But it was something. Without meaning to, Eleanor and Hil had taken over Harry and Roger’s house. Hil frowned as he watched them mount the stairs with the children, headed no doubt for the nursery to drop them off in the nanny’s care before they came down for supper.
“I do believe it is time to leave,” Hil said. He put his hand over Eleanor’s on his arm and met her startled gaze. “As much as I have enjoyed my stay here, I cannot continue to hold Roger’s house hostage.”
Eleanor gave a little snort of laughter. “You do tend to dominate your surroundings.” There was something in her expression, however, that was not amused.
“Thank you,” he said, kissing the back of her hand and then replacing it on his arm. “The problem is, I am not ready to quit you yet.”
“Be careful,” she warned. “That was perilously close to a declaration.”
“That was avoiding the topic. How do you feel about it?”
There was a lengthy pause while she looked everywhere but at him. Finally she said, “I agree, it is time for you to go back home.” She said nothing else and they stood there awkwardly for a moment or two.
“Come now,” he chided gently. “This is not the time to become reticent. We have always spoken freely with one another, have we not?”
“I do not wish to quit you, either,” she said softly. “And yet I am not ready to make a decision that will bind me.”
He led her back into the drawing room and closed the door. Indicating the sofa, they both sat down, facing one another, but not touching. Hil’s heart was racing. He mustn’t push her away. She had become as important to his daily life as Wiley. He wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened. He’d always been a man who prided himself on his independence. He was a leader of men, unencumbered by emotional ties. He liked his freedom. Liked coming and going as he pleased, pursuing inquiries that interested him, never worrying about his own safety or that of others. Yes, he had friendships, close friendships. But that wasn’t the same as what he felt for Eleanor. He could simply think better when she was around. When she wasn’t, he too often found himself wondering where she was and what she was doing, and didn’t pay enough attention to his own endeavors. That would never do.
“Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Or woods or steepy mountain yields.”
She made no response, just closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No poetry today? I was sure Christopher Marlowe would do the trick.” He refused to give up so easily. “I want you to come home with me to stay.” He got right to the heart of the matter. There was nothing to be gained by dancing around the issues.
She began wringing her hands and wouldn’t look at him. “I can’t,” she whispered. Her obvious distress cut him to the bone.
“I cannot ask you to do anything that you don’t wish to,” he told her. He put his hand over hers, which she had clasped in her lap. “Am I receiving my congé then?” he asked lightly with a half smile. It was all he could muster at the blow.
“Only if you want it to be,” she said, biting her lip.
“You know I do not.” He tried not to let hope overtake him.
“I just … I can’t make such a final decision yet, Hilary. We both know if I come home with you that things will change irrevocably. I would be a ruined woman. You cannot marry me. I cannot marry you. Perhaps my marriage is in name only now, but I have no past, nothing to prove who I am.” She shook her head. “It’s all so confusing.”
He patted her hands. “Yes, it is. I hadn’t thought it through. I was, as usual, only thinking of my own needs. I tend to be a little oblivious as to how meeting those needs will affect those around me.” He frowned in mock ferocity. “But don’t tell Wiley I said that.”
She laughed, followed by a telltale sniff. “I wish you didn’t have to leave, but this is just not working out.”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t. It isn’t being fair to Harry and Roger. But this doesn’t mean we are over. We will find ways to be together. Perhaps not the way we want or as often as we want, but we’ll find ways.” And he would find a way to be rid of Enderby once and for all. Then there would be no impediment to their being together as often as they liked. Even … permanently. He shocked himself at the thought.
She nodded, but tears fell down her cheeks as she bit her lip.
There was a loud knock at the door. “May I come into my own drawing room?” Roger called out impatiently.
“Yes,” Hil called back.
Roger came in, saw Eleanor crying, and gave Hil a thunderous look. “What have you done now?” he demanded.
Eleanor waved a hand at him, and reached into Hil’s coat for his handkerchief. “No, Roger, nothing. He’s leaving.”
