Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (10 page)

“Yes, if you don’t mind. She may also need a gown.”

“She’s not here for the Season?”

“No, I believe she’s here for revenge.”

“Revenge sounds like something that will put my wife in harm’s way,” Greystone said. “If that’s the case, then we can’t be of help.”

“Sterling—”

“I almost lost you once, Frannie. I’ll not risk it again.”

With amusement, Swindler watched the silent battle of wills. Apparently the duke had yet to discover that his duchess possessed a very stubborn streak. She finally turned her attention to Swindler. “Tell me about the lady.”

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, digging his elbows into his thighs. He explained how she’d come to his attention. “She quite simply fascinates me, but I’ve never told her my true purpose, what it is I intend to gain from her. Sometimes I feel as though I’m back under Feagan’s employ, working so bloody hard to fleece someone without him knowing.”

“You’re doing your job.”

“That’s just it, Frannie. I’m not, not really. I’m simply enjoying her company. I’d hoped in time that she’d come to trust me, confide in me, tell me of her plans regarding Rockberry. But she avoids discussing him at every turn. The time has come for me to bring this matter to a close. I must confront her, and when I do, whatever tender regard she might have toward me is certain to sour. I would like to give her this night at your ball, a gift as it were, before she discovers that I’ve been deceiving her.”

Frannie placed her hand over his. “Have you been deceiving her, Jim?”

“I’m no longer sure. I’ve come to care for her, but I must tell her the truth about what I know and what I need to know. I fear she won’t be pleased to learn the truth.”

Rockberry had taken advantage of her sister. She was likely to think Swindler had done the same. He was dreading the confrontation and was hoping one final night of happiness would soften the blow he would deliver.

“Miss Watkins! Miss Watkins!”

The resounding knock nearly rattled the door to her rooms off its hinges. Eleanor crossed over as quickly as possible and flung it open. “Yes, Mrs. Potter?”

The woman was breathing heavily, her face flushed with excitement. “You have a caller. The Duchess of Greystone herself. My word.” She pressed her hand to her heaving bosom.

“Nobility in my parlor. I never imagined…What tea should I prepare, do you think? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I shall prepare every flavor I have. I do wish I had cake. Biscuits seem so trite. Hurry. You mustn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

As her landlady scurried down the hallway toward the stairs, Eleanor followed at a more sedate pace, her stomach quivering with nervousness. Why ever had the duchess come to call?

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she’d regained control of her breathing and calmed the tremors that had been dancing through her. She entered the parlor and the duchess rose gracefully from the chair. A young lady, obviously a servant, also came to her feet. The duchess smiled softly. “Miss Watkins.”

Eleanor curtsied. “Your Grace.”

She didn’t know what to say beyond that. Should she be forthright and ask why she’d come to call or should she simply wait? Had Elisabeth suffered through these moments of insecurity, of not knowing the exact behavior that was expected? Was that how Rockberry had managed to lure her into hell? Eleanor fought not to show the anger she felt with her father at the thought. If only he’d brought them to London on occasion, if only he’d exposed them to more of the world, Elisabeth might still be alive, they might all be happier. She herself might have had an opportunity to be properly courted as well.

“I must apologize for arriving at an inappropriate hour, but I feared if I waited until afternoon, I wouldn’t have enough time to accomplish all I wish to. I’ve come to beg a favor of you,” the duchess said.

“I’m not certain how I could be of service.”

Unexpectedly, the duchess stepped forward and took Eleanor’s hands. “I’m a dear friend of James Swindler. I believe he’s mentioned me. We grew up on the streets together. I know he’s been calling on you. I’m holding a ball this evening. I’ve invited Mr. Swindler. I was hoping you’d do me the honor of attending as well.”

To attend a ball, a duchess’s ball at that. Eleanor hardly knew what to say, other than the truth. “I fear I have nothing to wear.”

“I thought that might be the case. Jim mentioned that you had no sponsor and weren’t making the rounds. He also described you to me—quite accurately, if I may say—so I took the liberty of selecting one of my gowns that I think would look lovely with your complexion. You’re a bit smaller than I am, but Agnes here, my lady’s maid, is quite skilled with a needle. She could make alterations.”

