Ruined by a Rake (5 page)

Chapter Four

When Nick had pushed himself in his bid to make it home as soon as possible, it most certainly was not so he could find himself stuck in the midst of a house party. Yet, as he scanned the twenty or so guests mingling beneath the glittering chandeliers of the Manor’s impressive drawing room, he resigned himself to exactly that fate.

He cut his
gaze to where Eleanor stood beside Malcolm, a smile fixed on her full lips as she greeted Lord Netherby. The man had gained at least two stone since the last time Nick had seen him, though apparently he was still attempting to fit into the same clothes. His expression was that of one inspecting a horse at Tattersall’s as his eyes freely roamed Eleanor’s figure.

Lecherous old codger.
Would it be bad form to grab the man by his too-small jacket and toss him out on his ear? It didn’t help that Eleanor had changed into a perfectly fitted white and turquoise gown that suited her coloring just so. Never mind the other young women peppering the room—she stood out as the Incomparable she was.

She could have easily taken the
ton
by storm, had she decided to do so. Though he hated how she had come about her feelings on matrimony, he was glad for them nonetheless. It was the only thing that kept the jealousy at bay as she turned to greet yet another male guest.

In contrast to her polite but distant facade, Malcolm was thoroughly enjoying himself. Every time he moved on to another guest, he guided Eleanor around like a dog on a lead, his hand firmly grasping her upper arm.

Nick took a sip of wine, continuing his surveillance over the rim of the glass. His stepfather’s domineering ways didn’t surprise him, but Eleanor’s continued passivity did. She hardly looked like the same person he had met at the ruins earlier. In the morning gloom, she had stood straight, tall, and proud. He hated seeing her inner light squelched by Malcolm now. For a moment he considered intervening, but it would probably only serve to annoy her.

“Nicky, darling,” his mother said from behind him, “I must introduce you to Miss Landon.”

Suppressing a sigh, he turned and nodded to his mother. She was arm in arm with a pretty young blonde girl who smiled up at him with a shy smile.

“Miss Landon, allow me to introduce to you my son, Mr. Nicolas Norton.
He is an officer in the militia, and he has only just returned yesterday after an extended absence. We are so thrilled to have him home safe.”

Nick bowed as the girl curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Landon.”

A delicate pink blush touched the apples of her cheeks. “We’ve met before, Mr. Norton, though I doubt you would remember it. I was but a girl, and you were home from Cambridge for a few weeks.”

She looked to be ‘but a girl’ still, with rounded freckled cheeks and wide blue eyes. Though he would have sworn he didn’t know her from Eve, he smiled politely and said, “Well, it is good to see you all grown up.”

Mother patted her arm. “I had forgotten all about that. You’ve some catching up to do, then. Why don’t the two of you talk—I see Lord Henry is in want of conversation.” With a none-too-subtle wink at Nick, she floated away, waving her fingers at the widowed earl.

“Is this your first house party, then?” Nick asked, struggling to keep his attention on the girl when Eleanor was visible just over her shoulder.

“Indeed, sir.” She glanced around the room, surreptitiously taking in the other guests. “I must say, I’m feeling a bit out of place.”

“What, you don’t normally fraternize with old
, yet politically important, men?”

Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she ducked her head. “I can scarce believe you said that,” she said, biting her lip against laughter. “I was referring to how very sophisticated everyone is—men
and
women.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Sophisticated is just another word for old and boring. Though I will grant there are a few exceptions here tonight. Not many, but some.”

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, do stop, Mr. Norton. My mother would have my head if she overheard this conversation.”

“Ah, but that is the beauty of a house party, Miss Landon. With my mother agreeing to be your chaperone, you are as good as free to do whatever you like.”

They both glanced at his mother, who was lifting a wine glass from a passing tray as she stood entirely too close to Henry.

“Regardless, I’m much too terrified of incurring my mother’s wrath to make even the smallest
faux pas
. It’s a long time until the Season—I’d rather not spend it listening to her lectures on propriety.”

“I’d be more worried about impropriety when you are with Nicolas, Miss Landon.” Eleanor, apparently having broken free of her jailor, grinned at the girl. “He can be quite the trouble-maker.”

“Noted, Miss Abbington,” she answered, returning the smile. “Mr. Norton, you must be on your best behavior around me.”

Nick offered the pair of them his most rakish look, making Miss Landon giggle and Eleanor roll her eyes.

“It shan’t work, Nick. Miss Landon is a friend, and I will not allow her to be fooled into believing you are the consummate gentlemen.”

It was a relief to see a spark of mischief glinting in her eyes. He
affected his most solemn expression, shaking his head. “Have no fear, Miss Landon. I am a reformed man, courtesy of the army. If Eleanor wasn’t so busy playing the part of the social butterfly, she might have noticed what an utterly charming and devoted companion I am tonight. Isn’t that so?”

The girl
went along with his teasing, nodding. “Yes, utterly.

Eleanor arched a dark eyebrow, “Somehow I’m not convinced.
I suppose I shall have to take your very dubious word for it, since I’m much too busy to keep an eye on you this evening.”

Spreading his arms, he let a wicked grin turn up the corners of his mouth. “And yet, here you are.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Malcolm interrupted, sidling between Nick and Eleanor. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I must steal Eleanor away. There are many who wish to speak with you, my dear.”

The mere sound of his stepfather’s voice put
Nick’s teeth on edge. Why was he acting as though Eleanor was his to command tonight?

Returning his stepfather’s false smile in spades, Nick said, “Yes, including Miss Landon and myself. I’m certain the others will expect her to mingle with everyone present, and we wouldn’t want Miss Landon to be neglected.”

