“Why?” he demanded, standing and holding up the letters. “Why?”
She sashayed inside, no worries marring her smooth skin. Wavers followed as if trying to protect her… from James. The irony was not lost on him, the one man she had trusted the most. “You belong here, and I will not allow Alex and Gideon to fill your head with nonsense.”
“I understand. I understand why you feel loyalty toward the woman, but James, think on it. You, Gideon, and I, brought here together by blackmail.”
James had bristled, annoyed with the accusations. “Not blackmail.”
Alex released a harsh laugh. “She told you if you didn’t do as she said, your family would starve to death.”
“Nonsense?” James asked. “Or the truth?”
She studied him intensely, as if trying to decide how much she could trust him. She wore the same shrewd gaze she wore when dealing with clients. “Wavers, shut the door.”
He did immediately, no questions asked. James didn’t like the look upon either of their faces. Ophelia wore a smirk of satisfaction, as if she’d expected him to turn on her. James slammed the pack of letters upon the desk. War it would be. Pure anger was crawling rapidly through his body, clawing its way to the surface, and he was finding it incredibly hard to retain control. “I demand to know the truth.”
“Oh, James, believe me, you don’t want the truth.” She headed toward the sideboard, pouring herself brandy. He had to resist the urge to wrap his hands around her neck. He’d never in his life wanted to harm a female, but if he lost that one bit of humanity he had left, he feared he would.
“James, you don’t tire of this?” Alex had asked him years ago. “Being nothing more than a toy.”
“It’s a position. A job I do well. There could be worse things in life than pleasuring beautiful women.”
Alex had patted him on the back. “That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. It’s not a job, it’s a hell in which we have no choice but to reside.”
“What will you do?” Ophelia asked, strolling toward the mantel, the drink in her hand sparkling under the firelight. “Will you leave? And then how will you support your dear sister and her lovely family?”
James began to tremble, his emotions a conflicting mesh of ire and despair. He tried to pay attention to her but found his mind spinning back… back in time. Suddenly, he was in the garden of the Rutherford ball two years ago, the same garden where he’d been attacked.
“Liar!” Alex stepped closer, seething. “I don’t need someone to check on my welfare. You were spying. Damn you, whose side are you on?”
And he had been spying, sent by Ophelia herself.
James had calmly smoothed down his jacket, his movements slow and determined like the arrogant bastard he’d been. “I’m on the side of the woman who gives money to my family.”
“You see,” Ophelia said, taking a deep drink and drawing him back into her office. “There’s something I didn’t tell you, thinking to spare your feelings. Your sister relies upon your money, as her husband left her and the children. They would be on the streets if not for you.”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you trust her,” Alex had said years ago.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” James demanded.
She shrugged as she took another drink. “Would you care to visit her?”
“Think on it, James,” Alex’s voice whispered through his memory. “We three were brought here at the same time. There must be a link, but until we tell each other the truth, we can’t possibly understand.”
“What say you, James?” Ophelia asked. “Do you want to visit her?”
“I know why I’m here,” James had snapped. “Ophelia offered me a position, a way to save my family, and I grabbed the opportunity.”
What if it had all been for nothing? The thought almost brought him to his knees. “Perhaps I would like to see my sister after all.”
Ophelia lifted a brow, obviously surprised. “Will you tell her the truth?”
“I don’t see why I should. I’ll keep my story as is.”
She took a drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. He could read nothing in her expression. “And if a neighbor recognizes you?”
“I highly doubt the women from a small country shire will have visited Lavender Hills.”
“Touché,” she said with a wry smile. Aye, she smiled, but he didn’t miss the coldness in her eyes. She was incredibly angry with him, and he didn’t give a damn. “Well then, I shall tell the driver to prepare. Two days from now?”
“Wonderful.” James scooped up the letters. “And considering these are addressed to me, I’ll take them.” He paused for a telling moment. “Unless we are no longer able to receive mail?”
She waved her hand through the air in dismissal. “Take what you will, it shouldn’t bother me. I only meant to protect you.”
“Of course you did.” He gave her a tight smile, bowed mockingly, and headed toward the door. He wouldn’t look back, didn’t dare say another word. He knew she lied. James strolled from the room, trying to keep his anger in check. His life had become a bloody mystery, but there was one thing he knew for sure… Ophelia had no intention of taking him to his sister.
Eleanor wasn’t sure how she could focus on knitting mufflers and mittens for the needy when all she could think about was James and his missing sister. Fanny had hired an investigator for Eleanor, but so far the man had come up with nothing new. How could she concentrate when Fanny was to be back with the latest report any moment?
“Are you expecting someone else?” Lady Rafferty asked, leaning closer to Eleanor.
Startled, Eleanor jumped, dropping her needle. “What?”
“You keep looking toward the windows.”
She forced herself to smile and scooped up the needle. “Oh, no. Merely hoping the rain holds off.”
“Isn’t it too early to be knitting winter wear?” Mrs. Trustman whined from across the room. For once Eleanor was thankful for the woman’s complaining, for it drew Lady Rafferty’s all too intense attention to her.
“’Tis never too early to prepare for winter,” Lady Rafferty returned. “Nor never too early to care for those in need.”
