“I hate to disillusion you, ma’am, but your objections had no influence on my actions.” His head dipped closer to hers, then his eyelids dropped a fraction over his eyes, giving him an almost dangerous appearance. “When I set my mind toward getting something I truly want, nothing, and I do mean nothing, stands in my way.”
Eleanor had difficulty looking away. She forced her breath to come at a more even pace, willed her erratic heartbeat to slow. She had no doubt he spoke the truth about getting what he wanted and for one wild moment the intensity in his eyes seemed to say he wanted her.
It was ridiculous, of course. Laughable, really. Eleanor shook off her outrageous assumptions, convinced she was mistaken. Or wistful? Abruptly she pulled away. “If it was not my doing, then what caused such a sudden change in your attitude? Previously you were quite deliberate in your pursuit of Bianca.”
“Yes, initially.” The color in his eyes intensified.
“And then?” she prompted.
I noticed you. The words were not spoken. She believed she read them in his gaze, then instantly chastised herself for being a fool. Those sentiments were in her head, or rather buried deep inside herself, in a long-forgotten place where loneliness dwelled.
“I am significantly older than your sister,” he said. “Even you remarked upon it.”
“I might have briefly mentioned the difference in your ages,” Eleanor acknowledged.
“You spoke of me as if I were practically in my dotage, my right foot poised above the grave.” “I never said such a thing.”
“You implied it, but I am a gentleman and therefore refuse to call a lady a liar. However, the age difference was but one of the obstacles. After spending time with Bianca I quickly realized that though delightful, she is a girl. And I very much prefer a woman.” He smiled fully at her. “I assume your sister suffered no permanent distress from the encounter?”
Eleanor’s nostrils flared. “Are you certain? Perhaps after spending time with you, Bianca is ruined for all other men.”
“Ruined?” He gave her a startled, strange look. “Neither one of us believe that, Lady Eleanor.”
“Hmm.” Her nostrils flared again and she stared at him reproachfully.
“What exactly does that stare mean? Are you now saying that you approve of a romance between me and your sister? Honestly, Lady Eleanor, you need to make up your mind. ‘Tis no wonder women are lauded as fickle creatures when even a sensible one such as yourself behaves so irrationally.”
Sensible? Had he just called her sensible? “Of course I don’t approve of a match between you and my sister.”
“Splendid, then we are in agreement.” Lowering his head, Lord Benton gave her a wicked grin. “Shall we stroll through the trees? The path is well marked and shaded in several areas.”
Eleanor blinked rapidly. His mercurial moods were keeping her off balance. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was flirting with her. Which was completely absurd.
Her first instinct was to refuse to walk with him, yet she hesitated. She had come this way with the express intent of escaping from the party. What was the harm in accepting his escort?
Gingerly, she set her arm on his sleeve. “Are you familiar with this section of the property?” Eleanor asked.
“Not at all,” he responded cheerfully. “But I am not so much of a Town fellow that I cannot follow a well-marked path. Have no fear, Lady Eleanor. I shall not lead you astray.”
He laughed quietly, as though it were a private joke. Eleanor wondered if he had been drinking, but she smelled no spirits on his breath. Deciding she was being far too rigid, she told herself to dismiss the viscount’s odd behavior and enjoy the surroundings.
They crossed an expansive lawn onto a path that led into the orchard. Apples, Eleanor realized, when she saw the white buds. The trees soon gave way to thicker woods, sloping upward. The viscount solicitously held her arm as they climbed, the incline growing steeper every few steps.
They walked in silence except for the sound of their breathing. Or rather her breathing. The steepness of the hill and the rapid pace of their steps left her winded, a problem the viscount apparently did not share.
“Ah, there is a lake,” he muttered when they gained the summit. “Or rather a large pond. Shall we investigate?”
“All right.” Eleanor gripped his arm tighter as they descended the slope, fearful of losing her footing and tumbling to the ground.
“You are exceedingly agreeable this afternoon, Lady Eleanor.” His brow arched. “I like it.”
