Chapter 10

Eleanor was still feeling rather sorry for herself when someone stumbled onto the terrace. She smelled the man before she saw him and wondered how long he had been drinking. The people she had heard earlier complained loudly, and she assumed the man had bumped into them.

"Oh, begging your pardon," she heard him slur and immediately groaned.

It was Lord Langston. Eleanor sank low in her seat and hoped he wouldn't notice her. She silently prayed for clouds to dim the moon's light and give her some added cover from the drunken man. Unfortunately, the heavens were not on her side that day.

"Lady Eleanor?" he said. "Is that you?"

Eleanor scrunched her face tightly and smoothed her features before sitting a little higher and turning to him.

"Oh, Lord Langston," she said. "Have you come for a little fresh air?"

"Something of the sort," he replied. "It was rather hot in the ballroom, wasn't it? Too many guests. Mind you, the ballroom is one of the largest I've ever seen, but Lord Kinsley has invited the whole of London."

"Not quite," she said, thinking about Julia and her family. "But he did a good job of inviting nearly everyone."

"The ones he didn't invite must not have been important enough," he remarked.

Eleanor frowned at him. "Just because someone isn't important to one person, does not make them unimportant to another. That is no way to gauge someone's worth."

Lord Langstone's eyes widened as he held his palms up. "I did not mean to cause an argument," he said. "I merely remarked on the situation. Lord Kinsley invited many people—that is all I wished to state. My, you're a fiery one."

Eleanor didn't know what to say to that, so she changed the topic. "You'll find a seat a little to your right if you wish to sit."

It was away from her—that was all she was concerned about. Fortunately, others were still in the shadows of the terrace, so she wasn't alone, but it still wasn't proper to speak to her unescorted. After he tried to dance with her twice and nearly made a scene when she refused him, she would rather not be seen with him. The sooner he walked away and left her alone, the better.

"If I sit there, I won't be able to talk to you," he said. "I would have to shout."

This man was truly disturbing her peace. "As you can see, I am without an escort. I do not wish to upset my brother or aunt by talking to a gentleman unattended. I'm sure you understand."

Eleanor believed that would be that. She had clearly stated their situation, and even drunk, he couldn't deny that she spoke the truth.

"I mean you no harm, Lady Eleanor," the viscount insisted. "I only wish to speak a while with you. We're both outside enjoying the cool, fresh air. Why not add a little conversation?"

Eleanor rubbed her brow in frustration. She would be forced to leave because he couldn't seem to understand the situation. Perhaps he might realize she didn't wish to speak with him if she ignored him.

"You're not so intimidating once a person spends considerable time in your company," Lord Langston remarked.

Eleanor slowly turned to look at him. "Intimidating?"

She couldn't begin to fathom what he meant by that. It was true that she rarely engaged with others, but that was only a result of years of people treating her oddly. Retreating into herself or focusing on Julia was her way of coping with social situations.

"Beautiful women are naturally a tad intimidating to approach," he said. "Especially when they rarely talk and possess intelligence. Your friend, Miss Huxley, is a cheerful beauty who charms everyone. You choose not to engage with anyone."

Eleanor bit back a laugh. Drink had undoubtedly addled his brain. No one in their right mind would claim she was beautiful—intimidatingly so.

"Perhaps you should ask a servant to bring you some tea or soda water," she suggested. "The punch might have been a little too strong this evening. Or did you perhaps drink the champagne? I find that too much champagne goes straight to my head. Maybe the bubbles force the alcohol into the brain faster than wine."

The viscount tilted his head. "That is an interesting theory," he said. "But forgive me if I'm wrong—are you accusing me of being drunk?"

Eleanor did laugh then. She had to. He was stumbling around; his eyes were heavy-lidded, and every third word was slurred—if that wasn't drunk, she didn't know what being intoxicated looked like. She had never experienced it herself, although Julia was adamant they needed to do it one day before they were both married. At the rate her aunt and uncle were working to find her a suitor, that might be earlier than expected.

"Pray, tell, what is so amusing?" Lord Langston asked. "I would also like to laugh."

Eleanor pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. She had a habit of crying whenever she laughed. Julia claimed she knew when Eleanor wasn't honestly laughing because only sincere laughter brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you crying, Lady Eleanor?" the viscount asked. "You went from laughing to crying rather fast. I suppose that makes you a passionate woman. Beauty and passion work well together."

An unattached man was speaking about passion to an unattached woman. Alone. There were too many things wrong with their current predicament. Eleanor dropped her head to her chest for a moment in defeat. This was not what she expected when she came outside to escape the pressure of her brother and aunt.

"Please excuse me, Lord Langston," she said, rising to her feet. "I need to return inside. You're welcome to take my chair."

He took her by surprise when he suddenly stepped closer to her. Eleanor dropped back onto her seat and looked up at him with widened eyes.

"Lord Langston?"

"There's no need to leave just yet," he said. "Stay a while and speak with me. You wouldn't dance with me again, so the least you can do is speak with me. What will it hurt? Surely you're not as icy as people say?"

"Icy?"

Despite the sudden intimidation, the notion that she was icy was laughable and wrong. She might keep to herself, but she had never behaved impolitely or refused to speak to someone. On the contrary, others had treated her rather icily.

"Unapproachable is another word," he offered. "I think we already touched on this subject. I would merely like to prove everyone wrong. I can see you're a warm person at heart who would never refuse such a tiny request of your company."

He grinned and leaned closer, making her shrink into her seat. Drunkenness truly made people say the oddest things and behave foolishly. It was time to put an end to this strange encounter and return to her aunt before she wondered where her niece was.

Eleanor slid off her seat, nearly tipping her chair over in her endeavor to maintain some distance between them. She put the chair firmly between them and smoothed her dress.

