To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (23 page)

"Lord Trelawny?" Eleanor asked. "I am not acquainted with him"

"Oh, he's a nice enough fellow, and a good friend of
George's." Henley waved a hand dismissively. "I believe
they went to Eton together or somesuch. Well, I suppose I should be on my way to Plymouth. I don't know why
we couldn't remain here until that blasted man was expected back at the inn, as we'd originally planned. It's a
waste of time, it is, combing the countryside, when we
could be here enjoying the company of such lovely
ladies. Ali, well." He sighed heavily and bent to place a
kiss on Selina's cheek. "If you'll both excuse me, I'd
best be off."

Selina pouted prettily. "Oh, Henley, must you go so
soon? We've only just finished breakfast"

"I'm afraid so, my dear. I gave Stoneham my word I'd
bring the carriage by midday. He'll be chomping at the
bit now, I'll wager."

"Very well. Go, then" Selina waved toward the door.
"We shall enjoy our day with the duke and duchess, will
we not, Eleanor?"

"Indeed," Eleanor murmured. "And this Lord Trelawny too, I suppose"

With a wink, Lord Henley favored his beaming wife
with one last smile before he strode out of the breakfast
room.

Eleanor turned her attention toward Selina, who sat
staring dreamily at the empty doorway. "You love him
very much, don't you?" she asked softly.

Selina smiled, her cheeks dimpling with the effort.
"You've no idea, Eleanor. He is truly a good man, and I
am so very lucky to have him"

"You are, indeed. It gives me great pleasure to see
you so happily settled."

Selina nodded. "I never dreamed I'd find such happiness. What good fortune that Lady Irvington invited
both Henley and Ito her house party last year. If she had
not, just imagine whom I might have married instead."

"Indeed" Eleanor widened her eyes with mock horror. "Why, I remember when you fancied Sir
William Bowman, and Mister Melton before him."

"Nothing but girlish infatuation, I vow. Neither of
them half as good a man as my Henley."

Eleanor nodded her agreement. "But how did you
distinguish love from infatuation?" she asked, then instantly wished she could retract the words. Taking a
deep, fortifying breath, she boldly continued on. "What
I meant to ask was, did you love Henley straightaway, or
did something . . ." What was the right word? "Did
something alter your feelings in due course?"

Selina tipped her head to the side, her brows drawn in
consideration. "There's but a fine line between infatuation and love, is there not?"

Eleanor shrugged. "I cannot say, though I expected
there would be significantly more to distinguish them"

"Perhaps my relationship with Henley began as an infatuation. I suppose I began to love him once I realized
that he loved me. Why are you asking such questions,
Eleanor?" Her easy smile gave way to a frown. "Has
this anything to do with Frederick?"

Eleanor only bit her lip in reply, unable to meet her
friend's questioning gaze.

"You must see that Frederick is not the same sort of
man as Henley is. It is one thing to be infatuated with a
rakehell; Sir William was one, I suppose, and yet I fancied him. But you cannot allow yourself to think you are
in love with one. This is madness, Eleanor. I won't allow
it. I won't see you hurt when there are perfectly acceptable alternatives to marrying him"

"You mean Mister Whitby?" Eleanor asked with a
wry smile.

"Well, yes. Mister Whitby, for one"

"But I've already said-"

"I know," Selina interjected, allowing no room for argument. "You claim you will not suit, though I cannot
see why you would not. You seem to get on so well, after
all. But what of this Lord Trelawny? An heir to a dukedom, no less. Perhaps he will do, instead"

"Are you so eager to divert my attentions from Mister
Stoneham that you would instead offer up a man you
have neither met nor know overmuch about? Do you
really find Mister Stoneham so very offensive as that?"

Selina sighed exasperatedly. "Henley just said that
Lord Trelawny is an agreeable sort, did he not? A friend
to Mister Whitby. And as to Mister Stoneham, his behavior thus far has been somewhat respectable, I suppose. Still, have you forgotten his reputation? Or that he
is here in Devonshire on a mission to find a man and
take his life?"

"That man has terribly misused his sister," Eleanor
shot back.

"So he has, Eleanor. But murder him?"

