Once Upon a Rake Page 10

  “For a ride. Good day, my lady.”

  “Good...” —he was gone, striding out of the door—“day,” she finished softly. “Oh dear.”

  Eleanor clutched her hands in front of her on the desk and puzzled over the man. She might not like him, but she had little intention of aggravating him so badly. But she really needed to make sure this mill was running to the best of its abilities. For one, many lives depended on the mill but more importantly she could make life better for the workers. For people like Jane.

  Resigning herself to the knowledge she would never understand Lucian, she set about organising the books into piles and setting up some paper. She had a long day ahead and thoughts of the handsome, green-eyed rake would not help her concentration.

  Simmons swiftly arrived with tea and biscuits. Handsome and tall, the footman did not have the talkative temperament of Lucian’s housekeeper and she wished it was her attending her instead. Then maybe she could find out what was wrong with Lucian.

  Around mid-afternoon, she took herself for a walk around the house to stretch her legs and ease her aching back. Evidence was building but nothing was pointing to anything in particular. There were orders that appeared to have gone unfulfilled and a few errors as if someone was trying to hide something. But what? If someone was embezzling, she doubted it would get past Lucian that easily and he had enough staff for someone to have picked up on it.

  As she walked along the gallery that would take her back to the study, she paused to admire the portrait of Lucian. It had to be a few years old, before the fire. That devilish twinkle was still in his eyes. If one compared it to his father’s portrait, which was directly next to his, one saw the difference in attitude between the men. Lucian had an indolent, wicked sort of posture—one that told the world he knew exactly how handsome he was and he was going to take advantage of it. While his father had been handsome too, the man’s stiff lip and stern expression spoke of hard work and not much else. She remembered the viscount had always spoken of the benefits of a hard day’s work.

  But what interested her most was she now recognised that look in Lucian. The playfulness sometimes returned—like the night of the ball when she thought he would kiss her—but for the most part there was a seriousness to his brow and an echo of something painful in his eyes.

  Had she been dismissing him as nothing but a rake and a philanderer when he really had wanted to make amends with her that night? Did he see her as something other than little Ellie Browning, even if just for a moment? When he had stared down at her, his mouth so close to hers, she had believed so.

  With one last look at his portrait, she continued down the gallery. A movement out on the lawns caught her eye and she paused to peer out of the window. The day had grown drizzly and the window panes were spattered with rain drops so she had to practically press her nose to the glass to view Lucian approaching the house on horseback. Where had he been in this weather?

  She felt like a child pressing her nose to the window of a sweet shop to eye all the beautiful treats when he dismounted and handed over his reins to the stable hand. His lithe movements made her body ache. Oh, to be pressed against it again.

  Eleanor shook her head. Foolish girl. What was wrong with her? Now was not the time to be developing an infatuation with him again. Not that there was ever a time that was appropriate. She hurried along the gallery to the study and sealed herself in the room before he could catch her. Dreaming of Lucian was never a good idea—it had been a mistake seven years ago and it certainly would be a mistake now. Clearly she hadn’t managed to grow up as much as she had hoped.

  Rolling her neck, she rang the bell and settled down at the desk. More tea ought to do it. Tea was the cure to everything, as everyone well knew. Her stomach grumbled a little and she hoped Simmons brought her some biscuits too. She stared at the ledger in front of her for several moments but the words had somehow picked up from the page and all swapped places and become nonsense. She rested her chin on her hand and huffed in frustration. She could not see the words properly because a certain set of blazing eyes had imprinted themselves in front of her vision.

  “Damn him.”

  “Something the matter?”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks and she snapped her head up to see Lucian entering with a tray of tea. He laid it down on the console table and began pouring himself a cup. Eleanor gaped like a fish. Had he heard her coarse language? Why was he bringing her tea? And what was he thinking coming in here looking like that?

  Each breath grew more difficult the longer she looked. He perched himself against the table and languidly sipped his tea. The small cup reminded her of how fragile she had felt in his arms. Much like the china, his hands dwarfed her own tiny ones but she never feared he might break her. She had felt protected in those strong arms.

  “Well?”

  Eleanor snapped her gaze away from where he had divested himself of his cravat. His hair was damp and curling, as was the front of his shirt. Unwittingly her gaze dropped again. Even the flesh at his collar had a sheen to it. Her fingers twitched and she forced her hands down into her lap to clench them together lest she give into the voice in her head that was screaming at her to touch that damp flesh.

  “No...no...” she squeaked and coughed. “Nothing wrong. Have you been riding?” She groaned inwardly. What an inane question.

  “Yes.” His gaze fixed on hers and the air around her grew thick and intense, as though she were caught in a storm.

  “It is hardly the sort of weather for riding. Did you have something important to do?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Have you made much progress?”

  “Pardon?” Eleanor stared at him for several moments before remembering what she was meant to be doing. “Oh, the books. Yes, though I am nowhere near done I’m afraid.”

  “Will you not join me for some tea? You could do with a break.”

