Читать книгу How To Tempt A Duke - Madeline Martin - Страница 13

Charles found the Westix chit prettier than he’d expected. Her hair was the same brilliant red as her father’s, her eyes pale. Though whether they were green or blue or some color in between was imperceptible in the muted light. She was fair, her skin a lovely porcelain-white, and her back was so straight that looking at such rigidity made his shoulders ache.

It was evident she was attempting to appear brave, but he knew that all Murrays at their core were cowards. No matter how this woman tried to play it, she was exactly the same as her father.

“Let us start with introductions.”

Lottie released Charles’s arm and beckoned him. He stepped closer, the obedient dog in this ridiculous dance.

The delicate muscles of Lady Eleanor’s neck stood out and a heavy awkwardness settled over the room.

“If he frightens you, I can send him away.” Lottie spoke in the same careful tone she’d used with the parishioners a lifetime ago.

Dear God, he wished Lady Eleanor would confess her fear and he could leave. He ground his teeth. Except there were the journals, of course—the reason he’d agreed to this damned fool of a scheme. He needed her to like him.

Lady Eleanor stood abruptly, reaching the impressive height of Charles’s chin. She tilted her face upward and peered boldly up at him. Green. Her eyes were green. And wide and attentive with a feline intensity.

“I am not so easily discouraged.”

Conviction laced her words, but the gentle flaring of her nostrils told a different tale. She was indeed scared. In truth, how could she not be put off by such a bizarre scenario as the one they all found themselves thrown into? At least the girl had sense.

She stood close enough that the tip of one satin slipper touched the shiny toe of his boot, and her soft breath whispered over his chin with every exhalation. The sweet scent of jasmine floated around him. It was delicate and feminine, and seemed almost too gentle for the woman in front of him.

In truth, they were improperly close—as if the scene was not already indecent enough, with a lady of her breeding meeting a woman of Lottie’s—

He couldn’t finish the thought.

Yes, Lottie was a courtesan, but he could not consider her as such. Not when to him she’d always been just sweet and gentle Lottie. A woman now forced to bow and scrape to this spoiled brat.

“You needn’t be alarmed.” Lottie carefully drew Lady Eleanor back to a more respectful distance. “We do not intend you harm or ruination. We want to help—which is why I agreed to work with you. And...” Lottie indicated Charles. “It is why Lord Charles is here as well.”

If Lady Eleanor hadn’t been watching him so intently he would have given Lottie a curious look. She doubtless had her reasons for lying about his real title, and if her intention had been to set Lady Eleanor at ease, her effort proved successful. Lady Eleanor’s shoulders lowered a notch and she nodded to Lottie.

“I should like to present Lady Eleanor,” Lottie said grandly.

“I’m pleased to meet you.”

Lady Eleanor’s cool tone diffused the warmth of the greeting. Indeed, she appeared anything but pleased.

“I’d like to believe you mean that,” Charles said, before he could stop himself.

Lottie shot him a hard look. Lady Eleanor met his gaze, brazen and without charm. “Perhaps that’s why my mother has risked our reputations for my tutelage.”

“He doesn’t know the details of why you’re here,” Lottie said. “I should have explained it, but I—”

Lady Eleanor put up a hand to stop her.

“You must not have been long in London if you haven’t yet read of the infamous Ice Queen.” Lady Eleanor’s brow quirked on an otherwise expressionless face. “A woman on the edge of spinsterhood, who lost her one chance at a proposal of marriage by the very coolness of her demeanor.” Her eyes glinted like hard emeralds. “My mother has sent me here as she believes having Lottie teach me to flirt and project myself as being more genuine will dispel the rumors of my unaffected disposition.”

“And what do you think?” Charles asked, his curiosity slightly piqued.

“I’m skeptical.” Her reply came without hesitation.

Behind her, Lottie pursed her lips.

“Skeptical that you can be taught?” he prompted.

