NOT JUST A WALLFLOWER (8 page)

‘I was only teasing, child.’ Edith smiled across at her encouragingly. ‘I could not be more pleased at your obvious success.’

Ellie forced the smile back to her lips. ‘And you are not too tired from the ball and your late night?’ Doctor Franklyn had been called to attend the dowager duchess this morning, but once again Ellie had been excluded from the bedchamber. Although she had not seemed to be too fatigued when she had joined Ellie for lunch in the small, family dining room earlier—it had been Edith’s suggestion that the two of them go out for a carriage ride this afternoon.

Nevertheless, keeping true to her promise to Justin, Ellie had sent a short, formal note round to his rooms earlier today informing him of Dr Franklyn’s visit this morning.

‘Not too much, no,’ Edith claimed.

‘And will your grandson be calling upon you today, do you think?’ Ellie posed the question as casually as she was able, in view of the unpleasant circumstances in which she and the duke had parted the evening before.

Not that she regretted slapping his arrogant face, for he had surely deserved it. The confusion of her own feelings for him aside, Justin St Just was, without doubt, the most infuriating gentleman she had ever known. Nothing at all like those charming young bucks who had clamoured to talk to her once it became known that her watchful guardian had departed the ball.

Ellie’s own reaction to that abrupt departure was less straightforward. To the point that she could not completely explain her feelings, even to herself...

A part of her had been so relieved not to have him scowling at her so darkly every time she so much as glanced across at him. But another part of her had known that the thrill of excitement had gone out of the evening for her and that she had merely played the role expected of her for the remainder of the evening, the charming and smiling Miss Eleanor Rosewood, ward of the Duke of Royston and protégée of the Dowager Duchess of Royston.

It...concerned Ellie, that she should feel this conflict of emotions. She had been so angry with Justin for the things he had said to her after he had kissed her. Furious at his mockery. And yet... To know that the duke was no longer even in the house, let alone the ballroom, had seemed to turn the evening flat, without purpose. Although what purpose a ball was supposed to have, other than dancing and flirtation, in which Ellie had engaged fully after Justin’s departure, she had no idea!

She had fared no better, once the last guest had departed from Royston House and she was at last able to escape up the stairs to her bedchamber, her pillow seeming too lumpy for her to find any comfort, the covers either too hot or too cold. Unable to sleep, Ellie had not been able to prevent her thoughts from drifting to the time she had spent in the library with Justin.

Privately she could admit that it had been the most thrilling, the most physically sensuous, experience of her life. Of course, that might be because the only sensuous experiences of her life had been with Justin, rather than a confirmation of any softer emotions she might feel towards him.

There was some comfort to be found in that, she supposed. She had nothing, no other gentleman, with whom to compare her responses to Justin St Just. Perhaps any man turned a lady’s legs to water when he kissed her and made her heart beat faster, caused her breasts to tingle and between her thighs to dampen? Ellie could only hope that might be the case.

‘I doubt Royston will stir himself,’ the dowager duchess answered Ellie’s query dismissively. ‘No doubt he will have gone on somewhere after he left us last night and will not have seen his bed until the early hours of this morning!’

Considering that Justin had not wished to attend the Royston Ball at all, he would most certainly have gone in search of more scintillating entertainment for his jaded senses after departing it. Indeed, Ellie had overheard the gossips fervently speculating as much the previous evening once he had left...

‘Knowing my grandson—’

‘Good afternoon, ladies.’

Ellie knew, just from looking at Edith’s sudden and stiffly offended demeanour, that the gentleman who had now approached them on horseback was not someone the dowager considered as being an acceptable part of society, let alone of her social equal. One glance at that gentleman was enough for Ellie to know the reason for that.

Lord Dryden Litchfield appeared immune to both the dowager duchess’s disapproval, and Ellie’s unsmiling face, as he raised his hat to them both politely. ‘Your Grace. And Miss Rosewood, too,’ he added silkily. ‘How gratified I am to have the pleasure of seeing you again so soon.’

