A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Read online

  Chapter Two

  A

  t the law offices of Elsington & Elsington, Miles handed his greatcoat, top hat, gloves, and cane to a clerk and was shown into a large office in which a mahogany desk piled with neatly organized paperwork occupied the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed with leather-bound books and scrolls of papers made up the walls that surrounded it. An elderly, emaciated man with full, mutton-chop sideburns just as gray as the sparse hair on his head, rose from behind the monstrous piece of furniture. His thin lips twitched in a skeleton of a smile, and he bowed. “I assume I have the pleasure of addressing Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh?”

  Miles returned his bow. “I am the same.”

  “Penwick Elsington, Esquire. I serve as barrister to the Earl of Rutledge and by extension, his daughter, Lady Eleanor Russell. I gather from your presence that you received and read my missive?”

  “Yes.”

  The man motioned to a pair of wing chairs situated in front of a bay window. “If you would join me, please. We might as well make ourselves comfortable. I suspect you have a number of questions for me.”

  “That’s something of an understatement.” Miles arranged the tails of his black morning coat and relaxed into the upholstered chair, crossing one top-booted leg over the other.

  “Quite,” the barrister said. “Irregular, this whole business.” He caught Miles with a direct gaze. “Where would you like me to begin, my lord?”

  “You might start with why Lady Russell came to feel she needed to marry under such peculiar terms and how she determined I would suit her needs. After that, perhaps you can detail exactly what is expected of me if I go through with this. What does she expect her money to buy her?” He softened his voice at the last to remove some of the prickle from his blunt words.

  The gentleman across from him closed his eyes and sighed. “Indeed. Allow me to start at the beginning.” He lifted a crystal carafe of deep amber liquid. “Brandy?”

  “Please.”

  Several hours and a carafe of French brandy later, Penwick Elsington cleared his throat and confirmed, “So you agree, my lord, to honor the lady’s wishes and go through with this?” Elsington looked away with an expression of distaste on his face. “Including her wish that the marriage be in name only?”

  “Yes.” Miles marveled with inner bemusement at the strange turns his life took. “You realize a hasty wedding will give rise to the worst sort of gossip. If you wish to lessen the scandal, mind— I said lessen, there is no way to avoid some due to the discrepancy in our ages—it would be in Lady Russell’s best interests if I were seen to pay my address in the customary ways. Riding in the park. Attendance at social events.” He shrugged. “The normal way a man goes about trying to attach a lady’s affection.” Miles studied the older gentleman as a half-smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I would put myself between Lady Russell and the worst of the scandal if she will allow it. Her reputation will still suffer, but it could be put about that I compromised her.” Miles found a spot on the far wall to study. “I won’t deny it. The ‘ton’, those high-flying social elite, will find it all too easy to believe, and hopefully, cast me as the villain.”

  “You would prefer your good name rather than hers be tarnished?”

  Miles shrugged. “What little there is left of my good name. I’ve no doubt my half-brother, the Duke, will express his extreme displeasure at my ‘misconduct,’ but life, in general, will be easier for her if she is seen as the victim.”

  “Society is rarely that kind to a woman, but we might as well try. What of yourself, sir?”

  “I cannot care what society says of me. I’m not in a position to care.” Miles held Elsington’s gaze without apology until the man looked away with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. In truth, Miles did care; he cared deeply that he was perceived only as ‘ornamentation’ but there was little to be done if he wished to continue to associate with those of the aristocratic class he’d been born into. In order to survive, he’d had to bury his pride under a landslide of practicality. He’d been offered little choice.

  Elsington pursed his lips and studied his brandy glass. “I have advised Lady Russell that tongues will wag in a most uncomplimentary fashion; she may no longer be received in the first circles, but she is fixed on this course of action. Indeed, I can see little else for her to do if she is to hold Rutledge intact.” He stood and offered his hand to Miles. “I’ve always thought myself a reasonably good judge of character. After speaking with you these past few hours, I must tell you, my lord, I believe Lady Russell chose wisely when she decided upon you.”

