‘And you and yours, my lord.’
Garrick swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. There was no one he called his. Not any longer.
He pushed the thought away and held out his glass for a refill. Better to take whatever pleasure life offered when it came along. Like a few hours of her company on the morrow, though he expected it would hold little in the way of delight for either of them.
In the end she did wear the blue gown. After all, one did not drive out with a gentlemen of Beauworth’s standing looking like someone’s governess, as Sissy had pronounced earlier with all the assurance of youth.
When Eleanor walked down the stairs a few minutes before the appointed time, she felt satisfied with her appearance. Her pulse beat a little too fast, her stomach was tied in a tight little knot that made breathing more difficult than usual, but the gown masked all of that. To the world, she looked cool and calm.
Sissy dashed out of the drawing room as she set foot on the last step. ‘You look ravishing,’ she said. ‘I told you that gown was perfect. It makes your eyes look bluer.’
‘Sissy, don’t be a hoyden.’
‘Hah.’ Sissy’s dark eyes sparkled. She brushed a tumble of chestnut curls back off her shoulder. ‘Don’t be such a stick in the mud.’
The case clock struck four. Someone rapped the knocker on the front door.
‘Quick,’ Sissy said. ‘Into the drawing room. You don’t want to look too eager.’
‘Sissy.’ Eleanor couldn’t help laughing. Her sister had certainly adopted all the niceties of a débutante in her first Season with alacrity and enthusiasm.
Eleanor allowed herself to be chivvied into the drawing room, while the butler hurried to open the front door.
‘Very nice, dear,’ Aunt Marjory said, glancing up from her embroidery.
‘Thank you, Aunt.’ What the old lady would say if she knew just how annoyed William would be was a whole other matter. By the time he learned of it, there would be nothing to discuss. Today she would answer Beauworth’s questions and tell him not to bother her or her family again. If he had any sense of honour, he would abide by her wishes. And that would be that.
Her heart squeezed a little at the thought, but she ignored it, firmly.
She perched on a chair by the window.
‘Not there, Eleanor,’ Sissy said. ‘The light obscures your face.’ She frowned. ‘And why are you wearing that horrid cap under that perfectly lovely chip straw as if you are an old maid?’
She was an old maid. ‘Too late to do anything about it now,’ she said calmly, although her heart thundered as the door opened and Beauworth entered.
If he could not see her features, she could see his very well indeed. Still handsome, but harsh, like granite carved by the wind, the furrows around his mouth and creases at the corners of his eyes deeply etched. Only a shadow of the young man she had known remained in his smile and the angle of his jaw, the wave of brown hair on his forehead.
He took Aunt Marjory’s hand in his and murmured a suitable greeting. Then he moved on to Sissy.
She peeped up at him. ‘I don’t suppose you remember me?’
‘The last time I saw you, you had soot on your nose,’ he replied with a flash of his charming smile. Eleanor’s stomach tumbled in a long slow roll. Would she never be able to see that smile without melting?
Sissy laughed. ‘You are still Eleanor’s wicked Marquess.’
‘Sissy,’ Eleanor said as Beauworth turned to her with a raised brow and one of those devastating smiles. She was going to be mush if this continued.
‘What did you say, dear?’ Aunt Marjory asked.
‘Nothing,’ Sissy said, with a blithe smile and a wink.
‘Are you ready to leave, Lady Eleanor? Much as I delight in the company of your family, my horses do not like to be kept waiting.’
He took her hand and brought her to his feet. As he did so, his gaze searched her face. Seeking what? She lifted her chin and regarded him coolly. ‘Indeed. I am quite ready, my lord.’
Sissy ran to the window. ‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘A high-perch phaeton. And matched chestnuts.’
‘Come away from the window, dear,’ Aunt Marjory said. ‘Do take care with my niece, my lord. The thought of her up on those high things gives my heart palpitations.’
‘Fear not, Miss Hadley,’ the Marquess said. ‘I will take care of Lady Eleanor’s person as if it were my own.’
His velvet tones were like a caress on her skin. An insidious yearning filled her body. She managed a tight smile. ‘I have no fear, my lord.’
‘You never did.’
He was wrong, of course. She’d feared greatly for him all these years. But she could never show it.
He guided her out of the house and down the steps into the street.
Sissy was right, his equipage was high and dangerous. The horses, held by a groom, tossing their heads in the traces, were fresh, high-strung and beautifully matched. A team she’d love to drive, or she would have in her misspent youth.
While she didn’t need his help, she allowed him to assist her up the steps. She sat on the seat and settled her skirts. The ground looked astonishingly far away and the slightest movement caused the coach body to sway on its swan-necked springs.
The Marquess went around the other side and climbed up beside her. He took the whip from its holder, catching the points deftly in his fingers and gathered up the ribbons in his other hand.
He glanced at her with a quizzical expression. ‘Nervous, Lady Eleanor?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said. The fact that her heart seemed to be performing an endless drum roll against her ribs and had been since she awoke this morning had nothing to do with him. It was lack of sleep.
‘Good. Then we will dispense with the services of the groom.’ He raised his voice. ‘Jeffers, spring ’em. You can walk home.’
Before Eleanor could protest against the breach of propriety, the liveried groom touched his hat, released the off-side leader’s bridle and stepped back. The Marquess moved his equipage into the street and soon they were bowling down the quiet road at a clip.
‘It is an open carriage, Ellie,’ he said with the ghost of a laugh. ‘I want our conversation to be private.’
Ruffled, she glared at him. ‘We have nothing to say to each other of a private nature. And you should have asked me first.’
‘Asking doesn’t get me anywhere.’
Now what did he mean by that pithy little comment? Surely he wasn’t referring to his disastrous proposal of marriage? And surely he wasn’t going to ask her again? Her throat dried. A patter of hope ran through her heart.
‘What did you want to ask me?’ There, she sounded cool and collected.
He turned on to Piccadilly and headed toward Hyde Park. She admired his skill as he negotiated around a hackney coach stopped to pick up a fare and neatly avoided a brewer’s dray coming the opposite way. He made it look easy, but the horses required all of his attention, so she sat quietly, content to enjoy being driven by a master, content to look at the hard-angled profile, the curl of his hair on his temple, the confident set of his shoulders. Her reckless gaze lingered on the firm line of his sensual mouth, the angle of his chin. He was still beautiful