The Paid Companion

“That is absolutely untrue, sir,” she said stiffly. “I had no notion that you could not resist me. Furthermore, I don’t believe it for one moment.”

  “I assure you, it is the truth.” He finished adjusting his trousers. “I fear I am merely a hapless victim of your charms.”

  He was teasing her, she thought. Or was he?

  She searched his face, but she could not be certain. She was growing more confused by the moment.

  “Hapless is the very last word I would ever employ to describe you, sir,” she said.

  “Now you are trying to evade the blame by implying that I should have been more resolute and strong-willed.” He shook his head as he walked toward her. “You disappoint me, Miss Lodge. I believed you to be far too honorable to try that trick.”

  Damnation, she thought. She could not figure out what he was about.

  “It is not a trick,” she said. “Furthermore, I must tell you—”

  The muffled sound of the front door opening interrupted her. Voices sounded in the hall. A fresh wave of panic roiled through her. Margaret and Bennett had arrived.

  She looked around wildly, seeking escape. Perhaps she could slip out the window into the garden. But then how would she get back inside the house?

  “What’s the matter, Elenora?” Arthur asked very softly as he fastened his shirt. “Did you fail to plan for the possibility that your night of seduction might be interrupted at an inopportune moment?”

  “Do not dare to taunt me, sir.” She kept her voice to a hoarse whisper. “They might come in here at any moment. What are we to do?”

  He swept her a gallant bow. “Do not fear. Although I am not at all sure that you deserve it, I will save you from the embarrassment of being caught in such an extremely compromising position.”

  “How?” she asked baldly.

  “Leave the details to me.”

  He collected his domino and carried it to the far end of the room near the window that looked out onto the garden. He shoved the used handkerchief out of sight beneath the folds.

  Then he scooped up her costume and draped it over her shoulders.

  Taking a firm grasp on her arm, he urged her toward the spiral staircase. She frowned at the balcony that rimmed the library. “You expect me to hide up there?”

  “One of the bookcases is actually a hidden door that opens into a linen closet.” He hurried her up the narrow steps. “No one has used it in years. I had almost forgotten about it until I realized that it is where Ibbitts must have hidden when he eavesdropped on our conversations.”

  “A secret panel? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “How thrilling,” she breathed, going swiftly up the steps ahead of him. “Just like in a horrid novel.”

  “I see that you find the notion of a hidden door even more stimulating than my lovemaking.”

  “Oh, no, truly. It is just that, well, I have never had occasion to make use of a secret doorway.”

  “Do not try to make excuses. You have battered my delicate sensibilities quite enough for one night.”

  “If you expect me to take that remark as a jest,” she said, “I must tell you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired.”

  “What makes you think I am joking?”

  On the balcony, he turned to the left, grasped the edge of a bookcase and tugged. Elenora watched, fascinated, as the entire section of shelving slid aside to reveal a darkened linen closet.

  “In you go.” He ushered her inside. “The door in the closet opens onto the hall very close to your bedchamber. I suggest you make haste before Margaret finishes saying good night to Bennett and makes her way upstairs.”

  She stepped quickly into the shadows and whirled to face him. “What about you?”

  The suspicious gleam disappeared from Arthur’s gaze. He turned coolly thoughtful. “I believe that this is an excellent opportunity for me to have a chat with Bennett. I shall ask him to help me keep an eye on you and Margaret.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Good night, my sweet seductress. Next time I promise to do my utmost to provide you with a more stimulating experience.”

  He closed the bookcase door in her face before she could recover from the notion of a “next time.”

  24

  Arthur went back down the spiral staircase, humming very softly to himself. The combination of guilt, panic and the afterglow of his lovemaking in Elenora’s glorious golden eyes had been priceless.

  High time she accepted the blame for toying with his emotions, he thought cheerfully.

  The situation in which they were now embroiled had become stunningly more complex with tonight’s events, but in spite of all that had transpired, he was feeling better than he had in a very long time.

  Meanwhile, he now had not one but two murders to solve.

  At the foot of the staircase he remembered to shove his fingers through his hair, raking it back from his forehead into some semblance of neatness. A quick check of his appearance in the octagonal mirror beside the door assured him that he looked like a man who had been relaxing in the privacy of his library after a busy night on the town.

  He surveyed the room. As far as he could tell there was no evidence whatsoever that he had just finished engaging in a bout of wild, reckless passion with his fraudulent fiancée.

  He opened the door and went down the corridor, taking his time and making enough noise to ensure that Margaret and Bennett had ample notice of his impending arrival.

  The murmur of low voices stopped when he walked into the front hall. Margaret and Bennett were standing very close together. The air of intimacy that surrounded them was unmistakable.

  They both looked at him. Margaret’s face was flushed. Bennett wore a bedazzled expression.

  “Good evening, Arthur,” Margaret said brightly. “I didn’t know you were still awake.”

  Arthur inclined his head. “I’m sure you’re exhausted and anxious to go upstairs to bed.”

  “Well, not really—” Margaret began.

  Arthur ignored her and looked at Bennett. “I’m having a brandy in the library, sir. Will you join me?”

