Lady Eleanor's Seventh Suitor

by Anna Bradley

  “It’s the way you look at him, I suppose,” Delia said. “There’s something in it that reminds me of how Alec looks at me.”

  “Yes, and you looked at him a good deal, you know,” Lily put in. She sounded a trifle defensive. “And when he spoke of his sister, your face went . . . softer than I’ve ever seen it.”

  No. No, it hadn’t. Surely it hadn’t.

  Had it?

  “It’s your head that’s gone soft, Lily,” Charlotte snapped. “I grant you he’s a devoted brother. No one could hear that story about his sister and remain unaffected by it, Ellie included, but it doesn’t means she wishes to be tied to the man for life.”

  Still, as she spoke, Charlotte gave her sister an appraising look, and Ellie could see doubt begin to take root. God help her, after the almost-kiss last night, and Delia’s and Lily’s observations this morning, she’d begun to doubt herself.

  Lily turned in her seat to observe the gentleman in question. Ellie’s gaze followed hers, and her mouth fell open. Drat the man! How had he contrived to look more virile than usual the very minute they turned their gazes upon him? Even from here she could see his powerful thighs, hard and tight against the saddle as he raced Amelia to a line of trees and back again.

  “Tied to Mr. West?” Lily turned and met Ellie’s eyes. She raised a brow. “I can think of far worse fates.”

  Charlotte didn’t look amused, but Delia choked back a laugh. “Do you mean to say, Ellie, you don’t encourage him?”

  Yes. No. Damn—that is, drat it, what did she mean? She hardly knew anymore.

  Wait. Of course she knew. “I don’t encourage it, no. I have no wish to marry Camden—that is, Mr. West.”

  She gave Charlotte a nervous glance, hoping her sister hadn’t heard Camden’s first name slip out. It seemed to roll quite readily off her tongue.

  Charlotte stared back at her, lips tight.

  She’d heard.

  Delia glanced behind her to the trio of gentleman, then turned back to Eleanor. “Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  Eleanor slumped back against her seat. It was a devil of a time for her sisters to finally catch on. They must be in Hertfordshire by now.

  Silence descended on the carriage for a while, until Charlotte interrupted it. “Are you quite sure, Eleanor?”

  Eleanor jumped. “Quite sure of what?”

  “That you don’t mean to encourage Mr. West?”

  “I think you’d suit.” Lily gazed hopefully at Eleanor.

  Eleanor looked from one expectant face to the other. No matter what she said, she’d disappoint someone, and they’d never cease plaguing her. “I—I don’t—”

  “Stop the carriage, driver. Would any of you ladies care to ride the rest of the way? West says we’ll be there in another half hour.”

  The four ladies looked up in surprise to find Alec had brought his horse up alongside the carriage. They’d been so distracted by their squabble, none of them had noticed him.

  Ellie began to rise from her seat before the carriage even came to a complete stop. “I’ll ride.” It was either ride or throw herself from the moving carriage.

  The driver pulled to a halt and she stepped down. Alec handed her his horse’s reins and took her place next to Charlotte.

  Eleanor mounted and rode away from her tormentors as if the hounds of hell were chasing her. She’d managed to put about ten paces between herself and the carriage before Camden drew his horse up next to hers. “I didn’t dare hope for your company this morning, Lady Eleanor. If this is a result of our truce, I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it earlier.”

  Eleanor sighed. From the proverbial pan straight into the fire.

  Still . . . she glanced back at the carriage. She could see by the look on Charlotte’s face her sister’s temper hadn’t improved. She swung back around on the saddle to face Cam. “I congratulate you, sir. You’re the less objectionable of two offensive options.”

  To her surprise, he grinned. “Those aren’t truce-worthy sentiments. You’ll have to do better than that, or I’ll be forced to wave a white flag in the air every time you insult me, to remind you of our agreement.”

  Ellie felt a smile threaten. How ridiculous! He was a very devil, but a devil with a playful side. Irresistible. “Nonsense. You don’t have a white flag.”

  He shrugged. “No, but I do have a white cravat, and I won’t hesitate to use it. Try and explain that to your sisters.”

