Surely she’d read that wrong! The hero was licking what part of the heroine? Ellen stared down at the boudoir novel lying open on the table before her.
Lady Faye laughed. ‘You look like you’ve suffered a revelation.’
‘I didn’t realise…’ Her breath was trapped in her chest. ‘Do people really do that?’
She was reading aloud to the dowager. Unconventionally, they were sitting in the dining room, enjoying the sun before it disappeared behind clouds and smog again. One of the bay windows was open and the faint smell of scented geraniums perfumed the air.
‘Only the very best men, gel.’ There was a twinkle in Lady Faye’s eyes. ‘Only the best.’
‘Oh, my.’ Ellen let out a puff of air. The smooth-talking on dit-dropping Frenchman who was the hero of this particular story wasn’t really her cup of tea. Perhaps if he were a little gruffer… Calum kneeling before her. Calum tugging up her skirts. Calum’s tongue at the centre of her throbbing heat. She squirmed on her seat, her blood suddenly singing with profound need. ‘This is one dangerous book.’ And it was giving her too many wonderful ideas.
‘Is there any breakfast left?’ Calum limped into the dining room, as though her very thoughts had conjured him into existence. ‘Your dratted cook just kicked me out of my own kitchen.’ He’d left his jacket off again and his shirtsleeves did little to hide the sinewy muscles of his arms. She had to wrench her gaze away before they caught her staring.
‘Go away,’ ordered Lady Faye. ‘You’re interrupting our reading, and Ellen’s only just getting to the good part.’
‘What part is that?’
‘You should have come looking for breakfast earlier,’ Lady Faye said in lieu of an answer. ‘You’re hours too late. Now you’ll have to wait for afternoon tea.’
‘I was busy earlier.’ His gaze slide over to Ellen. The heat of it touched her skin. She pretended not to notice, even as the throbbing intensified. She locked her knees together and worked hard to keep her expression neutral. What would Calum think if he could hear her thoughts now?
Lady Faye crossed her arms over her large bosom and stuck out her bottom lip, making it clear she considered Calum’s lack of breakfast to be nowhere as important as her boudoir novel. ‘This isn’t even the dining room anymore. Ellen and I have commandeered it for our own nefarious purposes. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?’
‘What sign?’ He opened the door the rest of the way. ‘Ladies of the Scandalous Romance Morning Room.’
‘Precisely.’ The dowager tapped Ellen’s hand with a finger. ‘Remind me to remind Chakrabarti to hang another sign on the door. It shall read ‘No men allowed’. Unless…’ She turned her gaze back onto Calum. ‘Did you want to take over reading?’
His voice reading those words: Ellen would melt from the inside out.
The duke gave the book one quick glance before stalking back out of the room.
Ellen watched his retreating back with a shaking breath. If she were a writer, she’d dedicate pages and pages just to the breadth of his shoulders, to the black depths of his eyes and to the way her heart seemed to backflip whenever he walked unexpectedly into a room. Oh lordy. Why had she tied her stays so tight that morning? She could hardly breathe.
She fiddled with a corner of the book, sure that if she tried to keep reading in this state she’d fumble the words. Her face heated. Could everyone tell what she was thinking? Her face grew hotter.
‘Lizzy!’ Owen’s call pulled Ellen back to the present. He strutted inside, waggling his cane before him as would a dandy parading through Hyde Park.
‘If you’re looking for breakfast, you won’t find any in here.’ Lady Faye tilted her head to one side so her ward could press a chaste kiss to her cheek.
‘Miss Smith.’ Owen darted forward, pressing a less-than-chaste kiss to Ellen’s cheek before she could pull away. ‘I make a point of never leaving my house without breaking my fast. My own man makes the most superb kippers.’ He dragged an empty seat from its place further down the table and wiggled it into the small space between Lady Faye and Ellen, where a chair did not belong. His hand brushed Ellen’s knee as he sat down.
Mr Tattershall: master of the ‘accidental’ caress.
She closed the book.
