Lord of Dread: Chapters 21-25 (Patreon)

Chapter 21

The second I round the corner leading to the dining room, I feel the tension. It’s thick, so thick I could probably cut it with a knife, and I clear my throat before lifting my chin and stepping fully inside.

Is it too late to tuck tail and run away? I could tell Louise I’m not feeling well and have her bring dinner to my room.

I wish I had thought of that before coming down. She could have snuck down and peeked into the room before I even left mine.

These are all things I’ll keep in mind for next time.

Not that I ever intend for there to be next time. I’m going to be staying far away from that creek when I’m will Will.

Neither he nor Elijah looks at me as I approach, the two too busy glaring at one another to pay me any attention. I’m not sure what I missed in the time it took me to clean myself up and redo my hair, but it seems to have been a lot.

Just wonderful.

The two men frequently bicker, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them truly look this annoyed with one another.

Will has the little vein in Elijah’s forehead popping out.

The only other time I’ve seen it emerge was when he caught me in the greenhouse with Ben. It must mean his anger is genuine.

Even more wonderful.

The memory of my evening with Ben haunts me just as much as it warms my core. I liked the way Ben looked at me, and I often think about the feel of his erection when I slip my hand between my thighs at night.

I wonder if Elijah knows just how much of the other man I felt. Or how much the other man felt me. I was facing away from the door and fixed the top of my dress before turning around.

Would that little vein in his forehead come out if I told him I moaned and loved the feeling of Ben’s mouth on my nipples? Probably.

“Good evening.” My voice comes out croaky, and I clear my throat with warm cheeks. That’s embarrassing. “What’s for dinner?” I ask.

Will glances down at the table, avoiding eye contact. That’s not good. What has Elijah said to make his brother feel so uncomfortable? We might have gotten a bit carried away when we decided to dip our toes into the water, but surely that’s not so bad.

With a slow inhale, I lower myself into my seat. This is so awkward.

We sit in silence until the maids bring in our food, and even the sounds of them walking and clattering around don’t help. One of the women meets my eye before the corner of her lip twitches just slightly, the sight of it bringing around thoughts I don’t want living in my mind.

Has Elijah bedded her, too?

Is that why she’s looking at me like this?

Objectively I know it’s likely because word has spread about me coming home dripping like a wet dog, but the rational part of my brain seems to be missing today. Instead, it’s choosing to believe the first option.

Elijah has already proven himself to be a whore, so I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s probably slept with all the women in this estate.

I pour myself a glass of wine as the tension in the room grows to unbearable levels, and I don’t care about who sees as I down it and immediately pour myself another. I notice Elijah staring at me from the corner of my eye, but I pay it no mind.

I’m sure he’s concerned about a rumor spreading that he has an alcoholic wife, but he’s the one who’s driven me to these lengths. Once upon a time, I was a happy, respectable woman. Now I’m a shell of a person.

Like a crab.

I should get into writing poems.

My mood improves as I eat, the wine I’m consuming between every bite removing much of the stiffness in my limbs.

“I want to play a game,” I state, turning to Will.

He swallows the food in his mouth and sets down his fork before turning to me. We always play when he visits, and my practice with Louise has improved my skill tremendously. Tonight could very well be the night I beat him.

I take another gulp of wine.

Maybe I can even convince him to play for money.

That would be a great way to speed up the growth of my runaway fund.

“I think you should go to bed after dinner. You’ve had a long day,” Elijah says, inserting himself into the conversation.

I blow out a breath and toss a piece of hair behind my shoulder.

“Why, Lord Elijah, is everything you say so damn grating?” I sneer, turning to my dearest husband.

The room is plunged in silence, not so much as a breath to be heard. The maids have frozen in place, their eyes wide as they glance between Elijah and me. I don’t care, and I smile brazenly at him as I lift my wine to my lips and take a long sip.

I sure hope my mouth isn’t purple.

“Excuse me?”

I set my wine glass down, my smile only growing.

“I asked why everything you say is so grating. Like nails on a chalkboard,” I continue, doubling down. “Or, better yet, a screaming baby.”

Will coughs to hide a laugh, but neither Elijah nor I pay him any mind. Elijah’s too busy glaring at me, and I’m too busy smiling wildly at him.

Insulting him is quite fun.

Why have I never tried that before?

“You know-“ I start, squeaking when Elijah stands and rounds the table.

He moves quickly, too quickly for my unfocused eyes to follow. One second he’s seated next to me at the head of the table, and the next he’s grabbing my arm with one hand and my plate of food with his other.

“Hey!” I shout, shooting Will a panicked look as I’m pulled to my feet and dragged out of the room.

Elijah ignores my protests and continues pulling me through the hallways. I stumble when we reach the stairs, and he releases my wrist so he can wrap his arm around my waist and practically lift me off the ground.

My toes drag, and I let out an admittedly unattractive squawk as I shove at his arm and try to rip it off me. I’d rather die than feel his touch on my body, and I am so glad I decided to wear my gloves throughout dinner as I curl my fingers around his and try to loosen them.

Why is he so strong?

He hardly seems to be affected by my fighting, and when he pushes open my bedroom door and storms us both inside, I’m sweating due to the amount of energy I’ve used.

I stumble away when he finally releases me, and I take a second to catch my bearings before spinning and pointing a finger at his chest.

“How dare you!” I hiss.