  “We shall see, won’t we?” Miles laughed without humor. “I cannot conceive that it says anything good about a man’s character when he’s willing to be bought, but then I’ve sold myself for far less substance than what Lady Russell offers.” He shrugged, adjusting the fit of his coat and flicked an imaginary hair from his lapels before engaging Elsington again with a flat smile. “I will present myself at these offices the day after next to sign your papers.”

  Eleanor arrived at Elsington & Elsington early and cursed herself for doing so. Over an hour remained before she signed her life away as she knew it. Each chime of the quarter hour from the clock in her solicitor’s office sounded like an announcement of doom. She adjusted the pleats in the skirt of her smart morning gown for the twentieth time, straightened the braided frog closures on the front of her navy redingote, tucked her kid half-boots underneath herself and narrowly refrained from scratching at her veil. The single layer of embellished white tiffany fell in a charming manner from the brim of the fashionable result of a hat maker’s art. Florence insisted the hat went perfectly with her new gown, but the confounded fluff tickled her nose. She squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position in her tightly-laced new stays.

  Drat Florence, anyway. With brutal efficiency and remorseless badgering, she’d cowed Eleanor and the French modiste into submission. The result of said bullying was a complete overhaul of Eleanor’s wardrobe right down to her nightdresses and stays. While she’d never confess it to Florence, she’d loved the entire experience.

  For the first time in her life, she felt womanly. Her new undergarments gave her body a shape she’d never suspected was possible. She had breasts for heaven’s sake. The sheer, white, muslin shifts with their delicate embroidery were scandalous in their transparency and so soft against her skin. Donning silk stockings with satin ribbon garters was an exercise in sensuality when one was used to nothing but knitted wool or cotton. But it was the gowns that transformed her into a woman of fashion unrecognizable to herself. The deep jewel colors and sumptuous fabrics brought out features Eleanor wasn’t aware she possessed. She’d always felt her hair color resembled nothing more than a dead rodent, but the hues that Florence dressed her in brought out shades of platinum and gold and her new layered cut had coaxed waves and curls from previously limp hanks. Suddenly she noticed that her eyes were the color of autumn leaves, gold and brown with specks of green, and her face, while still angular, had fleshed out. She would no longer agree with the description of herself as a “horse-faced maypole”—an unkind remark she’d had to misfortune to overhear at her very first ball. In short, she felt remade.

  But what was the point of all this new plumage when she planned on leaving town in a fortnight? This legal arrangement she was purchasing was not a real marriage. She slumped until a busk delivered a sharp poke in the sternum and reminded her to straighten. Lord Miles Everleigh is the point, Elle, she scolded. You do want to make a good impression. She rolled her eyes. Have you already forgotten you are paying him to go away and stay away? She slumped only to straighten with a slight yelp at another sharp poke to her breastbone. Grumbling, she reached under her veil and rubbed her itchy nose vigorously. A moan of gratification slipped from her—just as the door opened and Lord Miles Everleigh and her barrister entered. She slammed her hand back into her lap and bolted upright from her chair, but the damag
e had been done. She’d been caught scratching and moaning in public, most unladylike and reprehensible actions. Laughter lurked in the gray eyes that met hers.

  “Lady Eleanor Constance Russell, may I present to you, Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh.”

  She shot her gloved hand in Everleigh’s direction.

  He caught the tips of her fingers and gently lowered her hand to waist high, over which, unlike her clumsy gesture, he made an elegant bow. “I am charmed.” A smile played on the masculine features of her future husband, and his gray eyes warmed. “You are the woman from Tattersalls.”

  With a nod, she dipped in a slight curtsey as he relinquished her hand. Her heart raced in her chest, and her breathing deepened. A rush of novel emotion filled her. She felt… petite. Dainty. She hadn’t realized, but Miles Everleigh was every bit her height. No, taller. She had to look up to catch his eyes. She was used to being the tallest person in a room with few exceptions, but with his broad shoulders and well-muscled frame, Lord Miles dwarfed her …and he was dreadfully handsome. Ridiculously attractive, actually. First things first, however. Beyond all else, Eleanor wanted a good beginning with the gentleman she would forevermore call her husband.

