Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (45 page)

What a tortured tangle the twins' relationship seemed to be, thought Eleanor. How much of it could be laid at their father's door, with his attempts to build up Kit's assertiveness? She found herself uttering a short prayer that she not bear twins, especially twin boys, one of which might be heir to Grattingley.

Ten days after Nicholas had left, a beautiful riding horse arrived for her—a gray mare built for speed but with a gentle disposition. There was also a stylish blue habit from Madame Augustine. Eleanor could not wait. She ran upstairs to change and then walked the horse around the grounds. She would have to get her skill back slowly.

There was no message with the horse. The groom only said, "From Mr. Delaney for Mrs. Delaney." Eleanor named the mare Pearl.

Thirteen days later a coach came down the drive. Eleanor allowed herself a moment's hope, though she knew Nicholas would keep to their arrangement and stay away the full three weeks.

In fact, it was Lord Stainbridge who alighted.

"Eleanor, you are looking very well," he said after a searching glance. "I'm so pleased about the baby. Nicky didn't seem to want me to come, but that is nonsense. My first niece. I couldn't wait."

"There's no reason why you should," Eleanor said, determined to put old bitterness behind her, though she couldn't say she welcomed this visit. "Nicholas was probably only thinking that we would all visit Grattingley at Easter."

"You will?" he said with delight. "He didn't seem sure. Now, can I see her?"

Eleanor sent for the baby to be brought down. "Thank you for lending Nurse to us. She's a treasure. Is Nicholas gone to London?"

"Yes, I believe so, though with Nicky one can never be sure. I believe the Regent asked for an opportunity to thank him for his services, even though there can be no public acknowledgement. Imagine the return of Napoleon."

So, few people were being told of the double twist in the affair. Did the government know at all? Nevertheless, it had worked out for the good, for all that money had gone to Madame Bellaire's benefit, not Napoleon's.

Lord Stainbridge looked around. "I didn't realize before that Nicholas actually owns this estate. I thought it might be Middlethorpe's. It seems a good enough place," he said grudgingly, "if small. I'm still surprised you didn't come to Grattingley, where I could have taken care of you."

He really has put it all completely out of his mind, Eleanor realized. I wonder if he remembers at all that Arabel might be his own. The child had been two weeks later than expected, but Mrs. Stongelly said that was often the case and that they could just as likely come early. Eleanor was deeply grateful Nicholas had pressured for that wedding night, for now she could consider Arabel his daughter.

"This is our home," Eleanor said, deciding that if he had pushed away all memory of that terrible night, she was happy to have it forgotten.

Nurse's entrance with the baby caused a welcome diversion. Lord Stainbridge seemed genuinely delighted by the child.

The three-day visit passed better than Eleanor had at first expected, for she was more temperate now, and the earl seemed less disposed to criticize her husband. He didn't tell her what explanation Nicholas had given him for his absence and, to her surprise, he didn't harp on it.

When he left there were five more days to go. So little time, and yet it stretched as an awful void of waiting. The sound of carriage wheels the next day had her at the door hoping for anything, even Lord Stainbridge's return, to pass the time.

It was Lucien de Vaux. He kissed her hand. "Nicholas gave me permission to call," he said.

"A mere hundred and fifty miles," Eleanor said, but she was delighted to see him.

"Needed a bolt-hole, believe me."

When she had him seated in front of warm nourishing food he explained. "I met up with Nicholas in Town just as I was about to murder a charming piece of fluff called Phoebe Swinnamer."

"Why?"

"She seems to have decided she's destined to be the future duchess of Belcraven, and my mother, at least, is aiding and abetting. It's all your fault, actually. If you hadn't jilted me at the ball I wouldn't have virtually dragged her away from her partner and raised her hopes."

Eleanor remembered that occasion. "I could hardly have refused my husband."

"Would have done him good. Anyway, the girl and her mother have been haunting me ever since. My mother even invited them to Belcraven for Christmas."

"You're an only son. Your parents must be anxious for an heir."

He shrugged. "And I'll do my duty. The title's been handed from father to son for over two hundred years. Strangely enough, my father, who has all the pride you'd expect, doesn't push me into marriage. It's all mother's doing."

"Is Miss Swinnamer so impossible? I remember her as very beautiful."

He smiled in a twisted way. "She'd adorn the coronet, wouldn't she?" He helped himself to more steak pie. "But she's not to my taste and I was beginning to worry that I'd find her in my bed one night. So I bolted."

Eleanor chuckled. "You shouldn't be such a handsome heir to a dukedom."

"What am I supposed to do about it? There's something about a dukedom that drives women wild." He grinned at her. "Restore my faith in womankind. Tell me you wouldn't have pursued me, even if we'd met when you were unmarried."

Eleanor burst out laughing. "I assure you, the thought wouldn't have crossed my mind. Not from high principles, or because I wouldn't have found you attractive. You would have been wildly above my touch."

"Then perhaps I should seek a bride who'd think me wildly above her touch. I can't stir an interest in those considered of my rank, and I think I have a taste for... ordinary? No, that's not the right word..." He shrugged. "Women like you."

Eleanor blushed. "My lord marquess, I'm touched."

"A woman who says what she thinks and looks a man in the eye. Blanche is like that." He twinkled at her roguishly. "Going to throw me out?"

"Not at all," said Eleanor. "I'm an expert on mistresses." Why had she not realized a nugget of pain remained at the thought of all those nights when Nicholas wasn't in her bed?

He leaned over and took her hand. "You don't know anything about it," he said. When she looked questioningly at him he went on, "A true mistress is a substitute wife. She's for talking to as well as bed, for company as well as passion. If I'm any judge, Nicholas gave Therese Bellaire nothing but his body."

She squeezed his hand and let it go. "Thank you."