Elijah stares, his eyes wide before he slams my bedroom door shut and traps us in here. I step back, scared, as a loud cackle emerges from his throat. What’s wrong with this man? He’s deranged.

“How dare I?” He snorts. “You sure do love to ask that after you’ve gone out of your way to humiliate me. You push and push and push, then act surprised when I react. What the fuck was that down there?”

I cross my arms over my chest and jut my chin in the air. I have nothing to say to him.

He pauses, waiting, before throwing his arms out to his sides.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The curse has me flinching. “Now you have nothing to say?”

He’s still holding my plate of food, and glares at it before stepping forward and setting it on my table. A tiny minuscule part of me is happy he brought it. I wasn’t done eating, and I worked up quite an appetite this afternoon.

Elijah stares at something behind me, his chest still heaving with anger, and I follow his gaze before sighing and approaching the chair with his shirt thrown over the top of it.

That’s not ideal.

I place a calm facade on as I grab it and shove it in the first drawer I can reach. When I turn back around he’s still staring, but I pretend I don’t know why as I approach my table and sit down to eat. Please don’t ask.

For a long moment, there’s silence, and I resist the urge to drop to my knees and thank the lord when he turns away and re-directs his focus on me.

I clear my throat, wishing he would have brought my wine as well, before grabbing my fork and bringing a piece of meat to my lips.

“Are you just going to pretend I’m not even here?”

Yes.

I continue eating.

Elijah doesn’t leave as I expect him to, instead choosing to stand by my door and stare until I clear my throat and grudgingly meet his eye. He’s made his point. I act up and I’ll no longer be allowed around our guests.

I won’t do it again.

“Is there something you want?” I ask.

His face goes comically red.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t fucking understand you.”

I hum. He’s beginning to sound grating again, but I refrain from telling him so this time. He didn’t take well to it last time.

Tapping my fingers against the table, I debate whether or not I should take off my gloves. I don’t want to ruin them with food, but it’s best to leave them on until Elijah leaves. I never know what he’s planning, and I’d rather not be put in a position where I have to touch him with my bare hands. The mere thought brings a shiver to my spine.

Disgusting.

“It’s rude to leave your guest waiting,” I mutter.

Elijah scoffs.

“He’s my brother. Besides, it’s rude for guests to yank my wife into creek water.”

Ah. So it seems Will did tell him what happened.

I feel my cheeks warm as I wonder if he told Elijah about how I stared at his shirtless form, but I know better than to ask. If he hasn’t, I sure won’t be the one to spill the beans. That’s a one-way ticket to ensuring I never see Will again.

He’s already forbidden me from seeing Ben, and I’d like not to add another man to that list.

Maybe I should start to put those same limitations on Elijah. I’m sure he’d enjoy it as much as I do.

“What were you two doing at the creek?”

Instead of answering with my words, I point to my basket of berries.

Elijah turns toward it, his eyebrows furrowing before he steps forward to peer inside. I’ve eaten a lot of them, more than I probably should, but there’s a decent amount left.

“The last time I checked, blackberries don’t grow in water.” Elijah states.

Well, he’s got me there.

“It’s warm today, and after picking them, we decided to dip our toes in the water to cool off.”

I knew going to that damn creek with Will was a bad idea. The second he offered it, I should’ve said no. A wiser woman would’ve said no, but I’ve grown desperate for attention, making my morals questionable.

Everything I’ve been doing lately feels questionable.

“You took your shoes off in front of my brother?” Elijah asks.

His tone indicates he’s not happy about that, but he’s never happy about anything I do so I’m not surprised. I wonder if there’s ever been a time when he was happy. I’d like to think there was, at least at some point, a joyful young man who ran around with a smile and booming laugh.

It makes me wonder what’s led to his current miserable state.

Maybe his mother and father didn’t tell him they loved him enough. It’s good for young children to hear those words from their parents.

I shrug.

“He’s family,” I say.

If looks could kill, I’d be long dead by now.

“He’s my family,” Elijah snaps.

My jaw clenches as I shift in my seat and shove a piece of food in my mouth. It’s an attempt to avoid speaking, but I can tell it won’t work when my dearest husband crosses his arms over his chest and waits. His presence in my personal space is uncomfortable, and I glance at the door behind him in a silent gesture for him to leave.

He doesn’t, which is entirely unsurprising.

Elijah has no care for my comfort. He’s horrible like that.

“The last I checked, he’s my family too,” I breathe, cocking my head to the side. “We’re married, remember?”

I’d never talk to Elijah like this under normal circumstances, but the wine I drank has made me careless with my words. I hate him, and I’m doing a poor job of hiding it right now.

The muscle in the side of Elijah’s jaw twitches, and I take great pride in knowing my words have pissed him off. I quite enjoy pissing him off.

Elijah opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by a quiet knock on my bedroom door. I sigh in relief and sit up straight as Elijah spins and pulls it open. Louise stands on the other side, her face beet red as she glances between him and me.

My heart softens.

A maid should know better than to interrupt us, but she is concerned enough for me that she’s risking getting in trouble to ensure I’m okay. It takes everything in me not to smile as she stammers that she left some laundry in here when she came up earlier to help clean me up.

She didn’t, but Elijah doesn’t know that.

He clears his throat and shoots me one final look before nodding and stepping to the side so she can enter. His eyes meet him, and I notice the little vein in his forehead is back.

I should name him if he’s to become a regular guest in our lives.

“I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow,” he says.

