She sat facing the Venetian mural that covered the east wall of the dining room. The painting was supposedly a masterpiece, undoubtedly worth a fortune or Matilda would never have it in her house; but it had always made Eleanor uncomfortable. The stern-faced Italians seemed to stare down at her and to find her wanting. It was almost as if their expressions warned her to try and appear shorter and not to be clumsy.
If Sir Alfred was good at anything, it was conversation. He was taking his duties as Eleanor’s escort seriously. During the consommé a la royal, he regaled her with stories of a picnic he’d attended planned by Douglas Milner. The partiers had ridden across a farmer’s field, ruining some of his crops. Sir Alfred seemed to find the local farmer’s reaction to this intrusion amusing and Eleanor smiled along with him. But she secretly wondered why the man hadn’t taken potshots at the trespassers.
In any case listening to Sir Alfred helped keep her mind off John Bonner. He sat at the far end of the gleaming mahogany table, nearly thirty feet away, but she could feel his presence as if he were beside her.
The one time she gave in to desire and looked his way she was so unnerved by his stare that she knocked over her wineglass. The servants cleaned the spilled liquid quickly and none had dripped onto her gown or Sir Alfred’s coat. Eleanor was so upset she refused to look toward Mr. Bonner again.
But she couldn’t help thinking about him.
Though she ate sparingly of the remaining courses of broiled quail and filet de boeuf pique, Eleanor felt the knot in her stomach grow tighter as the meal wore on.
Sir Alfred continued to prattle on about this escapade and that, often lapsing into long soliloquies about England and his house in Devon. Eleanor knew she should pay attention. After all, her mother planned for her to share that estate with him. But by the time the ladies excused themselves so the gentlemen could enjoy their brandy, Eleanor nearly jumped up, so anxious was she to escape his lordship.
Her mother only had time for a quick chastisement about the spilled wine before they were within earshot of Mrs. Harper Van Mullen and her married daughter Alexandra Quince. Matilda had made certain there was no one present who would tempt Sir Alfred more than her daughter.
But the talk wasn’t of Sir Alfred.
“Matilda, I must say, I’m surprised.” Alexandra lifted a porcelain tea cup to her perfect rosebud lips.
“Really. And why is that?”
“Your inclusion of Mr. Bonner, of course.” The cup slipped onto the saucer with nary a rattle. “Don’t misunderstand, he appears perfectly delightful. All that masculine power. But truthfully, Matilda.” Her delicate eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know he was accepted.”
The remark left her mother momentarily speechless much to Eleanor’s amusement, but she recovered quickly.
“He’s a friend of Mr. Fiske’s from Wall Street.”
“Yes, he mentioned as much at dinner. And I do believe Mr. Quince is familiar with him.”
“No doubt.” Matilda straightened her back. “He’s also acquainted with the Vanderbilts, I believe.”
“Bonner. Bonner.” Mrs. Van Mullen wrinkled her brow. “I don’t believe I know of any Bonners, Matilda.”
“You probably wouldn’t,” Eleanor said with as straight a face as she could. “He’s of the Montana Bonners.”
“The Montana Bonners?” The wrinkles sank deeper in her forehead. “But I—”
“Eleanor was joking with you,” Matilda glared at her daughter. “And no one really appreciates it, dear.”
Mrs. Van Mullen still had a perplexed expression on her round face when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. Her daughter’s face on the other hand was wreathed in smiles. And they were all aimed toward John Bonner. Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder how the distinguished Mr. Quince, who was spending the week in New York, would like the way his wife devoured the Westerner with her eyes.
For herself, Eleanor didn’t like it one bit. But as she sat next to Sir Alfred, listening to Alexandra play the piano, she didn’t know what she could do about it. Or why she should care for that matter.
Mr. and Mrs. Van Mullen were the first to leave, but when they suggested Alexandra accompany them, she demurred. “I brought my own coach... remember?”
But somehow she seemed to have forgotten that when some twenty minutes later John Bonner announced he was taking his leave.
“Do you suppose you could see me home?” she purred, her hand on his forearm. “My husband is in New York and I worry about traveling alone at night.”
“You should have gone with your parents?’ The words were out of Eleanor’s mouth before she could stop them. John Bonner looked amused, Alexandra annoyed, and Matilda appalled. It was stupid, Eleanor knew. And it didn’t change a thing. John Bonner bid his good nights, passing by her briefly and clasping her hand and then left with Alexandra.
Soon after that Sir Alfred took his leave, promising to see Eleanor day after next for a sailing excursion with her father.
Eleanor headed for the hallway, only to be waylaid by her mother. As the two climbed the stairs to Eleanor’s room, Matilda ran over the list of her daughter’s transgressions of the evening. The reprimands about the spilled wine and awkwardness were expected, both of them all too familiar. But as they entered Eleanor’s room her mother started on a novel refrain.
“I just don’t know what has come over you. The things you say. Have you no sense of decorum?” She shut the door behind her. “What is Sir Alfred to think?”
Eleanor shut her eyes. “I don’t believe he thinks of me one way or the other.”
“That’s absurd. And if it is true, it’s your own fault. Questioning Alexandra about her arrangements to get home.”
