Chapter 16

'Make sure your hands have gripped the handle firmly. You don't want to drop the revolver or change its direction once the momentum of the recoil hits you,' Nathan said as Eleanor raised the revolver in her hands and aimed at the target. He was helping her practice using her revolver and so far, she had missed the target placed fifteen feet in front of her all thirteen times because the momentum had been too much for her to handle and she kept moving it away from the target as soon as she fired. It was a miracle she hadn't accidentally shot Nathan yet.

'Like this?' she asked, eyeing the target.

She heard Nathan sigh as he came and readjusted her grip. 'That wasn't firm enough, Eleanor,' he said, annoyance seeping into his voice. 'You're holding it like it's a dainty china doll which could break any second!'

Eleanor lowered the revolver and met Nathan's gaze. 'I told you I was no good at this!' she said. 'I'll never be able to shoot like you. Can we please stop for a while?'

She watched as Nathan waged an internal battle before finally relenting. 'Fine,' he finally muttered. 'We'll have tea and continue.'

Eleanor heaved a sigh of relief as they moved towards the lawn chairs which had been placed there for them. She let the maids and footmen attend to them before she sipped her tea.

If there was one thing Eleanor had learned today, it was that Nathan was a ruthless teacher. He had chastised her for the littlest mistakes and shown her his irritation more than a couple of times. She made a mental note to never let him teach her anything ever again.

Eleanor turned to Nathan to see that he hadn't touched his tea at all. He was sat beside her, cleaning his own revolver!

Now, it was Eleanor's turn to chastise him. 'Nathan! Put that down at once!' she said angrily.

Nathan drew her gaze to hers, looking confused. 'Why?' he asked, an innocent sort of look on his face as if he really didn't know why she was mad at him.

'Why?' she shrieked and put down her teacup. 'Because you do not bring weapons to the dining table!'

Nathan laughed, a big throaty one, and her anger simmered. Her gaze was drawn to his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down with laughter. She felt her fingers twitch with an ache to just lean in and touch it...

'I would hardly call a lawn table a dining table,' he laughed and then added, his laughter dying down, 'You sound like my mother. She used to scold my father often for laying weapons on the table. My sister and I would laugh at the way he cowered in wake of my mother's wrath. He used to be wrapped around her finger. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.' There was a wistful smile on his face as he gazed into the distance.

Eleanor smiled sadly. 'Do you miss them?' she asked after a moment or two of silence. Nathan seemed like he had two loving, doting parents who loved each other - a complete contradiction to her own.

'All the time,' Nathan said, his smile growing as sad as hers. 'Alright,' he said, suddenly, putting away his gun dispelling any sign of gloom from his face. 'I will do as you say, lady wife. The gun shall go.'

Eleanor felt heat crawl up her cheeks. Lady wife. If only it were true in every sense of the word. But it never could be - this was only a business deal, after all.

They spent the next few minutes amiably while downing their tea, Nathan telling Eleanor of her minor faults when handling her revolver and giving her tips.

You centre too much of your weight in your hands. Plant your feet firmly on the ground before shooting and centre it there. Prepare yourself for the recoil before shooting. Do not jump back or move your hands after you shoot!

Eleanor had complained first, not wanting to discuss tips or her short-comings while they had tea. But Nathan had ignored her and talked on and on until she found herself hanging onto his every word and saving the information away for when she practiced again.

'Right,' Nathan said after they were done with tea. He got up and held out a hand to Eleanor. 'Shall we put some of that information to good use?'

Eleanor groaned her protest but took his hand anyway and got up, following him to stand in front of the target. She took up her revolver once again, reloaded, and aimed at the target, following Nathan's instructions and keeping her feet firmly on the ground, trying to transfer all her weight to her feet.

'Good,' Nathan said and adjusted her aim. 'Now, remember, you don't want the recoil to make you jump. You should be prepared for it.'

Eleanor nodded. 'Shall I fire?' She eyed Nathan at the corner of her eye and seeing him nod, she took a deep breath and fired.

The momentum of the recoil still threw her off-balance but she was prepared for it and thankfully, her aim wasn't as astray as before.

