The Uncatchable Miss Faversham (12 page)

    She hesitated, biting her lip, though her gaze remained steady on her face. ‘Would I have the pleasure of seeing you there as well, my lord?’

    His jaw clenched at the inference that Eleanor would not visit Sallinger House while he was there.

    ‘Unfortunately, I have business that will not allow it.‘ He made her a bow. ‘I must make an urgent visit tomorrow morning to one of my tenants in the village.’

    Her eyebrows rose at this with faint hauteur and Nathaniel frowned. It was a lie, of course. He had no official business to speak of in the village but would spend a pleasant hour or two with Jack Underwood instead.

    Was Eleanor angered by his excuse? He felt certain she would wish him a thousand miles away if he stepped foot in Sallinger House while she was there.

    The pale skin of her throat seemed to shine, drawing his eyes in the gloom of the yew tree. Nathaniel tried not to let his gaze linger there, aware of the flash in her eyes, yet it was oddly difficult to raise his gaze back to her face.

    During the years they had been apart, her body had blossomed from that of a slender, slightly gauche girl to a sensuous and confident woman. True, there was no longer that fresh radiance in her face that he had once desired with all his heart to see opposite him every day.

    But it was a change he could not regret, admiring the alabaster smoothness of her cleavage, the swell of her breasts emphasised by the tight-bodiced mourning dress, its folds falling past her slender waist and hips to mould themselves about her legs in the fashionable manner of a Greek Muse.

    It was equally hard not to imagine tearing this fragile garment off her body, to run his hands over the pale skin that lay beneath and which he remembered only too well.

    Now she had noticed him looking and was pretending offence. There was a soft rose flush to her cheeks as she dropped him a curtsey in return. ‘In that case,’ she murmured, ‘please convey my thanks to your sister. I shall be delighted to lunch with her tomorrow.’

    He ought to have left it at that, but could not help himself. ‘Tell me, do Mrs Lovett’s family make a long stay at Faversham Hall?’

    ‘Mr Bernard Lovett and his wife will be returning to Oxfordshire tomorrow. Apparently, their business will not allow them to be absent above a day or two. However, Mr Thomas Lovett,’ and here her blush deepened and her gaze dropped to the damp grass at their feet, ‘will be travelling on to London, to stay with a friend in Whitechapel.’

    Nathaniel looked at her closely. His eyes narrowed on that tell-tale blush. ‘I see,’ he said shortly. ‘And does Mr Lovett take his leave tomorrow as well?’

    ‘It is not yet decided.’

    ‘Indeed?’

    ‘There is only one working carriage at present at the Hall, and I have placed that at Mr and Mrs Lovett’s disposal. Though I cannot imagine he will be over-long in taking his leave. The delights of town are easily superior to what we can offer a young man in Warwickshire.’

    ‘You do yourself little justice, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘I’m sure your delights far surpass those of London. Indeed, if you are not somewhat less welcoming, Lovett may follow in his late mother’s footsteps and never leave.’

    As soon as it was said, Nathaniel regretted his words. Her chin came up and her lips tightened at the barely concealed insult. The blush faded, leaving her cheeks pale.

    ‘Sir?’

    ‘Oh, nothing,’ he muttered.

    Nathaniel managed some kind of cursory bow, not much better than a nod of his head. He could not stomach looking at the woman a moment longer, torn by the usual intolerable confliction of his emotions.

    Sometimes he burnt to drag her off somewhere private, to do whatever he wanted with her irresistible body. Yet at other times he wished they had never met, that Miss Eleanor Faversham had stayed in Jamaica as a young woman and married out there. At least then he would be free of this bewildering desire.

    ‘I bid you good day, Miss Faversham.’

    He did not wait to hear her reply, but took himself off at once across the damp grassy slopes of the older part of the graveyard.

    Instinctively he was not heading back to the gravelled churchyard path where he might have to face the curious glances of the Lovetts, whom he could see making their way back from the graveside, but to the turnstile where he could pass unhindered into open fields. There was a long-familiar darkness inside him, gaining a strength it had not possessed since …

    But he refused to think on that old disaster. He had beaten this once before; he could defeat it again now, even with his enemy so close at the gates.   

