To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (30 page)

It wasn't an area that Eleanor was at all familiar with.
Still, it was not so far off the beaten path that it should
be dangerous. "Why did you not tell me this before
now?" she asked. "I've near enough wasted the entire
afternoon, sitting here with naught to do but wear the
carpet thin waiting."

"Because Henley said we cannot go there, that's
why," Selina huffed. "Did I not just say that? He was
quite adamant about it. He didn't mean to tell me at all;
it just slipped out," she mumbled, dropping her gaze to
her lap. "And he made me promise that I would not tell
you. I've no idea why, as he would not say."

Why would he exact such a promise from his wife?
Whatever were the two of them playing at, Henley and
Frederick? It was as if... as if Frederick had something
to hide. From her.

"I can go, and I will. Oh, do not worry. I'll tell Henley
that I found the direction elsewhere; I will not implicate
you. You will accompany me, though, won't you?"
Eleanor hurried across the room, peering down at her
friend imploringly. "I cannot possibly go there alone,
not without a proper chaperone" Engaged or not, it still
was not proper for an unmarried lady to call upon a gentleman alone. She might be eager to see him, but not
so desperate as to permanently ruin her reputation.

Selina looked up from her needlepoint, her eyes filled
with doubt. "I think perhaps we should wait for Henley to return. Did he not say he would find Frederick and
bring him here today?"

"Why ever should we wait? It's a perfectly acceptable
hour to pay a call. Besides, who knows when Henley
might return. Didn't he say he planned to stop by his solicitor's office?" Indeed, Henley might be gone for several hours more, and she'd waited long enough.

The trip from Devonshire had been tortuously slow,
the conversation all but nonexistent as Eleanor had retreated into her own turbulent thoughts, staring out the
coach's window without seeing anything except a muted
blur. Fitful sleep in shabby coaching inns had left her
near enough exhausted, her nerves on edge.

They'd now passed two full days in London, there at the
Henleys' small but fashionable townhouse on Hanover
Square, with naught a word from Frederick. He didn't
know they were there, of course.

Had she any idea where he lodged in Town she would
have sent him a missive immediately upon their arrival.
But she'd never thought to ask him, and she'd assumed that
Henley would know. And apparently he did-Number
Twelve, Jermyn Street. She could not imagine why he had
kept that bit of information to himself

"Please, Selina," Eleanor begged. "I cannot simply sit
here and wait. Not another hour. Surely you understand?"

Selina rose from the settee, smoothing down her
skirts as she sighed resignedly. "I suppose I do. I'll send
around for the carriage, then."

A half-hour later, Eleanor sat beside Selina on the
worn leather bench, wringing her hands in nervous anticipation as the conveyance clattered down Bond Street
toward Piccadilly.

Would he be glad to see her? If he was at home, that
is, and she had no assurances that he would be. Perhaps
I should have stayed and waited for Henley, after all, she thought, an uncomfortable knot forming in the pit
of her stomach.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Selina asked, as
if she'd read her mind. "It's not too late to turn back"

"No, I ... I must go" She tugged her gloves from her
hands and stared down at the ring on her finger. Being
able to admit her feelings for him-it was all too new,
too fresh. She needed to see him, to touch him, to really
believe it true. She could not have waited another
hour-no, not another minute. Was that so very wrong?

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Eventually
the carriage slowed and came to a stop before a narrow
gray townhouse that looked remarkably like the ones on
either side of it, save the number twelve in brass beside
the front door.

The carriage door opened, startling her as she sat
gazing out the window, wondering why an heir to a peer
of the realm would choose to live here, in this nondescript house in an unfashionable part of Town.

Forcing a smile upon her lips, she took the footman's
proffered hand and stepped down onto the walk.

"Odd, isn't it, that he would live here," Selina said,
echoing her thoughts once more. "I hope Henley had
the right of it. I cannot say I know a single soul who resides in this area"

"Nor I" Eleanor reached up to straighten her bonnet,
wishing suddenly that she'd taken the time to smarten
herself up a bit. "But I'd best get used to the fact that
Frederick often does the unexpected. It's part of his
charm, really." The forced cheerfulness in her voice
sounded false, even to her own ears. "You knock," she
said to Selina as they climbed the front stairs. "I'm far
too nervous."

