The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (4 page)

Then the child came, and James lost her. The boy—his heir—did not turn, and the only way to save his child was to sacrifice the woman he had loved to the surgeon's knife. Elizabeth's eyes told him she knew her duty and would leave him, declaring her love the world's purest. Closing his eyes, he could see the angel looking back at him. Within three months, he was with what the public thought to be a group of mercenary soldiers, but, in reality, they ran covert operations against select targets. In actuality, the half-dozen carefully selected Realm members with whom he had served worked for a secret British government agency. James relished those years of self-imposed banishment, despite the sometimes harsh conditions under which they often lived. Those years dulled the pain of losing his wife.

A muffled footstep on the main staircase roused his attention, and he moved cautiously to discover its source. Fowler had told him of his suspicions regarding Miss Aldridge's recent injury, and for a moment, James wondered if he had stumbled upon an interloper sneaking about the sleeping household. Extinguishing the single candle, he worked his way warily toward the door. Listening carefully, he noted the intruder hesitated on the stairs.

“Now or never,” his lips mouthed before he jerked open the door and leveled the pocket pistol he kept hidden in his boot at the uninvited guest. Heart pounding out of his chest, he drew aim on an intimately clad Eleanor Fowler. Gulping in air to steady his pulse, James slowly lowered the gun and stared dumbly at the vision standing rigidly on the third step. “Lady Eleanor,” he stammered, assuming she had seen the gun and froze. “I apologize; I held no idea you too were a light sleeper. I suspected someone trying to pilfer the estate's riches.”

Eleanor simply continued to stare
at
him, actually
through
him, and James self-consciously shot a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone else lurked in the shadows. Feeling totally discomfited by her hard gaze, he reached his hand toward her, unsure what to do. Wearing a white muslin gown, she was the picture of British female innocence, but his body reacted anyway. Her bare feet and ankles peeked from the hemline, and the thin material revealed her breasts' rosy nipples and the
V
of her triangle. James knew he should look away; propriety required he do so, but he could not. “May I help you find a book, Lady Eleanor?” He kept his voice low, not wishing to wake the others and let them witness this unexpected meeting.

Pausing briefly, Eleanor took the last three steps and crossed the hallway to the open door, but instead of taking his hand or even speaking to him, she glided through the portal, stopping only when she reached the room's middle.

James circled where she stood, moving slowly so as not to frighten her. “Lady Eleanor, are you well?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “May I be of assistance?” Although he now stood before her, Kerrington instinctively knew she did not see him. Eyes opened wide, Eleanor Fowler spoke to a ghost.

“Yes, Papa.” Her words shot through him. He thought to reach for her, but James feared his touch might
truly
scare her to death. “I will be a good girl, Papa; I promise. No, do not take Velvet!” She looked desperately at him as she dropped to her knees and pleaded for her father to believe her. “I will not move, Papa; I swear I will not.” She pulled at James's hand and leg, and tears streamed down her soft cheeks.

“It is all right, Darling.” James encouraged as he tried to lift Eleanor to him.

“I am your daughter, Papa. Love me, not Velvet,” she begged.

Kerrington's heart ached for the hurt he knew she had experienced at her despicable father's hands; she beseeched the man to love her. “Come, Darling.” James took her arms and helped the sleeping beauty to her feet.

Eyes still not registering, Ella bit her bottom lip. “Will you love me, Papa?”

James could not resist touching her cheek to wipe away her tears' remnants. “Of course, Sweetheart.”

“May I sit on your lap, Papa?” She clasped James's hand and pulled him to a nearby chair. Reluctantly, he followed and allowed her to push him down and then quite unceremoniously she climbed onto his lap and rested her head against his chest. “Is this right, Papa?”

“Oh, yes, Eleanor; it is very right.” As she snuggled closer, James began to instinctively stroke her back and down her arm. “Rest, Sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. “I will protect you, Sweet Ella.” He now twisted several of her curls around his fingers. The firelight captured the reddish tints, and her tresses glowed as he laced his fingers through to the tips. He thought it might be Heaven to brush it for her in the evenings, letting the softness of it fall down her back to tantalize his bare chest.

Innocently, she moaned and allowed her fingers to trace his beard's stubble. Her eyes were no longer open, and the angelic aura returned to her face. “You are beautiful.” James's lips brushed against her temple, and despite the realization he should return Eleanor to her room, he tarried, enjoying holding a woman such as Eleanor Fowler in his embrace. It made him feel human again, and he was sore to lose her closeness.

She stretched, unexpectedly tilting her chin as if to receive him, and, of his own volition, James lowered his lips to hers and tasted sweetness. Immediately, he hardened; this was too much like an unspoken fantasy.Vulnerability shouted at him as he traced her mouth with his tongue and heard his own moan in response.

A shuddered breath forced his lips from hers. “Lord!” he gasped and made himself loosen his hold on her. “Let me return you to your chambers, Sweetheart,” he spoke as he lifted her to him. James expected to feel her weight when he raised her to him—her long legs dangling down to his waist, but instead, he
hefted less than eight stone, and it thrilled him to hold her so intimately. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and James envisioned what it would be like to take her to his bed and sate himself in her warm body.

The visions climbed the stairs beside him as he stole brief kisses at her temple and along the side of Eleanor's cheek, enjoying the taste of her skin. Finding her bedroom door ajar, he shoved it open with his shoulder as he maneuvered Eleanor's svelte body through the frame. “You are a temptation, Sweetheart,” he mumbled as he lowered her to the bed and brushed strands of hair from her face. “Sleep well, Darling.”

A noise behind him told him they were not alone. He spun around to find a maid sleepily emerging from Eleanor's dressing room. “M'Lord?” Accusation rested in her tone.

