The Janus Affair: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel (27 page)

Chapter Eighteen

In Which Eliza D. Braun Must Confront Ghosts of New Zealand Past

“W
ellington should not have bowled you over like that,” Eliza growled, while taking a bowl of steaming water from Alice.

“It’s part of the game.” Douglas shrugged, wincing as he did. “Just a bit of rough and tumble.”

“It was most certainly not,” Eliza glared at him. “It was absolutely shameful.”

“Maybe so, but I am fine.”

She knew full well that he was not, and Eliza wondered exactly what she would find when she got his shirt off. Once there had been a day when she’d not been concerned about that—in fact it had been her main goal.

Alice snorted, breaking her recollections. “And who is looking after Mr. Books?” she snapped, dropping a stack of towels on Eliza’s parlour chair. “Do you think he has a pretty lady to care for his bruises?”

Sometimes her maid completely forgot the line between employer and employee. It was entirely her fault for never pointing it out. Neither could she now. “I don’t give a jot what Wellington is doing. He caused this whole thing, Alice.”

Her bow-shaped lips pressed together. “Yes, miss. I know he did—but still, after all he has done . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze wandered to the recently papered-over bullet holes.

Alice had the ability to cut anyone, even Eliza, down to size. Quite impressive considering her curly red hair and impish appearance.

Douglas looked from one woman to the other in pain but still dumfounded by this little exchange.

“Yes.” Eliza pursed her lips. “Wellington has done quite enough. Including breaking the rules of the game quite terribly.”

“He didn’t break the rules,” Douglas corrected. “He just directed his passions on me.”

“I am sure he had plenty of reasons.” Alice put her hands on her hips, before reluctantly adding, “Miss.”

Then when her employer shot her an aggravated look, she finally took the cue and stomped out of the room to the accompaniment of pistons hissing. Eliza noted that though her prosthetics always gave Alice a heavy step, this time they were even louder.

Douglas tilted his head and watched her. “It’s hard to imagine you with a maidservant, Eliza, but somehow that one seems to suit you.”

“You mean with her prosthetic legs?”

“No.” He grinned. “With her attitude.”

“Yes, well, Alice was not exactly born to service.” Eliza rummaged around in her cupboard until she found a large jar of the company-issue ointment. Unscrewing the lid she peered in. “Oh dear, I think I have only a little left.” She glanced up and gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. “I do tend to go through rather a lot of it.”

“I can imagine.” Cautiously, Douglas felt his chest. “I’m no expert but I think I may have at least a bruised rib or two.”

“Well then,” Eliza swallowed, trying to find the next few words—but there really were no two ways about it. “Take off your shirt.”

Douglas was looking at her with those ridiculously bright blue eyes, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. She heard rather than saw him do as he was bidden. Miss Eliza D. Braun had seen her fair share of naked men’s chests; she had caused not a few of them to get that way. She could certainly not be considered a wallflower, and yet memory made this quite a different situation. Perhaps she should have let Alice and her relentless efficiency do this part.

Steadying her nerves, she dipped her fingertips into the mint-smelling cream and began to smear it on. She did not hurry.

“This reminds me of how we first met.” She could feel Douglas’ voice, low and entrancing, through her flesh and bone. “You were less gentle then.”

Eliza swallowed hard but could not avoid the recollection. She’d been only a mere slip of a thing working at her father’s pub. She’d been used to the cursing and the occasional intimate suggestion when her dad had his back turned. When a sailor fresh off a whaling ship offered to show her his harpoon, a tall stranger had leapt to her defence. The resulting brawl had been one of the more spectacular the pub had ever seen, and had required Eliza’s father, brothers, and naturally, herself to get involved. When she’d slid over the bar and leapt into the melee, she hadn’t really taken much notice of her defender.

It was only later, when she’d helped him get up off the floor, that she’d felt a flash of heat. Even nursing an amazing shiner, Douglas had been handsomer than any man she’d ever met. While her father wasn’t looking she’d poured him a beer, and fetched ice for his wounds.

