Page 100 of My Kind of Scoundel
Perhaps Emily was too much like their mother. Indeed, Eleanor was grateful her father had invented a fictitious role model.
“You’re not my responsibility,” Eleanor said.
Emily sniffed back absent tears. “But we’re kin.”
She thought of how much Theo loved his sister Delphine, yet they shared no blood ties. Blood ties were a crutch selfish siblings used to assert their will.
“We’re different people. I would have worked hard to forge a bond, not deliberately set out to hurt you. What if I’d died from my injuries? Would you have wept or been the first to hire a solicitor to claim the contents of my shop?”
“I know it looks bad, but I can change.”
“I would have to see proof before I could ever trust you again.” Eleanor took one last look at her mother’s grave. Daisy had confirmed Eleanor’s unfortunate ancestry. “You’re lucky I’ve not given your name to the officers at Bow Street. I suggest you find work. Strive to do better and pray for forgiveness. Goodbye, Emily.”
With a heavy heart, Eleanor left her sister and navigated the path back to Shoemakers Row. Thoughts of Theo slipped into her mind, reviving her broken spirit. She was counting the hours until she saw him again, until passion overwhelmed them and they lost themselves in each other’s bodies.
When she arrived at her shop, she was greeted by the alluring smell of Theo’s cologne, and noticed her sewing box on the counter next to a fresh plum tart.
“Theo!”
Her heart fluttered, the urge to kiss him, to touch him, drumming a potent beat in her blood. They’d agreed to dine together tonight, but she’d returned home yesterday to find him naked in her bed.
She searched every room, sad he wasn’t there.
Surely he’d bought the tart because plums were an aphrodisiac.
The urge to cut a slice proved tempting. That’s when she saw the note.
Something to devour later.
Why had he moved her sewing box? At one time, she’d considered hurling it into the fire. Yet the box had united them, and had swiftly become her most cherished possession.
She lifted the lid but found the box empty.
Perhaps he’d left her a secret note.
A quick fiddle with wooden appliqués and the drawer popped open.
There were two notes hidden inside. One that sent her temperature soaring because he said not to worry about plates and cutlery. He would eat his pie off her belly. One inviting her to join him at the Olympic tonight in the family box. She was to come in the same pink gown she’d worn the night he’d kissed her.
How odd. The Olympic was closed on a Monday.
A smile touched her lips. What was he up to?
She knew one thing for certain.
Whatever he had planned would exceed her expectations.
The Olympic Theatre
Wych Street, Drury Lane
Theo had sent Godby to collect Eleanor from the modiste shop and to give her a note. Mr Sawston, the manager, was waiting to greet her at the theatre door. Then he’d agreed to leave them alone and spend the next two hours supping ale at the White Hart tavern.
All was quiet. There wasn’t another soul in the building. The gaslights were lit but dimmed. Supper awaited them on a table in the box. He knew Eleanor disliked champagne so had taken a bottle of Aaron’s best claret and poured it into a crystal decanter. More importantly, the ring he’d purchased from Woodcroft jewellers was tucked safely in his coat pocket.
His heart thundered in his chest when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Would she play her part as requested? Could she remember all the things she had said to him that night?
He took his seat and waited for her to enter.