  Eleanor cocked her head to the side, considering. “All right, then. You are much less objectionable than my other offensive option.”

  “I’ll make do with that.”

  Amelia, who never seemed to be far from her brother, drew her horse up next to Cam’s. “Will you ride the rest of the way, Lady Eleanor?”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at the child’s eager expression. “Certainly, if you like, though in exchange you must tell me all about Lindenhurst, Amelia. Do you ride often while you’re there? I see you’re an accomplished horsewoman, so I imagine you must.”

  Amelia glowed at the praise. “Oh, yes. I’ve had Penelope since I was five.” She reached down to run a gentle hand over the mare’s neck. “She’s a gift from Denny.”

  “How lovely she is,” Eleanor said, with a sidelong glance at Cam.

  “There are ever so many pretty paths and places to ride near the house,” Amelia went on. “Will you let me show you while we’re there?”

  “I’d consider it a great favor if you would. You must know the grounds better than anyone. Do you miss your home, now you live in London?”

  Amelia shrugged with the blithe unconcern of a child who finds a home everywhere she goes. “Not too much. I ride in London every day, in one park or another, and besides, Gunter’s is in London.”

  “Amelia has a weakness for lemon ices.” Cam grinned at his sister.

  Eleanor arched an eyebrow at him. “The whole of London has a weakness for lemon ices.”

  “Do you?” Amelia asked.

  “Oh, yes. Lemon ices, marzipan and sugared almonds in particular. All sweets, really.”

  “Except trifle.” Cam’s words were innocent, but his voice . . .

  Eleanor darted a look at him and caught her breath. Oh, my, but he looked—wicked. She meant to turn away, but she found herself gazing at his mouth instead.

  Strawberries, warm from his tongue, his lips sweet with cream.

  “Do you like sweets after all, my lady?” He held her gaze. “Ah, I knew you must have pleasure in something.”

  Eleanor flushed and forced herself to look away.

  “London has the best sweets.” Amelia spoke with the air of one who has settled the matter. “I like living there. Sometimes I do miss Lindenhurst, but my home is wherever Denny is, you know, and Denny doesn’t like it there.”

  Eleanor jerked her attention back to Amelia, startled by this information. “He doesn’t?”

  “Amelia—” Cam began at the same time.

  Amelia ignored his warning in favor of Eleanor’s question. “No, not at all. We haven’t been back once since he returned from India.”

  “Indeed?” How interesting. At last, here was some information on the elusive Camden West. Even better, it was information he didn’t want her to have.

  God bless them, siblings with loose tongues.

  “Why, how surprising—” Ellie began, prepared to get as much information as she could, politeness be damned, when she was interrupted by a shout from Robyn.

  “Ellie!”

  He’d ridden some distance ahead of the rest of the party, but now Ellie looked up to find him charging toward them. He pulled his horse to a sharp stop next to Cam’s. “Ellie, you know where we are, don’t you?”

  “We’re in Hertfordshire, Robyn,” Ellie said, with exaggerated patience.

  Robyn rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, I realize we’re in Hertfordshire, but do you know whose estate is less than two miles east of here?”

  Dread pooled in Eleanor�
��s belly as she realized what Robyn meant. Oh, no. No. He couldn’t be so dense as to bring up Durham now, right in front of Camden West.

  “Robyn—”

  “The Marquess of Durham!”

  Blast him, he was dense enough.

  Devil take them, siblings with loose tongues.

  Cam shifted his mount a little closer to Robyn’s, an intrigued look on his face. “Yes, that’s right. His estate lies not three miles from Lindenhurst. Are you acquainted with him?”

  “Not really,” Ellie said. She shot a warning look at Robyn.

  But he either didn’t notice it, or chose to ignore it. “Of course we know him. We’d be family even now if Ellie hadn’t sent him on his way.”

  If she could only manage to remove her riding boot, she could throw it at her brother’s head.

  Cam turned his gaze upon Ellie, and a mocking smile spread over his face. “Is that so? I’ve heard rumors about Lady Eleanor’s numerous suitors, but I hadn’t heard the Marquess of Durham was among them.”

