And she didn’t. His lips withdrew from hers leaving her mouth bruised and yearning, but now they were moving down her neck in small butterfly kisses that plunged ever lower until he reached her breast, and cupping its gentle swell, he tasted her to the full. She almost fainted as a throbbing ache of pleasure shot through her. He was pushing her towards the bed and she was letting him when a sharp voice sounded from the doorway.
“Gabriel! Your Grace! You forget yourself.”
It was Celia. He turned swiftly and Elinor’s nightgown fell modestly back into place. “Go to bed,” he commanded his aunt.
“Indeed I will not. You are drunk and threatening an innocent girl with your wickedness. I will not sleep another night beneath such an impure roof. And neither will Elinor.”
His eyes looked suddenly alert. He looked around the room and then at Elinor as though he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Lady Frant took advantage of this unexpected docility and steered him towards the stairway. “Your Grace needs to return to your own room.” He went without another word.
Celia turned to her charge. “Why did you not call for help?” she demanded suspiciously. “How could you have allowed him to place you in such a compromising situation?”
Elinor breathed an inner sigh of relief. Gabriel had had his back to the door shielding her from the sight of anyone coming into the room. His aunt could not have witnessed the full immodesty of their conduct.
“I did not think I was in danger,” she prevaricated.
“Did you not?” Celia’s tone was disbelieving. She dragged a valise from beneath the bed and proceeded to open the drawers of the large chest which filled one corner of the room.
“What are you doing?”
“What it is necessary to do. I am taking you to live at the Dower House where you will be safe from further assault.”
“There is no need, Lady Frant. The duke was not himself. I am sure he will not repeat such behavior and I am leaving in two days.”
Celia looked gratified. “Nevertheless it will be a great deal safer if you spend those days away from the Hall. Gabriel is too frequently not himself.”
Elinor was trembling with the aftermath of the encounter and too exhausted to argue. The duke’s initial hostility had surprised and upset her. That first kiss had been angry, almost as though he were intent on exacting recompense. But the anger had melted along with the kiss and instead she had felt a hard, sweet searching of her lips. She had opened her mouth to accept him, opened her body to his touch. She had been reduced to a quivering mass of sensation, desperate to feel his hands, his mouth, feed her spiraling desire. Only Celia’s arrival on the scene had stopped their mutual seduction. The older woman was right. It was dangerous to stay at the Hall, even more dangerous than Lady Frant knew, for it was herself that she could no longer trust.
****
Roland arrived at the Dower House from a convivial evening in Steyning at the same time as his mother and Elinor dragged a large valise through the front door.
“What on earth…”
“Miss Milford is staying with us until she leaves for Malmesbury.” His mother’s tone brooked no argument.
“But…”
“It is quite settled. Miss Milford, let me take you to your bedchamber. I will have the maid unpack for you tomorrow.” An unprotesting Elinor was led up the stairs to one of the small rooms at the very top of the house.
When Celia Frant returned to the drawing room, her son was moodily kicking a dying log on the fire. “This is all very well, Mama, but think of the gossip your flight from the Hall must occasion. And leaving at this time of night! It would surely have been more discreet to have asked a servant to bring the luggage on later.”
His mother looked at him witheringly. “Unfortunately your louche cousin is unacquainted with discretion. By now the whole household will have been alerted to the shocking incident.”
“Whatever has Gabriel done?”
“The details are unnecessary,” she said tight lipped. “It is sufficient for you to know that Elinor Milford will remain in this house until she leaves for Wiltshire.”
“But what about Mr. Ferrers?”
“Mr. Ferrers will marry elsewhere. My efforts are unappreciated and Miss Milford intends to take up a teaching post. I no longer care what she does as long as she goes from here, but in the meantime she will stay with us.”
“Are you sure you can trust me with her?” he asked sulkily.
“I never for one moment doubted that I could.”
Roland’s face expressed disbelief and, keen to irritate his mother, he decided on the most annoying question he could think of. “So what happens to your plan of obtaining a foothold at the Hall?”
Celia smiled serenely. “I have already done so. I have been living there nigh on three weeks and tonight I have rescued Gabriel from the likely embarrassment of a drunken misdemeanor. He will be grateful, you will see. We must be sure to keep the girl from him until we can put her on the stage at Steyning. There must be no further complications.”
Roland did not share his mother’s confidence that a splendid future was close at hand but he knew better than to voice his doubts. He shrugged his shoulders and went to bed.
****
Gabriel groaned and turned over. Then groaned again. The sliver of light escaping into the room through drawn curtains made him snap his eyes shut in pain. Summers stood silently by his bedside, proffering a glass of peppermint water. “May I suggest that Your Grace drink this?”
“You may suggest all you like. Then just go away,” Gabriel said thickly.
“Your Grace may wish to know that Mr. Henderson has called.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Joffey’s assistant.”
He remembered vaguely they’d had an appointment. Something to do with a bridge.
