Illicit Love

by Jane Lark

  “Violence never seems to serve its purpose with you,” Gainsborough groundout in a deep growl against her ear. “I am sure if it was the boy I threatened you’d obey my every word, wouldn’t you? I have sent for him, Ellen, and if you do not want him hurt you had better be especially nice.” His grip in her hair twisted painfully. “No affairs, Ellen. You’re mine. Remember it.” Releasing his grip, he flung her away and his cruel, callous laughter filled the room. Ellen hit the floor hard, her head striking the boards and pain piercing her skull. Confused and dizzy, her fingers touched an open wound and felt warm sticky blood. She tried to think.

  The urge to fight or flee swept through her veins again.

  Fight? Flight?

  Completely cold within, her limbs felt like stone as her body waited for her decision.

  If he thought for one minute she would try to escape, if he knew she had the possibility of help, he would lock her up for good. But she did, and he did not know. She had Edward, and Lord Gainsborough thought her too cowed, too tied to him, too afraid to risk running. But if Edward loved her as he’d said, then he would help, and she would give him the chance. Edward wanted to know her demons, well now he would have no choice, he was about to meet them at their full force. She had to trust him.

  Lifting her gaze back to her tormentor, Ellen saw Lord Gainsborough watching her with a lewd, self-satisfied smile. She could see he knew his threat had hit its mark. “Ellen.” He beckoned her to rise. “Come show me what a good woman you can be when you wish. If you are good, very good, as good as you were for Marlow, perhaps I may be lenient with the child.”

  She felt sick. Her stomach clenched and heaved, retching bile, she couldn’t control it. She was sick. Instantly, her arm wiping her mouth, she scrabbled backwards, away from the terrible storm she saw in Lord Gainsborough’s eyes.

  “Disgusting bitch! Wentworth!” His holler bounced back from the immoral images about the room and the door burst open so violently it flung back to hit the wall. She knew instinctively Wentworth had been listening to every word from beyond it, obtaining his own gratification by eavesdropping on Gainsborough’s abuse.

  “Clean up this filth! Send for my carriage! I will not be staying! You will regret this, Ellen!” He flung the last at her in a final warning, his forefinger thrusting in her direction, a promise of retribution in his eyes.

  Ellen watched him walk away, feeling as though she was suspended in mid-air, poised above her body, her blood racing into her arteries. She would run. She had to run. She had to reach John first and she had to rely on Edward. He would help her. He would.

  Edward lived in Bloomsbury Square. He’d told her where. It would take her half-an-hour to reach him, if they rode from there then perhaps an hour or two more to reach John. Could she reach her son before that bastard had him? If Gainsborough had already sent someone, would that be soon enough? Her racing heart missed a beat and turned her blood to ice again.

  Ellen rose from the floor, her body shaking, and turned her back on the maid who came to clean the floor. Not Millie. She hadn’t seen Millie since returning. Ellen crossed the room, going to the jug standing on her chest and tipped some water into a bowl beside it, then splashed her face. They’d turned Millie away. Ellen prayed her maid was unharmed. Did Gainsborough know about Ellen’s letters to John too? She had been so selfish.

  Ellen picked up a square of linen and dried her hands and face, then put it aside and turned, looking for her cloak. It lay over the back of a chair near the door. Her heart beating with a deafening pulse she crossed the room, and picked it up, allowing it to hang at her side. She said nothing to the girl who knelt beside a bucket, scrubbing the floor with a cloth, and walked from the room. The girl did not look up.

  Outside her room, Ellen ran along the hall, neither hearing nor seeing anyone. They were all so convinced she would never have the courage to run, no one watched. When she reached the stairs, she hurried down, her eyes glancing about the hall below and above. She saw no one. But as her foot touched the bottom step a bark of laughter rang from the shadows beneath the stairs, then she heard footsteps moving away and the servants’ door closing. It was Wentworth and one of the footmen. They laughed again but this time it was more distant, they were heading below stairs.

  She waited, unable to hear their words as they drifted away, growing more and more distant. Then she heard a second door open and close. The sound disappeared.

