by Eva Devon
Sighing, Tony said, “I suppose I should avoid looking like what she already believes of me.”
“And what’s that?” Charles inquired as he carefully handed the rapier to the quiet servant who immediately whipped out a cloth and began polishing it.
“A scoundrel,” Tony bit out.
“Well, you are.”
“Charles,” he growled. “That is not helpful.”
Charles waggled his brows. “Come. Let’s have brandy.”
“A good suggestion.”
“I am full of them.”
Tony swallowed. Charles had once been a rakehell. A man who danced on the edge of propriety, even. But now, he was a happily married man. Dare he ask advice? What did he have to lose? “Do you have any suggestions on how to make my future wife see me?”
Charles turned back to him and arched that damned brow. “We shall see.”
Tony nodded and followed Charles, ready for brandy and anything which might bring him back into his future wife’s presence.
Chapter 8
Eleanor snuggled into her down, linen-covered pillow, enjoying the surprising warmth of a London summer. Even in August in the Highlands, the nights warranted a good blanket. Here, one could lounge about quite pleasantly in a shift in the solace of one’s room.
While she loved the history of the castle, she couldn’t deny that she wore a good deal of clothes merely to avoid turning blue within its walls.
She blinked, realizing she’d come out of a deep slumber and the most vivid dream. Anthony Burke had invaded her dreams, his hand outstretched, beckoning her towards him. His shirt had been open at the throat. A bed had been in the background, the sheets rumpled.
And somehow, she knew that they had been in those sheets.
She felt languid, her limbs easy, heavy, as if she’d been completely comfortable.
Swallowing, she bit down on her lower lip. How could she have dreamed something so intimate? So—
She looked to the window and stilled. The lace curtains were parted.
She hadn’t done that. Could a breeze have done such a thing?
“Lady Eleanor?”
She yelped and twisted to the shadows near her tall armoire.
Anthony Burke, Duke of Ayr, stood in the darkness.
She scrambled up into a sitting position, blood pumping wildly.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly, that delicious voice of his, soft. “But I had to see you before we wed and after long consideration, I decided this was the only way. Since you are always out.”
She gaped at him then swung her gaze to the window. “How did you get in?”
“The window,” he stated simply.
She thought of the drop from the ledge. She was on the third floor. “But how could you—”
Even in the darkness, she could see his half-smile as he said, “You don’t want to know.”
“I do,” she corrected, pulling up the linen sheet.
“I’ve climbed ship rigging most of my life.” He shrugged. “A townhouse wall with a tree growing next to it really wasn’t so very difficult.”
She groaned then braced her head in her hands. She looked up at him. “I have a terrible feeling you’ve done this before.”
There, there it was. That lazy, dangerous smile that did things to her she didn’t fully understand.
“I confess not,” he replied. “Though, perhaps, I should have tried it.”
“Good for escaping angry husbands,” she said tightly.
“I’ve never angered a husband,” he countered, stepping from the shadows.
She narrowed her eyes. “I have trouble believing that.”
“Believe what you must, but I’ve done my best to cause little pain in this world.”
That stopped her. How many could say that? How many men? Not too many, she’d wager.
“Do you wish me to go?” he asked. “I will. I don’t wish to upset you.”
She blew out a derisive breath. “It’s too late for that.”
He had the good grace to wince. “I could have waited until you were walking up the aisle to see you, I suppose.”
Glancing away, embarrassed, she muttered, “I- I should have accepted your call.”
“Yes, you should have,” he replied plainly. “I half-wondered if you were going to call it off.”
“That is not what I plan.” How had she let it get so far? She’d avoided his first call but had planned to see him once she’d gathered herself. Something about that last meeting had stirred feelings of longing deep inside her. It was a longing for family that she thought had been buried years ago. But then. . . She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face how their meeting had rocked her to her core.
“I’m relieved.”
She wondered. Was he truly? Surely, he longed for a different sort of woman than she? A lovable woman. A woman who would worship him as he was no doubt accustomed to. A woman who had not vowed to never love.
“Is that what you wished to know?” she asked. Eleanor sat up straight and pulled the bed linen all the way up to her chin.
“I suppose. But now, I must ask again if I offended you in some way.” A perplexed look, almost a boyish one, softened his face. “I thought we had a rather nice day with my stepmother and sister.”
Too nice. How could she explain that? The simple truth was she had been alarmed by how easy it had been to be in his company at Kew. She’d enjoyed it greatly for the most part and she did not wish to enjoy it. And then there had been seeing him with his family. It had. . . Brought up so many memories of her own lost parents and the little girl she had once been, so full of joy and promise.
She wished to be his wife but without feeling anything for him. She had most definitely felt something for him and she couldn’t have that. No, she did not wish to have the pain of the past brought to her mind again or chance pain in her future. So, she’d decided to embrace a physical distance.
“No,” she said softly. “You have not and it wasna well done of me,” she admitted. “But I have been very busy with fittings and. . . And. . .”
