by Liana Lefey
So happy…
“I’ll have Yarborough’s stones for this,” Sorin muttered as Marston paid the servant and shut the door behind him. Eleanor lay in a stupor on a couch in one of Cleveland House’s salons, a faint smile on her lips.
“Worry about that later,” said his friend. Leaning over Eleanor, Marston lifted one of her eyelids, eliciting a weak protest. He cursed softly. “Her pupils are like pinpricks. The bastard dosed her with something, likely an opiate. We have to find Charles and—”
“No,” Sorin interrupted quickly. “If we tell Charles now, he’ll call Yarborough out.”
“Under the circumstances, I’m afraid I don’t really see how it can be avoided,” said Marston, shaking his head slowly. “There were witnesses.”
“Lady Ashford is with child, and the pregnancy is causing her a great deal of discomfort,” Sorin explained awkwardly. “The stress would endanger both her and the child. I’ll tell him everything later in private where we can decide how to handle the matter without her being the wiser. But first we must get Ellie out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.”
“Agreed,” said the other man after a moment. Again he bent to peel back one of Eleanor’s lids. “Considering that he was after her inheritance, I doubt Yarborough gave her enough of anything to put her in danger but—”
“I’ll send for a physician as soon as we get to Ashford’s house,” Sorin assured him. And then I’m going to hunt down Yarborough, run him through from bow to stern with a dull sword, and rub salt in his wounds.
“How may I be of assistance?”
The question brought Sorin back to the present. “Wait until after I get her out and then go find Charles. Tell him she fell ill and that I escorted her home. Assure him it’s nothing urgent, and above all mention nothing of Yarborough. I want no suspicions raised over her departure. I’ll stay with her until they arrive home.”
With Marston going ahead to ensure the path was clear, Sorin carried Eleanor through the servants’ corridors to better avoid encountering anyone they knew. He hardly breathed until they put her in his carriage. Propping Eleanor up in the opposite corner, he watched to make sure she didn’t fall as they began to move.
Everything went smoothly until they made the first turn out onto the street. Dislodged by the motion, Eleanor slumped and swayed dangerously. Leaping up, he went and sat beside her to prevent her tumbling onto the floor. A pothole then necessitated flinging an arm across her chest to hold her steady.
Turning with a deep sigh, Eleanor snuggled into him.
Panic, along with a tearing streak of desire, sucked all the breath from Sorin’s lungs. His mouth went dry as she mumbled something unintelligible, her lips parting less than a hand span from his. Very carefully, he tried to reposition her facing away so as to facilitate an escape to the safety of the other seat.
But the lady was having none of that. Now that she’d been roused to wakefulness, she seemed intent on seeking out human contact. He froze as she scooted closer—and laid back across his lap. Paralyzed, he waited, hoping she would subside back into a somnolent state.
Instead, she arched up, nuzzling against his chest and neck.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his cheek against the golden softness of her hair and inhaled deeply of her lavender scent. He was unlikely to ever have another chance to hold her. This would end in a moment, and she would never be this close to him again. He let her rest against him, content with her unknowing gift—until she reached up, pulled his head down, and covered his mouth with her own.
A shock of want lanced down from the point of contact all the way through his vitals to the seat of his desire, hardening him with dizzying, near-painful haste. The carriage jolted, and some devil-cursed instinct made his arms tighten around her, drawing her closer. His will unraveled as with a groan Eleanor opened her mouth farther and ran the tip of her tongue along the crease of his lips.
All restraint went straight to hell.
Pulling her hard against him, he gave free reign to his desire and kissed her with all the passion he’d withheld for so long, taking what she gave and returning it in full measure. His hands roamed, discovering her shape, skimming at will across her back and down her flanks, moving to cup perfect breasts barely covered by the low neckline of her gown.
She arched her back, and the gentle swells enticed him, their hardening peaks just visible beneath material pulled taut over them. At the brush of his thumb across one, the woman in his arms breathed a low moan against his lips. His heart hammered like a battering ram against his chest as her breath became fast and uneven.
