To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (26 page)

Frederick whirled toward the familiar, feminine
voice, his greatcoat billowing out behind him. Relief
coursed through his veins, a sudden calm washing over
him, taking him entirely by surprise.

By God, but she was beautiful. His breath hitched in
his chest as his hungry eyes devoured her. His gaze
raked over her quickly, from head to toe, before he permitted himself to study her more leisurely, beginning
with the mass of dark curls gathered at her crown, to her
inky blue eyes, slightly shadowed beneath her lower
lashes, down to her full, rosy lips, and lower still to the
generous swell of her decolletage. Damnation, but she
was wearing that same indecent frock, the exotic bluegreen confection that nearly bared her breasts. Had she
worn it for Whitby? For she certainly had not expected
him tonight.

The bitter taste of bile flooded his mouth, and he
turned away from her, back toward the fire. He did not
want her to see his expression as he struggled to stay the
demons of self-doubt.

"Answer me, Frederick," she demanded, her voice as
hard as flint. "Why are you here, your hair more disheveled than usual and your person reeking of spirits?"

"Shut the door, Eleanor." He turned back to face her,
amazed that his voice sounded so commanding.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "The door remains
open"

"Goddamn it, Eleanor," he roared. "Shut the bloody
door."

Her eyes widened, perhaps with fear? He hadn't
meant to frighten her. Damn it all, but he was losing his
mind. He took two steps toward her, bridging the distance that separated them. "Unless you wish that the
entire household hear us discuss what transpired last
night at the cottage, I would suggest that you shut the
door, love," he said softly, gently.

She eyed him sharply for several seconds, then
turned and shut the door. "Shall I lock it, too?" she
asked, her tone cold, clipped.

"That won't be necessary." He took two more cautious steps toward her.

Looking much like a cornered animal, she fled behind
the sofa. "I see no reason to discuss what happened last
night, Frederick," she said, leaning against the heavy
piece of furniture as if she needed its support. "You certainly did not have to return from Plymouth to do so"

"I've found Eckford, just outside Plymouth. Henley
is there now, making sure the coward doesn't flee"

"Then ... then you have not killed him?"

"I've challenged him to a duel. Tomorrow, at dawn.
The gauntlet has been thrown down."

"And you will kill him then?"

"That's my intention."

"And you've come here tonight to tell me this?"

"I've come here to give you this." He produced the
pouch from his pocket.

"What is it?" she asked, not moving from behind the
sofa.

Releasing the drawstring, he dropped the ring into the
palm of his hand. "A betrothal ring"

"Why would you give me this?" she asked, clutching
the back of the sofa. She was not wearing gloves, he noticed, and her hands were trembling. "Why now?"

"Because I want to make my intentions clear. Now. I
want to marry you, Eleanor."

"You're drunk," she said, shaking her head. "You
don't know what you're saying."

He threw back his head and laughed. "I'm not so
drunk as that. I found my way here, did I not? Indeed, I
know precisely what I'm saying, love. I want to marry
you, and I vow to make a good and proper husband. A
faithful husband," he added, knowing how important
that would be to her.

And he meant it. Devil take it, but he meant it. "Will
you come over here? I have no plans to accost you, though
if I did, the sofa would not afford you much protection"

"I ... I do not know what to say," she stuttered.

"Say that you will take the ring. Take it, and think
about what I've said tonight. Think about the way it felt
last night, your body beneath mine"

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and knew she
was indeed remembering. Just as he was. How would he
ever forget?

"Think about that," he continued, "and about how it
felt to sit perched beside me in the tree, gazing at the
sea. Think about that haunting piece of Beethoven you
played, for me and me alone." Slowly, cautiously, he
moved toward her, around the back of the sofa.

"In the meantime, I will see to Eckford. If all goes
well, we will be on our way back to Essex in no time. I
will give you three days, no more. You think about what
I've said tonight, and decide if you can trust my words, if you can believe that there is more to the man than the
reputation, that a leopard can indeed change its spots"

"You're the one who said it could not," Eleanor interjected.