“Leaving?” Roger said angrily. “After I let you … under my roof? I expected more from you, Hil.”
“But Roger,” Eleanor cried, “that’s the problem. What more can he do?”
Roger opened his mouth to say something, and then just stood there gaping like a fish. Harry hurried into the room behind him.
“What’s going on?” she asked in a harsh whisper as she closed the door. “Everyone can hear you.”
Hil stood up. “I am leaving. It’s the only thing to do until we figure out how to solve this dilemma.”
“Oh, dear, another one? What now?” Harry whined.
“They can’t marry,” Roger said.
“Well, of course they can,” Harry said. “Elizabeth Fairchild can marry anyone she wants.” She frowned fiercely. “If only Enderby were dead.”
“I wish he were dead,” Eleanor said vehemently. She visibly got herself under control. “But even if he were, I don’t know what I would want to do in this situation.”
“What?” Harry asked, confused.
“She doesn’t know if she wants to marry me,” Hil said with as much dignity as he could find. “She does not wish to bind herself to anyone.” He’d thought only Enderby stood in their way, but there was more, wasn’t there?
“I didn’t say that. Oh, you just don’t understand,” she told him, standing up as well and facing him across the few feet that separated them. It felt like a chasm of impossible proportion. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said. “For a woman, it means to lose everything.”
“I would hope what is gained would make the sacrifice worth it,” Hil said stiffly.
She crossed her arms and regarded him angrily. “Oh, really? So you’d give up your freedom, your possessions, your identity, the very clothes on your back, food in your mouth, and shelter over your head, to be with me?”
“Madam, you challenge me again, without provocation,” Hil said, as angry as she was now. “Have I not done so? Am I not now living under another man’s roof and eating his food to be with you? Have I not left all my possessions behind? Stayed at your side like a faithful hound waiting for the crumbs from your table?”
“Crumbs from my table, indeed,” she said indignantly. “Is that what you call my favors?”
“Oh, dear,” he heard Harry murmur.
“Now, hold up, both of you.” Roger stepped up beside them and tried placating them. “This is very similar to the argument Harry and I had. She didn’t want to marry again, either, Eleanor. And it’s turned out all right, hasn’t it? Not all men are like Enderby or Mercer.”
She turned her anger on him. “And so because it worked out for Harry I’m being irrational? Is that what you’re saying? You didn’t have to live the way I did, Roger. Or Harry, either. You don’t know. Neither of you know.”
“Are you saying that I am less trustworthy than Roger?” Hil asked in disbelief. Some small part of his brain knew he was also being irrational, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. After all, he hadn’t actually asked her to marry him.
“I don’t know,” Eleanor said seriously. “Who are you? You know everything about me, Hilary, and I still know very little about you. What secrets are you keeping?”
Hil reared back, shocked, and assailed by guilt. “You think I am concealing a flaw in my character or past from you?” He was. One he was loath to reveal lest it affect her feelings for him.
Eleanor threw herself back down on the sofa, twisting his handkerchief in her hands. “I don’t know.”
Hil straightened his jacket with a hard tug. “You have answered all my questions, madam. Good evening.” He bowed to Roger and Harry. “I shall have Wiley fetch my things.”
“He’s gone,” Roger said, glancing between Hil and Eleanor. “Why don’t you stay tonight and we can talk about this some more tomorrow?”
Hil shook his head. “No. I think it best if this rat leaves the sinking ship.”
Eleanor hiccupped on the sofa and he glanced over to see her crying into his handkerchief. “We both knew it was impossible from the start,” he said softly. “You said as much. I should have listened. Good-bye, Eleanor.”
As he walked out to the sound of Eleanor crying, he wondered how that had happened. How did they get here?
Chapter Fourteen
Hilary had walked out a week ago. Eleanor still couldn’t believe it. She sat in the Sharps’ opera box and stared blindly at the stage. This was the first time she’d been out since his departure. She and Hilary hadn’t spoken since he’d left, and she didn’t want to chance running into him. He’d know her heart was breaking and she was weakening. She’d nearly gone to him every night since he left. But she’d realized something in the drawing room last week. She didn’t know him. Not really. She didn’t know his background, his past. How had he become so close to the prince regent? Roger said they shared secrets, but it was an uneasy alliance. If he didn’t trust her with his secrets, how could she trust him with her heart?
