A Dangerous Man. Candace CampЧитать онлайн книгу.
Nicholas Barre answered. “Neither of us, I fear, is a terribly regular member.”
“No. In general, I prefer the comforts of my own home,” Anthony agreed with a smile.
One would have thought Lord Neale a perfectly amiable sort, Eleanor thought sourly, to hear him. It galled her to have to go along with his charade. Still, there was little she could do except return Lord Barre’s greeting politely.
They sat down, exchanging casual small talk until the meal was announced. Lord Neale, though polite and polished, offered little conversation except in response to others’ remarks. Eleanor was uncomfortably aware of his penetrating gaze upon her throughout the conversation. She felt sure he was judging her, looking for some chink in her armor, some remark or gesture that he could use against her. It was irritating to realize that she was watching her words, examining them for any way in which they could be misinterpreted, before she spoke, aware that any laugh or smile on her part would doubtless be evidence to him that she had not loved Edmund.
Damn his eyes, she thought, borrowing one of her father’s favorite curses. She had never cared what people thought, and she was not going to start now. She refused to let some arrogant British lord rattle her. Eleanor turned toward him, lifting her chin and giving him a long, cool look. And though there was no movement in his face, she saw a subtle change, and she knew that he had seen her defiant look and acknowledged it.
After that, she did her best to maintain a polite indifference to the man, ignoring him and concentrating on the pleasure of once again visiting with her best friend. Amazingly enough, the evening moved along easily. Eleanor and Juliana rarely lacked for topics of conversation, and after Eleanor’s long absence, there was much to catch up on. Juliana and Nicholas filled her in on all the major scandals and on-dits among the fashionable ton, as well as in the government, and the state of the theater and opera was thoroughly rehashed. Lord Neale, though he did not speak a great deal, kept his remarks on a light and lively plane. He was knowledgeable on a variety of topics, and his opinions, often tinged by sarcasm, were incisive and accurate. Eleanor had to acknowledge that had he been anyone else, she would have found his company enjoyable and invigorating. In fact, on more than one occasion, she had to remind herself why he was there.
Of course, she thought grimly, Lord Neale would not let her forget it. She knew that his steady regard throughout the evening was meant to keep her aware of his intent, as was the faintly ironic undertone to his words whenever he spoke to her. When the evening was over, she would have to face him alone again, and he would insist on answers to his questions. No doubt he hoped that threat would frighten her. Well, he would soon find out that she was made of sterner stuff.
After the meal, the two men retired to Lord Barre’s library, as was the custom, leaving Eleanor and Juliana alone together for a good long talk, which suited them both admirably.
“I am so happy for you,” Eleanor told her friend, her gaze going to Juliana’s gently swelling belly. “When are you due?”
Juliana smiled broadly. “A little more than three months. I wanted to have my lying-in at the family home in Cornwall, where Nicholas lived until his parents died. But he insisted that we remain in London, where I could have the care of the best doctors.” Her smile turned fond. “He worries far more about me than is necessary. I am healthy as a horse.”
“Of course he does,” Eleanor responded. “He obviously dotes on you. Which is just as it should be.”
Eleanor had met Nicholas Barre a year ago, just before she and Edmund had left for Naples. He had asked Juliana to marry him, and though Juliana assured her that his proposal was merely evidence of his kindness and fondness for a childhood companion, Eleanor had suspected that it was love for Juliana that lay at the base of his offer of marriage. He might have been hiding it from Juliana and even from himself, but Eleanor had seen the truth in the way he looked at Juliana. It was clear, watching them tonight, that she had been right.
Juliana and Nicholas clearly adored one another. It was, Eleanor thought, the sort of marriage that young girls dreamed of, the kind of love made famous by poets. Watching them through dinner, seeing the love that shone in their eyes when they looked at each other, that expressed itself in a brush of his fingers along her shoulder or the way her hand curled around his arm as he escorted her in to dinner, Eleanor had felt an unaccustomed pang. She had never known such love, and she was realistic enough to admit that she probably never would. The fond admiration and caring she had felt for Edmund had held none of the depth and passion that lay in Juliana and Nicholas’s love.
Eleanor did not normally wish for such a feeling in her life. She knew that she was simply too practical and levelheaded for such dramatic emotion, and, quite frankly, she liked the way she lived her life. But at a moment like this, she could not help but give a little inward sigh and wonder what it would be like to love as Juliana and Nicholas did.
Juliana let out a happy little laugh at her friend’s words. “Yes,” she admitted. “He does. And I love him just as much. Oh, Eleanor, sometimes I have to pinch myself, my life seems so much like a dream. A year and a half ago, when I was working for that odious Mrs. Thrall, I could not have imagined that I would be so happy today.”
“It is no more than you deserve,” Eleanor told her firmly.
“But enough about me,” Juliana said now, leaning in confidentially. “Tell me about you and Lord Neale.”
Eleanor looked at her friend. She had always confided in Juliana, and she wanted to tell her exactly what had transpired between her and Lord Neale. But it seemed even worse, now that she knew Juliana was pregnant, to drag her into the middle of Eleanor’s own problems.
“There is nothing to tell, really,” Eleanor said with a shrug. “I did not ask him to escort me here this evening. He more or less invited himself. And I did not want to create a scene. I apologize for thrusting him upon you uninvited.”
“It was no problem, I assure you. I am glad that you had someone to escort you, frankly. London is not a safe city. Perhaps he was simply concerned about you,” Juliana suggested. “He seemed terribly attentive to you.”
“Oh, yes, he is attentive—in the way an eagle is attentive to a rabbit.”
Juliana’s brows went up. “Whatever do you mean? Is something amiss?”
Eleanor firmly squelched her desire to pour out the whole story and said, “No, not really. It is just that I dislike dealing with the man. He has always been quite rude. He did not consider me an appropriate match for Edmund.”
“Then he was a fool. But perhaps now he realizes how wrong he was. Perhaps he is trying to make it up to you, and that is why he wanted to escort you.”
“Perhaps,” Eleanor responded noncommittally, looking down at her hands. She did not see the shrewd gaze that Juliana turned upon her.
“He is a terribly handsome man,” Juliana said after a moment.
“Is he?” Eleanor grimaced. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Juliana laughed. “Surely you don’t expect me to swallow that fib.”
“He is…handsome, in a harsh sort of way,” Eleanor admitted. “’Tis a pity that his nature does not match his appearance.”
“Yes.” Juliana sighed, looking disappointed. “I had hoped…”
“Now, Juliana, do not turn matchmaker on me, I pray. What is it that makes a woman want to marry off her friends as soon as she gets married herself?” Eleanor’s smile took the sting from her words.
Juliana chuckled. “I am guilty, I confess. It is just that I am so happy, I want you to have the same sort of happiness.”
“Well, I do not think I will find it with the odious Lord Neale—nor he with me. I do not need a husband. I am fine just as I am, I assure you.”
“I know. I have no doubts that you handle everything perfectly,” Juliana told her. “It is only love that I wish for you.”
“But