  Robyn shrugged. “Oh, not many people know about it. It was before her first season. Shall we go tour the estate? I’ve heard it’s impressive, though of course we never had a chance to find out. Too bad, too. Durham’s a good fellow.”

  Ellie didn’t say a word, but the heat of her glare must have at last penetrated Robyn’s thick skull, for he finally seemed to catch on. “Oh, well, perhaps not. That is . . . Amelia! Do you fancy a race?”

  Amelia, who’d grown bored and begun to squirm in her saddle, perked up at this. “May I, Denny?”

  Cam looked as though he couldn’t get rid of the two of them fast enough. “By all means.”

  The two trotted away, for all the world as if they’d not left mayhem and destruction in their wake.

  Eleanor flicked the reins, set Alec’s horse to a walk, and waited.

  Cam brought his horse into step beside hers. “Six.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Eleanor asked, though she knew very well what he referred to.

  “Six suitors. Not five, and one of them the Marquess of Durham. Respectable family, wealthy, intelligent, and not yet in his dotage. Handsome, too, if the ladies can be trusted. I can’t think of a single objection to him.”

  Eleanor’s fingers tightened on the reins. She’d heard this all before. “No one can.”

  “You did.”

  She had, yes, but she didn’t intend to explain the nature of that objection to Camden West. He’d think she was mad, just as everyone else had. Mad, or selfish, or intolerably arrogant.

  And maybe she was. Maybe, after all, she had no right to believe she could have more than anyone else did, and yet it had always seemed such a simple thing to her, to want love—to expect it, even. To wait for it.

  But now . . . tears burned the back of Eleanor’s eyes. It seemed love wasn’t so simple, after all.

  When she didn’t reply, his mouth twisted with a strange, bitter smile. “Your father must have indulged you just as your brother does, if he allowed you to refuse such an advantageous offer.”

  Her father. Indulgent. For a single moment she was tempted to tell him all about her father, just to see the shocked look on his face.

  “Why do you avoid Lindenhurst?” she asked instead. “It’s your home, isn’t it?”

  He hesitated. “A trade, Eleanor? My secret for yours?”

  Another deal with the devil? It was becoming a habit, and yet she hadn’t much choice. She could try and get the information from Amelia later, but she didn’t like the idea of involving the child in this mess.

  The devil it was, then. “Oh, very well.”

  “Lindenhurst was my home until I was thirteen, then things changed, and it wasn’t anymore.”

  It wasn’t anymore?

  “Julian’s father, my Uncle Reginald . . . he took over the estate, and my mother and I removed to a cottage on the property. We lived there for four years, until my mother died. Then I went off to India.”

  Dear God. Surely he didn’t mean to say his uncle had snatched the estate right out from under him and his mother? Eleanor swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Your uncle and aunt still live there?”

  “Yes. My uncle and my Aunt Mary took Amelia in when I left. She was raised at Lindenhurst. It’s her home, but it’s not mine, and hasn’t been for a long time.”

  “That was . . . kind of them.”

  “My aunt has been good to Amelia.”

  He didn’t say a word about his uncle’s goodness.

  “I see Aunt Mary occasionally in London,” he went on. “I’ve seen my Uncle only once since I returned from India, when I asked him to remove from my London townhouse. He wasn’t pleased, to say the least.”

  Eleanor frowned. “But it’s your townhouse.”

  “Yes.”

  She half-turned in the saddle, but she could only see his profile. “Lindenhurst is your estate. It belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

  He inclined his head. “Yes.”

  Eleanor’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the peculiar tale, but he’d hidden more of the story than he’d revealed. Then a thought occurred to her. “What did your uncle say when you told him about the hunting party?”

  He gave a short laugh. “He didn’t care for the idea, but there’s little he can do. As you said, it’s my estate.”

  She hesitated, not sure if she should ask the question that hovered on her lips. “Why don’t you order them to remove from Lindenhurst, as well?”

  He turned then, so she could see his entire face. His green eyes had gone flat and cold. “Because I owe them.”

