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After eating dinner and bidding Henry a goodnight, Eleanor freshened up and then hurried to the drawing room. She hoped Octavius could focus on the issue with Portia and not Drummond’s lie, that vulgar, insidious, and ungentlemanly untruth. Eleanor’s slippered feet pounded down the steps. He’d betrayed their friendship, had Drummond. No. She shook her head realizing the truth. There had been no friendship. It was just another lie. She’d been a pawn in Drummond’s battle with Octavius.
By the time she reached the drawing room, her heart thumped erratically in her chest. She stopped at the threshold. Octavius and Drummond faced each other inside, though neither was speaking. Octavius’s scowl was back, and it was fiercer than ever. Drummond was smirking.
He caught sight of Eleanor. With the tiniest shift, his mouth transformed into the charming, familiar grin she knew, and anger and hurt bubbled up inside her.
Elegant as usual in a black coat and grey pantaloons, he bowed. “Lady Lexden, a pleasure, as ever.”
“How dare you.” Though her whole body was shaking, she strode toward him. Words piled up in her throat so quickly she couldn’t get any of them out.
“Eleanor, shall I call the footman?”
Octavius’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and she dragged her gaze away from Drummond to look at him. He wasn’t smiling, but the rich warmth of his brown eyes reflected the sudden humor in his voice. So she drew a deep breath and said, “No, I think I can manage to restrain myself.”
“Good,” Octavius replied.
He held out his hand, and she took it. He folded his finger around hers and drew her to his side and, with her fury abating but not entirely disappearing, she turned to Drummond. A flicker of astonishment crossed his face, after which came a smile, though one more tentative than before.
“Have a seat, Drummond,” Octavius commanded.
Flipping out the tails of his impeccable superfine coat, Drummond lowered himself into the wing chair. “I am ever so grateful for your utterly heartfelt hospitality. To what do I owe the honor?”
“You know nothing of honor,” Eleanor spat without thinking. So much for guarding her tongue. This wasn’t the time for her to unleash her anger. Octavius needed to air his family’s secrets, and that alone would overwhelm both men. Someday, though, she would ring a peal over William Drummond’s head and not regret a moment of it.
“Ah,” Drummond drawled, “so you’ve discovered my little untruth. That only took six years.” He shrugged. “I do apologize, my dear lady, but you were unfortunately caught in the middle.”
“But we were friends!”
She tried to wrench her hand from Octavius’s, but he held fast. Drummond noticed. His eyes widened as his black eyebrows climbed. “You blame me? Your husband is the one who hadn’t the slightest iota of faith in you. What kind of marriage do you have that he so willingly believed me?”
“Enough.” Octavius cut a hand through the air. “I called you here out of the utmost necessity, and I should like to proceed before I or more likely my wife does you great bodily harm.”
“I’m going to pour myself a sherry,” Eleanor said, managing to slip her hand free. She didn’t want to lose contact with Octavius, but she needed to distance herself, to get her emotions under control.
“Why yes, Lady Lexden, I would love a glass of sherry.”
She clenched her jaw and ignored Drummond. This was not the man she knew. Oh, the face was still handsome in its classical Roman way, and his manner as effusive as ever, but... She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, how fooled she’d been by him all those years ago.
Once she reached the drinks cabinet, she inhaled deeply and tried to decide if she could hand Drummond the drink without tossing it all over him. Behind her, Octavius’s voice hardened. “I must speak with you about Portia.”
Eleanor heard Drummond shift in his chair. “Absolutely lovely girl. So vivacious. Lucky for her she has none of your dourness, Lexden. The highlight of my evening was the time I spent dancing with her. Twice.”
Upon hearing the low growl emitted by Octavius, Eleanor abandoned the sherry and hurried back to the men. Drummond certainly did have a way of jabbing his rapier-sharp words into an opponent’s most vulnerable spot.
“Stay away from Portia,” Octavius ground out, each syllable of the warning sending a shiver up Eleanor’s spine. She put a staying hand on his arm, and to her surprise he covered it with his own. She’d thought he might be too far gone, again, to acknowledge her existence.
