Sweet Surrender (34 page)

"You’re wild about how I act.  Admit it."

"Well…I suppose it’s been interesting."

"Interesting, ha!  If I could stumble on an empty closet in this place, you’d drag me into it."

"I wouldn’t refuse.  I never decline what is freely and willingly offered."

She pushed her plate away and bent forward, her elbows on the table, and he bent forward, too, like a magnet to metal.  He was unable to avoid her or pull away.

"I’m happy," she said.

"So am I."  And he was happy
in a vague, unnerving sort of way. 

If he wasn’t so panicked over what would become of her, if he wasn’t so panicked that he was about to be murdered by Jackson, he’d have been positively ecstatic.

"What’s the first thing we’ll do in London?" she asked.

She was so trusting, and she was staring at him as if he walked on water.  What man wouldn’t love to be worshipped?  What man could shun a woman who adored him?

"I was thinking we should buy you a wardrobe," he lied.

"Oh, could we?  I’m so weary of these ugly old school clothes."

He raised a brow.  "I’d like to get you out of those old undergarments, too."

"I can have lingerie?"

"Yes, we’ll purchase French.  I know a shop that imports directly from Paris."

"What color are the walls in our bedchamber?"

"They’re a bland white, but you can change whatever you wish.  The décor was selected for my bachelor’s life.  I’m sure you’ll want new furniture and such."

"Only if you want it, too."

"If you pick it, I’ll be fine with it."

"You’re much more fun when you’re behaving normally."

"I always behave normally."  At least he had until he’d met her.

"You do not.  You can be an absolute fusspot, but I’ll fix you up in a hurry.  In a few months, I won’t even remember how you nagged and complained."

"I don’t nag.  You’re a
girl
, Eleanor.  I’m giving you necessary advice.  There’s a huge difference."

"Not on my end.  It sounds like nagging, but I’ll get you out of the habit." She grinned.  "I simply won’t listen, so you’ll grow tired of lecturing."

"If you don’t listen"—he leaned even nearer—"you might need a spanking."

"I might."

He grinned, too, and they were gazing at each other like a pair of halfwits. 

He might have sat there all day, mooning over her and making a fool of himself, but he was distracted by a horse and rider careening into the yard.  The man flashed by the window, and Duncan drew away and scowled.

"What is it?" she said.

"Probably nothing."

He shifted in his chair and was trying to peek outside, trying to see who had raced by, when the front door of the establishment slammed open.  The other customers were craning their necks, curious as to who had entered in such a temper.

"I’m looking for a scoundrel," a familiar voice bellowed to someone out in the foyer.  "A handsome, charming card player.  He’s absconded with a young lady."

"This is a reputable business," a man responded.  "We wouldn’t have such a scandalous person staying here."

"I’ll just check if you don’t mind."

"Dammit," Duncan muttered as Jackson marched in.

There was nowhere to hide, no rear exit by which Duncan could flee.

Jackson saw them immediately, an expression of homicidal fury darkening his face.  He stomped over, growling, "You no good, sorry, son of a—"

"Mr. Scott"—Eleanor leapt to her feet—"it’s not what you think."

"You’re wrong, Miss Bennett," he tightly replied.  "It’s precisely what I think."

Duncan had risen, too, and it was a mistake.  When he was standing, he provided a much bigger target.

Jackson lunged, grabbing Duncan by the lapels of his coat, lifting him and tossing him across the floor as if he weighed no more than a feather.  Duncan crashed into the table behind them, demolishing it, then smashing into the wall. 

"Mr. Scott!" Eleanor was shrieking.  "Stop it!  Stop it!"

Jackson stormed over to Duncan, ready to administer a pummeling.  Duncan had intended to come up swinging, to fight back as he always had when they were boys, but he’d landed so hard he was too disoriented to react.

"I ought to beat you within an inch of your life," Jackson seethed.

"Feel free," Duncan said.  If Jackson killed him, he wouldn’t have to confess his sins to Eleanor.

"I can’t believe you’re still with her, Duncan.  Weren’t you planning to abandon her along the road?"

"No!"  Duncan exuded offense, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"You despicable libertine," Jackson hurled.  "Why did you do it?  To spite me?  To spite Grace?"

"You and Grace had nothing to do with it."

Duncan suspected he’d done it for love, that he was wildly, impossibly in love with Eleanor, but he’d never admit it in a thousand years.

"Thank God I found you before you crossed the border with her."  Jackson turned to Eleanor.  "Let’s go, Miss Bennett.  Your sister is having a fit."

"Go!" Eleanor gasped.

"Yes.  Get your things."

"I can’t."

"Why can’t you?  I won’t leave you here with this rogue."

"He’s not a rogue," she insisted.  "He’s my husband and I—"

Jackson paled.  "He’s your what?"

"My husband."

"We made it to Scotland," Duncan grumbled, earning himself a kick in the leg from Jackson.

"Tell me it’s not true, Miss Bennett," Jackson groaned.  "Tell me you didn’t go through with it."

"Of course, I went through with it, and I couldn’t be happier."

She showed him the paltry wedding band Duncan had received as part of the fee he’d paid the minister for performing the ceremony.

"You married him?"  Jackson appeared as if he might faint.

"Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands off him."  She grinned.  "I’m partial to his handsome face, and I won’t have you blackening his eyes."

Duncan staggered to his feet as Jackson glared and postured.  He was so angry that smoke was practically coming out of his ears.

"I don’t care if you married him," Jackson said.  "There has to be a way to get it annulled."

"Annulled!" Eleanor huffed.  "Why would I want it annulled?"

