The Slide Into Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

“I’m a what? A nearly dead person?”

  “You’re not a he? You’re a she?”

  The fury in the blue-eyed gaze that met his burned red hot as the she in question finally lifted her hood. “What difference does that make? I still would have been dead.”

  Darius raised his hands in mock surrender. “In my defence, I thought you were a man and I wasn’t aiming right at you.”

  “But you did shoot at me. Are you in the habit of gunning a person down before you even reveal your presence?”

  “I am indeed,” he said with a nod and a malicious spreading of his lips. Spending over a decade on ship as a pirate meant kill or be killed. Even a legitimate, above-board sailor didn’t tarry for tea and pleasantries before an attack.

  “And I did call for you to stop,” he felt the need to add.

  “Who are you?” she asked, pushing her hood all the way back to reveal a mess of silvery-blonde hair to go with those bright, bright blue eyes.

  Was she a snow faerie? Had he fallen from the tree and died and not realised? “Who are you?”

  “I asked first,” she pointed out with a glare for the obvious.

  “And it’s my land,” he retaliated childishly. “You are trespassing; so I am well within my rights to shoot whomever I please.”

  “I’m not sure the magistrate would agree with you.”

  “I’m not sure I care.” But that was a bald-faced lie. He did care. He had to play the part of respectability for the short time he was back on English soil. It was not his wish to live or die there in the countryside. When he’d set sail from Boston, he’d had but one mission, one line written on the list before he could return home, but things grew more and more difficult by the day. It was a job he had to see through to its bittersweet end and then he would sail back to America and the life he had started to build. He was not impressed with the interruptions to his already tight schedule.

  “Eliza Penfold,” the snow faerie offered after a short silence, and perhaps an internal argument. She inclined her head but did not offer her hand.

  “You don’t say?” Well, well, well. She’d still been in the schoolroom last time he’d seen her from afar. She hadn’t seen him at all. That was the wash with bastards. The lofty toffs never tended to really see them.

  “And you are?” she prompted.

  “Darius.” He thought she paled slightly but she was already whiter than a sheet. Now that he could study her, he saw similarities. The years hadn’t changed her much, merely turned her into a woman, which was no surprise considering how many had passed.

  “Darius who?”

  “Just Darius.” He scratched fingers through his beard feeling awkward and unkempt as she scrutinised him with a look so old and superior, a look he hadn’t felt in an age. It had been years and years since he’d let the sting of illegitimacy touch him, since he’d let it hold him back and down, but standing there, before a real lady, the sting turned into a burn.

  “Well that’s ridiculous,” she said. “Everyone has a family name, perhaps a title?”

  “No title, no family so no family name, just Darius.”

  A strand of her hair came loose as she shook her head in response and attempted to stand. “I can’t very well call you—Oh!”

  He leaped forward but didn’t catch her in time as she fell face-first into the snow, her hands tangled in her coat and skirts. Taking her beneath the shoulders, he lifted her until she was on her feet, well one foot anyway. “I have to get you home, Eliza Penfold.”

  “No!” She swatted at his hands and attempted to limp forward while wiping snow from her high brows and lashes. Without success. “’Tis a simple twist of my ankle. I shall make it on my own.”

  “Now you are being ridiculous. I can’t just watch as you further injure yourself.”

  She took another wobbly half step. “Then turn your back. I’m sure you have somewhere else you need to be.”

  Darius chuckled. Just as ornery and proper as he remembered her. He bent at the waist and scooped her into his arms. She was impossibly light as he settled her against his chest and started to backtrack, following her footsteps in the snow.

  “Put me down,” she commanded with a huff and a wriggle.

  Darius tightened his hold but then regretted the action. She was so slight beneath her coat, he wondered if she wasn’t a faerie after all. If he held her any tighter, her bones might crack. “I’m going to take you home.”

  Her struggles ceased for a moment as she drew a deep breath, her body swelling against his forearms. “Do you know where I live?” she asked.

