Candace Camp (12 page)

He reached out and took her chin in his hand, then turned her face up. Eleanor stiffened, gazed up at him almost defiantly. He reached out and with his knuckle wiped away the tear that crept from the corner of her eye.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” he said quietly.

She pulled her chin from his grasp and stepped back. “Of course I did. Edmund was a good man. A genius. He was a kind and gentle soul, and he was very dear to me. I know you seem to have trouble believing that, but—”

“No. I believe you.” He reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, as though to keep her from moving farther away from him. For a long moment, he stared down into her face. There was a tension in his long lean body, only inches from her, a heat that flickered in his gaze.

Eleanor felt breathless and flushed, and she was very aware of where his hand lay against her skin.

“But your words are those one might say about a brother,” he went on hoarsely. “What about passion? Did you feel that for Edmund?”

Eleanor stiffened, and her eyes flashed. “I have found that passion is highly overrated.”

“Indeed,” he murmured.

His eyes darkened, and she knew he meant to kiss her. She could not let it happen again, she thought. She could not allow desire to overtake her with this man who did not love her—indeed, did not even respect her.

He pulled her closer, bending down to take her lips with his. Eleanor’s free hand went up to his chest to push him away, but when she touched him, her hand curled up instead, clutching his shirt, as passion shook her. His mouth was hot and demanding, arousing responses she had never dreamed of.

Anthony’s arms went around her, pulling her tightly up into him. Eleanor wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. She felt as if in a fever, surging with heat, dizzy and weak. She knew she should not allow this, but she could not seem to stop herself. Normally so calm and in control, she was suddenly all fire and hunger, her blood racing through her veins.

He made a noise deep in his throat, and she felt a shudder shake him. His hands moved down her back, gliding over her buttocks, then coming back up her sides, caressing her with long smooth strokes. The intimate movement of his hands startled her, but at the same time it sent a long curl of desire coiling through her abdomen. She felt certain she should be appalled at his familiarity, but it was fierce heat she felt instead. Indeed, she realized that, far from being appalled, she wanted to feel his hands everywhere on her body.

As if he had read her mind, one hand moved up her side and came to rest on her breast. A quiver of desire pierced straight down through her, igniting a fire in her loins.

He continued to kiss her, their lips clinging and consuming, parting only to change position, until she was breathless. And all the while his hand cupped her breast, stroking and caressing, building a hunger in her so fierce that her legs trembled from the force of it, threatening to give way beneath her.

A moan escaped her mouth, and she realized with astonishment that she wanted more of him. Her skin tingled in anticipation, longing for the touch of his lips all over her, and a sweet ache blossomed deep inside her, yearning for fulfillment. His thumb grazed gently over her nipple, making it harden, and she jerked at the sudden intense burst of sensation.

His hand went to the buttons of her nightgown, fumbling them open until he could slip his hand inside. And then her bare breast was in his hand, filling it, and he was squeezing it gently, his thumb circling and teasing her nipple.

She gasped, her mind swirling with the bombardment of sensations. His lips traveled down her throat as he toyed with her breast, evoking more and more sensual delights from her. And then his mouth was upon her nipple, and she groaned at the supreme pleasure.

Never had she imagined this sea of sensations in which she floated now. Every inch of her flesh was alive. Passion throbbed within her, and she realized that she yearned to feel him inside her.

This desire so shocked Eleanor that she pulled back, whispering, “No.”

She looked up at him, stunned by the desires clamoring within her. His lips were dark and soft from their kisses, his eyes gleaming with a fierce light. They stared at each other, their breath panting in their throats.

Then he rasped out, “Do you still find passion overrated?”

His words were like a knife to her heart, and she lashed out, slapping him.

“Get out!” Eleanor pulled her nightgown up to cover her breasts, shame suddenly flooding her at her nakedness where before she had felt nothing but joy.

Every line of his body was rigid. She could see the pulse throbbing in his throat.

He turned and strode out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click. Eleanor stood, staring at the door, humiliation warring with the heat of desire still pulsing in her.

She wanted to scream. She wished she could cry. She had never felt anything that joyous, that magical, and she hated Anthony for making her feel it.

How could desire consume her like a flame for this man, when she had never felt the slightest flicker for any other man, even Edmund, whom she had loved? It was the most awful of ironies.

Eleanor threw herself onto her bed, burying her head in her pillows. Worst of all—and what kept her awake much of the rest of the night—was the realization that even now, in full possession of her faculties, if he came back into the room, she feared that she would give herself to him.

A
FTER A LARGELY SLEEPLESS NIGHT
, Eleanor awoke feeling groggy and listless. She could not bring herself to go downstairs to breakfast; she could not face Anthony, at least not yet. She needed time to prepare herself.

She asked to have a tray brought to her room, then picked through the food uninterestedly, her mind on the man she was avoiding. Eleanor wished very much that she could avoid seeing him ever again. She hated her loss of control last night and hated even more that he had been the one to cause it.

For a brief moment, the idea of simply getting in her carriage and leaving was very appealing. She could, after all, remove herself as guardian and let Lord Neale have the trust. It would be easy enough, and she no longer thought that the man was after the money.

But Edmund had entrusted her with the guardianship for a reason. Having been around his sister for a little while, she suspected that he had not only wanted Samantha’s money handled well, but had hoped for Eleanor to have some influence in the girl’s life. Though too kind and gentle a man to speak against his mother, Edmund was not blind to Lady Honoria’s faults, and he would have wanted to give his sister some release from their mother’s demands and restrictions.

Eleanor could not let Edmund down just because she had acted foolishly. And more than that, she was never one to run away from a bad situation. For her own self-respect, she would have to face Lord Neale again.

