Kasey Michaels - Beware Of Virtuous Women

And what in bloody hell he was going to do with her was beyond him. She looked, and acted, as if she not only wouldn’t, but couldn’t say boo to a goose. Lord knew she’d said no more than a few dozen words to him since they’d left Becket Hall the previous afternoon. Putting her in a position where she’d be attempting to neatly ferret information out of the wives of his suspects was almost laughable, and could prove dangerous.

He should have said no. Thank you, very generous of you, but no.

But there had been something about the look in Eleanor Becket’s huge brown eyes, a hint of both desperation and determination that had affected him in some way he didn’t want to examine.

What a mess he’d gotten himself into. Out to catch a smuggler, he’d become one, at least peripherally. Oh, hell, he couldn’t persuade himself that he was only acting as an agent, a go-between. He was a smuggler. He’d be hanged as surely as the Beckets if he was caught.

What a far cry from the soldier he’d been in Spain…until word had come about his cousin’s disappearance. His cousin’s murder, most probably, and presumably at the hands of smugglers.

“Mr. Eastwood, are you asleep?”

Jack lifted his hat slightly and looked at Eleanor Becket out of one barely opened eye. “My apologies, miss.”

Eleanor watched as he unhurriedly sat up straight, as if he truly cared to listen to what she had to say—but not all that much. “Oh, no, apologies aren’t necessary. You’ve every right to be weary. That inn was abominable. Dirty, the food inferior, and with faintly damp sheets. I should have thought to bring linens from Becket Hall. I only thought…um, that is, we’re nearing London, I suppose, and perhaps you wish to discuss how we’re to…to go on?”

“You’re right, Miss Becket,” Jack said, removing his hat, running a hand through his hair as he wondered what Miss Eleanor Becket would think about sleeping on the ground, in the mud, while being pelted by a cold, hard rain. With his rifle in his arms, at the ready. Faintly damp sheets? Hell, he hadn’t noticed. “But the thing is, I really don’t know how we’re going to…go on, as you say.”

“Really?” Eleanor blinked twice, pushed away the thought that the man surely should have had some idea of what would come next, or else he shouldn’t have embarked on the plan in the first place.

But that was the practical part of her, the part that had, according to Morgan, sealed her fate as an old maid. Still, she was who she was, and what she was, and clearly someone had to take charge.

“Very well, Mr. Eastwood,” she said, unclasping her gloved hands that had been resting in her lap these past three hours, while inwardly she’d longed to use one of them to tip that ridiculous hat off the man’s head and tell him to sit up straight and stop acting like Spencer in one of his sulks. But she’d resisted, even lowered the shades and sat in the half-dark so that the sunlight would not disturb him.

“Very well what, Miss Becket?” Jack asked, wondering if he should pretend not to notice the twin spots of color that had appeared on her cheeks. The little fawn had a temper. How interesting.

Lifting her chin slightly, Eleanor began to count on her fingers as she rattled off her thoughts with the precision of a sergeant barking orders to his troops. “Number one, Mr. Eastwood, we are married, at least to the world, which includes your staff in Portland Square. Therefore, I am Mrs. Eastwood to the staff, and Eleanor to you. And you are Jack.”

“Not darling?” Jack asked, the devil rising in him now. “I had so hoped for a love match.”

Eleanor dropped her head slightly, lowered her gaze, then looked over at Jack through remarkably long, thick black lashes. “If I might continue?”

Well, that had put him in his place, hadn’t it? “My apologies…Eleanor.”

“Accepted. This is difficult for both of us, I’m sure,” Eleanor said, longing to kick herself for being so formal, for being such…such a stick! “If you prefer the diminutive, Elly will also do.”

“Very well. But you can still feel free to call me darling, Elly.”

Eleanor clasped her hands together and pressed her knuckles against her mouth, trying to keep her lips from turning up into a smile. “Now you’re being facetious.”

“I only sought to ease the tension between us. We’ll be fine, Elly, I promise. My staff are very incurious, and that’s by design.”

“Very well. I really don’t look for any problems there, as I’ve read extensively about the proper running of a large domicile, although I much prefer my experience at Becket Hall. I will, of course, need a maid assigned to me, if I’m to go out in public without you. I also read that somewhere—that ladies do not walk about unaccompanied.”

“You plan to do a lot of walking, Elly?”

He kept calling her Elly. She’d really rather he addressed her as Eleanor, that she had not suggested the diminutive. She was not, after all, his sister. “I would like to see some of the sights, if at all possible.”

“So I’m right in assuming this is your first trip to the city. You never had a Season when you were younger?”

“Is my advanced age so obvious?”

“Well, that was putting my foot in it, wasn’t it? Then you’re younger than your sister, the countess?”

“No, you were correct. I am the oldest, already into my majority. I preferred not to have a Season.”

“Because of your—damn. I can’t seem to say anything right, can I?”

“No, Mr.—Jack. We probably should get past this, as I’m cognizant of the fact that you know little about your new wife. I am one and twenty, I never had a Season, and I suffered an injury to my leg and foot as a child that has left me with a slight limp. It pains me in prolonged stretches of inclement weather or if I overexert myself, but is otherwise simply a nuisance. I’m neither ashamed nor proud of my…condition, and would prefer you ignore it rather than concern yourself. I am, I assure you, more than capable of the mission I’ve accepted.”

“All but bullied your way into taking. Made a case for yourself against your father’s wishes, actually, but who’s quibbling?” Jack commented, once more holding back a smile. “I simply want to know why you were so willing to volunteer.”

If being a Becket qualified Eleanor for anything, it was the acquired ability to lie smoothly and without suspicion. “I have been no farther than a few miles from Becket Hall since I arrived there as a child of six, which is when I…became a part of the family. I know you are aware that only Cassandra is Papa’s natural child, and that the rest of us came to him as orphans.”

“Yes, I do know that. It’s all very intriguing, actually.”

“Not really, not if you knew Papa well. At any rate, Morgan’s delightful stories of London have intrigued me, and I finally realized I should like to travel to the metropolis. Not for a Season, I don’t delude myself into aspirations at that level, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. Plus,” she ended, looking at him levelly, “I am as eager to rid us of our current problem as are you. It’s my family, after all, that could be put in danger.”

“I see,” Jack said, aware that the coach was now riding along well-cobbled streets, even without raising the shade to look out the window. He moved to the front-facing seat, sat beside her. “How do you plan to approach the ladies?”

Ah, good. They had left the subject of her life behind them. As for the rest, she’d simply ignore his proximity. She was almost used to being in his company. Almost. “I don’t. I plan to sit very quietly and listen to the ladies. I’ve learned that most people rush to fill a silence.”