“I think what she had in mind for Mr. Bonner was evident to everyone.”
Matilda stretched to her full height. “Our guest is a respectably married woman. One I’ve known for years. If there was any problem tonight it was with that Mr. Bonner.” Her gaze narrowed. “I have no idea why your father continues to invite him, but I shall find out.”
“I thought he was a friend of the Vanderbilts.”
“Oh goodness, Eleanor, how can you be so naive? Of course he isn’t. But what else could I say?” With a swish of her fan she dismissed her lie. “But I shall see that he is no longer welcome in this house.”
“What are you going to do?” Eleanor didn’t like asking a question that would keep her mother longer, but she had to know.
“I shall have a talk with your father.” Matilda sucked in her breath. “Get to the bottom of this lunacy. Good night, Eleanor.”
With that she turned to leave and Eleanor gave a sigh of relief. And opened her hand where she clutched the note John Bonner secreted in her palm before he left.
Four
She had lost her mind.
Eleanor was certain that was the only explanation.
Why else would she be hurrying down the orchard path toward the beach, the sun barely a shimmer separating sky and sea?
The walkway, used primarily by the gardeners, was wet with morning dew and Eleanor paused, wondering for the hundredth time if she were doing the right thing. Of course she wasn’t. She should be tucked into her huge, intricately carved bed, the heavy velvet curtains blocking out air and light. But the realization only sent her scurrying faster down the slope.
He stood, where the note said he’d be, in the shade of the elms where the apple and pear trees met the unyielding coastal rocks. But then from the moment she read his bold scrawl asking her to meet him, she never doubted he would come. It was her own willingness she’d questioned. Though in truth, had there ever been any uncertainty?
The crash of the surf over the rocks was loud, but he must have heard her approach, for he turned his head, smiling when he saw her.
Eleanor only thought she was breathless before. Now she truly was. “I... I came as you asked. But I don’t understand why you did.”
“Don’t you?” John took a step toward he
r, then stopped when he noticed her stiffen. This probably wasn’t one of his better ideas, but meeting her at social functions wasn’t working as he planned. They were always surrounded by people, barely able to say two words to each other. And then it was obvious her mother was doing her best to keep them separated... if only by the length of a food-laden table.
Still, getting her alone was only part of the problem. And he certainly wasn’t confident she would come when he passed her the note last night. The fact that she did pleased him immensely. As well as did the look of her this morning.
She obviously dressed in a hurry, and by all appearances without the aid of a lady’s maid. Her gown was white and flowing, showing off her slender frame and making him wonder if she normally used padding to disguise her lithe figure. Matilda Fiske’s doing, he decided with an inward frown. For without the heavy dark gowns and with her pale blond hair swirling about her face Eleanor was quite pretty.
It took him a moment to realize she’d asked him something, another to realize he’d been staring, quite taken aback by her appearance. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Merely, that I haven’t a clue why you asked me to meet you.” Not exactly a lie but then not exactly the truth either. She was surprised by the note, but on some elemental level longed for the chance to see him again.
“I wanted to talk to you. And it seemed we were forever being interrupted.”
“What is Montana like?”
She surprised him with the question. He expected more discussion about the note. “It’s big and open.”
“Do you live in a large house there?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “Most of the time I live in a boardinghouse near the main mine. Sometimes I camp when I visit other mines.”
“In a tent?” She cocked her head and looked up at him.
“Just under the stars usually,” John said with a shrug. “I also have a cabin I built in the mountains above Butte.” He didn’t know why he told her that except that he was proud of the place even though it was small and rustic. Certainly nothing that would interest her. Except she did seem interested.
“You built it yourself?”
“I had some help, but yes, most of it I did myself.”
She brushed a wisp of hair from her face and smiled. “I should like to see that, Mr. Bonner. A house you built yourself.”
She seemed sincere, but one glance behind them was all the reminder he needed about what she was used to. “I’ve bought property in New York, on Fifth Avenue and plan to begin constructing a large house soon.”
“Whatever for?” She walked from beneath the overhang of leaves and turned to face him.
“Well, so I’d have a place to stay when I came East.” And a place for you and our children to live, he thought.
“It’s your concern, of course, but...” She paused, looking out to sea and lifted her hand in a dismissing fashion. “Please forgive me. It was presumptuous of me to question what you do.”
“No.” John strode toward her. “Tell me what you think. I want you to.” When he was by her side he reached out, lifting her chin and tilting her face toward his.
“It’s only I don’t think I should ever come East were I to live in Montana. And certainly not to live in a huge house on Fifth Avenue.”
“You live on Fifth Avenue,” he reminded gently, letting his finger trail off her chin.
“Yes, I do.” She lowered her lashes and John found himself missing the clear sparkle of her turquoise eyes.
“I also thought to build a cottage here in Newport.” This idea came to him this morning while he waited for her. It was only fitting that she have the best of everything, he decided, but she didn’t seem to think this any better plan than his New York mansion.
“Do you like it so much here?” Her gaze was as direct as the question.
