Then Comes Murder

Dangerous Games (part two)

It had been half-impulsive chivalry and half-imprinted manners that'd forced him to rescue Lady Eleanor. Though he'd toyed with the thought of abandoning her—and the rest of the crowd—the wincing twitch of her mouth convinced him.

That and the lean figure of his father shadowing the growing crowd. No, if his father was determined to re-engage him, Jacob had no intention of tempting his vicious tongue with a listening audience. Rescuing Eleanor Fane seemed an easier of evils.

Not that she herself was particularly an evil. She was only the physical representation of it: an unmarried anchor threatening to tie him to the life he refused to return to. No, it wasn't Lady Eleanor's fault that she embodied the very thing he meant to escape. And admittedly, the woman did not seem to need much rescuing. Jacob had full faith that she would have marched herself back to Newmarket with hardly a whimper.

She was a far cry from the rest of his admittedly few feminine acquaintances. Lady Eleanor had the flinty-eyed look of a seasoned general, or perhaps a weathered captain. Not that he could say he admired her for it: these were not frilly, dainty, lady-like compliments women enjoyed receiving. He did not have any frilly, dainty, lady-like compliments to give her. Nonetheless, even with that fiery determination and swearing mouth, she felt smaller in his arms than he'd anticipated. Though she was by no definitions petite. There was a sturdiness to her height, an obvious physical strength that had been hidden beneath an ill-fitting dress. Jacob found it surprisingly attractive.

That and the clever, alto-pitched smoothness of her voice.

Hell, he almost offered use of his name if only to hear it on her lips.

Until she made it perfectly clear that she thought herself better than him.

"Worthy of your notice?" he asked in a choked voice. Though choked with laughter or disbelief, he wasn't certain. He had half a mind to drop her! If only to prove her right! For a moment, he wished she was just an unknown surgeon's daughter and he was some base-born midshipman and they could dispense with the rules and expectations keeping him from saying exactly what he thought of her and exactly what he wanted to do to that proud, clever mouth.

Lady Eleanor did the impossible managed to shrug, perfectly cavalier, in his arms. Her lips pursed in a frown Jacob was certain she contrived to spite him. And as if she knew it galled him, she did not elaborate beyond the gesture.

"How choosy you women are!" Though there was no true bite to his words, Jacob could not deny her comment irritated him. He might not be a first son, but really, he was at least worth the interest of some formerly unknown surgeon's daughter. "Inherit a title, and you've decided that there is no man in England worth your attention."

Nora laughed, in bright surprise, at that. Jacob ignored how it sent a hot wave straight to his groin. "Oh, it has nothing to do with the title," she said, smiling. It was not the flirtatious smile so many of the ladies flashed at him. Lady Eleanor's mouth had far touch too much wry pleasure. "Or perhaps it has everything to do with the title."

He had, at least, provoked her back into arguing. It was, at that point, that he realized he was smiling too. Jacob had fallen so deeply into the discussion that he'd forgotten he was carrying her away from the party. He could have sworn in surprise. With his luck, he'd be accused of kidnapping the woman; the last thing he needed was the threat of a scandal forcing a wife on him.

"Is this another skill ladies are taught?" Jacob countered. He maneuvered to a lone bench far, though still partially, and respectably, visible, from the revelries. Shaded in the low branches an oak tree, half-shrouded by the garden's hedges, it seemed a safe enough haven to avoid his father and avoid any rumor that he'd taken liberties with Lady Eleanor's virtue. "To contradict yourself in a single breath?"