  “I did just take a walk around the house,” she confessed. Though she longed for a warm cup, she didn’t think her legs would cooperate and moving closer to Lucian when he was dressed like that would be a mighty mistake. “You look...damp. Perhaps you should change?”

  He lifted a shoulder and placed down the cup of tea to slip off his jacket and hang it over the back of one of the red leather chairs. Next came his waistcoat. Eleanor watched him undo each button, both horrified and fascinated. Good Lord, she hoped he stopped there. And she hoped he did not. To get a look at that wide chest...

  She began fanning herself with a sheet of paper and had to slap it down. His lips twitched and she narrowed her gaze at him as he came to settle directly in front of her once more. The damp front of his shirt stuck to his chest and his movements had sent several drips of water trailing down his face and neck. Eleanor’s gaze followed those trails as they vanished under his shirt.

  “I hope you don’t mind my state of undress. I’m not one for formality in my home.”

  That proved it. He was toying with her. She was not sure what his intention in making her uncomfortable was, but she would not fall foul to his games.

  “Not at all.” Her responding smile felt fragile but, regardless, she stood and walked over to help herself to tea.

  “Allow me.” His fingers grazed hers as he took the teapot from her and poured. “You have two sugars, if I recall correctly.”

  “How do you remember that?”

  “I remember many things about you.” Lucian dropped two sugars in her tea and poured the milk without spilling a drop—and without taking his gaze from hers.

  A damp curl of dark hair dropped across his forehead when he leaned forwards to place the cup in her hands. Once again, their fingers brushed and tingles raced up her arms. The fragile china cup slipped from her fingers and it seemed to happen slowly. She watched in horror as it dropped to the floor, tea splashing from it, up the hem of her skirt and across the red carpet. The cup rolled to a stop under the table.

  “Oh no.” She dropped to
her knees, tears of mortification stinging her eyes. Stupid, clumsy, foolish girl. Reaching under the table, she retrieved the cup only to come face to face with Lucian who had come to crouch beside her.

  “Forgive me,” she mumbled when he handed her a handkerchief. “Forgive me. I am such a fool. So clumsy.” She began dabbing at the stain on the carpet. “I—”

  His hand latched around her wrist and drew it away from the tea stain. “That’s for your gown, not the carpet.”

  More tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Would she never do anything right?

  “Ellie? Whatever is the matter?” Warm fingers came to settle under her chin and he coaxed her to face him.

  Eleanor kept her lids lowered. She would not have him see her cry. No matter what the world had done to her, she never let anyone see her cry. Not even when he had said those cruel words to her. She had spent many days curled up, crying until her lungs were raw, but never had anyone seen those tears.

  “Don’t cry. It’s only a carpet. No doubt Grace will like the challenge. I fear I am not nearly enough hard work for her.”

  Unable to prevent it, she let out a spluttered laugh. He took the handkerchief from her limp hand and placed it on the table above them. Seeing the stain on the hem of her gown, he used his shirt sleeve to dab away the mark. His fingers were so close to her ankle that heat rushed into her chest. Were it not for her petticoats, he would be able to graze her ankle and then perhaps take those fingers higher...

  “There. No harm done.”

  She sniffed and offered a weak smile. “I am clumsy. Forgive me.”

  “Nought to forgive.” He offered his own smile—a genuine one. There was no seduction or bitterness or wryness behind it. She was not sure she had ever seen such a smile. It made her heart bounce against her chest as though it were on a spring. He had never looked so handsome.

  When his thumb came up to brush away the dampness under her eye, she feared her heart might very well burst from her chest. The coarse texture of his thumb, no doubt brought on by the work he did at the factory, sent prickles down the side of her face and she forgot to breathe. All it would take would be for her to shuffle forwards and she would be in his lap. All he had to do was slide his hand down to cup her face and draw her into him. Their lips would then meet and his hands would come to her waist. She would flatten her palms to his chest and smooth them over his shoulders. Only fabric would be between her and those firm muscles.

  The door swung open and it was not until Simmons coughed, did either of them look away.

  “What is it?” Lucian barked. “Well, man?” he prompted when Simmons continued to swing his puzzled gaze between them both on the floor.

  “A letter, my lord. An urgent one. From Caldton.”

  “Right. Thank you, Simmons. You may go.”

  Simmons deposited the letter on the console table and gave a curt bow before leaving. Eleanor clapped her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. Could today get much worse? The servants would be gossiping about the position Simmons found them in before long and the news would spread quicker than a jack rabbit hopping across a field.

  Lucian offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. For a brief instant, they were in front of each other, close enough again to touch and taste—and feel. Eleanor longed to step forwards and at the same time wanted to retreat. Her feet did neither.

  He released her hand and picked up the letter. As he tore it open, he eyed her. Was it her imagination or did his green eyes speak of the same need? Surely not?

  When he wrenched his gaze from hers to concentrate on the missive, she saw his expression change. No hint of that devastating smile lingered and a grave cast came over his face. His brows furrowed then his jaw clenched. The hand holding the letter tightened until the paper creased.

