by Wendy Vella
“Oh no.” She dropped to her knees, tears of mortification stinging her eyes. Stupid, clumsy, foolish girl. Reaching under the table, she retrieved the cup only to come face to face with Lucian who had come to crouch beside her.
“Forgive me,” she mumbled when he handed her a handkerchief. “Forgive me. I am such a fool. So clumsy.” She began dabbing at the stain on the carpet. “I—”
His hand latched around her wrist and drew it away from the tea stain. “That’s for your gown, not the carpet.”
More tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Would she never do anything right?
“Ellie? Whatever is the matter?” Warm fingers came to settle under her chin and he coaxed her to face him.
Eleanor kept her lids lowered. She would not have him see her cry. No matter what the world had done to her, she never let anyone see her cry. Not even when he had said those cruel words to her. She had spent many days curled up, crying until her lungs were raw, but never had anyone seen those tears.
“Don’t cry. It’s only a carpet. No doubt Grace will like the challenge. I fear I am not nearly enough hard work for her.”
Unable to prevent it, she let out a spluttered laugh. He took the handkerchief from her limp hand and placed it on the table above them. Seeing the stain on the hem of her gown, he used his shirt sleeve to dab away the mark. His fingers were so close to her ankle that heat rushed into her chest. Were it not for her petticoats, he would be able to graze her ankle and then perhaps take those fingers higher...
“There. No harm done.”
She sniffed and offered a weak smile. “I am clumsy. Forgive me.”
“Nought to forgive.” He offered his own smile—a genuine one. There was no seduction or bitterness or wryness behind it. She was not sure she had ever seen such a smile. It made her heart bounce against her chest as though it were on a spring. He had never looked so handsome.
When his thumb came up to brush away the dampness under her eye, she feared her heart might very well burst from her chest. The coarse texture of his thumb, no doubt brought on by the work he did at the factory, sent prickles down the side of her face and she forgot to breathe. All it would take would be for her to shuffle forwards and she would be in his lap. All he had to do was slide his hand down to cup her face and draw her into him. Their lips would then meet and his hands would come to her waist. She would flatten her palms to his chest and smooth them over his shoulders. Only fabric would be between her and those firm muscles.
The door swung open and it was not until Simmons coughed, did either of them look away.
“What is it?” Lucian barked. “Well, man?” he prompted when Simmons continued to swing his puzzled gaze between them both on the floor.
“A letter, my lord. An urgent one. From Caldton.”
“Right. Thank you, Simmons. You may go.”
Simmons deposited the letter on the console table and gave a curt bow before leaving. Eleanor clapped her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. Could today get much worse? The servants would be gossiping about the position Simmons found them in before long and the news would spread quicker than a jack rabbit hopping across a field.
Lucian offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. For a brief instant, they were in front of each other, close enough again to touch and taste—and feel. Eleanor longed to step forwards and at the same time wanted to retreat. Her feet did neither.
He released her hand and picked up the letter. As he tore it open, he eyed her. Was it her imagination or did his green eyes speak of the same need? Surely not?
When he wrenched his gaze from hers to concentrate on the missive, she saw his expression change. No hint of that devastating smile lingered and a grave cast came over his face. His brows furrowed then his jaw clenched. The hand holding the letter tightened until the paper creased.
“Devil take it.”
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
He strode over to pull the bell. “An accident. At the mill.” He studied the letter again and scrunched it into a ball before flinging it into the fireplace.
Simmons must have been waiting close by as he arrived at the study promptly.
“Have my horse saddled. With haste.”
“What sort of accident? You intend to go there?”
“One of the looms collapsed. Caught a man under it.”
Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh Lord. Was he killed? Does he have a family?”
“How should I know? It’s a letter, not a biography.” He sighed. “I don’t know what happened to him. Mr. Elmore does not say.”
Sickness welled in her stomach. Poor man. Had he been crushed? Killed? It did not bear thinking about. “I am coming with you,” she spilled out before thinking.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The train is not due for another two hours so I’ll go on horseback. It’s raining heavily and I won’t have you holding me back.”
“You would be better off taking the carriage anyway. Your horse will not tolerate a hard ride so quickly again.”
Lucian stormed to the door and yelled after Simmons, who must have only reached the hallway as he appeared again after only moments.
“My lord?”
“Have the carriage made ready.”
“Of course, my lord.” The footman’s expression remained impassive but Eleanor noted his heavy breathing and pitied the poor man who had been forced to scurry back and forth.
“You are not coming with me, however.” Lucian thrust a finger her way as he slipped on his waistcoat and punched his hands through his jacket.
“Try to stop me.”
“Bloody hell, Ellie, this is no time for games.”
“I am not playing. This is my mill too. If something has gone wrong, I want to be there.”
