Once Upon a Rake (5 page)

His
Favourite Colour

Steam swirled around his
legs as Lucian pulled out his pocket watch, eyed it with a grunt and snapped it
shut before stuffing it back into his waistcoat pocket. Trust Ellie to keep him
waiting. He let his gaze linger on the train and watched the splatters of water
and steam drip and hiss down the tender. It reminded him rather of Ellie,
hissing and spitting at him with declarations of how bold and brave she was.
Perhaps hissing and spitting was an exaggeration, but the way she had drawn
herself up and flung the words at him had certainly been quite the display.

  His lips quirked as
he recalled the sight. Little Ellie was not so little anymore, he had to admit.
Her travels and marriage had made a woman out of her, and a bold one at that.
Though, no matter how hard she tried, he still saw moments where her facade
slipped and the scarecrow revealed herself.

Strangely, the scarecrow
didn’t aggravate him anymore. That was likely because the scarecrow would be
easier to handle. This Countess of Hawthorne was much harder to manage. He
couldn’t even be sure why he had agreed to take her to the factory. Hopefully she
would hate the noise and the thick fluffy air, and demand to leave immediately.
Whatever she said about her travels, even when she had been plain Miss Browning
she had been privileged, and now her rank and fortune brought her more
privilege than even he could imagine.

A light tap on his arm
forced him to turn from the magnificent sight of the tender and drew him out of
his thoughts. Ellie offered him a steady smile and a raised brow, as if she
knew he had been thinking of her. But how could she possibly?

“Good morning, my lord.”

He resisted rolling his eyes
at her formality. If she thought her use of his title would stop him from using
her given name, she was sorely mistaken. After all, they had known each other
since infancy. What need was there for formalities? Not to mention, he saw how
her expression hardened with annoyance every time he called her Ellie. He was
hardly going to deny himself some amusement, was he?

“Good morning, Ellie. You
look very well.” He skimmed his gaze leisurely down her. It was a deliberate
action, one intended to rile her further but it only seemed to rile him. For
some reason, his skin grew a little hot and he fought the desire to tug at his
necktie.

The dark blue gown cinched
in her waist and the small buttons running down between the curves of her
breasts had him imagining running other things down the centre of them. Namely
his tongue.

The thought jolted him and
he snapped his gaze up to hers. Her simple features peeked out from a bonnet
that many ladies would no doubt think was a
darling bonnet
. Her face was
made all the more appealing
by the blue silk ribbon tied around her
chin, and the pale blue ruffles around the inside of it. Inevitably, he found
himself staring at those berry red lips.

The lips moved. He frowned.

“My lord?” she prompted.

“Pardon?” He dragged his
gaze away from those tempting morsels that passed for lips.

“Are we to go?”

“Yes, of course. I have our
tickets.” He waved them in her direction and offered her his arm.

She ignored him and strode in
the direction of the carriages. Lucian hastened to catch up and open the door
for her. When he offered her a hand to help her in, she did at least press her
gloved fingers into his and allow him to help her. Once inside, he pulled the
door shut and seated himself opposite her. Her skirts were so voluminous that
they brushed his legs and from her narrowed gaze, he suspected she wanted him
to sit further away. Their compartment was entirely empty and with only around
ten minutes before they departed, he didn’t expect them to be joined by anyone
else, but he was loath to move.

And not because he wanted to
study those lips some more and wonder why they interested him so. No, not at
all. It was merely because it annoyed her. If he wanted her to keep her nose out
of his business, he had to be as uncivil as possible.

The ticket inspector thrust
his head through the open window and Lucian brandished the tickets at him. The
fellow tipped his hat and only moments later a shrill whistle broke the silence
and the train squeaked into action. It was not until they were quite a distance
out of the station and thundering along, a light breeze blowing through the
partially open window, did she speak up.

“I’m glad the weather is
fine today.”

“Why? The carriage is covered.”
He thrust a finger up at the wooden roof. Only when he saw the redness in her
cheeks increase did he realise how coarsely and foolishly he had spoken.

Damnation, he had little
patience for civilities these days. His time was spent with workers and
foremen, few of whom cared about the blasted weather. Not long ago he had been
adept at talking to the ladies, charming them even. He smirked inwardly. How
things had changed.

