Chapter Twenty-Seven
W hite’s proved a singularly inhospitable place to sleep. Jack found a chair near the fireplace and settled into it, but sleep would not come. One of the discreet waiters, on duty all night long, brought him a brandy, but even that didn’t help. As the sun was just trying to pierce its way through the fog that hung perpetually over London in the winter months, he gave up all pretense of trying to sleep and set off along St James’s Street in the direction of Amberley House. Fresh advice from his mother was required in the light of his discovery of Elenora sleeping in his house.
He found his mother, not unnaturally, still in bed. “Go and tell her I need to see her. Again,” he said to his parents’ elderly butler. “It’s a matter of urgency, and I can’t wait.”
Westfield started up the stairs with Jack in hot pursuit, and knocked with diffidence on her ladyship’s bedroom door. A minute later Jack was inside and Westfield had departed, muttering under his breath at the way young people behaved nowadays and that no one would have dared to call before eleven when he’d been a young man.
Lady Amberley had been given scant time to adorn herself with a warm knitted shawl and was sitting up in bed looking irritated at being disturbed. One of the maids must have crept in earlier, before she woke, because a good fire was burning in the grate. Jack strode to the windows and pulled back the curtains, letting in what little light a February morning was forced to share.
“Mother.”
“Jack.” She sounded tetchy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this extremely early visit? So soon after your last one. I’m not used to such frequency.” She eyed him with asperity. “Should I assume that you are worried I’m about to depart this mortal coil? What wouldn’t wait until this afternoon?” Her tone was frostier than it had been last night. Or was that early this morning?
Jack grabbed the chair from her dressing table and set it beside the bed. “You look charming, as usual, Mother.” He sat down.
She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Get to the point, because now you’ve woken me, I need tea and toast, which Westfield has gone to tell my maid to bring and, once that arrives, I expect you to leave. I am not at all used to being disturbed at this hour and you have put me right out for the rest of the day. Now, what is it you want?”
“I am in a little bit of a fix.”
“When are you ever not?”
“Frequently. My life has run with excellent regularity since Edward’s mother died. When have I ever come to you for help?”
“About eight hours ago.”
“I wasn’t counting that.”
“Well, I was. Whatever it is, do hurry up and get it off your chest. Are you off to speak to the girl now?”
Jack swallowed. “I need more of your advice.”
She tutted. “Go on. I suppose you’d better tell me.”
Jack swallowed. “You recall our conversation about Miss Wetherby.”
“Of course, I do. I’m not senile.”
“Well, things have rather moved on.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
Jack wriggled in a discomfort he wasn’t used to. “After I left you last night, I returned home to Portland Place and went up to check on Edward after his ordeal.”
“Yes?”
“Miss Wetherby, Elenora, had not gone home to her aunt’s house.”
His mother’s delicate brows arched. “She was still there after midnight?”
Jack nodded.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that she had her maid with her as a chaperone?” Her tone was more than sarcastic.
Jack remained silent, knowing full well that Elenora’s maid had returned to Arlington Street some time earlier that evening.
His mother sighed. “Of course she didn’t. I hope you provided her with a suitable escort and sent her home forthwith.”
Jack remained silent. Again.
Realization dawned in his mother’s dark eyes. “You didn’t? What were you thinking of? You let her stay? In your house? The house of a known rake? By herself? Overnight?” Her voice rose with each utterance in the most alarming way, reminding Jack of when he’d been brought before her as a boy and forced to admit his misdemeanors. Which had been many.
“She was already in bed. So to speak.”
“In bed?” He hadn’t thought her voice could get any higher, but she proved him wrong.
“You went into her bedroom while she was in bed ? In a state of deshabillée?”
He’d better get this off his chest quickly before steam started coming out of her ears. “No. She’d clearly been reading a bedtime story to Edward and fallen asleep with him. I went to the nursery, as I told you just now, to check on Edward, and I found her curled up with him. Asleep.”
He paused, the image dancing before his eyes tantalizingly. “I couldn’t have disturbed her for it would have disturbed Edward too. And he needed his sleep after his ordeal.”
His mother fanned herself with one hand. “So you let her spend the whole night in your house? With you? Good heavens, Jack, do you possess no sense of propriety?”