“You were avoiding me,” he said without apology.
“Aye,” she agreed.
“Why?” he asked. “Am I so very terrible?”
She rolled her eyes but realized he was asking in earnest. She clutched the linen, willing herself to reply honestly. “You have caused me some consternation.”
His brows shot up. “Oh?”
“You are not at all what I imagined my husband to be and I have required time to get used to that.”
He stood still, just the gentle breeze coming in through the window teasing his dark hair. “I see.”
She doubted he saw at all. But she wasn’t going to illuminate to him that he was a far better man than she’d thought and that she liked him. That she’d needed time to gather herself and remind herself of the promise she’d made on that rampart.
“Now, would you mind climbing back down the wall?” She waved to the window. “It is said to be unlucky to see the bride on the day of the wedding before the ceremony.”
“You will be there?”
She scowled. “Yes, Ayr. I’ll be there. Now, off you go. Lest someone hear you.”
“What scandal could we cause?” he teased, as he seemed always wont to do. “We’re to be married.”
“Unlike you, I dunna cause scandals,” she pointed out. “And best you remember that.”
He nodded, though he didn’t seem particularly relieved.
Stepping forward, he started for the window but then he hesitated and slowly faced her.
The moonlight shone in through the window, casting his strong body in a silver glow.
Her breath caught in her throat. He was so unbelievably beautiful. His dark hair caressed his high cheekbones. His sensual mouth seemed to beg for her to kiss it. And his body? His hard, strong body was the sort meant for caressing.
His look seared her as he dragged his gaze up her barely-covered body.
“I�
�d like to kiss you,” he said softly.
She inched back up on the bed as if he’d suggested murder.
His face shuttered then, that beautifully, open face. Her reaction had done that.
He nodded once. “I’ll go then.”
He started for the window, easily grabbing hold of the frame, already half out of it.
“Wait!” she called, sotto voce.
He stilled, perching on the sill with remarkable grace.
“You may kiss me,” she said quietly, marveling at her own words and the fact that she was relenting so easily. Surely, it was a terrible idea. A terrible but necessary idea.
But she wished for him to attend their wedding. And the way his face looked just then had been as terrible as if she’d driven a knife into his heart.
She didn’t wish him to think she hated him. Not the day before their wedding.
Slowly, he turned with a sad look on his face. “I’ve never been kissed out of pity before.”
How did he know? Well, it wasn’t entirely pity. She was attracted to her future husband. There was no denying it. Every part of her body seemed completely aware of his very male presence and her body called out to him, even if her mind and heart did not.
She licked her lips, so determined to resolve this. “That’s not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Eleanor,” he replied in a hoarse, firm whisper. “I’m not a fool, even if you seem to think I might be.”
“I—” She winced. She had thought him nothing more than a pretty shirt. His ability to read so deeply into her behavior was stunning. In all her life, no one had ever looked beneath her icy surface. . . Except one. One other person, and she’d given her heart to that person. That had turned out with nothing but pain.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said. There was nothing of the bright, hopeful man she’d seen in the garden about him any longer.
“Ayr?” she called out.
But before she could further her cause, he’d swept out the window and jumped into the dark night.
She gasped at the ease of his escape.
Vaulting from her bed, she stormed to the window and stuck her head out.
He’d shimmied down the tall oak and hit the ground in one solid landing.
Good Lord, he was something. In all her life, she’d never met a man so free, so wild, so unfettered by society’s expectations.
And she felt admiration. A stirring of unbridled admiration for him and his ways.
As he walked down through the garden, heading towards the park, she studied his strong stride.
Even in seeming defeat, he walked like a god amongst mere mortals.
She’d rejected her future husband and made him feel as though she found him to be appalling.
Her throat tightened.
How could she do what he needed and keep her distance? She drank in the flower-scented air, and girded herself. She could do it. She had to. Her future depended on it.
Chapter 9
Tony stumbled through the crowded tavern, winding his way through men and women who’d slaved all day for the great machine that was England’s industrial progress. Despite their long hours, they were all merry, making of life what they could.
On the other hand, Tony was already three sheets to the wind. He tossed a coin at the fiddler and bodhrán players who then struck up a sprightly tune which caused a pair of already tipsy women to get up and begin a reel. Once, he would have joined them in the nimble steps. That felt like a hellishly long time ago. It was just days, now.
He grabbed a chair, turned it and plunked himself down at the table across from the Earl of Ellesmere and a new friend that they had recently taken up with, Lord Lockhart Eversleigh.
“I’m getting married,” he said, as though announcing his execution.
“We know,” both men replied brightly. Both of their eyes were dancing.
“In the morning,” Tony added. He was feeling unduly morose as he slumped down and draped his arm across the back of his chair.
Both men grinned at him. “We know.”
Tony scowled and drove a hand through his already wild hair. “She doesn’t like me.”
Both men sat with far more dignity than Tony and intoned together, “We know.”
