Chapter 9
Elle was over being a part of high society London in a big way. The dances and beautiful gowns and spectacle of it all had lost its novelty after the first month. Now, all she wanted was to return to Chestwick Hall, to spend time in the gazebo that Jocelyn had given her, to just have a minute to be her again. She needed to get away from all of the suffocating teas and promenades and dances and etiquette and tradition and—ugh! She wanted to scream. It was just too much.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her home, about the fact that she may never return there. Could this really be her life now? Being something pretty for a man to gawk at? What the fuck was she supposed to do if she really was stuck here? Maybe she could go back to America, though the thought of being on a boat for weeks on end crossing the Atlantic before things like GPS and the Coast Guard made that a less than appealing option. But she couldn’t just stay here, the spinster niece of Jocelyn MacTavish who lurked around their house like a ghost, could she? Surely that would cause people to talk, and if there was one thing she’d learned about these people, it was that they loved to fucking talk. It was a non-stop gossip factory and Elle loathed the idea of being in the center of it. Or well, she would hate if she was the reason that Jocy and Callum were. She didn’t really care what people thought or said about her, personally.
Alexander Kentworth hadn’t come to call on her again—though too many others had and she was seriously contemplating throwing herself down the stairs just to get a break from them—but their paths did continue to cross. He came to dinner at the MacTavish manor several times, and the two of them had mostly ignored each other, only having the scantiest of conversations which mostly consisted of the necessary pleasantries—How are you faring, Miss Montgomery? Well, thank you for asking—all said in polite but clipped tones. Jocy and Callum had seemed both curious and amused by the obvious animosity between them.
As much as Elle hated the dinners, she couldn’t deny that she loved the way Rose lit up whenever Alec was around, and, to her surprise, Alec let his mask fall away whenever he was around Rose. Sometimes he’d laugh or share in some secretive joke with her from their childhood, an easy smile on his face that made Elle’s pulse race, and she wondered if this could really be the same guy who looked down his nose at everyone. Sometimes he’d catch her watching them and clear his throat, stiffening and pulling the mask back into place. Rose would just roll her eyes, as if she were used to him acting like someone else around other people, but she knew the true Alec and was alright keeping his secret.
At each ball, their eyes would inevitably meet across the room throughout the night, him usually staring at her with some mixture of irritation and interest that she didn’t understand, but always got under her skin. He would ask her to dance and she would agree, sometimes because she knew it was expected of her to, and others to simply get away from other men like Henry Astley. Henry had taken a keen interest in her, coming to call almost every day and constantly asking her to walk with him in the park. He was handsome and cordial enough, but he just gave off that vibe, the one that said I am better than everyone else and you are a stupid, insignificant woman who should do nothing but worship at my feet and live in my bed and give me babies and be grateful for it.
And with the way he always seemed to make sure they danced close to Alec, walked past him as they strolled through the park, it was as if he were trying to flaunt her in Alec’s face. Why, she had no idea, but who was she to understand an obvious dick-measuring contest between two nineteenth-century gentlemen. Either way, when it came to Henry, she was glad that unmarried women and men couldn’t be alone together. He seemed mostly harmless, but he was just one of those guys you wouldn’t necessarily want to be the last girl at the bar with.
Each dance with Alec was…interesting. They both held themselves stiffly, clearly annoyed to be near each other, but there was also an attraction there that she couldn’t deny. The air seemed to thicken all around them when they danced, the tension nearly suffocating in its intensity. Their bodies so close together, electricity thrumming in the small space between them, the promise of something dark and carnal waiting in the shadows if they would just let it out. If she’d been at home, she knew without a doubt that they would have anger banged a time or twelve, and it would be the best sex of her life.
But here, she simply had to dance with him and clench her teeth as her body betrayed her mind. Afterwards, they’d part ways, both flushed and irritated, until the next time when they did it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
She didn’t think she could deal with him tonight, though, and hoped this was an evening that he decided to go to a brothel or whatever the hell it was that men did in these times, instead of attending the ball. She was quiet as they rode to Lord Yorkshire’s mansion. The day had been a hard one for her: it was supposed to have been her wedding day. Though she knew that not being with Ashton was the best thing, it still all hit her hard that morning as she lay in her four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t so much that she missed him, exactly, it was more just a gut-punch reminder that her life had been completely uprooted. Everything had changed so quickly, even before being sucked back through time. She’d caught her fiancé cheating on her, mere months before their wedding, and despite the fact that she knew without a doubt that they really weren’t meant to be together, thinking about how they’d been at the beginning and how they’d slowly drifted apart without even seeming to notice, or care, hit her doubly hard today. If she hadn’t caught him, if she hadn’t been brought back in time, would she have gone through with the wedding, even knowing deep down that it wasn’t right? She honestly wasn’t sure, and that was a scary thought.