    Nathaniel walked for several hours, soaked to the skin as the rain continued to fall under a heavy, frowning sky.

    He was a fool. Had he really expected a passionate woman like Eleanor Faversham to remain chaste and aloof to every man forever? Indeed, he could hardly blame her for turning to Lovett, when he himself had sought comfort in the arms of several other women over the years. Though none of them had held his attention for long.

    It was not far to Sallinger land. But he was tired now and he knew it. His leg ached so terribly as he dragged himself over the boundary stile, it was all he could do not to groan aloud like the merest boy.

    In his heart he had always known that a woman of her passions must surely seek out a partner in the end, not live like a nun, eschewing every offer of matrimony. There could be no objection on his part, since she had rejected him without compromise.

    They might have lain together for one night, but she had not promised herself to him. Had not promised him anything at all, in fact.

    Nathaniel felt the old darkness begin to descend again and made no effort to shake it loose. There could be no evading the truth. He was still in love with the ‘Uncatchable’ Miss Faversham, and the thought of her lying in another man’s arms had left him sick with jealousy, so sick he could barely stand, could barely think of anything but escape.

    He had been a soldier, had led desperate charges alongside his fellow officers, had taken the enemy’s sabre across his face, had faced the prospect of impending death with cool British sanguinity. Yet just the idea of his old flame in bed with another man had the power to stop the breath in his chest, his hands shaking like a boy’s on his first pistol, his famous composure shot to pieces.

    He could not face Charlotte at dinner tonight. Nor tomorrow. Not until he was mended, or straight enough to keep the pain out of his face. His sister knew him too well, and it was possible that her searching questions might unravel his meagre control.

    That was when the idea came to him, miraculous in its simplicity.

    There was at least one place on his estate where he could be safe from everyone, including his meddling sister.

CHAPTER SIX

‘A note for you, Miss Faversham,’ Foster murmured discreetly, bowing as he presented her with the note on a silver salver. ‘Mr Thomas Lovett left quite early this morning. Gifford took him into Leamington a little before seven to catch the stage from there into London.’

    Eleanor was surprised but did not show it. She had expected Thomas Lovett to remain another day at least; a quick perusal of his note revealed that the young man had felt unable to stay on without his brother and sister-in-law, but hoped to see her in London instead. Perhaps her refusal to sit up late last night with him had shown him that his flattering attentions were not entirely welcome.

    She thrust the letter aside, belatedly recalling her lunch engagement with Charlotte. ‘Is old Desdemona still in the stables? Oh, that’s excellent news. Could you arrange for her to be saddled for me? I intend to ride over to Sallinger House for lunch, since it seems to be clearing up.’

    ‘Very good, Miss Faversham. However, I should perhaps mention that the weather is very changeable in this part of Warwickshire.’

    ‘Yes, I remember!’ Eleanor stood up, dismissing her father’s old butler with a smile. ‘No need to worry, Foster. If it should come on to rain while we are at lunch, I shall ask Charlotte for the loan of her carriage to get me home. Nothing could be simpler.’

    In fact, the skies did seem to be growing steadily darker and gloomier as she rode the three miles or so through the muddy village streets and up to Sallinger House. Such a pity she had not brought Tiny, her own favourite hack, down from London. Her carriage should be restored to her later that day after taking the Lovetts home. But for now, she could only ride or walk if she wanted to leave the house, and since Mrs Lovett had only kept a few old nags in the stables, her choice of mount was somewhat limited.

    Desdemona, now too elderly for a prolonged gallop, had never been known for her speed and agility, though she was a solid enough hack over poor country. Which meant Eleanor had already resigned oneself to a slow ride over to Sallinger House. Not that she was concerned by that, or the prospect of a little rainfall.

    There was a steep bend in the road down by the old, disused mill house on the river. There Eleanor stopped for a few moments to enjoy the antics of a family of brown goats in a neighbouring field.

    She was about to push her horse on up the hill when she heard the distinct sound of a sob, and frowned, reining in the mare.

    Listening hard, Eleanor guessed that the sob must have come from the narrow, overgrown lane, now partially obscured by thorn bushes, that meandered down from the village and came out not far from the mill itself.

