The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (16 page)

Ella paused only long enough for Sir Louis's retreat before she excused herself to the ladies' withdrawing room. Moments later, James was on the move, following her, making sure Levering had no dishonorable intentions. It appeared Sir Louis had considered trailing her, but Lord Chatterton latched onto the baronet's arm and led him to where a group of wallflowers gathered. Evidently, Chatterton recruited Levering as a possible dance partner. When the baronet looked away to his new admirers, James slipped into the darkened hallway.

Finding one of the doors lining the wall unlocked, he stepped into the empty room where no one would see him and waited for Ella.

Surprisingly, she spent very little time in the women's retiring room, indicating she needed to recover her composure, not her appearance. Although he could not see her, James sensed the moment she exited the comfort room. The hair along the back of his neck stood on end, and his breathing quickened. He timed it perfectly; as Ella reached the portal, James let the door swing open, caught her wrist, and pulled Ella into the blackness.

She started to fight him, but, for some inexplicable reason, she allowed him to drag her into his embrace as he closed the door behind them with his foot. Neither of them spoke, just held tightly, as if peace lay in the other's arms.

“Oh, God, Ella,” he whispered to the air. “I have missed you.”

“You see me every day, James.” She snuggled closer to him and ran her hands under his jacket and along his back muscles.

He was making similar forays down her back and over the rise of her hips. “It is not enough, Ella. It is never enough unless it is all day, every day, and every night.” His breathing became shallow. “I mean to kiss you, Lady Eleanor. If you do not want this, turn and walk out the door now.”

Ella did not hesitate; she leaned against the door, pulling him with her, plastering herself to the wood with his frame. His mouth found hers, and bliss shot through his body. Eleanor opened her lips, allowing his tongue to search her gum's soft tissue and the concave shape of the roof of her mouth. He heard her groan, and James doubled his intensity. Coming up for air, at last, his lips hovered over hers.

“How did you know it was I when I caught your wrist?”With his lips, he covered her face with feathery caresses.

Ella looked away but then turned back to his closeness. “It is foolish, but I know your touch.” She kissed the side of his face. “The smell of your cologne.”

He tipped her chin up as if he could see her eyes, and, surprisingly, he could see the depths of them—the moonlight giving her an angelic glow. James growled under his breath, “You are mine, Eleanor Fowler.You may enjoy your Season; every woman has a right to one, but when it ends, you are mine. I mean to claim you—to bind you to me.”

“Yes.”The intensity so encompassing she could barely breathe.

James wondered about the sanity of making such a declaration, but he knew in his heart what he said was true. He wanted her with him, as he had never wanted anything else.

“Will you let me touch you, Ella?” he whispered in her ear. “I know you are frightened, but I want you to know how much I worship you—how precious every inch of you is to me.”

James cautioned himself to go slowly—not to alarm her. In his gut, he knew her father had committed some sort of maltreatment against her. He did not know what, but something had happened to Eleanor in William Fowler's household.

She did not answer him directly, but Ella leaned into him, letting her body respond to his urging. James returned to her mouth, a slow, tantalizing trip to ecstasy. As Ella angled her mouth to meet his invasion of hers, James eased his way along her waist until he touched her breast. He felt Ella stiffen, so he used his tongue to
trace along the line of her lips. “I will not hurt you,” he coaxed as he weighed her breasts in the palms of his hands, caressing them gently, squeezing the full weight of them in his large hands. They swelled with his ministrations, and as his thumbs lightly crisscrossed her nipples, the buds hardened to his touch.

His groin swelled painfully, but it was worth it to finally feel her respond to him. God, he wanted her, but James made himself stop. As he eased away from Ella's curves, she moaned in frustration. Her audible disappointment went a long way in proving he was correct in how to handle her. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he ran a finger from her temple to her chin line.

She turned her head to kiss his palm. “I wish I was truly beautiful.” She thought of what he said about his wife. “I would like to be beautiful for you.”