Eleanor heard the sound of clapping from beside her. She had closed her eyes right after firing but at the clapping, she slowly opened her eyes.

'Well done,' Nathan said, appreciation in his eyes and a wide smirk on his face.

Eleanor's eyes and lips widened and her heart soared with pride. 'I hit the bull's-eye?'

Nathan laughed out loud at that. 'No, no, love,' he said.

Eleanor's shoulders dropped and the smile fell off her face. Was he mocking her, the devil?

She turned to the target and a small smile returned.

There, at the very edge of the wooden target, sat the small bullet which she had fired.

Although it isn't a bulls-eye, at least it hit the target.

**********

Eleanor had just emerged from having her bath and was sitting at her vanity, later that evening, when Nathan barged into the room unannounced, a wild look in his eyes.

'Eleanor!' he called out loudly and she jumped. She was dressed only in her chemise and corset and her lady's maid was attending to her hair when he had come.

Nathan stopped at the sight of her undress and took her in. Eleanor was mortified and sat in her place for a second before she gained control over her senses and hastily grabbed wrapped a robe around her person. She was very well aware that she was blushing profusely.

'Nathan,' she hissed and waved a hand at her lady's maid who promptly left. 'What do you want? And do you not know that you should never enter a lady's room sans announcement?'

Nathan hastily looked away. 'I'm sorry,' he said and looked back, urgently. 'But I need you to dress. We have to go.'

Eleanor frowned but headed towards her armoire. 'Of course. But where are we going? What shall I wear?' She began looking through her dresses for her best ball gown. Since it was nearing night-time, she could only imagine it was a ball or dinner of sorts.

Nathan cleared his throat behind her and she saw him looking at his feet, a bashful look on his face. 'Eleanor, what you need to wear, you will not find in your closet.'

She closed the door to her armoire and rounded on him, confused. Surely, she had something with her that she could wear!

But, to her amazement - and anger - she found that she did not, in fact, have what he wanted her to wear when he retrieved a package from behind his back and showed her its contents.

'No, no,' Eleanor said, shaking her head, as the knowledge of where they were going seemed to set in. 'Absolutely not! I refuse to wear that!' He was ludicrous if he thought he could make her wear that!

The clothes of a harlot.

It would barely cover her breasts and just covered her knees. Her ankles - the unmentionables! - would be on full display. And what was worse was that it wasn't the more dignified clothing of harlot in England. No, this - a single piece of white fabric which wrapped around the upper part of her body and covered her legs in the manner trousers did on men- she knew­, was the outfit of an Indian prostitute.

Nathan seemed to break out in a sweat as he tried to convince her. 'Now, Eleanor, I know this is not ideal, but you must if you want to help out with the revolution. I have just received word that there are a couple men who know information of the East India Company's next move in the fight against the revolts. Unfortunately, they are whoring their way through a brothel now and you cannot enter the place they are at unless you wear this,' he said, motioning to the clothes he held in his hand. 'And I cannot enter unless I want a woman draped across my body and I would much rather it be you than any other woman. Especially than one of such ill-repute!'

Eleanor blushed at his admonition but began to refuse again. T'was was madness, he thought he could get someone of her station to wear the...garb he had in his hands. There was certainly another way he could go about this without her having to step foot in a brothel, of all places.

But then, she caught the sight of his face and she softened. He seemed desperate as he started at her with pleading eyes, willing her to accept his outrageous request. So she sighed and held her hands out, giving in.

'I will be ready to leave in a half hour.'

**********

'This is it, Eleanor. Are you ready?' Nathan said later, at the entrance to the brothel. They were standing in a secluded alley, after having leaving the house without anyone's knowing. Although Nathan's servants knew where his allegiance lied and what he did and supported it, they would be aghast to find their master and mistress in peasant's clothing en route to a brothel. So, they had walked the few kilometres to the brothel, trying not to catch anyone's gaze.

Nathan stood before her in an English peasant's drab, brown clothes while Eleanor was dressed in the ridiculous garb Nathan had made her wear. She had worn a coat over it, however, in an attempt to preserve her modesty until she had to actually remove it and now, as they stood there, ready to go in, she wondered if it was too late to bolt.

