Rogues and Ripped Bodices (15 page)

The crenulations were for show,
not defence and the windows were wide, unlike that of the old tower, but from a
distance it still reminded him of an old fortress. He wouldn’t be adding
anything to it in his time, sadly, not that he needed the space, but it had
become something of a tradition to add that little personal touch each
generation.

Unfortunately simply keeping
the place from crumbling was expensive enough. Perhaps his cousin would do
something to it. He was a staid, steady type, who would likely have better
control of finances than Lucian did—or at least had. He had learned quickly how
and where to make savings after the fire. His skin prickled at the remembrance
of heat.

A gloved hand rested briefly on
his wrist.

“I was sorry to hear of your
father. He was a good man. I should have liked to have been there for his
funeral.”

“Thank you,” he replied
solemnly.

His father, the late viscount,
had been dead for two years now and he was used to accepting peoples’
sympathies. Everyone had loved his father. He was one of the better ones,
Lucian had to admit. He suspected his rakish ways had always disappointed him
slightly. How would he feel about his son now? He couldn’t be further from a
rake nowadays.

He coughed to clear the
tightness from his throat. “You were in India at the time?”

“No, Egypt.”

“Egypt! Pray tell what the earl
found of interest in Egypt? It hardly seems the sort of place to drag a
well-bred lady and he was hardly young.”

“I was not dragged. I enjoyed
our travels very much and Edward had a lot of energy for an elderly gentleman.”

Lucian scowled and tried not
think how he might have used his energies. He shuddered.

“We were there to look at a
scarab.”

“A bug? You travelled to Egypt
for a bug?”

“Well, and I longed to see the pyramids.
It’s a fascinating country, I can assure you. Sadly our trip was cut short by
Edward’s declining health and we came back to Europe.”

“Ah,
oui, Paris
. I
forgot my mother mentioned you had settled there. Why come back to drab old
England?”

“It is my home,” she said with
a barely suppressed sigh. “How is your mother?” she asked, her voice becoming
overly bright. “Is she well?”

“Well indeed. She is married.”

“I had heard. Mama wrote to me
and told me all. I suppose it was quite quick but I don’t see the harm if she
is happy.”

“She is,” he confirmed.

He too had been surprised at
the engagement of his mother only three months after coming out of mourning but
he never doubted she loved his father. His mother was the sort of woman who
needed a man at all times, and he was grateful she had managed to find another
one for her to cling onto. As much as he loved her, he didn’t wish to be that
man.

“She still lives in Yorkshire?”

Lucian tried not to roll his
eyes. He tried not to groan. He failed on both parts and she probably noticed
if the stiffening of her shoulders were anything to go by. From the corner of
his eye he saw her turn wooden. He found himself innately aware of each
movement of hers. But, damnation, did she not realise from his short answers he
hated small talk. He’d never enjoyed it during his years in London and he
certainly didn’t relish it now he was away from all that and out of practice.

The men at the inn had no use
for small talk and nor did his factory workers or those he paid to run it so that
was where he divided his time. If they found their owner’s interference
annoying, none had the gall to say as much. Most men preferred to leave it in
their foreman’s hands, but heck, he needed something to keep him occupied if he
was not lauding it up with high society in the dales.

“Yes, she still lives in
Yorkshire, though she spends much time in Lancashire on the coast these days.
She is in Blackpool at present.”

“Oh, I hear they are building a
promenade there now.”

He nodded. “It is quite the up
and coming place, I hear.”

“You have not been there
yourself?”

Lucian tried not to smirk. As
if he had the time or the inclination. Did she not see the scars on his face?
Who would want to promenade along the seaside and garner stares from every
direction? Not him, to be sure.

“No. I’ve been busy.”

He released a long breath as he
directed the horses up the long private road towards the house. There was no
gate marking the entrance to the front, only two tall brick pillars. His stable
hands must have seen him coming down the drive as they were ready to take the
horses and put the carriage away before he had even stepped from it.

Lucian held out a hand to Ellie
and kept his face expressionless when she slipped her fingers into his. He
released her hand as soon as humanly possible before striding up the steep set
of stairs into the entrance hall. Though the house was modelled on a medieval
abode on the outside, inside it was every inch a fine, modern home with
marvelled pillars, and black and white tiled floors.

He paused to signal to a nearby
maid to bring drinks. He didn’t need to say anything—his staff knew what was
expected of them. He had a strong routine though his early return and being
accompanied by a lady no doubt would give them all something to gossip about.
He even caught the maid’s quick glance at Ellie as his guest paused to view the
bust of his father set into a recess at the back of the room.

With the light streaming in
through the front door and highlighting the side of her face, he realised just
how much little Ellie Browning had grown. He’d been thrown off by those young
eyes and innocent features, but her posture and elegance told him much of the
change in her. Seven years ago she had been as awkward as a new-born lamb with
no posture to speak of.

The image was spoiled when she
turned and her hat spilled from her head. She snatched it up and shoved some of
those loose curls from her face. Perhaps not everything had changed, though, if
he thought about it, she was a darned sight more pleasing to look at. Not a
beauty however, he reminded himself sharply.

