The Rogue She Loved by Ella Edon
Chapter Five
Elise watched the slow rise and fall of her mother’s breath.
“Don’t worry, she’s just resting,” said her father beside her.
But something felt wrong. She had seen her mother resting, and it wasn’t like this. She crept up to her mother’s side and touched her hand. She could feel the soft vibration of a pulse from the enlarged veins around her wrist. Her father sat in silence with clasped hands watching her mother with heavy-lidded eyes. His once generous paunch had substantially reduced in the days since her mother had fallen ill. He hadn’t eaten for days and looked as though some of the life in him had left to some other realm.
The rise and fall stopped and for a moment, the room was completely silent. Her father stirred, eyes growing wider as he leaned forward.
It was then that Henrietta let out a shuddering sob and Elise immediately knew that something terrible had happened.
“No,” her father whispered. He moved his arm to her mother’s neck and kept repeating that word. “No… No.”
Elise suddenly felt short of breath and drained of vitality.
“No!” her father smiled, cradling his wife in his arms.
Elise tugged gently at Henrietta’s skirt and the woman turned to Elise.
“What’s happening?” Elise asked, fearing the worst.
Henrietta’s eyes were red and wet with tears and she trembled with every breath. She tried to speak a word of encouragement but failed. Her shoulders slumped back in defeat.
In the end she managed only two words, her voice breaking as she did.
“She’s gone.”
Elise snapped awake and sat up, breathing hard. It was only a dream. That particular dream had haunted her for many years since it had happened in reality. She had seen her mother die. Seen the moment life left her. No one can ever really run away from that type of pain. You can only make your peace with its occasional visits.
Her breath slowed, and she stared up at the ceiling, immediately remembering where she was at the sight of the mural. She was in Andrews Manor and that meant she had the relative freedom to get some fresh air no matter the hour of the night. She rose from her bed gathering her dressing gown and stepping out the door. Every step was made on tiptoes for fear of waking Amy and disturbing her sleep. She came at last to the drawing room with the family portraits and crept inside, recalling that there was a large terrace at the far end of the room.
To her delight the door was unlocked. As she slipped out the night breeze welcomed her with a soft brush and she closed her eyes throwing her head back against the wind. For a long moment, she did nothing but stare at the moon, letting that unforgettable timbre in Henrietta’s voice leave her mind. She’s gone. The word were still resounding in her mind for what felt a protracted while before she remastered herself. From the terrace she had the benefit of an interrupted view of the Andrew’s estate gardens. Under the light of moon and stars the garden was utterly enchanting. The moon’s glint shimmered off the watery face of the garden pond and the water lilies bobbed and bounced along the waters without interruption. She could spend an eternity there and it might still not have been enough to take in all the ineffable beauty of the scene.
If Elisa were a poet, she would have composed a sonnet about the peace she felt at that moment. Away from the choking closeness of Hertfordshire with the prospect of her one and only Season ahead she felt more freedom than she ever had in her short life.
Her mother had always been fond of London. There could be no doubt that it was because of that fondness that her father had developed such a distaste for the city. It reminded him of his wife, of her spirit of adventure and the fact that there were far too many precious memories in London for him to bear being reminded of. Before they had run into their present financial difficulties they had kept a home in London but it was the first property to go when Lord Hammington began to face challenges with his business affairs. Elisa had always mourned the loss of that home and the fact she had never been given the opportunity to visit it. Now all that mourning was gone for had it been any other way she might not have ever been given the chance to see the Andrews’ estate gardens under the moonlight.
Before long a cold tremor ran up her spine and she acknowledged the undeniable. The soft night breeze had become more of a cutting chill and she feared waking with a runny nose if she stood outside for much longer. Shutting the doors behind herself, she returned inside and stepped out from the drawing room.
As quietly as she could manage, she began to make her way back up to her bedchamber. She stepped into the corridor and as she made to climb up the stairs, she heard what she thought was the sound of stumbling footsteps behind her. She froze listening for any further sound. It came again, clear and unmistakable, the sound of someone stumbling about the house coming from the room ahead. The library.
Elise knew she ought to return to her bedchamber and lock the doors but that was not in her nature. She was a woman of adventure and the curiosity as to who could be skulking about at this hour of the night had arrested her so completely that she had no desire to do the good and sensible thing.
She followed the sound quietly. The door to the library was slightly ajar, and she pried it open silently with her toes. A figure shifted at the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness. The person tried to stand but stumbled badly, clattering into a bookshelf and causing half a dozen books to fall in a cascade on top of him. Elise felt the sharp urge to laugh but was suddenly impressed upon by the idea that this person may not have been an object of fun at all. What if it’s a burglar? Or an armed robber?
