Two evenings later, Remington danced the quadrille with the duchess. Not his duchess—Gabriel’s duchess. Remington didn’t have a duchess, and much to his surprise, he no longer cared. “Your Grace, this is a grand party.” He watched as Lady Gertrude danced past with Lord Bingham. “How did you organize it in so little time?”
“I didn’t,” Madeline confessed. “Lady Georgianna was going to have a ball tonight anyway, and with the excitement of two such important marriages in so little time, she saw the sense in converting her ball into a party honoring us.” She flicked a glance at Eleanor and Gabriel, dancing in a separate set across Lady Georgianna’s large and crowded ballroom. “All of us.”
Following the pattern of the dance, Remington and Madeline made their way to different partners, then returned to each other. “How did my marriage to your cousin become an important marriage?” he asked. “I’m not noble, nor is my bride.”
Madeline shot him a smile. “In the ton, everything is perception. You have an aura of excitement. Eleanor is now perceived as being witty, and clever enough to capture a dangerous man, as well as being the diamond of the first water.”
The ways of the English were inscrutable to him. He suspected they always would be, but tonight, in the midst of the laughter and the music, he felt at home. At home—because of Eleanor. His gaze sought her out. Her face was alight with her delight in the music, and his body ached with the need to be with her. To talk to her. To take her. To hold her.
This wasn’t infatuation. This was love.
Love. For a de Lacy.
He was enmeshed in Eleanor’s net, and he was glad to be there. “She is beautiful.”
“Very much so.” Madeline sounded amused. “A hint—you’re supposed to be showing interest in your partner.”
With his most charming smile, he returned his attention to Madeline. “So I am, and so I do. I have thanks to render to you, too, since our close association with the future duchess of Magnus and the current earl of Campion lends us a patina of respectability.”
“Of course, that helps, but make no mistake. If not for the sensation you create as a couple, you would be shunned and discarded. As it is, you’re the toast of London.”
“Of course, there is my money,” Remington said cynically.
Madeline laughed warmly. “Of course.”
Again, the figures of the quadrille separated them, and Remington took the moment to look for Fanthorpe. The old man was dressed in his best togs, chatting with his friends as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Remington knew better. His investigation had not yet confirmed Fanthorpe’s guilt in the murders of Remington’s family or Lady Pricilla, but it had turned up other crimes. The more Remington found out about Fanthorpe, the more he despised him, and the more convinced he was that this man had murdered Remington’s father and sister, and killed Lady Pricilla. God rot Fanthorpe, he’d done a world of harm with his hatreds, but Remington would get his revenge.
For his investigation had turned up yet another interesting fact. Fanthorpe had completely run through his second fortune, and the weight of his debts made it necessary that he flee to the Continent. He had barely been hanging onto the remnants of respectability—and Remington wanted him out of England.
So Remington had pulled strings. Merchants were repossessing their goods, foreclosing on Fanthorpe’s properties, and it hadn’t been difficult to convince Clark to cut Fanthorpe’s credit.
Remington and Madeline met again in the intricate dance, and as smoothly as a woman who regularly made threats, she said, “I want to give you a word of warning. I don’t know you well, but since Eleanor’s father cares nothing for her, I must advise you that she’s my dearest cousin, and if you ever hurt her, I will use all my resources to hurt you in return.”
Remington held up his hands to stop the duchess. “I can safely assure you, Eleanor is my wife. I’ll take only the best care of her. I’ve pledged my life on it.”
“Well. All right.” Madeline grinned. “Actually, I believe you. You bring out the best in her. All the fine attributes only I’ve seen before, she confidently shows to the world—because of you.” The music ended, and Madeline hugged him. “I’m proud to welcome you into my family.”
Wrapped in the embrace of no less a personage than the future duchess of Magnus, Remington again looked at Fanthorpe, and he smiled. In fact, he gloated. The ton had accepted him, feted him, made him one of their own, and Fanthorpe hated it, and him.
Deliberately, Fanthorpe turned his back on Remington.
