Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Ellen! Are you alright in there?”
Ellen’s lashes flew up as she heard the panicked shouting.
She sat up, confused and startled, and realized, as she looked down at her new white silk nightgown and robe, that she had actually fallen asleep.
She didn’t remember when or how. Only that she had taken Madalene’s advice after she’d shown her around to have a bath to help her relax.
Pounding erupted from her chamber door, followed quickly by Laurence’s voice shouting, “Shall I send for the physician?”
Ellen scrambled off her large canopy bed, noticing only then that the day had shifted to night as she hurried over the marble floor and to the door.
She opened it with haste, and found Laurence standing sideways, his shoulder and muscled arm facing her, as if he’d just been about to ram the door open.
He’d changed out of his black suit into a simple white shirt that laced in the front, and a pair of black trousers.
She cocked an eyebrow, surprised that, despite her attraction to him in a fine suit, he seemed much more handsome when he dressed casually.
The moment he saw her, his worried expression went blank, and he quickly shifted himself into a straighter, more composed posture.
If they had known one another, she would have laughed at him for being so quick to panic.
She did not know him, though, and even though she believed his promise not to hurt her, she was still slow to trust that he would not explode the way Benedict had.
“I do not need a physician,” she answered calmly, opening the door wider for him so he could step in. “I fell asleep.”
Laurence’s brows rose in surprise as he stepped into the room. Without a thought, Ellen let go of the door and stepped back, his presence making the large room suddenly feel very small.
“Apologies,” he offered. “I did not realize. I could go? We could speak another time.”
Ellen shook her head.
“No, it is alright,” she assured him, turning away from him so she could light some more candles.
“It is probably good that you awakened me. I would only have woken up in the middle of the night in a panic, I think. I wouldn’t have known where I was. At least this way I had an instant reminder.”
“Happy to be of service, I suppose,” Laurence muttered.
She turned and found him taking in her quarters as if it was the first time he’d seen them.
“Have you never been in here before?” she asked.
Laurence shook his head as his gaze slowly came back to her.
“But this room adjoins yours,” she pointed out.
Laurence shrugged.
“Never had a need to be in here before now,” he answered. “Is it suitable?”
This time Ellen did let out a laugh.
“My room at Perminton Manor was quite nice, but this?” She waved a hand around the large room. “This is an entirely different sort of opulence. Everything is beautiful. Thank you.”
To her surprise, a smile tugged at Laurence’s lips. Not sarcastic or devilish, but a genuine smile that lit up his face and highlighted his already handsome features.
“I am happy you think so,” Laurence answered. “And the rest of the house? Did Madalene show you everything before she took her leave to London?”
“She did,” Ellen assured him. “The house is lovely. And so is she. I look forward to getting to know her better when she returns.”
Though she meant what she said, part of her balked at the idea. She’d trusted Judith, and such a decision had proven most dangerous. She was not quite sure if she could trust a ‘friend’ again, even if Madalene already seemed far kinder than Judith ever had.
Silence stretched between them as the dimming light from outside cast shadows across the opulent room, and Ellen felt her nervousness return. She reached for her usual curl of dark hair, and placed it over her mole out of habit.
“You…do you wish to speak to me about something, Your Grace?” She asked timidly. “Or were you just curious as to how I found my new accommodations?”
Something kind passed through Laurence’s eyes, even as his smile faded.
“Please do not call me that,” he quietly insisted. “I understand we still do not know one another very well, but there is no need for such formalities between us.”
A smile twitched at the corner of Ellen’s mouth, and she bit down softly on her lower lip. She did not know why, but that pleased her.
“What should I call you then?” she asked.
Laurence’s brows perked, as if he had not given it much thought.
“Laurence is suitable,” he offered. “Husband, I suppose, fits. Though it seems barely less formal than Your Grace.”
“Laurence, then,” she agreed.
She did not insist he call her Ellen, though he’d already started doing so, and she was already over how quickly she had become accustomed to him calling her by name.
“What do you wish to talk about, Laurence?” she asked, waving him toward the white satin settee before the marble fireplace.
He didn’t move. Not until she was seated on one end. Only then did he take a seat on the opposite side and turn his body toward her, his ankle perched atop his knee and his interlaced fingers perched atop said ankle.
