July 1819
Benjamin Hillary—Ben to his family and friends; “that damned heartless rogue” to most of Society—tried the back gate leading to the Eldridges’ garden.
“Locked,” he muttered. Of course it was. He’d had nothing but bad luck since his return from Delhi almost a month earlier.
“Balderdash.” Crispin Locke, Viscount Margrave, shouldered him aside and grabbed the weathered iron handle. Gas lamps flanking the gate bathed the stone wall in a golden glow. “You have to put some brawn into it. These old gates stick.” Ben’s old schoolmate shot him a superior look before yanking with a loud grunt.
The eight-foot-high gate didn’t budge.
“Peculiar.” Margrave’s strong brows dropped low as he smacked his hands together to clear the orange residue from his riding glove and proceeded to soil both gloves. “Why do you suppose Lord Eldridge had the gate secured?”
“To keep out unwanted guests?”
Perhaps the Earl of Wellham had warned Lord Eldridge that Ben might show up tonight. That would explain the small army of footmen at the front door. If Wellham would stop turning Ben away when he called on him at home or hiding in his club where Ben was not a member, he wouldn’t be reduced to sneaking into the assemblies.
An invitation might be nice too, but he understood the reason his name was omitted from most guest lists. He had unintentionally destroyed the reputation of an innocent young lady—a lady he still pined for two years after walking away from her. Fortunately, he’d been able to set things back to rights for Miss Eve Thorne upon his return to Town. She was back in Society now, and Ben was determined to win her back into his arms.
Eventually.
She claimed she wanted nothing to do with him, but Ben possessed the letter Mr. Cooper had sent to him in India stating otherwise. Eve and the clergyman had developed a friendship when she began calling on him at St. Saviour’s Church soon after he had delivered Ben’s wedding gift. Mr. Cooper’s letter implored Ben to return to England immediately, as it seemed only Ben’s presence could end her misery. Until that time, Ben had believed he was the only one still suffering.
“You won’t be getting in through the gate.” Margrave swiped a lock of blond hair from his forehead and left a smudge.
Ben really should tell his friend, but the idea of Margrave bowing over Lady Eldridge’s hand, all pristine and proper except for an orange smear on his face, made Ben grin.
“Why do you look so pleased?” Margrave grumbled. “I thought you wanted to get inside.”
“I do, and I will.”
Ben’s sister had warned him away from the Eldridge Ball, because Eve would be here. And even though Ben had come for Wellham, she was the reason he wouldn’t allow a locked gate to defeat him. He walked alongside the wall, searching for a way over.
A tree branch hung over the stone wall just low enough that he could reach it with Margrave’s help.
“Give me a leg up?” Ben said.
His friend made a stirrup with his hands for Ben’s foot and hoisted him into the air. Ben grabbed the branch, and when Margrave stepped out of harm’s way, he swung his legs to build momentum, hooked one over the branch, and hauled himself up to straddle it.
“Well done. Wellham is in for a surprise, I think.” Margrave saluted him, as if assisting a friend to scale a wall was nothing out of the ordinary.
“This seems like old hat to you, Margrave. What were you up to while I was away?”
He flashed a jaunty smile up at Ben. “Oh, you know. Things and such.”
That barely qualified as an answer, but Margrave had never been the chatty type. As his friend moved on silent feet and faded into the darkness, Ben worked his way toward the tree trunk. Once he’d cleared the wall, he dropped to the ground with a teeth-rattling thump. He rolled his neck and shoulders, then brushed off his breeches and coat.
“I am too old for this nonsense.”
At three-and-thirty, he was hardly in his dotage, but he wasn’t a young buck to be kicking up a lark anymore either. He located and followed a path that wound through the garden and ended at the terrace stairs.
Several guests had retreated outdoors, taking advantage of the light breeze off the Thames. A lively melody floated through the opened French doors and flashes of color appeared through the bank of windows. Ladies dressed in crimson, plum, and emerald skipped around the ballroom floor on the arms of their gentlemen partners. Ben hadn’t danced a quadrille since he’d left London, but the steps came back to him in an instant.
A footman stood just inside the doors and, noting Ben’s approach, held out a silver tray. “Champagne, sir?”
Ben grabbed a glass and adopted a swagger as he entered the Eldridge ballroom. If he behaved as if he belonged there, no one would question him. They never did.
* * *
“You mustn’t fret,” Eve Thorne’s sister-in-law murmured in her ear. “He will be here.”
“I’m not fretting.”
Helena’s blue-green gaze dropped to the handkerchief Eve hadn’t realized she’d been twisting into a tight coil. It was an accurate reflection of what Sir Jonathan Hackberry’s tardiness was doing to her insides. Her fiancé had promised to arrive early to Lord and Lady Eldridge’s ball, where their betrothal would be announced within the hour, and he had yet to make an appearance.
A thread of apprehension wound its way around Eve’s heart and held it captive. What if Jonathan didn’t come?