"Indeed I did. I was wrong on that count. I was wrong
about many things, it would seem. I had no reason to
believe it possible then. But now," he said softly, still
moving toward her, "now I have so very many reasons
to do exactly that, to change my spots. And if you can
believe it possible, too"-he reached her side at last"only if you truly believe it, then you shall slip this ring
on your finger, and we shall marry by Christmastide,
just as the contract stipulates."

He reached for her hand, opened it, and laid the ruby
ring in her palm. "And if things do not go as planned
with Eckford," he said with a shrug, "you can do what
you wish with the ring, and no one will be the wiser."

"However can you say that so calmly, so dispassionately?" she asked, her eyes suddenly damp. "Please,
Frederick, do not go through with this duel! Take him to
London, make him pay restitution, punish him in any way
necessary. But do not go through with this madness!"

"I haven't a choice, love," he said quietly, stroking her
flushed cheek with the back of his hand. "You must understand that"

"No" She shook her head so wildly that her carefully
coiffed hair began to fall from its bindings, several dark
tendrils floating about her face. "No, I cannot. I cannot
abide it. I cannot marry you if you've just killed a man"

Defeated, he dropped his hands to his sides. "Then I
shall be very sorry. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go"

"Go then!" she cried out. "Leave at once. I wish
you'd never come" Tears were spilling down her cheeks
now, unchecked. He hadn't any idea if they were tears
of anger, of sadness, of fear. He hadn't the time to stay and find out. The hour grew late, and dawn would come
soon enough.

He turned sharply and strode toward the door, pain
tearing at his lungs. Reaching for the doorknob, he
paused, steeling himself to walk out the door, knowing
the possibility remained, however slight, that he might
never see her again. Damn Eckford and his cowardice.

"Please don't do it, Frederick," she called out on a
sob. "Please, I beg of you. He might very well kill you
instead"

He took a deep, ragged breath before turning to face
her once more, his hand still on the door.

"Please," she repeated, weeping openly, and the pain
in her countenance near enough killed him.

In mere seconds, he closed the distance between
them and gathered her in his arms, kissing her ruthlessly, mindlessly, grasping the back of her head and
pressing her to him like he'd never let her go. Deeply,
thoroughly, he kissed her, not daring to take his lips
from hers until he heard her cry out his name on a
whimper, felt her legs go weak. Only then did his mouth
retreat.

Dropping his hands to her shoulders, he steadied her,
then captured her wavering gaze with his own, forcing
her to meet his eyes, to look deeply into them, to see
everything he felt for her, there in his gaze. And then he
released her.

"Do not fret, love. If by chance I am killed on the
morrow, everyone will say how better off you were for
it, won't they?" He took two steps back, away from her,
his heart pounding so furiously against his ribcage that
he feared it might very well burst. "Good-bye, loveliest
Eleanor."

With a sharp bow, he turned and left.

Eleanor stood paralyzed, watching Frederick leave
her there in Mister Whitby's salon without a backward
glance. He loved her; she'd seen it there in his eyes, just
after he'd kissed her. But not enough to call off the duel,
to keep himself safe from harm. Oh, dear Lord, whatever was she to do?

"Frederick!" she called out, dashing through the open
doorway, lifting her skirts as she ran out into the front
hall, the heels of her slippers clattering loudly against
the marble. She couldn't let him leave, not like this, not
without him knowing how she felt. She would not be
better off without him, not at all.

Rushing past the startled housekeeper, she hurried to
the front door, reaching for the handle with slippery,
shaking hands. In seconds, she flung open the door, just
in time to see Frederick charging down the drive atop an
enormous black horse, his dark overcoat billowing out
behind him as his mount kicked up a cloud of dust.

She stood silently, watching until he disappeared entirely from sight, her heart near to bursting. He was
gone. Gone. For a moment, she considered going to the stables and requesting a mount-following him out into
the night. But of course she could not.

A sharp pain in her palm drew her attention away
from the road, and she unclenched her fist and stared in
surprise at the ring she saw there, the setting biting into
her flesh. She'd all but forgotten it, clutched in her hand
all this time.