Eleanor… Eleanor…
His hand wandered lower, finding the hem of her dress and running beneath it to caress a slim, stockinged calf, knee, and then thigh. He toyed with the garter for a moment before continuing up, driven by the need to touch her, to feel her silken flesh against his palm. She squirmed as he neared the juncture of her thighs, but she didn’t pull away, not even when his fingers brushed the soft curls that concealed her womanhood.
Cupping the plump, hot mound, he drew his thumb up along the delicate crease and heard her breath catch on a soft cry as he found the swollen jewel nestled within. Thrilling to the sound, he stroked the slick, sensitive bud until she writhed against him. Reaching down, she covered his hand with her own, urging him on.
She was ready. Slipping lower, he dipped a little farther and gently pressed, following the rhythm of her breathing until he felt her body stiffen in his arms and her passage clench. Covering her mouth with his own, he muffled her outcry even as he worked to prolong her climax.
When she at last relaxed against him, he withdrew his hand and looked down—into her open eyes. Eyes glazed with pure, unadulterated lust.
Everything—including, it seemed, his heart—simply stopped. Time didn’t resume its steady march until her eyes drifted shut a moment later. With a long, contented sigh, Eleanor sank back into the arms of oblivion, a woman’s smile curling lips swollen from his kisses.
Reality came thundering down on Sorin like a landslide as he pulled back and settled her against the squabs. Part of him felt no regret—the animal part that was even now aroused almost beyond the point of self-control. The other part, the decent part of him, recoiled over his deplorable conduct. He’d damned near lost control of himself. Another moment or two and he would have taken her right here in the carriage.
Only a scoundrel would take advantage of a lady in her condition. I’m no better than Yarborough.
Turning, Eleanor flung an arm over her head and muttered incoherently, snuggling deeper into the cushioned seat. In all of her mumblings, he’d heard no mention of love—for him or anyone else. Does she even know I’m here? She’d looked right at him a moment ago, but had she truly seen him? Were her actions spurred on by a hidden desire for him or was it merely animal need, incited by the drug, that had driven her to behave like a wanton?
The drug. If it truly was an opiate Yarborough had given her, it couldn’t have been the sole impetus. She would certainly have been incapacitated, but not impassioned. Had he given her something else? Alarmed, he checked her pulse. It was slow, but steady, as was her breathing. She was in a deep sleep.
He sat back, feeling hollow inside, drained.
Will she remember? Some—not all, but some—did recall events that occurred while they soared on the wings of opium. His heart seized at the thought. Would she hate him? It was too much to hope that she would remember the pleasure and crave his touch again. He wouldn’t allow his heart to cling to such a fantasy. Better to hope instead that she would have no memory of the incident at all.
He would have no way of knowing until she awakened fully.
While he ruminated over his troubles, Eleanor slept peacefully the rest of the way to St. James’s Square.
When they arrived at Ashford’s house, he sent the driver to get help. Though he longed to hold her in his arms again, he couldn’t risk another unconscious attempt on her part to sedu
ce him. Ashford’s staff would be scandalized enough already. Two footmen came out to assist him, as well as her maid.
Sorin waited outside Eleanor’s room while the housekeeper and servants got her settled and sent for a physician. Then, despite vociferous protest from the housekeeper, he pulled up a chair and waited by her bedside, unwilling to leave her.
Charles and Rowena arrived half an hour later. Leaving his beloved to the womenfolk, Sorin drew Charles aside and asked to speak with him privately. “She is not ill,” he told his friend as soon as the door closed. “She was drugged.”
“Drugged?” Charles sat abruptly, paling. “Are you certain? Marston said she’d grown sick and—”
“It was Yarborough.”
“Tell me everything,” demanded his friend.
