His arching gaze turned to a leer that mentally stripped Eleanor of her clothing. It turned her blood to ice.
‘Catherine is abed with her husband—as every dutiful wife should be. Let’s hope she proves to be more fruitful than her mother,’ he growled, having resented his first wife for not giving him a healthy son, only dead ones. He advanced towards Eleanor on stumbling, drunken legs as she edged towards the door.
Catching her arm roughly, he threw her away from the door. Losing her balance, she fell, hitting her shoulder heavily on the edge of one of the two huge oak tables necessary in a kitchen of that size. Recovering herself quickly, she hauled herself up, set her jaw and flared her hatred through the sudden fear that threatened to engulf her as they circled the kitchen like two wild animals, half-crouched. He had her cornered, his teeth showing in a ragged snarl as he bore down on her, and then suddenly he slumped at her feet when Sir Richard hit him on the back of the head with a heavy candlestick.
Eleanor stared at Sir Richard in startled amazement. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I told you, I want you out of this house, out of London, and I think York is far enough away. But have a care,’ he said, placing the candlestick on the table and looking down at his uncle’s crumpled form with a baleful eye. ‘He’ll not let it rest at this. He has no idea it was me who rendered him senseless—being addled with drink, he’ll assume it was you.’ With a smirk on his lips he turned and sauntered towards the door, where he turned and looked back at her. ‘Have a good journey, Mistress Collingwood. You are going to need all the luck you can get if you are to survive my uncle’s vengeance.’
Paying scant notice to the two scullions, who had been rudely wakened when the crock hit the floor, their eyes as wide as plates as they gaped at their master’s inert form, Eleanor grasped the bag and her father’s sword, which she had dropped when her stepfather had brutally taken hold of her.
With her heart in her mouth and a prayer on her lips, with one last look at her stepfather—feeling no remorse, only a weary sense of satisfaction—Eleanor lifted the wooden latch of the heavy door. Stepping outside, she was a slight shadow in a world of shadows. Pulling the brim of her hat down to shield her face from the driving rain and drawing her thick-lined cloak tightly against her, she sped across the courtyard.
Reaching the stables, she slipped inside, straining her eyes in the dim light as the familiar smells of horses, hay and dung assailed her nostrils. Loud snoring came from the loft, where grooms and stable boys were sleeping off the effects of the festivities. When she had quickly saddled her beloved horse Tilda with the rain lashing the walls of the house she was soon away and galloping into the darkness.
There was danger in her flight from Fryston Hall, but despite the pain in her injured shoulder Eleanor felt her spirits soar at her freedom. She didn’t look back.
When she rode into the yard of the White Swan the rain had ceased to fall, but the wind was still strong. A sign above the portal squeaked and swung wildly and straw blew frenziedly about the puddle-laden cobbled yard. Horses were being harnessed and yoked up to carriages, and ostlers and stable boys all went about their work.
Dressed in thigh-length boots and leather jerkin, Lord Marston was getting ready to leave. With his back to her and unaware that he was being observed, Eleanor paused. His dark head was slightly bent as he secured the saddle girth. Beneath his leather jerkin his muscles flexed as he worked. Her gaze took in the sheer male power of his wide, muscular shoulders, his broad back and narrow waist.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted quietly, dismounting, knowing she would have to set the hostility she felt for this man aside for the time they would be on the road, which would be no easy matter.
William turned his head and his eyes swept over her. Surprise registered in their depths at the picture she presented. It was quickly concealed and he returned to his task. ‘You’re late.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Her tone was truculent. ‘I have gone to a great deal of trouble to get here early, in case you thought to slip off without me.’
‘I have no doubt at all, Mistress Collingwood, that if we had you would have soon caught up with us.’ Straightening and resting one arm on his horse’s back, he cocked an eye at her. ‘I hope your temper has improved from last night—although you do look somewhat jaded.’
Eleanor’s eyes struck sparks of indignation. ‘That’s because I haven’t been to bed.’