"Perhaps you should find someone else to converse with, my lord," she said. "I need to return to my aunt and brother. They must be wondering where I am. I have already stayed away for too long. Please, excuse me."

She bowed politely and stepped toward the double doors, but he once again stepped toward her and blocked her path to leave. A shiver of alarm licked her tailbone and snaked its way up her spine and through her limbs. She didn't like this situation. She didn't like it one bit.

"Just a moment, Lady Eleanor," Lord Langston insisted.

"What is it?" she asked, snapping slightly.

She didn't like it when anyone had her back against the wall—both figuratively and literally because she was inches away from the wall. She didn't want its roughness to rub against her silk gown and ruin it.

"Your dance card," said Lord Langston.

"Yes, what about it?" she asked, crossing her arms under her ample bosom.

She quickly regretted it when his eyes bulged as they tracked the motion. Eleanor merely wanted to show him she wasn't pleased with his behavior, not give him more reason to bother her. She dropped her arms and wished she had carried a shawl to cover the area. Her aunt believed a shawl would take away from the dress, so it had been out of the question.

"Lord Langston," she said and clapped her hands when he wouldn't stop looking at her bosom.

He jumped a little and looked at her in amazement. "You just clapped your hands at me," he said.

Eleanor admitted it was rude, but it was no less worse than his staring. "Yes, I did," she said, raising her chin. "You know precisely why I did it."

The viscount frowned briefly before throwing his head back and laughing. Startled, Eleanor could only look on in confusion. He stumbled, and she thought about steadying him, but he might read into it. Instead, she decided that if he fell, she could voice her apology and quickly walk away. Unfortunately, he grabbed the chair and righted himself, making the legs scrape awfully against the stone floor. Eleanor hissed at the sound and rubbed the inside of her ear while her tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth. She hated being sensitive to sounds.

"You are a woman after my heart, Lady Eleanor," he said.

Eleanor didn't bother to hide her grimace. "I assure you I do not want your heart."

"And that is what makes you all the more alluring," he replied without missing a beat.

The thing about drunk people was that their inhibitions were always lowered, and they suddenly had the courage to fight a thousand battles. Sober Lord Langston would have never fought this strongly to speak with her or said these ridiculous things.

"Lord Langston," she began.

"Call me Philip," he insisted.

Her second Philip of the night, but this one was undoubtedly the most annoying and slightly more amusing of the two. One couldn't help but find a drunken man's antics a little funny.

"Lord Langston is fine," she said.

"Then may I call you Eleanor?" he asked.

Eleanor scoffed. "No. We do not know each other well enough."

"But that is precisely what I'm trying to do," said Lord Langston. "I wish to get to know you."

"While you're intoxicated?" she couldn't help asking.

His smile dropped slightly. "Well, you're certainly honest," he said. "I suppose that is needed, especially when surrounded by people who would sooner throw you to the wolves just to get ahead."

Lord Langston said that with enough feeling to make her wonder who had betrayed him. Even silly men like him were not immune to some trouble.

"Honesty is always best," she told him.

"Precisely," he said, grinning foolishly again. "Now, about your dance card. I noticed your brother doing his best to throw many suitors your way. You can just dance with me."

Eleanor struggled not to roll her eyes. They were back to this matter again. "We have already danced together, my lord," she pointed out. "While your offer is kind, it is not necessary. My dance card is just about full. Now, please excuse me. I really must return to my family."

She stepped away using the gap he had created when he stumbled and nearly fell to his buttocks. However, he evidently wasn't ready to let her go yet because he stepped in her way and grabbed her wrist. Eleanor yelped in surprise.

"Lord Langston!" she cried, wriggling in his grasp. "Now, this is entirely too much. Do you not think this is forward of you? I already expressed that we shouldn't be here talking while I'm unescorted, but you have repeatedly kept me from leaving. I suggest you release my wrist and let me return to my family. My brother would not take kindly to this treatment."

A tendril of fear wound its way around her heart and squeezed in warning as the jovial and silly expression the viscount had sported for much of their interaction suddenly fell away to reveal a determined and somewhat intimidating man. Eleanor got the horrific feeling that perhaps he had been pretending to be as drunk as he was.

"I will have to be blunt with you since being friendly and charming has not worked," he said, tightening his grip. "You repel all interest in you, but I'm willing to be man enough to ignore that and marry you. We could be a good match. I'm looking for a beautiful wife with a sizable dowry, and you fit those needs perfectly. I'll treat you well and give you everything you need. Can you find better prospects anywhere else?"

This man had clearly lost his mind somewhere in the ballroom because he was spewing nonsense. His brazenness was unlike any other she had ever encountered. They barely knew each other, yet here he was speaking about marriage as though he was the answer to all her problems. Well, he obviously did not know her if he thought using this tactic on her would work in his favor.

Eleanor tore her arm from his firm grip and massaged the area, glaring at him for his audacity.

"Well, I'm sure your words would work on other women," she began. "I assure you they do the opposite for me. I am uninterested in what you have to offer and beg you to search elsewhere for a woman who will take kindly to this treatment."

Lord Langston sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I suppose these are not the romantic words a woman wishes to hear," he said. "But you look like someone who takes a pragmatic approach to matters. Perhaps we can speak another day."

"Speak another day?" she repeated with a laugh. "Goodness."

Eleanor was done speaking to him. She didn't say another word as she walked past him and returned to the ballroom.

"I should have slapped him," she muttered, "or given him a punch to his stomach. I've seen a man drop another with one powerful punch."

She looked at her tiny fist. Perhaps she would not have caused him to double over, but at least she would have gleaned some satisfaction from repaying him for her reddened wrist.

"Cad!" she cried with feeling.

This was a terrible, terrible evening and she was done with it.