Chapter Seventeen
The Cleveland Ball
Eleanor drifted amid the crush, looking for Sorin. Again, she’d dressed to please him and wore the soft salmon pink he’d once claimed to be a favorite color on her. In spite of all her dashed hopes, she still wanted to be beautiful for him. After all, a miracle might occur to change his unromantic perception of her.
“May I have the honor of partnering you in the first dance, Lady Eleanor?”
Turning, she faced Lord Marston with a smile. She’d hoped to dance with Sorin first, but he was nowhere to be seen. “You may,” she told him, dipping a curtsy and taking his arm.
“Is Miss Caroline here tonight?”
The abruptness of his inquiry caught her by surprise. “I—yes, she is,” she answered with no small amount of trepidation.
“My apologies,” he said at once, looking embarrassed. “I’ve no manners tonight, apparently.”
“It’s quite all right,” she murmured, keenly aware of his pain, which was so similar to her own. “She deeply regrets what passed between you,” she ventured carefully.
“As do I. I love her still, you know.”
“Your affection is not unreciprocated,” she said, ready to brave Caroline’s wrath.
His eyes lit. “She told you this?”
“She did.” She laid her other hand on his arm, stopping their progress. “She is desolate over what happened. I worry for her. For you both. Won’t you go to her?”
He shook his head sadly. “Even if what you say is true, I fear she would lose her temper with me again, and that would do neither of us any good at all. Come, let us join the other dancers.”
Together they walked to the ballroom floor to join the forming lines. To her shock, she spied Sorin four couples down opposite none other than the raven-haired Lady Eugenia, one of the women to whom she’d introduced him a few weeks prior. The little heifer was looking at him with bold, appreciative eyes. Even more alarming, he seemed quite pleased with her company.
Pain lanced through her at the sight of his lopsided smile. It doubled when he broke into laughter. Sorin was not the sort to laugh easily, especially in public. If he was comfortable enough with Lady Eugenia to do so, it was a sure sign that he favored her greatly. Feeling ill, she tore her gaze away from the happy couple to regard Marston, who was peering at her with an expression of deep concern.
“Lady Eleanor, are you feeling well?”
She forced a smile. “I’m perfectly fine.” Fortunately, at that moment the music began, sparing her the need for further explanation. Though she tried and tried not to look at Sorin, she couldn’t help herself. When the cotillion brought her and Marston ’round on promenade between the lines, she kept her gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at Sorin.
Over and over, she and her partner wove about the other dancers in the complex steps. Over and over, she passed by Sorin and Eugenia. Over and over, her thoughts ran wild with suppositions.
Did Eugenia’s hands tingle after each touch the way hers did? Did Sorin’s? Was that why he seemed so oblivious to everything else? Did he have a preference for women with dark hair? Lush figures? Sultry laughs? Such thoughts raced through her mind, each one chipping away at her soul.
She tripped and barely caught herself, embarrassed to have been paying so little attention to what she was doing. Thankfully, Marston seemed not to have noticed. Please let this dance end soon! She needed to get out of here and find a place where she could breathe and settle her frayed nerves. Dipping her curtsy at the end of the dance, she fled.
And very nearly slammed right into Yarborough.
“Lady Eleanor,” he exclaimed with a delighted smile. “How very fortunate. I was hoping to see you here tonight. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
His words were lost on her, for at that moment Sorin passed by, Lady Eugenia on his arm. The jealousy that had been steadily gnawing at Eleanor intensified, ripping at her heart like a vicious, ravening beast.
Turning to Yarborough, she smiled brightly. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. Could we find somewhere a bit more private? Over there, perhaps?” she suggested, nodding toward the terrace doors. Their path would take her right past Sorin.
“Of course,” said Yarborough, offering his arm.
But Sorin was facing away when she passed. Frustration ate at her.
“May I offer you a glass of champagne?” said her escort, gesturing for a passing servant to stop with his tray.
“No, thank you.” Her confidence slipped as Yarborough’s smile faded. “But I would greatly appreciate some punch.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said, his smile instantly returning.
Watching as he strode away to do her bidding, Eleanor debated whether to disappear. No. To run away now would ill serve her in too many ways. Besides, she really did need to speak with him. Spotting a nearby vacant chair, she sat and scanned the crowd for Sorin. There he was. All she could see of him was his back.
And Eugenia was still hanging on his arm.