Tony groaned. “This is going to be terrible.”
“That is debatable,” Ellesmere countered, drinking his gin slowly from his wooden cup.
“Ha!” Tony let out a curse then bellowed, “Gin!”
Before he could even move a muscle, a barmaid was at their table, a hand propped on her curved hip. A tray with another gin bottle and cup balanced on it with practiced ease. Her red curls danced around apple cheeks and she gave him a wink. “’ello, Your Grace. Making merry before you wed, eh?”
“Just in need of a gin, Rose,” he said.
Rose winked. “Course you are, love. You need anything else, you just let me know. I’d love to see you off right and proper.”
As she put down the bottle, he resisted the urge to grumble. He had no interest in being sent off. He had no interest in other women whatsoever and it was absolute hell.
How had he become such a glutton for punishment?
In fact, Tony had spent a good deal of the evening certain that he’d been overcome by a need for power. Or at least, that’s what he’d decided since he’d scrambled down from her room, duly put in his place. Yes. He’d gone power mad, seeking a dukedom.
Surely, that was the only reason he would marry a woman he didn’t know and who barely tolerated him. Worse, she fairly recoiled from the idea of kissing him.
Recoiled.
Even now, the recollection of that particularly splendid moment sent a shudder down his spine.
That had been another new and most unwelcome experience.
He seemed to be having a rush of them lately.
In his life, women had always, always, enjoyed his company. It was because he liked women. Or so he told himself. Genuinely and truly, he liked them. As opposed to many of his male counterparts who insisted on seeing women as unknowable beings. In his experience, women were infinitely knowable if men would but take the time to listen to them and show a genuine interest in their lives.
He’d hoped that she would be the same. Granted, they’d had little interaction but, so far, it was not going well. Ha! Well? It was going to hell.
That was appalling because he’d always assumed that when he did wed, he’d have a genial marriage.
His father and his wife, Ros, had one of the happiest marriages in all of London and theirs and been a marriage out of love. Surely, he was condemning himself to an ever-living misery with this union? His initial optimism was quickly dwindling.
“Romance isn’t everything,” Tony declared, defiant, pounding an open hand on the splintered table. Then he poured himself a dose of gin.
“How much have you had to drink?” Lockhart suddenly asked.
He’d started the evening with Charles and then, after the debacle with Eleanor, he’d found a brandy bottle and drank his way here. He raised the cup to his lips, tossed the contents back and replied, “Enough.”
“Just recall you need to stand up tomorrow,” Ellesmere drawled, his lips twitching.
“While I am glad to be a source of amusement, I have never fallen short after a night of drinking and this is the end of my freedom after all.” He filled his glass again, with the sort of fatality of a condemned man, and then drained it. He grabbed the bottle and poured again.
“Are you quite all right, Tony?” Lock asked. “You seem. . . A bit unhinged.”
He gave a wicked smile, an almost painful thing. “Just contemplating married bliss.”
“Are you planning on exploring your freedom to the fullest?” Ellesmere asked warily. The man was eyeing him up and down then looking over towards Rose who was flirting happily with another table of more eager and likely gents.
Tony snorted, disgusted by the very idea. “I have not looked at another woman since the declaration of m
arriage. I hadn’t even locked eyes upon the woman and my faithfulness began.”
In truth, he couldn’t imagine looking at another woman now. She’d done something to him. It was as if, despite the lack of vows, he’d become hers. She was entrancing, fascinating and, well, a challenge. He wasn’t accustomed to being so flummoxed.
“Glad to hear it,” Ellesmere said, his voice full of relief.
“I have good reason.” He was not going to be a disappointment to his new wife. Come rack or ruin. He would be the best of husbands. He had to be. It was the only way to make his mother proud. Anything less would earn him her curses from the grave. And he’d always taken great stock in her ability to sway events with her powerful words. There was also his own sense of honor.
Added to all this was the fact that he felt oddly compelled by his future wife. He wanted her. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted another woman which was damned astonishing since it seemed to be entirely one sided.
He groaned again. “I just hope to God that she won’t freeze me into stone.”
“Lady Eleanor does have a certain distance to her,” Ellesmere agreed kindly.
“A veritable wall of stone,” Tony intoned, tilting back his cup of gin, gritting his teeth as he swallowed the no doubt half-poisonous liquid down.
His friends watched him warily. But then, as if sensing his need to get dead drunk, they began to join him in speed.
“People with stone walls about them have good reasons,” Lock said quietly after he drank a cup in one go.
“You should know,” drawled Tony.
Lock rolled his eyes and drank again. In the last months, Lock had progressed from a furious man who hated just about everyone to a simmering fellow who tolerated company. He was, to his credit, good company in a tavern. No one was going to take that particular lord in a dark alley.
All of them had proved their mettle in this particular part of town and had earned a grudging respect from the people here.
“I told her that we should get to know each other,” Tony began, unable to hide his consternation. “Do you know what she said?”
