by Wendy Vella
“Certainly.” She went to move away but he kept hold of her hand and twisted in his chair to pull her into his lap.
Ellie gasped and stared up at him, wide-eyed and oh so beautiful. Slowly he pulled out the ribbon holding her bonnet on and found the two pins keeping it in place. Then he placed it on top of a stack of paperwork and used a finger to tilt her face just so. That way he had a perfect view of her features and access to those berry red lips that taunted him constantly.
He dropped a tender kiss to her lips and that swirl of anxiousness and confusion weaved into his gut again. How could he send her away? How could he keep her here? He had no answers and he didn’t like it.
“Is all well?” she asked, a little breathless.
“Of course,” he answered hastily. “Let us eat.” He released her chin and she slid off him to come around the desk and sit opposite.
Adjusting his trousers, he scanned the table top and shook his head. “I hardly know where to start.”
“It is a table picnic. Start wherever you wish. We are not in fine company here.”
“I beg to differ, my love. I am in very fine company here, but I fear I cannot say the same for you.”
“Not at all. You’re always good company, Lucian.”
“I am tired and crotchety.”
“You are, that is true, but I have a high tolerance of tired and crotchety, and I enjoy your company regardless.”
“You have the patience of a saint, Ellie. How am I to compete with such saintliness?”
“I do, it is true.” Her lips tilted into a teasing smile. “But if I was saintly, I would not be sharing my bed with you every night.”
Bloody hell, her new found confidence would be the death of him. He should have continued letting her believe she was an ugly old thing. At least then she would not put his health at risk by sending his heart racing quicker than a train.
“Devil take it, Ellie, stop speaking like that or I shall not be held responsible for my actions.”
Amusement twinkled in her grey eyes and she reached for a sandwich to hand it over. “Poor Lucian. You are tired and I am sure you are hungry. Now eat up and I’ll leave you be until tonight.”
With a grunt, he took the sandwich and his stomach rumbled at the sight of layers of cooked meat between soft bread. “I suppose I cannot object to a small break for lunch.”
Her smile held a glimmer of triumph and he gritted his teeth. Why did she have to be so blasted sweet and caring? Who had ever brought him food at work? No one, aside from those who were paid handsomely to do so. And did she really have to look at him so...so softly and affectionately? He really didn’t deserve it. He had made her his lover with no offer of anything but pleasure, and here she was looking after him. Perhaps he was not so far from the rake he used to be.
She really did deserve better, but how could he let her go off and find better? The mere notion of another man enjoying a table picnic with her made him want to crush his sandwich and swipe the rest of the food to the floor so as to throw her down on the table and make love to her until there was no doubt she was his.
His?
Lucian savagely bit off a large chunk of sandwich and watched her pick carefully at her own. Each movement of her lips brought fresh need to the surface and thoughts of sweeping aside the food did not seem so ridiculous after all.
“Did you send word to have those books sent over?” she asked, wiping away a dab of butter with a napkin.
He wished she had left it. Then he could have licked it off himself. “Yes. They shall be here by tomorrow as per my instructions, though why you should possibly wish to look through them again, I do not know. It’s enough to send me to sleep and it’s my business.”
“It is also part mine,” she reminded him. “And I must check something. There is something strange but I cannot say what yet.”
Ignoring the comment about her owning part of the mill, he found two small spots free of food to place his elbows on the table. “You think someone is tweaking the books?”
“I’m not sure. I do not think it is something as simple as someone stealing. If they were, why draw attention by sabotaging the mill?”
“As it is, I cannot fathom the saboteur’s motive. Perhaps the police were right, and it is just a mischief maker.”
“You said yourself you did not believe that.”
“No, I don’t,” he admitted.
“We shall get to the bottom of this,” Ellie said confidently.
We. It held such appeal. We shall get to the bottom of this. Not I. Not he. We.
“Let us hope so. Your investment shall amount to a grand sum of nought before long if these things keep happening.”
“I am not here to keep an eye on my investment.”
“No, you are not.”
He tried to coax amusement to his lips at her flirtatious hidden meaning, but it did not amuse him. When had it become a sordid deal rather than one that enticed and appealed? Not that he did not wish to have her in his bed, but in such a manner? Sneaking out of her room in the early hours was becoming tiresome. Leaving her was becoming tiresome.
“Lord Rushbourne, I was not speaking of my reason for being in town, but rather my reason for being at the mill. I am here to help you. You have taken on so very much and I’m aware I’m probably running you ragged.”
“You speak as though you have forced me into your bed,” he said, aware of his surly tone. “I assure you, no one can force me against my will, not even you, Ellie.”
“I am well aware of that.” Ellie leaned across and laid a cool hand across the back of his. He eyed the pale fingers against his work-roughened ones. “I am worried for you, Lucian.”
“Worried for me? Whatever for?”
“You work so hard and deal with so much. You hardly eat and you barely sleep. Someone must worry for you.”
“And it should be you?”
Her shoulders stiffened beneath her shawl. “Well, yes...for the moment.”
