Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 6

Six

P hillip sat in the faded armchair in his study, staring into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His left leg ached, especially during the damp winter months. He rubbed his thigh, squeezing the muscles, and then farther down to his shin and calf. The muscles were still weak from the lack of use. But it hurt too much to walk, so he did so only when necessary.

A sound from the hall below caught his attention. Voices. Who the devil could Boucher be talking to? They’d reduced the staff over the last year, mainly because he had shut up most of the house since he remained close to his bedchamber and never entertained. He sat up a little in his chair, listening to the sounds of a woman. The pair of maids he still employed were likely on the first floor of the house at the farthest end where the other bedchambers were or in the kitchens.

“Boucher?” he called out, but his voice was hoarse since he hadn’t used it in what felt like days. He hadn’t had occasion to see anyone or truly talk to anyone since last month when Graham had come to call. The memory still burdened him with shame. Graham had tried to talk him into returning to London, and they had quarreled about the matter. He’d said things he hadn’t meant, and he had hurt his friend deeply. Graham hadn’t returned since, and Phillip couldn’t blame him.

The voices persisted, and curiosity drove him to reach for his cane. He steadied himself with one palm on the cane and set the other on the armrest of the chair. With effort, he pulled himself up and took a shaky, pained step. But the carpets beneath him had become rumpled, and he tripped. He cried out as he hit his head on the edge of a nearby table and a vase crashed to the ground.

Phillip lay on his stomach, trying to catch his breath. A wave of self-loathing rolled through him so strong that he nearly threw up.

Boucher came running into the room. “My lord?” The butler knelt beside him and gripped his elbow to help him up. The first time Phillip had fallen, he had tried to shove the man away, but now he allowed Boucher to aid him.

“My lord…” Boucher cleared his throat.

“Who were you talking to?”

“A young lady. I sent her away as you”

Footsteps in the doorway caused them both to look up. Ella stood there, her blonde hair escaping from an ermine-lined hood. Blue-gray eyes filled with pity met his, and his world crumbled even further around him. He was a broken shell of a man on his knees before her.

“What are you doing here?” His question came out a rough growl, though not from anger but from disuse.

“I…” She continued to stare at him. “Lord Pembroke invited us both to his Christmas ball. Mr. St. Laurent and his wife, Audrey, were already attending, and we came here to see if you wished to travel with us.” Her gloved hands buried themselves in her blue velvet gown as she watched him climb to his feet with his butler’s help. Lord, the woman was a vision of loveliness, as always. Blue was a fetching color on her—it brought out her eyes and made her gold hair shine. It was as though she had fallen to the earth from some distant star and still glowed fresh with starlight.

Boucher handed him his cane, and he leaned heavily on it.

“I’m not going, so there is little reason for you to stay.”

Ella’s lips clamped shut, and her eyes became downcast as she slowly stepped back. It hurt to send her away, but he was a crippled fool. She deserved better.

Ella began to turn away but stopped and faced him again. “Do you truly despise me so much? Am I that pathetic in your eyes?” Her eyes were burning with fire and tears. The mixture of sorrow and fury made his body flush with heat and anger of his own.

“I don’t despise you.” What on earth had made her think that?

“I’ve done nothing but try to help you, and yet you push me away. I am done, Lord Kent. I shall leave you in peace, since that is what you seem to desire most.” She didn’t give him a chance to say another word.

“Ella, wait!” He hobbled after her, but she was too quick-footed. She rushed down the stairs and into the courtyard. He would never catch up with her. Still, he kept moving, slowly but surely, braving each step as he descended the stairs. Boucher followed him at a discreet distance.

He braced himself as he stepped out into the snowy courtyard and hobbled to the outer gatehouse, jerking to a halt beneath the stone archway. Ella stood a dozen feet away, alone. The tiny black dot of a moving coach far down the road held her attention. Two large valises sat on the snowy walkway beside her.

She’d been abandoned on his doorstep like a damned unwanted kitten.

Her shoulders were shaking, and a little muffled sob escaped her. He wanted to take her in his arms and murmur sweet things to her just so she would smile again, and to feel her burrow into him for comfort and warmth, even though he had no right to ask for such trust.

“Ella…,” he whispered as he moved toward her, careful with his cane on the ice.

She turned to face him, her red-rimmed eyes wounding him further.

“They left me. I came back here to leave, but my cases were on the ground, and they were already going away. I called for them to stop, but…” She wiped her eyes furiously.

“Ella, please, stop crying.” He must have sounded like a fool, but if she didn’t stop, he wasn’t sure what he would do. “You may stay here while we sort this out.”

“Stay? Alone with you? I have no maid, no chaperone… Phillip, I’m ruined. The moment they pulled away, I was destroyed. Audrey must have intended this the moment she asked me to come here.”

