by Wendy Vella
A smile caressed her lips. “And here I did not think you had one.”
Newcombe grinned. “Rushbourne might make it sound like a dull story, but the family certainly did not think it one. The workers at the mill hailed him as quite the hero. Did you not offer your workers financial support too?”
“A paltry sum,” Lucian said. “Just enough to prevent rioting while they looked for new jobs.” And he was starting to regret such a decision. Losing the mill had been bad enough, but the financial strain had brought him far more trouble than he had expected.
Ellie leaned forward. “Lord Rushbourne, you are far more altruistic than I realized. Soon you shall have all the fine ladies knocking on your door and asking for donations to all their worthy causes.”
“And I shall frighten them away with my ghastly looks and terrible manners,” he replied dryly.
Before Ellie responded, the dessert was brought out. He sighed quietly when the conversation drifted away from the mill and his heroics, and onto Ellie’s travels. Lucian listened half-heartedly as he dug into the apple pie before picking at the brandied fruits in the center of the table. She spoke of things he had never seen—and likely never would. Not that he was particularly interested in travel, but it made his life of smoke and cotton and hard work seem mightily dull.
When the meal was finished, Abberley announced his intention to have cigars and brandy out on the terrace. “You are welcome to join us, Lady Hawthorne,” he said, “but Newcombe and Mr. Denwood do not smoke or drink so will keep you company.”
“Looking after my health,” Newcombe said with a grin. “Something these gentlemen care little about.”
She smiled placidly. “And nor do I, thank you. I shall stay with these gentleman.”
Lucian flung down his napkin and pushed the chair away, ignoring his annoyance at having to leave Ellie with either of the men. Both were gentleman—far better men than he probably—and would treat her with the upmost courtesy, but Newcombe was a handsome man with his fair hair and smooth jaw. Would he charm her? Would she enjoy his company?
Dipping his head to her, Lucian followed Abberley and the other gentleman out onto the terrace. Being in the town, the terrace hardly matched that of country houses, but it provided a fine aspect of a reasonably sized garden, and its position upon a slight hill gave them a view of much of the town. The rows of houses, huddled together like cows during the winter, released their warm glow upon the streets, and the starlight revealed the puffs of smoke rising lazily from their chimneys.
“Your patroness certainly knows how to express herself,” Abberley said as he handed him a brandy.
Lucian did not smoke but the brandy was welcome. He took a sip and savored the warmth travelling down to sit in his belly. “She is not my patroness,” he said tightly.
“I admire an intelligent woman,” Benton, the owner of a mill in the next town, said.
“She thinks too damned much,” Lucian muttered. “Doesn’t do enough observing. Lady Hawthorne believes she knows all there is to know of cotton because she has read books on the matter.”
“There are many who would think you once had little knowledge of cotton, Rushbourne,” Abberley pointed out.
He glared at Abberley as he heard the condescending tone. Many of the other mill owners had been apprehensive of having landed gentry in their midst, but he thought he had convinced them he was no snob. “They would be right, but I lifted my nose out of books and rolled up my sleeves, and learned the hard way.”
“No one can deny you know your stuff,” Benton said.
“And if you let Lady Hawthorne take a more active role, she would learn fast enough. Bloody hell, if I had the opportunity to spend time with her, I wouldn’t let her leave my side.” Abberley grinned and the other men chuckled.
Lucian fisted a hand at his side. “It’s a good thing she is not your burden then, is it not? You would be vastly distracted.”
“She is not a natural beauty, I will say that much, but there is something about her that makes my skin itch. I don’t know how you’ve kept your wits about you, Rushbourne. Those lips are downright sinful. If I were you I’d have made her my mistress and have her on her knees by now, with her lips wrapped ar—”
Pain shattered through Lucian’s fist before he had realized what he had even done. Abberley reeled back and clutched his nose while the other two men drew him away from the injured man.
