Chapter Eleven
“This just came for you, ma’am.” Charlotte opened the missive Bridget handed her, butterflies doing a tango in her stomach. Her life had become so unpredictable that a simple note set her nerves aflutter.
My Dear Mrs. Pennyworth,
I have met with an unfortunate accident, and I fear I will be unable to attend you for a few days.
Mr. Elliot Baker
She read the words over and over, trying her best to convince herself that Elliot had merely stumbled into a table and bruised his leg. Or perchance he had sliced a bit of fruit and his finger got in the way. Of course, there was also the possibility that he’d missed the last two steps on his way out the door and twisted his ankle.
Don’t be ridiculous, Charlotte, you know this “accident” is somehow connected to you.
“Bridget, ask for my carriage to be brought around, and help me change into another gown.” She had to see for herself, or she would not rest easy. Elliot was a strong, virile man, who would not be unable to attend her due to a mere accident. The mishap must have been serious. And even if it was not connected to her, as a good Christian woman, she should see to his comfort.
Thankfully, her driver knew where Elliot lived. She was probably breaking some type of rule by visiting a bachelor in his rooms, but she had to discern for herself his condition. After all, as his employer, she owed him some sort of consideration.
With those thoughts firmly fixed in her mind, she climbed out of her carriage and proceeded up the steps to the building Bones indicated was Mr. Baker’s residence. She dropped the knocker and waited. After a few minutes the door opened, and a rotund woman with rosy cheeks and a large apron tied around her middle offered a warm smile. “Yes, miss, what may I do for ye?”
“Is this the residence of Mr. Elliot Baker?”
The woman’s easy demeanor changed as she drew back and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Aye, it is Mr. Baker’s residence. I don’t allow ladies to call upon my gentlemen boarders.” She sniffed. “It appears to me ye are a lady, so I would advise ye to send a note if you must gain Mr. Baker’s attention.”
She began to close the door, but Charlotte slapped her palm against it to stop the door from closing.
“Now see here, young lady, I told ye I do not allow lady visitors.” The woman’s face grew even more rosy.
“Please. I do not intend to stay long. In fact, I will not even remove my cape. I had a note from Mr. Baker this morning that he has had an accident, and I just wish to see if there is anything I can do to help him.”
“An accident? I didn’t hear anything about an accident.” The woman looked aghast that someone in her house should have an accident and she was not informed. If Charlotte wasn’t so anxious, she would have laughed at the woman’s attitude.
“I’m sorry you weren’t aware of his mishap, but may I please enter and just take a quick look?”
After a few moments of consideration, the woman stepped back. “I will go with ye.”
“Fine.” Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are his rooms?”
“Follow me.” The woman climbed the stairs, puffing quite laboriously by the time they reached the top. The boards creaked beneath their feet as they walked down a corridor and stopped at a wooden door at the end. The woman tapped on the door. “Mr. Baker?”
“Yes, Mrs. Murray,” came the voice from inside.
“Ye have a visitor here who says ye had an accident.”
Within seconds the door opened, and Elliot stood there. Charlotte and Mrs. Murray both gasped. The entire side of his face was scraped and black and blue. His nose was swollen, and might have been broken. Despite his injuries, he smiled his usual greeting and bowed slightly from the waist. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Whatever happened?” Charlotte didn’t even recognize her breathy voice.
She followed Mrs. Murray as she pushed her way inside and waved her finger at him. “Why did you not come to me for aid, Mr. Baker? Ye look dreadful.”
“It is nothing, I assure you. I merely slipped on the wet pavement last evening.”
Both women regarded him with disbelief. This was no slip. Elliot looked as though someone had slammed him to the ground.
“I will fix ye some of my tea. It will help with the healing.” Obviously forgetting she was breaking her rules by allowing Charlotte to remain alone with Elliot, Mrs. Murray hustled from the room.
…
They both stared at each other until Elliot waved to a chair. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Elliot studied Charlotte as she moved past his neatly made bed, wooden dresser, and two chairs around a small table. She no sooner sat on the blue and white striped chair facing his bed then her face flushed, and she hopped up and stammered, “Is there a drawing room?”
He tried to hide his laughter as he said, “Not exactly a drawing room, but we would be much more comfortable in my sitting room.” He led her through a door to his small, well-appointed sitting room. The furnishings had come with the flat, a rose damask settee and two rose, white, and green printed chairs forming a semi-circle around the cold fireplace. His several bookshelves were loaded with books, and his ancient desk groaned under stacks of papers.
Once she settled in the chair by the fireplace, with him taking the settee, her eyes grew wide as she took in his appearance. He wore trousers, with a banyan over it, open at the neck, revealing his bare chest, with dark swirly curls visible. A rush of heat rose to her face, and she unbuttoned her cape and began to shrug out of it.