But she feared it was too late now. She’d already given him that useless, thoughtless, daredevil organ. Who knew she’d turn out to be as wanton and irresponsible as a green girl?
The speculation had been rampant as they’d entered the King’s Theatre and walked to their seats. Her acquaintances smiled at her and nodded politely, but the gossip had begun as soon as she passed. She’d turned back to see heads together behind fans, ladies and gentlemen whispering furiously. Her cheeks had burned as if they were on fire, but she’d held her head up and ignored them. When Miss Deeds and her mother had smirked knowingly at her, she’d almost been undone, but Harry had put a firm hand on her elbow and led her to the box. She hadn’t liked the idea of being in a box; if it weren’t completely open to the house on one side, she’d be having a fit of the vapors.
The play was Rossini’s La Cenerentola. The Italian’s retelling of the Cinderella story did not improve young Cinderella’s situation. Forced to hide her true identity by her evil stepfather Don Magnifico, she can’t reveal her identity to Prince Ramiro, who is also hiding his true identity. She’d say it could only happen in opera, but a moment’s sad reflection on her situation proved it untrue.
She glanced down at her hands clasped demurely in her lap. She was wearing a very pretty cream-colored gown tonight, with beading and lace overlay. The neckline was high, the sleeves long. Harry got to wear a gorgeous gown the color of violets that clung to her curves. Julianna Sharp was with them in a bright-yellow dress, birds of paradise embroidered along the hem. In comparison, Eleanor looked like a virginal sacrifice. What hypocrisy, when all she could think about was the time she’d spent in Hilary’s arms. Just the thought of the things she’d let him do to her made her blush madly. Oh, how she wanted him to do them again. She squirmed in her chair.
Perhaps his past wasn’t all that important? After all, hers wasn’t exactly without issue. Her present, either, for that matter. On stage, Rossini’s Cenerentola sang of her love for the valet Dandini, Prince Ramiro in disguise. Or something like that. Her Italian was sketchy. Eleanor sighed, feeling very much the tragic romantic heroine. Hilary may well have washed his hands of her, ungrateful baggage that she’d been. Harry had confided that Hilary was playing the hermit, and wouldn’t even see Roger.
Maybe marriage was an option. After all, it had been nearly a year since she’d escaped Enderby. She’d been out and about in London for months, and neither he nor any of his brutish minions had shown up. Roger had even dismissed Hilary’s guards. As hard as it was for her to believe, perhaps she really was free. That silly argument a week ago was just her running scared again. Pushing him away and retreating back into her cave, where she wouldn’t get hurt. How idiotic she was. Marriage to Hilary hardly sounded ominous or imprisoning. He really wasn’t that much of a mystery. He was quite open about his feelings, and a very well respected man. Much different than Enderby. She couldn’t run scared forever. The thing was, Hilary hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, although everyone seemed to think he had.
She yanked off her gloves. No one here cared if she showed her hands. They were boring, with big knuckles and short, well-groomed nails. They were as boring as the rest of her, and this night. She huffed out a deep breath, drawing a look of censure from Harry. She was supposed to be playing a paragon of virtue tonight, to scrub the memory of her lapse with Hilary from the small minds of the gossip-hungry ton. If she’d been unmarried, and not a widow, her behavior these last few weeks would have earned her the cut direct from some of them. She didn’t care, not really. Only for Harry’s sake. If she were cut, then she couldn’t accompany Harry to the parties and balls, and Harry might be ostracized, as well. She sighed and Harry glared again.
“I have to go to the retiring room,” she whispered to Harry. Harry rolled her eyes but made no objection, so Eleanor stood and quietly slipped out. As she walked, she absentmindedly put her gloves back on.
