Yes, the anger was certainly directed at himself. He was a selfish cad, fooling himself into believing he was doing her some kind of service by giving her pleasure. But pleasure was cheap and easy.
Love. Now that was not.
He stared intently at her for several moments. Unable to avoid his stare, she gazed back, uncertainty haunting her eyes.
“Lucian, whatever is the matter? Do you wish me gone? Oh, I am being silly.” She rose. “I’m sorry, I am interrupting your work and being a fool...” A weak smile wavered on her lips. “As usual.”
Reaching across, he latched his hand around her wrist and tugged her sharply down into the chair. She let out a startled cry and her skirts billowed up around her, forcing her to frantically smooth them down when he released her wrist.
“You are not a fool, Ellie. Far from it. I’m the fool.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I cannot do this anymore.”
Those cherry lips trembled then pursed. Her throat worked and she dropped her gaze to her hands that were tucked into her lap. “I understand. I’ll just—” She rose to leave.
He yanked her down again and kept hold of her wrist this time. “You do not bloody understand. I can’t do this...” he waved a hand about, searching for the word, “sordid thing we are doing anymore. You deserve much more than that. More than me, if the truth be told, but I am a selfish being as we both know.”
“Sordid?”
Trust her to latch onto that word. He was not sure he meant it that way. What they had was not sordid, it was special, he realised, but tainted by circumstance. He had met his match in Ellie, in bed and in life.
“I did not mean that,” he said irritably.
“Then what—”
“Will you let me speak?” he snapped. Her mouth clamped shut. “I wish to marry you.”
There, he had said it. He wanted nothing more than a wife to tie him down, to make an honest man of him. The rake wanted to be reformed. And he only wanted Ellie.
“Well?” He prompted when she stayed silent, her mouth slightly ajar. “Will you marry me or not?”
Silence. With the exception of his pounding heart and the ticking of that infernal clock. He swore he would throw it out and get a new one. Why had he not noticed how loud the blasted thing was?
She twisted her wrist and slid it from his hold. “I...I do not know. I need to think about this.”
Inside his heart shrivelled. It was not a no, he told himself, but her quiet tone and the way she had drawn into herself, sent stabs of fear all through him. He was going to lose her. Better that he had left things the way they were. At least he would have had a few more moments with her. Could he do nothing right?
“Ellie—”
“I do appreciate you asking, Lucian.” She stood and he saw the way her hands shook. “I certainly never expected as much from you, but I...I must think this over.”
“If you wanted to say yes, you would have said it.” Lucian winced at his bitter tone and grew aware he was lashing out in defence. How could he stand to wait for an answer? Better she just tell him no and let him get over it.
“I...maybe you’re right.”
No. No he was not right. He was a fool. The urge to grab her and shake her and tell her not to listen to him or even to kiss her into submission until she had no choice but to say yes, burned like hot coals in his chest, but instead he sat and waited.
“I thought as much. Forgive me for asking. The ramblings of a fool.”
Any remaining light in her eyes dimmed and her shoulders drooped. “I am going to return to the hotel,” she said softly. “If you could have the books sent to my room, I shall look over them as promised.”
Before he could utter anything else, she turned and fled. The slamming of the door reverberated through him, working into the cracks of his heart and making him feel as though it had shattered to a thousand—or even a million—pieces. He eyed the picnic she had left behind and dropped his forehead to the table. What a heel he was. He had ruined everything and lost the woman he...
Did he really? He nodded to himself with grim realisation. He loved little Ellie Browning. He worshipped Countess Eleanor. He could not live without his sweet Ellie and he had ruined everything. As usual.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Problem with Politeness
Eleanor clutched her grumbling stomach and silently told it to shush while she weaved through the busy street. Goodness, she had been in such a hurry to leave, she had not even finished her meal. But the grumbling was more likely from the empty ache inside that Lucian’s words had left.
The ramblings of a fool...
It was market day in Bellmont Street and the stalls were set all along the road with baskets of their wares spilling out further onto the cobbles so that only a thin strip of pedestrians could slip past. Stall holders shouted out the prices of their wares and how good a deal they were, but none would grab her attention today.
If Lucian knew she was walking back to the hotel, he would threaten to put her over his knee. Or perhaps he would not. He did not seem to care what she did now. How had things gone from a marriage proposal to her leaving so quickly? Dampness trickled down her cheeks and she swiped a tear away. She was crying? She never did that in public. Never.
Whatever did he mean by the ramblings of a fool? Were all his words to be considered that and therefore she should forget everything he had said to her? Including words of her beauty or of how he regretted hurting her seven years ago?
Eleanor drew in a heavy breath and clutched her shawl around her shoulders as she dodged an errant apple that seemed to be making a leisurely journey down the uneven cobbles.
Through blurred vision, she eyed the stalls with their faded canopies of various colours—yellows, reds and greys. She passed a man selling chickens tucked away in big baskets and they all seemed to take a disliking to her, squawking as she strode past. Perhaps they too were admonishing her for being asinine.