  She waited no longer. Running across the hall to reach the front door, she prayed it was still unlocked. The handle turned beneath her fingers and as the door opened cold night air rushed in. With just enough space to pass she slid out around the heavy wood and pulled it shut behind her, slipping into the darkness of the city and the chilled late winter air, into a new life that would lead her who knew where.

  Chapter Six

  Edward woke from a deep sleep, induced by the significant amount of brandy he’d imbibed to dull the pain of watching Gainsborough’s evil games. He didn’t like playing puppet, but the man had held him on a bloody string. God he was sickened by the things Gainsborough did while he’d looked on. And to watch it, knowing she didn’t want him to intervene, had been like sitting before her with his hands tied behind his back. He’d wanted to stop it, to drag her away and send a satisfying fist into Gainsborough’s jaw. But instead he’d played audience—impotent. It lay on his conscience. The lead-weight of it was now a hole in his chest and an ice cold stone in his gut.

  His head was pounding.

  No, it wasn’t in his head. Someone was banging on the front door beneath his window.

  Where the hell was Jenkins?

  Sitting up, his fingers rubbed the sharp pain pounding in his temple, to the same tune as that persistent bloody knock. God, he’d have to go himself, the din was unbearable.

  Sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, he hauled himself upright. His brain was thick, like treacle, his thoughts sticky, still fogged with sleep and the overindulgence of drink.

  “Edward!” Ellen?

  God.

  She hammered on the door again.

  The fog cleared from his mind instantly, his heart lurching into a fast kick. He grabbed his robe and thrust his arms into the loose silk sleeves. Already in motion, he left the room, tying off the belt to clinch the fluid fabric tight at his waist.

  “Edward!” The high pitched panicked strains of her voice pierced the silent house.

  He ran along the landing and was at the top of the stairs in moments. “Jenkins!” He hollered for his brother’s butler. The man was at the door, in his breeches, his shirt tail hanging out, a single lit candle in a stand gripped in one hand, his other was about to open the door. But at Edward’s call Jenkins stopped and looked back.

  Lord Edward? Do you wish me to answer? The look said.

  “Edward!” Ellen screamed from the other side hammering on the wood again, striking it so hard the sturdy door actually jolted. Jenkins’s eyebrows lifted. No one knew of Edward’s affair with Ellen but Rupert, and Edward had never been in the habit of introducing women to his brother’s home. Undoubtedly Jenkins was bewildered by this out-of-character intrusion but he would have to deal with it. Halfway down the stairs already, Edward nodded sharply for the man to open up.

  “Madam.” Jenkins barked as Ellen pushed her way through the narrow aperture, knocking the elderly butler out of her path.

  Her wide shining eyes swept about the hall, onyx and silver flashing with uncertainty. Her skin was starkly white and the ebony tresses of her hair in chaos, half pinned, half fallen. Her black cloak and pale gleaming green satin dress were clutched up at one side, in what appeared a terrified grip.

  She had an ethereal air. But God she was a beautiful, precious sight. His love for her was an ailment from which he never wanted to recover.

  Jenkins a-hemmed, with a false little cough into his clutched fist as Ellen stood frozen for a moment, as though she was lost in the height and size of the grand hall.

  Sh
e did look very small within it, and dazed.

  “Forgive—me.”

  She’d regained command of her voice, but her breath was still untamed. Her chest heaved as she fought to speak, her fingers slackening their grip on her dress.

  The fabric of both cloak and gown fell to the floor as Edward watched.

  “Is Lord Edward—home? I need—to see him.” A ridiculous reverence sounded in her breathless whisper, he presumed it was for the sage like butler and the opulent hall. “Please, Sir,” she pressed again, her voice more urgent.

  Looking upwards, Jenkins visibly waited for Edward’s response.

  Edward descended a few more steps, bemused, wondering why she’d come, and she’d come on foot, from the state of her evening slippers.

  Her fingers pressing to her chest, he saw her struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes were wide.

  Something was seriously wrong.

  “Ellen, I’m here. What is it? What’s happened?” Holding his hand out towards her, he descended.

