Chapter Five
Camden West arrived at the Sutherland townhouse just as the long-case clock on the first floor landing struck five.
Eleanor swept down the stairs at precisely one minute after five, wearing a demure blue carriage dress that flattered her trim waist. “Good afternoon, Mr. West. My, you’re prompt.”
She’d hadn’t chosen the dress to entice Mr. West—she’d chosen it because the matching hat was so large it looked like a ship heaving into port. If Mr. West wished to see her face, he’d have to tread water to get under the brim.
Clever idea, accessories that both flattered and disguised a lady at once.
He bowed. “I said five o’clock. You’ll find, Lady Eleanor, once I’ve decided on a course of action, I pursue it through to the end, no matter what.”
Eleanor hovered two steps above the bottom of the staircase. A warning, already? For goodness’ sake, they hadn’t even left the entryway yet. “What a fascinating personal philosophy, Mr. West, but a simple, ‘Yes, I am prompt,’ would have been sufficient.”
He stiffened. “I think it best we understand each other from the start.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. She understood him already, far better than he suspected she did. “All right, then. What would you have me understand from that speech, Mr. West?”
He observed her through narrowed eyes. “That I pay close attention to details, my lady.”
“Do you, indeed? How reassuring.” She took care to sound bored, but Eleanor ducked back under her hat to hide her uneasiness. There was no denying Mr. West was wilier than her previous suitors. He’d skirted the problem of Alec rather neatly, and she and Charlotte had fallen right into the trap he and his loathsome cousin had set at the Foster’s ball.
Then again, anyone could stumble into a trap they didn’t know was there. He’d have a much harder time of it when he tried to stuff and mount his trophy.
He might be clever, but her task was a simple one—discover what he wanted, and make it difficult for him to get it. And after all, his motives were transparent enough. He wanted her because she’d eluded everyone else. No doubt he expected to find a shallow, pliable female—one he could easily manipulate. He didn’t seem to understand she’d become rather an expert at dodging unwanted suitors over the past two seasons. He’d give up soon enough when he found she wouldn’t be led meekly down the aisle. No, she’d kick and scream the entire way, and by the end of it, Mr. West would be relieved to be rid of her.
After all, stubbornness was such an unbecoming trait in a woman, particularly a wife.
He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”
She frowned at him. “Why no, of course not. You can’t imagine I’ll ride in the park with you without a chaperone, can you?”
“A chaperone? That’s not necessary, Lady Eleanor—”
“But of course it is, Mr. West. My goodness. I wouldn’t dream of venturing out the door with a gentleman without a proper chaperone.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Now, wherever has Tilly got to? Can you fetch her please, Rylands? Mr. West is anxious to be off.”
Rylands bowed and disappeared down the hallway.
“Tilly, is it?” The faintest hint of a smile touched one corner of his mouth.
Eleanor’s own smile wavered. If he was furious about her trick, he showed no sign of it. He even looked amused, in a tolerant sort of way, as if she were a child who’d hid in plain sight during a game of hide and seek.
Well, no matter. He wouldn’t be quite so amused when he met Tilly.
They heard her before they saw her—a heavy thud, the tread measured and slow but determined, every other step punctuated by an irritated grunt. Tilly, the dear, had a habit of muttering what sounded like dark curses and magical incantations as she walked.
Eleanor glanced over at Mr. West. He shifted from foot to foot, his gaze fixed on the hallway from whence these ominous noises originated. She could have clapped her hands with glee. If the sound of Tilly’s approach gave him pause, she couldn’t wait to see what happened when he saw her.
For her part, Eleanor adored Tilly. The whole family did. She’d been their nursemaid for years, but despite their affection for her, there was no denying Tilly was a cross old thing—
Ah! Here she was. The dragon had emerged from her lair. With steel gray hair pulled tight under a prim, white lace cap, a stiff, gray wool gown, rounded shoulders that ended in startlingly large, meaty hands, and grey eyes set deep into a rough, ruddy face, Tilly looked like a steel trap right before it snapped closed on one’s leg. In other words, she was the perfect chaperone.
