Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  “Yes.” Charlotte spread her skirts over her legs and surveyed the ruined remains of her flowers. “I’m . . . ashamed of myself, Eleanor.”

  Eleanor dropped the rose she’d rescued into her lap. Charlotte had always pushed against boundaries. Even as a child she’d been the first to disobey their father’s commands, but—

  “I suppose you’re ashamed of me, as well,” Charlotte added, her tone resentful.

  “Ashamed? No. That’s not so, Charlotte.”

  She’d never been ashamed of her sister, and she wasn’t now, but at the same time she’d never understood her, either. Charlotte found Eleanor equally inscrutable, and they’d clashed more than once over the years, especially when they were children. As adults, they’d settled into a more predictable pattern.

  Eleanor lectured, and Charlotte ignored her.

  She didn’t scold Charlotte for pushing the boundaries—a lady had no choice but to push, unless she was satisfied to spend her days shopping and gossiping while her husband whiled away his days at White’s and his nights bedding his mistress.

  No, she scolded Charlotte for pushing so recklessly. One didn’t take the stage and shout at the other performers. One jerked the strings from behind the curtain, not in front of it.

  They didn’t agree on their methods, but Eleanor had never known her sister to be ashamed of her behavior. Until now.

  An icy sliver of fear lodged in Eleanor’s breast. “Is this about Julian West?”

  Charlotte refused to meet Eleanor’s eyes. “I thought I could manage it—manage him. Once we got out to the garden I knew I’d made a mistake, but it was too late by then—”

  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears.

  Eleanor stared at her sister, horrified. “Hush. You’re all right now, dear. Did he frighten you? Hurt you?”

  She was going to kill Julian West.

  Charlotte shook her head. “He didn’t hurt me, no, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life, and that part did frighten me. It felt like . . . drowning. Have you ever felt that way before?” Vulnerable? The very word made the hair on Eleanor’s neck rise. “I never have, but it sounds awful.”

  Charlotte shivered. “It was awful and wonderful all at once, and so dreadfully confusing.”

  Eleanor took Charlotte’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry for it, but it’s over now. I do hope you can put it behind you, but if not, well, we can always poison Julian West with one of Lady Abernathy’s deadly plants.”

  As long as we save enough poison for his cousin.

  Charlotte laughed and squeezed her fingers, and Eleanor breathed a silent sigh of relief. This was the sister she recognized. Charlotte hadn’t yet encountered a situation she couldn’t dismiss with a laugh.

  “What nonsense, Eleanor. You know Lady Abernathy hasn’t any . . .”

  Charlotte fell abruptly silent. Color surged into her face, and her fingers went slack around Eleanor’s hand.

  “Charlotte? Whatever is the matter? Are you ill?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer, just stared over Eleanor’s shoulder.

  Eleanor was sitting with her back to the terrace, so she craned her neck around to see behind her. Quite a few guests had arrived and were wandering around the tables, admiring the baskets of flowers, but Eleanor didn’t see anything shocking, so what—

  Just then their mother turned and spotted them on the other side of the lawn. She took a few steps toward them, smiled, and beckoned for them to join her.

  That’s when Eleanor saw him.

  Camden West stood behind her mother, his face turned in Eleanor’s direction. Julian West was at his side, holding Amelia by the hand.

  “Ouch!” Eleanor looked down to find a thorn lodged in her thumb. She’d snapped the stem of the rose in half. She dug the thorn out with her teeth and stuck her thumb in her mouth to catch the tiny drop of blood welling at the tip.

  Oh, no. What the devil was he doing at Lady Abernathy’s garden party, and with his rake of a cousin, no less? How had he known she was here? Had he had her followed? She didn’t doubt it. There seemed to be no depths to which Mr. West wouldn’t sink. “I won’t leave you alone with him. I swear it.”

  Charlotte rose to her feet and tugged Eleanor up beside her. “I know. I’ll be all right, Eleanor.” Her voice shook a bit, but she lifted her chin in the air with some of her old bravado.

  Eleanor wasn’t sure she would be all right, but at the moment she hadn’t any choice, for their mother was waving them over.

