This time he stopped uttering protests he did not mean.
This time the floor really did tremble…under the heavy pounding of running feet.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“He was on fire.”
“I’d wager he was,” Timms said with an old man’s envy.
Aunt Lally picked up Ellianne’s garter from the floor and waved it. “And what were you going to do with your skirts up and your stockings down, piss on him to put the fire out?”
The two had coming barreling into the butler’s pantry. By then Stony had his shirt on, but no jacket, waistcoat, or cravat. Ellianne had the top of her gown pulled up, with her long hair covering the unfastened opening in the back. Timms, in nightcap and gown, had an ancient blunderbuss but not his false teeth or his spectacles. Aunt Lally’s gray-streaked red hair was in a long braid, and her night rail had delicate violets embroidered on it, surprisingly. Less surprisingly, she had a long-handled copper warming pan in her hand and immediately started beating at Wellstone’s head.
Ellianne shouted at her to stop, as soon as she took the blunderbuss from the old butler before he fired at one of them by mistake. “It is not his fault. Lord Wellstone has done nothing wrong, nothing I haven’t asked him to do.” So Aunt Lally started beating at Ellianne’s head. She might have the language of a dockside laborer, but she had the morals of a vicar when it came to her family.
Stony wrested the warming pan away from her. “You are making more of this than need be,” he said, looking to see if any other servants had heard the commotion and were coming to find out if they were under attack. Luckily, the rest of the staff slept in the attics, far enough away to dampen the sounds. “Nothing happened.” By the grace of God and a single candle.
“More than need be?” Aunt Lally yelled, fighting him for the weapon. “By Saint Sylvester’s stones, I’ll give you what need be, you jackanapes.”
They all knew what needed to be done. Ellianne’s aged butler and her widowed aunt waited for Stony to speak.
“I would be honored—” he began, resigned, relieved, almost in raptures that the decision was out of his hands.
But Ellianne interrupted. “Lord Wellstone would be honored if you shared a glass of wine with him before he leaves, in case we do not see him before we depart. We’ll start packing tomorrow to return to Fairview.”
She could so calmly, so casually dismiss what had happened? Stony was almost as angry as Mrs. Goudge. Ellianne really had been using him to satisfy her curiosity, to scratch an itch, nothing more. Blanchard was correct, but misguided: Miss Kane was not cold; she was coldhearted. He poured wine into crystal glasses Timms took out of one of the cabinets.
He could so cheerfully, so unconcernedly accept her interruption? Ellianne’s heart was breaking at Stony’s cavalier behavior. The least he could have done was try a little harder to finish the proposal so she could have refused it in form. He did not even want to marry her enough to finish the blasted sentence. Well, she did not want to marry him either, she told herself, accepting the glass he handed her. If she drank enough, perhaps she would believe it. Wed a man who did not love her? Never. She should have listened to his pleas to go. He had not wanted her, Ellianne Kane, at all, only a physical release. Any woman would have done as well. Once she paid him his wages, he could pick his own woman, his own wife if he chose, a real lady this time, one of his own kind. She drank the wine and held out her glass for more.
By Jupiter, she was celebrating her escape, Stony thought, tucking in his shirt and putting on his coat. A man should get drunk in private.
By heaven, he couldn’t wait to leave, Ellianne thought, mortified now that she’d urged him on when he was so unwilling. She handed him his crumpled cravat from the floor, hoping her cheeks weren’t scarlet with shame that she’d help rip it off his neck.
Aunt Lally’s mouth was clamped shut, as if she’d taken another vow of silence, or was too aggravated with the pair of ninnyhammers to speak.
The butler’s mouth was shut too, because he was embarrassed by Mrs. Goudge’s seeing him without his teeth.
Then they heard another sound, the scrabble of clawed feet on the bare floor in the hallway.
“Oh, no,” Ellianne cried, searching the pockets of her green cloak for a bonbon or a boiled carrot.