My jaw clenches before I give a curt nod.

A second later he’s gone, and I rush to my feet so I can slam the door behind him.

“Becca! What the hell was that?” Louise asks the second I flick the lock.

I drop my forehead against the door. This day has been nothing but a mess.

Chapter 22

I want to rip out my hair and start over as a male.

Men have it so fucking easy. They get to spend their days prancing around doing whatever and whoever they wish and nobody bats an eye. It’s entirely unfair.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Louise says, glancing at me through the mirror’s reflection.

I feel like I’m about to faint.

“I can’t believe I said those things to Elijah,” I admit.

My elbows land on my vanity before I drop my head into my hands. How foolish of me to insult him in front of guests in our own home. I fight the urge to cry as I bend and grab his shirt I tucked into my drawer earlier.

“He saw this,” I say, waving it in the air.

Louise’s gasp is dramatic, but it represents perfectly how I feel. Wearing his shirt underneath my corsets is one of my most shameful secrets, and now he knows.

“What did he say?” she asks.

I spin to face Louise. She’s as white as a ghost, but I understand why. She could lose her job if it were discovered she was stealing from the Lord of the estate. I’d never rat her out, but it doesn’t take a detective to draw the assumption I got the shirt from her.

Yesterday’s me would have said with confidence that Elijah wouldn’t be so spiteful as to fire the only friend I have here, but after the things I said to him, I no longer have that confidence. How could I be so damn stupid?

“He didn’t say anything about it,” I admit.

Louise sighs, but I don’t feel the same relief she does.

She wasn’t here for our argument. He might not have commented on it, but that’s only because there were more pressing matters he wanted to address. It’s only a matter of time before he revisits the stolen item.

Louise’s expression is full of pity as she steps forward and begins to pull the itchy pins from my hair. I loved the way she did it this evening, and it’s a shame it’s only living for an hour. I wanted Will to see me all done up and looking nice.

Leave it to Elijah to ruin that.

The silence that stretches between Louise and me is comfortable even when my mind and thoughts are anything but. Elijah wants me to be at breakfast tomorrow, probably to bid Will goodbye and pretend everything is okay between us.

I’m willing to bet money he went downstairs with a broad smile plastered on his face and told Will we sorted everything out. Will would never be dumb enough to believe it, but he’s a gentleman and wouldn’t question the honor of another Lord, let alone his brother.

I do that enough for both of them.

Louise helps me strip out of my dress and put on my nightgown before leaving, but the second I’m alone, I slip it off and put on one of my short silk ones instead. I’m pretty sure this is what prostitutes wear, but it makes me feel sexy and after the night I had, I want and deserve to feel good about myself.

Lowering myself into my chair, I grab my basket of blackberries and get to work untying the braid Louise put my hair in. I watch myself in the mirror as I do so, loving the way I look in the dim lighting.

The candles make the red of my hair stand out, and I trail a finger down my throat before grabbing and plopping another berry in my mouth.

Why doesn’t Elijah want me?

I turn my head from side to side, letting my loose curls spread over my shoulders and fall down my back. I’m not an ugly woman, and many have even called me beautiful.

My lips purse as I scan the slope of my neck and the curve of my shoulder. There are a few freckles, and I pay each one attention as I continue running my finger up and down my throat. I gulp as I slide it between my breasts, working my way to where the deep v of my nightdress connects.

I watch as my face and chest grow red, my body flushed.

Is this how I looked when Ben was touching me?

Gulping, I flick one of the thin straps off my shoulder. It slides down my arm, and I lean further back in my chair as the top of my breast is exposed. My reflection looks needy, and I flick the other strap off and let my top fall to my waist.

My nipples are hard, and I look over them before sliding my fingers to my knee and pulling up the hem of my dress.

This is probably the last thing I should be doing after my argument with Elijah, but I need something to calm me down and this always does the trick. I can’t change the past, as much as I wish I could, and there’s no point dwelling on it.

Tomorrow will come whether or not I want it to, and I’d rather not spend tonight stressing about it.

It won’t change anything.

I suck in a deep breath, watching as the action raises my chest and pushes out my breasts. Did Ben enjoy putting his mouth on them? I loved when he did, and I shut my eyes before throwing my head back and circling a finger around my nipple.

Having a man’s mouth on me was everything I ever wanted, and I’m angry it was interrupted so soon.

I continue circling my nipple as my other hand travels up my thigh, and I open my eyes to watch as my sex enters my line of sight.

I’m wet, and I make eye contact with myself as I feel my most intimate bits. It’s improper for a woman to pleasure herself, and for a long time I resisted the temptation, but I no longer see the need. I’ve gone years without feeling pleasure, and now that I’m married, I’m going to get it one way or another.

I watch myself circle the sensitive nub I’ve recently discovered before slipping lower to my entrance. I like the nub, and there’s something about feeling the area that’s supposed to be reserved exclusively for my husband that brings me so much satisfaction.

Ben may not have had the opportunity to touch me here, but I have. No man will ever have the pleasure of being the first to feel inside me. I’ve taken that liberty for myself.

I slip one finger inside, intrigued as my walls clench around it.

I don’t know why I enjoy watching myself so much, but as my mouth falls open in a quiet moan, I don’t care. My thighs spread further apart so I can see better, and I work my finger in and out before easing in another.

The most I’ve ever taken is three, but that felt more uncomfortable than pleasurable.

Two is the sweet spot.

