Once Upon a Rake Page 7

  He could not help but let his lips twitch at the image. Very well, he had not come that far, but no doubt many would picture him that way—as if the sight of him was not bad enough. Better to let them have their gossip and tall tales of the reclusive Lord Rushbourne than to re-enter society and let them see the truth.

  A footman arrived swiftly, saving him from summoning his meagre knowledge of polite conversation. What the bloody hell had he been thinking in coming here? He should have known he couldn’t very well turn up, check she was still alive and vanish again.

  Once the tea was set down and poured, Ellie dismissed the footman and eyed Lucian over the brim of her cup. “I hope you have not forgotten your promise to have the records sent to me.”

  “I have not. I will not be at the mill for several more days due to estate issues but I’ll have them sent by carriage.”

  Anything to keep her away from the mill. He begrudged having to go to the trouble of sending over the accounts, but what better way of keeping her busy than burying her under a load of books. Goodness knows what she hoped to find.

  “I never pictured you playing the master at a mill.”

  “I do not play,” he responded, aware of the bitter tone to his voice.

  The mill had slowly become his world. He wasn’t sure his lungs could cope without the dusty, smoky air of the mill anymore. The noise had become commonplace. The silence at Balmead was deafening. At the mill, no one cared if he was still an upstanding member of society. As long as they got paid, that was all they cared for. No one stared at him like some hideous disfigured beast. Most were too concerned for their own affairs.

  “I did not mean to imply you did. I just didn’t think cotton interested you.”

  “It didn’t, but when my father died, I had little choice but to become interested.”

  “Yet you must have other affairs that take your attention? Why not simply leave it in the hands of the foremen? Or, if you are concerned, hire someone to keep a close eye. I’m not sure you would see many viscounts rolling up their sleeves and all but living in a mill.”

  “Why should it bother you what I do with my time and where the devil are you pulling all this from?”

  “I only say what I hear.” She took a small sip of tea. “And it bothers me because I have money tied up in your mill, remember? I must make sure my money is in good hands. There are few people who would have trusted you with a penny when we were younger.”

  Lucian clutched the cup in his hand, aware of the fragile china and how easily it could be crushed—a little like seventeen year old Ellie. He had made his best attempt at crushing her. Sometimes he had thought he had done a fine job of it but now to see her grown up and throwing her bold words at him, he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he could let a little of the guilt slip away and tell himself he’d made a decent contribution to helping Ellie see the truth of the world.

  Unlikely. He would just bury it as usual. That had served him well these past years. Bury and forget anything he did not wish to think on.

  “As I am sure you’re aware, Ellie, things have changed. I have changed. The mill needs me.”

  The mill simply couldn’t go under, for what else would he do with his time? He had a capable estate manager and many other hands taking care of everything else.

  “Or you need it?”

  He failed to stop his eyebrows darting up in surprise at her observation. She simply let slip a sly smile as she lifted the cup to her lips once more. He found himself entranced by the purse of those cherry lips as the rim of the cup touched them. His fingers tingled with the desire to do the same. Would she taste good still? They looked softer now and altogether more tempting.

  The cup in his hand slipped while he stared on and he fumbled to keep it from falling from his fingers completely.

  “Blast.”

  Tea sloshed over the side of the cup and soaked the cuff of his shirt and the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Oh dear.”

  Ellie was on her feet before he could protest and had pulled a handkerchief from God knows where to begin dabbing at the sleeve. The handkerchief was warm and had likely been pressed against her skin. Soft, pale skin...

  She crouched before him and pressed the cotton to the stained cuff. “I always think these cups are too small for a man’s hands,” she said sweetly.

  Lucian rolled his eyes and tried to tug his arm back. How like her to blame the china rather than him. “That will do,” he said gruffly.

  To see her crouched before him was too much. Heat burgeoned through him and if he wasn’t careful he’d be pushing her back to the floor and seeing if she really did taste the same as he remembered.

  Except...except this was little Ellie Browning. Why the devil should he want to do a thing like that to her?

  “Let me just... Oh.” She stopped dabbing.

  He glanced down to see some of the red, ugly skin on his arm had been revealed. He yanked his arm back and the movement nearly sent her tumbling. Snatching her arm, he righted her. His hand remained wrapped around her thin arm for several moments while he became aware of the warmth of her skin through the muslin and how fragile she felt.

  “I am sorry. I heard of the fire and...and everything but I did not realise...”

  That he was a ruined beast of a man? That he repulsed himself when he looked in the mirror? He, who had spent so long pondering her looks and appeal—or lack of it—was one hundred times uglier than any scarecrow. Lucian dropped her arm as though it were she who was the source of the fire and she sat.

  “You could have been killed,” she said, her voice hushed.

  “I could have been, but I was not, as you can see.” He lifted his arms as if to demonstrate just how alive he was and regretted it.

  The scarred tissue on his arm pulled and reminded him of the touch of flames, the agonising burning sensation that would not leave for weeks on end. Even now he awoke in pain, as though his skin remembered the flames catching his clothes and crawling quickly up his sleeve to touch his face. Had it not been for the quick actions of one of the foremen to throw a blanket over him, he might have lost more than some of his good looks. He was damned lucky it did not reach his eyes or singe more than the edge of an eyebrow.