“There are some things here I like very much.” John took a step toward her. A fine mist of spray from the sea that churned against the rocks glistened in her hair. When the rising sun shimmered off her curls it looked to him as if she were covered in diamond dust. A sudden urge to sweep her into his arms engulfed him, but before he could act on it—or not, as reason dictated—she gave him a wry smile and turned away.
“Are you a fortune hunter, Mr. Bonner?”
He was so shocked by this turn in the conversation John was momentarily stunned to silence.
“Well, are you?” Her eyes met his but she’d effectively put several feet of distance between them.
“No, Miss Fiske, I assure you I have no need for a larger fortune.” John folded his arms. “Why do you ask?”
Her breath was deep. “I’ve been warned about them.”
“By your mother?”
“And my father.” Curls curtained the sides of her face as she lowered her head. “They both seem to think my wealth would be the main reason I would attract a gentleman’s attention.”
“They’re wrong.”
Her heart beat faster at his words and she hoped he couldn’t hear it pounding against her ribs. She wasn’t even sure what they were saying to each other. In the book she was reading Charles came right out and told Linette how much he adored her. That he couldn’t live without her. Certainly John Bonner had not said... or even implied anything of the sort.
But the way he looked at her. Like he could see right through her. The tone of his voice. Certainly it meant something. But honesty forced her to tell him what he obviously couldn’t see for himself. “I’m very tall.”
He grinned. “Shorter than me by a bit,” John said as he moved closer, proving that he stood over half a head taller than she.
“I’m awkward.” This was confessed with an air of dejection. There was no way in the world he could prove this untrue. But to Eleanor’s dismay he didn’t even try.
“At times, you are, yes.” Color flooded her face and she tried to turn away. His hands bracketed the shoulders of her gown, stopping her. “But there are other times, like when you moved along the path toward me, that you are incredibly graceful.”
“You needn’t lie.” Eleanor felt on the verge of tears and blinked her eyes.
“I know that. If I wished to be untruthful with you I’d have sworn you were never clumsy at all.”
“That would have been difficult after the spilled wine last night.”
A smile lit his face and Eleanor couldn’t help responding in kind. “Did any of it hit Sir Alfred’s pants?”
“No, why?” Eleanor could feel the heat of his hands through her gown and it was making her lethargic.
“It’s just too bad you didn’t soak him.”
“But—”
One of his hands left her shoulder, traveling up her neck to cup the delicate turn of her cheek. “I didn’t like his sitting beside you. Talking with you.” John gave a small shrug and one side of his mouth lifted. “I wanted to be in his place.”
“Even with the threat of wine spilling over you.” Her voice was a mere whisper because to speak any louder would have seemed foolish. He had lowered his head till it was only inches from hers.
“Even then,” he answered.
He was going to kiss her and the anticipation made her knees weak. She’d been kissed before... once. Sir Alfred had brushed his lips across her cheek. And she had felt nothing. Now, with only the notion of what was to come, she could scarcely stand it.
His breath mingled with hers, neither of them too steady and he looked into her eyes as if he could read her thoughts. And then he lowered his head.
The first touch was soft... gentle. Yet she felt the impact to the tips of her toes.
He used his hand to angle her face, to press his mouth more firmly against hers. A moan escaped Eleanor. She reached for his coat, wrapping her arms around his waist at the same time she felt the tip of his tongue wet her lips.
It seemed only natural to open her mouth to him. And then he was filling her, delving deep into the recesses of her mouth, and spearing ten fingers through he
r flaxen hair.
She’d hoped his kiss would be half as exciting as the descriptions in her novel. But Charles’s kisses paled in comparison, so much so that Eleanor wondered if the author had ever experienced anything like this.
She clung and he clung. And when they finally parted it was to gasp ragged breaths and stare into each other’s shocked faces.
“I didn’t mean to...” John stopped and wondered what in the hell he hadn’t meant to do. Or more importantly why he couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again.
“Oh, I don’t know what came over me,” Eleanor agreed. But whatever it was was still there. She still had her arms encircling his lean hips and wasn’t the least inclined to let him go.
But obviously reason took hold of him for he untangled his hands from her hair and stepped out of her embrace. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“What...? Oh, you are correct, of course.” What did he mean? The kiss? The note? Whichever, he seemed annoyed, pacing between the rocks and the path that lead to the orchard.
What in the hell was he doing. Eleanor Fiske wasn’t some loose woman he wanted to slack his lust upon—though that idea had its merits. She was the woman he hoped to marry. The untarnished, society woman he hoped to marry. And he was supposed to be proving to her that he was worthy of her. That he wouldn’t be an embarrassment to her friends. That he could be accepted.
With a swipe at the dark hair that had spilled across his forehead, John turned to her. “You probably should go back to Oakgate. I imagine your family will be rising by now.”
He was right, of course. Sneaking out as she did was daring enough, but if someone... her mother... came to her room and she wasn’t there... Well, Eleanor couldn’t imagine what explanations she could give. Or what Matilda would do.
But that didn’t change the fact that he was disenchanted with her. They kissed. And he was disappointed. She turned to leave before he could see the tears that burned her eyes. It was his calling of her name that made her stop, but she kept herself facing the cold marble house at the top of the grade.
The Bride Page 3
