Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (7 page)

Her "husband" looked down and caught her disapproving gaze. He smiled and gave her a little squeeze. "Come, my dear. Surely you at least can tell us apart?"

Like a puppet, she found herself doing her best to join in the charade. She greeted her "brother-in-law" and complained about the voyage, she who had never been on a boat in her life. In a moment the focus shifted back to Lord Stainbridge and Eleanor was able to lapse into silence again. She immediately resented the way she had been manipulated. She needed to keep her wits sharp with Nicholas Delaney.

Unobtrusively she studied the brothers.

Yes, anyone would be able to tell them apart. Presumably nature had given them both the same pale skin and brown-blond hair. On Lord Stainbridge they remained so, but on his brother strong sun and winds from heaven knows where had transformed them into a startling and uniform gold. This distinctive coloring had not been apparent in the dim light of her bedroom. In this gilded frame Nicholas Delaney's brown eyes seemed bright and rather wicked, whereas his brother's were gentle and thoughtful.

A woman's voice suddenly interrupted the conversation and Eleanor's thoughts. A mellow voice, which spoke perfect English with a delicious French accent. "Nicky! You were never on that dreadful packet too, were you? How could I not have seen you?"

They all turned to see a slender, beautifully dressed woman, not young but not yet old, with an aura of confidence in the power of her attractions. And she had reason. Her heart-shaped face contained soft, red lips and dark blue eyes full of humor and erotic promise. Even beneath her heavy cloak the movements of her body were suggestive of delights.

Nicholas's smile was warm and relaxed, but Eleanor felt the arm around her tighten. "Therese? Were you on it? If only I had known... But even so, I had to attend to my poor wife, who suffers from mal-de-mer."

Resignedly recognizing her cue, Eleanor adopted a drooping stance and leaned slightly against him. Was his tension simply due to the little deception they were practicing? Or was this woman, whom he had significantly neglected to introduce to her, an intimate acquaintance? One of his many ex-mistresses, perhaps? She waited with malicious enjoyment to see how he would handle his predicament.

He did so quite simply by cutting across a further comment the woman was making and saying, "I'm sorry, Therese, but my wife must lie down. Come, my dear."

He was the picture of uxorious concern as he guided her up the stairs to their room, and in a low voice he congratulated her on the way she had handled herself in the scene below.

"Do not congratulate me too soon, sir," she said sharply. "I do not engage in this sort of deception every day of the week. My nerves are in shreds."

She regretted her overloud outburst as soon as it was out, but her "husband" said nothing until they were safely inside her room and the door was shut.

"So I see," he said coolly. He added in a crisp voice, "The best way to carry through a deceit is to keep to it continually. Anyone could have overheard that comment and would be entitled to wonder about our situation."

How dare he reprimand her! Every instinct demanded that she fight back, but then she had to acknowledge the justice of the reproof. It was essential that no one question their story.

With deceptive submissiveness she said, "I am sorry, sir... Nicholas, my dear."

His lips twitched and a sudden warm light in his eyes startled her. "Quite," he said as he removed her cloak. He took her hands. "You're cold. Did you have to wait long?"

Eleanor tried to remove her hands—she found his touch disturbing–but his grip was firm. "No, not really," she said quickly. "I'm not cold. It's nerves."

He drew her forward to the blazing fire and pushed her gently into a chair there. He knelt to tend the fire deftly and make it blaze. "At least you are honest. Of what are you afraid?"

She looked at him, surprised by such a question. Then she realized that though she ought to be afraid of him, she wasn't. Despite the evidence, it was just as impossible to imagine this man to be her ravisher as Lord Stainbridge.

It was all most peculiar.

His silence demanded an answer to his question. Of what then was she afraid?

"I suppose," she said slowly, "I am afraid of the abnormality of things. I am, or was, a conventional sort of person."

Humor twinkled in his eyes, emphasized by the dancing flames. "With a brother such as yours that is quite an achievement." He rose smoothly from attending to the fire.

"It was, but he overcame in the end." Too late, she realized this could appear to be an attack on him, which might be unwise at this point. He took no offense. He hardly seemed to have heard.

"Do you feel able to go down now to dinner? We have a private parlor bespoken, and later, of course, we will have to go out."

For her wedding, she realized as she stood. The dreaded moment of confrontation had come and gone without a moment's thought. Now, however, she found herself resentful of his lack of contrition. Some word of apology, some recognition of his fault, would have been in order.

He turned by the open door and caught her expression. "What is it, Eleanor?"

She sighed. Perhaps this was what he meant by keeping to the deceit. There hardly seemed any point in forcing him to acknowledge his fault at this stage, but, she promised silently, if he imagined he could pretend forever that nothing untoward had occurred, he was mistaken.

"Nothing is the matter," she said. "I just need to tidy myself."

Instead of leaving, as she had hoped, he closed the door and moved to sit and watch as she washed her hands in the china basin and subdued some curling wisps of hair that had escaped the severe knot at the back of her head.

Under his calm regard her fingers fumbled. If he is going to be husbandly, thought Eleanor, then I will be wifely.

"Is Madame Therese an old friend?" she asked, watching him in the mirror.

"A very old friend," he replied, amusement in his eyes and voice. "I knew her in Vienna."

Had the man no shame? "I see," she said sweetly, determined to disturb his composure. "And is she likely to be jealous of my... status?"

"Not if she discovers the truth about it," he replied calmly.

Which serves you right for being arch, Eleanor though on a gasp, and thrust a number of pins roughly into her hair. Life with Nicholas Delaney would present certain challenges. She reassured herself there was not likely to be much of it. He would be away on his travels in no time.

Perhaps with Madame Therese, she thought crossly.

She stood abruptly and swept to the door, but in one smooth movement he was before her and bowing her through. Drat the man!

