A smile dawned slowly, lazy and sensuous. She could not tear her gaze from his mouth. He slid one hand behind her neck. ‘You are very pretty, Ellie.’
His husky voice seduced her ears. He was the sun and she the moon, pulled inexorably into his orbit. She leaned closer. He dropped the cloth and enfolded her in his arms, his hand spanning the arch of her back, his breath warming her lips.
What was she doing? It felt so right, but was very, very wrong.
The door crashed back on its hinges.
Eleanor jumped back. The Marquess turned away, but not before she saw a glimmer of rueful amusement in those warm brown eyes.
‘Here you are,’ Sissy announced. Water from the bucket slopped over her shoes. She glanced around. ‘Gracious, and after you spent all day yesterday cleaning.’
Eleanor busied herself clearing the table and wiping away the soot, praying that Sissy would not notice her heated face or agitated breathing. ‘Put some water in the kettle and the rest in the sink.’ Her voice sounded different, throaty, rough.
The Marquess grabbed the bucket. ‘Let me. That is far too heavy a load for such a small person.’ He poured water in the kettle and hung it over the traitorously merry fire.
Eleanor laid the table and, while the water boiled, she covered the old wooden table with another threadbare cloth, dusted off the bread and pot of jam she’d dropped unceremoniously on the floor and brought cakes from the pantry. The Marquess helped Sissy move the chair and two stools to the table. Somehow he didn’t fit with Eleanor’s idea of a rake. He seemed no different than her brothers. Well, not quite like a brother, but nice, friendly and fun.
‘Goody,’ Sissy said, ‘cakes. We never have cakes unless Martin comes, and not always then.’
‘Martin?’ The Marquess looked enquiringly at Eleanor, but it was Sissy who replied.
‘Mr Martin Brown, he’s—’ began Sissy.
‘A relative of ours,’ Eleanor put in swiftly. Sissy knew the story they’d woven, but sometimes she forgot. ‘He works nearby on his cousin’s farm.’
‘Please sit down, my lord.’ Eleanor bobbed a curtsy and gestured to the chair. She and Sissy took the stools. Eleanor poured tea and Sissy passed him the plate of cakes.
‘Special cakes,’ Sissy said.
He popped one in his mouth. ‘They are delicious.’ He took another and Eleanor smiled. It was nice to have a compliment from someone like the Marquess.
‘How long have you lived here, Miss Brown?’ he asked in formal conversational tones.
‘Almost one month.’
‘I see.’ He glowered at the hearth. ‘That chimney should be cleaned.’ His gaze roamed the room. ‘The walls are damp.’
‘The roof leaks a little,’ Eleanor admitted.
‘And the stream outside overflows,’ Sissy said, placing her cup in its saucer with a decisive clink. ‘We had water running right through the kitchen. And frogs.’
‘Please don’t think I am complaining,’ Eleanor hurried to say. ‘We were lucky to find a place we could afford so close to the village.’
He looked at her curiously. ‘Miss Brown, you are not from around here. Your accent is not from Sussex. Indeed, you both sound almost…’
What had he been about to say. Educated? Noble? She’d made no attempt to change her or Sissy’s speech. Not in this particular role. Once more he’d surprised her, this time with his perception. She tried to keep the guilt from her voice and face while the lies she and Martin had concocted tripped glibly from her tongue. ‘We were brought up on a great estate, similar to your own. Our mistress was fond of my mother and allowed Sissy and me to be taught with her children. I plan to become a governess, but have as yet to find a suitable position.’
‘I like it here,’ Sissy said. ‘I found Miss Boots in the garden.’
‘Miss Boots?’ the Marquess asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘My cat,’ Sissy said. She ducked under the table and pulled out the kitten. ‘See, she has little white boots.’ She pointed to the cat’s tiny white feet and legs.
‘So she does,’ he said. He pulled out his watch, a plain silver thing. Nothing like the glittering piece she’d stolen. ‘You will forgive me,’ he said. ‘I have another engagement this afternoon.’
And here he was listening to a child’s artless chatter. Eleanor tried not to let the chagrin show on her face. ‘Please, do not let us keep you. Thank you for allowing me to pay my debt in some small measure.’
He shook his head. ‘The pleasure is mine, I assure you.’
And she believed him. Despite their apparently different stations, he showed not a smidgen of condescension. Why could she not have met him in her old life?
Oh, Lord, what was she thinking? This man had ruined her life. But somehow she no longer felt any hatred. After all, he’d saved them from a fiery fate. Her change of heart had absolutely nothing to do with all those other hot sensations. Or his kisses.
He shrugged himself into his jacket and picked up the hat and cane he had dropped on his way in. ‘I will certainly tell Mrs Briddle that Boxted village boasts one of the finest bakers in all of Sussex. I am sure you will hear from her very soon. Good day, Miss Brown, Miss Sissy.’ He bowed and, with a touch of the head of his cane to his forehead, departed.
Eleanor, with Sissy at her side, watched him stroll down the path from the doorway. He paused briefly on the wormy plank across the stream, looking down into the water for a moment, before mounting his horse.
‘Eleanor, that’s it,’ Sissy said. ‘You can bake cakes for Beauworth Court and we will be rich again.’
The hope in Sissy’s voice brought Eleanor down to earth with a painful jolt. If she didn’t find a way out of this morass soon, things were going to get a great deal worse. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’
‘I liked him,’ Sissy said. ‘He has nice brown eyes.’
‘You only like brown eyes because you have them, too.’
Sissy laughed. ‘Well, he likes you. He looked like he wanted to eat you instead of the cakes.’
Eleanor put a hand to her lips as she recalled the way she had melted at the brush of his mouth. The man was a practised seducer. How many other young women had he brought to ruin?
Not to mention that if he hadn’t called in the mortgage, they would not be in such desperate straits. Perhaps Martin’s ransom idea had merit after all.
Arriving back at the stables, Garrick found Johnson in the barn mending tack. ‘Where’s Dan? I want him to come with me on a small errand.’
‘I sent him to the kitchen for summat to eat. Got hollow legs, that lad ’as. Needs feeding up.’
Garrick nodded. ‘Saddle the quietest thing we’ve got for him, would you? I’ll look after Bess.’
They worked in the side-by-side stalls in silence for a few minutes.
‘Bright that lad ’e is,’ Johnson said to the jingle of a bit.
Garrick knew he meant Dan. He grunted agreement as he lifted his saddle on to the mare.
‘Good with the horses,’ Johnson continued. ‘You don’t have to tell him a thing more than once. ’Ad some rough treatment somewhere, I reckon.’
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