Chapter 19

 

 

 

“Huntington, this is Miss Eleanora Galway. El, my venerable butler, Huntington.”

“Good day, Miss Galway.”

Before she could reply to the older man, Christian took her hand and pulled her along the hallway.

“Afternoon tea, Huntington, with whatever Mrs. Tallmadge can scrape up. We are famished,” Christian called out as he marched down the hall.

“At once, Your Grace.”

Eleanora stepped into what must be the parlor. It struck her that Christian was wealthy—and a duke. Their previous conversation and her glint of hope were more fanciful than ever. She could never fit into this life. Pretending to belong to the upper crust for a few hours at a ball was mildly amusing, but to do this the rest of her days?

Oh, why did I allow emotions to sweep me away?

But the emotions were not only swept, but fully engaged, and there was no going back now. What a dilemma.

The room bespoke of money and title with its velvet curtains and gold wallpaper garnished with dragons and peacocks. The expensive furniture was in the neoclassical style.

Christian pointed to the far wall. “See? Electricity courtesy of the City of London Electric Lighting Company Limited.”

Curious, Eleanora followed him across the room. He turned the button, and bright light washed over the room from the chandeliers above.

“Oh, how wondrous,” Eleanora exclaimed.

“You should see it at night. No more squinting to read by candlelight, firelight, or a gas lamp. I will be expanding to other rooms in the future. Although, Mrs. Tallmadge is adamant she will not have an electric cooker in her kitchen. Come, I want to show you my study. It also has electric light.”

Christian crooked his arm and Eleanora took it. As they wandered along the hall, she marveled at the artwork.

“No family portraits?”

“Not here, but there are several at Bamford Park. Our country seat, in Essex.”

Again, Christian’s wealth and title caused her insides to knot. That spark of hope, the one that allowed her to believe there could be something permanent between them, started to dim. In all aspects of her life, she had complete control.

Except when it came to Christian.

He caused a maelstrom of confusion and unrest.

And blast it all; it was damned exhilarating.

The study was as opulently appointed as the parlor. The stone fireplace looked from another age, and the sword on display above it caught Eleanora’s attention. There were faint etchings along the blade. All that was missing was a shield and a suit of armor.

“What a beautiful sword; is it a family heirloom?”

Christian removed it from its display holder. “As a matter of fact, it is. Many Bamfords have fought in battles through the centuries. The most recent was my grandfather, Duncan Bamford. Before he inherited the title, he fought in the war of eighteen-twelve. He was badly scarred when the Americans set fire to the government buildings in Upper Canada.”

“How terrible. Wait, eighteen-twelve? Wouldn’t he be your great-grandfather?”

“No. Duncan Bamford never married until the age of forty. My father never married until he was fifty-six.”

“Good Lord. Do you intend to wait that long?” Eleanora asked.

“Not if I can help it. Every Duke of Allenby has displayed this sword for centuries. Since its usage in the Battle of Agincourt—or so the story goes.”

His family went back to Henry the VIII?

That unease percolating inside her just increased.

“This is a knightly or arming sword,” he continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “This sword is more of a sidearm since the two-handed, long sword had gained popularity as the main battle weapon. Here, see how lightweight it is.”

Christian handed the sword to her. She grasped the leather pommel, then swung about and thrust at the air. Eleanora was having so much fun, her uneasiness dissipated. Taking two steps back, she lunged forward in a stabbing motion. “I like the feel of it.”

“Where did you learn, by the way?”

Eleanora smiled as she handed the sword to Christian. “Some girls have piano lessons. I wanted to learn how to handle a sword and a knife. My father arranged instruction for me. I enjoyed the strategy involved; it challenged me.”

With his free arm, Christian encircled it about her waist and brought her in tight against him. “Can I say it’s damned arousing to see you parry and thrust about? I have imagined you as a warrior goddess, leading an attack. Glad to see I was not wrong.” He nuzzled her neck, sending sparks through her, igniting that flickering flame to a roaring blaze. The warrior goddess remark pleased her to no end.

“Actually,” she said, her voice husky, “A parry is when you deflect your opponent’s blow.”

“And a thrust?” Christian rolled his hips and gave a demonstration of exactly that, as his erection ground against her.

Going to his bed for the rest of the afternoon was indeed tempting. To hell with tea and the case. About to suggest that very thing when a clearing of the throat interrupted her heated thoughts.

“My pardon, Your Grace.”

Eleanora squeaked and turned away from Christian.

“Yes, Huntington?” Christian placed the sword on the holder, then gave Eleanora a sly grin only she could see.

“Tea is served in the parlor.”

“We will be along directly,” Christian replied.

When the butler departed, they both burst out laughing.

He offered his arm, “Shall we take tea, my lady?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Once in the parlor and seated on the sofa, she reached for her notebook.

“Right to business, then? Tell me your hunch of what is happening here.” He gave her a teasing but warm smile, and her toes curled in her boots.

Yes, concentrate. Business.

“I believe that Ford Whitey—is that his full name?”

“His given name is Stafford, but he’s always gone by Ford,” Christian replied.