Jack bridled. “It didn’t happen quite like that. When I saw she was still there, I took myself off to White’s and spent the remainder of the night there. The servants there can vouch for that. One of them brought me a glass of brandy as I couldn’t sleep. I was not under the same roof as her.”
His mother shook her head in what looked like despair. “Very correct of you, after a night of such inveterate incorrectness. However, I think what you’ve just told me solves your little problem with your Miss Wetherby. You will have to marry her now, whether she loves you or not, and rub along as best you can. Her parents and my dear Penelope will stand for nothing else. There’ll be no backing out of this engagement at the end of the season. The girl has spent the night under your roof. Whether you were there or not is immaterial. She will be ruined if you don’t marry her within the week.”
Jack put his head in his hands. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to win Elenora’s heart. He needed her to love him back, not feel backed into a corner like this. “What do you advise?”
His mother drew her shawl more closely about her shoulders. “I suggest you get round there straightaway and propose proper marriage to her. And go and get a Common License and marry the girl immediately before the gossipmongers of the Ton get hold of this story. She’ll come round to it, I can assure you. Girls always do.”
Elenora woke to the sound of heavy rain on the window. Papa would be cross if he couldn’t go out for his daily ride around the estate and that would make him grumpy with her and her sisters. She snuggled further into the warmth of her covers, putting off the moment when she’d have to get up. But who was this in bed with her? Could it be Phoebe who’d dared slip in beside her? Only Phoebe was thick-skinned enough to ignore Elenora’s often repeated warning words about coming into her bedroom.
If it was Phoebe, then she was snoring, and that was intolerable.
Incensed at the cheek of her sister to creep into her bed during the night and on top of that to snore, Elenora sat up in bed with a jerk.
This was not Phoebe.
For a moment, Elenora couldn’t work out who it was before realization dawned and she recognized Edward’s sleeping form and remembered she wasn’t at home at Penworthy. His snoring sleeping form. She must have fallen asleep last night. She hadn’t meant to. Her memory surfaced about everything that had happened yesterday. She’d come in after her bath to make sure Edward was happy, and he’d asked her to read him a story. She’d climbed onto the bed beside him and he’d snuggled in close as she read, warm and cozy, and as far as she could remember, she hadn’t reached the end of the story. They’d both been so very tired…
She must have fallen asleep. It had been an exceedingly stressful day, after all.
Dim light filtered in around the heavy curtains, so it must be past dawn, which, as it was February, meant it must be after eight o’clock. The fire in the hearth had gone out, and now that she was sitting up, the chill bit into her shoulders. The elegant peignoir she’d borrowed had little substance but she pulled it closer about herself, nevertheless.
The full import of her situation sank in. She’d spent the night here, in Portland Place. In a man’s house. The house of a single man, no less, with no woman to give her stay any hint of propriety. Her betrothed, it was true, but that counted for nothing. Young ladies, especially not those clad in fancy nightgowns and peignoirs that were not their own, should never spend the night in a man’s house. Alone. Not even the house of their betrothed. She looked at Edward’s sleeping face, so like his father’s. Technically, she wasn’t really alone. She had a chaperone. Of sorts. Even if he was only seven years old.
She glanced about the nursery. She couldn’t stay here. She had to get home. But before she did that, she had to find some clothes. She could hardly go home in a silk peignoir. Where was Agatha? Should she ring the bell for one of the servants? Oh dear, she seemed to have got herself into more of a pickle than ever. No, she wouldn’t ring the bell. She’d manage by herself. The fewer people who knew she was here, the better. Easier said than done, but best undertaken now, before she quailed. Facing an irate, possibly apoplectic, Aunt Penelope was not going to be fun.
She slithered out of bed and found the pair of silk slippers she’d worn last night on the rug. Good. She slipped her feet into them, pulled this pesky peignoir close, and tiptoed across the nursery on silent feet.
No one in the corridor, thank goodness, but with all the curtains closed, deep gloom reigned, as though not only she and Edward, but the whole household, had slept in late.
She ran to the top of the stairs, the slippers flapping. Edward’s mother, she couldn’t call her by her name, too horrid, must have had bigger feet than she had, and peered down into the chasm that was the stairwell. Still no one. She had to find her way back to the guest room she’d taken her bath in last night and retrieve her clothes. But hadn’t she inadvertently suggested to Meg that they should be burned, like Edward’s? That would be a catastrophe. She’d be stuck here with no clothes to her name. Mama would probably lock her up in a tower like Rapunzel and throw away the key.