“And?”
“Mr. Henderson waited for an hour and then had to leave. He had urgent business on the Home Farm.”
The valet could not have accused him more directly, he thought, of wasting his subordinate’s time and leaving his own duties unattended.
“Damn you, Summers,” he said resignedly. “Give me the wretched glass.” He drank it in one swallow and shuddered. “It had better work or you’ll be looking for a new situation.”
He saw the slight smile creasing his valet’s face. The man had been his batman when both had served in the 14th Light Dragoons and before that his boyhood attendant at Allingham. Summers knew him better than anyone alive.
“What will Your Grace wear?”
He had no interest in his dress. He had no interest in leaving his bed. He remembered sufficient of his last night’s conduct to know his day would be one of unmitigated groveling.
“Anything. No. Wait. Something sober, modest, but I don’t want to look like a damn Quaker. She does that too well,” he muttered.
Summers affected not to hear this last comment and carefully laid out fawn pantaloons, a coat of dark blue superfine and the one indulgence, a waistcoat of white satin embroidered with small blue flowers. If he judged the occasion right, his master would need to present himself a polished man. The duke meanwhile remained prone, shielding his eyes from the small amount of light in the room and wondering if he would ever manage to rise.
****
In thirty minutes he was discussing a surprisingly substantial breakfast. Three cups of coffee and he was feeling a good deal better, except for what lay ahead. He would have to walk to the Dower House and apologize. There was no help for it. Last night she had spurred him to such passion he had made a complete fool of himself. And now he was about to make a fool of himself again. But there was no way out of it, he would have to apologize. She was leaving in two days, wasn’t that what she’d said? Surely he could play the gentleman until he saw her safely dispatched to Wiltshire.
But he didn’t want her in Wiltshire, didn’t want her living unappreciated, her soul sapped for a pittance, her looks and health lost to the slavery
that was governessing. What was the alternative? It had to be marriage. No matter how much she might protest, Elinor needed a husband. But not Mr. Ferrers, he thought. What must Celia have been thinking? Not Mr. Ferrers, nor anyone like him. Elinor was a lady, beautiful and intelligent. She deserved the very best. But who? No one worthy came to mind.
He sat staring at his devilled kidneys for nearly ten minutes, thinking hard. Then it came to him. She could marry him! He would offer himself as her husband—cousins could marry. She belonged at Allingham and if they married, she could stay at the Hall forever. She loved the house and it was right she should make it her home. And as for him, he must one day marry and provide an heir. He had been assiduous in pushing that thought away, just as he had pushed away knowledge of Jonathan’s death. If Jonty had lived, he would have chosen a wife and secured the future of the estate. Now it was up to him. He had no heir other than Roland and the thought of his cousin filling his shoes flooded him with repugnance. The man was second rate, third rate even, and he would do anything to prevent him inheriting. Marriage and an heir would effectively shatter whatever ambitions Roland might be nursing.
It would be a business arrangement, he decided. He might lust after Elinor but he did not love her; he did not love any woman, he was incapable of it, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise. Elinor might treasure a romantic vision of love but her history showed her to be a practical woman, certainly one who had known the hardships of life. Might she not be content with what he had to offer? He knew her for a lively companion, someone with whom he could enjoy banter, books, the small comedies of life. And she fascinated him. He was infatuated with her—witness last night’s humiliation—but in time, like all infatuations, it would burn itself out. He smiled ruefully as he remembered the way he’d stormed into her room and then … he couldn’t recall their lovemaking in detail but he knew he’d enjoyed every minute. She had too. She would be a willing partner in bed and keep him interested, at least until an heir had come into the world. Then they could go their separate ways as long as they were both discreet. He would not interfere in her private friendships and would expect the same consideration. In public they would remain a devoted couple, the Duke and Duchess of Allingham. It was perfect.
Chapter Ten
Elinor breakfasted alone. Both Celia and her son had disappeared on errands and she had time to sit quietly and ponder the events of the previous evening. Too much time. They had now begun to assume hideous proportions. She had not only failed to raise the alarm as soon as Gabriel blundered into her room but had allowed him the most appalling freedom. He was drunk, it was true, and he was a large man but he had not forced her. She had wanted his touch, longed for it to continue—even now she could feel her body sing. She had always suspected that staying at Allingham would prove dangerous and now she had the full measure. The memory of their bodies so closely entwined would be with her for years—but it had to remain a memory. She must stay sequestered within the Dower House until Monday when Roland’s carriage would take her to the White Horse and the London-bound coach for the first stage of her journey to Malmesbury. Then she could breathe more easily, she told herself. She looked up as she heard a crunch of gravel outside the breakfast room and saw through the window a tall figure advancing towards the front door. She was not going to breathe easily after all.
Lady Frant’s maid announced the duke, her eyes fairly goggling. It was clear that news of the night’s disturbance had traveled around the Hall and beyond. How very dreadful! Gabriel strode through the open doorway and she saw with surprise he was dressed as though for a formal occasion. A slight flush warmed his tanned skin but he betrayed no awkwardness as he came forward to make his bow.
