Chapter 3 #4
It would appear her husband had enemies.
Well, it was said those who supped with the devil should have a long spoon.
She supposed he was able to look after himself, but she hoped she would not become embroiled in any of his disreputable doings.
She had had enough of such matters in her brother’s house and longed only for placid respectability.
The adjoining door opened.
Nicholas stood leaning against the frame, the note between his long fingers. He had removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. In his open-necked shirt he looked like a pirate. Eleanor’s heart began a frantic beating and the brush fell from her fingers.
His expression was unfathomable but his voice was crisp and cold as he came into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Never write such an indiscreet note again, please. It could have been read by anyone.”
Irritation overcame her fear. “Who on earth would read it except possibly your valet, whom you appear to trust?” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears.
“Anyone could have entered the room while Clintock was elsewhere,” he said, as if explaining to a bothersome child. “This whole exercise is an attempt to preserve your reputation. That note could throw it on the dung heap.”
Eleanor knew she had gone red under this reprimand, and she dearly wished to throw the responsibility for her precarious reputation precisely where it belonged: in his lean, cool face.
She knew, however, that his criticism was well-founded, and she forced out an apology.
“I am sorry then. You are quite correct. I will be careful not to do such a thing again.”
She stood, grateful for the concealment of her tent-like nightgown. “Good night.”
He made no move, merely studied her. “So you meant what you wrote,” he said thoughtfully. “I had come to think you had more spirit.”
Fear resurged. “I have spirit enough to fight for the right to lie unmolested in that bed tonight. I am not drugged now, sir!”
She took a step back and glanced around in search of a potential weapon in case he came at her. The only thing was her hairbrush. She was sure that would terrify him to death!
He did not approach her, however. He merely sighed and walked away to collapse gracefully on the rug before the fire. Casually he tossed the note upon the coals, where it blazed and then flew in ashes up the chimney.
With one long hand and his chin resting upon his raised knee, his lithe body was haloed by the fire. Eleanor had to struggle to keep her breathing even. She told herself it was fear that was trembling through her but was not convinced. Did he know what a stunning picture he made?
Like a breath of sanity she realized he almost certainly did. Nicholas Delaney, she decided, was a man used to playing others like instruments—stirring them to action, chiding them into line, and gentling them to produce the tune of his choosing.
He would not find her so easy to manipulate.
He spoke softly, gazing into the fire. “You are afraid. I can understand that after the experience you had. But I can assure you it will not be that way again. I have no desire to force you. Ever.”
He paused, perhaps to allow her to speak, perhaps to collect his own thoughts.
When she remained silent, he turned his head to look at her.
“Eleanor, we must talk about this, and it would be easier if you would come over here.” With a smile he added, “If there are to be any hostilities I promise to allow you to return to your present position.”
Eleanor seized on this. “In one breath you promise not to molest me,” she sneered, “and in the next you threaten me. You are despicable. I wish I had never laid eyes on you.”
His brown eyes were calm as he appeared to consider her words. “And be back in your brother’s house?” he queried gently.
After a moment during which Eleanor could think of nothing to say, he continued without apparent artifice.
“May I remind you, madam, we are married … for life. It may suit you to live your life in a state of war, but it does not suit me. I am endeavoring to find a modus operandi which will make life bearable for both of us. I am even beginning to harbor hopes there may be some happiness to be found in this arrangement. I, at least, am pleasantly surprised by the partner fate has found for me … even if you are showing more spines than a hedgehog.”
He smiled then, and it took all her resolution not to return the smile and melt into compliance. She commanded herself to remain silent.
“I cannot see any hope for us, however,” he continued in that entrancing voice, “if you intend to shun the physical side of marriage.”
The soft voice had been deceptive. Such plain speaking shocked her. “I have no intention of … But I hardly know you, even though…” Eleanor marshaled her disordered wits. “Surely,” she argued, “the marriage act without love is a kind of rape.”
His smile broadened almost to a grin. “Then rape is a common enough crime, I’m afraid. Let us discuss this, but not across the width of the room. Come and sit in the chair. My parole still holds.”
Drawn as if by a string, Eleanor obeyed and sat facing him. At least she was out of his reach.
“Eleanor,” he said, “I believe you are an intelligent woman. I have watched you today and admired your courage, your quickness. I want to consummate our marriage.”
He had her so bewitched that she didn’t flee at those words. She didn’t move at all.
“I will give you my reasons,” he continued, “and perhaps we can arrive at a rational decision. Though that may be expecting too much of both of us at this moment.” There was a sudden note of weariness in his voice that touched her heart.
She felt a strange urge to reach out and smooth his golden hair away from his brow.
