She also had a letter that was burning a hole through her reticule. For the umpteenth time, she glanced down at the small bag looped securely around her wrist. Why had Verity written when they’d agreed it would be safest to keep correspondence to an absolute minimum? If Geoffrey had laid a finger on Gwen… She ground her teeth. He would live to regret the day he decided to bully an innocent child.
‘Miss Smith,’ Lady Faye stuck her head around the door of the drawing room as Ellen and Chakrabarti entered the hall. ‘My lawyer has just arrived. Apparently we have much to talk about.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘My lady,’ came a harrowed voice from the room behind her. ‘This is your first visit to London in four years. Excuse my impertinence, but I intend to use this time wisely.’
‘He’s always going on about leases and payments and whatnot.’ She rolled her eyes again, indicating that she considered his presence more hindrance than help. Ellen put the book on the small table by the front door and started shedding her gloves, bonnet and borrowed pelisse.
The dowager’s eyes lingered on the leather-bound book. ‘My toes are tingling in anticipation. Unfortunately they’re going to have to wait a few minutes.’
‘At least an hour,’ called the lawyer. ‘Or three!’
‘As you wish, my lady.’ Ellen curtsied, trying not to look relieved, and Lady Faye disappeared back into the drawing room.
The door shut behind her, not quite cutting off Lady Faye’s remonstrations. ‘I pay for your services, and you should be good enough to remember that next time you decide to come barging into my house during reading time…’
‘Poor man,’ Chakrabarti whispered with a wince, before hurrying down the passage towards the kitchen, the tails of his black coat tapping gently against the backs of his legs.
Ellen took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to her bedroom. She could hear Pamela and Adelynn chatting in Lady Faye’s chamber next door. If she didn’t open the letter soon she just might die from the not knowing, but she couldn’t risk opening it in front of anyone. Despite Calum’s probing questions about her bruises, nobody else seemed to have noticed not everything was as it should be, and Ellen was desperate to keep it that way. She crept downstairs, seeking peace and quiet to read.
On the first floor, the stairs opened directly into a large room, and she stepped off the landing, hardly bothering to glance around.
With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
Dearest Ellen,
Do not be panicked by my writing to you. I’m happy to report Gwen and Maggie are both safe. For now, all is well.
Geoffrey is more determined to locate you than we first suspected and is already on our trail. Maggie and I have decided we need to move Gwen to a safer location, somewhere that has no connection to either you or her. I fear it will take me some days to find a new place, but I am unwavering in my commitment to keep them both out of harm’s way. As an extra precaution, I will not disclose any more details in writing.
Your friend always,
Verity
Ellen let out a deep breath, tears stinging her eyes. Maggie and Verity had done more for her than she could ever thank them for. There was nothing—nothing!—she could ever do to adequately repay them for their kindness.
‘Ye’re crying.’ Calum’s voice was blunt. He stood in the middle of the large room. It was long and narrow, probably half its original size. Tzar was asleep near the window but otherwise the room was empty.
‘Have you been here the entire time?’ She hurriedly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Aye.’ He limped closer. His brow was furrowed and there was a darkness in his gaze that reminded of her of clouds right before a storm. He patted his pockets as though searching for a handkerchief but came up short. ‘Is someone threatening ye, lass?’
‘It’s nothing.’ She pulled out her own handkerchief from her reticule and discreetly wiped her nose.
The duke’s frown deepened. ‘Is the letter from the lout who hit ye? The one ye ran away from?’ His Scottish accent had returned. It made his voice somehow heavier, as though it held more substance than his English voice.
She narrowed her eyes, suspiciously. Why wasn’t he yelling or sulking or being just generally annoying? Was he actually…concerned for her? She didn’t want him to be concerned. She relied on him being infuriatingly miserable. She didn’t know how to deal with a concerned Calum, a caring Calum. If he kept this up, she might just find herself confiding all her problems to him and that would be disastrous. In London, nobody knew who Ellen Burney was. Her secrets were safe. Her reputation was intact. She had an opportunity to build a new life—a life of independence as Ellen Smith. A life where her self-worth came from her ability to support Gwen and not from who her brother was.
‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
She found herself leaning towards him, being drawn in by the worried tone of his voice. She pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Please, just leave it, Your Grace.’ She turned away from him, but he caught her shoulder. His grip was feather-light. She could have easily pulled away, but his touch was more than just a physical bond. It was a touch of comfort, of solace, of solidarity. She looked at his hand. His fingers were mainly undamaged though a couple of smaller scars still crisscrossed his skin.
‘Ellie…’
What did he see when he looked in the mirror?
Crazy Calum. How could the newspapers have done that to him? He wasn’t crazy. Just sad and lonely and grief-stricken.
Her bruises were slowly healing, but Calum’s scars would always be a part of him. He could leave London, but the rumours and the speculation would always follow. Everywhere he went, Calum would always be known.
He turned her around to face him. He had that haunted look in his eyes that she had seen on the faces of parents who’d lost sons to the war or on the faces of son who had returned.
She didn’t resist as he tentatively pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, careful to avoid touching her sore wrists.
He was so tall and broad and muscular. His embrace was a cage around her. But he wasn’t locking her away; he was keeping her safe. A moment in his arms couldn’t hurt. Just a moment, and then she would stand on her own two feet again.
She rested her cheek on his chest until all she could see and hear and feel and breathe was Calum.
Chapter Eleven
Surely she’d read that wrong! The hero was licking what part of the heroine? Ellen stared down at the boudoir novel lying open on the table before her.
Lady Faye laughed. ‘You look like you’ve suffered a revelation.’
‘I didn’t realise…’ Her breath was trapped in her chest. ‘Do people really do that?’
She was reading aloud to the dowager. Unconventionally, they were sitting in the dining room, enjoying the sun before it disappeared behind clouds and smog again. One of the bay windows was open and the faint smell of scented geraniums perfumed the air.
‘Only the very best men, gel.’ There was a twinkle in Lady Faye’s eyes. ‘Only the best.’
‘Oh, my.’ Ellen let out a puff of air. The smooth-talking on dit-dropping Frenchman who was the hero of this particular story wasn’t really her cup of tea. Perhaps if he were a little gruffer… Calum kneeling before her. Calum tugging up her skirts. Calum’s tongue at the centre of her throbbing heat. She squirmed on her seat, her blood suddenly singing with profound need. ‘This is one dangerous book.’ And it was giving her too many wonderful ideas.
‘Is there any breakfast left?’ Calum limped into the dining room, as though her very thoughts had conjured him into existence. ‘Your dratted cook just kicked me out of my own kitchen.’ He’d left his jacket off again and his shirtsleeves did little to hide the sinewy muscles of his arms. She had to wrench her gaze away before they caught her staring.
‘Go away,’ ordered Lady Faye. ‘You’re interrupting our reading, and Ellen’s only just getting to the good part.’
‘What part is that?’
‘You should have come looking for breakfast earlier,’ Lady Faye said in lieu of an answer. ‘You’re hours too late. Now you’ll have to wait for afternoon tea.’
‘I was busy earlier.’ His gaze slide over to Ellen. The heat of it touched her skin. She pretended not to notice, even as the throbbing intensified. She locked her knees together and worked hard to keep her expression neutral. What would Calum think if he could hear her thoughts now?
Lady Faye crossed her arms over her large bosom and stuck out her bottom lip, making it clear she considered Calum’s lack of breakfast to be nowhere as important as her boudoir novel. ‘This isn’t even the dining room anymore. Ellen and I have commandeered it for our own nefarious purposes. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?’
‘What sign?’ He opened the door the rest of the way. ‘Ladies of the Scandalous Romance Morning Room.’
‘Precisely.’ The dowager tapped Ellen’s hand with a finger. ‘Remind me to remind Chakrabarti to hang another sign on the door. It shall read ‘No men allowed’. Unless…’ She turned her gaze back onto Calum. ‘Did you want to take over reading?’
