Chapter Fifteen

M

iles lay in bed in the early hours of the next morning and studied a sleeping Eleanor. At least sleep had found one of them. Following Eleanor’s innocent kiss and subsequently more ardent ones, his cock had taken the bit between its teeth and bolted, refusing to be reined in. With no possibility of self-relief, he’d disciplined himself to lie quietly and thought of manure and guano until the recalcitrant part submitted to governance—a lengthy procedure as he was out of practice with such things. Thanks to his lusty patronesses, not since his early days at Oxford had he spent an entire night aroused and aching from unconsummated dalliance.

Nevertheless, he would willingly endure many more nights of the same in furtherance of his campaign to win Eleanor. Indeed, the only weakness in his plan had been the possibility Eleanor would no longer warm to his kisses. Last night had proved he could discard that worry. She would be a delight to teach. At the memory of her response, the anatomical part of him that had provoked hours of sleeplessness awoke with renewed interest. He had more than a simple physical interest in her, however.

Though obstinately independent, Eleanor needed him. Her money and elevated station insulated her from much ugliness, but the world they lived in was unkind to a woman with no male relation to protect her, witness his gentle mother. Fury still heated his blood at the belittlement she’d endured from Edgar, the economies of life she’d had to practice in a home that had formerly been hers. The Chelsony estate had a dower house of significant size to which she should have removed after the death of her husband. However, Edgar had complained of the expense to make it habitable after a vacancy of many years and consigned his step-mother to rooms in a seldom-used wing of Chelsony Hall. Out of sight and out of mind. That her widow’s portion would have easily covered the costs of such renovation didn’t loosen Edgar’s purse. Had Miles wanted a permanent rift between him and his oldest brother, he would have pursued legal action to recover his mother’s funds. He still might.  

Presumably, Eleanor had met his mother at Fairwood. What had she made of the Dowager Duchess? What had his mother made of Eleanor? He’d have to ask, though, on his mother’s part, he felt confident he knew. Her actions spoke of a sympathetic leaning toward his wife.

Just as he couldn’t abide the thought of his mother under the management of the current Duke of Chelsony, neither could he stand the thought of Eleanor dealing alone after the death of her father and mother. Oh, she’d carry on in her independent and outwardly confident manner, but during the two weeks he had “courted” her in London, he’d seen another woman, one vulnerable and not self-assured, one easily wounded and lonely, one of lively wit and dry humor that only emerged when she felt in safe company.

He knew what she’d do. She’d entomb herself at Rutledge. What a wretched waste. More than most of her sex, a harmonious marriage would benefit Eleanor. He’d witnessed such a marriage between his mother and father, seen how the love between them had allowed his shy and retiring mother to flower into self-confident womanhood. He wanted such sympathetic companionship for himself. He wanted that for Eleanor.

Slipping quietly from their bed, he used the chamber pot and entering their shared dressing room, rang for Mr. Hopwood. Another day in borrowed clothes. While not a male milliner, he enjoyed knowing his turn-out was impeccable. He laughed at himself silently—his preoccupation with his dress a result of spending too much time in the company of ladies, no doubt. It was too much to hope for his instructions to have reached Fairwood in time to enable his mother to dispatch a return messenger to arrive with his bits and bobs by today. However, it was not too much to expect the arrival of a persistent nuisance in the guise of an agent of the Prince Regent. Hopwood arrived in conjunction with the early morning tray bearing Eleanor’s hot chocolate and his coffee.

“Good morning, my lord. A housemaid will be up shortly with hot water. Mr. Walters took the liberty of preparing a selection of Lord Rutledge’s attire suitable to receive such company as may call upon you today.”

“Good morning to you, Mr. Hopwood.” He digested what his valet had said. “Is there a particular guest anticipated by the omniscient Mr. Walters?”

Mr. Hopwood continued to lay out a display of morning coats in blacks, blues and greens, both single and double-breasted, some with high standing collars of black velvet and waistcoats that ranged from scarlet to an ordinary tan. “Mr. Walters didn’t see fit to share that information with me, sir, but I might hazard a guess as to expect the Prince Regent’s agent. He was seen in the common room of a local posting house last night.”

“Indeed. He has made remarkable time. I shall marshal my forces to present a rousing defense.” Miles shrugged out of his robe and nightclothes and threw a white shirt with frothy white cuffs on over his head. He next drew on a pair of black stockings and black breeches, forgoing the smalls Hopwood had set out—he drew the line at wearing someone else’s linens—and pulled on his riding boots. He held his foot out and examined the immaculately clean and beautifully polished footwear. “Mr. Hopwood, my commendations. You have made an excellent job of bringing these tubes of sodden leather back from the dead. I believe I can see myself in the result. I confess to being astonished.”