“Will you come into the drawing
room?”

“Certainly.”

She followed him in a regal
manner but he saw the dark spots staining her cheeks and knew the hat incident
had cost her. She eyed him as if waiting for him to comment on the faux pas.
Perhaps her stuffy old husband had scolded her for any clumsiness. Poor girl.
She hadn’t even been eighteen when she had married the old codger.

But what did he care?

Oh, yes, he didn’t, remember?

He indicated to a seat and went
to stand by the window. He waited until she had sat before turning to face her.
“Now, Ellie, what is it you want and why have you been so eager to see me that
you would risk being robbed and Lord knows what else? I hope it is a good reason
indeed.”

Tea for
Two

Eleanor peered up at him, noting the dip between his brows
as if he was indeed very angry with her. Perhaps he was, though why he should
care what happened to her person, she did not know. Likely it was her intrusion
on his time that annoyed him most. Mama had said that Lord Rushbourne was
rarely seen outside of his mills in the next county and his home.

Why the sudden dislike of
society though? The Lucian she had known relished spending time at parties and
balls. She had realised rather too late that it was so he could get foxed and
find some enjoyable company. She, in her foolishness, had thought him a great
deal of fun and had even harboured hopes he came to see her. After all, their
families had known one another for years. The match had been in her mind long
before she had even thought of Lucian as anything other than a friend.

“If you had read my letters,
you would know why I wished to speak with you,” she replied, trying to keep her
voice steady.

It was hard in the presence of
such a man. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel small and silly.
It didn’t help that she had fallen into his arms twice now and had embarrassed
herself with her ridiculous hat and hair.

It had been seven years since
she had seen Lucian and he was still as handsome as ever. Not even the raised,
red scar on the side of his face detracted from that. Time had done him many
favours. The tiny lines knitting his brow removed any suggestion of the boyish
demeanour he’d once had and she spotted a few silver threads in the dark brown
hair at his temples. With his dark brows, long lashes and glinting green eyes,
there was no mistaking Lucian for anything other than a thoroughly handsome
man.

One way above her reach. She
laughed inwardly. That scar likely worked in his favour, garnering many a
sympathetic touch from ladies. She wished her mama had told her the accident
had scarred him though. It had taken her by surprise.

“Well, I did not read your
letters so you shall have to tell me yourself.”

Eleanor smiled her thanks to
the maid who poured the tea in front of her and desperately hoped Lucian would
sit on one of the pale blue chairs in the centre of the room. He was some
distance from her, with his hands clasped behind his back, yet having him
standing made her stomach churn with apprehension. She would feel much more
confident if he would but sit.

Maybe he found her repellent.
He had made that clear once before. She tried her hardest to be beautiful.
Copious amounts of sunshine and lemon juice had improved her hair and
complexion, but what was a woman to do about one’s features? That might explain
his eagerness to keep his distance.

Filling her lungs, she ignored
the tea on the gilded table and secured her gaze on the portrait of the late
viscount. She had visited Hunston Manor many times during her childhood and
nothing had changed. Strange, for she had always expected Lucian to modernise
the old house almost as soon as he’d inherited the title, but it seemed he had
done nothing to it yet.

“I wish to speak of my shares
in your mill in Lancashire. As you may have heard, my late husband signed over
his un-entailed estates and fortune to me. That included any business
arrangements and stocks.” Eleanor clenched her hands together, aware of the
slight tremble in them. “Lord Rushbourne, I wish to have a hand in the mill.”

He stared at her for several
long moments, his lashes lowering and lifting quickly in surprise. A short
burst of laughter came from him and she felt heat surge into her cheeks.

“Forgive me. You wish to come
and work for me? Operate the machinery perhaps?”

“No! In the running of it, I
mean.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

The words were sharp and quick,
like a gunshot. Suddenly, she was seventeen again and being told her girlish
dreams were ludicrous and no man like Lucian could ever want her. Or she was
nine and her governess, Miss Pettigrew, was scolding her for staring out the
window and dreaming of great adventures. The tired voice of her governess ran
through her head. Well-bred girls did not run off on adventures and why could
she not be more refined? Why did she have to be so awkward? Miss Pettigrew was
sure she would never marry well, she had warned Eleanor’s mother, for who would
want to marry such an uncouth girl?

“I have no intention of
interfering as such but my lawyers tell me the mill’s profits are dropping and
I should like to come and see it for myself.”

He strode over and paused by
the chair opposite. Eleanor had to lift her chin to view him. His lips had
twisted and his handsome features grew bitter. “You have come to laud it over
me, I suppose. Here you are, a wealthy, beautiful countess, and here I am, a
mere viscount with a failing business. You have seen exotic creatures and far
off lands, while I have been fighting to save what’s left of my father’s
legacy. I breathe in the thick smoke of Caldton, while you enjoy the fresh air
of
Paris
or some other far flung place that no one in their right mind
would want to visit.”

