Love's Tangle (17 page)

He drained his glass and sank further into the chair’s ample depths, a morose expression darkening his handsome features. For once he had tried to do the right thing. Elinor had come crashing into his world and turned it upside down. He’d tried to accept the startling discovery of her parentage with equanimity. God knows, his family was nothing to be proud of, dukes though they may be. He’d wanted to accept her into Allingham and then forget her. Instead she’d been a perpetual thorn in his flesh: always finding fault, always reminding him of her damn independence, always there—warm, inviting, delectable. He should have sent her packing from the moment she started poking around the house. He should have seen it could only mean trouble if she stayed. She was a constant disturbance, a constant temptation, and he longed to find peace in his mind and his body. Now it seemed he would get his wish. She was leaving, leaving in anger, and she would never return. A light went out somewhere in his heart and he reached for the decanter.

****

When Alice came to prepare her lady for bed she brought with her a worrying tale of Gabriel’s excess. It was clear the duke intended to drink himself under the table, the maid whispered. It was brandy too. Brandy was wicked, Alice said knowledgeably, even the best French stuff. It rotted your guts and addled your brain. Judging by the volley of bad tempered curses issuing from the duke, the brain addling had not yet progressed far but no good could come of such a bad situation. The duke’s man had given up trying to reason with his master and the household was holding its breath for the mischief to come.

Elinor dismissed her maid as soon as she could. She heard Alice’s footsteps retreating down the tower steps and climbed from her bed. The household had retired early tonight and she knew that sleep would not come easily. She drew back the curtains and looked out at the encircling dark. A shaft of moonlight had emerged faintly from behind clouds and was slowly cutting a swathe through trees and lawn. She had listened to Alice’s recital with dismay and a little guilt, for she knew she had let rage overcome her and make her unfair. But the thought of Gabriel having any part in the search for an accommodating husband was humiliating. Humiliating, too, that she was considered only good enough to marry an
arriviste
who doubtless had more money than manners. The sentiment shocked her—she had become as arrogant as the Claremonts. If that is what association with the duke and his clan had done, the sooner she was on her way, the better. And if Gabriel chose to drink himself into a stupor, so be it.

****

Two floors below the duke was doing his best to comply. It wouldn’t be the first time. There were months after his brother had been killed that he drank himself insensible every night, alone and furious at anyone who tried to intervene. But he’d come through and lately he had even begun to think the future might offer a chink of light. A mistake. If Elinor left, he would return to the same, inevitable dreary round.

He understood her indignation. How could she not be angry at being coupled with this Ferrers—the man was a pygmy—but in truth her anger came from elsewhere, though she would not see it. It was rooted in the mawkish vision of love she clung to. Marriage was a contract, a business like any other, but she refused to see the reality and entertained foolish dreams of an all-consuming passion. She painted the attachment between her mother and his hated uncle as romantic, hopeless emotion. That was a milk and water tale he declined to swallow. It reminded him too much of his own parents’ story. Their rose-tinted vision had left him and his brother orphans. That was the destructive power of love which Elinor refused to accept. He brooded on the iniquity as evening turned to night and glass followed glass.

As the hours wore on, his drinking slowed but he had eaten nothing and his stomach was in a constant quarrel with his head. He felt aggrieved that he should feel so wretched. Irate too. What right had Elinor Milford to take him to task? He had done nothing since he’d known her to be his cousin but make life easier for her. She had no right to castigate him and he was going to set the record straight. She had assumed the worst of him, assumed he was behind his aunt’s vulgar plotting. She had more or less accused him of selling her into marriage. He would make her apologize for flinging such base accusations at him. They were as false as she. He wanted some recompense for the trouble she’d caused. He wanted her to say she was sorry. By midnight he had worked himself into a towering fury.

The huge ormolu clock in the Great Hall struck twelve. She would be abed by now, too late to have it out with her. Or was it? Visiting her bedchamber at this time of night might scare her. Did he care? No, he decided, he did not. She deserved to be scared. He walked up the tower steps, hardly missing a stair, and banged loudly on Elinor’s door, arousing much of the household in the process if he had but known it. There was no response so he banged louder.

