Read Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Online

Authors: An Arranged Mariage

Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (8 page)

What sort of life did he live, that he was followed everywhere? She toyed with the idea of begging Lord Stainbridge to marry her and save her from his brother, but knew it would be no use. For one thing, the special license would not apply.

And she had to confess that she found Nicholas Delaney fascinating, in the same way she had been fascinated by the gypsies who had camped near Burton when she was young. She and Lionel had been warned to stay clear because they stole children, but she had crept over to their camp and watched them. Then the gypsies had seen her and teased her so she had been scared. Lionel had found out and told on her, so she had been whipped, then whipped again when it was discovered she had lost her gold locket somewhere in the adventure.

What was she going to lose in this one?

She had to admit that her husband-to-be had been pleasant enough thus far, but he did not seem to be the kind of manageable bridegroom of convenience she had been promised. If he were to take it into his head to lock her up or drag her with him on his travels, or even to rape her again, she doubted Lord Stainbridge would be able to stop him, no matter what economic leverage he thought he had.

It was both frightening and fascinating at the same time. Most peculiar.

On the whole, however, fright outweighed fascination, and Eleanor was beginning to entertain the hope that the ceremony was to be postponed when the vestry door opened and the vicar returned. He was followed by Nicholas and another man, older, smaller, and with twinkling eyes. It appeared he was to be a witness. His name was Tom Holloway.

Eleanor seriously considered running away. Nicholas Delaney seemed to look at her and read her mind, for he came over and took her hand in a firm grasp and smiled. "There is nothing to be afraid of," he said. "Trust me."

And against all reason, she did.

From there matters proceeded with prosaic smoothness. Eleanor soon found herself Mrs. Delaney in fact, and the gold ring was now legitimate.

As soon as it was done the little man smiled at her. "Honored to have been present, Mrs. Delaney, Nick. I'd best be off. London?"

"Yes, as arranged. If the others aren't there try Tim or Shako. Good luck."

Tom Holloway went out as he had come, despite the vicar's expostulations. Nicholas soothed him with a handsome donation, and when they left it was with his blessing.

As they strolled back, once more just travelers stretching their legs, Eleanor felt moved to speak. But she did try to keep her voice moderate. "I would like to know, sir, whether my whole life from now on is likely to be conducted in the midst of sinister comings and goings. Who is Mr. Holloway?"

Nicholas smiled, and she gritted her teeth as she recognized a smile designed to humor and soothe. "Poor Eleanor. I am sure it was not the sort of wedding you would have chosen. But it really could not be helped."

"Oh, I'm not romantic," she said with a studied air of nonchalance. "Merely curious."

"Now that is unfortunate," was the plain reply, "for I have no intention of explaining my actions at the moment."

She raised her chin. "You mean I am not to know why I am to be murdered in my bed?"

"If you are murdered in your bed, my dear, it will probably be because you know too much." This was said in a conversational tone, and yet there was a ring of seriousness to it that chilled Eleanor.

She turned to Lord Stainbridge. "My lord, this does not accord with our agreement."

As she had feared, he was no use at all. "I'm sure he is just playing one of his games, Eleanor," said the earl soothingly. "Anyway, you can depend upon Nicholas to take good care of you."

"Especially," murmured her husband near her ear, "if you insist on demanding answers I am unwilling to give."

When she whirled angrily to face him he threw up a hand and grinned. "Pax! We can discuss this later, Eleanor. You are only upsetting Kit."

Which, she realized, was unfortunately true. A fine protector he was going to be. Well, she had lived by her wits before and she was determined not to be manipulated by Nicholas Delaney.

It was as if he read her feelings, for Nicholas spent the remainder of the walk back to the inn putting himself out to soothe her. Despite her resolutions, he succeeded. In the face of such humor and charm it seemed churlish to cling to her grievance.

And yet a part of her hung on to sanity. He was, she decided, a very dangerous man.

When they reached the inn Eleanor retired gratefully to her room. The traveling and the stress of events had left her weary, but she also wanted to escape her husband.

As she relaxed before the fire, however, she smiled with satisfaction. She had done it. She had secured the future for herself and for the child that seemed more likely with each passing day. If her husband would be difficult to handle, at least he was no monster, and she would doubtless see little of him.

Yes, it was all working out very well.

Until she realized that this was her wedding night. Was it possible that her bridegroom intended to inflict himself upon her once again? Surely not. But how embarrassing it would be if he came to her and she had to send him away. He might, after all, think she... she expected it.

With sudden resolution she knocked on the door to the adjoining room. It was opened not by her husband but by a thin, swarthy servant. His valet.

"I am Clintock, ma'am. May I help you?"

"Mr. Delaney is not here?"

"He is still below with his lordship, I believe, ma'am."

She hesitated, but she knew she would not be able to sleep with uncertainty hanging over her.

"I think I will leave him a note," she said.

Amenably, the manservant produced a traveling desk that opened to reveal supplies of paper, pens, and ink. He held a chair for her and arranged everything with a slow deliberation that made her want to scream, expecting as she did to hear her husband's footsteps at any minute.

When Clintock had retreated she sought words to express herself. How impossible it was.

In the end she wrote:

As our marriage has already been consummated, after a fashion, I would be grateful if you would respect my privacy,

Eleanor.

It was terse and ungracious, but she could think of no way to better it and she wished to be gone from this room. She sanded it, folded it, and wrote her husband's name on the outside. There was no seal or wafers, and surely no necessity.

Eleanor left the note there and beat a hasty retreat.

Clintock's voice stopped her. "Would you wish me to take this down to Mr. Delaney, ma'am?"

"No, no. That will not be necessary."

"Very well, ma'am. And please accept my best wishes on this happy day."

