“Shhh,” he whispered as she whimpered in pain. “We’ll get you someplace safe soon.”
Without another word, without a backward glance, he stepped over Graham, ignoring her seething husband, and moved into the hall, past the gawking servants.
She was safe. James had come for her. She was safe. She was cared for.
Relieved, Eleanor closed her eyes and sank into blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter 14
James sat in the chair by the side of Eleanor’s bed waiting… waiting. Waiting for her to open her eyes, waiting for her to move. Waiting for something. Anything.
But she didn’t stir. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. She lay there, barely breathing, as if… dead. And all the while, he wondered why the hell he hadn’t pulled that trigger and killed her husband, getting rid of him once and for all.
The door opened. James stiffened until he smelled the scent of lemons. “The laudanum should help,” Patience said, shutting the door behind her. “We used it with my mother when she hurt.”
He didn’t nod; he didn’t speak. He didn’t take his gaze from Eleanor. She might have been older than he was, but on that bed she looked so damn young, so fragile. Come on, Ellie. He knew the true woman deep down, a woman with the strength and perseverance of no other. Was she still there, or had her bastard husband beaten it out of her?
Patience moved softly beside him and set a tray on the side table. They had two small rooms connected by a door at the inn where Patience had been staying. Thank God she had still been here, welcoming him when he’d arrived with Ellie in his arms. “You should eat.”
He didn’t respond.
“James, if you don’t keep up your strength—”
“How can I eat?” he said gruffly. “How can I when she is dying?”
“No,” she whispered. “Not dying.” She glanced at Eleanor as if to make sure. “She’s… healing. She’s merely resting. Most likely she hasn’t been able to sleep for days, too scared, poor dear. And after the beating, well, it’s not surprising that her body needs rest.”
He clenched his jaw and paced to the windows that overlooked the muddy, dark courtyard below. Even the lamps had gone out, the flames extinguished by a fierce wind that rattled the windowpanes. Patience was merely trying to be kind. He could see the fear and worry in her gaze, a fear, no doubt, mirrored in his own eyes.
“James, what will you do?” Patience asked. “After she heals?”
He could hear the nervousness in her voice. For once she was showing her age. Hell, she couldn’t have been much more than eighteen or nineteen years. For all of her bravado she was merely a girl who had seen very little, experienced so very little. And Ellie… Ellie had probably been her age when she’d been married off to Lord Beckett. An innocent who had uncovered only too quickly how dark the world could be.
“James?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly, sinking into his chair once more. The handkerchief he’d used that night at Lady Rutherford’s ball still lay near Ellie. He’d found the bloodied linen clutched in her hand. “I don’t know.”
What would he do? Between him and Ellie they wouldn’t get far. How would they escape?
“You’ll have to hide.” Patience started to pace. “Ireland?”
He didn’t bother to respond. The situation was hopeless, for they were not only running from Eleanor’s husband, but from Ophelia as well. The brothel owner wasn’t merely out for vengeance, she was bloody insane. Who the hell knew what the woman would do to get back at James. And once she uncovered the truth about his feelings for Eleanor, he had no doubt the woman would use his weakness to destroy him.
He curled his fingers, resisting the urge to reach for Ellie and pull her close. How would he provide for her? Protect her? How would they eat? He raked his hands through his hair. An image of Ellie with worn, rough-workened hands, thin body, and dull eyes flashed to mind. No. He shook the image from his brain. He would kill himself working before he’d see her starve or suffer in any way.
“I would tell you to come home with me and that Alex would welcome you, but Lady Lavender knows where we live. It would most likely be the first place they’d look.”
She was right, although he wouldn’t have put them in danger anyway. It was insane, relying on an eighteen-year-old, putting Patience in danger even now. No, he had to disappear with Eleanor. He could only pray that she healed quickly. “I… I appreciate your help,” he admitted.
“We have money,” Patience said. “Not a lot, but enough to get you to the Americas or France.”
“No,” he said softly. “I will not take any more from you.”
“You have to take it. It’s mine anyway, left to me by my mother. I was going to come to London to try and make a name for my jewelry, but now… now that doesn’t seem so important.”
“No,” he said again.
“James, we don’t have many friends, you know. Nor do we have family.” She smiled, but the smile quivered at the corners of her lips as she repressed her emotions. “I would like to consider you friends. Please, take it. Take it for Eleanor. Don’t let your stubborn pride get in the way of her happiness.”
He frowned. The little witch had used his weakness against him, and she knew it. He didn’t say a word, merely took Eleanor’s hand in his, her fingers so cold, so small. He needed money. It could be weeks before she was ready to travel and he had no doubt that they would be caught before then. She was too damn beautiful and serene; she would never blend into the crowd, and no one would believe she was merely a farmer’s wife. They needed to stay hidden while she healed, then perhaps they could make it to the Continent.
There was a soft knock on the door. Patience jumped, stumbling back, as startled as he. James slowly stood, reaching for the pistol in the waistband of his trousers. If her husband stood there, James would kill him.
“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.
She shook her head. “My escort is out to tea with friends. My family is home.”
