Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Not that anyone would consider him a rake now. A scarred shadow of one, that was him, with nothing much to offer anyone. Before long, people would be thinking him a codger too.

  “Do you spend much time in Caldton?” she asked, forcing him to drop his somber train of thought.

  “Yes, I have a house not far from the mill. It means I can spend as much time there as I like.”

  “Your housekeeper said you were known to stay for weeks.”

  “Did she indeed?” He would have to have a word with Grace about keeping her trap shut. “Well as you pointed out the other day, these are trying times. The mill takes all my attention.” Her lips curved slightly—a mere hint of a smile—and her eyes crinkled. “What amuses you so?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

  “The Lucian I knew would do all he could to avoid work and now it seems you eat, sleep and breathe cotton.”

  “Much has changed these past years. You certainly have.”

  Ellie appeared to want to respond to this. Her lips parted and moved into a tiny ‘o’ shape and he braced himself for some haughty response but none came. Instead, she twisted in her seat and fixed her gaze upon the passing scenery. That she had silently declared the conversation over vexed him. He should have been the one putting an end to it. Who was she to be speaking to him as if nothing had changed? As if he was still a well-respected—no, maybe not respected, but liked—member of society. Did she not realize a beast like himself had no need for idle conversation? Perhaps she had grown tired of looking at his marked face and preferred the pleasing scenery. He wouldn’t blame her.

  The rest of the journey passed mostly in silence. Lucian occupied himself with snapping open his pocket watch every few minutes and grunting with annoyance before trying to keep his gaze from straying to Ellie. He counted the buttons on the plush red seats, he studied the wooden frame of the door with its gilded letters above it declaring it to be a first class carriage, he eyed the luggage rack and the brass moldings. And yet by the time they neared the town, the image of her head turned just so was imprinted in his mind. Surely a bit of polished wood was more exciting than little Ellie Browning, but apparently his brain thought otherwise?

  Ellie stood as the train pulled into the station and he followed suit. Air compressed in his lungs and he found himself desperate to escape the confines of the carriage. A flash of excited delight lit her features and Lucian had to take two looks. For the briefest moment, she had appeared incredibly beautiful, and yet so like the old scarecrow Ellie. How was it possible for her to appear at all beautiful? And after travelling all over the world, why did a dirty, smoky town like Caldton excite her?

  As the train came to a halt in a screech of wheels against metal, he gripped the railing above but it was too late for her. She stumbled and he thought she might teeter backwards onto the cushions, but she righted herself only to tumble into him. He had a mouthful of bonnet and a handful of silk before he had realized what had happened.

  His hands pressed to her waist as he righted her. The silk was warm and soft. Even though he felt the boning of her corset, his mind had skipped along several steps and had pictured the contours of her waist. When she lifted her gaze to his, his heart came into his mouth and sucked away any remaining air.

  He was drowning. Or suffocating. Either way he felt like a fish flapping on the beach. Lucian needed to tug at his necktie but his hands were apparently glued to her waist. Those grey eyes widened so that they were impossibly big and the dark spots at the center grew darker. If he was being uncharitable, he might have compared those eyes to the smog that hung over the town, pumped into the air by all the factories and homes, but for the life of him, he could not be uncharitable. A damn inconvenience as he really didn’t wish to be admiring them. When had grey eyes ever been anything to admire?

  He fought to tear his gaze away, and nearly succeeded, but those blasted lips captured it before he had the chance to escape. Up close, those thin lips were almost succulent and slightly glossy. As if on cue, her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip—just the tiniest suggestion of a pink tongue as it swept over it and vanished into her mouth again. Heat rushed through him and centered downwards. She released a breathy sigh and her vanilla fragrance curled itself around him.

  A booming voice cracked the moment, declaring the stop. Lucian jerked his head up and thrust her back, almost sending her stumbling again and forcing her to grapple at his sleeve. He cursed inwardly, made sure she was steady on her feet and reached out of the window to open the door. Once safely on the platform, he offered her his hand and aided her down. All the while he forced himself to draw in deep breaths in an attempt to rid himself of the constriction in his lungs—and elsewhere—and to dissipate the infernal scent of her. Even the thick aroma of the train could not penetrate it.

  Ellie took a moment to smooth her hands down her skirts, adjust her bonnet and peer around. “How far is the factory from here?”

  “A mile.”

  “Shall we walk?”

  “I’d intended to get a carriage.” The streets of Caldton would be busy and hardly the sort of place for a lady of Ellie’s ranking. Besides they would have to slip down Harefield Lane which would be lined with beggars.

  “Let us walk.”

  He’d have been inclined to ignore her plea had she not slipped her arm through his. The oddest thing happened. The word no vanished from his vocabulary and instead he found himself replying with, “As you wish.”

  Lucian rolled his eyes at himself. Too much work and smoke had addled his wits. That was the only explanation. It had nothing to do with the odd tingling sensation having this woman on his arm created. Why, he’d certainly had far more exotic and enticing creatures on his arm.