  But when the pain was as fresh and as raw as ever and he awoke alone, in an empty house, he did not feel so lucky.

  “Do they know how the fire started?”

  “No. Though it was suggested a cigarette started it. Cotton fluff burns like the devil. No right-minded mill owner lets their workers smoke in the mill but there will always be those who chance it.”

  “I...I am so sorry.”

  Lucian stared at her for a good while. Regret sat deep in those grey eyes—eyes that drew him in like a whirlpool. She, of all people, offering him sincere sympathy. He did not deserve it. She reached over and he snatched his hand away before she could touch him, forcing her to fist her hands in her lap.

  “I suppose you think I deserve as much,” he muttered when he had finally managed to drag his gaze from hers and fix it upon the tea cup.

  “Of course I do not!”

  He shook himself from his thoughts and allowed a grim smile. “No, of course you do not. You, little Ellie Browning, are a far better person than I.” Lucian released a long breath and took some amusement in her open-mouthed expression as he rose. “Forgive me, but I’m glad to see you are well. I will not keep you any longer. No doubt you need some rest.”

  “I’m quite well and have no need of rest, I can assure you.”

  Well, he did not expect her to stay quiet and shocked forever he supposed, but to have her dumfounded for a little longer might have been nice.

  Ellie rose too, adopting that regal posture of hers that never quite seemed to suit. He almost missed the days she was carefree and as loose with her movements as she was with her tongue.

  “The doctor is coming soon, yes?” he asked as she led him through the house to the front entrance.

  “Yes, my lord, tho
ugh I am sure I have no need of him.”

  “You took a heavy blow to the head. You have need of him,” he told her.

  “Do you know why it happened?”

  He paused by a pillar in the entrance hall and placed his hat on his head. “The belt must have become worn. These incidents are not unheard of.”

  “I only hope it does not happen again to anyone else.”

  He scowled. “I keep my machinery well maintained. I am not a miserly master, whatever you may think, Ellie. I have little intention of letting it happen again.”

  But he had to admit, the incident puzzled him. Accidents might happen but it rarely involved faulty machinery. An incident like that slowed down production and cost him far more than simply ensuring the machinery ran well and all was up to scratch. He could not fathom how a worn belt had slipped past the foreman.

  “I do not blame you for it, Lucian.”

  Her habit of slipping his name in her softer moments was beginning to grate on his nerves. He far preferred being addressed by his name, but not when it was used tactically.

  “Of course you do not. As I just said, you are a far better person than I. Yet you should. I’m to blame for much I fear. Now if you will excuse me. Your doctor shall be along soon, I am sure, and I see that you are well, so there’s no need for me to stay. Good day.”

  Lucian tipped his hat and hurried out of the hall as fast as he could. How that woman forced these words from his lips was beyond him. Little Ellie was a mystery. Soft and tender one moment, while declaring bold intentions the next. Forgiving and soft then shooting daggers of annoyance his way. A portrait of plainness with berry lips and soft skin. Even his body didn’t know what to do with itself. Just the thought of those lips made his blood boil.

  It was no good, he thought, as he strode down the steps and in what he hoped was the direction of the stables. He’d not even stopped to ask for his horse to be fetched. He would simply have to behave more a cad than he already was. Scare her off completely. It had worked last time. Hell, she had gone and travelled the world after he had kissed her. Maybe she would take off and do it again if only he managed to keep his wits about him and make her realise she had no place in the world of cotton. Or even in his world.

  Chapter Nine

  Mama is Always Right

  Two days later, a letter had arrived from Eleanor’s mama, announcing her imminent arrival. Now, on the third day, Eleanor had finished her meeting with the housekeeper and the butler and they were just about ready for the Baroness’s visit. Her father was to stay in London it seemed, but Mama had tired of it now that the season was coming to an end and after all she had not seen her daughter in over a year. The last time had been at Edward’s funeral and there had been no time to catch up. Both their lives were busy but Eleanor had to admit, she had missed her mother’s positive presence.

  Now that enough food had been bought in for mama and her entourage—her Aunt Sylvia, two lady’s maids and a handful of other servants—the menus had been planned and the guest rooms had been prepared, there was nothing left to do but wait.

  Eleanor peered out of the window of the Box Room, so called because of its shape, and twined her hands together. Heavy clouds hung in the sky and she prayed they did not bring rain. Being trapped indoors didn’t appeal, even if they did have much to catch up on. She had hoped to give Mama a proper tour of the estate, particularly as her previous stays had only been brief on her and Edward’s infrequent stays in England, and Aunt Sylvia had not visited Broadstone Hall at all as she usually remained in Scotland for much of the year.

  She allowed herself a smile. Aunt Sylvia had probably seen her opportunity to poke around the hall and spend time with her niece, the countess, and had thus made the effort to travel to the south in the hopes of the baroness arranging a visit. Eleanor did not know her aunt all that well with her reluctance to travel to England but, as with her mama, she had been told she was prodigiously proud of her niece’s accomplishment at gaining such a rank. What sort of achievement it was to gain a rank by marrying an old man, she didn’t know.

