The Marriage Trap (13 page)

His lips twitched when it came to him that the room he was thinking about was the front parlor of the very house where Ellie grew up, the vicarage. A happy house, as he remembered.

She shouldn't have to live like this.

There was an open newspaper on the table. He picked it up, curious to see what had caught her interest. It was opened at the section that displayed advertisements. Several were marked, all of them for positions as governess or lady's companion, with one exception. It was for a housekeeper in a busy doctor's house in Hampstead.

His face was grim when he set the paper aside.

On the same table were several letters neatly stacked. He hesitated for a moment, but his conscience was easily soothed. His only motive was to serve Ellie's best interests. With that in mind, he picked up the letters and began to read them one by one.

They were short and to the point, but the tone adopted by each writer made his temper burn. He scanned the signatures, memorizing names, resolving that should any of these hapless people ever cross his path, he would teach them the manners they so evidently lacked.

When he heard her step, he quickly put the letters back as he had found them.

The first thing she looked at when she entered the room was the stack of letters on the table. The last thing he wanted was to crush her pride, so he nudged the newspaper as though he'd just set it down.

“I see Amherst has been appointed ambassador to China,” he said. “Poor Amherst. That's what comes of slighting the Prince Regent.” More seriously, he added, “Things aren't hopeless. You're not alone now, Ellie. I promised Sir Charles I would help you and your brother, and I keep my promises.”

Her air of fragility vanished and a spark of amusement lit her eyes. “Careful, Jack,” she warned. “We both know what happened the last time you promised to help me.”

“Ah, but that last time you kept secrets from me. Had I known then that you were the insufferable little show-off who once lectured me on the difference between gerunds and gerundives, I would have dunked you in the water trough as I did then. Aurora, indeed!”

She smiled. “You remember that day?”

He nodded. “Precocious brat!”

“I wanted to impress you. I just went about it the wrong way.”

“Well, you can impress me now. No more secrets, Ellie. You must tell me everything.”

She said quickly, “I haven't agreed to anything.”

“No, but you will.”

Her head came up, but after one glance at his unsmiling face, she did no more than heave a sigh. “Shall we go?”

As he followed her up the stairs, his thoughts were far from pleasant. There was the problem of Robbie, but for the moment it was the problem of Ellie that disturbed him more. As a boy, he'd teased her mercilessly, but in spite of it, there had been a casual kind of affection between them. It was still there, which was why he wanted to see her settled in a nice, comfortable home of her own, not barely subsisting in a place like this.

That was something else that disturbed him—the tone of the letters she had received from prospective employers. It was only now that he was coming to realize how steep a price she had paid for her jaunt to the Palais Royal. No. Not the Palais Royal so much as the time she had spent alone with him. News had traveled fast.

The thought that turned in his mind was how he could put things right for her.

The proprietor of the Windsor Arms was well-known to Jack. McNaught had served under him in the Spanish Campaign. It was Jack who had loaned McNaught the money to put a down payment on the inn. He wasn't a regular, but from time to time he dropped by to compare notes with his former comrade and was always assured of a warm welcome.

As a result, he and Ellie were shown to the inn's coziest private parlor, and dined on the finest the Windsor Arms had to offer. Ellie ate sparingly at first, but as she sipped from her glass of wine—a glass that Jack kept topping up—she began to relax and her appetite returned.

This was better, thought Jack. A roaring fire in the grate, plenty of candles lit, and that scared-rabbit look gone from Ellie's eyes. She had color in her cheeks and seemed genuinely pleased to be with him. He felt the same about her. The wine had mellowed them both.

An unbidden picture flashed into his mind: Aurora—or was it Ellie?—her body soft and pliant beneath his hands and mouth.

He suppressed the image, looked at his glass of wine and set it aside. Ellie didn't notice the gesture. Her eyes were half closed as she savored the last spoonful of her dessert, a creamy syllabub flavored with brandy and sherry. Fascinated, he watched the tip of her tongue lick the vestiges of flavor from her lips.

He closed his mind against the next erotic image and concentrated instead on the mission Sir Charles had given him. His train of thought was broken when Ellie thrust her empty glass under his nose and asked for more. He obliged, but sparingly.

He'd just learned that Robbie was not attending university, that he had, in fact, been rusticated for a term. She seemed happy to have someone to confide in, except that she still hadn't told him where Robbie was hiding out.

He left that for the moment and focused on what her brother had told her to explain away the wound he had to have doctored in Paris.

“So,” he said, “Robbie told you that he'd been in a brawl?”