  Releasing a lengthy sigh, he escorted her out of the train station and onto the busy street. Carriages rattled by and he eyed one longingly as they started their journey to the factory.

  On foot.

  Chapter Five

  Smart, not pretty

  It was true. Eleanor had seen pyramids and exotic creatures. But none of these sights or creatures fascinated her quite as much as the hustle and bustle of the town. To see people rushing about on their business and the tall brick buildings with the blackened evidence of industry clinging to their walls made her want to burst out in excited chatter. Not that Lucian would tolerate that, she thought with a smile. She had realized she was annoying him quite early on in the journey and had no wish to aggravate him further. Otherwise he might change his mind about showing her the factory.

  Industry was so interesting. The way machinery had taken over the role of man and could create such vast quantities of items amazed her. Towns like Caldton were dominated by industry. Every man, woman and child depended on it. It might not be beautiful like Paris or breath-taking like Egypt, but there was something elemental about such a place—a place built on hard work and ambition. It fairly buzzed through the air.

  As did it through her. She felt as if she were tingling all over from having her arm looped through Lucian’s. When they passed by a rough bunch of fellows, he drew her closer and if she had been inclined to do so, she might have swooned.

  Eleanor stole a glance at him. He had placed her by the side of his face that had been untouched by the fire. Why had mama not told her he had been hurt in the factory fire? Had he been hurt anywhere else? It annoyed her, but she couldn’t help feel pity for him. It must have been excruciating. Lord Rushbourne hardly deserved her pity or even her generous temperament today, but excitement had made her forget the anger she had nurtured over the years and she was loath to aggravate him, not when she hoped to persuade him to listen to her ideas.

  He led her across the cobbled road, pointing out a pile of horse excrement for her to step around. She noted the glances he garnered. With his tall stature in elegant clothing, it did not surprise her. His wide shoulders filled his dark frock coat to perfection and the blue and gold embroidered waistcoat did not hide how physically fit he was. Lucia
n had always been blessed with a fine physique and the years hadn’t changed that.

  When they entered a gloomy street, Lucian drew her close again and Eleanor forced herself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. At the best of times her feet hated to cooperate, let alone when the infamous Lord Rushbourne had her pressed against him.

  The grimy buildings loomed over them and when she looked up, she was surprised to see sky as it felt like the buildings must almost touch, such was the amount of light seeping through. She swallowed when she spotted several men standing about the doorways, women with children at their feet. Several palms opened slowly, as if they had no real hope of her being of a charitable sort. Lucian ignored them pointedly, his gaze fixed ahead, forcing Eleanor to tug him to a standstill so she could fish in her purse.

  “Ellie...” he warned, but she unlatched her arm from his and ignored him.

  One by one, she pressed coins into their hands. A few mumbled their thanks but most seemed too eaten up with hunger or exhaustion to muster much of a response. Each grimy face spoke of years of work and starvation. She had met poor people on her journeys but none looked quite so hopeless.

  When she offered out coin in India, the children had nearly tumbled her over in their eagerness and all had come away with smiles and giggles. Times in England were hard indeed for the poor. She only hoped she could do something—even if small—to help these people.

  Lucian drew her back into his protective hold and didn’t slow until they were out of the street and into a wider one, where they were greeted by carriages and signs of trade once more.

  “You should not have done that,” he told her.

  “Why ever not?” Was he so black-hearted he begrudged them charity?

  “Most will likely spend it on ale.”

  “Even the children?”

  “For many men, the only way to survive their existence is to drink. If they are not working, they will be drinking, and if they have to beat a child to get a coin, they will. Did you not see the bruises on their arms?”

  “I—”

  “When a man is not useful in some way, he loses all hope. You must have seen it in their expressions. Your coin will do them no good. You would be better donating it to the Children’s Society. They will see your money properly distributed.”

  Warmth surged up her neck and face, and she had no doubt her cheeks were crimson. How like Lucian to make her feel thoroughly foolish. He eyed her and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his expression.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be so frank. It’s just things are very different here to the countryside or any other exotic places you have visited.”

  “I am not wholly ignorant, but I shall bow to your superior knowledge, my lord.”

  A crease appeared between Lucian’s brows and he jolted slightly as if she had staggered him with her words. He nodded curtly. “Good.”

  As he led her along the street, touching the brim of his hat to a passer-by, Eleanor clamped her lips shut to hide a smile. It seemed being agreeable disconcerted him more than being argumentative. She would have to remember that. Perhaps it was not charitable to toy with the man, but when had he ever been charitable towards her?

  Certainly not on the evening he kissed her.

  Her tightly compressed lips began to tingle and she was powerless to stop her pulse from picking up speed. She had forced the memories of that night far away but they still sprung on her occasionally and caught her unawares. The embarrassment, the shame. It all rushed through her, heating her skin and then...then she would recall the feeling of his lips upon hers and become breathless.

  “The mill is around this corner.” He motioned ahead. “You can see the smoke stacks.”