Eleanor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lady Rafferty had started the Ladies’ Society for the Needy merely to portray herself as a kind and God-fearing woman. But there was never a more gossipy mongrel than she.
“Wouldn’t mind him flirting with me,” Lady Pierce said from across the room.
“Whom are you discussing?” Lady Rafferty demanded, setting her knitting on her lap.
Lady Pierce flushed. “No one. Merely a Mr. Smith. New to town. Very attractive.”
The rest of the women giggled like debutantes. The room of colorfully dressed ladies would have been a delightful distraction any other day. This afternoon their presence merely grated. Eleanor sighed, setting her red scarf upon the table and picking up her tea. Every week they took turns at each other’s homes. She’d almost forgotten about today’s meeting and would have cried off had she the chance.
“Makes a woman feel all warm merely by glancing at him,” Mrs. Kaul explained. This prompted the women to giggle once more. Considering Mrs. Kaul was some fifty years of age, it was rather shocking.
Eleanor avoided their gazes, lowering her attention to her teacup. She knew only too well about the warmth that a man could produce within a woman. She lifted her tea, her hand trembling while the memory of her and James in the garden took center stage. No longer was the idea of intimacy a fantastical myth, but a marvelous reality. The memories would not leave her be. The feelings came back at night when she closed her eyes, almost driving her mad with an aching need. Oh, she’d heard the whispers and giggles of satisfied women, but always thought they must be exaggerating.
Obviously they hadn’t been. For years she’d assumed there was something wrong with her. But no, perhaps, just perhaps, there was something incredibly wrong with her husband. How Lord Beckett
would enjoy hearing that theory. She set her teacup down and picked up her knitting. The soft clack of needles combined with the murmur of conversation and provided a pleasant background to her troubled mind.
“Good day, my dears.”
Eleanor stiffened at the sound of her husband’s familiar voice. The women giggled, their lashes fluttering flirtatiously. Disgusted, Eleanor forced herself to glance at the man and smile, continuing the façade. All the while she wondered how the ton did not see her husband as he truly was… a demon in a fine suit. Or perhaps they did, but as he had money and a title, they ignored the truth.
He strolled toward her, and even though she knew he would never harm her in front of so many, she still stiffened. Always that pretense of a loving couple. Early in their marriage she had actually heard debutantes gossiping about their romantic marriage as if their relationship was something to aspire to.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. His familiar musky scent swirled around her, making her ill. It wasn’t that his sandalwood scent was noxious; quite the opposite. But his cologne reminded her of the times when he’d force himself upon her. She would bathe after, scrubbing until her skin was raw and pink, scrubbing until she could no longer smell his scent on her body. But the memory was still there, always.
“I don’t quite know how you ladies do all you do, and look so lovely at the same time,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the room, taking in each woman, as if they were all so very special.
There was a twitter of laughter like merry little birds. Eleanor’s hands curled into her knitting. She had to force herself not to rip the scarf apart and stab her husband with a knitting needle. If she had to listen to any of them wax on about how lovely her husband was when he left, she just might scream. They hadn’t a clue what he was really like. But they must have heard the rumors, at least of his affairs.
“I shall leave you to your charity.” Although he strolled through the room, leaving them, she felt his presence all the same. She always felt him, as if he’d buried his claws deep within her and would never let go. But there had been one time when she’d forgotten her husband, if only for a few moments… when she had hidden within the lilacs with James.
“Such a gentleman,” someone muttered.
Eleanor continued to stare at the door, lost, alone although she was surrounded by people.
“Lucky to have,” someone else whispered.
When a man strayed, it was the woman’s fault. They would not question him, but instead they would wonder what the wife had done wrong. Just as they would all assume it was the wife’s fault if there were no children.
Yes, they all knew he’d been unfaithful. She’d caught more than one person whispering when she’d entered a ballroom, more than one lady glancing her way and smirking. How they would love to see the elegant Lady Beckett fall. Even though her husband ruled her, she had ruled the ton, but even now that was crumbling between her fingertips. The cold, reserved Lady Beckett was slowly becoming a laughingstock, an amusement for gossipmongers.
Fanny suddenly appeared in the doorway. Catching Eleanor’s gaze, she gave a quick nod. A thrill of anticipation raced over her body. Her husband forgotten, Eleanor stood and set aside her knitting. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She did not wait for their approval, for the information Fanny had uncovered was too important for her to worry about manners. She stepped into the foyer and shuffled behind the open door where the others could not see them. Fanny followed, twisting her hands together with impatience and worry.
“You’ve found something?”
She nodded but glanced around first, making sure they would not be overheard. She’d been hesitant to help Eleanor, worried if Lord Beckett found out, he’d kill her. If the woman didn’t speak soon, Eleanor was determined to shake the answers from her lips. “St. Anne’s.”
Eleanor’s heart leapt into her throat, her mind spinning. The woman was still alive. Still in London. Hope blossomed within, a stirring of warmth in her chest. “You’re sure?”
“Rather. They are known for taking in orphans.”
“Servant or nun?”
“Nun, apparently.”
