The Scandal of Lady Eleanor

by Regina Jeffers

  James had a sudden desire to slide his “silver” tongue, first, between her full lips and then down Ella’s body. “Ah, now, Lady Eleanor, you do me an injustice, thinking I purposely mislead any woman.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and watched as she broke into laughter. “And I know what I shall give you on your next birthday.” He paused to reel her in. “A mirror that speaks the truth—one that reflects your splendor.”

  A flush of color spread quickly across her bust line and up her neck, a reaction that James appreciated. “Lord Worthing, I must admit I usually disdain such frivolous conversations, but I find your idle chatter to be just what I need today, although I place no merit on your spirited speech.”

  “Another wound?” he teased. “How will I survive?”

  “I believe you will do well without my attention, Lord Worthing.” Ella actually laughed at his prattle. “Now, I will show you how to please me.” With that, she kicked the side of her gelding and took off across the open meadow at a full gallop—her laughter drifting back to him.

  For a few heartbeats, James simply watched her go—her joy making him satisfied in his own mind; and then, he gave pursuit, rushing across the land—the heat of the horse’s flanks radiating through his thighs. He chased the tinkling sound of her merriment. As his stallion closed the distance between them, James suddenly realized that he could not remember the last time he found so much enjoyment doing nothing more than riding hard.

  Then the shot rang out, and he watched in horror as Ella’s horse stumbled to its front knees, and she flew over its head, rolling on the ground—horse and rider entangled in pain’s wild dance. Seconds behind her, James was on his feet and running before he reined in his mount.

  “Ella…Ella,” he called as he vaulted over the pawing legs of the gelding, pulling her away from the animal before it crushed her. “Ella, please,” he turned her limp body in his arms, checking for a pulse and finding one. “Speak to me, Ella.” He pushed the hair from her face, as he searched for other injuries, running his hands up and down her legs.

  Holding her to him, James’s eyes scanned the perimeter. From where did the shot come? No trees—just open fields backed up to a rocky overhang—has to be. His instincts knew where to look—knew the only place a shooter could hide, and a shadowy movement proved his assumptions correct. He could smell the fear of his opponent even though he was still too far away for an accurate shot with the pistol he pulled from the holster strapped inside his jacket. Resting Ella on the ground, he was at a run again, moving toward the rise—eyes locked on the crevice in the rock face—gun loaded and cocked—ready for the next flash before firing his own weapon. Heart pounding—just like in the old days—he moved steadily toward the opening. Locked on, James waited—breathed evenly—watched for the gun’s glint in the sunlight—then he knew, knew when to drop and roll—saw the bullet leave the barrel before the sound found him. In one sleek movement, he lowered his shoulder to the ground and allowed his momentum to take him over—a complete rotation, and he was on his knee sighting down the gun, steadying it with his other hand. The gunpowder clouded about his face, but James never lost sight of the bullet. He saw its flight—straight and accurate—saw it hit its target—saw it go in the man’s shoulder—saw him fall.

  Traversing the rocky outcroppings, within seconds James reached the opening and pulled the man to his feet without checking for other wounds. He had him by the lapels, pure force lifting the scant fool inches from the ground. “If you hurt her, I will rip you apart limb from limb.” Unable to control his anger, James’s fist met their assailant’s chin, sending the man flying backwards against the rock wall.

  Not waiting to assess his attack’s effect on the man, James pulled off his own cravat and bound the interloper’s hands behind his back, and then half dragged and half shoved his prisoner to where Ella lay. “Open your mouth, bastard, and I will shoot you right where you stand!”Taking a strap from Ella’s saddle, he tethered the man’s ankles after removing his boots.

  Leaving the man lying face down like a shorn sheep in the field’s middle, James returned to where Ella finally stirred. Her horse continued to whinny in pain, so before she could witness the act, he reloaded the gun and put the animal out of its misery.

  “Sweetheart.” He cradled her head in his lap. “Ella, Darling,” he drawled.

