‘No.’
‘No?’
‘It will be for him to decide, once he comes round,’ said Beddows, as Lucien stirred and his eyes flickered.
Eleanor began to wonder whether there was more to the situation than met the eye. But at that moment Lucien stirred more vigorously, then he gave a cough and opened his eyes.
‘Lie still,’ said Eleanor, pushing him gently back onto the chaise-longue as he tried to get up.
‘E . . . Eleanor?’ His voice was weak, and his eyes did not focus.
‘Yes. I’m here.’
He closed his eyes, then opened them again. This time they focused on her. ‘What am I doing on the chaise?’
He tried to sit up.
‘You have had an accident,’ she said. ‘The lights blew out in the dining-room and you breathed in a lot of gas.’
He lay back, collapsing against the chaise, not yet strong enough to sit up. He lay quietly for a few minutes. Then, evidently gaining strength, he asked, ‘Why am I in the library?’
‘I found you unconscious, and dragged you in here to get you out of the foul air,’ said Eleanor.
He smiled weakly. ‘Eleanor, you surprise me more every minute.’
His eyes looked into her own, and she trembled. They were softer than she had ever seen them. Their blue was an ever-changing shade, now steely, now as blue as the heavens. And their depths drew her in.
‘It’s lucky Miss Grantham found you when she did,’ said Beddows. ‘If she hadn’t gone into the dining-room it could have been very nasty.’
Lucien looked at her enquiringly.
‘I will explain everything later. But for now you must rest.’
‘It will help me to do so if I know what happened,’ he said.
She could see that he meant it. ‘Very well. I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘I wanted to get a book from the library, so I came downstairs.’
‘It’s lucky for me you did.’ He tried to sit up again, and this time he managed to do it. Even so, although his feet were now on the floor, he leaned back against the chaise when he had accomplished it. He directed an enquiring look at Beddows. ‘I wonder why the burners blew out.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Beddows blandly. ‘But I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Lucien nodded.
Eleanor was relieved to see that his colour had improved, and that his breathing had returned to normal. He was shaking off his grogginess, and was looking more alert with every passing minute. It had been an anxious time - she did not want to admit to herself just how anxious - but to her relief she realized it had passed. He did not seem to have taken any permanent harm from the incident, and she was just grateful that she had not been able to sleep.
‘Even so, I don’t understand why you didn’t notice the lights blowing out,’ said Eleanor with a frown.
‘I must have dozed in my chair before it happened,’ he said. ‘If I was already asleep then I would not have noticed.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘That must be it.’ Even so, it surprised her. Lucien did not seem the type of man to fall asleep in his chair. Still, she could think of no other explanation.
‘The main thing is that no harm was done,’ said Beddows. ‘I’ll go and see if the gas has dispersed. It’s a wet night, and I don’t want to leave the windows open for too long.’
‘Do that,’ said Lucien.
Beddows left the room.
‘If you have recovered, then I should retire,’ Eleanor said.
‘Not yet.’
Something in his voice gave her pause.
‘It was fortunate for me you couldn’t sleep,’ said Lucien. ‘And even more fortunate that you were able to drag me from the room.’
‘Fear gave me strength.’
‘Fear?’
‘When I saw you, I thought . . . ’ She swallowed. ‘I thought you might be dead.’
He reached out and cupped her face in his hand.
‘Poor Eleanor. This is the second time something like this has happened to you today. You found Kendrick, too.’
The feel of his thumb stroking her cheek was wonderful. She wanted to turn her head and kiss his hand. So worn out was she by the night’s events that she only just managed to restrain herself.
‘That was different. Mr Kendrick was an evil man, a blackmailer and a thief. But you . . . ’
‘Yes, Eleanor?’
His hand stilled.
‘You . . . ’ She could not say what she really thought, so she said instead, ‘You are none of those things.’
There was a soft look in his eyes that made her insides melt.
‘Now that you are out of danger, I think I should retire,’ she whispered.
She was becoming aware of the fact that she was alone with him, and that if she stayed she would succumb to his charm. In the evening, over dinner, it had been different. Then they had been companions. But now the relationship had altered. The atmosphere had become charged, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to concentrate.
He looked at her searchingly. Then, as if seeing the sense of what she said, he replied, ‘Of course.’
He dropped his hand from her face.
She stood up and walked over to the door.
He rose, too.
‘Before you go, I want to thank you.’
His words halted her. She turned round to see him standing in the candlelight, his dark hair falling in a lock across his forehead. His eyes were no longer steely, they were soft and warm. His cravat was awry and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, but his dishevelment only made her heart race even more.
Without knowing what she was doing she took a step towards him.
He reached out his hand, and pushed her hair back from her face. He ran his hand over her unruly locks, as they cascaded over her shoulders, and he stroked her cheek.
Then bending his head he kissed her softly on her lips.
It was as gentle as the brush of silk. She felt herself grow light headed with the ecstasy of it. She had never known a kiss could be like that. It took her breath away.