Ellie had no idea what to do or to say in the face of such boldness as this. She had not liked this man when she met him yesterday and she knew from the duke that neither he or the dowager duchess approved of Lord Litchfield, either, but to cut the man direct, and a lord at that, was surely beyond Ellie’s own low social standing?

‘I was not aware that you were acquainted with my grandson’s ward, Lord Litchfield?’ Edith St Just was the one to answer coldly as she eyed him with chilling frost.

Dryden Litchfield bared those brown-stained teeth in a smile. ‘Royston introduced us yesterday.’

Ellie gasped softly at the blatant lie; the duke had not even attempted to introduce the two of them—indeed, Ellie believed Justin had gone out of his way not to do so. For just such a reason as this, no doubt; without the benefit of a formal introduction, Lord Litchfield should not have approached or spoken to her at all.

‘Indeed?’ The dowager gave Ellie a long and considering glance before that gaze became icier still as she turned back to Dryden Litchfield. ‘You must excuse us, Lord Litchfield, I am afraid Miss Rosewood and I have another engagement which we must attend.’ She nodded to him dismissively.

‘But of course,’ he drawled with feigned graciousness. ‘Perhaps I might be allowed to call upon Miss Rosewood at Royston House...?’

Ellie gave another soft gasp, this time clearly of dismay, and Edith’s mouth thinned disapprovingly at the man’s bad manners. ‘I do not think—’

‘Miss Rosewood’s time is fully engaged for the next week, at least.’ A steely cold voice, easily recognisable to them all as Justin’s, cut firmly across his grandmother’s reply.

Ellie looked at him, only to shrink back against the carriage seat as those icily contemptuous blue eyes glanced briefly in her direction before returning to Litchfield.

‘Then perhaps the week following that?’ the other man persisted challengingly.

‘Not then, either,’ the duke refused coldly. ‘Now, if you will excuse us? I believe it is past time the two ladies and I returned to Royston House.’

‘But of course. Ladies.’ Lord Litchfield raised his hat once again in a mockery of politeness, before wheeling his horse about and urging it into an unhurried walk in the opposite direction.

‘What a disgustingly dreadful man,’ Edith muttered with distaste.

‘Indeed,’ her grandson agreed.

‘Thank heavens you came along when you did, Royston.’

‘I have no doubts you would have succeeded in routing him quite thoroughly yourself, Grandmama,’ he said with a twinkle, ‘once you had recovered from the shock of his incivility in daring to speak to you at all.’

‘No doubt. I am nevertheless grateful for your intervention, Royston,’ the dowager duchess said.

‘Perhaps we should be thanking Stanhope. I called at Royston House earlier,’ he explained, ‘and it was he who told me that the two of you were out driving in the park.’

‘I cannot imagine what Litchfield imagined he was doing by approaching my carriage in the first place.’ Edith gave one of her disdainful sniffs.

‘Perhaps that is because it was Miss Rosewood whom he wished to see again...?’

The dowager looked at her grandson sharply. ‘What do you mean, Royston? Surely you are not meaning to imply that Ellie would ever encourage the interest of such an obnoxious gentleman as that?’

Ellie was wondering the same thing. Surely he did not seriously imagine for one moment that she had encouraged Lord Litchfield in any way?

A single glance beneath lowered lashes at the duke’s cold blue eyes, thinned lips and tightly clenched jaw, showed her that he was, to all intents and purposes, furious.

Was he furious with her? And if so, why?

The drive back to Royston House was completed in silence, but Ellie was only too aware of the duke’s continued anger as he rode beside the carriage on his magnificent black hunter, the expression on his face daring any in society to approach or speak to them. Wisely, none did.

Why Ellie should continue to feel quite so much as if that anger was directed personally at her was beyond understanding; despite what the duke might think, she had done nothing to encourage Lord Litchfield.

And yet still she felt as if all of the seething emotions she sensed behind Justin’s stony façade were directed at her: anger, irritation and, for some inexplicable reason, resentment.