Eleanor had the sudden urge to laugh. To throw her head back and cackle like a witch from a children’s novel. James… a whore, his sister a nun. What would he think? It was too ridiculous, too much, as if the world was playing a jest upon them all.
“Or at least she will be soon,” Fanny whispered. “Hasn’t taken vows quite yet.”
“Thank you, my dearest,” Eleanor whispered, not daring to hug her friend in case a servant, or Graham, who was now lurking near the dining room doors, should see.
When Eleanor started to leave, Fanny reached out, resting her hand on Ellie’s sleeve. “Will you tell me now why you are looking for this woman?”
“Not now.” She looked pointedly toward Graham. Fanny glanced back at him and glared. Eleanor wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman had stuck out her tongue. Her reaction was most amusing. She realized with some bewilderment that she was no longer afraid. Graham and his unsettling presence, the fear of her husband’s return home… at some point in time it had lessened.
“Is it a man you’re after?” Fanny whispered, frowning. “Is that why you’re acting so strangely?”
Eleanor froze.
Fanny waved her hand through the air, dismissing the comment. “Never mind, don’t answer that. But remember, if your husband finds out, he will…”
She didn’t need to finish; they both knew… he would kill her. Ellie sighed, resting her hands on her hips. “You know, when one continually threatens death, it sort of loses its meaning.”
“Yes, well, I’d like to keep my position, if you don’t mind. So please don’t do anything stupid.”
Eleanor grinned. “Of course not.”
Fanny cursed under her breath as she dropped into a curtsey, then stomped up the stairs. Eleanor was left in the foyer with Graham watching from the shadows. She didn’t even bother to glance at the butler as she reentered the parlor. The man would say what he wanted to her husband, but surely there was nothing suspicious in a woman speaking with her lady’s maid.
“Is all well?” Lady Rafferty asked as Eleanor settled beside her.
“Yes, very.”
“Hmm.” The older woman picked up her teacup and sipped. “Your lady’s maid seemed quite frantic.”
“Frantic?” Eleanor laughed. The old bat, fishing for gossip. “Hardly. She was merely upset because my new wardrobe was late in arriving from the seamstress. Silly nonsense, really.”
“Well, that is good then.”
The room lapsed back into gossip, and she was left in peace. Left to turn over and over in her mind the information she had received. Dare she send James a letter? Last time he hadn’t in the least been appreciative when she’d stuck her nose in his business. In fact, he’d been downright irate when he’d found her at the tea shop. But damn it all… she had to know the truth. She had to know if James was being played the fool by Lady Lavender; she owed him that much.
“St. Anne’s.” She turned toward Lady Rafferty. “Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, I suppose.” She watched her curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“Merely thought we might choose to sponsor them next.”
She shook her head, frowning. “Dreary. Utterly wretched. The nuns are terribly harsh. If you insist on choosing them, I’m afraid you will be the one who must deal with the mother superior. And be forewarned, they don’t take kindly to those who are not Catholic.”
“Well one can hardly blame them with how they’re treated nowadays,” Mrs. Kaul exclaimed loudly, always one to have an opinion and not afraid to shout it.
Eleanor nodded, smiling lightly. “Never mind then. ’Twas merely a thought.”
The room erupted into an argument as to whether Catholics were being treated fairly, and Eleanor was left to mull over her options. She might not be welcome at St. Anne’s, bu
t she would be welcome at Lady Lavender’s. She sipped her tea, contemplating her options. Blast it all, she would tell him the truth, no matter what it took. Eleanor picked up her knitting and feigned interest in the women around her. It was settled, she was going to do something stupid after all… she was going to visit Lady Lavender’s one last time.
Chapter 11
Eleanor waited impatiently in James’s chamber. She knew very well it was ridiculous to visit when she could have well sent him a note. But how could she know that he would truly receive that missive? Yes, she was merely being safe. Besides, she could admit, at least to herself, that she wanted to see him again… and again… and again. Yes, she could admit it, after three days, she missed him. So much so that she’d even paid double Ophelia’s usual asking price merely to see James without an appointment.
Yet when the doorknob turned, she wondered what in the bloody world she’d been thinking. She spun around to face him. James stepped inside wearing his shirtsleeves, tie, brown waistcoat, and black trousers. The sight of the man made her pulse flare, her body responding instantly to his presence. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around his neck. Wanted to press her body to his, feel his heart beat against her chest. His gaze swung around the room until he found her there… near the windows. The look upon his face was most amusing. He was shocked, to say the least.
“Hello,” she said, such a silly greeting. But she was nervous and excited, and… and he looked anything but happy to see her.
He shut the door slowly. “How are you?”
She smoothed her hands down her blue-and-ivory skirts. “Well. I’m well.” Silly, really, that she’d worn a good walking dress here where anyone might recognize it, but she had wanted to look her best.
It was inane, polite conversation better left for the ballrooms and parlors than in a brothel. A variety of emotions clawed their way to the surface. She hadn’t seen him in days, her body ached for his touch, and her soul ached for him and the freedom he represented. James was like no man she had ever met. He did not judge her, and he seemed to have no desire to control her. No, he was completely sure of himself and completely sure of her.