  Very well. She’d obey her mother and be polite, but she’d go in search of poisonous plants at the first opportunity.

  A lady never knew when she might need a little poison.

  “There you are, my dears,” their mother said, as Eleanor and Charlotte joined her. She turned to address Camden West. “My daughter Eleanor tells me she and Charlotte had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at the Foster’s ball last week, Mr. West. I believe you called the carriage for them when Charlotte was taken ill?”

  He bowed. “Yes, my lady. We were fortunate to be of service that evening.”

  Eleanor looked into his green eyes, narrow and cold, like a serpent’s eyes, or two slivers of mossy ice.

  Don’t flinch. He’ll strike if you do.

  She held his gaze as she dipped into a shallow curtsy, then gave a defiant little toss of her head. “Mr. West, and Mr. West. What a . . . pleasure to see you both again.”

  Julian West, who seemed unable to tear his gaze from Charlotte, stepped forward and bowed. “How do you do, Lady Charlotte?”

  Eleanor stared at him, surprised. He addressed her sister in a soft, gentle tone, not at all the arrogant, satisfied one she’d expect a rake to use with his latest conquest. Camden West had said his cousin wasn’t proud of his behavior that night. Eleanor hadn’t believed him, but perhaps it was true. Julian West did look more like a besotted schoolboy than a hardened rogue at the moment.

  Charlotte curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mr. West.”

  Eleanor examined her sister. Charlotte’s voice was composed, but her cheeks were flushed.

  “I’m relieved to see you’ve recovered from your indisposition at the Foster’s ball,” Julian West murmured.

  Eleanor and Charlotte glanced at each other. He sounded sincere, even a touch regretful, but then perhaps he was just an accomplished liar.

  Like his cousin.

  “Mr. West, that is, this Mr. West,” their mother said with a laugh, indicating Camden West, “is the society’s newest patron. He’s made a large donation to our cause. How can we ever show our appreciation for your generosity, Mr. West?”

  Camden West raised an eyebrow at Eleanor. The subtle smirk on his lips said more clearly than words what he wanted in return for his generosity.

  Eleanor managed a bland smile, but underneath it she seethed. Why, the man was incorrigible. Did he truly imagine she’d capitulate because he’d donated to the society?

  Before anyone else could notice Mr. West’s smirk, he hid it under a gracious smile. “No thanks are necessary, my lady. Just knowing I’ve helped London’s poor is thanks enough.”

  Eleanor’s lip curled. Good Lord. Such touching modesty, delivered with such polished charm. Well, liars did tend to be accomplished performers.

  Her mother nodded, then looked down at Amelia with a smile. “Who is this?”

  Camden West laid a hand on the child’s shoulder. “This young lady is my sister, Amelia West. Amelia, this is Lady Carlisle. You already know Lady Eleanor and Lady Charlotte.”

  Eleanor shook her head. It still seemed wrong, somehow, that he should have a sister at all. Or a mother or father, come to that. Surely he’d sprung fully formed from Satan’s skull?

  Still, Amelia was the one thing Eleanor admired about Camden West, and it wasn’t the child’s fault her brother was more devil than gentleman. She held out her hand to the little girl, her face relaxing into her first genuine smile all day. “Good afternoon, Amelia. I’m pleased to see you again. H
ave you finished your sketch of Lady Leicester?”

  “Not yet, my lady, but I will. I started a new sketch, instead.”

  “Ah well, you must follow where inspiration leads you. Now, I don’t suppose you like flowers, do you?”

  Amelia giggled. “Oh yes, I do, especially daisies.”

  “Do you indeed?” Eleanor pretended to be surprised. “That is good news, for we’ve a great many flowers here. But you don’t like cakes, do you? I’m afraid you must not, and it’s too bad, for we’ve as many cakes as we do flowers, and someone must eat them.”

  Amelia opened her eyes wide at the thought of so many uneaten cakes. “But I do—I do like them!”

  “Do you mean to say,” Eleanor asked, raising her eyebrows at the child. “You like to eat flowers? Or cakes?”

  Amelia went off into another fit of giggles at this. “How silly. Cakes, of course.”