Quite why he should resent her was a mystery. If anyone should be feeling
that
particular emotion, then it should be Ellie herself, for she was the one who had once again been made a fool of the evening before, with her undeniable responses to this impossible man. Yes, indeed, all of the resentment should be on her side, not his!

* * *

Justin handed his hat and gloves to Stanhope as he entered Royston House, knowing that if the two ladies had not been present in the park, he would have been unable to stop himself from committing a public scandal, by punching Dryden Litchfield on his drink-bloated nose!

But, of course, if they had not been present, Eleanor in particular, then Justin doubted that such a confrontation would ever have taken place.

But it was only a matter of time before it did so, for Justin was certain that he and Litchfield would come to blows one day. And, after the things Richmond had related to him at their meeting earlier today, it was a day Justin anticipated with the greatest of pleasure.

But not yet. For the moment he intended to keep his own counsel and protect Eleanor without her knowledge. ‘Perhaps we might partake of tea in your private parlour, Grandmama?’

‘Tea, Royston?’ His grandmother looked suitably surprised by this concession to civility by her wayward grandson. ‘I had not thought you a great advocate of tea, my dear?’

‘Brandy, then,’ he conceded wryly.

‘See to it, would you, Stanhope,’ Edith instructed even as she walked up the grand staircase.

‘At once, your Grace.’ The butler departed for the back of the house, leaving Eleanor and Justin alone in the grand entrance hall.

He was very aware that it was the first time he had been alone with her since their strained parting of the evening before. And yet it seemed as if days had passed since that time instead of hours, so much had transpired.

Usually Justin had no trouble sleeping, but he had found it impossible to fall into slumber the night before, physically frustrated of course, which was never a good thing, but also angry with himself for having kissed Eleanor yet again, and more than a little troubled as to what Richmond wished to discuss with him.

But he would never have guessed, could never have envisaged the full horror of the things Richmond had related to him earlier this afternoon.

Justin could not help but frown now as he looked down at Eleanor’s bent head, her innocent head, and wonder how, if Richmond’s suspicions should turn out to be correct, he would ever be able to tell her the truth, without utterly destroying the spirit in her that he so admired, as much as the fragile hold she now had in society.

No doubt Eleanor, never having needed that society before, would dismiss the importance of it in her life now, but Justin found he could not bear the thought of her independence of spirit also being trampled underfoot, snuffing out that light of either challenge or mischief he so often detected in her unwavering green gaze during their lively exchanges.

No, he would not tell Eleanor anything of that conversation as yet, preferring to make his own private and discreet enquiries, at least going some way towards proving—or disproving—Richmond’s fears, before so much as attempting to broach the subject to her. Fears, which, in view of his grandmother’s own doubts on the subject, Justin had no choice but to take seriously.

For what decent young woman, especially a young and beautiful woman newly entered into society, would want to be burdened with the stigma of learning that her father, her real father, might be none other than Lord Dryden Litchfield, an inveterate rake and gambler, whom all of decent society shunned?

Chapter Nine

E
llie was painfully aware of Justin’s sinfully handsome appearance as he stood beside her in a perfectly tailored superfine of sapphire blue, setting off buff-coloured pantaloons and brown-topped Hessians. There was an awkward silence between them, forcing her into making some sort of conversation.

She lifted her chin even as she tilted her head back in order to look up at him, feeling the physical discomfort at her nape in having to do so. ‘Goodness, you are prodigiously tall!’

Blue eyes, the exact same shade as his superfine, widened briefly, before those chiselled lips twisted into a rueful smile. ‘And you, brat, are incredibly rude, that you can never address a gentleman in the normal fashion of a well-bred young lady!’

‘Perhaps I have been keeping company with you for too long?’ she came back pertly.

‘Perhaps you have,’ he allowed. ‘Shall we?’ He held out his arm to her. ‘Unless you wish to put my grandmother to the trouble of coming in search of us, which I am sure she will do if we do not soon join her in her parlour,’ he prompted as Ellie hesitated.