At last he lifted his mouth from hers, but it had been so wonderful that she was filled with an insane urge to stand on tiptoe and kiss him all over again. It was only with the greatest difficulty that she held herself back.
‘You must be tired,’ he said tenderly. ‘You should go back to bed.’
She nodded mutely. It was all she could manage. She could not trust herself to speak. With great difficulty, she managed to turn round.
‘If you were looking for something to read,’ he said softly, ‘the novels are by the door.’
She shook her head. A novel could not satisfy her now. No mere words could live up to the kiss she had just experienced. Perhaps she would not sleep. But, waking or sleeping, she would certainly dream.
Of him.
Chapter Six
Eleanor’s feelings were mixed as she went downstairs the following morning. She knew that today would take her away from Lucien, and she felt that it was just as well, because she had let him kiss her, and, even worse, she had felt no shame. She had been unable to resist his magnetism, and that being so, it was better that she was going away.
But a part of her, an irrational and yet important part, could not bear to be parted from him, and all the colour he had brought into her life.
As she reached the bottom of the flight of stairs she made a determined effort to concentrate on more practical affairs. There was no trace now of the smell that had filled the hall in the night, she noticed. All the gas had gone, and the air in the house was fresh.
She went into the dining-room and was relieved to see that Lucien, who was sitting at the breakfast-table, looked none the worse for his experience of the night before.
‘You’re up early,’ he said. He stood up as she entered the room.
‘I was awake, so I thought I might as well rise.’
‘You couldn’t sleep?’ he asked.
‘No. Not very
well.’
His eyes lit with an expression she could not fully understand. Was it understanding? Or compassion? Or something deeper? She was not sure. And yet she knew that it stirred feelings in her once again. Feelings it would be wiser to ignore.
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Your adventures are over now. You will sleep well when you get home.’
Home! How strange it seemed to think of it. Life there was so calm and well-ordered. It was a complete contrast to the life she had known over the last few days.
And yet for some reason she did not agree with Lucien, that she would sleep well once she returned. Her adventures might be over, but they had changed her. She was no longer the Eleanor Grantham who had left Bath a few days ago. She was someone older, more experienced . . . and also more confused.
As she sat down at the table and unfolded a napkin she realized that her feelings towards Lucien were a mass of conflicting emotions. She had been angry with him to begin with for holding up the stagecoach, but now that she understood his reasons her feelings had changed.
He had not wanted to do it - she remembered his enigmatic words at the time, which now made sense: sometimes these things are necessary. He had done it, not for a wager or some other foolish reason, but to help his country and thereby save many lives.
In other ways, too, her feelings had started to change. She had discovered a softer side to his character, and she had come to realize they shared a strong rapport. They shared, too, a sense of humour, and the hours she had spent in his company had been the most exhilarating, the most fulfilling and the most enjoyable of her life.
But then, during the night, she had discovered something more again. That he mattered to her. Deeply. Because when she had seen him unconscious - when she had thought for one terrible moment that he could be dead - she had felt bereft. The depth of her feelings had alarmed her. How could she have such profound feelings for a man she had only just met? She did not know. But the fact remained that she did.
It was strange that Lucien, sitting across the table from her, had no idea what her feelings were. She did not even know what they were herself, but as she sought for an answer, one word leapt into the forefront of her mind.
Love.
She shook her head. No. It could not be. And yet that was the word that had pushed its way into her thoughts. She had not been looking for it. Indeed, at the age of six-and-twenty, she had been convinced that love had passed her by. But there it was, that idea, in her mind. Love.
She did not explore the idea further. No good could come of it. In a few hours time she would get on a stagecoach and never see Lucien again.
‘What is it?’ he asked, throwing her a quizzical look.
Startled out of her thoughts, she blushed.
‘Oh . . . that is to say, I don’t know what you mean.’
He regarded her closely. ‘You looked suddenly . . . bereft.’
‘Did I? I mean, no, how absurd. Why should I be bereft? I have done what I set out to do. I am overjoyed.’
He looked at her searchingly, and then to her relief he allowed the matter to drop.
‘Here.’ He poured her a cup of hot chocolate and handed her a plate of hot rolls. ‘You need to keep your strength up.’
She took the chocolate and drank it down, but she did so without enjoyment. She had no appetite and ate only to give herself enough energy to face the coming journey.
‘When you have finished, there is someone I want you to meet,’ said Lucien.
Eleanor looked at him enquiringly.
‘The disturbance last night has changed things,’ he said. He hesitated. ‘There’s just a possibility that we were seen leaving Mr Kendrick’s house. In case we were, and in case it puts you in danger, I want you to have someone with you, for protection. Don’t worry, the man I’ve chosen is very sensible. He won’t speak to you on your journey, or notice you in any way. In fact, he will seem like just another passenger on the stage coach. Nevertheless, he’ll be there if you need him.’
Eleanor was surprised. Then thoughtful.
She put down her cup. ‘You’re not convinced that the incident last night with the gas was an accident.’