This time he heard footsteps moving lightly in his direction and the door was opened a few inches. Her eyes looked dark in the candlelight and her hair was braided over her shoulders. He saw through the crack that she was wearing a low cut nightgown whose lace clung lovingly to her breasts and that her face was flushed from sleep.

“Your Grace!” she said uncertainly. “It must be past midnight.”

“I’m well aware of the time, Miss Milford.” He didn’t so much as slur a word. “I need to speak to you.”

“But surely it can wait until the morning.”

“It cannot,” and he pushed the door forcibly inwards. She staggered back and clutched the back of a chair for support. “Whatever is it? What has happened?”

“You have happened,” and his words now were beginning to lose a little of their clarity. “You!” and he pointed dramatically at her. Her expression was uncertain, wavering between alarm and amusement.

“You have infiltrated my kingdom,” he said grandiosely. “Infiltrated, like a spy, poked around my home and upset my household.”

She tried to reason with him. “You must know I am no spy. If I have indeed caused upset to your household, I am truly sorry.”

Reason was not going to be Gabriel’s strong suit that night. “It’s me you should apologize to. I accepted you into my home, a gentlemanly courtesy that I regret. Because I
am
a gentleman, no matter what kind of rascally relatives I have suffered.” Then in a low mutter, “I should have turned you from the door.”

“There is no need for these histrionics,” she said crisply. “I am leaving in two days. A message arrived late this evening, a gratifying response from the lady in Wiltshire. So you see, there is nothing to fret you.”

She moved towards him in an attempt to push him back through the open door but infuriated by her seemingly patronizing words, he grabbed at her.

“Fret, fret? I have done nothing but fret ever since you came. And you will pay for my discomfort.”

His arms were around her and his hands burnt through the fine silk of her nightdress to leave an imprint of desire. His face hovered close, then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her hungrily. She tasted the brandy on his lips, tasted the urgent warmth of his touch. He reached for her braid and in a moment had released her hair and lost his fingers in its tangle of curls. His kisses forced her mouth open and she made no protest. Slowly he drew her tongue into his mouth and caressed it with his own, all the while holding her body against his hardening form. She could not have escaped if she had wanted to.

And she didn’t. His lips withdrew from hers leaving her mouth bruised and yearning, but now they were moving down her neck in small butterfly kisses that plunged ever lower until he reached her breast, and cupping its gentle swell, he tasted her to the full. She almost fainted as a throbbing ache of pleasure shot through her. He was pushing her towards the bed and she was letting him when a sharp voice sounded from the doorway.

“Gabriel! Your Grace! You forget yourself.”

It was Celia. He turned swiftly and Elinor’s nightgown fell modestly back into place. “Go to bed,” he commanded his aunt.

“Indeed I will not. You are drunk and threatening an innocent girl with your wickedness. I will not sleep another night beneath such an impure roof. And neither will Elinor.”

His eyes looked suddenly alert. He looked around the room and then at Elinor as though he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Lady Frant took advantage of this unexpected docility and steered him towards the stairway. “Your Grace needs to return to your own room.” He went without another word.

Celia turned to her charge. “Why did you not call for help?” she demanded suspiciously. “How could you have allowed him to place you in such a compromising situation?”

Elinor breathed an inner sigh of relief. Gabriel had had his back to the door shielding her from the sight of anyone coming into the room. His aunt could not have witnessed the full immodesty of their conduct.

“I did not think I was in danger,” she prevaricated.

“Did you not?” Celia’s tone was disbelieving. She dragged a valise from beneath the bed and proceeded to open the drawers of the large chest which filled one corner of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“What it is necessary to do. I am taking you to live at the Dower House where you will be safe from further assault.”

“There is no need, Lady Frant. The duke was not himself. I am sure he will not repeat such behavior and I am leaving in two days.”

