“I can imagine.” Actually, she couldn’t. Eleanor hadn’t been so petite since she was eleven.
“I must explain myself and my position to you, and besides, you’ll want to know what happened to your uncle. Uncle Brinkley, remember him?”
“No.” Eleanor had never seen Lady Gertrude’s husband. He had a nasty reputation for arrogance and womanizing, and he did not deign to visit the family even for Christmas.
“Well, he died.”
Startled by that blunt declaration, Eleanor halted in the process of seating herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was shot in Lady Bertelot-Stoke’s bed by Lord Bertelot-Stoke, although why his lordship took exception about Brinkley when so many others had usurped his place, I will never know. At any rate, Brinkley left me in penury. Dreadful place. Worse than Cornwall. So I’ve spent the last two years living in genteel poverty. Mr. Knight’s offer came at just the right time. I was about to get a”—Lady Gertrude glanced around as if fearing listeners—“job.”
Eleanor covered up her half-hysterical laugh with a fit of coughing. “Heaven forefend.”
“Exactly, since I have no skills except needlework and gossip.”
Eleanor picked up her own needlework and stared at it. Needlework was her cure for worry, for idleness, for any kind of problems. Any time she faced a dilemma, she worked on a pattern of flowers, and eventually the solution presented itself.
She didn’t think a solution to her current dilemma was going to present itself.
Lady Gertrude continued, “At any rate, Mr. Knight is paying me well, providing me with a clothes allowance, and I am to lend your presence here countenance.”
Without the supervision of the girl’s parents? Impossible! Eleanor picked up her needle and in the politest tone possible, said, “I apologize, Lady Gertrude, but betrothed or not, the fact Mr. Knight and I are living in the same house is going to cause talk.”
“And I will crush it. I am not without influence, you know. My bedchamber is right next to yours.” Lady Gertrude gestured at a hitherto-unseen door. “Our rooms connect. Also, I made Remington move upstairs. Until your wedding day, when he may move his things back into the master’s suite, he is banished from this floor. I take my responsibilities seriously. Your person is completely safe.”
“I’m glad to know you’ll be sleeping so close.” Eleanor was, for otherwise she hadn’t a doubt Mr. Knight would ensure the marriage in a most physical way. The man, for all his elegant clothing, was a primitive to his bones.
Leaning forward, Lady Gertrude lowered her voice. “Although I must warn you, my dear, I believe Remington has underlying reasons for his deeds, especially concerning you.”
To hear her own suspicions echoed by Lady Gertrude sent a chill up Eleanor’s spine. “I believe you’re right.”
In a salubrious tone, Lady Gertrude added, “Furthermore, I fear they may be shady.”
Eleanor wanted to be sarcastic about the obviousness of that observation, but Lady Gertrude nodded so earnestly and seemed so serious that Eleanor could only say, “I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will, Madeline. You were always such a forthright and levelheaded girl, running your estates and trying to keep your father from running amok, and you should continue to be sensible with Mr. Knight. I’m convinced that’s the way to handle him, with a firm hand and strong convictions!”
“I have the very strong conviction I shouldn’t go to any society events with him.” Because, despite the years that she and Madeline had been gone and their strong resemblance, surely someone would recognize that Eleanor was not the duchess. Even if Eleanor successfully made her way through those dangerous waters, when Madeline did appear, it would be obvious they had made a monkey of Mr. Knight. That, Eleanor was convinced, would be a bad idea. He would wreak a terrible vengeance.
Lady Gertrude shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “I don’t see that you have a choice, dear. He isn’t touchy about his consequence, he has too much self-worth for that, but he would take your refusal badly.” Fretfully, she said, “I don’t know what you were thinking when you came here alone.”
Eleanor had hoped, had prayed, that Lady Gertrude would realize the switch she and Madeline had pulled, but apparently she had not. And she had to be told. Surely she would know what to do. Taking a quivering breath, Eleanor made the plunge. “I have something to confess.”
Lady Gertrude held up her wrinkled hand. “Don’t!”
Startled, Eleanor stammered, “Wh…what?”