The heart of a lamb beat under that frightening exterior, but Camden West didn’t know that, and Eleanor could swear she heard a faint, distressed sound escape him when he got his first look at Tilly. Was it a gasp? Or a whimper?
Oh, please let it have been a whimper.
Tilly lumbered to a halt in front of Eleanor. “That him, then?” She jerked her chin in Mr. West’s direction.
Tilly never stood much on ceremony.
“Yes.” Eleanor had to concentrate to keep the delight out of her voice. “Tilly, this is Mr. West. He’s kindly offered to take us for a drive in the park today.”
Tilly surveyed Camden West as if he were a rodent she’d just smacked with her broom. “A drive, is it? Well then, Mr. West. Take care that’s all you’re offering.”
Eleanor tried to dive back under her hat in time, but she was sure Mr. West saw her bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
As far as Tilly was concerned, every gentleman was a notorious rake, and every outing a potential seduction. Tilly was a staunch defender of maidenly virtue, and her stratagems were as complex and precise as a military campaign. No gentleman would successfully storm a lady’s fortress on Tilly’s watch.
But despite Tilly’s glower, Camden West looked rather pleased with himself. “But Miss, ah . . . Tilly? Surely Lady Eleanor has told you we’re betrothed?”
Eleanor’s mouth dropped open in horror. Oh, dear God. If Tilly told her mother such a tale, Lady Catherine would take it straight to Alec, and then she’d have the hounds of hell nipping at her heels, indeed. “What nonsense, Mr. West! We’re nothing of the sort—”
“Lady Eleanor.” Tilly planted her massive hands on her hips and turned a stern grey eye upon Ellie. “You’re not playing games with this gentleman, are you?”
So he was a gentleman now, was he? Just a moment ago Tilly had been scowling at him as if he were no better than a marauding pirate. “Games?” Eleanor widened her eyes. “Why no, Tilly. Of course not.”
She glared at Mr. West, who gave her the most maddening smirk before he turned an angelic smile on Tilly. “After you, Miss Tilly. My carriage is right outside.”
Eleanor stared at him. Why, in the name of all that was fair, should a scoundrel like Camden West have such a charming, boyish smile? Even Tilly blinked for a moment before she gave them each a suspicious glare, and stalked out the door.
Eleanor turned a baleful eye upon Camden West. “Just the drive this afternoon, if you please, Mr. West. We won’t have time for the marriage today.”
With those crushing words she attempted to sweep past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Your scheme won’t work, Lady Eleanor.”
Eleanor flicked a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Nonsense. You can’t know that. You’ve only seen the start of my scheme.”
It would work. It had to. Her chance at love—her very freedom—rested on the success of this scheme. She’d do whatever it took to hold onto it, even if she had to make herself very disagreeable, indeed. She’d earned the nickname Lady Frost with no effort at all on her part, and by the time she finished with Mr. West, she’d have a worse one.
She quite liked “The Terror of London.” Perhaps that would catch on.
He pulled her closer. “You don’t deny it, then?”
Eleanor’s eye widened. Dear God, if she weren’t wearing such an enormous hat, she’d be able to feel his breath against her neck. An involuntary shiver skidded down her spine. Goodness—did he have to put his lips right next to her ear to speak to her? “I deny nothing, Mr. West. I also admit nothing.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “You won’t capitulate easily, I see.”
Eleanor’s brows drew together. Why should he sound so pleased about it? What was wrong with the man?
“Let me be understood right now, my lady. You can drag a chaperone everywhere with you for the next two weeks, and we’ll still be betrothed at the end of them.”
Her smile returned. Did he think Tilly comprised the whole of her scheme, then? As clever as he was, it seemed Mr. West would make the same mistake all her suitors had made. He’d underestimate her. “Certainly, sir.”
His fingers tightened on her upper arm. “I didn’t agree to these two weeks so you could find a way to squirm out of our bargain.”
