She moved her foot from the supporting stool and pushed herself up, using the cane resting beside. “It’s you who need guidance; not me. Something’s keeping you from opening your heart. You’re oblivious to what’s right in front of you, and you’re too cowardly, or too stubborn, to see.”
Her insult brought him to his feet, glaring fiercely. If it weren’t for the low table separating them, she wondered if he might shake her by the shoulders.
“You know nothing about me; nothing about the choices I’ve made.”
“That’s true,” countered Cornelia. “I hardly know anything at all, and I suspect it's because you prefer to sail through life pretending you don’t need anyone else. The great Ethan Burnell does just fine on his own!”
Their gazes met, his flashing fire.
A wave of heat passed over her. She was limp and shivering all at once. She’d said too much, laying herself bare with every word, and consumed by a sensual, maddening ache, overwhelmed with desire for his touch.
Could he see it in her face?
For the longest moment, he said nothing but she refused to prompt him. She wanted to tell him how much she cared but she couldn’t risk hearing that the way she felt about him was one sided.
When he did break the spell, a muscle was working in his jaw. “I think we’re clear now, Mrs. Mortmain. You don’t need me or my help. I won’t interfere or expect anything else of you. I brought you here to help me with this little ruse, not to fall in love.”
In five strides, he was at the door and, as it clicked shut behind him, a terrible emptiness flooded through her.
Chapter 13
Late evening…
Curled on the chair by her fire, Cornelia looked up from The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful and sighed. There were numerous intriguingly titled chapters but she’d been attempting to read the same paragraph for several minutes, without the faintest luck.
All she could think of was Burnell, and the situation in which she now found herself.
He’d tell the duke and duchess she supposed, and the news that the understanding between them was over would soon reach the ears of the other guests. When Burnell had first proposed the scheme, she’d known this would be disagreeable, but she’d intended to maintain the charade until their day of departure. At least, then, she’d have had the chance to escape the immediate speculation within the house and, by the time she’d re-entered London Society, the story would have gained an air of mystery—of glamour even—the great explorer having returned across the Atlantic.
Now, there was a full day tomorrow before Christmas itself, and who knew when the snow would melt sufficiently to allow them to return to the station.
Were the trains even running?
She’d heard more flurries were expected overnight.
It seemed she was stuck, and in the most awkward of circumstances—for the gossip would be not just of their broken engagement but of the state of her honour.
The words from her own lips had been sufficient to damn her but, no doubt, Mrs. Bongorge would find ways to embellish, making the story even more colourful.
There would be no choice at all. Though her ankle was markedly improved, she would have to pretend otherwise as an excuse to remain in her room, asking not to be disturbed by anyone other than her aunts, and the duchess herself.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t escape her memories of Burnell’s kisses. Not once but twice, she’d allowed him to press his lips to hers.
Balderdash!
She hadn’t allowed him anything of the sort.
In truth, she’d been the one to instigate both embraces. And she’d enjoyed every heated, wicked moment.
He had such tempting lips, firm and soft at the same time; and the way he pulled her in—not just passionately but as if he would keep her safe from anyone or anything that might dare to harm her.
When he wasn’t being an utter arse he was really quite wonderful. Clever of course, but comical too.
Even though she’d hated him making up those ridiculous stories, part of her had wanted to laugh. He was handsome and strong, and courageous. Goodness only knew what he’d overcome during his time in the jungle, and Lady Studborne had hinted at the unhappiness of his past.
To have achieved all he had, he must have a will of iron, and she admired him more than she could say—except that wasn’t what she’d told him. Instead, she’d called him cowardly, and berated him for being hollow inside. She’d pressed him to share the secret places of his heart when he was clearly still in pain. She, of all people, ought to have compassion for how that felt.
Blinking back her tears, she gave her nose a good blow.
She wasn’t in love, of course.
An infatuation perhaps.
To love a man set upon returning to the jungles of Central America would be foolish.
To love a man who categorically stated that he had no intention of marrying would be more foolish still.
But, they might have parted friends.
She’d never see the wonders of Palekmul but he might have agreed to correspond.
She could have partaken in the excitement of the discoveries yet to come via the exchange of letters. She might have shared that part of his life, at least.
“I suppose we ought to go to bed, Minnie.” Cornelia rose to add a last log to the fire while the terrier made a circuit of the room, indulging in final sniffs before turning in.
With a sudden bark, Minnie headed to the panelling and scrabbled with both paws.
“Stop that, naughty dog! Come away! You'll scratch the wood!”
It wouldn’t be the first time Minnie had scented a rat inside the walls of a house. Minnie did as she was told but not without a look of reproachful longing.
Cornelia was just placing the guard around the fire when a quiet knock came upon the door.
Oh bother. Not more hot milk!
As thoughtful as it was of Nancy to keep bringing her drinks, she really didn’t want another or she’d be obliged to make use of the chamber pot in an hour.
