Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

J ames left the churchyard in a rush. The scorching heat of Eleanor’s touch, the way she had fallen against him, would now forever be seared into his chest. Berating himself for acting the gentleman, he placed his head in his hand as the sleigh moved at a snail’s pace toward Granville House.

He couldn’t very well tell the driver to hurry along, not if he wanted to arrive safely. So, James endured the forty-five-minute ride in the dead of night back to his home, wrapped in his greatcoat without a warm brick under the seat. It was strange that the chill of the snow and the December night air had no effect upon the burning in his bosom.

Eleanor had fit like a glove between his arms. Her head, as it had fallen upon his chest, had been a stark reminder that it had always belonged there, though perhaps a little more comfortably had she been facing him. The one bit of solace in the entire affair was that she hadn’t seen straight through him. Eleanor had been so focused on finding her footing that she hadn’t seen the raw desire flowing through him playing out on his face.

Stomping into the front entrance of the Granville House, James handed his hat, gloves, and coat to Bishop as James grumbled his displeasure at the old man for staying up far too late. It was, after all, the early hours of the morning, and poor Mr. Bishop would have to wake early with the rest of the staff. He was thankful his staff cared enough about him to see to his wellbeing, but staying up until he returned from a party that had gone well into the early hours was unnecessary.

“Sleep late tomorrow, Bishop. I do not wish to see you until at least noon.”

Bishop’s lips twitched. “As you wish, sir.”

He knew the old butler would ignore the order. He’d likely be in the kitchen before the cook woke to prepare the morning meal, but it truly wasn’t expected of him. James decided he would show his appreciation by giving the man a bit more on his quarterly wages. It was the least he could do.

James stormed down the hall, untying his cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat. Sleep would not be easily achieved this night. He needed a bit of a reprieve from his thoughts. As he entered the den, he appreciated the candles and roaring fire, realizing that Bishop had taken the time to keep the room perfectly situated in the instance he desired to spend time there before heading off to bed.

Bed, that was a place for dreamers and not for those with a damned soul. As he entered the den, he stopped short, momentarily startled as he noticed a shadow on the wall behind his desk. He threw his cravat to the side as his gaze settled upon a man bent over as he dug through one of the drawers.

His tone was dangerously dry as James snarled at his secretary. “Do not let me disturb you.”

Mr. Crane straightened, his reaction as rigid as a man woken from the dead of sleep. “Sir, I had not expected to find you here so late.”

“I will express the same sentiment. It is far past the witching hour. Might I assist in your search?” James stepped forward, the flap of his unbuttoned waistcoat reminding him he had begun undressing. He quickly buttoned it once more, ignoring the now missing cravat.

Mr. Crane had the decency to blush as he dropped his gaze to the drawer, shutting it and then pulling open the one beneath it. His hand fumbled, making a loud noise as he hit the upper drawer before grabbing at the booklet which held the receipts. A sheepish grin spread across his face as he pulled it out and held it up for James to see. “I had a momentary lapse of memory and searched the wrong drawer.”

“You could have asked about them on the morrow. Is it not too late to work on the books?”

“I do my best work at night, sir. Now, allow me to leave you to your plans.” Crane scurried out from behind the desk and ran to the door without another word.

James trusted the man, but an inkling of doubt itched the back of his mind as he considered the curious situation he’d interrupted. There wasn’t anything of importance in the drawer where Crane had been searching. It held a pen knife, parchment, and two surplus ink bottles. Nothing of great concern.

Putting the entire situation out of his mind, James removed his frock coat and threw it onto the sofa. He unbuttoned his waistcoat once more and threw it, along with his shirt, to the same spot. The smell of Eleanor’s hair lingered in his nose, and even with his clothing removed, he still felt the press of her head against his chest. For his sanity, he needed to expel the heat of her touch.

When his father had been the occupant of the den, it had been a respectable gentleman’s hideaway. Now, it was set up for a heathen, or so his mother had claimed the day he’d installed a punching bag. He was not a pugilist, not by any definition of the term, but he’d enjoyed sparring with his friend, Alfred, over the years, and when he was emotionally distraught enough to need an outlet for emotions he couldn’t define or settle, he turned to this section of the den to work on his strikes and improve his skills.

The familiar smell of leather did little to remove the peppermint that teased his thoughts, making him believe there might still be a chance to win Eleanor’s heart. A broken engagement wasn’t so terrible, not if it was to marry the right man. But was he the best option for her? With Montefeltro, she would have a life of luxury. A castle in Italy near enough to the coast that she never need think about Emerald Falls again. In fact, he was certain the only thing she would miss about this village was her family.

Wrapping his hands tightly with linen strips, he tucked the ends and then used his teeth to pull the material tight enough so it wouldn’t easily release. He approached the bag, the muscles in his arms and upper back taut with anticipation, his thoughts begging for relief as he drew his right arm back and then threw it forward in a punch. The thud caused a thrill of excitement to race through his shoulders, but the impact was not enough to erase Eleanor’s beautiful smile and charming laugh from his mind.

James struck again, harder this time, imagining with each blow he could banish the memory of her angelic voice, the softness of her skin, the silky strands of hair that had brushed against his face. He ached to find relief, causing both arms to move with a rhythm he’d long ago perfected.

Sweat poured down the sides of his face, dripping onto his chest and to the floor. The pounding of his fists against the bag eased his torture enough that he could feel the desperation fading until all that existed was the bag before him. His thoughts no longer heavy with a longing he couldn’t appease.

James’s breaths became ragged gasps, his knuckles throbbing with every punch until the skin broke, the linen now covered in sweat and stained with a trace of blood making it a poorly wrapped bandage. He grabbed hold of the bag, leaning against it, resting his head as he allowed the smell of leather to fully replace memory of peppermint oil.

The exercise had been exactly what he needed to dispel Eleanor and the desire to hold her from his every waking thought. He closed his eyes as the memories faded once more, drifting to the back of his mind until they would intrude, once more causing him to regret ever having met the enchanting woman.

He now understood the concept behind a loveless marriage. Men and women who married for convenience were quite possibly the most intelligent of their Society. For they did not have to suffer the all-consuming torment of unrequited love. A man and woman who knew their duty and performed it admirably were to be praised. This ridiculous notion of falling in love needed to be quelled for the sake of all involved. What happiness was there to be found when love was a consideration?

Physically exhausted, James released the bag and dragged his feet across the room one slogged step after another to the nearest sofa where he lay face down, his breath slowly returning to normal. He planned to recover for a short time and then make his way to his bedchamber. He only needed a moment. But as he counted each rise and fall of his chest, his thoughts finally offered the rest he’d sought. His eyelids drooped as sleep freed his ache for one more blessed night.