  Eleanor acknowledged his words gratefully by eyeing the building that could not be hidden by the houses lining the streets. It towered over them like a watchful master, its large square windows like disapproving eyes. Once they rounded the corner she had a full view of it and its magnificence was not lost on her.

  Even from their position outside the iron gates, the noise of the machines smothered the street sounds. On the forecourt were stacks of brown sacks piled to one side, and though there were several dozen people outside, none were still or milling around. They all moved with purpose. An excited thrum started in her stomach. She was to be a part of this—the revolution of industry. These were exciting times indeed.

  Lucian pushed open the gate and escorted her in. He led her into a door at the side of the building, and she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dull glow of the lamps. Several desks sat in rows and the heads of the men sat behind them lifted to acknowledge Lucian.

  A young man, likely no older than her stood and hastened over. “Mr. Fuller would like a word with you when you have time, my lord.”

  Lucian nodded and waved the man back to his desk before indicating to a door at the end of the desks. “Shall we?”

  Eleanor nodded, aware of being watched as she walked past to the room. Were they wondering what she was doing with Lucian? Who she was? Or did they know and were surprised by how uncomely the Countess of Hawthorne was?

  The room turned out to be Lucian’s office. Or at least she assumed it was. A generous carved mahogany desk with a green leather top dominated it and the sounds of the mill filtered in through the window which faced the forecourt. She imagined him sitting behind it, lauding over his domain. Stacks of letters were piled on one side of the desk and a bookcase to the right was filled with leather bound books. The room smelled of that leather and a little of smoke.

  “So,” he said, closing the doors, “here you are. This is the mill you own part of. Whatever shall you do with it?”

  Eleanor ignored his mocking smile and folded arms, and eyed the spines of the books. They were as she thought—records of the mill dating back to its start by the looks of it.

  “I would like to look through the records.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “As I said, my lord, I have a fine head for numbers.”

  He snorted. Even she heard it. It echoed between them. Years ago, when she thought he could do no wrong, she’d have melted into a puddle of embarrassment but no longer. She would not be victim of Lucian’s cruelty ever again. She knew how she had appeared. A silly little girl with dreamy ideas and no way of achieving them. No white knight would sweep the ugly Ellie Browning off her feet.

  “I should like to look through them,” she repeated.

  “Very well. We have, oh, twenty years’ worth of records here. Where would you like to start? I hope you weren’t intending to return home for several months.”

  She narrowed her gaze and tried to stop it from dropping to those lips, still turned up in a sardonic smile. “I have little intention of pouring over all of the records. Just the past two years perhaps. I was hoping you might send them to me at Broadstone Hall.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Why should you need last year’s records?”

  Lucian’s jaw worked as he stepped closer. “If you wished for me to send you the records then why the blazes demand a trip here and steal away much of my valuable time?”

  “I suppose my time is not valuable.” Trying to quell the flutter in her stomach, she lifted her chin. “Once upon a time Lord Rushbourne would think nothing of spending weeks travelling and amusing himself.”

  “What makes you think I find any of this amusing?”

  He had her there. Of course her company wasn’t amusing. She was an irritation. A pest to be squashed or shooed away as soon as possible. But he would not rid himself of her that easily.

  Eleanor drew in a breath and perfected her most countess-like voice. “Lucian, I understand you’re a busy man and I appreciate the time you have taken to guide me around. If you have matters to see to, by all means do. I can at least start looking through this month’s records and then you will not need to send me the ones you need or suffer my presence here again.”

  Her smile slipped wh
en she said his name. It had come out soft rather than regal and now it rang in her ears. But the moment didn’t last.

  A derisive smirk lingered around his top lip and he unfolded his arms. “Look all you want, Ellie. I doubt you’ll find much you can do. I have some of the finest bookkeepers in Lancashire. I am sure once you are done, you will have no reason to return and even less interest in doing so. Cotton is boring to those whose living does not depend upon it.”

  She didn’t protest. He might think of her as fluffy headed as the cotton his machines wove but she knew otherwise. Of course, she still had her moments when she forgot who she was and how hard she had strived to be seen as sensible and refined, but regardless her mind was quick. She might not have great looks, but she would not let anyone take that attribute away from her.

  “You have two hours.” He said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “I shall come back for you then and we can have lunch before catching the three o’clock train.”

  “I should like to tour the mill before we leave,” she said as he put his hand to the door to leave.

  “It’s dangerous and dusty. No place for a lady.”

  “A little dust has never stopped me, my lord, and I have survived many dangers.”

  As he put on his hat, touched the brim and left, Eleanor considered that the most dangerous event of her life had been the night Lord Rushbourne has kissed her. She might have survived but, unfortunately, she was not sure she survived unscathed.

  Chapter Six

  A Head for Numbers

  Two hours later, Lucian returned to fetch Eleanor. He was surprised she had not tired of pouring over the tiresome records and come in search of him. Mr. Fuller had spent the better half of the first hour complaining about the workers arriving late and the next hour and a half had been taken up with trying to establish why one of the machines was not running as quickly as it should have been.