by Carla Kelly
Drew had brushed his hair, resumed his uniform jacket and stock and, she swore, actually clicked his heels together as he bowed to her relatives. ‘Lady Wilmott, Sir Gregory, Dr Jenkins. I must apologise for the scene as you arrived. I trust you were not much alarmed, Lady Wilmott? There is no need to concern yourself about Theo, I have fixed and splinted his arm.’
‘No, not at all alarmed. Concerned, naturally.’ Aunt Dorothea would not admit to alarm if a troop of Cossack horsemen rode through the drawing room in pursuit of a pack of wolves.
‘We had not expected you until much later,’ Ellie explained as they all resumed their seats, even, she was relieved to see, Uncle Gregory. Drew sat down on the sofa next to her, a respectable six inches away.
‘The threat of snow persuaded me to come up to London yesterday. We stayed at Grillon’s overnight. You are not with your regiment, Captain?’
‘I have been on sick leave since June, Sir Gregory, and since then on general leave. I have a modest inheritance coming to me and when that is settled I will make a decision about selling out.’ He turned and took Ellie’s hand in his. ‘Of course, now that is something Eleanor and I must discuss together.’
‘June? Waterloo?’ Uncle Gregory demanded.
‘Yes, Sir Gregory. An encounter with a French lancer.’ He said it as though there had been a mild exchange of fisticuffs.
Ellie thought of the red scars across his chest and stomach and clutched at his hand. It closed around her fingers, warm and calloused and comforting.
‘And yet you indulge in acrobatics in the hallway,’ Aunt Dorothea said.
‘I have been emphasising the importance of keeping fit to young Theo.’
The door opened to admit Theo. He sat down hastily in the nearest chair and produced a brave smile that made Ellie want to giggle. ‘Please excuse me, Aunt, if I sit.’
‘Theo, why have you come down? You should be resting in bed,’ Ellie said, half-rising before Drew pulled her back down beside him.
‘No, Eleanor, you really should not mollycoddle the lad,’ he said firmly with a patronising smile that removed all desire to giggle and replaced it with the urge to box his ears. It is simply acting, she told herself. ‘Your brother is perfectly all right, aren’t you, Theo? The effort to be sociable will take your mind off the pain.’
Theo nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, bravely.
‘Your wrist is broken?’ Uncle Tal asked. ‘Not your right one, I’m glad to see.’
‘My left is hurt.’
‘A fall like that with the hands put out to save oneself is always the most dangerous for breaking wrists,’ Drew said. He seemed to have forgotten that he was holding Ellie’s hand and his fingers were idly drawing circles in her palm, his thumb pressing lightly on the swelling below her own. It was most unsettling, although not unpleasant.
Not unpleasant at all.
‘I suspected such an injury at once,’ he added. ‘They respond well to being immobilised immediately. However, there is always the danger that the wrist may be left permanently weakened.’
‘Weakened?’ her uncle said sharply.
‘Ah, yes. There was talk of him joining as midshipman quite soon, I believe? It could be a problem, of course.’ He managed to make it sound as though that had only just occurred to him. ‘It isn’t something that would be a handicap for an army officer, but climbing rigging, keeping one’s footing in rough seas—and certainly handling a sextant—those need both hands to be strong.’
‘Good grief.’ Sir Gregory stared at Theo in alarm. ‘You must not worry, my boy. Proper treatment and exercise will soon put it to rights.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Theo said, looking at Drew. ‘I’ll try not to fret about it. But you think that even if it is too weakened for the Navy I might still be able to join the Army? It wouldn’t affect my riding?’ He turned a wistful look towards his uncle. ‘That was something I would have missed so much in the Navy.’
Don’t overdo it. Ellie signalled frantically with her eyes. ‘Uncle Gregory knows best, Theo,’ she said placating. ‘I’m sure the Navy is safer anyway.’
‘Safety is not something that concerns Theo, I’m sure,’ Drew said. ‘He wants to do his duty.’ He turned to look at the older man. ‘I understand yours takes you on a diplomatic mission, Sir Gregory. Is it something you are able to talk about?’