He turned away and the leaping flames gilded his profile.
“Firstly,” he said, like a teacher laying out a lesson, “as I have said, your reluctance springs from a very natural fear. I doubt, however, if your fear will lessen in the near future by itself. The best cure would be for you to fall in love with me, but that seems unlikely.” She saw his lips curve and his eyes crinkle in what appeared to be genuine humor.
“For a start, I’m sure you have far too much sense.
Perhaps I could win your regard if I were to woo you thoroughly, but I have a great many matters to attend to during this visit to England and much of my time is already spoken for.
In view of this, I think it would be better for us to conquer your fear together. ”
He paused for a moment and glanced at her, but Eleanor had no intention of speaking.
“Secondly,” he said, “you may already be carrying a child. If this is so, I will accept it and try to be as good a father as circumstances allow. But I must admit my attitude to it might be different if I could believe it to be my own.”
Eleanor felt shock like a blow. “What?”
He looked at her, alerted by the outrage in her voice. “If we confuse the paternity at this point,” he explained, speaking more quickly, “then I will be free to delude myself if I wish. If you have reason to believe there will be a child.”
“I don’t believe this!” she gasped. “Of course it is your child, you wretched man. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
He focused completely on her. “My child?”
When she would have spoken he held up a hand and took a deep breath. Even through his tan she could see he had paled. “Oh, my God.”
He sank his head wearily on his knees. There was such devastation in him that Eleanor wanted to go to him, to hold him and soothe him.
It was as well she did not try, for he surged to his feet so violently she would have been sent flying. He strode to the dark window. She turned slowly to follow him with her eyes, wondering. Some coals settled, crackling and spitting, and there was a sudden flare of light.
At last he turned, his face altered by a strain she did not understand. “Eleanor,” he said, “I have not been in England for over six months. Three weeks ago I was in Paris.”
She studied him in confusion. It was impossible to doubt words spoken with such certainty. “Then what? Who?”
“Your ravisher was my brother.”
Eleanor struggled to make sense of it. Was this further manipulation? If so, it was skillful beyond her powers of detection. She could swear he had paled to sallow.
She believed he had not been in England. But her attacker had looked like him … or Lord Stainbridge.
She swallowed hard. “You haven’t by any chance a mysterious brother other than the earl, have you?” she asked faintly.
He shook his head.
Eleanor tussled with this switch in reality while her husband stood silent, wrapped in his own thoughts yet watching her with concern.
It took time, but she came to recognize the feel of truth in this new scenario.
Lionel had said her attacker was Lord Stainbridge and Lionel did not make mistakes of that kind.
Lord Stainbridge, not Nicholas, was the one her brother could have manipulated into such a predicament.
But she liked him. She had trusted him.
“Do you know why he did it?” she asked, her voice a little thinner than she wished.
His lids shielded his eyes. “Not exactly, but it was out of character, I assure you.” When she saw them again, his eyes were as cold as winter earth. “I am quite anxious to meet your brother, Eleanor.”
His anger raised prickles along her nerves even as she recognized that none of it was directed at her. Eleanor began to savor the fact that Lionel might finally have tangled with more than he could handle.
Then she asked, “But why have you married me?”
He smiled as he looked away into the dancing flames. All the warmth seemed to return to his expression. “Because,” he said, looking back at her, “he asked me to.”
Eleanor felt a weight lodge inside her chest. She was no more than a sloughed-off burden. “I see,” she said, desperately swallowing tears. “Of course he couldn’t have—”
Nicholas came over to her quickly and took her hand.
“It’s not that. He admires you greatly, Eleanor, but he couldn’t marry you.
He never recovered from the death of his wife.
Juliette was the wrong woman for Kit. He should have married a sturdy young woman with common sense, but instead he chose a hothouse beauty too frail for child-bearing. ”
Eleanor looked down at his hand. It was fine-boned but strong, browned by the sun and marked by the scars and calluses of physical labor. A hand to depend on, she thought with surprise.
He raised her paler hand to his lips then spoke again. “Tonight is obviously a night for sleeping, my dear. We can continue our discussion some other time.”
He would have gone, but she caught his hand. She looked up into his surprised brown eyes, wondering if she was mad.
“No, you were right,” Eleanor said, dry-mouthed. “We should…” She could not meet his eyes and looked away. “I am afraid.”
Her hand trembled against his firm, warm flesh. Why was she pursuing what he had been willing to drop?
Because a terror faced is preferable to one that must be feared day after day. It had always been her way.
She glanced up at him, half hoping he would argue against it. His eyes searched hers. “Can you trust me, Eleanor?”
Unable to speak, she nodded.
He kissed her hand again. “Then go to bed. I will join you shortly.”