  “Quit calling me Darling,” she murmured as she tried to push up from the ground.

  “Yes, Love.” He smiled in triumph as he supported her back and head to a seated position.

  Ella shook her head slightly, clearing the cobwebs. “I am not your love either, Lord Worthing,” she insisted, still unsure what happened.

  Smiling foolishly, James put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from standing too soon. “Easy.You had a rough fall, Lady Eleanor.”

  Finally, the realization of what had occurred set in, and Ella looked quickly to where the grey gelding lay on its side, legs twisted. “Sampson?” she whispered, throat dry with grief.

  James shook his head, unable to tell her what he had done. “He will suffer no longer,” he assured her.

  “My mother bought him for me right before she died.” The words sounded very far away, and James suspected she remembered the happiness associated with that moment.

  “I am sorry, Darling.” James slid his arm around her shoulder, easing Ella into his embrace, allowing her to hide her sobs. After a few minutes, he edged her back. “I need to see you home, Lady Eleanor. Do you think you can stand?”

  Ella nodded her understanding and allowed him to support her to her feet. When her eyes fell on the fettered man, they grew in size. “You were busy, Lord Worthing.”

  “Anything for you, Ella.” Despite the impropriety, he helped her straighten her clothing and hat. “You need that mirror now,” he teased. “You look quite delicious when you are rumpled.”

  “Wretch!” She pretended his familiarity offended her, but she squeezed his hand before letting go.

  “Do you suppose you could hold the gun on our friend while I retrieve his mount?” If it were any other woman, James would expect a case of the vapors, but not Ella. Instinctively, he knew her strength. Somehow, this woman had survived William Fowler; she could handle herself.

  She reached for the pistol. “I have never used a gun before. What should I do?”

  “Just hold it steady.” He adjusted her hand on the weapon. “It is not likely he can move, but this is a precaution. I will be back in a moment.”Without a second look, knowing she would not panic, James scaled the rocky incline again. It took no time whatsoever for him to find the man’s horse tied to a bush along the access road.

  Returning with the animal, he loaded their attacker across the saddle, cinching the cravat and leather strap to the seat. Next, taking the gun from her grasp, he brought his own horse alongside; he mounted and then motioned to Ella. “You will ride with me, Lady Eleanor.” He saw her start to object, but then the sensible Eleanor Fowler took control, and she accepted his extended hand. Placing her foot on the top of his in the stirrup, Ella climbed into his arms, settling on James’s lap. Enjoying having another excuse to hold her, James teasingly whispered close to her ear, “Do not get too used to all this attention, Lady Eleanor. I intend to take a full look at this year’s social offerings.”

  Not anticipating his denial of their closeness, Ella flustered, “I assure you, Lord Worthing, I have no such expectations!”

  “As long as we have an understanding.”

  Ella muddled with indignation. “James Kerrington, you are the most frustrating…!”

  Before she could finish her tirade, his mouth found hers. For a split second, she resisted, but then Ella relaxed into the moment. Although he fought to keep his senses clear, he was a possessed man. Her body’s warm glow intensified his need—feeding it. When Ella shivered, he allowed his tongue to trace the line of her lips—to touch her mouth’s soft surfaces. She awakened a latent need in him—a need he could no longer deny. Every nerve i
n his body existed to know this woman. He pressed Ella closer to him, breathing in the scent of her hair—her skin—her innocence. James wanted to smother her with his passion, but, instinctively, he knew it was not the way to go with Ella. If he had guessed correctly, Eleanor Fowler had experienced some sort of maltreatment at her father’s hand. She would need small doses of affection before she could learn to trust again. Last night, James had considered discussing his premise with her brother, but Brantley Fowler was known to use a hammer when a feather would better serve. Fowler’s sister needed a different kind of touch. Hating to end it, James slowly withdrew his mouth from hers. “Nice.” His grin reached his eyes. “I would wrestle another dozen men for such a reward.” The thrill of her intimacy rocked his reason, and he wondered whether she might feel the same.