“That’s just what this night needs to be complete.” Stony started for the door, thinking that if he could slam it shut, he’d rather spend the night in here with the bitch, the witch, and the butler than encounter the hound from hell. He bumped into Timms, though, who’d had the same intent. Stony almost knocked the old fellow off his slippered feet. By the time he’d pushed Timms into the chair, the bulldog was careening around the doorpost, into the room. His wrinkled head swung from side to side, until his bloodshot eyes focused on Wellstone, the intruder.
The dog started to gather itself for a leap, a snarl in his throat, but no teeth in his gaping jaws.
Stony leaped first, for the bottle of wine on the table.
“Don’t hurt him!” Ellianne shouted.
“Damnation, what about me?” Stony shouted back. But he wasn’t holding the bottle by the neck, like a club; he was showering wine out onto the wooden floor.
“My floor!” Timms whined.
“My wine!” Aunt Lally wailed.
“My word,” Ellianne whispered. “I think it’s working.”
At first the dog skidded in the liquid; then he sniffed. Then he put his big, ugly head down and began to slurp. The nubbin of a tail on his rear end began to wag.
Ellianne let out the breath she’d been holding. “I wish we had thought of doing that before.”
“I wish we hadn’t drunk so much,” Stony said, setting down the empty bottle and looking at Ellianne accusingly for having that second glass. He began to sidle toward the door, thinking to make his getaway before the floor was dry.
Timms had unearthed another bottle, of even better vintage, from a different cabinet. He poured an inch of it into a gleaming silver finger bowl and set it on the floor. “I do believe Lady Augusta and the beast shared a libation now and again.”
“I wonder if dogs suffer from overindulgence,” Ellianne mused as the slurping continued. “And what they call the morning’s remedy. The hair of the cat?”
“I’ll leave you to find out. I deem it the better part of valor to depart while Atlas is imbibing,” Stony told the others, bowing slightly, trying to look dignified despite his disarray.
“I’ll see you out,” Ellianne said, ignoring her aunt’s glare and Timms’s throat clearing. “I won’t be long. A minute or two.”
Aunt Lally picked up the blunderbuss, not the warming pan. “I’ll be counting.”
When they reached the front door, Ellianne told Stony that she would send a bank draft over in the morning.
Stony nodded. He could not afford to refuse her payment, the way his pride wanted. “All business as usual, Miss Kane?”
“Our business is concluded, Lord Wellstone.”
So he kissed her. Stony did not like being dismissed, did not like thinking that their heated exchange meant so little to Ellianne that she could brush him aside like a dog hair on her hem. He did not like thinking that the passionate interlude would never be repeated, either. So he kissed her with fervor and feeling and every fiber of his being.
She kissed him back. Heavens, she kissed him back as if she could sink into his skin, becoming part of him, a part that he could not simply walk away from. Let him take his freedom home, she thought, but let him take the memory of what could have been, if he had cared for her at all.
They kissed, and Ellianne could no longer feel her feet touch the floor. She was up in his arms, she realized with the two bits of her brain still working, off the ground. He was holding her so they touched everywhere. Everywhere they touched was another glowing ember about to catch on fire.
They kissed, and Stony was ready to burst, ready to lay her down on the marble tiles, or carry her up to her bedroom.
He could not move, though. He could not breathe or think or do anything but what he was doing, kissing Ellianne—not like he’d ever kissed any other woman. Hell, there was no other woman but Ellianne.
They kissed and time stood still. Aunt Lally did not. She and her blunderbuss appeared in the hall.
Stony opened the door; then he raised one gold eyebrow in inquiry.
“I still will not marry you,” Ellianne said, understanding the question.
“I still have not asked.”
*
According to Gwen, Ellianne was not planning on leaving for two days. She was not going out except for her engagement with Sir John Thomasford, because of the gossip. Dear Ellianne could not like being stared at or whispered about, Gwen said, eyeing Stony with accusation, as if he could have prevented Blanchard’s vile rant. He could not have foreseen the depth of the cad’s hatred, any more than he could have foreseen the heights of his own folly afterward, of which, thank goodness, Gwen was ignorant.
