Once Upon a Rake Read online

  Not Lucian though. He was used to beautiful women hanging off his arm. Mama had kept her apprised of all the happenings while she had been travelling and often availed her of the details of Lucian’s recent conquests. The tales of their beauty had never failed to knot her insides with jealousy. She wanted to be one of those handsome women. She wanted to hang on his arm and have him whisper naughty suggestions in her ear.

  Except she did not want that anymore, did she? She had grown up. Foolish, wanton thoughts like that had no place in her life now. When she turned, she realised Maggie had left the room. Eleanor hadn’t even heard her go. Too absorbed in thoughts of Lucian. Lord, she needed to focus her mind where it belonged. On the mill.

  She pondered her findings over breakfast. The mill was not making a profit and several customers still owed on their accounts. There were further numbers to be explored but she had not had the time. Before Lucian had deposited her home yesterday, she had reminded him of his promise to let her examine the rest of the records. Whether he would follow through on that promise was another thing. Honour had never been his strong suit.

  The loud tick of the clock on the mantelpiece broke through her thoughts and she glanced at it. Nearly midday. While it might be de rigueur to rise late, Eleanor had grown used to waking early on their travels. Even in France, Edward had insisted on early starts. So to be eating breakfast so late was unusual for her. The knock to her head must have fatigued her more than she had realised.

  She sighed and peeked at the footman standing to attention by the door before pouring her tea and snatching a slice of toast. Her sips and bites seemed unnaturally loud with only the ticking clock and the odd squeak and footsteps coming from adjoining rooms. This house was too large for just her. No wonder Edward had been eager to take on a young bride and leave on adventures. Years of being in a house like this with only a wife for company and no heirs to speak of had fed his need for adventure, she’d always concluded.

  Finishing breakfast quickly, she settled on taking a stroll around the gardens before it was time to meet with the housekeeper and then pour over her notes for the mill. A little fresh air would clear her head. She rose and breezed past the footman.

  “Thank you, James.”

  The footman nodded, expressionless. As she left the breakfast room she wondered if he pitied her. This lone woman—rich but friendless. Perhaps she should get a companion but the thought of paying for company did not appeal. She would have to write to Mama soon and ask her and Papa to visit. Broadstone Hall received few visitors but her Mama’s presence would draw more.

  Eleanor stepped out into the central courtyard and eyed the Palladian house rising up around her. This house needed the life brought back to it. Parties, balls...a family. She smoothed a hand over the waist of her dress as she strolled through to the other side of the house and out onto the terrace. Edward had not been interested enough in her to take the time to make a family and she had never fallen pregnant from the few times they had made love. Perhaps she would never have a family. And what man would wish to take on a barren wife?

  She shivered, regretting not bringing a shawl. It didn’t look likely to rain but a wind travelled over the hills and ruffled her curls. Still, she had much. A chance to make a difference in the mill for one.

  Ignoring the formal garden with its carefully arranged rows of plants, she followed the gravelled path around the outside of the house, running a finger along the grey stone of the house. She followed the path as it led away from the house toward the grand bridge—worthy of the finest parks in England. Blenheim Palace had a similar one she had heard.

  Wide enough to fit carriages through, the enclosed bridge provided a fine exit for those staying at Broadstone for long periods as they left to hunt or ride. The formal gardens provided the excitement for anyone arriving to Broadstone. Edward had told her his father had liked surprises, hence why the bridge had been tucked away at the back of the house. To continue amazing guests had been the last earl’s aim according to her husband.

  She rested her elbows on the stone and peered out over the river that flowed lazily beneath it. When she looked closely, she saw minnows darting between the reeds. She almost envied them. Swimming about with no concern for rank or duty. The only time she didn’t feel bound by her status was moments like these. She could release a breath, let loose her muscles and not fear she might trip or blurt something foolish.

  Eleanor didn’t hear the horse until it was almost upon her. She turned her head to the side only to realise it was Lucian. Hastily, she straightened and waited for him to come to a stop at her side. He slid from the horse with all the ease of a cheetah pouncing on his prey. Reins in hand, he paused a few paces away and scowled at her.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Eleanor raised both brows and gave herself a moment to take in the sight of him. One had to be prepared for Lucian, and she was not. She allowed her gaze to travel from his shining black boots, over his doeskin trousers and up to the fine fitting blue waistcoat and matching frock jacket. He peered at her from under his top hat, forehead creased into a scowl. Lord Rushbourne did not like her study of him it seemed. Funny, for once she would have thought he enjoyed every moment of feminine appreciation, even if from a plain creature like herself.

  “I am taking some air in my gardens, if that is agreeable to you, my lord.”

  “Agreeable to me? Good Lord, Ellie, you were nearly knocked senseless. You should have stayed abed until the doctor arrived.” He tugged out his pocket watch and flicked it open. “When the devil is the man arriving anyway?”

  “Not for another three hours. I can’t think what use my lying in bed until then would do.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he didn’t respond straight away. Instead, he began to lead the horse to the house, forcing her to follow along beside him.

  “Are you expecting guests? Is that why you are up?”

