Chapter 22

 

 

 

While Christian shared another afternoon tea with Archie; Eleanora had sent word to Christian that the doctor had reported the hand and the leg had matching blood properties. Ford must be mentally disturbed to keep a dead woman on ice, sawing off appendages to spook their group. When they finished their beefsteak sandwiches, and he had introduced the lad to the staff, Christian was off again in his carriage.

Christian had to meet with the rakes at the club. He had sent word yesterday that they needed to show up. Now he had even more urgent news to tell them. Before that, Christian had to drop Archie off near the East End. Before saying goodbye to Archie, he handed him a wool scarf and gloves he had fetched from his room.

“Tell your compatriots that you stole them from a rich and stupid toff,” he had said to the boy.

Archie had taken the items and gave him a salute as he stepped from the carriage.

It was already past six, and the sun had started to set. A chill was in the air, hinting that winter was close at hand. He pulled his scarf tighter about his neck to ward off the cold. Christian kept glancing out the rear window. Devilled hell, he was acting paranoid.

Once he arrived at Albany Street, he instructed Michaels to seek out a bite to eat below stairs. There was always food on hand. Christian had also made it plain that Phillips services were most decidedly not required tonight. Nor was Damon—or any of them—to mention the meeting to anyone.

“You expect me to wait on myself?” Damon boomed as Christian strolled into the room.

“Yes, for once, be self-sufficient. Pour your own drink.”

“I saw your man go below, have him wait on us,” Damon replied.

“Michaels is my coachman, not a footman.” Christian tore off his cloak, scarf, and gloves and sat at the head of the table. “Please, sit, all of you. I have news. A good deal of it.”

Once the men poured their drinks, Christian told them everything that they had learned. The delivery of the hand. The carriage chase and the attack concerning Eleanora. The visit to Ford’s father. Phillips meeting with what was in all likelihood—Ford and another man. The fact Ford was their prime suspect.

“You mean to say that initially, we were suspects, that Althea Galway traveled to Hertfordshire to check on Warren?” Damon said, his voice incredulous. “She journeyed alone?”

“I said at the beginning that these ladies were up to the task,” Christian replied as he sipped his drink. “I believe this is beyond a prank. Ford wrote to his father that he would seek revenge on all those that abandoned him.”

“How were we to know that the baronet burned the letters? It’s not our fault Ford was locked away!” Merritt whined.

“We were all suspects, incredible,” Asher marveled. “But Ford? Never would have guessed at that. But God knows what’s he been through. Horrid places, asylums.”

Gideon downed his drink and stood. “This has nothing to do with Knight and me, as we were not part of your schoolboy clique, so forgive me if I take my leave. Brandon? Are you coming?”

“So, you’re going to swan off instead of assisting us with this plight?” Christian asked. He couldn’t believe this, but on one hand, he could. Gideon looked out for himself, not much of an “all for one” sort of chap when it came down to it.

“Correct. No insult meant, but you’ve all made this muddle,” Gideon replied.

Brandon stood, grabbing his cloak. “Sorry. Gideon’s right. Until next time.”

The two men departed.

“Blasted selfish sods, the both of them. Knight follows Watford around like an obedient puppy,” Damon growled.

“Well, I wasn’t there that night of the drowning, but I will stick by you,” Merritt said, his head bobbing.

“Speaking of obedient puppies,” Damon muttered. Then louder, he said, “The thing of it is, I just remembered something about that night. I awoke briefly and heard arguing. It must have been Ford and Hayes. I don’t remember what was said; I thought it was a dream. Christ, I could have stopped it before it went too far.”

“How were we to know?” Christian said. “Ford didn’t wake us for assistance. He went home, confessed to his father, and was beaten and sent away for his trouble.”

“But what could we have done?” Asher demurred. “We were sixteen years of age and kept out of the inquiries. We returned to school and got on with our lives. I’m sorry to say that I soon put the incident out of my mind.”

“As did we all. What chills me is that this was no accidental drowning. Ford held Hayes underwater. Perhaps not premeditated murder, but provocation resulting in the end of a life. And he was punished for it, the baron saw to that,” Christian interjected.

“That is not on any of us here,” Merritt stated.

