Chapter 3 #2
“Which means he has an office here,” Laurence said, scanning the two doorways that led in and out of the large room, and wondering which one would lead him to the room he needed. “Accounting books, missives… There has to be some proof of his involvement that we can use later.”
“I can go and look,” Solomon offered. “It was you and Madalene who received the invitation. I doubt anyone will notice my absence if I slip out now.”
“No,” Laurence said quickly, shifting his gaze to his little sister. She appeared comfortable enough as she chatted with a small group of ladies. Still, Laurence wanted her away from the house. Away from Benedict.
“I want you to escort my sister home,” Laurence said, turning to meet Solomon’s gaze. “She did not want to come anyway; it should not take much to convince her that she should leave. Just tell her she was right about the appropriateness of the party and I was wrong.”
Solomon smirked.
“She will love that,” he mused. “Should I come back after I escort her home?”
“No,” Laurence stated. “Stay there with her until I return home. Do not make it obvious, though. Let her retire to her rooms, or whatever she wishes, and if she asks you why you are staying, just say there is some paperwork in my office that you need to read up on.”
“Done,” Solomon vowed, then gave Laurence a stern look. “Do not get caught.”
Laurence gave a curt nod, and without another word, his friend walked over to Madalene and whispered something in her ear.
She then turned to Laurence and flashed him an arrogant, ‘I was right’ grin.
Laurence bowed his head as he drew on a smirk, letting his sister believe whatever she needed to so that Solomon could usher away as quietly and as safely as possible.
He held his breath as he watched his friend and little sister leave the dining room.
He went to the nearest window—the one that overlooked the front lawn of the house—and only when he saw Solomon, Madalene, and Madalene’s handmaid get in their carriage together did he release his breath.
He had no doubt he was being far too overprotective, but after what happened to Annabel, there were some risks he was no longer willing to take.
Once his family carriage was out of sight, Laurence drew his gaze back to the dining room, in time to see Benedict reappear with a pretty, young woman pressed close to his side.
“Friends!” Benedict stated loudly, drawing the room into a hushed silence as all eyes turned to him.
Laurence noted how the young woman at his side blushed deeply and dropped her gaze to the floor at the attention, her face void of any happiness.
The urge to protect her rose quickly as he took in her pinched brow and bowed shoulders, and it was so intense that it startled him.
He looked closely at her, wondering why he felt such things. He did not know her… or did he?
“I have an announcement to make,” Benedict went on, raising a glass. “My sweet cousin Ellen and I mourn the loss of a great man this last week; it is true. However, to honor that man, I have made a decision.”
He looked down at the woman beside him, then, a strange smile slowly forming on his lips. “This is not just any party. This, my friends, is our engagement party.”
Gasps filled the room as Laurence watched the woman’s gaze snap up to Benedict’s with shock written across her suddenly pale face.
“You did not know this, sweet Ellie, but your father and I discussed this at length. If something were to happen to him, he made me vow that I would take your hand in marriage and protect you for the rest of your life,” Benedict said to her.
He reached for her hand then, and Laurence did not miss how the woman flinched against his touch.
That urge to protect rose up in him again, fiercer than before.
He gritted his teeth against it, knowing that even as he registered the fear in her face, there was nothing he could do about it.
Not in front of all these people who were already gossiping about her.
Not while he still had to search through Benedict’s study.
So he ignored the way he was pulled to break Benedict’s hand from hers, and moved quietly toward the doorway.
He waited, growing more impatient by the moment as the whispers of the surprise engagement—an engagement between cousins—grew louder around him.
Then, when he was certain that Benedict’s attention was fully turned away, he slipped out and headed down the first hall he could find.
Precious minutes ticked by as he opened door after door, trying to find which one would lead to Benedict’s study.
He breathed out a sigh as he finally found a room with a large desk.
As he hurried to it, he confirmed his suspicions by reading Benedict’s name on a few letters of correspondence scattered across the top.