Lady Eleanor gave a tight smirk. “That it will have much impact. I must overcome preconceived notions sufficiently to entice a man to seek my hand in marriage. All in...” Her head tilted in apparent mental calculation. “All in the better part of two months.”

Time was most certainly not in her favor. The woman was practical in her assessment.

“Does it matter who is on the other side of that proposal?” Charles studied her as he spoke, to see if she even bothered to flush at his statement. She did not.

“Women do not have the luxury of time and choice, as men do.”

It was a simple reply, but it was the truth. Charles knew he had his own ducal obligations to tend to, but he did have time. Even if it took several years he could find the ruby, return to London and still acquire a wife within weeks of his arrival. Days, if necessary.

“Then we ought to get to work, oughtn’t we?” Lottie stepped closer between them. “First, I’d like to observe how you comport yourself when introduced. Properly.”

She regarded the Westix brat.

“Lady Eleanor, think of making eye contact and trying to look sincerely happy to meet Lord Charles.”

Lady Eleanor shifted her weight from one foot to the other in reply. Clearly she was anything but happy to meet him. The feeling was mutual.

Lottie ignored the subtle display of sullen defiance. “Lady Eleanor, may I introduce Lord Charles?”

Lady Eleanor’s gaze met his and raked into his soul. There was something in the way she gazed into his eyes, unapologetic and resolute. Not at all like the demure ladies of the ton he’d grown used to when he’d last lived in London. No wonder she put people off.

Lady Eleanor extended her hand, which Charles accepted and bowed over, kissing the air just above the knuckles of her white kidskin gloves.

When he straightened, she offered a stiff nod and said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Her speech and manners were immaculate. Everything was as expected in polite society, except perhaps her bold stare.

Lottie nodded to herself. “Good. Proper.” She put her finger to her lower lip. “But without feeling.”

“I assumed feelings were not necessary with strangers,” Lady Eleanor countered.

“They are when you want to encourage strangers toward matrimony.” Lottie indicated Charles. “Let your eyes linger on his, but try not to be too direct, and give a smile when you say it’s a pleasure to meet him. Convince him. He should believe everything you say.” Lottie swirled her finger in the air and said, in perfectly accented French, “Allez, on recommence.”

Charles bit back a groan. They might very well be there until morning.

“We’ll be doing this all night, I presume?” Lady Eleanor’s tone was not enthusiastic. “Being introduced ad nauseam until one of us finally pleads for mercy?”

“It will be me,” Charles volunteered with a wink. If he was going to win her over and get those journals, a sense of camaraderie might go a long way.

She shot him a bland look in response, before turning her gaze to Lottie. “This is entirely ridiculous. I won’t meet the same man over and over. It will not improve the poor image that most of the ton has of me, and nor will it change their minds. Call for my carriage.” She closed her eyes, as if the act pained her. When she opened her eyes once more, her composure was fully restored. “Please.”

“May I ask if there is something keeping you from this?” Lottie inquired. “Something you are afraid of?”

“I am afraid of nothing,” Lady Eleanor stated firmly.

Lottie’s brow pinched and she opened her mouth. But rather than offer a protest, she nodded and slipped from the room in a whisper of costly silk. A blanket of uncomfortable silence fell over the room and smothered any sense of companionship.

“You said you were skeptical.” Charles lifted the glass of untouched sherry and drained it, needing the drink far more than she. Its sweetness followed the burn of alcohol and clung cloyingly on his tongue. “Perhaps you meant pessimistic?”

She eyed him warily and backed away, clearly aware of the inappropriateness of their being alone together. “Because I’m not playing along with this preposterous charade?” she asked.

“Because you’re too afraid to even give it a chance.” He didn’t know if he was attempting to aid Lottie with this goading, or if he was doing it out of malice. Perhaps a bit of both.

Her gloved hands fingered the fabric of her skirt. “This is...abnormal.”

While he agreed, he was not about to confess as much. He was, after all, there to aid Lottie. And if the chit left now he wouldn’t have the opportunity to get the journals.

