Chapter Seventeen

O wen sat up and yawned. He had been awoken by a noise outside. It sounded like a coach arriving, followed by voices. Naked, he rose from the bed, and padded over to the window to peer out. But he had forgotten Ellis's bedchamber overlooked the back of the Lodge, and although he could still hear the commotion, he could not see anything.

He sighed. He would have much preferred to stay right where he was for the rest of the day, instead of bothering with unwelcome guests. His sketchbook was on the bedside table, and he glanced back at it with a smile. Ellis had been asleep when he had drawn her, lovingly reproducing her long lashes and her closed eyes, her lips parted slightly as she dreamed. She'd thrown off the covers, her body laid out like a banquet on the bed, and he had taken full advantage as his drawing took shape.

Owen would never use this in the book, in any book. It was private, for him alone, the memory of a memorable night.

As he had finished the drawing she had stirred and smiled up at him. Before he knew it he had found himself fully erect, and urgently in need of her again. He could have restrained himself—he was prepared to wait if she didn't want them to join together so soon after her first time—but she had reached out to take his hand in hers.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, ready to list all the reasons she should refuse him.

"Owen, I have never been more certain," she had responded, teasingly.

So he had climbed onto the bed and kissed her soft breasts, lathing the flushed tips with his tongue until she was clinging to him. Then he had moved down to the soft, delicious flesh between her thighs. She had moaned and arched against him, as he had sucked and kissed her, bringing her to another powerful climax.

Afterward, she had welcomed him into her body, wrapping her legs around his hips, meeting his every thrust. He had felt as if he were flying, up over the Lodge and the fields and the forest, up toward the stars. Even when his climax began to fade and they had both fallen back to sleep, he had felt as light as a feather, and full of a marvellous sense of joy.

The noise outside wasn't going away—if anything it was getting louder—and Owen realized he knew one of the voices. Downstairs he heard the rattle of the bolt on the front door, and Joan's cry of pleasure.

Uncle Steven, Viscount Hawthorne, had come for a visit.

He moved to the bed to wake Ellis again and found her already sitting up. Her dark hair cascaded around her nakedness, and she pushed it back over her shoulders and blinked at him sleepily.

If I could wake up to her every morning for the rest of my life, I would be a very happy man.

The thought popped into his head, but when the questions and then the doubts tried to follow, he refused to let them in. He and Ellis needed to talk, just the two of them, but that could come later. After he had greeted his uncle.

"Who is that?" Her dark eyes had widened, and he saw her muscles strain, as if at any moment she would leap up and run.

"Only my uncle." Owen sat down at her side and reached for her hand, kissing her fingers. "Nothing to be worried about." He added with a wry smile, "I should go down and greet him."

"Your uncle? The viscount?" She was properly awake now, gripping his hand tightly as she came up to kneel beside him.

He was too distracted by her slender body to answer. He wanted to climb back into bed with her and lock the door, and bedamned to his uncle. Although the viscount was known for his impromptu visits to his nephew, why had he chosen now to call?

She wrapped her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips to his cheek, before claiming his mouth again.

Owen groaned. "Mm, wish I could stay."

She laughed softly and clung a moment more, her curves soft on his body, before letting him go with obvious reluctance.

With a last, lingering kiss, Owen began to dress. "I'll send Polly to you," he said. "When you're ready, come down and I'll introduce you."

As Owen closed the door, he was feverishly reminding himself that his uncle never stayed long when he visited. Then he felt ashamed. He and his uncle were close, and while he was here he deserved Owen's full attention. If it weren't for this new turn in his relationship with Ellis, he would have been glad to see the elderly gentleman.

He was glad to see him.

He met Polly bustling up the stairs as he was going down. She gave him a sly smile as he informed her that Ellis was awake, but he didn't stop to hear her thoughts on this new, happy state of affairs. As he approached the breakfast room, he could hear his uncle and Joan sharing pleasantries.

The viscount started toward Owen as soon as he saw him with a cry of, "My dear boy!"

Viscount Hawthorne was a short, rotund gentleman with a bald pate and tufts of grey hair above his ears. He was as physically different from Owen as it was possible to be, apart from his eyes, which were the same hazel color as Owen's.

Now he reached to take Owen's hands, holding them in a firm grip as he smiled warmly up into his taller nephew's face. "My dear boy!" he exclaimed again. "I feel like I haven't seen you for ages. Why don't you come to London more often?"

