CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Granville gazed after Eleanor’s retreating figure as she stumbled back into the ballroom.

    When she was finally in his power, as he vowed she would be soon, he would take her savagely, as she deserved. She would mock him no more.

    His look was feverish as he contemplated his revenge on her. 

    ‘Granville!’

    Granville was jolted out of his erotic fantasy at the sound of his name uttered with such force. He whirled around and stared upward.

    A man was standing half-way down the staircase above him. He was heavily built with the face of a pugilist. Granville would know Lord Langdon anywhere.

    ‘Granville, I would have a word with you.’

    Lord Langdon came down the remaining stairs and walked towards him with cat-like grace despite his bulkiness.

    Granville was reminded that Langdon was a devoted sponsor of the sport of bare-knuckle boxing and in his earlier years had been an avid participant.

    ‘Lord Langdon,’ Granville began, wondering if the other man had heard his words to Eleanor Wellesley. ‘I am at your service.’

    ‘Damn your eyes!’ Lord Langdon snarled. ‘The only service I want from you is that you stay away from Sophie Vallentine.’

    ‘Lord Langdon, you are mistaken...’

    ‘Don’t take me for a fool! She was at your house this morning. She remained there too long.’

    ‘It was not what you think,’ Granville protested.

    ‘I warn you Granville, do not get in my way,’ Lord Langdon said gutturally. ‘I value Sophie Vallentine above all other women. She is mine by rights.’

    Granville could not think what those rights might be, but it was obvious by the dangerous gleam in the other man’s eyes that he was hopelessly obsessed with Sophie and beyond reason.

    ‘Sophie and I are merely friends,’ Granville said soothingly. ‘She means nothing to me.’

    ‘You lie!’ Lord Langdon spat out the words and his face was becoming blotched with red. Granville saw him clench his fists and was alarmed that  the man intended to turn violent.

    ‘It is Warburton that you should be talking to, not me,’ Granville said hastily. ‘I know that Sophie favours him.’

    ‘Merely a passing fancy of hers. Warburton will be dealt with in due course,’ Lord Langdon said threateningly. ‘Meanwhile, I have you to deal with here and now.’

    Granville took a step back.

    ‘I pray you, sir, do not make a scene. I want no scandal attached to my name.’

    Lord Langdon regarded him closely and Granville was painfully aware that he was examining the scar. Instinctively, he put up a hand to mask it.

    ‘I warrant you did not get that in a bar brawl,’ Lord Langdon said contemptuously. ‘Not your style, eh? But it is my style, Granville. Either you give your solemn vow now that you will dissociate yourself from Sophie Vallentine entirely or you may find yourself half dead in an alleyway some night soon.’

    ‘This is outrageous!’ Granville spluttered. ‘Am I to be threatened as though I were a drink-sodden knave?’

    Lord Langdon’s lips twisted in a sneer. ‘You are not even a gentleman. I judge you to be from low beginnings.’

    Granville was incensed at the insult and lost his head.

    ‘If I am of low beginnings, then so is Sophie,’ he blurted without thinking first. ‘She is my sister.’

    Lord Langdon stared at him.

    ‘That is not generally known,’ Granville said hastily, cursing himself for being caught out and revealing too much. ‘I would be obliged, Lord Langdon, that it remain so.’

    ‘Your sister?’ Lord Langdon’s tone was scathing. ‘What a lame excuse to avoid a beating. There is no family resemblance at all.’

    ‘Sophie is my half-sister,’ Granville murmured. ‘Her mother, my father’s second wife, was Italian. Sophie follows her.’

    ‘I see.’ Lord Langdon regarded him. ‘This is something that I will investigate,’ he said. ‘I have many friends, Granville, who will do this service for me. If you are lying, you are a dead man.’

Eleanor fled back into the ballroom. Her heart was beating so fast in terror she thought others must hear its pounding. Its beating was in her temples too and in her throat and she felt weak and faint.

    She glanced back over her shoulder. Was he following? She could not glimpse him. She hurried to the seat where she had been sitting with Lady Birkett, but none of the family was in sight.

    She made her way around the edge of the swirling dancers, seeking a place as far away from the archway as possible. Surely he would not accost her here in this throng.

    Her legs were almost giving way when she found a seat and sank down. Her heart was still fluttering and her hands trembled, as she gazed around fearfully. If only she could leave. But it was not possible without the coach.

