Folly (11 page)

She pattered at him, pattered incessantly. “Do you like
this, Colonel Pennington? Have you tried that, Colonel Pennington? Tell me more
about your travels in the Far East, Colonel Pennington.”

He tried to be civil. Really he did.

But when Haversham’s head tipped toward Eleanor’s, when her
attention was on that young pup and not himself, he wanted to snarl at people.
He wanted to break something. Helena’s china, perhaps.

He shot a look at their hostess and found her attention fixed
on him. A tiny smile danced on her lips. He glared at her and her smile
broadened.

Damn the minx. She’d done this on purpose. She’d sat Eleanor
next to Haversham with the deliberate intention of making Ethan froth like a
mad dog.

It was working.

By the time the ladies retired to the drawing room, leaving
the men to their cigars, Ethan wanted to throttle Haversham.

But what was to come next was worse.

The men—Darlington, Uncle Andrew, Dent and
Haversham—remained at the table. Baxter rounded the room, lighting each man’s
cigar while the footmen brought brandy. And they embarked on the usual
conversations of men of the ton. The coming races at Derby, hunting, politely
griping about the Regent. The usual.

Then Haversham turned the conversation, and he turned it in
a dangerous direction.

“So tell me, Darlington. What do you know about Lady
Ulster?”

A seething pool of acid began to snarl in Ethan’s belly. He
glared at Haversham. Then, for good measure, glared at Darlington.

James grinned. “Ah yes. Lady Ulster. Quite a lovely thing.”

“Yes, quite.” Bloody hell. Even Dent was joining in. Now
Ethan had to glare at him as well. “Exquisite, even in black.”

Haversham sighed. “It sets off her complexion.”

Uncle Andrew grunted and puffed heartily on his cigar and
downed half his brandy in one gulp. He was in a rush to repair to the library,
no doubt. He cleared his throat in a grizzled rumble. “Good breeding stock, she
is.”

All the men gaped at him.

“I beg your pardon?” There was a thread of cool steel in
Ethan’s tone. He did not deny it.

Uncle Andrew held his palms far apart. “Wide hips. Always a
good sign.”

Ethan choked on his brandy. “W-what?”

But Darlington, ever the attentive host, stepped in. Before
Ethan could pummel his uncle. “Yes, she’s quite lovely. Elegant. Demure.”

The hell
, Ethan thought.
You didn’t see her this
afternoon, sitting on a rock with her legs held high demanding the pleasure of
my cock.

“She was married to Ulster, but that wasn’t her choice.”

“Yes.” Dent leaned back in his chair. “A real Smithfield
bargain.”

Haversham choked on his brandy. “I beg your pardon?”

Dent nodded. “Traded for her father’s gambling debts, I
heard.”

Ethan blinked. He’d not heard that. He hadn’t known. A cold
chill dribbled down his spine. They had more in common than he’d suspected.

Haversham fingered the rim of his glass. “Many men owed
Ulster money. My brother among them.”

Dent barked a harsh laugh. “Everyone owed Ulster. He always
won.” Then he muttered, “He always cheated.”

Darlington raised his glass. “To Ulster’s death.”

“To Ulster’s death.”

“May he rot in hell.”

The exuberant toasts rang around the room and when the words
died, when all men had quaffed long and deep to honor the passing of a man they
detested, Haversham cleared his throat. “So…how long do you suppose I shall
have to wait?”

“Wait?” Darlington’s brow creased. “Wait for what?”

“To court her.”

Ethan’s heart clenched. His belly rolled. His fingers curled
into a fist.

Though he was talking to Haversham, James fixed his
attention on Ethan, gauging, perhaps, the menace. “Court her?”

“Yes. Lady Eleanor.”

Eleanor?
Bloody hell. Had she given him permission to
address her so intimately?

Panic whipped through Ethan like a sirocco. The prospect of
losing her to Haversham, to anyone, was intolerable.

James, incongruously, chuckled. “Lady Ulster has just taken
on mourning. Less than a month, Lord Haversham.”

“Yet she is at this party.” Dent’s insinuation was nearly an
insult. Ethan bristled.

“On Helena’s express invitation. She would never have come
if this had been a formal affair. Or one not attended by our closest friends.”
Darlington’s warning gaze rounded the room. All the other men, with the
exception of Uncle Andrew, sat back in their chairs, an unspoken accord. Uncle
Andrew was staring off into space and had probably missed the thrust of the
conversation entirely.