“Thank you, sir. The blacking formula has been handed down in my family from father to son and is a closely held secret. I can tell you that it contains a dash of champagne. Now, if you will be seated, I will shave you, and might I recommend a slight trim of your hair?”

“Good morning, my lord.” Eleanor stood in the door to the bedroom, wrapped from toe to chin in her dressing gown and nodded at his valet. “Mr. Hopwood.”

“Your ladyship,” replied Mr. Hopwood.

One of the many things Miles found to like in Eleanor was her egalitarian treatment of her servants. She was not one to look through the staff who served her as if they were invisible. He supposed it was a result of growing up with only servants as confidants and friends instead of her own class. Unlike many aristocrats, she saw those who served her as people.

“Good morning to you, Lady Miles.” While his valet had a very steady hand with the razor, Miles didn’t wish to test the limits of his expertise by moving. He watched from the corner of his eye as she crossed to the small table by the door, picked up her chocolate and retreated once again to the bedroom. Hopwood continued the steady scraping of his chin and neck between applications of soap froth and hot towels.

Her voice came through the open door. “You may have the dressing room, my lord. Sally will attend me in the bedroom.”

Fair enough. “It might be prudent to linger at the residence this morning… and wear a morning dress appropriate to receive callers.”

“Oh?”

“Mr. Hopwood advises me that the agent for Prinny was observed in the salon at a local posting house.”

His observation was met with silence from the bedroom.

He opened his mouth to ask her to attend the interview, but he was forestalled by Mr. Hopwood.

“My lord, if you will please refrain from moving your jaw?” his valet admonished. “It would expedite your shave and more than likely prolong your life.”

Have been effectively silenced, he didn’t speak to Eleanor again until breakfast was served at the unfashionably early of time of 9:00 a.m. At least the sun was up—a nice change from the previous morning. The country hours observed at Rutledge would take some getting used to.

“I told Walters we would serve ourselves,” Eleanor said as he walked into the dining room. She glanced at him from her place at the table. “On the sideboard there are hot cakes with syrup and butter, sausages and fried potatoes.”

After creating a pile of sausages and potatoes that threatened to spill over his plate at any movement, he joined her at the table. He loved sausages and fried potatoes. “I would like for you to be present during my interview with the Prince Regent’s agent.”

“I was going to insist on it. What will you say to him?”

“I will assure him that we are married in every way and conduct myself as to give him no reason to question my statement.” While he steadily devoured the sausages, he checked with Eleanor and was amused by the pink flush that had arisen in her cheeks. She looked the image of a blushing bride, and that was why he wanted her present. Plus, he had some ideas about how to add to that becoming blush.

“So your intent is to perjure yourself to an agent of His Royal Highness.”

“Perjure is a harsh term. Say, rather, a temporary bending of the truth.” He forked another sausage into his mouth and offered her a benign smile as he chewed.

“A temporary lie?”

He patted his mouth with a serviette. “Yes. A false statement given with the surety it will imminently be made true.” Large portions of fried potatoes marched into his mouth with the regularity of a dock laborer loading a sailing vessel. He was aware of her scrutiny the entire time. Once his plate was clean, he again bestowed a benevolent smile on Eleanor and took a large swallow of coffee. “Did you have some of these potatoes? They are exceptionally good. You must send my praise to the cook. I neglected to compliment you on how well turned out you are this morning. That rose color is particularly becoming to you, and your maid has done your hair in a most flattering style.”

“Thank you. Go back to what you just said.”

“About potatoes or the color of your dress?”

She stared at him and then snorted, pressing a hand to her mouth to halt a bark of laughter. Amusement lurked in her fine hazel eyes. “Wretched beast, you will make me ask.”

“Ah, that.” He shrugged. “You know my thoughts on the subject.”

“But I told you last night I was willing, and you rolled over and presented me with your back.”

“You lacked conviction.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she closed it with a snap.

“If I eat another bite, I will surely gut founder, so I am away to the library to further acquaint myself with other improvements to cultivated earth such as gypsum and crop rotation. Will you join me, madam?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you really going to bury yourself in some dry agricultural treatise?”

“Yes.” Though, he could be distracted by other delights, Eleanor’s elegant neck and the soft white skin on her slender shoulders for instance. Her lush lower lip, currently caught between her teeth might require further study. More of her sweet kisses wouldn’t go amiss. 