Owen grinned back at him. His uncle's enthusiasm never failed to move him. They were the only two of their family surviving and sometimes his uncle became quite sentimental about it.

"I don't come to London because I am perfectly happy here," Owen replied, just as he always did.

"Lord Lyndhurst is well looked after," Joan interrupted, busily setting out the chafing dishes on the sideboard. The smell of sausages, bacon, eggs, and toast filled the air.

Viscount Hawthorne joined her, rubbing his hands together with glee.

"Is Miss Mallory joining us this morning?" Joan asked blithely, but her glance to Owen was curious.

"Yes, she will be down shortly," he said, then wondered if he should have pretended not to know. His answer had been a bit of a giveaway.

His uncle had turned to look at him with interest. "And who is Miss Mallory?"

"My new model," he said quickly.

Joan opened her mouth to add to that but closed it again when Owen shot her a warning look.

"I thought your model was called Merrily," the viscount responded, beginning to fill his plate.

"Merrily left for greener pastures," Owen said, also reaching for a plate. He was hungry, which was not surprising when he remembered last night.

Did he need to tell his uncle that Ellis was more than just sitting for him? Was it too soon to disclose that he thought he was in love? He wasn't sure how the viscount would take the surprising news. Although Owen knew he would be supportive, would he be pleased? Uncle Steven had hinted at various times that he hoped Owen would marry a titled lady, if he was inclined to marry at all.

And why was he suddenly thinking about marriage when all he wanted to do was enjoy the moment?

There was a step in the doorway, the rustle of skirts, and there she was. Ellis was wearing the respectable gown with the white skirt and green bodice, the matching ribbon tied precisely under her breasts. She caught his glance, her cheeks faintly flushed, and then her dark eyes darted to the viscount. And grew bigger.

Remembering his manners, Owen made the introductions. "Uncle Steven, this is Miss Ellis Mallory, my..." He paused on her description, but he could hardly say "the love of my life," could he? At least, not without discussing it with Ellis first. He settled on, "She has kindly agreed to sit for me. Ellis this is my uncle, Viscount Hawthorne."

The two of them were still looking at each other, and as the silence lingered, so Owen's misgivings grew. His uncle's open, friendly face was creased in a frown, and Ellis's smile had disappeared. In fact, she looked... afraid.

Owen moved closer to her, feeling the need to protect her. "What is it?" he asked sharply, looking from one to the other. "Uncle? Ellis?"

"Miss Mallory?" the viscount repeated slowly. He gave Owen a bewildered look. "My dear boy, either my eyesight is failing me spectacularly or this is the Duchess of Breamore."

Ellis's body felt rigid beside Owen. Her eyes flicked to him and then back to the viscount as if she didn't want to read what was in Owen's face. He was still expecting her to refute the claim when she sighed.

"You are correct, Viscount Hawthorne. At least... I am now the Dowager Duchess of Breamore."

Dowager Duchess? Owen opened his mouth but wasn't sure what to say. He certainly didn't know what to think. Ellis Mallory was a duchess, a married woman? A widow? He suddenly remembered the torn black dress she had worn when she had arrived at his door. He had thought she was in mourning for her father, not her husband. And then, a clearer memory, last night when they had made love and she had said it was her first time. There was no mistaking that. She was a virgin. Then how could she be a widow?

Uncle Steven was nodding sombrely. "My condolences on the death of your husband, Your Grace," he said gently. "He seemed a jolly fellow on the few occasions I met him."

She nodded graciously. Regally. Just like a duchess. "Thank you."

Owen gaped. He knew he shouldn't feel as if he'd been lied to. It was his own fault, wasn't it, that he didn't know the full story? He hadn't wanted to listen. Although she could have given him a hint, and then he would not feel so... deceived . This wasn't a small thing, a little white fib about her past. All this time he had thought she was simple Miss Mallory and treated her as such, and she was a duchess.

Last night he had lain with Ellis, a woman he thought himself in love with, and this morning he was presented with the Dowager Duchess of Breamore.

Reluctantly his gaze met hers, and he saw the pleading in her dark eyes. She wanted him to understand, to forgive, and right now Owen wasn't sure he could.

