Once Upon a Rake Read online

  “Very well, Lady Eleanor Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne,” he said with a sardonic grin. “I shall have my advisor send some of this year’s ledgers. How about that?”

  Eleanor narrowed her gaze at him. Somehow she suspected the ledgers would never arrive or they would be incomplete, or perhaps they would be lost on their journey to Broadstone Hall. “I still wish to come to Lancashire and visit the mill.”

  “Have you ever been to a cotton mill?”

  “N-no.”

  “They are dusty, noisy places. Smoke fills the air in Caldton and people live in close quarters. Neither the mill nor the town are suited to a lady such as yourself. Why do you not stay out here in the country where you would be more comfortable?”

  “Lord Rushbourne, I have travelled far and wide. I have slept on floors and shared transportation with the poorest people. I have camped in the dessert and survived the worst weather. A little smoke and dust cannot scare me.”

  Eleanor fought to keep a smug smile from her face. There, let him tell her what a delicate thing she was and how she should stay secluded away, wiling away her days with nothing but embroidery and womanly pursuits.

  “Ellie...” He sighed. “What will it take to appease you?”

  “A visit to the mill, that is all I ask.”

  “Why do I suspect that will not be where it ends?”

  “Because you have fine instincts, my lord. You always did have.”

  Lucian gave her a rueful smile. “I once had. I’m not sure I can claim the same anymore.” He rose before she could question the statement, forcing her to follow suit. “I shall make arrangements and be in touch.”

  “You will not forget?”

  He skimmed his gaze over her, making her body feel warm and prickly. “Ellie, how could I ever forget you?”

  Chapter Four

  His Favourite Colour

  Steam swirled around his legs as Lucian pulled out his pocket watch, eyed it with a grunt and snapped it shut before stuffing it back into his waistcoat pocket. Trust Ellie to keep him waiting. He let his gaze linger on the train and watched the splatters of water and steam drip and hiss down the tender. It reminded him rather of Ellie, hissing and spitting at him with declarations of how bold and brave she was. Perhaps hissing and spitting was an exaggeration, but the way she had drawn herself up and flung the words at him had certainly been quite the display.

  His lips quirked as he recalled the sight. Little Ellie was not so little anymore, he had to admit. Her travels and marriage had made a woman out of her, and a bold one at that. Though, no matter how hard she tried, he still saw moments where her facade slipped and the scarecrow revealed herself.

  Strangely, the scarecrow didn’t aggravate him anymore. That was likely because the scarecrow would be easier to handle. This Countess of Hawthorne was much harder to manage. He couldn’t even be sure why he had agreed to take her to the factory. Hopefully she would hate the noise and the thick fluffy air, and demand to leave immediately. Whatever she said about her travels, even when she had been plain Miss Browning she had been privileged, and now her rank and fortune brought her more privilege than even he could imagine.

  A light tap on his arm forced him to turn from the magnificent sight of the tender and drew him out of his thoughts. Ellie offered him a steady smile and a raised brow, as if she knew he had been thinking of her. But how could she possibly?

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  He resisted rolling his eyes at her formality. If she thought her use of his title would stop him from using her given name, she was sorely mistaken. After all, they had known each other since infancy. What need was there for formalities? Not to mention, he saw how her expression hardened with annoyance every time he called her Ellie. He was hardly going to deny himself some amusement, was he?

  “Good morning, Ellie. You look very well.” He skimmed his gaze leisurely down her. It was a deliberate action, one intended to rile her further but it only seemed to rile him. For some reason, his skin grew a little hot and he fought the desire to tug at his necktie.

  The dark blue gown cinched in her waist and the small buttons running down between the curves of her breasts had him imagining running other things down the centre of them. Namely his tongue.

  The thought jolted him and he snapped his gaze up to hers. Her simple features peeked out from a bonnet that many ladies would no doubt think was a darling bonnet. Her face was made all the more appealing by the blue silk ribbon tied around her chin, and the pale blue ruffles around the inside of it. Inevitably, he found himself staring at those berry red lips.

  The lips moved. He frowned.

  “My lord?” she prompted.

  “Pardon?” He dragged his gaze away from those tempting morsels that passed for lips.

  “Are we to go?”

  “Yes, of course. I have our tickets.” He waved them in her direction and offered her his arm.

  She ignored him and strode in the direction of the carriages. Lucian hastened to catch up and open the door for her. When he offered her a hand to help her in, she did at least press her gloved fingers into his and allow him to help her. Once inside, he pulled the door shut and seated himself opposite her. Her skirts were so voluminous that they brushed his legs and from her narrowed gaze, he suspected she wanted him to sit further away. Their compartment was entirely empty and with only around ten minutes before they departed, he didn’t expect them to be joined by anyone else, but he was loath to move.

  And not because he wanted to study those lips some more and wonder why they interested him so. No, not at all. It was merely because it annoyed her. If he wanted her to keep her nose out of his business, he had to be as uncivil as possible.

  The ticket inspector thrust his head through the open window and Lucian brandished the tickets at him. The fellow tipped his hat and only moments later a shrill whistle broke the silence and the train squeaked into action. It was not until they were quite a distance out of the station and thundering along, a light breeze blowing through the partially open window, did she speak up.

