By evening, that good mood had been somewhat eroded by the company. Eleanor prided herself on always being fashionably dressed, without going to excess. Generally, she could be confident that she would shine in any company, and be likely to be the most attractive woman there. That, it seemed, was not so easily guaranteed at this house party.
Lady Elizabeth Hobbs had obviously spared no expense at the modiste, and her maid was patently a genius at dressing hair. It was enough to make Eleanor grit her teeth. But, she chided herself, she was being silly – for there were no gentlemen here of such interest that she particularly wanted to impress them, after all.
She forced herself to smile, and to participate in the rather insipid conversation about the weather, and the best way to decorate a house for Christmastide, and how difficult it was to dress fashionably when one must be rugged up in enough layers to resist the chill. She wondered if the gentlemen were discussing things equally dull, or if they had found better topics.
She suspected that they had. The gentlemen were, as far as she knew, in the billiards room, and the exclusively male company there had no doubt created the licence for them to speak of things deemed far too scandalous for ladies to discuss. Which thought led her to wonder just what those scandalous things might be. Did they speak of liaisons, and of which ladies they were pursuing? Or did they speak of hunting or gambling or…? She did not know. And for the first time in her life, she truly wanted to.
Perhaps understanding men better might lead to her finding one she could countenance marrying.
As she went up to dress for dinner, those thoughts were still running around in her mind. Determined to outshine Lady Elizabeth, she asked Mary to set out her prettiest gown, and spend extra time on her hair, pinning it with the diamond and sapphire encrusted combs.
She studied herself in the mirror before she went down, and gave a nod of satisfaction. There might be no-one specific she sought to impress – although, there was the Duke of Braeness… the thought sent a shiver through her, and she pushed it aside – but she felt better for looking so well presented. She turned away from her image, and went down to the parlour, where everyone would gather until dinner was announced.
~~~~~
Stevens twitched the last fold of the cravat into place, and gave a satisfied nod.
Adair studied himself in the mirror. If it were not for his physical size, and the unruly black hair which, even now, short minutes after being brushed and set into place, was escaping to curl about the side of his face, he would seem the very picture of a gentleman of the ton. But somehow, those two things transformed him into something more akin to a barely tamed barbarian dressed in gentleman’s clothes.
He sighed. There was no hope. Nothing he did changed that effect, and the people around him were always more than ready to believe in the barbarian, before the gentleman. Especially the women, who apparently found ‘dark, rough and dangerous’ to be the most titillating possibility in existence – at least to gossip about. Perhaps not to really have anything to do with.
He made himself smile – that polite, non-committal smile which was always socially acceptable, and went down to the parlour. He arrived there just as dinner was called. Moments later, the Duchess appeared, Lady Eleanor at her side.
“Your Grace, you will find yourself seated beside my sister, so it seems reasonable to ask you to lead her in to the dining room. The footmen will show you to your seat once you’re there.”
Adair turned his smiling face to Lady Eleanor, who seemed a little uncertain. He raised an enquiring eyebrow, and she blushed charmingly. When he offered her his arm, she placed her hand upon it, and he felt that touch acutely, and felt, yet again, the scale of the contrast between them. She was a delicate thing, so small, with her soft gold hair all piled up and held there with jewelled combs, in a sapphire blue gown which set off her eyes. She made him feel even larger than he usually did in company, just by standing beside him.
“I trust that your afternoon has been pleasant, my Lady?”
It was a poor conversational attempt, but he really needed to say something! Those summer sky blue eyes lifted to him, and an odd expression crossed her face, accompanied by a rather wry smile.
“As pleasant as might be expected, Your Grace, amongst people with not enough in common to have a conversation of any great depth.”
Her voice was melodious, and the tone was mild, but he heard the edge under those words. He suspected that she suffered from ennui, from too long an exposure to the insipid discussions of the ton. It was, in his opinion, a better thing to suffer from than the sense of being out of place completely, which plagued him.
He wondered, in that instant, what topics she would choose to regard as suitable for a conversation of depth.
“Then, my Lady, I fear that, despite my efforts, you may be doomed to the same lack of depth. For we have surely known each other for far less time than you have known most of those present. But I will essay the attempt to entertain you. For a conversation of depth, what do you choose to speak of? Name it, and I will do my best to address the topic.”
She looked at him as they moved down the hallway, and for a moment, mischief lit her eyes.
“What would you do, Your Grace, if I declared my topic of choice to be the latest fashions?”
“I could only state that, as you would look just as beautiful no matter what you wore, fashion had not caught my attention.”
“Oh! That is flattery of the most blatant form, Your Grace.”
“It is, I admit it – but I would have no other recourse, for my knowledge of fashion is lamentable – you have only to ask my valet to have that confirmed.”
She laughed lightly, as they turned into the dining room, and a footman guided them to their places. Lady Eleanor was to be between him, and Kilmerstan. He wondered who he would have to his other side – not anyone too talkative, he hoped, for, surprisingly, he found that he was enjoying speaking with Lady Eleanor. In fact, their conversation so far could, almost, be regarded as flirting. The thought startled him. Flirting was not a thing he did. Not at all.