She nodded. “I saw the wound myself. He is lucky to be alive. There is no way he could have returned to university even if he hadn't been rusticated. Only . . .” She swallowed a mouthful of wine, “Only, I suspected something was wrong before you gave me Sir Charles's letter.” She added quickly, “That doesn't mean I think he is guilty of murder!”

“Then what do you think it means?”

“Now that I've read the letter, I think he's frightened. That's why he's in hiding.” She blinked as a thought came to her. “That's why he won't come to town to see me. He doesn't want to be found.”

This was the opening he had been waiting for. “Which is why it is imperative that I see Robbie at once. He must clear his name. And he'll feel much better knowing that he has powerful friends.”

She nodded doubtfully.

“So where is he, Ellie?”

The words seemed to be dragged out of her. “He's staying with Uncle Freddie in Chelsea.” Then hurriedly, “And that's all I'm going to tell you until I speak with him myself.”

She touched his hand briefly. “Don't think I'm ungrateful. But I'm all Robbie has. He doesn't know you as I do. I don't want him to think I've betrayed him.”

She fell silent for a moment and stared blindly at the wine in her glass. Heaving a sigh, she went on softly, “Our parents died when he was very young, so he missed all the advantages that I had. He can hardly remember our mother. If he is a little wild, I'm to blame. Whenever he got in a scrape, I was there to bail him out of it. I should have been harder on him when he was a child. But he is all I have. I can't fail him.”

There was a discreet knock on the door and the waiter entered to clear the table. “Take the wine away,” said Jack, “and bring us coffee.”

Ellie held on to her wineglass. “Thank you,” she said. “The meal was delicious.”

The waiter beamed. “Mr. McNaught will be pleased to hear it, miss.”

This small exchange brought a memory to his mind. Jack remembered Ellie as a child, rebuking him for taking the servants for granted. He'd made game of her by thanking the vicarage maid-of-all-work for every small service she performed until the poor woman wouldn't enter a room if he were in it.

When they were drinking their coffee, Jack said, “Do you trust me, Ellie?”

She replied casually, “I've always trusted you, Jack.”

Her answer pleased him. “Good. Tell me, then, how did you come to have such a large sum of money when I rescued you from the mob?”

She chuckled. After a careful sip of wine, she said, “Aurora is a gamester, Jack. She made a killing at the gaming tables at the Palais Royal.”

His patent disbelief made her laugh. “I assure you, it's true. I'm surprised you didn't work it out.”

He retorted, lecturing her, “I find it incredible that a daughter of the manse, a daughter of Austen Brans-Hill, would stoop to play cards, much less enter a gaming house.”

Her smile faded. “I had to have the money to pay off Robbie's debts, don't you see? Oh, I know gaming is wrong and Papa would be scandalized, but it would be more wrong to abandon Robbie to his creditors, wouldn't it? He would have been locked up in a French prison with no hope of returning to England. I couldn't let that happen.”

Her answer did not placate him. “What if you had lost? You would be in the same position as Robbie.”

“Oh, I never lose.” Her glass was empty and she was looking around for the wine bottle. “I'm a virtuoso.”

“What the devil is a ‘virtuoso'?”

“Someone who never loses at cards.” Not finding the wine bottle, she contented herself with the cup of tepid coffee. “Like my Uncle Ted. My mother's cousin. He was the black sheep of the family, but he was fun.” She gazed into space with a dreamy smile on her face. He was beginning to wonder how much wine she had ingested.

“What became of him?”

“Mmm? Oh, he was barred from playing at all the respectable gaming houses because he always won, so he started patronizing gaming dens. That's where he was cheated out of everything he owned. No honest gambler, however good, can beat a cheat. He never played again, except with me.”

“An ‘honest gambler'!” He wasn't amused. “I tremble for you, Ellie. You're too innocent for your own good. What if someone had tried to take your winnings away from you? It does happen.”

She retorted, “I know it's risky, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Besides, I never go alone. This time Milton was with me. He's Robbie's best friend.”

“Where can I find Milton?”

She blinked at his harsh tone. “He's gone back to Oxford. Why do you want to know?”

He felt his jaw tightening. “I should like to ask him why he left you unattended in the Palais Royal.”

She replied loyally, “He was gone for only a few minutes when the riot erupted. You can't blame Milton for the riot.”

“He shouldn't have taken you gaming in the first place.”

“Don't blame Milton. He did it as a favor to me. Anyway, it's not as though I go gaming every week. I only do it out of necessity, when Robbie is in trouble or I can't find work.”