  “No. I am up because I would die of boredom being confined to bed when I am perfectly well.”

  He kept his gaze ahead as he spoke. “Does it hurt?”

  Eleanor fumbled for a response for several moments. He meant her head, yet inside her mind screamed at her to declare a hundred other responses. Yes, it hurt, the words he had said to her all those years ago. Yes, being in his company made her chest ache for the dreamy girl she had once been. Yes, being reminded of her lonely state stabbed at her heart. But if she wanted to make some sort of mark in life, she would tolerate all these agonies and more.

  So instead she merely smiled and said, “A little. But not enough to keep me abed. I was hoping to look over my notes today.”

  “No rest for the wicked, eh?”

  Eleanor peered at him and saw the mischievous glint in his eyes before it vanished. For the briefest moment, she had seen the old, flirtatious Lucian. Of course, he had never turned his flirtations upon her and she hadn’t expected him to now. No amount of lemon juice, rouge and fine fabrics could make him forget the homely girl he knew.

  He tugged the brim of his hat down when he caught her peeking at him. It appeared a self-conscious move and she realised she was on his scarred side—something he hadn’t let happen at all yesterday. Did it bother him? He had always been so handsome, perhaps it did, but surely women still fawned all over him, leaving him in no doubt they found him as beautiful as ever?

  “What brought you here so early?”

  Lucian touched the brim of his hat again. “I wanted to make sure you were well.”

  The admission seemed to cost him. His voice took on a strangled tone. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile. “I am well, thank you. I have a lump the size of an egg and I feel like my head might drop sideways at any moment from the weight—”

  His surprised look cut her off. She was rambling, speaking like a fool. Warmth rushed up her cheeks but then...then he laughed.

  “You always did recover well from bumps and bruises.”

  She didn’t know whether to shrink into a puddl
e on the ground until she was nothing but pale muslin skirts or to laugh with him. He referred to her clumsiness—that clumsiness she strove so hard to hide. Knocks and bumps had been commonplace for her and she’d always laughed them off.

  She chose the latter. She laughed. It was freeing and frightening at the same time. She should not be enjoying his company. Lord, she really was lonely if a dissolute rake gave her the most enjoyment she’d had in days.

  “It’s a fine job you still have so much hair.”

  Eleanor clamped her mouth shut and snapped her head forwards as they made their way towards the house. Any joviality was sapped from her. Her hair—her boring, frustrating, ugly hair. Why did he have to mention it? It was bad enough feeling like a giant, unrefined haystack around him but did he have to draw attention to the fact?

  “I’ve never been inside Broadstone,” he mused, oblivious to the seething annoyance she would shoot through her eyes like daggers if she could.

  “Not many have. Edward’s first wife was of a sickly constitution and did not tolerate company well. And, of course, we travelled for much of our marriage so the house was closed up.”

  He paused as they entered the shadow of the house and peered up at the wide sash windows. The house was perfectly square with an extra level on each corner like turrets of a castle. Most of it was new with the exception of the Tudor entrance, though even that had been significantly improved.

  “It’s a fine building. A shame for it to be unoccupied.”

  “Well, it is not anymore. Though I am not sure I count as keeping it occupied.” He glanced down at her, one brow raised and she suspected he’d heard her snippy tone. “Come, Jonathan can take your horse.” She motioned to the gardener who was busying himself trimming a box tree. “Will you take Lord Rushbourne’s mount to the stables, please, Jonathan?”

  “Of course, my lady.” Jonathan took the reins from Lucian and led the horse around to the rear of the house.

  Eleanor led Lucian up onto the terrace and through the courtyard. She had the oddest feeling of being watched closely, though why he should be looking at her and not the house, she did not know. It made her acutely aware of every footstep and she felt the urge to clutch her skirts and hasten along.

  Instead, she forced herself to keep her hands clasped in front of her and her pace leisurely. Graceful and poised, she reminded herself. Everything a countess should be.

  The scent of leather and old paper suffused the air when she guided him into the library. It was neither the largest nor the grandest library in England and that was precisely why Eleanor liked it and often used it for meeting visitors. Not that she had many. All the Sedgewick men had been adventurous sorts—preferring to experience things rather than read about them—and as such the collection of books at Broadstone was small, only occupying one wall. The rest of the walls were taken up with Edward and his father’s mounted insect collection.

  Lucian held his hat in both hands behind his back and strode over to inspect the collection. Eleanor found herself twining her hands together, wondering what he thought of her late-husband’s hobby. Did he deem it a great waste of time? Why did it matter to her what he thought?

  “A fine collection,” he murmured.

  “I did not think insects interested you.”

  “I have little time for such things but I admire those who have these passions. Without men like your late husband, we would be without much of the knowledge that shapes the modern world.”

  “Well, I’m not sure the study of insects has done much for our world today but I appreciate the sentiment.” She found herself letting slip a smile. Why did he have to be so agreeable today? She was in dangerous peril of liking the man again and she did not want that to happen.

  “If we are to understand our world, we must investigate every aspect of it, no matter how small.” He strolled over to view several photographs sitting on her writing desk. “You look happy in these.”

