Trenton Lord of Loss (Lonely Lords) (37 page)

“He has no idea who’d wish you ill like this—or does he?” 

“He’s asked if my wife hated me enough to put such things in train.” Trent shifted on the bed so his lips trailed across Ellie’s cheek, which meant the sense of his words took a moment to emerge from the bodily sigh Ellie felt at his kiss.

“How could he suggest such a thing?” 

“His experiences with women haven’t been the most sanguine, but the trouble persisted after Paula’s death, so I doubt she was responsible.” 

“And you loved her.” 

Trent’s hand closed gently over Ellie’s breast. She had missed that very sensation, missed just that firm, cherishing, knowing pressure in that location.

“I cared for her as best I could.” Trent turned and rose carefully over Ellie, then settled his mouth on hers. “I wasn’t going to do this.” 

“I wasn’t going to allow you to,” Ellie whispered an instant before she kissed him back. “Not ever again.”

That sense of not-ever-again imbued Ellie’s hands with both reverence and boldness as she caressed Trent’s lean back and muscular flanks. 

For months, possibly longer, somebody had tried to see him dead. If not his wife, possibly her family, her brother—who knew?

Nothing but good luck had kept Trenton Lindsey alive this long, and Ellie could not bear the thought his luck might run out. 

He pleasured her with slow, easy thrusts, and she welcomed him without hesitation, luxuriating in the scent and feel of him making love with her. The tempo eased, became languorous, comforting and arousing at once.

“More?” 

“This is lovely.” 

“Am I too heavy?” 

“You’re just right.” 

“The baby?” 

“That was him, or her.” 

Ellie buried her nose against Trent’s neck and let him rock her to slow, deep satisfaction. 

He could have been poisoned, died in a coaching mishap, been shot, fallen from his horse—so many times, he’d cheated death. Fear, rage, love, bewilderment, all manner of passions gave Ellie’s desire a desperate edge. 

Trent shifted her so she rode him, then let her relax on her side while he entered her slowly from behind. In that position, he let himself come, a quiet, subtle push-and-hold that Ellie experienced as a small earthquake of pleasure. 

He held her for long moments, until Ellie wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he slipped from her body, his hand trailed over her hip in a staying motion as he left the bed.

“You rest,” he murmured. “Let me.” He lifted her leg and tucked a cool, damp cloth against her sex, gently lowering her leg to hold it in place. 

“You’re spoiling me.” The feeling was wonderful and much missed, but a nasty rodent of a thought scurried across her awareness: If he’d spoiled his wife thus, why in God’s name hadn’t the woman appreciated him more? 

“The feeling is mutual, Elegy.” Trent’s hand swept down her back, over her hip, up across her shoulders, as if he painted her with his touch. 

Ellie shifted to her back—a position that was becoming less and less comfortable—and tossed the cloth out onto her balcony. Somebody was trying to kill Trenton Lindsey, with a diabolical degree of tenacity and forethought. 

Midnight raids on her balcony only presented that much more risk for him, that much more distraction.

“You can’t continue to—this has to be the last time.” 

He turned to lie beside her, facing her, his eyes flat mirrors in the darkness. “I cannot bring the danger stalking me any closer to you than I already have. I understand that, and until I can determine—” 

Fear for him made her very determined. She put her palm over his mouth, because “until” was dangerous territory, indeed.

“Understand this, Trenton Lindsey: You can’t send along letters, or spying brothers, or ponies. You must end this dalliance in truth and focus on staying alive.” 

Trent took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “What are you saying?” 

She wanted him alive, of course. 

“I’m saying farewell.” Ellie’s voice broke, so she made another attempt. “I’m saying farewell, Trenton, and meaning it. Part of me wants to wrap myself around you, keep you safe, stand over you with a loaded gun and destroy those who mean you harm, but another part of me…” 

“Tell me, Ellie.” 

