To Trust a Rogue (The Heart of a Duke #8)(65)

“I do love to ride, my lord.” Lady Marianne peered at him through thick, smoky lashes. “Perhaps we might one day have the pleasure of riding…together.”

He choked, but by his sister’s wide, innocent smile, she’d failed to note the young woman’s veiled innuendo. By the tense set to Eleanor’s shoulders, however, the more experienced widow detected the other lady’s interest—and if the fury spitting in her eyes was any indication, she was anything but pleased with the woman’s attentions.

Why would Eleanor be jealous? Why, unless she still felt something for him? A lightness filled his chest at the evidence of Eleanor’s interest.

“Do you enjoy riding, Mrs. Collins?” Lady Marianne asked Eleanor.

She smoothed her palms over the front of her skirts. “I…” She was afraid of horses. Another piece that made Eleanor Elaine the woman she was. “Do not…” she finished.

Lizzie slipped her arm in Marcus’. “I would speak to you a moment, brother. There is a favor I would put to you.”

He swallowed a curse as his sister steered him away. “Can it not wait, Lizzie?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You’ve been unpardonably rude.”

Marcus cocked his head.

Lizzie pointed her eyes at the sky. “To Mar…” At his narrowed eyes, his sister coughed into her hand. “That is, to myself.”

Bloody hell. From over the top of her head, he caught Eleanor’s gaze. She gave him a slight nod and smile, and then turned her focus to something Lady Marianne said.

“…the opera. And it would be so splendid. Don’t you agree?”

He swung his attention back to Lizzie and blinked furiously. What was she on about?

Lizzie tapped a finger against his lapel. “The opera. I simply wish you to accompany me to the opera.”

He’d learned long ago to be wary of statements from Lizzie that began with “I simply wish…” Marcus folded his arms and winged an eyebrow up. “What else?”

She forced a smile. “You are always so suspicious, Marcus.” She trilled a laugh that made him wince. “That is all.” In a weak attempt at nonchalance, she patted her curls. He turned and started back for Eleanor when Lizzie called out. “Oh, and Marianne will be joining us.”

Marcus resisted the urge to drag his hands over his face. Who would have imagined his sister would have proven to be a more meddling matchmaker than his blasted mother?



“I do not like you, Mrs. Collins.”

Eleanor started. She opened her mouth, but no words came out for the flawlessly perfect, exotic beauty. In fact, she may as well have imagined the virulent statement from the young lady in her elegant, pale blue, satin skirts. Lady Marianne stood silently staring after brother and sister in the near distance. But all doubts over the realness of that admission were shattered as the young woman spoke once more.

“I haven’t liked you since you arrived in London and snared the viscount’s attentions and I’ve not liked you since you began inserting yourself into his life.”

Having battled countless sneers and unkind whispers when she’d made her Come Out years earlier, Eleanor could well handle a spiteful eighteen or nineteen-year-old brat. “You are nothing if not honest,” she said dryly. She cast a hopeful look in Marcus’ direction. Alas, salvation was not coming from that score. Marcus remained engrossed in discourse with his lively sister.

“Are you making light of me, Mrs. Collins?” the young lady hissed.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

At Eleanor’s attempt at droll humor, Lady Marianne Hamilton pursed her lips. She opened her mouth as though to launch a stinging attack on Eleanor, but then proved that years of lessons on decorum and propriety could not be easily forgotten—even in the face of spiteful hatred for an interloper like Eleanor. “He is a splendid gentleman, isn’t he?”

Eleanor choked. Surely, she’d heard the young lady wrong.

Lady Marianne Hamilton made a tsking sound. “Why, an experienced widow, you’ve no doubt appreciated His Lordship’s physique.”

Heat slapped Eleanor’s cheeks as she was reminded once more how hopelessly out of place she’d always been amongst the vipers of polite Society. “It is hardly appropriate to speak about—”

“Oh, come, a woman such as you? Why, the least shocking thing you’ve surely done is pant after the viscount.”

A woman such as her? A sudden cold stole through Eleanor and a panicky unease unfurled in her belly. She fought to calm her racing heart. There was no way this woman knew her past. No way…

Lady Marianne turned her lips up in a slow, knowing grin. “You see, Mrs. Collins, noblemen such as the viscount wed young ladies such as me. His sister even knows it, and it is why she’ll matchmake for me and interrupt whatever scandalous deeds you intend with Lord Wessex.” She flicked a glance up and down Eleanor’s frame and she drew her shoulders back under the insolence of that stare. The young lady peeled her lip back in a sneer. “The viscount will dally with a merchant’s daughter, but ultimately, he’ll wed a lady—” She preened. “Such as myself. So you may carry on with Lord Wessex, but I intend to wed him and his fifty thousand pounds.”

Eleanor saw, breathed, and tasted fury. His fifty thousand pounds? “Is that all he is to you? A fat purse to catch?” She would sooner slice off her own fingers, one at a time, than see him wed a creature such as this.