“I do not mean to pressure you,” Laurence said, “but I wish to speak to you about Benedict.”
The tension that had finally left her body only hours ago returned at once and with a vengeance. Her shoulders ached, and her stomach twisted. She had not forgotten—but for a few precious moments, her cousin and all of him had drifted silently to the back of her mind.
“What do you wish to know?” she asked, her tone soft. Defeated.
Laurence’s gaze was intense as he studied her features.
Again, she shifted her hair to cover her mole and turned her own gaze to the fireplace.
She blushed the moment she felt his fingertips brushing that stray bit of hair out of the way, but this time she did not flinch.
Instead, she simply closed her eyes and reveled in the gentle warmth of his touch.
“Was he always like this?” Laurence asked, his fingertips gently trailing down to the faded bruises along her cheek and jaw.
“Not always,” she rasped, opening her eyes to watch the flames dance in the hearth. “In fact, up until the passing of my father, I adored my cousin. He seemed to adore me in return.”
Laurence’s touch drifted away from her face, leaving behind coolness she did not like. Even so, she did not ask him to bring his hand back. That would be far too intimate a request, she wagered.
“My father, though,” she pressed on. “My father did not like him. We barely argued but when we did, it was often about Benedict.”
,“Did he ever tell you why he did not like Benedict?” Laurence asked calmly.
Ellen’s thoughts whirled back to the day before she met Judith two years ago, and the talk she’d had with her father.
“He said it was not Benedict’s actions he distrusted,” she said, recalling her father’s words, “but his secret wants.”
She turned her gaze to Laurence to find him still watching her with that same intense stare.
“I could not understand why my father said such things at the time. But now? I believe my father knew just how wretched Benedict was under his pretty facade.”
She looked down, suddenly ashamed.
“He tricked me,” she whispered. “In fact, the only person I believe he did not trick was my father.”
The fire cracked and popped as silence stretched between them, but this time, Ellen didn’t look away from Laurence’s eyes. Instead, she studied them, taking in the shades of green and gold that flickered in the firelight. Such interesting eyes.
“I have suspected that Benedict Page has been a benefactor or investor for the auction for several years now,” Laurence said, his deep voice breaking the silence.
“Not that I do not believe you,” Ellen replied, “especially after seeing the familiarity Benedict had with that man named Nigel, but what has given you such suspicions?”
She watched Laurence’s throat bob, as if something was suddenly stuck there and he couldn’t quite clear it.
She knew that feeling. Knew what it felt like when something deep inside the soul suddenly became stuck in one’s throat.
Her eyes flicked back up to his glittering green pools, and her heart shuddered as she saw sadness swimming within them.
“Madalene and I…” he began, his deep voice suddenly rasping with emotion, “We had another sister once. Her name was Annabel.”
He let out a hoarse chuckle as he flicked his gaze to the fire.
“She was as wild and beautiful and untamable as those flames. She was fearless. Wanted to try everything, and after our parents died, she attempted exactly that,” he explained.
“Solomon and Annabel were close friends their entire lives. Even closer than Solomon and I are now. Though neither ever said so, we all believed that they would marry someday. They would go everywhere together. Operas, parties, carnivals. Sometimes with chaperones. Sometimes they would sneak out and meet and go entirely on their own. She wanted an adventurous life, and as long as Solomon was allowed to stay by her side, I truly believe he had no qualms about making sure that she got exactly what she wanted.”
“She sounds extraordinary,” Ellen said softly. “I could never be so brave in public.”
Laurence’s gaze came back to her, his lips lifting almost into a smile.
“She was extraordinary,” he agreed, “but her bravery transformed into foolishness when she met your cousin.”
Ellen tensed at that, then leaned toward him, silently willing him to continue.
“It was at one of those parties Solomon and Annabel had snuck off to in the middle of the night that she met Benedict Page.”
Ellen could hear the emphasized disgust in Laurence’s voice as he said her cousin’s name and could see it flash in his green eyes.
“He convinced her that only the bravest of women—those who truly like to gamble with the wicked—attend and take to the stage. At least that is what Solomon told me afterwards.