Lord Stainbridge was nervously pacing the parlor, watching a maid set the table. He would probably have said something indiscreet had his brother not forestalled him.

"Eleanor is feeling slightly better now she is on dry lane again, Kit. I assure you, she is not normally so delicate. I believe a little fresh air after the meal will complete the recovery."

Lord Stainbridge had been gazing anxiously at Eleanor as if seeking reassurance, but he accepted this lead as he seemed to accept everything his brother said and did.

A fine protector he will be, thought Eleanor.

"An excellent idea," the earl was saying heartily. "I believe I will join you. This crisp, clear weather is very invigorating."

Eleanor rather thought he was overdoing things.

Over the meal the brothers monopolized the conversation, talking of their home and sharing news of family and friends. Eleanor listened carefully for information about her new family. She drank two glasses of wine, and then lifted her glass to find it empty. She realized her "husband" had neglected to fill it the last time he had filled his own and his brother's. If I need to be drunk to get through this, she thought, then that is my affair.

She held out her glass. "May I have more wine, please?"

Nicholas looked at her with a smile in his eyes. "No," he said. "You will find water much more refreshing." He courteously poured her some.

Before she could frame a response, he resumed his conversation with his brother. Short of climbing over the table to reach the bottle there was nothing she could do, but she made a great many resolutions about Mr. Nicholas Delaney, impenitent villain and tyrant.

She was soon glad, however, that he had stopped her, for when she rose from the table the world lurched, and she had to hold onto her chair to keep her balance. She accepted his offered arm, pleased to see that his face was wisely expressionless.

To her relief, she found that the effects soon diminished, and she was able to climb the stairs unaided to collect her cloak and reticule. She still felt, however, a slight numbness that told her the alcohol had affected her, and a mental detachment that she welcomed. She intended to think as little as possible during the next few hours.

As she made to descend the stairs, however, Eleanor witnessed a tableau below. Nicholas Delaney was awaiting her—all loose-limbed elegance despite a day's traveling—in his high-waisted green jacket, buckskins, and boots.

A door opened and the woman called Therese came into view, followed by a very beautiful, very young man whose blue eyes narrowed jealously when he saw the occupant of the hall. Therese, however, was obviously delighted, as was Mr. Delaney. Eleanor could not hear the words said, but the tone on both sides was light and fond. Then it became worse. A serious note entered their conversation, and Nicholas carried both the lady's hands passionately to his lips.

The tableau broke up.

Simultaneously Therese moved upstairs, followed by her sulky swain, and Lord Stainbridge entered from outside.

Eleanor stepped back, both to collect her thoughts and to avoid passing the Frenchwoman on the stairs. In fact, she retreated all the way to her room, and there found to her horror that her hands were tightly clenched beneath the fold of her mantle. Come, this would never do.

She forced herself to confront her feelings. She was jealous. Could there be anything more ridiculous? Of course he had a mistress, and it was not surprising that she was beautiful. He would doubtless set up an establishment for her. It was not uncommon, and, particularly in their situation, provided Eleanor no insult.

Not really.

This desire she felt to run and hide, or to throw a scene, was ridiculous. Nicholas Delaney was that monstrous attacker of just a few weeks ago, and she should be happy that the foreign woman would relieve her of his brutish attentions.

Still, before she could descend the stairs with composure she had to go over again in her mind all her reasons for the marriage. You are doing this for a child you may bear, for a position in Society, for an upright family to belong to...

Suddenly, breaking through her thoughts like a sunbeam, Eleanor wondered what Nicholas Delaney had made of the beautiful young man trailing his mistress up the stairs. She smiled slightly and hoped he too was itched by the green-eyed monster. That unkind wish bolstered her enough that she was able to meet the twins with composure and set out for her wedding.

The trio strolled down the pleasant, winding streets of the port talking idly of minor matters, until Nicholas said prosaically, "We're being followed."

Eleanor could not resist it. "Perhaps it is Madame Therese," she teased, "unable to let you out of her sight."

She received an unfriendly look. "More than likely. In which case it is I who will be followed. We don't want the curious to know we are on our way to a church." He turned to his bemused brother. "Go on as arranged, Kit, and I will meet you there."

Lord Stainbridge made no objection, but Eleanor could not let this pass. "This is ridiculous. Are you mad? Who on earth would follow us?"

She knew immediately that Nicholas Delaney was not accustomed to having his orders questioned. Even though his face was impassive and his tone level, he expressed displeasure as he said, "As you have suggested, my anxious lovers or any number of other people. I merely wish to make sure that nobody has ready ammunition for blackmail. If I cannot evade whoever it is, the marriage will have to be put off." With that he disappeared into the shadows.

A minute or so later Eleanor glanced back and saw a figure cross the street and go in the same direction. "We were being followed?" she said in amazement.

Lord Stainbridge nodded. "Nicholas is never needlessly melodramatic. In his way of life he must make enemies."

"But he might be attacked, killed!"

Lord Stainbridge shrugged. "Inconvenient, I agree. However, he is normally well able to take care of himself. This is the church."

Eleanor looked at him in surprise, but saw by the pale light from the church windows that he was not as calm as he pretended. How hard it must be to love Nicholas Delaney. Thank heaven she was immune from that fate at least.

It was a small, simple church, neither new nor fashionable. The minister waiting for them was thin, gray, and tired. "Mr. Delaney and Miss Chivenham?"

Explanations were made, and the minister agreed with bad grace to wait for a little while longer. He disappeared into his vestry while Eleanor and Lord Stainbridge sat in a very uncomfortable pew to wait. Eleanor felt that perhaps she should pray; attempt to make something spiritual out of this momentous occasion, but the church was bleak, cold, and uninspiring. She thought instead about her bridegroom.