Chapter 7 #4
Madame Therese Bellaire. The woman at Newhaven.
A woman to tangle men in knots. And she apparently had Nicholas all tied up.
Eleanor had come to terms with the woman being his mistress, but in the normal way.
She had supposed he would set her up in a little house somewhere and visit her from time to time.
This siren, this object of adoration, was not what she expected at all. The woman kept a brothel!
Eleanor desperately did not want to envision Nicholas groveling for any woman’s favors, not even her own, and especially not such a one as that. And while he had supposedly been off on business he had been with her, fawning on her, slobbering over her, no doubt.
Now the anger came. He had lied to her. She remembered the words of the horrible Mr. Yates. “Ladies just seem to melt at his feet.” Well not this one.
Eleanor could not bear to face Cedric Delaney. She would rather not face anyone, but it was impossible to simply flee to lick her wounds. Instead she quickly went down to the concealment of the crowd. There she could hide her feelings under idle chatter.
But Nicholas noticed.
He came over with a glass of wine for her. “Did Cousin Cedric wear you out, my dear?” he said with a friendly smile. “He’s obsessed by the family history but very knowledgeable. He should probably be taken in small doses, though.”
Eleanor didn’t know how to react and took the easy option. “I am rather tired. Do you think we could go, Nicholas?”
“Of course. If you are as we expect, you must take care of yourself.”
As he made their farewells and called for their cloaks, Eleanor relished the thought of upbraiding him for his behavior.
She wouldn’t, though. She had promised not to create that kind of fuss, and just because the situation had turned out to be worse than she had expected was no reason to break her word.
Oh, but she itched to say something, anything, to break the smooth surface of his composure.
In the carriage he took her hand. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”
Eleanor blocked the urge to pull away. “Oh, no,” she said calmly. “They are disposed to be kind, I think.”
“You are tired, aren’t you?” he said gently, smoothing a stray tendril of hair from her brow. “Come and be comfortable.”
Despite a slight resistance on her part, he arranged her comfortably resting against his shoulder.
She told herself it would be peculiar to refuse such well-meant kindness.
But already the magic was working again.
Despite what she had learned she was succumbing to what appeared genuine concern and caring.
She bleakly admitted she would probably accept any crumbs, if that was all there was to be had.
He did not bother her with conversation, just held her securely against the movement of the carriage.
Eleanor remembered his strange speech at their own dinner about women who did not want to be wives or mothers.
Was that Madame Bellaire? Did the woman prefer running a house of ill-repute to respectability?
Had he wanted to marry her and been refused?
The Frenchwoman must be close to ten years older than he.
Eleanor hated to think of Nicholas fawning on a woman like that and suddenly decided to fight this unnatural infatuation. I am his wife, she reminded herself. That gives me an advantage. I am carrying a child he will accept as his.
But could she compete with the fascinating Frenchwoman? She knew nothing of the sensual arts that were clearly at the other woman’s fingertips. Was lust the only way to bind a man?
If it was, she thought bleakly, how could she win?
When they reached Lauriston Street he said, “Come, we must get you to your bed. Do you wish a supper?”
The thought of bed linked with her previous thoughts and she looked at him. There was nothing lover-like or lustful in his face, just kindness.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I can manage perfectly. I am not exhausted, just a little weary of family scrutiny.”
“Well then,” he returned with a grin, “perhaps we should go out again. It is not yet midnight and we have cards for any number of events.”
“Which we have refused.”
He snapped his fingers. “Do you think they would turn us away?”
At times he seemed like a mischievous child, and she could not help but smile back. “I never implied I was so full of energy. I want my bed, but I can manage to find my way there alone.”
Eleanor realized that sounded like a rejection of him, and hurried on, blushing. “Why don’t you go out if you wish…”
She trailed to a stop as she thought of where he would probably go. How could a simple conversation be so full of traps?
Hard on that came the thought that if she made some move, gave some encouragement, perhaps he would not go out at all.
Goodness knows what he saw on her face, but he frowned slightly and took her hands. “Eleanor, what is it?”
She pulled away. “Nothing!”
