Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 12
The sky tore open with a fierce crack of lightning, charring the air as a mixture of rain and hail pelted to the ground. Eliza flew down the path away from Una, her skirts knotted in her hands. She undid the latch to her rear gate with clumsy, wet fingers and bolted up the hill, drenched and shivering.
Mr. Mason stood beneath the shelter of the rear veranda, his fingers hooked in his braces. Something was wrong. She could tell by the set of his angular chin as she drew near. “There’s been some trouble, miss.”
“What is it?” Eliza asked, unpinning her hat. It was ruined, the papier-mâché roses on its band weeping dye in lurid pink rivulets. “Do we have a leak?”
“No, miss. Nothing with the house.” Mason squinted. “Lord Eastleigh was by, in rather cross spirits. Demanded to be let in.”
Eliza’s stomach twisted and dropped. “Is he here?”
“No. When I wouldn’t allow him entry, he threatened me.” He crossed his arms, and she got a glimpse of what Giles Mason must have been like as a younger man. “I came through two wars, miss. I lived through the Battle of Balaclava. I do not stand down when some prancing, toffy boy threatens me.”
Eliza couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Indeed, sir. To your great credit.”
“He won’t be bothering you again. You can be sure of that, so long as I guard your gates. But there’s something else.” He pulled a folded envelope from his trousers pocket and handed it to her. “The Phelps lad—Nigel—delivered this shortly after.”
The envelope had been hastily addressed, her name an illegible scrawl. Eliza tore it open, her dye-stained fingertips marring the paper.
My darling girl, I must see you tonight. Discretion is in order. Watch by your window.
Malcolm
Eliza crumpled the note in her hand. A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat.
Malcolm’s note was related to Eastleigh’s visit, there could be no question. Una had surely contributed to their rivalry by sharing the results of her spying with Eastleigh, but Eliza had a feeling there was more at stake than Una’s jealousy and Malcolm’s debt. Despite Sarah’s comforting words that afternoon, the mysteries surrounding Malcolm’s past still weighed heavily on her mind.
Couldshe truly trust Malcolm? Were Una’s words merely the ravings of an addled rival, or a warning against something far more sinister? Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them. She needed her bath. And time to think. “Mr. Mason,” she said, “can I trouble you to stay awake late tonight? I’ve a feeling I may need to call upon your help.”
He gave a rare, ragged grin. “Certainly. I’m happy to be in your service, miss.”
Eliza knelt over the spigot to the high-backed copper tub and opened the tap, waiting while the basin filled with warm, steaming water. She undid the buttons of her day dress and shrugged it into a sodden heap on the floor, then stepped out of her undergarments. Outside, the rain still spat against the windows. She imagined Sarah had convinced her sister to stay out the storm. They were probably huddled over a game of pinochle or playing drunken charades with the other girls. Well, good.
After her bath, she donned her nightdress, made tea, and sat in the open window to comb out her hair. The skies had ceased their weeping, leaving the grass a brilliant green and bringing a cleansing freshness to the air. She chose a book of poetry from Tante Theo’s sparse collection and read until twilight had fallen. The cuckoo clock downstairs rang nine, then ten. She looked toward Havenwood Manor. All the windows were vacant and dark. Still she waited. And still, there was no sign of Malcolm. As night descended, seamless and black, weariness settled deep in Eliza’s bones, and the softness of her downturned bed beckoned.
She had just pulled the coverlet to her chin when she heard the sound of hoofbeats.
Eliza sprung out of bed and pulled open the sash, her heartbeat quickening. Malcolm clattered through the copse of trees surrounding his manor, steam billowing from Apollo’s nostrils as he jumped the stone wall separating their estates. He slowed when he saw her at the window, easing Apollo into a trot.
“Eliza! Thank God you’re still awake.” He came to rest beneath her window, his face shadowed by the brim of a crofter’s hat. He was dressed like a farmer, in rugged trousers and a corduroy jacket. “I realize this is stupidly dramatic, but please come down and I’ll explain.”
“I’ll meet you in the rear gardens, by the dovecote.”
She reached for her dressing gown and stepped into her house slippers, then padded down the stairs and through the hallway to the rear terrace doors. Malcolm stood beneath the eaves of the dovecote she and Lydia had converted to a gardening shed. She ran to his side and he gathered her into his arms, kissing both her cheeks and then her mouth. “We must be careful,” he murmured. “I cannot stay long.”
“No one will know you’re here. I asked Mr. Mason to guard the gate all night. Eastleigh paid an unexpected visit while I was out.”
“He came to me soon after.”
Eliza breathlessly took him by the hand and led him through the dovecote’s low door. Dry leaves scuttled across the dirt floor as they ducked under the lintel and into the small room. The scents of rosemary and thyme wafted from the drying bouquets Lydia had strung from the ceiling. Eliza reached for the kerosene lamp and matches they kept on the shelf above the door and lit it. Malcolm removed his hat, his curls falling over his forehead in disarray. She pulled him to the rustic wooden potting table, where they sat, the lantern throwing weak, orange light across the walls.
