The Disgraceful Mr. Ravenhurst Read online

  Some rational thought surfaced, telling her that this, here, now, was madness and they should stop, and then his hand left her breast and she sighed, a great shuddering exhalation of relief and disappointment, not knowing which was which. And she lost that thread of rationality again when Theo’s mouth sealed over hers, his tongue filling her with slow, heavy thrusts that made her clasp his shoulders for some anchor in this whirlpool of sensation.

  The scrape of metal in the lock cut through her senses like a surgeon’s knife. One moment there had been nothing but the delirium of his kiss, the next she was staring wild eyed at Theo as he pushed her towards the deep kneehole under the desk. Elinor scrabbled for it, finding the knife, scooping it up as Theo followed her, his fingers pinching out the wick of the lantern as he jammed into the space. It was a partners’ desk, she realised, deep enough for two people to work opposite each other. Unless whoever was opening the door sat down and stretched out their legs, or bent to look, they were out of sight.

  Theo’s arms came around her, holding her tight so they were facing each other, knees drawn up, backs curved protectively towards the openings on either side. Her body was still shaking, her mind was reeling, but his calmness helped her keep still, breathe slowly and quietly. The door was open now. Over Theo’s shoulder she could see the light of a candle, perhaps a branch—it seemed quite bright.

  What time was it? What on earth was the count doing? In answer a clock struck the half-hour. It must be past three. Perhaps he had been unable to sleep and had come down to read. Then the quality of the footsteps struck her. Even a man in slippers should not be that quiet, surely?

  As she thought it, she saw pale skirts pass and then stop. There had been a large inlaid box on top of the desk which they had left untouched because it was too small to hold the Chalice. The woman was opening that. Papers rustled, there was a soft exclamation, then the sound of the lid closing, the scrape of a key—or was it a picklock?

  Who was it? She could tell nothing from the skirts, which looked like those of a heavy satin night robe. It could be any of the women who were staying. She was standing still as though in thought. Or was she listening? Could she hear them breathing?

  Then, with a swish of skirts and the light tread of kid slippers, she was moving towards the door again. It opened, closed. Darkness, there was the scrape of metal again, then silence.

  Theo’s hand pressed against her mouth. Elinor counted in her head and reached twenty before he began to wriggle back out of their tight confinement.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked, getting to her feet as he lit the lantern again. Her legs were shaking. ‘It was a woman.’

  ‘I have no idea.’ He took out the picklocks and began to work on the box. ‘She was using picklocks, or a hairpin, on the door.’

  ‘Ana, then? Surely the countess would have a key.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ He had the lid open, the papers in his hand. ‘It’s an inventory. My God—it is the wicked count’s inventory for his secret society. See, here’s the Chalice.’

  He spread the crackling sheets of parchment on the table, Elinor struggling to read the ancient handwriting in the poor light. ‘And a platter from the same goldsmith. Chains of gold and silver…whips of horse hair and leather…What is that, I don’t recognise the word?’

  Theo folded the list and put his hand on it. ‘I’m glad to hear it and I have no intention of telling you.’ He put the inventory back and closed the lid. ‘So, there are more things to find. Whoever she is, she is welcome to it. All I want is to locate the Chalice and get out of here.’

  ‘The inventory gave no hint about the hiding place?’

  ‘Not exactly. It has given me an idea, though, for where to look. I must study the plan again.’

  ‘We’ll look tomorrow.’ Now all she wanted to do was to curl up in her own bed, by herself, and try to sleep. Sleep and not think or feel or want. And somehow to subdue the heated intimate ache that Theo’s kisses had aroused.

  ‘We will not,’ Theo said sternly, working on the door. He shuttered the lantern and opened it a crack, listening. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ He looked up from relocking the door, his face grim. ‘Because for some reason I cannot seem to keep my hands off you and I must. We are playing with fire, Nell.’

  ‘Just then—before she came in—what would have happened?’

  ‘Nothing more than a kiss,’ he said abruptly, taking her arm and turning back towards the wing where their rooms were. ‘I am still enough of a gentleman to be sure of that. But it isn’t easy, Nell, not when what I want is to take you to my bed. To take your virginity.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, determined to work this out. She had no idea what she felt, what she thought. But he was experienced, he understood, surely, what was going on? ‘We are not in love. We are both intelligent, rational people. I do not understand why I am so confused, why I want to…to touch you, to have you kiss me.’

