To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (18 page)

"True, true indeed," Whitby answered.

"Mister Whitby," Eleanor said, turning toward her
host with a smile, "just today at breakfast you were
telling me a bit about your recent trip to the Lake District with the Duke and Duchess of Dandridge. You
must tell me more."

"It was a lovely trip, a lovely trip indeed. With the
Duke and Duchess' connections, we were able to visit
several ..

Whitby continued on enthusiastically, but Frederick was no longer listening. Instead, he watched Eleanor as
she nodded her head and murmured niceties in reply.
She was incredibly beautiful, more vixen than virgin in
appearance. She appeared far more sophisticated than
most well-bred ladies her age-more worldly, though he
knew such was not the case. She was a virgin, the sheltered daughter of a nobleman. He must remember that.

That he was attracted to her physically was no
surprise-he was a man used to enjoying beautiful
women, and Eleanor was indeed beautiful. But, he realized with a start, he wanted more than Eleanor's favors
in bed. He wanted her to find him worthy, when no one
else had. He wanted her to look at him the way she was
now looking at Whitby, her face full of admiration and
respect. For when she looked at him, her gaze was more
often that not filled with scorn, skepticism, even annoyance. Deservedly so, he realized, despising himself and
the reckless life he'd led.

Even so, she desired him. He was certain of it. Hadn't
her reaction to him this afternoon provided evidence
enough? Hadn't she agreed to meet him at the cottage if
only he would join their company tonight, as he was
doing? And what were her reasons for making such a request? To illustrate just how much more suited she was
to Whitby than she was to him? To make damn sure he
realized that he was not fit to touch her?

Filled with the familiar rancor of self-loathing, he
forced his attention back to the conversation at hand.
"Lady Eleanor," Whitby was saying. "I hope you won't
think me too bold if I ask my guests to join me in a toast
to your beauty." Whitby raised his glass in her direction.
"You look positively enchanting this evening. Like an
angel, if I might say so"

Frederick's gaze flew to Eleanor's. Her cheeks flushed a deep rose as the Henleys raised their glasses
and joined Whitby as he called out, "To Lady Eleanor."

What the hell, Frederick thought, joining in.

"I thank you for the compliment, sir," Eleanor murmured, dropping her gaze to her lap as any proper lady
would. The paragon and the perfect gentleman. Truly,
they deserved each other.

Bitter jealousy ate away at his insides, making him
ill-tempered and irritable. He could not simply sit there
and let Whitby fawn all over her, not without putting up
a fight. She had bloody insisted that he join them, so he
would damn well make his presence felt-in all his
roguish glory, and to hell with the rest of them.

"An angel, Whitby?" he said at last, setting his glass
back on the blue damask-covered table. "Surely you can
do better than that. An angel is so bland, so banal." He
waved one hand dismissively. "I'd say Lady Eleanor
looks more the temptress, wouldn't you?"

Whitby's smile disappeared at once. "Are you questioning Lady Eleanor's virtue, sir? Do you dare to-"

"Settle down, George," Henley said. "Stoneham
meant nothing disrespectful by it, did you, old boy?"

"Quite the contrary," he said, his eyes locking with
Eleanor's smoldering ones. Was she angry? Offended?
Aroused, perhaps? "I meant it as a compliment, of
course. I've never found angels all that appealing."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Whitby challenged,
his eyes flashing. "I'll ask that you have a care about
how you speak of Lady Eleanor. Surely that is not too
much to ask of a guest in my home?"

And so it was true; the man was besotted. Eleanor had
managed to gain his devotion, and in so short a time. "I
suppose it is not, Mister Whitby," he said, drumming his
fingers on the table. "You'll pardon my boorish remarks. I hold Lady Eleanor in the highest esteem, as I'm sure
she can attest"

Everyone looked to Eleanor, awaiting her response.
Her eyes flitted briefly to his as she fidgeted in her seat,
twisting her napkin in her lap. "Indeed, Mister Stoneham. No offense was taken, I assure you"

"I'm glad to hear it. You see, Lady Eleanor and I are
very old friends. Our acquaintance goes back many
years, does it not?"

"It does," she said, raising her glass to her lips and
taking a slow, leisurely sip.