“In Ford’s mind, it is,” Christian replied. “I would suggest you all forego any social situations until a resolution is reached. Stay by the hearth.”

“And you will be the hero?” Damon interjected drolly.

“No. But allow me to continue to represent the group in this venture. We all can’t blunder into this. We hired The Galway Agency to handle the situation; we should let them finish it. If they require my assistance, I will give it.”

Damon leaned in and whispered, “You are infatuated with the older sister. That’s why you’re doing this.”

“Well, I hear that you are fascinated by Althea,” Christian hissed between clenched teeth.

Damon sat back; his cheeks flushed. An actual reaction from the man, interesting. Christian was not used to seeing this from Damon, not for several years.

“Who told you that—of course, the older sister. Even if Galway the Younger caught my interest briefly, I, at least, have the prudent judgment to realize nothing can come of it. Can’t say the same for you, you besotted bastard.” Damon crossed his arms, giving Christian a smug look.

Though tempted, Christian was not going to give Damon the reaction he expected and desired. Christian understood that his friend often did this for attention, say something provocative to gain a response.

Just how much danger were they in?

Ford was unpredictable, and the fact he may have placed Eleanora and her agency in harm’s way did not sit well with him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Your Grace, there is a young lady at the back entrance, insisting on seeing you. I know that you wish to be informed immediately of anyone asking for you.”

“A young lady?” Christian placed his scotch on the table. He had returned from the club four hours ago.

“At least, I believe it to be a young lady; the voice was deep. The person is wearing a cloak with a hood, Your Grace,” Huntington replied.

Excitement tore through Christian, sparking his nerve endings. It couldn’t be Eleanora, could it? It was past eleven. Or it could be a ruse. Ford in disguise or an assassin he had hired. My, how his imagination had run wild since meeting Eleanora Galway.

Christian stood and walked over to his desk, opened the drawer, and slipped his Webley revolver into his trousers pocket. He had purchased it a few years past, never believing he would ever have a use for it.

“You can retire for the night. I’ll see to the person at the door,” he said. “Also inform the rest of the staff, Barrett included.” His valet. Christian had never liked having a valet underfoot, but apparently, a duke cannot be without one.

“Very well, Your Grace.”

Making his way to the rear entrance as quietly as he could, Christian reached in his pocket and grasped the pistol pulling it out partway as he flung open the door.

“Your Grace.” The figure curtseyed and held up a basket. “I bring apple scones and apple jelly.” The hood lowered. “And I bring myself. ‘Will I let you in the back entrance and sneak you up the stairs?’ I believe you said. Well, here I am. Sneak away.”

“El.” Christian pulled her across the threshold and swept her into a fierce kiss. He then stepped back, gripping her arms. “You came to me.”

She leaned in and whispered, “I couldn’t stay away.”

He kissed her again, all but devouring her.

Eleanora trailed her hand past the waistband of his wool trousers. “My, Your Grace, is that a revolver in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she teased playfully. Then she stood back. “My God, that really is a revolver.”

He grasped her hand and laid it across his aching cock. “Oh, I am very happy to see you,” he growled as he nuzzled her soft neck. “But I was also prepared for anything.”

Eleanora grasped his aching shaft and squeezed. “Can I say that has me quite excited?”

Enough of foreplay. Christian grasped her hand, and taking the backstairs, hurried toward his room.

“What about the scones?” Eleanora laughed.

“We’ll eat them later. I’m certain we will build up an appetite.”

Once inside his room, he released her, spun about, and kicked the door shut with his booted foot.

“Be certain this is what you want,” Christian said, his voice gravelly with need. “A quick tup in a carriage is one thing, but to me, this means everything. It tells me you want more, that you accept that we could have a future. Am I delusional?”

Christian’s insides were in knots waiting for her reply. What if Eleanora didn’t want what he wanted?

A companion and lover, a partner in life—for life.

Eleanora placed the basket on the floor, then grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him close. Her eyes bore into his, capturing him with the intensity of her stare. “Did you mean everything you said in the carriage? All of it? Especially about respecting my independence and my ability to make my own decisions? That you will never smother me?”