She opened her mouth to rebuke him for teasing her, but the words did not come. His face was cast in the shadow of the towering trees and there was something in the strength of his profile, the line of his jaw, that made her pulse race.
What was wrong with her today? It seemed that all Lord Benton need do was glance her way and her wits scrambled. Shaking off her peculiar mood, Eleanor concentrated on the uneven path beneath her feet, though she remained very aware of the man beside her.
They reached level ground. Eleanor knew it was no longer necessary to hold his arm so tightly, yet she found herself strangely reluctant to let go of him. Almost as if sensing her dilemma, the viscount pulled the arm she held closer to his body, effectively trapping her hand.
Eleanor said nothing.
The pond was surrounded on one side by magnificent old trees, their branches swooping down to touch the edge of the water. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, the bright splashes of color a pleasing sight. Eleanor was tempted to pick a few and she smiled when she thought of how appalled her father would be if she returned to the party with a bouquet in her hand, a gesture that would surely scream unsophistication.
As they drew near the water, Eleanor quickly realized they were not alone. A young boy, whom Eleanor judged to be four or five, scampered along the shore on the opposite side, while a woman, most likely his nurse, stood nearby.
“I didn’t realize the Ashfields have such young children,” Eleanor remarked.
“They have quite a brood, if I recall. The eldest is nearly as old as me. This lad must be their youngest.”
“Or perhaps he is a grandchild?” Eleanor suggested.
Before the viscount could reply, the youngster began shouting. They glanced over and saw the nurse was attempting to hold him back from the water’s edge.
“He seems to have lost his boat, poor lad,” Eleanor remarked, gesturing toward the miniature sailing vessel floating aimlessly in the center of the pond.
“Indeed,” the viscount agreed. “By the sounds of his cries, I’d wager it’s a prized possession.”
The wails of distress grew louder as they approached and then suddenly ceased.
“I do beg your pardon for all the noise.” The woman bobbed a curtsy. “Alexander’s boat has broken from its rope and drifted away. I told him he shouldn’t bring it out here today, but he was most insistent.”
“Do you see what happens when we refuse to listen to the women in our life, young man?” Lord Benton asked.
“Yes, sir.” The child sniffled as he tried to compose himself.
The viscount gazed out at the water. “I’m afraid with no wind to speak of, the boat will most certainly remain where it is now.”
“I know.” Tears once again filled the child’s eyes. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and hung his head dejectedly. Though she agreed the child should have obeyed his nurse, his despondent air tugged at Eleanor’s heartstrings.
“Chin up, Alexander,” the viscount commanded, patting the child on the shoulder. “‘Tis clear we need to plan a rescue at sea.”
“A rescue?”
“Yes. That looks like a very fine boat. We cannot simply abandon it.” The viscount shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to Eleanor.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked in alarm.
He grinned. “It’s not a fountain, but you might remember I have an affinity for water.”
“Good heavens
, I hope you don’t plan on taking off anything besides your jacket this afternoon, my lord.”
Lord Benton merely widened his grin as he continued to remove his clothing. Once his embroidered waistcoat was off, he loosened his cravat, then rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt. Eleanor could not help but notice how his forearms were sleek, hard muscle, dusted with soft, dark hair. Her head began to swim at the sight.
“My goodness, the sun is hot,” Eleanor exclaimed as she vigorously fanned her hand in front of her face.
“Perhaps you should sit in the shade, my lady,” the nurse suggested. “Your face is rather flushed.”
Embarrassed, Eleanor moved her hand faster, hoping the viscount had not overheard the remark. Relieved, she realized he most likely had not, since he stood at the water’s edge, his torso bent low, engaged in earnest conversation with the boy.
Having settled on some sort of plan, Lord Benton walked to the shoreline, then gingerly took a step forward. Eleanor winced as his beautifully polished black leather boots sunk into the muck, well above the ankles.
