10

Dear Readers,

Thank you for your continued support. I read and appreciate each and every one of your comments!

Forgive me for the longer delay for this installment, but Chapter 10 insisted it must go along with Chapter 9, so of course I had to listen, lest Chapter 11 go completely awry.

I am never sure how my story will be received, but I hope you will enjoy this latest bit!

All my love,

Emmeline

*******

Chapter 9

Silence fell again inside the carriage. Eliza stared stonily out the window, and Rockdale sighed.

And though he hadn't said a word, her head swung back around to face him, eyes narrowed.

"Couldn't you have warned me of your plans to deceive everyone? And thus spared me the terror of thinking my mother dying?" she demanded.

Rockdale spread his hands wide. "I was feeling plagued by unwelcome houseguests." He shrugged. "The idea occurred to me last night, and it seemed to be a reasonable and believable means to accomplish several things I wanted."

Seeing her thunderous expression, he shifted on the seat and continued. "Perhaps...I should have given more thought to your feelings. For this, I do...apologize."

He waited for her reply, but she only nodded curtly and resumed her stare out the window.

Nonplussed, the earl sat back against the seat and plucked his hat off.

Bloody hell.

He had lowered himself to apologize to the damned woman, and yet she still seemed unsatisfied.

"You were supposed to be a biddable, docile young woman from the country," he muttered irritably.

Without turning she replied, "And you were described as a kind, but distant, lord looking for a governess. It seems we were both sorely misled."

They rode in silence a while longer, and Rockdale continued to stew. He was growing a bit tired of Miss Lockhart's haughty attitude.

Bored and restless, he found himself staring at her breasts. Even in the confines of bodice and stays, they bounced most charmingly on the uneven spots in the road. He was broodingly hoping for the wheels to find a sizable rut when a soft snore pulled his attention upward.

The sunlight through the window played over the pale skin of her face. Eliza's head had listed to the side and her eyes were closed. Looked damned uncomfortable to him, but he figured touching her might well get his bloody head bitten off, so he let her be.

He did notice there were dark smudges under her eyes and wondered if she felt poorly from her illness the night before. A twinge of guilt assailed him. Perhaps he had been thoughtless forcing her to travel after she'd been recently sick.

Nothing to be done for it now, he reasoned. They couldn't exactly turn around and go back at this point.

Her head continued to list further over, and he winced. A sore neck surely wasn't going to improve her surly disposition when she awoke.

Rockdale cocked his head. Where the creamy skin of her throat met the high neckline of her dark blue gown there were strange discolored spots barely visible...

Almost before the thought had completed in his mind, his body launched across the floorboard to the opposite seat. He leaned over her dozing form and carefully lifted the fabric of her gown away from her neck.

Unmistakable at close range, bruises indeed bloomed on either side of her throat, almost as though someone's fingers had closed—

Blood began to pound hard and fast in his head. Some person, someone strong by the looks of it, had touched her, hurt her.

His hands clenched into fists. How could this have happened at Verity Hall? It was supposed to be a safe and secure haven for his children...dear God. Surely if they were in danger she would have told him.

Why had she not told him?

He moved back to his own seat across from her.

"Eliza," he said. "Wake up."

She stirred and opened her eyes slowly, blinking. "Sorry, did I doze off?"

Rockdale gripped his knees and tried to keep his voice even. "Darling, who put those bruises on your neck?"

Her hand flew protectively to her throat, and she swallowed hard.

Fury quite unlike anything he had ever felt surged into his chest when he saw her tremble and bow her head.

"Eliza?" he prompted, his voice strained. "Was it Willoughby?"

She shook her head and darted a quick look at his face. "It...it was the footman George."

Rockdale stared hard at her pale face as he struggled to absorb this information. "Tell me what happened, every bit."

He waited impatiently while she twisted her hands in her lap. Part of him wished to spare her more unpleasantness, but the black rage controlling him demanded to know.

"He has harassed me before," she admitted. "He claims to have seen us together. Enough to surmise that we are..."

"Lovers?" he asked bluntly.

She stared out the window again. "Yes. I was walking in the gardens yesterday afternoon when he accosted me. I tried to get away—"

Her breathing hitched, and Rockdale dearly wished to inflict bodily harm upon the man who had hurt her.

"But you couldn't?" he prompted.

