Grantham crossed the room. But not to exit the drawing room, because he wasn’t conceding his friend’s strategy. He went to the sideboard and tossed the last few fingers of brandy into the bottom of a clean snifter. “You bloody well think you know everything about me because you lost a dear person, too. Fine. You’re an expert. Now tell me how that excuses what she did? The danger she put herself in? What about everyone else? My servants? Us? You said so yourself, the entire house could have burned down. We were so up to our hips in lightskirts, we wouldn’t have even realized it was smoldering around us. For what? So a woman without scruples could secure herself a titled husband?”
He drained the snifter without breaking de Winter’s gaze. Again the earl didn’t try to argue. He leaned against the door’s frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell her so yourself.”
“I did.”
“Tell her again.”
Grantham set the empty snifter on the sideboard. “So she can ignore me the way you’re ignoring me? I don’t want a wife who can’t tell right from wrong, who puts herself and everyone else in danger on a whim. I may be a wastrel but at least I’m aware of my faults.”
“And she has no notion of her own? Go on with you, now, for I’ll hear no more of your leaving without talking to her.”
It wasn’t like de Winter to push him at a woman. And Grantham could see his friend was going to be obstinate about this, even if he refused to explain why. Might as well get on with it so he could get back to the business of packing, and perhaps have another bottle of brandy brought up from the cellar.
He pushed past de Winter and made his way to the carriage house gate, where he paused to take stock of his roiling emotions. If she wanted to see him so badly, she could wait. No sense bursting in. The last thing he wanted to do was leave himself open to seduction. Barreling in with his heart pumping at full rate would surely be a weakness she could easily exploit.
He entered when he was sure he could set eyes on her without unleashing a tirade or, worse yet, smothering her apologies with his lips. Not that he knew what he’d find inside the frigid structure, but it didn’t seem beyond her temerity to find her stark naked and begging for his touch.
The thought of that scenario both infuriated and aroused him, and he had to stop again to pull himself together. If she dared try to entice him, he’d have de Winter’s head.
He waited until he no longer felt the thrum of need in his veins then proceeded to the rear of the building where Conley’s carriage still lay jumbled in a dozen pieces. She was there. Fully dressed, thank heavens.
“You came.” The breathless quality of her voice made him think she was surprised to see him. Her hands dropped to her sides, then worried together in front of her skirt. But she looked at him directly, as if refusing to be disconcerted entirely.
He couldn’t be rude to her, even if seeing her again made his heart ache for the possibilities that had been so cruelly snatched from him. So rather than say, “I had little choice in the matter,” he said, “I’m here to hear you out, nothing more.”
It was mildly kinder, at any rate.
She swallowed. A feeble smile touched her lips. “I have nothing to tell you, my lord. I make no excuses for my actions. But I did want you to see something. Would you mind coming closer?”
Yes, he would mind. He wasn’t the sort to be overwhelmed by a woman’s nearness, yet he feared her motives. Would she toss herself into his arms and practice her wiles on him? What if she did? He’d strangle de Winter. But maybe he would strangle him later.
Elinor approached him cautiously, her gaze never wavering. Then she held out her hands to him, palms up. “It’s not a trick, my lord.” Her hands were empty.
“What is it, then?” he asked, and took a step back. She was close enough to touch him. That made her too close.
“Come.” She turned and walked back to the carriage, then faced him again when she reached the door. He followed and stopped an arm’s length away.
Her hand settled on the carriage door. With a backward glance at him, she opened it and climbed in.
The conveyance shifted under her weight and his heart leaped into this throat. Before he could call out, “Don’t!” however, the coach settled. She poked her head out of the door and beckoned him to enter, too.
He eyed the broken vehicle suspiciously. It was only a few feet from the ground, not too far too fall unsafely if it did give, and he had to admit he was curious. Carefully, he entered it.
She slid down the length of the bench and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, my lord. We are travelers and the journey is long.”