“I’ve pledged to keep Remington informed of everything about you, and you must admit that’s what a proper chaperon should do.”
“If he were my guardian!”
“He’s worse than that. He is your future husband. He holds you in the palm of his hand. He can control you, he can discipline you, he can clutch your purse strings so tightly you go to bed hungry or rob you of your inheritance.” Clearly, Lady Gertrude was remembering her own circumstances. Considering her own well-being.
But more than that…she knew. Eleanor saw the truth now. Lady Gertrude’s frown, her emphatic refusal, her reasons—all pointed to the fact that she knew!
And she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help Eleanor.
In a kind but firm tone, Lady Gertrude said, “Mr. Knight is my employer, the man who pays my wages. I owe him my loyalty. So please—if you have secrets, keep them to yourself.”
Chapter 5
The dining room was the perfect example of pretentiousness, with a long, polished table, a celadon Chinese salt cellar and stately paintings that marched along one wall. Eleanor would have hated eating in that echoing chamber, and she would have taken secret pleasure in laughing at Mr. Knight’s posturing.
Unfortunately he, Lady Gertrude, and Eleanor dined in a small antechamber. The round table was not crowded, and at the same time seated them at a comfortable distance. The polished wood paneling reflected the candles’ warm glow, the heavy drapes kept the draughts at bay, and most important, the room sat nearer to the kitchen stairs, so their food arrived piping hot.
The silverware clinked, the silence loomed, and Lady Gertrude made a valiant attempt to break it. “What are our plans for tomorrow, Mr. Knight?”
“Tomorrow I’ll be at the bank, making some transactions.” He bowed his head to Eleanor. “I beg your pardon, but since I’ve arrived from America, such business is sometimes unavoidable.”
“It’s fine,” Eleanor mumbled. “I don’t mind.”
“How good of you.” Beneath his polite words, he obviously didn’t give a damn.
Mr. Knight dominated the room with his size, but more important, with his presence. He continued, “Tomorrow night, we have an invitation to go to Lord and Lady Picard’s ball. I understand it’s the grandest of the Season.”
“So it is, Mr. Knight.” Lady Gertrude clasped her hands. “I can’t wait. I haven’t been for over three years.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.” Again he bowed his head, this time to Lady Gertrude, and waited as if to hear Eleanor heap praise upon him.
She couldn’t. She wasn’t pleased. She was dismayed. The grandest ball of the Season, and she had to go as the duchess? She wanted to cover her face with her hands. Whether she was recognized as an imposter or not, she would be the center of attention. She would be trembling and fearful all evening.
As she was now. She couldn’t even lift her spoon to her mouth for fear of drenching herself with clear oxtail soup.
She had to discover a way out of this house. She had to escape.
Once again, the silence stretched on until the footman removed the soup and replaced it with the seafood course.
Lady Gertrude said, “Mr. Knight, your cook is excellent! I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed such fine dining as I’ve had in this last week.” She turned to Eleanor with an expression that demanded a reply. “Don’t you agree, dear?”
“Yes, I especially liked the, ah, the soup.” Eleanor’s voice trailed off. After a
ll, that had been the first and only course. Think of something else to say. Anything else. The weather. “Do you think the fog will last until morning?” Not that.
“This is London, so yes,” Mr. Knight said. “If we were in Boston, I would say I smelled a storm brewing. But I fear my senses can’t be trusted in this new land.”
Eleanor sneaked a glance at his harsh and handsome features. No matter how much she wanted to dislike his presumption and his arrogance, she found herself drawn to him. She would have noticed him if he’d been courting Madeline, and quivered over the most careless glance. But with all his attention focused on her in the belief she was Madeline, her mind was a blank. She couldn’t taste her food. She could only see and smell and crave to taste Mr. Knight.
“I’m sure your senses are fine,” Eleanor said.
Both Mr. Knight and Lady Gertrude turned to look at her.
Eleanor stared down at her plate, where the cold, dressed crab waved its claws at her, and she thought that it, too, gawked at her from its beady little peppercorn eyes and wondered at her incredible triteness. Then she thought about what she’d said, and she slumped in her seat. His senses? She had commented on his senses?