Aware of how this looked, James caught the woman's arm and hustled her to the hallway, not wanting anyone else to see him in Eleanor Fowler's room. “Shush,” he warned as he edged the door closed.

“M'Lord, I must protest on Lady Eleanor's behalf.” The maid, obviously loyal to her mistress, spoke defensively.

“I assure you nothing happened to your mistress. I found her downstairs, and I simply brought Lady Eleanor to her bed.”

“Oh, Lordy, not again.” The woman looked apprehensively at the door.

James followed her gaze. “What do you mean,
not again
?” he demanded in hushed tones.

The woman wrung her hands. “Maybe I should tell Master Brantley,” she started.

“Tell me what you meant,” he insisted. “I will discuss it with His Grace.”

“My poor Lady Eleanor,” she wailed in whispered tones. “M'Lady's been plagued with sleepwalking for years, but I be thinkin' she be finally rid of her demons. Not once since the old Master passed did my mistress leave her bed. I sleep close by, but
I did not hear Lady Eleanor tonight. Thank you, M'Lord, for protecting her.”

“Will Lady Eleanor be well the rest of the night?” James wanted time to consider what Eleanor's maid shared.

“Oh, yes, M'Lord, but I be staying in the room meself.”

“Then I will bid you good night.” He needed to be away from Eleanor Fowler's room. Something was not right, but with fresh thoughts of the delectable lady on the other side of the door, James could not pinpoint it.

“M'Lord,” the woman stopped his retreat. “No one else be knowing of Lady Eleanor's problem 'cepting me and Mr. Jordan.”

James shot another glance at Eleanor's door. “I understand. Lady Eleanor's secret is my secret; I pledge you my word as a gentleman.”

“Thank you again, M'Lord.” She dropped a curtsy, preparing to return to her pallet.

Now it was James's turn to pause. “I believe it might be imprudent to advise your mistress of my interference tonight. I would not wish her such mortifications at knowing of my having carried her to her chambers.”

“Yes, M'Lord. Lady Eleanor she be very sensible. That be very kind of you, Sir.”

“Then it will be our secret.” With that, he turned on his heels and strode to his chambers, his friend's sister having had an unexpected impact on him in more ways than one.

The next day James made a point to observe Eleanor from the moment she entered the breakfast room. When he had retired to his own quarters the previous evening, he had spent more than a few minutes staring at the four poster's ornate drapery in his guest chamber and reliving the experience of holding Ella, as her family called her, and as he now thought of her, in his arms twice in one day. Like most men of his age and station in life, James kept a mistress in town whom he visited when he needed a woman's
touch. He had established Mary Cavendish, a war widow, as his when he returned to England. Mary was pretty enough, although a bit older than James, and she never made unreasonable demands on him. He bought her a house in a more posh neighborhood and had arranged for Mary's income early in their relationship to assure exclusivity, assuming he would continue their relationship long into his impending search for a wife. Now, he wondered, if he was to choose someone like Eleanor Fowler, or any well-bred woman, for that matter, whether he should subject her to this form of degradation. Although many aristocratic women accepted such dalliances as part of their existence, he knew he would never have looked twice at Mary if Elizabeth had lived. Maybe if he found the kind of companionship he sought, the idea of dismissing Mary might not seem so foreign.

Then his thoughts fell once more on his hostess's troubled mind. What experiences had driven Eleanor Fowler from her bed? James had seen the phenomenon before; one who spent any time in battle or intense conflict knew how the mind sometimes compensated by acting out in sleep, but what trauma burdened Ella? Obviously, it involved her infamous father. Then it struck him, her need for love—her father's deviance—and the need to protect Eleanor arose deep in James's soul. If William Fowler were not already dead, James would find his sorry arse and kill the man with his bare hands. “Damn him!” he mumbled as he punched the pillow. He had to know—somehow he had to know the truth.

 

As she slid into a chair at the breakfast table, James greeted Eleanor with a cheery “Good morning” before joining her. “Might I find something for you, Lady Eleanor?” He gestured toward the side table.

“No, thank you, Lord Worthing. Cook is preparing my usual. I fear I have a more than odd need for coddled eggs to start my day.”

He chuckled, enjoying this new level of intimacy with Fowler's sister. Before he cut the sliced ham he piled high on his plate, he remarked, “It is pleasant to see a lady with an appetite.”

“Do you prefer your women to resemble those depicted by Robert Lefevre, as in ‘Madame Récamier,' or even those displayed by Baron François-Pascal-Simon Gérard?” Ella charged without considering her words.

James liked the way she flushed with color when she opened herself to his possible censure. He purposely waited to prolong her discomfort. “I once thought I preferred my women petite and dark, such as your cousin Miss Aldridge,…but of late, I am no longer sure.”

Before she could respond, her brother appeared in the doorway. “Ah, Worthing, you are up early.” Bran poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I am,Your Grace. I thought I might prevail upon you to ride out with me and show off your new home.” James knew perfectly well that Bran had appointments with his steward and his father's solicitor today. He had overheard his friend make the arrangements yesterday.

“I regret I cannot; I have obligations to the estate this morning.” Bran took the chair held by the footman. “Maybe we could induce my sister to be your guide. I dare say Eleanor knows the land as well as I, and she is recognized as an excellent horsewoman.”

James swung his eyes quickly to Eleanor Fowler to capture her true reaction to his manipulations. “Might you honor me with your company, Lady Eleanor?”

He watched as Eleanor shifted her weight, obviously discomfited by both men's stares resting on her face. “That would be enjoyable, my Lord.” Her agreement seemed stilted to James, and he observed throughout the rest of the breakfast that Eleanor picked at the eggs she had ordered. He never let his senses leave the presence of the woman as he and Bran reminisced about some of their closest friends, but James did not speak directly to her throughout the rest of the breakfast. He offered her a reprieve for the moment.