His eyes sharpened, going over her outlandish short-cropped coat beneath her cloak and thick black hose, which outlined her long legs above soft knee-high boots—the clothes she hoped would disguise her gender. ‘Have you any idea what you look like?’ He eyed her shapely legs in the most insolent manner as he shoved himself away from his horse and circled her like a predator.
‘A youth, I hope.’ His insolent perusal brought an indignant scowl to her face.
‘Never have I seen a youth who looks less like a youth than you do, Mistress Collingwood.’
The deep sound of his voice curled around her name with a soft intimacy that caused heat to rise in Eleanor’s face.
‘I suppose some poor devil will be missing his clothes.’
‘I found them in a trunk some time ago. I don’t know who they belonged to, but they’re near enough my size to be serviceable. As long as this wretched wind doesn’t blow my hat off, everyone will think I’m a lad. Oh, and I have some money, so I can pay my way.’
William cocked a brow at the sight of a pistol and dagger in the black sash about her slender waist and a sword attached to a baldric across her chest. ‘You also come armed to the teeth, I see,’ he remarked drily. ‘You can use them, I hope, otherwise ’tis pointless carrying them—and you’re in danger of tripping over your sword.’
Eleanor saw his eyes darken, but not even an eyelash flickered to betray that the sight of her weapons alarmed him. He raised a dark eyebrow with a mocking amusement that exasperated her and brought her chin up with a proud hauteur. ‘I am accomplished with the use of all three, should the need arise—besides, the sword was my father’s and I refuse to part with it.’
‘It’s not too late to go back.’
‘I’ll never go back,’ she said vehemently. ‘Better to be set upon by a band of cutthroats than to go crawling back like a whipped dog to Frederick Atwood. If we are accosted and it’s a fight they want, they shall have one. My weapons are just proof that I can take care of myself.’
William’s expression told her he was unconvinced, but faced with her courage and lack of fear he was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. Dressed as she was with her long, elegantly turned legs outlined in hose, his grin was audacious. ‘You speak brave words, Mistress Collingwood; however, the hat may hide your hair, but, despite your male garb, the rest of you is a bit of a giveaway.’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make myself inconspicuous. Dressed like this I am not an object of curiosity and will be able to ride to York very much as I like.’ With her hat pulled well down and only her amber eyes glowing beneath the brim, she was certain no one would recognise her for what she was.
‘I seem to recall your mother’s sister lives in Kensington or some place close by. Wouldn’t it save a whole lot of trouble if you went to her instead of going all the way to York?’
Eleanor’s chin lifted haughtily and her lips twisted with distaste. ‘Aunt Matilda! She is in France visiting friends and not expected back for several weeks. If I were to go to her house while she is away, my stepfather would find me and bring me back, which is why I must go to Hollymead. Besides, it would be no easy matter living on my aunt’s charity. She never hid the fact that she hated my father and was always taunting my mother, telling her that he was a good for nothing and their marriage a mistake from start to finish.’
‘Don’t you think that with your mother’s death she may have softened in her attitude?’
Eleanor looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. ‘Aunt Ma
tilda? Never. She has no kindness in her. Her poor husband was so hen-pecked I’m surprised there was anything left of him when he died. After Father was executed I spent only six months in her house and those months were a lifetime. It was like wearing shoes that were too tight every day. At a time when my mother and I were grieving for the loss of my father, she never let us forget that she was keeping us for nothing, delighting in our humility. I have no desire to enter her house again in a hurry.’
‘Then I can understand why you want to go to Hollymead,’ William said, his voice surprisingly gentle with understanding. ‘Did you manage to leave Fryston Hall unseen?’
‘No—no, unfortunately I didn’t,’ she said haltingly. ‘Sir Richard Grey, my stepfather’s nephew, knew what I had in mind and was waiting for me. I confess to being confused by his manner.’
‘You were? Why is that?’