She’d been flip-flopping all day between crying and being so pissed she wanted to punch something. She didn’t want to be stuck in the 1800s. She wanted to be back in her own house, in her own bed, binge watching Netflix and playing The Last of Us. She wanted a double bacon cheeseburger and a beer. She wanted to go out dancing with her friends and maybe find a random stranger to make her forget how shitty her stupid ex-fiancé was. She wanted a hot shower for fuck’s sake! She just wanted her life back, even if it was a life that looked different than she planned.
“Are you alright?” Jocy asked her quietly as they gently swayed with the movement of the carriage.
“Fine,” Elle said, trying her best not to snap. “Fine…enough,” she amended.
Jocy looked concerned, but nodded, knowing Elle well enough already to realize that talking it through was not going to help matters right now. Elle had always been one of those people who just needed time to process things on her own. Constantly being nettled to talk about it or asked what was wrong only made things worse—and usually ended with Elle lashing out on a big scale. She’d regret it later, not even really understanding why she’d gotten quite so mad, and wasn’t too proud to apologize when she needed to, but it was just how she was wired. She would talk with Jocelyn about it later, would appreciate her ear and her insight and the hugs she would inevitably give, but right now, Elle just needed to not talk about her life. She needed to not think about it either, but that part wasn’t coming so easily.
She had debated all day if she was going to attend the ball that evening, and Jocy said she’d be more than happy to tell everyone that she was ill, but eventually Elle decided being alone with her thoughts would be worse than dealing with people all night.
She’d been wrong.
As soon as they arrived and she’d been bombarded by men eager for conversation and dancing, she realized her mistake. It was just too much. Too many in-her-face reminders of how very off-course her life had veered in the past months. She saw Alec across the room and knew she couldn’t escape a conversation with him tonight without it ending in a fight. That would be most unbecoming of a lady, so she grabbed a glass of something off of a table, gathered her heavy skirt, and quickly made her way outside, hoping to hide for a while.
The large stone patio off the back of the house was dotted here and there with people admiring the grounds illuminated in the distance by what seemed like hundreds of lanterns held on iron posts. A wide expanse of perfectly trimmed grass sat just off of the patio, and a grand hedge maze and gardens lay beyond that.
Elle wandered to the left side of the patio, thankfully empty of other party-goers. There were torches burning brightly at intervals around the space, but much of it was still in shadow. She wished she could just disappear within them. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe around all of the emotions knotting in her throat: despair, betrayal, pain, sorrow, anger, longing. She knew she wasn’t meant to be with Ash, but it still hurt to think about how their relationship had ended, it still hurt to think about the fact that right now, if things hadn’t gotten so fucked, she would be someone’s wife, mistake or not.
She closed her eyes and fought back tears, honestly not even sure what she was crying about.
“Escaping so early in the evening?” Alec’s voice drawled from just behind her.
She gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers around the glass in her hand. She hadn’t even taken a sip yet, she realized, and wondered how long she’d been out there, staring into the distance but not seeing much of anything, lost in her thoughts. She opened her eyes just as he came to stand near her at the stone railing that ran along the right and left sides of the porch, the back open to the grass just beyond.
“What do you want?” she snapped in a low voice. She knew she shouldn’t speak to him this way, but with no one else near enough to hear them, she figured it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what he thought, after all. She was still keeping up appearances in general for Rose’s sake, but Elle didn’t really give a fuck about Alexander Kentworth’s opinion of her at this point.
He arched a brown brow, his lips thinning in irritation. Good. Be irritated. Give me a reason to lash out. She was practically itching for a fight.
“A bit of air,” he replied, eyeing her. The fire light flickered across his face, throwing shadows across his cheeks and making his eyes look nearly black.
“Get your air elsewhere,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“And who are you, exactly, to tell me where I can and cannot go to breathe?” he said in that haughty tone she hated.
