Chapter 11
Elise woke up to the unsettling feeling of being watched. She blinked bleary-eyed and glanced around. She was alone in Prospero’s bed, but she wasn’t alone in the room. Her maid, Mary, stood at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, her face red. She looked ready to burst. It was the epitome of Mary in a fine fury.
“Milady!” Mary hissed. “What on earth are you thinking? You’re naked and in the wrong bed!”
“I’m not naked—” She sat up and gasped as the sheets fell away from her very bare skin. She frantically lifted the sheets up to her throat and realized she was quite naked after all. She hastily replayed the night’s events. Had they... No, she was certain she would have remembered if she’d actually made love with Prospero, at least fully.
But what had happened to the wrapping around her breasts, her shirt, and her waistcoat? Prospero must have undone them last night after she’d fallen asleep.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Mary demanded hotly.
Elise was used to her maid acting like her mother, but she was far too old to be lectured like a child. Rather than primly remind her maid of her position, Elise simply said, “My research went quite well last night, Mary. You must congratulate me. I drank whiskey at a gentlemen’s club, played cards, got into a fistfight, and I allowed Lord March to show me the finer points of what a man can do to bring a woman to pleasure. What do I have to say for myself? I say I had quite a splendid night.”
Her maid stared at her as if she’d grown an extra limb. The color drained from Mary’s face as she came closer and peered at Elise.
“Someone hit you? Was it March? I’ll—” She was building to a fury again, her hands curling around an invisible neck in the air. Dear, sweet Mary could be so bloodthirsty when wanting to protect her.
“It wasn’t March. It was a man who cheated at our card game. I turned the tables on him, and then the man called me a cheat and knocked me flat to the floor. Prospero nearly strangled him afterward. It was fascinating to watch men interact without the perceived presence of women around. I was able to watch them solve a territorial dispute amongst themselves. One minute this man was insulting Prospero, and the other men at the table clearly didn’t approve of his comments. After the fight, the man then tried to paint Prospero in an ill light, but not one person in the room would side with him. When they discovered this man was the one who had actually cheated, he was all but thrown out.” She realized she had just rambled excitedly the way she did when discovering something new like a subspecies of insect that she’d never seen before.
Mary cupped Elise’s chin and studied her face, turning it this way and that, examining the bruise.
“Your eye is purple, milady. How will you explain that to your father?” She tsked and frowned while examining her for other injuries.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Have you seen Lord March this morning?” Now that the excitement over last night’s events was fading, she became all too aware that she was still naked in his bed and he was not here. Where was he?
“He’s dining with your father. Unlike you, he managed to get up at a reasonable hour.”
Elise frowned. She never slept late. This was twice now that she’d failed to wake at an appropriate hour.
“Are they getting along?”
“Quite well,” Mary said. “Apparently, your father plans to introduce Lord March to his business partners later this week.” Mary had no qualms about eavesdropping when it served a purpose. And anything Mary could tell her about the goings-on in the house that she might not be privy to was information she needed.
Using the sheet as a wrap around her body, Elise left the bed and rushed to her own chamber to change, Mary at her heels.
She put on a pretty plum-colored day gown with one of the more elaborate bustles. There was a small part of her that was growing to enjoy dressing a tad more feminine, at least for part of the day. She always dressed with elegance and style, but now she found herself choosing gowns she usually reserved for more formal occasions. The silver and gold beading on the bodice formed small patterns of leaves, and the hem glittered in the sunlight when she finally entered the dining room.
Prospero’s eyes lit up when he saw her enter. Her face flushed, flooded with memories of him touching her between her thighs.
Oh Lord... It was strange and wild to think that she had allowed him to do all that to her last night, and that he’d stripped her while she’d slept. She was going to have to speak to him about that, though not with her father in the room.
“Ah, Elise, I’m glad to see you up and about.” Her father’s voice called her attention to him. Both he and Prospero stood upon her entrance into the room.
“Good morning, Papa.”
“What happened to your eye?” her father asked, a storm building in his voice as he got a better look at her face.
“I got into a fight last night,” Elise quickly explained.
“With who? Not March!”
“No. March rescued me. We were drinking at Berkeley’s club and playing cards. A man named Swinton started insulting March, and I decided to take the fellow for his entire pocketbook in the card game. He called me a cheat and hit me.”
Her father turned to Prospero. “Is this true?”
