Unwelcome Visitor #2
“Elisha.” Edgar caught her hand where it rested against his chest, pressing it harder against his heartbeat.
His other hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb stroking along her jawline with careful tenderness that belied the intensity in his voice.
“You must believe me. I have not engaged in any dalliances in Bath or elsewhere in recent months. Indeed, I have not been to Bath this year at all. According to my men’s investigation, Thornton has been spreading rumors about me, likely to besmirch my name because he desires you for himself. ”
The implications of his words hung heavy in the air between them. Elisha’s mind raced, pieces falling into place with horrible clarity. “I wondered…” she began, then fell silent.
“So you had suspected it yourself.”
“I am uncertain of his motivation,” she said carefully, studying Edgar’s face in the flickering candlelight. “But it would not surprise me.”
Elisha opened her mouth to speak, but Thompson’s discreet cough from the doorway reminded them of the urgency of the situation.
Edgar’s hands tightened briefly on hers before releasing her. “Go,” he said softly. “But Elisha…” He caught her wrist as she turned to leave, his grip gentle but insistent. “Take Thompson with you. And the carriage. Trust your instincts.”
The cryptic warning sent a shiver down her spine. “I shall be careful,” she promised, resisting the urge to rise on her tiptoes and kiss him. Instead, she squeezed his hand once before stepping away.
The storm followed her progress down the corridor, thunder rumbling overhead like a warning. As she prepared to face Thornton, Elisha couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into something dangerous.
The rain had begun in earnest by the time Elisha reached Thornton’s cottage, fat drops hammering against the windows like nature’s own warning. The familiar rooms felt different now—more confining than cozy, the shadows in the corners deeper and more threatening than she remembered.
As she stepped through the door, droplets still clinging to her cloak, she found Thornton rising from his seat. The polite smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes, which studied her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“Elisha, how good of you to return so promptly,” he said, executing a slight bow.
She forced herself to return his smile with practiced ease, though her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribs. “Steven, what a pleasant surprise. I do apologize for not being here to receive you properly.” Her voice emerged steady, betraying none of the tension coiling in her stomach.
Movement caught her eye—Edgar’s man, Thompson, positioned near the window with a ladder balanced carefully against his shoulder. The sight of him, this tangible connection to Edgar, steadied her nerves somewhat.
“Ah, Mr. Brown,” she said brightly, “the lanterns in the front hall and the study need refilling. Do be careful on that ladder.”
The man nodded silently before he made his way out, leaving the door ajar. The sound of the ladder being propped up in the corridor seemed unnaturally loud in the tense atmosphere.
“I could have had my servant complete the task,” Thornton said. “You do not need to bother with hiring workers.”
Lightning flashed, throwing his features into sharp relief for a moment. In that instant, Elisha caught a glimpse of something calculating in his expression that made her glad for the solid presence of Edgar’s man outside.
“Thank you, that is very kind,” she responded, carefully maintaining her facade of grateful guest. “But the man has had a string of bad luck recently and needs the work. It was no trouble at all.”
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing upward. Thornton’s smile widened slightly, though it still didn’t warm his eyes. “That is very thoughtful of you, although I shouldn’t be surprised by now.”
He turned toward the door. “Sarah,” he called to his maid, who had been hovering nervously in the shadows, “would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?”
The floorboards creaked beneath Sarah’s retreating footsteps, each sound echoing in the charged silence. Elisha settled herself in the chair opposite Thornton, arranging her still-damp skirts with deliberate care. The fire’s warmth failed to reach the chill that had settled in her bones.
Lightning flickered again, closer now, casting strange shadows across Thornton’s face as he watched her with that unnervingly steady gaze. The storm pressed against the windows like a living thing, as if nature itself sought to warn her of danger.
“I cannot thank you enough, Steven, for this repast and the lodging,” she began. “Your servants are just wonderful, and the townspeople are so very kind.”
“It’s my pleasure.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “If, one day, I’m blessed enough to call you my wife, there isn’t anything I would not bestow upon you.”
Heat crept up Elisha’s neck at the intensity of his stare and the boldness of his words. Through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Thompson adjusting a lantern, the flame within casting a protective glow against the gathering dark.
“Um, thank you,” she managed, her fingers twisting in her lap beneath the cover of her handkerchief. “I believe you will spoil your wife to no end.”
“I sense you are leaning toward rejecting my offer of courtship.” There was an edge to his voice now, like a blade wrapped in silk.
“Steven—”
“Please.” He leaned forward, his earnest expression at odds with the predatory stillness of his body. “Don’t answer me now. Think on it some more.”
Sarah’s return with the tea tray provided a welcome interruption. The china rattled slightly in the maid’s trembling hands as she set it down. Elisha noticed how the girl kept her eyes downcast, how she practically scurried from the room once she’d finished pouring.
The tea’s fragrant steam rose between them as Thornton waited for Sarah’s retreat before continuing. “I came to check on you… to ensure you are well cared for.”