“I’ve learned that being unconventional often delivers stronger results than what is common,” he said. “You came here because you want to prove everyone wrong. Why are you letting them be proved correct?”

The muscles along her slender throat tensed. “I came here because I have no choice.”

Lottie entered the room with a man trailing behind her. “Your carriage is here. Ferdinand will see you out.”

Lady Eleanor turned her attention from Charles and allowed the footman to help her don an absurd blonde wig, as well as a mask and black domino.

Lottie did not move from her path. “I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

Lady Eleanor gave Lottie a slow nod. Without another word, the Earl of Westix’s daughter followed Ferdinand from the room.

Lottie’s composure drained away and she sank onto the settee. “Well, that was an utter failure.”

Charles watched the empty hallway where Lady Eleanor had disappeared. “I confess I fail to feel sympathy toward her—especially when she doesn’t appear to find any fault with her current demeanor.”

Lottie peeked at him through a curtain of dark hair. “You weren’t exactly welcoming. What happened to the charming Charles I once knew?”

Her words made Charles wince. He hadn’t meant his prejudice against Lady Eleanor to be so obvious. “Apparently we’ve all changed.”

Lottie pressed her lips together rather than give him the cutting reply he deserved. “Will you try to speak with her?” She gazed up at him, her expression imploring. “I cannot, but surely you can. I know she walks in Hyde Park with her mother often.”

It was on the tip of Charles’s tongue to decline—to end this foolish charade. But once more the thought of the journals swam into his mind. Damn it. Not just the journals, but finding a way to assist Lottie.

He hated seeing her like this, catering to the rich with every part of herself. She didn’t deserve this life.

“I’ll consider it,” he offered grudgingly.

Though in truth he’d already made up his mind. While he might hold contempt for Westix, and his whole blasted family, Lady Eleanor was the key to righting his great failure.

Nothing could ruin a lovely day in Hyde Park for Eleanor like unpleasant conversation. And truly there was no worse conversation than the general nagging of one’s mother.

The Countess’s face was hidden by an extraordinarily large white bonnet. Not that Eleanor needed to see her mother’s face to know she was disappointed. The clipped tone of her voice provided all the evidence necessary.

“Will you not go again tonight?”

Eleanor wanted to cover her ears rather than endure her mother’s tedious inquiry once more. She slid a glance behind them to her maid, Amelia, who knew well of the arrangement. After all, it was she who had aided Eleanor in her disguise the two days prior.

“The one lesson was enough, I assure you.”

Eleanor kept to the left of the path to ensure her mother stayed in the shade. While the stroll did wonders for her mother’s digestion, the late-afternoon sun wreaked havoc on her headaches.

The Countess made a sound of disagreement. Then she turned the expanse of her bonnet toward Eleanor and regarded her daughter with careful scrutiny. “Tell me again why it was so awful?”

Eleanor waited for a woman in a butter-yellow dress to pass before answering. “It was...uncomfortable...and odd. She wanted me to pretend to be introduced to a man there several times.”

Her mother’s face did not offer any conveyance of sympathy, or even shock that a man had been involved. Eleanor suppressed a sigh. She would have no support from her mother.

“Then you are happy to resign yourself to the fate of being a spinster?” Her mother’s face had flushed a brilliant red. She snapped open her fan and waved it in front of her face to diffuse the onset of heat she’d been suffering from of late. “And you’re happy with being relegated to the position of poor relation once Leopold has what little remains of our fortune?”

Eleanor had practiced the art of emotionless disinterest for so long it came naturally. Even still, at the mention of Leopold’s name she found herself having to concentrate to keep from letting her expression crumple in censure.

“And what of love?” her mother asked.

“Love.” Eleanor said the word as flatly as she felt the emotion was. She had never, after all, truly believed in it. “You’ve always said love is for fools and fiction.”

Her mother stopped fanning herself. “You should toss aside all I’ve ever taught you. It will bring you naught but misery.” Her gaze slid to the path behind Eleanor. “Speaking of misery...”