“I am aware of that,” she
said softly, “but I have not travelled through this part of the country for a
long time and I look forward to seeing the scenery. I’m glad there is no
drizzle or mist to spoil it.”

“Surely the English
countryside cannot compare to the pyramids or the deserts or whatever?”

“It cannot. It is entirely
better. I missed the green. There is no shade of green quite like that of the
English countryside.”

Lucian turned his gaze to
the window and watched the hills pass by for some time. He made this journey
frequently and had never taken the time to look at the scenery. On his trips,
he had been more preoccupied with the dramatic loss in profits and how they
would pay the creditors without dispensing with something of value. When he
peered at Ellie again, he was surprised that she hadn’t pressed her nose
against the glass like a child outside a toy shop, for the expression on her
face was one of utter delight. The breeze ruffled her curls, which were tightly
confined under her bonnet today and she looked younger than ever.

Good. The younger she
looked, the less likely he was to think about lips and whether they might taste
like berries too.

If he thought hard enough
would he recall the taste of her lips all those years ago? He had tried hard to
squash any memories of the night when he had behaved so much like a cad that
she had been forced into marriage to an old codger. Heaven forbid the girl get
tangled with a rake like him.

Not that anyone would
consider him a rake now. A scarred shadow of one, that was him, with nothing
much to offer anyone. Before long, people would be thinking him a codger too.

“Do you spend much time in
Caldton?” she asked, forcing him to drop his sombre train of thought.

“Yes, I have a house not far
from the mill. It means I can spend as much time there as I like.”

“Your housekeeper said you
were known to stay for weeks.”

“Did she indeed?” He would
have to have a word with Grace about keeping her trap shut. “Well as you
pointed out the other day, these are trying times. The mill takes all my
attention.” Her lips curved slightly—a mere hint of a smile—and her eyes
crinkled. “What amuses you so?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“The Lucian I knew would do
all he could to avoid work and now it seems you eat, sleep and breathe cotton.”

“Much has changed these past
years. You certainly have.”

Ellie appeared to want to
respond to this. Her lips parted and moved into a tiny ‘o’ shape and he braced
himself for some haughty response but none came. Instead, she twisted in her
seat and fixed her gaze upon the passing scenery. That she had silently declared
the conversation over vexed him. He should have been the one putting an end to
it. Who was she to be speaking to him as if nothing had changed? As if he was
still a well-respected—no, maybe not respected, but liked—member of society.
Did she not realise a beast like himself had no need for idle conversation?
Perhaps she had grown tired of looking at his marked face and preferred the
pleasing scenery. He wouldn’t blame her.

The rest of the journey
passed mostly in silence. Lucian occupied himself with snapping open his pocket
watch every few minutes and grunting with annoyance before trying to keep his
gaze from straying to Ellie. He counted the buttons on the plush red seats, he
studied the wooden frame of the door with its gilded letters above it declaring
it to be a first class carriage, he eyed the luggage rack and the brass
mouldings. And yet by the time they neared the town, the image of her head
turned just so was imprinted in his mind. Surely a bit of polished wood was
more exciting than little Ellie Browning, but apparently his brain thought
otherwise?

Ellie stood as the train
pulled into the station and he followed suit. Air compressed in his lungs and
he found himself desperate to escape the confines of the carriage. A flash of
excited delight lit her features and Lucian had to take two looks. For the
briefest moment, she had appeared incredibly beautiful, and yet so like the old
scarecrow Ellie. How was it possible for her to appear at all beautiful? And
after travelling all over the world, why did a dirty, smoky town like Caldton
excite her?

As the train came to a halt
in a screech of wheels against metal, he gripped the railing above but it was
too late for her. She stumbled and he thought she might teeter backwards onto
the cushions, but she righted herself only to tumble into him. He had a
mouthful of bonnet and a handful of silk before he had realised what had
happened.

His hands pressed to her
waist as he righted her. The silk was warm and soft. Even though he felt the
boning of her corset, his mind had skipped along several steps and had pictured
the contours of her waist. When she lifted her gaze to his, his heart came into
his mouth and sucked away any remaining air.