  “Lord Miles, before we start with the binding signatures, I wish to express my thanks to you for agreeing to what must seem a most ill-conceived series of actions.” Eleanor strove to soften her strident tone. If only she weren’t so nervous! “By giving me the protection of your name, you are allowing me to preserve a life and a property that is very dear to me, and I will be forever grateful.”

  “I believe gratitude is in order all the way around,” he said. “The benefit to me in this transaction cannot be ignored. I deeply appreciate having the wherewithal to conduct my life in a manner of my own choosing.” He held Eleanor’s gaze with a startling directness.

  Was he not happy? Had he not chosen the direction of his life? The question just now occurred to her, and she felt ashamed she hadn’t thought of it sooner. She knew well the sort of desperate imperative that must compel anyone who agreed to her proposition. She studied him through lowered lashes, and he met her perusal with steadiness and a slight twist to his mouth suggestive of self-deprecation. He possessed an air of dignity, a quiet assurance, and equanimity of manner that would normally indicate an ease of spirit. If she understood his words, his inner emotions did not conform to his outward appearance. It could not be easy for him to be dependent upon the whim of host or hostess. A flurry of sympathetic emotions—mixed with a good dose of pure physical attraction—distracted her for a moment. Flustered by the alien feeling, she studied her gloves. “I’m pleased you view our arrangement as beneficial.”

  “Lady Russell, Lord Miles, if you would be so kind…” Mr. Elsington indicated four chairs arranged around a large round table at one end of his office. At each chair were pen, ink and a leather blotter.

  Lord Miles seated her before taking his chair. At some hidden signal, a clerk entered bearing a stack of papers a foot high and placed them on the table, separating them into three stacks of equal height and then sat in the fourth chair.

  “Lord Miles, you have read a copy of this agreement in its entirety. Do you have any questions before making your final commitment?”

  “None. I found it quite straightforward. Upon my marriage to Lady Russell, £30,000 will be credited to my London account, of which you have the particulars. I will receive a yearly annuity of £2,500 thereafter until my death.” He smiled faintly. “The annuity being dependent entirely upon my lack of interference in the business affairs of The Lady Miles Everleigh—nee Lady Eleanor Russell, as determined solely by her ladyship and her barrister, Elsington & Elsington. Immediately after the wedding, I will remove my presence and agree to keep my person from the estate of Rutledge and the vicinity of my wife unless or until Lady Miles requests my attendance.”

  As he murmured the last qualification in arid tones, Eleanor felt the weight of his regard and occupied herself with ensuring her ink pen had a proper point.

  “Exactly.” Elsington nodded at the clerk. “Mr. Benjamin will be our other witness. Shall we begin?” Elsington’s gaze swept her and Miles in question. At their nods, he began to feed them paper with a brief explanation, and she signed until her hand cramped into a claw.

  “Very good. That’s the end of it.” Elsington cast a disapproving gaze at the clerk who had just stifled a yawn. “You are dismissed, Mr. Benjamin.” When the door closed behind the man, he turned to Eleanor and Miles. “I will place the announcement of your pending marriage in the papers. I have already taken the precaution of securing a special license from the Bishop of Canterbury. The marriage, itself, will take place in the side chapel of All Hallows by the Tower in two weeks time. I will arrange for a clergyman to preside. The attendance of one or two members of your family and a few close friends is certainly understandable; however, bear in mind the limits of space.” His thin lips pressed together in a smile. “I believe a quiet ceremony with few flourishes is in order.”

  Eleanor nodded and looked at Miles.

  “Whatever Lady Russell wishes is acceptable to me. I never expected to wed and have given a ceremony little consideration.”

  Unwilling to meet his eyes, she looked away. “I, too, gave only passing thought to a ceremony I never thought to experience. Quiet and simple suits me very well.”

  “My lady…” Miles low voice returned her gaze to his. “On a different note, I believe it would lessen gossip were you and I to be seen together in public behaving in an amicable fashion.”