However, there was no hot milk—nor chocolate, and it was not Nancy who pushed open the door.
Ethan swallowed.
She wore nothing but a gossamer silk gown and robe. Her long hair curled over her shoulder and hung almost to her waist.
With the firelight’s glow, the material was rendered transparent, revealing every lush curve—from the fullness of her hip to the swell of her breasts. Her nipples, rosy beneath the silk, were barely concealed—soft buds made for a man’s mouth.
She was evidently unaware, for she did nothing to cover herself.
Ethan’s blood ran hot.
He wanted nothing more than to close the distance and sink his face in her hair, to plead that he was sorry and beg her forgiveness. He wasn’t vexed with her—only with himself, and he would find no rest until he’d kissed away the anger between them.
He stepped closer. “I need you something terrible and I think you need me.”
His voice caught. “I can’t walk away, Nellie.”
He got no further, for she flew into his arms.
As he encircled her waist, her body curved into his and she tipped back her head to meet his kiss.
After these days of pretending not to care, of telling himself he was in control, he was here, and she was warm in his embrace, responding with breathtaking passion.
The knowledge that she wanted him swept away his uncertainty.
There was so much he wanted to say, and he’d been planning to confide in her—tonight, if she would listen but, for now, he’d prove his feelings in other ways.
He wanted to touch and taste, to worship her as she deserved.
Talking could wait.
He kissed her long and hard, while his hands moved over the sheer fabric, stroking the arch of her spine and the dimples above the curve of her bottom, then taking her breasts full in his hands.
She gave a small whimper as he grazed her nipples with his thumbs, teasing th
em taut.
Drawing back, he pulled the ribbon of her robe, parting the garment to reveal the flimsy nightgown beneath.
“Cornelia.” Groaning her name, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing through the silk, gently at first but then harder, letting her feel the edge of his teeth.
She gasped. “This is madness. We can’t—”
In one fluid motion, he scooped beneath her knees, lifting her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” But she knew, of course, looping her hands about his neck, letting him carry her.
Reaching the chaise, he laid her carefully upon it and her hair, unbound, tumbled against the cushions. He’d never seen her more beautiful—in the firelight, looking back at him so fixedly, and her lips parted, awaiting more of his kisses.
Kneeling over her, he whispered. “I won’t hurt you, Nellie.”
Tenderly, he trailed his fingers downward, to her collarbone, to the ruffled edge of her nightgown. She was trembling as he eased the fabric over her shoulder, so that her breast was bared to him.
No woman had ever been more beautiful.
Breathing in the sweet smell of her skin, he pressed his cheek to her softness, then his lips.
“Ethan.” Her voice was soft but her hands upon his shoulders were insistent, holding him as he suckled the peak then let it free, gazing upon the bud before returning for a second feasting.
She whimpered and parted her thighs, letting him lie between.
She was hot there. Even through his trousers he could feel it, and her flaring desire swamped his senses. Once more, she murmured his name.
From the far side of the room came an excited bark.
All the while, that madcap dog of hers had been sniffing about. Now, it was scratching at the panelling.
“Stop that, Minnie.” Cornelia called breathlessly but the sausage on legs continued to scuffle, balancing on its hind legs to reach higher, pitter-pattering its paws on the wood.
“Hey, cut it out little pudding.” Ethan threw a cushion at the wall, making the dog yelp and jump back.
There was a click and a creak from the panelling.
“What was that?” Abruptly, Cornelia sat up, clutching her gown. “Minnie?”
Ethan rubbed at his eyes. It couldn’t be. Picking up the lantern from the side table, he held it high.
Though the corner of the room was in shadow, there was no mistaking what he was seeing. A portion of the wall had hinged outward.
With a gleeful bark, the terrier bounded forward, its tail wagging as it retreated from view.
“Minnie!” With pounding heart, Cornelia pushed herself from the chaise. “Quickly, Ethan! Where is she?”
Cursing, he stood up, dashing to where the terrier had disappeared.
Righting her clothing, she tied the belt of her robe and crossed the room to peer into the space where Minnie had made her escape, with Ethan in pursuit. She could see nothing of either of them; only the diminishing glow of the lantern Ethan had taken with him.
Many old houses had similar within the walls, for servants to move unseen, but this was far too narrow for the purpose.
A distant bark drifted back and she heard muffled cursing.
She hadn’t been paying attention to Minnie. She hadn’t been paying attention to anything at all.
As soon as Ethan entered, she’d lost all her senses.
Clutching the edge of the frame, she leaned forward.
“Ethan?” The void consumed her voice, deadening it.
A minute passed. She called his name again, and Minnie’s. The lantern’s glow had long since faded.
Where were they?
If his lantern went out, what would he do? He’d never find Minnie without the light. Even if he did, she mightn’t come to him.
She might get lost within the fabric of the house until there was no hope of retrieving her. She’d be disoriented and alone, and then thirsty and hungry. If the flooring was rotten, she might hurt her leg, and there would be no one to help her.