A hope came to her. Might Lady Amberley perhaps still be here? If she was, that would lend propriety to her visit. Well, it might. The thought hit her that she’d now done far worse than had been suspected on the first night she’d met Jack. If she didn’t marry him now, her reputation would be ruined, for this was sure to get out. Someone would talk. Servants were renowned for spreading gossip to the servants in other houses, and it was then just a brief hop before everyone in society would know about her indiscretions. Perceived indiscretions.
She might actually have to marry Jack. Was that such a bad thing? The thought that it wasn’t sent a warm glow to her stomach. But he didn’t want to marry her and, knowing what it was like to have someone try to force one into matrimony, she wasn’t about to be party to making him. She had to sneak out before he woke.
She hesitated at the top of the stairs, Jack’s face rising before her eyes. He’d kissed her. And what was more, he’d said he wanted to do it again. So, did that mean he liked her? If only she were better at judging what others were thinking, life would be so much easier. But he was a rake. A man all of whose relationships had been with women of loose morals. Maybe he wanted her to become his mistress? The thought wasn’t unpleasant and brought a hot flush to her cheeks as she imagined what Mama would say to that. Probably swoon. She bit her lip. And if he liked her, wasn’t it true that she liked him. A lot. More than a lot. She swallowed, her hand gripping the stair rail. Did she want him to marry her? A question she refused to answer. Did she want to be his mistress? Good heavens, was she actually thinking the answer to that might be yes? A tingle ran down her body at the very thought. And she didn’t feel guilty about it. How naughty.
But this was getting her nowhere but cold. She ran down the stairs to the landing below and quickly found the guest room. The filthy clothes she’d taken off yesterday lay spread on the bed. Someone had worked a miracle on them and the mud was gone, although both gown and pelisse now looked as though they’d be more suitable on a denizen of the slums. But, as her old nurse had said, beggars couldn’t be choosers. If she wanted to get home she’d have to put these on, repellent as the thought was.
It took her a good half hour to negotiate the stays and ties on her slips, petticoats and gown. Never had she more needed Agatha’s deft fingers, but she still didn’t dare ring the bell for help. It might be better if no one knew she’d stayed the night. In fact, there was no “might” about it. It would without question be better.
However, this was to prove impossible, because when she crept out of the guest room, settling her battered bonnet on her head, the first thing she did was bump into one of the housemaids. The one who’d brought all the hot water up for her bath the night before.
“Ooh, miss.” The girl, clutching a basket of coal and kindling, staggered back a few steps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think no one would be up yet. Not after last night.”
Elenora put her finger to her lips. “You haven’t seen me. Just go on about your work and forget me.”
Puzzlement flooded the girl’s homely face. “Forget I seen you?”
Trust her to come across the only housemaid with the brain of a flea. “Yes. I’m not here. Get on with your work.”
The girl’s jaw sagged. Elenora experienced a strong urge to put her finger under it and close her mouth for her. Instead, she abandoned the gawping girl and hurried down the next flight of stairs. Foiled again. Alcock was in the front hall. Lurking. She was sure butlers had a propensity for lurking, otherwise how would they always be on hand to open doors? She only spotted him when it was too late to retreat. Damn and blast it, and other things too. She’d gained a working knowledge of words her mother would have been shocked at from her brothers. She’d have to brazen it out.
“Good morning, Alcock.” She reached the foot of the stairs and approached the door.
“Miss Wetherby. May I be of assistance?”
“I am returning home and will be quite all right, thank you.”
Alcock’s face clouded. “Shall I send for the carriage, miss?”
“Good heavens, no. I shall walk.”
“I’m afraid it’s raining hard and his lordship would not like you to catch a chill. Nor walk home alone and unattended. Please allow me to order the coach brought around.” His tone was insistent. Almost an order.
She could stand and argue with Alcock, or she could meekly acquiesce. The latter alternative won. “Very well.” She sat down on an upholstered chair. “I’ll wait here for it.”