He was drowning. Or
suffocating. Either way he felt like a fish flapping on the beach. Lucian
needed to tug at his necktie but his hands were apparently glued to her waist.
Those grey eyes widened so that they were impossibly big and the dark spots at
the centre grew darker. If he was being uncharitable, he might have compared those
eyes to the smog that hung over the town, pumped into the air by all the
factories and homes, but for the life of him, he could not be uncharitable. A
damn inconvenience as he really didn’t wish to be admiring them. When had grey
eyes ever been anything to admire?

He fought to tear his gaze
away, and nearly succeeded, but those blasted lips captured it before he had
the chance to escape. Up close, those thin lips were almost succulent and
slightly glossy. As if on cue, her tongue darted out to lick her bottom
lip—just the tiniest suggestion of a pink tongue as it swept over it and
vanished into her mouth again. Heat rushed through him and centred downwards.
She released a breathy sigh and her vanilla fragrance curled itself around him.

A booming voice cracked the
moment, declaring the stop. Lucian jerked his head up and thrust her back,
almost sending her stumbling again and forcing her to grapple at his sleeve. He
cursed inwardly, made sure she was steady on her feet and reached out of the
window to open the door. Once safely on the platform, he offered her his hand
and aided her down. All the while he forced himself to draw in deep breaths in
an attempt to rid himself of the constriction in his lungs—and elsewhere—and to
dissipate the infernal scent of her. Even the thick aroma of the train could
not penetrate it.

Ellie took a moment to
smooth her hands down her skirts, adjust her bonnet and peer around. “How far
is the factory from here?”

“A mile.”

“Shall we walk?”

“I’d intended to get a carriage.”
The streets of Caldton would be busy and hardly the sort of place for a lady of
Ellie’s ranking. Besides they would have to slip down Harefield Lane which
would be lined with beggars.

“Let us walk.”

He’d have been inclined to
ignore her plea had she not slipped her arm through his. The oddest thing
happened. The word no vanished from his vocabulary and instead he found himself
replying with, “As you wish.”

Lucian rolled his eyes at
himself. Too much work and smoke had addled his wits. That was the only
explanation. It had nothing to do with the odd tingling sensation having this
woman on his arm created. Why, he’d certainly had far more exotic and enticing
creatures on his arm.

Releasing a lengthy sigh, he
escorted her out of the train station and onto the busy street. Carriages
rattled by and he eyed one longingly as they started their journey to the
factory.

On foot.

Smart, not pretty

It was true. Eleanor had seen pyramids and exotic
creatures. But none of these sights or creatures fascinated her quite as much
as the hustle and bustle of the town. To see people rushing about on their
business and the tall brick buildings with the blackened evidence of industry
clinging to their walls made her want to burst out in excited chatter. Not that
Lucian would tolerate that, she thought with a smile. She had realised she was
annoying him quite early on in the journey and had no wish to aggravate him
further. Otherwise he might change his mind about showing her the factory.

Industry was so interesting.
The way machinery had taken over the role of man and could create such vast
quantities of items amazed her. Towns like Caldton were dominated by industry.
Every man, woman and child depended on it. It might not be beautiful like Paris
or breath-taking like Egypt, but there was something elemental about such a
place—a place built on hard work and ambition. It fairly buzzed through the
air.

As did it through her. She
felt as if she were tingling all over from having her arm looped through
Lucian’s. When they passed by a rough bunch of fellows, he drew her closer and
if she had been inclined to do so, she might have swooned.

Eleanor stole a glance at
him. He had placed her by the side of his face that had been untouched by the
fire. Why had mama not told her he had been hurt in the factory fire? Had he
been hurt anywhere else? It annoyed her, but she couldn’t help feel pity for
him. It must have been excruciating. Lord Rushbourne hardly deserved her pity
or even her generous temperament today, but excitement had made her forget the
anger she had nurtured over the years and she was loath to aggravate him, not
when she hoped to persuade him to listen to her ideas.