Eliza flinched. “I didn’t know any better. I’ve amassed a lot of practice since then.” She leaned over and picked up the roll of bandages next to the jar of ointment, but Douglas stopped her hand.

“I know things are different now”—he paused—“but I never forgot you. There’s no one quite like you, Eliza.” Now it was his fingertips that brushed her skin, skimming over her face, and there was the ghost of remembered caresses that went with it.

She’d loved him. He was her first love, her first everything. She’d thought she’d lost him, and now Fate had played her a kindly card—he was here again, with her. Everyone at the Ministry thought she was as tough as nails, impulsive, as brave as any man. Yet, she had not always been that way, and a small part of the agent wanted to go back to that place where she had been young, full of hope and possibilities.

When Douglas shifted, slid his arms around her, and pulled her onto his lap, she let him. He smelt warm and intoxicating, the exertion of the rugby bringing out the musk, and she was positive that his skin would taste like salt should she put her tongue to it. Exactly as it had when Eliza had first let him hold her. Douglas’ hands slid over her shoulders and tangled in her hair.

“You haven’t forgotten, have you?” he whispered against her neck, the warmth of it sending shivers along her spine.

Turning, she looked him in the eye, their lips only scant inches apart. It had been a heady few days, and Eliza could feel her heart racing in her chest. It was impossible for her to forget him, the long antipodean summers, lying in the sand dunes, their hands on each other. Civilisation quite forgotten in primal sensation.

“No,” she replied softly, “I have most certainly not forgotten.”

Then Douglas Sheppard smiled and kissed her. His lips and tongue on hers were sweet, like a memory of sunlight. He tasted of sweat, loss, and melancholy. Still, such things could stir passion, and Eliza wrapped her arms around him, feeling his warmth kindle hers. As his hands pulled her tighter, she knew they would end up in bed. She’d wanted him so badly after her exile to London. She’d dreamt of him and of this moment.

Yet, as his fingers slid up her thigh and his teeth began to describe sharp little circles on her neck, a sudden thought nearly stopped her enjoyment of this moment. Wellington had broken the rules. Wellington lived for the rules.

Douglas’ fingers brushed the top of her stocking, sliding under it. The stab of lust brought a gasp to her lips.

Wellington had only ever broken the rules for her. Dammit, these thoughts were getting in the way.

“There are far too many clothes between us,” Eliza growled, tearing off her jacket and fumbling with her blouse. She heard a few buttons clatter against the floor. The cool air felt good against her skin.

“Now
that’s
the Eliza Braun I remember,” Douglas cooed. “My sweet, little Eliza,” he whispered kissing the tops of her breasts.

Beneath her corset, she could feel her skin warming, her body wanting . . .

Even as her mind screamed over and over again,
Wellington broke the rules
for me.

Suddenly, when those blue eyes looked into hers, her warmth dropped away, and a chill sadness descended. They should have been hazel.

Eliza slipped off Douglas’ lap, tearing herself away from his hands, and stood up suddenly. “Eliza?” He was a little
breathless
too.

This is quite ridiculous, she told herself. In her first year in London, she’d dreamt of this very moment. When alone in the privacy of her bedroom, she’d shed tears over this man, all the time hoping he did not hate her. Now, here he was, half-clothed, kissing her the way she yearned to be kissed, and yet it was completely the wrong man.

She began to understand why men thought of her sex as fickle. Yet, as she turned around and looked down at Douglas she understood that she was not that girl who had slid across the bar to stop the proud son of a good family being beaten to an early grave. Too many experiences separated her from that person.

“I’m sorry, Douglas.” Slowly, and with long breaths to calm herself, she began buttoning up her clothing. At least, where buttons remained.

“Sorry?” Those blue eyes were glazed with confusion and desire.

“This isn’t something that I can do. Not now.”

He cleared his throat. “I am sorry too, Eliza. I know our relationship in New Zealand was not exactly . . . proper.”

