Kasey Michaels - Beware Of Virtuous Women

Jack considered this, even as he became uncomfortably aware of the silence in the coach and, damn the woman, rushed to fill it. “I begin to feel that I am the amateur here, Elly. Does Ainsley know just how well you’ve been listening as you bend over your embroidery or paints, which is all I can picture of you when I think of my previous visits to Becket Hall?”

“I’m flattered that you are able to recall me at all,” Eleanor said, her voice steady even as he actually said what she’d always felt. That she was near to invisible to him, when he had become the center of her life.

“Ouch! I believe I can almost feel the flat of your hand on my cheek for that careless insult,” Jack said, then surprised himself by lifting her gloved hand to his lips. “I can promise you that I will do my best to make up for my sins by being an extremely devoted husband.”

Eleanor gently tugged her hand free, even as she continued to look at Jack, fought to control her breathing. “I doubt that most of the ton behave as Morgan and her Ethan do. Civility will be enough.”

He’d hurt her. He’d be damned if he knew how, but he’d definitely hurt her. And, if he had any sense at all, he’d drop this subject completely and get on with the business of how he would further infiltrate the trio of men he suspected of being in league with the Red Men Gang.

Only later, once he was alone, would there be time to think about this strange, fragile-looking young woman who, as Jacko had said, seemed to be formed of finest Toledo steel.

“Tomorrow we’ll begin,” he told her as the coach stopped, then started off again at a near crawl, caught in the crush of early-evening London traffic. For a woman who’d professed an interest in the London sights, Eleanor Becket seemed content to have the shades drawn tight on the coach windows. Just a naturally secretive little thing, wasn’t she? Or she liked sitting in the half dark, which was silly, because she wasn’t a bad-looking woman.

“Yes, Jack, tomorrow will be soon enough. How do you plan to begin?”

“With Lady Beresford. We may not be in London long enough to take advantage of the association, get out into wider society at all. I hope not, frankly. But I’ll present Ethan’s letter to her anyway.”

“A bit of honesty covers many a lie, Papa says. At the very least, you could then honestly drop her name into the conversation as you ratchet up your pursuit of the men you mentioned at Becket Hall.” Eleanor spoke each word carefully, not wishing too appear too anxious to hear about the men…the man.

“Yes. But remember, I’ve already begun with Harris Phelps, as he frequents several gaming hells on the fringes of Mayfair. Gilly—that’s Sir Gilbert Eccles—is more of a cipher, I suppose you’d say, definitely a follower and not a leader. Where Phelps goes, Eccles will follow.”

Eleanor wet her lips, swallowed. “And the third? I believe you said he was an earl?”

“Earl of Chelfham, yes. The estimable Rawley Maddox. He’s the oldest of the trio by a good twenty or more years, as I already told Ainsley, and definitely the smartest. He’s why I’m bothering with Phelps and Eccles at all—they’re to be my way in to Chelfham. It’s his bride I’d most particularly hope you can cultivate. She’s Phelps’s sister, which may explain why Chelfham bothers with him. She’s also young, probably not more than a few years older than you, in fact.”

“Really? How…interesting.”

“Not really. He’s trying for an heir is how I heard the story. His first wife died in a fall down the stairs, the second in childbed. If Chelfham dies without issue, I believe the earldom goes vacant.”

Eleanor’s head was spinning. “I believe the proper term is extinct, if all possible heirs have died. A title is dormant if no one claims it or his or her title can’t be proved, and in abeyance if more than one person is equally qualified to be the holder.”

Jack shook his head. Listening to this woman was like being back in class with his tutor as he reeled off dry as dust facts and expected Jack to care. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes, at least I think so.” She smiled at him, and Jack felt an unexpected punch to his stomach. She was such an odd little creature, all prim and proper, yet also so anxious to please. “Papa has a rather large library, and I have quite a bit of time.”

“You said her. His or her title. It would be interesting, wouldn’t it, if Chelfham’s bride presented him with only daughters.”

Eleanor made a great business of inspecting the seam on the thumb of her right glove. “Some peerages can be inherited by females, although their number is very limited. And, of course, private fortunes and land not entailed can be given where one wishes.”

Jack sat back against the squabs, more than a little surprised. Then again, what did he care for peerages? And, if he was right, and had his way, the Earl of Chelfham wouldn’t have to worry about them, either.

“Rather a fountain of possibly useful information, aren’t you? I can see where you are a good choice for my small project, in any case. A lady, and an educated lady at that. I imagine everyone will be wondering why such a fine and refined creature as yourself would agree to leg shackle herself to such a rough character as myself.”

Eleanor looked at him quizzically for a moment, then dropped her gaze. What had just happened? What had he just said? How had he said it?…such a fine and refined creature as yourself.

No, it wasn’t actually the words he’d said, but the way he had said them. And he’d said them with this sudden lilt in his voice. Why had he suddenly reminded her of Paddy O’Rourke, from the village? He was English, not Irish. Everyone knew Jack Eastwood was English. Born in Sussex was what he’d told them. Yet Eleanor was sure she’d just heard a faint hint of Ireland in the cadence of his last statement.

It had been there, hadn’t it? Just for a moment?

She closed her eyes, calling herself silly. A life spent not trusting outsiders had made her skittish, and much too suspicious. Her papa trusted him. Court and the others trusted him. She hadn’t even thought about trust, fool that she was, too dazzled by Jack’s effect on her.

Well, that particular foolishness needed to come to a quick end. She was a Becket first, and female only second.

Much as she longed to see the Earl of Chelfham, much as she was determined to help Jack Eastwood uncover the identity of the leaders of the Red Men Gang who had threatened the Beckets’ very existence, she would remember to keep her faith in herself, and not in anyone else, even Jack Eastwood.

Eleanor’s life, that had seemed much too tame to her only a few days ago, was suddenly crowded with too many possibilities for disaster….

“ABOUT TIME IT WAS you lugged that great big simple self of yours back here, boyo. I was about to give you up.”

Jack turned, still in the act of sliding off his neck cloth, to see Cluny Shannon sprawled on the lone chair in his dressing room, a half-empty glass hanging from his fingers.

It was always a half-empty glass with Cluny, who never saw the sunshine without mentioning the clouds.

“My apologies, old friend. I didn’t notice a candle in the window. Were you pining for me?”

Cluny finished off his drink, obviously not the first or even the fourth of the evening, and carefully got to his feet, holding the glass in front of him as he advanced on Jack. “Thinking of where to lay off the silver, to tell you the truth. I could turn a pretty penny just for that behemoth you’ve got sitting on the table in the dining room. Now that I think on it, it’s a shame you made it back. Go away again, get yourself lost, and I’ll be a rich man.”