Her hands wrapped around her abdomen. "He pulled me behind the shrubberies and...put his hands on me." She shuddered. "He kept saying that he was going to tell everyone what a whore I was, and that Mrs. Biddleton would corroborate his story."

Rockdale grimaced. "She is his aunt, I believe. That is possible."

The earl dragged a hand through his hair, rumpling it. "Dear God. How far...Eliza...did he force himself on you?" he forced the words out, dread of her answer sickening his stomach.

She bit her lip. "He wanted to," she said hoarsely. "He pulled my skirts up but kept babbling about needing to get me in the house." She shook her head. "I didn't understand why he waited, but I'm glad he did."

"How on earth did you get away?"

A harsh look passed over Eliza's face. "I butted him with my head," she said, nodding. "And then I rammed my knee into his bollocks."

Some relief eased his worry. "Good girl," he murmured.

Tears glimmered on her lashes as she angled a look up at him. "I should have done that to you," she said and sniffed.

Moving slowly, he eased back over beside her and drew her into his arms. "Yes, you should have."

She cried softly for a bit, and he held her close, stroking her back.

"I would never let him touch me voluntarily, never!" she said into his chest.

"I know, darling," he soothed.

Eliza raised her head to look at him. "You believe me?" she whispered.

Rockdale laid a hand on her cheek that wasn't quite steady. "Every thought you have is written plain on your face," he said, smiling slightly. "I think you may be the most honest and true person I've ever known."

Rockdale frowned at her surprised expression. "Did you think I wouldn't believe you? Is that why didn't tell me immediately?"

She ducked her head and took a shuddering breath. "I don't know. I was just so shaken by the incident and frightened, too. I didn't know where to turn."

"Eliza, you must always come to me," he reproached, tucking a loosened curl behind her ear. "I can't believe I allowed someone like this horse's arse near you and the children."

She sniffed. "What will you do about him?" she asked, looking up at him, uncertain.

Rockdale took both her hands into his. "You are mine," he said simply. "No one else touches what is mine."

Her expression was troubled, and he stared into her fathomless dark blue eyes, wondering what she was thinking.

He pressed her hand over his heart. "Will you forgive me for not protecting you?"

Her eyes were wide and serious. "Yes, but who will protect me from you?" she whispered.

Rockdale had no answer for her and truthfully did not care to dwell upon her question. Somehow this young woman from the country, meant to be used for an amusing romp of bedsport had become quite necessary to him. Her spirit refused to be diminished when, by all rights, she should have been cowed by his greater power and influence over her.

At turns she drove him absolutely incensed, made him laugh out loud, compelled him to use his wits to spar with her, and not only did he have an almost uncontrollable lust for her delectable body, but he found himself desiring just to have the simple pleasure of being in her company. She made the mundane pace of his days sparkle with a life unlike anything he had ever experienced.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "For now, just trust me take care of you," he whispered against her mouth.

He could feel her trembling.

"You ask too much," she said unsteadily. "You demand everything of me but give nothing in return. How can I possibly trust you?"

"You shouldn't, but you're going to," he commanded and lowered his head to capture her lips again.

***

Eliza turned her face away from the earl's seeking mouth.

His eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"I need time to collect my thoughts." She took a deep breath. "I don't know what to think about anything anymore, and you're trying to befuddle me with kisses."

"Is it working?" he said, lifting his brow.

"No. Now go back to your side of the carriage. I want to read the letter from my mother."

For a long moment, he stared down at her, and Eliza almost felt sure he was going to press the issue or at least try further seduction, but at last he grudgingly nodded and returned to the opposite seat.

Eliza smoothed her hair and with trembling fingers picked up the letter Rockdale had given her and realized it was actually two letters folded together. Opening the first, joy buoyed her spirits to see her mother's handwriting.

Dearest Eliza,

I hope this letter finds you well, daughter. How missed you are in this little home! Abigail and Mrs. Wick send their love, as do I. I'm sure you are settling well into life at Verity Hall and are a valuable addition to that grand household.

The earl must be a kind employer indeed to send a doctor all the way from London to attend the mother of his governess! You cannot imagine my surprise when that distinguished physician arrived at the door of our humble cottage!