He led her across the
cobbled road, pointing out a pile of horse excrement for her to step around.
She noted the glances he garnered. With his tall stature in elegant clothing,
it did not surprise her. His wide shoulders filled his dark frock coat to
perfection and the blue and gold embroidered waistcoat did not hide how
physically fit he was. Lucian had always been blessed with a fine physique and
the years hadn’t changed that.

When they entered a gloomy
street, Lucian drew her close again and Eleanor forced herself to concentrate
on putting one foot in front of the other. At the best of times her feet hated
to cooperate, let alone when the infamous Lord Rushbourne had her pressed
against him.

The grimy buildings loomed
over them and when she looked up, she was surprised to see sky as it felt like
the buildings must almost touch, such was the amount of light seeping through.
She swallowed when she spotted several men standing about the doorways, women
with children at their feet. Several palms opened slowly, as if they had no
real hope of her being of a charitable sort. Lucian ignored them pointedly, his
gaze fixed ahead, forcing Eleanor to tug him to a standstill so she could fish
in her purse.

“Ellie...” he warned, but
she unlatched her arm from his and ignored him.

One by one, she pressed
coins into their hands. A few mumbled their thanks but most seemed too eaten up
with hunger or exhaustion to muster much of a response. Each grimy face spoke
of years of work and starvation. She had met poor people on her journeys but
none looked quite so hopeless.

When she offered out coin in
India, the children had nearly tumbled her over in their eagerness and all had
come away with smiles and giggles. Times in England were hard indeed for the
poor. She only hoped she could do something—even if small—to help these people.

Lucian drew her back into
his protective hold and didn’t slow until they were out of the street and into
a wider one, where they were greeted by carriages and signs of trade once more.

“You should not have done
that,” he told her.

“Why ever not?” Was he so
black-hearted he begrudged them charity?

“Most will likely spend it
on ale.”

“Even the children?”

“For many men, the only way
to survive their existence is to drink. If they are not working, they will be drinking,
and if they have to beat a child to get a coin, they will. Did you not see the
bruises on their arms?”

“I—”

“When a man is not useful in
some way, he loses all hope. You must have seen it in their expressions. Your
coin will do them no good. You would be better donating it to the Children’s
Society. They will see your money properly distributed.”

Warmth surged up her neck
and face, and she had no doubt her cheeks were crimson. How like Lucian to make
her feel thoroughly foolish. He eyed her and a flicker of uncertainty crossed
his expression.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean
to be so frank. It’s just things are very different here to the countryside or
any other exotic places you have visited.”

“I am not wholly ignorant,
but I shall bow to your superior knowledge, my lord.”

A crease appeared between
Lucian’s brows and he jolted slightly as if she had staggered him with her
words. He nodded curtly. “Good.”

As he led her along the
street, touching the brim of his hat to a passer-by, Eleanor clamped her lips
shut to hide a smile. It seemed being agreeable disconcerted him more than
being argumentative. She would have to remember that. Perhaps it was not
charitable to toy with the man, but when had he ever been charitable towards
her?

Certainly not on the evening
he kissed her.

Her tightly compressed lips
began to tingle and she was powerless to stop her pulse from picking up speed.
She had forced the memories of that night far away but they still sprung on her
occasionally and caught her unawares. The embarrassment, the shame. It all
rushed through her, heating her skin and then...then she would recall the
feeling of his lips upon hers and become breathless.

“The mill is around this
corner.” He motioned ahead. “You can see the smoke stacks.”

Eleanor acknowledged his
words gratefully by eyeing the building that could not be hidden by the houses
lining the streets. It towered over them like a watchful master, its large
square windows like disapproving eyes. Once they rounded the corner she had a
full view of it and its magnificence was not lost on her.

Even from their position
outside the iron gates, the noise of the machines smothered the street sounds.
On the forecourt were stacks of brown sacks piled to one side, and though there
were several dozen people outside, none were still or milling around. They all
moved with purpose. An excited thrum started in her stomach. She was to be a
part of this—the revolution of industry. These were exciting times indeed.

Lucian pushed open the gate
and escorted her in. He led her into a door at the side of the building, and
she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dull glow of the lamps. Several
desks sat in rows and the heads of the men sat behind them lifted to
acknowledge Lucian.

