Downstairs, the ball had begun. Ellen watched as carriages jostled for advantage before the great iron gates. Most of their guests lived within walking distance, Mayfair being the fashionable part of Town, but come by coach and four they did, until the dark street below was awash with the flickering lights of dozens of carriage lamps.
She let the curtain fall back into place and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s temple. Gwen was fast asleep, her hands pillowing one cheek.
‘Cook said there’d be dinner waiting in the kitchen for you,’ she told Maggie in a low voice. Her friend was knitting by the fire. Her hands were never idle. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to the ball?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m much happier keeping an eye on little Guinevere.’ The shadows dancing over her face exaggerated the hollows under her eyes. ‘Although some dinner would be much appreciated.’
They left Gwen sleeping. The candles in the wall scones lining the passageway flicked with the closing of the door. Maggie continued on down to the kitchen, but Ellen stayed in the passage, waiting for the music to start.
Sounds from below flowed up the stairs. Chakrabarti was still manning the front door and directing guests upstairs, while Lady Faye was greeting them as they entered the ballroom, Owen by her side.
Ellen took a shuddering breath. This wasn’t going to be like the other night at the theatre. Not only would everyone be staring at her; they’d want to talk to her as well. She was seven years out of practice with her small talk.
She ran shaking hands down the front of her costume. Mademoiselle Bond had worked magic. Tonight she wore a simple white dress that hung from her shoulders and gathered at her waist. It was very similar to Lady Faye’s costume, although Ellen’s hem was embroidered with blue cornflowers rather than peacock feathers and it was her own hair that had been curled to within an inch of its life and pinned into a sweeping chignon, not a wig like the dowager wore.
‘Demeter, goddess of the harvest, I do believe.’ Calum leaned against the open doorway of his chamber, arms crossed. He looked her up and down, eyes lingering. ‘The gardening goddess. How very apt.’
‘I thought so…’ Her voice died as she took in the sight of him. He was wearing… She swallowed. He was wearing what could only be described as a white kilt with white stockings and bare knees. His shirt was open at the collar, the top couple of buttons having been cut away.
He followed her gaze down to his knees and scowled. ‘Trust me, this wasn’t my first choice.’
Her stomach did a backflip, a whole series of them. He was dressed as a Greek god, just as she’d imagined him to be the first night they’d met. Apparently some wishes really did come true.
Who knew Calum Callaghan was sex in a skirt?
Her mouth went dry and her thoughts fuzzy. She searched for words, trying to persuade her mouth to say something half intelligent. ‘Ahh…’
She quickly averted her gaze, praying her brain would start working again if she wasn’t looking directly at him, and spotted a large four-poster bed with dark sheets over his shoulder. The counterpane had been thrown back haphazardly as though the bed had just been vacated—or was inviting her in.
He chuckled. ‘If I’d known ye’d look at me like that I wouldn’t have complained half so much about this ridiculous costume.’
‘Not ridiculous.’ She swallowed to remove the lump from her throat. ‘But you cannot go downstairs like that. Your knees…’ He had beautiful knees. Even his left one, which was marked by a large scar. ‘You’ll have all the chaperones fainting and all the debutantes waving their dance cards at you. I won’t get a word in.’
‘Jealous?’ He raised that single glorious eyebrow. ‘Ellie, love, haven’t I made myself clear? Ye’re the only one for me.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth, the hungry look in his eyes scolding her skin until she had to lock her hands behind her back for fear of jumping him. ‘Perhaps I need to be more persuasive.’ He guided her into his empty room. She slid from his hold, but he stalked towards her like a cat hunting its prey, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to let him catch her, if only for a few heartbeats.
He rested both hands on the wall either side of her head, leaning down for a kiss, a smirk tugging at his lips. His smile seemed to say ‘resist me if you can’.
Her traitorous nipples hardened, clearly visible through the thin fabric of her costume.
At the last second, he slipped the straps from her shoulders. The bodice, not supported by boning or buttons or lacing, slithered down her body to hang from her hips. Cal’s sharp intake of breath spoke volumes. Anticipation skittered over her skin, and he dipped his head, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth.
Thank all that was good laced stays weren’t part of her costume.
‘Someone will see,’ she breathed even as she arched her back, pressing closer.
‘They’re all busy downstairs.’ He moved his attention to her other breast, and the cool air on the damp flesh of her abandoned breast only stoked her desire for his touch.
She moaned, unable to hold back. He looked up at her, his hooded eyes near black with desire, and his smile turned smug. Somewhere in the passage beyond the open door, the wall sconces flickered as though someone was in the corridor. But there was no sound of footsteps, so she relaxed.
‘I’m not sure why you’re under the impression you have the upper hand.’ Not when his skirt was considerably shorter than her own. She slipped her hand under the pleats, running her finger up his thick thigh. He grunted in surprise.
What was it she’d promised herself back in the carriage after they’d left the theatre? Oh, yes. It’s my turn to crumple his clothes.