“She is a lady,” Lucian spat, “and I won’t have you speaking of her that way.”
“You’re not her husband, Rushbourne, and this is my house. I will do and say what I damned well like.”
Hot anger rolled through Lucian and he yanked his arms away from the gentleman holding him back. “You will apologize for speaking that way.”
“Why? She did not hear me.”
He lunged for Abberley again, only to be dragged back once more. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the mental image Abberley had created, but whatever it was, he wanted the pleasure of unleashing his anger on the man.
“I demand satisfaction,” Lucian barked.
“You wish to fight me in my own house? And this is the behavior of the gentry?”
“I would defend an insulted lady to my last breath, if that is what you mean.” Or maybe not any lady, but certainly Ellie.
“Very well then. I take it we are not dueling or some such nonsense.”
Lucian had little desire to be shot or to shoot someone, even if he was a fair shot, nor did he wish to wait to force an apology from Abberley.
“Here. Now. A fist fight.”
Benton stepped between them as Lucian tore off his evening jacket and worked on undoing his shirt sleeves to shove them up above his elbows. “Gentleman, do we have to ruin a pleasant evening with such behavior and with a lady present?”
“Abberley should have thought of that lady before speaking in such a manner.”
The man laughed as he chucked his jacket at Benton. “Bloody hell, Rushbourne, anyone would think you were her lover. You aren’t, are you?”
Nostrils flaring, Lucian backed to the open end of the terrace and onto the lawn. Abberley followed. He regretted drinking quite so much, but Abberley was marginally smaller than he and he liked his chances against him.
They squared up to one another and Abberley threw the first punch. Lucian dodged it and returned with one of his own, his fist meeting his jaw. His opponent staggered back, but returned with a fine knock to the side of Lucian’s head that made his teeth rattle. However, the flirtation he had witnessed all evening blazed in his mind and his host’s words rang in his ears, firing his fury. He retaliated quickly, hitting him first in the gut and then around his ear.
“Stop!”
Both men paused at the sound of Ellie’s voice as she hurried across the terrace to stand in the middle of them. She swung her gaze between them and moved over to Abberley who was bent double and whose face was already swelling.
“What do you think you are doing?” She glared at him.
He sagged a little, seeing himself as she saw him. No better than the man he used to be. Thoughtless, aggressive, uncouth.
She put an arm around Abberley and Lucian could not help but fist his hands again. “Let us put something cool on that bump, Mr. Abberley,” she said.
She motioned to Benton to take him in and, of course, the man obeyed, for who would not. Here was Countess Eleanor, not the sweet Ellie he knew. Regal, commanding, with a canny ability to make him feel quite the fool.
She came to stand in front of him and lifted his chin to eye his face in the dim glow from the windows. “What were you thinking? You cannot pick a fight with your host.” Clearly, she concluded there was no damage and Abberley needed her help more as she dropped her hand.
He clenched his jaw. “I was defending your honor.”
“Why? Lucian, I had thought you past such terrible behavior, but clearly I was wrong.”
“He said...” he scraped a hand through his hair. “It does
not matter now. I think it best I leave. Enjoy your evening, my lady.” He took her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips as though that might make up for his terrible behavior. Why how she viewed him bothered him, he did not know.
She stared at him. He rose and they shared a look for a heartbeat before he snatched up his jacket and strode out of the rear gate, and onto the street. Lucian walked briskly. Had she watched him leave or simply dashed straight inside to see to Abberley? And why did it matter so much to him what Abberley said or even if they found each other attractive?
It didn’t, he told himself, as he strode along the dark street towards his town house. Let her be attracted to him. Let her take him as a lover, or even marry him. Then she would be Abberley’s problem.
So why did his stomach sink at the thought of her being someone else’s burden?
Chapter Sixteen
Finally
“Good morning.”