It was only because he was watching that he caught the flash of surprise in Eleanor’s eyes. Before he could interpret whether she was pleased or not by his interference, Eleanor pasted the artificial smile back in place and raised her gaze to meet his. “Uncle Robert’s right, I should return to my duties. But it is so lovely to have you with us, Miss Landon. I do hope Nicolas will find it within him to be good company for you.”

Nick had to work to keep his expression neutral. What the devil had gotten into her lately? Why was she being so damned biddable? She may look perfectly content to others, but he knew her too well. He could see her strain in the way she held her mouth, and the dullness of her normally luminous brown eyes.

It made him want to shake her, to make her confide in him. Had her mother’s death changed her so much, or was it something else?

Pulling Eleanor away from them, Malcolm said, “I’m quite certain Norton can provide all the entertainment Miss Landon could hope for.” With a slight bow, he headed for Lord Shevington, pulling Eleanor along with him.
Nick couldn’t help but be put in mind of a sacrificial lamb.

“Well, that was a bit awkward,” Miss Landon said, biting her lip as she
looked after Eleanor.

“Indeed,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes in thought. Did Malcolm think he could use Ellie as some sort of pawn? He took a good hard
look around the room. There were an inordinate number of members of the House of Lords present—several of whom were unmarried. There was no disguising the fact that this house party was meant to strengthen political bonds.

A thought occurred to him, one so distasteful he nearly crushed the stemware in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Did Malcolm have visions of marrying her off to one of these overly dry, mostly older men? Nick had no doubt that if
his stepfather couldn’t get by on his politics, he’d use whatever weapon he had in his arsenal to get what he wanted.

And Nick would be damned if he’d let Eleanor be the man’s ammunition.

             
              ***

With a bland smile
firmly in place, Eleanor pretended to listen as Lord Shevington droned on about his hunting trip to Scotland last month. She couldn’t have cared less about the details of the hunt, but she was determined to appear to Uncle Robert that she was abiding by his ultimatum.

The very thought of his words poisoned her mood, and she swallowed against the lump that lodged in her throat. It had been over a day since Uncle Robert had thrown down the gauntlet, and absolutely no alternative had presented itself, no matter how much she tried to think of one.

She could refuse, make a fuss, cause a scandal—but all of them seemed to come back to her sister paying the price. Libby deserved a Season, blast it. More than that, she deserved the chance to decide her own future.

B
y God, Eleanor wouldn’t let her uncle steal that from her.

Laughter from across the room caught her attention, and she glanced to where Nick stood with Miss Landon and Lady Blackwell.
Her brittle smile softened just a bit. It had been the highlight of her night when he had attempted to free her from her uncle’s control.

Or was it just that he
enjoyed being contrary to his stepfather? That was more likely the case, but still, she appreciated the effort.

“Don’t you agree Miss
Abbington?” Shevington blinked at her expectantly, his old-fashioned whiskers making him look like a squirrel begging for a nut.

“Of course,” she said with conviction, having no idea to what she was agreeing.
Whatever it was, it made the man smile and carry on.

Sneaking a glance in Nicolas’s direction again, she was struck with an unexpected pang
in the vicinity of her ribs as Miss Landon giggled at something he said. It was the oddest sensation—she’d never once felt jealously where Nick was concerned. He was a pest; surely she was just envious of their freedom. It had nothing to do with the brief touch of Miss Landon’s fingers to his sleeve, or the way he tilted his head toward her when he spoke.

Ugh—she
had
to get a hold of herself. This was Nick! The bane of her existence, her competitor, her own personal tag-along tormentor. Clearly Uncle Robert’s demands had addled her brain.

Speaking of which, she should be paying more attention to Shevington.
A low burn deep in her chest nagged at her, threatening to turn to full-blown panic. The men she had met so far tonight either were old enough be her father, or worse—reminded her of him. Polished manners, polite smiles, but with a certain arrogant authority about them that could easily translate to overt possessiveness or unreasonable rage.

She shuddered, pushing back against the memories
that threatened to surface at the thought of her father.

“Are you chilled, Miss
Abbington? Shall I have a footman fetch you a wrap?”

Caught in her woolgathering, though thankfully he didn’t seem to recognize it as such.
She purposefully relaxed her tense shoulders and smiled. “No thank you, my lord. I think perhaps I could use some refreshment.”

“Allow me to fetch you something to drink,” he replied, bowing his head before lumbering off in search of a servant.

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. Finally—a moment of peace. Of their own volition, her eyes strayed once more toward Nicolas. Miss Whittingham had joined them and was fluttering her eyelashes as though caught in a windstorm. Not that Eleanor blamed the girl for trying to flirt with him—he was the youngest man present. And his regimentals did rather stand out among the sea of somber jackets the other men wore.

“Eleanor,” Uncle Robert murmured from directly behind her, his hot breath uncomfortably damp against her ear, “I suggest you ignore your little friends and set your focus on the task at hand. Not that I mind choosing a husband for you.”

She turned, as much to escape his invasion of her space as anything. “I’m aware of what I should be doing,” she said through clenched teeth. At that moment, Shevington returned with a glass in each hand, and she gratefully accepted the one he held out to her.

She was beginning to understand why Aunt
Lavinia liked spirits so well.

                            ***

“Did you have a good evening, my dear?” Aunt Margaret
, looking better than she had in days, smiled up at Eleanor from the chaise lounge nearest the windows. The drapes had been pulled wide to allow the morning sun to infuse the small, private sitting room they shared.