Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Fifteen

Flirting Before Dinner

Meanwhile, in the parlor at Excelsior Park

J ames gulped upon seeing Lady Eloise on the threshold of the Excelsior Park parlor. Her auburn hair had been caught up in a bun, a series of curls pinned to the front of it, while spiral ringlets hung down past her ears.

Dressed for dinner in a pale peach confection adorned with a series of floral appliqués at the hem and around the deep neckline, Eloise looked at least two years older than when he had walked with her on the tree-lined lane leading to Excelsior Park.

“Lady El,” he breathed as he hurried to stand before her. He bowed and took her hand in his, kissing the back of her white silk gloves. He stared at her a moment too long while he held her hand.

“Lord Leicester,” she acknowledged, gently pulling her hand from his.

“Oh, call me James, please,” he replied as he struggled to breathe.

“Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?” she asked.

The marchioness joined them at the door. “I’ve had Lord Leicester’s trunk taken up to a guest bedchamber,” she said. “Perhaps you would like to take some time to rest and then change for dinner, Leicester?” she asked as she turned her attention to James. “We eat a bit earlier than usual out here in the country.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, my lady. I’ll be happy to join you, and yes, I should like to change into dinner clothes,” he replied. He found it hard to tear his gaze from Eloise, though.

Although he still hadn’t met Lady Stephanie, he thought the older sister must have been a true beauty if so many aristocrats had come to court her instead of Eloise. Or perhaps Eloise hadn’t yet been allowed out in Society. “Mayhap we can be seated next to one another this evening?” he asked of her.

Eloise dipped her head in an attempt to hide a smirk.

“I’m quite sure we can arrange that,” her mother said. “In the meantime, I really must see to some other details before dinner is served at five o’clock. Could you be a darling…El, and take our guest to his bedchamber?”

“Of course, Mother. I’d be happy to,” Eloise replied as she dipped a curtsy.

“My lady,” James said as he bowed to the marchioness. For a moment, he was once again sure the woman was about to faint, but he held out his arm for Eloise and was heartened when she placed her hand on it.

“This way, James,” Eloise said.

They were halfway up the stairs to the second floor when she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, dear. Have I done something unpardonable with regards to your mother?” James asked in alarm.

Eloise lifted her free hand to her lips. “Not at all. But I was ever so sure she was about to faint.”

“As was I,” James agreed in a whisper. “What happened?”

“She called me ‘El,’ and I did what she asked.”

James furrowed a brow. “Do you usually not do as she asks?”

“When she calls me Eloise, I do not.”

“Ah,” he replied. “I referred to you as ‘El’ when I mentioned I had accompanied you to the front door. I must admit she looked a little confused.”

Eloise huffed. “I’ve spent the last ten years telling my parents I disliked my name—that I preferred to be called ‘El,’ and it’s fallen on deaf ears. Ten minutes in your company, and she’s suddenly complying.”

James shrugged. “What can I say, my sweeting? Sometimes change requires a stranger’s influence.”

She led him down a long corridor to a room with an open door. “My sweeting?” she repeated, ducking her head into the bedchamber. “I suppose you say that to all the women you wish to bed. Is that your valise, sir?”

James paused and grimaced before he poked his head into the room and then nodded. “It is my valise,” he acknowledged. “And I’ve never called anyone ‘my sweeting’ before,” he claimed. At her look of disbelief, he added, “It just…slipped out.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me you don’t wish to bed me?”

James blinked. “What? That’s not at all what I’m saying,” he argued. “If you really must know, I hadn’t given bedding you any thought until…” He clamped his mouth shut.

“Until?” she prompted, her mouth left half-open.

He glanced back down the corridor to ensure they were still the only two in the corridor. “You appeared in the parlor. And then all I could think about was…” He stopped speaking but still managed to emit a grunt of what sounded like pain.

Eloise took a step back, pulling her hand away from his arm as she did so. The look of confusion—or was that fear?—in her eyes had James scoffing.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said with a sigh. “You…you’re just so gorgeous . I didn’t realize it when we were walking, because I couldn’t see you very well, and then you appeared like an angel in the parlor, all pretty in peach, and all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and…” He stopped speaking, aware of the heat of embarrassment rising to color his neck and face. “Well, now you’ve gone and forced me to put a voice to my secret.”

Eloise stared at him. “And?” she prompted.

“And?” he repeated, confused.

“You said all you wanted to do was take me in your arms and… And what ?”

James dipped his head. “Well, kiss you senseless, to start,” he admitted, suddenly sheepish. He sighed. “During dinner, do you suppose you can pretend we didn’t have this conver…?”

His words were cut off when Eloise stepped forward, rose on tiptoes, and placed her lips on his.

Caught by surprise—he’d never had a woman initiate a kiss before—James held completely still for a moment before he realized he needed to participate. Move his lips over hers. Encourage hers to open. Steady her with a hand at her waist. Pull her closer with his other arm around her shoulders.

Once her lips locked with his, James allowed a moan of appreciation deep in his throat. He changed the angle of his head slightly, relieved to hear a matching moan from her. A moment later, and their fronts were pressed together, her curves filling his voids as her hands went to his shoulders.

A myriad of sensations fired his nerve endings as James enjoyed the long kiss, his senses intensely aware of everything about Eloise. She smelled of flowers and spice and citrus. Tasted like the strawberry he had imagined her eating when they had been walking. Sounded like a kitten, the way she purred. Felt all soft and pliable, although he knew there was a spine of steel keeping her upright. And although he didn’t know what she looked like, for he had his eyes closed to concentrate on what their lips and his hands were doing, he remembered very well her look of awe the moment before she started the kiss.

