Beware of Virtuous Women (24 page)

Jack felt Eleanor's reluctance in the way her body had stiffened and her steps had slowed. Clearly, one night in his bed hadn't banished all her virginal reservations. She looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter, which wasn't exactly a whacking great endorsement of his prowess in bed, was it? "You said Treacle had summoned a glazier?"

"Oh, oh yes, I did, didn't I?" Eleanor responded quickly, hoping she didn't sound
too
grateful for this at least momentary reprieve. "And Mrs. Hendersen unearthed some quite lovely draperies from the attics, but they can't be hung, naturally, until the walls are repaired. I'm afraid that would mean all of the walls, even if only the one was damaged. I know that's an expense, but—"

"I think I'll be able to manage," Jack told her, taking her hand and leading her past the doors to the master chamber. One step at a time, as long as those steps eventually ended in
his
bedchamber. "Let's see the progress, shall we?"

Then he hid a small smile as he heard her relieved sigh. She was such a lady, his small Eleanor. Even when she longed to be a wanton. But that was all right. It was even fine. How he would enjoy watching the petals of her passion open one by one, until she realized the full flower of her womanhood, and even the power she held over him, the power he was increasingly willing to yield to her.

He pushed open the door and reminded Eleanor to step over the rolled rag that was still on the floor, then stepped back to let her precede him into the chamber. Progress, as he could see, was already being made. For all her talk of equality, she seemed very capable of directing the servants, employing them all to their best abilities.

Eleanor Becket could probably quietly
please
and
thank you
and
if you don't mind
entire armies into following her into the very mouth of Hell. For who could say no to those huge brown eyes? Who would ever wish to see them fill with unspoken disappointment, or not long to see approval reflected in those velvety depths?

And she had no idea of her own power, which was amazing, it really was. Almost as amazing as the fact that he'd overlooked her for so long, had looked at her without ever really seeing her. But the Beckets knew. Even Ainsley had wilted, as much as that man could cede power to anyone, under Eleanor's quiet insistence that she come to London.

The Beckets believed in Eleanor. Now Jack knew that it was up to him to show her that she could believe in herself.

"Everything is still rather a mess," Eleanor said, bringing Jack back to attention.

There were now no draperies on any of the three large windows and the harsh sunlight clearly showed the extent of the damage.

"We came very close to a disaster, didn't we?" he said, picking his way across the floor that was now littered with the discarded draperies and a few rolled-up carpets in order to examine the wall and floor nearest the repaired window. "Fire. London's greatest fear."

Eleanor motioned for one of the servants to remove the draperies, then joined Jack at the window. "I've read about the Great Fire of London," she said, frowning at the charred wood at her feet. "To think that only one hundred and fifty years ago almost this entire city burned to the ground. In less than one night, three hundred houses gone, as well several churches and even half of London Bridge. But the Lord Mayor wasn't concerned when he was told, and went back to bed. Imagine a man in a position of power being that irresponsible and cavalier about the welfare of his citizens."

Jack was looking out over the square, mentally picturing the whole of it on fire. "He was forced to become concerned soon enough, when the fire continued to spread. Three hundred houses the first night? Over thirteen
thousand
by the time the fires were finally out, and all because the flames had been allowed to get out of control." He turned to look at Eleanor. "Do you know how it's said the fire started?"

Eleanor bit her bottom lip, nodded. "One baker jealous of another, and trying to burn down his rival's place of business. I had considered the similarities, yes. If Beatrice and I hadn't been in this room when the fire began, who knows what might have happened. The Earl of Chelfham is a very selfish man, and very shortsighted at that. His own residence isn't but two blocks from here."

"Impulsive," Jack said, nodding his head. The wealth of Eleanor's knowledge no longer amazed him, and he enjoyed conversations like this with her more than he would have ever believed he could. He enjoyed the way she used facts, how she came to conclusions. And he respected her opinions.

"Yes, I would agree with that assessment. Impulsive, and exceedingly self-serving. He thinks like a greedy child, and doesn't measure the consequences before he acts."

