Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Read online

  “I want him.” Eleanor couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud. She bit her lip.

  “Apparently,” was Roger’s dry rejoinder. “But the fact remains that you are in hiding. We are in a perilous position. We want you here with us, Eleanor. It means a great deal to Harry to finally have her sister here with her. The children adore you. I’m quite fond of you, too. None of us want to have to deal with the consequences should your ruse be discovered. Each time you step out of line, you put yourself at risk. Can’t you see that?”

  Eleanor looked at Harry’s worried face and the fight left her. She slumped down at the table. “Yes, I can. These are all arguments I’ve made to myself. It’s utter foolishness, this … this situation with Hilary. Neither of us is comfortable with it. Neither of us wants to be involved with someone. And yet, we can’t help ourselves.”

  “Oh, my dear, we understand,” Harry cried, sitting down and reaching across the table to hold her hands. “Really we do. But, Eleanor, you don’t want to have to go back, do you? Or to be sent to jail or transported or whatever it is they would do to someone who’s pretending to be dead. Oh, Roger told me. I just want you here, safe. Can’t you let us keep you safe?”

  It was then Eleanor realized she was going to have to do something with her life. She couldn’t just stay here, worrying Harry and Roger day in and day out, her predicament becoming the center of their lives. “Of course,” she lied with a smile. “You’re right. I’m not in love with him, you know,” she said, but she wasn’t sure if it was for their benefit or hers. “It’s just, I’ve been locked up in Derbyshire for so long, and he’s so … amazing. I never thought I’d meet anyone like him. And”—she paused, looking for a polite way to phrase it—“this is all just so foreign to me. I never had a season, or beaus, or anything like that. I just wanted to have it. Just once.”

  Roger looked down at the table where he had his hands clasped together. “I know,” he said quietly. “I want you to have that, too, Eleanor.” He looked up with a bleak expression. “But we can’t risk it. At least, not yet. Give it time.”

  “I’ve been here almost a year, Roger,” she said sadly. “How much more time?” He was such a dear and she hated that she’d worried him like this. She stood up. “Excuse me. I’m suddenly exhausted.” And she was. She was exhausted at the prospect of finding a new life, somewhere else, by herself, alone. She’d traded one kind of prison for another it seemed.

  * * *

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Roger said as he stormed into Hil’s bedroom.

  Hil was dressed, though it was two o’clock in the morning. Eleanor had never arrived at the carriage. She’d never missed one of their assignations before, and he’d been worried. No word had come from the men watching the Templeton residence, but he was going to check on her just the same. His guards were only human and quite fallible. What if they had relaxed their vigilance once she was in the carriage? At Roger’s arrival he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “She’s all right, then?” he asked. “When she didn’t come, I was afraid.”

  “Oh, now you’re afraid?” Roger asked sarcastically. “You didn’t worry about her before, did you? Letting her wander the streets of London for illicit trysts with you in the middle of the bloody night, risking her life and her reputation and the freedom she’s worked so hard for. None of that bothered you. Only when she doesn’t show up do you start to worry. You randy, worthless bastard. I ought to shoot you.”

  Hil sat down, rather despondent that their trysts were discovered. He didn’t suppose they’d have anymore now, which was affecting him more than he’d thought. He was heartbroken, which was certainly not a word he’d ever thought to use in relation to himself. “I worried every time she came here.”

  “Then why did you let her?” Roger demanded.

  “I’ve been having her watched since she made her debut as Elizabeth Fairchild,” he reminded Roger.

  “I know,” Roger growled. “But that doesn’t make it right, Hil. Damn it, you can’t control everything. What if something had gone wrong? They can’t see everything, everywhere, all the time. Neither they nor you can predict what might happen. Why didn’t you at least come to get her yourself?”

  “She never asked me to,” he said, and even he could hear how inadequate an explanation that was. “She came to me the first time. I think she liked the freedom of that, the independence it gave her. I wasn’t escorting her like a child. Instead, she was a woman making a choice, every time. I didn’t want to pressure her, or make her run from me.”