Cornelia suppressed a sob. She couldn’t lose Minnie.
And Ethan—was he alright?
She called a third time, without reply.
There was a draught through the opening, carrying a musty smell, and faint scratching noises. No doubt, there were vermin—not to mention spiders and cobwebs. She didn’t like to think what else.
She hated close, dark spaces, but what choice did she have?
Ethan had taken the oil lamp but a candlestick remained. Dipping a taper in the fire, she lit the wick and, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, stepped into the darkness.
Chapter 14
Cupping the candle flame against the draught, Cornelia inched forward, doing her best not to brush against anything.
“Ethan, are you there?”
Something squeaked nearby and a scurrying thing ran over her foot.
I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t!
The darkness was pressing on her, thick and heavy.
There was no air!
But she had to calm herself.
One breath in and another out.
No matter that it smelt of damp and rotting things.
She kept her focus on the flame. She just needed to keep moving along, making sure the candle didn’t blow out. One pace and then another, until she caught up with Ethan. When she found him, everything would be better—and they’d find Minnie together.
She had to believe it.
She’d taken no more than ten steps, however, when she heard a long, heartfelt wail and a series of thumps.
Cornelia stopped still.
What was it?
A ghost?
Cornelia looked forward then back, through the inky dark. The flame’s illumination barely lit her own hand before her.
Something might be standing two strides away and she’d never know—not until she turned her back and…
She clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. She mustn’t think like that. There were no such things as ghosts—even in places as old as Studborne Abbey.
It must be the pipes. The bath was situated not too far along the corridor. Perhaps they ran through here.
A muted moan came from beyond the wall.
For a moment, she was confused. Was she facing inwards or outwards? She could no longer remember. Her room had no corner window, despite being at the end of the corridor, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to survey the house properly from outside.
Was there another series of rooms she didn’t know about, or was she merely confused?
There was a creak and whispered voices, then a long sigh and more thumps.
Cornelia raised her candle, surveying the beams, then cupped her palm over the flame and lowered it, letting her sight adjust to the gloom.
The timber joists were close nailed, but there was a sliver of light between them.
Tentatively, she aligned her eye with the crack.
It took a moment for her to realize what she was seeing.
A woman, standing beside the bed, facing away. Not just standing but with her hands tied, high above her head, the sash looped over the upper canopy frame. The illumination was dim but Cornelia knew a pair of bare buttocks when she saw them. The woman was naked, and tied up—and someone was with her!
The man, with his back to her, was still wearing his dining suit and was brandishing something—a hairbrush perhaps. The next moment, he hit the woman full on the behind. She arched and shrieked, but rather than twisting away, moved her legs apart and bent forward a little.
Aghast, Cornelia saw the assailant deliver three more strokes, each harder than the last, then throw the brush upon the bed. Reaching forward, he grabbed the woman by the neck. He was squeezing her throat and pressing himself against her nakedness. The woman moaned again and let forth a low cry.
Dear God! Was a murder occurring?
Cornelia brought her eye closer still.
Who was the man? And who was his victim?
What should she do?
Might she shout through the wall? If she did, would he stop? He would surely hear her, just as she’d heard them.
But she was terrified of doing so. What if the murderer recognized her voice? What if he looked through the crack on his side. Would he see her?
I can’t do nothing!
Suddenly, there was pressure on her shoulder and she jumped back, dropping her candle. Its flame extinguished.
Whoever was beside her held their lantern low, illuminating only legs and feet.
She made to scream but an arm came about her, pulling her into a broad chest, and she was enveloped in the familiar masculine scent.
“Ethan!” With a sob of relief, she buried her face in his shirt.
“I thought…I was afraid…” Gasping, she looked up, searching his face. “You were gone so long, and I came to find you, and…”
She jerked away, pointing towards the wall. “There’s a man—a murderer—and he’s hurting her! You must see!”
“Easy there, Tiger.” Ethan rubbed her back, speaking softly. “You should have stayed where you were, what with your ankle.”
“I’m fine!” Cornelia didn’t want to raise her voice but she needed him to listen.
As if on cue, from beyond the wall came a throaty, wicked laugh, muffled but unmistakable. There was only one creature in the house capable of producing such a sound.
Mrs. Bongorge!
But why was she laughing? Judging by what Cornelia had seen, she ought to be half-strangled by now.
“A murderer?” Ethan handed her the lantern and peered through the crack but, when he turned back, he looked more bemused than troubled.
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on, Nellie.”
“But I saw…” she gulped. “He was hurting her, I’m sure of it.” Despite the intimacy they’d shared, she couldn’t bring herself to describe what she’d witnessed.
“That’s as may be, but she seems to be pretty satisfied with the way things are turning out.”
Crossly, Cornelia pressed to the wall again. Perhaps Ethan’s eyesight wasn’t all it should be.
The Lady's Guide to Scandal Page 14