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“I’ve been listening for some time now,” she said calmly. “The physician arrived almost immediately after you two left. He said she appears to have taken too much laudanum, but that she should be well enough by morning. Sorin, I cannot thank you enough for your help. There is no possible way to express my gratitude to you and Lord Marston for taking care of this matter so discreetly.”
Entering the room, she came and laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Charles, if you call him out, it will not only result in you having to risk your life, but it will cause a terrible scandal that will ruin Eleanor. And before you object, understand that it will ruin her, no matter the outcome. In this case, the reality of her innocence does not matter in the face of what people will think. If all remains quiet, we should leave it and be thankful.”
Charles’s face fell. “I suppose you must be right—but it sits not well with me at all!” He smacked a fist into his palm. “The blackguard deserves a good thrashing at the very least!”
“We will deal with this quietly,” she insisted, shaking her head. “Tomorrow morning, you will speak with Yarborough in private and warn him that any further offense will result in serious consequences for his entire family. I’ll leave it to you gentlemen to determine what that will entail in the event he is foolish enough not to comply.”
Sorin looked at Charles. “I think it’s time I visited Bow Street again.” He would see Stafford first thing in the morning. And this time, he wouldn’t come back empty-handed.
Chapter Eighteen
Eleanor’s eyes felt like someone had poured sand under the lids and her head ached with a dull throb that matched the beating of her heart. Certain other parts throbbed, too, she noted—but in a more frustratingly pleasant sort of way. She turned over, unwilling to let go of the delicious dream.
“Good. You’re awake.”
Too lethargic to jump in surprise, Eleanor merely groaned in protest and rolled over to peer at Rowena. “I feel terrible,” she croaked. Her mouth was ash dry. “May I have some water?” She closed her eyes and lay back again, partly to ease her pounding head and partly to try and recapture a little more of that dream before it dissolved completely—in it, Sorin had been kissing her, touching her. The cool rim of a cup against her lips shattered the final remnants of that lovely vision.
Damn.
“Not too much at first,” cautioned Rowena, pulling it away before she could gulp down any more. “You’ve had a bad turn.”
Confusion set in as she looked around. “It’s morning,” she said, blinking. She’d been at the Cleveland ball… “How did I get here?”
Rowena turned away, but not before Eleanor saw a black look cross her features. “What do you remember of last night?”
Eleanor tried to concentrate and found it hard to do for the lingering fog in her mind. “I danced with Lord Marston, and then I saw…” She stopped. She’d been about to say she saw Sorin flirting with that dark-haired witch, Eugenia. Pain tore at her heart. Get over it and move on… She took a steadying breath. “I went to the terrace with Sir Yarborough to speak with him privately. I was going to explain to him the futility of his continued pursuit.”
Rowena’s gaze sharpened. “And?”
“He seemed to receive my refusal quite w—” She frowned as a muddled memory surfaced. An ugly one. “No, wait. He was…” She struggled to bring it back, but all she could recall were flashes of his snarling face and her own vague feelings of anger and disgust. And fear. “He was wroth with me. And I was angry with him. I—”
“He drugged you,” interrupted Rowena, her voice hard. “According to the physician that attended you last night, he used laudanum. Quite a lot of it.”
Eleanor flinched as, all at once, every nerve in her body sprang wide awake. She fought down a sudden urge to vomit. “The punch! He offered me champagne at first, but I refused. I sent him to fetch me some punch instead. It tasted bitter—I thought they’d forgotten to sweeten it.” Horrified, she covered her mouth with her hands. “What…did anything h—happen?” she asked weakly, afraid to hear.
“Nothing more than a kiss, thank God,” answered Rowena, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “Lord Marston said he found you with Yarborough, just as you collapsed. Yarborough told him you’d fainted, but our friend quickly realized it was a lie and got you safely away. Sorin brought you here in his carriage and called for a physician while Lord Marston came to tell us you’d taken ill.”
“Did anyone see me?” Was all of London abuzz this morning with the juicy tale of her disgrace?
Her guardian’s pause made her squirm with apprehension.
Rowena met her eyes. “According t
o Lord Marston, there was a couple coming up from the garden about the same time you fainted. We don’t know who they are or how much they saw. Only two of the Clevelands’ servants know you left the ball early and they were told you’d taken ill.”
Eleanor sagged against the pillows, tears stinging her sore eyes. Rage washed everything in red, rage the likes of which she’d never known could exist within her. “If I ever see Donald Yarborough again, I’ll kill him.”
Reaching out, Rowena clasped her hand. “We both know that cannot happen, but if you wish, you may have Charles bring charges against him on your behalf. As your guardian and as a peer of the realm, he has that right. If you testify along with Lord Marston and the physician who examined you last night, there is little doubt that Yarborough will be thrown in prison. However, such a course would likely result in a monumental scandal, one you might not survive with your reputation intact, no matter your innocence.”
Breathing slowly, Eleanor steadied her racing heart. “If I do, he’ll only refute my accusations and drag my name through the sewer,” she said flatly. “And yours, as well. Even if he loses, even if he is thrown in prison to rot forever, he will still win.” Yarborough’s ugly words resurfaced through the fog. “He resents my having laid him low when we were children and would relish the thought of returning the favor.”
“I concur. But we will support you, whatever your decision. If you choose not to involve the magistrate, however, Charles is prepared to speak with him privately.”
“I will not allow Charles to call him out,” Eleanor said at once, terrified at the prospect.
“No, nor will I,” agreed Rowena with a vehement shake of her head. “But there are other methods of persuasion that may be brought to bear, if the threat of being dragged before the magistrate is not enough to deter him.”
Her head hurt. And her heart, as well. It should never have come to this. “As long as he can promise me that it won’t result in a duel, I would have Charles address him privately.”
