Chapter Thirteen
Eleanor ignored her brother’s fierce disapproval, returning his sharp, inquiring look with a flat stare as she led Lord Waring to the drawing room windows which had been designed to allow people to walk through to the terrace beyond.
A few were already thrown open to allow a breeze and she exited the drawing room with a sigh of relief.
One thing was for certain; Bridget’s debut was decidedly different than Eleanor and Lydia’s first season.
She was happy for Bridget’s popularity and swift success, but while Lydia managed to take this unexpected turn of events in stride, finding her own niche amongst the chaos, Eleanor struggled.
She felt as though she balanced on the edge of some dark precipice.
Every moment felt as though it could lead to some social disaster.
Despite her initial show of reluctance, she was grateful for Waring’s appearance and offer of a stroll. She honestly wasn’t sure how much longer she’d have managed in that crush of eager suitors.
Though she maintained a sedate and proper pace, she did not stop on the stone terrace. Instead, she continued down the three steps to the path which cut through the garden in perfectly symmetrical patterns surrounding a large stone fountain in the center.
If she kept very near to the house and never stepped out of sight, there was nothing at all improper about taking a short stroll with the viscount.
That is what she told herself anyway.
She also told herself that her eagerness to accept his invitation had much more to do with her discomfort in the drawing room than any actual desire to spend time with him again. She certainly wasn’t foolish enough to develop an interest in the man.
Yet, she couldn’t deny she was hyperaware of the closeness of Lord Waring’s shoulder to hers and the relaxed way he walked which brushed their arms against each other with each step.
Nor could she ignore the quick smiles he tossed her as they continued through the garden in lengthy silence.
It was for those reasons—and how her body responded to them—that she was forced to acknowledge that although this brief sojourn may have been entirely proper with another man, it verged on the scandalous with this one.
Why did he so boldly seek her out yet again?
It was unnerving. She didn’t trust his motivations the slightest bit.
“Such an exceptional garden. Do you spend much time out here, Lady Eleanor?”
His question, which finally broke the silence and in such a carefree tone, did nothing to set her at ease. She stopped abruptly and turned to face him, but not before sending a quick glance toward the house to ensure they stood in full view.
“Lord Waring,” she began firmly.
“At your service,” he inserted with a ready smile and an irreverent bow of his head.
She frowned. “My lord, shall we set aside all pretense for a moment?”
The man arched a brow, his expression curious and slightly amused. The lack of concern in his manner was enough to annoy her to the point that she felt herself capable of speaking freely.
“I know you’ve no genuine interest in me.” He immediately opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke first. “Appreciating my appearance is not the same thing.”
His mouth held a smile, though his brows dipped briefly in consternation. “I’m aware the two are quite different,” he managed before she continued to speak over him, knowing that she needed to get her piece said while she possessed the courage to do so.
“Then I’d prefer we do away with the unnecessary flattery and false flirtation and get to the true point of this”—she made a twisting gesture with her hand—“apparent pursuit you seem intent upon performing.”
He stared at her a moment, making her feel even more uncomfortable than she already did, before he casually crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “And what is the true point?”
“The necklace.” Her bluntness seemed to surprise him enough to drop his devil-may-care facade for just a moment.
The shift was flickeringly brief, but she saw it.
The intensity she sensed in him for that second caused a fine tremor through her body and a trickle of delicate sensation along her nerves.
She tensed the muscles of her abdomen in an attempt to contain the sudden flutters in her belly.
She’d clearly landed on the truth, though she wasn’t entirely pleased to have her suspicion proven correct. Though she had become rather fascinated by the mystery of the necklace and how it had come to be in his possession, it was not at all pleasing to confirm where his interest truly lay.
“I also recall,” she continued frostily, “that you promised you wouldn’t approach me any more on the subject.”
“That is true.” With an audible inhale and a long sigh, he glanced away from her as he ran a hand through his hair.
He appeared reluctant to go on. But resigned.
Then his eyes dropped back to hers, intent.
Focused. “Unfortunately, the matter has taken on a more complex dimension that requires a bit of urgency.”