“Eastleigh has demanded I vacate Havenwood Manor within a fortnight, or he’ll begin legal proceedings to force me out. I’m being evicted, after all this time.”
“What? Why now?”
Malcolm raked a hand through his unruly hair, grimacing. “I suppose, since he’s aware you’ve rejected him in favor of my suit, he’s getting back at me the only way he knows how.”
Eliza’s heart dropped. Not the house. Not before she even had a chance to become its mistress. “Well, we can’t let that happen. How much do you owe him?”
“Forty thousand pounds.”
Merde.
“That much?” Eliza stuttered.
“I’m afraid so.”
Eliza pulled her hand from Malcolm’s and stood, walking to the latticed window opposite. Her skin suddenly felt clammy and her stomach roiled fitfully. It was astonishing. He owed Eastleigh the equivalent of almost a quarter-million American dollars. How could his father have been so reckless?
Apart from the eighty thousand pounds she was set to inherit from her aunt’s estate upon marriage, she still had enough left from her father’s inheritance that she could afford to give Malcolm half of what he owed as a loan. Money she’d set aside to buy her horses. Or . . .
She felt him behind her, his breath warm on her hair.
“I won’t accept your charity, Eliza,” he said quietly. “I’ll go to Scotland. Our family has a hunting lodge there. No one knows of it—I’ve made sure of that. He will leave me in peace so long as I swear to never see you again.”
She turned, her eyes filling. “And would you swear such a thing?”
“You deserve better than I can give you, Eliza.”
How bitter those words. The very same words she’d written to Jacob in a letter bound for Cuba the year before. Tears trickled over her cheeks, unbidden, and she angrily wiped them away. “You’d give up so easily? Why woo me with your words and company if this is the only end that could come of it? How cruel of you!” Her words pierced the air, brittle as ice.
Surprised by her anger, Malcolm took a step back. “I did not know my enemy was courting you until it was too late. I couldn’t help myself falling in love. I was not thinking of your best interests, or of what might happen if things went as far as they have. I was overcome.”
“And I feel like a steak torn between dogs! If you loved me, you would fight for me. You promised as much last night!”
“He will ruin you, Eliza. He said as much. His anger was so great today that he shoved Turner to the floor and accosted me in my study. We nearly came to blows. He has the power to do great harm to you, and I cannot let that happen. It would be selfish.”
“You are already selfish!” Eliza drew back to slap him and he caught her by the wrist, clasping her to him with a force she felt helpless to fight. Her arousal and anger surged as he seized her lips and kissed her so deeply her breath left her lungs. Eliza pushed him away. “No!” He searched her face. Eliza knew how she looked in a temper—desperate, flushed, manic. “Do you truly never wish to be parted from me?” she demanded. “Or were your words among the roses before you kissed me a pretty lie? I hear you’re quite good at lying to women.”
Malcolm heaved a sigh. “Una has found you, I see. What did she tell you?”
“That I shouldn’t trust you with my heart.”
“Una and I have a long history. She had a false impression of something that happened between us once. She’s a troubled soul. I was never in love with her. Our engagement was of our fathers’ making.” He took her hand. “With all my heart, Eliza, I swear that I love you. Only you.”
“Then prove it.” Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Suddenly, she didn’t care about anything but the burgeoning heat she saw in his eyes. “Marry me. Marry me and you’ll never have to worry about money, or Eastleigh, or being alone in the world again.”
“So soon? Do you trust me that much?” His voice was thick, choked with emotion. “Do you trust I am not the man others have said I am?”
“Against all my better judgment, God help me, I do!”
He gave a blunted laugh. “Oh, my own darling . . . many would say you are a fool.”
“I know that I am!” Eliza laughed, her tears falling freely as a torrent of emotion washed over her. “Will you make me your wife, Malcolm? All I want is to be yours. To share my fortune, my body, and my life with you.”
“How under heaven could I say no?”
Malcolm claimed her lips again, his kiss fierce and carnal. Eliza knotted her fingers through his hair, returning his passion with her own. He gripped the fabric of her velvet dressing gown and pulled it free from her shoulders. The ruched neckline of her nightdress followed, spilling down over her bosom. He bent and kissed her there as she swayed, breathless in his arms.
“Do you want me?” he rasped. “Here and now, like this? Not in our marriage bed like a lady?”
A proper lady would have pushed him away, denying him until after their wedding. But Eliza wasn’t proper. She never had been. She arched wantonly toward him. “There will be time for vows and marriage beds later. Right now, having you ravish me is all I can think about.”
A wicked grin spread over his lips. “You’re driving me mad.”
“Good,” Eliza said. “Show me just how mad I make you.”
He lifted her by the hips, carrying her to the potting table. His eyes traveled over her plump thighs and belly, burning her with their heat as she offered herself to him in a haze of rampant lust.
When they came apart, flushed with their exertions, Eliza cupped his face in her hands and held his gaze. The rain had started up once more, steady and soft against the window. She pulled in a steadying breath. “Meet me at the carriage house in an hour. I don’t care where we go or how we do it. I want to be your wife by morning.”