"There was a whisper making the rounds when I left London." His uncle was still talking, and if he was aware of the tension in the room, he was choosing to ignore it. "There was speculation that because no one had seen you for several days now that you had disappeared. I am very glad to see the talk has no basis in fact, and that you are safe and well here at Hawthorne Lodge. With my nephew." His eyebrows rose questioningly.

Ellis seemed to be struggling to find an answer. "I did disappear," she said at last. "But there is a very good reason for me doing so. I was in danger and Owen... Lord Lyndhurst took me in and kept me safe."

"Safe?" The viscount frowned. "Safe from what? Or should I say from whom? The whispers I mentioned spoke of the duke's cousin, Sir Theo Abergele."

Owen couldn't keep silent any longer. "Is that the man who came to the door?" he demanded. "The one who caused your coach accident when he was pursuing you?"

The idea of Ellis being in such a precarious position made him angry, and his anger overcame his hurt about her hiding so many truths from him.

"Yes," she said, once again meeting his eyes with her own, a myriad of emotions in their dark depths. "Theo has many friends, and I wasn't sure who I could trust."

"You can trust my uncle, and you can trust me ."

He had hardly finished speaking when she blurted out, "Theo wanted me to marry him. It was a simple way of ensuring he would inherit everything. I refused. I couldn't marry him. He's vile. But once I had refused, there was only one way he could claim Breamore under the terms of my husband's will, and that was if I was dead."

"The devil!" Uncle Steven exclaimed.

"My groom and I decided on a plan. I would pretend to pay a call on a neighbor, but once away from Breamore we would make our way with haste to London. But Theo knew what we were up to, and he followed us. That is why I was in the forest, and why I came to Lord Lyndhurst's door. If it weren't for him keeping me safe Theo would have me now."

Owen was speechless. His head felt as if it was full of stampeding horses, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. "We should confront this man!" he said furiously.

The other two stared at him, and it was only then he realized his teeth were gritted and his hands clenched into fists, and he must have seemed far from his usual mild self.

His uncle frowned. "Not sure that would be such a good idea, nephew. It would only give Sir Theo warning that we know what he is up to and therefore put the duchess in greater danger."

"And it would put Owen in danger, too," Ellis said.

Before Owen could inform them that he didn't give a jot about that, his uncle took the floor once again.

"However, I do have an idea. I am acquainted with a man in London who may be able to help Your Grace. His name is Nicholas Blake, and he specialises in tricky situations like this."

"Please, call me Ellis. And I am very grateful for any help you can give. I realize now how selfish I have been staying here at Hawthorne Lodge. It was just..." She chewed on her lip. "It was so lovely not to have to worry about things for a little while."

The viscount smiled, and Owen could see his uncle was already won over.

"Where can I find this Nicholas Blake?" Ellis said.

"Never you mind about that. I will take you to him. Pack what you need, and we will set off today. But first," he said with a grin, "I desire to sit down to Joan's exceptional breakfast."

Ellis didn't seem to know what to say. She looked down and then up again, her gaze going from one to the other. "Thank you. You are very kind. You are both very kind."

Was Owen kind? He wasn't sure. His head was a confused mess of thoughts and his heart a jumble of feelings. "Uncle, are you sure it wouldn't be better to stay here? Ellis is safe here, and we can protect her. I refuse to believe there is any danger we cannot deal with."

The viscount gave him another hearty slap on the back. "That is all very well, my boy, but this villain has tentacles all over the country. I know him well enough to fear he will find some way to spirit the duchess away and we won't be able to stop him. London and Nicholas Blake are our best option."

Joan interrupted them then with yet more food, and the viscount made haste to sit down at the table with his loaded plate.

"Remind me why I ever let you leave my house in London," he said to the housekeeper, spearing a sausage with his fork.

Joan smiled. "I'm sure you do very well in London, sir. And if you miss my cooking then you should visit us more often."

The viscount didn't reply. He was already tucking in.

Before Ellis could sit down, Owen took hold of her hand. "Can we talk for a moment?" he asked quietly. He hadn't thought his uncle heard, but of course he did.

"You talk all you want, my boy, but be quick if you want to partake of this magnificent repast. I have a hearty appetite this morning!"

Ellis smiled. She obviously found the viscount delightful, and in other circumstances Owen would have been pleased they were getting on with each other. But right now he needed to speak with her alone.