  “I do; however, I seem to be lacking in direction today.” Did she sigh with relief or merely let out her breath? He couldn’t be sure. Of anything. The subtle scent of violets teased his senses as she inhaled and exhaled. The forest was in the grips of deep winter so that wasn’t it. Was it her? It was a scent he hadn’t known in more than ten years, not since leaving England far behind. And for good reason. “I’ll follow your marks in the snow.”

  This time it was Eliza who chuckled. “I’ve been walking around in circles for the last two hours. Do you think you could carry me that long?”

  As easily as he could carry a feather, he guessed, but then the truth of her words sank in. “Are you lost also?” He groaned as he halted.

  She stared up at him through lashes only a shade darker than the hair above, snow drops catching on her smooth forehead as the skin there creased with confusion. “Also?”

  *

  Eliza Penfold was being manhandled by a ruffian, all alone in the woods, but instead of fainting dead away, she began to laugh. She just couldn’t help it. This Darius character had a full beard, lending him the appearance of a backwoodsman, along with a nasty scar below his ear that disappeared beneath the yellowed edge of his collar. He was coatless, no scarf or gloves, and he was lost?

  “It’s not that funny,” he told her, his accent foreign and deep although she couldn’t place it.

  “Yes, it is,” she said with another chuckle, the sound strange to her ears. Had it been so long since something had genuinely amused her? “It seems you are more in need of a rescue than I.”

  “I’ll take you back to your father and then follow the main road from your estate to mine. I won’t be turned about for long.”

  Eliza tensed, her laughter dying away. She couldn’t let him anywhere near Penfold Hill. One look at the manor and the stranger would know their straits and just how dire they were. What if he demanded to see the duke? “You cannot take me home.”

  “Give me one excellent reason why not.”

  She thought about it for a moment. Eliza wondered if the stranger had the whole day free for the list of excellent reasons she had for altering his course. For keeping him away from her home. She’d promised to keep her brothers and sisters safe, to withhold their secrets from the outside world. She’d made a good many promises in the previous months but had begun to lose faith in her ability to be who they needed her to be. One excuse came readily to hand. “I’ll be compromised. You’ll have to marry me.”

  He didn’t even lose a step or gasp or any of the things Eliza thought he might do in reaction. Perhaps drop her. “Do you come with a very large dowry?”

  Instead it was she who gasped. “That is none of your business.”

  He grinned, his facial hair rising around his lips. “If you didn’t want to risk your reputation why are you out here alone? Where is your maid or footman?”

  “Simply that. I thought I would be alone. Rather, I wanted to be alone,” she amended quickly.

  “Doing what though?” He stared down at her with suspicion. “Were you spying on the house? On me?”

  “We aren’t anywhere near the house and why would I need to spy? Are you hiding something?”

  He shook his head, his gaze shuttered as he looked forward and kept walking.

  “If you must know, I was selecting a Christmas tree for my brothers and sisters.”

  This time he did stop
; his grip relaxed a fraction. “You were going to steal a tree? That’s your story?”

  “It’s not a story. The previous estate owner has been letting me pick out a tree every November since I was six. I only take a small one. You never would have missed it.”

  “But you were going to steal it?”

  Eliza didn’t like the narrowed-eyed gaze he trained upon her. She almost groaned. If he reported her to the magistrate for this, even something so minor, Sir Percy would come to speak with her father and she would not be able to turn him away. He was the law.

  She lowered her own gaze and didn’t have to try to create moisture beneath her lids. She actually thought she was going to cry, such was her sudden and paralysing fear.

  “No, no, no,” he said, his grip once again tightening about her. “Please don’t cry, I don’t mind at all. Take as many Christmas trees as you like. Take one for each room in your house if you want.”

  Drawing a deep and dramatic—if a tad overdone—breath, Eliza’s voice wobbled just the right way as she said, “My father will be so angry if you take me home. There’s no telling what he’ll do to me.”