The verbal attack might have
sent her reeling had it not been for the plush cushions supporting her back.
Such anger. Where did it come from? She didn’t think she had said or done
anything offensive. Was it so far-fetched that someone whose money was tied up
in a business should want to see that it was being invested well? Would he even
be questioning such a demand if she were a man?

And he had called her
beautiful.

Eleanor quickly shoved that
aside. She was not beautiful. All the make-up and fine clothing in the world
could not change that. Acceptable, yes, maybe even interesting to look at in
certain lights and outfits, but beautiful? No.

“I certainly have no intention
of lauding it over you, Lucian.” She tried his name on her tongue and found it
soft and pleasing. Ever since that night she had forced herself to think of him
as a stranger and no longer a friend, but saying his name did not pain her as
much as she thought it might. “I am aware that not many women are as lucky as I
am to have had a generous husband and that you might believe me to be interfering
in your affairs, but, nevertheless, a great deal of my money is now invested in
your mill and I should like to see it do well.”

Lucian shoved a hand through
his hair, making it mussed, and gripped the back of the chair. The dark brown
locks had a slight curl to them and she considered that this might have been
what the gossips referred to when they spoke of looking like one had just
climbed out of bed after a tupping. It was a dangerous and all too appealing
look.

“Forgive me, Ellie, I did not
mean to insult. Please let me assure you that your money is in good hands. It
is in all of our interests for the mill to do well and I have little intention
of letting it close.”

His apology felt empty, as if
he were speaking to appease her. Perhaps he was used to using such words to
appease creditors. From what little she had found out of the cotton industry,
it had been a rough year.

“The price of cotton continues
to drop, does it not?”

His brows lifted and he nodded.
He sat in one swift movement, like a lithe cat, and Eleanor envied his elegance
and ease. She found herself trying to press back against the padding of the
chair to create more distance between them, even though there were several
paces and a table between them.

“The Americans are selling it
far cheaper than we ever can and though we have upgraded to new machinery, the
upsurge in production all across the country has dropped prices far quicker
than we imagined.” He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees and eyed her
closely. “I shall prevail.”

“I do not doubt it.” Her voice
came out thin. Not that she did doubt him, but the way he locked that green
gaze on her sucked the air from her lungs.

Lucian eyed her for a few
breaths before leaning back against the chair, the epitome of a rake once more.
The intensity was gone, replaced with a lazy look to his expression. His hooded
eyes and sprawled arms spoke of a man with no worries—the man she had once
known—yet only moments ago she’d seen the concern and the determination in his
expression. Seven years, it seemed, had wrought many changes in Lord Rushbourne.

“Then you do not need to fear,
my lady. I shall continue to turn a profit and fill your coffers. We must
simply suffer this lean year and we shall come out stronger than ever at the
end.”

His indolent smile did not fool
her. She had spent years watching from afar as a girl. She knew every
expression of his, apart from, perhaps, the grave worried one he had worn only
moments before. So when worry haunted his eyes, she saw it.

“I should still like to visit
the mill and see your ledgers.”

“And what shall you do with
these ledgers? Do you believe me guilty of pocketing the profits, perhaps?”

“Of course not! Believe it or
not, my lord, I have quite a head for figures. Edward allowed me to have quite
a hand in his financial dealings and I have learned much since I inherited.”

“Little Ellie Browning pouring
over ledgers,” he mused and his lips lifted at both corners.

“I am not Ellie Browning,” she
snapped. “I am Lady Eleanor Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne, and I have no
wish to be referred to as anything else.”

“Very well, Lady Eleanor
Sedgewick, Countess of Hawthorne,” he said with a sardonic grin. “I shall have
my advisor send some of this year’s ledgers. How about that?”

Eleanor narrowed her gaze at
him. Somehow she suspected the ledgers would never arrive or they would be
incomplete, or perhaps they would be lost on their journey to Broadstone Hall.
“I still wish to come to Lancashire and visit the mill.”

“Have you ever been to a cotton
mill?”

“N-no.”

“They are dusty, noisy places. Smoke
fills the air in Caldton and people live in close quarters. Neither the mill
nor the town are suited to a lady such as yourself. Why do you not stay out
here in the country where you would be more comfortable?”

“Lord Rushbourne, I have
travelled far and wide. I have slept on floors and shared transportation with
the poorest people. I have camped in the dessert and survived the worst
weather. A little smoke and dust cannot scare me.”

Eleanor fought to keep a smug
smile from her face. There, let him tell her what a delicate thing she was and
how she should stay secluded away, wiling away her days with nothing but
embroidery and womanly pursuits.

“Ellie...” He sighed. “What
will it take to appease you?”

“A visit to the mill, that is
all I ask.”

“Why do I suspect that will not
be where it ends?”

“Because you have fine
instincts, my lord. You always did have.”

Lucian gave her a rueful smile.
“I once had. I’m not sure I can claim the same anymore.” He rose before she
could question the statement, forcing her to follow suit. “I shall make
arrangements and be in touch.”

“You will not forget?”

He skimmed his gaze over her,
making her body feel warm and prickly. “Ellie, how could I ever forget you?”