Her heart thumped as she stepped back from the door, suddenly afraid. The figure in the darkness made another attempt to stand and stumbled wildly before steadying itself by pressing his elbow against a bookshelf. It had the shape of a man, tall and imposing in the dark. Whoever he was cursed a stream of invective that made Elise blush. As he straightened, a sliver of pale amber lantern light fell upon him illuminating his face. He was young, surely not yet thirty. His eyes were dark and shrewd and his features were subtle but precise. Elise could not fail to notice that this stranger was devilishly handsome and that he had the build and bearing of a man who maintained a good regime of exercise. She wet her lips as she considered him. Even in the dim light, she could see the soft bulges of taut muscle beneath his clothes. If the man was a burglar, he was a very poor one, and he certainly did not appear to have any instruments of violence on his person.
“Who are you?” she asked.
She had meant for her voice to sound strong and assured but it had come out with a soft and nervous hint.
The jerked at the sound of a voice clearly unaware that she had entered the room. When he considered her question, his lips widened to a smile.
His smile was, to her inward delight, the very best part of him she had seen so far. It put her almost immediately at ease. Surely a burglar could not have such a smile. .
She stepped into the light, more confident this time. “I said, who are you?”
This time the man threw back his head and laughed. “I should be asking you the very same question young woman. After all, this is my home.”
Elise’s breath caught in her throat.
“I do not remember bringing any courtesan’s home with me,” he said squinting, “but you must forgive me if I gave you the impression I was desirous of one. I have had more than my share of fun for the night and will require no further entertainment.”
He tried to step forward and his elbow slipped along the bookshelf as he stumbled over a tangle of books. He came crashing down once more and snorted as he stared up at her.
Elise’s face contorted to one of pure disgust. This must have been Amy’s elder brother. The infamous Earl of Chester drunk as fiddler on feast day. And he just insinuated that I was a harlot.
She clenched up her fists and stepped towards him. “My Lord, I do not look like a courtesan, nor do I have the attire and temperament of one. Even if by some strange chance I happened to be a courtesan, I would hope that my customers would not be quite so ill-mannered and rude as you.”
He stared down at her as though she had spoken in another language and waved his hand irritably. “Could you help me up please?”
Elise was half inclined to leave him there and let him find his own way back to his feet but she was mindful of the fact that Amy thought quite dearly of her brother and he was still the lord of the manor. She dropped to a single knee and tucked a hand under his arm. His body was hard as stone. Close as she was she felt the ripple of taut muscle under his shirt and coloured violently. She managed to pull him up to his feet and saw him in the fullness of light for the first time.
He was not merely very handsome, he was by some distance the most handsome man Elise had ever seen. Surely if all the men in London were half as handsome as this she could scarcely believe there had been no news of it in Hertfordshire. He was almost too good-looking for masculinity and yet there was something indubitably masculine about him. Even drunk as he was, his movements spoke of whipcord strength.
Leading him by the arm, Elise noticed just how much taller he was than her. Even at her full height and standing on her tip toes she came not much further up than his chest.
He glanced down at her, steadying himself by touching her shoulders and let out a small breath. “Would you be so kind as to help me to my room?” he asked.
She frowned at him. “You really are quite demanding, my Lord.”
At that he gave a boyish grin. “You have no idea how demanding I can be.”
Perhaps it was because he was the lord of the manor, or maybe it was because there was something earnest in his eyes or even still it might have been that the strong smell of strong drink had managed to intoxicate her also but Elise felt a chill at his words and her heart lurched. Before she knew what she was doing, she smiled and said, without affectation. “I’ll help you up to your room.”
He replied with an ingratiating smile and wrapped his arm about her to steady himself. “If it is any consolation, know that you have been of more help to me tonight than any courtesan ever could have.”
Piqued, Elise pinched his arm hard at the jibe and Lord Andrews laughed a loud, musical laugh. For reasons beyond understanding, that laugh made her smile, both inwardly and outwardly.
The climb to his room was brisk, and he grew more steady with every step. All the while, Elise could not ignore the violent thump of her heart in having his body pressed so close to hers. They arrived at last at his bedchamber and she opened the door, helping him into bed.
She curtsied mockingly. “And now my service has ended, my Lord.”
He fumbled clumsily for the buttons at the top of shirt and managed to unclasp two buttons before she could back away. The sliver of bare chest he exposed almost made her jump, and she suddenly felt hot all over, despite the draught from the open window. Her knees almost buckled as she backtracked from the bed. It was time to leave. Immediately.
The years of Henrietta reminding her that running was unladylike was the only thing that stopped Elise from sprinting from the room. The man was having the most bothersome effect of her and her need to leave was immediate. She scurried to the door.
“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” he called from behind her.
But she shut the door firmly behind herself, slumping to the floor against it. She let out several sharp breaths before she remastered herself and then she returned to her room.
The disturbances in her dreams returned except that this time they were dreams of an entirely different nature. No longer did her mind retell the horrible tale of her mother’s death. Now her dreams were full of her best friend’s brother.