Alcock seemed a little surprised at her insistence on remaining in the hall, but, satisfied that he’d done what his master would have wanted, disappeared, no doubt to inform the grooms and coachman that their services were needed.
Elenora fidgeted on her seat. She could get up now and head for home on foot. It wasn’t far and she was sure she could find her way. Well, now she came to think of it, not quite sure. How dreadful would it be if she got lost? She was just thinking she’d brave the rain before Alcock returned, when one of the footmen, who must have also been lurking out of sight, materialized out of thin air, or so it appeared, and hurried to open the front door.
On a gust of rainy air, Jack hurried into the hallway.
Jack had been hurrying back from Amberley House on foot, when the rain began. Without his greatcoat, he was soon wet through, but this didn’t stop him. He had to get back before Elenora woke up and realized what a faux pas she’d made by falling asleep in Edward’s bedroom.
As he reached his front door, he gave himself a shake to dispel some of the rain from his hat, and strode up to the door. As if by magic, it swung open, and he hurried into the dry to be faced with Elenora, seated in a chair at the foot of the stairs, dressed in her pelisse and bonnet of last night. He ground to a halt and behind him someone unseen closed the door.
Elenora jumped to her feet in shock, one hand going to her mouth.
For a long moment he regarded her in silence. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, although the sight of her asleep in bed had been delightfully disturbing.
Jack broke the silence first. “Elenora.”
“Yes?” Her blue eyes were wary.
“I need to talk to you.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Upstairs. In the parlor. Not here.”
Her eyes went to the door as though she was considering making a run for it. He stepped up to her, took her gloved hand, and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Now.”
She made no attempt to escape, so he started up the stairs, acutely aware of her close proximity and her bent head. Was she looking at her feet?
Someone had lit the fire in the parlor, and it was cozy and warm. Keeping his hold on her hand, Jack closed the door behind them and turned to face her.
They were only feet apart.
“Do you mind looking at me?”
As if this were a near impossible request, she raised her head and briefly looked into his eyes. Hers were the bluest he’d ever seen them, but puzzled and uncertain, even a little afraid. She dropped her gaze to his mouth, warm color surging up her cheeks and making his heart a little more hopeful.
“Perhaps you’d like to remove your coat and bonnet?”
For a moment he didn’t think she would, but it was warm in the parlor. She undid the buttons on her pelisse and slipped it off, quickly followed by the bonnet. Her golden hair haloed her face in a cloud of unruly curls no maid could have touched that morning.
“At Mrs. Sharpe’s,” he said, aware of a halt in his voice, “you let me kiss you.”
She nodded, the color in her cheeks deepening.
“And when I asked you if I could do it again, when we’d saved Edward, you said I could.”
Her eyes rose to meet his again, and her lips parted as her breath came quickly in the most desirable fashion. Longing for her coursed through him. If he were to put his hand between her breasts, such a tempting proposition, would he feel her heart pounding as his was? “I did.” Her voice was a timid whisper. How unlike her usual confidence, but how like her to be scrupulously honest.
“May I claim that kiss now?”
She licked those rosebud lips. How could a girl be this beautiful? This alluring, and yet this na?ve as well? The smallest nod.
He mustn’t frighten her. Conscious of her dislike of being touched, he made no effort to take her in his arms, but instead just bent his head to hers. Their lips touched, she flinched but made no attempt to draw back, and her lips parted under his. He felt her gasp of what had to be pleasure and suppressed his own groan. How he wanted to press her to his chest and cover her with kisses, but this would have to do—at first.
He drew back. Her breasts in her lowcut gown rose and fell as though she’d been running, and a little smile played around her lips. She met his gaze. “I rather think I liked that. Would you mind doing it again, so I can check my first impression?”
He felt his own lips make a smile. “Delighted to be of assistance.”
This time the kiss lasted longer, and he dared to let his tongue probe her mouth as it opened wider under his. Again came the tiny flinch, and to his surprise, her hand rose to touch his arm. The kiss deepened. His tongue touched hers. She gasped and her tongue retreated before it returned, curious. They parted.
“I was right the first time.” She was almost panting. “I very much like being kissed by you.”
Jack’s heart swelled so much if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought it would burst. Another baser part of his anatomy joined in. “It’s customary for the gentleman to take the lady in his arms when he kisses her.”
“I know.”
“Would you mind if I did that?”