He could, however, make certain neither happened again. He guaranteed Blanchard’s departure from Town by having friends call in the dastard’s markers. Blanchard could flee, or he could face debtor’s prison. He’d never be welcome at the gentlemen’s clubs or the polite drawing rooms again, not a loose screw who insulted women and, worse, reneged on debts of honor. Someone, perhaps Lord Charles, dropped a hint that the man might have cheated at cards. Blanchard wouldn’t be showing his face, broken nose and all, at the gaming parlors, either.
As for Stony’s lack of control where Miss Ellianne Kane was concerned, he solved the problem by staying away from her. He could not overstep the bounds of propriety if he did not step over her doorstop. He was not certain he could see her, otherwise, without making a worse fool of himself. Even knowing she was a heartless jade, he still wanted her. Desperately.
Of course, one word from her would have brought Lord Wellstone to Sloane Street before the ink on her note was dry. The note never came, though. The draft on Miss Kane’s bank did, more generous than he deserved, considering, but not so high that he would be offended. No message was included. So be it: He no longer worked for her. He did not have to follow her dictates or cater to her whims. He could stop worrying over fortune hunters or her future in whatever narrow society she chose to live.
On the other hand, he no longer worked for her. His uncomfortable scruples about mixing employment and enjoyment, finances and flirtations, were not relevant anymore. Of course, he still believed no woman should be wed merely for her wealth, and no man should be a parasite on his bride’s bank account. If he were a rich man, though, Stony could now present himself as a legitimate suitor for Ellianne’s hand, freed from the restraints of his guardianship. Not that she would accept him under any conditions, but he would feel better about asking. If he were inclined to make the offer.
Lud, a wife. Living with the same willful woman for the rest of one’s life? Hell could not be worse. Of course, living without Ellianne was already torture, and barely twelve hours had passed. He looked at the clock, then at the check in his hand. He and Gwen could live comfortably—if not happily, on Gwen’s part—at Wellstone Park in Norfolk now, but he would never be wealthy, never be considered an advantageous match for anyone but a vicar’s daughter, a Cit’s niece, or a title-hungry widow.
Stony decided to call on Miss Kane anyway. He had legitimate reasons, after all, he told himself. He had to thank her for the check, ask about the dog, make a last report on the search for her sister, and express his concern about the lint-brained female’s engagement with the leech.
*
“I really wish you would reconsider accepting Sir John’s escort,” he told her, after catching his breath at the sight of the radiant smile she gave him in welcome.
Ellianne was smiling from the inside out. He’d come. He did not have to, was under no obligation to do so, was not being paid to do so, but he had come to call. On her. What a beautiful, glorious day. One could almost hear the birds singing, if one ignored the rain and the wind and the street traffic noise. He had come, and he was expressing concern for her welfare—for free.
“I know you thought I was merely acting like a dog with a meaty bone,” Stony was going on, “but I cannot trust Thomasford or his motives.”
Ellianne did not want to talk about Sir John. “He is simply a dedicated scientist. Would you like more tea?”
Stony shook his head and persisted in his warning. “Being dedicated to dead people is freakish enough, but the man seems to grow more peculiar by the day. That night at Vauxhall he was decidedly queer. You must have noticed.”
“I did feel he was somewhat distracted, but I believe Sir John has cause for his perturbation. We are all worried about the murders, but he feels personally responsible, in his position of authority. That is admirable, rather than odd. Besides, I feel sorry for the man.”
“So send him a tin of biscuits or a bottle of wine. You do not have to share an evening with the fellow to show your sympathy.”
“It would be rude to back out at this late date.”
“You could claim a headache. Women do that all the time. Or say you are leaving town and have to finish your packing. Say anything, but do not go with him.”
She smiled. Stony was jealous. “Now you are sounding like Aunt Lally, who declares Sir John sends chills down her spine. She finds him so unsettling that she is making me take my maid instead of going with us as chaperon. She will not walk past a cemetery at night either, though, or walk under a ladder. I was always amazed that she stepped foot on her husband’s boats, for women aboard ship are supposed to be unlucky.”