Drummond tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Worried about her virtue, are you? I wonder, is that because of her susceptibility to masculine charms, or my reputation as a beguiler of young ladies?”
Before she could get a grip on his sleeve, her husband jerked away and reached his enemy in three powerful strides. Bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, Octavius loomed over Drummond. “She is your sister!”
To his credit, Drummond didn’t shrink back, though Octavius’s face was mere inches from his own. Yet his triumphant sneer slipped into a sickened astonishment. When he made to rise, Octavius, thank goodness, stepped back to allow it.
“How long have you kept this from me?”
Octavius slanted him a withering look. “Not nearly as long as I would have liked. I am only telling you now because you acted like a scoundrel and I want to prevent an appalling situation.”
Drummond raised a sleek black eyebrow. “You haven’t informed Portia. If you had, you wouldn’t need to tell me.” A sly grin stole across his features. “I think I shall greatly enjoy informing her of our affinity.”
“No.” Eleanor stepped into the scant space between the two men. “That’s enough.”
“I have every right to know my sister,” Drummond pointed out.
Behind Eleanor, Octavius bristled. “You have no rights. She is and always will be the daughter of the seventh Earl of Lexden. You will never speak to her again.”
Drummond turned and circled the armchair he’d deserted. “I think I will. Over the years, you have paid more attention to stuffing your coffers than you have to her, so why shouldn’t I step into the role of proper brother?”
Eleanor turned to Octavius and grasped his hands, which were clenched into tight balls. Drummond’s every word was meant to needle and she had no idea how much of what he said about seeking out Portia was sincere. Clearly he enjoyed rousing her husband’s ire, though, and the more Octavius reacted, the more Drummond delighted. The man was far more vile than she ever could have imagined.
Smoothing her palms over Octavius’s fists and lowered her voice. “Do not let him rile you, for that is what he loves most. I shudder to think how much amusement he’s garnered over the years at our expense.” Octavius took a breath. His brown gaze focused on her. “Perhaps he’ll listen to me if I ask him not to speak to Portia....”
The tension seeped from her husband’s fists, and his fingers curled around her hands. “He might, but I am not without a weapon or two myself.” Octavius paused and reached out to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. “Thank you. For being here, and for remaining mostly unruffled. Though, I would like nothing better than to see you unleash your fury on him.”
The soft smile on his lips nearly had Eleanor melting against him.
Drummond cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could speak with my dearest sibling right now? Oh, but how foolish of me. The latest scandal broth claims she refuses to stay under your roof, Lexden. I can hardly fault her for that after your barbaric display of temper the other evening.”
With that mouth, Eleanor was surprised Drummond had made it through school intact.
Octavius turned. As he did, Eleanor looped her arm through his: a small precaution. She believed her husband could handle Drummond without violence, but the temptation would be great.
Jaw clenched, Octavius remained silent for the space of several breaths. Then he spoke, his voice taut but controlled. “If and when I deem the time right, I will inform Portia of her connection to you. If she eventually expresses an interest in meeting with you, I will consider the matter. Until such time, you will have no contact with my sister.”
Drummond’s blue eyes flashed. “And if I do, you’ll...what? Subdue me with brute force?”
“I’ll ruin you. Utterly and completely.”
Octavius’s response was so swift and menacing that Eleanor shivered. But Drummond, still unperturbed, laughed as if he’d heard the latest on-dit about the Prince Regent.
“You won’t laugh when you haven’t a farthing to your name,” Octavius warned. “Your fine clothes, your lavish entertaining, even your house on Grosvenor Street will be gone. What will you have left? ‘Friends’ that you’ve treated as you have Eleanor?”
Scoffing, Drummond turned and paced toward the door as if he were thinking about leaving. Did that mean Octavius hit a nerve? Eleanor watched, searching for the slightest crack in the man’s facade.
When he was a good distance away, Drummond turned back. “My family’s considerable fortune has been secure for generations. We have never needed to augment it with income from trade.”
This time, Octavius laughed. “Think what you will. However, if you so much as breathe near Portia, I will bankrupt you and your family.”
