More than once, Nina had witnessed her brother Anthony in his cups. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought Elliot drunk.
“Elliot?” she called out, taking the last step and setting a hand on his back.
A bright drop of red blood dripped onto the table to contrast with the white marble surface.
She gasped and swallowed the bile working its way up her throat. “You’re hurt. What happened?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough and low. He glanced at her. A slow line of blood weaved its way from his hairline to his cheek.
The acidy taste of bile filled her mouth. She grabbed the hall chair and pulled it toward him. “Sit, before you collapse.”
“Nina, love, are you wearing your shoes? I knocked the vase over. Be careful the shards of broken pottery.”
“Goodness, Elliot, don’t worry about me. I have my shoes on. Sit and tell me what happened?”
He lowered himself onto the chair.
“The gate to the mews was open. When I went to close it, I noticed the lock on the ground. I bent to pick it up, and someone cracked a cudgel against my skull.”
“Goodness! Zeb must have heard him. That was why he wished to go outside.” Nina took a quick glance at the dog, who sat at the rear of the hall, looking concerned.
“Elliot,” Meg cried, leaning over the railing of the stairs, her blue eyes wide with fear.
“I’m fine, Meg. Go back to bed.”
Limping, Meg made her way down the stairs and to his side. Thankfully, the girl had slippers on. “What happened? Did you fall?”
“I think someone tried to rob him,” Nina said.
“In the house?” Meg glanced around.
“No, he was outside with Zeb. Don’t worry the dog scared the man away.”
“I’ll go get some ice from the kitchen.” Meg darted toward the stairs.
“Meg, slow down,” Elliot mumbled, wincing.
Nina crouched in front of him. “We need to fetch the doctor.”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“But you’re bleeding.”
“Just a scrape.” He stood and slipped his arm around her shoulders, and they moved up the steps.
Inside their bedroom, Nina dragged the counterpane down, and Elliot sat on the edge of the mattress.
“Should we wake your valet?” Meg asked, dashing into the room with ice wrapped in a cloth.
“God, no.” Elliot gave the slightest shake of his head, as if anything more would cause him unbearable pain.
“Are you sure you do not wish us to send for a physician?” Meg plucked nervously at the fabric of her sleeve.
“Positive, Meg. Now go to bed,” Elliot replied.
Meg twisted her hands together.
“Go on, Meg,” Nina said. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”
Meg hesitated, then, with a nod, exited the room.
“We should fetch a constable.” Nina helped Elliot remove his clothes.
“I didn’t see my attacker’s face.” Elliot rested against the pillows and placed the ice-filled cloth to his head.
Nina nibbled her lower lip. Uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. Why didn’t he want to send for a constable? Did he think he knew his attacker? Goodness, did he believe it was someone her brother hired?
“Nina, stop gnawing on your lip, darling.”
“I still think I should send for a doctor.”
“I’m already feeling better.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Come warm me in bed. That’s all I need.”
* * *
The following morning, Nina stormed into her family’s Park Lane residence.
“Lady Nina,” the butler said, stepping into the entry hall. The look on his face clearly betrayed the servant sensed her agitation.
“Is my brother in his office, Menders?”
“Yes, my lady. Should I announce you?”
“No, need.” She strode past the man and into James’s office.
He glanced up. The smile on his face dissolved, and he stood up so fast his high-backed leather chair nearly toppled over. “What is the matter? Has Ralston done something to upset you?”
“No. But I fear someone else might have.” All night, she had wondered if James had had a hand in what had happened to Elliot.
A line formed between her brother’s brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Did you have Elliot attacked last night?”
Her brother’s eyes widened. “Nina, what are you talking about?”
“Nina?” Caroline said, stepping into the room. “What would make you think something so heinous?”
“Caroline, you didn’t see James’s face yesterday in the corridor at the theater. He looked ready to kill Elliot, and someone attacked him last night.”
Looking truly shocked, James stepped around his desk. “What?”
Nina told them about the incident.
Caroline gasped. “Is he injured?”
“Sore, but he says he is fine.”
“Surely you do not think James responsible.” Caroline pressed the tips of her fingers to her cheek.
“He was livid with Elliot.”
“True,” Caroline said, “but I explained to James how Amelia has been trying to get Elliot’s attention and is jealous of you. He now understands your husband does not encourage the woman’s advances.”
James had grown quiet. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I love you, Nina, but I would never have your husband attacked. That you could even think me capable of such an atrocious act . . .”
The hurt expression on her brother’s face was enough to make Nina regret coming here. “James, forgive me for accusing you.”
“I was angry, but wanting to kill a man and actually doing it are not the same thing.”
“Yes, I know. It was probably a thief, but what of the incident at Lord and Lady Hathaway’s house party?”
“What incident?”
“That’s right. You had already left. Grandmother didn’t tell you how one of the large urns on the Hathaways’ rooftop fell and nearly hit Elliot.”
“Good Lord!” James leaned back against the corner of his desk. “Amelia’s husband, Lord Hampton, saw the way his wife placed her hand on Elliot’s chest at the theater, but I do not think he would have Elliot attacked.”
