“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 behaviour 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 behaviour.”
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 realise 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 himse
lf 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 apologise—”
“Anyway, there is more to life than bedsport. 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 bedsport? 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 simmered 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 behaviour 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 travellers 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.”
“Not at all.” Eleanor smothered a yawn. While she might be tired, she welcomed the distraction of the talkative maid. It drew her from other thoughts, ones of say, oh, a certain arrogant Viscount. “I have travelled a lot but my staff always accompanied me.”
“You are lucky. I have never been out of this town. My brother follows the railways but I have two younger sisters who need me.” Beth pulled out the last pin and placed it on the dressing table then began to braid her hair. “You have so much hair, my lady. It is really quite beautiful.”
Beautiful? Eleanor failed to keep a laugh back. “It is cumbersome.”
“I imagine it is hard to manage everyday but I see so many women with fine hair, so fine you can see their scalps and they insist on pulling it this way and that, and making their heads look as though they are almost bald. Yours is a lovely golden colour and so very distinctive.”
Allowing her lips to tilt in amusement, she let the maid finish the braid before standing to remove her gown. No one had called her hair beautiful before. Not Maggie, who no doubt dreaded the task of battling her hair everyday and not even Mama. Distinctive though? Did she like that? In society, it never did one any good to stand out, as she well knew. She had spent most of her young life standing out be it by tripping over, or being ugly or by simply being too gregarious. When had it ever benefited her to be distinctive? Yet when Beth had said it, it had sounded much like a compliment.
Beth helped her with her dress bodice, then she set to work unlacing her corset.
“Tell me did you hear of the accident at Merleton Mill?” Eleanor asked over her shoulder.
“Oh, yes, you can’t keep much quiet around here, but how do you know about it?”
Lying did not come naturally to Eleanor but she feared Beth might lose her talkative manner if she knew she was part owner of the mill. “I overheard when I was penning my telegram. Was the accident fatal?”
“No, though the man is likely to lose his arm I fear and that could well kill him.”
“How awful.”
“The viscount has had a run of bad luck. Some of the workers are saying they won’t keep working there if it continues. First the fire at his other mill and then this. I heard a lady was harmed there too when she visited.”
Eleanor put a hand to her head and remembered the painful flick of the belt against her head. Beth tugged away the corset and she felt her ribs expand gratefully. Then she set to work on her skirts and petticoats.
“There we go, my lady. Do you need me for anything else?”
“No, thank you, Beth.” Now in her chemise, Eleanor reached for her purse on the dressing table and drew out a coin for the maid.
“Thank you, my lady. I shall return in the morning to help you dress.”
Eleanor waited until the girl left before washing and climbing into bed. Was it likely the mill would close? She did not quite understand Lucian’s obsession with it though the industry fascinated her and her hope to provide a risk free environment for the workers still burned bright. And now someone else had been harmed. What could she really do for these people? Her dreams of having some sort of impact for people like Jane seemed ridiculous now, particularly when Lucian clearly wanted her to have nothing to do with the mill.
Still she would not fall foul of his terrible moods and shocking words. It took more than that to scare her away.
Chapter Fourteen
Not Hungry...For Dinner
Lucian paused mid-stride when a figure in pale blue pressed through the gates and walked into the courtyard. Against the backdrop of black iron and cobbled stones, she appeared ridiculously exotic—like one of those blasted bugs her husband had liked so much. Even if Ellie was wearing the same dress as yesterday
As she neared, he noted the furious expression peeking out at him from under her bonnet. He stiffened and braced himself for whatever tirade she had prepared for him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, coming to a stop a pace from her. “Did you walk here alone?”
“You left me at the hotel!”
He cursed under his breath. “Forgive me. I had meant to send someone to fetch you but I...well, I forgot. It’s been a busy morning.”
Ellie’s expression wavered a little, sadness haunting her eyes. “You forgot me.” It was not quiet, but a soft, sad statement. “Of course you did.”
“I had no intention of leaving you there, Ellie. I was going to send one of my foremen at a more reasonable hour but we have had our hands full. Regardless, you should not have walked
here. It isn’t safe.”
“I was perfectly fine. No one approached me and a few kindly people pointed me in the right direction.”
Lucian scraped a hand through his hair at the mental image she created. The sweet young thing pausing to ask a street thief or some other morally bankrupt creature that haunted the streets for directions. How Ellie had survived this long on her own was beyond him.
“Come then, though I don’t know what you expect to do.”
“Is everything running again?” she asked as he led her into his office and she drew off her bonnet to lay it on top of a stack of papers.
He found himself staring at the bonnet with its blue ribbons and ruffles, and puzzling over the effect it had on the dark office. Like a splash of sunbeams or something. Then he glanced at the owner of the bonnet and thought the same thing. In spite of not being able to change and being attended by someone at the hotel, he assumed, she brought such a splash of radiance to the office that his heart skipped like a silly little schoolgirl.
“Well?”
He jerked his gaze to hers. “Yes, with the exception of the damaged loom. We lost a day’s work and not having the loom running will put us behind.”
“And we have orders to fulfil?”
Scowling at the use of ‘we’ from her mouth, he nodded. “One of them we were already behind on.”
“Can you ask the workers to put in extra hours?”
Hand to his jaw, he rubbed the bristle he allowed to grow there. Heck, he barely had time to dress this morning, let alone shave. He pictured Ellie sweeping in and asking sweetly that they all stay longer, and shook his head. “No. They won’t have it. Besides which we are limited to set hours.”
Rogues and Ripped Bodices Page 21