“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?”
“It’s twenty more seats behind me.”
“And you need as many backsides as possible, do you?” Eleanor asked.
David barked a laugh. Hart kept his gaze on Eleanor, never wavering. He was not asking for her understanding or forgiveness. He was simply showing her what he did and what he was.
“I do,” he said.
Eleanor let out her breath. “Well, then. Let us hope the thousand guineas was worth it.”
Hart descended at Grosvenor Square, telling David to continue to Neely’s home and get the man to bed—and resisted the urge to drag Eleanor into the house. He did tell her he wanted to speak to her in his study, but it took a long time for her to extricate herself and all her parcels from the carriage. David helped her with a look of idiotic surrender. The man was still in love with her.
Then Eleanor had to instruct Maigdlin and Franklin to take her parcels to her room, told them to split the seedcake she’d bought from the vendor, and at last headed up the stairs.
Even with all that, Eleanor made it to Hart’s study before he did, because Wilfred waylaid him to sign things. Hart entered to find Eleanor standing in front of the polished Queen Anne cabinet, both doors open, as she gazed at the painting inside.
Hart came up behind her and closed the doors, shutting out the face of his father. “I locked that.”
“I know. I found the key in your desk.”
Hart locked the cabinet again, strode to the desk, and put the key back into its place. “I keep the key here because I don’t want anyone opening the cabinet.”
She shrugged. “I was curious.”
“You are avoiding my true question. What possessed you to take a hansom to Portman Square and stand outside Mrs. Whitaker’s?”
“Why do you keep it?”
Eleanor had removed her pillbox hat with its veil, and he got the full force of her blue eyes. “Keep what?” he growled.
“The portrait of your horrible father. Why not put it on the fire?”
“Édouard Manet painted it. It’s valuable.”
“Monsieur Manet was one of Mac’s teachers, was he not?”
Hart had told Eleanor the story long ago. When the old duke had condescended to have his portrait painted while in Paris, Mac had met Manet, and ran away to take lessons with him.