Drummond said nothing. He stared hard at Octavius. Not a muscle moved except a tiny twitch in his cheek, and Eleanor expected him to turn and leave with one final, cutting remark. Instead, he took a step forward. His outrage was understated but present, low and vicious. “Your mother already ruined my family.”
“Your father ruined mine,” Octavius spat out.
Drummond cast him a withering look. “Lady Lexden undoubtedly wrecked a number of others as well, given her undiscerning proclivities.”
Octavius’s bark of laughter held no humor. “If you think to insult me through Lady Lexden, you aim off the mark. Do not worry, I give her equal credit for destroying those I love, especially my father. But your father...your father claimed to be his good friend all while sneaking into my mother’s bed.”
With each vitriolic response, the men had edged closer. They were now within striking distance. Octavius breathed heavily, and angry slashes of red colored the heretofore unflappable Drummond’s cheeks. The situation was slipping out of control, and Eleanor grasped for the words to calm the storm twisting through the men.
Drummond hissed. “Because of your mother, my mother hasn’t been able to leave her home in seventeen years. She has died a thousand times over from mortification and humiliation.”
“At least she’s still alive,” Octavius rasped.
Despite the legitimate pain here, someone here had to stay rational. Eleanor stepped between the two men and reached out a hand to each. Her left settled on Octavius’s chest, her right didn’t quite touch Drummond. “Gentlemen. You are carrying on like clans of feuding Scotsmen. You were children at the time, and you cannot hold each other responsible for what your parents did.”
She shot Drummond a severe look. “What did your ugly lie accomplish except to ruin one more marriage? Did your mother’s pain disappear? Did your father look upon her with love again?” At a small triumphant sound from Octavius, she whipped her head toward him. “What will happen if you destroy the Drummond family? Will your father return from the dead?”
He drew back as if slapped. Eleanor was surprised herself that those words had slipped out, but she didn’t regret them. These two needed their heads knocked together. She just wasn’t tall enough to do so.
No one said a word for an agonizing minute. Then, unfortunately, it was Drummond who opened his mouth. “If she is my sister, I intend to speak with her. I have no other siblings, and I’m not about to pretend a member of the Drummond family doesn’t exist.” He lifted his chin. “I will, however, refrain from making the connection public.”
Of course he would, for a public revelation would only humiliate his mother further. It would humiliate Portia too. Was there a chance Drummond was acknowledging that as well?
Octavius scowled, a familiar expression Eleanor had not missed in the last week. He advanced on Drummond again, but when he spoke, his tone was somewhat measured. “I have my reasons for not telling Portia the truth at this time. And, despite your assertion otherwise, I most certainly do know her better than you.” He raised a finger. “You will not speak to my sister without my permission. If you do, I will ruin your family and call you out as I should have done six years ago. You besmirched my wife’s character and made me think the worst of her.” Those last words wobbled out, shaky and bursting with emotion. “There is no question of me ever forgiving you, but you can have a say in whether or not I kill you. I am an excellent shot.”
Once again, Drummond looked unruffled, but Eleanor couldn’t admire it. She now realized he used his charm, lethal tongue, and emotional vacuity to deflect strikes at his feelings. Just like Octavius used—had used—his glower, sharp words and stoicism.
Drummond tugged at the lapels of his coat and glared at Octavius. “This isn’t over.”
Eleanor almost stamped her foot in frustration. She understood that the hatred and hurt ran deep, but these two had aired their feelings. They had to see how ineffectual their prejudices were. They had a sister in common.
She let a small sigh escape—perhaps in time. Octavius cut his gaze to her, and after a moment his brown eyes softened like sealing wax beneath a flame. He turned back to Drummond and said, “It’s over.”
“Not a chance. Not when you threaten my family.” Then Drummond whirled and stalked out of the room. Eleanor thought it was a weak parting shot.
Before she could turn back, Octavius slipped behind her and pulled her against him. “Thank you.”
She relaxed against his solid length, settling her hands over his at her waist. “Thank you. I have to commend your restraint. Mr. Drummond was always so kind to me before. I’ve never seen this side of him. It’s...vile.”
“He knows just what to say.” Octavius rested his cheek against hers. “Eleanor, I’m sorry I ever believed him. I can’t believe I was so foolish.”