No, she had no wish to involve the dowager duchess in this battle of wills that ensued between herself and that lady’s grandson each and every time they met.

Her hesitation in taking his arm was for another reason entirely. Already aware of everything about him, she had no wish to place herself in the position of touching him, of once again feeling his warmth beneath her gloved fingertips, the leashed strength of his tautly held muscles. To be so close to him that she could not help but be aware of that intensely seductive smell that was unique to him—clean healthy male and a fresh yet sensual cologne, which seemed to wind itself in and about her, until she longed for nothing more than to have him kiss her again, touch her again, make love to her again...

She straightened her spine in defence of that onslaught to her emotions as she deliberately placed her hand lightly upon the duke’s arm. ‘I should not at all wish to put the dowager duchess to such trouble as that.’

‘And, in your opinion, how is she today?’ her grandson enquired as they ascended the staircase together.

Ellie gave him a startled glance. ‘You want my opinion...?’

He nodded. ‘I received your note earlier, informing me of Dr Franklyn’s visit this morning, and as that gentleman prefers to keep his opinion of my grandmother’s health to himself,’ he added with clear disapproval, ‘it leaves me with no choice but to try to elicit the opinion on the subject from the one person who is with her the most.’

In truth, with all the excitement of the flowers arriving constantly throughout the day, the ride in the park, the encounter with the disagreeable Lord Litchfield, and then Justin’s unexpected arrival a short time ago, Ellie had all but forgotten the note she had sent him following Dr Franklyn’s visit.

Although Ellie could not help but admit to a certain grudging admiration for Dr Franklyn, in that he was insistent upon protecting his patient’s confidentiality...much to the duke’s obvious annoyance. She gave an inward smile.

‘I believe her to be quite well, considering she was hostess to a ball yesterday evening, and the late hour at which we finally retired for the night,’ Ellie said. ‘Perhaps the doctor’s visit was simply a precautionary one rather than a necessity?’

Justin pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps.’

But, in Ellie’s opinion, he did not sound at all certain. ‘The dowager duchess did breakfast in her rooms, which is not her usual custom. But she did join me not long after that and we ate luncheon together. And it was her suggestion that we should ride in the park this afternoon.’

Justin’s expression turned grim as he recalled who had been there with them when he had finally found Eleanor and his grandmother in the park earlier. ‘I believe I warned you as to the unsuitability of Lord Litchfield’s company?’

‘You did, yes.’

‘And?’

Two wings of angry colour brightened Eleanor’s cheeks as she came to a halt in the hallway outside Edith’s private parlour. ‘And, as your grandmother has already informed you, Lord Litchfield chose to inflict his company upon us without the least encouragement. From either of us.’

Justin’s nostrils flared. ‘I cannot emphasise how strongly I wish for you to avoid that man’s company!’

‘And I cannot emphasise how strongly I resent this second implication from you that I would ever wish to encourage the attentions of such an unpleasant man!’ Green eyes sparkled with that same anger as Eleanor glared up at him.

Justin held back the sharpness of his own reply and instead drew in a deep breath in an effort to calm his own turbulent emotions, knowing the worst of them, his anger, was caused by fear—for her safety, for her emotional well-being.

Litchfield was proving to be something of a nemesis in their lives at the moment, somehow seeming to be there, whenever Justin turned around. And, after Richmond’s revelations about the man, Justin did not wish for Dryden Litchfield to be anywhere near Eleanor. Or for Eleanor to be anywhere near him.

He forced the tension from his shoulders as he straightened. ‘I believe you are determined to misunderstand me—’

‘Is that you at last, Royston, Eleanor?’ his grandmother, obviously having heard the sound of their voices outside in the hallway, now called out impatiently.

Justin bit back his own impatience at this interruption as he lowered his voice so that only Eleanor might hear him. ‘We will talk of this again later.’

