Behind the Mask (House of Lords) (17 page)

“Yes,” she said, turning to meet his eyes. “Allow me to apologize for my behavior. It was—”

“Miss Chesney,” he interrupted her. “I meant to apologize to you. I acted rashly, and I only hoped you were not offended.”

She knew she was blushing again. She looked away. “I was not offended, My Lord,” she said, and then, taking an even greater risk, she added, “Quite the contrary.” He was staring at her—she could feel his eyes upon her.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said at last. It was impossible to tell what he really meant, but Eleanor felt her flush deepen. He stared at her in silence for a long moment before he asked, "How much of what your mother told me did you hear?"

"What makes you think I heard any of it?"

He grinned. "You don't do a very good job of hiding your emotions," he said. “I saw the instant you came into the room that you had overheard at least some of what she said. You looked as though you might throttle her, poor woman.”

"My mother has never known how to moderate her speaking voice," Eleanor said wryly. "I suppose she told you all about Toby."

"Mr. Hollier? Yes, I suppose she did, or everything she knows at least. From my limited experience with you I would wager there is more to the story than what I heard."

She nodded. "And you would be right. But that is in the past now," she added, embarrassed that she felt the need to stress her lack of connection with Toby. But she could not lie to herself about her reason for it: she wanted him to understand that she was unattached, that she was free. Perhaps nothing would come of it, but she knew that she could not deny the attraction she felt to him.

“She told me about Lord Marsh, too,” he went on. “And Lord...oh, I can’t remember his name now.”

“Lord Sherbourne,” she supplied, though it took her a moment to recall his name as well. The man had only displayed the mildest interest in her, after all, and had very quickly transferred his affections elsewhere when he discovered that Eleanor’s interests extended beyond embroidery and fashion.

“Are you a committed spinster, then?” he asked jokingly.

She knew she frowned. “I am hardly old enough to be a spinster, Lord Pierce,” she said. “But I suppose few would be surprised if I ended as one.”

They were nearing the place where the valley opened up onto the wide, low floodplain, but Lord Pierce slowed his horse now. He reached out and gripped Mabon’s bridle, pulling the horse over towards him until their legs were touching. “Why should that be?” he asked, and when her eyes met his she saw something in them she did not quite understand.

“I am not...to most men’s tastes,” she said, silently praying that he did not ask her to elaborate.

He leaned over and kissed her—not the intense, devouring kiss he had given her last night, but something sweeter, softer, gentler. She found herself leaning into him, losing all ability to resist. The worry she had felt that she had offended him with her wanton behavior melted away, and somehow, with only the brush of his lips against hers, he made her feel that she could never do anything that would drive him away.

When he pulled away, he said, “If we were not both on horseback I would show you how wrong you are, at least where
this
man is concerned.”

“Lord Pierce—”

“Do you think that you might call me Colin now?”

She looked down at the place where their thighs were still pressed together. “I don’t know if—”

“Only when we are alone.”

She met his eyes again. “Very well. Only if you will call me Eleanor,” she said.

His hand brushed her thigh as he loosed Mabon’s bridle. “I’d like that.”

As they rode out onto the flats, Eleanor asked herself what sort of foolish game she was playing. He had made it clear he was attracted to her, but he hardly knew her. He certainly could not claim that he would still find her as appealing when he knew not only how she looked but also the woman beneath. Perhaps she would not even let him get that close. That way lay only disappointment and heartache.

But when she looked over at him and he flashed her a rakish smile, she wondered if he might not be worth it.

He was losing control. Colin had to force himself to admit it, though he was reluctant to acknowledge such an uncomfortable truth. For years, ever since Angeline, he had prided himself on being the master of his emotions, above the feelings other men felt. He had believed that he could make himself immune to the charms of a woman. That did not mean he had been a monk, of course. There had been women, but none of them held a candle to the beauty riding beside him, blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him.

Perhaps he should turn the whole mission over to someone else. It might be for the best. Another man would be able to look at the situation with an unbiased eye.

But that would be admitting defeat, which was something he could not imagine doing. He had been humiliated enough when he had been forced to leave Vienna in disgrace. He would not fail again. Colin knew, however, that he would not be able to resist Eleanor’s charms much longer, either. When she had said that she had not been offended by his kissing her—and, what was more, indicated that she would welcome such advances again—his heart had skipped a beat. How was it that the woman was so oblivious to the effect she had on men? Did she really think that other men would not be just as thrilled as he at the prospect of holding her, kissing her? Why should that be? What fault did she see in herself that he could not perceive?

Focus, man
, he chastised himself as they rode out onto the flats.
There are more important things to think about
.

Eleanor led him along the river to another little bridge. Not far away stood one of the famous windmills of the Broads, this one painted a bright, sunny yellow. Attached to its base was a small structure painted the same cheerful color.

“Most of the mills are windpumps,” Eleanor explained as they drew nearer. “But the Guller’s is a working mill. He and his wife raised twelve children in that little house.”