Phillip took careful steps as he came over to her, and feeling quite foolish still, he offered her a handkerchief.

“Dry your eyes and come inside. No one has to know you are here. I’m alone here with a small staff. No one will hear of this. I promise.” He touched her shoulder and was relieved when she didn’t pull away. He wanted to do so much more but dared not.

She sniffled. The tip of her adorable nose was red from crying and from the cold. “What are we going to do?” she asked as they walked back to the courtyard.

“We’ll figure out something. I have a coach and a driver. I could arrange to take you to Pembroke’s.”

“How far away is his estate?” Ella asked. She kept pace with him, pausing as he stopped twice to catch his breath. It embarrassed him, but he couldn’t go any farther without taking a moment to rest.

“In this weather? A little less than two days east.”

“Two days?” Her voice was pitched high in panic as she gasped for breath. He caught her waist.

“Ella, breathe,” he soothed as her face turned an alarming shade of red. He rubbed his hand on her hip, trying to calm her. Finally she seemed to regain control, and he reluctantly dropped his hand.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded, and they returned to his home. The entry hall was dark and a bit dusty. Ella coughed, which made him wince. She couldn’t stay here while his home was like this. He remembered how she had reactions to dust. Graham was always explaining how delicate she was.

“Boucher?” he called out.

“Yes, my lord?” His trusted butler was there, ready to help. The man had been his parents’ butler, and he was one of the most faithful men Phillip had ever known.

“Please have the maids prepare a guest room for Lady Ella. One of the rooms past the gallery.”

“The Lily Room?” Boucher suggested.

“Er…yes. That one.” Phillip searched his butler’s face for any hint of motive as to suggesting that room. It was directly next to his and had a connecting door hidden in the panels of the shared wall. A hundred years before, one of his ancestors had used it to meet his lover in secret. Boucher was well aware of that fact.

“And should one of our maids attend to Lady Ella for the duration?”

“Yes.” Phillip glanced about the hall. “And perhaps we ought to hire back some of the staff as well.” Boucher nodded in understanding. They could not have the Earl of Lonsdale’s sister staying in a dusty, closed-up house. It wouldn’t do.

“Ella, come sit in my study. The fire is lit, and you can warm up while your room is prepared.” He gripped the banister with one hand and his cane with the other as he climbed. Ella did not rush up ahead of him; instead, she kept pace with him as they ascended.

“I’ve never seen your home,” she said after a moment. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re kind, but I have not taken care of it as I should in this last year.”

She didn’t correct him or offer any pitying comment, and for that he was grateful. When they reached his study, he hastened toward his chair but did not sit until she did. When she finally sat down, he sighed and almost collapsed in relief. He settled his cane beside him, resting it in the crook between his chair cushion and the armrest. When he looked up, Ella was watching him again, a disconcerted expression on her face. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. Was she wondering what his leg looked like now? Was he hobbling about on a shriveled limb?

“You’ve come so far,” she whispered. “Your leg. You were terribly hurt, but you’re walking very well.”

Her words stunned him. He thought she would be disappointed or possibly disgusted. Yet she was praising him. As their eyes met, shock ran through him. He hadn’t had the positive focus of a beautiful woman on him in over a year, and he’d forgotten how it felt.

“I am not walking as well as I had hoped,” he finally replied, nodding at the cane.

“Oh, but the cane gives you a most distinguished look. At least, ladies must think so,” she replied openly, honestly. She was so very much herself in that moment, the young woman he had met for the first time who played billiards and bargained for kisses. That was the Ella he had first cared about, the Ella he’d feared he had crushed with his harsh words. She was here. She wasn’t broken.

“You think a cane is distinguished?” he asked, amused.

“Quite so,” she answered without hesitation. “You are like one of Lord Byron’s heroes.”

He arched a brow at her. “Aren’t they all rather tragic?”

“Well, yes, but only because he wrote them so. It doesn’t mean a hero has to be tragic.”

“Don’t they?” he challenged. “A good hero must sacrifice something in order to be a hero. Doesn’t that by nature make them tragic?” He was surprised by how much he was enjoying sparring with her verbally, and he wondered if she could refute that argument.

Ella’s blue-gray eyes glinted with light. “Not at all. How one views sacrifice determines whether or not it makes one tragic. A person can view the ability to sacrifice as a strength, a value that is worthy of praise and admiration. To me, a good hero takes pride in his or her ability to make noble sacrifices and not pity themselves for it.”

He actually smiled. She’d outfoxed him on that point. “You are certainly right. I hadn’t considered that.”

Before either of them could say more, one of his maids entered carrying a tea tray. She set it down on the side table next to Phillip.

“Thank you, Cora,” he said to the maid before she left. Then he looked to Ella. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you. Shall I pour?”