‘No, your Grace, I do not believe we will,’ she snapped back, and obviously tired of waiting for him to open the parlour door for her, opened it for herself and preceded him into the room.

‘Do not believe you will what, my dear?’ the dowager enquired.

Justin followed Eleanor into the room. ‘Will not—Good God, it is like a florist’s shop in here!’ He almost recoiled from the overabundance of perfume given off by the multitude of flowers in the room, vases and vases of them, it seemed, on every available surface. ‘How on earth can you possibly breathe in here, Grandmama?’ He strode across the room to throw open a window before turning to glare across at Eleanor. ‘I suppose we have your success last night to thank for this gratuitous display?’

‘Royston!’ his grandmother rebuked sharply.

Justin’ continued to glare at Eleanor. ‘I am only stating the obvious, Grandmama!’

‘That is no excuse for upsetting Ellie.’ The dowager duchess rose to her feet to cross to Eleanor’s side and place an arm about her shoulders. ‘I am sure Royston did not mean to be so sharp with you, my dear,’ she soothed as the younger woman looked in danger of succumbing to tears.

He
had
meant to be sharp with her, Justin realised in self-disgust. In fact, that was exactly what he had meant to do!

Because he felt somehow...unsettled by this garish tribute to her obvious success the evening before, he acknowledged.

And also, he realised uncomfortably, because it had not so much as occurred to him to send Eleanor flowers himself.

Why should it have done? Even the women whose bodies he availed himself of for however long before he grew tired of them had never received flowers from him. A pretty and expensive piece of jewellery as a parting gift, perhaps, but never flowers. Justin considered flowers as being somehow more personal, a gift chosen for the woman herself, rather than with an eye to how much money they might cost.

And here Eleanor had received dozens of such tokens of admiration, probably from all those young bucks who had flocked about her at the ball!

Again Justin asked why that should bother him? If those young idiots wished to make fools of themselves over a new and beautiful face, then who was he to care one way or the other?

He stood stiffly across the room, arms behind his back. ‘I was merely taken by surprise at—’

‘—such a gratuitous display,’ Eleanor completed challengingly as she straightened out of the dowager’s embrace, her chin held proudly high, sparks of anger in her eyes now rather than tears as she glared across at him. ‘If you will both excuse me, I believe I will go to my room and tidy my appearance before dinner.’ She sketched a brief curtsy before leaving the parlour with a swish of her skirts.

‘Royston, what on earth was that all about?’

Justin closed his eyes momentarily before opening them again to look across at his grandmother, sighing deeply as he saw the reproach in her steely blue gaze. ‘You no doubt wish for me to go to Eleanor and apologise for my churlishness?’

The dowager gave him a searching glance before replying. ‘Only if that is what you wish to do yourself.’

Did he? Dare he follow Eleanor to her bedchamber? Allow himself to be in a position, a place, where he might be tempted into kissing her, making love to her once again?

‘Obviously not,’ his grandmother said acidly at his lengthy silence. ‘Ah, Stanhope.’ She turned to greet the butler warmly as he arrived with the brandy and tea. ‘Wait a moment, if you please, and take this cup of tea to Miss Rosewood in her bedchamber.’ She bent to pour the brew into the two delicate china teacups.

Justin was still fighting an inner battle with himself, aware that he had been overly sharp with Eleanor just now, and that he did owe her an apology for his behaviour, if not an explanation. For he had no intention of admitting to anyone, not even himself—least of all himself!—the real emotion that had washed over him when he had first looked upon all those flowers and realised they were tangible proof of the admiration Eleanor had received from so many other gentlemen the evening before.

Jealousy...

* * *

Insufferable, impossible, cruel, heartless man! Arrogant, hateful,
hateful
man!

And Ellie did hate at that moment. Hated his cynicism. His sarcasm. His mockery. His overbearing arrogance. His—

‘I have brought you a cup of tea...’