He inched his way toward the door. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“The other day, after you left Lady Lavender’s, I saw Alex.”
She paled. “Alex, here, in London?”
“Stay back.” He glanced at Eleanor as he moved toward the door, making sure she still lay quietly in the bed near the far wall. Whoever was outside shifted, their footsteps hard and heavy. A man? James’s hackles rose. Briefly he thought about tearing open the door and slamming his fist into the face of whomever stood there. He glanced at Patience and nodded.
“Who is it?” she called out sweetly.
There was a moment’s pause. “Footman, come to bring ye water.”
It was a lie. The voice was too deep for a footman. Didn’t matter because James’s instincts were roaring. He might have been ignoring his instincts since he’d moved in with Lady Lavender, but no more.
“Just a moment,” Patience said.
James jerked his head, telling Patience to get back. She darted a glance toward Eleanor, obviously worried about the woman being caught in the middle of a battle, but still scooted toward the fireplace mantel, half-hidden by the only chair in the room.
James tore open the door and latched on to the lapels of the man’s coat. With a quick jerk, he pulled the supposed footman inside. “Why are you really here?” he demanded as he slammed the man into the wall. Slim, blond, dressed in a nondescript but clean suit, the man didn’t respond. James pressed his forearm to the man’s neck. “Why?”
He growled and shoved James back. He was stronger than James had expected, and he had to stumble to retain his footing. But despair and anger were on his side, turning him into an animal he barely recognized.
“What do you want?” James demanded with a growl.
The man threw his fist forward. James ducked, but barely. Whoever the intruder was, he knew how to fight dirty. James spun around and grabbed the man by the jacket, shoving hi
m up against the wall once more. Having had enough, James pulled the pistol from his waistband and pressed it to the intruder’s temple.
“I asked you once; I’m not going to again. Who—”
“Mr. Smith?” Patience’s voice was timid, unsure.
James froze. “Mr. Smith?”
James was so shocked that he almost let the man get the better of him. He released his hold and ducked right before the man swung his fist. It was only as he stepped back, eying the sinewy man, that he realized he recognized him… the very man who had been with Alex at Lady Lavender’s. Apparently a friend of the family.
Although James was done with him, Mr. Smith apparently wasn’t finished with James. “What the hell are you doing in her bedchamber?”
“Calm down, you’ll wake Eleanor!” Patience stomped from her hiding place and closed the front door, glaring up at the man as if not the least bit intimidated. “How dare you enter my chamber like some irate bull!”
“You’re in a private room with a man!” He pointed at James. “You’ll ruin what little reputation you’d managed to retain.”
James pushed past them. He didn’t have time for a lover’s quarrel or whatever was happening between the two. He settled on the edge of Eleanor’s bed, taking her cold, small hand in his. The touch seemed to stir something within her, and she coughed, her body shaking with the slight movement.
He squeezed her hand. “Ellie?”
She groaned.
“What happened?” Mr. Smith demanded.
Ellie’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, her body going still once more. James wanted to slam his fist into the wall. Was he forever to lose those he loved? No, he would not lose Ellie. He’d crawl his way into heaven and pull her back if he had to.
“They’re friends,” Patience explained. “Mr. Smith, this is James McKinnon.”
James didn’t miss the flash of surprise in the man’s eye. If he was friends with Alex, if he knew about Lady Lavender, perhaps he might know other, more important things. “Tell me,” James demanded. “Tell me what Alex knows about my father, about what happened to Ophelia.”
Mr. Smith sighed and glanced at Patience. “It’s not for feminine ears.”
“Do not be cloying, Mr. Smith. I know much more than you realize and I’ve seen worse than you can imagine.” She tilted her chin high. “I even visited Lady Lavender’s.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “How could you be so damn stupid?”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Enough!” James roared, causing Eleanor to whimper in her sleep. He leaned closer to her, pressing his lips to her ear. “Shhh, all is well.” When she seemed to settle, he turned back toward them. “Tell me now.
Mr. Smith sighed, pacing the room. “Your father worked for Gideon’s father years ago.
“One night Gideon’s father raped a woman, a beautiful country lass from France. Alex’s father, his friend at the time, helped cover up the crime, as did his driver, who had witnessed it all. That driver was your father.”
James closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. “The lass was Lady Lavender?”
“Yes. They got away with the crime, although I believe Gideon’s father paid her handsomely to keep her mouth shut. She did, realizing she could seek her revenge in other ways… through their sons.”
James felt ill. “All this time, it’s been about revenge?”
Mr. Smith nodded.
James looked toward the fireplace, his mind spinning. All that time he’d thought they were friends, that she was actually helping him… he’d merely been a means to an end. And his father… his father had let a man get away with rape. At least now he understood why his father had killed himself: the guilt. He rested his head in his hands, stunned. His final bitter words to his father had not brought the man to suicide after all. The relief was immediate, but at the same time he was highly aware of his father’s part in Ophelia’s downfall.