  And still Lucian had not sent the accounts. A fine thing, probably, with all she had to deal with now, but she suspected he was delaying. If she had time, she would ride over to Balmead and demand to know what the delay was, but alas she did not have time.

  Not to mention his odd behaviour the other day. He had seemed concerned for her, then snappish and then out came these strange admissions... It was all very vexing. How was she to continue nurturing her dislike of him when he spoke of her being the better person? It was untrue. Oh, morally, she might be, but in looks and manner, and achievement, he was far better. Whatever she thought of his past antics, she had to admit he seemed to work hard at keeping his father’s businesses thriving and from what she had heard, he took care of his estates well. What could she say for herself? She had travelled the world, hanging onto the coattails of her husband and achieved a rank merely by being available and a sort of unfussy type of woman. Edward had admitted in the past that her lack of ‘pomp and prissiness’ appealed to him because he knew he would have no trouble travelling with her.

  What he meant was she was plain and dull, and would not worry should her hair get messy or her dress get crinkled. Not that he had ever said as much. Edward had been a kind man—more than many ladies could say of their husbands.

  The sight of a carriage rounding the corner made her straighten. Butterflies filled her stomach, ready to take off. It was so important Mama enjoyed her stay at Broadstone. She had always harboured big dreams for her daughter, dreams Eleanor feared she would never achieve. She still recalled her mama’s beaming smile on her wedding day. That, and the proud look on her father’s face had been the best moments of that day.

  The closed carriage drew close, travelling up through the pruned trees and carefully plotted gardens. Eleanor was out on the front step before the carriage had come to a halt. The two footmen came forward to open the door and pull down the stairs and four women alighted from the vehicle.

  A burst of warmth bubbled in her chest and it took all her strength of keep her feet still and wait for her mama to ascend the steps towards her.

  The baroness, a lady of slender figure and absolute elegance, hurried towards her daughter and took her in a warm embrace. “My dear, you look so well. It has been too long. I am sorry I couldn’t get away sooner. You know how it is and your father was being a terrible nuisance. I had hoped to bring him with me but business would not allow it. He shall, however, be along before the winter sets in, I promise you that.” Breathless, her mama drew back and grinned. “Oh, how I have missed you.” She pressed a kiss to Eleanor’s cheek and Eleanor laughed.

  “I have missed you too, Mama.”

  The lonely ache in her chest had dissipated in a moment with the arrival of her mother. Eleanor took a second to study her mother and saw she looked in good health. Her cheeks were vibrant and though her skin could not be described as youthful, her mama’s lively eyes and wide smile never failed to make her look young and beautiful.

  “Of course you remember Aunt Sylvia.”

  “Of course I do. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Aunt.”

  The tall woman, as slender as herself and her mother, smiled warmly. They were all of similar looks, the women in their family. Slightly severe brows, strong noses and unshapely figures. Yet her mother and Aunt Sylvia always carried it off with far more grace than she did. Aunt Sylvia’s dark hair had only the merest spot of grey and while Mama had Eleanor’s colouring, her hair had always been lighter, adding a delicate effect. It was now almost white but with it swept under her hat, she still looked elegant and endearingly petite.

  Her aunt drew her close and tears touched Eleanor’s eyes. It had been so very long since she’d had much physical affection. Edward tried his best but he simply wasn’t interested in touching her. Not that she blamed him.

  She led them into the Cube Room while the footman brought in tea and cakes, and laid them
on the marble table in the centre of the chairs. Mama settled herself on the long settee and Aunt Sylvia followed suit. The admiration on her aunt’s face was abundantly clear and Eleanor smiled.

  None of the women in her family could be accused of possessing the talent of hiding their emotions—though Eleanor had always been the worst for blurting out every thought or emotion that ran through her head. That was, until she had been dragged away from Lucian that night. After that she had been determined to do better, to prove herself a better person.

  “How was your journey, Mama?”

  The baroness leaned forwards and helped herself to a delicate meringue. “A little bumpy, dear. Some of the roads from the train station were a little rough but at least it is dry here.”

  “Yes, we’ve had quite a dry spell though I fear we shall see rain by this evening. I am glad you have come, Mama, Aunt. How long shall you be staying?”

  “Several weeks, I expect,” Aunt Sylvia put in, before running her gaze about the room. “Eleanor, this room is simply divine.”

  Eleanor smiled her acknowledgement. She rarely used the Single Cube Room, but it still even stole her breath occasionally. The high painted ceilings and gilded cornicing created a grandeur that rivalled some of the palaces in England. One large portrait of Edward’s family spanned the rear wall while several older paintings occupied the rest of the white walls.

  “Tell me, do you have word from Jane?” Eleanor asked eagerly. She’d not heard about her favourite maid for some time.

  “She is not so well I am afraid,” her mother said. “You know she has always been fragile, at least since...”

  Eleanor nodded. Jane had doted on her as a young girl but after a factory accident harmed Jane’s daughter, she withdrew into herself. For people like Jane, she had to make a difference, and the mill was just the opportunity to do that.