From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower

Jack turned back to the darkened carriage. Eloise was leaning forwards, her face pale and beautiful in the dim light.

‘I am sorry you were injured,’ she said. ‘And I thank you, truly, for your concern.’

He grasped her outstretched hands, felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his own before she gently pulled free, the carriage door was closed and the carriage rolled off into the night.

Eloise stirred restlessly. Such dreams had disturbed her sleep: menacing letters, walking alone across a lonely heath, bags of guineas. An encounter with Major Jack Clifton. She sat up. That was no dream. As the reality crowded in upon her she put her hands to her head. She had left a packet containing a hundred guineas on Hampstead Heath. The money had gone, and the diary had not been returned. She gave a little shiver as she thought of the damage that could be done if ever its contents were made known. On top of all that she had been obliged to explain something of her plight to Jack Clifton. For a moment she forgot her own worries to wonder if his head was hurting him this morning—perhaps he had forgotten the night’s events. The thought occurred only to be dismissed. Jack Clifton had not been that badly injured; witness the way he had overpowered her.

Eloise allowed herself to dwell on that scene in the shepherd’s hut, Jack sitting on the floor, looking up at her with a devilish grin on his handsome face. And when she had knelt before him, fooled into concern for the cut on his head, he had not hesitated to seize her. She could still remember the sensation of being at his mercy, the shiver that had run through her when she looked up and saw the devils dancing in his eyes. It had not been fear, but excitement that had coursed through her veins, the thought of pitting herself against him, her wits against his strength. Angrily she gave herself a little shake.

‘Enough,’ she muttered, scrambling out of bed and tugging at the bell-pull. ‘He never thought highly of you, and after last night he thinks even less. You had best forget Major Clifton.’

But it seemed that was easier said than done. As she partook of her solitary breakfast she tried to put him out of her mind but it was almost as if she had conjured him up when Noyes came to announce that she had a visitor.

‘Major Clifton is here to see you, my lady. He is waiting for you in the morning room.’

For a single heartbeat she considered telling Noyes to deny her, but decided against it. After all, it was her servant who had attacked the major: the least she could do was to show a little concern.

‘Thank you, I will go to him directly.’ She rose, putting a hand up to her curls, and it took a conscious effort not to stop at the mirror to check her appearance before entering the morning room.

Major Clifton was standing by the window, staring out into the street. He seemed to fill the room, his tall figure and broad shoulders blocking the light, and when he turned she was disturbed to find she could not read the expression on his shadowed face. He bowed.

‘Lady Allyngham.’

She hovered by the door, wishing she had asked the butler to leave it open.

‘Good morning, Major. How is your head?’

‘Sore, but no lasting damage, I hope.’

‘I hope so, too.’ She gave him a tentative smile. ‘Won’t you sit down, sir?’

She indicated a chair and chose for herself a sofa on the far side of the room. To her consternation the major followed and sat down beside her. Heavens, would the man never do as he was bid? She sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead of her, intensely aware of him beside her, his thigh only inches away from her own. Her heightened senses detected the scent of citrus and spice: a scent she was beginning to associate with this man. She made a conscious effort to keep still: she thought wildly it would have been more comfortable sitting next to a wolf!

‘M-may I ask why you are here?’ she enquired, amazed that her voice sounded quite so normal.

‘I want to help you catch whoever is persecuting you.’

Her head came round at that.

‘Thank you, sir, but I do not need your help.’

‘Oh, I think you do. Who else is there to assist you? I presume the journal is your property, so perhaps you intend to enlist the services of a Bow Street Runner to retrieve it?’

‘That is impossible.’ She glared at him. ‘If you had not interfered last night the matter might well have been concluded.’

‘I doubt it. However, I do acknowledge that I am in some small way embroiled in this affair now…’

‘Nonsense! This is nothing to do with you.’

‘I would not call having my head split open nothing.’

‘I should have thought that would be a warning to you to stay away!’

His slow smile appeared, curving his lips and warming his eyes, so that she was obliged to stand up and move away or risk falling under the spell of his charm.

‘My friends would tell you that I can never resist a challenge, madam.’

‘And my friends would tell you that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

‘Quite clearly that is not true, for you are in serious trouble now, are you not?’ When she did not reply he said softly, ‘Perhaps you intend to enlist the help of Alex Mortimer—’

‘No! Mr Mortimer must know nothing of this.’

‘And why not? I thought he was a close friend of yours. A very close friend.’

His meaning unmistakable, Eloise turned away, flushing. She said in a low voice, ‘You know nothing about this. You do not understand.’

‘Oh, I understand only too well, madam,’ he said coldly. ‘This—journal you are so concerned about: I have no doubt it contains details of your affairs. Details that you do not wish even Mortimer to know.’

She gave a brittle laugh.

‘You are very wide of the mark, Major.’

‘Am I? Tell me, then, what it is in this book that is so terrible?’ She looked at him. There was no smile in his eyes now, only a stony determination. As if sensing her inner turmoil the hard look left his eyes. He said gently, ‘Will you not trust me?’

Eloise bit her lip. She wanted to trust him. She thought at that moment she would trust him with her life, but the secrets in the journal involved others, and she could not betray them. And if he should discover the truth, she thought miserably that he would look upon her with nothing but disgust. Unconsciously her fingers toyed with Tony’s heavy signet ring that she had taken to wearing on her right hand.

‘I cannot,’ she whispered. ‘Please do not ask it of me.’

She met his gaze, her heart sinking when she saw the stony look again on his face. It was no more than she expected, but it hurt her all the same.

Jack watched her in silence. The distress he saw in her every movement tore at him. He wanted to comfort her, but she was no innocent maid: she had told him quite plainly she did not need his protection. So why did he find it so difficult to leave her to her fate? He rose, disappointed, angry with himself for being so foolish. He had wanted her to confide in him, to tell him she was an innocent victim, but it was clear now that she could not do so. Better then to go now, to walk away and forget all about the woman.

‘Very well, madam. If that is all…’

‘I am very sorry,’ she murmured.

‘So, too, am I.’

A soft knock sounded upon the door and Noyes entered.

‘I beg your pardon, madam, but you asked me to bring any messages to you.’

He held out the tray bearing a single letter: she reached for it, hesitating as she recognised the untidy black scrawl.

Jack made no move to leave the room. Eloise had grown very pale and she picked up the letter as if it might burn her fingers.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘That will be all.’