'No, I am not,' she said, in answer to his question, not daring to look at him. 'But, I told you I would do this and I do not back out on my word.'

Nathan nodded. 'Remember, smile and act like you belong. Do not talk a word - you don't know Hindi and no common Indian prostitute would know English let alone speak the language with as much refinement a you do. I will be with you the entire time and will do all the talking but you have to remember: the moment you enter, you will no longer be the Duchess of Wolverhampton but a common whore.'

Eleanor visibly flinched at his words but then, a thought crossed her mind. If her mother - or father, for that matter - knew where she was, they would be horrified beyond words. And it brought a smile to her face to know that she was already defying the very principles that rooted her mother's believes and world and suddenly, the thought of strutting across a brothel with barely any clothes didn't seem too bad a fate.

With a slight new-found confidence, she removed the robe and cast it aside and bared to Nathan her barely-clad body. Nathan, after sighting her bare arms and legs, breathed in sharply and she saw, in the dim light, that he had a dark look in his eyes, his gaze concentrated at a point below her face. Eleanor could feel a blush coating her entire body at Nathan's reaction and he cursed after a few moments.

'I didn't realise the dress would cover so little,' he said, his dark eyes roaming over her body.

Eleanor flushed and wrapped her arms around herself as she discarded her slippers next to her coat. 'Yes, well...you were the one who got it for me, weren't you?'

Why is he still looking at me like that? she wondered, feeling the need to cover herself up again.

Nathan seemed to snap out of his daze as he regarded her question. 'You make a fair point,' he said before his hand closed around the door knob. 'So, shall we go in?' he asked, wrapping his free arm around her waist.

Eleanor's skin tingled at the contact and she could feel the heat of his hand at her side seeping in. Apart from the terribly thin cloth, nothing else separated her skin and Nathan's, she realised.

Calming her nerves, she nodded and they walked in to the loud commotion and ruckus of the brothel.

Men - all from the lower sections of society - both local and foreigner alike sat at tables laughing loudly as they drank ale and made merry. Women - mostly Indian but Eleanor noticed British women here and there - in barely-clad clothing walked through the crowds and sat on the men's laps without seeming to have any care in the world.

Smile, Nathan's words seemed to echo in her head and she plastered a bright grin on her face as she placed a hand seductively on his chest as he led her through the crowds.

She looked up to find a squalid smile on his face and fought the urge to grimace. With the expression he had on, no one would ever know he was the handsome and refined Duke of Wolverhampton, a position so far beyond a common man's wildest dreams.

Nathan must have noticed her discomfort despite the grin she still had on because he leaned down and whispered into her ear, 'You're doing a marvellous job, darling. Just keep smiling. I've found the men I wanted and we're going to go over, alright? I'll pull you into my lap and all you have to do is wrap your arms around me and sit still, looking pretty. Now, laugh or better yet, giggle, like I said something sensuous.'

Eleanor forced out a coquettish giggle and Nathan smiled a more squalid smile, if that was even possible. But, underneath that, his eyes held amusement and she knew that the Nathan she knew - her kind husband she was slowly falling for - was still there. It eased her discomfort greatly and this time, she found no resistance as she followed him to the table he made a dash for.

She looked at the table they were headed to. There were four men, laughing raucously and drinking ale. Three of them wore the dirty peasant garb that had definitely seen better days and Eleanor grimaced at the stench that seemed to emanate from them. Two of them had prostitutes sat on their laps and kissing their necks and she immediately averted her eyes at the abhorrent act they displayed. However, her eyes came to rest on the fourth man who had his back to her and Nathan and, who, she saw, was not a peasant. No, he wore the rich clothes of a nobleman and he certainly did not belong to a brothel of such low standards. A jolt of familiarity went through her at the sight of his dark hair and broad shoulders and she knew then and there, that they had crossed paths though she knew not where.

But, as they reached closer to the table and he turned his head, Eleanor stopped in her tracks at the sight of his face and her blood ran cold.

It was London's most notorious womaniser and a man she hated with a passion, Sir Daniel Hadleigh.