* * *
By breakfast on Christmas Eve Drew thought he was beginning to make some progress. Theo was playing up well, acting the brave invalid impatient to put his injury behind him. Eleanor was fussing just enough to give point to his own bracing interjections and Dr Jenkins was being tactful and saying nothing about the university.
The two scholars vanished into the study mid-morning when Theo was supposed to be resting, but Sir Gregory did not seem to notice and Drew had managed to brush the chalk dust off the lad when he reappeared.
‘Time for some manly sports, I think,’ he said, pushing Theo firmly back into the room. He folded the chalkboard, shoved the desk to one side and stacked books on the piles of paperwork.
‘“Calculations for the Elevation of Field Guns”,’ Theo said, picking up one. ‘“Geometry for Artillery Officers...” I’ve already had a look at these. They’re interesting. But what the blazes do we want with two broom handles?’
‘Singlestick practice. Ever tried it?’ Drew swung at Theo’s ankles, making him jump. ‘Nice and noisy,’ he added with a grin. ‘Let’s get that arm strapped firmly to your side and we’ll have some fun.’
It did not take more than a few clashes of the sticks before they attracted an audience. Jumping and dodging were enough to jar Theo’s sore wrist and he put on a good show of gritted teeth and bravely suppressed winces. His sisters clustered around the door, applauding both fighters impartially until chased away by Cousin Joan, clucking with disapproval over the shirt sleeves on display, but Eleanor marched straight in, her uncles behind her.
‘Drew, how could you be so thoughtless? You’ll hurt him!’
‘Nonsense, my dear,’ Drew said and grinned at her narrow-eyed response to his patronising tone. She might think he was overdoing it, but they hadn’t the time for too much subtlety. ‘The lad needs his exercise. Another five minutes will do no harm.’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ Theo said with a stab at Drew’s midriff that won applause from Sir Gregory.
‘What’s this you’re reading?’ Dr Jenkins skirted the combatants and picked up the nearest book. ‘Artillery tactics, eh? Thought you weren’t interested in this practical stuff.’
‘There’s more scope for development with land-based artillery than there is with naval gunnery,’ Theo said, momentarily distracted. ‘Ouch.’
‘Indeed? Explain that to me, would you, my boy?’ Sir Gregory picked up another of the texts.
Drew edged out of the door and into the empty dining room, taking Eleanor with him. He pushed the door closed on the sound of Theo’s fluent, incomprehensible and entirely fictitious lecture on the geometry of cannon fire. ‘It really is only a slight sprain.’ Somehow he had kept hold of her hand and now she was in his arms, her head against his chest. He was not complaining, even though Eleanor seemed more moved by the need for reassurance than anything else.
‘I know,’ she said, breath warm through his shirt. ‘I’m not overdoing the fussing, am I?’
‘No, it is perfect.’
You’re perfect. Soft, feminine, intelligent and loyal.
There was a strong shell around Eleanor Jordan, he had come to realise, but she put it on as a knight dons his armour. She was head of her little family and she would fight to a standstill for them—but who was there to fight for her? A sixteen-year-old youth, two young sisters and adult relatives who, fond as they were, found her birth an embarrassment and would like to see her married off. And a canny solicitor who seemed to be all that stood between her and unscrupulou
s fortune hunters.
And there is me, Drew thought, adjusting his stance so he was holding her steady without either of them having to clutch at the other. Me for a week, he reminded himself, even as he lowered his head so he could nuzzle into her hair.
There it was again, that feeling of warmth, of rightness, when he was around Eleanor. Who needed this embrace more? Drew told himself that he was simply unsettled by change, by the loss of the easy army comradeship, by the looming responsibilities ahead of him.
‘I’m sorry.’ Eleanor was moving back, flustered now, but still within the circle of his arms.