  A sharp look of relief crossed her face when she saw him.

  “Edward!” She rushed towards him, meeting him at the bottom step and casting her arms about his neck, hugging him momentarily. Then instantly she drew away, grasped his fingers and tugged his hand, trying to pull him towards the door. “He knows about us! We have to go!” Panic had darkened and dilated her eyes, they were intoxicating orbs of pitch, surrounded by a ring of silver light, emphasised even more by the black frame of long sweeping lashes.

  “Please come, Edward,” she urged, pulling at his hand, without any recognition of the fact he was not dressed.

  Gripping her hand more firmly Edward held steady, while Jenkins looked on, obviously outraged and astonished. “What is it, Ellen, sweetheart, tell me?”

  “Edward, we need to go. Please. Have you horses?” Her hand pressed to his chest, holding him away as he tried to draw her closer, desperation burning in her eyes.

  “Ellen, you’re safe here, darling.” One hand still gripping hers his other lifted to comfort her, but before he could touch her she drew back. His hand slid across her hair. It was matted and damp. Extending their joined grip to its full breadth, she tugged at him to make him move and follow her, while he lifted his hand to see what the sticky liquid was on his fingers. Blood. Oh God. That bastard.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, tightening his grip and pulling her back. She flinched when his fingers found the wound yet let him touch it. But he couldn’t see it beneath her hair, with the light so low.

  “Fetch some warm water and clean cloths, Jenkins,” he ordered, thinking she’d quietened down at last. But as his hand lifted she suddenly bolted, letting go her grip on his fingers. She stopped three paces back from him and her fingers curled into fists as her chin tipped up, ready for battle. It was the same look he’d seen in Madam’s parlour in the club, and in the room of the inn yesterday. It was determination.

  “Edward, we have to go! If we don’t leave soon he’ll get there first.” Her voice was filled with pain though, and desperate.

  “Where Ellen? For what?” he sighed, growing more confused.

  “Edward. Please. I don’t have time to explain! We need to go!” Her last words were frantic, her pitch becoming desolate. “Help me!” Her voice cracked. “You said you would.”

  Her tone said she thought he was failing her. His will to fight her crumbled. Wherever she needed him to go it was important to her. She’d not asked a single thing of him before. She must be asking him for a reason now. Finally understanding hit him like a punch. Gainsborough was playing the hand she’d feared. He was carrying out the threat he’d held her by.

  Edward’s mind was suddenly fully awake and his thoughts formed with deeper clarity. She’d run to him for help; she trusted him; even if it was because Gainsborough had turned on her again. This was his moment to prove himself. His chance to show her he could break Gainsborough’s hold. Time to pay the piper, Edward, old boy.

  He held out his hand and she came to him, catching it. Shifting the grip, he laced his fingers between hers in an intimate statement of just how thoroughly their lives were now linked. He had her now and he wasn’t going to let her go, nor let her down. If Ellen asked, he’d follow. Lord, if the woman asked him to step off a cliff he’d follow if it meant she believed in him and would ultimately accept him—and stay.

  “Jenkins, we need the water, cloths and the carriage. Have it brought out front.”

  “My Lord?” The pompous man who’d stood guard over the family for two generations looked aghast.

  “Jenkins! My orders,” Edward prompted.

  Ellen pulled at his hand again. “Not the carriage it will take too long, we need horses, I can ride.”

  Edward looked from the butler, to her, and back. “My horse then, Jenkins.”

  “My Lord,” the elderly servant acknowledged with distaste in his voice, about to turn and pass the order on.

  “And another,” Ellen called at the butler and then looked up again. “If I ride with you, we will be too slow.”

  Edward squeezed her hand in reassurance.

  “As Miss Harding says then, Jenkins. Have Tom pick one of the steadier mares.”

  “No, we need the fastest.” She looked at the butler and then back. “Gainsborough’s men may already be on the road, I don’t know how long ago they left, if—”

  Edward lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of hers, silencing her frantic words. He got the point, as did Jenkins, they needed to hurry. “So the fastest, Jenkins, with utmost haste.”