He frowned. “My leg is crippled, not my hands. I’m quite able to pour tea.”

Ella sighed in exasperation. “I did not ask out of pity. You know full well the lady is the one who usually performs the tea service, not the gentleman.” She came over to the table and swatted his hands away. “If your desire is to be useful, add a few more logs to the fire. I will prepare the tea.” He shot a glance at the fireplace. She was right—the logs were nearly ashes, and the room was starting to cool.

Cane in hand, he pulled himself to his feet. He was careful this time as he moved across the carpets and eased down in front of the fire. A wire basket held a stack of logs, and he used a poker to stir the flames back up to a hearty burn. Then he gripped the side of the fireplace and his cane to drag himself back up. The pain was still fresh, but after the long walk to the first gatehouse after Ella, he felt less stiff than expected. It was puzzling, but hopefully a good thing. He’d been so afraid to walk too much upon his leg. Every doctor who had consulted with him in the last year had insisted on further rest. Rest, rest, and more rest. He had been relieved at first, but now he was tired of it. Efforts that had come with ease before his injuries now taxed him greatly.

“Sugar?” Ella asked, calling his attention back to her.

“One lump,” he replied as he returned to his chair and settled in. He accepted his teacup, and their fingers brushed briefly. Even in this innocent exchange, his body came to life at the small touch.

Ella removed her black velvet manteau and settled into her own seat with her tea. A long silence bloomed between them before she finally broke it.

“Were you planning on attending Pembroke’s ball?”

“No, I was not.”

“But you are friends with him, aren’t you?”

“I… Yes. I am.” He wasn’t sure why he’d hesitated. He and Pembroke had been close, almost as close as he and Graham were. He had driven Graham away, and now he had pushed Pembroke to a distance. Just as he had so many others. Pain controlled him, had weakened him, and he hadn’t fought it.

I am a coward, he thought. A damned coward who doesn’t deserve the friendships of these men.

“Then you should come with me to the ball,” Ella suggested, as though she had just announced it was a lovely day outside, not cold and wintry.

“No, I couldn’t…”

“Why not? You are invited, you are friends with him, and I have no doubt that you are missed. It will be a lovely time.”

“My leg pains me. It would be foolish to take on such a journey.”

“Why?” she asked. Her eyes were wide, innocent, but for a second he saw a glimmer of something more cunning behind them.

“What do you mean why ?” he snapped.

“I mean why would it be foolish? Yes, I understand your leg hurts, but that doesn’t mean you cannot travel by coach in relative comfort to the ball.”

She sipped her tea in such a ladylike manner, but he felt like she had called him out for his cowardice.

“Well… I…”

“Phillip, it would do you good to come. I know you do not like me or my company, and I promise to leave you to yourself during the journey. We can be two strangers traveling to the same destination.” She sounded so polite, so calm and unaffected. But he had learned long ago how to read her face, the tightness to her smile and the pain in her eyes.

“Ella, we are not and never will be strangers. And never have I said I do not like you or your company.”

Her eyes flashed with fire. “You have a fine way of showing that. You can’t seem to leave a room fast enough when I enter it.”

He growled a little. “That has nothing to do with not liking you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Let me think on it. The ball is a few days away.”

“You have until dawn,” she countered.

“Then I’m not coming,” Phillip replied almost petulantly.

“Coward.” That one word hit him hard. He sucked in a violent breath, which made the old wounds in his chest pull tight. “You’re frightened.”

“I am not .”

“Frightened of the ball, frightened of a few days in a coach with me, frightened, I suspect, of your own shadow.”

He got to his feet and towered over her, growling her name in warning. “Ella.”

She set her teacup aside on the table and stood up, their bodies only a few inches apart.

“Don’t you need your cane?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly. She was mocking him.

“Of course I do.” He tried to move it, only to realize he wasn’t holding his cane. He had taken several steps quickly across the room without it.

He moved his gaze from his empty hand to Ella’s face. She had a serene look of triumph in her eyes, and her full, kissable lips were curved in a smile.

Phillip backed away, stumbled more than anything, until he had his cane in his hand once again and a merciful distance was between him and the woman he wanted to both kiss and strangle.

“I think it’s time you were shown to your room.” He walked toward the door and called for Boucher. They waited for a minute outside in the corridor before Boucher appeared and led Ella away. Phillip couldn’t take his eyes off her, feeling the distance and the darkness growing between them. Was she right? Was he hiding when he should be out in the world? He didn’t want to think she was right, didn’t want to think about how seeing her again, feeling her in his arms even for a brief moment, had sparked a light within the gloom inside his heart.

The sooner he could have Ella safely away from him the sooner he could go back to his life. His safe, quiet life here in his home, away from the world, away from pain.

A life of hiding like a coward.

Damn. Ella was right.