Celia looked gratified. “Nevertheless it will be a great deal safer if you spend those days away from the Hall. Gabriel is too frequently not himself.”

Elinor was trembling with the aftermath of the encounter and too exhausted to argue. The duke’s initial hostility had surprised and upset her. That first kiss had been angry, almost as though he were intent on exacting recompense. But the anger had melted along with the kiss and instead she had felt a hard, sweet searching of her lips. She had opened her mouth to accept him, opened her body to his touch. She had been reduced to a quivering mass of sensation, desperate to feel his hands, his mouth, feed her spiraling desire. Only Celia’s arrival on the scene had stopped their mutual seduction. The older woman was right. It was dangerous to stay at the Hall, even more dangerous than Lady Frant knew, for it was herself that she could no longer trust.

****

Roland arrived at the Dower House from a convivial evening in Steyning at the same time as his mother and Elinor dragged a large valise through the front door.

“What on earth…”

“Miss Milford is staying with us until she leaves for Malmesbury.” His mother’s tone brooked no argument.

“But…”

“It is quite settled. Miss Milford, let me take you to your bedchamber. I will have the maid unpack for you tomorrow.” An unprotesting Elinor was led up the stairs to one of the small rooms at the very top of the house.

When Celia Frant returned to the drawing room, her son was moodily kicking a dying log on the fire. “This is all very well, Mama, but think of the gossip your flight from the Hall must occasion. And leaving at this time of night! It would surely have been more discreet to have asked a servant to bring the luggage on later.”

His mother looked at him witheringly. “Unfortunately your louche cousin is unacquainted with discretion. By now the whole household will have been alerted to the shocking incident.”

“Whatever has Gabriel done?”

“The details are unnecessary,” she said tight lipped. “It is sufficient for you to know that Elinor Milford will remain in this house until she leaves for Wiltshire.”

“But what about Mr. Ferrers?”

“Mr. Ferrers will marry elsewhere. My efforts are unappreciated and Miss Milford intends to take up a teaching post. I no longer care what she does as long as she goes from here, but in the meantime she will stay with us.”

“Are you sure you can trust me with her?” he asked sulkily.

“I never for one moment doubted that I could.”

Roland’s face expressed disbelief and, keen to irritate his mother, he decided on the most annoying question he could think of. “So what happens to your plan of obtaining a foothold at the Hall?”

Celia smiled serenely. “I have already done so. I have been living there nigh on three weeks and tonight I have rescued Gabriel from the likely embarrassment of a drunken misdemeanor. He will be grateful, you will see. We must be sure to keep the girl from him until we can put her on the stage at Steyning. There must be no further complications.”

Roland did not share his mother’s confidence that a splendid future was close at hand but he knew better than to voice his doubts. He shrugged his shoulders and went to bed.

****

Gabriel groaned and turned over. Then groaned again. The sliver of light escaping into the room through drawn curtains made him snap his eyes shut in pain. Summers stood silently by his bedside, proffering a glass of peppermint water. “May I suggest that Your Grace drink this?”

“You may suggest all you like. Then just go away,” Gabriel said thickly.

“Your Grace may wish to know that Mr. Henderson has called.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Joffey’s assistant.”

He remembered vaguely they’d had an appointment. Something to do with a bridge.

“And?”

“Mr. Henderson waited for an hour and then had to leave. He had urgent business on the Home Farm.”

The valet could not have accused him more directly, he thought, of wasting his subordinate’s time and leaving his own duties unattended.

“Damn you, Summers,” he said resignedly. “Give me the wretched glass.” He drank it in one swallow and shuddered. “It had better work or you’ll be looking for a new situation.”

He saw the slight smile creasing his valet’s face. The man had been his batman when both had served in the 14
th
Light Dragoons and before that his boyhood attendant at Allingham. Summers knew him better than anyone alive.

“What will Your Grace wear?”

He had no interest in his dress. He had no interest in leaving his bed. He remembered sufficient of his last night’s conduct to know his day would be one of unmitigated groveling.