Still, it was a relief when, after bracing herself for the confrontation, she came downstairs to get into her carriage and was told by Dario that Lord Neale had ridden on ahead to Tedlow Park and would meet them there.

When they arrived at the Scarbrough estate, they were ushered into the library, where the others awaited them. Eleanor, having steeled herself to it, greeted Anthony indifferently, giving him a brief, slightly cool nod, and moved on to greet his sister and niece and Sir Malcolm.

Dario, with his usual tact and aplomb, excused himself, saying that he would stroll around the ample and beautiful grounds while they discussed the legal matters. Eleanor, all business, turned to the ledger book and legal papers, which she had had the footman set down upon the library table.

“This is Sir Edmund’s will,” she began crisply, handing the legal document over to Lady Honoria.

His mother pushed it aside, saying, “Anthony, you look at it. I cannot bear to.” She teared up, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes.

“As you can see,” Eleanor went on, “aside from a few personal items which he left to me or to one of you, and, of course, the entailed estate, which went to you, Sir Malcolm, Edmund gave a generous bequest to Lady Honoria, and the bulk of his estate he left in trust for you, Samantha, until you reach the age of twenty-one.” She smiled at the girl. “It is quite a nice amount and will keep you well for all your life.”

“And precisely what assets are included in this personal estate?” Sir Malcolm asked.

Just as she had supposed, Eleanor thought, Sir Malcolm was here at the meeting to make certain that no bit of the entailed estate had slipped into the portion going to Samantha.

“I will show you,” Eleanor said pleasantly, opening the ledger book to the listing of the holdings of Edmund’s estates and their current value.

Sir Malcolm studied the list intently, tugging at his lip as he read, then passed the book over to Lord Neale. Anthony ran his eyes down the column of figures, then glanced back up at Eleanor, looking surprised.

“I have seen Edmund’s books in the past. I would say that his holdings are worth a good bit more than when I last saw them.”

Eleanor could not suppress a smile of pride. “As soon as Edmund and I were married, I began to oversee his finances. They were, I felt, a touch too conservative, so while I left some of his money in the ‘funds,’ I also invested in India bonds and Exchequer bills, as well as in a few businesses here and there, which have returned rather good rewards.”

Anthony studied her thoughtfully, and Eleanor gazed back at him with a bland expression. She could not keep from feeling a bit of smug pleasure at the thought that Anthony might begin to realize how wrong he had been about her. With typical aristocratic snobbery, he had assumed she was an adventuress, and while she would not have stooped to deny such a ludicrous charge, she wasn’t above reveling a little in the shattering of his prejudices.

“Now, I shall send you a monthly accounting, Lady Honoria, of the funds in my charge, so that you and Samantha may go over them.” She turned toward the young girl. “And I will be more than happy to explain each of them to you, so that you can see what I did and why.”

“Samantha will not need that!” Honoria exclaimed in a shocked voice. “She is a lady.”

“Yes, I know. But she will inherit all this one day, and it would be a good thing for her to understand it,” Eleanor pointed out reasonably.

“She doesn’t need to understand it,” Honoria protested. “Her husband will take care of that sort of thing for her. And until she is married, her uncle will.”

Eleanor suppressed the irritated retort that first sprang to her lips and said only, “It is better, I would think, not to have to rely on others to take care of one’s own fortune.”

“I should like to know,” Samantha spoke up, her voice a little shy but her expression determined.

Eleanor smiled at her. “Then I shall teach you.”

“Samantha!” Lady Honoria glared at her daughter. “I will not have you acting like a…a Cit!”

“Honoria,” Anthony said sharply. “I think it would do Samantha good to know what she owns and how it is invested.”

Honoria shot him a look that said she considered him a traitor. “That is precisely the sort of thing you
would
say. But it is simply not acceptable behavior in a girl. It is entirely unladylike.”

She turned and looked meaningfully at Eleanor.

Eleanor simply said, “Perhaps you would like to talk about the money I will be sending you each month.”

Honoria looked immediately more interested. However, when Eleanor named the figure that she would be supplying Honoria for the household allowance, the woman let out a shocked gasp.

“That is all?” she wailed. “We cannot live on that!”

“As you pointed out, you now have a much smaller house and therefore fewer servants. And this is very near the figure that Edmund was sending you when you lived here at the Park,” Eleanor explained. “Of course, when Samantha makes her debut in a few years, there will be a much larger stipend to cover the expenses of a season, as well as a substantial clothing allowance. But here in the village, there are few expenses, and Samantha’s clothes are rather inexpensive still. Of course, I will also be sending Samantha pin money every month for her personal purchases.”

“Pin money?” Samantha repeated excitedly. “Really? All my own?”

“Yes, of course…for books and ribbons and whatever little things you might want to buy.”

“But what about
my
clothes?” Honoria cried. “
My
expenses?”

“Lady Honoria, Sir Edmund bequeathed you a sum of money of your own, a rather substantial one,” Eleanor pointed out. “He also told me that his father had left you a healthy joinder. Your personal expenses would come out of those. I am talking here merely about household expenses for raising Samantha in the style in which she is accustomed.”

“But it is simply not enough!” Honoria turned to her brother for support. “Anthony, say something. I know Edmund never intended to leave me penniless!”

“You are scarcely penniless, Honoria,” Anthony replied somewhat impatiently. “I just read the will, and he provided amply for you.”

“He cannot have wanted this,” Honoria insisted, tears welling in her eyes. “Edmund loved me. He would have wanted me to have all his estate. I know it. After all, when I die, the money will go to Samantha.”