Tension crackled.
Cal didn’t want to hear for the hundredth time of her idiotic intention to find employment elsewhere. ‘In case ye’ve forgotten,’ he said before she could start, ‘Lady F is just down that hallway, and if ye think she’s going to let you walk out of this house without a fight…’ He shrugged, giving her a surely-you-know-better look. He couldn’t help himself. Ellen might have made it abundantly clear she didn’t want his help, but there was no way she could so easily brush aside his forthright grandmother. For all that she was short, Lady F had the temper of a lion and the voice of an elephant. And when it came to getting what she wanted, she could throw a tantrum better than any two-year-old.
‘You’re angry with me.’
‘Nay.’ He tried to school his expression into one of haughty disinterest.
Her frown deepened. ‘Don’t take it personally—’
How else am I supposed to fucking take it?
‘Nay?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.
‘For goodness sake, Calum, don’t try to make me feel ashamed of what just happened here.’ Colour burned her cheeks.
His fingers were still slick with her need and the air around her smelled of sugar and sex and hunger, drawing him in. Holding his ground, he clenched his hand still hidden in his pocket, holding onto a small essence of the beautiful, intelligent woman who wouldn’t have him. ‘I would never—’ be began, but she wasn’t finished with him.
‘Yes, you’re a duke. Yes, you’re wealthy. Yes, you had a terrible war, family tragedies and horrible social injustices. But, Lord Woodhal, the world most certainly doesn’t revolve around you.’ She stalked towards him to poke a finger against his chest. ‘My only concern is keeping Gwen safe from Geoffrey. And as far as I can tell, marrying you would only provide a short-term fix. I need to consider the wider consequences.’
The world doesn’t revolve around you. He’d had a similar thought about Geoffrey.
‘What do ye mean by a short-term fix?’
‘Well, it would certainly free Gwen and me of Geoffrey, but then you’d be stuck with us forever.’
‘And ye want yer independence.’ Did she really think he’d lock her away like her brother had? Did she really think he’d keep her chained to his bed?
Nay. He’d give her an allowance and freedom to do as she wished.
But is an allowance freedom? No matter how much space he gave her, no matter how much money he gifted her, if they were married, she’d always be tied to him. She’d never be free to marry a man of her own choosing. A man without half his face torn up with scars. A man who wasn’t haunted by thoughts of his dead brother.
He looked down at his chest where she was still touching him. It was just her fingertip but it felt like a tether. Through the touch of that single finger he could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. He could feel the beat of her heart.
As though reading his mind, she snatched her hand back, stumbling away. Her calves hit the velvet footrest behind her, and she toppled backwards.
Cal caught her around the waist without hesitation. Mine, barked his inner voice, temporarily expelling all other thoughts from his mind.
She bristled at this helping hand, even as she struggled to find her footing. Upright, she pushed away from him and brushed her hands down her skirts, attempting to brush away the wrinkles. It was a fight even the enterprising Miss Ellen Burney couldn’t win. They’d inadvertently crushed the faded cotton when they’d hiked her skirts up. Short of starching them, they were beyond saving. Any discerning person of an even slightly quizzical nature would surely guess what the two of them had been up in the library alone together.
Suddenly his need was as hard as it had ever been; his need to hold her, kiss her, love her was almost unbearable. Hell and damnation. He was so far out to sea, he couldn’t see the shore.
He ground his teeth to keep from saying something stupid as lust and want and need began to fog his mind. If he tried to lay claim to her, she’d only back further away. Of that he was certain. Everything else was a bit hazy, like his plan to get her to trust him. That clearly wasn’t progressing as smoothly as he’d have liked.
Marriage was still the most obvious and the easiest path to take. But it was also the path Ellie had upfront rejected. Short of forcing her—which he wouldn’t ever consider doing—he’d just have to think of another way to keep both her and Gwen safe from Geoffrey. And, in doing so, show Ellie that he could be trusted.
He moved slowly away from the library door, providing her with an escape route, and planted himself firmly by the window. Normally he’d have sat at his desk. Sitting was kinder on his wounded knee than standing, but he didn’t think being behind the desk would work in his favour right now.
Sunlight warmed the back of his neck, and he turned slightly so the light was on his face. He didn’t have anything to hide, not from Ellie. ‘What do ye think we should do?’ he asked again.