For the moment. Damn it, he did not want it to be a moment. He wanted...What in the blazes did he want? At the same time his heart was softening at the notion of being cared for, annoyance was simmering beneath, but he could not be sure why. Annoyance at his own behavior perhaps? Anger at treating her like this? Taking all she could offer and giving nothing in return.
Yes, the anger was certainly directed at himself. He was a selfish cad, fooling himself into believing he was doing her some kind of service by giving her pleasure. But pleasure was cheap and easy.
Love. Now that was not.
He stared intently at her for several moments. Unable to avoid his stare, she gazed back, uncertainty haunting her eyes.
“Lucian, whatever is the matter? Do you wish me gone? Oh, I am being silly.” She rose. “I’m sorry, I am interrupting your work and being a fool...” A weak smile wavered on her lips. “As usual.”
Reaching across, he latched his hand around her wrist and tugged her sharply down into the chair. She let out a startled cry and her skirts billowed up around her, forcing her to frantically smooth them down when he released her wrist.
“You are not a fool, Ellie. Far from it. I’m the fool.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I cannot do this anymore.”
Those cherry lips trembled then pursed. Her throat worked and she dropped her gaze to her hands that were tucked into her lap. “I understand. I’ll just—” She rose to leave.
He yanked her down again and kept hold of her wrist this time. “You do not bloody understand. I can’t do this...” he waved a hand about, searching for the word, “sordid thing we are doing anymore. You deserve much more than that. More than me, if the truth be told, but I am a selfish being as we both know.”
“Sordid?”
Trust her to latch onto that word. He was not sure he meant it that way. What they had was not sordid, it was special, he realized, but tainted by circumstance. He had met his match in Ellie, in bed and in life.
“I did not mean that,” he
said irritably.
“Then what—”
“Will you let me speak?” he snapped. Her mouth clamped shut. “I wish to marry you.”
There, he had said it. He wanted nothing more than a wife to tie him down, to make an honest man of him. The rake wanted to be reformed. And he only wanted Ellie.
“Well?” He prompted when she stayed silent, her mouth slightly ajar. “Will you marry me or not?”
Silence. With the exception of his pounding heart and the ticking of that infernal clock. He swore he would throw it out and get a new one. Why had he not noticed how loud the blasted thing was?
She twisted her wrist and slid it from his hold. “I...I do not know. I need to think about this.”
Inside his heart shriveled. It was not a no, he told himself, but her quiet tone and the way she had drawn into herself, sent stabs of fear all through him. He was going to lose her. Better that he had left things the way they were. At least he would have had a few more moments with her. Could he do nothing right?
“Ellie—”
“I do appreciate you asking, Lucian.” She stood and he saw the way her hands shook. “I certainly never expected as much from you, but I...I must think this over.”
“If you wanted to say yes, you would have said it.” Lucian winced at his bitter tone and grew aware he was lashing out in defense. How could he stand to wait for an answer? Better she just tell him no and let him get over it.
“I...maybe you’re right.”
No. No he was not right. He was a fool. The urge to grab her and shake her and tell her not to listen to him or even to kiss her into submission until she had no choice but to say yes, burned like hot coals in his chest, but instead he sat and waited.
“I thought as much. Forgive me for asking. The ramblings of a fool.”
Any remaining light in her eyes dimmed and her shoulders drooped. “I am going to return to the hotel,” she said softly. “If you could have the books sent to my room, I shall look over them as promised.”
Before he could utter anything else, she turned and fled. The slamming of the door reverberated through him, working into the cracks of his heart and making him feel as though it had shattered to a thousand—or even a million—pieces. He eyed the picnic she had left behind and dropped his forehead to the table. What a heel he was. He had ruined everything and lost the woman he...
Did he really? He nodded to himself with grim realization. He loved little Ellie Browning. He worshipped Countess Eleanor. He could not live without his sweet Ellie and he had ruined everything. As usual.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Problem with Politeness
Eleanor clutched her grumbling stomach and silently told it to shush while she weaved through the busy street. Goodness, she had been in such a hurry to leave, she had not even finished her meal. But the grumbling was more likely from the empty ache inside that Lucian’s words had left.
The ramblings of a fool...
It was market day in Bellmont Street and the stalls were set all along the road with baskets of their wares spilling out further onto the cobbles so that only a thin strip of pedestrians could slip past. Stall holders shouted out the prices of their wares and how good a deal they were, but none would grab her attention today.
If Lucian knew she was walking back to the hotel, he would threaten to put her over his knee. Or perhaps he would not. He did not seem to care what she did now. How had things gone from a marriage proposal to her leaving so quickly? Dampness trickled down her cheeks and she swiped a tear away. She was crying? She never did that in public. Never.
Whatever did he mean by the ramblings of a fool? Were all his words to be considered that and therefore she should forget everything he had said to her? Including words of her beauty or of how he regretted hurting her seven years ago?
Eleanor drew in a heavy breath and clutched her shawl around her shoulders as she dodged an errant apple that seemed to be making a leisurely journey down the uneven cobbles.