She dug past her fear, her terror that she’d be cast back into mourning all over, and for a man who’d never really been hers. Anger lurked in that sentiment, too, much of it at Dane, but some of it for Trenton Lindsey, too. 

Somewhere on Trenton Lindsey’s list of nevers, he’d decided to never again risk his heart. 

He might have assured her that he was hers, and assured her time would sort out their other difficulties. He might have given her promises, as Dane had never done, that she mattered to him. He might have allowed her an understanding, such that mourning would be followed by marriage.

Instead he’d gone to Town, to Hampshire, to Kent… to Halifax. Then he paid Ellie a call, always with some plausible reason that preserved him from revealing uncomfortable feelings. She did not blame him for protecting a heart overburdened with sorrow, but she was entitled to protect her heart, too. 

“The other part of me must look to the future, to raising my children and making a home for them.” Though children needed a father and a mother. Trenton likely knew that better than most.

“We’re not to be partners in raising horses?” Trent posed the question quietly from his side of the bed, and Ellie felt already the chill of a final, genuine good-bye. 

Those other partings had hurt, but this one,
she
meant. She wasn’t conducting a spontaneous experiment in self-flagellation. This was real. 

“We can’t. I can’t.” 

“May I hold you?” 

Damn him. Bless him, bless him, and damn him.

“I want to say yes.” She was crying now, of course. “I want to cuddle up in the warmth and strength and preciousness of you, and drift off to my dreams of you, and wake up with the scent of you on me. I was so lost when you first came to call, Trent, and I owe you so much. I thank you for that, for much, but now, I must thank you to leave.” 

He gathered her in his arms anyway, pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then rose off the mattress and dressed in silence. 

“Ellie, if you ever need anything,” he said, folding his cravat into a pocket, “for you, Andy, anything. Promise me you’ll let me help.” 

She nodded, unable to speak, lest she beg him to put this parting behind them. 

“I’ll be traveling off and on between now and cold weather.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Cato will know how to reach me, and I’ll be in correspondence with Heathgate as well. When I get the mystery of my attempted murder solved, Heathgate will apprise you of the details.” 

She nodded again, tears coursing down her cheeks in miserable silence. How could he think? How could he form words? How could she tell him to leave?

How could she not when he was once again riding away, and possibly into greater danger. 

“I never wanted to hurt you, Ellie.” He kept his eyes down, buttoning his falls. “Not tonight, not ever.” 

“Nor I you.” 

He remained quiet, though she could tell he was suffering nonetheless. He was a gentleman, after all, and if nothing else, he’d hurt a little for her. 

“Please stay safe, Trenton. You have to stay safe. I cannot bear another funeral. Not yours.” 

He offered her a tired, broken smile. “I’ll do my best. You’ll send for me if you need help?” 

“I won’t want to, but yes, if ever there’s a problem or a danger I can’t handle, I’ll call on my neighbor.” 

“Neighbors,” he reminded her. “Heathgate and Greymoor are your neighbors, even Mr. Grey is accounted a good shot, though I hardly know the man. Don’t disappear again, Ellie. You deserve so much more from life than that.” 

“I won’t.” Ellie managed a weak, watery smile. “And thank you—for everything, Trent. I mean that.” 

She was in his arms again, though she’d intended to keep her distance. His embrace was generous, tender, and comforting, even as it broke her heart. 

He let her cling for long, desperate moments, his arms around her secure and patient and so dear, and then he let her be the one to step back. He pressed a handkerchief into her hand, cupped her cheek, and disappeared into the darkness of her sitting room. 

When she was sure he was gone from her house, Ellie let herself go, sobbing from low in her gut, from the place where the deepest emotions—terror, exultation, rage, grief—all came. 

She cried herself to sleep on the side of the bed Trent had favored, her arms around the pillow that still bore his scent. 

*** 

“Cook’s lulling me into a false sense of security.” For nothing else explained the quantity of food on Trent’s dinner plate. 

“Who?” Cato posed the question, aiming a look at Darius, who also appeared puzzled. 