She turned in his arms and tipped her head back to look at him. “I will admit to being hurt to begin with. But knowing your history and seeing the two of you together...I can understand why you took his words to heart.” She fingered his cravat. “If you had given me a chance to explain, would you have believed me when I denied Drummond’s accusation?”
He shook his head, a tiny movement as if he didn’t want to reply in the negative but had no choice. “I doubt it. But that’s more indicative of what was wrong with me than a mark against your character. You are a saint, Eleanor. I was just blind.”
A more romantic answer would have been lovely, but she accepted that it would have been a lie and nodded in acknowledgement. She was hesitant to bring up this next bit, but she saw no way around it. “You sound confident that you could ruin his family immediately.”
He lowered his lashes. “I’ve been plotting to do so for six years. Opening the arsenal is the last piece of my plan. Doing so will ruin an investment Drummond’s father made. They are fully tied up in this investment—overcommitted, even. I’m sorry if that appalls you.”
Instinctively Eleanor tried to take a step back, but the arms around her waist were like steel. That reluctance to let go sent a surge of hope through her veins: He wasn’t distancing himself, so why should she? They could have these crucial conversations without losing intimacy.
She relaxed and nestled back into the circle of his arms. “It does. However, I can see how the ‘you’ of the past would devise such a scheme. I was fortunate enough to suffer mere banishment instead of complete ruination.”
Octavius stiffened, scrutinizing her face. Then she felt him relax. “You’re teasing.”
She smiled. “Yes. I know that seems odd, but we have to put the past behind us, Octavius, and concentrate on the present. I would like to ask, though, if you would be willing to completely give up your plan for revenge if Portia were safe.”
He stared past her shoulder for an interminable length of time, and she thought his answer would be an honest “No.” Then he dragged his gaze back to her. “Yes, I would.”
Was that fear in his eyes? She reached up and brushed his cheek with her fingers.
“Really?” Regret buzzed through her for doubting him, but she couldn’t dismiss that fear she’d seen.
“Yes—because I don’t want you or Henry or Portia to be hurt.” A spasm crossed his face. “I thought distancing myself was the best way to prevent doing to my family what my father did.” His chin dropped to his chest. “If Portia didn’t know me, didn’t care about me, she wouldn’t be affected by anything I do. And if I didn’t marry, if I didn’t sire any children...I couldn’t destroy their lives either.”
Oh. I love you, Eleanor realized. I know it’s absolutely ridiculous that I love you when your thinking is so distorted, so backwards. But I do.
Somehow she kept the declaration from leaving her tongue, for she didn’t think he was ready to hear such sentiments. Maybe he never would be. What she couldn’t stop was the need to express that sentiment, so she stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his mouth. She kissed him gently, transferring her love from her heart to his. He wasn’t perfect. Lord, did she know that. But he had recognized his mistakes and was trying. She’d never dared dream as much.
Eleanor cradled Octavius’s cheek and rubbed her thumb across his jawbone. Her naturally brazen side urged her to deepen the kiss, to unleash the heat simmering beneath her skin. This wasn’t about lust, though, so she subdued the inclination and feathered her lips across her husband’s. Kept things safe.
He held her loosely in his arms, letting her kiss and caress him. Her mouth roamed the planes of his cheeks, the rigid bridge of his nose, the delicate softness of his eyelids. When it came close to his, however, he tried to capture it.
“Eleanor,” he sighed. “You’re too forgiving.”
She laid her cheek against his collarbone, a small smile forming on her lips. “I know. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
His arms tightened around her. “I can thank God.”
She tipped her head back to look at him. At a minimum, she could convince herself that was affection shining in his eyes. That was enough for now.
Sifting her fingers through his hair, she gave his head a small tug and pulled him into an open-mouthed, tongue-clashing kiss. After a heated moment he drew back, out of breath.
“Bedchamber?”
“I think this room will do nicely,” she said with a saucy wink.
His wolfish, non-judgmental grin swelled her heart. And when he crossed to the door, the metallic click of the key in the lock sent her pulse soaring.
What a glorious end to a wretched evening.