  “Devil take it.”

  “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  He strode over to pull the bell. “An accident. At the mill.” He studied the letter again and scrunched it into a ball before flinging it into the fireplace.

  Simmons must have been waiting close by as he arrived at the study promptly.

  “Have my horse saddled. With haste.”

  “What sort of accident? You intend to go there?”

  “One of the looms collapsed. Caught a man under it.”

  Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh Lord. Was he killed? Does he have a family?”

  “How should I know? It’s a letter, not a biography.” He sighed. “I don’t know what happened to him. Mr Elmore does not say.”

  Sickness welled in her stomach. Poor man. Had he been crushed? Killed? It did not bear thinking about. “I am coming with you,” she spilled out before thinking.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The train is not due for another two hours so I’ll go on horseback. It’s raining heavily and I won’t have you holding me back.”

  “You would be better off taking the carriage anyway. Your horse will not tolerate a hard ride so quickly again.”

  Lucian stormed to the door and yelled after Simmons, who must have only reached the hallway as he appeared again after only moments.

  “My lord?”

  “Have the carriage made ready.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The footman’s expression remained impassive but Eleanor noted his heavy breathing and pitied the poor man who had been forced to scurry back and forth.

  “You are not coming with me, however.” Lucian thrust a finger her way as he slipped on his waistcoat and punched his hands through his jacket.

  “Try to stop me.”

  “Bloody hell, Ellie, this is no time for games.”

  “I am not playing. This is my mill too. If something has gone wrong, I want to be there.”

  “This is not your mill. You own part of it. You have not worked day and night to ensure it turns a profit,” he barked. “You have not invested every spare penny in it and breathed the cotton dust, day in day out. I have no idea what your interest in that place is, but don’t pretend you have some important role. You are the money, nothing else.”

  Little Ellie Browning might have cowered away at those words. She might have turned away and quietly curled up somewhere to cry. But she was not little Ellie anymore and Lucian was not quite the rakehell he used to be. She saw now the passion he had for the mill. For reasons unknown, he had thrown himself into running that mill and every word spat in her direction merely spoke of his passion for the place. A passion that she could not help but admire.

  “I am coming with you, Lucian, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

  “Like hell there isn’t. You are not coming with me, Ellie, and that is final.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Are We Nearly There Yet?

  “Will we be there soon?”

  Lucian gritted his teeth. How had he let himself get in this situation? His ride had meant to clear his head and help him avoid her company. Instead he had found himself toying with her upon his return, hoping his flirtatious manner might drive her away. What a disaster.

  It was those blasted tears. They had softened him. The mortification on her face as she had spilled the tea as if she had just committed some grave sin had eaten into him and turned his insides to jelly. And now he’d given in to letting her accompany him.

  He peered out of the window. They would be lucky to get there before nightfall and what would he be able to do then? Nothing. He would have to install Ellie into a hotel and stop at his own house in town.

  “One more stop,” he muttered, “then another hour.”

  An hour. A full hour of sitting opposite Ellie and watching her chew on that cherry red bottom lip, of hearing the rustle of her skirts and watching her fiddle with the tip of her gloves. The air of the carriage smelled of her—of vanilla—like a tempting French pastry. He imagined darting his tongue over that lip and tasting her. She would be sweet too. Everything about her was far too alluring.

  Lucian ground his teeth and fixed his gaze on the hills movin
g by, aware of her little fidgety movements and each huff of breath. He had nearly kissed her again. Well, maybe not nearly, but that was what he had been considering on the floor in the study. It would have been ideal too. He could have pressed her back against the carpet and slid himself between her legs.

  But, damnation, he did not need to be kissing the lady who was making his life so hard. Besides which, what would come of it? He could never bed her. Why should she want a scarred, miserable man with his fortune tied up in cotton and who had behaved like an utter ass towards her seven years ago?

  A smile teased his lips. Oh, the irony. Once he had been handsome, rich, well sought after. He would never have deemed to consider bedding the plain daughter of a baron and now here he was, imagining hitching up her skirts and pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs.

  When she had transformed into someone he desired, he was not entirely sure, but there was no denying it now. That was the only thing that had changed however. He did not want her in his life and he definitely did not want her interfering with his mill.

  “Will they have closed the mill for the day?”

  “Unlikely, though it depends on the nature of the accident. It must have happened first thing this morning.”

  She leaned forwards and placed a hand over his. Even through the gloves, he felt the warmth of her hand and was far too comforted by it. He withdrew his own hand from under hers as quickly as he could.

  “Don’t worry, Lucian. All will be well.”

  “We are behind as it is. If someone has been hurt, the workers will not take well to it. There are some who believed the fire at the other mill to be my fault. They will think I’m bad luck.”

  “There are other men who will work for you, surely?”

  He shook his head. “These men are strong together and they well know it. They will support each other to whatever end, even going as far as going on strike. The unions are powerful, Ellie, and can command the entire workforce if they so choose.”