"I do not see why you should be. You are engaged to
him, after all. We're only here to pay a proper call, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Go on," she said, tipping her head
toward the door. "You're the one who insisted this could
not wait."

"Oh, fustian!" Eleanor cried, gathering her courage
to rap on the door. "I've left my gloves in the carriage"
Coward.

Just then the door swung open, and both women
stepped back in surprise. An elderly woman in a gray
dress and white apron stood there in the doorway, examining them sharply from head to toe. The housekeeper,
no doubt.

"Did you plan to stand there all afternoon?" she asked
impertinently. "Or might I be of some assistance?"

"Indeed you might," Selina answered, bustling into
the front hall. Eleanor followed suit, grateful for her
friend's presence of mind.

Selina pulled a crisp, white calling card from her reticule and handed it to the housekeeper. "I am Lady
Henley, and this is Lady Eleanor Ashton. May we inquire if Mister Stoneham is home at present?"

"Hah, Mister Stoneham!" the woman barked, her
cheeks growing red. "I've no idea where he's gone off
to, leaving the mistress in such a state"

"The ... the mistress?" Eleanor stuttered in confusion. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken"

"Thank you, Mrs. Wardley," a feminine voice called
out, and Eleanor's gaze flew to the stairs. A petite
woman stood there in a red silk kimono dressing gown,
long, blond hair falling across her shoulders. "I will see
to Frederick's guests," she said.

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsey and disappeared
down the corridor.

Eleanor could only stare up at the woman, entirely
unable to breathe. Indeed, it felt as if all the air had left her
lungs. Do not jump to conclusions, she warned herself. This could all be a terrible mistake. A ... a misunderstanding. Yes, that was it. It had to be.

"You must pardon our astonishment," Selina said.
"We hadn't any idea that a lady-a woman," she corrected, "resided here"

"I suppose not," the woman said, gliding down the
stairs at a leisurely pace, her gaze sweeping over them.
"Or else you would not have come, would you?"

"Perhaps we should take our leave, Miss. . " Selina's
voice trailed off. "I'm sorry, but I do not believe we are
acquainted"

"Delacorte," the woman supplied. "Miss Molly Delacorte. Frederick and I are ... well, we are dear friends,
you might say. Very dear."

She was beautiful, of course. Tiny and delicate,
almost doll-like, with round, china-blue eyes and a perfect bow of a mouth. She spoke like a lady though she
was clearly anything but. No well-bred lady would greet
guests wearing nothing but a dressing gown.

Frederick mistress, no doubt. There was no other
explanation. Eleanor feared she might begin to retch; instead, she cleared her throat loudly, hoping the wave of
nausea would pass before she further humiliated herself
And wasn't this humiliation enough, barging into his
mistress's house like this? No wonder Henley did not
want her to come here. He knew

"We must go," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, but she would
not let them fall. She would not give Miss Delacorte the
satisfaction.

"So soon?" the dreadful woman asked with a pout.
"You're perfectly welcome to sit and have a cup of tea.
Frederick should return directly from wherever he's
gone off to. His club, perhaps. You know how men are
about their clubs," she added with a smile.

A viper's smile.

Eleanor took two steps back, colliding with a hat
stand which threatened to topple over. Quickly, she
reached out to steady it, cursing her own clumsiness.

"I'm afraid we cannot wait," Selina said. "We'd best
be on our way."

"Very well, then, if you must. I'll be sure to give him
your card. Oh, what a lovely ring," she said, reaching for
Eleanor's hand. "And such a distinctive setting. Why, I
could swear it's exactly like my bracelet." She pushed
up one sleeve of her dressing gown, revealing the ruby
and diamond bracelet that encircled one slender wrist.
"What an odd coincidence, don't you think? Why, Frederick gave me this just this morning, in bed, for no particular reason at all. Isn't it lovely?"

Eleanor blinked repeatedly, but the sight before her
eyes remained the same. Miss Delacorte's bracelet was
a perfect match to her betrothal ring, a series of rubies
flanked by diamonds, the same filigree setting separating each set of sparkling gems.

