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Chapter Nine
The days passed in a delightful blur for James as he and Eliza began their affair in earnest. Nearly every night, he managed to sneak in through her back study door, never being able to stay away for too long. Sometimes, they didn’t even have sex, merely lounging together in the warmth of her bedchamber fireplace and recounting their respective days, hers often filled to the brim with the frustrations of event planning. Most might find such a topic droll, particularly when more fun activities could be afoot, but he was more than content to lean back and gently grasp her soft hand as she ranted about one artisan or another, her voice lulling him into a sense of utter contentment. James, for his part, hadn’t much to share aside from the antics of his increasingly irascible mother, whom had still not forgiven him over turning out Wardely so publicly. The woman at least had the decency to stop seeing the baron, though James was unsure if that was entirely consensual on her part. No doubt the bounder had moved on to greener pastures. He had the Berrington manor already, so James wondered why Wardely had continued to stay by his mother’s side. But such worries were far from his mind these days thanks to the distracting and incredibly soothing presence of Eliza in his life. It was hard to part from her every morning, and he often tallied for far too long in his reluctance to leave. Today was no exception, as he stood on the threshold of the study door at far too late an hour.
“Be careful going home,” she said with a worried glance at the brightening sky. It must have been nearly six o’clock, and he chastised himself for being so careless.
“I will.” Knowing he had mere minutes before the neighborhood would stir with servants going about their morning, James gave her a quick peck on the lips before donning his hat and turning to leave.
Before he took a step, her hand shot out to grasp his wrist. “Come make a proper call soon. I enjoy seeing you during the day.”
“I came for tea only a few days ago, darling. People will talk if I come again so soon.” He loathed the words, along with the disappointment shining in her eyes, but his concern for her reputation still held fast regardless of the fact that they had given in to their desires. The ball was to happen within the month, and the last thing she needed was a scandal breaking out beforehand.
She sighed, as if reading his thoughts. “Yes. You are right.” The small pout on her lips was most endearing, and he couldn’t resist one last playful kiss. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pressed against his person.
He broke off with a breathless laugh, lest things get too heated. “Alright, now. I must be going.”
“Just because you cannot make a daytime call does not mean I won’t be expecting you tonight,” she quietly called at his back as he trotted down the path to the gate.
He only responded with a chipper wave, chuckling under his breath at the sound of her huff as she closed the door. He boosted himself up the garden wall and had one leg swung over the top before an icy voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Watch yourself, Dalton.”
Still straddling the wall, James blinked and peered into the alley. A man stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall of the opposite house. Unease roiled in his belly as the figure stepped forward to reveal a finely dressed gentleman. Though appearing around James’s age, the man’s brown hair was dull and his beady eyes rimmed in red. Having lived with his own father, James knew the look of dissipation when he saw it and didn’t like the notion of such a man loitering behind Eliza’s house at such an hour. “May I help you?”
The mystery man sneered. “You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”
Well, he couldn’t very well deny the accusation after being caught straddling the lady’s garden wall at the crack of dawn, but he didn’t have to admit to it either. “Fucking who?”
But this seemed to only enrage him further. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been sniffing around Eliza’s skirts almost from the moment you returned to London.”
Bristling at the familiar, almost possessive ease with which the man used Eliza’s name, James swung his other leg over and landed on the cobblestone, fixing his assailant with a hard stare. “And you are?”
“The Earl of Aircourt.” The man crossed his arms and raised his chin, as if that revelation was meant to have some catastrophic effect on him.
As it was, James only felt some relief that he hadn’t been caught by someone more dangerous. Aircourt was a famous, or rather infamous, lord amongst the fast set James had been forced to mingle with in his quest for funds two years ago. A liar and a cheat, the earl was almost like a younger version of James’s sire, tattered reputation included. He doubted anyone would take the man for his word, especially against a paragon like Eliza. He rose an eyebrow, feeling far more confident of the situation. “Ah, the nephew that she always complains to me about, are you?”
“She’s mine, Dalton. Go find another quarry for your empty pockets,” Aircourt hissed.
“Quarry?” He swallowed his indignation at the thought. It was only natural that Aircourt assumed him a fortune hunter hoping to seduce a hapless, wealthy widow into matrimony. The Ton would likely draw the same conclusion, after all. But Eliza was far from stupid, and James knew she would never marry someone with as much baggage as himself. “I have no interest in marriage, and neither does Eliza.” The words spilled from him with ease, and yet some mysterious pinprick of sadness prodded him at their utterance. But now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts, if ever.
“I don’t believe you.”
James shrugged. “That’s not my problem, now is it? You think she’s going to marry you instead?” He made sure to inject the proper amount of mockery in his tone at the ridiculous suggestion, for ridiculous it was. Eliza had, rather exasperatingly, regaled him of Aircourt’s pathetically veiled attempts to convince her to marry him. He’d found it amusing at the time. Now that the man had been caught loitering around her home at the crack of dawn? Not so much. He prowled forward with a glare, forcing Aircourt to take several steps back. “Do us a favor, Aircourt, and slink back to whatever hovel you came from.”
“I do what I please,” he spat back.
“Eliza is good friends with the Dowager Countess of Clifton, you know. I’m sure the woman would be most distressed to find out that an unscrupulous roue has been making designs on her dear friend. Surely, she’d request Lord Clifton’s aid on the matter.”
The mention of Arthur Tremore, powerful owner of London’s largest gambling den with even more powerful friends, was enough to drain the gusto from Aircourt’s face. From the look of his deteriorating pallor, James wouldn’t be surprised if he owed Clifton a good amount of money. It seemed nearly every aristocratic gambler did, and James had been included in that number once before Amberwood had called in a favor on his behalf. He doubted Aircourt would receive a similar mercy. Satisfied that he’d made his point, James turned from the man and began making his way down the alley.
“This isn’t over,” Aircourt growled from the distance.
“We shall see,” he replied blithely before turning a corner and blessedly out of the bastard’s line of sight.
**
“So?”
Eliza looked up from her teacake to see Candice eyeing her with a knowing grin. She rose an eyebrow, wondering what the woman was about. “So?”