I must admit I was resistant at first to his methods of treatment. The gentleman is insistent on daily walks outside to build my strength. Dr. Morgan is quite a stubborn man...and quite a handsome one, too, I must say if you will forgive an old woman's silliness.

In other news, I should tell you that Mr. Dillingham has sold our cottage and its small property to some distant lord. I was most distressed to learn of this, but Mr. Dillingham has told me not to worry, we will be allowed to stay, and our rent is to be reduced by half!

Things are finally looking up for our family, and it is all because of your sacrifice, dear Eliza.

If given the chance, please express my gratitude to your generous employer for the thoughtful treatment he has arranged for me to receive from Dr. Morgan.

I pray this letter finds you well and content.

Love always,

Mama

Eliza snorted. Generous employer my arse, she thought.

She unfolded the second letter, written from the doctor himself to the earl and browsed the neat, sparse handwriting.

"He thinks my mother really is improving," Eliza said, smiling in delight. "I can almost forgive you for lying to me. And maybe I even feel a bit grateful to you for sending the doctor from London." She paused and looked up. "I couldn't have arranged that on my own."

"How grateful are you feeling?" he asked silkily, mouth turning up at one end.

"Not that grateful."

"Pity," he murmured. "It's a long trip."

***

The day was growing late when the earl's carriage stopped in front of a small townhouse nestled on a quiet street in the outskirts of London.

"Is this our destination?" Eliza asked, puzzled.

"For now," Rockdale answered, assisting her out of the carriage.

Eliza resisted the urge to pester him for more answers. No matter how many questions she posed, it seemed the blasted man was determined to be vague about his plans.

With a small sigh, she accepted the arm he offered and let him to steer her toward the front door. She looked over the house with interest and slight trepidation; it had a pleasant, elegant dignity without appearing ostentatious.

Eliza halted abruptly and refused to budge another step.

Rockdale glanced askance down at her.

"Is this where you house your mistress?" she demanded in a whisper.

"No, there's nothing sordid about the place," he assured her with some exasperation. "I keep a small household here. I find it quite a pleasant escape at times."

She reluctantly allowed herself to be towed along toward the entrance.

At the door, they were heartily welcomed by an older couple Rockdale introduced as his housekeepers, Mr. and Mrs. Crawley. The pair seemed genuinely pleased to see the earl even as Rockdale apologized for their unannounced arrival.

Eliza hovered near the door, stiff and uncomfortable, but the Crawleys raised not the slightest qualm at the sight of her. Mrs. Crawley bustled over, fussing over Eliza as she whisked away her shawl, urging her further into the house.

"Poor lamb, you look completely chilled!" Mrs. Crawley exclaimed. "Let's get you warmed up with some nice tea and a bite to eat."

Shame reddened Eliza's cheeks, and she kept her gaze on the floor, mortified to be such an inappropriate guest of the earl's. No respectable, unmarried lady would be in his company sans chaperone.

But as she had no other option, Eliza allowed herself to be directed into a cozy parlor, and within what seemed like minutes, she and Rockdale were comfortably seated across from one another before a warm fire with tea and plates of sandwiches that had seemed to magically appear.

Eliza hid her nose in her teacup, breathing in the rising steam before sipping gratefully. The journey from Verity Hall had not been an arduous one, but tiring nonetheless.

Gladly, no one seemed to expect her to make conversation, and she found herself becoming rather drowsy absently listening to Rockdale's deep voice as he conversed with the Crawleys.

After receiving Rockdale's instructions, the couple rose, leaving them to their supper. Mrs. Crawley gave her a soft pat on the shoulder before she exited.

Eliza and the earl sat quietly by the fire for a few moments, eating and drinking their tea.

"The Crawleys are nice," she said, giving him a quick look over the rim of her teacup.

"Yes, I am very lucky to have them."

Eliza rested her cup in her lap, cradling the warm china in her hands. "Do they...do they know?" she asked hesitantly. Being a woman of loose moral principles was a new and embarrassing concept for her.

"They know nothing about you," Rockdale said. "And they won't ask, believe me. You are my guest here, that is all that matters."

He stared silently at her for a moment then reached out and took her hand. Both of them had removed their gloves to take refreshments, and his bare skin felt hot and oddly intimate against hers.

"Here in this house we are simply William and Eliza," he said, drawing her hand up to his mouth and gently kissing the back.