The woman in the mirror pants as she works her fingers between her thighs, and I let my eyes slip shut so I can pretend it’s Ben touching me. He’s got such nice hands, and I’d love to feel them on every inch of my body.

“Fuck,” I whisper, keeping my voice low so nobody can hear.

I doubt anybody would, but I like to be sure.

My back arches, and I roll my hips into my hand as I work my fingers harder into me. I want to stretch my body out and ruin my sex for any man who might find his way in here in the future. This is mine.

Pleasure builds, and I adjust so I can finger myself with one hand and rub that bundle of nerves I like with my other. It’s absolutely amazing, and already I can feel the stress of today and anxiety for tomorrow vanishing.

I rub faster, eager to push myself to the edge.

I want to release.

My legs spread further apart, and I transition from working my fingers in and out to more of a rocking motion. It feels incredible, and already I can tell I’m not going to last much longer.

“Rebecca!”

I slam my legs shut and scramble to fix my dress as I hear my name called from down the hallway. There’s a sharp pain in my palm as I accidentally graze it over the sharp edge of my chair, but I ignore it and lift the top of my dress to my chest. I just barely get it over my exposed nipples when the door flies open.

“Are you okay?“ Will words trail off as he takes in my position.

Now my body is flushed for an entirely new reason, and I struggle to keep my chest covered as I yank up my straps and avoid eye contact. Oh my god.

“I told you to leave her alone!” Another voice chimes in from the hallway. “She’s sleeping.”

Elijah comes rounding the doorway a second later but pauses the moment he sees me. I want to die.

“Who storms into a woman’s bedroom without knocking? Get out!” I scream, my voice cracking.

I hate how weak I sound.

My self-pleasure is the most private thing I do, and now both Will and Elijah know I partake in it. Elijah could probably divorce me for this. He could ruin my reputation and every friendship I’ve spent my entire life building.

Tears leak down my cheeks as Will spins and rushes from the room, the man tripping over his own two feet in the process. He was careless to open my door without knocking and waiting for permission to enter, but the strong scent of liquor surrounding him explains why.

I hate men—especially drunk ones.

Elijah moves to the side to let Will out, but he doesn’t leave as I’ve ordered. Instead, he steps inside and closes my door, only furthering my shame.

“What’re you doing?” I hiss.

He doesn’t respond and storms to my closet to grab a robe. I wipe my cheeks and wrap my arms around myself as he walks back over and drapes the robe over my shoulders. I don’t understand his intentions, and I stare at the wall behind his head.

“You’re bleeding.”

What?

Elijah grabs my arm, and I rip it away before realizing he’s right and there’s blood covering my hand. I must have cut my palm on my chair when Will’s sudden arrival made me jerk.

“I’m fine,” I hiss, trying again to pull my arm out of Elijah’s reach. “Leave me alone.”

He ignores me, unsurprisingly, and crouches by my knees so we are at eye level.

“I don’t care what you were doing in here, Rebecca. Let me see your hand,” he urges.

Over my head body. I move to stand, but Elijah plants his hands on my shoulders to keep me seated.

“I can get Louise if you’d prefer, but she’ll ask questions I have a feeling you don’t want to answer. Your hair is undone and you’re not wearing the pajamas I’m assuming she helped you into. I doubt you can get changed with that cut, let alone fix your hair,” he points out. “Let me help.”

I hate Elijah. How dare he tell me what I can and can’t do. I reach for my hair, but I realize he’s right before I grab it. Ignoring the pain braiding it would probably cause, there’d be no way to hide the blood coating my hair.

I have never wished more for death in my life than I do now.

I bite the inside of my cheek, letting the pain distract me as Elijah fixes the robe on my shoulders. I don’t need his kindness, nor do I want it.

“I want to be left alone,” I say.

Elijah ignores me, and I clear my throat and stand so I can tie the robe around my waist. The pajamas I wear when alone are of no business to him.

“Let’s get you into the bathroom so we can clean and wrap up your hand,” he says, grabbing my elbow.

His hold is firm, and it takes everything in me not to spit an insult as he pulls me toward my bathroom. I want to curse and scream at him for daring to enter my room so late at night with no warning, and the only thing that keeps me quiet is what he walked in on.

“Will is very discreet,” Elijah states, flipping my arm so he can see my palm.

There’s a small water bowl in my bathroom, and Elijah searches for a clean rag to wipe my blood with.

“Are you?” I snap.

I trust Will. My worries are never about him. It’s my husband who I don’t trust. He’s the one who takes sick pleasure in humiliating and bringing me to ruin.

Elijah straightens up and locks eyes with me.

“Yes. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he lies.

I have many things to be ashamed of.

I should have locked my door. I should have done my business in my bed where I could better hide. I should have run away the moment my father told me I was to marry Elijah.

There are many, many things.

Elijah holds my wrist steady as he dips a rag into the bowl. The water is clean, and I hold my breath as he brings the fabric to the cut on my palm. It’s deep, but I’ve had worse over the years.

Most of the injuries I’ve sustained in my lifetime, specifically the ones that led to blood, happened when I was young. Before the weight and responsibility of womanhood shoved me into pretty dresses and ensured I didn’t partake in acts unbecoming of a lady.

Those acts were the same ones that typically led to injury.

“Would it make you feel better to know I partake in self-pleasure? It’s a perfectly natural thing to do,” Elijah states.