‘Don’t be. This is difficult, I know.’ Drew injected as much confidence and reassurance into his voice as he could, aware he was more used to rallying troops than supporting women. ‘You are anxious, on top of entertaining and creating a happy family Christmas.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, quite firmly. ‘That’s what it is.’
Good, all I need to do now is let go.
Apparently he had lost the ability to make his limbs obey. He still embraced her, his hands linked at the small of her back. She leaned against them, looked up into his face as Drew lost his grip on common sense. And kissed her.
He retained enough control to keep his hands where they were and not go roaming across her body, tracing that lovely flare from waist to hip, running up under the swell of her breast. He forced his imagination away from the weight of it in his palm, the way she would gasp when he slid his fingers under the edge of that chaste neckline, the flutter of her eyelashes as he ran his thumb over the point of her nipple. Instead Drew focused everything on the taste of her, the little sigh as she opened her lips to his, moist and warm and welcoming, the deeper sigh as her hands came up to cup his head, hold him still.
As though I have any intention of going anywhere.
Except possibly straight to perdition.
What the hell was he doing? This was not for show, not to add verisimilitude. He was alone with a virgin in a room with the door closed and he was kissing her with every intention of reducing the pair of them to a puddle of lust. Never mind the fact that she was responding. He was the one with experience, he was the one who had to stop this. Now.
* * *
‘Oh.’ It wasn’t the most sensible, let alone sophisticated thing to say, but it was apparently all she was capable of. ‘Oh,’ Ellie said again and sat down with a bump on the nearest dining chair.
‘I apologise, that was unconscionable.’ Drew reached for the door handle.
‘No. Don’t. Don’t open the door yet and do not apologise. It was not your fault and you would have stopped if I had not responded, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then it was no one’s fault and, besides, I enjoyed it. Goodness, what a very forward thing to admit.’ She eyed him warily, half-expecting Drew to bolt while he still could, after finding himself in a compromising position with a young lady behaving badly.
‘We have been playacting the lovers, I suppose it was inevitable if we let down our guard.’ He sounded stiff and no wonder.
He didn’t agree to this, she thought dismally.
He undertook to take part in a charade, not provide an education in romance for a spinster. That was what some of the respondents to her advertisement had thought, that she was a frustrated woman looking for a lover. It had shocked and embarrassed her then, in Mr Ague’s office, and now it appalled her. What if Drew thought that was what she’d had in mind all along, or that she had decided that now he was in the house, in her pay, she could use him like that? But that kiss had been a revelation. George Harrington had kissed her with what she had thought was passion, but she had never once felt like this.
‘Eleanor,’ Drew said and she braced herself. Then he smiled, the set of his shoulders relaxing as he moved away from the door and took a chair on the other side of the table. ‘We should stop blaming ourselves. Your sisters and brother are not the only healthy, unattached, people in this house. It is natural, not shameful, but perhaps we should take more care with closed doors and empty rooms.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed and got to her feet. ‘You are quite right. Goodness, is that the half-hour striking? I must go down to the kitchen and check on the, er, Christmas puddings. Or the goose. Or something.’
She fled, there was no other word for it. Out of the door, along the hall, through the baize door and down to the basement where Cook, more than capable of managing, admirably concealed her irritation at the intrusion.
* * *
At least the heat of the kitchen gave some excuse for her pink cheeks when she emerged ten minutes later.
‘Eleanor, a word if you please.’ Her uncle stood at the study door, his brows drawn together into one of his more imposing frowns.
‘Uncle Gregory?’ Surely not a lecture on morals, that would be Aunt Dorothea’s province. She followed him into the study, wondering where Theo had got to.
‘This Captain Padgett of yours.’
‘Yes, Uncle?’ Now her knees were knocking. Ellie sat down and attempted a confident smile with a touch of doting for good measure.
‘I’m very impressed by him, I have to say. Good, upstanding young man, excellent influence on Theo.’ He gave her a severe look. ‘Counteracts your coddling, young lady.’
‘Yes, Uncle Gregory. I am glad you approve of Captain Padgett, your opinion is very important to me.’