‘He wanted me gone. The reason why I found impossible to fathom.’ She frowned, genuinely puzzled by Sir Richard’s odd behaviour and unable to make any sense of it. ‘Why he wanted me away from Fryston Hall I cannot imagine. Are you acquainted with him?’
Apart from a slight narrowing of his eyes, William’s expression remained inscrutable. ‘We are acquainted. The man’s a ne’er-do-well—and, like his uncle, blinded by his own ambition. Since he inherited a title and nothing else, he’s devoted his life to spending the money of those rich relatives who’ll have anything to do with him. He’s Atwood’s heir, so no doubt he will hurry his demise if he can.’
‘My—stepfather also accosted me. According to Sir Richard, he saw me talking to you. He knows how much I want to return to Hollymead and when you said you were to travel north to York, he knew I would want to go with you.’
‘Despite holding me to account for your father’s death.’
The hint of sarcasm in his tone did not go unnoticed by Eleanor. Her face gave no sign of softening and there was a coldness in her amber eyes as she pushed her woollen cloak back over one shoulder.
‘What you did cannot easily be put aside. I will never do that. The harm you have done my family will always stand between us. My mother suffered greatly because of your traitorous deed, and when she died, with each passing day my own lot grew more desperate the longer I remained in my stepfather’s house—that, too, was because of you.’
William considered her apace. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. There was something hidden there, some regret or sorrow, but he simply slipped his hat onto his head and said, ‘You set your verdict against me before I could voice a plea. So be it. There is no argument against a closed mind. And so, did Atwood simply let you walk out of the house without trying to stop you?’
‘No. It—it wasn’t that simple.’
William glanced at her questioningly. ‘No? Did he try to prevent you leaving?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was he violent?’
She nodded. ‘But I still managed to get away.’
‘How? Atwood is a big strong man—too powerful for a defenceless girl.’
‘Sir Richard hit him over the head, rendering him unconscious.’
William cocked an eye at her and his lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘Did he now! He must have been desperate to see the back of you.’
‘He was. Very.’
A wicked, knowing gleam entered his eyes, giving Eleanor cause to think he knew something about Sir Richard that she didn’t. ‘I can’t for the life of me imagine why.’
Seeing Lord Marston was clearly at pains to control his humour caused by some private thought, Eleanor’s glare was scathing. ‘Don’t mock me,’ she flared, her amber eyes flashing fire. ‘Don’t underestimate me either. I don’t fear the consequences of my actions—even though you provoke me with your mockery. Women may be regarded by everyone as being subordinate to men, but I own no man my superior—not you or Frederick Atwood.’
‘I can see that.’
‘I am not afraid of him. Nothing that he did could touch me. When my mother died I was a dutiful stepdaughter and accepted the hard lot fate dealt me, but I was determined I would be free of him—from his lust-filled glances.’
‘Then I am surprised you chose to stay when she died.’
‘I didn’t choose to remain. At the time, I had nowhere else to go, and anyway, there were reasons why I had to stay, one of them being Catherine’s wedding. There were many preparations to be made and she was relying on me. I—I was always uncomfortable about the way my stepfather looked at me,’ she said, embarrassed to be talking to him of so intimate a matter and lowering her eyes, ‘and it is only in recent days that he began making unwelcome advances, which made me realise that he covets me in a way that makes him dangerous.’
‘The man has a fiendish temper. You can be sure he will come after you. Your leaving will have touched his pride, and his resolve to pay you back will harden more each day.’
‘That I know, but I feel an overwhelming relief at having succeeded in escaping him at long last.’
‘We have yet to reach York,’ William grimly reminded her. ‘Before you know it, his men will be hard on our heels.’
‘Then we’d best get started.’
‘If we are to be in each other’s company for days, try to be more agreeable and summon more warmth. I will not endure a surly companion.’
Silently Eleanor seethed at his boldness, his rudeness. Inside she rebelled, but she knew she would have to accept his terms and compromise, and that was what he would have, and that unwillingly and without grace. But she dared not show too much animosity until her feet were safely on Hollymead’s solid ground.