"Though it has been far too long since we last saw
one another," he continued. "Do you remember our last
meeting, Lady Eleanor? It was perhaps, oh, four years
ago. You were wearing a pale pink organdy dress, with
ribbons in your hair and-"

"Yes, Mister Stoneham," Eleanor interrupted, her
voice sharp. "I remember our last meeting well
enough."

"Your mother was hosting a garden party, if my
memory serves me" He paused to take a drink of wine,
enjoying the pregnant silence far more than he should.
Lady Henley was throwing panicky glances Eleanor's
way, her pale eyes as round as saucers.

Whitby's eyes narrowed, his knuckles white as he
grasped the edge of table. Preparing to attack, if need be?

Evidently not at all discomposed, Eleanor smiled
sweetly at Frederick from across the table. "Indeed she
was, Mister Stoneham. Mama so loves a garden party in
June. The maze at Covington Hall is at its finest then,
do you not agree? The foliage grows so thick, so lush in
June that the hedges are as solid and impenetrable as a
stone wall."

Frederick quirked a brow. This was not the response
he'd expected. He'd kissed her in the maze, with naught but the moon as their witness. Naturally, he'd expected her
to quickly change the subject, to deflect the conversation
away from the maze and the events that had transpired
there. How interesting that she was doing exactly the opposite. To make Whitby jealous, no doubt.

"Ali, yes," he said, "the maze. A truly masterful one,
as I remember it. One could easily get lost in there and
not find his way out for days on end."

"I'd very much like to see this maze," Whitby said,
relaxing his posture only slightly. "I have a fondness for
such a challenge as that. Quite sporting, isn't it?"

"Oh, I highly recommend it." Frederick nodded, then
chanced a glance at Eleanor. When she met his gaze, he
winked. "Particularly with Lady Eleanor as a guide"

Lady Henley stood abruptly, nearly knocking over
her wineglass in the process. A fork rattled to the floor.
"Come, Eleanor," she said, her hands visibly shaking.
"Let us retire to the drawing room"

Ah, too bad. Things were just beginning to get amusing.

"Very well," Eleanor said, rising and placing her
napkin on the slightly worn table linen with obvious reluctance. "Though I hope the gentlemen will join us
there directly." She favored Whitby with a dazzling
smile.

"You may count on it, Lady Eleanor," Whitby said,
hurrying to her side like a lapdog.

Damnation, would the evening 's entertainments
never end? Frederick drained what was left in his wineglass, the contents of his stomach feeling suddenly sour.

Casting one last glance over her shoulder at the men
who gathered in uncomfortable silence near the head of
the table, Eleanor followed Selina out, trailing behind
her as they made their way to the privacy of the drawing
room. Once they had settled themselves onto the gold velvet sofa and rang the bell for tea, Selina turned toward
her with a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Eleanor braced herself, feeling like a naughty child
about to receive a scolding.

"Eleanor, darling, whatever were you doing in there?
Goading Frederick like that?"

Eleanor shrugged. Truly, she hadn't any idea what she
had been doing. Testing Mister Whitby's affection, perhaps? He had leapt to her defense rather easily, hadn't
he? Would Frederick have done the same, had the situation been reversed? She did not know for certain.
Likely not, as defending a lady's reputation was not the
way of the rake. Ruining it was.

Regardless, she could not deny the fact that a part of
her had enjoyed the way the two men had bristled at one
another, like two dogs fighting over a bone. But admit
such a thing to Selina? Never So she simply remained
silent instead.

Clearly nonplussed, Selina shook her head, her
golden curls dancing beneath her lace cap. "I vow, for a
moment there I feared it would come to blows."

Eleanor waved away her friend's concerns with the
flick of one wrist. "Come now, it was nothing so dramatic as that"

Selina pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Why do you
think Mister Stoneham chose to join us for dinner
tonight? He's kept his distance well enough up till now.
Best that way, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps" Eleanor shrugged. "Really, he's not as bad
as that, is he? I thought his behavior rather civilized,
considering"

Selina's reply was delayed by the arrival of a maid
carrying a tea tray. Eleanor watched her friend carefully,
noting the tears that gathered in her bright blue eyes,
glistening like crystals on her lashes.