Lucian lifted his gaze from the papers on his desk and offered her a thin smile. The fight the previous night had not left a mark on him though he looked wearied. Mr. Abberley could not say the same and had been sporting a fine bruise on his jaw by the time she had left for the evening. Not that she felt much sympathy for him anymore.
“My lady.”
My lady. Not Ellie. Oh dear, she had really ticked him off. “How are you? How is your face?”
He put a hand to the side of his head and shrugged. “A little sore. No less than I deserve I suppose.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry for my words to you last night. Mr. Benton told me Mr. Abberley had said something none too flattering about me, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Lifting a shoulder, his smile tilted further. “I cannot blame you.”
He did not blame her for misjudging him. Now she felt even worse. Lucian really was quite far removed from the young man she had once known. The revelation of his heroics had kept her awake all night. Not only had he tried to defend her honor—albeit, perhaps not in the best manner—but he had been injured rescuing a child. She knew there was more to the tale than he suggested. Mr. Newcombe had not told her all, but it was clear he had entered the burning building with the knowledge he could well die to rescue the trapped child. He really was a hero.
“I am sorry I have caused you so much trouble.” Eleanor wrung her hands in front of her, avoiding his gaze. “I...I realize now I am in your way. I shall leave tomorrow on the first train.”
He stared at her for a long while, a finger tapping the desk. She could not look up for fear of meeting his gaze but she saw his tense posture in the periphery of her vision. The clock ticked heavily behind her, each thunk matching the beating of her heart in her ears. She was a fool to have become involved in his life in any way. She should have stayed away. What had she been thinking, believing she could make some kind of small difference to the world? When had little Ellie Browning been anything other than insignificant?
“Stay.”
The word rushed towards her, harsh and raw. She lifted her gaze and her heart was now firmly jammed in her throat. Pure desire lit his eyes, but surely it was not for her?
“I cannot. My Mama—”
“Stay.”
Her lips parted and a nonsensical sound, a little like a sob escaped her. Her heart reached out for him and she wanted to draw it back, tuck it away and protect it behind the strongest fortifications possible, but it seemed Lucian had brought a battering ram to her chest and had broken through. He would only shatter her heart again.
Before she could think any further on the risks of being in Lucian’s presence, he stood, strode around the desk, kicked the door shut and moved towards her. His hands were upon her, cupping her face fiercely and lifting her lips to his. In the next instant, their lips had met. All of this happened in mere seconds and was a blur of movement, yet each moment felt so significant.
Her thoughts drifted and fear dissipated leaving only warmth and desire. The ache in her chest dropped low, swift and sharp. Eleanor was forced to scrabble her hands across his shoulders to get closer and the hard edge of the table met her bottom through her skirts as he pressed her back.
His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she gave it to him. Their tongues tangled furiously. Heat was everywhere. Cupping her face, against her lips, crushing her body. Building inside.
The rough texture of his jaw created a delightful friction across her skin and he kissed her harder, desperately. She had never known anything like it, perhaps did not think Lucian capable of such reckless abandon. Nor did she think herself capable of such, yet here they were practically climbing against one another.
She bumped against the desk as a hand slid down to draw her closer. His palm fairly singed through the material and she grew aware of male hardness everywhere, even through the layers of her dress. If she did not have her thick petticoats, would she be able to feel another hardness? One she did not think herself capable of inspiring? It did not seem possible she could inspire that in Lucian yet he kissed her like a man possessed.
A rough sound rose from his throat and she answered it with a moan. Forceful fingers tugged at her hair and for once she didn’t care if it all came tumbling down. All she cared for was more kisses, more touches.
More Lucian.
When she slung her arms around his neck, their chests became crushed together and the throb deep down intensified. He groaned and bundled her closer, drawing her away from the desk. As they kissed, they wavered, back and forth like the sail of a ship. Her back struck the door, then he knocked into the bookcase. Several books spilled onto the floor with a thump but she didn’t care.