"We’ll return to Milton Abbey," Jackson advised her, "and you can discuss this with Grace.  I’ll contact my lawyers and start them working on it."

"I can’t return to Milton."

"Why not?"

"Duncan and I are headed to London."

"To do what?" Jackson asked.

"To do what all newlyweds do.  Move into his house.  Meet his friends.  Throw a big nuptial party.  He’s promised to buy me some new clothes, too.  After all, he’s such a stylish gentleman, and I can’t walk around as if I’m a—"

Jackson whipped away and loomed over Duncan.

"Move into your house?" Jackson hissed.  "Meet your friends?  Buy her a wardrobe?"

Duncan glanced over at Eleanor.  She was terribly confused, and he couldn’t bear to break her heart, but reality had finally caught up with him.

"I might have hedged a little," he told Jackson.

"Hedged?" Jackson scoffed.

"I was swept up in the moment, and I…that is…I thought maybe…I…"

Duncan stammered to a halt.

The room was very quiet, the other customers watching as if they were in the middle of a staged dramatic play.

Jackson stared and stared, the immensity of his disappointment crushing Duncan as nothing else ever had.  Eleanor shook off her stupor and hurried over to Duncan.  She slipped her arm through his, presenting a untied front to Jackson. 

Duncan should have shoved her away, should have faced Jackson on his own, but her touch and support were very welcome.  How long would she continue to give it after she learned his actual propensities?

"Tell her," Jackson ordered Duncan, gesturing at Eleanor.

Duncan didn’t speak, and Eleanor asked, "Tell me what?"

"Tell her right now," Jackson fumed, "or I will tell her.  I don’t think you want her to hear it from me.  I can guarantee you won’t like my take on it."

"What is it?" she inquired.  "Say it and get it over with."

"I might have fibbed a bit," Duncan admitted.

"About what?"

"About…everything, I suppose."

"What is your definition of
everything?"

Duncan couldn’t confess the rest.  An awkward silence ensued, and Jackson had to enlighten her.

"He doesn’t have a penny to his name, Miss Bennett."  There was an audible gasp from the spectators.  "There is no house in London.  There is no fine London social life full of parties and balls."

"No house?"  Eleanor looked like a young child that had lost its favorite toy.

"No house," Jackson repeated.  "Just bills and debt collectors and cuckolded husbands who would be happy to shoot him on sight."

Eleanor gaped at Duncan, then Jackson, then Duncan again.

"You lied to me?" she said to Duncan. 

"Yes.  I’m sorry."

"What are we to do now?"

"I have no idea."

She frowned, then began to tremble, her entire body quaking with emotion.

He thought she was about to burst out sobbing, but instead, she started to chuckle, and it grew into a misery-filled laugh.  She stumbled over to a chair and plopped down.

"Aren’t I in a pickle?" she murmured to herself.  Then she peered around at the assembled company and asked all of them, "Aren’t I in the worst pickle in the world?"

Everyone nodded in agreement.

DC

"Have you seen that horrid boy anywhere?"

"No, Mother."

"You’re sure?"

Percival stared at his mother and lied. 

"You warned me not to talk to him, remember?"

"Yes, I remember.  I appreciate your listening to me."

They were in the library, his grandmother seated behind the desk, his mother pacing.

Many odd events were happening, and Percival didn’t understand any of them.

His uncle had ridden off without a word, but no one would say where he’d gone or when he’d be back.  Eleanor Bennett was missing and so was Mr. Dane.

And now, Grace Bennett had been roughly hoisted into a carriage and carted off by Mr. Rafferty. 

Percival probably wasn’t supposed to know Mr. Rafferty, but then, he often saw things he shouldn’t.

Mr. Rafferty had once come to their London house and taken away an elderly servant who’d been quite a grand fellow.  He’d told funny stories and always asked Percival about his day.  He’d sneaked chocolate treats for Percival, against his mother’s specific command that he not have any.

One morning, he’d been working for them, and the next, Mr. Rafferty had arrived and escorted him out.  When they’d passed through the foyer, the older man had had a black eye and his hands had been tied behind his back. 

Percival had been frantic to learn how he’d gotten himself into trouble.  The servants whispered that he’d been accused of stealing money from Percival’s grandmother, but none of them believed it.  Percival didn’t, either.  He worried constantly about the man and how he was faring, and it was his favorite dream that when he was grown and in charge as earl, he would find the man and bring him home.

  He’d observed Mr. Rafferty on a few other occasions, and every time he appeared, someone vanished.  That was why—when Percival had noted Mr. Rafferty riding up the drive—he’d been wary.

He’d immediately had Michael hide in their fort, then he’d come inside and eavesdropped.  His grandmother had people searching for Michael, but he couldn’t be located, and Percival was extremely relieved that he’d had the foresight to conceal his brother.

"Who was the man who was just here?" he inquired of his mother merely to hear what she would say.

"He’s employed by your grandmother."

"What was he doing?"

"It’s your grandmother’s business and none of yours.  Don’t ask childish questions."

"Where has he taken Miss Bennett?"

His mother whipped around. 

"Miss Bennett?  Why would you wonder about her?"

"He was very angry with her and very rough.  She seems so nice, and I was curious as to how she’d upset him."

His mother and grandmother exchanged an irritated glance, then his grandmother said, "Why don’t you go out and play, Percival?"

"All right," he agreed.  They didn’t notice that he hadn’t argued as he typically would have.

He turned and walked off, but he simply pretended to leave.  He halted by the door and stood quietly in the shadows.