***
Eleanor looked absolutely breathtaking that evening, wearing a silk gown of deep crimson, almost the color of wine, that flowed over her body like a river. Her hair was pulled into an elegant knot at the back of her head, drawing his attention to the delicate column of her throat, making him wonder what it might be like to press his lips there, to feel her pulse race beneath his tongue…
But she seemed off tonight, stiff and distant in a way he hadn’t seen in all these weeks. Sure, she was never thrilled to see him, annoyance radiating from the lines of her body whenever she spied him, but this was different. Was something wrong? He didn’t know why he cared. He shouldn’t care. But here he was, making his way towards her in the soft torch light. She didn’t even notice his approach, seemingly completely lost in thought. Her eyes were shut and her shoulders slumped, as if she were upset. No, not just upset, she looks…defeated. He ached to know why, and part of him wanted to help, to clear that look from her beautiful face, to make her smile.
He told himself it was just curiosity, nothing more, but even that irritated him. Why was he constantly drawn to this girl despite her clear lack of interest in him? Perhaps that was precisely why. No other woman had ever so obviously disliked him before. It was novel, but also grated on his pride.
She was clearly in a mood, her defeated look disappearing as soon as he’d spoken to her, anger taking its place. She usually at least attempted to maintain a semi-civil tone, but not tonight.
“And who are you, exactly, to tell me where I can and cannot go to breathe?” he asked in a peevish tone when she told him to get air elsewhere. He knew the moment the words left his mouth that he’d made a mistake, and guilt flared in his chest. She was obviously upset and he was provoking her, just because he could, because he found amusement in it. Usually, anyway. Now, he wished he could take the words back. To his surprise, when she whirled on him, instead of tears, her eyes blazed with something very close to rage. He reared back slightly, not expecting this intense of a reaction.
“You arrogant, pompous, pretentious prick!” she hissed. Alec blinked, not sure he was hearing her correctly. Had she…had she truly just called him a prick?
He stared at her, clenching and unclenching his jaw, nostrils flaring. The guilt had dissolved like sugar in water the instant she turned that burning hatred on him. He was constantly torn between intrigue and irritation with this girl, between wanting to be near her and to stay as far away as possible.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Her voice was raised, but still low enough that she wasn’t drawing too much attention from the other people milling about.
His temper flared. Who was she to speak to him this way?...And why couldn’t he leave her alone?
“I find you…vexing,” he finally ground out.
“Then I suggest you stop finding me at all,” she snapped before tossing the contents of her cup down in one large swallow and shoving the empty glass into his chest. His hands flew up in surprise, gripping the glass as she let go. She gathered her skirt in her hands and strode away from him, determined to go where, he had no idea—she was walking off of the stone patio, out into the night. He followed on her heels, catching up to her in a few long strides and giving a reassuring smile to the older couple admiring the ironwork over the doors leading back inside.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded just as she stepped off of the stone and out into the grass. She whirled, seemingly burning with a rage he didn’t understand, practically shaking with it. He knew she disliked him, but this seemed like an overreaction, even if he had been a bit of an ass.
“I know that everyone in this ti—” She pressed her lips into a hard line, shaking herself, and his brows drew down in confusion. “—in this place thinks that a woman couldn’t possibly have a single thought without the assistance of a man, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of storming off in a huff on my own!”
If looks could kill a man, he would have been slain on the spot ten times over. He held up one palm in surrender, still holding her glass in the other, and she turned on her heel to storm off in a huff, as she’d put it. Alec watched her go, not taking his eyes from her until a butler approached. He gave the man a wry smile and handed him Eleanor’s empty glass.
“Ladies,” Alec breathed ruefully, as if that explained Eleanor’s outburst fully, and the butler inclined his head with a knowing smile.
“Yes, sir.”
The two shared an amused moment, but it was interrupted by a scream piercing the night. Eleanor? Alec and the butler exchanged worried glances before Alec ran in the direction of the sound, the other man not far behind. Others from the patio followed, though Alec quickly left them behind as he raced forward. His heart thundered in his chest as he ran across the grass, slightly damp with evening dew.
He skidded to a stop at the edge of a small drop in the lawn and saw Eleanor in a heap on the ground, clutching at her ankle. She was muttering curses under her breath—some he knew quite well and was surprised to find she did, as not many ladies would have heard such things; others he didn’t understand and assumed were American terms. What on earth was a “fucking fuckity fuck”?