  They were passing a deep window embrasure with seats built into the thick stone. Theo sat her down firmly, then sat opposite. At a safe distance, she thought, distractedly. ‘It is desire—impure, but very simple, Nell. It is easy to stir into life, difficult to damp down.’ He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘I see.’ Elinor tried to work it out. ‘I can understand why I want to kiss you—you showed me how, I like you and I trust you.’ And I want you, but I must not say that. I shouldn’t even think it. Theo groaned. ‘You seem to like kissing me,’ she ventured.

  ‘Men like kissing women, full stop,’ he said brutally, flattening any hope that somehow she was special. ‘Nell, stop trying to apply your intellect to this. It isn’t a set of grammar rules you have to learn and which then apply every time. Desire is very powerful, not logical and rarely convenient. It is not voluntary. It is especially inconvenient for ladies. Men can find mistresses. For ladies to take lovers and not lose their reputations into the bargain is almost impossible.’

  ‘Bel—’ she began and then clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified that she had almost said it.

  ‘Bel and Dereham? Before they were married?’ Theo, momentarily distracted, looked up. ‘Really? Well, good for her after that prosy bore she was married to. But widows are different, Nell.’

  ‘But I don’t want a lover,’ she said, trying to make herself understand as much as him. ‘And you certainly don’t want me, not when you can have experienced mistresses who don’t need teaching and won’t cause a scandal. So why can’t we just—’ She waved her hands about, frustrated at not being able to find the right expression.

  ‘Turn it off like a tap?’ Theo was smiling. It was a rather strained grin, but at least he was no longer frowning at her. ‘Because it keeps surprising us and it is a very powerful instinct. You see why I don’t want you in my bedroom?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Her emphatic agreement had him smiling in earnest. He got to his feet and held out his hand. Elinor put hers in it and managed to smile back. ‘It is such a…crowded feeling. I think it makes the Greek myths a lot easier to comprehend.’

  Theo gave a snort of laughter, hastily choked back. ‘Shh! We are getting close to the bedchambers. Do you want to explain to Aunt Louisa that we have been discussing mythology?’

  On the threshold of her room he stopped and looked down at her for a long moment. ‘I am not going to kiss you goodnight, Nell.’

  ‘Very wise.’ She put one hand on his shoulder, stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his cheek. ‘Goodnight, Theo.’

  ‘Goodnight, Nell.’

  The clock struck four and Elinor yawned, her jaw cracking, as she dragged off her clothes and stumbled into bed. Theo was wrong, she decided as she began to drift off to sleep. It was possible to understand this physical desire intellectually. The trouble was, it seemed impossible to make her body understand as well.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I don’t remember you wearing this dress yesterda
y, Miss Elinor.’

  Elinor looked up from her sleepy contemplation of her cup of chocolate to find Jeanie holding up the green walking dress, crumpled and dusty. The chateau’s staff did not dust under desks, she thought, then caught herself before she said so. ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and walked about,’ she explained, stifling a yawn.

  ‘What, in this spooky old place?’ Jeanie shuddered dramatically. ‘I wouldn’t set foot outside my door in the dark, that’s for sure, no matter what I heard outside.’

  It took a moment or two for that statement to penetrate Elinor’s drowsy brain. ‘You heard something in the night? What, exactly?’

  ‘Footsteps, and knockings and sounds like stones shifting,’ the maid said, eyes wide, clothes brush suspended in mid stroke.

  ‘Really? How odd. But then old buildings always sound odd if you aren’t used to them,’ Elinor said, suddenly no longer tired. She set her cup down. ‘Where exactly are you lodged?’

  Jeanie proved to have a poor sense of direction and even poorer descriptive skills. Eventually, with the help of the plan, Elinor pinpointed her room. ‘You are on the ground floor?’ That was odd for servants’ rooms. Then she realised that it was part of the oldest wing and was immediately over the ancient cellars and dungeons. Presumably all the family and guest rooms were in the more modern parts of the building.