If he knew who Remington truly was…but he didn’t. Remington hadn’t yet told him who now took his place in English society. But he would. Tomorrow, he would.
In the meantime…Remington walked to take Eleanor’s hand, and reflected that he could not have imagined such happiness could be his. Leaning close to her ear, he said, “It’s late, and I want you. Let’s go home.”
She laughed, low and deep in her throat. “We came with Madeline and Gabriel. We can’t leave without them.”
Remington glanced up at Gabriel.
Gabriel stood with Madeline, and the two of them gazed at each other as if they were the only two people in the world.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Remington murmured.
The two couples profusely thanked their hostess and made their way toward the door. There they found Clark and his wife waiting for their carriage.
“The newlyweds are leaving early!” Clark proclaimed with a twinkle.
“At least we have the excuse of being newlyweds.” Remington tipped the butler, who sent a footman for their outer garments.
The color rose in Mrs. Oxnard’s cheeks, and Clark looked as guilty as a boy.
Gabriel grinned and rested his palm on Madeline’s back. “Marriage is a great institution.”
“Yes, if you want to live in an institution,” Remington retorted.
Clark and Gabriel guffawed.
“Remington!” Eleanor tried to look severe, but in the last few days her smiles had come more frequently, as if she couldn’t resist displaying her joy, and she smiled at him as if he were the greatest man in the world.
And when she was smiling at him, he felt he was.
“Men,” Mrs. Oxnard said with affectionate disgust, and the women moved away into a huddle to complain about their husbands.
The men gazed after them, then Clark turned to Remington. In a low, serious voice, he asked, “How is your plan progressing?”
“Fanthorpe bought a ticket on a ship to Italy, leaving tomorrow on the afternoon tide.”
“You have more connections than anyone I’ve ever met!” Clark exclaimed. “How do you know that?”
“I own the ship.”
Clark laughed. “B’God, how clever of you.”
In the few short days Remington had known Gabriel, he had come to trust him as a man of action and good sense, so Remington explained, “Fanthorpe has caused a problem for my family, and I’m making sure he doesn’t cause another one.”
Gabriel’s face hardened in contempt. “I’m not surprised. The old villain has a penchant for running down children with his coach and raping his maids, and he suffers absolute contempt for any but his own kind—men born to the aristocracy and bred for idleness. He rather despises me for a bit of work I did securing the defenses against Napoleon.”
“Did you?” Remington surveyed Gabriel with interest. “That’s good to know. Before Trafalgar, some of my ships were involved in the effort—I don’t like despots.”
“Another of the reasons to dislike Fanthorpe,” Clark said.
“Yes,” Remington agreed. “Once Fanthorpe’s in Europe, I’ll have him watched on his road to hell, and I will rest a little easier.”
“Do you fear him?” Gabriel asked.
Remington spoke quietly. “Yes. I can’t guard all of my holdings every second.”
Gabriel got right to the heart of things. “Are you afraid for Eleanor?”
“I don’t think Fanthorpe could hurt her—with his world tumbling around his head these last few days, he’s been busy.” Remington had made sure he was busy. “But when she is out, she stays in public places, and she’s accompanied everywhere by her maid or a footman, and I’ve talked to them seriously about their duties.”
Gabriel watched Eleanor as she laughed with the other ladies. “Madeline says that even when bandits attacked their carriage, Eleanor talked the robbers into letting them go. That’s an extraordinary woman.”
“An extraordinary talker, anyway.” But Remington knew what Gabriel was saying. Eleanor was too gentle, too kind to defend herself against a threat. She needed to be instructed, and she needed to be protected. “I sent my men into the pubs to find Fanthorpe’s men and buy them a pint or two. My men discovered that Fanthorpe had ordered the attack on my carriage after Picard’s ball, and again on my wedding day. He’s got to go.”
The footman arrived with an armload of cloaks and hats, and Eleanor returned to Remington’s side. “What are you gentlemen discussing so seriously?”
As Remington helped her into her cloak, he said, “We were discussing the regrettable tendency of modern women to ignore the proprieties.”