Christian cleared his throat. “I have a confession—”

“Oh, no. Please don’t tell me you didn’t mean any of it. I couldn’t bear it.” She whispered as her head lowered. “It would break me in two.”

Christian cupped her cheeks, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “And that is quite the confession from you. A vulnerability. I never would have thought it,” he said softly.

“Only when it comes to you,” Eleanora replied shakily.

“As for what I said in the carriage, I meant every word. You are the most glorious woman I have ever met; why would I want to stifle your brilliance? I want to encourage it, support it, and applaud your successes.” He laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“My confession,” he continued, “Is that I am a needy bastard. I long for the touch of another. I cannot explain it. Some of those past trips to brothels? It didn’t involve sex. I just wanted someone to hold me.”

Eleanora blinked. “Oh, Chris.”

Her look was sympathetic, not pitying. Christian couldn’t abide it if she pitied him.

“I want you to know that while I support you, I will need something in return. Attention. Affection. I want to be part of your life. I don’t expect to be the center of your world, but I require that you do not neglect me or leave me behind.” He touched his forehead to hers, still cupping her cheeks. “I am not ashamed of my needs, nor does it make me any less a man. Not in my mind,” Christian said, his voice unwavering.

“And not in my mind, either. Never. If we have a future, I will never disregard you in any way,” Eleanora replied.

Christian stared at her. “If? I thought that you coming here meant we were moving forward together. I said so.”

Eleanora took two steps in reverse. “Oh,” she whispered. “It appears you’re a step or two ahead of me. I’m still at the ‘let’s see where this goes’ step. Have I made an error?”

Was he moving too fast? It took all Christian had not to declare his abiding love here and now. He wouldn’t act petulant. Instead, he brought her into his embrace once again.

“You said your vulnerability is because of me. Perhaps. I believe it is also what you told me that night in your room after your injury. You’re afraid to love anyone in any way because the heartache is too much for you to bear. You are more sensitive than you let on or admit to yourself.”

Christian hugged her closer. “My dearest El, loving someone means taking a chance, throwing caution to the wind, and grabbing happiness. Live and love in the here and now, and face the future—together. Whatever it brings.”

Eleanora rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re right, of course. I am terrified and far more sensitive than I realized. And because of it, I’m trying to keep you at arm’s length—even though I cannot stay away.”

Christian nuzzled her neck. “Then the only thing for it is to accept our susceptibilities and do all in our power to support each other. And we can, El, I know it. We make a perfect team, in all ways.”

Eleanora flung her arms about his neck and kissed him hard. Her fingers trailed through his hair, and she grabbed fistfuls of it as she took the kiss deeper. “Enough talk,” she whispered huskily. “I need you inside me, now.”

“Now?” With a growl, he spun her about until her back rested against the wall. Retrieving sheaths from the table by his bed, Christian wasted no time releasing his erection from his trousers and slipping on the condom.

He stood in front of her, watching her. Her brown eyes shimmered, her breathing deep and shallow. Christian rucked up her skirt, his hand moving upward, reveling in the softness of her inner thigh. Then he groaned.

“Deviled hell. No undergarments. You are indeed glorious—and wet.”

Since there was only a few inches difference in their heights, having her against the wall would not need any outlandish contortions.

Christian didn’t hesitate. Reaching behind and clasping her rear, he lifted her just a fraction, enough that he could thrust into her.

And he did, burying himself deep. They moaned in unison.

Christian held still, savoring the tight fit, the glorious feel of her. Then he moved. He started slow, then built to a rising crescendo. Sweat trickled down his temple with the ferocity of his exertions.

“Oh, sweet Mother,” Eleanora gasped, her breath coming in short bursts. “Yes, right there. Oh, perfect.”

And it was absolutely perfect.

He pounded hard, her back hitting the wall with each forceful thrust. As in the carriage, it didn’t take long, and Eleanora cried out, her head thrown back.

He was close, oh so very close. With one final push, his climax rolled over him, washing him in wave after wave of utter and complete ecstasy.

They stayed joined, their breathing slowing.

Eleanora nibbled on his earlobe. “My. You’re still hard. My turn. Get on the bed, now.”

How commanding she was.

There was no doubt of it.

Christian had died and gone to heaven.

And he had fallen intensely and irretrievably in love.