    Through a gap in the thorny hedge she could see a white mop cap and the escaping red of a woman’s hair beneath it.

    She was just about to call out, to ask if the woman needed help, when the sound of a familiar voice stopped her. Somewhere in the lane, unseen but nearby, was Lord Sallinger.

    ‘I told you, Rose. Just leave it to me. I’ll sort something out.’ There was a moment of silence, followed by another choking sob. Nathaniel muttered something which she did not catch, and then, more impatiently: ‘For pity’s sake, I gave you my word that Jack would never know of this, and I always keep my promises.’

    Eleanor, her blood rushing from her face, swayed in the saddle, suddenly cold and dizzy.

    She did not wait to hear more, urging the old mare into an uphill trot instead. Although the sound of hooves in the lane must give away that someone had been listening, the thought uppermost in her mind was not to conceal her presence there but to escape as swiftly as possible. To be in that ignoble position, forced to listen to Sallinger courting his mistress behind a country hedge, was unbearable.

    Lying over the mare’s warm neck, Eleanor closed her eyes and groaned quietly to herself.

   
How dared he?

   
The brow of the hill was finally reached and the road levelled out, a trifle muddy but not enough to slow her down. Anger sparked in her eyes as she sat up again, jerking the mare into a reluctant canter. To go from insulting her at the side of an open grave straight into the arms of a married woman was in such poor taste, it went beyond all comprehension.

    An urgent visit to one of his tenants indeed!

    Did the man – Eleanor hesitated to think of him as a gentleman – have no shame?      Well, his lordship would not find her quite so amenable to his kisses in future. Not now that she knew how freely he bestowed them about the female populace.

    By the time she reached Sallinger House, Eleanor was flushed again, her temper quite uneven, and her mouth a tight line of determination. Charlotte, greeting her from the depths of a sofa in the small blue salon, took one look at her angry face and started up with a cry. ‘What is it? Have you seen my brother this morning?’

    ‘I’m afraid I have not,’ Eleanor said truthfully, handing her bonnet and cloak to the waiting servant.

    She had not seen Lord Sallinger, though admittedly she had heard his voice behind a hedge. She had no intention, however, of discussing his poor behaviour with Charlotte; it was hardly fitting for a woman in her delicate condition to hear of such things.

    ‘Why do you ask?’

    Charlotte looked pale and distressed, but bit back whatever was troubling her. ‘Bring us a dish of warm tea now, and let cook know that we shall require luncheon in one hour,’ she told the servant, and waited with obvious impatience until the door had closed before speaking again.

    ‘Oh my dearest,’ she whispered dramatically, one hand clasped to her mouth, ‘my brother is missing!’

    No, he is not. He is in the village, Eleanor thought somewhat scornfully, but she kept that information to herself.

    She bent to give Charlotte a reassuring kiss on the cheek and seated herself on the powder-blue sofa opposite.

    ‘Lord Sallinger is missing, you say?’ she repeated, trying to look suitably shocked.

    ‘Worse than that. Nathaniel did not come home at all last night.’     Charlotte collapsed on the sofa, fanning herself distractedly. ‘Or rather, he returned late from Mrs Lovett’s funeral, too late even to take dinner, but left again almost immediately. His man says he took only a few clothes, an old pair of boots and a cloak –’

    ‘He will have gone to stay with friends, no doubt.’

    ‘Taking his own candles?’

    ‘That is strange indeed,’ Eleanor conceded. ‘But he may have a very good reason for having done so. Please don’t fret yourself over this mystery, Charlotte. I imagine a letter may arrive for you at any moment, letting you know where he is.’

    ‘And now I have been told that a length of rope is missing from the stables,’ Charlotte continued breathlessly, sounding a little frightened. ‘I ask you, what could my brother want with a length of rope?’

    Surprised by this unexpected detail, Eleanor shook her head. Her first thought had been that Nathaniel had gone to stay in some cosy hideout with his mistress, away from prying eyes. But now that she replayed it in her mind, the little scene she had overheard in the lane had been one of farewell, not of a secret assignation.