They were useless, he quickly found as he read through them, and he tossed them aside so he could open and rummage through the drawers.
He was so distracted with his need to hurry and find the evidence he wanted that he noticed too late that a shard of light from the hall had stretched across the room.
“What are you doing?” a soft, strangely familiar voice asked.
Laurence stilled, silently cursing himself for not being more careful.
“I ask you again, sir, what are you doing in my father’s study?”
Laurence raised his head then, and as he shut the drawer he was rummaging through, he took in the features of the woman—Ellen, he remembered suddenly. The woman to whom Benedict had just claimed his engagement.
In the dim light, he saw a far different version of the scared woman who had only minutes ago been standing in the dining room. Her blue eyes were narrowed and sharp. Her chin was raised defiantly, as if she were ready to protect the room he had improperly entered.
“Your father’s study?” Laurence asked, rising to his full height. “I was told to retrieve some paperwork from Benedict Page’s study. I assumed this was it.”
Some of that sparkling defiance faded as he asked the clarifying question, and she took another step toward him. She turned her head to the nearest shelf, and almost lovingly traced her fingertips across it.
“I suppose it is Benedict’s now,” she murmured, the sadness in her tone akin to the loss he felt for his own departed family.
“I have not come in here since he…” her whispered voice trailed off as her delicate brows tensed. “I had not realized Benedict had taken it over so quickly.”
Ask her, a voice demanded within Laurence’s mind. Ask why she fears him. Why she looked so forlorn and shocked as Benedict expressed his intentions.
Laurence shoved that voice away, knowing he could not. Not if he wanted to get out of the office without her asking him more questions.
“You did not realize that your betrothed had already moved himself into your home?” he asked.
Ellen’s expression hardened once again as she turned her sharp gaze back to him.
“How are my realizations or lack thereof any of your business, sir?” She demanded.
“Your Grace,” he corrected her, forcing his tone to be arrogant. He watched as she blanched again.
“I am the Duke of Blackford, my lady. You should address me as ‘Your Grace.’” He hated saying it. She’d already been embarrassed by one man. He didn’t wish for her to be embarrassed by another, but he needed her off-balance and distracted.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” she offered along with a curtsy.
“Don’t,” he said before he could stop himself. He didn’t need her curtsy. He just wanted to leave.
Ellen rose again, one brow arching curiously.
“Are you a friend of my cousin, Your Grace?” she asked.
Laurence thought quickly.
“I am a better friend than those out there with him,” he replied. “I must be the only one here not whispering about your rushed engagement.”
A blush rose in her cheeks as her gaze fell to the floor.
“It was a surprise to all of us,” she said softly.
“Was it?” he quickly replied, taking a step around the desk. “Do you even want this engagement?”
Ellen’s gaze flicked back up to him—her left eye hidden by a curl—with a mixture of shock and fear in her expression. She looked just as she had when Benedict had announced their engagement. Then, it turned to anger.
“Leave my home immediately,” she demanded as she clenched her fists.
His suspicions turned into realizations as he saw how quickly she reacted.
“You do not, do you?” he asked, taking another step—this time not toward the door, but toward her.
“I could help you out of it, you know,” Laurence went on, reaching a hand toward her. She flinched at the movement, the abruptness of it shifting her curl away from her eye to reveal a small mole underneath it. A mole that struck him as oddly familiar.
His gaze flicked from the mole to her tense stature, his mind torn between placing her face and dealing with the reason she was flinching away in fear.
“Did he hurt you?” he demanded, no longer able to keep his protective instincts at bay.
“How dare you,” she snapped. “I do not even know you, and you certainly do not know me. Why would I need a stranger’s pity?”
She was trying to sound strong, but Laurence caught the tremble in her tone, the look in her eyes that was not demanding he leave her alone, but pleading, and that was when it struck him.
He did know her. This was the woman he could not stop thinking of.
Ellen was the woman he kissed at the masquerade.