Blushing, Eleanor stammered her thanks and fled. So, his valet was in his confidence. She supposed there was no help for that.

Next she checked the door for a key and did not find one. She shrugged. She did not think the man she had married today would force himself upon her, no matter what had happened a few weeks ago. So long, she supposed wryly, as he was not now downstairs drowning his wits in brandy.

She prepared for bed without ringing for a maid. She was well accustomed to managing for herself and valued the privacy. As she sat before the mirror in one of her voluminous nightgowns, brushing her hair with long, sweeping strokes, she considered the events of the evening.

It would appear her husband had enemies. Well, it was said those who supped with the devil should have a long spoon. She supposed he was able to look after himself, but she hoped she would not become embroiled in any of his disreputable doings. She had had enough of such matters in her brother's house and longed only for placid respectability.

The adjoining door opened.

Nicholas stood leaning against the frame, the note between his long fingers. He had removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. In his open-necked shirt he looked like a pirate. Eleanor's heart began a frantic beating and the brush fell from her fingers.

His expression was unfathomable but his voice was crisp and cold as he came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Never write such an indiscreet note again, please. It could have been read by anyone."

Irritation overcame her fear. "Who on earth would read it except possibly your valet, whom you appear to trust?" Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears.

"Anyone could have entered the room while Clintock was elsewhere," he said, as if explaining to a bothersome child. "This whole exercise is an attempt to preserve your reputation. That note could throw it on the dung heap."

Eleanor knew she had gone red under this reprimand, and she dearly wished to throw the responsibility for her precarious reputation precisely where it belonged: in his lean, cool face. She knew, however, that his criticism was well-founded, and she forced out an apology. "I am sorry then. You are quite correct. I will be careful not to do such a thing again."

She stood, grateful for the concealment of her tent-like nightgown. "Good night."

He made no move, merely studied her. "So you meant what you wrote," he said thoughtfully. "I had come to think you had more spirit."

Fear resurged. "I have spirit enough to fight for the right to lie unmolested in that bed tonight. I am not drugged now, sir!"

She took a step back and glanced around in search of a potential weapon in case he came at her. The only thing was her hairbrush. She was sure that would terrify him to death!

He did not approach her, however. He merely sighed and walked away to collapse gracefully on the rug before the fire. Casually he tossed the note upon the coals, where it blazed and then flew in ashes up the chimney.

With one long hand and his chin resting upon his raised knee, his lithe body was haloed by the fire. Eleanor had to struggle to keep her breathing even. She told herself it was fear that was trembling through her but was not convinced. Did he know what a stunning picture he made?

Like a breath of sanity she realized he almost certainly did. Nicholas Delaney, she decided, was a man used to playing others like instruments—stirring them to action, chiding them into line, and gentling them to produce the tune of his choosing.

He would not find her so easy to manipulate.

He spoke softly, gazing into the fire. "You are afraid. I can understand that after the experience you had. But I can assure you it will not be that way again. I have no desire to force you. Ever."

He paused, perhaps to allow her to speak, perhaps to collect his own thoughts. When she remained silent, he turned his head to look at her. "Eleanor, we must talk about this, and it would be easier if you would come over here." With a smile he added, "If there are to be any hostilities I promise to allow you to return to your present position."

Eleanor seized on this. "In one breath you promise not to molest me," she sneered, "and in the next you threaten me. You are despicable. I wish I had never laid eyes on you."

His brown eyes were calm as he appeared to consider her words. "And be back in your brother's house?" he queried gently.

After a moment during which Eleanor could think of nothing to say, he continued without apparent artifice. "May I remind you, madam, we are married... for life. It may suit you to live your life in a state of war, but it does not suit me. I am endeavoring to find a modus operandi which will make life bearable for both of us. I am even beginning to harbor hopes there may be some happiness to be found in this arrangement. I, at least, am pleasantly surprised by the partner fate has found for me... even if you are showing more spines than a hedgehog."

He smiled then, and it took all her resolution not to return the smile and melt into compliance. She commanded herself to remain silent.

"I cannot see any hope for us, however," he continued in that entrancing voice, "if you intend to shun the physical side of marriage."

The soft voice had been deceptive. Such plain speaking shocked her. "I have no intention of... But I hardly know you, even though..." Eleanor marshaled her disordered wits. "Surely," she argued, "the marriage act without love is a kind of rape."

His smile broadened almost to a grin. "Then rape is a common enough crime, I'm afraid. Let us discuss this, but not across the width of the room. Come and sit in the chair. My parole still holds."

Drawn as if by a string, Eleanor obeyed and sat facing him. At least she was out of his reach.

"Eleanor," he said, "I believe you are an intelligent woman. I have watched you today and admired your courage, your quickness. I want to consummate our marriage."

He had her so bewitched that she didn't flee at those words. She didn't move at all.

"I will give you my reasons," he continued, "and perhaps we can arrive at a rational decision. Though that may be expecting too much of both of us at this moment." There was a sudden note of weariness in his voice that touched her heart. She felt a strange urge to reach out and smooth his golden hair away from his brow.

He turned away and the leaping flames gilded his profile. "Firstly," he said, like a teacher laying out a lesson, "as I have said, your reluctance springs from a very natural fear. I doubt, however, if your fear will lessen in the near future by itself. The best cure would be for you to fall in love with me, but that seems unlikely." She saw his lips curve and his eyes crinkle in what appeared to be genuine humor. "For a start, I'm sure you have far too much sense. Perhaps I could win your regard if I were to woo you thoroughly, but I have a great many matters to attend to during this visit to England and much of my time is already spoken for. In view of this, I think it would be better for us to conquer your fear together."

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