“Oh.” Once again she hardly knew what to say. It was only then that she noticed the large long box resting on the sofa.

The duchess squeezed Eleanor’s hands, which she’d yet to relinquish. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I may be playing a bit of matchmaker. Jim has never spoken to me about another lady, so I know you must be very special indeed.”

Eleanor’s stomach tightened into a painful knot. This was what she’d wanted, but now that the moment was here…

The duchess seemed to sense her hesitation. “Why don’t we have a look at this gown, shall we? If it doesn’t please you, we can select another.”

How could it not please her? Eleanor thought as Agnes pulled it out of the box and held up the white gown edged in pink satin with tiny satin flowers adorning the skirt. “It takes my breath it’s so lovely.”

“I thought you might like it,” the duchess said.

“I hardly know what to say.”

“Say you’ll attend.”

Eleanor couldn’t stop her triumphant smile. “I’ll attend.”

Mrs. Potter joined them several minutes later with tea—and cakes. While it was not her usual habit to impose when her tenants had guests, she seemed unable to get beyond the notion that she had a duchess sitting in her parlor, sipping tea, nibbling on a cake, and chatting as though they were all familiar friends. The duchess had such an unassuming manner that Eleanor had little doubt she charmed anyone she encountered. For someone not born into the aristocracy, the duchess had adapted very well to her elevated position in society. Eleanor was left to wonder if she might have adapted as well if she, instead of Elisabeth, had been the one her father had chosen to send to London first. Or would she have been as naive as Elisabeth and followed her footsteps toward disaster?

“I’ve enjoyed the visit so much,” the duchess finally said, “but I fear I must be off. I’ll leave Agnes with you, so she can alter the gown as needed.” She rose and everyone came to their feet as well. “I’m leaving a carriage for Agnes and shall send one ‘round for you at half past eight, if that pleases you.”

“It pleases me very much,” Eleanor said.

Once again the duchess took her hands. “I think it shall please Jim as well.”

After the duchess left, Eleanor and Agnes retired to Eleanor’s rooms. The gown required very few alterations, but the duchess had been correct. Agnes was deft with the needle. A couple of hours later, when the work was finished, Eleanor stood in front of the cheval glass, admiring her reflection. The sleeveless gown’s low cut revealed an enticing bit of cleavage. The duchess had provided long gloves that went past Eleanor’s elbows, and pearled pink slippers.

“I could prepare your hair before I leave,” Agnes offered.

Eleanor shook her head. “No, thank you. I shall probably take a short nap before I begin final preparations. These affairs usually go late into the night, don’t they?”

“I know the ones Lady Catherine gave lasted well past midnight. She’s been helping Her Grace with the arrangements so I suspect this one shall as well.”

Eleanor smiled at herself in the mirror. She wondered if Lord Rockberry had been invited. If she had her way, tonight would be the night that he got his comeuppance.

Chapter 7

Eleanor has accepted my invitation. I’ve promised to send a carriage ’round for her at
half past eight. Send word if you’d rather do the honors
.

—
F

S
windler had known Frannie would win Eleanor over. To the lad who’d delivered the message, he simply said, “Tell her I’ll see to it.”

He then sent word to Claybourne that he needed to borrow his carriage for the night, knowing full well that Claybourne would use his coach to arrive at the ball. He always escorted his wife around in the coach, because it was grander and worthy of the lady he loved. Swindler then took great care in preparing himself for the evening. While he’d have preferred that his friends leave him behind, he’d known they wouldn’t and that sooner or later he would be invited to one of their grand social events. So, months ago, he’d visited one of the better tailors in London.