    The weakness was increasing and she leaned her head back against the wall for a moment, trying to quell the turmoil he had caused.

    She became aware that someone stood before her. Affrighted, she opened her eyes and stared wildly. It took a moment for her fevered brain to recognise Ambrose Warburton standing there, with Sophie Vallentine on his arm.

    ‘Eleanor!’ Ambrose exclaimed. ‘You have danced yourself to a standstill, I think. You look quite worn.’

    She looked up at him speechless. If only she could tell him of her plight. But would he believe her?

    ‘Eleanor, I want to introduce you to Mrs Sophie Vallentine, a dear friend of mine,’ Ambrose continued. ‘Sophie, this is Miss Eleanor Wellesley.’

    Eleanor struggled to her feet for the introduction.

    ‘Wellesley!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘Why, that is a name seen so often in the broadsheets these days. Tell me, are you in any way related to Sir Edward Wellesley who was so foully murdered in the Phoenix Club last year?’

    Eleanor felt the room spin.

    ‘He was my father,’ she murmured, and then fainted.

There was an acrid smell in her nostrils and in her throat that burned, and she struggled against it.

    ‘She’s coming to,’ a voice said. ‘I’ll fetch some brandy.’

    Eleanor opened her eyes with difficulty. She seemed to be reclining on a chaise longue and the room was unfamiliar.

    She gazed up at the head that was bending over her.

    ‘Grand sakes! Eleanor,’ Lady Susan said irritably. ‘Whatever has overcome you?’

    ‘She ate nothing earlier,’ Cecilie said, craning over her too. ‘That’s the trouble.’

    ‘You should have had some of that duck, Eleanor,’ Dorothea said. ‘It was delicious.’

    ‘Where am I?’

    ‘In an upstairs sitting room,’ Lady Susan said.

    ‘Uncle Ambrose carried you up here,’ Cecilie told her. ‘You fainted into his arms.’

    ‘Oh, no!’

    Lady Susan sniffed. ‘At least you got him away from that dreadful woman.’

    ‘Uncle Ambrose is bringing you some brandy.’

    Eleanor lifted a hand in protest. ‘I could never touch it.’

    ‘I think you must, Eleanor,’ Lady Susan said firmly. ‘We will be departing this house shortly. I’ve had quite enough of Mrs Vallentine.’

    Ambrose Warburton entered the room with a small glass in hand.

    ‘Ladies! Do not crowd her so!’ he exclaimed. ‘She must rest.’

    Lady Susan and the girls retreated a step or two. He came forward and to Eleanor’s astonishment, seated himself at the end of the chaise longue near her feet. He held the glass out to her.

    ‘At least take a sip,’ Lady Susan said. ‘It will fortify you.’

    Eleanor thought it more likely to make her vomit, but dutifully she took the glass and raised it to her lips. She had never sampled any form of liquor before and the tiny sip she took burned her throat making her cough.

    ‘Eleanor,’ Ambrose began when her coughing fit was over. ‘You see before you a man who is selfish and empty-headed. A man who is remiss and is deeply remorseful that I have not carried out my intention at Christmas.’

    Eleanor swallowed, confused at his words and tone.

    ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

    ‘Last year my sister mentioned your name was Wellesley, and I wished to know your family history. I fully intended to follow it through, but shallow man that I am, I overlooked it.’

    ‘I do remember you mentioning a debt,’ Eleanor said boldly. ‘But then I forgot it.’

    ‘The debt I owe is to your brother, Henry. He saved my life in Spain. I meant to renew my friendship with him after the hostilities, but sadly I learned he had been killed in action.’

    Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes and she could not prevent them. ‘I loved my brother so,’ she said simply.

    ‘And now your father is dead, too, and you are alone in the world and destitute,’ Ambrose said solemnly. ‘I can remedy this. I will make you a yearly allowance so that you may live according to your station as a baronet’s daughter.’

    Eleanor was flabbergasted and a little irked. ‘Sir, I cannot allow that. I am not related to you.  It...it would not seem proper.’

    ‘Nonsense, Eleanor!’ Lady Susan opined strongly. ‘Ambrose’s reasons are pure. Society will see that. You must accept his offer. Lord Birkett will insist upon it.’