Elliot moved gingerly, sore from his beating, to help her, and could not stop himself from smirking at her reaction to his appearance. He folded the cape and placed it on the settee next to him.
Charlotte took a deep breath. “How did you hurt yourself? And please do not insult my intelligence by repeating that story about you falling on wet pavement.” Her eyes kept darting to his chest, licking her lips in such a way that he wanted to hoist her over his shoulder, stride to his bed, and dump her on it.
Her discomfort was causing his blood to race south. He shifted on his seat, wondering if she already suspected the attack had something to do with her. “It did happen on a wet pavement.” His grin did not appear to distract her.
“And?” She raised her cute little chin in the air.
He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. He ambled to the window and rested his hands on his hips. “As you probably surmised, I was attacked on purpose.”
Charlotte followed him to the window and stood alongside him, taking in the sight of an apple cart being pushed down the street by a vendor. A little girl clung to her mother’s hand as they entered the bakery across the way from the building. Everything looked perfectly normal, but Charlotte’s life had not been perfectly normal for some time now.
He turned and leaned his hip against the windowsill, crossing his arms over his chest. It would probably be best if she did know the truth. He could not be with her twenty-four hours a day, and she needed to be aware that the villain making her life miserable could very well be dangerous.
Reaching his hand out, he tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. “Whoever it was who attacked me warned me to stay away from you.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. “I knew it.” She raised her fist to her mouth and shook her head. “This is all my fault.”
Elliot rested his hands on her shoulders. “No, Charlotte. This is not your fault. It is the fault of the man pursuing you, and whoever he hired to attack me.”
“So, you don’t think they are the same man?” Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, and he pulled her close to him, resting her head against his chest.
“No. I am almost certain your tormentor is someone from your social circle. Whoever attacked me was from the lowest rung of London. He’d been hired, there was no doubt.”
“Here is your tea, Mr. Baker.” Mrs. Murray, thankfully, backed into the room, pulling a rolling cart with teacups, a tea pot, and biscuits. He and Charlotte sprang apart before she could turn and catch them embracing.
Mrs. Murray had been adamant when he rented the rooms that she did not allow women to visit her “gentlemen boarders.”
“I run a respectable home, sir,” she’d said as she’d handed him the key to his door when he first took possession of the rooms. “I don’t allow women or heavy drinking. Ye pay yer rent when due, allow my girl time to come in and clean, and keep the noise down.” Her eyes had narrowed. “Ye don’t play one of those musical instruments, do ye?”
When he had assured her he had no musical talent whatsoever, she nodded and continued. “If you abide by those rules, we will get along just fine.”
Elliot had been happy the five years he’d lived here, and only recently had begun to think that the money he’d been tucking away could buy him a small house. In fact, one day he might take a wife and think about having a family to occupy that little house. While those thoughts crowded his mind, his eyes drifted over Charlotte as she poured tea for the two of them.
“You do that very well.” He reached out for the cup. “And you remembered how I like my tea.”
She smiled, then her lips tightened as she regarded his face. “Yes, pouring tea is something I believe women are born knowing. English women, at least. However, what I want to know now is where do we go from here?”
He pushed away the thoughts of the two of them, drinking tea together, having meals before a cozy fireplace, and then proceeding, hand-in-hand up to the bedchamber where they would spend leisurely hours discovering new ways to pleasure each other.
Pulling his thoughts from that dangerous path, he said, “We continue on as before. Mr. Drovers believes whoever wrote the note that came with the flowers is left-handed, but wrote the note with his right hand.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath and paled. “Mr. Talbot is left-handed.”
“Is he, now? That’s interesting. Whoever it was, he was attempting to disguise his handwriting.” More than interesting, in fact. But then again, they had no reason to believe the flowers were in any way connected to the other packages. Though, given what Elliot had noticed of Mr. Talbot’s behavior, the man did seem to have a tendre for Charlotte.
“He also made some observations on both Von Braun and the vicar’s personalities that makes me believe they need to remain on our suspect list.”
He placed his empty teacup on the table and leaned back, resting his foot on his bent knee. “We will continue appearing together at various functions until someone slips up.” Seeing the distressed expression on her face, he moved to the edge of his seat, taking her cold hand in his. “Trust me.”
…
Trust me.
Charlotte cringed at his words, trying hard to hide her mistrust. She had trusted Lord Barton to be a good employer, and he’d made false charges against her after she’d refused to warm his bed. She had trusted Gabriel with her heart and her happiness, and his recklessness had let her down.
Trust another man? With her very life?
“Here now, I think it’s time you finished up yer visit.” Mrs. Murray bustled into the room, a frown on her round face.
