Chapter Eighteen

E llis had not been to London for years. Not since she'd married Archie and removed to Breamore. She had never liked the society events she had been forced to attend, thrust into the midst of the ton like a tasty morsel for hungry mouths. Now, things were different. She was here for a reason, and she had two gentlemen who were determined to remove the threat of Theo from her life.

And one of those gentlemen she was in love with. Owen, Lord Lyndhurst, a man Theo would destroy in an instant if he learned about him. Theo wouldn't want her to find a protector, he wanted her alone and friendless. It made her determined to hide her feelings for Owen, in order to prevent anything happening to him. She would rather sacrifice herself than let Theo harm him.

Ellis had nowhere to stay in London. Archie hadn't a residence there and had been content to lease a place if he needed to spend time in the city. After his marriage he had preferred his country estate and that was where he had remained. Him and Elijah and Ellis.

Her sister Sophia's husband, the Duke of Oldney was an unpleasant fellow and Ellis had never felt welcomed by him. Nor by her sister, whose hectic social life was just the sort of existence Ellis had always loathed. She had no wish to descend on her sister uninvited.

At first she thought that perhaps her mother might take her in, but through enquiries made by the viscount en route, they had discovered that Ellis's mother, Mrs. Mallory, was away in the north of the country with her eldest daughter Catherine. Her house was closed for the time being.

"It may not be safe for you if Sir Theo discovers you are there, alone," the viscount said. "I think the best thing is for you to come to my house and remain incognito. At least until we know what Blake has discovered. I've already sent a message ahead, and knowing him as I do, he will be busy unearthing anything that may be of use to us."

"You are putting a lot of faith in this man," Owen said, sounding unusually grumpy.

"I am, and it is justified." His uncle gave him a look of admonishment. "If I wanted to know how the government was faring, I would ask myself. If I wanted to know about the art world, or scantily clad ladies, I would ask you, my boy. If I wanted to find out what a man like Sir Theo Abergele was up to, I'd ask Blake. He is very good at his job, as you will see."

The viscount leaned closer, but his voice was just as loud. "I know you're keen to play the hero, my boy, but in such circumstances we must be clever rather than heroic."

Owen's cheeks flushed and he shot Ellis a self-conscious glance, which made her smile. Owen was such a gentleman, she understood he would want to rush to her rescue. He would do the same for any woman. She must not fool herself into thinking he had a particular partiality for her.

During the five-day journey, she had explained to Owen about her mother and sisters, and the scandal that had beset them all those years ago. Viscount Hawthorne had already heard about it, and remembered it quite well, but Owen had either forgotten or had never been interested enough to pay attention.

"When my father died and we moved to our cousin's in London, my mother was determined to see her three daughters marry well. My elder sister became engaged to a duke old enough to be her grandfather, and after that we all had to marry dukes. I was fortunate with Archie but Sophia, my next eldest sister, is married to Oldney, a man I have never liked and never trusted."

"Good God," Owen said, while his uncle snored in the corner of the coach. "That is appalling, Ellis."

"You are lucky," she told him quietly. "Your uncle was willing to let you follow your own heart when it came to your future."

He looked almost embarrassed, but she leaned across and took his hand in hers. Polly, who had accompanied them as Ellis's maid and chaperone, watched avidly. "I don't begrudge you your good fortune, Owen. Far from it. And I was hardly starving and wearing rags at Breamore. I was happy there. It just wasn't the sort of happiness I'd always dreamt of."

"If I'd known I could have visited you," Owen said.

"Archie was not on visiting terms with most of our neighbors. It was better that way. He had too much to lose."

"Of course." He looked away, and she realized he probably thought she would not have made him welcome. Before she could correct herself, Polly interrupted.

"I am so looking forward to seeing London. Joan says I won't like it, but I don't believe her. I want to make up my own mind."

Ellis suspected Joan might have been trying to dissuade Polly from her adventure. She was sure that the housekeeper must be missing her sweetheart, if the way in which she called out her goodbyes and waved desperately at the departing coach was any indication.

She glanced again at Owen but now he was frowning out the window.

There wasn't much private time on their journey from Wales. Polly slept in Ellis's room at the inns where they stopped, and the viscount was always present at meals or during any halts to stretch their legs. Now the doubts she had kept at bay so far rose up again as the coach wheels rumbled on. She knew Owen admired her. The night they had spent together, when he had thought her sleeping, she had heard the scratch of his pencil on paper and known he was drawing her. Was that because he had wanted to record their special moment? Or had he simply wanted another image for his book? It was a lowering thought, but did she mean nothing more to him than a pretty face?

Could he ever love her? A true love, deep love, the sort of love she had always dreamed of?

All her life Ellis had been the one to run after the others, the one left alone while her sisters voyaged off into their lives. The one no one valued quite as much. Those memories had left their mark when it came to her self-confidence.

*

Viscount Hawthorne's townhouse was not the grandest Ellis had ever seen, but grand enough for all that. As if he instinctively knew he was home, Steven woke up. He looked to his two companions and stretched and yawned, his mind already alert.