  “I’m glad the weather is fine today.”

  “Why? The carriage is covered.” He thrust a finger up at the wooden roof. Only when he saw the redness in her cheeks increase did he realise how coarsely and foolishly he had spoken.

  Damnation, he had little patience for civilities these days. His time was spent with workers and foremen, few of whom cared about the blasted weather. Not long ago he had been adept at talking to the ladies, charming them even. He smirked inwardly. How things had changed.

  “I am aware of that,” she said softly, “but I have not travelled through this part of the country for a long time and I look forward to seeing the scenery. I’m glad there is no drizzle or mist to spoil it.”

  “Surely the English countryside cannot compare to the pyramids or the deserts or whatever?”

  “It cannot. It is entirely better. I missed the green. There is no shade of green quite like that of the English countryside.”

  Lucian turned his gaze to the window and watched the hills pass by for some time. He made this journey frequently and had never taken the time to look at the scenery. On his trips, he had been more preoccupied with the dramatic loss in profits and how they would pay the creditors without dispensing with something of value. When he peered at Ellie again, he was surprised that she hadn’t pressed her nose against the glass like a child outside a toy shop, for the expression on her face was one of utter delight. The breeze ruffled her curls, which were tightly confined under her bonnet today and she looked younger than ever.

  Good. The younger she looked, the less likely he was to think about lips and whether they might taste like berries too.

  If he thought hard enough would he recall the taste of her lips all those years ago? He had tried hard to squash any memories of the night when he had behaved so much like a cad that she had been forced into marriage to an old codger. Heaven forbid the girl get tangled with a rake like him.

&n
bsp; Not that anyone would consider him a rake now. A scarred shadow of one, that was him, with nothing much to offer anyone. Before long, people would be thinking him a codger too.

  “Do you spend much time in Caldton?” she asked, forcing him to drop his sombre train of thought.

  “Yes, I have a house not far from the mill. It means I can spend as much time there as I like.”

  “Your housekeeper said you were known to stay for weeks.”

  “Did she indeed?” He would have to have a word with Grace about keeping her trap shut. “Well as you pointed out the other day, these are trying times. The mill takes all my attention.” Her lips curved slightly—a mere hint of a smile—and her eyes crinkled. “What amuses you so?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

  “The Lucian I knew would do all he could to avoid work and now it seems you eat, sleep and breathe cotton.”

  “Much has changed these past years. You certainly have.”

  Ellie appeared to want to respond to this. Her lips parted and moved into a tiny ‘o’ shape and he braced himself for some haughty response but none came. Instead, she twisted in her seat and fixed her gaze upon the passing scenery. That she had silently declared the conversation over vexed him. He should have been the one putting an end to it. Who was she to be speaking to him as if nothing had changed? As if he was still a well-respected—no, maybe not respected, but liked—member of society. Did she not realise a beast like himself had no need for idle conversation? Perhaps she had grown tired of looking at his marked face and preferred the pleasing scenery. He wouldn’t blame her.

  The rest of the journey passed mostly in silence. Lucian occupied himself with snapping open his pocket watch every few minutes and grunting with annoyance before trying to keep his gaze from straying to Ellie. He counted the buttons on the plush red seats, he studied the wooden frame of the door with its gilded letters above it declaring it to be a first class carriage, he eyed the luggage rack and the brass mouldings. And yet by the time they neared the town, the image of her head turned just so was imprinted in his mind. Surely a bit of polished wood was more exciting than little Ellie Browning, but apparently his brain thought otherwise?

  Ellie stood as the train pulled into the station and he followed suit. Air compressed in his lungs and he found himself desperate to escape the confines of the carriage. A flash of excited delight lit her features and Lucian had to take two looks. For the briefest moment, she had appeared incredibly beautiful, and yet so like the old scarecrow Ellie. How was it possible for her to appear at all beautiful? And after travelling all over the world, why did a dirty, smoky town like Caldton excite her?

  As the train came to a halt in a screech of wheels against metal, he gripped the railing above but it was too late for her. She stumbled and he thought she might teeter backwards onto the cushions, but she righted herself only to tumble into him. He had a mouthful of bonnet and a handful of silk before he had realised what had happened.

  His hands pressed to her waist as he righted her. The silk was warm and soft. Even though he felt the boning of her corset, his mind had skipped along several steps and had pictured the contours of her waist. When she lifted her gaze to his, his heart came into his mouth and sucked away any remaining air.

  He was drowning. Or suffocating. Either way he felt like a fish flapping on the beach. Lucian needed to tug at his necktie but his hands were apparently glued to her waist. Those grey eyes widened so that they were impossibly big and the dark spots at the centre grew darker. If he was being uncharitable, he might have compared those eyes to the smog that hung over the town, pumped into the air by all the factories and homes, but for the life of him, he could not be uncharitable. A damn inconvenience as he really didn’t wish to be admiring them. When had grey eyes ever been anything to admire?