  “Is he a violent man?”

  She shook her head quickly. That wasn’t what she had been trying to convey. “He is very traditional and it would break his heart if I was to be involved in another scandal.”

  “Another scandal?”

  Blast it all, why had she said that? The shock of being shot at must have caused her brain to turn to soup. Or perhaps it was the lack of oxygen from being held so tight. Whatever it was, she had to order her thoughts before her mouth gave her away. “It’s a very long tale but please, can’t we return to your home? I’ll rest for a few moments with a cold compress and then I can walk back. Or I could borrow one of your horses? I’ll return it tomorrow?”

  The suspicion returned to his gaze. “Would that not further ruin your reputation?”

  “Not if no one sees. If it is only you and I who know, surely it cannot do any harm. Please?”

  “What if my servants talk?” he asked in a quiet voice, as though he considered doing her bidding.

  Eliza relaxed somewhat as hope flickered that he would bend to her will in this. “Do you not trust the men and women in your house?”

  “With my life. But there are only men. No women. Not the place for a lady.”

  “That is rather odd,” she commented, but not wanting to push him she also said, “It will be only for a few moments, an hour at most, and then I will be on my way.”

  What would the stranger make of her even stranger request? It was a desperate and risky situation. What if Darius decided once they were behind closed doors to hurt her? No witnesses. No recriminations. Her siblings would never know where she had disappeared to. No gently bred miss would ask to be carried in the arms of a man she didn’t know to his home filled with more men she didn’t know. God, what was she doing?

  You’re keeping them alive.

  Eliza would do whatever she had to do. Just two more months and they would be safe. She hoped…

  Chapter Two

  It was hard to fathom why a young lady would be out in the snow on her own to pick a tree to decorate. Where was her groom or at least a gardener? Did she think to cut it down and drag it out on her own? Perhaps she knew of her father’s debts and spied on him for the duke? “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Sending a lamb to do his despicable bidding. It was a very duke thing to do. Letting someone else take the risks.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” the object of his thoughts asked from where she perched on his worn settee.

  Her father probably assumed no harm would come to her because she was a lady and she was beautiful and genteel. The men had certainly sprung to action at once upon seeing him carry Eliza Penfold across the overgrown gardens bordering his home. Darius silenced their questions with a glare colder than the snow underfoot and ordered tea and sandwiches brought to the parlour. Just like the true gentleman he pretended to be. A gentleman who’d needed softly spoken directions back to his own door. It was humiliating and had made his words sharper than he’d intended.

  He hated to treat his friends so but they had to keep up appearances for the moment. They did not want to attract any unwanted attention just yet. Darius had intended for the Duke of Penfold to sweat a little before a meeting happened between them.

  “You left your tree saw in the snow,” he told her, unable to think of anything else unimportant to say.

  She waved a gloved hand in his direction. “I’ll find it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think it likely you’ll be traipsing about tomorrow to find your tree or your saw.”

  She puffed up like an offended hen at his words, still giving no indication at all that she knew who he truly was or why he was there. He was about to call in a debt that would send her father further than the poor house. He took in her flat, lifeless hair, her worn coats and holey gloves and prayed Penfold had some blunt. By the looks of his daughter, it didn’t appear so.

  “I was not traipsing. Ladies do not traipse. I was looking for the perfect Christmas tree.”

  “A rather odd tradition if you ask me.”

  “A good thing I didn’t ask you then, isn’t it?”

  Darius shook with silent laughter as a foreign lightness filled his chest. She was refreshing, he’d give her that. Perhaps the pretentious child he remembered was gone? All those years ago she’d lifted her nose in his direction when he’d come closer to take her reins and lead her horse to his grandfather’s stables. He supposed he’d have lifted his nose too. As a child turning into a man, he’d been a hellion and dirty and stinky as well. Who needed to bathe when you were a stable lad? He’d certainly not entertained the idea much in those days.