"I have been thinking," he said. "We will call you Miss Mallory for now. It is safer than declaring your true identity. You are a distant cousin. Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," Ellis said.

Next thing the door to the coach was opened and a grave gentleman in a white wig peered in at them. "My lord," he said, slight surprise in his voice. "You are back already. Was there some concern at Hawthorne Lodge?"

The viscount waved him away. "Not at all, Greenwood. My nephew decided he wanted to visit me instead, so here we are. See that his usual room is prepared for him, and another one for our guest. This is Miss Mallory, a distant cousin of my mother. We are fortunate to have her with us."

Greenwood stared without blinking. If he had any reservations about Ellis, he kept them to himself. "Very good, my lord. Does Miss Mallory know how long she will be staying with us?"

"As long as she likes," the viscount replied blithely.

Ellis could see that Viscount Hawthorne's household was run like clockwork. In no time the luggage was brought inside and carried up to their allotted rooms. When Ellis had changed with Polly's help and come downstairs again, she inquired of a servant where everyone was. She was told that the viscount had repaired to the library to write a letter, and that Owen was in the drawing room.

She went to the drawing room and found Owen standing at the window, peering out at the London scene as though he was a stranger in a strange land and was wishing himself home again. There had been little chance of a proper tête-à-tête during their journey. No chance to do any of the other wonderful things she had been longing to do with him.

This felt like the first time Ellis could say what she wanted to without being overheard by the viscount or Polly.

"Are you sorry you came?" she asked.

He spun around, his face breaking into a smile as he came to take her hands in his. "Not at all. I wanted to come. I needed to come."

"I hope Nicholas Blake can help me. Your uncle thinks he can."

"Uncle Steven knows a great many useful people," Owen said, watching her intently. "Do you mind staying here with us?"

"I feel safer with you and the viscount than I would if I were alone in my mother's house." She hesitated and then leaned in to kiss him.

Owen seemed surprised, but then he returned the kiss, his lips lingering. She felt a surge of desire at his touch.

"I wish we were alone," she said.

"I did think about waylaying you in one of the inns," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave, "but it was too risky. And hardly gentlemanly."

"I wish we were back at Hawthorne Lodge," she said wistfully.

"Do you?" He seemed surprised. His gaze slid over her face, as if he was trying to read the truth behind her words. As if he didn't believe her. "Breamore is a large estate... or so I have heard. I imagine my home seems quite small and cramped in comparison."

Did he really think that? She had worried that when he found out she was a duchess he might feel differently about her. She tried to reassure him.

"Owen, I was born a curate's daughter. We were as poor as church mice when my father died. Just because I was lucky enough to marry Archie does not mean I now desire a grand house and hundreds of sycophantic servants. I am still the same woman."

His smile was polite. Where was that wicked grin she loved so much? "I am glad to hear it. I don't have hundreds of servants, and the only sycophantic ones I employ are Joan and Polly, and they are quite enough, thank you." He hesitated, and his face grew serious. "But you are a duchess. You cannot escape that fact, no matter how poor you were as a child. Breamore belongs to you."

"I wish I could escape it," she said, feeling downcast. He seemed to think she was too grand for him, and she hated it. "Owen, believe me when I tell you that I have been the happiest I can ever remember being at Hawthorne Lodge. Do you think I can give up being a duchess and become Miss Mallory again?"

"Like Marie Antoinette when she played at being a milk maid?" he teased, but she could tell he did not believe such a thing was possible.

Was it worth overcoming Theo's evil designs, restoring herself to her rightful place at Breamore, only to lose the man she loved?

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his woollen jacket and spicy soap, and after a moment his arms closed around her. Reluctantly, it seemed.

"Perhaps you can come to my room tonight?" she said boldly and held her breath for his answer.

He pressed his lips to her hair. "Your sensual adventures were cut short, weren't they? You must be disappointed. But I am not sure I should visit your room when you are a guest under my uncle's roof."

"Even if I invite you?" She added a little desperately, "Won't you need some more sketches for the rest of your series?"

She felt him go still, and when he spoke again, he sounded very formal. "You do realize I can differentiate between the fictional woman in my drawings and the real woman in my arms?"

What on earth was the matter with him? Ellis wanted to shake him. What else could she say or do to persuade him it was him she wanted? But then she wondered if he even cared. Perhaps his infatuation had run its course. She had been part of the fantasy he was creating for his publisher, and now she was a duchess in danger, and although he was tender, and willing to see she was kept safe, he did not want her in the same way he had before.

Was it over? Ellis ached at the thought. She remembered what Joan had said.

That's not to say you can't persuade him to go against his principles if you try hard enough. Although I'm not sure he will thank you for it afterward. Especially if you have some secret you haven't told him and which he will not like.

Was Joan right? She wanted to ask him but knew it was no use. Whatever had been between them had cooled, and she didn't know how to get it back. The dinner gong sounded, and Ellis smiled and moved away toward the door. "Shall we go in to dinner?"

After a moment Owen followed.