The Duke’s Perfect Wife (MacKenzies & McBrides #4)(31)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

Hart said not one word. He’d know perfectly well why Eleanor lurked outside the house of a courtesan called Mrs. Whitaker—he had no need to ask. Eleanor could claim it coincidence that she’d chosen to purchase a seedcake three feet from the woman’s door, but Hart would know better.

Eleanor met his gaze and refused to feel remorse. After all, she wasn’t the one visiting a courtesan or paying her a thousand guineas.

They might have stood on the cold street, staring at one another the rest of the day, if the door of the house hadn’t burst open again. The same beefy footman emerged, this time carrying a man out over his shoulder. Hart barely paid any mind as the footman made straight for Hart’s carriage and put the man inside.

Eleanor’s astonishment mounted as David Fleming came out of the house, looked up at the cloudy sky, put on his hat, and climbed into Hart’s carriage as well.

Eleanor swung back to Hart, questions on her lips.

Hart pointed at the carriage. “Get in.”

Eleanor started, and the cake vendor, who’d been watching with evident enjoyment, looked worried. “No need,” Eleanor said to Hart. “I’ll find a hansom. I’ve brought Maigdlin, and I have so many parcels.”

“Get into the carriage, El, or I’ll strap you to the top of it.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes and took another bite of seedcake. She waved at Maigdlin, who was at another vendor’s cart a little way down the street. “Come along, Maigdlin. We’re going.”

The maid, looking relieved, trotted back toward Eleanor and the familiar coach, set down the parcels, and let Mrs. Whitaker’s footman boost her up beside the coachman. The cake vendor watched the proceedings, arrested in the act of lifting another cake off his tiny coal stove.

“It is quite all right,” Eleanor told the cake seller. “His Grace can’t help being rude.” She turned and made for the carriage. “Hart, give the man a crown for his trouble, won’t you?”

Chapter 9

Inside the coach, Eleanor sank onto the seat opposite the two gentlemen already there—David Fleming and an unconscious, white-faced Englishman Eleanor had never seen before.

“Who is that?” she asked. The footman started handing in her parcels, and Eleanor leaned to tuck them beneath David’s seat. “Excuse me. Could you just push that under? Be careful; it’s breakable.”

David obeyed, regarding Eleanor with bloodshot eyes. He was in evening dress and smelled strongly of cigar smoke, brandy, perfume, and something else it took Eleanor a moment to identify. It had been a very long time since she’d encountered such a scent, but she soon realized what it was—that of a man who has been with a woman.

David saw Eleanor’s assessment, grew red in the face, jerked out his flask, and took a long drink.

“Hart, don’t sit on that,” Eleanor said as Hart hauled himself into the carriage. “It’s for Beth. Could you, please…?”

Hart growled, took the parcel, and shoved it onto the shelf above the seat. “Couldn’t you have put these in the back?”

“Good heavens, no. Some of the things are fragile, and I don’t want to give a lucky thief the chance to relieve me of them. Thieves climb onto the backboards and rifle the baggage, you know.”

“No one robs this coach,” Hart said.

“There’s always a first time. I spent my week’s wages on these gifts.”

The carriage jerked forward, David still staring in shock. “Mackenzie, what are you doing? This is Eleanor.”

“Mr. Fleming is awake,” Eleanor said. “He can recognize ladies he’s known for years.” She studied the other man, who snored against the wall. “Who is he?”

David kept staring at Hart and didn’t answer. “That is Mr. Neely,” Hart said.

“Ah,” Eleanor said, understanding. “I see. You sent him to Mrs. Whitaker in return for whatever he promised you.”

“I need his backing and that of his friends when we go after Gladstone,” Hart said.

“Hart.” David was anguished.

“I keep no secrets from Eleanor.”

No?

“There is no point,” Hart went on. “As you can see.”

“Well, if you had let Wilfred tell me why you sent her a thousand guineas, I would not have had to try to find out for myself,” Eleanor said. “Although I did need to do the shopping.”

“A thousand?” David glanced down at the sleeping man. Mr. Neely looked innocuous, like a clerk or a banker, with well-kept hands. “Then again, he was a lot of trouble.”

“I assumed he would be,” Hart said.

“What did he do?” Eleanor asked, her curiosity rising.

David shot Hart a worried look. “You brought her into the coach to make me look a dissipate rake in front of her, didn’t you?”

“I already know you are a dissipate rake, Mr. Fleming,” Eleanor said. “You’ve never made a secret of it. He seems very small and fragile. What on earth sort of trouble could he cause?”

“He refused to leave,” Hart said. “So I was told. How did you finally manage it?” he asked David.

“The liberal application of whiskey. On top of what he’d already had. Whenever the puritanical decide to indulge themselves, it’s a sight to behold. I doubt he’ll remember much of it.”

“Good,” Hart said. “I do not need him to have a day of remorse that sends him running back to my rivals. You’ll take care of him?”

“Yes, yes. Sober him up, lessen the agony as much as I can, tell him he thoroughly enjoyed himself.”

Eleanor studied Mr. Neely, childlike in his sleep. “You bribed him with a courtesan to obtain his vote,” she said.

David winced. “Bribe is such an unkind word.”

“No, she is right,” Hart said. “It was a bribe, El, pure and simple. But I need him, and his friends.”

He met her gaze without blinking. Hart knew exactly what he’d done and how bad such an action made him, and he’d weighed the consequences of it before he’d done it. The balance had come out on the side of bringing Neely into his fold. Hart had known how to play the man, and he’d played him.

“You are awful,” Eleanor said.

“Yes.”

He was ruthless, driven, and determined to win no matter what it took. The look in his eyes told her that.

Eleanor glanced at Mr. Neely again. “I suppose his support is terribly important?”