Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  She frowned. “Afraid? What nonsense.”

  Cam said nothing, but waited for her answer and tried not to notice even her frowns were seductive. More so because she seemed not to know they were, but thrust out her lower lip as if she hadn’t any idea she was slowly driving him mad.

  “Very well, Mr. West—that is, Camden.”

  He stilled at the sound of his name on her lips, aware of a strange leap in his lower belly.

  “In celebration of this new intimacy between us,” she continued, her voice heavy with sarcasm, “Allow me to pay you a compliment. How clever you are to invite my family to your estate to hunt. It will be far more difficult for me to avoid you when I’m a guest in your house, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  It had crossed his mind.

  But only after he’d extended the invitation. “Now, Eleanor.” He paused to savor the taste of her name in his mouth. “That was mere luck, not design on my part. You were there. You know I couldn’t avoid the invitation.”

  “Well, Mr. West—”

  “Camden. Or Cam, if you prefer.”

  She drew in a long, patient breath. “Well, Camden, you were quick to take advantage of the opportunity.”

  He shrugged. “Of course I was. But if you’re worried about my having, ah . . . unfettered access to you, you can always remain at home.”

  Another faint blush rose in her cheeks at the innuendo. “Leave you alone with my family for days on end? I think not. My brothers seem far more eager than I am to accommodate you. I can’t account for it at all, in fact. Another rare stroke of luck for you?”

  He gave her an angelic smile. “The virtuous are favored with luck.”

  “Virtuous? You can’t be serious—”

  She began to sputter with indignation, but stopped when she noticed his wide grin. “Virtuous now, are you?” An unwilling smile touched the corners of her lips.

  He leaned back against the settee. “Yes, and virtue should be rewarded. Don’t you agree?”

  “No. Virtue is supposed to be its own reward.”

  “Not this time. So I’ll beg another favor of you, Eleanor.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve used up all your favors, Mr. West.”

  “Camden. This favor benefits us both.”

  She shook her head. “Impossible. We’re on opposing sides.”

  “At the moment, yes, but can’t we play together for the duration of the hunting party at Lindenhurst?”

  She eyed him as if she were waiting for some trick—for him to pull a card from his sleeve or a hidden rabbit from his coat. “What, a truce? How does that benefit me?”

  “Well, it would make things much pleasanter between us, for one.”

  She jerked up in her seat, her eyes wary. “I don’t want things to be pleasant between us.” She plucked at her skirts again, avoiding his eyes. “It will only make this harder.”

  Cam stared at her, unable to say a word as realization dawned on him.

  I’m making a mess of this.

  She’d told him the day after the Foster’s ball that gossips always exaggerated. He should have listened to her, but instead he’d listened to the gossip, to every whisper and rumor about Lady Eleanor Sutherland, the haughty, proud ton darling, the tease, so cold, so arrogant she’d already rejected five suitors.

  Nothing had been good enough for Hart Sutherland, either. It stood to reason any child of his must be formed from the same clay her father had been.

  Except she wasn’t.

  He never imagined she’d have such fight in her, such spirit, or such intelligence. He never expected to be fascinated by her. To want her, to want to unravel her, to turn her inside out, to see her from every angle. He never expected he’d want to know her.

  He never expected her at all.

  He’d taken the wrong approach with her from the start. Even during those brief weeks he’d courted her, he hadn’t taken the time to get to know her. He’d danced with her at a few balls and exchanged pleasantries with her, but he hadn’t seen her—not the truth of her.

  Lady Eleanor Sutherland was not a woman to be bullied into marriage. But she might be courted into it. Coaxed. Persuaded.

  Seduced.

  He never expected to want her, and he damn sure never expected her to want him.

  But she did.

  She’d gasped this afternoon when he kissed her palm, sighed when he took her wrist with his mouth. And tonight, that breathlessness in her voice, her blush—it wasn’t only from embarrassment. He knew the look of a woman flushed with desire.

