by Tessa Candle
She laughed. “I believe you may call me Eleanor, now.”
“Quite.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Eleanor. I like that much better.”
“I have just been thinking very glum thoughts. You must have some stories you can distract me with. I should like to hear more about the mysterious Delville.”
“Well, I suppose it will destroy my air of intrigue, but the truth is I am not that mysterious at all. I am secretive, but that is mostly because I have been working for the Home Office—actually the Foreign Office before that.”
A wave of panic smote Eleanor. “And you are only telling me this now because you think we are going to die here.” A part of her needed him to believe they would survive, even if she did not.
He squeezed her. “We are not going to die here. Our friends are looking for us—or at least for you. Hold onto that. I feel at liberty to tell you I am a spy now, not because of mortality, but because when we get out of this, I fully intend to quit.”
Eleanor needed to keep talking about something, anything other than their circumstances. “But why would you stop now? The work must be terribly diverting. Women are permitted so few liberties, so the idea of assuming new identities and ferreting out the evil-doers sounds like a great lark to me.”
“I can see why you might think that. Everyone has quite a romantic notion about spy work. I certainly did when I first took it on as a vocation—fresh out of Oxford and filled with all the illusions that young, over-indulged gentlemen always have. At that point I had lost my sister and my father, and because my gambling was out of control, I had ended up unhappily affianced.”
“How did gambling lead to the engagement? Had you run up more debt than you could manage? Did you propose because of her fortune?”
“She has no fortune, save whatever Laurentian might settle upon her. No, I was not reduced to fortune hunting. I was merely a stupid, arrogant young man who thought his hand was too good to lose. It embarrasses me how typical I was.”
“But I still do not understand how you came to be engaged to Miss Fitzpatrick.”
He sighed. “Please do not form a bad opinion of me, Eleanor. It is no excuse, but remember that I was a young idiot, and I was grieving the loss of the two people I loved the most in the world. I would have bet on anything in those days. Laurentian saw me coming and offered me an irresistible stake: if I won, I got his stables. Unfortunately, if I lost, I would be obliged propose to his ward.”
“And you took the chance.”
His voice sounded bitter. “I could not lose, you see.”
“Apparently you could, though.”
“Do you think ill of me for making such a scandalous wager?”
Did she? In her present circumstances, she found she was a very forgiving sort. “No. That is to say, I think it was a bad bit of business, of course. Women, even odious ones, are not chattel to be bandied about at card tables. But I know what it is like to be young and in anguish. A person can make very bad decisions under the influence of grief. But surely Miss Fitzpatrick would never have accepted your offer if she knew it was merely made to discharge a gambling debt.”
“I can hear from your voice that you are feeling some sympathy for her. You need not. She was not led down any garden paths. I was not permitted by the terms of the wager to tell her about the bet. However, I proposed to her in such a manner—suffice it to say that it was so demeaning to both of us that any right-minded woman would have slapped my face and refused me outright.”
“But she did not?”
“You should have seen the vicious, calculating look on her face when she said yes. It made my blood run cold.”
Eleanor could well imagine it. “So you faked your death and became a spy just to avoid marriage?”
“It was a strong inducement, and at the time I felt adrift, as though I had nothing weighty enough to tether me to my life in England or my identity. A friend of my father’s offered me a position with the Foreign Office, and I accepted almost without thinking.”
“I see.” He was certainly not boring, but on the other hand, he was flighty, it seemed. Hardly the sort of man that she should ever consider marrying. Not that he had asked. And not that it would ever come to that, of course.
He sounded anxious as he grasped her hand. “You must believe me, Eleanor. I have changed a great deal in the intervening years. I have long since tired of the spy’s life, and I would have left the business, anyway, but now…”
“Now?” She was breathless. Was he really serious about settling in England? A little romantic part of her wished for him to remain a spy, for them to be able to go off and have adventures together. But the more sensible Eleanor knew that was foolhardy.
“After I found Persephone, I meant to quit spying forever, but even if I had not already resolved to settle down, meeting you would have changed everything.”
Eleanor blushed, which was an embarrassing bit of girlishness that she was not accustomed to. She was happy for the cover of the darkness. “And yet, would we ever have become interested in one another, if it were not for all the intrigue?”
“Is that your only interest in me? The intrigue?”
She had to be honest. “It was a part. The challenge of sorting you out was irresistible. But it was more than that… I trusted you. I have no idea why, but I just knew you were a good man, despite appearances.”
The sound of levity was soothing to Eleanor’s nerves as Delville’s laughter rang like a silver bell in the pitch-black air. “I would not say that. I am not good, but I will claim this much for myself: I am not quite as bad as I appear to be.”
Eleanor was having none of it. “You are good. Saving an orphan is not the act of a morally indifferent person.”
“It might be, you know, if the man’s motives for doing so were self-interested.” His voice was teasing.
“And were your motives bad?”
“They were complex. My principal purpose was to discharge a duty to an old friend.”
“That is also the action of a good man. So finding Persephone was not just part of one of your cases?”