There was no mistaking the similarity-the two
pieces were a matched set, likely purchased together.
Frederick had given her the ring, and Miss Delacorte the
bracelet. How very cozy, indeed.

A wave of nausea washed over her, making her weakkneed and queasy. She grasped the edge of a marbletopped hall stand for support.

Could the situation possibly get any worse than this?
She'd been wrong, so very wrong. Frederick did not
love her. The proof stood before her, admiring the
bracelet on her own wrist with a triumphant smile.

"Come, Eleanor," Selina murmured, reaching for her
elbow and steering her toward the door. "We must go ""

"What a shame you missed Frederick," Miss Delacorte murmured. "I know he'll be terribly disappointed."

Unable to speak a single syllable, Eleanor looked up
and met Miss Delacorte's gaze, if only for the briefest
moment. The sudden urge to strike the woman, to wipe
the coy smile from her painted lips overwhelmed her,
forcing her to clench her hands into angry fists by her
sides.

She wouldn't touch her, of course. But, oh, how she
wanted to! Instead, she straightened her spine, standing
tall with her shoulders thrown back and her chin tilted
proudly in the air. Offering Miss Delacorte her most
regal, haughty smile, she nodded sharply, then followed
Selina out and into the waiting carriage.

Thank God she'd learned the truth before it was too
late, before she'd married him. She'd come so closeso very close-to losing her heart, losing everything
that mattered.

Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes as the carriage
lurched forward, the pain in her heart an unbearable
ache.

Never again. Never again would she be so foolish, so
vulnerable, so terribly naive as she had been these past
few weeks. She was done with Frederick Stoneham, entirely through with love. From this day forward, a wall
would go up around her heart, impenetrable as stone,
and there it would remain until her dying day-this she
promised herself

And perhaps she would take Mister Whitby up on his
offer, after all.

"I've no idea what's going on, old chap," Henley said
with a grimace, raising his gaze to the ceiling where the
loud, thumping noises seemed to originate. "All I know
is Lady Eleanor is upstairs banging things around,
Selina is bawling into her handkerchief, and no one will
tell me a bloody thing except that we must leave for
Essex immediately on the morn"

Frederick massaged his temples, his head feeling as
if it might explode at any given moment. Devil take it,
how much more could he endure in one day? It had
been surprise enough to learn that Eleanor and the Henleys were in Town, but now she refused to see him and
he hadn't the slightest notion why.

If anyone had reason to be angry, it was him, he reasoned. He had told her in no uncertain terms that she
was to travel straight through to Essex after leaving
Whitby Hall. Just the knowledge that Eleanor was there,
close by, would have been far too distracting as he
forced Eckford to satisfy creditors and set up financial
accounts to see to Maria's living expenses. It was unpleasant business, that, and he wanted Eleanor as far
away from such sordid things as possible.

There had been Molly to deal with as well, and new
accommodations to secure. The house in Grosvenor
Square would become his when he became the Baron
Worthington, but until then he and his bride would need
a residence in London. He'd found one that would do
nicely, a small but elegant townhouse just off Upper
Brook Street. An agreement had been struck, but he had
not yet had time to have the papers drawn up. Indeed,
he still had several days' worth of business left in Town
before he could travel on to Essex.

And now this. "Enough nonsense," he barked to
Henley, his patience worn thin. "Go up there and demand
that she come down at once"

"I'm not entirely sure that's the best course of action,
Stoneham. It's quite"-he paused as something banged
loudly on the ceiling up above-"a scene up there"

"I don't give a damn if. . " Frederick trailed off as
Lady Henley appeared in the doorway, her eyes redrimmed and swollen, a handkerchief clutched to her
mouth. "Good evening, Lady Henley," he said with a
bow. "If you would be so kind as to convince my betrothed to come down here and receive me, I would be
most grateful."

"How dare you?" she cried out, her features an angry
mask. "How dare you come here? Have you any idea
what sort of a state poor Eleanor is in right now? I told
her you were nothing but a rogue, but she would not
listen to reason, would not believe such things about-"