When she had descended the stairs, she turned to the back of the theatre after asking the direction of a servant. As she was passing a small alcove, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her inside. Expecting Hilary, she laughed and turned to tell him she’d been thinking of him, and she was sorry how stupid she’d been. To her horror, it was Enderby. She froze at the sight of his unruly tangle of dark hair and furious, close-set, mud-brown eyes.
“Got you, haven’t I?” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Took long enough to find you on your own. Thought you could run, did you? You should know by now, girl.”
Eleanor came back to her senses. She kicked out with all her might, hitting Enderby in the crotch. Hilary had told her that was the place to kick a man. He’d been worried about her out in London at night, even with the bodyguards. Enderby bent over, but didn’t let go. She kicked him again, and then brought her fist up and punched him in the nose. He cried out and let go and Eleanor ran.
She careened around the turn and raced back up the steps, holding her dress high and not caring who saw. Enderby was a big man, youthful muscle now turning to fat as he grew older, and she hoped with all her might that she could outrun him. She could hear him stumbling up behind her, cursing. The music was so loud no one could hear. Don Magnifico and Dandini were fighting.
She had to get to Harry and Roger. Trying to move faster, she nearly stumbled on the steps. Enderby grabbed at her ankle and she cried out, kicking back. When she reached the top of the steps she raced for the Sharps’ box, calling Harry’s name.
Suddenly she was there, throwing open the curtain to find Roger in front of her, ready to come out. “What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her. She fell into his arms just as Enderby reached out and grabbed her arm again with his meaty hand. It became a tug-of-war between him and Roger. “Who the hell are you?” Roger demanded angrily. “Let her go or I’ll call the watch.”
“I’m Enderby,” he said, and Eleanor’s knees went weak. She sagged, and Roger yanked her out of Enderby’s grasp, shoving her behind him into Harry’s arms. Alasdair and Julianna now stood behind Roger, creating a human wall between her and Enderby, and still she trembled.
“There is nothing here for you,” Roger said. “Leave. And don’t come back.”
“My wife is here,” he growled. “S
he’s mine and you’ll hand her over.”
“You’re wife is back in Derbyshire, if I’m not mistaken,” Roger said coldly. “This is Elizabeth Fairchild, your late wife’s cousin.”
“You know damn well who she is, and so do I,” Enderby said in a low angry voice. “You’ve no right to keep her from me.”
“I’ll do more than that,” Roger growled angrily. “I’ll have you brought up on charges. Be careful who you threaten.”
“The law is on my side,” Enderby hissed.
Eleanor’s eyes were closed, as if she could pretend he wasn’t there if she couldn’t see him. But she’d know that voice anywhere.
“You’re attracting attention,” Harry whispered frantically.
Roger shoved Enderby out of the box, into the hallway behind, where two of the attendants now stood with what appeared to be the theatre manager. A few curious heads peered around from other boxes, and Eleanor turned her back to them. “Sit down,” Harry hissed. She pushed Eleanor into the nearest chair and then she and Julianna sat down on either side of her. “Look at the stage as if nothing’s wrong,” Julianna ordered. Eleanor obeyed, hardly able to think.
He was here. She felt sick to her stomach and wrapped her arms around her middle.
Roger came back into the box looking angry and disheveled. “We’re leaving,” he whispered. “Get your things.”
Harry grabbed her shawl and Eleanor’s, and her reticule. It was then Eleanor realized her reticule was still around her wrist. She clutched it to her chest. Thank God she hadn’t lost it when she was fleeing Enderby. Hilary’s handkerchief was in there.
* * *
Roger paced the Templeton drawing room while Harry cried and Alasdair and Julianna argued. The Sharps thought she should go back to the Earl of Throckton’s country estate and hide there. Their gay clothing mocked their serious demeanors.
Eleanor sat on the sofa where Hilary had pleasured her. She just wanted to see him again.
“He hasn’t got a leg to stand on,” Alasdair argued. “He’s remarried. He had her declared dead. He identified the body as Eleanor. We simply have to maintain that Eleanor died and this is Elizabeth.”
Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 15