“I don’t believe so either. He is such a sweet man, and he was not at the house party to see how his wife eyed Elliot,” Caroline said.
“Yes, but people talk, and Hampton is beginning to realize his wife has no compunction about cuckolding him. The old fool should never have married the woman.” James shook his head. “And then there is the Duke of Fernbridge.”
“What of him?” Nina tipped her head to the side.
“Rumor has it Fernbridge threw a vase across his dining room when he learned of your marriage. It appears His Grace has more of a temper than we realized.” James released a heavy sigh.
“Perhaps it was only an accident at the house party and last night just a thief,” Caroline said. “Mayfair has experienced an increase in robberies over the last several weeks.”
James scrubbed a hand down his face. “Perhaps. But, Nina, I’d feel better if you and Elliot moved in here.”
“No, we are leaving in three days to go to Ralston House. Caroline is probably right. It was most likely a thief last night and the other incident an accident.”
* * *
Elliot awoke and cradled his throbbing skull. He glanced at the spot next to him. Where was Nina?
The door inched open, and she strode into the room carrying a tray. “How is your head?”
“Fine,” he lied, ignoring the icepick-like pain.
“I brought you some tea and milk-toast.” She set the tray down.
Her thoughtfulness was appreciated, but the thought of eating milk-toast held as much appeal as going to Clapton’s Boxing Club today and engaging in a round or two.
“I called on my brother this morning. He acted shocked when he heard
what happened to you. You were suspicious of James, weren’t you? That was why you refused to call a constable.”
He tangled his fingers with hers. “Getting struck in the head causes a bit of confusion. My head is clearer now. I don’t think it was him. It was a botched robbery.”
“But what of the incident at Lord and Lady Hathaway’s house party?”
He’d wondered about that as well. And the incident with his carriage. Thankfully, Nina didn’t know about that. He appeared to be one unlucky bastard, or someone was definitely trying to kill him.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” he replied, trying to ease Nina’s mind.
* * *
Three days later, in the dim night, the carriage Elliot hired at the train station rumbled toward Ralston House. His body tensed with nervous energy and he rubbed the back of his neck.
Nina, sitting next to him, touched his arm. “Are you sure your head feels better?”
“Yes, much better.” He wasn’t lying. The pain had subsided unless he touched the goose egg on his head. The tension he experienced centered on what Nina would think of his estate.
Estate. The word made one envision a place of grandeur, and at one time Ralston House had been that. But now it had loose shingles, peeling paint, and bowing floors.
He thought of the opulence of the Duke of Fernbridge’s country residence with its elegant furnishings and stable full of prime horseflesh. Two residences that were like night and day. Worse, Talbot said Lord Huntington’s house in Essex, where Nina had grown up, was one of the grandest country homes he’d ever visited.
If he could build up Langford Teas, one day this house would reflect great wealth. He’d make it a home Nina and their children, and Meg and her family, would proudly stay at, but such a day was long off.
Elliot noticed Nina peering at him and realized he tapped his foot nervously against the floorboards. He stilled the movement.
The carriage drove between the two brick pillars. The gatehouse had been vacant for a long time, but it appeared Mr. McWilliams had pulled the wrought-iron gates wide in anticipation of their arrival today.
As they drove closer, Elliot was pleased that the night hid an abundance of sins, but that would only delay the inevitable.
He glanced at his sister. He appreciated the work Meg and Mrs. Newcomb had done to make the place cleaner and more presentable, but in the morning, Nina would see not only the condition of the residence but the threadbare upholstered furniture and curtains, so old they might disintegrate under one’s touch. And if one didn’t get a spring up their arse when sitting on the sofa, they were indeed lucky. Thank goodness, he’d ordered new mattresses for Meg’s bedroom and his after his stubborn sister had refused to return to school. Sleeping on a lumpy bed would not have helped her leg and at least Nina would have a comfortable place to sleep tonight.
“Oh, the flowers are beautiful!” Nina said, peering out the window as the vehicle took the winding road to the residence.
Elliot glanced out. The moon highlighted the pink and white astilbe he and Mr. McWilliams had planted on both sides of the winding drive, sending spikes of featherlike flowers to sway in the slight breeze.
“Elliot helped plant them,” Meg said.
Nina turned on the seat and stared at him. “You planted them?”
“With the help of Mr. McWilliams, the groundsman.” Elliot feared the smile on his wife’s face would soon be turned upside down. Such splendor could not overshadow the dismal interior of Ralston House.
The rattling of the harnesses and the sound of the gravel crunching under the wheels came to a stop.
Without waiting for anyone to open the vehicle’s door, Nina anxiously swung the carriage door wide and stepped down into the front courtyard. Excitement lit up her eyes as she viewed the house.
Though he’d told Nina the house needed a great deal of repairs, she’d seemed to brush his comments aside. She would learn he’d not exaggerated. Elliot assisted his sister out of the carriage.
Mr. McWilliams stepped out of the stables to the right of the house’s front courtyard.
Nina smiled at the groundsman as Elliot introduced him. “Even at night, I can see how spectacular the flowerbeds are, Mr. McWilliams.”
“Thank you, Lady Ralston. Couldn’t have gotten them all planted without the help of his lordship.”