Eleanor turned to find a couple walking toward them. The two were leaning close to one another, deep in conversation. She’d recognize the man’s wavy brown hair and bold nose anywhere. Hugh and his blonde-haired, perfectly beautiful betrothed, Lady Alice.

Eleanor’s heart gave a turbulent knock against her ribs. If love really was for fools and fiction, then surely Hugh and Lady Alice were the biggest fools of all. And as Eleanor felt a pang of envy at such closeness, what did that make her?

The sun shone at their backs and lit them in a halo of gold. It obviously wasn’t bad enough that their faces were glowing—their bodies had to as well.

They neared, and the knock at her ribs turned into a steady banging. She prayed heartily that they might continue to walk by without notice. She did not want added humiliation on a day already gone awry.

The couple slowed as they neared Eleanor and her mother.

Please pass by.

But, unfortunately, they did not pass by.

No, they stopped, and Lady Alice turned the lovely force of her open smile on Eleanor and her mother. If nothing else, Eleanor hoped that perhaps there might be some snideness to Lady Alice’s tone—some nasty upturn to her mouth or a disagreeable conversation which would sanction a justifiable dislike of her.

“Oh, Your Ladyship, Lady Eleanor—it’s so good to see you,” Lady Alice said with delicate and authentic pleasure. “Lady Eleanor, your bonnet suits you so very well. Isn’t it the loveliest day you’ve ever seen?”

The expression on Lady Alice’s face was sweet enough to bring to mind visions of angels. She even paused to offer a smile for Amelia.

Eleanor inwardly sighed. Of course she would not be lucky enough to find fault with Lady Alice, who was, as she’d always been, agreeable, kind and absolutely perfect.

And she was right. It was a fine day. Even with Eleanor’s stolen future standing so happily in front of her she could not deny the beauty of the day.

“It truly is lovely,” she conceded.

“Good day, Lord Ledsey.” The Countess of Westix’s tone was cool in her address to Hugh.

Don’t look at him.

If he replied to her mother Eleanor did not hear him. She intentionally gazed in the direction of the Serpentine River, where Lady Alice was looking with a wistful expression. The water glittered under the sun and reflected the wide stretch of the cloudless sky. A weak breeze swept from the river and brushed away some of the heat from Eleanor’s blazing cheeks.

She would stare at the Serpentine for ages. Anything to avoid looking at Hugh. But, dash it, her traitorous eyes immediately disobeyed the direct order and slid over to the face which she’d one day anticipated being that of her husband. An ache began in the center of her chest, where her heart was still raw and wounded. She kept her smile small, for it felt brittle enough to crack if given too much effort.

Her mother had been so proud of Eleanor when Hugh had directed his affections toward her, and the pressure of the ton had eased from her shoulders. Lady Eleanor, with her garish red hair, had finally found a man who might be willing to wed her.

Except he had not been willing. And his newfound affection for Lady Alice had left her scalded with mortification.

Eleanor should have expected such fickleness after his intentions toward her had come upon her so abruptly. At the time she had been too grateful to think on it.

She was not grateful any longer.

Hugh looked at Eleanor—a momentary flick of a glance, as if she were not worth his time. And when he had a woman such as Lady Alice on his arm surely she was not.

It was at times like this that Eleanor was thankful for her father’s insistence that she never show emotion. Because at times like this Eleanor agreed that one must appear strong. She wore her indifference like a shield, staunchly guarding her wounds from prying eyes.

Hugh’s hand came up suddenly and waved at a man several paces away. “Ah, here he is now.”

Lady Alice gave an excited clap. “Oh, wonderful—he’s made it after all.”

The man stopped between Eleanor and Lady Alice. He was tall enough to block the sun from where it shone into Eleanor’s eyes, but not so tall that she had to peer up at him foolishly. His hazel-green eyes crinkled nicely at the corners.

Hugh clapped the man on the back. “This chap went to school with me several years back. May I introduce the Marquess of Bastionbury?”