"And he didn't enjoy it."

Eleanor looked up in surprise. "But doesn't a man always enjoy...? How can you know?"

"You said once you'd met Deveril."

Eleanor shuddered and nodded.

"Therese Bellaire is very like him. She may be beautiful where he is ugly, but inside she's the same."

"And yet Nicholas was her willing lover once," Eleanor pointed out.

"Well," he said with a rueful grin, "she is beautiful and oozes sultry temptations."

They both laughed, but Eleanor felt it wise to turn the conversation. "So, if you are supposed to marry, what about Phoebe Swinnamer drives you to flee to Somerset?"

He thought about it. "She's pretty enough, but knows it far too well. There's never a glossy curl out of place or smudge on her cheek. She never makes a move without a fraction of a second of thought, and she looks in every mirror she passes."

"Perhaps she's nervous," Eleanor offered.

"Not her. She doesn't have a nerve in her body. She's a stunningly beautiful doll. I kept having this urge to kiss her silly just to see if I could upset her composure. Do you think its part of her plan?" He laughed. "You can see why I had to run away."

"I'm afraid so. If you did anything so foolish, the marriage would be announced within the hour."

"And I want better, Eleanor. I want what you and Nicholas have."

Eleanor went red. "We? We have nothing."

"Nonsense. I grew angry with him because it was like watching someone throw ink at a priceless painting. I didn't really understand then. It must have seemed very like that to him. But sometimes the magic showed through even so. And now I see it in your eyes."

He raised from the table—rich, handsome, heir to one of the greatest titles in the land.

And, she realized, unhappy.

"My parents live separate lives," he said. "They meet for formal meals or by appointment. They share nothing. It was an arranged marriage of the old style, but still... It amazes me that they managed to produce five offspring." He looked at her, sharp with anger. "Am I to give up Blanche—the best thing in my life—for that?"

Eleanor shrugged helplessly. "Do all men give up their mistresses when they marry?"

"No. Heavens, Eleanor, we shouldn't be talking like this!"

She smiled. "You need to talk. I'm certainly no delicate blossom to be shielded from the realities of life."

He sat beside her. "It's as I said. Blanche is like a wife. More like a wife than most wives, I suspect. I couldn't change it to a hidden, nasty thing, but I couldn't flaunt her before a wife. For one thing, Blanche would never stand for such a situation. So when I marry, it will be over. We both know that. But I will lose something very important from my life."

"Perhaps you should marry Blanche," Eleanor said.

He laughed with genuine amusement. "She'd laugh too at the notion. Marry an actress, a butcher's daughter from Manchester, and a well-known whore? My father would clap me in Bedlam. But don't picture a tragedy. Blanche is not the love of my life and we both know it. I love her—I love you, after a fashion. I have never been in love."

Eleanor sighed. "It is, at times, a painful affliction."

"But who has lived who never felt it?" He shook his head. "I think Nicholas sent me here because he knew I needed to talk before I knew it myself."

"Yes," said Eleanor bleakly. "He does have a way of reading minds."

He eyed her with concern. "You are going to take him back, aren't you?"

"Oh, doubtless," she sighed. "But sometimes I wish I could strip him down to raw truth."

"You will," he said. "That's what makes love so painful."

Lucien stayed two nights and then left to make his way to Melton and the hunting season, hopefully without encountering his parents or Phoebe Swinnamer. Eleanor had only one day to wait, and despite lingering doubt and uncertainty, she hungered to have Nicholas back and in her arms.

Eleanor woke to the twenty-first day in a fevered excitement, and as the day progressed Miss Hurstman lost all patience with her fidgeting.

"How soon can I expect him, Arabella? This morning?"

"I would doubt it. Where would he come from to arrive in the morning?"

"He arrived in the morning last time," said Eleanor with a discontented frown.

"He rode through the night, which was a mad thing to do even if it was a full moon. Now the moon's new, so he couldn't do it if he wanted to."

He could have stayed close by and come over early, Eleanor thought a little crossly. "This afternoon, then," she said out loud.

"Perhaps," said Miss Hurstman briskly. "Don't forget, however, that you sent him away for at least three weeks. That doesn't mean he has to come back in three weeks."

Eleanor paled. "He wouldn't!"

"He might, and why not?" She looked at Eleanor with exasperation. "Lord, I don't know much about men, but if you expect him to grovel, you'll lose him."

"You said I should make him woo me!" Eleanor protested.

"Yes, but how's he supposed to do that from the other side of the country? Oh, I wash my hands of you," she declared and stalked off.

After a dinner during which they sniped at each another, Eleanor sat alone in the drawing room. She was wearing a gold velvet dress, her hair was piled high on her head, and there was amber on her wrists and around her neck. She was determined not to cry. If he really cared he would have come at the first possible moment, moon or no moon, but she had made allowances for practicalities. There was no excuse, however, for him not turning up by now.

So what was she going to do when he turned up tomorrow or the next day? Just accept it and be grateful?

She began to pace the room anxiously, angrily. Oh, no. If he thought to play games with her now, what would he be like when he was sure of her?

"What has you in this rage?" asked Nicholas from the doorway.

She whirled on him. "Where have you been?"

"On my way," he said warily, but then his face melted into a glowing smile. "You look like a tiger ready to spring. You look wonderful."

Eleanor sat down abruptly, fighting an immediate reaction to his smile. "You are the most abominable man I have ever known. You planned to arrive late, knowing it would drive me to distraction!"

The smile faded. "It is only nine o'clock," he said, control back in place.

Eleanor remembered Miss Hurstman's advice and looked at his hands. They were clenched upon his York tan gloves like a vice.

"So it is," she said more moderately, but coldly. "Only twenty-one earlier hours in the day. Was I supposed to stay up if you came at a minute to midnight?"