The others arrived and she glanced up. She stared at them standing above her, face pinched in pain and flushed with what he believed to be embarrassment. He felt a tiny flare of pity for the girl: no one had warned her of the Yorkshire’s famed “stepping lawn”—it dropped off at intervals, like an expansive staircase made of earth.
Alec hopped down and knelt beside her.
“Are you alright?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line and glared at him, looking like she was prepared to ignore him completely, but when he gave her a stern look, she sighed in defeat. A lock of golden hair fell across her temple as she nodded.
“I’m fine, it’s just my ankle.”
She shooed him away and stood, only to gasp in pain and nearly topple. She clutched at his arm to steady herself, and without thought, Alec scooped her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped around her back. She inhaled sharply in surprise, but quickly snaked one arm around the back of his neck to steady herself. He ignored the way her body felt in his arms, the warmth of her skin burning through his coat and shirt. Despite their shared irritation of one another, he’d felt the pull between them when they danced, but this was something entirely different. It was intense and addictive and dangerous. It felt…combustible, like gunpowder just waiting for a single spark. Did she feel it as well? He swallowed hard and kept his thoughts from spiraling.
He knew he’d never be able to hold her like this under normal circumstances and he felt himself grip her tighter against him. Enjoy it while I can. Her breath hitched, and though he could feel her eyes on him, he didn’t allow himself to meet her gaze. If he did, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t do something incredibly horrid and unrefined, like kissing her in front of God and everyone in the Ton. But my God, it might be worth it, he thought as he inhaled deeply. Her floral, sunny smell enveloping him as it always did when they were near each other.
The others were in tizzy as the small caravan made its way back towards the house, chittering loudly about the hows and whys and how many broken bones she might have. Alec rolled his eyes, already imagining the way gossip would spread through the ballroom.
“This way, sir,” the butler said, leading them to a study down the hall from the ballroom. Alec could still hear the music faintly in the background. He sat Eleanor down on the sofa near the fireplace as lanterns flared to life all around the room, the man seeming to be everywhere at once. He was very efficient.
Alec knelt before the couch and reached for her leg. She flinched backwards and hissed in a pained breath.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m examining your ankle.”
“Why?”
“Well, that is typically what a physician does when someone is injured,” he said blandly. Her mouth popped open but before she could speak, Alec turned to the butler. “Would you fetch some water, some strips of cloth, and whisky?” he asked, just as Lady MacTavish came into the room.
“Elle!” she exclaimed. “What happened? Someone said you fainted!” Alec’s lips quirked. The gossip had spread even faster than he would have guessed.
“I didn’t faint,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I just fell.”
“Fell?”
“The Stepping Lawn,” Alec supplied helpfully.
“Oh my heavens,” Jocy said, hand flying worriedly to her mouth, “I should have thought to warn you.” Her brow furrowed. “But why were you out there in the dark in the first place?”
“Storming off in a huff, I believe,” he said dryly. Eleanor shot him a glare and Jocy gave him one of those calculating looks of hers, her lips curling ever so slightly as she seemed to figure out that Eleanor’s annoyance at him had been the root cause of the fall.
“Are you alright, dear?” Jocy asked, brushing the wayward lock of hair from Eleanor’s face. It was such a motherly gesture and Alec could see plainly how much Jocy loved the girl.
“It’s just my ankle,” she said, giving Jocy a pained half-smile.
“Alec, is she truly alright?”
“I won’t be sure until she allows me to examine her,” he said, looking pointedly at Elle. He’d grown to like the shortened version of her name, and though he’d been trying to use her proper name, even in his head, he finally gave in. Elle met his gaze and rolled her eyes, but nodded, making his lips quirk.
He gently gripped her slippered foot and raised her leg upward. He inched her skirt up to inspect her leg and he barely stifled a gasp, his heart beating rapidly: she was wearing no stockings. He glanced up at the women, brow raised in question, but Elle pulled her lips inward and Jocelyn looked to be fighting a smile, half exasperated, half amused.
“I’m just so forgetful sometimes,” Elle said innocently, knowing exactly what he was asking. He knew it was a lie, somehow knew that she had chosen not to wear them and that intrigued him on far too many levels. He fought a smile as he turned his gaze back to her leg. Her bare leg. He didn’t know why his pulse was racing. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen a woman’s bare leg before. Not only was he a trained physician, but he had been with countless women in his life, seeing every inch of them bare. So why was seeing Elle’s leg making his stomach knot? Why was his mouth dry, his heart thundering as images flashed in his mind that no gentleman or physician should be thinking about?
