Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (61 page)

A sense of ownership driving her forward, she strode down the hallway and found the door in the ceiling leading to the roof was wide open, with a ladder leaning against the opening.

She’d visited up there early on, but only once. Then the crews had begun replacing the roof in sections, so it hadn’t been safe to return. But now . . .

Having climbed trees with Teddy in younger years, Eleanor gave the ladder a withering stare, then gathered her skirt, pulled it up from behind, and tucked it into her waistband. If the ladder supported Marcus and his men, it would certainly hold her.

She managed the ladder with relative ease, considering what she was wearing. What she hadn’t counted on was seeing what was on the roof of Marcus’s building next door—and the arms of steel that locked around her from behind.

 51 

C
an you not take no for an answer, Madam Director?” Marcus whispered from behind. “My building is to be unveiled at your open house in May. And no sooner.”

Loving the name he’d given her in recent days, Eleanor enjoyed being this close to him, while also knowing she shouldn’t. Even if this closeness meant nothing to him, it did to her. And while she hadn’t cared for the baroness, and didn’t know how betrothals worked in Austria, she wouldn’t appreciate someone else enjoying this intimacy with Marcus if he were
hers
.

His grip loosened and she turned, knowing her cheeks were flushed.

“I didn’t come up here to see
your
building, Marcus.” She casually put some distance between them. “I came up here to make sure
my
building wasn’t being ransacked.”

He laughed. “Yes, thieves often come up to roofs to ransack buildings.”

“If you don’t want anyone coming up here, you should have locked the door. That way, I wouldn’t have seen”—she let her grin come—“the roof lanterns on your building!”

He exhaled a breath, and she laughed.

“They’re beautiful, Marcus.” She walked to the edge of the roof and peered over.

He joined her. “I didn’t think you liked them.”

“I never said I didn’t like them. I simply thought they were impractical for our needs.”

He laughed again. “Always forthcoming, aren’t you?”

“I try to be. Most of the time,” she added, the look in his eyes seeming to challenge her statement.

He moved closer. “Good. Because I’d like to know your thoughts on my intent to court you, Miss Braddock.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?” Needing support, she reached for the waist-high wall bordering the roof.

His expression took on a look she remembered, if only briefly, from that day in the library. But remembering what
that
had led to, she felt herself responding to him. And he hadn’t even touched her. Mindful of the roof’s boundaries, she took a step back.

He made up the distance between them, and them some. “My future has changed irrevocably, Eleanor. Two things you need to know, and please allow me to finish before responding.”

Too late,
she wanted to say. But she nodded instead.

“The Baroness Maria Elizabeth Albrecht von Haas”—he said the name with the haughty tone such a name deserved—“has transferred her feelings to someone else. Hence, she will be marrying another man. Instead of me.”

Eleanor felt her mouth slip open. He closed it for her.

“The not-so-lucky man is my cousin, in fact. A boorish, selfish soul whom she more than deserves. The lovely couple is being wed with my extreme pleasure and my grateful prayer for having escaped that personal and political noose.”

“But, how did you—”

“Ah . . . ah.” He touched her lips, staring at them for a beat before his gaze met hers again. “No talking until I’m done. Now . . .” He smiled that devilish smile. “You need to know that the Gerhard Marcus Gottfried who will be pursuing you at all costs and with little patience for rebuttal, and none for refusal”—the look he gave her both thrilled her and scared her to death— “is no longer an archduke in the House of Habsburg. Neither in title nor, prayerfully, in the man I am. He cupped her face in his palm. “I have you to thank for that, Eleanor Braddock. And I intend to spend the rest of my life doing just that.”

Instinctively, she backed up another step and met the brick wall this time. He grabbed her arm to steady her and didn’t let go.

“Now,” he said, moving closer again. “Any questions?”

“Yes!” She took a breath, the morning air cold. Not that she cared at the moment. “Why . . . all of this? Now? Up here?”

He smiled. “Because last night as I watched you reading that story to the children—the one they always ask you to read . . .”

She nodded, loving that story.

“I decided I was tired of waiting. And I told myself the next time I saw you, whenever, wherever that was, I was going to tell you. So
be grateful it wasn’t during a dinner downstairs.” He grinned. “Or at church in your aunt’s pew.”

Her mind spinning, Eleanor was glad he was still holding her arm. “When did you learn about the baroness?”

For the first time, his confidence seemed to waver. “Shortly before our evening together in the conservatory.”

“But that was well over a month ago. Why did you wait to say anything?”

His hand tightened on her arm, not painfully, but more in a . . . possessive sort of way. “Because I know you, Eleanor. You’re a practical, levelheaded woman who knows what she wants in life and isn’t afraid to pursue it. I also know you’re scared.”

He moved in, touching her face, the blue of his eyes deepening, and her heart squeezed tight with simultaneous pleasure and panic.

