Rogues and Ripped Bodices (30 page)

“Ellie—”

“I do appreciate you asking,
Lucian.” She stood and he saw the way her hands shook. “I certainly never
expected as much from you, but I...I must think this over.”

“If you wanted to say yes, you
would have said it.” Lucian winced at his bitter tone and grew aware he was
lashing out in defence. How could he stand to wait for an answer? Better she
just tell him no and let him get over it.

“I...maybe you’re right.”

No. No he was not right. He was
a fool. The urge to grab her and shake her and tell her not to listen to him or
even to kiss her into submission until she had no choice but to say yes, burned
like hot coals in his chest, but instead he sat and waited.

“I thought as much. Forgive me
for asking. The ramblings of a fool.”

Any remaining light in her eyes
dimmed and her shoulders drooped. “I am going to return to the hotel,” she said
softly. “If you could have the books sent to my room, I shall look over them as
promised.”

Before he could utter anything
else, she turned and fled. The slamming of the door reverberated through him,
working into the cracks of his heart and making him feel as though it had
shattered to a thousand—or even a million—pieces. He eyed the picnic she had
left behind and dropped his forehead to the table. What a heel he was. He had
ruined everything and lost the woman he...

Did he really? He nodded to
himself with grim realisation. He loved little Ellie Browning. He worshipped
Countess Eleanor. He could not live without his sweet Ellie and he had ruined
everything. As usual.

The
Problem with Politeness

Eleanor clutched her grumbling stomach and silently told it
to shush while she weaved through the busy street. Goodness, she had been in
such a hurry to leave, she had not even finished her meal. But the grumbling
was more likely from the empty ache inside that Lucian’s words had left.

The ramblings of a fool...

It was market day in Bellmont
Street and the stalls were set all along the road with baskets of their wares
spilling out further onto the cobbles so that only a thin strip of pedestrians
could slip past. Stall holders shouted out the prices of their wares and how
good a deal they were, but none would grab her attention today.

If Lucian knew she was walking
back to the hotel, he would threaten to put her over his knee. Or perhaps he
would not. He did not seem to care what she did now. How had things gone from a
marriage proposal to her leaving so quickly? Dampness trickled down her cheeks
and she swiped a tear away. She was crying? She never did that in public.
Never.

Whatever did he mean by the
ramblings of a fool? Were all his words to be considered that and therefore she
should forget everything he had said to her? Including words of her beauty or
of how he regretted hurting her seven years ago?

Eleanor drew in a heavy breath
and clutched her shawl around her shoulders as she dodged an errant apple that
seemed to be making a leisurely journey down the uneven cobbles.

Through blurred vision, she
eyed the stalls with their faded canopies of various colours—yellows, reds and
greys. She passed a man selling chickens tucked away in big baskets and they
all seemed to take a disliking to her, squawking as she strode past. Perhaps
they too were admonishing her for being asinine.

Yes
, she
had wanted to scream.
Yes, I’ll marry you
. If she had spilled out those
words quickly enough would he not have changed his mind? Would they now be
celebrating their engagement? But that was little Ellie Browning speaking. This
was the fairy tale ending she wanted, but what of the countess? She had left
impulsive behaviour behind long ago. Every movement should be carefully
considered—certainly one as big as marriage.

Though Eleanor admitted little
of what she had done with Lucian had been carefully considered. Emotion and
passion had driven her there. However, a few nights of shared passion were
hardly likely to impact the rest of her life. Marriage to a rake would though.

A drop splashed her cheek.
“Stop crying, Eleanor,” she muttered to herself.

Except she was not crying,
though tears still welled in her eyes. Several more drops informed her it had
started to rain and soon the cobbles were wet and shiny and her thin shawl
soaked through. She hurried her pace and fought a shiver.

“I say,” someone declared as
she came free of the bustle of the market and stepped onto the pavement.

“Forgive me.” She lifted her
gaze only briefly to see Mr Newcombe smiling down at her.

“Lady Hawthorne. How do you
do?”

“Oh, Mr Newcombe. I am well.”
She forced a smile.

“A little wet though.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I am.”

“Are you here alone?”

Eleanor peered up at the
gentleman. In a thick coat and with his tall hat on, he had a much better
chance of staying dry. She did not wish to be rude and tell him she really must
hurry before she became ill, however, so she tolerated his conversation. She
had not had much occasion to speak with him at the dinner party though he had
seemed courteous and harmless enough. He was pleasant looking with carefully
styled fair hair and a thick moustache that moved when he spoke. Had she been
in a better mood, she might have found it amusing.

“Yes, I’m just walking to my
hotel.”

“Are you staying at The
Grange?”