“This is not your mill. You own part of it. You have not worked day and night to ensure it turns a profit,” he barked. “You have not invested every spare penny in it and breathed the cotton dust, day in day out. I have no idea what your interest in that place is, but don’t pretend you have some important role. You are the money, nothing else.”
Little Ellie Browning might have cowered away at those words. She might have turned away and quietly curled up somewhere to cry. But she was not little Ellie anymore and Lucian was not quite the rakehell he used to be. She saw now the passion he had for the mill. For reasons unknown, he had thrown himself into running that mill and every word spat in her direction merely spoke of his passion for the place. A passion that she could not help but admire.
“I am coming with you, Lucian, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
“Like hell there isn’t. You are not coming with me, Ellie, and that is final.”
Chapter Thirteen
Are We Nearly There Yet?
“Will we be there soon?”
Lucian gritted his teeth. How had he let himself get in this situation? His ride had meant to clear his head and help him avoid her company. Instead he had found himself toying with her upon his return, hoping his flirtatious manner might drive her away. What a disaster.
It was those blasted tears. They had softened him. The mortification on her face as she had spilled the tea as if she had just committed some grave sin had eaten into him and turned his insides to jelly. And now he’d given in to letting her accompany him.
He peered out of the window. They would be lucky to get there before nightfall and what would he be able to do then? Nothing. He would have to install Ellie into a hotel and stop at his own house in town.
“One more stop,” he muttered, “then another hour.”
An hour. A full hour of sitting opposite Ellie and watching her chew on that cherry red bottom lip, of hearing the rustle of her skirts and watching her fiddle with the tip of her gloves. The air of the carriage smelled of her—of vanilla—like a tempting French pastry. He imagined darting his tongue over that lip and tasting her. She would be sweet too. Everything about her was far too alluring.
Lucian ground
his teeth and fixed his gaze on the hills moving by, aware of her little fidgety movements and each huff of breath. He had nearly kissed her again. Well, maybe not nearly, but that was what he had been considering on the floor in the study. It would have been ideal too. He could have pressed her back against the carpet and slid himself between her legs.
But, damnation, he did not need to be kissing the lady who was making his life so hard. Besides which, what would come of it? He could never bed her. Why should she want a scarred, miserable man with his fortune tied up in cotton and who had behaved like an utter ass towards her seven years ago?
A smile teased his lips. Oh, the irony. Once he had been handsome, rich, well sought after. He would never have deemed to consider bedding the plain daughter of a baron and now here he was, imagining hitching up her skirts and pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs.
When she had transformed into someone he desired, he was not entirely sure, but there was no denying it now. That was the only thing that had changed however. He did not want her in his life and he definitely did not want her interfering with his mill.
“Will they have closed the mill for the day?”
“Unlikely, though it depends on the nature of the accident. It must have happened first thing this morning.”
She leaned forwards and placed a hand over his. Even through the gloves, he felt the warmth of her hand and was far too comforted by it. He withdrew his own hand from under hers as quickly as he could.
“Don’t worry, Lucian. All will be well.”
“We are behind as it is. If someone has been hurt, the workers will not take well to it. There are some who believed the fire at the other mill to be my fault. They will think I’m bad luck.”
“There are other men who will work for you, surely?”
He shook his head. “These men are strong together and they well know it. They will support each other to whatever end, even going as far as going on strike. The unions are powerful, Ellie, and can command the entire workforce if they so choose.”
“Surely they won’t go on strike over an accident? These things happen, do they not? I wish they would not, but they do.”
“They do, but my mill has an excellent record of safety. Workers grow tired and careless but never has any of my machinery been at fault.”
“Do not jump to conclusions before you find out what the situation is. There is no point in racing ahead with scenarios.”
Lucian sank back against the seat, the rocking motion of the carriage making him suddenly weary. He had ridden hard that day in an effort to rid himself of all the energy and tension Ellie seemed to fill him with. Sadly, it hadn’t worked.
She was right, damn it. His mill did have an excellent record of safety and a reputation for being one of the better mills. His workers would stand by him, surely? He could not afford to lose them now. Losing the mill was unthinkable. What else did he have? Since the fire he had thought of nothing else but cotton. It was a testament to his father’s life—one of many—but one of the few enterprises he could have a hand in. And what better way to hide away from society than by disappearing into a mill where no upstanding members of society would step?
“We shall have to find you a room at the Grange Hotel.”
“I am not bothered where I stay. A simple inn will do.”
“It may do for you, but I would not sleep a wink. The town inns are not the sort of place a lady should be.”
“You will not sleep a wink anyway. I can see you are beyond worried.” She tilted her head. “I’m not quite sure when you became so serious and uptight. It is quite the transformation from when we were young.”
“We all have to grow up.”
“Rakes do not. Rakes often remain rakes all their lives.”
“You think me a rake?”
“You were.”
“But I am not now? Too ugly perhaps?”
She laughed, apparently oblivious to his bitter tone. She seemed to think he was teasing. “Hardly. But it seems you have little time for rakish behavior anymore.”
