Yes, the intimacy had been awkward at first, but he knew there were certainly worse ways to make money for his family. She fed and clothed his mother and sister, and for that he would be eternally grateful. It had been a business transaction between them that had blossomed into some sort of friendship.
“He will apparently be gone longer than I’d expected. I never should have loaned him out.” She moved toward James, the heady scent of lavender following. He stiffened when she settled on his lap and rested her palm against his cheek. “But you… you’re the only one who listens. The only one who obeys.”
He gave her a forced smile. Submit? Obey? They were words she’d never used around him before, words he wasn’t sure he appreciated. But she was so bloody childlike in the rare moments like these that he didn’t dare hurt her feelings. “Of course.”
She sighed and stood. “I do worry about Gideon.”
He did not stop her when she moved away, heading toward the hearth where a low fire burned. She was silent for some time, staring moodily into the flames, and he was thoughtful whereas he was very rarely anything but content. Perhaps it was Ophelia and her sudden melancholy.
Or perhaps it was the memory of the many tedious conversations with Alex and Gideon over whether Ophelia could be trusted. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Mrs. Richards, who had left so quickly only an hour or so ago. A woman who had portrayed herself as cold and confident, yet whose sad eyes had given away the truth. But suddenly James found himself discontent. His skin itched, his body tensed as if he wanted to move, run… but where?
“You have an appointment with Mrs. Trillium in an hour.” Ophelia was all business now, her voice hard and uncompromising. The childlike woman was gone as quickly as she had appeared. “Prepare yourself.”
He nodded and stood, knowing a dismissal when he heard one.
“And James, this time actually go through with the deed.” There was that hint of a smile once more, reminding him of the woman he’d come to know and respect.
He returned her smile. “Of course.”
But he didn’t feel any better when he moved into the hall, his mind still on Gideon and Alex. He didn’t feel any better because he couldn’t ignore the fact that Ophelia had changed. He had changed. James paused at the stairs and rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps he missed Alex and Gideon. Even if they thought he was an idiot for remaining loyal to Ophelia, he still thought of them as friends. Aye, he was merely a tad lonely.
He rested his hand on the baluster, preparing to push Ophelia, Alex, and Gideon from his mind when he heard his name whispered from down the hall. “Mr. McKinnon.”
He paused, frowning. Maids were forbidden to speak with the men, as Ophelia didn’t want anyone falling in love, or worse, filling the house with bastard children.
“Sir.” One of the housemaids peeked around the corner. Sarah, or Sally, or… Millie. Yes, her name was Millie. A young, freckle-faced thing who looked as nervous as a bird trapped by a hungry cat.
Curious, he stepped down from the stairs and started toward her. “Yes, Millie, what is it?”
“A… letter.” She held out the note, her brown gaze darting from corner to corner, as if expecting someone to lunge for her at any moment. How very odd. He glanced from her pale face to the missive she held. There was no writing on the envelope, and he wondered how she knew it was for him, unless… someone had handed it to her directly. Her hand trembled so hard the paper actually rattled, an indication of her guilt.
He took the envelope. “Where did it come from?”
“A… a man gave it to me while I was at the market. Handed me coins to make sure you got it.”
“You’re positive it’s for me?”
She wrung her hands together, her slippered feet shifting across the floor as if eager to run. “Yes. Been waiting three days to catch you alone.”
“Very well. You may go.”
She looked more than relieved when she scampered off. Who in the bleedin’ hell would be sending him a secret note? Most likely some enamored client. He sighed, settling on a chair in the hall and opening the letter. It had happened more than once that a client had fallen in love. Ophelia would make quick work of letting the woman go. But no, this was not the flowery writing of a female, nor did it smell like perfume. He instantly recognized Alex’s scrawl.
James,
I hope to find you in good health and happiness. I once more offer my sincerest invitation for you to visit any time you wish. Grace also welcomes you. I’m writing yet again because I have not heard from you in months…
James stiffened, surprised. He’d sent at least three letters in the past two months and had wondered why he hadn’t heard from Alex. He’d assumed the man had started a new life and had no room for his past. He certainly hadn’t begrudged him his need to move on.
I fear someone is intentionally keeping my letters from you. I’m sending this missive once more in hopes that you will receive this dire message. I ran into some surprising information before I left. I have wavered over whether to tell you or not, knowing your thoughts on Ophelia, but feel I must.
Gideon’s father and mine were friends. You know that I’ve always thought there was a connection between the three of us… a reason as to why Lady Lavender chose me, you, and Gideon. Do you think you might be connected as well?
“James?” Ophelia suddenly appeared in the foyer, startling him. “You’re still here?”
“Just going.” He surged to his feet, forcing his lips up as he tucked the note into his waistcoat pocket.
He hadn’t a clue why he had the urge to hide the letter from her. Perhaps, he thought, he merely wanted to spare her feelings. Or maybe he thought to protect the maid who had delivered it. But no, he knew deep down there was another reason, a more sinister reason. Hell, Alex and Gideon were getting to him after all. He was starting to wonder about Ophelia’s true intentions.