 He touched her elbow lightly
to move her out of the path of more people hurrying by and they stood under the
awning out of the rain. Puddles were growing steadily on the cobbles and
Eleanor bit back a sigh of impatience. Any longer delay and she would be wading
to the hotel.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s not often we have a lady
of your importance in town. You have drawn some attention, I am afraid to say.”
He glanced out from under the canopy. “I fear this rain shall not let up, can I
escort you to the hotel? I have my trusty umbrella as you can see.” He motioned
with his folded umbrella.

All she longed to do was return
to the room, have a cup of tea and curl up and cry. The sooner she could do
that the better. She nodded wearily. “Yes, thank you.”

Mr Newcombe offered her his arm
and she took it, wary of appearing impolite. Being tucked into the side of a
man she barely knew did not appeal but if he was friends with Lucian, she knew
he could be trusted. He flicked up his umbrella and offered her a smile.

“Have you come from the mill?”
he asked.

“Yes.”

“You have taken a great
interest in the world of cotton, my lady. I don’t know many ladies who would
find it so fascinating.”

“Well, I am sure many ladies do
not own part of a cotton mill.” She hoped she did not sound as snippy as she
felt.

He chuckled and led her down
the narrow alleyway that led out onto the main street on which the hotel stood.
Thank goodness. She could not wait to be in her own company and think through
the day’s occurrences so far.

“You are very right, though I am
sure not many mill owners would let you have such a hand. I have heard
Rushbourne has you doing his accounts or some such.”

“You have heard much about me
it seems?”

“As I said, the town is awash
with the news of your presence here, Lady Hawthorne. I suspect they have hopes
of an impending marriage.”

“They do?”

“Forgive me, but Rushbourne’s
interest in you has not gone unnoticed, even to myself and you know men are
terrible at understanding the complexities of courtship. Of course with the
mill’s financial troubles, I believe Rushbourne has been considering the
benefits of having a wife more and more now. Not, of course, that he is
interested in you for financial reasons...of course not, you are a fine lady,
and I am sure he would not care if you did not have a penny.”

Coldness washed over her and it
had nothing to do with her wet garments, but she kept her gaze ahead. She began
to move more quickly as the front of the hotel came into view. Mr Newcombe was
forced to move with her and as they crossed the busy road and watched for
carriages, so too was the conversation forced to an end. Eleanor could only be
grateful. Did Lucian see her as a way to put an end to the mill’s troubles?

He stopped outside the hotel.
“Well, here we are. Safe but not quite dry I fear.”

Eleanor disengaged her arm from
him. “No, but I shall get dry soon enough. Thank you for your assistance, Mr
Newcombe.”

“Not at all. Always happy to be
of service.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I hope we shall see you at
another dinner soon. It was a mighty relief to have the company of a fine lady
the other night. We are not usually given to barbaric behaviour, let me assure
you.”

“There was only one gentleman
behaving poorly I am afraid, but I shall be returning to the country soon
enough. I have been away too long as it is.”

“Yes, well, Rushbourne has much
on his mind I am sure. Such is the state of cotton right now.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I
am sure you are right. Good day, Mr Newcombe.”

“Good day, Lady Hawthorne.”
With another touch to his hat, he strode off at a leisurely pace.

Eleanor eyed his back for a
while. For a gentleman she barely knew, he had been quite talkative and his
implications... Did people know of her affair with Lucian? And the mention of
money. It really was a vulgar topic and she did not think Mr Newcombe was of
ill breeding. Why suggest Lucian was interested in her for money?

She strode up to her room and
rang for Maggie who helped her strip out of her clothes. The maid tutted and
chatted away about her morning but Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to respond.
She sat like a rag doll as Mary rubbed her down with a towel and tried not to
remember when Lucian had done the same. When she was finally in a new gown and
her hair was fixed and mostly dry, she dismissed the maid. Maggie gave her a
look of concern but clearly knew her mistress better than to question her mood.

Eleanor slumped onto her bed
and fingered the dark fabric of the gown. She had been wearing this one when
she had first met Lucian again. How long ago that seemed, yet it was only
months. Was it possible he could have fallen for her in that time? He had not
spoken of love. Was his offer some misguided notion of right? He had called
what they had sordid. Not to mention, people thought he was interested in her for
her money.

But, no, that could not be
right. He had spent half his time trying to force her away. If he had planned
on seducing her, he had done a terrible job of it and he would not have thrown
away the idea of marriage so easily.

Fresh tears singed her eyes.
She had ruined everything by being reluctant and now he did not want her.

