Читать книгу The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three - Elysabeth Williams - Страница 6

Chapter 2

Eliza sat in her drawing room half-dozing, wondering if she would be able to stay awake before her evening caller arrived. The house had been quiet and devoid of hired help for the last few days, since Mr. von Wilstrom had decided he needed their assistance in the country. Eliza knew he’d taken them just to make her angry, and with the specific intent of forcing her to return to him. She knew better, and refused to fall for his trap. She refused to bow to any man, including her husband.

Patrick von Wilstrom was much older than she, a match made by her parents, who feared her becoming an old maid after years of searching for a perfect mate. The gossip around the city was rampant when she didn’t leave to live with him in the country, but she didn’t care. She’d borne no children and refused to, given her distaste for her husband and his debauchery. His constant gambling and whoring left little to be desired. Besides, he was overbearing and generally rude. Had she not wanted to remain in good graces with her parents, she would have denied him too. However, her father–a duke–had said he would allow them a country and city home if she would just agree–so she did.

Patrick hated the city now, since he’d been cast out of all known gentlemen’s parlors for defaulting on gambling debts. He escaped to the country not only to force her hand, he also had enemies far and wide throughout the city. At one point, he’d demanded she return to the country residence. Eliza refused. They’d argued about his habits, which ended in Eliza throwing his clothing into the street. Thus, their marriage was reduced to a battle of wills. Patrick would send messages. She would ignore them, or worse. She snickered at the memory of when she’d sent a letter’s ashes tucked into the return envelope. Little did Patrick realize: she was much happier without him than with him. She stayed for her title and London townhouse, and kept him at arm’s length.

She’d boldly requested a divorce. Her love life remained in limbo even though she tended to attract the general attentions of others...others such as Baron Silas Willoughby.

She smiled under half-lidded eyes as his name rolled through her mind. Silas was a well-known rake and she felt like testing his boundaries. She didn’t normally seek out company, but found herself drawn to Silas. He managed to keep his reputation spotless in the foreground–while those in the know more than understood his seductive allure. Unmarried by choice, he was the only remaining Willoughby in his family. His title was uncontested and his land was secure. His parents had both lived well and within their means, so when Silas inherited the estate, it secured his finances for life and left him with no reason to marry.

The baron was the pinnacle of entertainment. Over the seasons he’d built a reputation for holding the most lavish, borderline decadent parties. His home was the place for go to for musicales, formal balls, and gigantic games of whist. Everyone begged for an invitation just to be in his presence. Even now preparations were underway for his annual season’s end ball, which hundreds would attend. He was always in good spirits and charming. To Eliza, it seemed he existed merely to enjoy others’ company.

Eliza closed her eyes for the briefest of moments and sighed deeply, remembering his cologne and warmth in the hall. She felt something oddly like home while in his presence. Almost on cue, a soft knock sounded on her front door. She rose and opened it, coming eye to eye with her daydream. He tipped his hat and bowed as she motioned him inside.

“Good of you to come, Baron.”

“Yes, coming is always good.” He doffed his hat and she took it from him, smirking. He removed his coat and placed it on the rack as he entered the foyer. “Where are your servants, Mrs. von Wilstrom?” Silas looked down the hallway toward the darkened kitchen.

“The country. Mr. von Wilstrom decided he needed the extra help.”

“Surely you jest.”

“That’s one thing I don’t jest about. The man thinks he’s making me miserable. But damn his luck. I can hang a hat and coat, cook, and clean. I obviously don’t need a maid, and prefer to travel alone. It also creates less of a hassle when I do decide to have people over at odd times of the evening.”

“How terrible,” he mocked, shaking his head.

“It’s so terrible that you won’t have to worry about being caught in my home after midnight?”

“No, it’s actually quite preferable. I just find it terrible a husband would leave you to your own devices.”

Eliza clasped her hands in front of her and shrugged. “I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me, Silas. I always make my way.” Baron Willoughby would never know how true those words were. In her younger days, she’d spent months of rigorous training in India. She was prepared mentally and physically for any situation thrown her way.

After Eliza had married and settled in the city, Colonel Cuthbert had sought her out at an end of season ball and offered Eliza and her friends an opportunity. He’d tasked Eliza, Miriam and Jillian with spying on a visiting duke, who was quite possibly stealing various art pieces from the home where the ball was hosted. The women apprehended the duke with stolen goods in hand. Scotland Yard was able to put the man in prison for quite a while. Since then, the colonel had called upon the English Three–as he so liked to call them–to perform more complex missions. Eliza was always prepared for adventure and excitement, as long as she was home for tea and whist. However sworn to secrecy, she doubted she’d ever need to tell anyone. Not even the man who stood before her.

“Would you care for tea, Baron?”

“Please don’t go through the trouble for me, Eliza.”

“It would be no trouble, honestly.”