Once they were seated, she turned to him again.
“Then, should I choose fashion as a topic, I would be sadly disappointed. So, I won’t. Let me challenge you in another way then.” That look of mischief was in her eyes again, and Adair discovered that it made him almost nervous. “I have all too much experience of what ladies speak of, when gathered together – but tell me, what do gentlemen speak of, when there are no ladies present?”
A frisson of shock went through him. How on earth could he answer such a question?
“Ah… the answer to that is rather broad, my Lady. And varies dramatically with the gentlemen in question, I believe. Men might converse of hunting, and often, I must admit, of the wagers most recently entered into the White’s betting book, and of the state of the finances of whoever is not present at the time, and the like. Also, if I am to answer you honestly, men speak of which ladies might make a suitable wife.”
“I suspect that you leave some things out of that list, Your Grace. Surely there are times when men talk of…” her cheeks flushed, but she spoke on, looking determined, “…more scandalous things – of mistresses, and of gambling, far beyond the book at White’s?”
“My Lady! Propriety dictates that I could not mention such things!”
Adair intentionally exaggerated his tone, attempting to look as shocked as he should be. She laughed, and warmth spread through him.
“Of course it does. Which is why conversation is so often unbearably dull. I wore out my fascination with discussing fashion last Season in London, and my interest in the weather long before that. I am left with inappropriate things to attempt for conversation, if I am to enliven my days.”
“Then I shall admit something shocking. I am rather glad that you choose to be so improprietous. It makes you a far more interesting conversational companion. And yes, you are correct, they do speak of such things as well, although o
f course I could not mention any details in your company…”
She laughed again, and pleasure slid through him.
“Of course you can’t… but I am sure that you could imply all manner of things…”
“Do you suggest, my Lady, that I am privy to the scandals of half the ton? If so, I must sadly disappoint you. It is unfortunately true that people are more like to gossip about me than to me.”
He heard the edge of bitterness in his own words.
Her blue eyes met his, and the room faded away for a moment. Those eyes were filled with something suspiciously like sympathy, and it shocked him. He was not used to being regarded so.
“That is a sad indictment of those who gossip, Your Grace. Unless, of course, you have actually done anything worthy of being gossiped about?”
“Beyond existing, being an unmarried Duke, and a black-haired giant of a Scot? No, nothing else.”
Her laughter was soft again, and she shook her head.
“I do not, Your Grace, regard any of those attributes as adequate to deserve gossip.”
“Then you are a rare woman indeed.”
~~~~~
Eleanor woke early, and could not get back to sleep. The faint light of dawn came through the crack in her curtains, and she lay in the warm bed, her head still half fogged with dreams. She had dreamed of the Duke of Braeness. Dreams which were rather startling, for they involved kisses. She had not, before, consciously considered him in that light, although her conversation with him at dinner had been entertaining.
She had surprised herself by being daring in her conversation, and had been delighted by his response. There had been humour in their converse, and no social falsity. It was, she thought now, the sort of conversation she preferred.
She still found him intimidating in many ways, especially when they were standing, and he towered over her, but at dinner, she had forgotten that for a while. There had been no trace of the Scots in his speech, and she wondered, again, why it had been there when he had saved her on the terrace. It was intriguing – like so much about him, which did not fit with what society expected of a gentleman.
She wanted to understand him better.
The thought shocked her. He was nothing like the kind of man she had always found attractive – he was too big, too rough in some ways, too unsophisticated in his manner. And yet she liked him, even if he was still rather overwhelming.
The light through the curtains was stronger, and she gave up all hope of more sleep, and slipped from her bed to draw the curtain aside. The day was fairly clear, with a light breeze blowing flurries across the snow in the gardens. On the horizon, clouds gathered, but did not quite obscure the rising sun. It looked peaceful, the stark purity of the night’s snow as yet unsullied by any human activity.
She dropped the curtain, and went to her dressing room. She would, she decided, go out to the stables and spend some time with the kittens again, before the bustle of the day began in earnest. She dressed in a simple round gown, pulled a warm cloak about her, and left a note for Mary, so that the maid wouldn’t worry.
The snow crunched beneath her half boots, and the wind was stronger than she had expected, whipping the cloak about her, but she pressed on, eyeing the rapidly increasing clouds in the sky. Perhaps it was going to rain, or snow.
The stables were quiet, filled with the comforting sounds and scents of horses and leather, as she walked down towards the end stall. A groom passed her, his arms laden with hay, and she moved aside to give him room. When she reached the end stall, and slipped inside, she found the straw disturbed, and initially thought that there were no kittens.
Then a tiny mewing came to her ears. She moved forward, stepping with great care, until she discovered two kittens only, curled against each other in an indentation in the straw. She settled down beside them, and lifted them onto her lap. They sucked at her fingertips, and wriggled around as she watched.
Where were the others?
Moments later, the mother cat jumped down from the side of the stall, and walked across to Eleanor. The cat rubbed against her hand, and Eleanor obligingly scratched her as she wished, but after a minute or so, the cat reached into her lap, and carefully lifted one of the tiny kittens, the scruff of its neck held in her mouth.