He made a face but continued forward until the water licked the top of his knee-high boots. Eleanor watched his body sway back and forth and for a moment she thought he was going to topple into the pond.
Her breath hitched in suspense, but she soon surmised that he was trying to plant his feet on the bottom. Which explained why he had not removed his boots. When he at last got himself set, the viscount leaned forward and reached into the pond. Cupping both hands, he pushed them through the surface of the water, then stroked back in a wide motion. He continued at a steady, even pace, creating a small current.
It took a few minutes for the newly created waves to reach the boat. The moment they did, the toy began bobbing merrily and then, a minute later, gradually started moving toward the shoreline.
“It’s working!” Alexander cried. Hopping from one foot to the other, the child ran to intercept his boat.
“Steady, lad,” Lord Benton replied, sounding almost as excited as the boy. “You must have patience and wait for the vessel to come to you. If you tumble into the water, Nurse will be cross with both of us.”
The boy giggled, yet obeyed the command. It took a fair amount of time for the boat to move close enough to be plucked from the water. Eleanor’s arms ached just watching the viscount steadily stroking, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling with every move.
“I’ve got it!” Alexander shrieked as he held the dripping boat above his head.
“Well done, Benton!” Lord Atwood’s deep voice carried down from the top of the hill.
Eleanor turned to see the marquess, his wife clinging to his arm, as they descended the slope. Several other couples followed close behind. Eleanor squinted into the sunlight and caught sight of Bianca, Lord Waverly, Mr. Dawson, and Emma.
“A wise man never passes up the opportunity to play the hero,” the viscount responded as he waded out of the pond. “You taught me that, Atwood.”
“So I did.” Laughing, the men slapped each other on the back.
“And this time you even managed to keep the majority of your clothing on when you went into the water,” Mr. Dawson added. “Bravo!”
“Stop looking so surprised. I can act civilized when the occasion warrants,” the viscount said, as he rolled down his sleeves.
Self-consciously, Eleanor handed Lord Benton his waistcoat and jacket, certain everyone must be wondering how she and the viscount came to be out here together.
“He rescued my boat!” Alexander exclaimed, inserting himself into the middle of the crowd. “Isn’t that grand?”
“Manners, young man,” the nurse admonished, scurrying after him. “Oh, I do apologize to you all. My charge can be rather headstrong at times, especially when he is excited.”
“No harm done,” the viscount replied. He reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Though Nurse is right. Proper introductions are in order.”
Alexander did his nurse proud, bowing to the ladies and shaking hands with the gentlemen as Lord Benton introduced everyone. The child then thanked the viscount repeatedly before being led away by his nurse.
“What a darling little boy,” Lady Dorothea said wistfully.
“He’s a little devil,” the viscount said with a smile. “But I’m glad it all worked out in the end. He was quite fond of that boat.”
“However did you get it out of the lake without getting your clothing wet?” Lord Waverly asked.
The viscount launched into a witty, exaggerated account of the rescue that soon had everyone laughing. As they paired off and started the walk back to the party, Eleanor was especially pleased to note that Bianca was relaxed and smiling, apparently suffering no lasting effects from her former infatuation with Lord Benton.
In fact, she seemed rather intent on Lord Waverly, who was solicitously helping her over the tree roots that sporadically marred the woodland path. Waverly seemed a congenial sort, a fine-looking young gentleman only a few years older than Bianca. It would be necessary to make inquiries about him, of course, but perhaps he would be a good match for her sister.
“Who would have thought our little jaunt in the woods would lead to such an adventure, Lady Eleanor,” Lord Benton remarked as they converged on the refreshment table.
“I confess to being glad that you were there,” Eleanor replied. She daintily bit into a sweet pastry, not realizing how hungry she felt. “I would have been little help to Alexander on my own.”
The viscount leaned over so that his lips were inches from her ear. “I refuse to believe that you would have left the poor lad without offering any assistance.”
“I’m afraid I don’t share your delight for the water, my lord,” Eleanor responded, pulling away so she could look into his eyes.
