‘Curse it, no!’ Jack exclaimed, sitting up.
Eloise remained slumped against him, fast asleep. Damnation, perhaps he should not have given her brandy, but she had been such a pitiful sight, pale and shaking so much he feared she might faint. Growling in frustration, he settled back against the sofa and gathered her against him. So she was going to wed Mortimer. Jack cursed under his breath. They weren’t lovers; he knew that only too well. So why had they been at pains to make the world believe otherwise? And why marry now?
It had something to do with that damned journal. What secrets did it hold, if not a catalogue of the lady’s scandalous affairs? His mind began to race with outlandish conjecture. Treason, spying, perhaps murder? He could not believe it, but even if it was true, did she think that by marrying Mortimer that would be the end of the matter? Deforge would publish anyway. If the contents were as scandalous as he had been led to believe then what life could she have? Marriage to Mortimer would not save her. They would have to go abroad, to live with the other exiles in Calais or Paris or Rome.
And he would never see her again.
His arms tightened around the slight figure sleeping against his chest. He would not let it happen. Jack put his head back and stared at the ceiling.
‘By heaven, what a coil.’ He looked down at Eloise, her golden curls resting against his dark coat. She was an enigma. She had been at pains to hide her virginity from the world. She was happy for the world to think her fast and immoral, so what on earth was it that she dare not tell him? She had said it was not her secret, that others were involved. Suddenly he recalled Alex’s words: she was loyal to a fault…spent most of her time rescuing Tony and me from our more outlandish scrapes. Perhaps she was innocent after all. Perhaps she was merely trying to protect others. It would certainly fit in with what he knew of the lady.
Jack sighed again. Conjecture was useless. There was only one certainty in his mind. She was his, however scandalous her past, and he did not want to see her married to Alex Mortimer.
Chapter Fourteen
Eloise was sitting at the breakfast table, her head on her hands when Noyes announced Major Clifton. Before she could tell him to deny her there was a heavy footstep in the passage and Jack entered the room. His knowing grin annoyed her.
‘I did not know if you would be out of bed yet,’ he said as the butler closed the door upon them. He eyed the untouched food upon the table and his smile grew.
‘I have the most pounding headache,’ she told him crossly.
‘I am sorry for it.’ He took a seat beside her. ‘I find that a good meal helps.’
‘I could not eat a thing!’
He buttered a piece of toast and handed it to her.
‘Oh, I think you can. Try this.’
After a few pieces of toast and two glasses of water Eloise had to admit that she was feeling a little better. She knew she should not be entertaining a gentleman alone at breakfast, but several questions had been nagging at her since she had woken up that morning, and she needed Jack to answer them.
‘How did I get home last night?’
Jack poured himself a cup of coffee.
‘I brought you home in your carriage.’
‘Thank you. I cannot remember leaving Parham House.’
‘No, you were asleep at the time. I carried you out.’ He grinned at her horrified stare. ‘I waited until most of the guests had left, then put it about that you had been taken ill. However, I have no doubt that the Wanton Widow’s latest escapade will be the talk of the town this morning.’
She dropped her head back into her hands.
‘Until now my…escapades have been nothing more than conjecture.’
‘And they are still. Your going off with Lord Berrow appears to have attracted little or no comment and by the time we left it was very late. No one can be sure how long we were alone together.’
‘We should not have been alone at all!’
‘I did not take advantage of your powerless state. Many men would have done so.’
‘I know,’ she muttered. ‘I know and I am grateful to you.’ She added in a low voice, ‘I do not deserve your kindness.’
He put down his coffee cup.
‘Elle—’
She recoiled at the use of her pet name: it was too intimate, too painful.
‘No, please,’ she beseeched him, ‘do not say anything. I am in no fit state to talk to you this morning.’
He took her hand.
‘Very well, but we must talk at some point. There must be no more misunderstanding between us.’
His clasp on her fingers was a bittersweet comfort. Once there were no misunderstandings he would not want to be near her.
‘Yes, very well,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘But not today.’
She looked up as the door opened and Noyes entered.
