The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (6 page)

Returning with the animal, he loaded their attacker across the saddle, cinching the cravat and leather strap to the seat. Next, taking the gun from her grasp, he brought his own horse alongside; he mounted and then motioned to Ella. “You will ride with me, Lady Eleanor.” He saw her start to object, but then the sensible Eleanor Fowler took control, and she accepted his extended hand. Placing her foot on the top of his in the stirrup, Ella climbed into his arms, settling on James's lap. Enjoying having another excuse to hold her, James teasingly whispered close to her ear, “Do not get too used to all this attention, Lady Eleanor. I intend to take a full look at this year's social offerings.”

Not anticipating his denial of their closeness, Ella flustered, “I assure you, Lord Worthing, I have no such expectations!”

“As long as we have an understanding.”

Ella muddled with indignation. “James Kerrington, you are the most frustrating…!”

Before she could finish her tirade, his mouth found hers. For a split second, she resisted, but then Ella relaxed into the moment. Although he fought to keep his senses clear, he was a possessed man. Her body's warm glow intensified his need—feeding it.
When Ella shivered, he allowed his tongue to trace the line of her lips—to touch her mouth's soft surfaces. She awakened a latent need in him—a need he could no longer deny. Every nerve in his body existed to know this woman. He pressed Ella closer to him, breathing in the scent of her hair—her skin—her innocence. James wanted to smother her with his passion, but, instinctively, he knew it was not the way to go with Ella. If he had guessed correctly, Eleanor Fowler had experienced some sort of maltreatment at her father's hand. She would need small doses of affection before she could learn to trust again. Last night, James had considered discussing his premise with her brother, but Brantley Fowler was known to use a hammer when a feather would better serve. Fowler's sister needed a different kind of touch. Hating to end it, James slowly withdrew his mouth from hers. “Nice.” His grin reached his eyes. “I would wrestle another dozen men for such a reward.” The thrill of her intimacy rocked his reason, and he wondered whether she might feel the same.

Ella blushed and hid her face in the opening of his shirt. “I should never have acted so impetuously,” she rasped.

“It will be our secret, Darling.” James tightened his embrace before offering her an excuse, something she would need to justify her own actions. “I do not want to face one of my best friends on the dueling field. It was just the shock of what happened.” Ella's head moved in affirmation of what he said, but James felt her arms go around his waist, and he relaxed, knowing he had judged correctly how to handle the very complex Eleanor Fowler. After several such private minutes, he asked, “Did you recognize the man?”

Ella leaned back where she might see his face. “No,…but it has been some time since I was off the estate. Unless he was a cottager or a village merchant, I would likely not have seen him.”

“We will let your brother question him.” James turned the horse they shared toward the main stables. He laced the reins of the other animal to a lead strap. “Bran was quite the expert in obtaining information when the rest of us could not.We used to call him
the
Vicar
, what with people making confessions and your brother's need to rescue every woman and child he saw.”

“Bran?” she gasped.

“Your brother was one of my best men.” James assured her. “Whatever is happening at Thornhill, Fowler will figure it out.”

Ella looked at him with surprise. “Do you think, my Lord, someone wishes to hurt us?”

“Lady Eleanor, you are intelligent enough to realize that two shooting incidents in less than a week is not usual.” James shifted her weight into a more appropriate position as they came into view of the house. “I do not wish to scare you, but please be careful.”

Ella nodded in understanding.

“I want nothing to happen to you, Ella.” James lifted her chin with his finger. “You have no idea how frightened I was today when I found you under Sampson's flaying hooves.” They stared deeply into each other's eyes.

 

At the stables now, he knew he should release her, but James and Eleanor were lost to their closeness—lost in each other's eyes, the rest of the world did not exist. “My Lord,” a groomsman's voice invaded the moment; he stood by a mounting block and reached up to help Lady Eleanor to the step. Reluctantly, James released her. Almost immediately, the Thorn Hall staff surrounded them, and Fowler came running, followed closely by Miss Aldridge. For those few exquisite seconds, lost in Ella's eyes, he saw his future—saw her by his side, and the thought did not shake him as he had once considered it might: It actually seemed to bring closure to his loneliness.

“Worthing, what the hell?” Fowler's voice held irritation as he encircled Ella in his arms, trying to determine who might be the culprit. Ella's appearance told everyone something bad happened.

“I brought you a present, Your Grace.” James gestured to the trailing horse. “When I go after a shooter, I get my man.”

It pleased James that Fowler lovingly adjusted Ella in his arms,
protecting his sister. The woman needed such tenderness. Fowler bent his head to speak in her ear. “He shot at you?” He gestured toward the trailing horse.

Ella readily nodded. “Sampson went down; His Lordship took care of my horse after capturing that man.” The strength of her voice surprised James. Clearly, she held that inner resolve, the one he had imagined for her, all along.

 

“Are you hurt?” Fowler demanded.

“Very sore and a bad headache…I was unconscious for a few minutes.” Ella glanced around at the gathering crowd, and then her eyes followed the line of her brother's shoulder to find Lord Worthing. Someone had just shot at her; however, nothing else mattered but that intense moment she had shared with the viscount. This man just kissed her—she relived it in her mind, and without thought Ella's fingers brushed her lips in recollection. She could not keep her eyes from him. He still sat on his horse, an example of pure male, and she found that thought very pleasing, although a bit disturbing. The smell of him—musky sandalwood—clung to her. She had never acted so impulsively with anyone, especially not with a man of James Kerrington's apparent charms. In fact, Ella had only been kissed once in her life, and that was one of the stable boys when she was but ten years of age, and even then it was on the cheek. Now, she knew the power of a kiss, and she thought she might like to try it again.