He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, and I hiss as he brings the cloth down onto my cut. Fuck, that hurts. Elijah wipes the blood away, cleaning the skin before he grabs a clean cloth and holds it against the wound to stop the bleeding.

“It’s a perfectly natural thing for men to do,” I correct.

Men can do whatever they want. They aren’t held to the same standards.

Elijah sighs but doesn’t try to argue with me as he wraps gauze around my hand. I hate the feeling of him touching my bare skin, but this is an extraordinary occurrence. He better enjoy it while it lasts because he will only ever feel my gloves again after this.

When he’s satisfied with his wrapping, he steps back and looks me over. I turn and glance at myself in the mirror. There’s blood all over my robe, and I’m willing to bet there’s even more on my nightgown underneath.

“Do you need help getting dressed?”

I shake my head.

“I’ll do it myself,” I say.

Elijah nods, his throat bobbing as he gulps. I don’t like the way he looks at me. I wished him to eye me with such need for weeks after we married, but it’s too little too late for him to desire me. I no longer care for his affection.

“I’ll see myself out, then,” he mutters, heading back into my room.

I follow but linger in my bathroom doorway to hide my body from his view. I don’t want him to see me like this more than necessary.

Elijah heads to the door, but he pauses before leaving. I resist the urge to scream. What’s it going to take from him to leave me the hell alone? Tonight has been humiliating enough as it is, and his constant lingering is only making it worse.

“You should wear your hair down more,” he says, spinning to face me.

What? I turn and look at the strands. My hair is an absolute mess right now. It’s not fashionable for women to wear their hair down, the look much too unkept for a lady. Elijah’s probably trying to trick me into embarrassing myself.

He frowns as he watches me, his eyes trailing down my frame once more before he turns and leaves. I stare at the door, angry with myself as I storm to it and flick the lock. I hope he hears it and knows it’s because I want to keep him out.

I need to change and rebraid my hair, both of which aren’t going to be fun tasks with this giant bandage wrapped around my palm.

Elijah did a good job wrapping it tightly, so it’s not too bulky, but it’s still uncomfortable.

Fuck me.

Chapter 23

Louise asks about my hand the second she steps into my room, but thankfully she seems to believe the lie I give her. At least, I hope so.

It took me a good hour to get my braid in a good enough spot that she wouldn’t notice it was taken down and redone, and I was able to slip back into my appropriate pajamas with little struggle. Both actions made my hand ache, but the pain is a small price to pay to preserve what little dignity I have left.

I’m still humiliated that both Elijah and Will saw me in such a state, and I push a lock of hair out of my face as I hide behind the doorway leading to the dining room. I don’t know why I asked Louise to style it down today, and I feel stupid for listening to what Elijah said. I’m changing my entire style with one offhand comment from a man.

How pathetic.

I know he’s setting me up for failure.

The two brothers are ungodly loud considering how early in the morning it is, both joking with one another as if last night never happened. I’m sure their attitude will change once I join them, and I suck in a deep breath as I try to work up the courage to show my face. Why can’t I eat in my room?

Hiding from everybody and everything seems like the best way to spend my day, and I hate Elijah for demanding I join them for breakfast.

I should have never agreed.

Pushing my hair out of my face once more, I straighten my spine and step into the room. Neither man notices me right away, and I avoid making eye contact when they finally do. Will is in the middle of telling some story about falling off a horse and only stammers slightly before he collects himself and continues as if he hasn’t even noticed me.

I hope they can’t see the sweat dripping down my neck.

“Rebecca,” Elijah greets.

I look at him and dip my head.

“You look nice,” he continues.

Why is he complimenting me? I bet behind his smile, he’s laughing at me for wearing my hair down. He’s probably thinking about how stupid and gullible I am.

Will clears his throat, continuing to avoid eye contact as I lower myself into the seat next to him. A maid is quick to bring over a bowl of yogurt, and I scoop myself a few spoonfuls of oats before throwing some fruit and honey on top.

The honey is a new addition to our home, and I smack my lips as I pour a healthy serving into my bowl.

Many sweet items have recently begun to be served, and I have a feeling Elijah’s told the kitchen they’re to provide us with more desserts and treats. I hate him, but I have to admit I enjoy the sweetness.

I was missing it severely.

“I hope you two slept well,” I state, desperate the fill the silence.

Elijah locks eyes with me and licks the back of his spoon. His tongue curls to collect all the yogurt, and I’m convinced I must have hit my head on a rock when I fell in the creek. Why do I enjoy the sight of him doing that?

It must be because I didn’t bring myself to completion last night. My hormones must be spiking.

Shaking my head, I turn to Will.

He’s still avoiding looking at me, and I shove a spoonful of food into my mouth to distract my mind. Is it too late to run away and join the circus?

“How’s your hand?” Elijah asks.

I purse my lips and glance at my glove. Louise rewrapped it this morning before helping me shove my hand into one of my larger pairs of gloves, and I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting. It kept me up for a significant portion of the night, constantly aching every time I moved and accidentally put pressure on it.

“It’s fine,” I lie.

A small part of me is scared of infection, but I’m trying to keep those scary thoughts out of my mind. This is my dominant hand, and I need it to survive. What if I end up needing an amputation? My pulse races, and I shove another spoonful of yogurt into my mouth before my panic becomes visible to either man.

“Can I see it?” Elijah stands from his chair and walks around the table. “The cut is deep. I want to make sure Louise wrapped it correctly.”