“Good morning, cousin,” he said deliberately. He rarely called her that and she could see it was for the maid’s benefit.
“It is a beautiful morning and I wondered if I might interest you in a stroll. The gardens are looking particularly fine.”
She was going to refuse but then saw the appeal on his face and the maid’s fascinated stare. This was better than a play for her and Elinor could see she was storing up every minute to recount to her fellows later in the day.
“I will fetch my bonnet,” she said hurriedly.
Once in her room she cast around for the plainest she owned but ended by cramming on her head the only hat in sight, a charming high brimmed confection fashioned from broderie anglaise and trimmed with cream flowers. She hoped he would not feel the need to offer her compliments on it but when she rejoined him in the breakfast room, he said nothing and ushered her directly into the hall and through the front door, leaving the maid paralyzed with mouth ajar.
****
They walked slowly across the sloping lawns. The hour was still early and the sun gentle. The clustered perfume of roses wafted towards them from the nearby arbor and a flight of swallows arrowed the sky above. At any other time they would have delighted in such a morning. Along a series of steps, terrace by terrace they strolled, dropping downwards through a network of graveled paths towards the smooth oval of the lake.
There had been silence between them until the duke said quietly, “Thank you for agreeing to walk with me this morning.” She said nothing but continued at a steady pace.
“Thank you,” he repeated. “It was important I see you to apologize for the disturbance I caused last night. I am sincerely sorry.”
When she still said nothing, he was moved to add, “You must know that I was not quite myself.”
“I may have led a sheltered life,” she retorted, “but I do recognize when a man is—what is the expression—half-sprung.”
“Then I hope you will forget my temporary lapse of good manners.”
“I would be more than happy to forget what can only be a painful memory for us both.”
Not so painful, he thought, remembering the warmth of her mouth, the way her body had melted against his while her breasts hardened to his touch. It was a very sweet memory but he was not about to share it. He had business to conduct and said in what he hoped was a neutral voice, “I was unreasonably angry with you—for accusing me unjustly and for being so determined to leave Allingham for a job that cannot be anything but thankless.”
“Have we not had this conversation before?”
“I am attempting to explain why I behaved so badly.”
“I thought we had just agreed we would not think further on it.”
She gestured ahead. A large expanse of water shimmered before them, shadowed on all sides by delicate willows which bent lovingly to kiss its surface. “We have reached the lake and I should be returning to the Dower House, else Lady Frant will wonder where I am.”
“Before you do, we should walk across the bridge while we have the chance. It is unlikely to be with us for very long,” Gabriel said wryly.
An island had been built at the very center of the lake and from there a fountain played continuously, sending concentric ripples lapping softly at its edge. Several schools of fish foraged in the clear waters or played amid its waving weeds. He watched as Elinor walked half way along the bridge and leant over the worn parapet to gaze at the smallest fish as they darted for cover.
For once he found himself at a loss for words and when he joined her on the bridge, it was to say hesitantly, “I have thought much about our mutual situation.”
She offered no help, staring at him in puzzlement. The interview was going to be more difficult than he’d imagined.
“I need to marry,” he said bluntly. “I am the only surviving Claremont and, who knows, I could go into a decline at any time.”
His jest plummeted to the ground and he saw she was still looking questioningly at him. “There is the delicate business of an heir, you see,” he said awkwardly. “I will have to marry.”
“But you have an heir—your cousin?” she hazarded.
“He is his father’s son, a true Frant. What he is not is a Claremont, but you are—in all but name. And I hope you will ag
ree to take that as your own. It rightfully belongs to you.”
Her face manifested utter bewilderment. He was making a complete mull of it. The man who could twist women round his finger and get whatever he wanted!
In desperation, he blurted out, “I hope you will accept my offer of marriage.”
“What!”
“I am asking you to marry me, Elinor.”
She stood stock still and looked at him directly. Her eyes were at the level of his chin and her glance did not waver. “Are you newly drunk or is this the aftermath of last night’s indulgence?”
“It is neither. It is a serious proposition. Please listen to what I have to say before you reject the idea. I think it will work admirably for both of us.”
“Work? Are we talking of marriage or a business undertaking?”
“Both, that is the beauty of my scheme. You will say you have found employment and need no husband, but think of the years to come. Will you still feel similarly as a much older woman? I must marry; I must have an heir. You are in need of a home and where more appropriate than Allingham?”
He was now in full flow, his confidence restored. It really was that simple and surely she would see the benefits for them both.
She was still staring fixedly, not at him, but somewhere far into the distance. When she spoke, her voice was dazed, a little flat. “So this is to be a marriage of convenience?”
“I would not pretend otherwise and you are too honest not to agree. We may not be in love but neither are we romantically involved with others. There would seem to be no impediment to our marrying.”
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