His voice reading those words: Ellen would melt from the inside out.
The duke gave the book one quick glance before stalking back out of the room.
Ellen watched his retreating back with a shaking breath. If she were a writer, she’d dedicate pages and pages just to the breadth of his shoulders, to the black depths of his eyes and to the way her heart seemed to backflip whenever he walked unexpectedly into a room. Oh lordy. Why had she tied her stays so tight that morning? She could hardly breathe.
She fiddled with a corner of the book, sure that if she tried to keep reading in this state she’d fumble the words. Her face heated. Could everyone tell what she was thinking? Her face grew hotter.
‘Lizzy!’ Owen’s call pulled Ellen back to the present. He strutted inside, waggling his cane before him as would a dandy parading through Hyde Park.
‘If you’re looking for breakfast, you won’t find any in here.’ Lady Faye tilted her head to one side so her ward could press a chaste kiss to her cheek.
‘Miss Smith.’ Owen darted forward, pressing a less-than-chaste kiss to Ellen’s cheek before she could pull away. ‘I make a point of never leaving my house without breaking my fast. My own man makes the most superb kippers.’ He dragged an empty seat from its place further down the table and wiggled it into the small space between Lady Faye and Ellen, where a chair did not belong. His hand brushed Ellen’s knee as he sat down.
Mr Tattershall: master of the ‘accidental’ caress.
She closed the book.
‘Ellen’s reading me the most delightfully educational novel. It’s about—’ Lady Faye snapped her mouth shut with a wink.
Owen moved to read the title, but the dowager snatched it off the table and tucked it under her posterior. ‘It’s much too shocking for your young, innocent ears.’
‘My feelings!’ Owen pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Innocent, indeed!’ Today he wore a green waistcoat embroidered all over with dragonflies, a crisp cravat and his beaver hat, which was doing a rather fine job of highlighting the hazel specks in his otherwise blue eyes. A fact he undoubtedly knew and which was probably the sole reason for him wearing the hat inside.
‘What I really want to know,’ continued Owen, ‘is why Wood is prowling up and down the hallway like an angry bear? When I knocked, he actually opened the front door to me. I thought you had a butler now?’
‘He’s sulking. Calum, not the butler,’ Lady Faye clarified. ‘Besides, it’s the servants’ day off.’
Owen rolled his eyes. ‘What’s got his cravat in a knot today?’
‘Apparently news of my visit is spreading around London and people are beginning to breach the front gates to leave their calling cards. The horror of it all!’ She gave a fake gasp. ‘I daresay he’s trying to scare them away.’
‘He is?’ Ellen hadn’t seen Calum by the door when she’d come down that morning. ‘For how long?’
‘Since the crack of dawn, I believe. He’s afraid someone will sneak a calling card onto the tray when Chakrabarti isn’t looking.’
‘And he told you all of this?’ Ellen’s heart started thumping against her chest. ‘Did he mention anything of letters?’
‘Calling cards, letters, the Prince Regent himself.’ Lady Faye’s smile faltered. ‘Are you all right, gel? You’ve turned…pasty.’
Ellen nodded, gripping the edge of the table. She’d told Calum to forget about the letter. She’d told him it was none of his business. What did he think he was doing guarding the front door? This wasn’t a coincidence. He hadn’t bothered guarding the door any other day since Lady Faye’s arrival.
He was being nosy or overprotective or…goodness only knew what thoughts entered that man’s head. He was beyond belief!
Remember Rule No. 1, pleaded a desperate voice at the back of her mind. Behave. Behave! Keep your temper.
Oh, fie on Rule No. 1. The duke had overstepped the mark and he was going to be getting an earful at her earliest convenience. She crossed her arms. Behave indeed. It was he who needed to behave.
Lady Faye and Owen were staring at her in confusion, so Ellen quickly schooled her expression into one of calm. ‘If he doesn’t want callers, why doesn’t he just take the knocker off the door?’