Yes, she had wanted to scream. Yes, I’ll marry you. If she had spilled out those words quickly enough would he not have changed his mind? Would they now be celebrating their engagement? But that was little Ellie Browning speaking. This was the fairy tale ending she wanted, but what of the countess? She had left impulsive behaviour behind long ago. Every movement should be carefully considered—certainly one as big as marriage.
Though Eleanor admitted little of what she had done with Lucian had been carefully considered. Emotion and passion had driven her there. However, a few nights of shared passion were hardly likely to impact the rest of her life. Marriage to a rake would though.
A drop splashed her cheek. “Stop crying, Eleanor,” she muttered to herself.
Except she was not crying, though tears still welled in her eyes. Several more drops informed her it had started to rain and soon the cobbles were wet and shiny and her thin shawl soaked through. She hurried her pace and fought a shiver.
“I say,” someone declared as she came free of the bustle of the market and stepped onto the pavement.
“Forgive me.” She lifted her gaze only briefly to see Mr Newcombe smiling down at her.
“Lady Hawthorne. How do you do?”
“Oh, Mr Newcombe. I am well.” She forced a smile.
“A little wet though.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I am.”
“Are you here alone?”
Eleanor peered up at the gentleman. In a thick coat and with his tall hat on, he had a much better chance of staying dry. She did not wish to be rude and tell him she really must hurry before she became ill, however, so she tolerated his conversation. She had not had much occasion to speak with him at the dinner party though he had seemed courteous and harmless enough. He was pleasant looking with carefully styled fair hair and a thick moustache that moved when he spoke. Had she been in a better mood, she might have found it amusing.
“Yes, I’m just walking to my hotel.”
“Are you staying at The Grange?”
He touc
hed her elbow lightly to move her out of the path of more people hurrying by and they stood under the awning out of the rain. Puddles were growing steadily on the cobbles and Eleanor bit back a sigh of impatience. Any longer delay and she would be wading to the hotel.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s not often we have a lady of your importance in town. You have drawn some attention, I am afraid to say.” He glanced out from under the canopy. “I fear this rain shall not let up, can I escort you to the hotel? I have my trusty umbrella as you can see.” He motioned with his folded umbrella.
All she longed to do was return to the room, have a cup of tea and curl up and cry. The sooner she could do that the better. She nodded wearily. “Yes, thank you.”
Mr Newcombe offered her his arm and she took it, wary of appearing impolite. Being tucked into the side of a man she barely knew did not appeal but if he was friends with Lucian, she knew he could be trusted. He flicked up his umbrella and offered her a smile.
“Have you come from the mill?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You have taken a great interest in the world of cotton, my lady. I don’t know many ladies who would find it so fascinating.”
“Well, I am sure many ladies do not own part of a cotton mill.” She hoped she did not sound as snippy as she felt.
He chuckled and led her down the narrow alleyway that led out onto the main street on which the hotel stood. Thank goodness. She could not wait to be in her own company and think through the day’s occurrences so far.
“You are very right, though I am sure not many mill owners would let you have such a hand. I have heard Rushbourne has you doing his accounts or some such.”
“You have heard much about me it seems?”
“As I said, the town is awash with the news of your presence here, Lady Hawthorne. I suspect they have hopes of an impending marriage.”
“They do?”
“Forgive me, but Rushbourne’s interest in you has not gone unnoticed, even to myself and you know men are terrible at understanding the complexities of courtship. Of course with the mill’s financial troubles, I believe Rushbourne has been considering the benefits of having a wife more and more now. Not, of course, that he is interested in you for financial reasons...of course not, you are a fine lady, and I am sure he would not care if you did not have a penny.”
Coldness washed over her and it had nothing to do with her wet garments, but she kept her gaze ahead. She began to move more quickly as the front of the hotel came into view. Mr Newcombe was forced to move with her and as they crossed the busy road and watched for carriages, so too was the conversation forced to an end. Eleanor could only be grateful. Did Lucian see her as a way to put an end to the mill’s troubles?
He stopped outside the hotel. “Well, here we are. Safe but not quite dry I fear.”
Eleanor disengaged her arm from him. “No, but I shall get dry soon enough. Thank you for your assistance, Mr Newcombe.”
“Not at all. Always happy to be of service.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I hope we shall see you at another dinner soon. It was a mighty relief to have the company of a fine lady the other night. We are not usually given to barbaric behaviour, let me assure you.”
“There was only one gentleman behaving poorly I am afraid, but I shall be returning to the country soon enough. I have been away too long as it is.”
“Yes, well, Rushbourne has much on his mind I am sure. Such is the state of cotton right now.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I am sure you are right. Good day, Mr Newcombe.”
“Good day, Lady Hawthorne.” With another touch to his hat, he strode off at a leisurely pace.
Eleanor eyed his back for a while. For a gentleman she barely knew, he had been quite talkative and his implications... Did people know of her affair with Lucian? And the mention of money. It really was a vulgar topic and she did not think Mr Newcombe was of ill breeding. Why suggest Lucian was interested in her for money?