“Lord, Eleanor,” his voice raised a bit in volume, “if you only knew what you did to me, you would never question when I say you are exquisite. I can think of nothing else but you.”

“Truly, James?” she questioned.

James smiled with the tone of hope he heard in her voice. “Truly, my Love.” He brushed her mouth with his. “I need to return you before people realize neither of us is in the ballroom.” His fingertips traced her lips. “I wish there was enough light in here to see your mouth right now. I am sure it looks delicious—your lips swollen from the pressure of my kiss.”

Teasingly, Eleanor let her tongue lick the pads of his fingers. “How will I be able to dance the waltz with you after what we just did?”

“Simply think of it as a prelude to supper. The waltz is the supper set.You do wish to sit with me, do you not?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then come.” He caught her by the arm and reached for the door. “Return to the withdrawing room and freshen your appearance. I will claim Miss Aldridge's hand for this set. I believe the Marquis waits for you. Then we shall dance for the first time.” He
kissed her temple and eased the door open, stealthily disappearing into the passageway.

 

James returned to the ballroom's merriment and retrieved Miss Aldridge from the Duchess's side.

“Is my cousin well?” the lady murmured as he escorted her to a place in the form.

James chuckled but did not deny her assertion. “Do you suppose others noticed?”

“I doubt it.” She acknowledged recent acquaintances. “Sir Louis upset Ella.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“The baronet seems intent on separating Lady Eleanor from my company.”

“As if anyone could,” she whispered.

James found that he really enjoyed his new intimacy with Velvet Aldridge. He needed to occasionally say aloud what he felt for Eleanor—to give his blossoming desire credence. “From your lips to God's will.”

“Why do you not simply declare your intentions, Your Lordship? I cannot imagine my cousin would refuse.”

James moved closer, securing the privacy of his words. “Continue to smile at the crowd, and do not react to my question,” he cautioned. “How much do you know of Eleanor's relationship with her father?”

“The former duke ignored Ella, generally. I always thought she reminded him too much of her mother.” They spoke in hushed tones, barely looking at each other.

“Are you aware of Ella's sleepwalking episodes?”

“Still?” she hid her surprise. “My cousin knew such fits when she was younger. Have they returned?”

“They have.”

Velvet bit her lower lip, a habit that she shared with her cousin. “What might I do?”

“Allowing Lady Eleanor to speak of her feelings is the best
medicine. Encourage her to confide in you. Ella is experiencing many changes. That is why I will not complicate her life with one more. The
newness
of having Bran home, having her first Season, and having to find her place in Society are stressful enough without my complicating it with my plight, although Lady Eleanor is well aware of my interest.”

“You really love my cousin?”

James hesitated—
did he love Ella?
He had accepted the fact that he could not imagine spending his life without her. She was the air he breathed, but was that love? Then he raised his eyes to the door, and Eleanor reentered the room, scanning it for Gabriel Crowden, her next dance partner. He watched as her eyes finally met his, and nothing else mattered but that moment of shared understanding. “Yes, Miss Aldridge, I do.”

“Then I will do what I can, Lord Worthing, to help you. Eleanor deserves someone to love her unconditionally.”

And so it began. The next morning young bucks of varying titles and positions in Society filled the Briar House sitting room.While many sought Velvet's attentions, as a duke's daughter, only those of a certain rank considered approaching Eleanor. The room filled quickly with bouquets of all sizes and colors, and during the appropriate hours, the men fawned and fidgeted, many declaring their devotion to both women. Ella, more uncomfortable in such situations, often turned to Aunt Agatha for guidance, not knowing how to respond to such pretense. The Dowager Duchess, in her element, orchestrated the proceedings with a gypsy ringmaster's grace. She let no man monopolize either of the women's time, purposely redirecting conversations to allow each caller to play to his strengths. She knew the men's families—knew each title—knew each man's financial needs. Ella's dowry of thirty thousand pounds made some men desire her for that purpose alone, but the Dowager wished to find a loving match—if not a love match—for her niece. Velvet's
thirteen thousand pounds was more than respectable, and many saw her as a more desirable match—beauty, vitality, and wealth, mixed together in the perfect package.