“As now?”

She shrugged. “I have a little to tide me over, but it may come down to it yet. You need not look at me like that. If you have a better solution to my problems, I'd like to hear it.”

Evidently, she meant to go on in the same old way for a boy who, in his opinion, deserved a whipping. “The solution to your problem was staring you in the face. You should have married long since, then your brother would have had the benefit of your husband's hand to guide him.” He kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, that the boy would have benefitted from a swift kick to his backside.

She glared at him. “And where was I to find a husband? They do not grow in flower gardens, you know, ripe for a lady's plucking. I'm proud to say I work for my living. I've been a governess, a chaperon, a lady's companion, a tutor in Greek and Latin, and I may take up a position as a housekeeper-cum-nursery maid. This is not the way to meet eligible gentlemen, I mean, the kind of men who would marry a girl with no dowry and the burden of a brother to raise.”

She put her cup and saucer down with a
thunk.
Her nose wrinkled. “Besides all that,” she said, “I find the thought of marriage for such mundane reasons singul . . .” She couldn't get her tongue around the word, so she went on seamlessly, “. . . unattractive.” Humor kindled in her eyes and she rested her chin on her linked fingers. “You, of all people, should understand how I feel. I don't see you hurrying to the altar, yet you have more reason to marry than I. You have to secure the succession by producing the next generation of the House of Raleigh. Thankfully, that's your burden, not mine.”

She looked at him with a question in her eyes.

He didn't share the novel idea that had just passed through his mind, that if they married, his problems would be solved and so would hers.

Frowning, he said, “You won't be accepting any offers of employment unless I give you permission.”

Her eyes glinted with hostility. “And what am I going to live on?”

“I'm coming to that. I want you and Robbie to live with me until this business is cleared up. I gave Sir Charles my word that I'd protect you both, and I mean to keep my word.”

Her voice was like a squeaky wheel. “Have you lost your mind? Live with you? Oh, wouldn't that give all the fat tabbies something to talk about!”

“I don't mean without a chaperon. My grandmother and sister will be there. Their presence will put a stop to the gossipmongers.”

“Hah! That shows how little you know! I can't afford to get into any more trouble.”

His words came slowly, deliberately, making his point. “There's something here that makes me uneasy. I can't put my finger on it. But my instinct tells me we're not out of the woods yet. I'd be happier if you were both under my roof.”

That got her attention. She stared at him for a moment, then said, “I thought when Robbie sends his statement to Sir Charles, that would be the end of it. Do you think he's in danger?”

“I don't know, but until I do, I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

She pressed a hand to her eyes. “I don't know what to do for the best.”

“Ellie!” There was just enough bite in his voice to get her attention again. When her eyes lifted to meet his, he went on, “You said you trusted me. Did you mean it?”

Her brows rose. “The last time you asked me that, you broke my heart.”

He sat back in his chair. “When was that?”

“When you left to go back to Oxford. Don't you remember? In Mama's parlor? I told you that I would wait for you, and you told me that one day I'd meet someone my own age and live happily ever after.
Trust me,
you said. Well, you lied.”

His lips quirked. “We're the same age now, more or less.”

She yawned behind her hand.

He put down his cup and scraped back his chair. “Come along, Ellie. Time to go home. We'll talk tomorrow when you're more yourself.”

She wasn't drunk, but she was not quite steady on her feet. He smiled into her wine-glazed eyes. “Something tells me you're going to hate me in the morning.”

She spoke slowly, getting her tongue around each word. “I promise never to hate you, Jack. Trust me.” And she giggled at her own jest.

Because she wasn't fit to walk, they took a hackney to her lodgings. She wanted to doze but couldn't get comfortable, so first she removed her bonnet and tossed it aside, then she sprawled halfway over him, settling herself into him as though he were a lumpy mattress.

At first he was amused, then not so amused as she squirmed in his lap. The cobblestones didn't help. He found himself gripping her bottom to hold her steady. The fragrance in her hair was as delicate as wildflowers. Fresh. Tantalizing. Tempting him to taste her. Erotic images filled his mind. He subdued them by focusing his thoughts on how he would deal with her brother.

There was a thin bead of sweat on his brow when the hackney pulled up outside her door. His hands were not gentle when he hauled her out of the coach. There was a foolish smile on her face.

“Where's your bonnet?” He was as surly as sin.

She pointed to the hackney. Sighing, he reached in and snared it. When he emerged, Ellie was already at the iron railings, feeling her way down the stairs to her door. He paid off the driver and went after her.