by Carla Kelly
Damnation. He knew he was finding her...tempting, now it seemed the attraction might be mutual.
* * *
She had been thinking that Drew Padgett was comfortingly big. It had certainly been a wonderfully novel sensation to be picked up and swung to safety when that cart had lurched towards her in Fleet Street and the way he had stood between her and those lawyers, as though protecting her from marauding French soldiery, had made her heart beat fast.
But now she found herself sitting within inches of that broad chest and getting a very good view of his decided nose and strong jaw and the dark foreshadowing of his evening beard. It was more than she could resist not to lift her gaze to those grey eyes. He was looking at her mouth, she realised, and the tip of her tongue had crept out to run along her lower lip.
Ellie closed her mouth so sharply that she almost bit the end of her tongue.
I must have lost my mind. Surely if I had waited someone else might have applied? Someone stout and rather stolid or plain and worthy and skinny. Now I have to spend days pretending to be in love with a man who makes my toes curl, who is going to hold my hand and pretend to be in love with me. A man who might kiss me. Might? Will.
‘And tomorrow will be the first day you have met any of them, so any gaps in your knowledge can be easily explained,’ she said, certain she was gabbling. She got to her feet rather too quickly, tangled her legs in his voluminous greatcoat and found he was on his feet, too, one arm around her to steady her. ‘Thank you.’ She stepped away, made a business of smoothing down her skirts. ‘Oh, dear, the sun has gone in. It will soon become quite cold.’
And I sound a complete ninny.
The Captain—Drew—helped her over the knee-high wooden rail that edged the Fields and led her across the path. It was one of the largest open spaces in London that was not a park and it took them several minutes to traverse.
She should not be getting herself into such a dither. Unlike the other men who had courted her—and who had all made it clear, with varying degrees of tact, that they were nobly overlooking her birth for her fortune—this man’s motives were perfectly acceptable. Money, yes, but she was purchasing his services just as she had bought Mr Ague’s.
Almost home and safe, she thought as they walked up Little Queen Street and crossed High Holborn. What is the matter with me? If I do not feel safe, then all I have to do is tell him I fear we should not suit for this enterprise. I would have to pay him off, of course, but I can afford it and it would only be fair.
‘This house on the corner?’ It was smart and expensive, but she wanted to make a good impression when the girls had their come-out.
‘It is. You will call tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes. Ah, we have an audience,’ Drew said. He sounded amused. ‘The nearest window. I will pretend I haven’t seen them.’
Ellie risked a glance. It was the drawing-room casement and Cousin Joan was watching the street from what she mistakenly thought was the protection of the curtains. Behind her both twins had come to see what had attracted her attention.
Drew halted opposite the window and turned so they were facing each other. For a second Ellie thought he was about to shake hands. Instead he began to peel off her glove.
‘What are you doing?’
‘We don’t want to waste an audience.’ Drew lifted her bare fingers to his lips. He was going to kiss them? No one except elderly gentlemen kissed hands any longer.
But Drew, it seemed, did. It wasn’t even for show, halting a fraction above her hand. Oh, no, the wretch was putting her to the blush in front of her family by lingering over a proper kiss, his lips warm on her slightly chilled skin.
It is only my hand...
Which did not explain why interesting tingles were running up her arm, why she wanted to cup his cheek and lean in so that he kissed her lips.
Drew was clearly a mind-reader. He turned her hand until it was palm up and pressed his lips to that. And not just his lips—she felt the tip of his tongue, moist and impudent, trace a line across the sensitive skin until the sensations made her want to squirm. And grab hold of him.
‘Drew.’
He raised his head an inch or so and looked at her wickedly through his lashes. ‘I have just proposed and been accepted. You do not want me to appear completely unmoved at having all my hopes confirmed, do you?’
‘No, n-not exactly.’ Oh, he was reducing her to a stammering ninny now. ‘I really must go in.’
‘Of course. I will see you tomorrow morning. Would eleven be acceptable? Not the conventional time for a morning call, but we have a lot to discuss.’