  Julian was right—he hadn’t thought this through properly. Force wouldn’t work with Eleanor, but where it failed, finesse would succeed. The flower didn’t force the bee to sip the sweet nectar. It lured it. Tempted it, until the bee couldn’t resist a taste. God, he couldn’t conceive of a more erotic challenge than to entice a woman like her, to arouse her to such heights she’d take him inside her. Just the thought of it set his blood on fire.

  Once he’d taken her body, her hand would follow as a matter of course.

  “You’ll have to come up with a better reason than that if you wish to persuade me into a truce, Mr. Wes—that is, Camden.”

  Persuade her? Yes, he’d persuade her, to all manner of wicked things, but he couldn’t seduce a woman whose hands clenched into fists every time she saw him. He’d backed her into a corner with his threats, and now he had to find a way to entice her back out of it, or she’d fly at him with claws bared every time he approached.

  “How shall I persuade you? What do you want?”

  “I want to know why you want to marry me. Surely it would be much easier to choose a woman who wants to marry you, so I assume you have some reason to want me, in particular. I want to know what it is.”

  It was a shrewd question. She knew there was no hope of dissuading him from his scheme unless she understood the reasons for it. She had no hope of dissuading him at all, of course, but she couldn’t know that.

  But Cam hesitated. He didn’t intend to hide the truth from her forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to tell her. Sooner or later, yes, but he’d hoped for later, after they were married. She’d hate him for it, but by then it would be too late. Too late for both of them, for she’d never forgive him, and he . . .

  He’d have to live with the knowledge that he’d earned her hatred.

  Something pierced his chest at the thought, something bitter and sharp, like regret. He swatted it aside. He had no use for regret. It was a paltry thing when weighed against justice.

  Parity. The Sutherlands owed Amelia a decent life. He would see to it they paid. “A truce for the duration of the hunting party. I’ll reveal my reasons to you at its conclusion.”

  She leaned toward him. “I have your word on this?”

  He didn’t give his word lightly. When he gave it, he kept it. “You have my word.”

  She leaned back against the settee and released the breath she’d been holding. “Then we have a truce. For the moment, that is.”

  A moment was all he’d need. “I believe I’ll take my leave before you change your mind.” He rose from the settee. “Will you see me out?”

  She remained seated. “One more point first, if you please. Your cousin will not accompany us to Lindenhurst.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Cam hesitated, then inclined his head in agreement. It was for the best, anyway. Julian was far too interested in Lady Charlotte already.

  Eleanor rose from the settee and followed him to the other side of the room.

  Lord Carlisle looked up from the chessboard as they approached. “Off already, West?”

  Cam nodded. “Yes, my lord. I’ve a few details to see to if we’re to hunt this week.”

  Robert Sutherland glanced up from the chess board. “Good man.”

  To Cam’s surprise, Lord Carlisle rose and extended his hand. “Kind of you to invite us to your estate. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Cam shook t
he proffered hand, then turned to bow to the ladies. “I thank you for your invitation this evening, Lady Sutherland.”

  She smiled. “My pleasure, Mr. West.”

  Lady Carlisle and Lily Sutherland smiled and offered cordial goodbyes, but Lady Charlotte, who’d ended her recital in a discordant crash of notes, only glanced from him to her sister, her brow furrowed, then turned away.

  Eleanor followed him out of the drawing-room, but she came to a stop fewer than five paces from the door. “Good night.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t intend to see me out?”

  Did she think he’d taste her again, as he had this afternoon? Did she think he’d take her ripe red mouth with his, her lips sweet and tart at once, a fruit so succulent one taste made the juice run down his chin?

  She sidled back toward the drawing-room. “I thought I had. Rylands is waiting in the entryway. He’ll see to you.”

  She thought to foist him off on Rylands, did she? He caught her hand and drew her toward him, away from the door. “Must I define the word truce for you, Eleanor?” He eased her back against the wall.

  Dear God, her scent.

  “I know what a truce is, and it doesn’t include . . . this.”