Ellie turned sharply, from where she lay on the bed, to look across at Justin as he stood in the doorway to her bedchamber, aware of her reddened cheeks and the soreness of her eyes from the tears that she had allowed to fall the moment she entered the room and which had been flowing unchecked ever since.

Tears of frustration and hurt, at the unfairness of his accusations.

Tears of pain and humiliation, at his unkindness about the flowers that had been sent to her today, and which she had so enjoyed receiving.

They were also tears which Eleanor had never intended for Justin to bear witness to!

She sat up and began dabbing at the evidence of those tears with the lace handkerchief she had retrieved from the pocket of her gown. ‘Are you sure you should be in here?’

His answer to that was to step further into the room and close the door behind him. ‘I have brought you a cup of tea,’ he repeated. ‘And I will bring it across to you if you promise not to throw it over me the moment I place it in your hand!’ he teased gently.

Ellie replaced the handkerchief in her pocket. ‘You are an exceedingly cruel man.’

‘Yes.’

‘An insufferable man.’

‘Yes.’

She frowned. ‘Hateful, even.’

‘Yes.’

Ellie blinked at his unexpected acquiescence to her accusations. ‘Why do you not defend yourself?’

He sighed deeply. ‘Possibly because, on this occasion, I know you are correct. I am all of the things you have accused me of being.’

Ellie eyed him guardedly, looking for signs of that sarcasm or cynicism she had also accused him of to herself just minutes ago. He met her gaze unblinkingly, the expression in those blue eyes neither cynical nor sarcastic, but merely accepting. ‘I do not understand...’

‘I am merely agreeing with you, Eleanor.’ He crossed the room until he stood before her, the delicacy of the saucer and teacup he held out to her looking slightly incongruous in his lean hand.

She reached up slowly and took the cup and saucer from him. ‘That is what I do not understand.’

He looked down at her beneath hooded lids as he gave a shrug of those broad shoulders. ‘I have no defence, when everything you accuse me of, I undoubtedly am.’

‘And that is your apology for such insufferable behaviour?’ Ellie asked.

A humourless smile curved his lips. ‘No.’

‘Because you offer no apology,’ she realised. ‘Only tea.’

‘Is it not the panacea to all ills?’ he drawled as Eleanor took several sips of the steaming brew.

‘I believe I should have appreciated an apology more!’

‘Would you?’ he asked enigmatically.

Where had all her anger towards this man disappeared to? Ellie wondered crossly as she continued to sip her tea. Because, she realised, she was no longer angry. Or tearful. In fact, a part of her felt decidedly like smiling. Or perhaps even laughing at the incongruousness of seeing such a guilty-little-boy expression on the face of one as impossibly arrogant as he was. It was also totally illogical, in view of the way his sarcasm had hurt her just a few short minutes ago.

Except...

That ridiculous expression aside, she very much doubted that Justin had ever bothered himself to take tea to a woman in the whole of his privileged life before today. The fact that he had done so now, and to her, was in itself an apology of sorts. Not the grovelling appeasement that some would have made in the circumstances, but from this arrogant duke, Ellie recognised it was as good as another gentleman having got down upon his knees and begged her forgiveness.

She placed the empty teacup and its saucer on the bedside table. ‘Thank you. I do feel slightly better now.’

‘Good.’ He moved to sit on the side of the bed beside her and took one of her hands in both of his much larger ones. ‘And I do sincerely apologise for my bad temper to you just now, Eleanor.’

Ellie, already disconcerted at the touch of his hands on hers, now looked at him in surprise. ‘You do?’

He nodded. ‘I was boorish, to say the least. I was a little...unsettled after seeing Litchfield, of all people, beside my grandmother’s carriage in the park. But I accept I should not have taken that bad temper out on you.’

Ellie’s heart had begun to beat faster at his sudden proximity, her cheeks feeling warm, her breathing shallow, and he surely must be able to feel the way her hand trembled slightly inside his? ‘I really do not think it quite proper for you to be in my bedchamber. The dowager duchess—’