The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (5 page)

 

What could she say?
She had internally decided to savor her memory of him, and although Eleanor found James Kerrington attractive,
the idea of spending time with him alone sent her heart pounding. He was a magnificent sight, but she wanted nothing to do with any man beyond simple conversation. His intimate embrace yesterday still radiated through her body, and she could not help but feel breathless just thinking of it. Her brother and the viscount continued their exchange, but Ella spent her time trying to justify the way her breasts hardened and the way she felt an unexplained yearning between her legs every time she shot a glance at the alltoo-handsome viscount. She could not explain the sensation. It was a hunger, but not one the coddled eggs would fill.

 

“And Crowden is in Staffordshire?” Fowler inquired.

“Gabriel is the new Marquis of Godown. I received a letter only last week. It gave me great pleasure to tell him of your restoration at Thorn Hall; I expect you will hear from him within days.”

“Do you suppose we might persuade the new marquis to join us for the London Season?”The duke continued to eat his kippers.

James, out of the corner of his eye, noted Eleanor flinch with her brother's words. “Godown intends to establish himself as part of London's society, as will you,Your Grace—claiming your seats in Parliament and all.”

“Who would think,” Bran mused, “the seven of us who fought so closely might all end up in Britain's Parliament together?”

“Of course, Lowery and Wellston are minor sons, although word has it that the Earl of Berwick is near death, and Marcus will soon claim the title as his older brother is not right in the wits. The Earl has seen to it in the estate's papers. Marcus will provide Trevor a home, but he will be the new earl,” James reminded his friend. “Lowery accepted a ranking position in Shepherd's inner circle.” They spoke in a silent code of their former alliances.

“If you will excuse me,” Eleanor stood as she spoke. “I will retire to change into my riding habit. Might we say twenty minutes, my Lord?” Her eyes never looked directly at James, which actually disappointed him, although it offered no surprise.

“I will have the stable saddle your favorite mount, Lady Eleanor.” He stood to acknowledge her departure.

Eleanor curtsied and prepared to leave when Bran caught her hand. “Take one of the grooms, Ella.” James hated the fact that Fowler made an issue of a possible indiscretion. Evidently, Thornhill knew nothing of Eleanor's troubled sleep, and James wanted no more guilt to plague her.

She nodded in agreement. “Everything will be as propriety demands, Bran. I assure you, I want no more scandal associated with the Fowler name.”

CHAPTER 2

“ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN HANDLE LOGAN without our help?”

The groom pulled at his forelock. “Oh, yes, Lady Eleanor. If 'n I walk him slow, old Logan will be fine.”

Eleanor had shown Lord Worthing most of the property's points of interest, including the waterfall at the end of the nature walk and the large lake behind the north lawn. Now, she broke her promise to her brother by excusing the groom to return to the stables. “I will check on the horse when His Lordship and I return to Thorn Hall.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”The groom took the horse's reins. “A stone be all the problem. Logan be new as a bairn in no time.”

Ella nodded her understanding. “Shall we continue, Lord Worthing?”

“Absolutely, Lady Eleanor.”

 

As they rode leisurely along a tree-shaded path, James continued to observe Eleanor first-hand. From Fowler he knew of her manipulations to keep the estate afloat—a fact which sparked his admiration. But his interest in her lay along more primordial lines: Simply put, the lady stirred his desires. James wanted to be near her—wanted to touch Lady Eleanor—wanted to kiss her senseless—wanted to feel her body's heat pressed to his. She certainly did not resemble his Elizabeth, a mark by which he had gauged all other relationships. As he told her earlier, he normally preferred his women dark in
coloring and petite, so he could not understand why in bloody hell he could not withdraw his eyes from this golden-haired Amazon, a woman who evidently had no desire to participate in Society's dictates for finding a husband? Did she not realize the gauntlet she tossed down with such words? They made him want to prove her wrong, and James knew other men would see it the same way.What would he do if…?
Bloody hell!
There he went again, thinking of Lady Eleanor as if she belonged to him. He had known the woman for less than a day, and if what he suspected had happened to her proved to be true, then he questioned whether any relationship might prove possible.

 

Riding out with the viscount had proven less stressful than Ella had imagined. When the groom had to return to the stables, she considered curtailing the tour, but a quick glance at her brother's friend changed her mind. He treated her with respect, and he listened to her.When she told him about the estate and what she had accomplished while she searched for Bran to resume the title, the viscount appeared duly impressed. Now, if he would not look at her with such intensity, she might be able to breathe again. “Have I offered an offence, my Lord?” Much to his embarrassment, James discovered Ella watched him closely.

“No,…certainly not, Lady Eleanor. You simply caught me woolgathering, I fear.”

Ella impulsively smiled at him. “Dare I ask the source of your search, my Lord?”

“Would I embarrass you, Lady Eleanor, if I declared you to be the focus of my thoughts?”

Eleanor tried to play off what he said as being absurd, but secretly his words thrilled her. The thought that this man might truly find her attractive ricocheted through her. “Lord Worthing, my brother warned me of your silver tongue. I own a mirror, Sir. I am too tall, too thin, too opinionated, and too lacking in feminine wiles to be a source of anyone's musings.”

James had a sudden desire to slide his “silver” tongue, first, between her full lips and then down Ella's body. “Ah, now, Lady Eleanor, you do me an injustice, thinking I purposely mislead any woman.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and watched as she broke into laughter. “And I know what I shall give you on your next birthday.” He paused to reel her in. “A mirror that speaks the truth—one that reflects your splendor.”