She continued to bristle, reminding him of a loaded canon—her tinder line was burning down and she was lining up her shot, about to fire.
‘I’m sincerely trying to help,’ he hurriedly added, raising his hands before his chest in a gesture of surrender.
‘I’m not sure you’ve been sincere about anything in your life, Calum Callaghan,’ she scolded in that prim and proper voice she used when admonishing him. ‘But, since you asked so nicely, maybe Lady Faye will return the character reference Verity wrote for me. The letter will be of some assistance when looking for new employment. After that, I’ll keep a low profile so Geoffrey won’t be able to find me again, and I’ll continue to save my wage for Gwen.’
‘And when Lady F tries to lock ye away in one of the upstairs bedrooms for yer own safety?’
She started pacing circles around the library, running a hand along the dusty bookshelves.
‘Or, saying ye do find respectable employment, what will happen when Geoffrey tracks ye down again? Because he will. Ye can’t remain hidden forever. And I didn’t think any other employer will be quite as understanding as Lady F.’
‘He won’t…’ She faltered.
‘Maybe he doesn’t stay in London. Maybe he returns to the country. Ye said Gwen is near Evendale, so what happens when he eventually finds her? It took him hardly any time to find ye.’
‘Fine!’ She smacked down on the bookcase.’What do you suggest I do?’
‘I’m not trying to discourage ye from action,’ he said honestly. ‘I’m just not sure ye’ve thought everything through with clarity. I personally think we were on the right track earlier. I should bring Gwen to London. She’ll be safer under this roof where we can all keep an eye on her. After that…’ He ran a hand through his hair. An absurd idea was beginning to form. But it might actually work. ‘What if we pretended we’re engaged? I could have an announcement printed in newspaper.’
‘Whyever for?’ She wrinkled her nose in confusion.
He tried not to take it personally.
‘It’s not going to take Geoffrey long to realise we’re not actually married. But if he sees the engagement notice in the papers, he’ll realise there’s nothing he can do to make ye return to Evendale with him, and he’ll eventually get bored and leave.’ His plan had absolutely nothing at all to do with not wanting to let Ellie out of his sight ever again. Absolutely nothing. This was all for her benefit.
‘I see…’
She didn’t look convinced. Or perhaps she couldn’t even stand the idea of a fake engagement with him of all people. He flexed his hands. ‘Ye needn’t worry about being tainted by my reputation,’ he assured her, trying but failing to keep the peevish edge from his voice. ‘Owen tells me I’ve been quite forgotten these last few years.’ He looked towards his desk. His collection of newspaper clippings on the ship fire had been haphazardly pushed to the far corner and his estate papers, which usually graced the dining room table, had been rearranged over the free space, courtesy of his meddling family.
‘I wasn’t suggesting that would be the case.’
‘As soon as Geoffrey leaves London, we can break the engagement and ye can spend the rest of the Season gainfully employed as Lady F’s companion, and yer sister will be safe here with us.’
‘Are you sure you want another person living under your roof?’
‘Aye. I’ve been alone for four long years. I think I can survive a couple of months with house guests.’
She still didn’t look convinced.
He wanted to throw his arms in the air and start swearing black and blue. Instead, he held his temper in check. ‘What are ye worried about now, lass?’ Sure, it wasn’t the best plan. Sure, life would be better if she didn’t have a malodorous brother trying to manipulate her every move. But as she’d said herself, he was offering her a temporary solution to all her troubles.
‘I just don’t see why you’re doing this for me. What do you get out of it?’
You! that traitorous voice in his head yelled. All of you. ‘Do ye really think I’d get a second of peace from Lady F if I did nothing to help?’
***
Calum left London within the hour. Ellen only wished she could have gone with him, but travelling always made her feel so ill she’d only have slowed him down. And right now, speed was of the essence. There was no knowing what Geoffrey would do next.
As soon as he was out of sight, Owen locked the front door with a large brass key. ‘The whole house is under martial law,’ he declared. ‘Nobody’s to leave without informing me first.’
‘Piddle paddle!’ scoffed Lady Faye.
‘It’s called a safety precaution.’
‘It’s called power hungry.’
Owen just shook his head. ‘I’m going to make sure all the windows are latched closed.’
‘Whyever for?’ the dowager frowned at his retreating back. ‘It’s not like Geoffrey’s going to climb in through a window. What’s gotten into him?’