“No. I knew her father in India. He also had done some work for the foreign office. When her mother died of a fever, he sent Persephone back to London, lest she take ill and die as well. Unfortunately some bad sorts found out her whereabouts and abducted her, hoping to extort information out of the father.”
“Red Martha? She is a spy as well, then? Working for, um, the other side?”
“Not Red Martha—or rather she was more the agent then the author of the abduction. She is not a spy, per se. But she is no patriot, and is happy to work for the highest bidder. But as despicable as she is, I must say I am thankful for her avaricious motives. That is what kept Persephone alive. Her father was smote with the same illness that killed her mother, and could not return to England to find Persephone, himself. He made me promise to do so. How could I refuse him? He was on his death bed.”
“And then he died?”
“Yes.”
“I am so sorry, Delville. That must have been heart-breaking.”
“It was awful. In fact, I was thankful for the task of finding his daughter. It gave me a cause—something to do with my grief at yet another loss. But it was a bad situation, for with her father dead, Persephone could no longer be used to extort information. When I returned home and discovered that Red Martha had hidden the girl somewhere, I feared the worst.”
“That Red Martha had killed her?”
“No. That would have been a relatively merciful fate. I feared that Red Martha had put her to work in the trade that made the woman infamous.”
“Ah.” It came out as a gasp. What an awful fate for a child. But did Eleanor detect an edge of judgement to his voice when he spoke of the trade. Red Martha was a despicable person, to be sure, but did Delville think little of any woman in that line of work? Did he secretly disapprove of Eleanor because of what her mother had been?
“I beg your pardon.�
�� His voice softened. “I did not mean to shock you.”
“I was not being missish. I was merely thinking of how awful it would be for a child in Red Martha’s employ.”
“Indeed. But the madam had other plans. That is what I meant about being thankful for her greed. She had sorted out that Persephone was to be a great heiress, and that the next in line to inherit, who was also her guardian under the estate, might be very interested in the girl. So Persephone was kept alive, but concealed while her captor negotiated with this cousin of Persephone’s—whom I would very much like to find and lay a beating on.”
Eleanor agreed. “You see? That is because you are a good man, as I said.”
“Getting into a fisticuffs is the hallmark of a good man, is it? It certainly is not considered gentlemanly.”
“Gentlemanly and good are two very different things, as I am sure you are aware.” She laughed teasingly. “For example, after our first encounter, I was certain you were a gentleman, but suspected you were not a good one.”
He laughed again. “Yes, and after our second encounter, you could scarcely have thought me a gentleman, either.”
“True. But then, I think you were trying to convince me that you were terribly bad, so as to scare me away.”
“It was for your own good. I had to do something, after all. You would not stop following me around.”
“I was not doing any such thing! Indeed, at one point I suspected you of following me.”
He pulled her into an embrace. “Who could have blamed me if I were following you?”
“Do you remember our first kiss?”
“I regret that I did things so badly.”
“As do I. But is it not funny that the first kiss presaged the second?”
“You mean because we were alone in the dark in a stone cellar on both occasions?”
Eleanor shuddered as she recalled their current predicament. “Exactly. You know, there is something about the darkness… It is dangerous but liberating, like a masquerade.” Her skin tingled with excitement, proving her point. All her other senses were more keen without vision.
His lips grazed hers in a sweet, quick kiss. “Eleanor, you do not regret what we did, do you?”
She scoffed. “Certainly not. Indeed I have been wondering all this time how long it would be before you could do it again.”
He pulled her hips close to him then, so she could feel his arousal. “You should have said something. I have merely been trying to behave myself.”
“Why ever would you do that? Have I not as much as admitted that I find your scoundrel ways intriguing?”
“You said you thought me a good man. I believed disillusioning you would be to my disadvantage.”
“Ah, but sometimes bad is good, you know.”
“Ah, well if that is the cornerstone of your moral philosophy, I now understand why you think me a good man.”
He kissed her, long and deep. She could feel in it all the intensity of the moment—of their growing intimacy, of the relentless darkness around them, of the passion that is driven both by love and by a desperate sense of one’s own mortality.
There were no more words. There was only his flipping up her skirts and gasping when his fingers found her already wet and ready for him, before he moved her onto his lap and played with her, almost roughly, as he entered her.
Eleanor gasped with pleasure and greed as he crested, and she pushed back into him. He began to thrust harder and harder, stroking her pearl mercilessly, until she climaxed and, despite the darkness, a shower of sparks blazed before her eyes. Waves of sweet warmth washed over her as she felt him releasing inside of her, his ocean of pleasure merging with hers.
Then they collapsed.
She was exhausted, but already waiting for the next time they could enjoy each other. They must not waste a moment of the time they had left.
Chapter 28
Delville left Eleanor sleeping and felt his way to the tray to fetch a mouthful of water and another meat pie. He was not certain how long they had been in there, but they were already down to two pies. Alas, Screwe had left them no whiskey, but the water jug had been almost full. They had been rationing, but he could now feel that the vessel was at perhaps half its capacity.