“Still…” Damn Haversham. He persisted. “To whom should I
address my intentions?”

Ethan’s breath stalled. His heart took up a fierce pounding
in his chest. A bead of sweat formed on his brow.

James blinked, flicked a quick glance at Ethan. “Your
intentions?”

“To woo her. I know she’s in mourning and all, but I am
hardly a man to let grass grow under my feet. I see no reason to delay a
courtship. After all,” he laughed, the fool, “we’re both here at this cozy
house party. She’s just the woman I have been searching for. And she is
available.” He took another sip of his brandy and puffed out his chest. “She
seems to look upon me favorably.”

He blathered on, providing a litany of reasons Eleanor would
be the perfect mate for a Haversham, but Ethan wasn’t listening. He was
incapable. The blood had begun rushing in his ears, in a deafening howl, at
Haversham’s declared intention to woo his woman.

To woo his woman.

The hell he would.

“I think,” he said abruptly and most inappropriately, as it
was Darlington’s place to make such an announcement, “we should join the
ladies.”

The scene in the drawing room was deadly dull and Eleanor
knew it was because of the absence of a certain man. But she did what she could
to tolerate the emptiness that accompanied time without Ethan. She chatted, as
ladies do, and helped Helena serve the tea, and listened to Louisa gush about
this or that.

Eleanor couldn’t suppress a swell of jealousy. The girl was
pretty, bright, charming and had all the advantages a child of Quality could
expect. She’d just embarked upon her first season and, according to her
accounts, was utterly beset with suitors.

Eleanor had never had a season. Certainly not a suitor.

But the thing gouging at Eleanor the most was that Louisa
had been seated next to Ethan at dinner. She’d had his attention all evening.

Eleanor had tried not to fixate on the two of them, there
across the table. She’d tried to listen to Haversham and laugh at his jokes and
murmur, “Oh my,” whenever it seemed appropriate.

But she couldn’t shake the knowledge, that Louisa Dent was
exactly the kind of girl Ethan needed. She was well-educated, articulate and
witty. As the daughter and sister of an earl, she had standing in the ton. And
she was young.

She’d never been married to Pennington’s nemesis.

They were perfectly suited, Louisa and Ethan, which Helena
had known when she’d invited the Dents.

Damn and blast.

“How wonderful. The men have joined us at last.” Louisa
leaped up as all the men, except Uncle Andrew, filed into the room. Tugging a
reluctant Lady Dent with her, she headed for the piano. She’d been talking
about performing a solo for the past half hour. The men smiled and
good-naturedly took their seats, no doubt delighted to be favored with a
musicale the instant they appeared.

Ethan sat in a wing chair to her left. Eleanor was so
focused on him, she failed to notice Haversham had taken the seat next to her
on the divan. That was, of course, until he took her hand and kissed it and
murmured, “Lady Ulster.”

Eleanor was aware of a certain scalding glare from her left.
She couldn’t resist a small, satisfied smile in response.

And then her smile faltered, because something rather
hideous filled the room.

Louisa Dent, diamond of the ton, had begun to sing.

That she had chosen
Ode to Joy
was a mere
coincidence, probably due to the fact that the music still sat on the piano.
Eleanor let her gaze drift to Helena, whose eyes crossed as Louisa desecrated
one of the higher notes. They shared a thought without words, as only old
friends can do. Beside her, Haversham winced.

She shot a glance at Ethan. He was gawking at Louisa and
nibbling on his knuckles, trying desperately not to blanch as she missed a cue
then hurried to catch up, skipping several key words on her way.

“Oh my.” Eleanor heard James’ whispered imprecation from
across the room.

Oh my, indeed.

When the song was over, they all drew in a deep breath and,
before anyone could imprudently request another song, Helena jumped up and
clapped her hands. “That was lovely. Just lovely. What do you all say to a game
of cards? Baxter!” She clapped her hands some more, in a rather frantic
fashion. “Baxter! Some tables, please. And the cards. Oh. Do hurry.”

What followed was a spirited series of whist matches.
Spirited, because Ethan proposed they play for forfeits. With each hand, the
losing player had to promise a service or token to the winner. Lady Dent, for
example, demanded a dance from her husband at the coming birthday ball when she
won—he agreed with a grimace. Haversham trounced Louisa and requested a stroll
by the lake on the morrow. When Darlington won, he merely looked at Helena and
lifted a brow. Her blush indicated she understood him fully.

For the final game, Eleanor found herself facing Ethan. She
was determined to win. A plethora of forfeits filtered through her mind, each
more delicious than the last.