Eleanor stared at him, her blood sparking with a mix of alarm and undeniable curiosity. “Speak plainly, my lord.”
His gaze sharpened and the muscle at the corner of his jaw bunched. “The situation has gotten dangerous.”
She resisted an urge to snort. “I get the sense you and danger are frequent companions.”
“I’ve gotten myself in and out of a spot or two,” he replied with a smile and a shrug.
Doing her best not to be softened by his boyish charm, Eleanor pressed, “Dangerous, how?”
Shifting his weight, he sighed and looked away as he set his hands on his hips. It was clear he didn’t want to tell her.
“Are you seriously not going to explain yourself?”
Crystal blue-green eyes shot back to hers. “I’m trying not to involve you.”
She arched her brows in a dubious look.
“Any more than is absolutely necessary,” he added hastily.
There was no holding back the snort that time.
“I know,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “I shouldn’t be here and I’m sorry. But I’m out of options.” He glanced back to the house. “Hopefully, anyone watching will assume our interactions are strictly social and will not suspect any deeper meaning to our private conversations.”
Eleanor was silent for a long moment as a frisson of alarm trickled down her spine.
She got the sense he was not talking about the haute ton when he mentioned people watching.
And she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that he’d once again proven that his interest was merely a method of subterfuge.
“No one will believe you’re courting me,” she noted in a flat tone.
His bright eyes found hers again swiftly. His stare pierced. “Why not?”
Eleanor sighed in frustration. She didn’t want to explain how the world had decided she was not worth the effort.
With a tug of his brow and a curl of his well-formed lips, the viscount took a step closer to her. Eleanor held her breath as her body erupted in a riot of sensations.
“It shouldn’t be difficult to convince them,” he murmured, then lifted one hand to lightly brush his knuckles along the edge of her jaw.
The flutters in her belly went wild and her chest squeezed tight. She closed her eyes against his sparkling stare.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
The touch of his hand dropped away.
Before he could say anything, she asked, “What makes you think I can help you?”
There was a long pause and she opened her eyes to see him still standing far too close. His gaze studying her. She almost took a step back, but didn’t.
For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something. His lips parted as a furrow formed between his brows and his gaze swept over her face. But then, with a short shake of his head, he seemed to firmly change his mind.
“I know you recognized the necklace,” he said finally.
Eleanor forced herself to return his beguiling stare with a cool gaze. “Your drawing was similar to an image I’d once seen in a book. That is all. I have nothing else to tell you.” Her declaration was unconvincing even to herself.
He angled his head in an intimate manner as a lock of hair fell over his brow. “I don’t believe you, my lady.” There was no animosity in his tone. Then he paused, as though deliberating his next words. “I simply wish to know all I can, so I may properly defend it against those who would steal it.”
Eleanor met his gaze. “Men like you have a long history of believing themselves entitled to the riches of other cultures. Shouldn’t you count yourself amongst the thieves?”
A smile flickered across his lips with rakish charm and his tone was self-deprecating as he replied, “This time? No. A friend gained possession of it and sent it to me. I have simply been tasked with keeping it safe. And I’ve never stolen anything without the express purpose of returning it to where it rightfully belongs. ”
Eleanor wanted to believe him, but it would certainly make him the exception. “You were tasked with keeping it safe. From whom?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “That’s what I’m hoping to discover.”
She believed him on that, at least. But there were still so many questions about where the necklace had been for the last few hundred years and why it had come out of hiding now.
There was an odd urging inside her. A pressure and a sort of push to delve into this mystery with him. The necklace was her family legacy. She felt it her right—no, her duty—to be a part if it’s continued story.
“If you want my help on this matter, as you clearly do,” she noted, “you must tell me everything.”
Another pause followed her words as the man stared into her eyes with a searching stare that pierced to her core. She refused to fidget.
Waring’s expression darkened. When he spoke again, the earnestness of his tone resonated through her.
“Fine. I share this only so you understand the gravitas of the situation. The necklace came with a warning. I believe my friend put himself into great danger to get it to me and could be paying the price even now.” His tone dropped.
