Page 13 of By Any Other Name

“You talked with Sir Andrew? What did he say?”

“A lot of frippery and foolishness. What else does he ever say? He thinks that charm will get him anywhere and that moral convictions are nonsense. Do you know that he as much as told me I was sanctimonious?”

“Well, I suppose you must seem so to someone like him.”

Eleanor was silent for a moment. She smoothed her gloves over her hands, keeping her eyes on them. “Is Sir Andrew really—I mean, do you think he is a wicked person?”

“Wicked?” Rylla glanced at her, startled. “I wouldn’t think so. I have never heard of him doing anything evil. He is like many young gentlemen and spends much of his time on frivolous things. Daniel once said his ‘dibs weren’t in tune.’ ”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. I think perhaps his finances are not in order. Not that Daniel is anyone to talk,” she added darkly.

“I’ve heard Andrew is looking for a wealthy wife.” Eleanor was still engrossed in the fit of her gloves.

“I don’t think he is looking very hard. I haven’t seen him dangling after anyone in particular. Eleanor . . . do you like Sir Andrew?”

“Good heavens, no.” Eleanor raised her head at last, her tone indignant. “He is not at all the sort of man I admire. I couldn’t even think of— And, anyway, as I said, he finds me a great trial.”

“I have seen him at more parties recently,” Rylla mused.

“No doubt because it is a festive season. He is clearly a man who enjoys . . . enjoying himself.” She glanced over at Rylla, and they both laughed. “I do find Sir Andrew handsome, I admit. But looks do not matter. It’s a man’s character that’s important. And I fear he is lacking in that. He lost his home, he told me, playing cards.”

“Perhaps he has changed. People do not always act in an upright manner. It doesn’t make them bad, really. I mean, sometimes it’s necessary to do something that’s wrong or might appear a bit scandalous, but surely that doesn’t mean one’s a bad person.”

“Rylla, what are you talking about?” Eleanor looked at her narrowly. “Is this something to do with Daniel?”

“No. I mean, not entirely.” Rylla sighed. “No doubt you heard that great row he and Papa had the other night.”

“It was hard to miss,” Eleanor admitted. “But surely Daniel is not in any sort of trouble.”

“No. No, of course not. I am sure he and Papa will get over their disagreement. Daniel will be here for Christmas.” Rylla pasted on a smile. “He has to be.”

♦ ♦ ♦

“Where the devil did you run off to?” Sir Andrew said in an aggrieved tone when Gregory approached him.

“I was, um, around.” Gregory could hardly tell him that he had spent a good portion of his evening in a closet under the stairs kissing Eleanor McIntyre. And waiting for his fevered blood to calm down.

“You said you wanted to be introduced to Miss McIntyre. Then you took off. She disappeared as well. When I finally found her, you never appeared. I felt a proper nodcock, I can tell you. And I was trapped talking to Miss McIntyre for God only knows how long.”

“Yes, well . . . I was, um, otherwise occupied.”

“Otherwise occupied! Doing what?”

“Walking about. Talking to people.” Andrew would think him totally mad if he said he had spent the time since he left the stairway closet searching for Eleanor all over again. How the devil had Andrew managed to stand about chatting with her without Gregory seeing them? “I, ah, couldn’t find you, and I thought I might come across her.”

Andrew sent him a peculiar look. “Too late now. She already left. Headache or some such thing.”

Such as a desire to avoid him. Gregory clenched his teeth.

“I say, cuz, are you all right? You’ve been acting strangely.”

Gregory shrugged. He couldn’t explain his actions to his cousin. He couldn’t even explain them to himself. It was not like him to pursue any woman with such zeal. Nor had he ever been so consumed by lust that he’d thought of pulling a woman down on the floor of a closet and taking her right there—with scores of other people around, no less.

He had always enjoyed the company of women, flirting with ladies and taking his pleasure with women who were not. But he could never remember being so . . . eager. When she had fled the ballroom, he had taken off after her like a hound who had spotted the fox. Every nerve in his body had been alert, his blood pumping through his veins, his only thought to chase down his quarry.

And he hardly knew the woman.