But he distracted her. The beast distracted her by rubbing
his foot against hers, up her leg under the table, until she was too flustered
to focus. He beat her on a single play. It had been a stupid mistake and she
knew it the instant she laid her card.

He won the hand and the game.

She shuddered to think what forfeit he would claim and sat
there fiddling with her cards as he contemplated her.

But in the end, all he asked for was a song, to be named at
some future time.

A song.

She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or not.

“Don’t you want to hear it now?” Haversham’s eyes gleamed
with anticipation.

“No.” Ethan’s gaze met hers. A message passed between them.

And suddenly, she wasn’t disappointed in the least.

“Well, that was terribly fun.” Helena interrupted the moment
with a cheerful chirp, effectively drawing attention to herself. And then she
yawned.

Helena had never been one for subtlety.

James stepped to her side and put his arm around her. “It is
getting late. And you’ve had a busy day, my dear.”

Eleanor took the cue and stood. “I’m rather tired. I think I
shall retire.”

And the evening broke up, although Dent and Haversham agreed
to share another brandy and perhaps a game of billiards in the game room. The
others all strolled to the stairs, listening to Louisa chatter about the day
and the prospects for tomorrow.

By the time she bade the company good night and reached her
room, Eleanor was tired.

Very tired of it all.

Chapter Nine

Ethan went to her room that night because she didn’t appear
quickly enough at his door. He entered without knocking. She was sitting at the
vanity, her maid brushing out her glorious hair. Eleanor wore nothing but a
sheer nightdress. He glared at the maid and jerked his head to the door. At
Eleanor’s nod, the girl skittered from the room.

He didn’t approach Eleanor, though he longed to do so.
Rather he leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Haversham wants to woo you.”

“What?” Eleanor blinked. Apparently, this was not what she’d
been expecting him to say.

“You heard me. He made the announcement to all the men after
dinner. Declaring his intentions, staking his claim.” Even now, the thought
made Ethan’s blood boil. He inspected his fingernails. “He says you ‘look upon
him favorably’.”

She turned back to the mirror. Took up the brush and resumed
stroking. “He’s a charming boy.”

Ethan growled. He stalked over to her and snatched the brush
from her hand. He set it at the top of her head and made the long slow journey
down its length, down to her waist. His hand followed the pass, caressing the
long locks. They were soft, silky and shimmered in the lamplight.

He swallowed. “Do you like him?”

“Yes.”

His hand faltered. Slowly, he stroked again. “Do you intend
to let him court you?”

Their eyes met in the mirror. Heat passed between them. She
lowered her lashes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I may need a husband.” This, she whispered.

Of course. Bloody hell.

If she couldn’t present an heir, or proof of one coming,
within a month of Ulster’s death, she would be tossed out with nothing. Or
forced into sexual servitude to her husband’s cousin. A veritable troll.

Ethan stroked again. He knew the words he should say but he
couldn’t form them. He didn’t know why.

Surely it wasn’t the fear she would say no.

He drew the brush through her hair again and again, caught,
tangled, in a moment he couldn’t manage. Thoughts, emotions, prospects raged
though him in a seething mass. He considered, and discarded, one comment after
another. Finally, he said, “We had a bargain.”

Her gaze flew to his. Her throat worked. “Have I reneged on
our bargain? Have I given you reason to think I would?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” She took the brush from him and set it on the
vanity, then stood before him. The light from the fire licked across the planes
of her body, illuminating her breasts, the curve of her hip, the hollow of her
belly, through the thin fabric. “It seems to me you owe me a service.” She
untied his cravat and began working on his buttons. He stood there, still, and
allowed her to remove his clothing.

He wanted her body. How he wanted her body.

But he wanted something else more.

He wanted her to belong to him and him alone.

Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to claim her.

So he did what he knew how to do. He took her to bed and
worshipped her. He kissed and licked and stroked every inch of her body. He
feasted on her until she whimpered and pleaded and writhed beneath him.

Then he took her.

Claimed her.

He brought her to the heights of heaven and held her as she
quivered and sobbed through the aftermath.

When they had rested, he took her again. Saying with his
body what his words could not express.

She was his. His woman.

No one else would have her.

Helena had a picnic planned by the lake the next day, but it
was delayed, as their hostess was feeling under the weather all morning.
Eleanor did what she could to help but once the major decisions had been made
and the servants had their orders she found herself at a loose end. She
wandered around the house, ostensibly hunting for Ethan, but couldn’t find him,
so she headed for the conservatory.