“There have already been two attempts to claim the necklace here in London.”
“What?” Eleanor interrupted; her eyes wide.
“My point is, I’m at a disadvantage until I understand more about where it came from and why someone would go to extreme lengths to obtain it.”
“How did your friend come by it?” Eleanor asked, intrigued by the tale despite herself.
“I don’t know. Barnaby is no thief. But…he can be impulsive. Reckless. Easily distracted by things that spark his curiosity.”
“I can see why you are friends,” Eleanor noted, inspiring a warm chuckle from the viscount. Her belly tightened at the sound.
“Mishra could only tell me so much. He said your grandmother—”
Eleanor drew a breath of surprise, her eyes widening that Mishra would willingly direct the viscount to them. “Mr. Mishra mentioned my grandmother?”
“He did,” Waring replied. “Because he trusts me. Just as you can.”
“Why?”
He paused in confusion.
“Why does Mr. Mishra trust you?” she pressed. “Why did your friend trust you enough to send such a thing to you? Why should I trust you?”
“Because this is what I do,” he replied with a smile.
She scoffed. “You protect jewelry?”
His expression was amused. “No. I solve mysteries involving rare and valuable things from ancient civilizations and faraway places.”
“So, you can possess them.”
He shook his head. “No. This would not be the first priceless artifact that I have seen safely returned to its rightful place,” he answered.
“And where do you believe the rightful place for the necklace to be?”
His teeth flashed with a smile. “Again…exactly what I’m hoping you might help me with. If you recognized the piece from my drawing, I’d assume you know something of its origin.”
Eleanor felt herself softening.
She didn’t want to believe it was because of his roguish smile or the intensity of his stare or the way she felt when he looked at her. Mishra had obviously trusted the viscount. Her grandmother had always trusted Mr. Mishra. Should it then follow that she could trust the viscount?
Laughter suddenly burst from the drawing room windows, startling Eleanor from her thoughts and reminding her that they were not alone. Her brother would no doubt be growing concerned for the length of her absence.
“Lord Waring,” she began, sweeping her gaze back to the viscount’s only to have her next words completely flee her mind.
It was his eyes. So bright and sparkling and blue and green. They quite simply made her lose her head.
An irritatingly knowing glimmer entered those eyes as he flashed a smile. “Yes, Lady Eleanor?”
She cleared her throat. “I believe your visit has lasted long enough. You may see yourself out.”
She turned and strode back to the house.
Tense with the mixture of dread and anticipation that the viscount might follow her, she didn’t glance back until she was inside.
But instead of going to the drawing room, she entered through a different door.
Once in the small entry hall, she finally glanced back to the garden to see it empty. The viscount was gone.
Striding toward the drawing room with the intention of rejoining her cousins, her way was blocked just outside the door as Lord Ackerly stepped out. Startled, Eleanor came to a swift stop, actually taking a step back when he pressed toward her.
“My lord?” she muttered. “I did not realize you’d come to call. Are you leaving?”
“Not yet.” An unusual tension changed the shape of his face and sharpened his stare. “I feel I must warn you, my lady. Lord Waring is not worthy of even a minute of your time or attention. Yet, I continually see you indulging him. I simply cannot allow it.”
Eyes widening with each word, Eleanor stared at him dumbfounded. Surely, he wasn’t suddenly acting as though he had some claim to her. “Allow?”
He gave a firm nod. “I must insist that you cease such unbecoming behavior.”
Shocked indignation brought words to her lips before she could stop them. “My lord, you have no right whatsoever to say such things to me.”
For a second, it looked as though he desperately wanted to argue but then he clenched his teeth and held his tongue.
“It is time for you to leave,” she said to the second man in less than ten minutes. “And I’d appreciate if you refrained from approaching me in the future.”
His features hardened drastically as he lifted his chin. “I suppose I must forgive you this defiance since you do not understand. But you will. And soon.”
Then he stepped past her and left the house, leaving Eleanor astonished, confused, and just a bit shaken.
What in hell had gotten into the man?