He led her into his study and closed the door. Light was beaming through the window, turning everything to gold, and as she stood in the glow, Owen could not help but be struck once more by her beauty. He also could not help but wonder what would happen when they reached London, because there was no way on earth he was staying behind. But how could he remain at her side and keep her safe? She would no longer be Ellis Mallory, but the Dowager Duchess of Breamore, one of the highest peeresses in the land, and well beyond his reach. He may be a lord, but he could not even expect to sit at the same table as her.

"Owen?" She was watching him apprehensively, as if she thought he might be glad to see the back of her. "What is it you want to say?"

"Did you really think you were selfish to stay here?" he asked. "I rather think I was being selfish wanting you to stay just so I could use you for my drawings."

"I loved you drawing me," she said gravely. "The reason I wanted to stay here with you wasn't just because I felt safe. It was because I enjoyed your company. All the same it was wrong. I should have been open and honest with you, but I was afraid. Dealing with Theo made me suspicious of everybody."

"I understand," he said, although he wasn't entirely sure he did. He considered his next words, but there was no polite way to say them. "Last night when we lay together... it was your first time, Ellis, and yet you were a married woman! I don't understand. I can't believe your husband was unable. I did not know the Duke of Breamore personally, but I have seen him ride through the village, and he looked young and not unattractive."

He could tell she had been expecting this question. "I wanted to tell you this too, but it is complicated and there was Elijah to consider. I didn't want to put him in any more danger, even inadvertently."

"What has it to do with Elijah?"

"He and Archie were lovers. It was Elijah he would have married if he could. It was Elijah who was his true love." She hurried on as he stood in startled silence. "My marriage to Archie wasn't a real marriage, it was a sham, but I loved him all the same. Both he and Elijah were like brothers to me. For five years we were happy, until Archie died, and Theo decided he wanted it all for himself."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I know during the sittings you didn't want to kiss me or—or touch me, but I wanted you to. I've been alone for five years and although Archie said when we married that I could take a lover, there was never anyone I wanted in that way. And then I met you. I'm sorry if you think I've been dishonest."

"You didn't exactly have to twist my arm," he retorted. She had been lonely, and Owen asking her to sit for him had opened a doorway for her to finally discover the pleasures she had been missing. That made a terrible sort of sense to him. He had been used.

"Will you—will you hold me?" A tear ran down her cheek, and she was trembling.

Owen was helpless to do other than obey. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him until the trembling gradually eased.

"Will you come with me? To London?" Her breath was warm against his throat, and when he lifted his head and looked down, her lips were tantalizingly close.

"Yes," he said, powerless to refuse.

"Do you forgive me?" she asked quietly. "For keeping so much from you?"

"Ellis, it was my fault, too, but yes, I forgive you. Do you forgive me?"

She smiled, still not moving away from him. Her long lashes lifted as she met his gaze, and she swallowed anxiously. "Perhaps, when we reach London, we could—"

But whatever it was she was about to ask was lost in his uncle's shout from the breakfast room.

"Owen! Ellis! We need to get to London. Come and eat before I polish off the entire meal."

Their laughter was rather strained, but Owen held her hand, only letting go when they entered the room. Uncle Steven looked up, a twinkle in his eye, which seemed to suggest he was well aware of the undercurrents. "There you are," he said mildly. "No dilly-dallying now."

"I think we should bring some of my servants with us, as outriders," Owen said. "Just in case we strike trouble on the journey."

His uncle nodded. "Good thinking, boy. I don't expect us to be held up—I am an important man, and even a blackguard like Sir Theo would not want to risk crossing me and upsetting my friends in the government. But we can't be certain what he might do if he is desperate enough. Best to take every precaution."

Ellis looked from one to the other of them, and Owen could already see she was more relaxed. She had shared her secrets and now it wasn't just her alone when it came to her enemy. The thought of Theo following her coach, firing at her, chasing her through the forest... it made him feel hot with rage and cold with fear.

He knew then he would do anything in his power to keep her safe. And although he felt fairly certain that she had taken advantage of their time together to satisfy her curiosity when it came to physical pleasures, he couldn't blame her. Her life at Breamore sounded quite lonely. However much he wished there was more to their moments of passion, he could hardly complain. He might be disappointed and yes, hurt, but it would not stop him from doing the same thing again.

Miss Mallory he could have loved, and maybe she could have loved him, but the Dowager Duchess of Breamore was far beyond his reach. All the same, Owen knew he would be willing to give his life if it meant saving hers.