 

As the others untied the captive, Fowler released his sister to their cousin's care. “Let Velvet take you into the house, Ella.” As Eleanor leaned heavily on Miss Aldridge for support, James's eyes followed, still mesmerized by the moment they had shared. He had known many women in his lifetime, but for some unexplainable reason, Eleanor Fowler caught him by the shoulders and spun him around in circles. He desperately wanted to catch her up before him again and possessively ride off with her in his arms—to kiss the sprinkling
of freckles along the slender line of her neck, which he had seen earlier today—to remove the pins and let her golden hair stream down over his waiting hands.

Fowler's words brought him to the moment at hand. “You men put Lord Worthing's captive in the root cellar. Place guards outside the door. I will send for the physician and the magistrate.” Thorn Hall's footmen responded immediately.

Obviously not amused by James's preoccupation, Fowler demanded, “Would you care to join me in my study, Worthing?”

James chuckled when the duke did not wait for an answer. He slid from the saddle and followed Ella's brother to the house. “Hey, I thought I was the commanding officer,” he called as he caught up to Fowler.

His friend's anger boiled over. “Not this time! This is personal.”

 

For the next half hour, Fowler and James thoroughly dissected what had happened with the shooter. The duke sent for the physician for both Ella and the prisoner, but he withheld sending for the magistrate until he had some answers of his own.

“It just does not seem logical. A man does not just lay in wait, hoping a rider comes by; someone must know of your movements. Yet, even with that, no one could determine exactly where Lady Eleanor and I would ride today.We had no destination in mind.”

“Ella was to show you the estate,” Fowler reasoned. “Obviously, there are certain points of interest.”

“But that does not guarantee we would be crossing that particular meadow.” James thought aloud. “And who is the target? Lady Eleanor and Miss Aldridge were the recipients, but were they the objectives? Somehow, I cannot imagine either of them engendering such rancor. That leaves your father's enemies, your enemies as a Realm member, or your enemies in Cornwall. Do you have any ideas?”

“I made a mental list the other evening—afterVelvet's encounter.”

James just nodded; he knew this was how his friend's mind
worked—taking bits and pieces of information and making sense of them. “Then I suspect it is time for the
Vicar
to make a call on the prisoner.”

Fowler stood slowly; James noted his uncomfortable frown. “Is there anything I should know regarding my sister?”

“Other than the fact that I find Lady Eleanor quite remarkable?”

“Ella seems perfectly in control and efficiently independent, but she is very vulnerable,” Fowler cautioned.

James smiled, recognizing how he would feel in the same situation. “I promise you, Your Grace, I would never purposely hurt Lady Eleanor.”

Begrudgingly, the duke said, “I am glad you stay with us,Worthing. I am in need of your reason, and, I suspect, Ella would prefer it that way.”

 

Fowler secured very little from their prisoner. Even with the threat of hanging for attacking a peer, the man swore he did not know who had hired him. The prisoner, Harry Sparks, gave Fowler the name of the “friend” who had paid him to send a “message” to the new duke, but, for all intents and purposes, Sparks's partner likely knew as little as he did. Whoever made Fowler his target hid his trail well.

With James's encouragement, they decided to send what information Fowler coerced to their friend, the Marquis of Godown, asking him to meet them in London. James also called in some favors for information, in the form of Bow Street Runners, who sought connections to Sparks and his partner Lionel Stimpson, and, reluctantly, Fowler sent word to Shepherd. If this “message” came from one of the Realm's former interests, Shepherd, the Realm's government contact, needed to know. Eventually, Fowler and James turned Sparks over to the local magistrate, who insisted on transporting the prisoner immediately to London, declaring that such a nefarious attempt needed the attention of the best prosecutors the law could provide. They would house Sparks at Old Bailey. Within
three days' time, word came that a Bow Street Runner had apprehended Lionel Stimpson in an abandoned building in Spitalfields. Shepherd took possession of both men and said he would inform them of any new leads as soon as they became available.

“Will you not join us, Bran?” Ella called from the library, noting her brother passing the open door.

Fowler stepped reluctantly into the room. Looking distracted, he simply offered them the required greeting. “I have work, Ella; I will beg your pardon. Please enjoy your game.”

She and James Kerrington sat at a chessboard, preparing to start the match. “We might find other amusements.”

James recognized the look on Bran's face—he had seen it often enough over the years. Any time Fowler held a puzzle where all the pieces did not fit, his countenance took on such gloom and doom. Releasing his friend to tend to the points of the investigation, he said, “Do you fear my besting you, Lady Eleanor?”

Predictably, Ella flushed with color, reacting to his attentions. “You should know, my Lord, I take no prisoners when I play chess.”

“She does not, Worthing,” Fowler warned before bowing from the room.

Alone again, James leaned forward to flirtatiously tease her. “No prisoners when you play chess, Lady Eleanor?”

“Absolutely not,Your Lordship,” she smirked.

“When do you take prisoners, Lady Eleanor? I willingly sacrifice myself to such punishments.”

Eleanor smiled despite her embarrassment. Her acceptance of his flirtation pleased James. She had over the past few days become more comfortable with him. Part of his plan. “You are a wretched man, Lord Worthing; you say the most bizarre things. I should chastise you for your forwardness, but you would just apologize and feign real remorse. Then I would have to forgive you despite the impropriety. We will skip all those steps and simply return to the game.”