  He held her between the wall and his body and leaned closer, until his mouth nearly touched hers. “What do you mean by this, Eleanor? Do you think I intend to kiss you? Shall I take your lips with mine, to seal our truce?”

  She shook her head, but she didn’t speak.

  God, he wanted to kiss her, burned for the feel of her lips soft and open against his, her every gasp and sigh caught in his mouth.

  Cam stilled her with gentle fingers on her chin and stared down at her. Her eyes had dropped closed and her long lashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks. She drew a deep breath and her lips parted on a long, unsteady sigh.

  All he needed was a single moment, and here it was. Now. He tilted her head up to his and leaned down.

  She trembled against him, her fingers shook in his hand, and her breath caught in her throat in a sigh, or a sob, or something partway between the two.

  Cam’s fingers tightened on her chin for a moment, then his hand fell away.

  He couldn’t do it. Even as he cursed himself as every kind of fool, he couldn’t do it.

  He wanted to take her lips with his more than he wanted to draw his next breath, but not like this—not with her family on the other side of the door. Not while she trembled in his arms. To take her this way felt wrong, as if he were cheating mere minutes after he’d agreed to a truce.

  Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to release her, so he leaned forward and brushed his lips, soft as a breath, against her forehead.

  “Good night, Eleanor.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You’re quiet this afternoon, Eleanor. One would think you’d have quite a lot to say today, but you’ve been quiet since we left London this morning.”

  Eleanor opened one eye and contemplated her sister’s grim expression. Charlotte sat across from her in the carriage, watching her with narrowed eyes, the corners of her mouth turned down.

  She knew why Charlotte was upset, of course, but they couldn’t discuss Camden West now, since Delia and Lily had joined them in the carriage for the ride to Lindenhurst.

  She closed the eye to avoid her sister’s stare. “Are you asking why I’m quiet, Charlotte? Or accusing me of something? It sounds like the latter.”

  “You may call it an observation.”

  “You can hardly blame her, Charlotte,” Delia said.

  Delia had graciously offered to take a rear-facing seat, but now she twisted around and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the gentlemen, who rode just ahead of the carriage. The day was fine and they’d left the hood down, so they had an unimpeded view of the three mounted riders.

  An unimpeded view of Camden West, graceful and commanding in the saddle, his dark blue coat pulled tight across his wide shoulders, his gray breeches straining to contain his muscular thighs.

  Not that she cared about his thighs, of course. She was a lady, after all, and ladies didn’t ogle a gentleman’s thighs.

  But what kind of gentleman wore such tight breeches?

  Lily giggled. “Delia’s right, Charlotte. That man is handsome enough to render any woman speechless.”

  Eleanor opened one eye to peek at Camden, then closed it again at once. No—not safe yet. She’d been unable to take her eyes off him all morning, and until she could, she’d keep them closed. Why, oh why did he have to appear to such advantage on horseback? Was it too much to ask he be slump-shouldered and awkward in the saddle?

  Delia turned back around in her seat. “So pleasant, too, and that story he told about his travels in India? He’s rather fascinating. Both Alec and I thought so.”

  Ellie grunted in reply. So much for Alec’s protective instincts.

  “His devotion to his sister is what struck me,” Lily said. “It’s singular, don’t you think, for such a young man, especially given the disparity in their ages? It’s lovely to watch them together.”

  She gave Ellie a playful nudge in the ribs.

  Eleanor reluctantly opened her eyes. Amelia had opted to ride with the gentlemen rather than remain in the carriage, and now she trotted alongside her brother, chatting and laughing with him, the jaunty little feather in her riding cap waving in the breeze. They were utterly at ease with each other, even though he’d been absent for most of Amelia’s eleven short years of life.

  Then again, one could be physically present in a child’s life, and still be absent in every way that mattered. Ellie knew that better than most, and as she watched Amelia prance along on her mare, she couldn’t prevent a burst of admiration for Camden West. She almost envied the little girl. Whatever else might be true of him, he’d brave the flames of hell for his sister.