She had to consider that. “I think I might like it a great deal. I have a feeling it won’t be scratchy at all. I think I like to be hugged tight. I noticed that at the Belmont ball when you held me after Lady Raby had been so nasty.”
With as much gentleness as he could muster, Jack drew her into his arms, at first just holding her pressed against his body, enjoying the feel of her closeness, acutely aware that she must be able to feel his obvious arousal. Then she raised her head. “I thought you said this was part of kissing?”
He chuckled, himself breathless with desire for her. “It is. But I’m afraid to put you off, with the way you dislike being touched.”
“I think, although I can’t be sure, that I might have overcome my dislike of being touched… by you, at any rate.” She tapped his chest. “No scratchy feeling I want to escape. Nothing. Nothing but… a sort of hot feeling as though someone has poured hot water over me. My whole body is unaccountably hot.” She paused and frowned, as though discovering a secret long hidden. “In fact, I think I like you touching me and it’s that which is making me so hot.” One hand fanned her face. “How odd is that, when all my life I’ve found other people’s touch so irritating?”
“Be quiet,” Jack said. “You do too much analyzing of how you feel.” And he bent his head to kiss her once again. This time, as they lost themselves in the kiss, their tongues met with no hesitation, dancing over one another and Jack could feel his arousal growing. Her arms went around him, pulling him closer, and one hand rose to his head, her fingers in his hair.
Good God, she was enticing. An innocent and so different from any other girl he’d known. His own hand slid to cup her breast, and she made no effort to resist.
At last, panting, they parted. She looked down at his hand and he quickly let it drop. “Don’t stop.” She was panting harder, her cheeks rosy. “I find I like that.” Her voice held wonder. “I think I’d like you to do it again.”
He pulled her closer once more, and his hand went to her breast again, feeling the softness of the flesh as he drew down the neckline of her gown.
“Hold me tight and kiss me again.” Her whisper shivered through him. He bent his head and found her mouth, responsive now, as though keen to explore this new experience to the full.
“Don’t stop.” Desperation in her voice.
Somehow, they were on the chaise longue and she was underneath, her gown awry and her breast half exposed. He mustn’t allow himself to get carried away. This was his betrothed, not someone he intended to make his mistress. But she was entering into her newfound love of touching with a vengeance, as though born to it. Her hands seized his hips and pulled him tighter against her body. What did she know of lovemaking? Nothing, and yet it seemed instinct had told her she wanted him.
He pulled away, the shock of what he was doing slamming into him. “I can’t.”
She smiled up at him, blue eyes wide with innocence. “I think you can.”
His arousal was not diminishing, despite his efforts to think of something else. “We’re not married. It would be wrong.” Would it? Wasn’t this what he’d always done? Was he suddenly such a prude? But this was Elenora.
“You are my betrothed.”
How uncomfortable his tight breeches felt.
Her hand went to the buttons on his fall. “I know you want me.”
He shook his head. “I do, but not like this. I want it to be on our wedding night, not hurriedly like this, driven by lust.”
Her blue eyes shone. “Our wedding night, Lord Broxbourne? Is that another proposal? And are you telling me that this is lust I’m feeling? I did wonder what it might be like, but never thought I’d feel it. The young ladies in Augusta’s books claim to feel it.”
Whatever sort of books was her sister reading? “Nothing but lust.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And love?”
He nodded, his self-control returning. “Bound up in it.”
She righted her disarrayed gown, not making much of a success of it. “And is what I’m feeling for you love?”
“I hope so.”
She pursed her lips. “And are you telling me you love me?”
He swallowed. “I am, and I do. I have done for a while now, I think. You’re a woman who is hard to resist. Will you do me the honor, Elenora, of being my wife? So we can continue what we’ve started here?”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I believe someone once said to me that a lady is allowed to change her mind. I think it was Mama. And I should like to tell you that my opinion of marriage has changed somewhat.” She put up a hand and touched his cheek. “I think I would like to be a married lady, after all.”
“And I think,” Jack said, “that we had better get ourselves a Common License and be married as soon as possible. I don’t think I can wait more than a few days to have you to myself.”
Elenora smiled. “And I think you might be right.” Her eyes flicked wide open. “And we’d better tell Alcock I no longer need the carriage.”