‘Yes, perfectly acceptable.’ Ellie managed to extract her fingers. She had been gripping his hand, she realised. ‘Perfectly.’ She found she was lifting her bare hand towards his cheek. ‘My glove?’ she managed to say.
Chapter Three
Ellie was still clutching the glove when the front door closed behind her.
‘Miss Jordan?’ Peter, their footman, waited patiently while she stood palpitating.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ Ellie thrust bonnet and gloves at him and unbuttoned her redingote. ‘Has tea been taken in?’
‘Cook is preparing it now, Miss Jordan.’
Ellie opened the drawing-room door to find her three female relatives staring at her with varying degrees of shock, amazement and, in Maddie’s case, poorly suppressed laughter, the wretch.
‘Eleanor—who was that man?’ Cousin Joan quavered. ‘He was kissing your hand.’
‘He was devouring it,’ Maddie corrected.
‘And he is delicious,’ Claire added. ‘Come and sit down and tell us all about him.’
‘His name is Captain Andrew Padgett and he is an officer of artillery. And he has just asked me to marry him and I have accepted,’ she finished in a rush. ‘Oh, Maddie, do catch Cousin Joan, she has swooned.’
Cousin Joan fainted often enough for the reaction to be routine. Their chaperon was inclined to stoutness—and cake—and, as a consequence, favoured severe tight-lacing. Added to her acute sensibility, this meant that she was quite capable of passing out at the slightest provocation. Claire waved the smelling salts under her nose while Maddie lowered her to the sofa.
‘Where did you meet?’ the twins demanded in chorus as they tucked a rug around their chaperon’s feet.
‘As you know, I have been calling on our lawyers and Drew—Captain Padgett—has been consulting his own lawyers over an inheritance,’ she said for Cousin Joan’s benefit. They had discovered the hard way that her hearing was sharp even when she appeared to be unconscious. ‘We...er...bumped into each other and he assisted me to cross Fleet Street and then saved me when a wagon almost hit me and it all just escalated from that. A whirlwind romance, you might say.’
Both twins gave her broad grins over the prostrate form of Cousin Joan, who was moaning faintly. When they had discussed what she had been planning to do neither had held out much hope that the right man could be found.
‘Captain Padgett is calling tomorrow morning to meet you all.’ Ellie sat down and stared rather blankly at her hand. Had she just dreamed that kiss? The little sore prick mark from the holly was still there, so the entire afternoon had not been a fantasy.
‘You could invite him for Christmas,’ Maddie exclaimed, with the air of having just thought of it.
‘Invite who?’ Theo came in, followed by the maid with the tea tray. ‘I thought we had a houseful.’
‘Ellie is betrothed,’ Claire announced gleefully.
Theo grinned. ‘Congratulations, Ellie.’
‘One does not congratulate a lady on her betrothal—one congratulates the gentleman.’ Cousin Joan sat up and pushed her lacy cap straight. ‘One offers felicitations to a lady, otherwise it implies that the lady is over-anxious to secure a husband.’
If she only knew...
‘Then felicitations, Sister dear,’ Theo said. ‘Do you think Uncle Gregory will approve of him?’
‘He is an army officer. Artillery.’
‘And very manly,’ Claire added, fanning herself with her hand and batting her eyelashes. ‘Such shoulders. And long legs and—’
‘And as an artillery officer he is interested in mathematics, I understand,’ Ellie interrupted.
‘Clever,’ Theo murmured as he took a tea cup from her to give to their cousin.
‘He is calling tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, goodness, I had quite forgotten. I had promised the Vicar that I would help decorate the pews with evergreens,’ Cousin Joan said. ‘I will send a note at once to excuse myself. I must be here to chaperon you.’
‘No need,’ Ellie said brightly. ‘You can meet Captain Padgett, then go along to the church. The twins and Theo will be all the chaperons I require.’
‘Goodness, yes,’ Maddie said earnestly. ‘We want to find out all about him. It will be a positive interrogation. We will not leave them alone for a second.’
