Bedding Lord Ned (Duchess of Love 1) Read online

  He paled slightly, but his expression remained hard and determined. “You may be right, but that doesn’t change the fact that this sledding notion is fraught with danger. I forbid you to participate.”

  Anger spurted through her, but she forced herself to keep it out of her voice. Ned didn’t need to be shouted at. “You can’t forbid me. You aren’t my husband”—pray God her voice didn’t wobble on those words—“nor are you my brother or any relation whatsoever.” He opened his mouth as if to protest, but she kept going. “And even if you were, I would not allow you to tell me what to do. I can’t. I’m not that sort of person.” She swallowed. “I’m not like Cicely.”

  “Ellie—”

  “I know you mean well, Ned, but you can’t—and I can’t let you—live my life for me.”

  Ned’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. She thought for a moment he would grab her, maybe even shake her, but he didn’t. He nodded once. “Very well, I can see there’s no reasoning with you.”

  “Ned ...” She pressed her lips together. She had more to say on the subject, but it was painfully clear he wouldn’t listen, at least not now.

  He turned away to pick up the reticule. “To address my second reason for seeking you out this morning,” he said, his voice now carefully devoid of all emotion, “as you surmised, Reggie was busy again last night. I’m taking the other items he purloined down to the yellow salon, but this I wished to return directly to you. I suspect you might not have got it yesterday, though I did leave it outside your door.”

  “Ah.” Ellie stared with dread at the green and yellow purse.

  Ned shrugged. “I suppose Reggie must have seen it and taken it back.” He handed her the reticule. “Please put this downstairs when you’ve removed the, er, garment inside.”

  Damn it, Ned couldn’t have the red drawers. She’d hidden them in her clothes press, tucked away this time in a place that was impossible for Reggie to reach.

  Except it clearly hadn’t been impossible. There was a bit of red visible where the drawstrings didn’t pull tight. “No, I did get them yesterday. I thought I’d found a safe hiding place for them.”

  Ned grunted. “Obviously, you didn’t. I suggest you find a safer place today.” His face had a very odd expression—a mix of disgust, horror, and something else. “I don’t care to keep finding them in my room.”

  Chapter 10

  Be certain you can trust a man before you pursue him.

  —Venus’s Love Notes

  Ellie waited until the sound of Ned’s heels on the wooden floor had completely died away. He’d taken the staircase that was the most direct path to the bedroom floor; she wanted to be certain he was gone before she followed.

  “Oh, Ned,” she whispered. She leaned her head against the cool window again. He had no reason to feel guilty; there’d been nothing he could have done to save Cicely. Everyone knew that; even the high-priced London accoucheur he’d brought to Greycliffe to help Mrs. Lexton, the local midwife, had agreed. No one blamed him except himself—well, and perhaps Cicely’s mother and Percy. But surely even they’d realized, once their grief had lessened, that Cicely’s death was simply a tragic accident. Sometimes the cord got wrapped around a baby’s neck; sometimes a mother hemorrhaged.

  There were many risks a woman took to have a child, but women were willing to take them. Ellie would be willing, especially to have Ned’s baby.

  She straightened, stepping away from the window. But the one risk she wouldn’t take any longer was the risk of losing herself. She’d spent too many years already trying to be someone she wasn’t—trying to be Cicely—to please Ned. Jack was right: she’d turned into a meek, boring, stick-in-the-mud.

  But she wasn’t reckless and wild, either—or uncaring. She wouldn’t sled today even if the duchess did, not because Ned had ordered her not to, but because she loved him.

  She held her breath and listened. Silence. He must be gone now. She could hurry down the stairs and into her room without anyone seeing her. It was still early; likely no one else was up besides the servants. And this time she’d hide the blasted drawers in a place she was certain Reggie couldn’t find them.

  She was at the top of the stairs when she heard voices.

  “I can’t believe I turned down an invitation to Hallington’s party to come to this insipid gathering. Treasure hunts for paper hearts, charades—good God!”