“The Guller?”

“That’s what the villagers call him. The family’s name is Gulleston, but he has been the Guller for as long as I’ve known him. He’s a cantankerous old soul, but because he takes deliveries from every farmer for fifty miles, he knows everything that happens in the Broads. He’ll be a good source of information.”

They stopped outside the little house, and the top of the half-door swung open almost immediately, revealing a wizened old woman, still wiping her floury hands on her apron.

“Miss Elly!” she cried, her pale, watery eyes lighting up when she saw Eleanor. “My lands, it’s been an age since we’ve seen you. Come in, come in! I’ve just been baking some pasties.” She threw open the bottom half of the door and limped out to take Eleanor’s hand. Then, appearing to notice Colin at last, she said, “Is this your young man? We’ve heard so much about him! My, but he’s handsome. You’ve done well, girl.”

“I think he can hear you, Mrs. Gulleston,” Eleanor said, leaning down to speak close to the old lady’s ear.

“I suppose he can, but at my age you don’t worry about that sort of thing, dear.”

“Of course not. Mrs. Gulleston, this is Lord Colin Pierce of Townsley in Staffordshire.”

“I hope you like potato pasties,” Mrs. Gulleston said, looking Colin up and down. “He’s a little too thin for my tastes, Miss Elly.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll soon remedy that,” Colin said.

Mrs. Gulleston laughed. “I suppose we will. Come in, lad.”

She led them into the small house, which appeared to be made up of only two rooms. One, a large kitchen with a great hearth and an ancient, graying table, took up most of the space. Near the back, on the side away from the mill, Colin spied a bed through a narrow door. Another door on the other side presumably led into the mill itself. He found himself wondering not only where the Gullestons had put twelve children, but also how they had managed to have them in the first place.

Before the hearth sat a leathery old man. When he looked up Colin saw that his right eye was clouded and sightless. But the man stood to greet him and Colin realized that he was by no means incapable. The Guller might be long past his prime, but he had clearly not given up. He had strong, confident hands and thick arms that had been well trained to the tasks he performed daily, and when he spoke it was in a clear voice.

“So, Miss Elly, you’ve brought us your young man. About time, I say.”

“Now, Guller,” Eleanor said, going to kiss the old man’s cheek, “I’m hardly an old maid.”

“Nor did we think you would be. But it’s good to see you thinking of something other than managing that great house all on your own. Do a little for yourself, child, that’s what I say.”

“Of course, Guller. May I present Lord Colin Pierce of Townsley in Staffordshire?”

“You may indeed,” the Guller said, just as if he were a king receiving a supplicant.

“I am honored, Mr. Gulleston,” Colin said, bowing his head as he shook the old man’s hand.

“You call me Guller, young man,” the Guller ordered.

“Of course, sir.”

The Guller chuckled low in his throat.

“Tea?” his wife asked.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gulleston,” Eleanor said. The Guller led them over to the worn table and they sat while Mrs. Gulleston poured tea and brought over a plate of pasties so hot they were almost inedible. But she dished them out anyway, placing them carefully onto what Colin was sure was her prize china.

Eleanor sipped her tea thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “I’m afraid this is not purely a social call, Guller. Lord Pierce works for the Foreign Office, you see.”

“A spy?” the Guller asked suspiciously.

Colin shook his head. “Not quite, sir.”

“Good. I don’t like the idea of our Miss Elly married to a spy.”

Colin decided not to argue with him. “I suppose you know, Guller, that Sidney Park is to be favored with a visit from Princess Victoria in a few days.”

“Lord bless her,” Mrs. Gulleston said reverently. The Guller nodded.

“Well, it’s my job to make sure that the visit goes smoothly,” Colin said. It was not quite the truth, but it was as near as he could get without causing panic. “I’m wondering if you may have seen anything suspicious recently.”

“Does this have anything to do with that young man what was killed out on the flats?”

“I’m afraid it does,” Colin said.

The Guller nodded again. “Well, never let it be said I didn’t do my part for the crown,” he muttered. “I did see something, three days ago now. I were out stacking wood, and I saw a light out on the flats, down Yarmouth way. Not more than a mile off, though. I thought it might be that young man what was killed. He had been by earlier that day, asking questions. Were he one of yours, Lord Pierce?”

“He was,” Colin confirmed. “This would have been Thursday night, Guller?”

He scratched his head. “No,” he said after a pause, “No, it were Friday night. I saw the young man Thursday, now I think of it, but I didn’t see the light until Friday.”

Colin said nothing. The Guller did not know it, but by Friday Yates had already been captured, perhaps even killed. The light the Guller had seen might very well have been the Serraray transporting Yates’s body.

“My Lord,” Mrs. Gulleston said, staring down into her tea, “there isn’t any danger to our little princess, is there?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know yet,” he said. “But you may rest assured that I will do everything I can to keep her safe.”