  “How fortunate. I’ve been quite worried about those cakes. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “Before we descend on the cakes,” Lady Catherine said, “We’d like to formally introduce you to the society, Mr. West, and thank you properly. Perhaps you’d care to make a speech? Almost everyone is here now.”

  Eleanor tried not to roll her eyes. For pity’s sake. Not a speech.

  He held up his hands with a modest laugh. “No, no speech if you please, my lady. I prefer to be a silent patron, if it’s all the same to you. What I would enjoy is a chance to see Lady Abernathy’s flowers. Perhaps Lady Eleanor will be kind enough to show them to me?”

  Eleanor’s mother smiled at her. “I’m sure she’d be delighted.”

  Eleanor pressed her lips together. Oh my, yes—as delighted as any young lady thrown into a serpent’s path would be. “Oh, what terrible luck. I’d so love to show you the garden, Mr. West, but I’m afraid I’m engaged to help the children with the daisy chains.”

  “Never mind that, Eleanor,” her mother said. “Charlotte can help the children.”

  Julian West intervened then. “Amelia and I would be pleased to help Lady Charlotte. Would you like to make a daisy chain, minx?”

  Amelia hopped up and down with excitement, her sunny curls bouncing against her shoulders. “Yes, please. May I, Denny?” She turned her wide, dark eyes on Camden West.

  He grinned at her obvious excitement. “Do you know how to make a daisy chain?”

  “No, but Lady Charlotte will show me. Won’t you?” Amelia turned her absurdly appealing eyes on Charlotte.

  Charlotte gave Eleanor a helpless shrug, then smiled down at Amelia. “Of course. Have you ever made a daisy chain before?” She took the child by the hand to lead her across the lawn.

  “Mind you don’t forget the cakes, Amelia,” Eleanor called after them.

  Amelia turned back to give her a cheerful little wave, but Eleanor’s heart sank as she watched Charlotte walk off to the far end of the garden to spend an entire afternoon with Julian West. Nothing untoward could happen on Lady Abernathy’s lawn with a hundred or so society members milling about, but that didn’t change the fact that they’d been outmaneuvered by the Wests.

  Again. At this rate she’d find herself married within a month.

  With a reluctant sigh she turned to face the artic green eyes of her furious would-be-betrothed, but to her surprise, he regarded her now with an odd, speculative expression, not the cold anger she’d expected.

  Oh, no. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be a dull-wit.

  Blast it, it took far more effort to sustain an appearance of stupidity than she’d ever imagined it would. After their drive yesterday she’d flopped across her bed in a near-stupor of witlessness the minute she arrived home. She’d awoken hours later with a stiff neck, still wearing her carriage dress.

  Ignorance exhausted her, but there was no help for it. She couldn’t change tactics again. Had she said anything intelligent just now? She’d teased Amelia, but surely she hadn’t given herself away—

  “You’re good with her.”

  Eleanor jerked her attention back to Camden West, who continued to scrutinize her with such intensity she understood how a rodent must feel right before a serpent swallowed it whole.

  He offered his arm. “Many people don’t know how to speak naturally to children. They talk down to them, or treat them like adults. Have you had much experience with children Amelia’s age?”

  Eleanor accepted his arm. “No, but I do adore children. They’re so funny and clever.”

  Cleverer than I am. At least, that’s how she hoped he’d interpret that comment.

  He didn’t reply, but a sardonic smile touched the corners of his lips. Eleanor ran a damp palm down the side of her skirt. That smile wasn’t a promising sign.

  Damn it, she rarely made mistakes or misread people, and it was quite simple, after all—Camden West was a villain. And yet she’d played him wrong from the start. She’d been so certain he’d underestimate her, she’d underestimated him. He was far more cunning than any of her other suitors. It was terribly unfair. Why did the one man who wanted to blackmail her into marriage have to be the clever one? If the world were just, he’d have the wit of a boiled potato, and the appeal of one.

  No, it wouldn’t do. If she wanted to free her foot from Camden West’s trap, she’d have to do better than this. She’d have to find another way—

  “Ah. These must be the yellow roses I’ve heard so much about.”

