Once Upon a Rake (7 page)

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.

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 the 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.

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, though 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.”