‘Well, I suppose that would be acceptable. But I must meet him first. You are an innocent young woman and this man may not be all he seems to you.’
Ellie would have wagered her pin money against a lump of coal that even with her sheltered existence she knew more about rakes than Cousin Joan, but she nodded solemnly. ‘Mr Ague has approved him, obviously.’
‘Oh, well, in that case...’ Both Mr Agues were infallible in Joan’s eyes.
‘I have invited him for Christmas,’ Ellie explained.
‘But we have no room, dear. Your uncle and aunt always prefer a bedchamber apiece and I’m sure your Captain Padgett will not wish to share with Dr Jenkins, you know what an insomniac he is.’
‘If we put a mattress in my dressing room I’ll sleep there and the Captain may have my bed,’ Theo offered. ‘Anything for a good cause.’ He winked at Ellie. ‘I can tell you if he snores.’
* * *
Drew rattled the knocker with rather more firmness than he was feeling. A hectic few hours buying new shirts and neckcloths and then being fussed over by Jack’s manservant until his uniform was approaching respectability had not left a great deal of time for contemplation the day before. Now it was dawning on him just what he had let himself in for and the possible consequences if the ruse was uncovered.
He could see the headlines now—Vagabond Viscount in Betrothal Charade. Absconding Aristocrat in Amorous Adventure. Or Cash-strapped Heir and the Wealthy Miss J—of H—Street...
Because there was no doubting that Eleanor Jordan had money. She might be born out of wedlock, but if the Agues were managing her inheritance, and she could afford to pay generously for this sort of subterfuge, then she was considerably better off than he was. Far better off than he would be once he had the millstone of his inheritance around his neck, come to that. The coal-merchant grandfather must have been a warm man and her past suitors had obviously hurt her with their passion for her fortune, not her person.
‘Good morning, Captain.’ The door was opened by a butler who directed a footman to relieve him of shako and gloves, then showed him into a drawing room. ‘Captain Padgett, Miss Jordan.’
Drew reminded himself that this was a social occasion and not a court martial and held out his hand as Eleanor advanced to meet him. ‘Miss Jordan. Eleanor.’ He held her hand for rather longer than was customary, taking in his first sight of her without her bonnet. His fiancée was even more disconcertingly attractive than he recalled, her hair was the dark, glossy brown he had guessed at.
He realised he was probably staring her out of countenance and turned to smile at the plump woman seated on the sofa regarding him with narrow-eyed attention. Presumably she was the chaperon. ‘Mrs Nutcombe?’
She inclined her head. ‘Indeed I am. And these are my other cousins, Miss Madeleine and Miss Claire Jordan.’ A pair of blonde young ladies both bobbed curtsies. ‘And Theodore Jordan.’
Theo, the object of this entire enterprise, was a boyish version of Eleanor, still growing into his feet and hands. Despite his years the look he gave Drew from long-lashed hazel eyes was anything but boyish.
This is my sister, the look said. Don’t forget it.
Drew approved of that.
He shook hands all round and discovered, to his relief, that Cousin Joan was off to assist the vicar with decorating the church for Christmas. ‘He relies on me very much in such matters,’ she confided.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath for the sound of the front door closing. The three sisters sank down on the sofa in a row and Theo waved to one of a pair of armchairs as he took the other. ‘Captain.’
‘We promised Cousin Joan that we would stick to Ellie like glue,’ one of the twins announced. ‘To protect her from your rakish wiles, you understand.’
‘Claire.’ Eleanor’s cheeks were flaming.
‘No wiles, I assure you, Miss Claire. But I will be showing your sister respectfully affectionate attention, otherwise our betrothal is not going to be very convincing.’
‘Like yesterday afternoon? That was so romantic,’ Maddie sighed.
‘Stop harassing Captain Padgett. He is here so we can tell him all the things he might be expected to know about if he has been courting me—and all the things to be wary of with Aunt and Uncle Wilmott.’
‘We will need a month,’ Claire said. ‘And they arrive the day after tomorrow and so does Uncle Tal.’