‘Ellen’s reading me the most delightfully educational novel. It’s about—’ Lady Faye snapped her mouth shut with a wink.
Owen moved to read the title, but the dowager snatched it off the table and tucked it under her posterior. ‘It’s much too shocking for your young, innocent ears.’
‘My feelings!’ Owen pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Innocent, indeed!’ Today he wore a green waistcoat embroidered all over with dragonflies, a crisp cravat and his beaver hat, which was doing a rather fine job of highlighting the hazel specks in his otherwise blue eyes. A fact he undoubtedly knew and which was probably the sole reason for him wearing the hat inside.
‘What I really want to know,’ continued Owen, ‘is why Wood is prowling up and down the hallway like an angry bear? When I knocked, he actually opened the front door to me. I thought you had a butler now?’
‘He’s sulking. Calum, not the butler,’ Lady Faye clarified. ‘Besides, it’s the servants’ day off.’
Owen rolled his eyes. ‘What’s got his cravat in a knot today?’
‘Apparently news of my visit is spreading around London and people are beginning to breach the front gates to leave their calling cards. The horror of it all!’ She gave a fake gasp. ‘I daresay he’s trying to scare them away.’
‘He is?’ Ellen hadn’t seen Calum by the door when she’d come down that morning. ‘For how long?’
‘Since the crack of dawn, I believe. He’s afraid someone will sneak a calling card onto the tray when Chakrabarti isn’t looking.’
‘And he told you all of this?’ Ellen’s heart started thumping against her chest. ‘Did he mention anything of letters?’
‘Calling cards, letters, the Prince Regent himself.’ Lady Faye’s smile faltered. ‘Are you all right, gel? You’ve turned…pasty.’
Ellen nodded, gripping the edge of the table. She’d told Calum to forget about the letter. She’d told him it was none of his business. What did he think he was doing guarding the front door? This wasn’t a coincidence. He hadn’t bothered guarding the door any other day since Lady Faye’s arrival.
He was being nosy or overprotective or…goodness only knew what thoughts entered that man’s head. He was beyond belief!
Remember Rule No. 1, pleaded a desperate voice at the back of her mind. Behave. Behave! Keep your temper.
Oh, fie on Rule No. 1. The duke had overstepped the mark and he was going to be getting an earful at her earliest convenience. She crossed her arms. Behave indeed. It was he who needed to behave.
Lady Faye and Owen were staring at her in confusion, so Ellen quickly schooled her expression into one of calm. ‘If he doesn’t want callers, why doesn’t he just take the knocker off the door?’
‘Men,’ ejaculated Lady Faye. ‘They never think.’ She turned to Owen. ‘Was there a reason for this visit, dearest? Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.’
‘I spoke to Grace this morning.’ His expression turned solemn.
‘I see.’ Lady Faye stared down at her hands. The change was instantaneous. Where a moment ago she’d been jolly, she was now sorrowful. ‘It was silly of me to think anything would have changed.’
‘Lizzy.’ Owen rested a hand on her arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
Whatever was happening, it was a private moment. Ellen rose, intending to give them space, but Lady Faye stopped her.
‘My daughter hasn’t spoken to me for nearly four years. She thinks I took Calum’s side when Pierce died in that horrible fire. But there were no sides. Cal was hurting just as much as she was. And we all know he didn’t have anything to do with that fire.’
‘It was a terrible accident,’ Owen agreed.
‘Sometimes I think there are two Graces,’ said Lady Faye. ‘There’s the kind and thoughtful Grace who loves her family. That’s the Grace I know. But now there’s also the angry and sad Grace who won’t have anything to do with me or Calum.’ Her shoulders slumped like she was sinking in on herself.
‘She misses her son,’ said Owen.
‘We all miss him.’ Lady Faye touched a hand to the mourning brooch pinned to her bodice.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Ellen couldn’t begin to imagine the heartbreak of being hated by her own daughter.
Lady Faye stood up abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the floorboards. ‘I want to visit Grace myself.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
Ellen and Owen both stood up too, exchanging a worried look.
