Behind the Mask (House of Lords) (30 page)

She was saved from having to answer any more questions when Parkinson came in to announce that dinner was ready. Eleanor followed her family into the small private dining room, but she found that she had no appetite. Instead, she stared glumly down at her plate until the meal was over, pushing her food around and trying to smile every time her mother glanced in her direction.

It was only as she was making her way back upstairs to her room that her mother appeared at her side. “You hardly touched a thing at dinner. Are you nervous, dear?” she asked.

Eleanor almost reminded her mother that she did not need to be nervous for her wedding night, that that was the very reason why there
was
a wedding night in the first place, but it would have been cruel. Instead she said, “It has been a long day.”

“Yes, it has, and tomorrow will be even longer. You must try to get some rest tonight,” her mother advised, smiling mischievously. “Perhaps when this is all over you will get that honeymoon on the Continent and have some time to relax and recover. I fear the next week will not give you much time alone with Lord Pierce.”

“I imagine not,” Eleanor agreed. They had reached the door of her chamber.

“You have been a dutiful daughter, Eleanor, and I am sure you will be a dutiful wife, but I hope that you will also be happy. Please promise me that you will try.”

Unbidden, Eleanor felt sudden tears spring to her eyes. “I will, mother. I promise.” It was the truth, as far as it went. She would
try
. She was determined to try. Whether or not she would succeed was another question.

Kissing her cheek, her mother smiled and went away down the corridor without another word. Eleanor sighed and went into her room. She had given Lily the rest of the evening off, though someone had clearly been in to clean the blood out of the carpet—there was only a very faint stain in the delicate pattern. And she saw when she entered that her maid had laid out the nightgown that had been hastily made especially for her wedding night. It was a filmy, insubstantial confection of pale pink satin with wide lace trim, and when Eleanor had removed her gown, petticoats and chemise and slipped into it she could see every curve of her body beneath it, though there were few enough of those to be had. She had always been slender, and many times she had found herself envying the twins’ generous curves. But the nightgown highlighted what assets Eleanor did have, and she had to admit that it was masterful work.

It was just too bad Colin wasn’t here to see it.

The night was quite warm, and after she had removed all the pins from her hair, Eleanor did not put on her wrapper before climbing into bed. She had thought she would never be able to fall asleep after all the turmoil of the day, but as she lowered her head onto the pillow her eyelids felt suddenly heavy. Certainly, she told herself, there was nothing to stay awake for. Colin would be out on his patrol for hours, she was sure. So she allowed herself to drift into a comfortable doze, and before she knew it she had fallen into an exhausted slumber.

Colin knelt amid the ruins of the castle on the southern hill, his eyes carefully scanning the ground. In the bright moonlight he could clearly see bootprints in the earth, and the remnants of a sack of dried fruit lay beside one of the larger stones. Whoever had been here had departed hastily, leaving behind the evidence of their presence. Had it been the Serraray, watching to see if their emissary succeeded in his mission?

As Colin stood and went back to his horse, he wondered for the hundredth time that night exactly what that mission had been. Had they meant for the man to kill someone, or had he merely been conducting some sort of reconnaissance? Colin meant to get the answers from Meddur Udad, the man currently strapped to the table in the dressing room, but he was not quite sure how to go about it.

He had never really learned the craft of espionage. There had been opportunities, especially in Vienna, where nearly every diplomat was a spy for some country or other. There had been a choice to be made when Colin had first gone to the Continent, a fork in the road, and he had chosen the diplomatic path, wishing to make a legitimate name for himself, wanting his accomplishments to be lauded, hoping that everyone would recognize his ability to achieve something without his father’s name supporting him. He had not wanted his deeds to be relegated to the shadows. Colin was aware that there were many who suspected he was a spy, and it had certainly gotten him into trouble in Vienna. But he had not made the same mistakes in Brussels. He had made it clear what his purpose was, and Baron Stockmar had taken him at his word. There had been no shady backroom negotiations, no covert files or letters in code. And there had been absolutely no need to interrogate anyone. Colin had seen a captive interrogated in Vienna, and while the man had not exactly been tortured, it was clear to him that the methods of persuasion used by the French agents had been less than friendly. He had never had any desire to follow their example, and he would do everything in his power to avoid having to do so now. But if it meant the difference between safety and peril for the future queen, well...

What would he do?

Colin had never had to ask himself that question before. Now it seemed that he had no choice but to confront the proposition head on.

Perhaps a night alone in the cold dressing room would loosen Meddur Udad’s tongue.

Strathmore and the patrol he had taken down to Havenhall rode up the hill.

“Anything?” Colin asked as his assistant dismounted.

Strathmore shook his head, looking downtrodden. “Nothing of interest.”

Colin nodded thoughtfully. “You know what that means, then,” he said.

“The tunnel,” Strathmore groaned, a little overdramatically, Colin thought, but he could hardly scold the man, who had been out nearly the whole evening on a patrol before this.

“Eleanor said there was a trapdoor around here somewhere,” Colin said, striding back towards the broken, crumbling staircase. It didn’t take him long to find the wooden door set in the earth. It was a narrow opening, but he was certain a man could fit through it. And it had been used recently. All the grass and earth surrounding it was turned and freshly trampled, as if the men hadn’t even bothered to hide their tracks.