Giving up on following the conversation between Lady Eldridge and two ladies from the Mayfair Ladies’ Charitable Society, Eve stole another glance over her shoulder.
“Sir Jonathan will be here,” Helena repeated.
Eve repaid Helena’s kindness with a halfhearted smile. Her brother’s new bride was more than a sister-in-law to Eve; she was a dear friend. Eve didn’t want Helena to know her reassurance did nothing to calm the tempest brewing inside her.
Everything will be well. There is no cause for worry. Eve had learned long ago these were empty platitudes people tossed around when they didn’t know what else to say. But Helena meant well, and Eve loved her for trying to ease her worries.
Sebastian wore a scowl as he reentered the ballroom. He pulled Eve and Helena aside when he reached them. “Hackberry wasn’t playing cards.”
Eve had known it would be a pointless trip. Jonathan was not a gambling man. He was an intellectual, more interested in archaeology and anthropology than loo, but Sebastian seemed to need something to do, so she had suggested he check the card room.
Helena looked back and forth between Eve and Sebastian, then forced a bright smile, her dimples showing. “We haven’t searched the refreshment room yet.”
“An excellent idea. Shall we?” Sebastian held his arm out to his wife, but Eve shook her head.
“I will wait with Lady Eldridge in case Sir Jonathan arrives and cannot find me.”
“Are you certain?” Her brother drew Helena closer as if their short separation while he visited the card room had been days instead of a half hour. Helena tipped her head and gazed at him from beneath her lashes.
Eve couldn’t help smiling at the newlyweds. She appreciated their attempts to include her, but it was obvious they would rather be alone. “I am certain.” She shooed them away. “Go. Sir Jonathan will be here any moment.”
She said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t make her out to be a liar. Being abandoned by a second husband-to-be would be too mortifying to bear.
This time when she scanned the crowd, her heartbeat skipped when she thought she saw Ben. She almost wilted on the floor when she realized it wasn’t him. Lady Eldridge swore Eve’s former betrothed wouldn’t step one foot into Eldridge House, even though he had been turning up like a bad penny at the assemblies ever since his return to London. The earl had taken extra precautions tonight and hired additional men to guard the doors at his wife’s request. Nevertheless, Eve had learned never to underestimate Ben’s ability to get in wherever he wasn’t wanted.
And she didn’t want him here tonight.
She had waited far too long for Ben to come back to her. In two years, he hadn’t sent a single word of explanation, and now that he had returned, she no longer cared what he had to say.
Liar. Eve huffed in response to the whisper at the back of her mind. Well, she didn’t want to care. That must count for something.
Lady Eldridge and her guests moved on from discussing their latest charity efforts and began gossiping together. Having been the topic of wagging tongues too often, Eve had no desire to join them. She wandered a few steps away before checking to see if the countess had noticed. She hadn’t.
The sea of familiar faces around Eve began to blur as she resumed the lookout for Jonathan. Perhaps he was lost again. He may be perfectly capable of traveling to Egypt without incident, but he couldn’t navigate a town house to save his life. He often took wrong turns on his way to the men’s retiring room and wound up in the host’s library. Sebastian had even retrieved him from the corridor outside Lord and Lady Sethwick’s family rooms once.
Eve couldn’t search their hosts’ town house for him, but a quick circle of the ballroom might be wise. With Lady Eldridge occupied, Eve slipped into the crowd. She wouldn’t go far, and she would be back before Sebastian and Helena returned, hopefully with Jonathan at her side. She weaved her way toward the perimeter of the room where there was no traffic and stopped to get her bearings. If she headed toward the bank of French doors at the back of the ballroom and looped around, she could make quick work of her search.
She squinted at the guests crowded into the ballroom dancing a quadrille, even though she knew Jonathan wouldn’t be on the dance floor either. He preferred to observe from the sidelines. Oh, how she missed dancing with a skilled partner. A sigh slipped past her lips.
Heavens. She hadn’t meant to sound so wistful. Jonathan was a good man, a fine gentleman who accepted her just as she was, scandalous past and all. And she cared a great deal for him. A life without dancing was a small price to pay for his amiable company.
With a decisive nod, she swung in the direction of the French doors and squeaked in surprise. Benjamin Hillary, the blasted rat, was headed her way. She froze, not knowing which way to go but certain she didn’t want to talk to him. He hadn’t tried to speak with her since that night at Lady Chattington’s ball three weeks earlier, and she liked it that way.
Or she should. She hated that she was a tad bit disappointed he’d been keeping his distance.
Ben hadn’t spotted her yet, since his gaze was fixed on the dance floor. Whipping her head around, she searched for a place to go.
The alcove. No, the plant!
She didn’t have time for debate. Without another thought, she dashed for a deserted corner of the ballroom and squeezed behind the potted palms and ferns.
Saints above, what if she missed her betrothal announcement because she was hiding in a corner? Or worse, what if the evening ended with her brother challenging Ben to another duel? She couldn’t hope to intervene a second time to save Ben’s life.
Damn the rogue. He was going to ruin her wedding again.