The ending of it all should have been a mutual parting of lips and a slow separation of their bodies. Unfortunately, the sound of footfalls on the corridor’s carpeted floor had limbs flailing as they struggled to step away from each other. James backed into the side of a huge dresser while Eloise nearly collided with the door jamb.

“If you need a valet, simply ring that bell,” Eloise said as she pointed to a wire that snaked up the wall and disappeared into a hole above the door.

James blinked, stunned she could not only form a coherent sentence but appear much as she had before she had kissed him. “Thank you, my lady,” he managed to say without croaking. “I’ll see you…?”

“In the parlor. We’ll have coffee and nuts before we go down.”

Nodding, he watched as she dipped an exaggerated curtsy and hurried off down the corridor. Before he could straighten up, a fisted hand appeared and knocked on the jamb. “Yes?”

A man in his late twenties appeared around the edge of the door. “Lord Leicester? Huntsford sent me. Said you might require a valet. Name’s Eames, and I’ve ordered a pail of hot water. That will be up in a moment.”

James took in a steadying breath. “That’s rather kind of him,” he replied. “And you, and whoever is bringing up the water,” he added. “Yes, I could use your help. I fear we may have to cut off my boots from my feet.”

The valet grinned and stepped into the room. He closed the door. “Long day of travel, sir?”

“Indeed.”

James sat on the edge of the bed, impressed by how firm it was as he lifted one leg into Eames’ hand. The valet grabbed the boot’s heel and gave it a jerk. The boot slid off without a problem. Blinking in surprise, James said, “Bravo.”

Eames bowed. “You’re the eighth or ninth lord whose boots I’ve had to remove this month, my lord.”

Not used to having a chatty servant, James realized he might be able to learn more about the Huntsfords—especially Eloise—with some leading questions. “Lady El was kind enough to escort me here to this bedchamber and mentioned there had been a number of aristocrats paying calls here lately,” he said, wanting to be sure the servant didn’t think the worst of the young lady’s presence.

“All wanting to court Lady Stephanie,” Eames said as he pulled off the other boot. “Word is she’s chosen Lord Weatherby.”

“Hmph,” James replied. “Makes sense. He’s a marquess.”

Eames angled his head to one side as he examined the Hessian. “So…you didn’t come to court her?”

James shook his head. “I came about an issue for this next session of Parliament,” he replied. “And if I were to court a Huntsford, it would be Lady El,” he added, watching the valet for his reaction.

The servant stared at him for a moment. “Oh, you’re referring to Lady Eloise?” he asked.

James nodded. “She prefers El.”

His eyes darting to the side, Eames picked up the other boot and placed the pair near the door. “I’ll see to polishing these for the morrow.”

“Thank you,” James replied.

A knock at the door had the valet retrieving the bucket of hot water from a footman, and James took the opportunity to remove his waistcoat and shirt to freshen up as the valet opened his trunk and began unpacking.

“Tell me, Eames, is Lady El well regarded among the staff?”

Eames looked like a fish for a moment, his mouth opening and then closing as if he couldn’t decide how to respond. “She’s always very pleasant with the staff, sir,” he hedged, shaking out the dinner clothes.

“But?” James prompted.

“Well… I always just thought she was contrary to her mother because of her sister.”

“Contrary?” James repeated as he undid the buttons of his breeches. He used a cloth and started washing his chest, wincing at his reflection in the small mirror.

Looking a bit sheepish, Eames said, “She argues with the marchioness about everything, sir.”

“And let me guess. Lady Stephanie is the perfect young lady.” He continued to wash the top half of his body, determined to remove the stench of two days of travel.

Eames’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. You have the right of it.”

“What about the heir?” He pulled off his stockings, wiggling his toes in the carpet. The effect of the soft fibers beneath his feet had his travel-induced weariness dissipating immediately.

Holding out a pair of black superfine pantaloons, Eames said, “Lord Edward is at university and rarely in residence. He and Lady Eloise… Lady El,” he corrected himself, “always got along. They’re close in age, and Lady El was a bit of a hoyden when she was younger.”

James allowed a grin as he pulled on the black pantaloons. He could imagine Eloise as a hoyden. The fact that she would take a walk without a chaperone suggested she was still testing her mother. Doing what she must to gain attention given her older sister would have always had most of it.

Thank the gods Charles hadn’t minded his position as the spare heir. He had relished his role, aspiring to his position in the military long before he was old enough to begin his training. Although James had never expected Charles would have to see battle, he was nevertheless proud when his younger brother set off for the Continent on yet another attempt to defeat Napoleon.

That Charles could end up wounded hadn’t really crossed his mind until the day he received the letter informing him of his brother’s fate and whereabouts in a field hospital. The feminine script had been easy to read, the signature a surprise until James learned that Colonel Sinclair had a daughter—and that letters from field hospitals were rare. “He must have paid her a pretty penny to write it,” his source at the Lyon’s Den had said when he asked about her identity. The man had recently returned from the war, his own wound evident in how he frequently flexed and fisted one scarred hand. “The nurses in those tents don’t have time nor the paper to be writing letters for the wounded.”

James felt a stab of guilt at not having sent a proper response to the young lady. Even if she had been paid to write the missive, her effort was still much appreciated. Otherwise, he would have spent more than two months wondering what had happened to Charles.

Shaking himself from his reverie, James started to pull on the red waistcoat Eames held out for him and then paused. Remembering the color of Lady Eloise’s gown, James said, “Isn’t there a lighter one in there? Sort of an apricot color?”

Eames pulled a few more clothes out of the trunk and shook out a peach waistcoat adorned with embroidered birds. “This one?”

“Yes.” James grinned as he pulled it on and began buttoning it. “I’ll save the red for tomorrow if I’m still here.”

“Very good, sir.”

If he ever had a chance to meet with Huntsford directly, James hoped he would be invited to spend another night. He wanted to be as close to Lady Eloise as possible.