"He is only challenging him to a duel," Eleanor said,
though her blood ran cold at the thought. Why, he might
very well be doing so at this very moment, for all she
knew. The thought of Frederick facing a man across a
brace of pistols suddenly brought the taste of bile to her
throat. Her hand shaking, she reached for her coffee and
took a sip, nearly choking on the lukewarm liquid.

"Henley says Mister Stoneham's marksmanship is rumored to be unparalleled. He will no doubt kill him,
Eleanor."

"As would my own brother had I been so mistreated
by the man."

"Would he? I am not so certain. Nor were you, a sennight ago"

Eleanor shook her head in confusion. "You cannot
fault a man for such protective instincts toward a sister.
It is"-she swallowed hard-"only natural. Besides, who is to say what will happen? Perhaps they will come
to some sort of agreement instead. Didn't Henley suggest such a thing?"

Selina sighed and reached for Eleanor's hand. "One
can only hope. Come now, must we quarrel? Perhaps
you should have your nap now."

Eleanor squeezed her friend's hand in reply, hoping
Selina would not notice the way her own hand trembled.
"Very well. I should love a nap, and then a nice, long
bath. What hour are our guests expected?"

"By three, I believe. We shall have tea in the garden,
and George has set up an archery range. Doesn't that
sound charming?"

"It sounds delightful," Eleanor agreed, valiantly attempting to force away all thoughts of Frederick. "I
should like to try my hand with a bow."

"Then you shall. And promise me you will be your
usual bright, cheerful self No more maudlin thoughts"

"I promise I will try," Eleanor said with a nod, though
she knew it would require a great deal of fortitude. She
certainly did not feel bright and cheerful-far from it.

"Perhaps you should wear that lovely yellow lawn
gown, the one with the pale blue ribbons woven through
the hem. And for dinner, that exquisite peacock-blue
gown you wore the night we arrived here at Whitby
Hall-the one with the oval cutouts? I vow, in that particular frock you could not help but have the unwavering
attention of every male in England, if you so desired.
Except for Henley, of course," Selina added with an
impish grin, and Eleanor couldn't help but smile back.

"Of course," Eleanor replied, linking her arm through
Selina's. "You've besotted Henley so thoroughly that the
man could not possibly notice the presence of any other
lady, no matter how much flesh her frock exposes"

Selina nodded. "As it should be"

"Indeed," Eleanor murmured in reply, knowing full
well she could never command such devotion. At least
not from Frederick Stoneham, and truly, wasn't that all
that mattered?

Do not cry, she silently commanded herself Not till
she reached the privacy of her room. Only then would
she allow herself the luxury of a good, long crying jaglong overdue, if truth be told.

And then, like a cold and calculated opportunist, she
would meet this Lord Trelawny and assess his husbandly potential, even while she still considered George
Whitby.

Whatever was her world coming to?

Frederick leaned forward in the saddle, squinting
against the midday sun. He watched closely as his quarry,
dressed in the simple black garb of a man of the cloth,
climbed down from a horse-drawn cart and reached up to
hand down a gaudily-clad woman in a purple velvet
cloak.

At once his blood began to pound at his temples, his
pulse accelerating as he gripped the reins in his hands.
"That's him, all right," he muttered, watching the man
escort the woman-obviously round with child-up the
walk and disappear into the modest stone cottage.
Indeed, Crosby had done well. Frederick tossed a purse
of heavy coins toward the barkeep who stood two yards
away, leaning against a tree with a self-satisfied smile.

Mister Crosby caught the purse midair, then reached
up to tip his hat. "It warn't so hard to find 'em, once I
started askin' around. So, what's yer next move, if you
don't mind my inquiring?"

"I await Henley's arrival in Plymouth, and together
we will return and make sure Eckford doesn't flee. Then I call him out, and, if all goes well, put a bullet through
the blackguard's heart by tomorrow morn"

Crosby whistled through his teeth, readjusting his
spectacles. "You don't mess around none, do you? Well,
I s'pose I'd best be on my way, then."

Frederick nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Mister Crosby.
It's been a pleasure doing business with you"

"Likewise," Crosby said, holding up the purse with a
grin.