  He’d force a lady into marriage for her, as well.

  Amelia West was somehow connected to this mad scheme of her brother’s. Eleanor knew it. She could feel it, just as surely she could feel the breeze against her face. But how? She was missing a vital piece of this puzzle, and nothing less than a hope of getting it could have induced her to agree to a truce with the man. One didn’t make a deal with the devil, no matter how handsome and persuasive he was.

  Especially then. After all, he wouldn’t be the devil if he weren’t both.

  Shall I take your lips with mine?

  Eleanor shivered at the memory of those whispered words, the feel of his warm lips against her forehead. He’d wanted her mouth. She’d felt the thrum of desire in his powerful body, so close to her own. Her heart had slammed against her ribs as his mouth descended, but a moment before his lips met hers, he’d hesitated. One heartbeat. Another. Then a soft touch, his lips against her forehead, so chaste, and almost . . . tender.

  A villain with a conscience. It should have reassured her, but somehow, it made it worse.

  She’d been . . . disappointed. Eleanor’s face heated, but she couldn’t deny she’d thought of nothing since then but how it would feel to have his lips pressed against her own. He’d taste sweet, like strawberries drowned in rich cream—

  “Of course,” Lily went on, oblivious to the drift of Ellie’s thoughts. “Robyn could talk of nothing but the ship. The Amelia. He’ll tease mercilessly, I’m sure, until Mr. West takes him to see it.”

  “Robyn’s just as useless as Alec, then.” Charlotte had remained ominously silent while Delia and Lily effused over Camden, but she never could hold her tongue for long.

  Lily’s face darkened, as it always did when anyone dared to cast aspersions on Robyn. “What in the world does that mean, Charlotte?”

  Oh, no. For the third time that morning, Ellie wished her mother had decided to accompany the party to Lindenhurst. She’d put a quick stop to this discussion. Unfortunately, she’d opted to remain in London with her grandson instead.

  Ellie gave Charlotte a warning nudge with her toe, but Charlotte ignored her.
“Why, they may as well strip Ellie down to her corset and stockings and deliver her to Mr. West’s bedchamber, for they certainly made no attempt to chase him away.”

  Delia’s and Lily’s identical blue eyes went wide with shock.

  “Charlotte!” Eleanor cried, even as she knew it was too late. “For pity’s sake, will you hush?”

  Delia ignored Charlotte, however, and instead leaned forward and fixed her eyes on Ellie. “He is courting you, then? Alec and I thought so.”

  Ellie stared at Delia, taken aback by the look of satisfaction on her face.

  She hadn’t a chance to say anything, however, for that same look sent Charlotte headlong into a temper. “For pity’s sake, Delia—of course he’s courting her, if that’s what you wish to call it. One needn’t be a mind reader to see that. What I fail to understand is why neither you nor Alec did a thing to discourage him.”

  Both Delia and Lily looked at Charlotte as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Why would she wish to discourage him?” Oddly, Lily directed this question to Charlotte rather than Ellie. “Unless this is about his being in trade—”

  Charlotte waved an impatient hand in the air. “No, no. I don’t care about that. None of the family does. You know that, Lily. No, I—I simply don’t like the man, that’s all.”

  Lily opened her mouth to argue, but Delia interrupted her. “That’s all very well, Charlotte, but I rather think Ellie’s opinion is the one that matters, and she seems quite taken with Mr. West.”

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. Taken with him?

  “Yes,” Lily put in, before Ellie could gather her wits. “I thought so, and I know Robyn did, too.”

  “Alec, as well,” Delia added, addressing Ellie. “Why do you think he didn’t try to discourage Mr. West? He perceived an interest on your part, and believed he acted according to your wishes.”

  Ellie opened her mouth, but no words emerged. She hadn’t said or done a thing to make her family think she encouraged him.

  Had she?

  Dear God, could she have encouraged him without realizing it? “Whatever made you think I wished for his suit? What did I do?”

  Delia and Lily looked at each other, then back at Ellie.