“I want a number of things from you, Lady Eleanor, but let’s start with the easiest, shall we? I want you to call me Camden. It won’t do for you to call me Mr. West once we’re married.”
Eleanor stared at him.
Married. But . . . that word didn’t make sense. Not in the context in which he’d used it. Her brain groped blindly for another meaning, but none came.
Married?No, surely not.
“Married,” she repeated.
“Married. Yes, that’s right, my lady.” He sounded as if he were encouraging a dim-witted child to work out her sums. “You may call me Mr. West in company, but I prefer you call me Camden when we’re being, ah . . . private.”
Private?No. That word didn’t make sense, either. “Private,” she repeated, aware she sounded like a trained parrot.
He was mad, of course. It was the only explanation. Utterly mad. She’d no more marry him than she would the devil himself.
Though if they did marry, they’d have lovely children. Tall, with green eyes.
A hysterical laugh escaped her at the thought. Perhaps she was the one who’d gone mad.
He wasn’t amused. “I’m serious, Lady Eleanor. It would be too bad if Lady Charlotte’s indiscretion became fodder for vicious gossip. From what I understand, it would take far less than a scandalous seduction for thetonto turn their backs on her once and for all.”
Eleanor’s brain ground back into motion with a vengeance. “Are you threatening me, sir?”
He draped his arm over the mantle. “Yes. I believe I am.”
Her entire body went rigid. Marry him? Impossible. One didn’t marry a man like Camden West, or any of the gentlemen like him who ran amok in London. If a lady wasn’t careful about whom she chose, she could find herself married to a man like her father.
Lady Catherine’s marriage to Hart Sutherland had been nothing short of disastrous. He’d been a cruel husband, and a cruel father. He’d been a cruel man, period, and his wife and children had felt only relief when he died three years ago.
No, one married a man like her brothers—a kind man, an honorable man. A man who loved her, and whom she loved. Oh, she knew love matches among aristocrats were rare, and she also knew the odds of her making such a match faded with every suit she rejected. Things couldn’t be much worse, in fact. She was twenty-one and in her third season, she had her own section in the betting book at White’s, and every gentleman in London was mocking her.
And yet despite all this, Ellie still held onto the promise of love, clutched at it with both hands. She deserved love—real, transformative love—and she wouldn’t let anyone steal it from her.
To marry a man like Camden West . . .
No. It would mean years of misery. Decades. “Do I understand you, Mr. West? You seem to be saying if I don’t agree to marry you, you’ll ruin my sister.”
He gave her a cordial smile, as if they were discussing the chances of rain this afternoon. “You understand me perfectly, my lady.”
Good Lord, the man trulywasmad. Why, her brother was liable to flay his skin from his body when he heard about this. “My brother. Lord Carlisle. You haven’t—”
“Asked him for your hand? No. I have a suspicion he’d refuse me. I see no reason to get Lord Carlisle involved. I’m sure you’ll come to the sensible decision on your own.”
Refuse him?Both her brothers would rain hell’s fury down upon Camden West’s head.
Eleanor drew herself up, but even at her full height she just reached his shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t agree. My brothers will take it quite ill indeed to find you and your cousin have seduced one of their sisters so you could force the other into a sham marriage.”
Mr. West released a heavy sigh, and shook his head as if he were disappointed with her. “Do you suppose one of them will take it ill enough to challenge me to a duel? Your younger brother, Mr. Robert Sutherland nearly lost his life in a duel last year, from what I understand. He’s just married, I believe? And Lord Carlisle—didn’t Lady Carlisle just bear him an heir? The child can’t be more than a few months old. Tell me, Lady Eleanor, does your brother prefer swords or pistols? Either would suit me. I’m an expert with both.”
Eleanor’s hands turned to ice as he spoke. There was no question Alec would issue a challenge, and Robyn was no better. He’d gone mad when he found out about the wagers at White’s. It had taken every one of her persuasive skills to dissuade him from calling out half the ton.
If one of her brothers should be injured in a duel, or worse . . .
No. To even think it was unbearable. Robyn’s duel last year had sent her mother into a collapse, not to mention what it had done to Lily, who was now Robyn’s wife. Then there was Alec, husband to Lily’s sister Delia, and doting father of the Sutherland heir, also named Alec, Ellie’s six-month-old nephew.
She raised her chin. Camden West might deserve to be run through with a sword, shot in the forehead, or both, but she wouldn’t put her family through such misery. She’d just have to drag herself out of this quagmire, and Charlotte along with her.
There would be no duel, and no marriage. Not to Lord Tidmarsh, and not to any of the other swains who trailed after her at balls and routs, trying to convince her of their devotion while they panted after her dowry.