  That was Lady Heldon. She must be standing at the bottom of the stairs two flights down.

  “And Pelthurst was going to be at Hallington’s, wasn’t he?”

  Ophelia. What if this hideous reticule belonged to her or Lady Heldon? Ellie couldn’t very well return it with the damning red drawers inside, but she had no place to hide them. They were too large to fit in her pocket, and they were so red.

  She would have to go round by the other stairs, but those would deposit her right outside the breakfast room. If Lady Heldon and Ophelia were already awake, chances were good some of the other guests were up as well. She checked her watch.

  Heavens! She and Ned must have spoken longer than she’d thought. It was no longer early—almost everyone must be stirring. She definitely couldn’t go by way of the breakfast room. What if she ran into Mr. Cox or Mr. Humphrey?

  “Yes, he was, and I can assure you I wouldn’t have slept alone last night if I’d been there instead of here,” Lady Heldon said. Her voice took on an almost wistful quality. “Pelthurst can be very entertaining—quite inventive, don’t you know—and Hallington himself had hinted he might like to join us. I don’t often get the opportunity to have two gentlemen in my bed at the same time.”

  Two gentlemen? Lady Heldon didn’t sound as if she meant the three of them would be sleeping, but ... no, it wasn’t possible ... was it?

  And why would anyone wish to be part of such a crowd?

  “You were happy enough to have the chance to meet—and seduce—the elusive Marquis of Ashton when I suggested it,” Percy said.

  What?! Shock, followed immediately by scalding anger, flooded Ellie. She’d always thought Percy had had a special fondness for Jess. Why the hell would he try to tempt Ash to betray his marriage vows?

  She dearly wished she had something far heavier than this ugly reticule to drop on the group below her.

  “I had no idea how elusive he would be when I charmed the duchess into inviting me.” Lady Heldon made a noise of disgust. “He must be a sodomite.”

  Something very heavy.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Miranda.” Percy sounded annoyed—and nearer.

  Oh, dear. She looked over the banister—

  And saw their heads far too close below her. Zounds, they were halfway up the first flight; they would reach the landing, turn, and see her in just a few moments. She had to hide. But where? The gallery was bare of any good—ah, now she remembered. The hidey holes. There was one nearby between the statue of Diana and the painting of the second duke’s hunting hounds.

  One of Ned’s ancestors had not wished to see his servants, so he’d had small spaces built into the walls for them to duck into when they saw him approaching. She and Ned and the others had used them to play hide and seek when they were children. A few led to narrow staircases; unfortunately this one didn’t, but all she needed was temporary concealment. It must still be here. She’d have heard if the duke had got rid of them.

  She rushed to the spot, her fingers scrambling over the wall, searching for a small indentation—barely a dimple—in its surface.

  “I’m not being ridiculous,” Lady Heldon said. “Why else would Ashton show absolutely no interest in me?”

  “Perhaps because he has a more discriminating taste in women,” Ophelia said a little waspishly.

  Lady Heldon laughed. “Surely you’re jesting.”

  “No, I’m not. Not all the males in London are panting after you, Miranda.”

  Lady Heldon sniffed. “Most are, and those who aren’t at least look. Ashton barely glanced at me. Think about it, Ophelia.�
�� She sounded slightly out of breath. She—and so Ophelia and Percy—paused in their ascent, giving Ellie a few more precious seconds to search for the door latch.

  “It would explain his odd marriage—non-marriage, really—and his hiding himself away in the country. Though I admit I’m surprised there’ve been no rumors, but then I imagine the duke and duchess have used their influence to quash any tittle-tattle.”

  Where the hell was the spot that would open the door? Ellie swept her hands lower. Ah, of course! She’d been a child when she’d last hidden here, so the indentation was lower than she remembered. She found it and pressed.

  The door opened soundlessly. Thank God! She darted inside.

  “I really think it too bad of you, Percy, to persuade me to come here when you knew the marquis wasn’t at all interested in what I have to offer.” Lady Heldon had started climbing again. “You should try to seduce him yourself.”