  He fought to tear his gaze away, and nearly succeeded, but those blasted lips captured it before he had the chance to escape. Up close, those thin lips were almost succulent and slightly glossy. As if on cue, her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip—just the tiniest suggestion of a pink tongue as it swept over it and vanished into her mouth again. Heat rushed through him and centred downwards. She released a breathy sigh and her vanilla fragrance curled itself around him.

  A booming voice cracked the moment, declaring the stop. Lucian jerked his head up and thrust her back, almost sending her stumbling again and forcing her to grapple at his sleeve. He cursed inwardly, made sure she was steady on her feet and reached out of the window to open the door. Once safely on the platform, he offered her his hand and aided her down. All the while he forced himself to draw in deep breaths in an attempt to rid himself of the constriction in his lungs—and elsewhere—and to dissipate the infernal scent of her. Even the thick aroma of the train could not penetrate it.

  Ellie took a moment to smooth her hands down her skirts, adjust her bonnet and peer around. “How far is the factory from here?”

  “A mile.”

  “Shall we walk?”

  “I’d intended to get a carriage.” The streets of Caldton would be busy and hardly the sort of place for a lady of Ellie’s ranking. Besides they would have to slip down Harefield Lane which would be lined with beggars.

  “Let us walk.”

  He’d have been inclined to ignore her plea had she not slipped her arm through his. The oddest thing happened. The word no vanished from his vocabulary and instead he found himself replying with, “As you wish.”

  Lucian rolled his eyes at himself. Too much work and smoke had addled his wits. That was the only explanation. It had nothing to do with the odd tingling sensation having this woman on his arm created. Why, he’d certainly had far more exotic and enticing creatures on his arm.

  Releasing a lengthy sigh, he escorted her out of the train station and onto the busy street. Carriages rattled by and he eyed one longingly as they started their journey to the factory.

  On foot.

  Chapter Five

  Smart, not pretty

  It was true. Eleanor had seen pyramids and exotic creatures. But none of these sights or creatures fascinated her quite as much as the hustle and bustle of the town. To see people rushing about on their business and the tall brick buildings with the blackened evidence of industry clinging to their walls made her want to burst out in excited chatter. Not that Lucian would tolerate that, she thought with a smile. She had realised she was annoying him quite early on in the journey and had no wish to aggravate him further. Otherwise he might change his mind about showing her the factory.

  Industry was so interesting. The way machinery had taken over the role of man and could create such vast quantities of items amazed her. Towns like Caldton were dominated by industry. Every man, woman and child depended on it. It might not be beautiful like Paris or breath-taking like Egypt, but there was something elemental about such a place—a place built on hard work and ambition. It fairly buzzed through the air.

  As did it through her. She felt as if she were tingling all over from having her arm looped through Lucian’s. When they passed by a rough bunch of fellows, he drew her closer and if she had been inclined to do so, she might have swooned.

  Eleanor stole a glance at him. He had placed her by the side of his face that had been untouched by the fire. Why had mama not told her he had been hurt in the factory fire? Had he been hurt anywhere else? It annoyed her, but she couldn’t help feel pity for him. It must have been excruciating. Lord Rushbourne hardly deserved her pity or even her generous temperament today, but excitement had made her forget the anger she had nurtured over the years and she was loath to aggravate him, not when she hoped to persuade him to listen to her ideas.

  He led her across the cobbled road, pointing out a pile of horse excrement for her to step around. She noted the glances he garnered. With his tall stature in elegant clothing, it did not surprise her. His wide shoulders filled his dark frock coat to perfection and the blue and gold embroidered waistcoat did not hide how physically fit he was. Lucian had always be
en blessed with a fine physique and the years hadn’t changed that.

  When they entered a gloomy street, Lucian drew her close again and Eleanor forced herself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. At the best of times her feet hated to cooperate, let alone when the infamous Lord Rushbourne had her pressed against him.

  The grimy buildings loomed over them and when she looked up, she was surprised to see sky as it felt like the buildings must almost touch, such was the amount of light seeping through. She swallowed when she spotted several men standing about the doorways, women with children at their feet. Several palms opened slowly, as if they had no real hope of her being of a charitable sort. Lucian ignored them pointedly, his gaze fixed ahead, forcing Eleanor to tug him to a standstill so she could fish in her purse.

  “Ellie...” he warned, but she unlatched her arm from his and ignored him.

  One by one, she pressed coins into their hands. A few mumbled their thanks but most seemed too eaten up with hunger or exhaustion to muster much of a response. Each grimy face spoke of years of work and starvation. She had met poor people on her journeys but none looked quite so hopeless.

  When she offered out coin in India, the children had nearly tumbled her over in their eagerness and all had come away with smiles and giggles. Times in England were hard indeed for the poor. She only hoped she could do something—even if small—to help these people.

  Lucian drew her back into his protective hold and didn’t slow until they were out of the street and into a wider one, where they were greeted by carriages and signs of trade once more.

  “You should not have done that,” he told her.

  “Why ever not?” Was he so black-hearted he begrudged them charity?

  “Most will likely spend it on ale.”

  “Even the children?”

  “For many men, the only way to survive their existence is to drink. If they are not working, they will be drinking, and if they have to beat a child to get a coin, they will. Did you not see the bruises on their arms?”