‘And it is Christmas Eve the day after that,’ Eleanor said briskly. ‘So we had better begin now.’
* * *
Drew felt as though he had just sat through a battle briefing with Wellington and without the benefit of notes. After an hour and two cups of tea he sank back in the chair and regarded the four Jordan siblings, all still talking with undiminished enthusiasm. ‘My brain is full.’
‘I am not surprised.’ Eleanor smiled at him and his body reminded him that although he might be mentally fatigued, it wasn’t and Miss Jordan was looking very fetching in moss-green wool with berry-red ribbons. ‘Would it help if you spent a quiet half-hour with Theo? The better you know him the easier it will be to convince Uncle that it is unnecessary to force him into the Navy.’
‘Of course.’
Theo was already on his feet. ‘We can go into the study.’
Drew followed. This was a very self-confident sixteen-year-old, but Drew’s performance with his uncle was perhaps all that stood between him and a miserable life at sea.
Theo opened the door into a pleasant book-lined room holding a desk with neat stacks of paper, a chalkboard covered in scrawled equations and, incongruous in the corner, a muddy pair of riding boots, a cricket bat and a fishing rod.
The youth who was apparently responsible for pin-neat paperwork and chaotic sporting equipment went to stand on the far side of the desk. ‘If you hurt my sister, I’ll make you wish you had never been born,’ he said without preliminaries.
Out of the corner of his eyes Drew could see the tremor in the ink-splattered hand, but he gave no sign of it. He could toss the lad across the room and crack all his limbs without breaking a sweat, even now when he was barely convalescent from his battlefield wounds and fever. Theo was bright enough to recognise the fact, but he would still doggedly protect Eleanor.
‘Excellent. I’d think worse of you if you did not feel like that. Now we’ve got it out of the way, shall we sit down and you can relax?’
Theo nodded, an abrupt jerk of his head, and subsided into his chair. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Call me Drew. So, what is so terrible about the Navy? You need excellent mathematical skills for navigation.’
‘I am interested in pure mathematics, not applied.’ He waved a hand at the chalkboard and Drew studied it, shook his head and did not even pretend to understand a line of it. ‘The art
illery or the Ordnance would be just as bad. I do not wish to undervalue your role, sir—Drew, I mean, but I want to be a creative mathematician. I need to work with others in the same field.’
Drew had known someone like that, a daydreamer of an artillery lieutenant who would go off into abstract calculations while shots flew about him. Until the day one took his head off.
‘I’m not of that academic world and there’s no way I can convince your uncle to look favourably on it. But I could try to persuade him to let you go into the army at some future date. We take subalterns older than the Navy does midshipmen so he won’t be expecting anything to happen for at least another year, by which time you’ll be at Cambridge. You are going to have to develop a passion for sweeping strategy, battlefield tactics and the latest ordnance in short order. Can you use a sword? Box?’
Theo shook his head, but he looked interested.
‘We can find plenty of exceedingly manly things to do that should impress your uncle and I’ll work on him, try to convince him that your skills would be wasted on navigation. I’ll bring you some texts on artillery.’
He was not at all the kind of lad Drew had expected—pale, solitary, absorbed in his studies. That he worked hard was obvious, but his reaction to Drew’s suggestions showed real enthusiasm. There was potential there and it would be a pleasure to get this round peg into a circular hole.
‘I had best go and pack up my things,’ he said. And there was his dress uniform to collect from the military tailors who, with the inducement of some of Mr Ague’s guineas waved under their noses, had promised to do their best to restore it in under twenty-four hours. Then there was the tailor in Clifton Street who might not be up to Weston’s standard, but who had also fallen under the spell of ready money and who were adjusting a swallowtail coat left by a defaulting client. They had also produced a pair of pantaloons which, after Jack’s valet’s utmost endeavours with his Hessians, completed a respectable outfit for day.
* * *
Eleanor left the drawing-room door ajar and kept an ear pricked for any sound of raised voices from the study. Theo was grateful for her scheme for his salvation, but he was also the man of the household and he took that role very seriously as far as his sisters were concerned.