“Do not make tea.” He took her by the hand and led her to the parlor down the hall. He pulled her into the room. With a quick twist, he tugged the bejeweled clip pinning her hair atop her head. Loosed, her black curls flowed down her back. She sighed and smiled. He ran his fingers through the mass and pulled her face toward him, his hovering lips barely touching hers.

“You have the most peculiar effect on me, Eliza.”

“I do not aspire to be peculiar, Baron.”

“Please call me Silas.”

“I will call you whatever you wish, good sir.”

“Don’t taunt me. It could be quite embarrassing.” He chuckled. “What you do to me, though...it’s quite remarkable.”

“I doubt it’s anything different from what the working ladies down on Old Compton Street could do to you.”

Silas laughed, caressing her face with his thumb. “I am serious, regardless of your sarcasm.”

“Oh, I do believe you.”

“Still the cheeky tart.” He smiled and fell silent, his eyes smoldering.

“It’s not been so long since you last called me a cheeky tart, if I remember correctly.” She slipped her arms around his waist and to his back, pressing herself against his chest.

“And if I remember correctly, I called you that after finding you in my study with your rump in the air. Which reminds me, why exactly were you in there?”

Eliza swallowed hard and thought fast, taking a step backward and lowering her arms. “My shoe came unbuttoned and I had to attend to it.”

Silas narrowed his eyes at her and sat in a chair, pulling her onto his lap. “Why would you need to attend your own shoe, lady?”

She swept her hands dramatically. “Hello, Silas Willoughby, welcome to my home. I do everything myself. Positively everything. I know such a thing is completely unheard of in your position–but in my home I am the lady, the man, the maid, the cook and butler. Though annoying at times, it does have its high points.”

“What high points are those, Miss?” He pressed his hips upward, making his point known. She grinned and lowered her lashes.

“There are fewer ears in the home to repeat my business needlessly.”

“Ah, I see. Well, my most humble apologies. I hope the ‘man’ part of the list of duties is at least satisfying.”

Eliza’s smile spread wide over her face. “I know I do leave something to be desired, but I try my hardest to accommodate.”

“Perhaps you need someone to...fill in the gaps, as it were.” Silas brushed a stray lock of hair from her shoulder and kissed her neck. Eliza smiled and closed her eyes.

* * * *

His hangover dawned just as the sun broke through the horizon. Silas rubbed his temples and quietly shut the door behind him. Starting down the sidewalk, he pulled an envelope from his vest pocket. The note had been found in his study yesterday. Eliza must have been digging for it while she was there, but he couldn’t place his finger on exactly why. Well, he’d placed a few fingers directly on Eliza, but that was beside the point.

He opened the envelope and tried to read the elaborately scrawled words. Muttering an oath, he returned it to his pocket, unable to focus. Silas cursed himself for drinking entirely too much the previous night. Usually he was able to stave off the morning’s pains with a proper breakfast–but today, he refused to ask Eliza to help him with something as trivial as a meal. Instead he’d left the slumbering beauty alone while he ducked out into the rising sun. She’d been a sight to behold, sprawled on the sheets with her hair spread out on the pillows behind her. Her lips were red and plump from a full night of kissing, her cheeks flushed from passion and from his late night stubble.

Even though he’d spent the night in her bed, mostly in a state of undress, they’d never moved passed the initial “touch and feel.” Silas, generally described as a rake by his peers, still had some sense of propriety, and found he was perfectly satisfied to just be with her, surveying and enjoying every inch of her body. Not to say he didn’t hope to approach her later, but for now he had the reminder of their evening still fresh on his lips.

Unfortunately for him, the neighbors were already out on their doorsteps, retrieving newspapers. As he walked away from Eliza’s abode instead of acting guilty or trying to hide his identity, he merely tipped his hat and grinned. The prudish passers-by scoffed, and he had to chuckle at their surprised expressions. This wouldn’t be the last of it.

Once the glaring neighbors faded into the distance behind him and he reached the end of the street, he pulled the envelope from his pocket again, hoping for better luck. He unfolded it and immediately recognized the familiar scrawling script on the yellowed parchment. The message was short.

Watch Eliza.

Silas stopped walking and frowned. There was no salutation like his other letters. It meant more than the simplicity suggested, and for certain, Silas took it very seriously. He was downright concerned. He never received less than a page of instruction from the colonel. Over the last few years he’d come to expect over-verbose descriptions, bloated with information.

Silas, still holding the paper in both hands, turned around to stare toward Eliza’s home.

“What does the old man want me to do?” he whispered.

Cuthbert never sent him with the sole intent to spy on women. The lavishly intricate notes previously held secrets and plots. Silas never spent his off-season days in the country, lazing about like most of the gentlemen of his stature. Instead he gallivanted the world over, searching for missing women to bring home safely.

This stumped him. His head pounded harder than ever. He tucked the note back into his vest and turned toward home. Before he thought of anything else, he needed some food.