Ellen’s heart leaped and she clutched at Calum’s shirt. ‘Geoffrey?’
Her brother’s mouth twisted into a self-righteous scowl. He stood on the top step, laying claim to the threshold.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her lungs tightened, her breath trapped in her throat. Gwen! Had he found Gwen?
‘Just as I suspected.’ His gaze lingered on her kiss-swollen lips.
Old shame filled her stomach like heavy rocks and she barely resisted the urge to wipe her still-tingling mouth on the back of her hand.
Beside her, Calum stiffened. She was acutely aware of his presence, of the strength of his shoulders, of the warmth of his chest. And of the horror he must be feeling standing face to face with her brother.
It was clear Geoffrey hadn’t cleaned his teeth, hadn’t shaved, hadn’t washed his hair. Seeing them face to face, it was hard not to draw a comparison between the two men, so very different were they. Where Calum’s very presence seemed to draw the eye, Geoffrey was just…less.
She straightened her shoulders. They’d done nothing shameful, and the day she’d left Geoffrey’s house was the day she’d given up letting his snide comments dictate her emotions. She took a steadying breath, focusing on much more important matters.
Gwen. For a second all she could see was the little girl’s face, as though she stood in Geoffrey’s place—large, bright owl eyes peeking out from behind a curtain of dark hair as naturally curly as her grandmother’s had been.
But Ellen didn’t ask what she most wanted to know. Years of experience had taught her drawing attention to Gwen only made matters worse when it came to dealing with her brother. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Couldn’t have been easier,’ Geoffrey preened, puffing out his chest. ‘You always did take me for a fool.’
‘Fool enough to be standing on my doorstep without even a card of introduction,’ Calum snapped, finally breaking his silence.
Only then did Geoffrey bother turning his attention to the large Scotsman before him. His eyes narrowed on Calum’s face, his scowl turning feral. His thoughts were written on his face as clear as a newspaper headline.
A lurch of panic started her heart to racing. ‘Geoffrey, please,’ she implored, ‘at least let me take you around the back. This is my employer’s house.’ She reached out to take his hand, desperate to separate the two men, but Geoffrey grabbed her wrist in his vice-like grip, sending pain shooting up her arm.
‘A cripple!’ He goaded her, his shrill voice magnified with his growing excitement. ‘You came all the way to London for a cripple!’ A squawk of laughter. ‘I bet he was the only one who’d take you in.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded Calum, his voice dangerously low.
‘None other than Geoffrey Burney, Baron of Blackford, and I demand you address me as such, sir.’ He gave Calum sanctimonious sneer. ‘The runt before you is my sister, and I’m here to return her home to where she belongs.’ He turned his attention back to Ellen, pressing his free hand to his chest. ‘No man bears the burden of such a sister as I do.’
‘Burney?’ Calum looked him up and down for a full ten seconds, no doubt comprehending the extent of her lies. Then his gaze locked on Geoffrey’s hold of her arm. ‘Let her go,’ he ground out between clenched teeth.
‘It’s fine.’ Ellen stepped in front of Calum, trying to crowd her brother and force him into taking a step backwards. ‘Please, Geoffrey. Let’s not do this here.’
The distinct smell of horse clung to his crumpled shirt, testimony to his recent arrival in London. Despite the dust, he was clearly wearing new clothes. His jacket was finely cut; tailor made. She frowned. When had Geoffrey been able to afford such clothes?
Despite it all, he was still wearing those same old boots of his—the ones with the tin toes and the heels that had been replaced so many times she’d lost count. He’d once thrown those shoes at her head.
Some things never changed.
‘She isn’t going anywhere with you. She’s clearly reached her majority which means you have no legal rights to force her to do anything she doesn’t wish to do. And if you don’t let her go in the next five seconds, I swear—’
Geoffrey let out a derisive laugh, cutting Calum short. ‘And who, pray, are you to be telling me the law?’
‘I’m a bloody duke, and you’re trespassing on my property.’
‘Is that what you told Ellen to get her into your bed?’ Another laugh.
‘Did you want to see my entitlement deeds?’ Calum asked with a leaden stare. ‘I keep them handy for just such occasions.’
Ellen winced.
Her brother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his gaze finally moved from Calum’s face down his superfine jacket with its twin tails to his black calf-clingers and his well-worn buck-skin boots. For a man who spent so little effort or time on his appearance, he certainly looked the part.
‘If you are a duke,’ drawled her brother, ‘then what happened to your face?’
‘It’s none of your goddamn business. Now, you’re either going to leave or I’ll be demanding satisfaction.’
Geoffrey’s grip on her wrist loosened, and Ellen pulled free. Calum instantly whipped her behind him, bringing himself face to face with her brother.
‘Calum, please.’ She tugged at the back of his jacket. He was like a bull at the farm gate, waiting for one wrong move, one tiny excuse. But she couldn’t let them fight. Calum’s size gave him a clear advantage but she wasn’t sure how long his wounded leg would hold up.
And Geoffrey never picked a fight unless he was sure he could win—especially a physical fight. He was either taking Calum’s scars for weakness or he had another plan.
Gwen.
‘You’re not helping, either of you,’ she snapped, suddenly desperate to put a stop their confrontation. ‘Whatever will the neighbours think?’
Neither paid her any attention.
‘What is she to you, anyway?’ demanded Geoffrey.
