The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  Elinor was surprised at the depth of empathy in the man’s eyes. They were, for all purposes, strangers. And yet he’d already shown her more kindness in five minutes than Edward had in all the years of their marriage.

  Elinor wished she could reassure him. She wished she could tell him the truth, that the past three months had been the best months in a decade.

  Freedom. She was free. Free of men telling her what to do. Free of the ghastly monthly visits to her bed. Free of the brutality, both physical and mental. She’d learned more about herself in the past three months than in all her other years combined.

  Never again would she place herself in any man’s power. Never, never, never, never. She would die first.

  She picked up an iced biscuit and smiled at the kind man across from her. “Tell me doctor, should I increase the dosage of his pain medication along with the frequency?”

  ∞∞∞

  Elinor had just turned Edward on his side so he was facing her chair. He would remain that way for two hours, and then she would turn him again. She was sedulous in her care of his body and he’d not developed bed sores.

  She felt his eyes on her and looked up from her book, which she’d been reading aloud just in case he was awake and aware, a prisoner of his body.

  There was more pain than hate in his eyes tonight, and she knew the doctor’s last prediction had been accurate; her husband did not have much longer to live. He’d worsened at an alarming rate since Venable had come last night and told her to give him laudanum whenever she thought he needed it.

  “Don’t worry about over-dosing him at this point, my lady. It’s more important that he not suffer.”

  Elinor took the crinkly bottle from the nightstand and went to sit beside her husband’s pitiful, withered body. She propped his head on her shoulder and gently poured a double dose of pain medication past his lips. He swallowed convulsively and his eyes were feverish for the laudanum that made his existence bearable. Elinor gave him several sips of water afterward and then opened the small tin of unguent Beth had made and carefully rubbed some on his dry, cracked lips.

  When she’d finished, she laid him back on his side and resumed her seat. His gaunt cheeks had become flushed from the drug and his eyes followed her. Elinor felt a pang of pity for him, even though she knew what he would do to her—and to Marcus—if he were able. On impulse she leaned forward and took his hand.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been reduced to this, Edward.”

  His lips twitched, as if they were straining to sneer.

  “It’s true. I cannot bring myself to take pleasure in your condition, even though you surely deserve it. To be happy about such a thing would make me like you. I wouldn’t wish your condition on anyone—even you. It would’ve been better if you’d died that night.” She shook her head as she held his hate-filled stare.

  “He is your son, Edward. The only child you have, as far as I know. How could you treat him with such brutality? Why do you hate him so?” Elinor had asked him these same questions before. She knew he couldn’t answer and wouldn’t even if he could. Yet she couldn’t help asking. “What would make a man hate his own son?”

  A low gurgle sounded in his throat and she leaned forward. His face was an alarming shade of red. She lurched toward the bed and lifted him upright, afraid he must be choking. But the noise didn’t stop. She held her ear to his chest, to hear his heart. It beat as regularly—if weakly—as it always did lately. His body shook and the horrible gurgling became louder.

  Elinor looked at his face and flinched. He wasn’t choking, he was laughing. She released him so hastily he flopped onto the bed like a landed fish. She immediately straightened his body, which had fallen at an awkward angle. Touching him was like handling a poisonous reptile. His pale eyes glinted with laudanum, amusement, and contempt.

  Elinor shook her head. “I pity you, Edward. You are an evil man.”

  ∞∞∞

  The sound of shattering glass pulled Elinor from a deep sleep. She blinked her eyes several times as stared at the rumpled bedding and empty pillow.

  Elinor said a very vulgar word she’d once heard her brother Stuart yell when he was drunk.

  Edward was gone.

  It didn’t take her long to find him. He’d dragged himself half-way across the room toward his destination, the bell pull. Elinor crouched down beside him as one weak, shaking hand clawed the carpet, unable to lift his head.

  She took his shoulders and easily turned him over. His lips were fixed in a snarl she recognized well. She instinctively flinched away, expecting the blow that usually followed such a look. But he was in no condition to wield even his own body, not to mention a whip or quirt. His head flopped weakly on his shoulders and she laid him back.

  “Whore.” The word was no more than a harsh whisper.

  She shook her head. “Oh Edward. Will you never believe me? Even now, when I have no reason to lie to you? I’ve only ever been with you, although only the basest mind would ever call what you did to me making love. I kissed the boy—one kiss—and you ruined his life and mine for it. But all that is at an end now. Your days of terrorizing anyone are at an end.” Elinor slipped her hands beneath his armpits and slowly pulled him toward his bed. She might not be able to lift him, even though he scarcely weighed more than her. If she couldn’t, she would run and fetch Beth. She couldn’t risk any of the other servants if he was able to speak.

  It took ten minutes of pushing, shoving, and grunting, but she got him back on the bed. He was in pain by the end of it and she cradled him against her shoulder and gave him another dose of laudanum. She held him afterward, even though it sickened her to touch him. A person should not be without human contact when they were in such a poor condition.

  His body vibrated with tremors and drool ran from a corner of his mouth. He was dying and he was her husband. His breathing and shuddering eventually disappeared and she laid him back against several pillows, keeping his torso at an angle, which seemed to make it easier for him to breathe.