“No? Well then, it seems you’ve made a tactical error already, Mr. West, for you did agree to them.”
He didn’t reply, but looked at her for a moment with . . .
God in heaven, it looked like interest. His grip loosened, but before he released her, he teased his fingertips down her arm.
Eleanor’s breath caught. Had he just . . . caressed her? She gaped at him, but he only raised an eyebrow at her with a hint of lazy amusement, his eyes gleaming.
He did have lovely green eyes, and such long lashes—
For pity’s sake, not this again.
Eleanor wrenched her gaze from his and attempted to collect her scattered wits. No doubt Mr. West was accustomed to manipulating ladies who were befuddled by his good looks, but she didn’t lose her wits over any gentleman, and especially not this one.
“I suppose you could always change your mind about the two weeks now. Tell me, Mr. West. Are you the sort of man who goes back on his word? Are you a gentleman, or a scoundrel?”
To her surprise he hesitated, as if to give her question serious consideration, then, “I’m both.”
Eleanor stared at him for a moment, then retreated back under her hat to consider this alarming response. Both? Nonsense. One was either the villain or the hero. Never both at once.
He took her arm again and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “There isn’t much difference between the two, in any case. Between gentlemen and scoundrels, that is. I’m sure we can agree on that.”
No, they could not, but if he believed they’d agree on anything, she was making a muck of this. Was it possible he appreciated a sharp tongue? He’d be the first of her suitors who ever had. The others hadn’t paid much attention to anything she said, clever or otherwise.
“One point of agreement?” She peeked out from under her hat brim to gauge his reaction. “Not enough to build a marriage upon, is it?”
He shrugged. “It shouldn’t be, but more than one marriage has been built on far less.”
Oh, this was splendid. Not only did the infuriating man appear to agree with her, but now he’d made her agree with him. That was far too much agreement for two people who’d never marry.
It hadn’t occurred to her he’d want a clever wife, but then all the gentlemen who’d courted her were aristocrats whose days were taken up with dressing and visiting, afternoons at their clubs, and evening entertainments. Mr. West didn’t spend his time lounging at White’s, drinking whiskey and wagering on young ladies’ marriage prospects. He was a businessman, and a successful one. A clever, determined wife with the right social connections could be invaluable to him. She could open doors he’d never get a foot in otherwise.
Well, that put her scheme in an entirely new light, didn’t it? If he wanted a clever wife, she was about to become startlingly dim-witted.
“I await your pleasure, Lady Eleanor.”
She took his arm and let him lead her outside, where a barouche sat at the curb, the soft top down, despite the indifferent weather. Eleanor bit her lip. He did pay attention to details then, just as he’d said. With the top down, everyone on the fashionable promenade would see her in his company, and the gossip would start before they’d even made it once around The Ring.
Mr. West signaled to the driver to ascend the box, then held out his hand to her. “Lady Eleanor?”
She gave him the tips of her gloved fingers and tried not to notice the way they disappeared into his hand. His palm was so large it swallowed hers, and he’d swallow the rest of her if she couldn’t find a way out of this mess.
She was about to spring into the barouche and take the place next to Tilly when a glance at the seating arrangements made her change her mind, and she took the opposite seat instead.
Mr. West swung up after her and settled himself in the seat beside her. She jerked back like a scalded cat when his knee brushed against hers, but he didn’t appear to notice.
“Are you quite comfortable, Miss Tilly?” he asked.
Tilly gave him a non-committal grunt in reply.
Eleanor, lost in her own thoughts, ignored them both.
“. . . spend much time driving in the park?”
Goodness, his legs were long, and his thighs were . . . muscular. They took up an awful lot of room in the carriage. She hadn’t realized she’d be able to feel the heat of his thigh next to her own. She hadn’t wanted to sit next to him, but if she seated herself to his right, her hat blocked his view of her face, which made it much harder for him to carry on a conversation with her.
It gave her time to think.
“. . . perhaps some better weather before the season is over.”