The dowager was pale, and she suddenly looked ten years older. ‘I don’t care about wise. I care about my family. Will you take me?’
‘Of course.’ Owen offered his arm.
‘My gel.’ Lady Faye turned to Ellen. ‘I won’t be needing your services this afternoon. Why don’t you take some time to yourself?’
‘If you’re sure.’ Ellen curtseyed as the dowager swept from the room, Owen at her beck and call.
***
Cal turned on his heel, limping down the passage. He could still feel Ellie pressed against his chest, taking comfort in the arms of a man nobody had dared take comfort from for many years. Reaching the far end, he turned again, pacing back towards the front door.
To hell with morning callers! Apparently the allure of the dowager marchioness, lately returned to London, was too great for the ton to ignore. Even the threat of Crazy Calum wasn’t enough to keep them at bay.
Well, I’m not having it. The ton had abandoned him when he’d been at his most vulnerable; now he was determined to abandon it.
Patrolling for unwanted visitors had absolutely nothing to do with the crying lass who’d accepted his comfort yesterday.
He dropped into the porter’s chair, the cracked leather squeaking with age, and closed his eyes. He could still see her tear-stained cheeks and the quiver of her lips. The need to be doing something, anything, to help her was eating him up. But there was nowhere for him to go, nothing for him to do. He gripped the handrests until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t even know who the letter was from.
‘What are you doing?’
He started. Ellie.
‘You’re guarding the door.’ She pressed her hands to her hips in that way he was quickly coming to associate with an oncoming lecture. A thrill of anticipation raced through him.
‘Aye… nay… If ye already knew the answer, why ask the question?’
‘But why are you guarding the door?’ She ran a hand over her hair. It was tied back in a soft bun, and the wisps that framed her face had been lightly curled. Or maybe they were natural curls.
Chocolate! That was the word he’d been trying to think of the other day to describe the colour of her hair. Too dark to be brown but too light to be black; it was the colour of thick drinking chocolate, rich and delicious—the perfect companion to her strawberry lips.
She clicked her tongue expectantly.
‘I’m watching for…birds.’ He took his jacket from the coatrack and slipped it on just to give his hands something to do. To stop himself pulling her chocolate hair free of its pins, until the silky strands caressed her neck and shoulders.
‘Bird watching?’ Her tone boded nothing good. ‘Since when have you been able to see through solid wooden doors?’
‘Well, I’m opening it without warning. That way I catch the birds unawares.’ He demonstrated, gesturing out the open door. A large crow sitting in the low branches of the old yew tree cawed mournfully. ‘See, surprisingly effective.’
‘So your prowling has absolutely nothing to do with the correspondence I received yesterday?’
‘What correspondence?’ He pulled his lips into an innocent smile that felt entirely unnatural.
She glared at him, and he felt suddenly two feet tall.
‘Oh, that correspondence. Nay. This has absolutely nothing to do with that correspondence. Nothing to do with ye at all.’
‘Your grandmother has been in residence for close on two weeks now, and in all that time you never once guarded the door from visitors. Not until I received a letter.’
Her eyes narrowed even further. Was she challenging him to another staring contest? The last one had left him half naked in front of both his grandmother and his cousin. He’d be dammed if he was going to let that happen again. ‘For gods’ sake, ye were crying!’ He blinked once, twice, three times.
‘Which was clearly a mistake.’ Her voice rose too.
‘Do ye routinely cry by mistake?’
‘I meant it was a mistake to let you see.’
‘Ye meant it was mistake to let me hold ye, to offer comfort.’ He could read between the lines. Ice burned its way through his veins. ‘Dammit, Ellie. We didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t break one of those precious rules you outlined so thoroughly the other day in the garden.’
He should have kissed her that day instead of letting her rant and rave. He should have tossed to her to the damp earth and kissed her breathless. Kissed and kissed her until she no longer cared about propriety. ‘Ellie.’ He reached towards her, but she was having none of it.