‘Lord Woodhal is my employer’s grandson.’ Ellen answered before Calum could. She pushed her way between them again, pressing a hand to Geoffrey’s chest. If Calum could just give her moment alone with her brother, maybe she could persuade Geoffrey to leave. She could promise to send home her wages or something—if she still had any wages at the end of this. ‘I’m the lady’s companion of Lady Faye.’
‘That old bat. My employer, the marchioness,’ mimicked Geoffrey, in a high-pitched voice. ‘My lover, the duke. Woe be me.’ His eyes flicked back to Ellen’s face, and she knew what he was going to say before he’d even opened his mouth. ‘I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them all. You’ll be shunned by every respectable man and woman until the day you die.’
And there it was. The reason why he knew he could win any fight with Calum without even raising a fist. Her secret. The reason she’d stayed with him for the two years after their father’s death. The reason it had taken him hitting Gwen before she’d had the courage to finally leave.
Keeping Gwen safe was so much more important than her own reputation. But without her reputation she’d never find respectable employment again and would never be able to support herself or Gwen. It was her own Gordian knot. She couldn’t have one without the other.
She felt ill.
‘You should have thought of that before you ran away.’ There wasn’t a flicker of concern for her in his steel grey eyes.
***
‘What’s happening here?’
Cal glanced over Geoffrey’s head to see his grandmother marching up the garden path. The gate was open behind her and a borrowed barouche was pulling away from the side of the road, Owen waving goodbye from the open-air box.
‘It’s nothing, my lady. Just a simple misunderstanding.’ Ellie pushed on her brother’s chest, trying to make him move so Lady F could pass. ‘I’m sorry. He shouldn’t never have come here.’
Geoffrey held his ground. He was a small man. While small suited Ellie, it most certainly didn’t suit her brother. His head was too big for his body; it seemed to sit haphazardly on a neck too thin to support its weight. And what he lacked in height, he obviously thought to make up for in temper and fists.
There was no question in Cal’s mind that this was the man who’d bruised Ellie, that this was the man she’d run away from. His fists itched to sink themselves into Geoffrey’s stomach.
‘Ellen and Gwen are coming home with me,’ the blackguard said, wrinkling his nose as his surveyed Lady F. ‘I remember you from that time you visited Evendale, years ago.’
Wait. Cal frowned. ‘Who’s Gwen?’
‘She’s six. And she isn’t here.’ Ellie let out a shaky breath. For all that she looked distressed, a little tension had slipped from her shoulders. Whoever this Gwen was, Ellie was clearly relieved her brother hadn’t found her too.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Geoffrey growled.
‘I can assure you that we are not hiding any children in the house.’ Icy undertones froze Ellen’s usually warm voice. She glared at her brother with such force it was a mystery how he didn’t melt into a puddle of dirty wash water at her feet. In fact, it was mystery how Geoffrey had ever thought he could tell her what to do.
All of a sudden Cal wasn’t only worried about what he might just do to Geoffrey; the look in Ellen’s eyes was practically murderous.
He quickly wrapped an arm back around her shoulders, pulling to her close to his body—not leashing her, just trying to remind her he was there and that she wasn’t alone in all this mess. Because he knew without a doubt if she did something to hurt her brother in anger or fear now she’d hate herself for it later.
‘And I’m just supposed to believe you? You’re clearly pitching the gammon.’
‘What a vulgar expression.’ Lady F tapped her foot disapprovingly on the overgrown garden path. ‘Search the house if you must. You won’t find any children inside.’ And just like that his big-mouthed grandmother waved the brute inside.
‘No you don’t.’ Cal moved to stop them, but with Ellie by his side he couldn’t move fast enough and Geoffrey managed to push his way in.
He threw open the drawing room door. Seeing nothing to interest him, their unwanted guest moved to the next room, tossing open the door to the library with such force a year’s collection of the Weekly Dispatch tumbled from a shelf to sprawl over the rug.
Stepping over the footrest, he marched to the far wall, tugging open a small door Cal had long since forgotten about. It led to a disused housekeeper’s sitting room.
‘This is ridiculous.’ Ellen hurried after her brother as he rushed down the narrow corridor, past the modified room with the stairs, towards the kitchen. ‘You cannot barge inside like this. This isn’t your house.’
Ignoring them all, Geoffrey burst into the kitchen, waking the dog. He wrenched on the door leading from the kitchen into Grace’s half of the house and it opened with a protesting groan of hinges long unused, and a cloud of shimmering dust rose into the air. A darkened hallway, a rush of cold air—
Cal’s lungs constricted. This man actually thought the world should lay down at his feet. Worse, the bastard thought Ellie was his property to do with as he pleased. ‘That’s enough!’ Cal slammed the door shut. ‘Let me make this very clear. There’s no child in my house. And there’s no way in hell you’re taking Ellie.’
‘Or what?’ Geoffrey sneered. ‘You’ll set your dog on me?’
Tzar growled, pulling back his thin, black lips to display a row of old, worn teeth.
‘We’ve been over this already,’ Geoffrey continued. ‘I have leverage. I know things.’ And for the second time that day he grabbed at Ellie’s arm.
Something inside Cal snapped. Anger like which he hadn’t felt in years pumped through him. He jabbed a finger against Geoffrey’s chest, forcing him back a step. ‘Unhand my wife.’