In a deep, controlled voice, which, she feared, masked his amusement, he said, “I trust your bedchamber is to your liking.”
He wasn’t supposed to be talking about her bedchamber. He was her…Madeline’s…betrothed! Those who weren’t married didn’t mention bedchambers or beds or anything of a personal nature.
Yet he was her host. It was proper he should ask. “Yes, it’s lovely. It…” Eleanor realized she was being conciliatory when she should be taking a stand. As Madeline had said, Whenever you are in doubt, think, What would Madeline do in this situation? And do it. Straightening up, Eleanor stared forbiddingly at Mr. Knight. “It’s in the wrong house, however. I should be in my father’s home in Chesterfield Street.”
He stared back, waiting…waiting. The silence stretched out, long and dreadful.
As he must have known she would, she began to crumple. “That is, I liked the colors. The chimney draws well. It’s clean. It’s…it’s very clean. I do like it.” Eleanor had warned Madeline that she was unable to talk to men. Eleanor had warned Madeline she was timid and easily cowed.
As if there were nothing at all unusual about this conversation, he asked, “And the upstairs maid? What’s her name?”
“Beth. Her name is Beth.”
“She came to us with impeccable references. I hope you’ll feel free to take her as your lady’s maid.”
“Yes, I…did.” Eleanor stared at his hands as he expertly lifted the red-tinged crabmeat from its shell. His palms were broad and strong, his fingers long, his nails perfectly manicured. She liked his hands. She wished she didn’t. She wished she were as indifferent as she had always been with every other man. But there was something about Mr. Knight that made her notice him. Demanded that she notice him.
“I hope she proves satisfactory. If she doesn’t, please tell me at once and I’ll rectify the matter.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Eleanor’s voice dropped lower with each word she uttered.
“You’re going to be my wife. Nothing I do for you is trouble.” He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. And for a woman whose early life had been bound by neglect and malice, that sincerity was seduction in itself. “It is simply the kind of assistance you may rely on for the rest of your life.”
Did that sound ominous to anyone else? Eleanor cast a glance at Lady Gertrude.
But she was smiling and nodding. “Your sentiments do you honor, Mr. Knight. So few men remember that their wives should be coddled and cared for. The poor helpless male creatures prefer to think it should be the other way about.”
He was the type of man whom other men liked for his skills and abhorred for his authority—and his appeal to women. “My wife will be as pampered as a princess in an ivory tower.”
“It’s cold in an ivory tower,” Eleanor murmured.
“But a duchess lives in an ivory tower from the day she’s born. She always has someone to take care of her. A husband is required to do only one thing—to watch over her with consideration.” Mr. Knight took a sip of his wine and settled back in his chair to allow the footman to remove the crab and replace it with lamb cutlets and French beans. “Oh, and ivory towers are good for one other thing. When a wife’s in her tower, her husband knows her location.”
“That smacks of imprisonment,” Lady Gertrude said good-humoredly. “I’m sure you don’t mean that.”
But as he gazed at Eleanor, she thought his expression most peculiar, like a miser’s when he was gloating over his gold.
Nor did he address Lady Gertrude’s comment. Instead he poured them all a new, ruby wine to go with the meat. “Your Grace, I’ve settled the problem with your groom.”
This time, Eleanor had the good sense not to glance around for Madeline. “Dickie Driscoll?” She’d forgotten about Dickie. Clearheaded, steadfast, and good with horses, forty-year-old Scotsman Dickie Driscoll had been Madeline’s groom for as many years as Eleanor could remember. He had traveled the length and breadth of Europe with them, getting them out of scrapes, protecting them from rifle-wielding bandits, and proving himself a rock of loyalty and integrity. “There’s a problem with him?”
“Dickie Driscoll objected to leaving you in my custody, so I sent the coachman and footmen and the travel coach back to your father’s house, and Dickie is putting up in a room over the stable.”
Dickie was here in Berkley Square. He hadn’t abandoned her! She was not so alone as she imagined.