“Good day.” He nodded toward her and stated toward the stairs. He could feel Ophelia watching him with such intensity he was surprised his back didn’t catch fire. Slowly, James climbed the stairs. He had no doubt she would uncover his secret eventually. Nothing happened in this estate that she did not know about.
His fingers curled into fists as he resisted the urge to pull the note out and read it again. Of course they weren’t connected. How could his father be connected to Alex’s or Gideon’s? It was mere coincidence. James stepped into his room and closed the door. So why then did he not show Ophelia the letter? Bemused, James pulled the note from his pocket and reread it.
Do you think you might be connected as well?
“Impossible,” he muttered.
He would not let Alex and Gideon fill his head with nonsense. He’d always been his own man, made up his own mind, and he wasn’t about to start believing such foolishness now merely because they suggested it. Smashing the note within his fist, he tossed it into the fire, watching the flames burn the paper until nothing but ash remained.
One couldn’t sneak into her husband’s town home. No, because her husband’s ever-faithful butler was always there, always waiting, always watching. Eleanor despised the man. Had from the very first moment she’d stepped into the house as Lady Beckett, wife of the esteemed Lord Beckett. She’d been an innocent, eager to please, and the butler had corrected her French, embarrassing her in front of her new husband. Her relationship with the staff had been fractured ever since. They mocked her, held no respect for her, and she knew the servants told her husband every little detail of every little thing she did. It was a house full of lies and mistrust. Unfortunately she’d been sucked into their dark world.
And now… now she had even more reason to be leery of the butler. She felt as if she had bathed in shame. As if the emotion hovered around her, crawled across her face proclaiming to all that she was a sinful, sinful woman. She had visited a whorehouse. She had kissed a man who was not her husband. And worst of all… she had liked it.
“Good day, Graham.” She untied the
ribbon of her bonnet, standing in the cold marble foyer. If Lavender Hills felt like a museum, this place felt more like a mausoleum.
“My lady.” He stepped aside, allowing her access, albeit reluctantly, always reluctantly. He had large eyes set in a wide face with an enormous nose smashed against his skull, as if he’d been hit one too many times. He looked like a toad. An odious toad. “Did you have a pleasant time shopping?”
“Yes.” She realized only too late that she held no packages. She should have known that his attempt at conversion had been a trap. “My dresses should be arriving at the end of the week.”
“I shall alert the staff,” he replied dryly. He thought her a silly fool who did nothing but spend her husband’s money. It didn’t matter that most of her husband’s money came from marriage and her family fortune.
Eleanor tilted her chin high and dared not defend herself for fear that it would reek of guilt. After all, she had no need. She was the lady of the house, or so she had to remind herself. Of course the reminder hadn’t helped before, and it didn’t now. Not when the old gargoyle was staring down his bulbous nose at her. Truly the man would give children nightmares… if she had any. Thank God she didn’t.
She lifted the bonnet from her head, hoping she’d done an adequate job of repining her hair, and handed the hat and her wrap to the maid who came rushing around the corner. “Is Lord Beckett in his study?”
“Yes, my lady,” Graham intoned. “Although he has a visitor.”
She thought nothing of his comment, and started toward the steps. Her husband often had visitors, and she certainly didn’t mind the company, for it meant he was otherwise occupied. She was merely grateful she would not have to see him, afraid he’d read the guilt upon her face and know she had kissed another man. Just thinking about James sent heat to her cheeks, bringing on a profound blush that she knew was most telling.
She rested her hand on the baluster, preparing to retire when the sound of feminine laughter rang through the house. Eleanor froze. She recognized that throaty giggle. Anger and humiliation raged through her body. The guilt she felt at visiting Lady Lavender’s all but disappeared.
Overcome, she spun on her heel and swept toward the study. She didn’t bother to knock, but threw the door wide, letting it bounce against the wall and startle the woman seated indecently close to her husband. Christopher did not jump, of course, but merely glanced back at her with mild interest, pulling at his perfectly trimmed mustache. At least Mrs. Handler had the decency to flush and lean discreetly away from Eleanor’s husband.
“I wasn’t expecting you to return so quickly.” He lifted his glass of scotch and drank, his gaze sweeping over her with ill-disguised annoyance. How charming he’d been when he’d courted her. Charming still upon the rare occasion when their friends and family visited. They didn’t know the real man. No, only she was privy to the monster within.
She forced her lips to lift. “Obviously not.”
His gaze narrowed ever so slightly. Tread carefully, her mother had said when she’d complained about his temper. But she’d quickly tired of tiptoeing around the man. This was her house too, her marriage, her life. Despite what the entire of England seemed to think, the world did not live to serve her husband’s every need.
Mrs. Handler gave a shrill, nervous laugh and stood, brushing down the brown velvet skirts of a gown cut much too low for day wear. “I was in the area, and thought to stop for a visit.”
“Of course you were.” Eleanor stared daggers at the plump woman, hating the fact that five years ago she been reduced to begging Mrs. Handler to stay away from Lord Beckett. It hadn’t worked, and she’d sworn she would never humiliate herself again.
Her husband leaned back and casually crossed his long legs with all the ease of a man who had no conscience. She could admit his dark hair and eyes were attractive, but if one looked below the surface, they would see the truth. “Mrs. Handler is moving in next door. She’s leasing the town home.”