“Perhaps they were, for Mr. Goudge. He died, didn’t he?”
“Of choking on a cherry pit, I believe, safe at home. Anyway, Sir John’s unique calling is gruesome, I do admit, but that is all one can hold against him. He is a gentleman and harmless, and he needs the relief of an evening away from his work.”
Stony needed relief, too, and he was not likely to get it, not while Ellianne was busy defending that slimy creature. Considering Miss Kane’s face and fortune, Stony was not convinced the man was so innocuous either, but he realized he was wasting his breath. Miss Kane’s head was as hard as her heart.
“Very well, I can see that you are adamant about going. What merry entertainment does the coroner have planned for the evening, anyway?” Stony thought he might meet them there, for his own peace of mind.
“He is taking me to dinner after another lecture. This one is about amputations at field hospitals on the Peninsula.”
Stony rethought his plans. He also reconsidered his regard for Miss Kane. Any woman who could listen to such a talk, much less eat dinner afterward, was not natural. Perhaps she and the morguemaggot could make a match of it after all. The wedding could take place in an insane asylum.
She was continuing, as if Stony had expressed interest instead of half gagging. “Did you know how many more soldiers would have died of infection if their wounds were left to fester? Why, pieces of his own uniform could kill a man if they stayed imbedded in his flesh.”
Stony quickly dropped his napkin, so he could put his head between his knees before he fainted. “I…I am sure you will find the lecture…informative.”
“I suppose, but I am mostly going in hopes of locating a qualified surgeon for the hospital I am building.”
“And after the lecture?” Stony asked, recovering with the aid of another cup of hot tea that Ellianne silently handed him.
“Dinner at the Pulteney Hotel. I thought of inviting Sir John here, but decided against it in light of Aunt Lally’s animosity. She was a trifle…vocal about taking mutton with a mortician. Not that Sir John is one, of course,” she added defensively. “He is an eminent research scientist, and so I told my aunt. And Gwen. Lady Wellstone refused to come, if I made a small dinner party of the occasion, and Lady Valentina and Lord Charles are busy. I did not feel Her Grace would be interested in Sir John’s research either.”
&nbs
p; Good gods, the Duchess of Williston dining with a connoisseur of crime corpses? “I should think not.”
“I could have asked Lord and Lady Aldershott, Mrs. Harkness-Smythe, and the other hostesses who were kind enough to invite me to their gatherings, but I do not think Sir John is in a frame of mind to endure strangers and small talk. Neither did I wish him to think I was holding an intimate dinner party for the two of us. So, you see, you need not worry that I am entirely unaware of the awkwardness of the situation.”
Not worry? He’d stop worrying when she was tucked in her bed, alone. Better yet, with himself beside her in case a lust-crazed lunatic climbed up to her window. Stony thanked heaven that the peagoose showed a little sense, not inviting a bloodsucking vampire into her home without the protection of company. Stony knew all too well what could happen there, with Mrs. Goudge’s lax chaperonage. At the hotel, even if Thomasford hired a private dining parlor, they would never be entirely alone. Her maid would be present, the hotel’s servants would be underfoot, and the other patrons would be nearby.
So would Stony.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stony had a bad feeling about that night. Perhaps he was coming down with a quinsy from yesterday’s rain, or he’d had too much to drink last evening, sitting alone in his book room. Or perhaps he would have distrusted any chap sharing a dinner with Ellianne. No matter the cause, Stony felt uneasy.
He was so unsettled that he went to speak with Lattimer at Bow Street.
The Runner was too busy to listen to Stony’s vague, niggling suspicions. “The man’s a bit daft, of course. He’d have to be, in that line of work. But he’s a brilliant anatomist, you know. Knighted for his advances in the field and all that.”
Lattimer went on to say that they were all being harried by the press and haunted by the dead girls. Everyone connected with the magistrate’s office was going without sleep or baths or proper meals, trying to nab the Barber before he struck again. So it was no wonder Sir John was not looking his finest. Lattimer glanced at Stony’s spotless, elegant attire in disdain.
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