He held onto her hands. “It is something. I wish you would tell me.” He looked closely at her. “Did someone say something this evening to upset you?”
“No, of course not.” In a minute he would guess and worm the truth out of her. Once his mistress was in the open they would never be at peace again. She knew what she must say, though it would be difficult.
She looked down at one of his silver buttons. “It was just that I seemed to be denying you our bed again, Nicholas,” she muttered. “I did not mean it like that.”
When he raised her face gently she was relieved to see only amusement in his look.
“I know you didn’t. Do you think I’m such a monster as to bother you when you are so tired?
Anyway, to be frank, I’m too worn out myself.
Go on up, Eleanor. I have a few things to do and then, if you do not object, I will join you. The day bed is not too comfortable.”
“Of course,” she said hurriedly, pushing back thoughts as to why he was worn out. “In a week or two my own bedroom should be ready. That will make things easier.”
With despair, she knew she had said the wrong thing again. With a hasty, “Good night,” she fled.
Tears stung at her eyes as she hurried up the stairs and into her dressing room, where Jenny waited. The maid obviously wondered at her distress, though she would never comment on it. Eleanor did not want any rumor starting that the marriage was unhappy or that Nicholas was unkind.
“I have a terrible headache, Jenny,” she said in explanation as the maid removed the pins from her hair. “Just tie it back. I want to be in bed.”
Sympathetically, the maid did as she asked, and Eleanor was soon left to the dim silence of the room. The small nightlight was the only break in the dark and it cast strange shapes on the ceiling.
What was she to do? All too soon she would be growing big with child like Lady Bretton.
If she wanted to attract her husband it must be now.
He did desire her sometimes. Surely that could not be all acting.
If she satisfied him would he not give up this other woman?
Would he not be glad to be free of such a one?
Could she do it, though? Or would the memories of that night come back to spoil it?
Tangled in muddled thoughts and plans she fell asleep before he came to bed.
She awoke to morning light and Nicholas, smiling, tugging on the ribbon that caught back her hair. She returned his smile spontaneously, simply pleased to have him back in her life.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Investigating. The question is, if I try very carefully, can I cover the whole of your pillow with your hair?”
He was like a child playing a game as his fingers worked through her hair to spread it.
Eleanor lay still and watched him. She took simple delight in the clean line of his jaw am the smooth muscles down his neck, the brackets of the laugh lines by his mouth and the slight creases at the corners of his eyes.
Daring, she let her eyes travel lower to the perfect molding of his chest, smooth and brown.
Her fingers tingled with the desire to explore those satiny contours, but she was not so bold.
Eventually he said, “There. Don’t move.”
“But how do I know whether you’ve really done it?” she asked, striving for a playful tone to match his. Her heart was pounding and she felt short of breath.
His eyes were warm with humor. “Honor of a Delaney. Ii you move a muscle, though, you’ll spoil it.”
Then he lowered his lips to kiss her, and she knew what was to come. Oh, let me do this right, she prayed.
Since he wished it, she did her best to stay still as his lips worked velvety magic around hers and as his hands began to explore her body. It was hard. She felt as if her rapid heart must be shaking her body, and her hands were frustrated for the feel of his skin.
His body obligingly moved so that she could rest a hand on his silky, warm ribcage. She made small circles with her fingertips for the sheer pleasure it gave her.
When his lips released hers and moved to her ear, she tried to think of something to say that would show her encouragement.
“Do you approve of my new nightgown?” she asked. Her voice came out breathily and faint.
The garment was of fine silk, trimmed with lace and green satin ribbon.
“Much better,” he approved softly and slid a finger into the low neckline to play on the swell of her breast.
She swallowed but kept her head still.
Emboldened by the warmth in his eyes, she dared to slide her hand across his chest and let her fingers explore him. She sighed with the satisfaction of it. How strange that such a simple thing could feel so wonderful.
He smiled into her eyes as his hand slid the silk off her shoulder to expose a breast entirely.
Eleanor’s exploring hand stopped and she looked at him.
His fingers traced round and round her breast, drawing closer and closer to her nipple.
With conscious effort she relaxed and moved her fingers again.