“Marston was helping me keep an eye on Eleanor and saw them go out onto the terrace. When he followed a few minutes later, he discovered Yarborough attempting to compromise her.” Sorin watched his friend’s pallor disappear, replaced by an unhealthy brick-red flush. “She collapsed just as he reached them. When he discerned her condition, he accused Yarborough of treachery. The bastard denied any wrongdoing, of course, and fled. Marston managed to help her to a salon and then sent for me. We both suspect Yarborough gave her some sort of opiate. A physician has already been sent for.”
“Did anyone see them?”
Sorin remembered what Marston had said and forced himself to repeat it. “Marston said a couple coming back from the garden witnessed the incident. How much they saw is in question, and they may or may not talk of it, depending on whether or not theirs was an illicit tryst.”
“Dear God,” muttered Charles, passing a trembling hand over his face. “If they do talk, it’ll be her ruination, drug or no drug. Why in the seven hells would Yarborough take such a terrible risk? He might have killed her!”
“Is not her inheritance enough of a reason? Had he actually managed to compromise her, you’d have had no—”
“I would have had no choice but to call him out,” interrupted Charles flatly.
“That, or convince her to marry him and avoid such unpleasantness,” Sorin said, hating every word.
“Force her to marry a man who would take her against her will?” Charles snorted. “I’d sooner send her off to America! Eleanor is more a sister to me than a cousin. I would never ask her to do such a thing.”
Sorin squirmed inside, feeling the acid burn of shame and guilt. No. He hadn’t taken Ellie against her will, but he’d come very damned close. And no matter how he tried to rationalize what he’d done, there was no acceptable justification. He’d fallen prey to lust, plain and simple. Charles would never forgive him if he found out. Everything depended on Eleanor now, on whether she remembered the ride home and, if so, how she felt about what had happened.
He debated for a moment the wisdom of it, but then decided it was best that Charles knew of his visit to Bow Street and the findings of his investigation. At least he could do that much to help further ensure her safety.
“The greedy bastard!” swore Charles, eyes bulging as he listened. “I’ll have him hung! I’ll tie the bloody knot myself. I’ll—I’ll—”
“You’ll keep quiet,” cut in Rowena.
They both turned to see her standing in the doorway. Neither man had heard her come in.
“I’ve been listening for some time now,” she said calmly. “The physician arrived almost immediately after you two left. He said she appears to have taken too much laudanum, but that she should be well enough by morning. Sorin, I cannot thank you enough for your help. There is no possible way to express my gratitude to you and Lord Marston for taking care of this matter so discreetly.”
Entering the room, she came and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Charles, if you call him out, it will not only result in you having to risk your life, but it will cause a terrible scandal that will ruin Eleanor. And before you object, understand that it will ruin her, no matter the outcome. In this case, the reality of her innocence does not matter in the face of what people will think. If all remains quiet, we should leave it and be thankful.”
Charles’s face fell. “I suppose you must be right—but it sits not well with me at all!” He smacked a fist into his palm. “The blackguard deserves a good thrashing at the very least!”
“We will deal with this quietly,” she insisted, shaking her head. “Tomorrow morning, you will speak with Yarborough in private and warn him that any further offense will result in serious consequences for his entire family. I’ll leave it to you gentlemen to determine what that will entail in the event he is foolish enough not to comply.”
Sorin looked at Charles. “I think it’s time I visited Bow Street again.” He would see Stafford first thing in the morning. And this time, he wouldn’t come back empty-handed.
Chapter Eighteen
Eleanor’s eyes felt like someone had poured sand under the lids and her head ached with a dull throb that matched the beating of her heart. Certain other parts throbbed, too, she noted—but in a more frustratingly pleasant sort of way. She turned over, unwilling to let go of the delicious dream.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Too lethargic to jump in surprise, Eleanor merely groaned in protest and rolled over to peer at Rowena. “I feel terrible,” she croaked. Her mouth was ash dry. “May I have some water?” She closed her eyes and lay back again, partly to ease her pounding head and partly to try and recapture a little more of that dream before it dissolved completely—in it, Sorin had been kissing her, touching her. The cool rim of a cup against her lips shattered the final remnants of that lovely vision.