  Bennett tightened his grip on the handle of his walking stick. “Yes, of course.”

  Margaret frowned, looking distinctly uneasy. “Arthur, why do you want to be private with Bennett? You are not going to embarrass me by asking him to declare his intentions, are you? If so, I would remind you that I am a widow, not a green girl. My personal life is my own.”

  Arthur sighed. “Yet another female who thinks she should be allowed to make all her own decisions. What the devil is the world coming to, Fleming? At this rate the ladies will soon have no more need of us poor males.”

  “I am serious, Arthur,” Margaret said forcefully.

  “It’s all right, my dear.” Bennett kissed her hand. “St. Merryn and I are old friends, remember? I have no objection whatsoever to joining him for a brandy in his library.”

  Margaret did not look happy about the situation, but her eyes softened. “Very well. But promise me that you will not allow him to coerce you into making any statements or promises that you do not wish to make.”

  Bennett patted her hand reassuringly. “Do not worry about me, my dear. I am quite capable of dealing with this matter.”

  “Yes, of course.” Margaret shot Arthur one last warning glance, picked up her skirts and went swiftly up the stairs.

  Arthur motioned Bennett down the hall toward the library. “I think you will find that my new brandy is excellent.”

  Bennett chuckled. “I do not doubt that. You only purchase the best.”

  Arthur followed him into the library, closed the door and walked to the table that held the decanter and glasses. “Please be seated. I asked you in here this evening because I have something of great importance to discuss with you.”

  “I understand.” Bennett sat down in one of the chairs that faced the hearth and stretched out his legs. “You wish to inquire into the nature of my i
ntentions toward Margaret. I assure you, they are entirely honorable.”

  “Of course they are. Good lord, man, that is the least of my concerns. You are one of the most honorable men I have ever known in my entire life.”

  Bennett seemed oddly embarrassed but quite gratified by that remark. “Why, thank you. The sentiment is entirely reciprocated, as I’m sure you know.”

  Arthur nodded brusquely and picked up the two glasses he had just filled. He handed one to Bennett. “I am pleased to see Margaret looking so happy, and I comprehend that you are the reason.”

  Bennett relaxed and took a sip. “I consider myself a very fortunate man. I did not think that I would ever meet another woman I could love after I lost Elizabeth. It is not often that life gives us a second chance, is it?”

  “No.” Arthur reflected briefly. “You two make an excellent match, do you not? You read novels and Margaret writes them. What could be more ideal?”

  Bennett choked and sputtered on his brandy. “You know about her career as an author?”

  “Certainly.” Arthur sat down across from him.

  “She thinks that you are unaware that she writes for the Minerva Press under the name of Mrs. Margaret Mallory.”

  “Why is it that everyone assumes that I do not know what is going on in my own family?” Arthur began. He broke off at the sight of a narrow strip of pale blue ribbon lying on the carpet near the sofa.

  It was one of the blue satin garters Elenora had used to secure her stockings.

  He stood quickly Bennett frowned. “Something wrong?”

  “Not at all. Just thought I’d prod the fire a bit.”

  He grabbed the poker, made a couple of desultory stabs at the crumbling embers and then moved leisurely back to his chair, taking a path that brought the toe of his boot very near the garter.

  “I did not ask you in here to discuss Margaret. What I wish to discuss with you is the status of my inquiries. There has been another murder.”

  “Never say so.” Bennett paused in the acting of taking a swallow of brandy. His heavy brows came together in a bushy line above his nose. “What the devil are you talking about, sir?”

  Arthur took advantage of the moment of acute distraction. Using the toe of his boot, he nudged the garter out of sight under the sofa. It was still visible if one knew where to look, but it was unlikely that Bennett would get down on his hands and knees to survey the carpet for signs of recent debauchery.

  Satisfied that he had done all he could to conceal the evidence, Arthur continued back to his chair.

  “I found Ibbitts shot to death this evening.”

  “Good God, man.”

  Arthur sat down. “The situation has grown considerably more dangerous. I am going to need your help, Fleming.”

  Elenora heard the knock on her bedchamber just as she got herself free of the domino and gown. Margaret.

  “One moment,” she called.

  She stuffed the gown and costume out of sight in the wardrobe, seized her wrapper and pulled it snugly around herself. She yanked the pins from her hair, plopped a white cap on her head and removed her earrings.

  A glance in the mirror assured her that she looked like a woman who had just been summoned from her bed.

  She opened the door, hoping that Margaret would not notice that she was breathing rather quickly for someone who had been asleep.

  But Margaret did not look as though she was in a mood to pay attention to extraneous details. She radiated anxiety.

  “Are you all right?” Elenora asked, alarmed.

  “Yes, yes, I am fine, but I must speak with you.”

  “Of course.” Elenora stood back to allow her into the room. “What is wrong?”

  “It is Arthur. He has taken Bennett into his library for a private conversation.” Margaret paced nervously back and forth in front of the dresser. “I am terrified that he is going to force Bennett to declare his intentions.”

  “I see.”