  Percy’s voice was louder, too; they must have made the turn and were ascending the last flight. “I told you, Ash is not a sodomite. That predilection is hard to hide. Someone would have seen or heard something, and, believe me, I’ve asked everyone—discreetly, of course. I’ve always come up empty.”

  Ellie tugged the door shut and exhaled. She was finally safe, and not a moment too soon. She heard steps echo in the gallery. They were coming closer ...

  They stopped right outside her hiding place.

  “Keep trying, Miranda,” Percy said. “I know you’ll succeed. You’re beautiful, and you certainly know how to tempt a man. You’ll bring Ash around.”

  “I don’t know. It’s especially difficult with his parents as my host and hostess. I do have some scruples.”

  Ophelia laughed. “You mean you don’t want the duchess, and thus everyone else in society, to give you the cut direct.”

  “Yes, that’s part of it.”

  It was very cramped in the wall, far more cramped than Ellie remembered. Of course she’d been much smaller the last time she’d been in here.

  “I told you this would work better if we were somewhere—anywhere—other than Greycliffe, Percy,” Lady Heldon said.

  “Ash never goes anywhere but Greycliffe. It had to be here.”

  “Very well. There’s nothing to be done about it now in any event. You just better be sure to get me that invitation to the Humley ball, Percy, in exchange for all my troubles. I was mortified at being excluded last year.”

  “I will.”

  Something crawled over Ellie’s wrist. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound and swatted at it with the reticule. She didn’t mind bugs usually, but bugs she couldn’t see were definitely disconcerting.

  “I don’t know why old Lady Humley dislikes me so.”

  “Perhaps because you slept with her husband.” That was Ophelia.

  Lady Heldon snorted. “She should thank me for giving her some relief from Humley’s attentions. The man was a complete disappointment—all looks and no skill. I think our encounter was over in less than three minutes.”

  “The problem was likely that you let everyone know how inept he was,” Percy said.

  “I only whispered a word in one or two ears. It’s my duty to warn other women, don’t you think?”

  “What matters is what Lady Humley thinks,” Ophelia said. “She did not take kindly to being mocked in Mr. Rowlandson’s and Mr. Cruikshank’s and all the other caricaturists’ prints.”

  “She is oversensitive. It’s not as if she were at fault. Everyone knows she’s far too straitlaced to have bedded him before she’d wedded him.”

  Oh, Zeus, now Ellie had to sneeze. She pressed her hand firmly against her nose. If she could hear the conversation on the other side of the wall, Percy and the women would hear her. And Percy had played hide and seek here as a child; he’d guess at once where the sound had come from.

  “You’re certain you can get me that invitation, Percy?” Lady Heldon said. “Because if you think you can’t, I shall plan to be on my way as soon as the roads are passable. If I leave within a day or two, I should be able to catch the end of Hallington’s party.”

  “I said I would get you the invitation.”

  “I do hope so. I’d hate to see the London caricaturists draw unflattering sketches of you or the Marquis of Ashton, you know.” Lady Heldon paused, and Ellie could almost picture her slow smile. “Everyone in London is so interested in Lord Ashton. He is such a mystery.”

  “You’ll have your invitation.”

  “Splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me? This gallery is giving me the headache. I’ve never seen so many paintings of sour-looking people in my life.”

  Ellie heard one set of footsteps move away. With luck, Ophelia and Percy would leave, too.

  Her luck was in short supply this morning.

  “How can you promise Miranda that invitation, Percy? You know both Humley and Lady Humley would ride naked down Piccadilly before they’d let her into their house.” Ophelia was almost hissing.

  “I’ll get it. I have my sources.”

  “I can’t imagine who they can be. And you know Miranda will make good on her threat.”

  Percy chuckled, though he didn’t sound especially amused. “I hadn’t thought to inflict the artists on Ash, but that might be a very good idea.”

  “Are you insane?” Ophelia’s voice rose. “If you don’t get Miranda that invitation, Ash won’t be the one figuring most prominently in the artists’ drawings. It will be you and quite possibly me.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  “Now, don’t worry, Ophelia. I have everything under control.”