  She stirred awkwardly in her chair. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I suggest riding or driving in the park several mornings. I would like you to attend Lord and Lady Willingham’s ball with me on Tuesday next, and whatever else you might find a pleasant way to pass the time. Shopping?” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a winning smile.

  “I would be delighted to ride or drive with you, Lord Miles, but as to the ball and shopping…” She grimaced.

  “Are you the rare female who doesn’t like to shop or dance?” he teased.

  “I’m not social, so my dancing skills lack polish. I don’t shop because I have deplorable taste. If I’m well turned out today, it is due to my childhood friend Lady Florence Lloyd-Smythe.” She straightened her posture and lifted her chin. “You will find I don’t possess many feminine qualities, Lord Miles.” A subtle defensiveness filtered into her voice.

  “I see.” His gaze dwelled on her with the same acuteness he’d used sizing up the bay at Tattersalls.

  She was very afraid he did see, and the thought sent her spirits crashing, though why his good opinion of her mattered she’d have been hard-pressed to explain.

  He pushed out of his chair and rose. “I will call on you tomorrow for a ride in Hyde Park, say, 1:00? May I provide you with a suitable mount?”

  She pushed her chair away from the table with his assistance and stood to face him. “I do not require you to furnish me with a horse. I maintain my own stable, thank you. As to 1:00? If you make it 6:30 a.m. there’s a chance we could get in a good gallop.”

  His smile started small then broadened into a charming grin of approval that left her struggling to maintain her composure and not blush like a debutante. “No staid canter in the park for you? Well done. 6:30 a.m. and a good gallop it is.”

  If she was smart, she would never allow him to see how he affected her. He could name any term or condition, and she would comply simply to have him look at her like that.

  Chapter Three

  W

  indblown and out of breath, Eleanor pulled up near Lord Miles’ gelding and attempted to school her mount into a respectful canter, laughing as her gray mare leaped and cavorted, tossing her head in a general protest at the curtailment of her early morning gallop. “I concede! You won! You wouldn’t have had such an easy win were I astride, sir!” she called. “In a less public venue, I would have bested you.”

  Lord Miles laughed in r
eturn. “I don’t doubt it. You must ride at least five stone lighter. We will put it to the test if an opportunity presents, m'lady.” In easy increments, he dropped his bay down to a walk, and Eleanor finally cajoled the minx she rode into more decorous behavior and moved to walk alongside him.

  When he’d arrived at the mews behind her townhome at 6:30 sharp, riding the seventeen-hand bay hunter she’d seen his friend purchase at Tattersalls, she’d been waiting, walking the yard, mounted on her Arabian mare. If she’d had a small chance at resisting his appeal in her barrister’s office, seeing the elegant figure he cut on horseback finished her. After a nod of his head and a comment about it being a fine, clear morning though a trifle nippy, they’d ridden in congenial silence through the gates of Hyde Park. She’d studied him covertly as they covered the short distance from her Mayfair home to the park. The man had a beautiful seat and light hands, and his horse, which she knew to be an unfamiliar mount, moved forward with a loose, swinging gait and a happy bob of his head, completely at ease with the man on his back. More than most, Eleanor appreciated a kind and skilled rider—and it was hard not to appreciate such a handsome one.

  Other than grooms exercising their masters’ and mistresses’ horses, the bridle paths were deserted, and they had no more entered the park and the beginning of Rotten Row when Lord Miles had turned to her. “Are you familiar with the small pavilion toward the end of this path?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall we gallop?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  He put a gentle spur to the bay’s side and picked up a slow canter, which lengthened into a ground-eating gallop. Eleanor easily kept pace, and when she’d laughed and tapped her mare lightly with her crop to put her gray nose in front of the bay’s, he’d answered with the same, and their gallop became an all-out, hell-bent, race to the pavilion. She couldn’t remember when she’d last laughed so hard. As they pulled up to a walk and turned for home, their horses blowing and prancing beneath them, an all-encompassing feeling of contentment settled in. Her mind turned to their conversation of the previous day, and she wondered at something he’d said. Later, she blamed her sense of joyous freedom for her lack of restraint and loss of all decorum.