Beware of Virtuous Women (23 page)

"I don't know, Eleanor. If it was all so
reasonable,
why didn't you tell me? Does Ainsley care so little for you that he'd just blithely hand you over to me so that I could bring you here, put you in danger from what we thought at the time could possibly be the head of the Red Men Gang? My God, Eleanor, sometimes I think all of you Beckets are insane, and that I'm even more insane to be involved with the lot of you."

"You're angry, and I'm sorry for that." She couldn't stand having him look at her that way any longer. Curious. More than a little upset, even disappointed in her, disappointed in the family he'd aligned himself with, not to put too fine a point on the thing.

"Angry is such a mild term, Eleanor, for how I feel right now. But that doesn't mean I can't think. Who else is here? In London. Who else is watching? How many Beckets are monitoring every move you and I make, every move Chelfham makes? If he or they contact you, be sure to invite them for dinner, won't you?"

Eleanor blinked, surprised by the question...then realized she shouldn't be. "I.. .I don't know if anyone
is
here. No one contacted me, told me. But that does make sense, doesn't it? Papa would want me to be safe."

"Yes. Which takes more than the hired help, obviously. Too bad none of them saw Chelfham's man about to set my house on fire. I may have to complain to Ainsley when next I see him."

"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry. What a muddle this is." She got to her feet and walked behind the nearest couch, as if the piece of furniture could somehow protect her. "But, to be truthful, none of us thought anything would come of my being here. And you weren't even positive the earl was involved, remember? Yet you seem to think he knows who I really am. Isn't it much more likely he's telling the complete truth, and I have nothing to do with any of what's happening now? He's involved with the Red Men, we know that now. He'd like you to join your
business
with his. And his wife dislikes...cripples."

She was fairly certain she didn't believe the last thing she'd said, and convinced that Jack didn't believe any of it.

Jack got to his feet, pushed the chair away, speaking randomly, as different thoughts struck him. "We could swallow that whole, I suppose. Or we might consider that he could have recognized you here the other evening. You could resemble your mother very much. Something. He might not even realize exactly why he wants you gone, but just that the sight of you somehow make him uncomfortable—and I don't mean your limp, damn it."

"No, I know that's not what you mean."

"Well, thank you for that. Now let's see if we can agree on something else, all right?"

Eleanor wet her lips, swallowed her nervousness. "Such as?"

"Such as, Eleanor, if I were a fanciful man, I'd think a man like Chelfham might have had something to do with the death of your parents, as he got himself an earldom out of it, didn't he? But that's impossible, isn't it, because your ship went down in a storm. With a fire raging on the deck. Fire, in the midst of raging storm. Wasn't that it, Eleanor? And one thing more. You were sailing to Jamaica, weren't you, Eleanor? Either to or from Jamaica?"

She raised a trembling hand to her forehead. He was pressing so hard, too hard, and she was having trouble keeping her wits about her, her lies sorted. "I told you, Jack. I didn't even begin remembering anything until a few years ago. I was only a child, I may have muddled some of those memories."

Jack felt he was getting closer. "Chelfham knew, of course. He knew the ship was lost because it never showed up, either here or in Jamaica. He was the earl, assumed his dead brother's title and fortune. Lucky man. But now, all these years later, along comes a young woman who would be his niece's age, a young woman who looks very much like her mother—we'll just assume that, for the sake of our story—and he begins to wonder. Had his niece somehow survived the shipwreck? And here I am, having just told him yes, I met my wife in Jamaica, which pretty much confirms what he is—possibly is—thinking. He set the trap by mentioning Jamaica, and I walked straight into it. Damn it all to hell, Eleanor! You and Ainsley should have told me!"

Eleanor nearly flinched, but held her ground. "We couldn't know, Jack. Do you really think he recognizes me? That seems fairly far-fetched."

"Why? I'm supposedly the living spit of my dead father now that I'm a grown man, to hear my mother's maid tell the story. It's possible, Eleanor. Anything's possible. And, since he's not exactly falling on your neck, shouting that he believes you might be his long-lost niece, we have to conclude that he's been made very nervous by your appearance here in London. Now, why would he be nervous if he had nothing to fear? Tell me all of it, Eleanor, because I'm beginning to think Chelfham believes I
am
in on the whole thing. Smuggling? The Red Men Gang? Is that really what I'm after from the man? Or am I pushing my wife in his face just before I demand money from him for our silence? Christ, what a confounding bloody mess!"

She couldn't tell him the whole truth. Not yet. Not without Papa's permission. But she could tell him something. "Do you remember when we spoke of the laws of inheritance?"

Jack nodded. "Vacated titles," he said slowly. "Titles in abeyance. Titles where he or she couldn't prove—" He stopped, astounded. "Chelfham's title can be inherited by a female?"