Any
Excuse

The records arrived at the hotel two days later, just after
lunchtime. Eleanor had not even eaten yet and her stomach grumbled as the
carriage driver and footman brought in the books with quiet efficiency, but she
struggled to make herself eat. Two days hidden away in her room, replaying
every moment with Lucian in her mind and questioning why she had not said yes
and been done with it had sapped any appetite. Maggie clasped her hands and
eyed Eleanor while she directed Lucian’s men to stack the books by the desk
near the window.

 They had been instructed to
bring them here by Lucian, apparently, and when she was done, she was to send a
message to the mill. He would send men to collect them.

Thus ensuring she did not see
him again. Did he not want to see her? The unresolved ache burning in her chest
begged her to go to him and say all the things she had left unsaid. Like...like
what? Like why suggest marriage only to snatch the chance away from her? And
why did he listen to a fool like her and not try to persuade her otherwise? Or
at least give her the time to think on the matter and come up with only one
conclusion. She wanted Lucian, flaws and all.

Oh, so much was uncertain, that
was for sure. Lucian could be a frustrating and ill-tempered man, but he was
also affectionate and humorous. How many times had they climbed into bed
together and ended up laughing? And he made her think she might possibly be
beautiful. No one else had managed that. Now when she peered into the mirror,
she saw only grim lines of tension and her too straight eyebrows surrounding
dull eyes. If she did have beauty, it was only when Lucian was around.

She pressed coins into the
men’s hands and sent them on their way when they were done. Hands on her hips,
she eyed the spines of the books and selected several for comparison, then
pulled out her notes on the recent records. She knew what she was looking for
but finding it might not prove easy.

“Can I help, my lady?” Maggie
asked.

Thankful for her maid’s
excellent reading skills, Eleanor nodded. “If you will.” She picked up three
books and handed them over. “I am looking for any invoices from Fairport
Shipping Ltd. Once you see an invoice number and a date, note them down. Why do
you not work from the dressing table and I shall work here?”

Maggie nodded and settled
herself with the three books. They spent the next several hours poring over the
books, only breaking for tea and a few sandwiches— though Eleanor left most of
hers. She was close, so close to the answers. If she could do nothing for
Lucian, if he really wanted nothing from her, she could at least help him save
the mill. He deserved that much.

A hand to the back of her neck,
she rolled her aching muscles and stopped to eye her notes. Her fingers were
covered in ink blotches and even her gown had suffered, but then she had never
been the neatest writer, much to her governesses’ chagrin.

Eleanor stood and stretched her
arms before coming to Maggie’s side and peering over her shoulder. “How are you
doing?”

“I think my eyes are crossed,
my lady.”

Eleanor laughed. “As are mine.
May I have a look?”

“Of course.” The maid handed
over the paper.

Casting her gaze over them,
Eleanor nodded to herself. It was coming together. She snatched up her own
notes from her time at the mill. Her heart skipped a little and she could not
help but grin. She felt like a great detective who had unravelled a mystery.
Would Lucian be proud? Grateful? Grateful enough to take her back into his bed
and then...maybe offer for her hand again? Perhaps not, but honestly she would
take just being his lover if that was all he could give.

“What is it, my lady?”

“I need to check with Lord
Rushbourne, but there are differences in these amounts and yet they are the
same order. I think the mill is being invoiced more than the original quotes
and the amounts appear to be increasing. So the projected costings are wrong.
They’re working off the wrong numbers.” She pressed two fingers to her
forehead. “At least I believe so.”

“You’ve lost me there, I’m
afraid, my lady.”

“I am a little lost myself. I
am not sure the effect this has on the mill, but I would guess if their
estimates are off and the running costs are up, it cannot be a good one.” She
glanced around for her bonnet and snatched it from the hat stand. “I must go to
him.”

“Give me a moment, I shall
accompany you.” Maggie stood and glanced out of the window. “It is growing
dark.”

“No, you stay here,” Eleanor
said hastily. “It is growing cold and...and I need you to have my evening gown
pressed.”

It was a terrible excuse and
Maggie raised one eyebrow, likely able to see right through her. But she wanted
to be alone with Lucian. Likely nothing would come of it, but Lord, she would
seduce him if she had to. She needed him that badly. The mere thought of seeing
him again, of running her gaze over his trim waist and studying those broad
shoulders while he peered at her from under the brim of his hat made her heart
do a small dance of excitement.

“I shall take a carriage. I’m
not sure where he will be at this time of day anyway.” She swung a glance at
the clock and saw it was past finishing time for the mill, but knowing Lucian,
he might still be there.

“I don’t like the thought of
you out there alone, my lady.”

“I have walked these streets
several times alone now, Maggie, and as I said, I shall take a carriage, so I
shall not be alone.”

“Well, I know it is useless
arguing with you, but please be careful.”