‘Be assured that I shall endeavour to do my best,’ she replied tightly. A silver flame in William’s gaze kindled bright, burning her with its intensity.
‘It would be appreciated. We’ll stop after a time for something to eat. If you tire, tell me and we’ll pause a while.’
‘I am gratified by your consideration, but I require no special favours. I can ride as well as anyone and for as long,’ Eleanor told him, her head held high and aloof. Seeing the giant Godfrey leading his horse across the yard towards them, his ruddy face above the golden beard devoid of any expression, she stiffened. ‘Is your servant as fearsome as he looks?’
William watched Godfrey mount his horse, a huge chestnut warhorse with four identical white socks, and smiled. ‘Don’t be put off by the way he looks. He is from Glasgow, the son of a boat builder. We met on our travels two years ago. He’s been with me ever since.’
‘He seems very quiet. Does he speak English?’
‘Very well, as a matter of fact, but he never utters more words than is absolutely necessary. Don’t worry,’ he said, chuckling softly when he saw her cast Godfrey a dubious look, ‘he’s quite harmless unless crossed. You’ll get used to him.’ As they rode out of the inn yard he turned and looked at her, his face relaxed. ‘I salute your courage and your boldness, Mistress Collingwood. You are undeniably brave—and reckless, running away on some wild escapade with very little thought of the consequences. This is clearly your style and I admire such spirit in a woman.’
Surprised by his compliment, she stared at him and smiled broadly. ‘Thank you. That means a lot—coming from you.’
It was cold and wet that early morning as the three of them set out on the road north. At Hollymead it would find Eleanor in an equally cold place, but better that than what was left of the winter in Frederick Atwood’s house.
Frederick Atwood’s face was twisted into an ugly expression. When he told Catherine how he had attempted to stop Eleanor running off with William Marston, the look of malevolence that was added to his bitterness was quite terrifying, and he meant to make her sorry for leaving Fryston Hall.
Catherine burned with indignation and her expression was fierce. Eleanor’s courage to stand up to her father meant nothing to her, but the fact that she had left Fryston Hall with William did. She would never forget how Eleanor had humiliated her and she was shamed to have such a wanton for a st
epsister. Seated beside Henry in the carriage taking her to her new home in the riverside village of Chelsea, inwardly she seethed. So much for Eleanor’s hatred of William. She had somehow inveigled her way into his company, dazzling him in a way Catherine would never forgive. When Henry fumbled for her hand among the folds of her sapphire-blue velvet gown, she cringed and closed her eyes to hide the feral glitter in their depths, and her revulsion and disappointment in her new husband. Just twenty-four hours into her marriage and she was struck by a realisation that Henry was not, and never could be, William Marston.
Her heart was filled with a dreadful blackness that would grow as day followed day and night followed night, when she would have to endure the disgusting things Henry did to her body. Making Eleanor the object of her suffering, the hope of revenge would become the sweetest thing of hatred on earth—and yet her feelings were not as clear-cut as she would like.
The closer they got to Henry’s house, for the first time in her life Catherine felt vulnerable, afraid and very lonely and she was surprised to feel tears prick the backs of her eyes. Behind everything there was a feeling of regret, of loss, for despite everything Eleanor was the closest she had come to having a sister.
Chapter Three
Why Eleanor’s mother had married Frederick Atwood Eleanor would never understand. Of course a woman was brought up to be a wife and mother and not think of herself as a man’s equal, and indeed she had more status as a married woman. When one of the partners died, both men and women frequently remarried with speed regardless of whether their previous marriage had been a success or not.
Unlike her mother, Eleanor had not been sent away to live in another household, where she attended the lady of the house and learned by watching her how to behave in polite society and was taught how to look after a house and bring up children. Eleanor had been educated at home by her mother and Uncle John, who taught her to read and write and also French and Latin.
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