To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) (12 page)

He didn’t hear their words of farewell. Was barely aware as Eleanor led him from the shop. The world had gone muted, gray. His mum…
dead
. Five years. How? He shook his head and jerked his hand from Eleanor’s kind grip. No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t believe it.

“You didn’t know,” Eleanor said.

They paused there on the footpath while the rain fell heavy around them, soaking their clothing. She didn’t have her veil down. For some reason that bothered him. He didn’t respond as he reached for the gauzy material and tugged it over her face. It was a lie, or a misunderstanding. She couldn’t be dead. He would have heard.

“Oh James, I’m so sorry.”

He was briefly aware that she felt compassion for him, true sorrow. How very odd. He felt nothing in return. No anger. No pain. Not even shock any longer. He lifted his arm and hailed a cab. It wasn’t true; it couldn’t be. “Are you well enough getting home on your own?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He helped her into the carriage.

“James,” Eleanor whispered, her voice catching. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond, merely nodded to the driver. The carriage took off with a jerk, the curtain fell into place, and he could no longer see Ellie. Still he stood on the footpath while the rain soaked his clothing, trailed down his face in rivulets.

His mother was dead? But that would mean Lady Lavender hadn’t told him the truth. James watched the carriage disappear around the corner. It would mean, dear God, that Alex and Gideon had been right about the woman all along.

Chapter 6

The rain had tapered off, but it didn’t matter much as Eleanor was a sodding mess by the time she reached home. As always the door opened before she even reached the stoop. Eleanor handed her dripping bonnet to Graham, not bothering to say a word to the man. Instead, with her chin high, she swept up the stairs and through the house, leaving behind a trail of rainwater and not feeling the least bit guilty about the mess.

Graham didn’t matter. Her husband didn’t matter. Even her own problems didn’t matter. The only one who seemed to matter was James. James and the shock he’d experienced when he’d found out his mother had died. James and the hollow look in his gaze as he stood on the footpath in the rain, watching her leave.

Nothing made sense anymore. Not her feelings for this man, not his loyalty to a brothel owner whom Eleanor knew didn’t give two figs about him, and not the death of his mother. If Lady Lavender had been sending money to his family, wouldn’t she have known about his mother’s death? Life had made her a cynic, but she could admit, grudgingly, that perhaps Lady Lavender had not told him out of kindness.

She managed to make it to her chamber without running into her husband. Fanny was waiting for her in the attached dressing room, the older woman napping in a chair. At the sound of Eleanor’s approach she jumped. The nervousness upon her face would have been amusing if Eleanor hadn’t known whom the woman feared. Everyone was ill at ease in this house thanks to her husband. It was a dark and dreary place indeed.

“Dear God.” Fanny stumbled to her feet. “What a sight you are.”

“Help me out of this dress? It’s become quite chill and heavy.”

When she’d first married, she’d had a young, vivacious lady’s maid who had become quite dear to her. After the first few months of marriage, her husband had fired the girl while Eleanor had been at church. She had her suspicions that her husband had flirted with the maid and been rebuffed. Or perhaps her husband had merely wanted to get rid of anyone she might care for.

“Of course, my dear.” Fanny helped her undo the bodice. “Poor child.”

When she’d hired Fanny three years ago she’d been truthful with the woman… she would be let go if they became too close. Instead of keeping her distance, they’d merely decided to remain reserved toward each other in her husband’s presence. She didn’t know what she’d do without Fanny, the only person who knew the truth about her life, the only person who cared.

No, that wasn’t true. She paused, glancing out the small round window to the gray skies above. James knew, and he seemed to care. Perhaps it was an act, or merely typical human compassion. She sighed as she stepped out of her sodden skirts. Yes, James was a stranger, yet he knew she despised her life. He knew she craved the pleasure between a man and woman. He knew her deepest, darkest secret, and he could destroy her if he wanted. The realization struck her hard. She’d handed her power over to another, something she’d sworn never to do again. She’d turned into a fool and all because of a man with moss-colored eyes.

