Page 47 of My Kind of Scoundel
Her heart grew heavy. “Many times.”
She had told herself countless lies. If she became a successful modiste, her guilt would dissipate as swiftly as a morning mist. Her father’s anger stemmed from love, not resentment. Loneliness was a state of mind one could overcome.
“Have you ever convinced yourself you could right the wrongs of the past?” he asked. “That if you did, you might feel whole again?”
Eleanor looked at her clasped hands resting in her lap. “Being a modiste was my mother’s dream. Trust me. Making her wish come true did nothing to banish the emptiness.”
He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly, and she loved him a little for the kind gesture. “How can the youngest of four brothers help his kin? Not with his fists. Not with his business acumen. But perhaps by elevating them to the life they were born to.”
“What are you saying?”
“Should anything happen to Wrotham, Aaron is heir to the title. If I were to marry well, he might be restored to his rightful position. I convinced myself I could love Lucille Bowman. But she used me to force Wrotham’s hand. She reminded me I will always carry the stench of the rookeries.”
He did not smell like the impoverished.
He smelled like a thunderstorm—fresh and earthy, a man with the power to control the heavens. A voice determined to be heard.
Eleanor gripped his hand. “You used her, too. Surely life has taught you that love is the path through the darkness.”
He did not avert his gaze in shame but gave a humourless snort. “That’s why I like you, Miss Darrow. You always hold me to account. In truth, I thought romantic love was a fallacy. Then my brother Christian married, and the power of his love for Isabella was almost blinding. Not even Aaron could have prevented their union.”
“Love is not something you decide. It chooses you.”
He frowned. “You speak from experience?”
“Of course not. I have spent years working myself to the bone.” She had never even kissed a man until she had locked lips with him at the theatre. “When would I have had the time to fall in love?”
“Franklin would have you in a heartbeat.”
“For a lady of modest means, it would be a good match.” Though he did not light a fire in her blood. He did not steal the breath from her lungs or make her giddy. “Perhaps I would come to love him in time, but I would rather love sweep me up in a storm.”
“Franklin isn’t right for you,” he said, his tone sabre-sharp.
“He is undeniably handsome.”
“It’s not enough for a woman with your wild spirit. He wouldn’t make you happy. Your arousing kisses would be wasted on him.”
She smiled. “Are they not wasted on you?”
“We’re kindred spirits. Two passionate people seeking solace in each other’s company.” His voice was as rich as velvet as his eyes trailed a slow path over her body. “I must be honest. No other man would make love to you like I would. You’d come hard for me. Too many times to count.”
She stared at him, stunned and quite desperate to know if he spoke the truth. But Theodore Chance would take more than her virginity. He would carve out a piece of her soul. She could survive losing her business, but she would not survive that.
“You seem so sure of yourself.”
“The kiss we shared at your shop told me all I needed to know. I’ll wager Franklin kisses like a panicked fish.”
The thought of locking lips with Mr Franklin chilled her blood. “He would make a respectable woman of me.” Mr Franklin was a good man, kind to his sister, hardworking and pious.
“You value your independence and would rather live like a spinster than have a man tell you what to do.”
He was not wrong. Her biggest fear was marrying a man with her father’s harsh tongue and critical eye. Tyrants often hid behind affable masks.
“Perhaps.” She wasn’t sure how they’d gone from discussing Lady Lucille to her marrying Mr Franklin, but they should focus on the case. “What do you make of their story? Do you believe Viscount Wrotham wanted to readThe Vampyre?”
Mr Chance sat back in the seat, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It was obvious none of them had read the tale. There’s no way of knowing if they found the sealed message or if the note was blank.”
“No,” Eleanor mused, gazing out the window. “Let’s pray Mr Daventry has luck finding those who borrowed the other two books.”