As Eleanor watched, the cat sprang up onto the side of the stall, with that effortless levitation that cats were capable of, and set off along the top, all the way to where the ladder to the hayloft leant against the wall. The cat went up, jumping from one angled slat of the ladder to the next, and disappeared into the loft above. So, that was likely where the other kittens were. The mother cat had decided that there were too many people down here, and chosen to move her kittens away.
Eleanor sighed. It was a pity, for visiting them up there was really not feasible. She waited, stroking the remaining kitten in her lap, until the mother cat came back and took it away as well.
Then she rose, brushed the straw from her skirts, and went out into the aisle, turning towards the outer door. As she did a great thunderclap sounded, directly overhead, and rain crashed down – so much rain that out through the door all she could see was a dark grey curtain. She paused, not far from that door, as the rain intensified and turned to what looked like sleet, unsure what to do – for she most certainly could not go back to the house through that!
Then, without warning, there was the thunder of hooves, and a shadow appeared in the greyness, rapidly resolving into a gigantic horse, rider bent low over its neck, which flung itself into the shelter of the stables at full speed. Straight at Eleanor.
She froze in place, terrified and unable to move.
An enormous shoulder collided with her side, spinning her away against the hard timber of a stall door, even as huge hooves landed on the packed earth of the floor, mere inches from her feet.
Chapter Four
Adair lifted his head as the beat of the sleet against him suddenly ceased, and tried to slow Emperor before they smashed into the tack room door at the other end of the stable wing. He had barely blinked the water from his eyes when he realised that there was something – someone – in his path.
As he desperately hauled the horse to one side in the narrow space, he felt the collision, and inwardly cursed. Twisting, he swung himself to the ground, even as Emperor finally began to slow. His groom appeared in the tack room door, and Adair left the horse to him, spinning back to where the collision had happened. He arrived just in time to catch Lady Eleanor as she slid down the door of the stall she had been flung against.
His hands went to her waist, and he lifted her, steadying her until she managed to balance, and lift her face to his. Those blue eyes were full of confusion, and genuine fear this time. He cursed himself again for the oaf he had been, to assume that the way would be clear. He had simply been desperate to get himself and Emperor out of the slicing sleet.
Now, he had potentially hurt the one woman at this damned house party who he gave a fig about. Behind him, he heard the door into the side wing of the stables click shut, as the groom took Emperor through to rub him down. Silence followed. He stared into those blue eyes, and wondered what he could do, or say. Swallowing hard, he attempted at least to ask how she fared.
“My Lady, I… are you hurt? I am so sorry, I…”
She blinked, as if clearing her sight, then shook her head slightly. She looked even more beautiful than usual, if that was possible, her cheeks now flushing away the paleness of the shock of impact, and her pink rosebud lips open on a small gasp. He wanted to kiss her. Which was madness – but nonetheless he wanted it.
“Your Grace… I… no, I am not hurt – at least I don’t think that I am. Just a little… shaken…”
She wobbled in his grasp, and he tightened his hands on her waist. She was so tiny, his hands near encompassed its entirety. He lifted one hand, leaving the other steadying her, and brushed his fingers across her cheek, unable to help himself. She gasped again, and the sight of it sent heat through him.
Without considering what he was doing, he bent down, and brought his lips to hers, brushing feather soft across their delicate shape, then tracing that shape with his tongue. Somewhere, deep in his mind, the sensible part of him was screaming, telling him to stop. He ignored it.
She did not pull away. She simply froze in place for a moment, then sighed, and melted against him, her lips opening to his touch.
That sigh, that movement of her mouth, was perhaps the most erotic thing he had ever felt or heard. He deepened the kiss, exploring the warmth of her mouth, the taste of those lips, and she responded, tentatively, yet positively.
Minutes passed, until, finally, enough sense returned to him for him to be able to lift his head, to take a small step back. Her eyes were hazy, and her tongue flicked out to sweep over her lips. Despite himself, a tiny groan escaped him.
“My Lady… I…”
She shook her head, as if enjoindering him to silence, and he allowed the words to tail off. In truth, he had no idea what to say. He released her waist, and stepped back further – it was safest to remove the temptation that touching her presented. It was only then, once the dizzying effect of her proximity was reduced, that he realised the rain had near stopped, as suddenly as it had begun.
As he turned to look out of the stable door, hardly believing the rapid change, a maid came scurrying across the gravel towards the stables. Realisation set in. They were alone. If that maid arrived and saw them as they were, Lady Eleanor was ruined. He spun back towards her, pointing to the door as he did.
“A maid is coming. I’ll be away out of sight, lassie, for your sake.”
He heard the Scots in his voice again, even as he turned and fled down the aisle and through into the other part of the stables, leaving her standing there, leaning against the stall door, her face a picture of conflicting emotions. He just hoped that he was gone from sight in time.
~~~~~
Eleanor was glad of the stall door at her back, for she doubted that, in those first few moments after Braeness had fled to protect her reputation, she could have stood unaided.
A Christmas Bride for the Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 4) Page 3