He opened his eyes, searching for Ellie, needing to soak in her purity. The bruises upon her face broke his heart. Soon she would wake and they would have to deal with cold reality. He drew his knuckles down the side of her velvety cheek. Eleanor had been the only one honest with him. And how would he repay her? By forcing her to live a life of hardship and suffering.
As if sensing the way of his thoughts, her lashes stirred, lifting. “James?”
Despite his guilt, his heart clenched with hope. “Aye, I’m here.”
“Come, Mr. Smith,” Patience said, heading to the door. “Help me carry a tray of warm soup.” The man reluctantly followed her out the door, closing it behind him. They were left alone, although he knew it wouldn’t last.
A small smile lifted the corners of Eleanor’s cracked lips. “You came for me.”
“Of course I did,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. The relief he felt nearly shook him to the core of his being. Ellie was awake, she was speaking. Her right cheek was swollen and red, her battered face not her own. Just looking at the pain in her eyes made him want to murder her husband. But at least she was awake. Damn it all, he’d always buried his true emotions under a carefree smile. But here, now, he couldn’t pretend any longer… at least not with Ellie.
“Did you kill him?” she whispered.
“No.” Unfortunately. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger? He might have ended up in prison, but Eleanor would be free. But even as he asked himself, he knew the reason why. Deep down he hoped to have a life with Ellie, and he couldn’t have a life while in the gaols.
She nodded slowly. “Good.”
Her response didn’t please him, and he wondered if she held some sort of compassion for the man. He had been her husband for over a decade after all. “He deserved it.”
“Maybe.” Her hand tightened around his. “But I’d rather you not be wanted for murder. I’d rather you be free to stay with me forever.” Her pale brows puckered. “Are we free?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. At the least he was wanted for attacking a better. At the worst he was wanted for abduction and attempted murder. Ellie was still married to the bastard, therefore he still owned her. Even if they subtracted Lord Beckett from the mess, he still had Lady Lavender to attend with. Free? Perhaps more than they’d been only hours ago, but still not nearly as free as they needed to be.
“You’ll be ruined,” he warned her, rubbing his thumb across the sensitive inside of her wrist. “If you leave with me.”
“Yes.” Her lashes were drifting down, the laudanum working its magic.
She needed her sleep, yet he couldn’t help prod for more. Never in his life had he expected to feel this full, this complete with a woman. He needed her agreement, he needed her word that she would stay with him.
“You don’t mind?”
Her lips quirked, her lashes closed. “Better to be ruined than dead, right?”
He smiled this time, somewhat mollified. “Yes.” He only prayed that when they were living in a tiny one-room cottage with dirt floors she still agreed. He brushed back her hair and pressed a kiss to her cool forehead.
“James,” she said softly, startling him. He’d thought she slept.
“What is it, my love?”
She turned her head slightly, nuzzling her lips against the palm of his hand. “I can’t have children.”
He frowned, distressed by her statement. “Just because you haven’t had any doesn’t mean you can’t. I know men blame women, but it could be either—”
She lifted her lids, as if forcing herself to stay awake. He didn’t miss the tears filling her eyes. “No, I can’t, and up until now I thought it was a blessing. I didn’t want children with him. But now… with you…”
He leaned forward and brushed her hair back from her face, attempting to soothe her. Whether it was true or not, he hated to see her so distressed. “Ellie, it might not be you.”
Tears slid down her pale cheeks. “It is. My husband has had bastards with other women. It is me, James, and if you don’t want
me anymore, I understand.”
Whether it was true or not, she believed every word. The image of Ellie with a babe in her arms came naturally, and he could barely believe that she was barren. But it didn’t matter to him. Good God, it didn’t matter in the least. “Ellie, I never thought to have children anyway. I only want you.”
She didn’t look comforted, and when a single tear slowly slid down her bruised cheek her pain was almost more than he could stand.
“I mean it.”
“Y… you’re sure?”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He’d never been so sure in his life. “Yes. Sleep, rest easy, my love.”
“No, there’s something I need to tell you…” Her lashes were drifting down as if they weighed a stone. “Something…”
He gently pulled the covers higher, worried about her condition. Did she not realize she was all he had left? If anything were to happen to Eleanor… He grasped her hands, holding them tight. “You can tell me later.”
She managed to free one hand. “No.”
“Ellie, rest. You need to recover—”
“It’s your sister.” She pushed the covers away and searched his face with her hazy gaze. The determination in her face worried him. “I know you told me not to interfere, but I visited her.”
He stiffened. “What? How?”
She tightened her grip on his hand. “They never got the money or letters.”
“Ellie, what are you saying?”
She took in a deep, trembling breath. “The money and letters Lady Lavender said she would send…”—he had to lean closer to understand her mumbled words—“… she never did.”
Her lashes fell once more, her breathing deep, even. Utter shock held James immobile for good long moment. He felt cold. So bitterly cold. His sister had never received his money. His mother had died in poverty, most likely assuming he had died as well. James swallowed hard over the lump that suddenly clogged his throat. It could be a mistake, some fantastical dream Ellie had produced in her drugged mind. He knew, deep down, it wasn’t.