  Roger’s expression was thunderous. Before he could respond, Hil assured him, “If she was not at your side, she had bodyguards who were instructed to protect her at all costs. She was never in any real danger. But the truth is I let her come because she wanted to. I will deny her nothing.”

  “You damn well will deny her,” Roger told him, pointing a finger in his face. “It’s for her own good, and you know it. If you care for her at all, you’ll see that.”

  “I care for her deeply,” Hil said quietly. “It is unfair of you to suggest otherwise. You’ve witnessed the attentions I’ve given her over the last few weeks, the men I have assigned to protect her. She has affected me as no one before.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Roger said. “You’ve never given much thought to any woman once you’ve bedded her.”

  “It would seem I have more regard for your sister-in-law than you do,” Hil said coldly. “You will speak of her with respect.”

  “I will?” Roger asked incredulously. “You are the one who seeks to sully her reputation. Do you know why I suspected you two were carrying on? Because of the talk this evening at the supper party. I very nearly called out an old woman for referring to Eleanor as ‘a strumpet who’s no better than she ought to be.’ I’m not really sure what that means other than the strumpet part, but I know it isn’t good.”

  “Who?” Hil said standing up. “Who said it? I shall deal with her.”

  “You don’t get to defend her when you’re the one dragging her down!” Roger yelled.

  “What the hell are you two arguing about in the middle of the night?” Wiley complained from the open doorway. He yawned loudly and scratched his bare chest. He’d pulled on a pair of pants, barely, and leaned against the doorframe as he regarded them. “Nancy boy, aren’t you supposed to be at home with the gorgeous wife you don’t deserve?”

  Roger pointed a shaking finger at Hil. “He is … is … sullying my sister-in-law.”

  Wiley laughed outright. “Eleanor? Well, laddie, she’s been doing a bit of sullying herself.”

  Both Hil and Roger turned to him angrily. “Shut up, Wiley,” Hil said.

  “Now I shall have to shoot you both.” Roger went over and began rifling through Hil’s dresser. “Where’s your pistol?”

  “You couldn’t even be bothered to bring your own pistol?” Wiley asked. “That’s some defender of virtue you are.”

  “I have not sullied her,” Hil angrily declared. “We are adults in a mutually satisfying relationship.”

  Roger covered his ears. “I do not want to hear satisfied in relation to you and Eleanor again.”

  “See here, Rog,” Wiley told him, “he’s right. She’s all grown up. Widowed and all, sort of. Anyway, she knows what she’s doing. Let her alone. It isn’t as if Hil and I haven’t been keeping an eye on her.”

  “He’s had more than an eye on her,” Roger huffed. “That’s the problem.”

  “Roger,” Hil pleaded. He stopped short. He was pleading? Yes, yes he was. “Roger, don’t stop this. She’s had nothing, don’t you realize that? Nothing but hate and punishment and torture. Please let me give her this.”

  “What do you mean?” Roger asked, spinning to face him. “What has she told you?”

  He sat back down slowly. “She hasn’t told you about her marriage?”

  “No. She’ll only say that it was horrible and she won’t go back. She won
’t tell Harry, either. We know she tried to get to Harry before and Mercer sent her back to Enderby. And, of course, we know she ran and went to great lengths to get away.”

  “She won’t tell you because she’s afraid of what you’ll do.” Wiley sounded serious for once.

  “Do you know, too?” Roger asked, as if it were an accusation.

  Wiley put his hands in the air in a gesture of peace. “She wouldn’t tell me a thing. But I know the look of a woman on the run from a bad man. I see it every day, and she’s got it.” He nodded. “The open windows, you know.”

  “Tell me,” Roger told Hil, sitting down on the end of Hil’s bed, looking defeated.

  “He didn’t beat her,” Hil assured him. “But he starved her until she complied with what he wanted. He tortured her mentally with lies about Harry dying, for one thing. He locked her up in that house and wouldn’t let her go outside for weeks and months at a time. Often locked in her room.”

  “Jesus,” Wiley whispered.