He eased one hand up from her foot, keeping his touch gentle, but he froze, eyes widening in surprise. Her skin was soft and completely smooth. He swallowed hard, the feel and sight making him unbalanced. She gasped quietly as he continued to run his fingers over her skin and he wasn’t sure if it was from pain or…pleasure? He forced himself not to look upward, only concentrating on his work, reminding himself that he was here to check her injury and nothing more. But he was so fascinated, so…aroused, that he could barely think.
“So, you’re a doctor,” she said, sounding a bit breathless…or was that merely his imagination?
“I used to be, yes,” he replied, forcing himself to focus. He had been a physician, and a damn good one. He needed to be that again now and stop acting so ridiculous. He examined her ankle, gently probing the skin just above the joint.
“Used to be?”
His shoulders stiffened. The reasons he’d given up his chosen profession came flooding back and he did his best to push them away, to bite back the acid in the back of his throat.
“Yes,” he answered simply, but added, “Not to worry: I assure you my knowledge is still firmly intact.” He finally glanced up and forced a wry smile. He gently moved her foot this way and that and she inhaled quietly, body going tense. He nodded to himself and eased her foot back to the floor, feeling bereft the second he lost contact with her skin.
“The good news is that I don’t believe the bone is broken. It is going to be quite sore for a few days, most likely it will bruise badly, and you’ll need to keep your weight off of it so that it may heal properly. You’ll be fine in a week or so.”
The butler arrived with the items he’d requested, and Rose rushed into the room behind him.
“Oh, Elle!”
Alec indicated that the butler should give Elle the water, and Alec downed the glass of whisky in one quick gulp, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat before using the cloths to wrap Elle’s ankle tightly.
“I’m alright,” Elle sighed, clearly already tired of being worried over. Alec found that he liked that. Most ladies he knew adored being worried over, would even go so far as to pretend to be ill or injured in order to be fawned over. Elle looked uncomfortable with the attention, embarrassed even.
“Is she truly alright, Alec?” Rose asked him, her eyes shining with worry, her skin flushed.
Elle rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone keep asking him that?” she grumbled, though without much conviction.
Alec chuckled. “Yes, she’s fine. Should probably get home and rest, though.”
“Of course! I’ll have da call for the carriage,” she said, the brogue she’d inherited from Callum coming out a bit more than usual, as it often did when her emotions were running high. Remembering all the times she’d been spitting mad at him as children, the Scot in her coming out full force, made his lips curl upwards at the corners.
Percival entered the room then, coming to check on Rose and Elle. Rose’s eyes lit up and he knew that the two of them would be married soon enough. Percy was a good man, came from a good family, and Alec was glad that he would be the one taking Rose’s hand.
“Miss Montgomery, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, thank you Mister Delvington.”
“Lord Kentworth, is she—”
“Yes, she’s quite alright,” Alec interrupted, trying to hide his amusement knowing Elle was fuming at yet another person seeking his assurance over her own.
“She’s been hurt. We have to leave,” Rose explained. Percival deflated slightly and Alec could see Rose’s look of reluctance when she realized she’d have to lose an evening with him. Elle seemed to notice it too.
“No, you stay. I don’t want you to leave on my account. I’ll be ok on my own,” she insisted, straightening herself on the couch.
“I can escort Miss Montgomery home,” Alec offered. “I’m sure one of the staff can accompany us.”
Rose’s eyes lit with excitement and hope, and she cut them to Elle, clearly silently asking the question. Eleanor’s shoulders tensed, but it seemed as if she were not immune to Rose’s charms. Alec was convinced that no one was.
“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” Elle said with a tight smile, though it sounded like the words had been pulled from her throat by fishing hooks, and that the sensation was not at all pleasant. After some low conversations and strategic planning, Alec and a butler named Collins managed to get Elle into a carriage with most of the revelers in the ballroom being none the wiser. Alec knew that they would all be waiting to pounce on Elle the moment she entered the room again, so it was better that they slipped away unnoticed.
Alec settled in on the bench next to Collins and across from Elle, but the moment the door closed, Alec was keenly aware of just how close they were, just how small the space really was. She seemed to notice as well, her breathing going slightly uneven and her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Was that in irritation or…something else?
