The Scandal of Lady Eleanor (12 page)

“Absolutely, Lord Worthing.” And she kicked the horse's side and flicked the reins.

As before, he waited to a count of three before giving chase. Then he gave pursuit in earnest. He knew enough of Ella's nature to know she would find it offensive if he purposely let her win. He admired how well Eleanor handled the horse. She had ridden Sampson for years, and this was her first time upon Athena. She held the reins a bit too tightly, but Ella could manage well; she was an excellent horsewoman. His mount closed the distance between them, but he saw Ella lean forward along the horse's neck and take off into the tree line leading to the Serpentine. “Come on, boy,” he encouraged his mount. “The ladies are getting away.”

James followed her lead. He had purposely given his hat to the groom before he took off after her. Now, he was glad he did. Just staying on the horse as they cut and zigzagged among the trees took all his equestrian skills. Bursting through the forested line, he spotted her—
his Amazon
—dismounting as Athena edged toward the water.

Eleanor whipped off her hat, and James slowed his mount to take in her countenance fully. The early morning sun glinted off the Serpentine and danced in the fine golden hair framing Ella's face. The race's flush colored her cheeks, and James knew he was truly in trouble. As he suspected, Eleanor Fowler consumed him completely. When she tilted her neck back to let the sun kiss her face, his groin flicked to life. Remaining in a constant state of erection seemed his destiny, at least as far as Eleanor was concerned. Dismounting, he came to stand beside her. “You and Athena are a worthy challenge, Lady Eleanor.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Needing to touch her seemed all-important.

“She is a glorious ride.” Eleanor patted Athena's long neck; she held the reins loosely in one hand. “Thank you for bringing her for me today.”

“She is yours to use any time you choose to ride. Athena cannot replace your mother's gift, but you needed to ride again.” James stood behind her, spooning her body with his. His hands rested on Ella's shoulders as they both stared out over the water.

Eleanor turned her head to look up at him. “How can I thank you,Your Lordship? You are too kind—too good to me.”

James considered kissing her. She tempted him greatly, but he feared frightening her if he moved too quickly. Instead, he said, “I would like to be the one who shows you kindness, Eleanor—the one who is good to you in every way possible.” He whispered close to her ear, afraid to venture the words aloud.

He watched as tears misted her eyes. “No one,” she began but choked up when she tried to finish.

“I understand, Darling.” James found himself swallowing hard, trying to control his need for her. “No one has ever loved you and you alone. I plan to change that, Eleanor, if you will let me. Your brother wishes you to have a choice—to know the pleasures of Society and of a Season. Fowler feels a need to make things right for you, to give you all the things you were denied as William Fowler's daughter, and I have assured him I will wait. If you find another, I will step aside, for I want you to be happy above all things.You deserve to be happy, Eleanor.”

Tears now streamed down her cheeks. She used the sleeve of her riding habit to blot her face. “We should ride again, Lord Worthing,” she rasped out.

“Of course, Lady Eleanor.” James led her to where Athena nibbled on some grass, and without ceremony, he lifted Ella to the horse's back.

When he remounted, they rode side by side. At first, there was silence, and James wondered if he had said too much. But then she said, “I always welcome your company, Lord Worthing. You make
me feel special.”

“You are special, Eleanor.”

Obviously a bit uncomfortable with all his honesty, she simply smiled before changing the subject. “I wonder what has happened to the Marquis and Velvet.”

James cocked an amused eyebrow. “I imagine they are dealing with His Grace.Your brother trailed us to the park.”

“Bran?” she gasped. Then she too laughed at the situation's absurdity. “Well, would you not like to be a fly on the wall and hear that conversation?”

CHAPTER 4

ELEANOR AND WORTHING RODE casually toward where they last saw the Marquis and Velvet, allowing their horses to cool naturally. After such an exhilarating ride, Eleanor's complexion glowed with life, and James continued to think her the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance. Wisps of golden hair framed her face, having worked lose from her chignon, and he wanted so badly to push them behind her ear and touch her again. For a few brief seconds, he focused on her mouth, on its fullness and what it would be like to kiss Eleanor as he did at Thorn Hall. So absorbed with her, too late he saw him—the one from the art gallery—saw him raise the gun and aim, and instinctively, James reacted. He bounded from the saddle, throwing his body in the air to protect her.

The bullet burned his flesh, but he ignored the need to address it because, as he scrambled from the ground, he discovered Ella's safety still in jeopardy. Athena bucked and turned, trying to throw Ella from her back, and James frantically sprang to his feet to reach her. However, the mare skittered away and cantered off at full speed.

Ignoring his wound, in seconds he was on his own horse, turning it to give chase, but as he spun around, he saw along the periphery of his vision the shooter running toward the far side of the park, as well as Brantley Fowler and others closing in on Ella's flight. Realizing the others would reach Ella before he could, he gave pursuit of the gunman.

Riding flat along the horse's neck, he once again dodged lowhanging branches and raised tree roots, weaving in and out, tagging after the man. Two carriages loomed ahead, and Kerrington knew he must reach the man before the assailant made a successful getaway. The shooter cleared the trees, and in the open his progress improved, but James followed suit. Catching the retreating form at last, he left the saddle once again, landing squarely on the man's back, taking them both to the ground. Rolling in the dusty pathway, he struggled to right himself while fending off a barrage of fists and kicks. In return, he pummeled his enemy with carefully designed blows to incapacitate the man.