I resist the urge to fling yogurt at his face when he crouches on my left and reaches for my arm. Can’t this man take a hint?

“Louise did a wonderful job,” I say, eager to defend her work.

In all honesty, she didn’t, but I won’t admit that to anybody. Her wrapping is loose and too thin, and every movement of my fingers makes it sting.

“I should get going. Thanks for letting me stay here. I do love getting to see you two,” Will states, jumping to his feet.

He gives us both a jerky wave before running out of the room. Elijah and I freeze, our bodies growing still as we watch the man disappear. I fully expected things to be awkward between us, but I never imagined he would act this peculiarly.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

Elijah laughs and reaches for my hand, and he’s lucky I’m too distracted by Will’s sudden departure to pull away.

“He’s fine. My brother is-” Elijah pauses and clears his throat. “He’s traditional, and I’m pretty sure you’re the first woman he’s ever seen in such a state of undress.”

Oh. I’m surprised to hear that. Most men begin visiting brothels when they hit puberty, and I assumed Will would be no different. Especially since he has an older brother.

“You never took him to a woman when he was a teenager?” I ask.

I wish to swallow the words the second they leave my mouth. It’s not appropriate for me to comment on those things and after my show last night, I should be laying low on anything even remotely relating to sex.

Elijah flips my hand over and pinches the tip of my glove. He’s gentle as he pulls it off and slows considerably when I wince. Fuck, that hurts.

“No. We’ve never visited those establishments,” he says. “They’re of little interest to me.”

That’s a surprise.

My gauze is bloody, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as Elijah unwraps it. He’s careful to hold my wrist and keep his hands off of mine, which I appreciate. He may not like my refusal to touch him, but at least he doesn’t try to force it.

“I see.” I look away as the wound enters my line of sight. I hate blood. “You exclusively prefer the company of your staff, then?”

Elijah’s hair falls over his eye as he glares up at me, but I refuse to take back my words. We both know them to be true.

“I wasn’t with her that evening you entered my bedroom.”

I resist the urge to laugh.

“But you had been with her prior,” I say.

Elijah sucks in a slow breath, clearly frustrated. I don’t care. He can be angry with me all he wants. He spat on our marriage, and I’m not going to up and forget that because he buys me dessert and says one half-hearted apology.

“Yes,” he admits.

“In your office?”

“Yes.”

“In your bedroom?”

“Yes.”

I still can’t bring myself to look at my hand, and I find myself holding my breath as I feel his fingertips prodding all around the cut. He’s trying not to hurt me, his touch soft, but it still stings. I cut it deep, and I won’t be surprised if it takes weeks to heal.

Elijah gestures for a maid to come over and tells her to bring wet cloth, alcohol, and new gauze. Alcohol? He’s going to be in for a rude awakening if he thinks I’m going to sit here and let him pour that on my wound. I know damn well how badly it will sting, and I’d sooner let my palm fester.

“In here?” I ask, continuing my line of questioning.

Elijah doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. No room in this house is clean of him and his maid. That’s just wonderful. And unsurprising.

“In my bedroom?”

“No.”

That’s good, at least.

“On my piano?” I’ll cry if he’s defiled my piano.

Elijah runs a hand through his hair. “Your piano? I’m pretty sure it’s been here longer than you have.” He’s trying to joke, but I’m in no laughing mood.

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

I don’t know why I’m prying so deeply into his affair, but I know I’ll never get past it if I don’t have all the answers. I want to know everything about it. I need to.

“How long?”

“I put an end to it before you fired her.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Almost a year.”

A maid returns with Elijah’s items, and I watch her set them on the table before looking up at her face. She’s pretty, with thick blonde hair and a face full of freckles. There’s plenty of fat on her lower belly and hips, signaling she’s healthy and ready to bear children.

Men love that.

The maid looks me in the eye and dips her chin, and I offer a smile so I don’t seem too creepy. Louise tells me I have a terrible habit of glaring at all the attractive maids in the estate, and I don’t want to be known as the angry, jealous wife.

Even if I am.

“Is she the only woman?” I ask.

Elijah shakes his head. “Ever? No. But she’s the only one who’s worked for me. The others live far away. You’ll never encounter them.”

That’s good. I’m not interested in meeting the women who warmed my husband’s bed. Even if we don’t recognize our marriage.

“How many, then? In total.”

“Three.” Elijah’s cheeks turn a light shade of red, the man seemingly embarrassed over his number.

It’s not uncommon for men of Elijah’s status to have slept with dozens of women. I’m sure if anybody but me asked, he’d lie.

My body grows rigid as he twists the top of the alcohol and pops off the top, and I prepare myself to pull away at any moment. He will not be pouring that over my wound. Absolutely not. I watch as he grabs the neck of the bottle and lifts it off the table, and I only relax as I watch him bring it to his mouth and take a swig.

He wanted it for himself. Good.

Although, it is a bit concerning he’s taking a drink this early in the morning. I hope I haven’t driven him to alcoholism. I need him to keep his wits and reputation until my sisters are married. It won’t look good if my husband falls victim to the bottle less than a year into our union.

When Elijah tightens his grip on my wrist, I know he’s trying to pull a fast one on me, and I flail and try to pull away as he quickly spins the bottle and douses my hand.

“You asshole bastard!” The words are out before I can control them.

I slap my good hand over my mouth, all too aware of the sudden hush that’s come over the room. The maids standing against the far wall grow entirely still, the quiet clattering of the dishes they handle and their tapping of heels vanishing.