A young man, likely no older
than her stood and hastened over. “Mr Fuller would like a word with you when
you have time, my lord.”

Lucian nodded and waved the
man back to his desk before indicating to a door at the end of the desks.
“Shall we?”

Eleanor nodded, aware of
being watched as she walked past to the room. Were they wondering what she was
doing with Lucian? Who she was? Or did they know and were surprised by how
uncomely the Countess of Hawthorne was?

The room turned out to be
Lucian’s office. Or at least she assumed it was. A generous carved mahogany
desk with a green leather top dominated it and the sounds of the mill filtered
in through the window which faced the forecourt. She imagined him sitting
behind it, lauding over his domain. Stacks of letters were piled on one side of
the desk and a bookcase to the right was filled with leather bound books. The
room smelled of that leather and a little of smoke.

“So,” he said, closing the
doors, “here you are. This is the mill you own part of. Whatever shall you do
with it?”

Eleanor ignored his mocking
smile and folded arms, and eyed the spines of the books. They were as she
thought—records of the mill dating back to its start by the looks of it.

“I would like to look
through the records.”

“Here? Now?”

“As I said, my lord, I have
a fine head for numbers.”

He snorted. Even she heard
it. It echoed between them. Years ago, when she thought he could do no wrong,
she’d have melted into a puddle of embarrassment but no longer. She would not
be victim of Lucian’s cruelty ever again. She knew how she had appeared. A
silly little girl with dreamy ideas and no way of achieving them. No white
knight would sweep the ugly Ellie Browning off her feet.

“I should like to look
through them,” she repeated.

“Very well. We have, oh,
twenty years’ worth of records here. Where would you like to start? I hope you
weren’t intending to return home for several months.”

She narrowed her gaze and
tried to stop it from dropping to those lips, still turned up in a sardonic
smile. “I have little intention of pouring over all of the records. Just the
past two years perhaps. I was hoping you might send them to me at Broadstone
Hall.”

“Impossible.”

“Why should you need last
year’s records?”

Lucian’s jaw worked as he stepped
closer. “If you wished for me to send you the records then why the blazes
demand a trip here and steal away much of my valuable time?”

“I suppose my time is not
valuable.” Trying to quell the flutter in her stomach, she lifted her chin.
“Once upon a time Lord Rushbourne would think nothing of spending weeks
travelling and amusing himself.”

“What makes you think I find
any of this amusing?”

He had her there. Of course
her company wasn’t amusing. She was an irritation. A pest to be squashed or
shooed away as soon as possible. But he would not rid himself of her that
easily.

Eleanor drew in a breath and
perfected her most countess-like voice. “Lucian, I understand you’re a busy man
and I appreciate the time you have taken to guide me around. If you have
matters to see to, by all means do. I can at least start looking through this
month’s records and then you will not need to send me the ones you need or
suffer my presence here again.”

Her smile slipped when she
said his name. It had come out soft rather than regal and now it rang in her
ears. But the moment didn’t last.

A derisive smirk lingered
around his top lip and he unfolded his arms. “Look all you want, Ellie. I doubt
you’ll find much you can do. I have some of the finest bookkeepers in
Lancashire. I am sure once you are done, you will have no reason to return and
even less interest in doing so. Cotton is boring to those whose living does not
depend upon it.”

She didn’t protest. He might
think of her as fluffy headed as the cotton his machines wove but she knew
otherwise. Of course, she still had her moments when she forgot who she was and
how hard she had strived to be seen as sensible and refined, but regardless her
mind was quick. She might not have great looks, but she would not let anyone
take
that
attribute away from her.

“You have two hours.” He
said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “I shall come back for you then and
we can have lunch before catching the three o’clock train.”

“I should like to tour the
mill before we leave,” she said as he put his hand to the door to leave.

“It’s dangerous and dusty.
No place for a lady.”

“A little dust has never
stopped me, my lord, and I have survived many dangers.”

As he put on his hat, touched
the brim and left, Eleanor considered that the most dangerous event of her life
had been the night Lord Rushbourne has kissed her. She might have survived but,
unfortunately, she was not sure she survived unscathed.