“I fear it is. I never imagined a gentleman in my club would engage in such low behavior. I wouldn’t have brought Elise there if I had known it would happen. Swinton was ejected from the club shortly after the incident.”
“Prospero nearly strangled him,” Elise added with pride. “The man’s face was turning blue, and his feet were dangling in the air. That’s when a card fell out of his sleeve, and it turned out he’d been the one cheating.”
“You nearly strangled a man?” John asked Prospero.
“I... er... wasn’t really aware of it. I simply grabbed him and was warning him not to touch Elise when someone pointed out that he was unable to breathe. I admit I was not so gentlemanly as I ought to have been.”
“It has been my experience that one does not have to play the gentleman when around someone who doesn’t deserve it. I don’t dare to think what I might have done had it been me.”
“I will cover the bruise with some powder,” Elise assured her father. She probably should have done it before coming down to breakfast, but she’d forgotten in the midst of reliving Prospero’s introduction to passion last night.
Her father’s eyes softened as he looked at her, completely worried. “You must not get into any more dangerous situations like that. If anything had happened to you...”
“You would have less to worry about,” she teased.
“Never joke about that.” Her father’s tone hardened a little. “I only survived losing your mother because I had you to live for.”
Elise bit her lip. “All right. No more dangerous outings,” she promised.
Her father cleared his throat and tried to resume his usual good humor. “Dare I ask what mischief you will be up to today?” he asked.
“Research,” Elise corrected.
Prospero cut in. “Well, I thought we might interview staff this morning for my home, then go riding in Hyde Park. I am under orders from your daughter to buy a horse.”
Her father barked out a laugh. “She does love riding. Buy a good beast or you’ll never keep up with her.”
“I shall heed your advice,” Prospero said solemnly, but Elise saw a hint of mischief behind his seriousness.
“Then I shall leave you both to your day. Elise, do not forget that we have a ball this evening at the Marquess of Rochester’s home.”
“A ball? Papa, you know I don’t like to?—”
“I have already informed our host we will both be there. I also requested permission to bring Lord March, and Rochester has agreed. It seems he and March know each other.” Her father looked to Prospero for confirmation.
“Yes. We went to Eton together. I haven’t seen him since my return, but I will be glad to renew the acquaintance.”
“There you have it, Elise. You may continue your study of the male specimen at the ball this evening.” Her father chuckled and kissed her cheek on the way out of the dining room. Prospero pulled out a chair for her so she could sit opposite him.
He nodded at the sideboard. “Shall I?”
“Oh, you don’t have to?—”
“Please, allow me.” He gave her a look that set butterflies loose in her belly. He was most insistent about tending to her needs. Many men simply did what society expected them to do for women, but Prospero’s actions seemed to come from a deeper need to care for others. She wasn’t used to that. She had her father, and Mary, of course, but what Prospero did felt different. She’d never wanted to care for any man, save her father, but something about how Prospero treated her made her want to do the same for him.
“Here are the candidates your butler believes we should start with.” Prospero placed a stack of letters in front of her, then began preparing a plate of food for her.
There were applications from a butler, a housekeeper, several upstairs maids, and some footmen as candidates. She read them all while she nibbled on her breakfast.
“These seem quite suitable, but we should conduct in-person interviews to be sure that you like them personally. It would be a terrible thing to hire someone that you find out later on you cannot stand.” She finished her toast and licked the marmalade from her fingers before she realized he was watching her. She blushed.
Prospero crossed his arms and stared at her as she slid her fingertip out of her mouth.
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Shall we send a request to meet with them soon?”
“It’s already done. Roberts took care of it. They will start arriving at my townhouse in about ten minutes.”
“Heavens!” She leapt from her chair and snatched up the letters. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You needed rest and food,” he said simply, as if that was a proper excuse for tardiness.
“I must powder my eye to hide that blasted bruise first. I shall join you in the entryway.” She rushed upstairs to her bedchamber and quickly applied some face cream and powder to conceal the bruise. It was still tender to the touch, but icing it the night before had kept it from swelling.
When she returned to the entranceway, Prospero was waiting, fingers tapping on the top of the black hat he held in his hands. He smiled in a soft way that made her chest ache. She’d never been looked at that way before.
“Shall we?” He put on his hat and offered her his arm. They stepped out into the morning sunlight together.
* * *
John watched the young pair cross the street arm in arm from his room one floor above. He frowned as he considered his daughter and the Earl of March together. It seemed Prospero Harrington could be a dangerous man, given what he’d heard about last night’s encounter with this Swinton fellow. But was that danger something that would harm his child, or protect her?