Strathmore stood beside him staring down into the blackness. “We don’t have any lanterns,” he said.

“We’ll have to go back and get some,” Colin said.

Glancing over his shoulder at the patrols, Strathmore said quietly, “We won’t find anything down there tonight. They know we have their man by now; they’ll have gone to ground again. I’ll stay here. Let’s send one of the patrols back to Havenhall. You ride back to the great house and send men to relieve us, and we’ll go through the tunnel tomorrow.”

Colin considered arguing, but he knew there was no point. “Very well,” he said.

He set one patrol to guard the trapdoor and the other he sent back to Havenhall to keep watch. Then he rode down the hill and across the park to the great house. As Colin went back into the hall, he glanced at the great old clock. Past two. Perhaps Eleanor would already be asleep. For a moment Colin considered going to the guest room he had been given and snatching a few hours’ sleep. It would certainly be easier than facing her after his harsh words the night before. He had meant to find her this morning, to apologize for what he had said before they went through with the wedding. He knew that he had hurt her—even a fool would have been able to see that—and it was no way to start off a marriage. But instead he had ridden to Havenhall and back and slept late to make up for the long night.

But all his clothes had already been moved to Eleanor’s room, and the family would be expecting to find him there in the morning. How would it look if they discovered him in another room instead?

Colin sighed and went up the stairs. It took him a moment to remember which room was Eleanor’s, but at last he found the right door, turned the handle and went in.

Through the fog of her slumber, Eleanor heard the door click shut. She lifted her head from the pillow, one hand drifting sleepily through the air towards the jewelry box that hid the pistol. But then she recognized the man outlined against the moonlit windows.

“It’s just me,” Colin whispered. He crept across the room and leaned over her.

Staring drowsily up at him, she said, “I thought you went out on a patrol.”

“I did. We’ve just gotten back.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, of course. I didn’t expect that you would—”

“I can sleep somewhere else if you like,” he offered, straightening.

A sudden fear gripped her. “No,” she insisted, reaching out for his hand. “No, please, please stay.” She sat up, brushing her loose hair from her face with her free hand.

Even in the pale moonlight she saw his eyes widen. “What are you wearing?” he asked, allowing her to pull him down to sit beside her.

“Do you like it?” she asked, embarrassed at the self-conscious tone of her voice. “Bernadine, my mother’s maid, used to be a seamstress. She made it for me, for tonight.”

He frowned. “Our wedding night.”

She gripped his fingers more tightly. “Colin, we don’t have to...I mean, I know that this isn’t what you wanted.”

His fingers brushed her cheek. “How could you possibly imagine that you are not what I want?” he said softly. His fingers trailed down her neck and along her collarbone, and she felt her body leaning into his caress, her yearning for his touch overpowering all other considerations.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, reaching up to pull his coat from his shoulders.

He shrugged out of the coat and leaned down to press his lips gently to her shoulder. She felt her nipple tighten beneath the thin satin of the nightgown. “Not yet,” he said. He leaned down and pulled his boots off and then slid further on to the bed, one arm coming around her waist. Then he kissed her in earnest, pulling her against him, his tongue delving into her mouth, pushing her back against the pillow. Somehow she managed to reach up and pull his cravat free, and when she had removed it she set to work on his waistcoat and shirt. As she bared his muscular chest to the moonlight Eleanor chose not to think of how he had hurt her, or how she had hurt him. She thought only of how much she wanted him, how close they were in this moment, as she leaned forward and brushed her lips against the smooth skin of his chest. He gasped as her mouth neared his nipple. With a mischievous glance up at him she flicked her tongue against it, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through her when he let out a low moan. As she moved to the other nipple her fingers found the buttons of his trousers and loosened them, pushing them off his hips. He came up and over her to allow her to pull them down, and as he stepped out of them he pulled the coverlet away. She went up onto her knees and kissed him again, her lips tracing along his jaw until she reached his earlobe. She took the tender skin into her mouth, sucking gently. When he would have laid her back down on the bed, however, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him down onto the mattress instead. She straddled him, brushing her hair back over her shoulders as she leaned down to kiss his chest again, her lips traveling lower, moving over the taut muscles of his stomach. She felt the hardness of his erection against her neck, and he shuddered as it brushed her skin. Her lips inches from the swollen head, she looked up at him, almost grinning at the expression on his face as he watched her with eager anticipation. Then, her eyes still fixed on his, she traced the crown with her tongue.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” she asked, hearing the husky edge to her voice despite the fact that she was uncertain what her answer would be. She had heard that men liked to be pleasured in this way, but her limited experience had not included such a practice.

But when he nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow, she knew she had done the right thing, and she became a little bolder, taking the tip of his manhood in her mouth and tonguing it lightly, then opening her mouth wider to accept more of him, moving slowly up and down in a blatant mimicry of the act they had enjoyed in the library. Just thinking of that moment brought a surge of wetness between her legs.

His fingers brushed her hair back from her face as she pleasured him, and when he moaned her name she ran her tongue along his length and then looked back up at him. “I don’t know what to do next,” she admitted sheepishly.