What have I done?

My insult was instinctual to the pain, but it was too far. To call a man a bastard is the highest insult, and to throw such a vulgar curse in front of it only makes it worse.

Elijah sets the bottle on the table, his eyes wide before they crinkle in the corners and he begins to laugh.

He’s laughing?

Blood rushes through my ears, and I continue to clamp my mouth shut as Elijah bends over my hand and continues his cackling. Is he truly not angry? I’ve called him a bastard. My hand still stings, but it’s nothing to the panic coursing me.

When Elijah looks back up at me, I notice his eyes are wet, and I feel about ready to vomit until I realize he’s crying because he’s laughing so hard. No noise escapes him, and he stares at me like a crazy man with his mouth open and hand clutching his ribs.

This continues, and I tap my foot against the ground when it goes on for too long.

“Enough of that,” I hiss, glancing at the maids still standing stiff as boards on the side of the room.

Elijah clears his throat before getting himself under control. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him genuinely laugh, especially so hard he’s rendered silent.

I flex my fingers as the burn from the alcohol wears off, and Elijah takes that as his cue to clean the sides of the cut with the cloth and grab the gauze. I’m still mad at him for tricking me with the alcohol, but I’m at least glad he’s ensuring I won’t lose my hand.

Louise tried, but she’d not in a position to do something I explicitly tell her not to.

He wraps my hand tightly, ensuring the cut is covered and well-padded. I wiggle my fingers, happy to note that while it still hurts, it’s considerably less so.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Elijah sighs, tucking the end of my bandage and releasing my hand. “I want to make things right with you,” he continues.

I shut my eyes and suck in a shaky breath.

“Why did you put an end to the affair?” I ask.

Elijah grabs my glove and helps me slip it back up my hand. He’s careful not to let the elastic around the wrist area squeeze my wound, which I appreciate.

“You and I were just beginning to get along, and I didn’t want anything to ruin it. I didn’t call on her that night, and I told her to leave the moment she entered my bedroom,” he says.

Should I believe him?

“Her clothing and hair were ruffled,” I say.

Elijah furrows his eyebrows before shrugging, the man seemingly not having an answer as to why that was. Maybe that’s the state she entered his room. I wouldn’t be surprised. There are a few times I’d seen her running around the estate looking a mess.

Louise told me it was because she frequently slept in and was usually running late. She also told me the maid wasn’t very good at her job and only remained in Elijah’s employment because of their relationship.

“Join me for dinner tonight?” Elijah asks.

I purse my lips. At least he’s asking, not demanding as he did with this breakfast. Usually, I would say no, but because I called him an asshole bastard, I’ll give in just this once. I’d rather die than give him an apology, so this will serve as that.

“Very well.”

Chapter 24

My fingers fly across the piano keys, the pain in my hand long forgotten as the music reaches my ears and flows through my body.

It’s been days since I last had the opportunity to play, and I can’t say I haven’t missed it. Being on the piano has always brought me peace, and I need it after the complete mess these past few days have been.

Elijah’s made himself scarce since asking me to join him for dinner, which I appreciate, but now it’s all I can think about. I tried to relax and write a letter to Jack, but holding the pencil was painful and I couldn’t think of any words to say.

He’s been not-so-subtly hinting that he wants me to invite him to the home for dinner, but I’ve been avoiding acknowledging it. I’d have to ask Elijah for permission and, even worse, ask him to pretend to be a good husband.

I don’t want my family to know how much I struggle here.

I doubt my older brothers nor my father would care much, but my sisters can be passionate and Jack can be more than a little hot-headed. It wouldn’t take long for him to see through our facade and call out Elijah to be a poor husband, which would only end in disaster.

To insult a lord in his own home is frowned upon, and the last thing I want is Elijah trying to tell me I can’t see Jack anymore. I’d ignore his wishes and see my brother anyway, but I hate sneaking around.

The song ends slowly, and I take a moment to stretch my hand and let the sharp pain in my palm return to a dull ache. It does so quickly, and I hum quietly as I flip through my music sheets, searching for a new piece to play.

I noticed a new booklet had been added to my bench, but I refuse to think about how it got there.

I like the pieces in it, though, and find one that should be relatively easy on my hand to play.

It takes a few tries to get a good grip on the rhythm, but once I have it, I’m playing my way through the song. It’s slow and romantic, and I smile as I reach the end.

“That’s a beautiful song,” Louise says, stepping into the room.

She’s got an armful of bed linens and pauses to sit in the chair for a moment and listen. She loves when I play the piano, and I don’t hesitate to start her favorite song. I’ve memorized it now, but I mess up a few times when I have to stretch my fingers and the sharp pain makes me flinch.

Thankfully, Louise doesn’t seem to notice, and I force myself to finish before closing the lid.

That’s enough for today.

“Do you have a busy day?” I ask.

Louise shrugs and gestures to the sheets.

“I’ve got to wash these and polish the silver, but that’s about it,” she answers.

That’s not too bad. My lips purse as I turn and look at each doorway, checking to ensure nobody’s about to walk inside.

“Have you heard anything about Elijah’s shirts?” I ask.

He hasn’t said anything to me about it, which I find suspicious, and I want to know if he’s gone around asking the maids if they have any information about his clothing going missing. Stealing is a hefty accusation, and I’m sure Louise would have heard about it if he had said anything.