Now he stood before the mirror admiring the cut of the black swallow-tailed jacket, hunter green silk brocade waistcoat, pleated white shirt, and white cravat. He wasn’t quite as roughlooking as usual. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he looked quite elegant. He’d fit in nicely with the lords who’d be strutting about. He didn’t want to admit that he cared how Eleanor viewed him, that he didn’t want to be seen as lacking in her eyes. He had little doubt that her dance card would fill up within minutes of her walking into the ballroom. Frannie was providing her with an opportunity to be seen, to be informally introduced into society. If she caught some young man’s fancy, it might be enough to turn her attention away from Rockberry. It was only as Swindler’s hands began to ache that he looked down and realized that he’d balled them up into tight, punishing fists. He didn’t want to think about her in the arms of another man, waltzing with him, smiling up at him, bestowing her smiles upon him, charming him with her laughter. While her father’s title hadn’t been hereditary, she was still part of the aristocracy. She had every right to expect some lord’s son to favor her—a second son, a third son, even a tenth son of a second son would be more worthy of her than Swindler. But the reality regarding his lack of a position didn’t stop him from wanting her. He’d sought to gain her trust in order to learn why she was obsessed with Rockberry and what she hoped to accomplish by shadowing him, and all he had managed to do was come to desire Eleanor as he’d never desired any woman—not even Frannie. He wanted Eleanor in his bed, his body pounding into hers, her cries echoing around him. He wanted the woman who smelled of roses and wasn’t afraid to shower him with seductive smiles. He jerked on his white gloves, understanding the wisdom in wearing them. If his bare skin were to touch hers, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to control himself. He was growing damned tired of his duty, of this assignment. He’d learned nothing of any value to Scotland Yard. He knew only that each moment spent in Eleanor’s presence was both heaven and hell. Perhaps tonight he’d put duty aside, put his own needs, wants, and desires first. In so doing, perhaps he’d discover if the young lady was as aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman. And finally gain what he’d been searching for all along: the reason behind her interest in Rockberry.

Once he had that, perhaps he could give her another reason to stay in London.

It was the most exquisite gown to ever touch her skin. Even the two gowns her father had paid handsomely to have made for Elisabeth paled in comparison. As she stared at her reflection in the cheval glass, with her hair pinned up and adorned with a diamond tipped hairpin her father had given her, she thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

Vanity was a tool of the devil, she knew that well enough, but she seemed unable to help herself. If it wasn’t for the fact that tears would ruin the entire affect, she would have wept. She’d wanted desperately to have a Season, to attend a ball. She wasn’t deserving of this night and yet she couldn’t turn away from it.

She picked up the small matching purse that she’d found in the box. It seemed the duchess had thought of everything. Little wonder James thought so highly of her, referred to her as a little mother.

James. She never should have begun to think of him as anything other than Mr. Swindler. James created a sense of intimacy that should have been forbidden between them, and yet it seemed so right. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling where he was concerned. Intrigued, charmed, infatuated. She longed for his kisses and his touch. Elisabeth had written about wantonness that had led to her downfall.

And now she feared she was traveling the same path.

Before she could convince herself that she should stay in tonight, she hurried out of her rooms. At the top of the stairs she heard a deep masculine voice floating up. She would have recognized it anywhere, from a thousand miles away. Her body went languid, because she knew he’d come for her.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, his gaze shot past Mrs. Potter to settle on her. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. She could see the deep satisfaction reflected in his eyes, along with a bit of possessiveness. Any other woman might have taken offense, might have resented the implication that she belonged to him—but how could she resent what she knew was true, at least for tonight?

He was so remarkably handsome in his black swallowtail jacket. Looking at him dressed as he was, no one would question his origins, no one would even consider for a single moment that he wasn’t a gentleman of the highest order. He possessed such confidence. He might have been disgusted by his origins, but tonight they were nowhere to be seen. Standing before her was a man who’d risen from the gutter, and nothing on earth would ever send him back to the filth. And judging by the heat smoldering in his beautiful green eyes, he wanted her desperately. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him in equal measure.

“Oh, I say, you look lovely,” Mrs. Potter said, breaking the spell. She felt the heat creep along her cheeks, but her eyes never left him. “Thank you.”

“I have something for you,” he rasped, his voice husky, the way she imagined a man who’d only just awakened from a night of passionate lovemaking might sound. He extended a velvet box toward her.