She’d always loved flowers and Helena’s collection was
extensive. She strolled through the damp, humid corridors, surrounded on all
sides by beauty and sweet perfume, allowing her mind to wonder. No surprise
that it wandered to Ethan. How could it not?

There had been a tone, an intensity in his lovemaking last
night that she had never experienced before. But there was more to it than just
the physical—as superb as
that
was. There was something about him that
made her happy, at home in her skin. Something in him her soul knew,
recognized.

Though they’d only known each other for a handful of days,
it seemed as though she’d known him forever.

She set her hand to her belly and allowed herself to imagine
his child had taken root in her womb. Allowed herself to envision that child
growing, learning at his father’s knee. If only Ethan could come to love her.
If only he could overlook her unfortunate marriage.

If only he would offer for her.

She hated the thought of walking away from this party
without his child inside her. She hated even more the thought of walking away
from him. A child could secure her financial future. A husband could secure her
social future. But she found she wanted something more.

She wanted what Helena and James had. A marriage. A real
marriage.

The thought stunned her because she had sworn, less than a
week ago, she would never marry again—unless she absolutely had to. Then again,
that had been before she’d met Ethan. Before she’d learned not all men treated
women as Ulster had. Not all husbands were cruel.

But Ethan had never said anything that led her to believe he
entertained thoughts of marriage. And certainly not with her.

Which was a pity, because now she couldn’t imagine herself
married to anyone else.

She sighed and bent to draw in the scent of a beautiful
orchid.

“Ah. There you are.” A deep voice resonated on the air.

She stood and pinned a smile on her lips. “Lord Haversham.”

He eased through the leaves, so handsome and proper in his
crisp morning suit. He bowed. “Lady Ulster.”

“What brings you to the conservatory this fine morning, my
lord?”

He affected a bow. “I was searching for beauty. Seems I
found it.”

“Helena has some exquisite flowers.”

“I wasn’t talking about the flowers.” He took her hand.
“You’re looking particularly ravishing today, Lady Ulster, if I may be so
bold.”

She blushed and not just from his words. The glint in his
eyes was hungry. “Thank you, my lord.”

“My name is Charles. Can you find it in your heart to call
me that?”

Eleanor pulled her hand from his grasp and set it on her
chest. “Oh. I couldn’t.”

“I would be forever in your debt. To hear my name from your
lips would be…”

Dear heavens. He stepped closer, and closer still.

Before she could protest, before she could stop him or step
away or turn the topic to something innocuous and bland, he pulled her into his
arms and kissed her.

As kisses went, it was pleasant enough, although Eleanor was
hardly one to judge. She’d only kissed three men before now. Ulster, which had
been downright unpleasant, her mysterious lover at the Carlisle-Grant soiree
and Ethan.

Haversham’s lips were warm and gentle. Pleasant. They didn’t
sear her sanity or drag harshly, passionately across hers. They didn’t nibble
or nip. He certainly didn’t press harder, open her lips and nudge his tongue
inside.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, fluttered in her chest.

Well, until a furious voice boomed behind them, “What the
bloody hell is this?”

As one, they sprang apart and whirled to see Ethan—whose
face was piping red—and Darlington, who stood to the side biting back a grin.

“Well,” James said,
sotto voce
, to Ethan’s fierce
glare, “he did declare his intentions.”

“Lord Darlington. Colonel Pennington.” Haversham bowed
stiffly. “Do forgive me. I was talking with the lovely Lady Ulster and got
carried away. I will, of course, offer for her.”

Eleanor‘s gaze snapped to Haversham. Heavens. He was
serious.

“The hell you will.” Ethan lunged forward, his hands
clenched in tight fists.

James leaped between them, struggling to hold Ethan back.
“Now, now. There’s no reason for anything rash.”

“It’s not rash. It makes sense.” Haversham dropped to one
knee. “Lady Ulster, will you do me the honor—”

“She will not.”

Haversham frowned at Ethan, then turned back to Eleanor and
opened his mouth again.

Before he could speak, before he could say the words, she
set her fingers on his lips. “Now, Lord Haversham. Lord Darlington is right. I
am hardly a young girl whose reputation needs protecting by such a gallant
measure. Won’t you please get up?”

He leaped to his feet. “But I’m in love with you!”

She gaped at him. Dear heavens. The boy thought he was. She
took his hands in hers. “Lord Haversham…
Charles
.” Ethan growled at her
use of his given name. “You may think you’re in love with me, but you’re not.
You don’t even know me.” They’d had dinner, for pity sake. “Please. Think
nothing of that kiss—”

“I will not.”