“Might I talk you into helping me research the owners of mares of the Old Codger bloodline instead? I mean to write to all of them and ask if they have mares they will sell. I have a copy of the General Stud Book current through last year. I’d like to accomplish it before Day Dreamer wins the Epsom Derby.”

Ask him to research racehorses? You might as well ask a schoolboy if he wanted to put down his mathematics and go fishing. He was quick to assist her out of her chair. “I won’t put up much of a fight, my lady. In fact, consider it done.”

As she rose, he winged out an arm to escort her to the library. She wrapped her arm through his and observed, “It was remarkably easy to sway you, my lord. One would think you lack a true commitment to the science of land improvement.”

“An accurate observation if ever I heard one,” he muttered. “I’d as rather decline Latin nouns.” From her gurgle of laughter, he’d found a co-conspirator.

“Then you will welcome the knowledge that we have a land manager who lives and breathes such things. Father had me read the exact same book you had last night only so that I would not be entirely ignorant.”

“You have relieved my mind of a great weight.”

They spent several hours in serious industry, borne out by the ink stains on his fingertips and the dust streak on Eleanor’s cheek from venturing into some rarely-opened books containing maps of Ireland and Scotland. She shoved the latest one away with a groan.

“I cannot decipher these margin notes. My eyes are refusing to focus. Shall we take a break? I’ll ring for some tea and biscuits. Cook made some lovely ginger ones yesterday.”

“Excellent thought. It is coming on 2:00. Walters tells me that is the customary time the Earl set aside for business callers.” He sent her a speaking look. “We should probably have to stop, regardless.”

With a face as if she’d tasted something foul, Eleanor rose and stuck her head out of the library door to speak with a footman who would relay her message to the kitchen. Moving to where Miles sat at the desk, she picked up several large books with the obvious intention to reshelve them. He rose and followed her to the shelves.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, taking one out of her hand and sliding it into its place. With a smile, she handed him the others, one at a time. He misplaced the last volume on purpose.

“No.” She stretched forward beside him, reaching across him for the errant book in such a fashion that her breast pressed into his side. “I believe it goes…”

He caught her about the waist and turned her toward him. “I know where it goes. We’ll straighten it later.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth, smiled against her lips and kissed her again before straightening. “I’ve meant to do that all morning.”

She gazed at him wordlessly, then rose on her toes and kissed him back, her arms wrapping his neck, her fingers running through his hair in a delicious manner. Delighted with her boldness, he held her to him, one hand low on her back, pressing her against his falls where a particular male organ was rousing to life. Kiss followed lengthening kiss with Eleanor participating fully—so fully that he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the sofa and sat with her in his lap to further explore his willing wife. She made a warm, delectable bundle of rose silk and white skin, sensitive skin that he began to map with his fingers while continuing to occupy her mouth with increasing thoroughness. Her tongue danced with his eagerly while the innocent rocking of her arse incited misbehavior of the worst sort from his cock. His hand slipped into the front of her gown and cupped her bare breast. Her nipple hardened in reaction and she gave a low moan. If a man could die from raw need, she was going to be the death of him.

The rattle of china on a metal tray came from the open library door accompanied shortly thereafter by a clearing of a throat.

Eleanor drew back fractionally from a kiss she participated in with an untutored enthusiasm that was every bit as arousing as that of a skilled courtesan.  “Miles … the servants.”

“Ignore them. They will go away.”

“But…” She gurgled with laughter. “I want my tea.”

He drew back from an oral exploration of the delicious juncture of her neck and shoulder  and with a sigh of regret, removed his hand from her bodice. “I’d prefer to nibble you instead.”

“But you have yet to taste one of Cook’s ginger biscuits.”

He knew when he was defeated and by a ginger biscuit at that. But, he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. The servants had caught them in a moment of amorous interchange and servants being servants, the gossip that Lord and Lady Miles Everleigh had been surprised in the library in an intimate moment would speed throughout the entire estate. If he could arrange several more of these moments of discovery in the odd location, it would shortly be common knowledge that Lord Miles was a randy sod and Lady Eleanor delighted in it.

He set her off him. Eleanor straightened the shoulders of her gown and glanced at his lap, noting the evidence of his enjoyment that had risen to prominence behind the falls of his too-revealing breeches. From behind her, she offered him a pillow for his lap. To call her grin triumphant would not be an overreach.

“See to your tea, Eleanor.”

As it happened, the ginger biscuits were every bit as good as Eleanor professed.