  Eleanor looked up, surprised to find he’d led her around a tall hedge of boxwood and down one of the more isolated pathways. She glanced behind them, but only a fragment of the house and the crowd on the lawn were visible through the thick wall of roses.

  A shiver of foreboding skittered up her spine. If she couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t see her. What did Camden West mean by bringing her here? She glanced up into his face, but she found nothing there to reassure her. He regarded her with lazy, half-closed eyes, but his sleepy expression was at odds with his glittering emerald gaze.

  He stood far too close to her.

  “Will you stun me with your knowledge of yellow roses now, Lady Eleanor?” he asked in a bored tone, even as his gaze flicked over her face, noting every change in her expression.

  Eleanor moistened her dry lips. “Oh, dear. I wish I could, Mr. West, but I know nothing about roses.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Roses, or anything else. That’s what you’d have me believe, isn’t it, my lady?”

  Don’t flinch. “I beg your pardon?”

  He reached forward and took hold of her chin with long, warm fingers. “I think you know about many things. You’re not as feeble-minded as you’d have me believe, or as cold. Right now, for instance, you feel very, very warm.”

  As if at his command, her chest and neck flushed with heat. Eleanor tried to jerk her chin free, but he held fast, and tilted her face up to his so she couldn’t look away. “Oh no, my lady. We’re not finished yet.”

  “Finish it, then. What is it you want?” In her head her voice was cold, her words clipped, but somehow they emerged husky and breathless. Her flush deepened, spread to her cheeks.

  He noticed, and a slow, wicked smile tugged at his mouth. “But I can’t have what I want, my lady. Not yet. So I’ll settle for an explanation instead. Tell me, why are you so kind to my sister?”

  Eleanor’s knees trembled under her skirts, but even as her body went weak at the look in his hot green eyes, her mind leapt to his challenge. “Why shouldn’t I be kind to her? It’s the easiest thing in the world to be kind to a child. They aren’t liars. It’s the adults who are the challenge.”

  It was far too smart a reply for an addlepated female, but Eleanor didn’t care anymore. She hadn’t fooled him with her act in any case, and all she cared about at this moment was getting free of his touch.

  Before I melt at his feet.

  “Some more than others,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “But you see, my lady, every time you’re kind to Amelia, you make me want you more.”
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  She watched as if in a dream as he lifted his hand and stroked one long finger down her cheek, lingering just at the corner of her mouth. Eleanor’s eyes drifted closed. Her bottom lip gave under the slight pressure of that warm finger, and her mouth opened for him.

  A harsh, ragged sound tore from his chest. Eleanor opened her eyes. He was staring at her mouth, at the place where his finger caressed her.

  When he said he wanted her, did he mean . . .

  She jerked her head back in a sudden panic. “You’ll never know who you’ve married. Kind or cold, foolish or clever. How will you be able to tell the difference?”

  His fiery green eyes chilled and the cold mask descended over his face again. “Ah, my dear Lady Eleanor. What makes you think it matters either way?”

  Chapter Nine

  “How can it not matter? Unless . . .”

  Her voice trailed off into silence. Cam watched her, waited for the moment when she realized whatever his reasons for choosing her as his bride, they hadn’t anything to do with her at all.

  It didn’t take long. Her features stiffened and her face went so pale he began to fear she might swoon. For the first time since this began, he saw real fear darken her eyes.

  “Perhaps you’d better tell me what’s truly going on here, Mr. West.”

  Maybe it was her quiet dignity, or maybe it was the way her eyes had gone so huge in her white face, but Cam felt an odd squeezing sensation in his chest, and Julian’s words from the night of the Foster’s ball echoed in his head.

  I don’t like it. This is badly done, Cam.

  Perhaps it was. It had begun badly enough, but he’d end it neatly. Quickly.

  But to do that, he needed to see Eleanor Sutherland as nothing more than the last act in a play that began eleven years ago, a play with all the wrong players, all the wrong lines. This was a performance, nothing more—a tragedy from the start, both for his mother and Amelia. It was too late for his mother, but he’d sworn to himself he’d put things right for Amelia with this one final act—a final player across the stage.