"Exactly. He acts quickly, often without putting much thought into the thing. He seemed genuinely surprised when I grabbed him off the street, as if that particular consequence of his actions hadn't really occurred to him. He was ready and willing to bargain, but certainly not prepared to defend himself physically."

Eleanor nodded, as Jack had said just what she'd been thinking. "To the earl, after reading the note your next step would have been for you to come to him, hat in hand as it were, ready to abide by any terms he might name. Of course you surprised him. You didn't play the game by his rules, his concept of how life should be for him."

'The man's arrogance is amazing. I agree, Eleanor. Our new friend Chelfham decides in his mind how things should go, and refuses to even think of any variables in how events may fall out. If Chelfham had been the Lord Mayor, London would have completely burned to the ground, because fire wasn't in his plan, therefore, it couldn't happen. Interesting, isn't it? And a failing, a shortsightedness we might be able to put to our advantage."

Eleanor was on safer ground here, discussing not her uncle, but tactics. She'd spent years listening to Ainsley Becket, having lengthy talks with him about the methods, strengths and failings of long-dead generals and ancient wars.

From the Caesars, to Machiavelli, to Washington, to Wellington and Napoleon, Ainsley had taught Eleanor that to understand the man was to have already won half the battle. Strategy was a game, one on which many lives depended, and to play the game a wise leader knew every piece on the board.

Ainsley's mistake, the one he could never forget, was believing that, knowing a man's failings, he could manage them. But how do you manage evil? How does a rational man learn to think like a monster?

Chelfham wasn't a monster. He was a fool. A selfish fool. Eleanor knew she had to concentrate on that.. .but never underestimate the man, either. She knew the price Ainsley had paid, that all of them had paid.

"We've also learned that the earl will never strike directly, get his own hands dirty, so naturally he didn't think that you would," she said, leaving the servants to their work as they returned to the hallway. "He's the sort who hires others to carry out his crimes while his hands remain clean. Rather the way he wants you to murder his brother-in-law and Sir Gilbert."

"A coward, in other words," Jack said, opening the door to his bedchamber and motioning for Eleanor to once more precede him.

"No," she said, halting where she was as her mind filled with thoughts of her uncle. "Perhaps cowardly in some ways, but also very mean, quite capable of wickedness. His failing, I believe we can safely assume, is that he thinks he knows what will happen—what he believes
should
happen—and then he doesn't make more than one plan, or prepare for more than one avenue of attack."

She looked up at Jack. "In other words, if you lead him to believe something he'll plan accordingly. Then, to best him, you just have to do what he hasn't prepared against."

"Give all indications of attacking by sea, then attack by land," Jack said, nodding his agreement. "Now all we have to decide is what we want him to think."

"Yes," Eleanor said thoughtfully. "And, for now, I imagine that would be to have him think you are more than willing to be his partner?"

"Which, other than to send you out of the city, would mean eliminating Phelps and Eccles. As a show of good faith, you understand."

Eleanor frowned. "We'll think of something else," she said, then walked into the bedchamber, hardly realizing where she was until Jack closed the door behind them.

He suggested Eleanor take a seat by the fire while he rang for a servant.

"Oh, don't do that," Eleanor said without thinking. "Just open the door to my chamber and ask someone in there for whatever it is you want. It's silly to have people running up and down the stairs all the time."

Jack looked at her, realized she was serious. "They are servants, Eleanor. I do pay them."

"Yes, I know," she answered, settling herself into one of the leather chairs that flanked the fireplace. "But common sense is common sense, isn't it?"

Jack scratched at the side of his neck, considering the thing. "Is the connecting door still locked? I could go back to the hallway, but using the connecting door wouldn't take quite so much effort on my part, would be more direct, right? And common sense is common sense."

Eleanor felt hot color running into her cheeks. "Now you're making fun of me. Yes, Jack, the door is now unlocked. I'd appreciate a cup of tea and perhaps some small cakes, thank you."

Only when he was gone did her nervousness come back. Here she was, in his bedchamber, not ten paces from the bed they'd shared last night. And it was still daytime, the servants were still in the next room. She got up from her chair to draw the draperies at both large windows, casting the chamber into something more approaching evening light, then quickly retook her seat before Jack returned to catch her in the act. Not that he wouldn't notice the difference.