It was the final blow. He’d stuck the dagger in her back, and that was the twist. Cold humiliation crystalized throughout her veins, her body, freezing her soul in a way that made her feel brittle. “Really?”
Mrs. Handler looked away, her round cheeks red. “Yes. As you know, my let was up, and I needed a place for me and my children.”
“Of course, and there were no other homes in all of London.” She threw them both a smirk. He would not crush her spirit, no matter what her punishment. He’d been able to control the young, innocent Eleanor because she cared so desperately what he thought of her. She was older, wiser, and she no longer cared.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t bother to curtsey. Ignoring her husband’s glare, she spun around and swept from the room, determined to keep her head high. She’d been married only a short time when she’d started to hear the rumors… her husband had not been faithful during courtship, nor after marriage. The truth had been bad enough to swallow then, but now his mistresses were moving in next door? She’d be the humiliation of the ton. People would whisper behind painted fans even more than they did already. How much was she to endure? Thank God Graham wasn’t in the hall; she couldn’t stand to see the man now, of all times.
“My lady,” Mrs. Handler called out.
Eleanor froze at the foot of the stairs, gritting her teeth. How much was she to endure indeed? Apparently a lot. Should she ignore the woman, continue up the steps? No, because then they would think she cared, and she was past caring if her husband slept with all of London. Slowly, she turned. When she spotted Graham hovering near the parlor her skin crawled.
“Graham, leave us,” she demanded.
The man turned slowly and left, but she had no doubt he was listening from around the corner. The house was full of her husband’s spies. She’d found that out when she’d allowed a friend to visit without his permission a week after they had married.
“What is it?” There was no need to pretend friendship with the woman. Amusingly enough when they’d first met some six years ago, Eleanor had actually thought they could be friends. Mrs. Handler had seemed genuinely kind. Maybe in another life, the woman had been. Perhaps she had merely been seduced by Lord Beckett, as Eleanor had. But her compassion for the woman had long since died.
“I want…” Mrs. Handler stepped closer and lowered her voice. She was pretty with her round features and full figure, yet she was the complete opposite of Eleanor. There were many nights when Eleanor lay awake wondering if her husband had ever truly been attracted to her, or if he preferred someone with a more curvy form. “I need you to know how much I care about you both.”
Eleanor blinked at her, bemused. Surely she had misheard. “Care? About us both?”
“Indeed.” She nodded so hard that the topknot of dark hair slipped, a silky-straight strand falling down around her chin. “I know you do not believe me, but there is nothing worse than an unhappy marriage; I should know. But I’m content now, and I only wish you the happiness that I have found.”
“Yes, but you were fortunate, for your husband died.”
Mrs. Handler gasped, startled by her blunt words. Eleanor didn’t care. She barely cared about anything anymore, and that was the worst of it. Worse than the pain and heartache… the numbness.
The woman wrung her hands together, obviously nervous, as she should be. “When a man and woman are forced into a union in which they don’t enjoy each other, it is not surprising that there may not be love between the two.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear.” Eleanor smiled. “We were not forced. I had every intention of loving my husband. Unfortunately, he didn’t love me. No, instead he loved the maid, the cook, my best friend, and that was only within the first week of our marriage.”
Lady Handler flushed, tucking the loose lock behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for him to fall in love with me.”
Eleanor released a harsh laugh. “You think he’s in love? Then it is I who feel sorry fo
r you. As you will soon uncover, Lord Beckett is incapable of love.” Eleanor was determined to waste no more time on the woman. She turned and started up the steps. “Have him as often as you like. If it will keep him from my bed, I bless your union.”
She knew her voice carried to Graham and didn’t care. She knew that Mrs. Handler would most likely tell her husband what she had said, yet she didn’t bloody well mind in the least. No, because in that moment as she made her way up the steps she was determined. Determined that she would make another appointment with Lady Lavender. She was determined, just once, to know passion. Two could play his game.
She pushed open her bedchamber door, startling her lady’s maid, who sat sewing by the fireplace. “Fanny, you know the Rutherfords’ sinful masked ball?”
“Aye, I do.” Fanny watched her warily. “Everyone does.”
“Wonderful. See if you can get me an invitation. It’s time I started enjoying life once more.”
Her lady’s maid smiled as she stood. “About bloody time.”
Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest and moved to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of the flames. She’d heard the rumors. She knew Lady Lavender often attended the ball, escorted by her male whores. If her husband was going to kill her, she might as well die happy.
Chapter 3
There was only one ball in polite society where Lady Lavender was invited every year: the Rutherfords’ masked dance. It was a scandalous affair that was hardly appropriate for young bucks looking for wives and virginal debutantes, but for the more adventurous members of the ton it was a night they would not soon forget. James knew for a fact Lady Rutherford was no client, but merely loved to be the talk of the ton, and inviting Lady Lavender certainly created talk.
For the past six years, Lady Lavender had been invited, and for the past six years, James had been her escort, trusted and loyal lapdog that he was. Which made the fact that he had been suspicious of her for the last few days only add to his guilt.