All three women looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“When did the man who gambled for my hand start worrying about proprieties?” Madeline asked as she tied the ribbon under her chin.
Remington subdued a grin. “It’s a matter of deep concern to me.”
“What has Eleanor done that you should be concerned?” Mrs. Oxnard asked.
“Nothing!” Eleanor protested. “I’m so proper I’m boring.”
“That you are not, my darling.” Remington pitched his voice to a suggestive tone.
Eleanor didn’t blush. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and he wanted to curse. Damn the woman, she led him around like a docile puppy.
“Come now, gentlemen,” Madeline said in a rallying tone, “you didn’t start this conversation for no reason.”
“London is a dangerous place, and I would that Eleanor always take her maid when she walks the dog.” Remington shrugged his way into his own cloak and doffed his hat.
“I…do,” she said, her irritation plain. “I’m not a fool.”
“But I would like you to be doubly vigilant.” He took his cane in hand.
In a clumsy effort to defuse the situation, Clark said, “Yes, b’God, I hear there’s a wave of robberies sweeping the city.”
The women exchanged skeptical glances.
“Better to be safe than sorry,” Clark added.
Mrs. Oxnard took his arm. “Come, dear, you’re making things worse, and here’s our carriage.”
He harrumphed but went quietly.
The ducal carriage was next in line, and the two couples climbed in and settled into their seats, Madeline and Eleanor facing forward, the gentlemen facing behind.
As the coach started, Eleanor looked across at Remington. “What is wrong?”
Should he tell her? She had liked Lord Fanthorpe. More than that—she was his wife, delicate and fragile. She deeply cared about Lady Pricilla’s fate, and she’d been horrified by his loss. He’d already distressed her enough.
Until he had proof that Fanthorpe was, in fact, the villain of so many murders, he would say nothing. Within a few days, he should have confirmation. He would be glad to lay the ghosts of Lady Pricilla, and his father and sister, to rest—for all their sakes. “Clark had the truth of it. There have been a great many robberies around the Town lately, and Clark, Gabriel and I have been discussing how best to keep you ladies safe.”
Gabriel took Madeline’s hand. “You already almost got killed at Rumbelow’s. I want you to be careful.”
Neither one of the women appeared convinced. Remington didn’t care. In a conversational tone, he said, “It’s always a good idea to carry with you something you can use as a weapon, but which looks innocuous. For instance, my cane.” It leaned in the corner of the carriage. “It’s an accessory men carry.”
“Older men, usually,” Madeline observed.
He shrugged. “So for me, it’s perceived as an affectation, and I take care that no one should suspect any different.”
“Yet I saw you using it.” Eleanor turned to Madeline. “You should have seen him. He was brilliant, beating five attackers.”
“With help,” Remington said dryly.
Eleanor showed an enthusiasm that surprised him. “So it’s not difficult to be prepared for attack as long as I use something womanly, like…I don’t know…a heavy stone in my bag.”
“That would work.” Madeline sounded interested. “Of course, you could never carry one of those charming net reticules. Too flimsy.”
“True, it would take a heavy material. Hm, velvet, perhaps.”
“You could start a new fashion.”
Remington stared at the dim outlines of the women. They had taken his suggestion and worked to make it elegant.
Beside him, he heard Gabriel mutter, “I’ll never understand.”
Remington muttered back, “Thank God they’re on our side.”
Although she’d imbibed nothing but Lady Georgianna’s punch, Eleanor was as giddy as a drunk. “Wasn’t that fun?”
Remington followed close on her heels as she entered their home, and she knew very well what he wanted. The same thing he wanted every night, and the thing she loved to give him.
She headed up the stairs and, deliberately enticing, she discarded her gloves, dropping them as she walked. “I used to hate having people notice me, but everyone smiled and seemed to think me a wit. And you know what?” She tossed her pelisse into the window seat. “When I’m not afraid, I am a wit.”
“I noticed.” He did not sound pleased.
She walked backward in front of him. “Do you think I’m a bore?”