"Well now," Jack said, returning to the room, closing the connecting door, locking it, then tossing the key onto a nearby table, "I do believe we have the happiest servants in all of Mayfair, wife."

Eleanor watched nervously as he walked to the door leading to his dressing room, turned the key in the lock. Did he know how her body shivered each time he called her
wife?
Yes, she was sure he did. "Really? Why would you say that?"

"I informed them that they were free to go about their usual duties because I would hire—well, I'll figure out who I should be hiring—others to finish up in your chamber. There will be a tray of tea and cakes delivered here promptly, and we're not to be disturbed until Mrs. Ryan's special dinner, which I have asked to have served promptly at eight o'clock."

"That's embarrassing, Jack. They'll all know you have sent them away so that we can...be alone."

"You are my wife, Eleanor," Jack pointed out as he lit a taper from the fire in the grate, then went about the dim room—he'd noticed the closed draperies—lighting a few candles.

"We both know that isn't true," Eleanor said, loving the way each newly lit candle cast a golden glow on Jack's masculine features. He was so incredibly handsome. They were so incredibly alone.

Jack was about to answer—God only knew what he was going to say, because he didn't—when there was a quiet knock at the door and he settled for calling out "Enter!" then watched as Mrs. Hendersen herself carried in a full tea tray, placing it on the low table in front of Eleanor. "Thank you, Mrs. Hendersen."

The housekeeper curtsied, looked curiously at Eleanor, then all but backed out of the room.

"She seemed rather nervous," he said, once the door had closed. He waited five seconds, exactly, then turned the key in the lock.

"She.. .that is, Mrs. Hendersen may have come into my...into this chamber earlier, and noticed that...that I might have been slightly upset."

Jack raised one eyebrow as he walked over to seat himself in the facing chair. "Upset? Really. How so?"

Eleanor gave herself a small shake, demanded of herself that she appear in control. "I might have appeared as if I'd.. .as if I'd been upset."

"Yes. Upset. You said that. Shall we try being more precise? Upset. Angry? Frightened?" He paused a moment. "Regretful?"

"Regretful?" Eleanor frowned over that one, then said quickly, "No! No, I don't regret—oh, you're an annoying man."

"I believe you've said that before, too."

"That's only because you really are."

Well, at least she no longer looked as if she was about to up and run. That had to be an improvement. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. Tell me what had you upset, all right?"

She looked at the tea tray, the thought of sweet cakes all but making her ill. "You weren't there."

She'd spoken so quietly. "I beg your pardon? I wasn't there? I wasn't where?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Oh, for pity's sake, Jack.
Here.
You weren't
here.
I woke up and...you weren't here."

Jack lounged back in his chair, his thumbnail caught between his teeth as he looked at her, smiled at her in sudden pleasure. "You wanted me to be?"

Looking down at the tray of cakes, Eleanor had a fleeting thought about how satisfying it might be to pick up the plate and fling its contents in Jack Eastwood's face. But, because she was Eleanor Becket, quiet, reserved Eleanor Becket, she abstained. "I would have appreciated the gesture, yes."

"I did say goodbye," he told her. "I leaned over, kissed your bare shoulder. You smiled, then snuggled back into the pillows. I was very tempted to stay. Very tempted."

"Oh. How...how nice. Would you care for some tea?" Eleanor said all at once, even as she reached for the silver teapot. But she'd moved too quickly, and could only watch in horror as the pot tipped, fell onto the floor, hot water splashing into the fireplace. "Oh! Look what I've done!"

"Don't touch that," Jack warned as he pushed her hand away, for Eleanor was about to put her hand on the hot metal. "I'll take care of this."

Eleanor nodded her agreement, then sat back and watched as Jack did just that, righting the teapot, replacing it on the tray. The carpet was wet, but it was only water and would dry. "I'm never clumsy." She glared at him, suddenly more angry with him than she was disappointed in herself. "I'm never unsure. I'm never nervous. I'm
never
clumsy."