“What an expression of relief, my dear fiancée. However did you make your way through London society with such a revealing face? Not that I object, you understand.” Leaning toward her, Mr. Knight smiled with the kind of intimate bewitchment that made her swallow to relieve her suddenly dry mouth. “When a woman is as beautiful as you are, she’s usually adept at hiding her emotions. With you, I’ll always know what gives you pleasure, and strive always to do as you wish.”
Eleanor heard a voice in her head, whimpering, Oh, Madeline, what did you get me into? It was Eleanor’s own voice, of course. When her cousin had suggested this mad scheme, for good reasons, of course, Eleanor had warned that Mr. Knight might try to flirt with the woman he considered his future wife. Well, Eleanor had been right on that account, and so she would tell her cousin when next they met.
But that wouldn’t be, couldn’t be soon enough, for tonight Eleanor would have to sleep in Mr. Knight’s house, in one of his beds, and know that one floor up, he was there, thinking of her….She realized he was talking, and she jerked her attention back to the dining room.
His smile had disappeared, and he watched her as if he really could read her mind. “Since you arrived this afternoon, I’ve been waiting for you to try and explain to me that it would be ridiculous for us to wed.”
Eleanor didn’t know what he was intimating, but by his expression she knew she wouldn’t like this. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
Even Lady Gertrude looked confused. “Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Knight?”
“According to my source, those were the exact words you used on the morning when your father told you he had wagered you and lost you. You said, I shall go to London and explain to Mr. Knight it would be ridiculous for us to wed.” Mr. Knight covered Eleanor’s hand with his. “Isn’t that right, dear girl?”
Beneath his palm, Eleanor’s hand curled into a fist. “Are you saying that someone told you I had said that?”
“Indeed. Just as someone told me your father blustered that he had a solution to the problem of marrying me, but you assured him you could handle me. You collected your steadfast companion and cousin, Miss Eleanor de Lacy, and after a late start, stayed last night at the Red Robin Inn rather than continue on your way…to me.”
In horror, Eleanor pulled her hand free. He had repeated the turn of events for the last two days exactly
as they had happened. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
Relentlessly, he continued, “A respectable inn, but rather rough with the men Mr. Rumbelow hired for his house party, wasn’t it?” Mr. Knight asked, but it was obvious he knew the answer. “You ate dinner with a Lady Tabard and her daughter Thomasin, got a good night’s sleep, and this morning dispatched” your companion to Mr. Rumbelow’s gaming party—I didn’t quite comprehend the reason why, but I thought perhaps it had to do with your father’s insatiable gambling?” Lifting his eyebrows, Mr. Knight waited for an answer. When she returned none, he continued, “Perhaps you can enlighten me later. But you hurried forthwith to London and my house on Berkley Square.”
“You have been watching me,” Eleanor breathed. He knew everything—except the one most important thing. He didn’t realize the cousins had changed identities.
“I’ve been having you watched,” he corrected. “As much as I would like to do it all myself, I fear I must occasionally labor for a living.” He put his finger to his lips in a mocking signal for silence. “But don’t tell the ton.”
When Eleanor had time, she would feel sorry for Madeline for imagining she could manipulate this man, but at the moment, all of Eleanor’s pity centered on herself. She was in a mess that grew bigger and more complicated every moment. “Why would you spy on me?”
“Have some wine, Your Grace, you’re looking a little pale.” He waited until Eleanor had raised her shaking glass to her lips and sipped.
Lady Gertrude did not sip her wine; she swallowed in great gulps, for she looked a little pale, also. “Yes, Mr. Knight, why would you have Madeline watched?”
“With all apologies to you, Lady Gertrude, I’m afraid I’ve found the treachery and arrogance of the English aristocracy to be monumental.” As he turned to Eleanor, the ice in his eyes made his blue eyes paler and more menacing. “Your Grace, I don’t trust you not to betray me. Before you try, I wanted you to know—it is impossible. I know your every movement. Soon I will know your every thought—even before you think it. Remember that, my dear Madeline, before you make any more plans to eliminate me from your life.”
One Kiss From You Page 4