Their provisions would be gone soon enough. And what of their air supply? Was there fresh air trickling its way in from the chimney he had dug? By God, he was such a useless bounder for putting Eleanor in this situation.
She stirred, and he handed her half the pastry, placing the other half back on the tray. “Eat this, my love. I have already eaten my half.”
He heard her reach over and retrieve the other half from the tray. “You mean this half? I may be blind, but I find my hearing quite acute, you know. You eat your half, and I will eat mine.”
“You are terribly stubborn.” He wished he would let her save the remaining food for her. He was much more accustomed to going without sustenance. He would feel it less, and anyway, this whole situation was his fault.
“And you are truly a good man. It is now clear to me that all the efforts you made to pass yourself off as a devil-may-care rogue and wastrel were only roles you played in the service of your country. But as much as I love that you are secretly so noble, I have no intention of letting you starve yourself on my account.”
“Being secretive and assuming roles has become a bit of a habit. I believe you are being too kind in your interpretation of my character.”
“Do you think it has ruined you for a normal life?”
“I might have once thought that, but not now. You have shown me I can change. I only ever want to be myself with you.” It was true. He owed her much, but this might be one of the greatest gifts she had given him. And in return, he had all but killed her.
“I, too, have been closed. I think it has always been safer that way—to keep my distance, and hide behind a wall of sarcasm. I am a hard person to get to know.”
“I believe you show yourself to your true friends.”
“Yes, but I am quite aloof in society. I think many may think me—well above my company or some such thing. But it is really quite the opposite.”
“A duke’s daughter who refuses to allow people to address her by her title can hardly be accused of snobbery.”
She was silent for a while, and he wondered if he had pushed too hard. He had been curious about it, but was trying not to pry.
She sighed. “It will probably seem silly to you, but I decline to be addressed as a lady because I hate the hypocrisy of it. I know how the ton thinks of me, and I simply refuse to let them take refuge behind the polite address of Lady Eleanor.”
“Why would the ton think meanly of you? I mean they are a pack of jackals, but you are truly lovely and your father is a duke.”
She huffed, and then spoke as though she were not quite sure if he were in earnest. “Can you not sort it out? They have not forgotten what my mother was.”
“I suppose I am slightly biased, but I honestly cannot see why that should give the beau monde the least cause for disdain. They are not a pack of middling class, provincial misses. Your rank alone should make it irrelevant.”
She swallowed. “It does not matter that I am the Duke of Grendleridge’s daughter, or that I was born in wedlock. To the ton I will always be a daughter of guilty descent.”
He pressed his hand to his forehead as he recalled the things he had insinuated about her—that time in the wine cellar. She was obviously very sensitive about this. She must have despised him.
After a few moments of his silence, she cleared her throat. “I suppose now you are also wondering about my character—wondering if you were not the first man to whose charms I had surrendered my virtue—”
“God no!” he interrupted. “Please never believe anything of the kind. I am sorry for my muteness just now—I was merely wincing at my own great, oafish gaffe. Can you ever forgive me for some of the things I have said to you? Honestly, I had no idea of your particular situation,
or—well, I cannot say I would have been more delicate, but I like to think I would not have been so utterly tactless.”
“But I do not desire tact.” Her voice was frosty. “Worse than anyone actually saying what they are thinking out loud is all the concealed looks and whispering.”
“No, that is not what I meant.” He reached for her hand, and was glad when she did not pull away. “You mother’s prior occupation is of no consequence to me. I love you.”
She gasped. Did she believe him? Did she feel how he felt? He did not wait for her to say anything. “And I think you are marvellous. I want to take a whip to anyone who has made you feel slighted—though apparently the sheer numbers will make that impractical. Please say that you forgive me for ever saying anything that could give you offense…”
She squeezed his hand. “Think nothing of it. I have always liked that you did not handle me with kid gloves. You know, I believe I sense a kindred spirit in Persephone. It does not matter that her mother and father were lawfully wed, her mother’s Indian extraction will make her the object of unsavoury speculations. That is just how the ton is.” Her voice sounded very sad as she added, “It is the reason I never get to see my half-sister. She is descended from the Bourbon line, but she is the illegitimate progeny of a French nobleman and my mother. My father keeps her safely tucked away in France because he does not wish to further imperil my reputation. You would think that being under the protection of a duke would be enough, but he does not think so, no matter who her father was.”
“Well, I am sure he is only trying to protect you, but it seems very hard that you should be separated from your only sister. I miss my sister every day.” If he had not been such a useless young man, maybe he could have found some way to save her from the horrid marriage that stole her health and eventually her young life. And now that he was stuck in this cave, he was more useless than ever. “Persephone, on the other hand, really does need protecting from her relatives.”
“Just liked Rosamond.”
“I wish I had left better instructions for Frobisher and Rosamond.” This is what came of shutting out one’s friends, and never telling anyone what your true plans were. “I hope they will take good care of her.”