‘Men,’ ejaculated Lady Faye. ‘They never think.’ She turned to Owen. ‘Was there a reason for this visit, dearest? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.’
‘I spoke to Grace this morning.’ His expression turned solemn.
‘I see.’ Lady Faye stared down at her hands. The change was instantaneous. Where a moment ago she’d been jolly, she was now sorrowful. ‘It was silly of me to think anything would have changed.’
‘Lizzy.’ Owen rested a hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
Whatever was happening, it was a private moment. Ellen rose, intending to give them space, but Lady Faye stopped her.
‘My daughter hasn’t spoken to me for nearly four years. She thinks I took Calum’s side when Pierce died in that horrible fire. But there were no sides. Cal was hurting just as much as she was. And we all know he didn’t have anything to do with that fire.’
‘It was a terrible accident,’ Owen agreed.
‘Sometimes I think there are two Graces,’ said Lady Faye. ‘There’s the kind and thoughtful Grace who loves her family. That’s the Grace I know. But now there’s also the angry and sad Grace who won’t have anything to do with me or Calum.’ Her shoulders slumped like she was sinking in on herself.
‘She misses her son,’ said Owen.
‘We all miss him.’ Lady Faye touched a hand to the mourning brooch pinned to her bodice.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Ellen couldn’t begin to imagine the heartbreak of being hated by her own daughter.
Lady Faye stood up abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the floorboards. ‘I want to visit Grace myself.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
Ellen and Owen both stood up too, exchanging a worried look.
The dowager was pale, and she suddenly looked ten years older. ‘I don’t care about wise. I care about my family. Will you take me?’
‘Of course.’ Owen offered his arm.
‘My gel.’ Lady Faye turned to Ellen. ‘I won’t be needing your services this afternoon. Why don’t you take some time to yourself?’
‘If you’re sure.’ Ellen curtseyed as the dowager swept from the room, Owen at her beck and call.
***
Cal turned on his heel, limping down the passage. He could still feel Ellie pressed against his chest, taking comfort in the arms of a man nobody had dared take comfort from for many years. Reaching the far end, he turned again, pacing back towards the front door.
To hell with morning callers! Apparently the allure of the dowager marchioness, lately returned to London, was too great for the ton to ignore. E
ven the threat of Crazy Calum wasn’t enough to keep them at bay.
Well, I’m not having it. The ton had abandoned him when he’d been at his most vulnerable; now he was determined to abandon it.
Patrolling for unwanted visitors had absolutely nothing to do with the crying lass who’d accepted his comfort yesterday.
He dropped into the porter’s chair, the cracked leather squeaking with age, and closed his eyes. He could still see her tear-stained cheeks and the quiver of her lips. The need to be doing something, anything, to help her was eating him up. But there was nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do. He gripped the handrests until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t even know who the letter was from.
‘What are you doing?’
He started. Ellie.
‘You’re guarding the door.’ She pressed her hands to her hips in that way he was quickly coming to associate with an oncoming lecture. A thrill of anticipation raced through him.
‘Aye… nay… If ye already knew the answer, why ask the question?’
‘But why are you guarding the door?’ She ran a hand over her hair. It was tied back in a soft bun, and the wisps that framed her face had been lightly curled. Or maybe they were natural curls.
Chocolate! That was the word he’d been trying to think of the other day to describe the colour of her hair. Too dark to be brown but too light to be black; it was the colour of thick drinking chocolate, rich and delicious—the perfect companion to her strawberry lips.
She clicked her tongue expectantly.
‘I’m watching for…birds.’ He took his jacket from the coatrack and slipped it on just to give his hands something to do. To stop himself pulling her chocolate hair free of its pins, until the silky strands caressed her neck and shoulders.
‘Bird watching?’ Her tone boded nothing good. ‘Since when have you been able to see through solid wooden doors?’
‘Well, I’m opening it without warning. That way I catch the birds unawares.’ He demonstrated, gesturing out the open door. A large crow sitting in the low branches of the old yew tree cawed mournfully. ‘See, surprisingly effective.’
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