Was it too late to persuade him she was addle-pated? She’d been so shocked this morning she hadn’t said anything coherent at all to him, so perhaps it was still possible—
“Do you prefer to drive in The Ring, or walk around the Serpentine?”
Blast it. How had she so misjudged him? Her schemes were generally quite effective; her siblings had thoughtfully provided scrapes and scandals enough for her to hone her skills in that quarter, but here she’d made a tactical error, and right at the outset, too.
“Lady Eleanor, Mr. West is speaking to you.”
She’d made a mess of this, and now so she’d have to backtrack, and pray he didn’t notice. It wasn’t ideal, but perhaps all was not lost. He wanted to marry her, yes, but he didn’t seem to like her much, and unless she was mistaken, he also didn’t have any use for the ton. If he already thought her frivolous and spoiled, surely it wouldn’t take much effort on her part to encourage him she was a peahen, as well.
Well, it would have to do, wouldn’t it? She’d simply present him with what he expected to see, and hope for the best. Perhaps he wouldn’t think to question it.
“Can you hear me, Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor jumped. “My goodness, Mr. West! Why are you shouting in my ear?”
He gave her an exasperated look. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I feared you’d fallen into some kind of a fit.”
“Fit? Why, how ridiculous. As you can see, I’m perfectly well.”
Tilly grunted again. “Mr. West asked you a question, my lady.”
Eleanor hesitated. Did she dare?
Foolish question. She did dare, because she hadn’t any other choice, unless she wanted to find herself married to Camden West.
And that was no choice at all.
She let her jaw go slack, opened her eyes wide, and turned this blank expression upon Camden West. “Question? What kind of question?”
He drew in a long, slow, patient breath. “Shall I repeat it for you, Lady Eleanor?”
Eleanor furrowed her brow, as if her answer required the utmost concentration, then turned to him with a vapid smile. “Oh, how kind. I wish you would.”
“Would you prefer to drive around The Ring, or take a walk along the Serpentine?”
“Oh!” Eleanor clapped her hands together in glee. “I do so love a drive!”
He startled, then frowned down at her. “Of course. A drive it is.”
She tilted her head to the side, as if disappointed, and sighed. “Oh, but I do so love a walk, as well.”
Too much? If the change were too abrupt, he’d think her mad.
Then again . . .
Madness. Yes, that might work, too. No gentleman wanted insanity in the family line. She’d keep it in mind in case the mind-numbing foolishness didn’t work.
“Why don’t we see which you prefer when we arrive?” His tone was polite, but his hands, which rested on his knees, closed into fists.
Not too much, then. She bit her lip to hold back a sigh. It was silly of her to be disappointed. Mr. West was giving her just the reaction she wanted, and yet . . .
She’d expected more of him. As observant as he was, shouldn’t he be able to see through such a ruse? How disheartening that even the cleverest of gentlemen should be so willing to believe a lady is a featherbrain.
She pushed the thought aside. This was what she wanted—for him to find her silly and tedious. “What a wonderful idea! How clever you are, Mr. West.” She laid a hand on his arm and gave him a dazzling, vacant smile.
A featherbrain, and a flirt.
It was a delicate maneuver, flirting with Mr. West, but there was nothing in the world more tedious than excessive adoration. One need look no further than poor Lord Tidmarsh for proof of that. As handsome and wealthy as Mr. West was, the ladies likely did fawn over him, so he might find it more tedious than most.
He looked down at her hand, which lingered on his arm a touch longer than was proper, then into her face. She gazed back at him, careful to keep her expression worshipful.
He shifted back in his seat, as if he wished to get away from her. “Yes. Clever. Thank you, Lady Eleanor.”
After a moment, Eleanor removed her hand and ducked back under her hat, but not before she got a glimpse of his face. Oh, dear—he did look annoyed, as if nothing irritated him more than a scatterbrained woman.
What a shame, for she felt an alarming case of scattered brains coming on. Like seeds on the wind, they’d scatter all over London.