  “I was.”

  Eleanor swallowed the knot in her throat. She had been happy enough. Edward was a kind man, intent on looking after her and had opened her eyes to the world. It was a lot for a young girl to take on but she had been determined to prove her worth and had assisted him in his studies as best as she could. She could only ever be grateful for everything he’d taught her.

  She joined Lucian to study the photographs. They documented her transition, she always thought, from awkward young girl to a refined lady. Or at least as refined as one could be when your legs refused to cooperate in a reasonable manner and you had hay for hair.

  Lucian twisted to view her. Something dark sat in his green eyes as he gazed at her. Some reflection of pain, perhaps, yet why would anything to do with her pain him? And when had Lucian ever felt any deeper emotions? His world had been one of fun and decadence. She had begun to doubt he really was capable of feeling anything deeply after the night he had kissed her.

  “I am glad. I did not like the thought...”

  She heard his teeth grind and the long expel of a breath. He did not like the thought of what? Her being unhappy? Did he really care that her parents had arranged a marriage because they had seen her kissing Lucian and feared for their daughter’s virtue? That the opportunity to find a man she loved had been taken away from her because of his behaviour?

  He leaned in a little. Eleanor felt her breath stick in her throat, and was it her imagination or had she just swayed forwards? The gap between them was growing smaller by the second. The heavy thump of her heart grew deafening and for the life of her, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. His breath touched her face and she saw the dark brown flecks in his green eyes. Her skin grew hot and prickly. He was going to kiss her, was he not?

  So why was she not retreating and scolding him?

  The gap didn’t shrink any further and it felt like they remained close, staring at one another for hours. He took in her features for she saw his gaze drop down to her lips several times. She waited to see repulsion but instead his pupils widened, darkening his gaze further. Her own gaze skipped to the scarred skin on his cheek. It must have been so painful. And dangerous. The fire could have cost him his life if it had come so close as to burn him.

  Coldness shuttered his gaze suddenly and he snapped back. Eleanor almost released a squeak of disappointment—a foolish reaction on her behalf. Perhaps he had suddenly realised exactly who he was going to kiss, or perhaps she was simply so lacking in knowledge about men that he had never intended to kiss her in the first place. Either way, she should not have been feeling acute disappointment. She certainly did not want Lucian to kiss her.

  Not now. Not seven years ago. Not ever.

  Chapter Eight

  The Cliché

  He’d been about to kiss her. What in the devil was going on? Lucian retreated quickly and made a show of studying the prospect from the window. Looking out onto the open expanse of grass that led down to the bridge he remembered the sight he had come across—a young lady leaning against the stone, her curls blowing in the breeze. For several moments, she had appeared...interesting. Riveting almost. With the sun glinting off her blonde tresses and her shapely figure shown to great advantage, his heart had done some sort of strange flip.

  And again in the library. After studying the pictures of her, he had turned to find the sight of her oddly arresting. Even with those straight eyebrows and that too long nose, there was something wholly fascinating to her features. As though she were a painting simply viewed from the wrong angle and when one caught her from the right side, she became completely enchanting. He considered those black and white images of her and how she had seemed so unlike the scarecrow he had remembered her to be. Yes, she was certainly not as graceful as she was now but radiance shone from her.

  Lucian groaned inwardly. Hell, he would be spouting poetic words of her beauty before long and little Ellie Browning had never been beautiful. And he had never spouted poetry. Not even in the pursuit of attractive widows.

  “I hear t
he state rooms rival that of some of the palaces in England,” he muttered, keeping his gaze latched onto the view though not really seeing the lush lawns.

  He was too aware of her movement behind him. Of the crinkle of her skirts and the slight sigh of the fabric as she sat, somewhere in the periphery of his vision. All he saw was a blur of blue. Against the dark wood of the room and the red and gold wallpaper, she was like a beacon of light. Like a sunny sky breaking a storm. Devil take it, there he went with the poetic thoughts again. Her accident had affected him worse than he’d realised. He’d hardly slept a wink.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned to face the room and slipped onto the chair facing the fireplace. He had a good view of the photos and her husband’s vast collection of bugs and insects. He hadn’t been humouring her with his compliments of her husband’s interest but bugs did not do anything for him. How she had tolerated years of looking at the blasted things and travelling to God knows where just to catch a glimpse of one was beyond him.

  “Shall I ring for some tea?” she asked.

  Lucian frowned at her for too long. He knew he’d taken too long about it because she began to fidget. “Yes, do,” he finally managed to spit out.

  It had been so long since he’d taken tea with someone, he hardly knew what to do. Not that sitting around drinking tea had ever been his style. He was more likely to indulge in some fine spirits, but still he had been known to play the gentleman when needs be. No longer though. Since the fire, he had all but become a recluse. He smirked to himself as Ellie rose to ring the bell and he tracked her movements with his gaze.

  He had become a cliché. The grizzled old man hiding away in his grand old house. Before long he would live in only one room and the vines would grow across the building, blocking out the daylight and keeping away the visitors. Perhaps he would even affect a shuffling walk. If he was very lucky, he would grow a hump to complete the picture.