“Louise. Since I got back from Wilton last month, the fare has been far above reproach both upstairs and in the servants’ hall. It’s unnerving.” 

“Is that why you’ve hardly eaten anything for the past three weeks?” Darius asked, considering a bite of braised mutton. “You think she’s trying to poison you?” 

Trent picked up his fork. “Others have tried, but no. Louise is likely sending out word to the agencies to gain herself another position. She despairs of me ever learning my place but wants a good character.” 

“Wretched woman can cook,” Darius said, chewing. 

“And she didn’t run off with the steward,” Cato pointed out, following suit. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join you on your trip to Wilton?” 

“Dare will come, which means you have to stay here and mind the nursery.” 

“You don’t want me to meet your baby sister, and me a belted earl.” 

“You haven’t been invested yet,” Dare said. 

“Unbelted earl,” Trent mused. “That explains why your trousers are so often around your ankles.” 

“Soon-to-be-belted earl,” Cato corrected them. “I’ll depart by November first and take Peak with me.” 

Trent grimaced at the timing. “That’s not six weeks away.” 

“I can send you my cousin Kevin if you’d like a replacement. He’s better looking than I am, but I swear he talks to horses and they listen.” 

“Better looking than you, Catullus? This I must see. Have we heard anything about Ellie Hampton’s mares?” 

Cato looked uncomfortable and took a prodigious interest in his buttered carrots. 

“Catullus, have you been comforting the widow?” 

“Not in the sense you mean.” 

“In what sense?” The question came from Dare, whose expression boded ill for the man with the wrong answer. 

“I sought her out to see if she’d consider selling her mares to the Earl of Glasclare, and she’s considering the offer.” 

“When did you do this?” Trent asked.

“A few weeks ago, when you last departed for Wilton. The matter has required discussion at regular intervals since then.” 

“What manner of discussion?” Dare’s expression was only slightly less pugnacious. 

Cato took a leisurely sip of his wine. “Is Amherst eating? Is he sleeping well? Does he play with his children and read them their stories? Does he take a groom when he goes out and about on Arthur? That sort of discussion.” 

“She’s spying on you,” Dare said. “You said you were quits with her. What kind of quits is this? Where she must spy on you and know how you go on?” 

Trent took a turn studying his carrots. “When you care for a lady, you don’t question her motives. If Ellie wants to know if I’m finishing my pudding, then I expect Catullus to give her truthful answers.” 

“You do?” Catullus marveled. “You want me to tell her you’ve dropped a stone of weight, you pace the grounds all night, spy on her from the woods, and haven’t climbed a tree in weeks?” 

“How do you know I spy?” 

“Peak and I are often up at all hours.” Both brothers stared at him. “With the horses, that is.” 

Dare spoke up, exercising a brother’s prerogative. “You love her.” 

Cato looked momentarily panicked, while Trent smiled, and not at his carrots. “With all my heart.” 

“Then why in blazes aren’t you storming the castle walls, declaring your suit, and setting a date?” That from Cato, who looked genuinely bewildered. 

“I am drawing breath only by virtue of a series of coincidences and good luck, Catullus. I cannot ask Ellie to yoke herself to another dead man. Even were I not the object of somebody’s hatred, I’m used goods. I come with a lot of unfortunate history, and if Ellie’s half as sharp as I think she is, she’s heard enough gossip to know I’m a bad bargain over the long haul.” 

Then there was dear Papa, the Earl of Wilton, spreading ill will and anxiety wherever he bided. How could Trent bear to inflict such a papa-in-law on any woman ever again? 

“I don’t know,” Darius mused. “I’ve been your brother my whole life. I think you’re a fine bargain.” 

“Here, here.” Cato saluted with his wine glass. “You find Delphey Soames and shake a confession out of him, then woo the lady once and for all. I will buy those mares, though, if Lady Rammel can tear her thoughts from you long enough to execute a contract.”