Without thinking, he reached down and pulled her leg upward to rest on his lap. She gasped quietly, eyes going wide.
“Elevating the foot should help the injury,” he said, keeping his voice even and—he hoped—clinical.
She nodded, but he could see the pulse jumping at her throat as his fingers skimmed the soft skin of her ankle just above the wrapping each time the carriage jostled them as it meandered over the cobblestones. He tried and failed to ignore the sensation, clenching his jaw tightly and looking about the inside of the carriage as if he were bored. He’d always been able to mask his feelings and emotions, and hoped to God that he was doing so now. He wasn’t quite sure why he was reacting so strongly tonight, but he didn’t want Elle to see it.
“So,” Elle finally said softly, having to clear her throat before continuing. “You said you were a physician. What happened?”
Alec cut his eyes to her, already prepared to slice her down with a snide remark, but at her expression, he held his tongue. For the first time since they’d met, she didn’t look agitated with him, didn’t look as if she were hiding contempt just below the surface. She looked interested, and something inside him relaxed for the first time in recent memory.
“I…I couldn’t save someone,” he said, voice low and a bit rough. “A child,” he amended, surprising himself. He rarely talked about this with anyone. He felt weak every time he thought of it. He knew that he would lose patients when he decided to become a doctor, but told himself over and over that all the good he would do would outweigh the bad. And it had, for a time.
But that little girl had been different. It had broken him in ways he couldn’t understand, in ways he didn’t know how to repair.
Elle inhaled softly, and though the light within the carriage was dim from the two small lamps mounted on each wall, he could see the sorrow and sympathy that flashed in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and he found himself telling her everything, the words tumbling off his tongue in a rush for reasons he couldn’t understand. It was like a part of him had been desperate to talk about it, and now he could barely hold it back.
“She was an orphan that lived near my home at the time. She was seven, maybe eight, and had taken a particular interest in me. She was shy at first, darting away as soon as I looked her way or tried to speak to her, but I began to leave food for her on the stoop. I know it sounds as if she were a stray cat, but it was all I could think of to get her to trust me—and she was skin and bones.” He cleared his throat and Elle’s lips quirked up on one side.
“Eventually, she became comfortable enough to linger while she ate, letting me sit nearby, watching me with wide, chocolate-colored eyes. She didn’t speak a single word for the longest time, but I didn’t mind the silence, welcomed it sometimes even. I’d talk to her though, one-sided conversations where I’d tell her of my day or about patients, about the things I missed from home or gossip my father had shared in his letters. After many meals and many months and many solitary conversations, she finally told me her name—Colette. That was all I got the first day, that single word, with a shy smile, and then she ran off like a shot.” He huffed out a laugh at the memory.
“She came around quickly after that. I gave her clothes and coin, and she would often come and sit in my surgery while I did research or made notes in my medical journals. She even assisted me during exams—handing me items or fetching things from cabinets, that sort of thing. We formed a kinship of sorts. She needed a father and, well, I’m not sure what I needed. A little sister maybe. I did miss Rose, so perhaps I saw a bit of her in Colette.” A daughter, he whispered in his mind. He rarely let himself think the words, but he had seen a future for the two of them, had felt the pull to her, to protect her and raise her and give her the life that she deserved. He’d never thought much about a family or children before Colette, but she made him believe it was something he wanted. “I made her a small cot in the surgery, and she began to stay there most nights. We were well on our way to becoming a little family of sorts. I’d even begun looking into what would be necessary for her to become my ward.” He swallowed hard, needing to settle himself for a moment before continuing, the bile already rising in his throat at what was to come. Elle didn’t push, just waited in the silence.
“But…she was attacked,” he said, averting his eyes and staring out the window. He pleaded with his own mind to keep the memories at bay, but they came upon him, swift and searing: her frail body lying in a heap just outside his back door, as if she’d tried to crawl to him, to somewhere she felt safe; the blood covering her chest and running down her thighs; the slashes across her palms as if she’d tried to protect herself as the knife fell upon her; the deep wounds in her chest and throat showing that she failed. He’d been at the damned pub when it had happened, a woman in his lap and a drink in his hand, having a jolly time. Guilt threatened to swallow him, as it always did. Guilt and disgust. If he had been home, if he hadn’t been…No. He stopped the thoughts, knowing that nothing but more pain lay down that way of thinking.
“Her injuries were…severe,” he finally went on. “They—they brutalized her,” he said, voice cracking.