  “Owe them?” Eleanor repeated, shivering despite herself at the look in his eyes.

  “Yes. They’ve raised Amelia since birth. I pay my debts, my lady. I collect them, too.”

  Eleanor stared at him. What would it be like, to owe such a man a debt? Her entire body went cold at the thought. Did he believe her indebted to him? Was that why—

  “A trade, Eleanor, remember? Why did your father allow you to refuse the Marquess of Durham?”

  She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want this strange, tempting man inside her head, where he could see her secrets. But it was too late. She paid her debts, too.

  She took a deep breath and raised her gaze to his. She thought his green eyes flared with a brief heat before he murmured, “Why, Ellie?”

  She raised her chin. “He didn’t allow it. He never found out about Durham’s suit at all.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cam stared at her, sure he’d hadn’t heard her right. “Your father never knew about Durham’s offer,” he repeated, his voice flat.

  Impossible. The late Lord Carlisle had cared for nothing more than his own consequence. He’d have made it his business to know about his daughter’s prospects, and he would never have permitted her to toss away the chance to become a marchioness.

  A cold, bitter anger seized him. She was lying. She was her father’s daughter, after all. He’d been a liar, too.

  She flinched at his obvious skepticism, but said nothing. Her dark eyes narrowed, moved over his face. Whatever she saw there made her stiffen in the saddle.

  Damn her. She looked at him as if . . . as if he’d disappointed her.

  Cam clenched his fists until his fingers threatened to snap into pieces. She had no right to look at him like that, to make him feel as if he’d wounded her somehow. He didn’t owe Eleanor Sutherland anything. Quite the opposite.

  His voice sliced through the silence between them. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, then she shook her head. “I don’t expect anything of you.”

  Another lie. “Ah, but I expect something from you, my lady. The truth. Shall we begin again? How is it you did not become the Marchioness of Durham?”

  She wheeled her horse around, as if prepared to flee. “I told you already. I can’t help it if you don’t like my answer.”

  He didn’t like it because it was a
lie. “Such an accomplished actress, and yet this is an unconvincing performance. You’ll have to do better, because I don’t believe you.”

  Her face hardened. “Pity, but whether you take or leave my answer hasn’t anything to do with me. Do as you wish.”

  Cam squeezed the reins until the worn leather between his fingers creaked a protest. “I choose to leave it, and it has everything to do with—”

  Before he could spit out the rest of his furious reply, he’d choked on the dust kicked up by her horse. He leapt after her in a second flurry of pounding hooves, devouring the space between them. She hadn’t gotten far before he caught up to her, grabbed her horse’s reins and forced her to an abrupt halt.

  She kept her seat with ease, but she turned on him in a breathless rage nonetheless. “Have you lost your wits? What do you think you’re doing? You nearly unseated me!”

  He tossed the reins back to her, but seized her wrist so she couldn’t bolt again. “We’re not done talking.”

  She tried to tug her arm free. “I am.”

  He held her fast. Her wrist felt small, the bones fragile between his fingers, but fragility was an illusion when it came to Eleanor Sutherland. “Is this how you honor your promises? We have a truce.”

  She jerked her chin up. “I’ve honored the truce. You asked your question, and I answered it. We’re done.”

  He urged his horse closer so he could study her face. “I’m not.”

  “What’s the point in proceeding? I’ll only lie to you again, won’t I?”

  He eased his grip on her wrist. “Then tell me the truth, Eleanor.”

  “Lie. Truth. What’s the difference? People believe what they wish to believe. It’s easier for you to believe me a liar, just as it’s easier and more entertaining for the ton to call me Lady Frost behind my back. You don’t want the truth any more than they do.”

  Cam hesitated. If he didn’t find out her story now, he’d never get another chance, truce or not. He could at least hear her out. She’d done as much for him. “You must admit it’s difficult to believe your father would allow you to refuse Durham, Eleanor.”

  “I told you. He never found out about it.”

  “How could he not?” His earlier anger surfaced again, but he made an effort to keep his voice calm. “Durham would have had to ask for your hand—”