An idea formed in her mind. A sly, underhanded idea. It was so wrong, but desperation drove her to take desperate measures. Her discussion with Yarborough could wait just a little while longer—just until after they danced. Given the rumors running about Town, it would cause too great a stir for Sorin to ignore.
“Your punch, Lady Eleanor.”
She looked up to see Yarborough standing before her, glass in his hand. “Thank you,” she said, taking it. Thirsty, she swallowed several gulps before realizing how bitter it was. Ugh! Someone had forgotten to sweeten it. Struggling not to make a face, she set the half-empty glass aside and stood.
But Yarborough wasn’t ready to dance just yet. “You know, I must admit that I did not expect you to be here when I returned.”
He’d never know how close he was to the truth. “I would never be so discourteous.”
“And yet you do not answer any of my letters or accept any of my invitations.”
Her cheeks warmed at the gentle recrimination. “That is part of the reason I wished to speak with you tonight.” Hell, she was going to have to do this now rather than wait. “I think that perhaps you’ve been laboring under the misimpression that I seek more than your friendship. If I have in any way given you cause to believe it to be so, then I must apologize, for it was entirely unintended.”
A twitch of his jaw muscle was the only betrayal of his displeasure. “Lady Eleanor, I would not dream of asking more of you than you’re willing to—”
“Excellent,” she said, smiling in spite of a sudden rush of dizziness. She sank back down onto her seat, all thoughts of a hasty retreat gone. Her upset over Sorin must have been greater than she’d imagined, for she’d never before experienced the faintness so many ladies claimed accompanied emotional upheaval. “I worried that you might be in disagreement with me on the matter,” she continued. “I’ve been hearing the most alarming rumors concerning us. Rumors we both know to be untrue.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable. “Yes, of course. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Ellie, but you look a bit pale.”
Ellie!? She decided to let it pass. It wasn’t worth causing a scene. “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
“Indeed it is. Perhaps a breath of fresh air is in order?” He nodded to the doors immediately to her left.
How very convenient. Looking at him, she grew even more suspicious of his polite manner. Surely a great bully like him would react more unpleasantly to her rejection than this? But perhaps she’d been wrong about him. He was, after all, much older now.
Her head felt strange, as if it were full of wool. She attempted to stand and found her legs weak. A silk-sleeved arm hovered before her. She took it and allowed him to help her rise, feeling much steadier for the support.
Thoughts of Sorin swirled. Longing, confusion, and most of all hurt.
Yarborough opened the door and led her out onto the terrace. Even in her muzzy state, Eleanor had enough sense to stop before attempting the stairs leading down to the garden. Not only were stairs a non-negotiable obstacle at the moment, but a tour of the gardens by night was off limits to any young lady of good reputation—or at least as long as she was with anyone other than Sorin.
Sorin… She would happily go anywhere with him.
“You look lovely tonight, Eleanor,” said Yarborough, interrupting the pleasant thought.
She frowned. Hadn’t they just agreed there was to be nothing between them but friendship? At best? At worst, she disliked him. Intensely. He ought to be grateful she’d rejected him so politely.
“Thank you,” she said, turning away. But the quick movement unbalanced her, forcing her to grab the balustrade for support or topple over. What in heaven’s name is the matter with me?
“You know, I think you may have judged me wrongly,” said Yarborough, repositioning himself to again face her.
Once more, she tried to turn away but for some reason was unable to do so. Confused at her sudden immobility, she looked down to see that he had his hand on her arm. She hadn’t even felt him touch her. “Sir Yarborough, please. I don’t feel at all well,” she said, her tongue seeming thick and unwieldy. It was an effort to speak clearly. “I don’t think this an appropriate time for such a discussion. If I’ve misjudged you, then allow me to review my opinion when I am in possession of all my faculties.”
A slow smile stretched his lips as he moved closer, pinning her between himself and the balustrade. “Ah, but it is the perfect time for us to discuss our future, my dear, dear Ellie.”
She could only watch as he came closer. Her head spun, the ground felt terribly far away, and she now began to fear she would faint. “Sir Y—” She had to stop and take a breath, having suddenly lost all the air in her lungs. “Please…remove yourself at…at once,” she gasped.
He didn’t budge.
With great effort, she lifted leaden arms and pushed at him with all her might. But all strength seemed to have deserted her. Though it seemed her body could only move at a snail’s pace, her mind raced. Something was terribly wrong. She licked her now dry lips and recoiled at the bitter taste.