She moved her hand higher and his hips involuntarily thrust towards her. His head dropped to rest on her shoulder. ‘I very much approve of your costume,’ she purred into his ear.
‘I know I’m also supposed to be Greek,’ he managed to say through clenched teeth. ‘I’m just not sure which one.’
‘Atlas,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘The man who holds the whole world upon his shoulders.’
He stilled, pulling back a little to study her face. ‘Remind me again why ye won’t marry me, lass?’
She withdrew her hand and pulled her sleeves back up, covering herself. ‘Because…’ The thought of leaving him felt like someone had pulled all the air from her lungs. She’d miss the way he looked straight at her, as though he could instantly understand each expression that crossed her face, as though he were the only one in the world who could completely perceive her.
She’d miss the way his knee pained him when he was anxious or readying himself for a fight. And it was always her he was fighting for these days, even though he wanted nothing more than peace and quiet after all the horrors of the war. She should feel guilty about that, and she did. But she also felt incredibly blessed.
He was as kind to her as he was angry with the rest of the world.
She’d even miss his grumpy sulks. He was so infuriating when in high dudgeon. The way he crossed his arms and stood his ground, as though he thought neither heaven nor hell could move him.
And that Scottish voice of his did the most delightful things to her imagination. Just the thought of it had her toes curling in anticipation.
She’d never thought to be loved in such a way, and it was simply sublime.
‘Marry me.’ He pressed his advantage, rightly taking her silence for consideration.
She winced. ‘I can’t. Not now. I’m sorry. I want the right to choose what I do with my life—and Gwen’s. I don’t want to be pushed into anything because my witless brother is threatening to make a mess.’
‘Ellie—’
‘My lord duke.’ Sophy turned her back on them, her hands leaping to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise anyone was still up here.’
‘What are you doing?’ Ellen moved forward, but Calum stopped her.
‘I asked for Miss Calder’s help. She’s looking for Tzar.’
‘What?’ Her brother’s spy was helping Calum?
‘She wasn’t doing anything and Tzar’s missing, so she volunteered to search for him.’
‘So… she’s not working for Geoffrey?’ She gestured at Sophy’s back.
‘Nay.’ He frowned. ‘Weren’t you the one to invite her inside? Didn’t you want her to speak with me?’
‘Yes…no.’ She wrinkled her brow. They were at sixes and sevens. ‘Miss Calder didn’t actually tell me what she wanted. She was watching the house and I thought…’ Ugh, it sounded silly now. Of course the poor woman wasn’t a spy.
His frown deepened. ‘She wants my help finding her brother. Isn’t that right, Miss Calder?’
Sophy turned back to face them. ‘Yes, Your Grace. I haven’t heard anything of him since well before the end of the war.’ She turned to Ellen. ‘He was in the Navy, you see. I thought Lord Woodhal might have heard something.’
Near on two years of silence. Sophy must be desperate if she was petitioning a duke—a duke who’d left the Navy more than four years ago and on less than ideal terms. ‘You mentioned your brother to me that first night we met at Vauxhall.’ And apparently she’d been telling the truth all along.
Ellen’s gaze landed on Sophy’s feet, clad in a pair of leather half-boots, with black ribbon laces. They were the shoes a governess would wear or maybe a housekeeper—perfectly practical and perfectly respectable in every way. Butterflies named Guilt and Shame fluttered uneasily in her stomach.
‘Any luck finding my dog?’ Calum asked.
‘No, Your Grace.’ Sophy bobbed another curtsey. ‘About my brother—’
Cal’s jaw tightened, the only perceivable change to indicate his growing concern.
‘He can’t have gotten far.’ Ellen fiddled with her skirt in a bid to stop herself reaching out to comfort him before watching eyes. She knew how much Tzar meant to him.
‘I’ve searched the downstairs rooms twice over,’ confirmed Sophy rather reluctantly. ‘I’m just about to check the other bedchambers.’
‘He’s not in my room, and Gwen is sleeping.’
‘Of course,’ said Calum. ‘Have you searched the other side of the house, Miss Calder?’
‘I assumed someone else lived there.’ Sophy glanced between them, seeking confirmation.
‘It’s empty.’ Calum quickly described the door in the kitchen that led into Grace’s—now Ellen’s—half of the house. ‘I doubt he’s there,’ he admitted. ‘But maybe someone opened the door by accident when they were moving furniture upstairs.’
‘I’ll check straight away.’ She hurried away.
‘I feel like a sop.’ Ellen wrinkled her nose. ‘I thought she was watching the house at Geoffrey’s request. I should have just asked instead of worrying about it for so many days.’ Poor Sophy and her poor brother. ‘It was very kind of you to agree to help. Do you know her brother?’