A strike across the man's Adam's apple sent his opponent staggering backwards, clutching his neck in contorted pain. As James prepared to strike again, a gun pointed at his face pulled him up short.
“Monsieur.”
The masked accomplice gestured with the gun for him to step away from his partner.
“Pardonnez-moi, en ami.”
Before James could react, the disguised adversary struck him with the gun's butt along the side of his head, knocking James to the ground and allowing the two men to escape to the waiting coaches. His eyes rested on their retreat, but something unusual happened. The men separated and headed toward their respective carriages. James chose to follow the dark-skinned man, trying to memorize his carriage's markings as it rolled away. Staggering to his feet, he found his horse and pulled himself painfully into the saddle.
Ella,
he thought.
Have to find Ella.

 

When Kerrington anticipated the attack and leapt from the saddle to protect her, Eleanor did not at first understand his madness until she witnessed the bullet strike his shoulder when he flew through midair. Then chaos exploded.

Ripping away part of Worthing's sleeve, the slug landed within an inch of Athena's front hoof, sending a spray of dirt and rock fragments covering the animal's forelegs. Had she been riding Sampson, Ella could probably have brought the horse under control, but the
courser reacted to the sudden particle shower by bolting forward and trying to dislodge Ella from her back before Eleanor could take control of the reins. The melee began, and all she could do was hold on.

The reins slipped from her fingers, and Ella grasped the horse's mane, trying to convey her need for the animal to stop its undulations. Then, miraculously, he appeared—a stranger reaching for the reins and turning the horse in a large circle, slowing its progress; and finally, the animal moved no more. It stood perfectly still, snorting and stamping its displeasure.

As she leaned back, adjusting her bonnet, the first person Eleanor saw was her brother skidding his mount to a stop. Instantly, he was on the ground and pulling her from the saddle and into the safety of his arms. “Ella, oh, Ella,” he cooed as he kissed the side of her head, shoving her hat away where he might see her face. “Oh, God, Ella!” he clutched her to him again.

“Bran,” she choked out his name as she buried her face in his chest, clutching desperately at his lapels.

“Are you hurt?” Seeking to assure himself of her safety, he gently brushed Ella's hair from her face.

Ella shook her head in the negative, but she kept her head tilted to the side so the growing crowd could not see her clearly. The onlookers hung back, taking close note of the unusual happenings to share with others over their afternoon tea.

Heart racing, Bran looked over her shoulder at her rescuer, who was dismounting from his own horse.

Reaching the scene at last, Velvet unceremoniously slid from her horse and raced to her cousins. Fowler simply opened his arms and took her into his care.

Ella clung to her cousin and to Bran. The three of them had always seen each other through the worst, and as much as she still needed them, a part of her cried out for Lord Worthing's closeness.

Fowler kissed her cheek and their cousin's forehead, and then he released Ella to Velvet's care by saying, “Let me deal with your rescuer, and then we will see you home.”

Ella kept her back to their unwelcome audience and accepted Velvet's help in righting her disheveled appearance. Her cousin used Bran's handkerchief to wipe away the dusty trail of tears across her cheek, and Ella closed her eyes to Velvet's ministrations. The horror of the last few minutes still played in her head. She saw it all, a shadowy drama behind the one image she was unable to shake: Lord Worthing had risked his life to save her. She knew subconsciously that he had ridden off after their attacker, but she had a desperate need to know his fate, to show him that she cared for him. Earlier, he had professed his affections, but she had given him no return besides an acknowledgment of enjoying his company. Now, she saw the folly of such milk-and-water replies. Ella could have lost him today without His Lordship knowing the depth of her regard. She would not let the opportunity to tell him so pass again.

So resolved, Ella opened her eyes to a new future, but a past nightmare loomed over her shoulder.

 

“Are you well, Miss?” the stranger stood with hat in hand before them.

Ella heard Bran's shaky voice respond, “My sister and I owe you our eternal gratitude, Sir.”

“My reward is your sister's safety.”The gentleman offered a bow.

“I am Thornhill,” Fowler returned the greeting.

“Thornhill?” The stranger's voice rose in surprise. “The Duke of Thornhill?”

Now her brother sounded suspicious. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage, Sir.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I am Levering. I did not realize you had assumed your father's position. My parents were great friends of the former duke.”

Ella heard her brother's conversation as if in a dream.
It could not be—not now.
Gulping for air, she swallowed her fear, trying not to betray her agitation to the others.

“Sir Louis?” Her cousin politely renewed the acquaintance. “Lady Eleanor and I did not know you were in London. Look,
Ella, your rescuer is Louis Levering. How many years has it been since we last saw you?” Velvet gave the man the obligatory curtsy.

“Before my Grand Tour, Miss Aldridge, nearly six years ago.”

Ella, arranging her appearance as best she could without a mirror, purposely turned to offer her own thanks. “Sir Louis, how do I express my appreciation?You came at just the right moment, and to consider the coincidence of our former acquaintance.” The name Levering ricocheted through Ella, but she fought to push away her doubts, praying the baronet's reappearance would not destroy the happiness she had known of late.

“I am sure His Grace would have done as well.Your brother was only seconds behind.”The man's face showed nothing but concern for Eleanor's safety.

“You must allow us, Levering, to offer you our hospitality at Briar House. As you are already familiar with my family, it will be a
homecoming
of a sort.” Ella's shoulders stiffened with her brother's invitation.

Yet, before Levering could accept,Worthing rode up. Dusty and bleeding from behind his ear, he slipped from the saddle and caught Ella up in his arms, and she allowed herself to breathe.The viscount was safe, and now he offered his protection. “Thank God, His Grace reached you in time.” His genuine concern for her spoke of hope. He smelled of leather and of sweat and of maleness and of safety, and for a brief moment Ella allowed herself to cling to him—the dream renewed. Not wanting to leave his protective embrace, she reluctantly backed away. Seeing the trickle of blood she stifled a gasp before pressing her own handkerchief to his head. “Actually,” she told him, a flush of color covering her face, “Sir Louis reached me before His Grace.”