“Pity.” He flashed her another of his devastating grins. Her lips twitched as she slowly smiled back, all the while wondering if she had been fair in her assessment of him.
It was unlike her to be so quick to demonize someone, to judge so harshly. Roguish reputation aside, the viscount was not all bad. He shared a genuine friendship with the marquess and Mr. Dawson, and unlike other men of his rank, did not take himself, or his position, too seriously. And it went without saying that few men would have ruined a perfectly good pair of boots to gain a child’s smile of appreciation.
Lord Benton turned away to speak with Lady Dorothea. Eleanor studied him thoughtfully as she finished her pastry, her interest piqued. Apparently there was more to the viscount than his charming, handsome facade.
Sebastian leaned casually against a towering oak tree and watched Eleanor climb into her carriage. Bianca soon followed and he was struck anew at the startling differences between the two women. Eleanor could hardly compete with her sister’s ethereal beauty, yet the lines of Eleanor’s figure were vastly appealing, the grace of her movement strangely sensual. If one peeled away the unfashionable clothes and tossed away that ridiculous bonnet, it was clear Eleanor was an attractive woman, one he found surprisingly desirable.
He had come to the party with the specific intent of seeking her out and was pleased with the outcome. He had made a good start this afternoon, though he knew he would have to take care. Eleanor was not a naive young girl. She was intelligent and insightful. He could tell from her speculative glances and puzzled frowns she was suspicious of him and the attention he had so unexpectedly bestowed upon her.
Yet he had also seen something else, something that gave him encouragement. A spark of interest, a flare of excitement. Though she fought hard against it, she was attracted to him. And he fully intended to use that attraction to get past her barriers and win her trust. Once he accomplished that, it would be child’s play to lead her precisely where he wanted.
The one obstacle that had most concerned him was her sister. Eleanor’s loyalty toward Bianca was wholehearted and tenacious; she would avoid him completely if she felt it would upset her sister. He had blundered badly by first setting his
sights on Bianca, but fortunately, she seemed to suffer no ill effects from his brief courtship. Indeed, her interest in Lord Waverly seemed genuine.
Ah, the fickle heart of a young woman.
He wondered if Eleanor’s heart was equally as fickle, then quickly dismissed the notion. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in her heart. He was intent on leading her down a path of seduction, just far enough to cause her ruin. Far enough to provoke her father into a duel and gain the revenge that ate at him.
Considering his next move, Sebastian strode toward the refreshment table, deciding he had earned a drink. A fitting reward for an afternoon of good work.
Chapter 8
The following morning as Eleanor embroidered and Bianca read, bouquets of flowers were delivered. Hothouse roses, long-stem lilies, along with nosegays of violets and daffodils. The colors enlivened the entire drawing room, the perfumed scent seeping into every corner. The servants were kept busy searching for vases while Eleanor and Bianca arranged the floral bounty.
“The violets are from Mr. Hartgrove. The daffodils from Sir Whitney. Viscount Ogden sent the lilies. Are they not lovely, Eleanor?” Bianca’s face was beaming with excitement. “Oh, and look, these beautiful roses are from Lord Waverly.”
“Red roses from Lord Waverly. That’s rather forward.” Eleanor arched her brow in a teasing manner. “Yet you don’t seem very surprised.”
“But I am. Ouch! That thorn is sharp.” Bianca pressed her finger against her mouth to stop the small prick of blood. “Lord Waverly was charming and attentive yesterday, but I learned my lesson with Viscount Benton. I intend to wait until a gentleman shows true interest before I reciprocate.”
“‘Tis about time some flowers were delivered,” the earl said from the doorway. “I don’t understand why it has taken so long for the single gentlemen to take notice of you, Bianca.”
Startled, Eleanor whirled around. The earl was the last person she expected to see, since he was never up at this hour of the morning. Belatedly, she wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. “Bianca has made a most favorable impression on several gentlemen,” Eleanor said.
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