Her heart gave a lurch at this courtly gesture despite herself. "Not Lord Rockdale and his lowly bumpkin governess?" she queried with a sardonic quirk of her brow, attempting to disguise his effect on her.

He laughed softly. "Ever my prickly little dove, aren't you?"

His dark eyes seemed to glow with warmth in the flickering light, and Eliza felt strangely disarmed when he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her palm. She shivered at the unexpected flick of his tongue and tried to pull her hand away in reflex.

He held fast to her captive hand. "Mrs. Crawley is going to show you to your room upstairs. I want you to lie down and try to sleep for a couple hours. I have some things I need to do in the meantime."

Eliza frowned at him. Sleep now? What was he about? It wasn't even dark outside yet. "I don't understand," she said.

He raised her hand and laid it against his cheek. "I know you aren't accustomed to city hours, my dear, but we have a ball to attend tonight."

"Tonight!" Eliza was aghast. "I have nothing to wear!"

Rockdale's answering smile immediately made her uneasy. "You must trust me. You will have everything you need for the masque."

Eliza chided herself for feeling a bit forlorn and abandoned when Rockdale stood and took his leave a short time later. You're being ridiculous, she told herself. You are not a child.

But she did feel very alone when Mrs. Crawley led the way up the stairs of the unfamiliar house. The housekeeper escorted Eliza into a large bedroom dominated by a giant wooden bed. Eliza's eyes riveted to it, wondering if she would be sharing this bed with Rockdale. Her mind conjured him, imagining his muscular body sprawled nude over the plush, deep-red counterpane.

"Here we are, dearie," the housekeeper said, drawing Eliza's attention back with a self-conscious jerk. "Mr. Crawley has already stirred the fire so it's nice and toasty warm in here. Your wee trunk is there by the bed. Shall I help you undress? His lordship says you're wanting a bit of a lie down."

The older woman's kindness was almost her undoing. Eliza cleared her throat as tears threatened. How could this woman treat her so graciously when it was obvious she was nothing but the earl's light-o'-love?

"Ahh, no. Thank you, Mrs. Crawley," Eliza managed. "I'll be just fine on my own. I'm used to doing for myself."

Mrs. Crawley beamed and nodded. "Very good, miss. You just let me know if you'll be needing anything. There's fresh water in the ewer if you wish to wash up. Someone'll be back in a while to wake you."

Once alone, Eliza collapsed on the big bed. How on earth could Rockdale expect her to attend a ball tonight? They had traveled most of the day only stopping to change horses and eat a quick luncheon. She hadn't even packed her one ill-fitting evening gown. What could the earl be thinking?

She had never been to a ball before...let alone a masque!

Her mind twisted and twirled in morass of unending thoughts and worries of what the night might bring.

Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it.

If Rockdale meant to drag her around half the night and carouse with God-only-knew what kind of people, then she had better try to rest now and worry later.

"Right," she muttered.

***

The household staff at Verity Hall was gathered around the kitchen table, lingering over the last of their supper.

"I'm glad those troublesome ladies packed up and left after his lordship did," the housekeeper said stoutly.

Simpson frowned but nodded in agreement. Life was certainly simpler when the house was empty of its high-born occupants. But he did wish Mrs. Biddleton would hold her tongue on such matters. It wasn't proper to be saying such things, even with the earl away.

The butler nearly upended his teacup when the kitchen door loudly banged open. The household's youngest footman stood in the doorway trying to catch his breath.

"Ned!" Cook exclaimed. "I thought ye went along with his lordship!"

"I did," the young man said, panting. He brandished a folded piece of foolscap in his hand. "But the earl sent me back the first time we changed horses with an urgent message for Mr. Simpson."

Simpson rose at once and strode to Ned's side. "Well, give it here then, boy."

The butler opened the letter and scanned the contents, swallowed hard and read it again. He pinned Ned with a hard look. "Did his lordship discuss this with you?"

The younger man shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. "Yes, sir. He did, sir. He said he wanted it done immediately."

Simpson nodded, grim at the prospect of carrying out his lord's wishes. "Go and fetch Robbie from the stable then."

"What is it, Simpson?" Mrs. Biddleton demanded as Ned dashed back out the door. "What's going on?"

Simpson ignored her and turned to his two other footmen, seated at the table and watching with interest.