  Ella blushed and hid her face in the opening of his shirt. “I should never have acted so impetuously,” she rasped.

  “It will be our secret, Darling.” James tightened his embrace before offering her an excuse, something she would need to justify her own actions. “I do not want to face one of my best friends on the dueling field. It was just the shock of what happened.” Ella’s head moved in affirmation of what he said, but James felt her arms go around his waist, and he relaxed, knowing he had judged correctly how to handle the very complex Eleanor Fowler. After several such private minutes, he asked, “Did you recognize the man?”

  Ella leaned back where she might see his face. “No,…but it has been some time since I was off the estate. Unless he was a cottager or a village merchant, I would likely not have seen him.”

  “We will let your brother question him.” James turned the horse they shared toward the main stables. He laced the reins of the other animal to a lead strap. “Bran was quite the expert in obtaining information when the rest of us could not.We used to call him the Vicar, what with people making confessions and your brother’s need to rescue every woman and child he saw.”

  “Bran?” she gasped.

  “Your brother was one of my best men.” James assured her. “Whatever is happening at Thornhill, Fowler will figure it out.”

  Ella looked at him with surprise. “Do you think, my Lord, someone wishes to hurt us?”

  “Lady Eleanor, you are intelligent enough to realize that two shooting incidents in less than a week is not usual.” James shifted her weight into a more appropriate position as they came into view of the house. “I do not wish to scare you, but please be careful.”

  Ella nodded in understanding.

  “I want nothing to happen to you, Ella.” James lifted her chin with his finger. “You have no idea how frightened I was today when I found you under Sampson’s flaying hooves.” They stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

  At the stables now, he knew he should release her, but James and Eleanor were lost to their closeness—lost in each other’s eyes, the rest of the world did not exist. “My Lord,” a groomsman’s voice invaded the moment; he stood by a mounting block and reached up to help Lady Eleanor to the step. Reluctantly, James released her. Almost immediately, the Thorn Hall staff surrounded them, and Fowler came running, followed closely by Miss Aldridge. For those few exquisite seconds, lost in Ella’s eyes, he saw his future—saw her by his side, and the thought did not shake him as he had once considered it might: It actually seemed to bring closure to his loneliness.

  “Worthing, what the hell?” Fowler’s voice held irritation as he encircled Ella in his arms, trying to determine who might be the culprit. Ella’s appearance told everyone something bad happened.

  “I brought you a present, Your Grace.” James gestured to the trailing horse. “When I go after a shooter, I get my man.”

  It pleased James that Fowler lovingly adjusted Ella in his arms, protecting his sister. The woman needed such tenderness. Fowler bent his head to speak in her ear. “He shot at you?” He gestured toward the trailing horse.

  Ella readily nodded. “Sampson went down; His Lordship took care of my horse after capturing that man.” The strength of her voice surprised James. Clearly, she held that inner resolve, the one he had imagined for her, all along.

  “Are you hurt?” Fowler demanded.

  “Very sore and a bad headache…I was unconscious for a few minutes.” Ella glanced around at the gathering crowd, and then her eyes followed the line of her brother’s shoulder to find Lord Worthing. Someone had just shot at her; however, nothing else mattered but that intense moment she had shared with the viscount. This man just kissed her—she relived it in her mind, and without thought Ella’s fingers brushed her lips in recollection. She could not keep her eyes from him. He still sat on his horse, an example of pure male, and she found that thought very pleasing, although a bit disturbing. The smell of him—musky sandalwood—clung to her. She had never acted so impulsively with anyone, especially not with a man of James Kerrington’s apparent charms. In fact, Ella had only been kissed once in her life, and that was one of the stable boys when she was but ten years of age, and even then it was on the cheek. Now, she knew the power of a kiss, and she thought she might like to try it again.