Frederick returned his attention to the cottage across
the lane as the barkeep mounted his horse and guided it
back toward Plymouth. He saw movement in a first
floor window, draperies fluttering as the window was
thrown open. Loud voices, rising in anger, carried
across the lane on the breeze. A feminine shriek followed, and then the sound of breaking glass. Damn it to
hell, but it looked as if Eckford's lady friend was throwing pottery at his head. It appeared to be a spat of some
sort, with the woman taking the upper hand if the way
Eckford was cowering was any indication.

No matter. It was not his concern. Soon, very soon,
Eckford would pay for his crimes against Maria. She
deserved no less. And he would be doing this unknown
woman a favor-she would be lucky to be rid of such
rubbish.

By this time tomorrow, Frederick's business there in
Devonshire would be done, and he could return to
London posthaste. Or would he? There was still Eleanor
Ashton to consider, though he refused to allow thoughts
of her to distract his attention from Eckford. Only once
his brother-in-law was dealt with could he consider
what to do about Eleanor and their betrothal contract.

Usually a decisive man, this waffling back and forth
on the matter made him irritable, annoyed with himself.
Still, something had to be done, one way or the other, and he was in no way fit to decide at present, not with
the man who had wronged his sister just across the lane.

With a nod to himself, Frederick prodded his horse
forward onto the dusty road, wheeling the beast's head
back toward Plymouth. Tomorrow things would sort
themselves out, one way or another, devil be damned.

Eleanor released the bowstring, watching closely as
the arrow sailed through the air with a whistle. With a
decided thunk, it hit its mark, a mere three inches from
the center circle.

"Very nithe," Lord Trelawny lisped with a nod of approval. "Are you thertain you've not more ethperience
with a bow than you've let on?"

Setting down her bow, she grinned in selfsatisfaction, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she
regarded the target from across the width of the range.
"I vow, it's naught but beginner's luck. Or perhaps it's
just that I've such excellent instructors as you and
Mister Whitby."

Mister Whitby nodded, then pulled back his own
bowstring and set his arrow aloft with a thwang.

"Exthellent," Lord Trelawny cried, clapping Mister
Whitby on the back as the arrow struck the target deadcenter. "I that', that hit prethithely in the thenter, didn't it?"

"I believe it did" Mister Whitby ambled to the target
and removed the arrow with a flick of his wrist. "Precisely," he added, smiling broadly. The sun reflected off
his cinnamon-colored hair, and Eleanor couldn't help but admire the fine form he cut in his camel breeches
and deep blue coat. Like a true sportsman, he was entirely in his element and his enjoyment was reflected in
his eyes.

Eleanor was enjoying herself as well, she realized.
For a brief moment she allowed herself to entertain the
thought that perhaps she had been too quick to judge
Mister Whitby, after all.

"Your turn, Lady Eleanor," he called out, cocking his
head toward the targets.

"Perhaps once more, and then I must rest. I'm positively parched." She eyed Selina, sitting a short distance
away under a canvas tent, enjoying tea with the duke
and duchess. Their laughter floated across the breeze,
inviting Eleanor to join in their merriment. Once she
proved that her initial success with the bow was not a
fluke, that is.

Retrieving the bow from the grass at her feet, she
raised it and took aim.

"No, not like that," Mister Whitby called out, striding
briskly toward her. Reaching around her, he repositioned her hands on the smooth wooden bow.

Though not unpleasant, his touch did not stir her
blood the way Frederick's touch did. Even as Mister
Whitby pressed his muscled chest against her back, his
arm inadvertently grazing the side of her breast, her
heart continued to beat a normal rhythm. When Frederick had done much the same, her pulse had leapt alarmingly, desire thrumming through her veins. Silently, she
chastised herself for allowing her thoughts to travel that
dangerous route and returned her attention to Mister
Whitby's tutelage instead.

"There, that's it," he was saying. "Plant your feet
wider, yes, like that. You'll be better balanced. Now, this
hand here, not so tight. Loosen your grip a bit"

She did as she was told, and Whitby nodded his approval. "That's it. Good girl. A light touch is all that's
necessary. Go on, pull back, slowly. Now release," he
ordered, and Eleanor let go of the string.

She held up one hand to shield her eyes from the
waning sun, watching as the arrow flew through the air
and struck the target just outside the center ring.