A part of Eleanor—a sad, pathetic part—perked up at the mention of his name. According to the Lady Observer, the Marquess was the most eligible man on the marriage mart. A man Eleanor had not yet had the opportunity to be introduced to.

The ladies all nodded their amenability. “By all means,” said the Countess.

Hugh indicated Eleanor’s mother first. “My Lord, may I present the Countess of Westix?”

Her mother offered a stiff curtsey and nodded.

Hugh’s eyes met Eleanor’s and her pulse gave a pitiful leap. “And the Countess’s daughter, Lady Eleanor Murray.”

Lottie’s voice sounded in Eleanor’s head, reminding her to meet the man’s eyes. Eleanor nodded and held his handsome stare, but the smile trembled on her lips.

The Marquess nodded and then his attention slid away. To Lady Alice.

Hugh squeezed Lady Alice’s slender arm with an embarrassing show of affection, which Lady Alice did not chide him for. “And now may I present Lady Alice Honeycutt, my betrothed?”

Lady Alice nodded and let her regard linger on the Marquess, much in the way a butterfly might over a choice bloom. A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “It is so very good to meet you, My Lord. I’ve heard such great tales.”

Her smile was dainty and her eyes practically danced with the sincerity of her joy. She held out a hand to the Marquess, who readily took it and let a kiss whisper over her gloved knuckles.

The Marquess was genuinely engaged in Lady Alice’s attention. Even her mother had a whisper of a grin teasing the corners of her stiff mouth. Lady Alice was warm and endearing, while still maintaining her cultured poise. An impeccable balance of breeding and manners and kindness.

And a glaring reminder of what Eleanor had been doing so very wrong.

In truth, Eleanor found Lady Alice’s behavior bordering on inappropriate. Her father would have been appalled at such behavior, and no doubt would have been violent in his distaste for it. But he was not here now. He was dead, having left them with no fortune, Evander missing, and a wall of ice to melt.

Alice’s open warmth was the line Lottie had mentioned in the lesson—the acceptable level of flirtation. Skirting propriety, subtle and delicately danced, therefore being socially acceptable.

Was this the kind of woman men wanted?

Eleanor didn’t have to ask the question. She already knew. It was in the tinkling laugh Lady Alice did not suppress, in the measured, meaningful way her gaze met those she conversed with, and how men swarmed to her side, eager for any scrap of attention she was willing to offer.

Regret nipped at Eleanor with sharp teeth. Perhaps she ought to have let herself be introduced to Lord Charles several times more. She should have been more patient with the process.

“If you’ll excuse us?” said the Countess. “We must be on our way.”

Eleanor let her mother lead them in the direction of a group of the Countess’s friends, where they clustered together in an array of colorful pastels, chatting under a tree by the river. Conversations blended around her, but her mind was unable to focus on any single one.

“Ah, there is Lady Stetton.” Her mother nodded toward the shore of the Serpentine River.

Energy hummed through Eleanor’s veins. She did not want to stop the steady rise and fall of her feet as she walked. To do so might give her mind cause to churn. And to think of all her failings—those she did not wish to ponder over.

“Do you mind if I go on a bit further with Amelia?”

Her mother eyed the path and gave an approving nod. “Join us once you’ve collected yourself.”

Her mother swept off the trail and headed in the direction of Lady Stetton, leaving Eleanor and Amelia to continue onward. The absence of her mother’s barrage of questions was a balm to Eleanor’s racing brain, and she filled all her tumultuous thoughts with the rustling of trees and the twittering of birds.

“Forgive me,” Amelia said in her gentle maternal voice. “But there is a man watching you.”

Eleanor followed Amelia’s stare to where a tall dark-haired man was indeed watching her, his eyes brighter than the clear sky overhead.

He smiled in invitation, his teeth impossibly white against his tanned skin. Her stomach sank. There would be no avoiding him, no matter how much she wished to.

She would have to speak to Lord Charles.