in advance. If you don't, you'd best order your widow's weeds."

Eleanor gasped under this blow. Numbly she stood and watched as her brother sauntered away. She hated him. He terrified her. She knew Lionel would be willing to send Nicholas to the gallows for a pocketful of silver, never mind a fortune.

As they walked home Jenny was obviously concerned at her distress. "You don't look well, ma'am. Should you not sit and rest?"

"No, I must go home, Jenny. It is just that my brother upsets me. We always fight."

Eleanor tried to make her tone light, but she knew Jenny was concerned and would doubtless report this to Nicholas. Then what would happen? After that happy drive she could go to her husband and tell him of her dealings with her brother, but not until she had sorted this latest twist into some kind of sense.

"Well, ma'am," said the maid, seemingly in tune with her mistress's thoughts, "if I were you, I'd tell the master. He'd soon send your brother to the right about."

Eleanor faced the girl. "Jenny, I am fine. And I do not wish this reported back to Mr. Delaney."