A Secret Consequence For The Viscount. Sophia James
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‘You have cleaned up well, Nick. I hardly recognise you in the man we saw yesterday.’ Jacob sounded relieved. ‘I would like to introduce you to Rose, my wife. You did not meet her this morning before you left.’
Rose looked tiny compared to the Viscount, his darkness contrasting, too, against her light hair and eyes. Eleanor watched as Nicholas Bartlett brought up her sister-in-law’s hand and kissed the back of it, his gallantry reminiscent of the younger man who had left them all those years before. A slide of anger turned inside Eleanor as he acknowledged her with a mere tip of his head and yet he made a space at his side and she came to stand there, making very sure that she did not touch him.
‘I hope you slept well last night, Lady Eleanor.’ He said this to her as Rose and Jacob were busy in conversation with an older lord they knew well. An allusion to their late-night meeting, she supposed. Unexpectedly she coloured and hated herself for doing so.
‘I did, thank you.’ In truth, she had gained about three hours’ sleep and it probably showed in the darkness under her eyes. He, on the other hand, looked as if he had slept like a baby.
‘Frederick said there would be dancing later in the evening. Might I petition you to save one for me?’
‘I am rather out of practice, my lord.’ She could not keep the surprise from her tone.
‘And you think I wouldn’t be?’
‘I do not know. I have no idea of what sort of life you lived in the Americas.’
At that he sobered.
As the crowd about them jostled slightly Mr Alfred Dromorne and his daughter broke in on their conversation.
‘Bromley. It has been a long time. May I introduce my daughter to you. She is recently out in society. Susan, this is Viscount Bromley.’
Nicholas Bartlett inclined his head at the beautiful girl standing next to her father, though his eyes were far less readable than they had been a second ago. It was as if a shutter had been placed over any true expression and the fingers she could see that were visible in the sling had curled in tension.
The vibrant red head smiled in the way only the very young and very beautiful know how to. All coquetry and cunning. Eleanor felt instantly older and a lot more dowdy than she had even a second before.
‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Dromorne.’
‘And I you, my lord.’ She brought her fan up and twirled it a few times, the art of flirtation both complex and simple in its execution.
‘You will be going home to Bromworth Manor, no doubt, now that you are back. You might notice some changes to the place.’
Her father had taken up the conversation and his statement produced a flicker of genuine interest in Lord Bromley’s visage. Eleanor saw the eagerness even as he sought to hide it.
‘In what ways do you mean?
‘Your uncle has the run of the estate these days and he has made certain to stamp his authority on to the place. Last time I was there I rather thought that those still serving him were not entirely happy.’
‘Large estates have their problems,’ Nicholas replied, giving the distinct impression that he did not wish to discuss such personal matters with a stranger. Eleanor noticed, too, that the pulse at his throat had quickened markedly.
‘You promised Lord Craybourne that you would be back to talk with him and I see he is free now, Lord Bromley. Perhaps this would be a good time.’
‘It would.’ With a slight bow to the Dromornes he allowed Eleanor to lead the way across the floor, though once they were out of sight she felt his hand on her arm stopping her.
She turned and saw right into his tortured soul, the lack of reserve astonishing.
‘Are you ill, my lord?’
He looked away and swallowed hard. She had the distinct impression that should she leave him here in the middle of the crowded floor he might very well simply fall over.
Knowing the Challengers’ town house as well as she did, she gestured to a room off to one side, glad when he followed her and the door shut behind them.
‘I think you should sit down, Lord Bromley.’
He did that, immediately, and closed his eyes.
‘I have been alone for a very long time. It takes some getting used to, this crush of people.’
‘It was not like this in the Americas?’
‘I kept away from others there.’
His words to her brother in the library last night came back. ‘It is dangerous, Jake. If anything were to happen to you and your family...’
He was trapped in his life as surely as she was.
‘You think you might cause those around you harm? Even here in England?’
At that he opened his eyes and leant back. ‘I know so.’
‘Is it your uncle? Is it his doing?’
‘He has the motivation, but...’
‘You think it is another?’
* * *
For the first time in a long while Nicholas felt his intuition kick in fervently. Eleanor Huntingdon made him alive again in a way no one else did. He barely knew her, but there was something between them that felt right and strong.
‘I have many other enemies. Some I probably don’t even remember.’
‘That sounds dangerous. To not have recall of people who might hurt you, I mean. Is Dromorne one of those enemies?’
‘Perhaps. He is a friend of my uncle, Mr Aaron Bartlett, who now sets himself up in Bromworth Manor with the intention of taking both my title and inheritance.’
‘Why would he introduce his daughter to you, then? He looked as if he wished for you to take the acquaintance with his offspring a lot further.’
‘To hedge his bets, perhaps. A pound on my uncle and another on me. The Bromley assets are substantial.’
‘A gambling man? No true morality in him?’
‘I remember that I owe Dromorne money. No doubt he will be calling upon it as soon as he can.’
There was now a dark cloud of worry in Eleanor’s eyes as he told her this.
‘Could I give you some advice?’ He fashioned the words with care and was pleased when she nodded.
‘You should probably stay well away from me, Lady Eleanor. The man I used to be was not much, but this one is even more...’ Struggling for a word he gave up and left the implication hanging.
‘Perilous?’ Her smile surprised him as did the quick flare of anger. ‘That may very well be true, but you offered me a dance a few moments ago and I shall hold you to your promise. The quadrille is my favourite, Lord Bromley.’
He felt better even looking at her, the gold of her gown picking up the sky blue of her eyes. ‘I shall find you then when I hear the tune struck. And thank you.’ He gazed around the room.
‘My pleasure, but I think I must go now or the others will miss me.’
She had left before he could give her his response and the night dulled with her absence, but he needed the solitude, too, to recoup and recover. He hoped that there were not others here who would pounce on his memory. The medicines Jacob’s physician had given him for his arm were making him feel sick. Sick in body and in mind. This evening was a lot more tiring than he had thought it would be and he was only glad that Eleanor Huntingdon had recognised the desperation in him and found him sanctuary.
He tried in earnest to bring to mind the steps of the quadrille she had mentioned, hoping that he might manage it without tipping