Rolling around in the sand dunes, making love recklessly as young people are wont to do. Despite all her jibes aimed at Wellington, she only fell into bed with men she loved—and she had not loved that many. One of them was here in the flesh, before her. Another had been killed in Bedlam without her ever telling him, nor doing anything about it.

In this moment of clarity she regretted many of her sharp-edged jokes aimed in Wellington’s direction.

“No,” Eliza sat on the chair opposite him. “It was perfectly improper, yet at the time I enjoyed it.”

“As did I,” he leaned forward, his arms on his knees, “But now it is time to confess something to you.” Despite her confused thoughts, she was intrigued, but she let him continue. He cleared his throat. “When Mother declared she was coming to London, I insisted on coming with her. I wanted to see you.”

“And why was that?”

Douglas pressed his lips together, and appeared to be searching for some words. The
perfect
words. Eliza waited patiently. “I’ve been on adventures all over the world. I’ve sailed up the Ganges, and climbed the Alps. Through all that I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Eliza replied in a flat voice. She was trying her very best not to be excited by this.

“I need you in my life.” Douglas took her hands into his, and pressed the palm of her hand to his lips. “Come away with me. Explore the world.”

Visions of adventures in exotic places around the globe popped into her mind. Safaris in Africa. Camel caravans over the Khyber Pass. That was certainly preferable to her servitude in the Archives.

“And if we are determined, maybe we can sort out that little problem in New Zealand. Please, let me take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” she murmured, a little distracted by all the other images crowding her brain.

“Yes,” he pressed, “I want to do that above all things. I think you need that too.”

That was like an ice bucket of water over her. Whatever her realisations about Wellington Books might have been, she was shocked by Douglas’ expectations.

“I think you had better leave,” she stated, jerking her hands free of his. “I appreciate you trying to take care of this poor, weak woman—but I think you should know the time for that has long passed.”

His eyes cleared, and then he flushed red. “What do you want of me, Eliza? I’ll have you know, Mother has introduced me to so many eligible young ladies I’ve lost count, but all I can think about is you.”

“And that is somehow my fault?” Eliza paused, feeling a new sensation warming her skin, but this heat was not out of wanton desire. She took a deep breath and continued. “Douglas, I am sorry that I preoccupy your thoughts in such a way, but that Eliza Braun isn’t me anymore. A lovely memory of days of innocence, certainly, but that wide-eyed girl no longer exists.”

“Given time, I’m sure you will come back to your true self,” Douglas implored. “You just have to put this English nonsense behind you, is all.”

Nonsense? Did this prat know how many times she had saved the Empire from imminent danger?
Nonsense?!

“Eliza, I have summited Kilimanjaro and Everest,” he said, his eyes growing deep and piercing as he confessed, “but I know now I am closest to Heaven when I am with you.”

Her head dropped to one side, an eyebrow crooking sharply. “Seriously?”

Douglas’ brow furrowed. “What?”

“Is this the part where I come running into your arms, and then clothing flies in all directions?”

He stammered. Apparently, this was not the Eliza Braun he had known in Aotearoa. “You used to love hearing me say such things.”

“I was young and foolish back then,” she stated. “Now I’m old and foolish.”

“Not that old, Eliza,” Douglas replied.

She knew he meant well, but suddenly she wanted him gone.

Eliza got up and walked to the window. Outside, a rain shower had cleared, and the hint of a sun was peeking over the tops of the buildings. It had taken her a long time to get used to the cold; the snow her town never saw, and the clawing fog that she could already see rolling in from the river.

Melancholy thoughts for lost times and feelings had taken her over ever since she’d encountered Douglas again. Understanding that was the first step in clearing her mind. “I’m glad you came to London, Douglas. To help your mother. Yet I wonder why you never did that for me—not in three years.” Her voice was calm as she turned back to him. “You see, I’ve spent that time thinking it was my fault. That I had destroyed everything, but
finally
, I’ve realised something. I wasn’t the one that could travel. You were.”