A flush of color spread quickly across her bust line and up her neck, a reaction that James appreciated. “Lord Worthing, I must admit I usually disdain such frivolous conversations, but I find your idle chatter to be just what I need today, although I place no merit on your spirited speech.”

“Another wound?” he teased. “How will I survive?”

“I believe you will do well without my attention, Lord Worthing.” Ella actually laughed at his prattle. “Now, I will show you how to please me.” With that, she kicked the side of her gelding and took off across the open meadow at a full gallop—her laughter drifting back to him.

For a few heartbeats, James simply watched her go—her joy making him satisfied in his own mind; and then, he gave pursuit, rushing across the land—the heat of the horse's flanks radiating through his thighs. He chased the tinkling sound of her merriment. As his stallion closed the distance between them, James suddenly realized that he could not remember the last time he found so much enjoyment doing nothing more than riding hard.

Then the shot rang out, and he watched in horror as Ella's horse stumbled to its front knees, and she flew over its head, rolling on the ground—horse and rider entangled in pain's wild dance. Seconds behind her, James was on his feet and running before he reined in his mount.

“Ella…Ella,” he called as he vaulted over the pawing legs of the gelding, pulling her away from the animal before it crushed her. “Ella, please,” he turned her limp body in his arms, checking for a pulse and finding one. “Speak to me, Ella.” He pushed the hair
from her face, as he searched for other injuries, running his hands up and down her legs.

Holding her to him, James's eyes scanned the perimeter. From where did the shot come? No trees—just open fields backed up to a rocky overhang—
has to be
. His instincts knew where to look—knew the only place a shooter could hide, and a shadowy movement proved his assumptions correct. He could smell the fear of his opponent even though he was still too far away for an accurate shot with the pistol he pulled from the holster strapped inside his jacket. Resting Ella on the ground, he was at a run again, moving toward the rise—eyes locked on the crevice in the rock face—gun loaded and cocked—ready for the next flash before firing his own weapon. Heart pounding—just like in the old days—he moved steadily toward the opening. Locked on, James waited—breathed evenly—watched for the gun's glint in the sunlight—then he knew, knew when to drop and roll—saw the bullet leave the barrel before the sound found him. In one sleek movement, he lowered his shoulder to the ground and allowed his momentum to take him over—a complete rotation, and he was on his knee sighting down the gun, steadying it with his other hand. The gunpowder clouded about his face, but James never lost sight of the bullet. He saw its flight—straight and accurate—saw it hit its target—saw it go in the man's shoulder—saw him fall.

Traversing the rocky outcroppings, within seconds James reached the opening and pulled the man to his feet without checking for other wounds. He had him by the lapels, pure force lifting the scant fool inches from the ground. “If you hurt her, I will rip you apart limb from limb.” Unable to control his anger, James's fist met their assailant's chin, sending the man flying backwards against the rock wall.

Not waiting to assess his attack's effect on the man, James pulled off his own cravat and bound the interloper's hands behind his back, and then half dragged and half shoved his prisoner to where Ella lay. “Open your mouth, bastard, and I will shoot you right
where you stand!”Taking a strap from Ella's saddle, he tethered the man's ankles after removing his boots.

Leaving the man lying face down like a shorn sheep in the field's middle, James returned to where Ella finally stirred. Her horse continued to whinny in pain, so before she could witness the act, he reloaded the gun and put the animal out of its misery.

“Sweetheart.” He cradled her head in his lap. “Ella, Darling,” he drawled.

“Quit calling me
Darling
,” she murmured as she tried to push up from the ground.

“Yes, Love.” He smiled in triumph as he supported her back and head to a seated position.

Ella shook her head slightly, clearing the cobwebs. “I am not your
love
either, Lord Worthing,” she insisted, still unsure what happened.

Smiling foolishly, James put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from standing too soon. “Easy.You had a rough fall, Lady Eleanor.”

Finally, the realization of what had occurred set in, and Ella looked quickly to where the grey gelding lay on its side, legs twisted. “Sampson?” she whispered, throat dry with grief.

James shook his head, unable to tell her what he had done. “He will suffer no longer,” he assured her.

“My mother bought him for me right before she died.” The words sounded very far away, and James suspected she remembered the happiness associated with that moment.

“I am sorry, Darling.” James slid his arm around her shoulder, easing Ella into his embrace, allowing her to hide her sobs. After a few minutes, he edged her back. “I need to see you home, Lady Eleanor. Do you think you can stand?”

Ella nodded her understanding and allowed him to support her to her feet. When her eyes fell on the fettered man, they grew in size. “You were busy, Lord Worthing.”

“Anything for you, Ella.” Despite the impropriety, he helped her straighten her clothing and hat. “You need that mirror now,” he teased. “You look quite delicious when you are rumpled.”

“Wretch!” She pretended his familiarity offended her, but she squeezed his hand before letting go.

“Do you suppose you could hold the gun on our friend while I retrieve his mount?” If it were any other woman, James would expect a case of the vapors, but not Ella. Instinctively, he knew her strength. Somehow, this woman had survived William Fowler; she could handle herself.

She reached for the pistol. “I have never used a gun before. What should I do?”

“Just hold it steady.” He adjusted her hand on the weapon. “It is not likely he can move, but this is a precaution. I will be back in a moment.”Without a second look, knowing she would not panic, James scaled the rocky incline again. It took no time whatsoever for him to find the man's horse tied to a bush along the access road.