  ‘Is Mr Ravenhurst up, do you know?’ She slid out of bed and went to look out of the window. The sun was already brilliant; Mama would probably want to spend all day in the chapel.

  ‘I saw him as I was bringing your hot water, Miss Elinor. He pinched my chin and told me I was looking too pretty for a man to stand at that time in the morning.’ Jeanie tossed her head, obviously delighted with the compliment. ‘Cheek, I call it.’

  ‘That’s men for you,’ Elinor replied, from her wealth of recent experience.

  It seemed Theo and the count had been for a ride, for they were both in the breakfast parlour when she came down, both slightly windswept and apparently in better humour with each other. She had not known what to expect when she saw Theo again. Surely the fact that they had been so…intimate would show somehow? Would she even be able to meet his eyes?

  And then, miraculously, it was all right. Theo was just her friend and cousin again, his hair tousled, his smile when he saw her, wide and uncomplicated. Or was he feeling like she was, very different inside? No—as he had implied, men hardly regarded a kiss as significant.

  Elinor dimpled at the count, biting her cheek at Theo’s comically raised eyebrows and took the opportunity to hiss as she paused beside his chair, ‘Jeanie heard noises last night in the cellars. Someone else is searching.’

  ‘It’s a miracle we didn’t bump into all the rest of the guests,’ he murmured back, the scraping of chair legs as he resumed his seat covering the exchange.

  ‘And what would you like to do this morning, Miss Ravenhurst?’ the count enquired, placing a plate of very English-looking food in front of her. ‘I still enjoy my English breakfasts,’ he explained, sitting down to his own dish of kedgeree.

  ‘Thank you. I will assist Mama, I expect. She will want to spend time in your lovely chapel, I am sure. The light will be good with so much sunshine.’

  ‘And I cannot tempt you outside into that sun?’ He was so hopelessly good looking, she thought. Those long lashes, those dark, stormy eyes, that beautifully chiselled jaw. And the intense way he focussed on her. It sounded as though his day would be ruined if she did not join him in the grounds.

  ‘Oh.’ Elinor tried fluttering her lashes. Her sister seemed to be able to do it to effect. She felt a complete idiot. On the far side of the count Theo raised his eyebrows, apparently in agreement with that assessment. ‘That sounds lovely. But what I would really like to do is to see your dungeons. I love Gothic romances and they must be so atmospheric.’

  Theo stopped pulling mocking faces and nodded approval. Clever, he mouthed.

  ‘The dungeons?’ The count looked wary. ‘They are not very exciting these days, just cellars now full of wine barrels and old furniture. No hideous instruments of torture or skeletons in chains to send a frisson down your spine.’ He did not seem exactly eager to take her, but then what host would be delighted at a request to tour his cellars on a bright sunny day?

  ‘Please, Count?’ Elinor tried wheedling. ‘I am sure you could make it seem so exciting.’ Theo, his mouth full of coffee, choked alarmingly.

  ‘I cannot promise that,’ he said, his eyes suggesting he lied. Elinor felt herself turn pink. Lord! Her inept flirting must be having an effect. ‘But I will do my best. And you must call me Leon.’

  ‘Oh, thank you—Leon.’ Elinor reached for the toast, suddenly finding herself incapable of any more of this and terrified of meeting Theo’s mocking gaze. ‘I will come and find you when Mama no longer requires me, shall I?’

  To her relief the others began to trickle into the room. Julie sat next to Leon, sending Elinor a cool, warning glance as though she had overheard her exchange with him. Laure and Antoinette fluttered in and sat down either side of Theo, exclaiming over the changes to the dramatic colouring of his bruises and managing to sound as though he had been injured in the course of some knightly endeavour. Elinor wondered about engaging him in conversation and then wickedly decided to leave him to deal with them as best he could.

  His tactics appeared to be to treat them both as though they were about fifteen and he an indulgent and elderly uncle, an approach that won him an approving nod from his aunt when Lady James appeared.

  The Traceys announced their intention of riding out and persuaded Monsieur Castelnau, and, to Elinor’s surprise, Ana, to join them. Julie, she noticed, waited until Leon’s refusal before refusing herself. She’s in love with him, Elinor thought. Poor soul, he sees only his mother’s companion. And companions, as she knew all too well, were so often invisible. But Julie was striking, with a slim dark elegance that matched the count’s, and she hardly seemed lacking in self-confidence. They would make a handsome couple.