The housekeeper strode out of the house, the key ring attached to her waist jangling. She bobbed a curtsey to Nina.
“Nina, this is Mrs. Newcomb, our housekeeper.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nina said.
The woman smiled and curtseyed again, while the driver and Mr. McWilliams removed their traveling trunks and the crates of books they’d brought from London.
Elliot released a slow breath as he offered Nina his arm and they stepped into the entry hall. He blinked. The scent of lemon balm drifted in the air, the hall table gleamed from a fresh coat of wax, and the Carrara marble floor sparkled. From the corner of his eye, he saw the proud smile on both Meg’s and the housekeeper’s faces.
In the dim light, it looked elegant. He glanced up at the nearly twenty-foot ceiling. Shadows drifted across the surface, hiding all the cracks in the plaster. No amount of polishing and scrubbing would hide the shabbiness in the morning, and the thought that his sister was doing such work still upset him. The girl was beyond stubborn. Hopefully, Nina could convince Meg to return to school. He didn’t wish to mull over it now. He had a new mattress to try out with his lovely wife.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As the sunlight filtered around the bedchamber’s curtains, Elliot wrapped his arms tighter about Nina’s warm, sleeping body, and glanced around. When they’d stepped into the room last night, lit by only the banked fire and a small lantern on the mantel, he’d not noticed the walls were freshly painted. Even the cracks in the plaster were repaired, including the crown molding, running the perimeter near the ceiling.
Elliot blinked to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
His sister’s smiling face as they stepped into the house late last night floated to the forefront of his mind. He recalled the way the entry hall had looked as if someone had spent days scrubbing it to a new shine. He’d thought Meg and Mrs. Newcomb had performed a miracle, but the repaired molding meant Meg had hired a skilled workman.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
“M’lord, do you want your breakfast served in your room?” a woman asked.
The voice didn’t sound familiar. “Is that you, Mrs. Newcomb?”
“No, m’lord. I’m Molly Jenkins. One of the new maids.”
New maids? What the blazes was going on? If they’d intended to stay in this run-down place, he would have asked Mrs. Newcomb to hire a staff, but he had been sure that as soon as Nina saw the condition of Ralston House, she would be anxious to return to their London town house where some improvements had been made. And he’d hoped, with only the housekeeper and gardener about, Meg would eventually wish to go back to school.
His sister had a good deal of explaining to do. Like where the hell she’d gotten the funds to make the improvements to this room and to hire several new maids? Hopefully, Meg hadn’t taken up being a highway robber. The idea should have made him laugh, but it was the only explanation that came to mind.
“Jenkins, is my sister up?”
“Yes, m’lord. She’s already in the morning room eating breakfast.”
“Then we shall join her.”
Stretching like a cat, Nina made a contented noise. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
With lowered lashes, she drew a finger over his bare chest.
He wanted to kiss her and wake her body fully with his own, but he needed to confront his wayward sister and find out what was going on. “Meg is already up and eating breakfast. How about we join her?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Nina glanced around. “This is a gorgeous bedchamber. I cannot wait for
you to give me a tour of the rest of Ralston House.”
Elliot silently groaned.
A short time later, as Elliot and Nina made their way to the morning room, he tried not to gape. Every room they passed was freshly painted with barely a crack in the walls. Perhaps he was dreaming and at any moment, he’d wake up.
“The way you described Ralston House had me thinking it was near crumbling, but every room is as stunning as the bedchamber,” Nina said.
Well, it had looked like it was crumbling.
They stepped into the morning room. New curtains hung on polished brass rods, and the old beetle-eaten floorboards at the entrance were gone, replaced with solid pieces of oak.
His sister glanced up from where she sat at the table, then obviously reading his confusion, busied herself slathering marmalade on a piece of toast.
“Meg, might I have a word with you?” Elliot released a slow breath, trying to ease the pressure in his chest.
She motioned to the silver chafing dishes, sparkling on the sideboard. “After we eat breakfast, Elliot.”
“It smells divine.” Nina strolled to the sideboard and picked up a plate.
“Yes, our new cook is quite talented,” Meg said.
New cook? Elliot twisted his head so fast to peer at his sister a burning pain shot up the back of his neck. He didn’t remember Ralston House having an old cook. Mrs. Newcomb usually did the cooking, though nothing too extravagant. What the bloody hell was going on? He narrowed his eyes at Meg.
His sister glanced away and took an overly robust interest in smearing more marmalade on her toast.
Elliot strode over to Nina. She placed scrambled eggs, toast, and strawberries on her plate. She smiled up at him, and he forced himself to return the expression as he glimpsed at all the silver chafing dishes and the assortment of food.
Christ. His sister must have taken up thievery. Nothing else made sense.
He filled his own dish with bacon, eggs, toast, and fried tomatoes, then sat at the table. A movement outside caught his attention. Two workmen, one carrying a ladder, the other a wooden toolbox, walked by the window.
Blast it all. What was going on here?
Red suffused Meg’s cheeks as she nibbled on her toast.
“Sister, dear, as soon as we have eaten breakfast, I really must have a word with you,” Elliot said.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 24