Through blurred vision, she eyed the stalls with their faded canopies of various colors—yellows, reds and greys. She passed a man selling chickens tucked away in big baskets and they all seemed to take a disliking to her, squawking as she strode past. Perhaps they too were admonishing her for being asinine.
Yes, she had wanted to scream. Yes, I’ll marry you. If she had spilled out those words quickly enough would he not have changed his mind? Would they now be celebrating their engagement? But that was little Ellie Browning speaking. This was the fairy tale ending she wanted, but what of the countess? She had left impulsive behavior behind long ago. Every movement should be carefully considered—certainly one as big as marriage.
Though Eleanor admitted little of what she had done with Lucian had been carefully considered. Emotion and passion had driven her there. However, a few nights of shared passion were hardly likely to impact the rest of her life. Marriage to a rake would though.
A drop splashed her cheek. “Stop crying, Eleanor,” she muttered to herself.
Except she was not crying, though tears still welled in her eyes. Several more drops informed her it had started to rain and soon the cobbles were wet and shiny and her thin shawl soaked through. She hurried her pace and fought a shiver.
“I say,” someone declared as she came free of the bustle of the market and stepped onto the pavement.
“Forgive me.” She lifted her gaze only briefly to see Mr. Newcombe smiling down at her.
“Lady Hawthorne. How do you do?”
“Oh, Mr. Newcombe. I am well.” She forced a smile.
“A little wet though.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I am.”
“Are you here alone?”
Eleanor peered up at the gentleman. In a thick coat and with his tall hat on, he had a much better chance of staying dry. She did not wish to be rude and tell him she really must hurry before she became ill, however, so she tolerated his conversation. She had not had much occasion to speak with him at the dinner party though he had seemed courteous and harmless enough. He was pleasant looking with carefully styled fair hair and a thick moustache that moved when he spoke. Had she been in a better mood, she might have found it amusing.
“Yes, I’m just walking to my hotel.”
“Are you staying at The Grange?”
He touched her elbow lightly to move her out of the path of more people hurrying by and they stood under the awning out of the rain. Puddles were growing steadily on the cobbles and Eleanor bit back a sigh of impatience. Any longer delay and she would be wading to the hotel.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s not often we have a lady of your importance in town. You have drawn some attention, I am afraid to say.” He glanced out from under the canopy. “I fear this rain shall not let up, can I escort you to the hotel? I have my trusty umbrella as you can see.” He motioned with his folded umbrella.
All she longed to do was return to the room, have a cup of tea and curl up and cry. The sooner she could do that the better. She nodded wearily. “Yes, thank you.”
Mr. Newcombe offered her his arm and she took it, wary of appearing impolite. Being tucked into the side of a man she barely knew did not appeal but if he was friends with Lucian, she knew he could be trusted. He flicked up his umbrella and offered her a smile.
“Have you come from the mill?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You have taken a great interest in the world of cotton, my lady. I don’t know many ladies who would find it so fascinating.”
“Well, I am sure many ladies do not own part of a cotton mill.” She hoped she did not sound as snippy as she felt.
He chuckled and led her down the narrow alleyway that led out onto the main street on which the hotel stood. Thank goodness. She could not wait to be in her own company and think through the day’s occurrences so far.
“You are very right, though I am sure not many mill owners would let you have such a hand. I have heard Rushbourne has you doing hi
s accounts or some such.”
“You have heard much about me it seems?”
“As I said, the town is awash with the news of your presence here, Lady Hawthorne. I suspect they have hopes of an impending marriage.”
“They do?”
“Forgive me, but Rushbourne’s interest in you has not gone unnoticed, even to myself and you know men are terrible at understanding the complexities of courtship. Of course with the mill’s financial troubles, I believe Rushbourne has been considering the benefits of having a wife more and more now. Not, of course, that he is interested in you for financial reasons...of course not, you are a fine lady, and I am sure he would not care if you did not have a penny.”
Coldness washed over her and it had nothing to do with her wet garments, but she kept her gaze ahead. She began to move more quickly as the front of the hotel came into view. Mr. Newcombe was forced to move with her and as they crossed the busy road and watched for carriages, so too was the conversation forced to an end. Eleanor could only be grateful. Did Lucian see her as a way to put an end to the mill’s troubles?
He stopped outside the hotel. “Well, here we are. Safe but not quite dry I fear.”
Eleanor disengaged her arm from him. “No, but I shall get dry soon enough. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Newcombe.”
“Not at all. Always happy to be of service.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I hope we shall see you at another dinner soon. It was a mighty relief to have the company of a fine lady the other night. We are not usually given to barbaric behavior, let me assure you.”
“There was only one gentleman behaving poorly I am afraid, but I shall be returning to the country soon enough. I have been away too long as it is.”
“Yes, well, Rushbourne has much on his mind I am sure. Such is the state of cotton right now.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I am sure you are right. Good day, Mr. Newcombe.”
“Good day, Lady Hawthorne.” With another touch to his hat, he strode off at a leisurely pace.