“I can see the fear in your eyes right now. If you’d known for the past few weeks that I wasn’t engaged anymore, you wouldn’t have allowed me to show you how much I love you. And I do love you, Eleanor Braddock. I think I have since . . .” His eyes narrowed. “Since you mistook me for an under gardener.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“One more thing,” he whispered, trailing his hand from her face, down to the high collar of her shirtwaist. “I’d like your forthright response to this.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her, like he’d done before, only slower this time, his arms holding her as though they were made to do just that. He drew back slightly, and she thought they were done. But she was wrong.

He kissed her mouth again, then her cheek. With one arm, he held her, his hand spanning the small of her back, while the other explored the curve of her shoulder, her collarbone, then—her heart leapt to her throat—back up to her neckline again.

“Eleanor,” he whispered against her mouth.

Eyes still closed, her composure in a puddle at his feet, she took a breath. “Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

In a blink, she was back. And looked up at him. “W-what did you say?”

“You heard me.” He nuzzled her neck. “I want you to marry me. Soon. I don’t want to wait. I’ve already waited half of my life for you.”

“But . . .” The strangest feeling—part wonder and excitement, part terror and dread—chased the desire coursing through her. “We don’t—”

“We don’t what?”

“We don’t . . . know each other well enough. Not . . . like that.”

His hands on her shoulders, he looked her square on. “You and I know each other better than a lot of couples married for half their lives do.”

Knowing he was right, yet feeling an inexplicable fear fanning out inside her, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I know you love me, Eleanor. Seven strudels?
Seven?
”

She winced. “Thirteen. Still, none of them good.”

He urged her chin upward, and she glimpsed a confidence in him she wanted to have but didn’t. Not when remembering how much it had hurt to learn of his initial plans to return to Austria. That had been hard enough. But growing even closer to him, allowing herself to love him like she knew she could—and would, if given the chance—then losing him . . . like so many of the women she knew who had lost their husbands . . . That would be too much.

The sting of losing her mother, and then Teddy, was never far away. She’d witnessed the changes in her father, had seen what grief could do to a person. Then there was the soldier that night so long ago . . . the regret he’d borne, the pain in his eyes in those final moments.

Loving someone came at too high a cost, a cost Eleanor didn’t think she could— No, she knew she couldn’t bear it.

“Marry me,” Marcus whispered again, his voice husky.

Already feeling a sense of loss, she shook her head. “I can’t.”

The ardor in his gaze dimmed. “You’re afraid I’ll leave you. But I never will, Eleanor.”

How did he know her so well? Her throat ached with love for him. “You won’t mean to. But you will . . . someday.”

“Years from now, maybe,” he whispered. “After a full life lived together.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“And neither do you,” he countered softly, then kissed her again, gently, with a tenderness that belied his stature and strength, and that almost persuaded her.

But in the end, the fear in her heart won out. “I can’t,” she whispered. Then, needing the reassurance of his arms even if she couldn’t say yes, she gave him a brief but tight hug before heading downstairs.

Over the next weeks, as the remnant of March slipped into April, then April readied for May, the daylight hours lengthened. Yet the days themselves seemed to grow shorter. Everywhere Eleanor looked there was work to do for the home, for the open house, for the classes they would offer, for the skills they would teach the women and the children, and for Hazel, Mrs. Bennett’s niece, starting the café, which Marta and Elena were helping with as well.

And . . . there was Marcus.

He’d asked her twice again to marry him. And twice again she’d said no. She sensed his impatience with her growing and almost wished he’d stop asking. But then, she also didn’t. Because she wished she had the courage to say yes.

He’d argued she could keep her position as director if they married, telling her they would work something out regarding the living accommodations, understanding that a man couldn’t exactly live in the home. He shared about his own struggle to forge a path for the life he wanted, instead of the life chosen for him. He’d told her about his father’s last letter, and she was glad he’d burned it instead of reading those words again and again.

Every argument she put forth, he’d thought of and solved before she could scarcely give it voice.

After dinner one night, she looked at him across the gathering room working on the special reading corner she’d requested he design. His crews had built it to his specifications, and it was perfect—a slightly raised platform with bookcases behind it where volumes already lined the shelves. Rebecca Malloy was working with some of the women to make cushions upon which the children would sit.

As though feeling her thinking about him, Marcus turned and looked back, but his smile lacked its usual enthusiasm.

“Miss Braddock,” Naomi said behind her. “A quick question for you.”

Telling herself she was making the right choice, Eleanor joined Naomi and several other ladies at a table, their young daughters sitting nearby.

Marta leaned over, excited. “Rebecca is sewing us new dresses for the open house! Fancier even than the ones she has made before.”

Eleanor looked across the table. “You are far too generous, Mrs. Malloy. Aren’t you busy enough with everything else?”

Rebecca made a sweet grimace. “I have an ulterior motive, Miss Braddock. I’m hoping that when some of the women from the league see my work, they might be interested in using my services.”

“Very good thinking.” Eleanor grinned, then saw Marcus gesturing for her to join him. “I’ll be sure to list your name in the program.” She stood.

“But you need to choose
your
dress, Miss Braddock,” Naomi said, welcoming little Maggie, who climbed up in her lap.

“Anything is fine, honestly,” Eleanor said, seeing Marcus waiting.