When her brother made a brief appearance in the sitting room, Ella's nerves nearly came unglued. He asked her to join him in the library when her callers departed. The gentlemen's false attentions had discomposed her. All Ella wanted was James Kerrington and a small drawing room and maybe another of those bone-melting kisses from last evening.

 

Less than an hour later, Eleanor entered the library, taking a chair across from him. As no formality was necessary between brother and sister, she removed her slippers and curled her toes into the thick carpeting.

“How did you perceive your first day of receiving callers?” Her brother asked nonchalantly.

Ella rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension of the past two hours. “I never thought such poppycock could exist without exploding. The conversation, at best, lacked merit. Most of the gentlemen in that room would feign listening to my opinion on the best place to purchase ribbons or the most fashionable bonnet, but Heaven forbid, I might wish to discuss politics or agriculture.”

“I have little experience with the majority of the gentlemen I observed today, except for Lawrence and Whitmore, who were mates at university, but, in general, men of Society do not expect their wives to be as well versed in current information as are you, my Dear.”

Ella frowned deeply. “Then I am to pretend disinterest in everything but frimp and frills if I seek a matrimonial match?”

“You have no need of pretense, Ella. A man who wishes more than your dowry will accept the sharpness of your mind.” Fowler set his teacup on the small table beside his chair. “I did not see Worthing among your callers,” he ventured.

With the mention of James's name, Ella relaxed into the cushions. He had that effect on her. “I am to ride out with His Lordship this afternoon. Lord Worthing comes to Briar House daily; he has no need of morning calls.”

“Perhaps Kerrington made his presence known at another fashionable address,” Bran teased.

Ella sat forward, such a thought having never occurred to her. “Do you believe His Lordship might be engaged elsewhere? If you knew of such an attachment, you would tell me, would you not, Bran?”

Her brother's lips twitched in amusement. “It was a jest, Ella. James Kerrington is an honorable man; he will not play with your affections.”

Ella relaxed into her thoughts of the man. “Would you tell me what you know of His Lordship's former wife?” She wanted to know whether she might actually compete with Lady Worthing's memory.

“I did not meet Kerrington until a year after the lady's passing, but, he spoke of her often in those early days, and afterwards, I became acquainted with others who knew Lady Worthing well—his cousin Alma, whom you met last evening, for example. Most who speak of Elizabeth Kerrington speak of her beauty, and from the renderings I have seen of her, she was attractive.” Ella's frown returned. “Elizabeth Kerrington was pretty, Ella, but no more so than you. She was dark—more along the lines of Velvet's coloring. A person could not compare the two of you.”

“His Lordship says his wife was all kindness.” Worry lines appeared around her eyes.

Her brother smiled solicitously. “I am sure Worthing would say so. He speaks as a man who remembers the early bliss of love, but, Ella, please understand that part of grief is selective memory. Those who speak of Lady Worthing remember a girl, not a woman; she was not even your age when she passed, Kerrington having married her when she was but seventeen. He remembers the exuberance
of the young girl, but that does not mean as Kerrington matured that his wife might follow suit. I have heard Worthing's mother say she never thought Elizabeth Morris her son's equal in intelligence or depth of character, and Alma speaks of the lady's spoiled nature, always needing to be the center of attention. Lady Alma once commented on her doubts of Lady Worthing being able to love the boy—not being willing to share His Lordship's attention with her own son. Alma seemed to feel that once Worthing grew older he would tire of having to attend to his wife's every wish, especially after he became Earl. He would have less time to cater to her demands. Of course, none of us will know that for sure, but it is my belief, Eleanor, that you could be more to Kerrington than his late wife. A man of twenty sees the world differently from a man of thirty, and he needs a different type of woman to fill those changing needs. I seriously doubt Kerrington would even feign interest in ribbons just to please you.”