Page 42 of A Sham Engagement

Why had she felt like that? For the first time in her life that she could remember? Try as she might, she couldn’t work it out. A dim memory of a time when she’d been so small only one thing had stuck in her mind wriggled into her head. Of being held tight by someone, pressed against them much as Jack had pressed her against his chest. Had it been Mama? No, Mama always had such a scent of roses about her, a scent that Elenora could distinguish even at a distance. The various scents of different people had been something she’d noticed and classified them by all her life. And whoever had held her like that had smelled of carbolic soap.

She thought of Jack’s smell and her heart did a little inadvertent flip. He smelled… nice. She had no other word for it. Or did she. He smelled… comforting. No, that wasn’t it. He smelled… attractive. She drew a sharp breath. Yes, that was it, he smelled of something wildly attractive. Something that she wanted wrapped tight around her as she’d never wanted anything before.

Good heavens. She sat bolt upright in bed. Could it be that it wasn’t just his smell she found attractive? And his strong arms holding her tight and secure? No, no, no. She wasn’t about to go down this road. She was imagining all of this. It wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t think about him anymore.

She lay down again. But sleep had deserted her for good now. If it had ever been about to take her, that was. All she could see inside her head was Jack’s handsome face, smiling down at her with his interested, yet indulgent expression on his face. Could it be that he liked her too? No, it couldn’t. He’d said himself that he didn’t want to marry, and his silly friend Dugdale had said as much as well—so surprised that Jack had become engaged. That was it, of course. He found her odd, as everyone did, and was amused by the frankness everybody else she knew disliked. And because of that, he was being kind to her. She must banish thoughts of the possibility of him liking her from her head. Neither of them were interested in marriage, and this engagement would end when the season did.

She turned over in bed. This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Sixteen

After his disturbed night, Jack began the following day with every intention of steering well clear of Arlington Street and the intriguing Miss Wetherby. However, by the afternoon, this resolve had softened and he found his feet taking him there all by themselves when he’d really been intending to visit White’s.

He knocked on the door and was admitted by Hemmings. “I’m afraid Lady Dandridge is not at home, my lord,” he said in reply to Jack’s initial enquiry.

Jack’s spirits rose a notch. It would be nice to see Elenora alone without her chaperone’s constant attendance. “Then perhaps you could let Miss Wetherby know that I have called?”

Hemmings showed Jack into the empty drawing room, and departed on his mission to find Miss Wetherby.

Impatient and fidgety, Jack wandered over to the window. Arlington Street, being a lesser thoroughfare, was not nearly so busy as Portland Place. A few gentlemen walking, canes swinging and a jaunty air about them, a woman selling some out of season red roses—he could have bought some for Elenora had he not been so preoccupied when he passed the seller. And standing only half visible on the corner of the street, his pipe smoke rising skywards, a man who could be the spitting image of the one he’d seen in the shadows last night.

In fact, he felt almost sure it was the exact same man he’d seen last night outside his own house. Or maybe he was getting paranoid due to lack of sleep. If he thought about it sensibly, London abounded with men propping up walls and smoking pipes. Most of them… well, a good number of them at any rate… probably for no nefarious reason whatsoever. And this man was probably nothing to do with last night’s man and was one of the many innocent individuals abroad.

However… he glanced back toward the door. If he ran downstairs now, he might be able to catch the fellow and demand of him what he was doing following him around. That wasn’t the behavior of a regular burglar, surely, or even a would-be pickpocket. They spotted their mark, did their work, and were gone before the mark even noticed. But if he did that, what would Elenora think if she came in here and found him gone?

He turned back to the window. The man had vanished. Well, that absolved him from precipitous action, at any rate, and probably indicated that his presence in Arlington Street was just by chance.

He rubbed his eyes. Had he imagined him there after last night? Was thinking about Elenora sending him mad? No, the man couldn’t have been the same man as last night.

The door opened and the object of his thoughts came bouncing in. Elenora, that was, not the mysterious watching man. She appeared to be as full of vital life as if she’d not been out until all hours this morning and then pleaded a megrim in order to return home.

“Jack!”

At least she sounded pleased to see him. And she looked it, too. Which must mean she truly was, as she couldn’t lie.

Putting thoughts of the strange man out of his head, Jack strode across the room to meet her, his hands held out.

She ground to a halt, eyes fixed on his hands, and too late he remembered how little she liked to be touched. Back to square one on that front.

He let his hands drop. “I’m sorry.”

She drew her bottom lip in under her teeth and gave herself a little shake. “That is quite all right. I’m not offended at all. I know it takes people a long time to accustom themselves to my quirks.”

“I wouldn’t say it was just a quirk.” He put his hands behind his back lest they stray toward her again, as a longing to feel her hands in his had arisen. “Tell me, Elenora, if you can, why it is you are so against being touched? It’s something I would give anything to understand.”

She frowned, her own hands laced together in front of her, and looked down. “In truth, my lord, I couldn’t tell you, but I’ve always been like this. I believe it’s all a part of my makeup and I can do nothing to change it.”

He smiled at her. “Don’t call me ‘my lord,’ Elenora, when you’ve been calling me Jack these last few days. We are engaged, after all.”

She looked up, her eyes alive with sudden mischief. “And I rather doubt we should be alone together despite our engagement, but I assured Agatha, she’s my maid, that I didn’t need her as a stand in chaperone while my aunt is absent. Nor Petunia, who is at the piano in the music room in a temper again.” She chuckled. “I think that had my aunt known you would call, she would not have gone out visiting herself. She wanted me to accompany her, but I made the excuse of my megrim to stay in bed, then got up the moment she’d departed. Days are too short as it is to languish idle in bed.”

The rather pleasing image of Elenora in her nightgown tucked up in bed leapt into Jack’s head, and warmth rose to his cheeks. What was this sudden aversion to thinking improper thoughts about a young lady? He’d never had this trouble before. In fact, he’d always found it entertaining. “I’m grateful your aunt has gone out, and that you deem me safe enough to talk to unchaperoned. I had hoped for a few minutes alone with you, if I’m honest. We are, after all, meant to be having a long engagement so we can get to know one another better.”

Her cheeks colored, and, as if to distract him from this, she flounced past him and settled herself on the chaise longue, hands folded demurely in her lap, only the continual lacing of her fingers betraying her lack of equilibrium. Might it, dare he hope, be due to his presence? Or was it all a part of her character… her quirks?

He came and sat beside her. It would have been more proper to have taken one of the other seats, but he wanted to be close to her, and the fact that she’d chosen a seat with space for two made him want to believe she wanted him there.

She shuffled away from him a fraction.