“How very thoughtful of you.” Elisha lifted her cup, grateful for something to do with her hands. “I am well and want for nothing.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He paused, studying her over the rim of his cup. “There is one other thing. I couldn’t help but notice that you and Mr. Steele have not corresponded for some time now. Is everything all right? I wanted to ensure all was well.”
The seemingly innocent inquiry sent warning bells chiming in Elisha’s mind.
Perhaps she heard something in his tone she couldn’t quite explain.
She kept her features carefully neutral even as her pulse quickened.
“I’m sorry to have given you reason to worry, but I assure you, everything is fine.
The novel has been demanding much of my attention, and likely it is the same for Mr. Steele’s, that’s all. ”
Thunder crashed overhead, making the windows rattle in their frames. Thornton inclined his head, accepting her explanation with a smile.
“I am gratified to hear it.” He set his cup down with precise care.
“Now, as I’ve mentioned before, there is presently a tender process underway for the Royal Mail Coach Service contract.
” His eyes seemed to gleam with barely contained excitement.
“It’s a most advantageous opportunity, one that could vastly expand the business interests of the Metropolitan Review.
Imagine our periodical being delivered to every corner in England. ”
Elisha’s heart quickened, though not from Thornton’s proximity. The memory of Edgar’s touch, his passion, still lingered on her skin beneath her proper attire. It made Thornton’s attentions feel even more unwelcome, like an intrusion upon something sacred.
She shifted in her chair, maintaining proper distance as Thornton elaborated on the Royal Mail contract. Her lips, still sweetly sore from Edgar’s attentions, served as a constant reminder of where her heart truly belonged.
“I’ve submitted a tender,” Thornton continued, unaware of her inner turmoil, “but the competition is formidable. You possess a singular talent for understanding people. You perceive that which others overlook. And forgive my bluntness, but as a lady, you may be privy to conversations and confidences that could prove advantageous.”
Elisha’s mind whirled with the implications. The Royal Mail Coach bidding was paramount to the Pioneers’ cause. Was it a coincidence that Steven Thornton was bidding on it as well?
“It is certainly an intriguing proposition,” she said carefully, her fingers absently touching her collar where Edgar’s kisses had left invisible marks. “I would be pleased to render assistance, provided such an undertaking would not impinge upon my current obligations.”
Thornton leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate tone that once might have flustered her.
Now it only served to highlight how different it felt from Edgar’s tender murmurs.
“Should you accept my proposal, you stand to benefit considerably from the expansion of our business endeavors. Perhaps I might entrust one of the subsidiary enterprises to your capable management, while Amelia assumes proprietorship of the gazette.”
The offer hung in the air between them. Once, it might have seemed like everything she’d ever wanted—independence, respect, the chance to make her mark on the world. Now it felt hollow, tainted by the knowledge that accepting would mean betraying her heart.
“Furthermore,” Thornton pressed on, his gaze intense enough to make her want to shrink back, “I would be prepared to establish the business in your name, granting you full autonomy in its operation.”
The magnitude of his offer struck her dumb for a moment. Even as her practical mind recognized the extraordinary nature of such an opportunity, her heart clenched with guilt. Not just for Edgar now, but for the intimacy they had shared, the whispered promises against heated skin.
A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows, making the lantern flames dance.
In their flickering light, she caught her reflection in the darkened glass—cheeks still holding a hint of the flush Edgar had put there, lips that had been thoroughly kissed mere hours ago.
The sight strengthened her resolve even as it complicated her position.
“Steven,” she began, carefully modulating her voice to hide both her discomfort and the lingering effects of passion, “your offer is… most generous. I confess, I find myself quite overwhelmed by the scope of what you propose.” Her hand unconsciously rose to her throat, where Edgar had gently raked with his teeth.
Thornton’s expression softened. “I understand this is a weighty matter to consider. I do not expect an immediate response.” He reached for her hand, and it took all her self-control not to flinch away.
“Take the time you need to reflect upon it. I merely ask that you give it your most serious consideration.”
His touch felt wrong—cold and impersonal. She withdrew her hand as gracefully as possible, pretending to adjust her shawl.
“Might I ask,” she said, desperate to shift the conversation away from her, “if you intend to bestow the Metropolitan upon Amelia regardless of my response to your proposal?”
A shadow crossed his features before he smoothed them into a benign smile.
“Indeed, I do. However…” That practiced bashfulness crept into his expression.
“I had hoped to present it as a surprise upon the announcement of our… that is to say, if we were to announce our betrothal. I thought it a fitting wedding gift, considering Amelia’s role in bringing us together. ”
“Oh, that is a most thoughtful gesture,” she managed, her voice hoarse from suppressed unease.
She turned away to face the fireplace, using the moment to compose herself. The flames danced hypnotically, reminding her of candlelight on Edgar’s skin, of the way his eyes had burned as he kissed her. The memory both strengthened her resolve and complicated her position enormously.