“Where have you been?” Fanny whispered.

“Merely… out. I came home early because of a headache.”

She tsked. “Best come up with a better excuse. Your mother-in-law returned to check on you an hour ago.”

A cold chill washed over her that had nothing to do with her damp clothing. Her mother-in-law knew. Her husband knew. Frantically she clawed through her mind imagining and discarding excuse after excuse.

“When she found you were not here, she grew oddly silent, suspicious-looking witch.” Fanny took her robe from the hook. “I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to know. But remember to feign normalcy when you lie, hold their gazes, and for God’s sake, don’t blush.”

Eleanor nodded, nerves getting the better of her. She felt ill, her stomach roiling with a familiar tension. Always tension; she was bloody sick of the worry. “No, not the wrap, a dress. The plain brown with the satin trim.”

Fanny quirked a brow but returned the robe. “You know he’ll kill you if he finds out you’re doing something he doesn’t approve of.”

Blunt words, but the truth. She realized Fanny was merely trying to warn her. “I know,” Eleanor whispered. But truth was he would probably end up killing her anyway. Why should she not enjoy herself before it happened? She released a harsh laugh. Yes, she was mad indeed.

“Did anyone see you?” Fanny asked kindly.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Well.” She pulled the dry dress from a hook. “All will be well then. Let’s not worry when nothing has happened and might not.”

The woman pulled the gown over Eleanor’s head. Fanny might put on a brave face, but she was just as frightened of Lord Beckett as the rest of the staff. Eleanor could see the woman’s hands trembling as the smoothed her skirts over her crinoline.

Eleanor grasped Fanny’s shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “It was worth it. Not just what I did, but—” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Just being myself for once. The freedom of it all. It was worth it, no matter what happens.”

Fanny’s lower lip trembled, the fear in her brown eyes genuine and disturbing. “Will it be worth it if he kills you?”

Eleanor sighed and pulled the woman close, hugging her. She suddenly missed her family. Her younger sisters and brothers, the loving kisses and companionable touches. Affection. She missed affection. “That moment of freedom will last me for years.”

“Or it will give you the itch to have more.”

Fanny knew her too well. “No,” she lied, pulling back. “Of course not.”

As Fanny parted her lips to argue, they heard the door to her bedroom squeak open. A noise that sent a chill down her spine. They both stiffened, remaining eerily silent. She refused to allow the servants to oil the hinges, for she’d wanted a warning when her husband arrived.

“It’s him,” Fanny whispered. “I can feel the wave of evilness.”

Eleanor felt the manic urge to laugh. Truth be told, Fanny was right. She swore she could sense the man and his darkness. She’d learned early on to control her features, to always retain a calm façade so as not to incite her husband. But even now, after years, inside she cried out in fear. Would this be the day, she wondered as she always did, that he killed her?

“Shhh.” She turned, giving Fanny her back. “Button my gown. Hurry.”

“Darling,” her husband called out in an overly jovial voice that crawled across her skin. The nicer he was, the more she had to fear. Dear Lord, did he know already? Terror clawed at her gut. She knew he’d had spies follow her in the past, but usually when she went out with his mother he let her be, trusting his mum, if not her.

“Coming,” she called back.

“Go,” Fanny whispered, pushing her forward. The servant knew the longer they kept him waiting, the angrier he’d become. It was all about power with her husband. He liked to control his surroundings, his life, and the people within it. Unfortunately, he had enough money and position in society that he could.

She pushed open the dressing room door and stepped into her bedchamber. “What is it?” There was no point in being polite. He would most certainly think something was wrong if she didn’t act her normal cold self.

His icy blue gaze roamed over her face. “Mother said you left early because of an aching head.”

Do not blush, do not blush.