‘He does fully understand your circumstances?’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ She was expected to be shamed by her birth, so she cast down her gaze and tried to look regretful. In fact, she saw no reason why she should be ashamed, but there was no denying that it was a confounded nuisance. ‘I was very frank with him, I wanted no misunderstanding.’
‘Good, good. I can only assume that an army officer with no family to consider can afford to follow his heart in such matters.’
He gives family a capital letter, Ellie thought. And sounds rather disapproving of the idea of listening to one’s feelings.
‘He is expecting an inheritance, Uncle. He will sell out then and manage his estate, I believe.’
‘A quiet country life. Excellent. Very suitable. You say Ague has investigated him thoroughly? Make sure he negotiates the settlements as I won’t be here to do it.’
He got up and paced a little. ‘I have to admit that Padgett is shaking my conviction about what is best for young Theo, especially if the lad has weakened that wrist.’ He pulled at his lower lip, clearly discomforted by the idea that anyone could unsettle a notion of his. ‘Hadn’t realised the boy was so horse-mad.’
Neither had I.
‘And your young man and that old fusspot Jenkins both seem to feel there is more scope for someone with Theo’s talents in the army. Not that I’ve any influence there.’
‘Whatever you think best, Uncle.’
I really am going to burst my corset laces if I have to pretend to be meek and mild much more. I sound a complete dimwit.
‘Theo does seem very interested in the artillery and he would exert himself more and rise faster if his interest is engaged, I suppose.’
‘A very sensible observation, my dear Eleanor. You have given me something to think about.’
Don’t look too relieved, she cautioned herself.
‘Is that all, Uncle? I was going to consult Aunt on the best time for dinner this evening if we are all to attend the Midnight service.’
‘Yes, run along, dear. And do not worry about your brother.’
Eleanor had ungritted her teeth by the time she found her aunt and Cousin Joan and discussed at tedious length the time for dinner, settling on the hour she had already agreed with Cook. But at least the conversation meant she had told her uncle no more lies.
* * *
‘What are you doing standing in the hall with your eyes closed, muttering to yoursel
f?’ Drew said, so close that she jumped. ‘You aren’t under the mistletoe, so you cannot be waiting for me.’
‘I am counting to one hundred,’ she said, with a reproving look for his teasing. ‘And then I will go and tidy myself before luncheon. After that I will wrap presents and think calming thoughts.’
‘What has provoked the need to count and be calm?’ Drew edged her backwards and she glanced up. Mistletoe. ‘An excuse to murmur together,’ he said as he caught her in his arms and bent his head close.
‘I do not think you need many excuses,’ Ellie said, low-voiced, and tried not to be so spineless as to melt into his arms. Again. ‘Uncle is being patronising, but he does appear to approve of you and to be coming round to the idea of the army for Theo.’
‘I think we may be almost there. I have assured Sir Gregory that I will do my utmost to get you to accept what will be best for Theo, which is something I can do without lying to the man and—’
The rattle of the door knocker brought Drew’s head up and made Ellie jump. ‘That front door will be the death of me, what with Uncle and Aunt arriving and sending you and Theo toppling and now this...’
Hobson passed them. ‘Doubtless the post, Miss Jordan.’ He opened the door to admit a cloud of snowflakes and the blurred form of the postman who handed him a small stack of letters, touched the brim of his tall hat and hurried on.
‘Snow,’ Ellie said, delighted. ‘That makes Christmas perfect.’
‘It will take an old soldier a few years of peace before he greets snow with anything other than a scowl,’ Drew said. ‘Frost is often welcome because it makes marching easier and the guns don’t get bogged down in mud. But snow? We all feared snow.’ Ellie wondered if he had realised he had shivered in the warmth of the hallway.
‘For you, Captain Padgett.’ Hobson proffered a salver containing a thick packet. ‘I have placed the remainder of the post on your desk, Miss Jordan.’
‘The porters at Albany must have forwarded this. Will you excuse me while I look through it? Something may be urgent.’