“Oh my God,” Elle whispered.
Tears stung the back of Alec’s eyes and his throat burned with acid, stomach churning. So much for my mask, he thought bitterly.
“I tried to save her, but there was nothing I could do. I was too late.” He jolted when a hand grasped his. He pulled himself from the memories and looked down to find that Elle had leaned across the small space between them and had laid her hand upon his, squeezing gently. He raised his gaze to hers, surprised and confused by the caring gesture she was offering.
“I’m so sorry, Alec,” she said softly, not even seeming to realize that she’d just addressed him so informally, using his Christian name. He didn’t mind, enjoying the sound of his name on her lips too much. But then he remembered that they were not the only ones in the carriage. He cleared his throat and shifted his eyes towards Collins, and Elle quickly withdrew her hand, settling back against the bench. Collins did not seem to be paying them much attention, looking out of the other window studiously. Or perhaps he was just very well trained by Lord Yorkshire, and knew that if he saw something, he never actually saw anything.
Alec cleared his throat and forced his voice to come out cool and even. “After that, I gave up medicine. I know it is weakness, but—”
“Of course it isn’t weakness,” she said sternly, surprising him yet again. “I can’t imagine dealing with something like that. Just because you decided to step away from being in that position again doesn’t mean you were weak.” He blinked several times before clearing his throat.
“Well, that is kind of you to say,” he replied, “I don’t know that it is truth, but it is kind.” Their gazes locked and that feeling unfurled inside his chest again, the one that felt as if a fire were about to consume them both, the tiniest strike of flint sure to send them up in flames. She wet her lips and he realized his fingers were still lightly grazing her skin, moving slowly farther up her leg beneath the hem of her skirt. He shook himself. What in God’s name was he doing?
He quickly withdrew his hand completely and gestured towards the window.
“We’re here.”
She pulled her leg back, and he couldn’t tell if he was imagining the flush in her cheeks or if it were just a trick of the light. He and Collins exited the carriage first, with the butler quickly explaining to the waiting footman what had happened and sending him to fetch Lottie immediately. Elle insisted on trying to leave the carriage herself, but when she nearly fell, Alec scooped her up once more, rolling his eyes at her determination to avoid help at all costs.
“I could have done it,” she protested weakly.
“You could have cracked your skull on the cobblestone and created even more work for me this evening,” he replied with a hint of a smirk as he carried her up the stairs and through the front doors. He could see her biting back a response and he laughed silently.
“Oh my heavens!” Lottie cried as they entered. She quickly barked orders at the rest of the staff and they scurried off in various directions to obey. Alec grinned. Lottie was young but had she not been a woman, she would have made an excellent general in the King’s army. It was quite impressive, actually.
“Are you alright, miss?” Lottie asked, fretting as Alec strode forward.
“I’m fine—and for the love of God, do not ask him if that’s true.”
Alec couldn’t help but laugh, shaking Elle lightly in his arms as his chest rumbled. She cut her eyes towards him, and though they were slitted in irritation, he believed she was fighting her own smile, her lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. Turning her attention back to Lottie, she said, “My ankle is just a bit sore is all. I promise I’m alright, just tired.”
“Of course, of course. William, come take Miss Montgomery from Lord Kentworth.”
“It’s alright, I’ve already got her,” he said too quickly, not ready to have her leave his arms.
“Oh, if you’re sure you don’t mind, my Lord. This way.” Lottie led them up the stairs and down the long hallway to Elle’s bedroom. He set her gently on the edge of the bed, and he may have lingered for the briefest moment, admittedly not wanting to separate from her. Their faces were entirely too close, so close he could see how her pupils expanded, so close he could feel the soft exhalation of her breath on his lips. He fought the urge to lean forward, to press his lips to hers, to tangle his hands in her hair. He shook himself and straightened, stepping hastily away and balling his hands into fists. What is wrong with me?
“Thank you,” Elle said, sounding a bit dazed, voice breathy.
“Of course, Miss Montgomery.” Alec bowed and turned to Lottie. “Place a pillow or two beneath her foot for the evening.” He turned back to look at Elle, whose face was pinched and pale with pain. Her ankle had already begun to bruise and swell, and he knew how painful it must be. “A strong glass of brandy or two as well,” he added, “and I’ll come and check on her tomorrow.”
He nodded to Lottie, again at Elle, and then left the house as fast as his feet would carry him.