“Never.” He was more handsome now than he’d ever been, with his fair hair and pale blue eyes that scrutinized her. “I preferred it when all the men weren’t in love with you.”
“All the men?” she teased.
“Once you were wed, I thought they would find another maiden to flatter, but they insist on sniffing about like dogs on the scent.”
“Are you calling me a dog?” She fiddled with the buttons on her bodice.
“A flirt would be a better word.” With a rush, he caught her around the waist and bent to capture her mouth.
His kiss was now familiar, yet as always, it tempted her anew. He poured all the passion of his dark soul into the worship of her body, and she reveled in each glance, each touch.
Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. “What an odd circumstance brought us together.”
“It was fate,” she confessed solemnly. “I decided to wed you if Madeline didn’t arrive to stop me, and I declare it to be fate that kept her from that church.”
With a crooked smile, he put his finger on her lips. “My darling girl, I would have wed you regardless of who appeared at that church. If Lady Shapster had made her announcement early, I still would have dragged you up the aisle and made you mine. I was that far gone with lust, and—” He stopped.
Don’t stop now! But it appeared he was going to. “And what?” she asked breathlessly.
He held her closer, then walked her backward toward their bedchamber.
She laughed at his intensity, at the awkward position, and out of sheer happiness.
He kicked the door open.
Lizzie barked once from her position at the foot of their bed, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
Remington snorted. “Watchdog.”
“She’s braver than you think,” Eleanor protested. “Given the chance, she would defend you to the death.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His fingers were busy on her buttons. “She hasn’t a brave bone in her body.”
Eleanor wanted to argue, but Remington pressed his face to her head. In a grudging tone, he said, “I like your hair.”
“Do you?” Heavens, how she loved the man, and never more than when he worked so hard to make her happy. “I’m glad, because I like it, too.”
“It was a matter of getting used to it.”
“I know what you mean. I like you, too. It was a matter of getting used to you.” She laughed while he pounced on her, tickled her ribs.
Looking into her face, he grew serious. “I’ve written to Magnus.”
“The duke? Really? Why?”
“I want to talk to him. See what he knows. See if he”—Remington hesitated—“he still has explaining to do. His men were in Boston before my family was murdered, and I want him to explain why. But I wish you to know—you’re right. The duke of Magnus isn’t the man I’m seeking.”
“Oh, Remington.” She hugged him. “I am right, I’m sure of it. I don’t know who killed Lady Pricilla, but it wasn’t Magnus.”
When Eleanor rose the next day and descended the stairs, Bridgeport said, “Mr. Knight is off to the bank for the day, but he begs you honor his request of last evening.”
“I honor all his requests.” Even the ones where he pretended nothing was wrong. It didn’t take a fool to know he was worried about something, and had been for the last two days.
He still didn’t tell her everything. He was a man used to keeping his troubles to himself. It would take time, but she would train him to understand that she was no frail flower to be protected. In the meantime, she would continue to behave as she always did, and take Beth or one of the footmen everywhere she went. It was no more than good sense—although apparently he believed she possessed none.
“Oh, and madam, you have a package from Lacy Hall.” Bridgeport presented her with the paper-wrapped parcel.
“At last!” She carried it with her into the breakfast room. Seating herself, she tore the paper and found a book, worn and scratched, and a note from the housekeeper, apologizing that it had taken so long to find the diary. Eagerly, Eleanor opened the pages and looked on the delicate handwriting of a woman dead long ago. Eleanor’s heart clutched; to think of Lady Pricilla, young and beautiful, on the brink of a new life with her lover, brutally murdered…and why? This book would answer all.
Cook bustled in with a plate. “Here’s yer breakfast, mum. Beautiful morning.” A scratch on the door made Cook sigh and go to open it.
Lizzie bounced in, all energy and exuberance.
“Will mum be taking the doggie fer a walk?” Cook asked.
“It seems I have no choice.” Eleanor put the diary aside and dug into her food. “Tell Beth I’m going to Green Park. I need her to accompany me, and please, bring my reticule with my needlework. I like to stitch while I’m waiting for Lizzie to finish romping.”