The punch. He put something in it. Alarm should have jolted her to action, but she found herself incapable of more than another feeble attempt to dislodge herself from his embrace. “No…I won’t let you…” It came out as a whisper.
“My darling, in your current state you will let me do anything I please,” he said, his smile sanguine. “You’ve had too much champagne, you see. And thanks to your lack of inhibition, your passion for me can no longer be contained or kept secret.”
Hatred slowly blossomed in her belly, burning there like a coal straight from the fiery pit. The force of her anger gave her a spurt of strength, which she used to lift and draw back her arm.
The bastard laughed and grasped her wrist, holding it away. “Now, now. Don’t start our marriage off this way. After all, once we are wed I’ll have every right to retaliate in kind. By the bye, you may be thankful I’ve chosen to forgive your previous transgression against me in that regard. I blame Ashford for not teaching you your place. That said, know that I will not be so lenient again.”
Dully, she registered shock at the implication of his words. Bully indeed.
“In truth, I have no desire to hurt you,” he said, his gaze drifting down to her décolletage, infuriating her further. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.” A fingertip followed the path his eyes had taken, and her stomach knotted in revulsion. “I can make it pleasant for you, if you cooperate. If not…well, I leave it to you to decide the temperature of our marriage bed. Warm or cold, I’ll still enjoy my time between its sheets—and your legs.” His eyes were full of gleeful malice.
Panic, pure and simple, set in. If something didn’t happen this very instant to stop this, she would be in serious trouble. She was already in serious trouble. But whatever he’d put in her punch made movement difficult. It was making thinking difficult, too.
Laughter filtered in from somewhere below and behind her. It took a moment for her to place it. The garden. People were coming up the stairs from the garden. If she faked a faint, someone might come to help. They were coming closer. Closer. They were almost here…
“Perfect timing,” murmured Yarborough.
Disgust filled her as he leaned in and his mouth ground against hers. She would have screamed in outrage, but the instant she opened her mouth it was filled with his tongue. Nausea struck, and bile rose in her throat. All attempts to dislodge him were in vain.
He’s so strong! There was only one thing to do. Determined to end the revolting contact, she bit down hard on his tongue. The salt tang of blood filled her mouth, and with a hiss of pain he withdrew. All strength left her. As she slumped to the ground, she heard Yarborough cursing and another familiar voice shouting. Strong hands grasped her about the waist and lifted her.
No! She began to struggle against her assailant.
“Lady Eleanor!”
Opening her eyes, she saw Marston bending over her.
“She was feeling faint,” she heard Yarborough say. She felt him beside her, but his voice sounded so far away. “I brought her out for some air, and she—”
“Stow it, Yarborough!” hissed Marston. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bloody well run you through for this. Lady Eleanor…Eleanor!”
Run him through? He must mean Charles. “No,” she mumbled. “Don’t tell Charles. He cannot know…the children, the babe…”
“Hush, now,” Marston said at her ear. “Can you manage to stand and walk a little bit? You don’t have to go very far, just a short way.”
He sounded so desperate that she determined to try, and though it was difficult, she managed to take a few steps. Now that she knew she was safe, she felt so warm and cozy. Sleep beckoned. Someone was shaking her.
“Eleanor!” snapped Marston. “You must stay awake for me, do you understand? You cannot go to sleep, not yet.”
A palm tapped against her cheek, and she opened her eyes, confused. She was back in the ballroom. Sweet music drifted on the air, and everything was edged in a soft nimbus of golden light.
Marston hauled her up against his side and led her away. She protested, wanting to go back and look at the lights, but he was too strong. “Fetch Lord Wincanton at once,” she heard him say. “Tell him it is a matter of extreme urgency and bring him back with you.”
The light receded farther as they again began to move. Time slowed as she struggled to keep her feet beneath her. Just when she thought she couldn’t move another step, the world tilted on its side. Giving in to gravity, she laid down. Something cool brushed across her forehead and cheeks. She didn’t much care for it. It interfered with the warmth wrapped around her. Blurred sounds reached her as though from a long way away. A distant door closed, and there were more voices.
Someone was terribly angry. For some reason it didn’t frighten her. In fact, it made her very, very happy. More movement. She was floating. It was just like one of those queer flying dreams she’d had as a child. She imagined herself lifting high above the treetops, flying up, up toward the moon.
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 seduce 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.