  As the others untied the captive, Fowler released his sister to their cousin’s care. “Let Velvet take you into the house, Ella.” As Eleanor leaned heavily on Miss Aldridge for support, James’s eyes followed, still mesmerized by the moment they had shared. He had known many women in his lifetime, but for some unexplainable reason, Eleanor Fowler caught him by the shoulders and spun him around in circles. He desperately wanted to catch her up before him again and possessively ride off with her in his arms—to kiss the sprinkling of freckles along the slender line of her neck, which he had seen earlier today—to remove the pins and let her golden hair stream down over his waiting hands.

  Fowler’s words brought him to the moment at hand. “You men put Lord Worthing’s captive in the root cellar. Place guards outside the door. I will send for the physician and the magistrate.” Thorn Hall’s footmen responded immediately.

  Obviously not amused by James’s preoccupation, Fowler demanded, “Would you care to join me in my study, Worthing?”

  James chuckled when the duke did not wait for an answer. He slid from the saddle and followed Ella’s brother to the house. “Hey, I thought I was the commanding officer,” he called as he caught up to Fowler.

  His friend’s anger boiled over. “Not this time! This is personal.”

  For the next half hour, Fowler and James thoroughly dissected what had happened with the shooter. The duke sent for the physician for both Ella and the prisoner, but he withheld sending for the magistrate until he had some answers of his own.

  “It just does not seem logical. A man does not just lay in wait, hoping a rider comes by; someone must know of your movements. Yet, even with that, no one could determine exactly where Lady Eleanor and I would ride today.We had no destination in mind.”

  “Ella was to show you the estate,” Fowler reasoned. “Obviously, there are certain points of interest.”

  “But that does not guarantee we would be crossing that particular meadow.” James thought aloud. “And who is the target? Lady Eleanor and Miss Aldridge were the recipients, but were they the objectives? Somehow, I cannot imagine either of them engendering such rancor. That leaves your father’s enemies, your enemies as a Realm member, or your enemies in Cornwall. Do you have any ideas?”

  “I made a mental list the other evening—afterVelvet’s encounter.”

  James just nodded; he knew this was how his friend’s mind worked—taking bits and pieces of information and making sense of them. “Then I suspect it is time for the Vicar to make a call on the prisoner.”

  Fowler stood slowly; James noted his uncomfortable frown. “Is there anything I should know regarding my sister?”

  “Other than the fact that I find Lady Eleanor quite remarkable?”

  “Ella seems perfectly in control and efficiently independent, but she is very vulnerable,” Fowler cautioned.

  James smiled, recognizing h
ow he would feel in the same situation. “I promise you, Your Grace, I would never purposely hurt Lady Eleanor.”

  Begrudgingly, the duke said, “I am glad you stay with us,Worthing. I am in need of your reason, and, I suspect, Ella would prefer it that way.”

  Fowler secured very little from their prisoner. Even with the threat of hanging for attacking a peer, the man swore he did not know who had hired him. The prisoner, Harry Sparks, gave Fowler the name of the “friend” who had paid him to send a “message” to the new duke, but, for all intents and purposes, Sparks’s partner likely knew as little as he did. Whoever made Fowler his target hid his trail well.

  With James’s encouragement, they decided to send what information Fowler coerced to their friend, the Marquis of Godown, asking him to meet them in London. James also called in some favors for information, in the form of Bow Street Runners, who sought connections to Sparks and his partner Lionel Stimpson, and, reluctantly, Fowler sent word to Shepherd. If this “message” came from one of the Realm’s former interests, Shepherd, the Realm’s government contact, needed to know. Eventually, Fowler and James turned Sparks over to the local magistrate, who insisted on transporting the prisoner immediately to London, declaring that such a nefarious attempt needed the attention of the best prosecutors the law could provide. They would house Sparks at Old Bailey. Within three days’ time, word came that a Bow Street Runner had apprehended Lionel Stimpson in an abandoned building in Spitalfields. Shepherd took possession of both men and said he would inform them of any new leads as soon as they became available.

  “Will you not join us, Bran?” Ella called from the library, noting her brother passing the open door.