“You must.” She allowed a thread of steel into the command
and was gratified to see the fervent light in his eye dim, just a tad. “Now,
what do you say we all repair to the drawing room for a spot of tea?
Darlington, how is Helena? Is she feeling better?”

James took her cue, along with her arm, and led the company
from the conservatory back into the house. Eleanor deliberately ignored
Haversham’s woeful glances and Ethan’s simmering glares and focused on her host
as he sprinkled her with banal witticisms all the way. She forced herself to
appear calm and collected but her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

Ethan had been angry. Furious.

She’d never seen him so enraged.

How would he take it out on her once they were alone?

She couldn’t bear to think on it.

Helena, contrary to all expectations, was waiting for them
in the drawing room, looking absolutely well and glowing. “There you are,” she
cried, leaping up from her seat and crossing to meet them at the door. “I was
beginning to despair you would ever find them.”

The other occupants of the room, Dent, Lady Dent and Louisa,
smiled their greetings as well.

“Where were they?” the latter asked. She jumped at Ethan’s
snarled response.

“In the conservatory.”

Eleanor shot him a reproachful frown. “Your flowers are
absolutely lovely, Helena.”

“I should so like to see them.” Louisa glanced meaningfully
at Ethan, beneath the veil of her lashes. He ignored her.

“Perhaps we can take a tour later.” Helena waved everyone to
their chairs. Eleanor took the wing chair so Haversham would not be tempted to
sit next to her.

Ethan was still in quite a temper. He stormed over to lean
against the mantel where he could glower, in turns, at Haversham and herself.
Darlington led Helena to the divan and took a seat next to her. Haversham
wandered around the room like a lost soul and then finally took the only other
open seat next to Louisa.

Who was gazing longingly at Ethan.

Who was glaring at Eleanor.

It was practically a farce.

She sucked in a deep breath. “So, what are the plans for
this afternoon, Helena?”

“Oh.” Helena clapped her hands together. “First the picnic
by the lake—it’s such a lovely day—and then I thought we could play
hide-and-go-seek.”

Ethan’s head came up. He fixed his attention on Eleanor’s
face.

She ignored him.

It was difficult.

“That sounds lovely.”

“And tomorrow is Darlington’s birthday ball.” She patted her
husband’s arm. “I’ve invited all our neighbors. It’s to be a masquerade.” She
shot Eleanor a conspiratorial grin. “I do love masquerades, don’t you?”

It was an innocent remark. Eleanor blushed nonetheless. It
made her think of the last masked ball she’d attended and how that had worked
out.

Which was Helena’s intent. The minx.

“How wicked,” Louisa murmured. Again, she ogled Ethan.

That was becoming annoying.

Eleanor turned away from the sight and found herself looking
into Haversham’s brown eyes. They were wide and pleading. Like a puppy dog.

She sighed.

That was becoming annoying too.

“Well, I for one cannot wait.” It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t
wait. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.

The picnic was irritating, and not just holding plates on
one’s lap and sitting on blankets spread over lumpy ground. There was Haversham
to contend with. His sighs and longing looks in Eleanor’s direction were
becoming distinctly infuriating.

But Ethan sat there, as he was supposed to, and ate and
drank and tried to make conversation in a somewhat civilized manner. When all
he wanted to do was flatten a certain too-patrician nose. To her credit,
Eleanor did nothing to encourage the drooling attention, but that hardly helped
Ethan’s mood.

Haversham had proposed to her.
Proposed.

The prospect made Ethan feel as though he had a bevy of bees
buzzing about in his head.

All of a sudden, he wished he lived in another time. A time
where, when a man saw a woman he wanted, he just marched up to her and threw
her over his shoulder. A time where they didn’t have to pretend to be civilized
idiots sitting on the ground eating finger sandwiches and lemon cakes.

Then again, Ethan wasn’t being civil in the slightest.

Not to anyone. And throughout the interminable picnic, he
was plotting. Plotting a way to cut her from the herd, to get her all to
himself. Helena’s game was the key. Hide-and-go-seek. Oh, he would hide, all
right. With her.

The fates—or Helena—seemed to be on his side. She announced
they would play the game with partners and Haversham and Louisa would be the
first team to seek. Ethan caught Haversham’s pout when he wasn’t paired with
Eleanor and didn’t bother to bite back his evil grin.