  “That explains the night terrors just after she came to us. She insisted on leaving her bedroom door open. The maids kept closing it after she was asleep. She’d wake up screaming, until the maids learned not to do it.” Roger shook his head in bewilderment. “What makes a man do that to a woman? Mercer was just as awful to Harry. And the two of them are …” He just shook his head sadly.

  “Madness,” Hil told him. “Eleanor is perfection. Beautiful, brilliant, witty, so full of life. Only madness could compel a man to throw that away.” He was convinced of it. He’d seen that sort of madness in too many men. A thirst for power at the expense of the weak. A need to dominate anything that frightened or threatened them.

  “As is Harry,” Roger said. “I remember Eleanor when she was young. So smart and clever, a wit as sharp as a blade. But she wouldn’t harm a soul. Adored Harry, tolerated me. Pretty and vivacious. But even then she knew that sort of madness in her father, who cared little for the girls except as a means to an end.” He paused and then gave Hil a grave look. “I want him dead.”

  “You’re the first man they’ll come to if that happens,” Hil argued. “And I’m the second. I’m working on it, Roger. I’m going to take care of him. I’m gathering information and biding my time. But in the end, he will be destroyed.”

  “I walked away, Hil. I walked away to seek my own life and left both of them to fate. I will never forgive myself.” Roger stared off into the distance, guilt written clearly on his face.

  “Nonsense,” Hil told him firmly. “You were a boy. You had no idea what would happen to those girls. And now you are a man and you are doing all you can to protect them. Whatever debt you owed is paid in full, Roger.”

  The other man shook his head again and wiped his eyes with one hand before pressing a thumb and forefinger against his closed eyelids. Hil’s heart sank. He owed it to Roger, and to Eleanor, to make this right. It was too dangerous, and he’d forgotten that. Forgotten what was at stake. Eleanor’s freedom. What would a man who could do that to his wife do if he found out he’d been deceived, as Enderby had? The possibilities were endless and horrifying. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been a reckless fool. I’m sorry.”

  “She won’t like either one of you for it,” Wiley warned them. “Whatever happened in the past, she’s got her feet under her now, and a mind of her own. Mark my words.”

  Both Roger and Hil laughed. “You’re right. We’ll undoubtedly hear about it,” Roger agreed. He stood up and held his hand out to Hil. They shook amicably. “You’ll come to dinner tomorrow night,” he told Hil.

  “I will?” Hil felt a glimmer of hope.

  “Yes, and you, too, Wiley,” Roger said as he headed out the door. “I won’t bear the brunt of the backlash by myself.”

  “Aye,” Wiley muttered, turning to head back to his room. “I knew you had to have a reason for inviting me, other than a desire for my conversation. I could just kill him. I know people,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “No,” Hil said, and Roger echoed his response from out in the hallway.

  Hil sat down on the end of his bed, his shoulders slumping as he listened to the footman say good night to Roger and close the door below. This was it, then, the end. Suddenly his days seemed empty and dull without the prospect of his nights with Eleanor. What a great fool he was, to grow so accustomed to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dinner was a cagey affair. Harry had spent half the day planning for it, from entertainments to a seating arrangement. She’d fretted and fussed over Eleanor until she wanted to scream at her that she was fine, damn it. But she’d refrained. She’d been kept from a man’s bed, for God’s sake, she hadn’t contracted bubonic plague. Harry had made her so nervous it had taken over an hour to dress. No dress seemed suitable for the coming confrontation. She finally settled on a pale-blue one with minimal beading and fringe on the sleeves. She loathed fringe.

  As she stood in the drawing room waiting for Hilary’s arrival, she berated herself for her choice of attire. Harry had obviously not had the same problem. She was stunning in a beautiful ecru gown shot with silver thread and beaded heavily around the neckline. With her beautiful blonde hair swept up onto her head in a carelessly elegant twist, and diamonds dripping from her neck and ears, she was formidable.

