Chapter Thirty-Five
For an excruciatinghour, Fanny watched Eli report to the earl, beginning, of course, with his duties to the estate. While dealings with banks in London and courts in Manchester might not be the usual thing for a land steward, Eli, of course, had managed all to the earl’s satisfaction.
Does David have any idea what a treasure he has?Watching the earl’s face, she suspected he did.
Prodded, Eli admitted his suspicion of Bateson and some startling activity in London involving the river police. That led to a rather more comprehensible account of how he’d managed to locate Bateson, his yacht, his henchman, and more to the point, proof. The ridiculous man downplayed any hint of heroism on his part, referring merely to “logic.”
The clock ticked on under the earl’s questioning, and Fanny’s spirits sagged only to be buoyed up every time Eli glanced her way, as if he was as anxious to be alone with her as she was him.
At last, Clarion set down his cup, smiled at Fanny, and said, “I think Fanny has been busy in your absence. Do you know she finished an entire novel?”
“Well done! We shall have to develop our business plan for it.” Eli beamed at her. Her heart and mind were not on her writing, however.
“I thought perhaps, my lord, Mr. Benson might be more interested in my other project,” she said.
Clarion held back a grin. “I see. Then I suggest the two of you take a ride and discuss it.”
Did David just wink at me? Surely not.
She peered at Eli, whose face had a comical mix of confusion, elation, and…she wasn’t sure what.
“Ride?” Eli asked in a strangled voice. “I thought you didn’t like to ride.”
“I’ve been practicing,” Fanny said, to her brother’s amusement. She suspected Eli had had his fill of riding and travel. He would have to endure a bit more, just for today. She had something to show him. She rose to her feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to change. I’ll meet Mr. Benson in the stables.”
*
“Where are wegoing? The ride toward Willowbrook is more scenic.” Visions of dismounting in the privacy of one of the clearings in the wood reminded him of their night by the forest. It would be a perfect setting for what he planned to say. Fanny, he feared, had other ideas.
“You’ll see.” The mysterious feminine smile she gave him heated his blood as much as it frustrated him.
He recognized their direction; he knew every corner of the estate. On a slight rise on the east end of the estate, they came to a house, the cottage he had ignored when he’d become steward, preferring not to rattle around it alone, saving the estate the fuss of restoring it, for it had been in disuse since the old earl had died and Clarion had fired the previous steward.
Fanny stopped at the bend in the lane to study the place. Eli saw little change. Overgrown with shrubs and vines, the fine stone shone golden in the sun. The shutters still needed paint and… He blinked. The door had been painted. A flame of hope flickered to life.
“Help me down,” Fanny said.
He dismounted and came around, reaching up a hand. She put hers on his shoulders, forcing him to take her waist and lift her down. She slid down his front and stood so close her breath warmed his face for one fraught moment.
She leaned up and kissed his chin. “That’s better. Now come.” She pulled him by the hand, strode up to the door, and took a key from her reticule to unlock it.
He followed her inside and closed the door behind him. He’d be damned if he would worry about propriety now. When he turned back, she stood close, intense and expectant.
He caressed her cheek with one hand, inching closer, never taking his eyes from hers. She met his action by leaning toward him. His hand slid down to her neck, his thumb lifting her chin, and she tilted her head up for his kiss. He touched her mouth with his gently, once, twice, and again. She met him kiss for kiss.
Enough holding back!
He yanked her bonnet from her head and tossed it to the floor, his mouth never leaving hers, running his hands into her hair to dislodge it from its pins with one hand while the other went around her waist. He pulled her hard against him.
His tiny love stood on tiptoe to meet him, but he needed more. Eli broke off their kiss and lifted her, pressing her against the door with his body, chest to chest, his arousal pushed against her. Her mouth opened under his when he probed and deepened the kiss, and her hands slid around his neck to hold on and to play with the hair at his nape.
Long moments later, he struggled for breath and sanity returned. He moved back enough to let her slide along his length to the floor, laid his head on top of hers, and sighed.
Her words muffled against his chest, she said, “My goodness, Mr. Benson. Is that your idea of talk?”
Eli shook with laughter. He had forgotten everything he’d meant to say, but her response gave him hope. “Did I get ahead of myself again?”
She grinned up at him. When she pressed a hand into his chest, he moved back reluctantly.