She strode up to her room and rang for Maggie who helped her strip out of her clothes. The maid tutted and chatted away about her morning but Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to respond. She sat like a rag doll as Mary rubbed her down with a towel and tried not to remember when Lucian had done the same. When she was finally in a new gown and her hair was fixed and mostly dry, she dismissed the maid. Maggie gave her a look of concern but clearly knew her mistress better than to question her mood.
Eleanor slumped onto her bed and fingered the dark fabric of the gown. She had been wearing this one when she had first met Lucian again. How long ago that seemed, yet it was only months. Was it possible he could have fallen for her in that time? He had not spoken of love. Was his offer some misguided notion of right? He had called what they had sordid. Not to mention, people thought he was interested in her for her money.
But, no, that could not be right. He had spent half his time trying to force her away. If he had planned on seducing her, he had done a terrible job of it and he would not have thrown away the idea of marriage so easily.
Fresh tears singed her eyes. She had ruined everything by being reluctant and now he did not want her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Any Excuse
The records arrived at the hotel two days later, just after lunchtime. Eleanor had not even eaten yet and her stomach grumbled as the carriage driver and footman brought in the books with quiet efficiency, but she struggled to make herself eat. Two days hidden away in her room, replaying every moment with Lucian in her mind and questioning why she had not said yes and been done with it had sapped any appetite. Maggie clasped her hands and eyed Eleanor while she directed Lucian’s men to stack the books by the desk near the window.
They had been instructed to bring them here by Lucian, apparently, and when she was done, she was to send a message to the mill. He would send men to collect them.
Thus ensuring she did not see him again. Did he not want to see her? The unresolved ache burning in her chest begged her to go to him and say all the things she had left unsaid. Like...like what? Like why suggest marriage only to snatch the chance away from her? And why did he listen to a fool like her and not try to persuade her otherwise? Or at least give her the time to think on the matter and come up with only one conclusion. She wanted Lucian, flaws and all.
Oh, so much was uncertain, that was for sure. Lucian could be a frustrating and ill-tempered man, but he was also affectionate and humorous. How many times had they climbed into bed together and ended up laughing? And he made her think she might possibly be beautiful. No one else had managed that. Now when she peered into the mirror, she saw only grim lines of tension and her too straight eyebrows surrounding dull eyes. If she did have beauty, it was only when Lucian was around.
She pressed coins into the men’s hands and sent them on their way when they were done. Hands on her hips, she eyed the spines of the books and selected several for comparison, then pulled out her notes on the recent records. She knew what she was looking for but finding it might not prove easy.
“Can I help, my lady?” Maggie asked.
Thankful for her maid’s excellent reading skills, Eleanor nodded. “If you will.” She picked up three books and handed them over. “I am looking for any invoices from Fairport Shipping Ltd. Once you see an invoice number and a date, note them down. Why do you not work from the dressing table and I shall work here?”
Maggie nodded and settled herself with the three books. They spent the next several hours poring over the books, only breaking for tea and a few sandwiches— though Eleanor left most of hers. She was close, so close to the answers. If she could do nothing for Lucian, if he really wanted nothing from her, she could at least help him save the mill. He deserved that much.
A hand to the back of her neck, she rolled her aching muscles and stopped to eye her notes. Her fingers were covered in ink blotches and even her gown had suffered, but then she had never been the neatest writer, much to her governesses’ cha
grin.
Eleanor stood and stretched her arms before coming to Maggie’s side and peering over her shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“I think my eyes are crossed, my lady.”
Eleanor laughed. “As are mine. May I have a look?”
“Of course.” The maid handed over the paper.
Casting her gaze over them, Eleanor nodded to herself. It was coming together. She snatched up her own notes from her time at the mill. Her heart skipped a little and she could not help but grin. She felt like a great detective who had unravelled a mystery. Would Lucian be proud? Grateful? Grateful enough to take her back into his bed and then...maybe offer for her hand again? Perhaps not, but honestly she would take just being his lover if that was all he could give.
“What is it, my lady?”
“I need to check with Lord Rushbourne, but there are differences in these amounts and yet they are the same order. I think the mill is being invoiced more than the original quotes and the amounts appear to be increasing. So the projected costings are wrong. They’re working off the wrong numbers.” She pressed two fingers to her forehead. “At least I believe so.”
“You’ve lost me there, I’m afraid, my lady.”
“I am a little lost myself. I am not sure the effect this has on the mill, but I would guess if their estimates are off and the running costs are up, it cannot be a good one.” She glanced around for her bonnet and snatched it from the hat stand. “I must go to him.”
“Give me a moment, I shall accompany you.” Maggie stood and glanced out of the window. “It is growing dark.”
“No, you stay here,” Eleanor said hastily. “It is growing cold and...and I need you to have my evening gown pressed.”
It was a terrible excuse and Maggie raised one eyebrow, likely able to see right through her. But she wanted to be alone with Lucian. Likely nothing would come of it, but Lord, she would seduce him if she had to. She needed him that badly. The mere thought of seeing him again, of running her gaze over his trim waist and studying those broad shoulders while he peered at her from under the brim of his hat made her heart do a small dance of excitement.
Rogues and Ripped Bodices Page 28