It was exquisite. A generously large but simple, round
ruby flanked by two slightly smaller diamonds on either
side. Three stones in all, set in filigreed gold. She'd
never before owned a piece as lovely as this, stunning in
its stark simplicity. Wherever had Frederick purchased
this, and when? It seemed far too well-crafted to have
come from anywhere but a London shop. Shaking her
head in confusion, she closed her fingers back around
the gem.

Tears welled once more in her eyes, and she suddenly
felt as if she were suffocating. She could not go back
inside and face Selina, not yet. Instead, she would take
a turn in Mister Whitby's garden, get some exercise,
clear her head.

Nodding to herself, she hurriedly made her way back
though the front door, across the marbled front hall, and
down a long corridor toward the drawing room.
Quickly, quietly, she crossed the room and let herself
back out into the night through a pair of French doors.
Her slippers skimmed down the wide, stone stairs, and
moments later she found herself shivering in the neatly
manicured garden where large, fragrant chrysanthemums and marigolds bloomed in profusion, the yellows, reds, and golds brilliant even in the moonlight.

Her breath produced puffs of vapor as she walked
briskly in silence, her mind far too numb, her thoughts
too jumbled to make sense of anything. But bit by bit,
her racing heart began to slow, to beat a steady rhythm, her breath coming slower now. The scent of the garden
was calming, as it always was, whether here on the
Devon coast or at home in Essex.

Spying a lone bench beneath a crabapple tree, she
hastened to it, sinking to the cold, stone seat with a
heavy sigh. If only she'd put on her overcoat before
she'd run out of the front hall.

With an almost fearful reluctance, she opened her
fingers and stared at the ring in her hand once more,
willing herself to think through the muddle. She recalled Frederick's words as he had placed the ring in her
hand, his insistence that she remember things she'd considered best forgotten. But how could she forget the way
she felt in his arms, warm and comfortable in his embrace? How could she forget the way her skin tingled
beneath his touch, beneath his mouth? However would
she survive, if she could never again experience such
things?

She needed his touch, his kiss, just as she needed air
to breathe and water to drink, she realized. And where
would that leave her if Eckford killed him, instead of the
other way around? A sharp pain tore through her chest,
momentarily stealing away her breath.

She looked up at the moon, bright in the sky, and said
a silent prayer. No matter what happens, please let Frederick remain unharmed. She couldn't bear it otherwise,
regardless of whether she chose to wear his ring or not.
She could barely imagine a world without Frederick in
it-a world devoid of his wicked laugh, missing the
mischievous twinkle in his warm, chocolate eyes, the
wry curve of his lips. For four long years she'd dreamt
of nothing but him-however would she fill her dreams
if he were suddenly gone?

"May I join you, Lady Eleanor?"

Eleanor looked up in surprise at Mister Whitby, stand ing not three feet away and smiling down at her warmly.
For the briefest of moments, she'd thought perhaps it had
been Frederick, back again. Valiantly she sought to
school her features, to hide her disappointment.

"I thought you might be cold, so I brought you your
cloak," he said, holding out the garment. "I'm sorry to
intrude."

She was cold, the chill of the stones beneath her penetrating the fabric of her gown, making her limbs feel
numb. Eleanor gratefully took the cloak and wrapped it
about her shoulders, stiffly tying the ribbons at her
throat and then tucking the folds beneath herself.
"Thank you, Mister Whitby. Please feel free to join me,
though I fear I'm not good company at present"

"Yes, I assumed as much. I saw Mister Stoneham
leaving just now," he said as he took a seat beside her on
the bench, so close that his shoulder brushed hers. His
presence was surprisingly welcome, comforting. Whatever his faults, George Whitby was a good and kind
man, a generous man. Selina had not exaggerated on that
count.

"And I thought perhaps we could talk candidly," he
said, then cleared his throat. "I spoke with Selina after
our guests departed, you see. She told me of your betrothal contract with Mister Stoneham, and of your
desire to extricate yourself from it. I wonder, though, if
Selina overestimates your desire to do so?"