Not Just a Wallflower. Carole Mortimer
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the redoubtable old lady extremely warily now. ‘Yes?’
‘I believe it might be advisable, before any marriage were to take place, to attempt to ascertain the identity of Ellie’s real father...’
Justin’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Her real father? Was that not Mr Rosewood, then?’
‘As that gentleman had already been dead for a full year before Ellie was born, I do not believe so, no...’ Edith grimaced.
This situation, one not even of Justin’s own choosing, suddenly became more and more surreal. ‘And is Eleanor herself aware of that fact?’
His grandmother gave a snort. ‘Of course she is not. I only discovered the truth of things myself when I had her mother investigated after that idiot Frederick ran off to Gretna Green so impetuously and married the woman.’
‘So my stepcousin and ward is not only penniless, but is also a bastard—’
‘Royston!’
Justin groaned out loud. ‘And if I should discover that her real father is an unsavoury scoundrel fit only for the gutter?’
His grandmother raised imperious brows. ‘Then you will do everything in your power to make sure that no one else is ever made privy to that information.’
‘And how do you suggest I do that?’
‘I have every confidence that you will find a way, Royston.’ She smiled.
A confidence in his abilities which, in this particular instance, Justin did not share...
* * *
Ellie could not settle as she waited nervously for Justin to join her in the library. Even the warmth from the fire beside which she now sat, lit by Stanhope some minutes ago when he delivered the tray on which sat the two glasses and brandy decanter, did little to ease the chill of nervousness from her bones.
She had been in the dowager duchess’s household for a year now and before this evening could have counted the number of words she had exchanged with the top-lofty Duke of Royston on the fingers of one hand. Nor had he ever deigned to address her by her given name until this evening.
Which was not to say Ellie had not been completely aware of him, or that his full name was Justin George Robert St Just, the twelfth Duke of Royston—and a long list of other titles which escaped Ellie’s memory for the moment. Aged nine years her senior, and so obviously experienced as well as worldly, the golden-haired, blue-eyed Justin St Just had also featured largely in every one of Ellie’s romantic dreams, both day and night this past year, to a degree that she believed herself half in love with him already.
Which made awaiting his appearance in the library now even more excruciatingly nerve-racking. How embarrassing if she were to reveal, by look, word or deed, even an inkling of the sensual fantasies she had woven so romantically about the powerful and handsome duke! Fantasies that made Ellie’s cheeks burn just to think of them as she imagined Justin returning her feelings for him, resulting in those chiselled lips claiming her own, those long and elegant hands caressing her back, before moving higher, to cup the fullness of her eagerly straining breasts—
‘Your thoughts appear to please you, Cousin Eleanor...?’
Ellie gave a guilty start as she rose hastily from the chair beside the fireplace to turn and face the man whose lips and hands she had just been imagining touching her with such intimacy.
Justin did not at all care for the look of apprehension which appeared upon Eleanor Rosewood’s delicately blushing face as she rose to gaze across the library at him. Apprehension, accompanied by a certain amount of guilt, if he was not mistaken. What she had to feel guilty about he had no idea, nor did he care for that look of apprehension either. ‘Perhaps not,’ he drawled as he stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him before crossing to where the decanter of brandy and glasses had been placed upon the desktop.
‘I trust the dowager duchess is feeling better?’
As Justin’s grandmother had elicited several promises from him before allowing him to leave her bedchamber, the condition of her health being one of them, he was not now at liberty to discuss the reason for Dr Franklyn’s visit, with Eleanor or anyone else. That Justin would be having words with the good doctor himself was definite, but his grandmother had insisted that neither of her two close friends, or her companion, be made aware of the reason for her fatigue.
Justin schooled his features into an expression of amusement. ‘She assures me she feels well enough to continue as usual with the Royston Ball to be held here in four days’ time,’ he answered evasively as he turned to carry the two brandy glasses over to where she stood so delicately pale beside the glowing fire.
She made no effort to take the glass he held out to her. ‘I do not care for brandy, your Grace.’
‘I have a feeling that tonight shall be the exception,’ he said drily.
She blinked long silky lashes. ‘It will...?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said distractedly. The flickering flames brought out the red-gold fire in her hair, Justin noted admiringly as he placed the glass in her hand; she really did have the most beautiful hair, in a myriad of shades, from deep auburn to red and then gold. Her eyes were a bright green, the same colour as a perfect emerald, and surrounded by the longest silky black lashes Justin had ever seen. As for those freckles upon her creamy cheeks and nose...
Justin felt a sudden urge, a strong desire, to kiss each and every one of them! He determinedly brought those wayward thoughts to an abrupt end and his mouth compressed. ‘My grandmother has requested that you...assist her in the matter of the ball.’
Her little pink tongue moved moistly across those full and pouting lips, making him shift uncomfortably. ‘I am not sure what assistance I could possibly be in the planning of such a grand occasion, but I shall of course endeavour to offer the dowager duchess whatever help I am able.’
Justin gave her an amused look. ‘You misunderstand, Cousin Eleanor—the assistance required of you is that you attend the Royston Ball.’
She nodded. ‘And I have already said that I shall be only too pleased to help the dowager duchess in any way that I can—’
‘You are to attend the ball as her guest—careful!’ he warned as the brandy glass looked in danger of slipping from her fingers.
Ellie’s fingers immediately tightened about the bulbous glass even as stared up at him in disbelief. Justin could not seriously be suggesting that she was to attend the ball as a member of the ton, was he?
The implacability of his expression as he looked at her down the long length of his aristocratic nose appeared to suggest that he was.
Chapter Four
‘You may find a sip of brandy to be beneficial...’
Ellie was still so stunned that she obediently sipped her drink—and immediately began to choke as the fiery liquid hit and burned the back of her throat. A dilemma Justin immediately rectified by slapping her soundly upon her back.
Perhaps a little harder than was necessary?
Ellie shook her head as she straightened, her eyes watering, her face feeling hot and flushed as she spoke huskily, ‘I have no idea what her Grace can be thinking! I could not possibly attend the Royston Ball as a guest.’
‘My grandmother has decreed otherwise.’
As if that announcement settled the matter, Ellie realised dazedly. ‘And what is your own opinion on the subject, your Grace?’ she prompted, sure that he could not approve of such a plan as this.
He gave a shrug of those wide and muscled shoulders before drawling, ‘I make it a point of principle never to disagree with my grandmother.’
Ellie knew that to be an erroneous statement from the onset; if Justin listened without argument to everything