He did not reply at once. Instead he looked at her, as if wondering what to say. Then, seeming to decide that he should tell her the truth, he said, ‘No. I think it might have been an act of sabotage.’
Eleanor nodded. The same thought had occurred to her.
‘But how was it done?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Do you think it was an attempt to put you out of the way, so that the military documents could be stolen back again?’ she asked.
‘It’s possible.’
‘And have they been taken?’ she asked practically.
He frowned. ‘No.’
‘Then why was it done?’
‘I don’t know. But remember, it’s no more than an idea. Gas is still in its infancy, and not very reliable. It might have blown out by accident after all. Even so, I’m not taking any chances. As soon as you’ve finished your breakfast I’ll introduce you to Cooper. He will make sure you are safe.’
Eleanor finished her hot rolls and chocolate, then Lucien rang the bell.
A minute later a burly man entered the room.
‘Miss Grantham, this is Cooper,’ said Lucien. ‘Cooper, this is the young lady you are going to be protecting.’
Eleanor looked Cooper up and down. He was enormous, being well over six feet tall, and he was built like an ox.
‘Miss Grantham,’ he said, making her a bow.
Eleanor returned his greeting. Despite his enormous size she felt safe with him, and she was touched that Lucien had thought of providing her with a bodyguard.
‘He will remain with you until I am sure there is no further danger. Perhaps you can find him something to do around the house? Something that will not arouse suspicion?’
Eleanor nodded. ‘I will think of something.’
His eyes held hers. There was something warm in them, and something unfathomable. Did he feel anything at the parting? she wondered. Just for a moment she thought he did.
And then he spoke. ‘Now it is time for you to go.’
Eleanor glanced at the clock. Her coach would be leaving shortly.
She gathered her things, and then Lucien saw her to the door.
‘I will not be coming to the coaching inn with you,’ he said. ‘It’s a busy place, and I will certainly be recognised. As the stage is going to Bath, there is a chance you will be recognised too. One of your neighbours, perhaps, might be on the coach. If so, being seen with me, unchaperoned, would ruin your reputation.’
Eleanor nodded. She knew that what he said made sense.
He took her hand, and then bending his head he kissed it.
She treasured the moment.
And then she was leaving. Saying her farewells, going out of the door, descending the steps, walking to the coaching inn, buying her ticket, taking her place in the stage. And saying goodbye to London, and everything she valued in it.
Once she had gone, Lucien stood looking at the door for a very long time.
The coach made its way west. Cooper, sitting on the seat opposite Eleanor, was guarding her conscientiously. He had already scared away an eager young gentleman who had tried to engage her in conversation, and he had politely suggested that a disreputable-looking man who had winked at her would be happier sitting on the roof.
Eleanor, looking at the countryside as it rolled past, saw none of it. She was lost in her own thoughts, remembering the moment when Lucien had kissed her the night before. It had meant nothing to him, of course, but it had meant a great deal to her.
But it would not do to encourage such thoughts. Her relationship with Lucien was over now, and she would not see him again.
At the thought, her spirits sank still further. She had finally met a man who had stirred her in ways she had never known existed and she had seen, through him, a glimpse of a brighter, ric
her life. But it was beyond her reach.
Perhaps I will meet someone else who will make me feel that way, she told herself bracingly. Now I know such feelings exist, I might rediscover them at some future date.
But she did not believe it.
It was not as if she had never met any other men. When her parents had been alive they had often entertained, and after that there had been Arabella’s London Season. True, she herself had been nothing but a chaperon at the time, but she had still attended numerous balls, parties and routs and had had an opportunity to meet many gentlemen. But none of them had interested her. Until she had met Lucien.
She must not think of it. Dwelling on the situation would only make things worse. She must think of other things. Fortunately, Arabella’s wedding would soon be upon her, and she would be busy until then, helping her sister to prepare for the big day. And afterwards . . . well, perhaps she would take a holiday. She had enough savings for a few days at the seaside, if she did not travel too far.
Pretending she had been cheered by this thought she focused her eyes on the scenery and did her best to enjoy the view.
‘I’ve checked everywhere,’ said Beddows, ‘and there’s no sign of a break-in.’
He was reporting back to Lucien, having examined every door and window in the house, but Lucien did not reply.
He was thinking of Eleanor, reflecting that by now she would be safely on the coach. As he thought of her intelligent face he knew he would never have forgiven himself if anything had happened to her. She had touched something inside of him that he had not known he possessed.
Women had come and gone in his life. He had regarded them as pleasant distractions from the grim reality of warfare, or the tedium of Society. But Eleanor was different. He did not know why it should be. She was spirited, that was true, and courageous, but those aspects of her character, whilst explaining the admiration he felt for her, could not explain the deeper feelings he had experienced whilst in her company.
He gave a wicked smile as he thought of the physical attraction he felt for her. It was too potent to be denied. She was not conventionally beautiful, and taller than the present fashions demanded, but she had intriguing eyes and a tempting mouth. Besides, the chemistry that existed between them was not dependent on beauty; it operated on a far deeper level.