No, not wedged. Batted Hart aside like a cricketer whacking one all the way into the tea tents.
Eleanor had been quite decorous about it after her initial outburst, she with all the right on her side. She could have sued Hart for taking her to his bed, for ruining her, for violating any of the numerous terms in their complicated betrothal contract.
Instead, she’d said good-bye and walked out of his life. Leaving a great, gaping hole in it that had never been filled.
Hart had forgotten all about the pictures until Eleanor turned up a few days ago to slide one across his desk to him.
“If this person is a blackmailer, El, I want you to have nothing more to do with it. Blackmailers are dangerous.”
Her brows rose. “You’ve had dealings with them before, have you?”
Too bloody many times. “Attempting to blackmail the Mackenzie family is a popular pastime,” Hart said.
“Hmm, yes, I can see that. I suppose there are those who believe you’ll pay to keep your secrets out of the newspapers or from being whispered into the wrong ears. You and your brothers have so many secrets.”
And Eleanor knew every single one of them. She knew things no one else in the world did.
“All these blackmailers have one thing in common,” Hart said. “They fail.”
“Good. Then if this is a blackmailer, we will see him off as well.”
“Not we,” he said firmly.
“Be reasonable, Hart. Someone sent the photos to me. Not to you, not to your enemies, not to your brothers, but to me. I think that has some significance. Besides, why send them at all, free and clear, with no demands for money?”
“To show you that they have them and make demands for the rest.”
She nibbled her lip. “Perhaps.”
Hart did not give a damn about the bloody photographs right now. Not with Eleanor rolling her red lip under her teeth and making Hart want to bite it for her.
“You are cruel, El.” His voice went quiet again.
Her brows drew together into a delicious little frown. “Cruel? Why on earth do you say that?”
“You haven’t spoken to me for years. Suddenly you gallop down to London declaring you’re here to save me like some benevolent angel. Did you turn around one day last week and decide that you’d forgiven me?” He could hope.
“Of course not. I began to forgive you years ago. After Sarah died. I felt so horrible for you, Hart.”
He stopped, cold working its way through the whiskey. “That was nearly eight years ago.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“I never noticed you forgiving me,” he said, his voice tight. “No letters, no visits, no telegrams, no declaration to my brothers or Isabella.”
“I said that’s when I began to forgive you. It took much longer than that to make all the anger go away. Besides, you were Duke of Kilmorgan by then, well ensconced behind ducal barriers, and quite on your way to wresting power from anyone who had it. You also returned to Mrs. Palmer—I may live in a backwater, but trust me, I am well informed of all you do. And the third reason I never made indication is because I had no idea whether you’d care for my forgiveness or not.”
“Why would I not care?”
The empty look in his eyes made Eleanor go soft. Going soft was dangerous around Hart Mackenzie, but drink had erased his hardness, letting her glimpse inside his shell.
She found it alarmingly blank. What had happened to him?
“You courted me to gain influence over my father’s connections and cronies,” she said. “I knew that. It is the same reason you married Sarah, and I imagine the same reason you’ll take your next wife. Whether or not I forgave you all your past sins might not have held the remotest interest for you.”
Hart came out of the chair. Eleanor backed away. She wasn’t afraid of him, but he was drunk, she knew she easily angered him, and Hart was a very large man.
“I told you,” he said. “Nothing I said to you while I was courting you was a lie. I liked you, I wanted you…”
“Yes, I did rather enjoy being seduced by you.” Eleanor held up her hand, palm out, and unbelievably, he stopped. “I forgave you, because we were both very young, very arrogant, and a bit stupid. But life moves on. I am likely one of the only people to know how much of a blow Sarah’s death was to you. And your son’s death. And, indeed, Mrs. Palmer’s. She was rather awful, and I am very angry with her for what she did to Beth and Ian, but I know you cared for her. Losing someone you’ve cared about for a very long time is quite painful. I do feel sorry for you.”
“Mrs. Palmer died two years ago,” he said rigidly. “We are still not up to the present day.”
“I am trying to explain. Why on earth would I think you would be pleased for me to turn up on your doorstep, bleating that I’d forgiven you? The photograph was a godsend, because it gave me the excuse to come here. I did not lie when I said money was a bit tight, so I thought I might as well ask you for a job to go with it. You gave me that hundred pounds last year, but such things don’t last forever, and the house needed many repairs. Going hungry so that your loved ones can eat sounds romantic, but I assure you, it quickly becomes tire-some. Your cook is quite gifted. I’ve feasted well these last few days.”
“Eleanor. Stop.”
“But you did ask me…”
“For God’s sake, will you stop?”
Eleanor blinked at him, but when he only closed his mouth, she drew a breath.
“Very well,” she said. “If you’d prefer me to be succinct, I am here because: item one, I need the position; item two, I’m annoyed that someone would try to hurt you by means of the photographs; item three, I would like us to be friends, with no hard feelings between us.”
Hart clutched the empty glass until the facets pressed into his fingers. Her eyes were enormous, blue like delphiniums in the sunshine.
Friends, no hard feelings.
She held out a salve, with a smile, offering peace. She knew more about him than anyone else in the world, including his brothers, and she’d just said she was sorry for him. Here he was, then, the beast in the tower with the princess petting his head.
“As for the photographs.” Eleanor’s voice cut through his drink-soaked brain. “Who knew about them besides you and Mrs. Palmer? I still think I ought to go to the house in High Holborn and look about, or talk to some of the ladies who used to live there—”
“No, you will bloody well leave it alone!”