“What of you, Ellie? You are a wealthy widow. You have surely earned your right to behave as you wish, yet you are certainly far more uptight than in our youth.”
“I am not uptight. I have merely...merely learned how to behave properly.”
“So you won’t be taking a lover then?” He could not be sure why he had leapt upon this point but at least it drew the conversation away from him. Besides which, the way she gaped at him really did amuse him.
“Of course not.”
“It would do you no harm. You are a wealthy and sought-after countess. No one would even blink should you take a lover.”
“I do not believe that is true for one moment, but that is beside the point, I have no intention of indulging in such behavior.”
He lifted a shoulder. “You had enough interest at the ball.”
“Just because my mama persuaded half the men to dance with me, does not mean they have any interest in being my...my lover.”
“Your mama did not force them to dance with you.”
Did she really not realize that half the population of the county now found her very eligible indeed? And he had begun to suspect that it was not just to do with her wealth. She had been really quite attractive that night. A sort of welcome relief from all the same faces—the little pointed chins and bright blonde curls and pointy noses.
An eyebrow arched. “She forced you.”
“I am not one for dancing. It was nothing to do with her choice of dance partner for me, I can assure you.”
“You used to enjoy dancing very much.”
What could he say? That he did not want to be a freak show? That the idea of people seeing his scarred face and pointing and gossiping about him made him want to curl up and hide away forever? It was cowardice, he knew it well. He should just brave the stares and the gossip, but it was much easier to avoid it altogether. How did one go from being admired to seeing revulsion on the faces of one’s friends?
“Well, you might enjoy having a lover. No doubt being married to that dry old stick did not bring much pleasure.”
Ellie’s mouth dropped open once more but he did not relish it this time or take any pleasure in her shock. He wished he had the power to recall his words or to explain to her that it was not her fault—it was him, all him. It always had been. His inability to control his mouth or think beyond the next sentence might have been an admirable trait in a rake but not anymore. And in his foolish need to protect himself he had disparaged her husband and offended her.
“Ellie, I did not—”
“Edward might have been old, but he was a fine man. A finer man than many and you would be lucky to be half as good a man as he.”
Lucian fought the desire to slap his palm to his forehead. He was gravely aware of that. At present, he suspected every man in England was a better man than he. “I apologize—”
“Anyway, there is more to life than bed sport. Something I fear you need to learn.” Ellie threw a dismissive look his way and turned to peer out of the window.
Lucian studied her profile. More to life than bed sport? He’d heard women speak in such a way—some of the beautiful widows he had seduced had made similar declarations. They had believed as much until he had coaxed them into his bed. Was Ellie like one of them? An unsatisfied woman, unaware of the pleasure a man and a woman could share?
Edward had been very old. It was not surprising Edward could not please her though Lucian thought he would have to be dead before he did not desire Ellie. Perhaps the man was too interested in his damn bugs to enjoy his wife.
The thought caused him very real agony. Such a waste. And the knowledge would no doubt eat into him and make him madder than he already was around her. It was not his problem. Ellie was not his problem. But, bloody hell, did he want her pleasure to be his problem.
***
Ellie peeled off her gloves and threw them down on the dressing table. Fury still simmere
d in her veins as she heard his disparaging words towards Edward reel through her mind over and over. It was not Edward’s fault. It had been hers. Her husband had tried his hardest to be a good husband but if he did not find her attractive, what else could he do?
And besides, how many other widows were left so well looked after? He had been determined she would be provided for when they knew he would not survive his ailing health. With only a few distant female relatives and some cousins he did not trust, Edward had willed everything that was not entailed over to her.
And now she was one of the wealthiest ladies in the country. But somehow Lucian managed to make her feel seventeen again. Yes, he was stressed, but did that mean his awful behavior could be excused?
She slapped a palm against the dressing table and straightened when she heard a knock at the door. “Enter.”
The hotel maid dipped. “The manager said you were in need of a lady’s maid, my lady.”
“Yes, thank you. I came here in rather a hurry so I am ill prepared. I shall have to sleep in my chemise. My other belongings should be along tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady, Mr. Roberts said you had sent a telegram. I shall be sure to have your belongings stored properly when they arrive.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor eyed the girl’s reflection in the mirror. “What is your name?”
“Beth, my lady. Shall I help you with your hair?”
“If you will.” Eleanor smiled at the girl who could not have been more than sixteen but appeared confident in her duties. “Do you often play lady’s maid?”
“Yes, my lady. We often get travelers stopping by on their way to the coast or up to Scotland and their households have either gone ahead or have fallen behind. I enjoy it. It is a pleasant break from my usual duties and of course I get to meet ladies like yourself.” Beth paused as she pulled out a pin. “I hope you don’t mind me saying as much, my lady. My mother scolds me for not being able to keep my mouth shut so if I am bothersome, please say so.”