She nodded, moving to her dressing table and pulling the pins from her hair, her back to him. “Yes. You know how trying shopping can be.” At one time she’d loved to shop. Had been thrilled when her husband had been generous with his spending money. It was the one thing he lavished upon her… clothing, shoes, bonnets. But she realized soon enough that it was merely another way to control. He would not have a wife who was not wearing the highest of fashion; what would it say about him? And so her love of shopping had faded, much like her love for most things.

He strolled toward her, his reflection visible in her mirror. He wore a suit as black as his heart and eyes. “You shouldn’t travel alone.”

She told herself to keep breathing, to smile prettily, to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “I was quite safe.”

He took the brush from her table and began to stroke her long locks. She stiffened, resisting the urge to shove him away. How she hated when he touched her, hated it even more when he pretended to care.

“Then think of your reputation,” he said.

His
reputation.

“If anyone would have seen you traveling alone, your name, and
mine
, would be tarnished.” He pulled the brush through her
hair. To anyone else it would have looked like a loving touch, but she knew better. She felt the slightest tightening of his hand in her hair.

He sighed. “First the Rutherford ball, and now this? What is becoming of you?”

She gritted her teeth, refusing to answer.

“Do be more careful.”

“Of course,” she said. “It was stupid of me.”

“Indeed.” He continued to brush her hair and she waited uncomfortably for him to finish. The minutes ticked by, and still he stood there. Just when she thought she might scream for him to leave, he paused.

“By the by.” He smiled. “Mother returned before you.”

“Did she?” She shrugged. “The hack got stuck in the rain, took a moment for the driver to escape.”

He clucked his tongue. “A hired hack? Really, what shall I do with you?” He pulled back so that her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle. The spicy scent of his sandalwood aftershave hovered around her. “See that you don’t mention your lapse in good judgment to anyone.”

He set her brush upon the table and tightened his hold on her hair. Turning her head, he placed a chaste kiss upon her check, his mustache tickling her skin. Her stomach clenched, bile rising to her throat. How she hated his touch.

“For if word got out, well…” He released his hold and started toward the door. “It could be quite disastrous for both of us.”

Her fingers curled in her lap, her heart thumping angrily in her chest. “Of course.”

“I’ll be at the club tonight; don’t wait up.”

She lifted her hand, grasping the brush tightly. Her pulse pounded with a heated anger she could barely control. It was only when the door shut behind him that she was able to breathe with some normalcy. But the hatred was still there, still burning brightly, bubbling, boiling to the surface.

“Don’t do it,” Fanny said. “Don’t throw the brush at him.”

“I wasn’t…” She released the brush and took in a deep, calming breath. She still felt his icy fingers, still felt him deep within, always. He was like a parasite that fed on her soul. Her heart would not slow, her anger would not cease. Would she ever be rid of him?

“That’s it,” Fanny said, coming up behind her and repining her hair. “Whatever you’re up to, it has to end now. ’Tis too dangerous.”

She didn’t respond, but already her mind was spinning with possibilities. If she cared, she would never see James again. If she cared, she would obey her husband. But she’d stopped caring long ago. Something had been lit within. Something she could no longer control… a burning desire to know more. A desire to do what she wanted, when she wanted. A desire to be free.

That spirited girl who had been there before her marriage, the child who had run free at her aunt’s home in the countryside, was still there. God help her, but she wanted to see James again. She
would
see him again.

“Eleanor?” Fanny paused, her voice ringing out in warning. “I know that look upon your face well, and I don’t like it.”

Eleanor smiled up at her maid. “Don’t be silly.”

Fanny set the extra pins on the tabletop. Shaking her head, the maid started toward the dressing room. “I won’t have anything to do with it. Don’t even want to know.”

“Fanny?” Eleanor called out sweetly.

She paused with a long sigh. “Yes, my lady?”

“Get my cloak please.”

The maid’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Never listen to anything I say, do you. God help us all.”

She disappeared into the dressing room, leaving Eleanor alone. She’d been dormant for far too long. Spring had come and with it the hope and promise of a new day. It was time she too awoke and lived.