Charlotte stood, embarrassed at the necessity for the woman to remind her. “I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Murray, you are right. It is time for me to take my leave.”
Elliot stood and helped the landlady gather up the tea things. As she rolled the cart from the room, Elliot reached out and stopped Charlotte. “When is your next social engagement?”
She placed her cape around her shoulders and fastened it at the neckline. “Tomorrow evening. I accepted an invitation for both of us to the Milford’s dinner party. But you cannot go like that.”
He shook his head. “No. But I do not want you to go alone. Things have taken a turn down a path that makes me uncomfortable.”
Charlotte had never been a ninnyhammer, but the idea of someone so enamored of her that he would hire a criminal to hurt the man she had employed to act as her escort was a frightening situation. This entire matter had gone from annoying, to fearsome, to downright dangerous. “I believe you are correct. I will send a note offering our regrets.”
Noticing Mrs. Murray lingering at Elliot’s doorstep, she pulled on her gloves and headed out of the room.
“Send a note with your future engagements, and I will let you know when I will be able to attend.” Looking as if he would like to do more than stand by the table where they’d shared tea, Elliot gave her a warm smile and a quick wink instead.
Her last glance at his bare chest peeking out from under his banyan was a powerful reminder why Mrs. Murray found it necessary to tap her foot as Charlotte breezed by. “Good day, Mrs. Murray.”
She climbed into her carriage and leaned back with a sigh. Elliot had looked awful. He had taken quite a beating at her expense. He’d tried to slough it off, but the turn of events was worrisome. The guilt she felt at the injuries he’d sustained nearly crippled her. She should stop the nonsense now by selling her house and moving far away. Maybe even to the continent. Surely whoever was plaguing her would not travel to another country to pursue her.
If she moved, she could always make new friends. Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed out the window at the shoppers going peacefully about their lives. Something she’d had since her escape from Lord Barton, but hadn’t truly appreciated.
All she wanted in life was to be left alone. To have friends, social engagements, and a quiet life.
Of course, if her attraction to Elliot Baker continued, her life would not be as peaceful as she’d planned. The man certainly raised her temperature. And the sight of his chest under that banyan still had her flapping the sides of her cloak to fan herself. After he’d held her against that warm chest, she’d felt wanting and needy.
She and Gabriel had had a pleasant, if not passionate, sex life. He had been quite patient with her virgin state, taking their first encounter slow, trying hard not to shock, or upset her. However, in their short marriage, she had wondered if there should be more to their joining, since she’d never felt as relaxed when it was over as Gabriel seemed to be. He would withdraw from her, kiss her on the cheek, roll over, and promptly fall asleep, leaving her tense and frustrated.
Her late husband had seemed to use up all his passion on racing, gambling, and drinking with his friends. As far as she knew, he had not wandered to other women’s beds, but truth be known, he had never stirred her blood the way that simple glimpse of Elliot’s chest had.
Even if she were willing to risk her heart once again, she knew Elliot had some reservations about her truthfulness. It seemed no matter how hard she tried, he believed she was hiding something from him.
I am.
However, she would continue to hide it for as long as she was convinced he would haul her off to the magistrate if he learned about her outstanding warrant. He’d been humiliated by the woman he’d had to arrest for theft. No doubt, he’d have no trouble turning her in, as well.
The carriage came to a rolling stop in front of her townhouse. She accepted Bones’s hand and stepped out of the vehicle, shaking her skirts. Just as she started up the steps, something caught her attention. She turned to the right and saw a figure rounding the corner at a rapid pace. There seemed to be something familiar about the person’s form and walk, but she could not place it.
Good heavens, this entire thing is turning me into a muddlehead.
Unable to shake off the feeling that whoever had just left the area had been there watching her house, she hurried up the steps, searching the ground for any more packages or notes.
Nothing.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she entered her house and closed the door behind her. She removed her cape and bonnet and handed them to Bridget, concerned to see her hands shaking. “Bridget, some tea to the drawing room, please.”
After only a few steps, she decided she’d had enough tea to float a ship. “Never mind, Bridget. Just let Cook know she can serve luncheon whenever it is ready. I’ll be in the drawing room.” The familiarity of her drawing room gave her some comfort, but she still felt unsettled. Despite the time of day, she walked to the library and poured herself a sherry. She chuckled softly. With all the drinking she’d been doing lately, it would serve her well to move the sideboard from the library to the drawing room.
She wandered the room, touching things, smelling the flowers in her favorite vase, fingering the embroidery she’d finally finished, a sense of peace descending at the comfort her home brought. Her sanctuary. She was safe here. She trusted her servants, there were sturdy locks on her doors, and no one could harm her here.
If only she believed it.