‘Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that.’ She stepped back.
He followed without even thinking. ‘Is that wrong too?’
‘It’s…’ She pursed her lips. ‘I really don’t understand you, Calum. You push everyone away. Nobody’s allowed to talk about your brother or your scars. But you’re constantly pushing your way into my life. That letter has nothing to do with you.’
He opened his mouth to respond, but she pressed her advantage. ‘You mope around this house, yelling at me and Owen, arguing with Lady Faye and scaring the servants half to death.’
‘It was ye who came barging into my house. I was happy’ —wrong word— ‘content’ —still not right— ‘minding my own business until ye pushed yer problems onto me.’
‘I did nothing of the sort. I’ve specifically tried to keep my distance. It’s you who’s been asking about my bruises and my letter. It’s you who chose to guard the front door.’ She tossed her arms into the air as though despairing of him. ‘There’s no point. I’m not expecting another letter. You can give up.’
‘Yer problems became my problems the instant ye climbed through my front window.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at her. This was all her fault—all the questions swirling around his head, all this confusion and all these unwanted feelings. Every inch of his body yearned to press against Ellie, to surrender to her touch, to drown in her scent until his whole world was Ellie.
‘My problems are nobody’s but my own, Your Grace.’
‘’Tis ‘Your Grace’ again. What happened to Calum?’
But she just shook her head. ‘What are you doing with your life?’
He froze. ‘I went to war. That’s what I did with my life.’
If he thought that response was going to slow her down he was very much mistaken. She crossed her arms and, without missing a beat, said: ‘As admirable as that is, it doesn’t answer my question. If you’ve free time enough that you’re guarding doors and locking up cake tins, it really begs the question: what are you doing with your life?’
He grit his teeth. This wasn’t supposed to be his life. Pierce was supposed to be alive. He was supposed to have his brother by his side. He wasn’t meant to be in this damned house with this infuriating woman demanding he have some grand plan.
Until the age of ten he hadn’t even known he was a duke’s heir. Hell, he hadn’t even known he was half English!
And then his grandparents had died and he’d been taken in by his father. And then his new-found brother had been killed at war because he’d followed Cal into the Navy. And then, to top that all off, his father had died of a bloody broken heart. Shakespeare had penned tragedies with less death than his family had suffered.
A smarter man might have thought fate his enemy. Cal didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t believe in anything anymore.
Except maybe Ellie. As infuriating as she was, she made his skin burn with need. She made him feel alive again.
‘You have money, an inheritance, a loving family. Why are you sitting around wasting it all?’ Despite the quiet way she’d spoken, it was as though she’d yelled again, as though she’d shot a cannonball straight at him.
He wanted to shout or to hit something. He wanted to toss her out the front door. He wanted to lock the front door to keep her from leaving. He wanted to keep her safe forever and ever.
He couldn’t think straight. He could barely even meet her steady, waiting gaze. So he did the only thing he could do, the only thing that made any sort of sense. He stepped forward, wrapped one arm around the back of her head and the other around her waist.
It was as though she’d read his mind. Or maybe his expression had said it all, for she moved the same instant he did. Her fingers gripped his collar, pulling his head down so she could reach his lips. He was almost caught off balance, but she’d seemed to have accounted for that as well. Pressing her back to the wall, she remained steady—a rock to which he clung.
The feel of her overshadowed everything else. It was just Ellie and himself and this desperate shared needed between them.
She tasted sweet, like the sugary tea she favoured. With a lurch of his heart he realised it was becoming a familiar taste—a wonderful, heady taste. He was never going to take his tea unsweetened again.
He pulled her closer, as close as they could get with their clothes still on, trying to drink in the taste and feel of her.
Why were they still dressed? And why were they still standing in the passage? He stepped to the side, slowly sliding Ellie along the wall. They just had to navigate two flights of stairs…
He was dimly aware of the front door opening, of someone standing before them, of Tzar barking. And then someone shouted in his ear, harsh and angry.