‘This has arrived for you, my lady.’
The butler brought a letter to her on a small silver tray while a footman followed him into the room, carrying a large package. Her smile faded as she recognised the black scrawl upon the note.
‘Thank you, Noyes. That will be all. Please, put the box down over there.’
‘What is it?’ asked Jack, when they were alone again.
Silently she handed him the note.
‘Sir Ronald is back,’ she said, her voice not quite steady. Steeling herself, she crossed over to the side table and began to open the parcel.
Jack scanned the letter. ‘He will be at the Lanchester Rooms tomorrow night and expects you to be there.’ She heard the note of disapproval in Jack’s tone. ‘They hold public balls there. Masquerades.’
‘I know it.’ She untied the string and lifted the lid of the box. Inside she found an elegantly printed card lying on top of a cloud of tissue. ‘He has sent me a ticket. And I presume this is the costume he wants me to wear.’
Jack came over to her and while he perused the card she lifted a heavy silk gown from the box and held it up. The full skirts fell in folds of deep green and orange to the floor.
‘It is in the old style,’ she said, observing the laced bodice and straight, elbow-length sleeves.
‘Even older,’ muttered Jack. ‘This goes back to the time of the Stuarts. Look at the motif embroidered here.’ He lifted out a cream petticoat. ‘Oranges. You are to go as Nell Gwyn.’
She stared at him, then turned back to look again at the gown with its wickedly low-cut neckline.
‘He wants me to go out in public dressed as a…as a…’
‘An orange seller,’ supplied Jack. His lips twitched. ‘One cannot deny that Sir Ronald has a sense of humour.’
‘He is a villain!’
She dropped the gown back into its box as if it was contaminated.
‘Then do not go.’
She put out her hands.
‘What choice do I have? You have read his letter: if I am not there he says the journal will be public by morning.’
He caught her hand.
‘Elle, let him publish! I will take you out of town, tonight if you wish. I can protect you.’
She looked up at him. Her heart contracted at the concern she saw in his face. She reached up and touched his cheek.
‘Then you, too, would be tainted by association,’ she said softly. ‘Besides, there is Alex. He is not fit enough for another long journey.’
He dropped her hand.
‘And of course you cannot leave him.’
His cold tone cut at her. She said quietly, ‘No. I will not leave him.’
‘Yet you will not tell me what it is you have done that is so very terrible.’
She shook her head, not looking up. She heard him sigh.
‘Very well, but you cannot go to the Lanchester Rooms unattended. I shall go with you.’
That brought her head up.
‘No. It is too dangerous. I will not allow it.’
‘Madam, you cannot stop me attending a public ball!’
Eloise looked up into his face, noting the stubborn set to his jaw. With a tired shrug she turned away and rested her hands on the table, bowing her head. Her brain felt so dull that she could not form an argument, especially when in her heart she knew she wanted him with her. She felt Jack’s fingers on the back of her neck, rubbing gently, easing her tension.
‘You need not be afraid. I will be in disguise. Deforge will not know I am present, but I will be close by if you need me.’
‘Well, I must say, my lady, you looks a picture and no mistake.’
Alice stepped back to admire her handwork, a satisfied smile on her face. Standing before the long mirror, Eloise had to admit that the costume supplied by Sir Ronald appeared most authentic. From the brocade shoes with their leather-covered heels to the fontange headdress perched atop her golden curls she looked every inch a king’s mistress. A whore. Eloise shivered. A green-and-gold mask had been supplied to hide her identity, but she allowed Alice to apply a coating of powder and rouge to her face to complete the disguise and the result was reassuring: Eloise did not expect to see any of her acquaintances at a public ball, but she would defy even as close a friend as Alex Mortimer to recognise her now.
‘Your carriage is at the door, madam.’ Alice interrupted her reverie by placing her cloak around her shoulders. ‘I shall wait up for you, my lady, and won’t rest easy until you are safely returned.’
With a nod and a brief, strained smile, Eloise hurried down the stairs and was soon on her way to Lanchester House.