  “You do? Who is going to get you the invitation?”

  Another sneeze threatened Ellie. She squeezed her lips together and pinched her nose. Oh! Her head felt as if it was going to explode.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can’t tell me because you don’t know.”

  “That’s not true. I’m just not at liberty to mention a name.”

  There was a pause, and Ellie again hoped they’d leave. Her nose was twitching; this hiding place was dangerously dusty.

  “Oh, Percy.” Ophelia sounded almost despairing. “Why are you trying to cause problems for Ash? Why do you care about him so much?”

  Percy laughed, but there was a thread of something dark in the sound. “I don’t care about Ash.”

  “You do. Sometimes I think he’s all you care about.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Then tell me this—are you the reason he and his wife are estranged?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence ... into which Ellie sneezed.

  “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Percy said. Oh, damn. He must have heard her.

  “It sounded like someone sneezed.”

  Ellie could almost picture Percy looking around the empty gallery. “Who could have sneezed, Ophelia? There’s no one here but us. You must have imagined it.”

  Ophelia sounded angry. “All right, perhaps I didn’t hear anything. I certainly didn’t hear your answer to my question.”

  “You must definitely rein in your imagination, my dear. How could I have anything to do with Ash’s marital woes? He and his wife have not lived together for years. I’m as innocent as an angel.”

  “A fallen angel, perhaps.” Ophelia’s voice grew tighter. “But even if you were to blame, Percy, I could forgive that. It’s your current obsession with ruining Ash that I can’t forgive.”

  Percy made a comforting sort of noise. “You are merely overwrought from our unpleasant conversation with Miranda. Go have a calming pot of tea. You’ll feel much better.”

  Ellie held her breath. Were they finally leaving?

  “All right”—Ophelia’s voice was definitely farther away—“but don’t think I’ll let this matter drop.”

  “You must do as you see fit, my dear.”

  Ellie waited, giving them time to make their way down the stairs. Had Percy somehow caused the rift between Ash
and Jess? She couldn’t remember anything he’d done, though she’d admit she’d always paid far more attention to Ned than to Percy or Ash back then.

  She pressed her ear against the door. Not a sound, thank God. They must be gone. She certainly was more than ready to get out of this dark, narrow space. If she remembered correctly, there was a lever ... yes, there it was.

  She pulled it down and the door swung blessedly open—right into Percy’s angry gaze.

  Ned sat alone in the breakfast room and stared down at the piles of ham and kidneys and kippers and blood pudding in front of him. Ugh. How the hell had all this food appeared?

  He’d selected it from the sideboard, of course. Idiot. He pushed his plate away and took a gulp of coffee.

  Hell! The hot liquid scalded his mouth. He spat it out and slammed the cup down on the table, sloshing hot coffee over his fingers.

  Could this day get any worse? If only he could go back to bed and start over.

  He mopped his fingers with his napkin. He’d definitely mishandled that scene in the gallery with Ellie. He’d known it at the time, but had been powerless to stop himself—which was totally out of character. He was always in control, always measured, calm, and rational.

  Ha! He’d been everything but those things with Ellie. And somehow he’d even mentioned Cicely and the baby. Good God, he’d almost cried.

  It had been four damn years. He should be over it. Ellie must think him a complete milksop.

  He wadded his napkin up in a tight ball. But she’d made him so bloody angry. Just thinking about their conversation—and her obstinacy—caused his head to throb again.

  He wasn’t asking for anything outrageous. He only wanted to keep her safe, to prevent her from breaking her neck or falling into the pond and freezing to death. Why wouldn’t she listen to reason?

  He felt so damn helpless.

  He rubbed his forehead. Still, angry or not, he should never have been so high-handed with her. Even Cicely might have balked at his manner—well, no, not Cicely. Cicely had always looked to him for support and guidance, the only exception being in her dealings with Percy. Her dependence on him had been ...