The maid passed over her shawl
but Eleanor waved it away. Her purple jacket was warm enough and she wanted
nothing hindering her in her haste to see Lucian. Knowing her luck, it would
catch in the carriage door or some such other ridiculous scenario and she would
have nothing coming between her and Lucian.

A tiny smile thread across her
lips and she pressed two fingers to her mouth. Was she foolish to imagine he
might want her back? Probably, but she had to hold onto hope. Little Ellie
Browning had once hoped when all seemed bleak. Little Ellie had been quite the
happy person, in spite of everything, until duty and reality had struck. It
would be nice to enjoy the luxury of indulging in dreams for a change.

The hotel arranged a carriage
with haste for her and she opted to travel to the mill first. In all
likelihood, that was where Lucian was. Nervous tension threaded through her
making her limbs feel soft and useless. Chances were, when she got out of the
carriage, her feet would give way and she would tumble onto the damp cobbles in
the most unladylike manner, but if she had to crawl on her hands and knees to
Lucian, she would.

Each rattle and clank of the
carriage across the cobbles increased her apprehension until the paper
documenting her discoveries was crumpled into a tight ball.

“Dash it all.” She unscrewed it
and spread it out over her lap.

The supplier was Mr Newcombe’s
company. Was it a deliberate act on his behalf? She scowled. Surely not? How
would he benefit from the mill closing? He would lose a valuable customer. It
had to be someone in Lucian’s office. Embezzlement perhaps? She shrugged to
herself. As much as she might have a head for numbers, she had little idea how
business worked. Her own business dealings were heavily managed by her lawyers.

They made good time and the
roads were clear given the time of day. The street lamps were being lit and a
cold sheen from the night sky reflected off the damp cobbles. Windows glowed
and smoke scented the air. She climbed out of the carriage with the aid of one
of the footman and instructed them to wait outside the gates for her.

The mill gate was unlocked, but
she saw no glow of oil lamps from the office. There was however, a faint glow
in the mill itself. He had to be in there.

Breath held, she made her way
across the courtyard and pressed open the door. The silence deafened and sent a
shiver up her spine. To see the machinery so still and with no cotton filling
the air like little puffs of cloud made her skin prick. She sniffed, becoming
aware of an odour.

Smoke. And it was strong, not
like that of the smoke from the chimneys. With no lamps lit, she could not see
where it was coming from or even if it was visible in the air, but she headed
towards the glow at the rear of the room, her stomach weighted down like lead.

Eleanor inched forwards and
heard a pop. When she turned the corner, heat touched her skin and she jumped
back. Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Good God.”

The cotton bales were alight,
and the fire had already licked up the wooden steps to the gallery that spanned
the tall room. Her eyes watered as smoke clouded her vision and the orange glow
increased.

She glanced around for a sand
bucket or some water or something, but the rest of the room remained dark and
now she had been staring at the flames she could not penetrate it. She tore at
the buttons of her jacket and flung it over the nearest flames but the brief
moment of victory was fleeting as the flames did not snuff out and merely set
alight to her jacket too.

She could not let the mill
burn. Lucian would be devastated. She must do something.

Fumbling around the machines in
the dark, she searched for something to douse the fire. When she snuck a glance
over her shoulder, she saw the flames had swallowed the steps and were licking
along the gallery. Lord, the flames were consuming the place. What could she
do? The driver would surely see them and call the fire brigade but who knew how
long they would take to get here?

Eleanor coughed and clapped a
hand over her mouth as smoke scorched her lungs. Using her hands to guide her,
she followed the edge of the room until her shin connected with something. She
dropped a hand down and it came up wet.

“Oh, thank the Lord.”

Finding the handle, she lifted
the heavy bucket and moved as swiftly as possible to the bales that were all
but gone under the flames. With one mighty throw, she flung the contents of the
bucket over the flames. They spluttered and hissed and went out. But as she
dropped the bucket and it clattered to the floor, she realised how futile her
act was. There was no way of fighting the flames that had spread across much of
the building like a wild, spitting orange monster. The heat made her skin damp
and the smoke in her chest became unbearable. She bent double to cough and it
seemed she might cough forever. It was no good. She could not save Lucian’s
mill. She would have to get out—and fast.

A crack sounded and she
squeaked as what used to be the stairs crumbled. Wood splintered and half the
gallery gave way. A beam tumbled down. She watched in horror as a support hung
suspended at an odd angle for a moment before the flames ate through it. The
crash was deafening and sent her tumbling back so as to dodge the burning wood.

Eleanor’s foot caught on her
skirt as she went. Pain burst through her skull. She had the briefest moment to
realise she had struck her head on one of the looms before collapsing.