  She waited for her mother to finish, sipping a third cup of coffee and crumbling a roll while she attempted to engage her hostess in conversation. The countess seemed heavy-eyed and strained. No doubt, Elinor thought compassionately, she was finding sleep hard to come by. Her husband had died in mysterious circumstances only a little while ago, after all. In fact, it was odd that she chose to entertain at all—perhaps she did so only at her son’s insistence. Her gaze rested thoughtfully on Leon. He did not have the air of a man whose father had only recently died so tragically—had he and the previous count been on bad terms?

  Lady James did not keep her waiting long. ‘Come, Elinor, we have work to do.’ Elinor turned to smile her thanks at Monsieur Castelnau, who had pulled back her chair for her, and blinked in sudden confusion. Who was that woman? Then she saw it was herself reflected in a long glass. She stared. Yes, of course it was her, only…

  ‘I will just fetch my sketching things, Mama,’ she said, leaving her mother to ask the countess about the key to the chapel.

  Jeanie was folding clothes in her room and looked up with a smile as Elinor came in. ‘Jeanie, do I look different?’

  It was a bizarre question, but the maid did not seem to find it odd. ‘But yes, Miss Elinor. You’ve got colour in your cheeks and your hair makes your face so much softer and you are wearing those pretty colours now.’

  She stared at the mirror. She looked younger, or at least she looked her proper age and not years older as she sometimes felt. And if not pretty exactly—she did not have that sort of face—she might honestly claim to look quite attractive. She knew she had looked nice last evening, but then she had been wearing her lovely new gown and the jewels. But now…‘How odd. I suppose I have been getting more fresh air, and the new gowns and hairstyle, of course.’

  ‘All those,’ Jeanie agreed, coming to look over her shoulder. ‘But its being in love that does it. Works every time.’

  Elinor stared at her
and Jeanie smiled back into the mirror, apparently unaware that she had said anything to shock her mistress. It took several attempts to make her voice work. ‘Jeanie, I am not in love.’ That did not seem emphatic enough. ‘Not at all. Not with anyone.’

  The girl actually winked! ‘Of course, if you say so, Miss Elinor. You can rely on me not saying anything to her ladyship, we don’t want to worry her, do we, not with all the things she’s thinking about, what with her books and everything. It’s ever so convenient over here, isn’t it? Not like London. You can go around with him, just as you please.’

  ‘Over here?’ Elinor said faintly. ‘Oh, yes. Very convenient.’

  ‘And he’s a lovely gentleman, isn’t he? Not what you’d call handsome, not like the count. But what I’d call manly. And he’s got lovely hands—’ She broke off, looking thoughtful. ‘Yes, miss, you definitely won’t be disappointed in him for a husband.’

  ‘Jeanie.’ Elinor pulled herself together and spoke clearly, slowly and firmly, desperately ignoring the image of how Theo would not be a disappointment as a husband. ‘I am not in love with Mr Ravenhurst. He is my cousin and my friend, that is all. There is nothing to keep secret from my mother.’ And may I not be struck down for lying! she thought. Lying about there being nothing to keep secret, she amended. There was no secret about her feelings for Theo. It was ludicrous to think she was in love with him. That was not a rational emotion for her to have. And she was a rational female. Very rational, if unable to control the stirrings of physical desire. Nothing more than a kiss…that was no reason to fall in love.

  ‘Yes, Miss Elinor.’ Jeanie, not the slightest bit chastened, returned to her folding while Elinor, considerably flustered, snatched up her satchel and a folded copy of the plan and fled.

  I am not in love with him, I can’t be. ‘Here I am, Mama—goodness, those stairs are steep! What would you like me to do?’ I desire him. That is a perfectly natural physical reaction over which I have no control. But I can control my actions and my thoughts. ‘Check the capitals for similarities with the basilica? Yes, of course.’ Falling in love is intellectual, surely? I do not want to fall in love, therefore I cannot. I have not. ‘This one, Mama, and that one there. I think they might be by the same hand.’