‘Nay. I don’t think we ever met. But I can easily write Miss Calder letters of introduction for the Navy Office and such so that they can’t ignore her requests for information any longer. It’s the very least I can do. I suspect the poor lad’s dead, but she deserves to know either way.’ He forced a smile, a shadow in his eyes at the very mention of the Navy. ‘After tonight, hopefully ye won’t have to worry about Blackford again. This engagement ball is going to be an even greater success than I first anticipated. Thanks to Lady F.’
Ellen nodded. The dowager had worked tirelessly for days. She’d even hired two artists to chalk the ballroom floor with Mount Olympus, complete with its temple—the finishing touches to a room decorated to dazzle.
All that was left now was the actual ball. Just one long night of smiling and dancing and small talk to survive. The butterflies in her stomach morphed into leapfrogs named Panic and Terror.
Below, the music started playing. Ellen crossed her arms, tucking her shaking hands under her elbows. At least her costume was sleeveless, else she’d probably stain the delicate muslin with perspiration. Her bruises had almost entirely faded.
Calum gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You know, the more I think about it the more I’m sure that Demeter married Atlas in the end.’
‘No, she did not.’ Ellen laughed, but even she could hear the shake in her voice. ‘She had a daughter with Zeus. And when her daughter was stolen away, she searched and searched until they were reunited. But she most definitely didn’t marry Atlas.’
‘Shame. That would have been a much better ending to the tale. And I’m quite sure they would have rubbed along famously together.’ He offered his arm. ‘That’s our cue, though ye need only say the word and we’ll run away to Gretna Green.’
She placed her hand on his forearm. For all his laughing words, he was tense.
‘Perhaps next time.’ He was doing this all for her, and, if it weren’t for Gwen, she’d never have agreed to this plan. But there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect her child, nothing she wouldn’t ask of the people around her. If only there were some way she could wrap both Gwen and Calum in cottonwool and tuck them into her pocket, safe and protected from the world.
But this was real life and real life was never so simple.
‘Try to stop worrying, love.’ He bent his head and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. ‘And consider yerself warned. I intend to spend the rest of the evening persuading ye to marry me.’
***
Bang!
The house reverberated, setting the candelabras chiming.
Ellie clutched his arm. ‘What was that?’
‘Gunshot.’ Cal stiffened. He tried sucking in a breath but his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to work. Only his heart kept beating, thumping so hard in his chest it surely sounded like a military tattoo.
‘In Roseworthy?’ Ellie’s eyebrows rose in question, but before he could answer she started towards the stairs, her white dress fanning out behind her. He forced his legs into motion, using the handrail to leverage his bad knee down the stairs. He reached the ground floor, coming to an abrupt halt behind Ellie. She was staring at a man standing a few feet inside the house, pistol in hand. He wore the clothes of a labourer and had a hat pulled low over his head. It was the same man Lady F had remonstrated with earlier that afternoon for leaving chairs in the wrong place. There was white plaster on his shoulders and scattered around his feet. He’d fired a hole through the ceiling above his head.
‘Geoffrey!’ Ellie’s hand jumped to her mouth. ‘What are you doing?’
He laughed. Laughed!
Cal’s gaze was drawn to the gun. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t look away. Ellie was so vulnerable standing in front of Geoffrey as she was. He could practically see how the bullet would tear through her flesh like she was nothing more than meat. Cal tried to push her behind him, but she was having none of it.
‘Geoffrey.’ She reached towards her brother as though to take the gun from his hand.
Geoffrey jumped back and out of her reach.
Bang!
Plaster explored above their heads. Instinctively Cal raised his arms to cover Ellie from the worst of it. White specks fell into his eyes and for a second he couldn’t see.
‘There are people upstairs!’ Ellie yelled. She was angry, much angrier than scared, and she was glaring at Geoffrey with renewed ferocity. ‘You’ll kill someone.’
Footsteps sound on the stairs behind them. But he didn’t spare the spectators a glance. He had his family to protect.
‘Ye’re out of shots.’ Cal nodded to the gun. It was a double-barrelled flintlock pistol, very similar to the type British troops had used during the war. ‘What are ye going to do now?’
‘What’s all of this?’ A middle-aged woman, of all things, appeared in the doorway behind Geoffrey. She was dressed in a long travelling cloak, and there was mud on her boots. She started at Geoffrey’s back with horrified recognition.
Geoffrey laughed again, a maniacal laugh that carried with it notes of triumph and madness.
‘What am I going to do now?’ he repeated Cal’s question as though it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard—the punch line of a hilarious tale. ‘I’ve already done it.’ He sprung around, apparently completely unaware of the woman behind him.
‘Verity, look out!’ Ellie dived forward, but Verity drew back her fist and punched Geoffrey square in the face.
There was a sickening crack, and Ellie’s brother went down, his hands grasping at his bleeding nose. Before anyone could move to apprehend him, someone else screamed.
It was Maggie, and she was pushing her way through the crowd towards them.
‘Gwen. She’s gone!’