Finally, she ended back by the desk and he lifted her upon it to position himself between her legs. She parted her thighs instinctively and he slotted himself as close as possible. And there. She felt it. That was it, was it not? His arousal?
It was no good, she had to know for sure. While he peppered hot, wet kisses down her neck, bringing about the most delightful tingle all across her face, she reached between them and cupped him through his trousers. Sure enough, there it was. She almost whooped with joy.
Lucian hissed and tore away from her. He didn’t leave her though, as she feared he might. Instead, he rested his hands on the desk on either side of her and pressed his forehead to hers. “Ellie, you’re a dangerous woman.”
She closed her eyes and tried to gather her breath, and her thoughts. Lucian desired her. Goodness knows why, but he did. No other man ever had. So what should she do with this knowledge? Was pursuing anything with Lucian worth the risk? A woman like her could never keep Lucian forever.
But, oh Lord, did she want to feel that delicious ache again, and enjoy his hot kisses over and over. She wanted to touch his skin and feel his muscles roll. She wanted him between her legs.
“Will you stay?”
Eleanor opened her eyes. “Mama is at home. I am neglecting her.”
“She will understand.”
What was he asking of her? She wasn’t sure, yet she could not bring herself to ask outright. “I should return home.” His shoulders sagged a little and she smoothed her hands over the top of them. “But I may return in a few days?” she suggested.
Up close, she could not see his smile but his eyes crinkled and he brought his hands up to cradle her jaw. “You drive me insane. How shall I survive the wait?”
“You have survived your whole life without me. I am sure a few days will do you no harm.”
Lucian drew back a little and his smile dropped. “I can’t offer you anything, Ellie. Hell, not that you need anything. You are far richer than I will ever be. But I am not in the position to—”
She held up a hand, feeling her confidence swell inside her chest. He did want her. Maybe not as a wife but as a lover. That was what he was saying, was it not?
“I do not ask for anything, Lucian. Just a little of your time. Can you give me that?”
“That I can do.” He stepped forwards again and pressed a sweet kiss
to her lips. “When you return, I shall make you mine.”
Excitement bubbled inside her. The way he said mine. Oh, it was what fairy tales were made of. But this was no fairy tale, she reminded herself. This was Lucian—a rake and a scoundrel. He would bring her a few moments of pleasure, nothing more. Well, hopefully more than a few moments. Enough to make her feel like a proper woman, she hoped.
But, whatever happened, she would not fall in love with him. She would not dream of happily ever afters and knights in shining armor. The rake wished to bed her and she wished him in her bed. That was as far as things would ever go.
Chapter Seventeen
No Horses Here
The clock chimed, dragging Lucian’s attention from his work. He dropped the letter he’d been holding and stared at the clock for several moments. Ellie would be waiting for him. His mouth grew dry. Was he really going to do this?
He pictured her sprawled on a plush hotel bed in nothing but a sheer slip of satin and nodded to himself. He bloody well was. He’d been on tenterhooks since he had received her telegram yesterday informing him she was returning today and to meet him at her hotel room at nine o’clock.
It was seven now, giving him two hours to clean up and dress. He had already taken a long bath in preparation and even stopped to have a cutthroat shave, but he had been working since he had returned home and the air of the study was stifling. Not that it was a hot day, but having her telegram in his pocket all day made his blood boil.
He cleaned and dressed with the help of his valet and tried to force thoughts of work aside. They were still trying to catch up after the loom collapsed and he had lost a worker. Fred’s mangled hand meant he wouldn’t be working in the mill ever again. Lucian had sent over some food and money via one of his office assistants and he said the prognosis looked dire.
When he stepped out onto the street, he drew in a breath of cool evening air and felt the stress slip away. He did not want work distracting him from tonight. For whatever reason, Ellie wanted him, and he wanted her. Wanted her so badly that the past week had been torture. He needed to breathe in her vanilla scent, touch her hair, feel her lips on his. Who knew little Ellie could kiss like that?