‘He loves you, and he’s worried,’ replied Ellen, desperately trying to ignore the guilt swirling around her stomach. They wouldn’t have to be doing all of this if it weren’t for her.
‘Idiot boy.’ But Lady Faye’s gaze softened. ‘Cal told me of your engagement.’
‘Fake engagement,’ Ellen hurried to correct.
‘Details, details. I’m absolutely delighted. I was beginning to doubt he’d ever leave this house again. And now he’s out and about, rescuing a lassie and marrying—’
‘Pretending to be engaged to the sister of a bankrupt baron.’
Lady Faye’s levelled her gaze on Ellen. ‘I have a new house rule for you, gel. Stop defining yourself by the actions of your brother.’
‘I’m just—’
‘And no apologising for his indiscretions either. Understand me?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And promise you’ll let me help plan your wedding.’
‘We’re not really getting married!’
‘Perfect.’ The dowager smiled. ‘Now kiss my cheek, for you’re to be my first granddaughter.’ She titled her head to the side, presenting Ellen with one papery cheek and no way to argue.
Her skin was cool to the touch and she smelled of lavender soap.
‘Ah, I’ve just remembered,’ said Ellen. ‘I should have asked you earlier, but how did your visit to Grace go?’
Lady Faye’s face clouded over.
Ellen winced. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’ No wonder she’d returned home so soon—returned home to find Geoffrey ranting and raving.
A bell rang, the sound echoing from the kitchen down the narrow passage.
‘What was that?’ Owen dashed towards them. There were spider webs in his hair, like he’d been crawling around the attic or maybe through Grace’s half of the house. His poor waistcoat.
‘Evidently someone wants to come inside,’ answered Lady Faye turning to the front door. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It could be Geoffrey returned,’ hissed Owen.
‘Or it could be one of the servants. You locked the back door too, remember.’ The dowager pressed her eye to the keyhole. ‘I can see you. Announce yourself.’
A shuffling. A cough. An awkward silence. ‘Umm…I have a delivery for Lady Faye from Miss Bond.’
‘Fantastic!’ Lady Faye straightened. ‘Well,’ she demanded of Owen. ‘You heard the boy. Open the door immediately.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Owen teetered on the spot. ‘He could easily be lying.’
‘Open. The. Door. Tattershall.’ Her voice held a warning note, and Owen relented. Snatching the box from the frazzled carrier, he thrust a generous tip at him before slamming the door closed and locking it again with a swift click.
Lady Faye took the box, indicating Ellen should follow her back into the drawing room. ‘I ordered this as a surprise for you, back when we had that dress fitting. Mademoiselle Bond promised to send it along as soon as it was ready.’ She snapped the door closed, leaving Owen high and dry in the passage without an apology. ‘She finished it sooner than I was expecting. Lucky this one didn’t need a return fitting.’
‘My lady…’ Ellen gestured towards the door.
‘Serves him right for thinking he can refuse my delivery.’ She handed the box to Ellen, crowding in close to get a good look. ‘Open it.’
‘You shouldn’t have.’ More guilt lumped in her stomach like a waxy ball of tallow.
‘Open it.’ She nudged Ellen with her elbow.
Nestled in a cloud of white tissue paper sat a small card with the words ‘Mademoiselle Bond of House of Bond, Bond Street’ printed on one side, and on the other side there was a handwritten note.
Something to make you glow.
With shaking hands, Ellen lifted out the most exquisite nightdress she’d ever seen. Made of the lightest cream muslin with delicate lace edgings and tiny mother of pearl buttons, the nightdress had an empire waistline and short puffed sleeves. The matching wrapper was a little simpler with a single tie that fastened under the bust.
Her mouth dropped open.
‘I know you didn’t want me to buy you anything else,’ Lady Faye said with a self-satisfied smile. ‘But, if the state of your morning dresses are anything to go on, your nightrail isn’t fit to be seen either.’
‘It’s…’ Beautiful didn’t seem adequate. Pure decadence.
‘Rather French, eh?’ Lady Faye wiggled her eyebrows.
‘Now you mention it.’ It did look rather like the nightdress described in the boudoir novel.
‘A happy coincidence,’ Lady Faye assured her with a chuckle. ‘Put this on and Cal won’t be able to take his eyes off you, my gel.’
‘That’s your grandson you’re talking about! And you do realise we’re not actually getting married?’
‘Phiff! Details, details.’