  “I reminded Arthur that I am a widow and therefore have every right to a private life with a gentleman, regardless of his intentions.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But you’ve known Arthur long enough now to realize that he is inclined to take charge of one’s life, whether or not one wishes him to do so.”

  “Yes, well, if it makes you feel any better, I think I can assure you that Bennett’s intentions toward you are not the subject of the conversation that is taking place downstairs in the library.”

  Margaret stopped her pacing and turned to face her with a questioning expression. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite certain. Perhaps you had better sit down. It is a long story that begins with George Lancaster’s murder.”

  “Dear heaven.” Margaret sat down quite abruptly on the dressing-table chair.

  Bennett left, a man committed to a noble cause, some thirty minutes later. Arthur saw him out the door and locked it behind him. He turned down the lamps in the front hall and made his way back to the library.

  Inside the long chamber, he went to the sofa, crouched on one knee and reached for the blue garter.

  He picked up the damning bit of ribbon and got to his feet. For a moment he studied the garter coiled in the palm of his hand. It was delicate and enticingly feminine. He could feel himself getting aroused all over again, just looking at the thing. He recalled how he had coaxed it off Elenora’s leg so that he could lower her stocking.

  He would never walk into this room again without remembering what had happened here this evening, he reflected. Making love to Elenora had wrought some change in him that he could not yet describe, but he knew that it had affected him very deeply.

  Whatever happened in the future, he would never be the same man that he had been before this night.

  25

  Elenora delayed going downstairs the next morning until she could no longer stand the pangs of hunger. Even then she hesitated and considered requesting that a tray be brought to her bedchamber.

  But in the end, she opened the door and marched determinedly out into the hall. Eating in her room in order to avoid having to confront Arthur would have been cowardly in the extreme.

  She was surprised to find herself feeling quite fit. She had expected to spend a restless night, but to her amazement she had slept soundly. That was fortunate, she told herself as she reached the bottom of the staircase. At least her eyes were not puffy and red and her skin was not dull from lack of proper sleep.

  She had selected a green muslin gown and a white ruff to wear for this first encounter with Arthur. She felt that the vivid color made her appear somehow more confident and sure of herself.

  She needed every ounce of self-possession she could muster. What did one say to a gentleman the morning after making mad, passionate love to him in his library?

  “Good morning, ma’am.” Ned loomed in the hall, looking concerned. “I was just about to send the new maid upstairs to see if you wanted to take your meal in your bedchamber.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Ned, but I only take breakfast in bed when I am feeling ill. And I am almost never ill.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Breakfast is in the breakfast room, just as ye directed, ma’am. Sally and her sister finished getting it ready yesterday afternoon.”

  “Excellent.” She gave him a blazing smile, took a fortifying breath, and swept on down the hall and into the breakfast room.

  In spite of her concerns about having to deal with Arthur, she took a few seconds to enjoy the changes that had taken place in this space.

  The breakfast room had been cleaned and polished until it glowed. Enticing odors wafted from the silver serving trays on the sideboard. Warm spring sunlight poured in through the windows. The view of the gardens was somewhat marred by the fact that the foliage was still overgrown and unkempt, but that would soon change. The new gardeners were due to start work today.

  She was startled to find that Arthur was not alone at the table. Margaret was with him.

  “Oh, the
re you are,” Margaret said. “I was worried about you. I was just about to send someone upstairs to see if you were feeling well this morning.”

  Conscious of Arthur watching her with what appeared to be amusement, Elenora tried not to blush.

  “As I just told Ned, I enjoy excellent health,” she said.

  Arthur got politely to his feet and pulled out a chair. “We wondered if perhaps you had engaged in a bit too much exercise last night.”

  She shot him her most repressive glare.

  “On the dance floor,” he concluded with perfect innocence.

  She searched his face very closely for a couple of heartbeats. Beneath the dry amusement she caught a glimpse of genuine concern. For heavens sake, had he really thought that she would find it necessary to take to her bed for a day in order to recover from the shock of his lovemaking? She was no frail flower.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, sir.” Ignoring the chair he held for her, she picked up her plate and went to the sideboard to examine the offerings.

  “Arthur is teasing you,” Margaret said quickly. “Of course I was not worried that you might have danced too much last night. I thought that perhaps the ghastly events of the evening had taken their toll, that’s all. Arthur and I were just talking about them. A dreadful business.”

  “There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, I assure you.” Elenora studied the contents of the steaming trays.

  “I suggest the fish,” Arthur said. “It is excellent.”

  “And do try the eggs,” Margaret suggested. “I vow, Sally’s sister is an excellent cook.”

  Elenora helped herself to a bit of everything and then turned to find that Arthur was still holding her chair.

  She sat down. “Thank you, sir.”

  He looked at the food heaped on her plate. “Obviously your appetite has not been affected by recent events.”

  “Not in the least sir.”

  He sat down across from her. “I was rather hungry myself this morning.”

  She had had enough of innuendoes, she decided. She picked up her knife and buttered a slice of toast. “How do you plan to proceed in your inquiries today, sir?”

  His expression turned serious. “What with all the excitement last night, I neglected to mention that I did obtain one interesting clue before we went to the scene of Ibbitts’s murder.”