Why ever was Selina so distressed? Nothing so very
scandalous had come to pass just a bit of harmless
banter. Frederick never would have been so reckless as
to mention the kiss. At least she didn't think he would
have.

As soon as the maid departed, Selina laid a gentle
hand on Eleanor's wrist. "It's only that I'd begun to truly
hope that we would be sisters. George seems so taken
by you, after all. But ... but ... oh, please don't be
angry at me for saying this, Eleanor. You know I love
you dearly. But when you look at Frederick, I see . .
She trailed off, shaking her head. "Something there in
your eyes. Something ... wistful."

Eleanor said nothing, swallowing a painful lump in
her throat.

Selina reached for her handkerchief and dabbed at
her damp eyes. "I only hope that I am wrong, that you
have not fallen prey to Frederick's charm once more.
Tell me it is not so, Eleanor."

Eleanor took a deep breath before replying. "I cannot
lie to you, Selina. I ... I wish it were so, that I were
immune to Frederick. But, I ... I cannot say why, but
somehow I'm drawn to him, it's true" She shook her
head, biting her bottom lip till it stung. "I know I should
not be. I know it's imprudent at best. I'm fully aware I
should marry someone like George Whitby, and yet I
cannot help my feelings. What am I to do, Selina?"

Selina's lips parted with a gasp. "I confess, I'm astonished. I ... I do not know what counsel to give" She
busied herself with pouring tea, clearly unable to look
Eleanor in the eye. With trembling hands, she set a
steaming cup before Eleanor, then visibly strove to compose her features before continuing. "I cannot deny that
it has become my fondest wish for you to marry George. Selfish of me, perhaps. I would not wish you
unhappy. But I did so think you would suit."

"I'm not so certain we would," Eleanor said hesitantly.

"What objection can you possibly have? He's handsome, wealthy-"

"I'm well aware of his qualifications," Eleanor interjected, perhaps a bit too sharply. "I'm sorry, Selina.
It's just that I don't quite understand it myself Indeed,
he is everything you said he was. He will no doubt make
an excellent, attentive husband. But suddenly I find
myself wishing for more."

"More?" Selina shook her head. "I don't understand.
What more could you want? I realize he has no title,
but-"

"It's not a title I want. It's something else ... something
I cannot explain. An intangible, I suppose. But the more
I think of my future .. " She trailed off, afraid to voice
her fears.

As a woman, what had she to look forward to but
being a wife and mother? She would run a household,
entertain, bear children. If her sole occupation was to be
a wife, then shouldn't she at least enjoy the company of
her husband? Shouldn't they share common interests?
Shouldn't intimacy be pleasurable, not merely a duty?
Her stomach pitched uncomfortably.

Was she hoping for too much? Especially given the
fact that she had very little time left? She must either
honor the marriage contract with Frederick or find a
suitable alternative immediately. And as of now, there
was no alternative, save George Whitby. Could he possibly satisfy her? No. No, he would not. Yet marrying
Frederick held the possibility of becoming far more disastrous, didn't it?

Selina cleared her throat. "I do hope you know what you are doing," she said. "You cannot expect marriage
to change Frederick's character. Just imagine the humiliation of having a husband who trifles with other men's
wives" She looked around furtively, then lowered her
voice many decibels. "He could get himself shot, you
know. Or worse."

Worse? What could possibly be worse than that? Still,
Selina had given voice to Eleanor's greatest fears about
Frederick. Even he himself had said that a leopard
cannot change its spots. Even now, he was trying to lure
her to an isolated cottage, and for what? Certainly not
to converse about the weather.

The sound of approaching footsteps distracted her
from her thoughts. Eleanor busied herself with her
needlework as the men strode in, the scent of tobacco
following them.

"There you are, Henley dear," Selina said, moving
her skirts aside to make room for her husband beside
her on the sofa.

The cushions depressed as Henley took his seat,
stretching his legs out before him. "So, my dear, what
shall we do for entertainment tonight? Some cards, perhaps?"

Selina shook her head. "Not tonight, as our numbers
are not even" She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder, her pale brows knitted.

"Feel free to play without me," Frederick offered, his
deep baritone voice just behind Eleanor, causing her to
start in surprise. "I have some correspondence to take
care of Might I trouble you for a pot of ink and a pen,
Whitby?"