  She was about to resume her chair when he spoke again. “El . . . nor . . .”

  She looked at his slack lips and wiped away a strand of spittle. He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Doan . . . touch me.” She gladly released him but remained beside him. His breathing quickened. “Boy?”

  “He’s gone. I’ve hidden him away in a safe place with a man who has as much reason to dislike you as I do.”

  The look of curiosity in his pitiless eyes made her smile. She did nothing to explain herself.

  “You . . . you . . .” he swallowed, his body shaking with frustration. “You . . . hiding . . . killer.” The last word was hardly more than a puff of air.

  “Yes, that’s true. Unfortunately no court in the land would listen to the truth, that you incited your own son to violence. That he only struck you in self-defense.”

  “I get . . . you . . . both.” His breathing was choked and ragged so she lifted him higher.

  “You need to calm down, Edward. You’re wearing yourself out.”

  “Both,” he rasped, before his eyes fluttered shut.

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what you say—if you ever say anything. I will not let you ruin Marcus’s life as you’ve ruined mine. As you ruined that poor boy’s all those years ago. Marcus will not suffer for what you drove him to do. I’ll confess to it before I’ll let you hurt him.”

  Elinor realized she was talking to herself. His eyes were closed and his breathing was heavy and labored, the sound of a man heavily drugged.

  She made him as comfortable as she could before taking her seat, staring at his sleeping form. Was this the end of her brief happiness? Would she wake tomorrow and find Edward could speak? That all her efforts to save Marcus had been for nothing?

  Elinor watched his vulnerable, sleeping form and wondered just how far she would go to keep him from talking.

  Chapter Nineteen

  London

  1817

  The
re was a sharp knock on the hotel door.

  “Go see who it is, Molly.” Elinor stared at her reflection in the glass while the maid went to see who was outside. She knew it wasn’t Marcus, as he’d already come and gone. His news hadn’t been bad, but it had not been good either. He wanted her to wait three days; the man who had his sister was gone from London and Marcus couldn’t deal with any other.

  “Will she be safe in the meantime? Have you seen her?” Elinor asked.

  Marcus’s face had been red with shame. “Aye, I’ve seen her. They’ve promised to let her be until the man returns.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good brother, Marcus. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

  He jerked away from her hand as if she’d burnt him. “I’ve got to go, Elinor.” He’d lurched for the door.

  “Wait, won’t you have something to eat? You must be starved; you’ve done nothing but run since we left Trentham.”

  “I’m not hungry!”

  Elinor winced away from his angry face and words. He sighed, plowing his already disheveled hair with his hand. “I’m sorry, Elinor. But I can’t stay. Please don’t ask me to.”

  “When will I see you again?”

  “I can’t say. Maybe tomorrow.”

  She’d watched him leave with a heavy feeling of dread. If everything was going well, then why did he look so guilty and nervous?

  Elinor looked up now to see the maid, Molly, holding a note toward her.

  “It’s a message for you, Lady Trentham.”

  Will you have dinner with me?

  It wasn’t signed and she’d never seen his handwriting before, but she knew the bold, black script must be Stephen’s. She looked up. “Is a servant waiting?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Tell him my answer is yes.”

  ∞∞∞

  Elinor shouldn’t have been surprised when the man led her to a room down the hall rather than to the dining room below.

  “Mr. Worth will be with you in a moment, Lady Trentham. May I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He nodded and left. Elinor examined the room. It looked very similar to hers, but with books and papers and other personal items scattered about. This was obviously where Stephen lived when he stayed in London. She saw a fancy ivory pipe on a silver salver and picked it up. It was carved in the shape of a peacock and quite lovely.

  “A nasty habit.”

  She jumped guiltily and set down the pipe.

  “But elegantly done, I see.” She looked up to find him towering above her. He’d shaved and bathed; he smelled delicious and looked even better.

  He motioned to a table filled with cut glass decanters. “What will you have?”

  “You choose.”

  He crossed the room in several long strides and she watched him hungrily as he poured out two glasses of something dark red, realizing just how much she’d missed him. He was dressed in black except for his waistcoat, which was the color of a frost-covered leaf. His linen was almost blinding, and she could see glints of gold at his cuffs as he walked toward her.

  “Madeira.”

  His hands brushed hers and Elinor gulped a mouthful quickly, as if to quench the sudden flames in her chest. He gestured to a beautifully set table, complete with a floral display that probably cost more than it took to feed her entire household for a month.

  “I thought we might dine in here. I hope you don’t think my suggestion is inappropriate?”

  “I think it looks lovely.”

  He seated her and pulled the velvet cord that hung in the corner of the room before seating himself.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “I thought you might be, so I ordered one of everything on the menu.”

  She laughed.

  His eyebrows arched.

  Elinor stared. “Surely you are jesting?”

  He shook his head slowly from side to side, his expression tying her stomach in knots.

  ∞∞∞

  “I shall never need to eat again.” Elinor watched the servants carry away the last of the food, much of it untouched, and closed her eyes.

  “You were hungry.”