Damn.
“Not too much at first,” cautioned Rowena, pulling it away before she could gulp down any more. “You’ve had a bad turn.”
Confusion set in as she looked around. “It’s morning,” she said, blinking. She’d been at the Cleveland ball… “How did I get here?”
Rowena turned away, but not before Eleanor saw a black look cross her features. “What do you remember of last night?”
Eleanor tried to concentrate and found it hard to do for the lingering fog in her mind. “I danced with Lord Marston, and then I saw…” She stopped. She’d been about to say she saw Sorin flirting with that dark-haired witch, Eugenia. Pain tore at her heart. Get over it and move on… She took a steadying breath. “I went to the terrace with Sir Yarborough to speak with him privately. I was going to explain to him the futility of his continued pursuit.”
Rowena’s gaze sharpened. “And?”
“He seemed to receive my refusal quite w—” She frowned as a muddled memory surfaced. An ugly one. “No, wait. He was…” She struggled to bring it back, but all she could recall were flashes of his snarling face and her own vague feelings of anger and disgust. And fear. “He was wroth with me. And I was angry with him. I—”
“He drugged you,” interrupted Rowena, her voice hard. “According to the physician that attended you last night, he used laudanum. Quite a lot of it.”
Eleanor flinched as, all at once, every nerve in her body sprang wide awake. She fought down a sudden urge to vomit. “The punch! He offered me champagne at first, but I refused. I sent him to fetch me some punch instead. It tasted bitter—I thought they’d forgotten to sweeten it.” Horrified, she covered her mouth with her hands. “What…did anything h—happen?” she asked weakly, afraid to hear.
“Nothing more than a kiss, thank God,” answered Rowena, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “Lord Marston said he found you with Yarborough, just as you collapsed. Yarborough told him you’d fainted, but our friend quickly realized it was a lie and got you safely away. Sorin brought you here in his carriage and called for a physician while Lord Marston came to tell us you’d taken ill.”
“Did anyone see me?” Was all of London abuzz this morning with the juicy tale of her disgrace?
Her guardian’s pause made her squirm with apprehension.
Rowena met her eyes. “According t
o Lord Marston, there was a couple coming up from the garden about the same time you fainted. We don’t know who they are or how much they saw. Only two of the Clevelands’ servants know you left the ball early and they were told you’d taken ill.”
Eleanor sagged against the pillows, tears stinging her sore eyes. Rage washed everything in red, rage the likes of which she’d never known could exist within her. “If I ever see Donald Yarborough again, I’ll kill him.”
Reaching out, Rowena clasped her hand. “We both know that cannot happen, but if you wish, you may have Charles bring charges against him on your behalf. As your guardian and as a peer of the realm, he has that right. If you testify along with Lord Marston and the physician who examined you last night, there is little doubt that Yarborough will be thrown in prison. However, such a course would likely result in a monumental scandal, one you might not survive with your reputation intact, no matter your innocence.”
Breathing slowly, Eleanor steadied her racing heart. “If I do, he’ll only refute my accusations and drag my name through the sewer,” she said flatly. “And yours, as well. Even if he loses, even if he is thrown in prison to rot forever, he will still win.” Yarborough’s ugly words resurfaced through the fog. “He resents my having laid him low when we were children and would relish the thought of returning the favor.”
“I concur. But we will support you, whatever your decision. If you choose not to involve the magistrate, however, Charles is prepared to speak with him privately.”
“I will not allow Charles to call him out,” Eleanor said at once, terrified at the prospect.
“No, nor will I,” agreed Rowena with a vehement shake of her head. “But there are other methods of persuasion that may be brought to bear, if the threat of being dragged before the magistrate is not enough to deter him.”
Her head hurt. And her heart, as well. It should never have come to this. “As long as he can promise me that it won’t result in a duel, I would have Charles address him privately.”
Rowena nodded and stood, straightening her skirts. “I’ll tell him.”