  Jenkins nodded and bowed briefly, throwing a haughty, holier-than-thou glance at Ellen before striding off. Then he stopped suddenly and turned back. “We’ve no side-saddle, my Lord.”

  “It matters not,” Ellen answered, “I will ride astride.” The look she cast the man in return for his slanderous glare, even Edward’s mother would have been extremely proud to command when handling servants. “And do please, hurry, Mr Jenkins.” She delivered these last words in a regal, irrefutable request, and then shocked Edward further by adding. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, but I am very grateful for your aid.”

  Jenkins’s lips twisted in an instantaneous smile, his haughtier vanishing beneath a vapour of approval. It seemed the fact that the woman Jenkins had deemed a hussy on sight, had stood up to him with the grace of a duchess then thanked him regardless, had the butler nonplussed and mystifyingly mellowed. Edward’s eyebrows lifted in silent applause. Jenkins never bloody smiled.

  “Miss.” Jenkins bowed swiftly and then departed.

  “I need to dress,” Edward declared, keeping a tight hold of her hand as he started leading her upstairs. He took them two at a time while she ran up each step.

  When they reached his room, before he let her go, he pulled her close and kissed her firmly but briefly. Yet not brief enough.

  She pushed him away.

  “Dress,” she urged him. “Please. We must hurry.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he said, laughing and pulling away with a tug of his forelock. He smiled as he turned to find his clothes, unable to hide his pleasure. He had her now, and he was damn well not going to let her go again.

  He hurried then, as she wished, and pulled open drawers, churning up his clothes to search for stockings, buckskins and a shirt and tossed all his finds to the bed. Then he tugged the tie of his robe loose and let the silk cloth slither in a light airy flow to the floor. He heard her sigh and turned to see her hovering beside the door. Despite her haste and fear, her eyes shimmered in open admiration. His smile broadened as he stood upright and, blatantly showing off, he walked to the bed to collect his clothes. He felt like a king with the world at his feet now he had her here, and as he dressed he swore to himself, whatever it took, no matter what this threat to her was, he was keeping her.

  Buttoning his buckskin pantaloons he turned to look at her again. “So are you going to tell me where we’re going and why?” he asked, sitting back on his bed to pull on his
stockings.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” she answered, with a shrug. “If I explain, you will want to ask questions I haven’t time to answer. Just hurry please.”

  A knock struck the semi-open bedroom door and Ellen jumped half out of her skin and turned swiftly, obviously ready for flight. If she’d had a gun, he thought his poor valet, Cooper, may have been dead.

  “Come in, Cooper,” Edward called to the man who stood gaping at the woman in his room. “Ah, I see you’ve brought up the water. Miss Harding cut her head, clean the wound for her while I dress, she’s in a rush.”

  Cooper’s eyes spun to Edward and he nodded agreement.

  “Ellen,” she’d paled again, significantly, and stood motionless, “sit down over there.” He pointed to the stool beside the dressing table where his shaving equipment lay. “Cooper is my valet, let him clean you up, I shan’t let you go anywhere in any case until I know how bad that wound is.”

  She nodded, hesitant yet compliant and moved warily about Cooper, who crossed before her to set down the water and linen strips, but brave as ever she sat down before the man, back straight and hands clasped in her lap.

  Observing her in silence, Edward continued to dress as she struggled to hide a wince when Cooper touched her injury with the damp cloth.

  She was scared out of her wits by whatever threat Gainsborough was delivering on, which meant Edward should at least be a little concerned about what she was leading him into. But at the moment, in comparison to what he was gaining, namely her, he didn’t give a damn. To have the woman he wanted right where he wanted her was payment enough for any ensuing danger. His spirits were on a soaring ride to the stars, his hangover forgotten, or perhaps it was that which edged his excitement and sparked his restless, too-long-idle blood.

  Shoving his foot into his hessian boot with a final tug he then stood and grabbed a warm, worsted riding coat from his cupboard, a smile splitting his lips. Turning, he saw Cooper had nearly finished. The water in the bowl was bright red.