  “You noticed?” It was a struggle to open her eyes and doubly so not to yawn.

  “I made sure to keep my hands at a safe distance from your plate.”

  She laughed. “What an ungentlemanly observation.”

  He merely smiled, swirling his glass before taking a drink. She didn’t think he’d eaten half as much as her. She supposed it had been necessary for one of them to carry the conversation, and her mouth had been too full to talk through most of dinner.

  “I trust your business went well?” he asked, setting aside his empty glass.

  Elinor grimaced. “I’m afraid I need to talk to you about that.” She was glad the subject had come up so quickly; she’d dreaded the thought of bringing it up herself.

  “Oh?” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Was the money not enough?”

  She felt herself flushing already at what she was about to say. “It’s not that. It’s something else. I can’t really say as—”

  “You needn’t tell me anything, Lady Trentham. Just let me know what I can do to help.”

  Elinor’s stomach twisted at the kindness in his voice, in his eyes. She wanted to throw herself under the table and hide.

  “Please, call me Elinor.”

  The right side of his mouth quirked. “Only if you’ll call me Stephen.”

  “It would be a pleasure, Stephen.” His eyes darkened and she glanced away. “I need to stay in London another few days.”

  “Of course.” He spoke without hesitation. “Would you like me to send for Beth?”

  This further display of kindness was almost too much. She closed her eyes and shook her head, unable to speak. She felt a soft brush at her side and saw he’d dropped to his haunches by her chair. He took her hand and she gripped his fingers tightly, drawing strength from the sheer substance of him.

  “No. Don’t bring Beth. She is very . . . unhappy with me right now.”

  Stephen lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of her fingers, one by one. “It won’t last. Nobody could stay angry with you.”

  Elinor could hardly breathe and she couldn’t take her eyes from his mouth as he trailed kisses across the knuckles of her work-reddened hand. He lowered his eyes and auburn lashes fanned his cheeks.

  “What happened here?” He brushed the knob on her wrist, his green eyes almost black when they looked up.

  “I was clumsy and broke it.” She didn’t protest as his fingers lightly massaged her deformed wrist and moved up her arm. “That too,” she said, when he felt the misshapen bone in her forearm. “It was a riding accident.”

  He lowered his head and feathered kisses from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. Elinor’s toes curled in her slippers. Never had she felt such tender softness. She bit her lower lip to keep from moaning when his tongue flicked against the sensitive skin of her inner arm.

  Just as suddenly as he’d come beside her, he was gone, moving across the room to the window and resting one arm against the frame like a man holding back something dangerous. His absence was like a bucket of cold water. Had she done something?

  “Stephen?”

  “I’m sorry, Elinor. I didn’t mean to take advantage of the situation—to take advantage of you.” He kept his back to her.

  Elinor stood and went to him, humbled by his slumped shoulders, horrified to think he’d believed he was forcing himself on her. She laid a hand on his arm and he jumped as though she’d prodded him with a hot poker.

  She looked up into eyes as tortured as any she’d ever seen and her hand was on his jaw before she knew it had moved. She massaged the taut, smooth skin and his eyelids fluttered closed.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, his body swaying toward hers.

  She reached
up with her other hand and laid it over his heart. It was beating strong and fast and with a power that sent a shock straight to her core. She stood on her toes to reach his lips with hers. The merest touch was enough to bring his arms around her and his mouth crushing down. He held her with a ferocity that squeezed the air from her body and she opened to him. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, her lips, and then tangled with hers. He pulled away suddenly, his lips moving with feverish intensity across her cheek and coming to rest just beneath her ear.

  “I want to be inside you so badly.” His words shocked her entire body, not least the part between her thighs.

  “Will you take me, Elinor?” His hot mouth wrapped around her throat and his teeth grazed over her pounding pulse until she trembled all over. He pulled back, his eyes black, his lips parted. “Is that a yes?”

  “Ye—yes.”

  He swung her into his arms, cradling her in a way she couldn’t recall anyone doing, even when she’d been a child. Her arms slipped around his neck and he looked down as he pushed open the door to his bedchamber.

  “You’re sure?” he asked, almost as if he wanted her to say she wasn’t. This last sign of kindness undid her and she covered his mouth with hers. He groaned at her clumsy kiss and she felt his lips curve into a smile as he laid her gently on his bed.

  “Turn over, sweetheart, let me get this off you.”

  His hands went to the fastenings of her gown and her body stiffened. He leaned over her, until their eyes met.

  “Don’t you want me to take off your clothes?”

  She swallowed at the desire she saw in his eyes. “Is it necessary?”

  He gave a surprised laugh and sat back. “Necessary?”

  Elinor was so mortified she could hardly breathe. Why hadn’t she simply let him do what he wanted? What did she know about any of this? Everything he’d done had felt so good. But she couldn’t let him see her without her gown. It wouldn’t be like her arm. He’d never believe those other marks came from a riding accident.

  “Elinor?” He tilted her face toward him. “Have you never made love without clothes on before?”

  She’d thought she couldn’t be more ashamed, but she’d been wrong. She closed her eyes against his curious stare. “No.”