  “Will someone be searching for you yet?” he asked with a change of subject.

  “I doubt it,” she admitted with a sigh. “The children will be busy fetching the decorations from the attics.”

  “Children? Yours?”

  She turned a lovely shade of pink and her lips formed an ‘oh’ before she huffed again. “Not my children. The children. My brothers and sisters. They are waiting for a tree.”

  “I’ve not seen a tree decorated before.” Christmas aboard ship was just another day to the sailors. The most he’d ever celebrated had been a tankard of stolen rum if one of the lads happened to recall the date.

  Her gaze lifted and met his, her blue eyes wide and genuine in her surprise. “Never?”

  “Not exactly a worldly tradition, is it?”

  Eliza looked away and leaned over her turned ankle. “My mother saw it while on her honeymoon trip on the continent. My father loved how happy it made her so he had ornaments crafted and, on their first anniversary, gifted her with a tree and decorations. It has been a tradition in our home ever since.”

  “Very romantic,” Darius replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sofa. There was no scorn or censure in his tone. He truly thought the idea had merit and had he loving parents to share those kinds of traditions with, he would have been a happier child.

  “My father cared for my mother very much in his own way.”

  “How long has she been gone?” He shouldn’t ask but the sadness on her face in those moments made him long to offer comfort.

  “Too long,” Eliza said, her sadness deepening. But then she blinked several times and seemed to recall where she was and with whom she spoke. “Enough of that—why do you only have men living in your house?”

  Her eyes expressed that she had jumped to only one conclusion and he wouldn’t have it. “I have advertised for a housekeeper and maids but we haven’t been here long.” More lies.

  “Rumour has it that you suddenly found funds enough to buy a house and then filled it with vagabond friends and stolen treasures.”

  Darius smiled. “Rumours have a nasty way of leaving out the truth, I’ve found. Friends they are; vagabonds they are not.” He spoke nothing of treasures. />
  “How very peculiar.”

  “I’ve fought with these same men at my back for countless years. I trust them with my life and with my secrets. Can you say the same of your servants, Eliza?”

  “You may continue to address me as Miss Penfold,” she told him but her evasion gave him his answer.

  Once again Darius got the distinct feeling he’d hit upon a raw nerve but every time she had something to hide or perhaps needed a way to conceal the emotion in her gaze, she lowered her eyes to her lap. It was frustrating. He didn’t like it at all.

  Wiggins, his butler and valet for the moment, entered the room with a cold compress on a silver salver and offered it to his guest. Eliza took it in her hands and offered her thanks but didn’t move to apply it to her injury.

  “It won’t work in your fingers, miss,” Wiggins pointed out as he stood back, his bushy brows high.

  Barely holding back another chuckle, Darius tried to explain. “I believe the lady would like some privacy to remove her shoe.”

  “It’s only a bloody shoe,” Wiggins shot back. “Not like she has to take her whole bleeding dress off or nuffing.”

  Warm colour flooded Eliza’s pale cheeks and a small smile stretched her lips, though that she also attempted to hide.

  “Out,” Darius ordered him with a nod, back the way he’d entered.

  “Strange lot these English,” Wiggins muttered before closing the door on prying eyes and cold draughts.

  But now he was alone with her and that probably wasn’t any more appropriate than having his whole household of misfit sailors in the room. But it did give Darius time to observe her, to investigate what kind of woman she had grown into and what she would think when he came to collect what was owed him by her father.

  “Let me help you,” he offered, knowing it was a bad idea but wanting to play the part of a gentleman to go with his knight-in-shining-armour routine. She’d already turned down his offer to take her coat and muffler. It was as though she held on to them like weapons, or her only belongings in the world. Her coat was still buttoned right up to her chin while the well-used muffler sat neglected about her shoulders. She obviously hadn’t heard him following her in the forest on account of all the layers she had wrapped around her.