He saw something move out of the corner of his eye, and he turned, trying to catch sight of what he’d just seen. It had seemed so familiar...
“Eloise?” He moved away from the window and followed the figure that escaped his vision.
A soft, warm laugh filled the hall.
“Oh, John... stop worrying. She’ll be fine...” His wife’s voice echoed back to him. His arm ached with a dull pain, but he pushed it away.
“Eloise!” He called his wife’s name again as he saw a flutter of skirts vanish around another corridor.
“Wait!” he called out. It had been too long since he’d heard her, and oh God, how he missed the sound. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, he stumbled and called her name again.
“Sir!” Roberts lunged to catch him before he fell. “What’s the matter?”
“Roberts, my wife... She’s...”
“She’s what, sir?” the butler asked, eyes full of concern.
John knew what the man was going to say. Gone. She was gone. Been gone for years.
But he’d heard her voice, and he’d seen her, even if only for a brief instant.
“Sir, I believe it’s time we summoned the doctor.” Roberts took a more commanding tone, and for the first time, John let his servant tell him what to do.
“Yes, the doctor... of course. Roberts... I must talk with you. I must see that Elise is looked after... if... when...” He didn’t have the breath to finish.
“Of course, sir. Of course,” Roberts assured him as he helped John into the nearest sitting room and shouted for a footman to fetch a doctor immediately.
John put a hand on his chest, breathing slowly as he watched the sunlight cut wide beams into the room. The dust twirled and danced, and he thought for a moment, just a moment, that Eloise was there, watching him, made of half dust, half sunlight, existing in some world and place beyond his mortal imagining.
But he had seen her, he had...
* * *
Adam Jackson leaned against the lamppost, watching March and some woman cross the street to another house. The house was March’s townhouse—or rather, his late father’s. The front garden was a mess, and the home had an empty, decayed feeling that came with places abandoned by people for long periods of time. That gave Adam a sense of justice, to know that March’s once beautiful townhouse was in such a state that it would take quite a fortune to salvage.
March had no money, Adam had discovered that with discreet inquiries made around town to men he could trust. The rumors that the late earl had let the estate fall apart after March left for France were in fact true. March had nothing but the clothes upon his back, his father’s debts looming over him, and that townhouse, which, no doubt, was a shambles inside. So what could make his enemy smile with such joy? It had to be that woman upon his arm. A rich heiress, perhaps? Someone who could erase all of March’s debts? Adam’s brows lowered at the thought that March could fix his problems so easily. The murderous bastard had the devil’s own luck.
Adam removed his pocket watch and checked the time. It was still quite early for male callers to arrive at a woman’s residence. Yet March was strutting about with that young woman with far too much familiarity. He’d worked quickly to find a rich woman to seduce in just a matter of days. If Adam hadn’t wanted to see the man dead, he would have admitted to being impressed.
A chimney sweep and a young lad assisting him walked past, carrying their buckets in one hand and their brushes in the other.
He caught the man’s arm to halt him. “Excuse me.”
The man turned a weary, soot-stained face toward Adam. “Yes, guvnah?”
“Who lives in that house there.” Adam pointed to the house March had just left.
“That’d be the Hamblin place.”
“You don’t say...” Adam tossed the man a coin, which he pocketed and continued on his way, the lad trundling after him.
Hamblin. That was the girl’s name from the betting book at Berkley’s. Elise Hamblin. The one De Courcy had wagered March would marry by Christmas. From what Adam had seen of her, the girl was pretty. Adam liked pretty women. They were even prettier when they cried after he’d slapped them around a bit. Women were only good for one thing. Even his little sister was a useless little bit of muslin. She’d traded her favors and destroyed his family’s reputation in society, and now Adam had to clean up her mess. He’d thought he’d be done dealing with her once she’d married, but then her useless husband had gone and died, sending Adam’s sister back under his control, much to his own frustration. With a low growl, he focused his thoughts back on March. He would deal with his sister later; for now he needed to focus on the man who’d killed his brother.
A slow smile spread across his lips at the thought of March’s woman on her knees, tears in her eyes. So March had an Achilles’ heel, it seemed. A plan began to emerge within Adam’s mind. His smile widened so much that it stretched his face tight.
You will hurt, March. You will lose everything, and when it’s done you’ll hang.