  All the worry was for naught. The talk was of the weather, and Wiley and Hilary played chess, while Roger paced. Hilary looked divine in his green dinner jacket, a gift from Harry, who was quite pleased when he entered wearing it. When it was time to sit down to dinner, Hil ignored the seating arrangements and took the seat right next to Eleanor, who went from having no appetite to famished as soon as he sat down. The rest of the party was thrown into confusion by his move, but they all settled down to eat and talk around the large, white elephant in the room, which seemed to be Eleanor’s intimate relations. Eleanor felt equal parts amused and horrified at the situation.

  After the dessert course, Eleanor had started to rise when Harry said, “I do not think it right that Roger has forbidden Eleanor to see Sir Hilary anymore.”

  Eleanor’s bottom hit her chair again as her legs gave out in mortification. “Harry,” she began, but no one was listening to her.

  “I have every right to do so,” Roger told her. “She lives in this house and she is my responsibility.” He pointed at his wife. “Do not get yourself in the middle of it.”

  “I cry foul as well,” Wiley said. “Do I get a vote?”

  “No,” Roger said flatly.

  “Yes,” Hilary said. “Of course. But I think what you are all forgetting is that the only votes that count are mine and Eleanor’s.”

  That certainly caused some consternation in the room. “Have you changed your mind?” Roger asked Hilary stiffly.

  “No. But it seems to me no one has asked Eleanor’s opinion.”

  “Not true,” Roger rushed to defend himself. “We talked about it with her last night. She understands that it’s a terrible risk.”

  “Nonsense.” Harry spoke again. Her elegant and polished attire now took on new meaning, as if she’d prepared to state her case. “The risk was in the way they were going about it. Surely a more circumspect courtship would not be looked at amiss by the ton, nor noted in the papers.”

  “Yes, yes, what about that?” Roger insisted. He pointed at Hilary. “You were in the papers. Tell them, Harry.”

  Eleanor turned to Harry, shocked and frightened. “What did it say?” she asked. She reached for Hil’s hand. “Was your name mentioned or mine? Was there anything about our connection to the dead Eleanor Enderby?”

  Hilary took her hand and squeezed. He answered instead of Harry. “No. I saw the little on-dit. It was all speculation. I was a ‘dashing inquisitor’ and you were ‘a widow of little renown,’ which I personally thought was rather harsh.”

  “Oh, God,” Eleanor said, and closed her eyes with renewed mortification. “And what was my ‘widow of little renown’ doing with your ‘dashing inquisitor’?” she
asked with a sinking feeling.

  “Apparently I have been bewitched by your charms and have taken leave of my senses. Or something like that.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It was less flattering to me than to you. It implied I had a weakness of character. Can you imagine?”

  Eleanor gave him a sharp look. That sinking feeling was now turning into a definite case of seasickness. “Yes, I can. Focus, Hilary. Was there anything to connect me to Enderby?”

  “No,” he told her, and there were several voices of agreement around the table. “You were not identified as the formerly dead Eleanor Enderby, and I was not labeled the fool trying to protect her from her brutish husband. I think we’re safe.”

  “Sarcasm does not become you,” she said primly, then she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

  “Too bad it’s his favorite accessory,” Roger murmured.

  “Sarcasm becomes me far better than most, I think. I tend to overplay the softer tones,” Hilary mused.

  “You are making light of Eleanor’s situation,” Harry said stridently. “She’s right. She can’t afford to be in the papers. You really must stop, Sir Hilary.”

  He bowed his head with real contrition. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Templeton. You are correct. I shall speak to the fellow who wrote this.”

  “That won’t do anything,” Roger argued. “The only way to stop it from happening is for the two of you to stop carrying on. Our entire plan rests on Eleanor remaining undiscovered.”

  “I’m growing weary of that plan,” Hilary snapped. “What it means is that she’s locked into another kind of prison.”

  “Then think of another plan,” Roger ground out between clenched teeth, “since you won’t leave her alone to make a success of this one. We are trying to avoid legal action and a nasty trial, Hil.”

  Eleanor felt her face burn with embarrassment. “We have already agreed not to see one another,” she told Roger, her voice sharper than she’d planned. She took another deep breath. “I think it best if I leave,” she said in a rush.