“Right. I believe Ford is behind this macabre game. Whether he meant to drown Hayes Addington or not is a moot point. The fact is he was beaten, disowned, and sent away. He suffered mentally, but who knows what further torture he endured at this school and later in the asylum? It could have twisted him further.”

“Do you think he murdered Emily McCarthy?”

Eleanora tapped her pencil against her chin. “I think not, but I don’t rule it out. Emily was already suffering from her malady and, by all accounts living on the street. She told Fiona that a man was going to look after her. What if it was Ford? He no doubt has been having you all followed and asked questions. When he found out about Emily’s past employment and her connection to your group, he could have found her a room while getting information from her. Then, when she died, he found another use for her.”

Christian curled his lip. “This is beyond macabre; that is insane.”

“Yes, perhaps his father has the right of it; he could be mentally unstable. Which makes him unpredictable and treacherous. And the money he stole from the asylum could be financing his schemes.”

“The carriage rentals and drivers.”

“Yes. I’ve had Sybil dig into it, but the carriage companies she has spoken to have not had a large rental like that. I believe that he hired independent drivers or those already employed by the upper classes. It will be next to impossible to trace. I remember now there was a covering on the carriage door. Hiding a crest perhaps?”

Christian sat back. “My God.”

“You said a baronet is not part of the peerage, but would Ford inherit when his father passed?”

“Yes, he would have to be placed on the Official Roll by providing proof of succession. Ford can hardly do that locked away in an asylum. Which was probably Sir Howard’s plan, having the baronetcy die with him.”

Huntington entered with a maid directly behind him, carrying a three-tiered silver stand. The butler placed the silver tea service on the table in front of them, then Huntington brought a small round table to place next to it. The maid set the tiered stand upon it. Sandwiches, biscuits, cheese, and frosted cakes filled the silver rack.

“That will be all, Huntington. We are not to be disturbed.”

The servants bowed and departed the room, closing the double doors behind them.

“Will you pour, El?”

“Right, milk, no sugar, correct?”

“Correct,” Christian replied.

Eleanora sat forward and reached for the teapot. Her hand shook slightly, which surprised her. Because she was out of her element, or that flicker of hope that this could be her life? Or perhaps it was dread.

The last thing she wanted to do with her life was sitting in a parlor pouring tea all day, not that there was anything wrong with that; it just wasn’t for her. She put the thoughts right out of her head.

After serving the tea, they both filled their plates and ate heartily.

“So, what is Ford’s end game here?” Christian asked as he sipped his tea.

“To cause mischief. To break up your group. Perhaps Ford doesn’t even know. Maybe it was enough to see you all flustered. Or perhaps this is just the beginning of his plan. The sooner we find him, the better.”

“How do we flush him out?”

Eleanora nibbled absently on a sugar biscuit. “Let me think on it.”

“Now, I want to talk about what happened in the carriage; and how much I want it to happen again. I told you I am falling for you, El, and I am. I’ve never felt this way toward any other woman. You have captured me, heart and soul.”

She shook her head. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks. It’s not possible.”

“Stuff and nonsense, as the baronet said. It is possible, and you know it. When shall we be together again? Will you come to me here, late one night? Will I let you in the back entrance and sneak you up the stairs? Or shall we rent a room somewhere?”

“You are serious? You want an affair?”

Christian set his teacup on the table. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said on this subject? I want you. In all ways. I want to know what it feels like to have my breath feather across your bare skin. I want to explore every curve, taste every part of you, and be inside you until I take my last gasp on this earth.”

Eleanora couldn’t help it; her eyes welled with tears. His spoken words resonated in a voice so full of feeling yet gruff with passion. It sent her heart beating double time and heat to pool between her thighs.

“I’m making you feel again, aren’t I? I do apologize,” he said lightly, passing her a handkerchief.

She dabbed her eyes. “You are going to break my heart; I know it,” she whispered.

“Not if you give it into my care,” he answered, moving closer to her. Christian took the handkerchief and gently wiped away the couple of wayward tears that had snaked down her flushed cheeks. “I will ensure the safekeeping of it. I will never smother it or deny it its true ambitions and desires. I will do my utmost to protect it from any possible hurt or breakage of any sort. It would be my most prized and precious—I don’t want to say possession, for I would never possess any part of you. But it would be my honor to be the caretaker of it.”

Christian leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

The emotions swelling through Eleanora were overwhelming, and the loss of control had her in knots. But beyond that, his emotionally spoken words were seared on her heart.

Christian ended the kiss and stood, holding out his hand. “Now that we have eaten everything, are you ready to travel to Cleveland Street? You will think about what I said?”

She slipped her hand in his. “Yes, and yes.”

And she had much to reflect on.

How she adored his forthrightness. The ease in which he expressed his feelings. So different from her.

Christian didn’t flinch from expressing how he felt, regardless of revealing vulnerabilities or not. Eleanora should take a page from Christian’s book. Puzzling this out would take time, but she would not dismiss his emotional revelations.

Yes, she was falling for him, indeed.