Eleanor's smile was indulgent. "No, that's very rare. I just wished to point out that I've had ample time to investigate everything about the laws concerning such things. I have, I admit, also spent quite a lot of time on this subject where it particularly concerns the Maddox family. It is left to the discretion of the current earl to dispose of unentailed properties and monies, jewelry, any way he sees fit. Papa—Ainsley—has, well, he has ways of finding out things, and it would appear my father had decided he did not much care for his brother, but that he made ample provisions for my mother and me. With my mother also.. .gone—" She paused, then finished. "I was to inherit two small properties and the London mansion, as well as quite a substantial sum of money."

"Having met Rawley Maddox, I can't believe that eventuality made him a happy man. But if you and your mother had also perished, everything went to him?"

"Exactly. He would have been the only one left alive to inherit, as Papa pointed out to me. Coming to London, confronting my uncle, could only mean long years of struggle in the courts, all without much hope of being able to prove my claim. I chose not to pursue the matter."

"Because Ainsley's rich as Golden Ball anyway," Jack said with a half smile that quickly faded. "And because of the limp? Tell me truthfully, Eleanor. Did your leg have anything to do with your decision? Because, damn it, there's no reason for that."

"Thank you, Jack. My limp is a part of me, and I barely think of it." Eleanor's smile nearly broke his heart. "But I'm not like my sister Morgan. I feel no compelling need to stand up and dare the world. I'm happy as I am. I'm only sorry I didn't say something to you sooner. That wasn't only selfish of me, but dangerous for you."

"And you," Jack reminded her, his anger slowly dissipating, to be replaced by a sadness he didn't want to look at just at this moment. The sadness he felt as the outsider, looking in; invited in from time to time, but never asked to stay. Even now, as they were here, together in the same room, he could feel Eleanor slipping away from him.

It was time to speak of what was to come next. "Yes, it would appear it was dangerous for both of us. Do you want to send me back to Becket Hall? I'm more of a hindrance now, and would most certainly understand."

Jack went to her, took her hands in his; her cold hands. "We're only guessing about why Chelfham is so interested in you, Eleanor, even if I feel confident I'm right. And if I am, we can't take the chance he'd follow you.. .do something. He seems in quite a hurry to separate us. Keep me here, get you gone, out on the road. Unprotected."

Eleanor's eyes went wide. "Do something? Attempt to kill me, you mean?" She pulled her hands free and turned her back on Jack. "Sometimes I wish I'd never remembered. Everything was so much easier when I didn't know, couldn't
really
know. I mean, to actually put it all into words..."

Jack slid his arms around her, gently pulled her back against him, feeling all his anger and indignation melting away. All that concerned him now was Eleanor. "So I'm right? It wouldn't be the first time he's tried to kill you, would it, Eleanor? Please. Tell me the rest of it. I know there's more. A fool would know there's more. What happened on that ship? There was no storm, was there? Just the fire. Your ship was attacked, wasn't it?"

She pressed the back of her head against his chest, her eyes closed. "Don't ask me that, Jack, because I can't tell you. Let's just say that you could be right, and move on from there." She turned in his arms, looked up at him pleadingly. "Please."

He stroked the side of her face. "How can I deny you anything?" he asked, because she was right. He knew what he had to know, for now. "But you're not going anywhere without me, do you understand? You're not to leave this house. Cluny and I need a few days, no more than three, to scour London for that damned black coach, and then we're all going back to Becket Hall. Together. I'd like to think I'm a capable man, but this is bigger than any of us thought. Ainsley has to know."

"And you don't want to kill anyone," Eleanor said, trying to summon a smile.

"Phelps and Eccles? No, I have no reason to kill them. They're pawns in this, too. Your uncle, however, is another matter entirely."

"Don't call him that. Please."

"Very well. Chelfham is quite a complicated and nasty piece of work, using his own brother-in-law as his convenient dupe, trying to circumvent his superior in the hierarchy of this damned Red Men Gang in order to increase his fortune—while at the same time admitting his awe and fear of the man." He shook his head. "Enough, Eleanor. I don't want to think about him or any of this, not any more today."

"No, neither do I," Eleanor said, watching in bemuse-ment as Jack lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm.

"So let's think about us," he said quietly, curling his fingers around her hand and leading her into the hallway...and up the staircase.

Eleanor didn't begin to panic until they'd reached the landing and Jack turned her in the direction of his bedchamber—at which time she remembered that it was still the middle of the day and what on earth did he think they'd be doing, and what if servants were working in her adjoining bedchamber, and Jack's valet could come walking in on them at any time, and then there was Cluny, and only heaven knew when he'd pop up, and... and, oh, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be more daring?

She wanted this, didn't she? She'd worried that last night would be her only memory as she returned to Becket Hall to live out her lonely days. She longed for Jack's arms around her. She could almost taste his kiss. Her body was singing with anticipation.

So why was she thinking of sunlight and servants? What was there about her that refused to allow her to throw caution to the four winds? Were some people simply born full of
proper
and
prudent?
Why couldn't she be more like Morgan, like all the rest of the Beckets? Why did she have to be so.. .so
Eleanor?