“I haven’t, but I’ll keep my ears open and let you know.” Louise stands and readjusts her grip on the bundled sheets.

That’s good.

I nod, excusing her, and walk around the garden until the sun’s positioning tells me it’s time for dinner.

I’m proud of myself for not crying today, and I keep my chin held high as I walk in through the back door of the estate and head to the dining room. I know the maids in the house think me to be stupid and a sad excuse of a lady, but there’s nothing I can do about that, and hiding from them isn’t going to help any.

They no longer stare and snicker when I pass, which I take as a victory despite knowing it’s only because they now choose to do it behind my back. Still, that’s much easier to deal with.

Elijah is already sitting at the table when I enter, and he stands and pulls a chair out for me as I approach.

“Good evening,” he greets.

I dip my chin.

“How was your day?” he continues.

Play nice, Rebecca. I called him an asshole bastard this morning, and this dinner is my form of apology. Elijah pushes my chair in once I’m seated, and I try not to stare as he walks returns to his seat. Has he dressed up for this meal?

He’s wearing one of his finer shirts, the silk brightly colored and well-fitting. It hugs the muscles of his shoulders nicely, and I lick my lips and clear my throat before forcing myself to look away.

“My day was fine. I played the piano and walked the gardens.” Usually, I would end the conversation there, but I suppose it won’t kill me to try and continue it. “You?”

Elijah smiles.

“My day was boring. I spent most of it going over the books.” He pauses and takes a sip of his water. “I heard you playing earlier today,” he continues. “Even with your injured hand, you sound quite lovely.”

My cheeks turn red despite my attempts to keep my face free of emotion. I like being complimented on my piano skills. It’s the one thing I’m genuinely proud of, especially considering I spent hundreds of hours practicing.

Elijah and I stare at one another, the comfortable silence quickly growing awkward. What am I supposed to say to him? We’re not often having conversations, and I don’t know anything about his interests or hobbies.

I suppose I could ask him about those, but I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t have any.

He spends all day in his office, and I doubt either of us wants to converse about his bookkeeping.

I breathe out a sigh of relief when a few maids step into the room and serve dinner, their quiet movements and the clicking of plates helping to fill the void created between Elijah and me. I’m good at distracting myself with food, but I don’t have much of an appetite as I mindlessly shove pieces of chicken and green beans into my mouth.

“I like the gravy they’ve put on here,” I say, gesturing to the chicken.

Elijah hums and nods.

“It’s excellent,” he confirms.

Things fall silent again, and I busy myself eating so I don’t look too awkward. Why did he even ask me to eat with him? I much prefer taking my meals in my room with Louise. We play games and talk about everything under the sun. It’s much more enjoyable.

“When is Will coming to visit again?” I ask.

Elijah purses his lips, looking mildly annoyed, before taking a sip of water and shaking his head.

“He just left this morning,” he jokes.

I shrug. I like Will, and I’m eager to make things right as soon as possible. I don’t want things to be tense between us. I suppose I could write him a letter and apologize for what he walked in on, but I wouldn’t want to risk my words getting into the wrong hands and gossip being spread about my incident.

I still can’t believe Elijah’s claim that Will’s never seen a woman in such a state of undress. Will is young, but he’s still very much a grown man. It’s rare for men his age to have never taken a woman. I wonder if he’s waiting until marriage.

If so, the woman he ends up with will find herself very lucky.

I’d have been honored to take a husband who shares a first with me. That’s quite a special thing.

I suppose I feel relieved that Elijah has only had three lovers, the number much lower than most men of his status. Given his attitude and general coldness toward life, I had assumed it was much higher.

It also doesn’t sound like any of them were prostitutes. That’s good.

He probably doesn’t have any bastards, then. Women with reputations and money often don’t fall into such predicaments, and if they do, their families pay for arrangements to be made. I know the maid I fired isn’t with child, Louise having stealthily checked on her linens and assured me of blood.

“Why don’t you want children?” I blurt.

Oh, for goodness sake. Why did I ask him that?

Elijah looks startled, his head tilting to the side as he absorbs my question. I suppose it was a bit out of the blue.

“Whoever told you that?”

“You did. The day we got married. You said you don’t want children and don’t care what I do as long as there are no long-term repercussions.” His words haunted me for a long time, but most of the things he says do.

“Oh,” Elijah says, clearing his throat. “I do recall saying that to you. I am not against having children. I suppose I said that so you wouldn’t fear me taking advantage.”

Taking advantage? I gulp, my throat suddenly dry. I suppose if he told me he wanted children, rape would be something I would’ve expected. It’s not uncommon for husbands to force children upon their wives, especially in unhappy marriages like ours.

Men need heirs, and wives are a means to an end.

“I don’t want children right now,” I say, not wanting him to get any funny ideas. “But I would like them in the future.”

This time, it’s Elijah’s cheeks that turn red.

I’m sure this wasn’t the conversation he intended to have tonight, but I’m tired of having all these questions and no answers to them. If he continues to be willing to answer them honestly, then I will continue to ask.

“How many children would you like to have?” he asks.

“How many can you afford?”

These are usually conversations had during a relationship’s courting stage, but I suppose it’s better late than never. It’s important before getting married to ensure you agree on vital topics like children.

What if a woman wants to have a large family, but the man seeking her hand can only afford to have two or three? Or what if he wants many, but she doesn’t? Those are things that lead to unhappy marriages, and such differences in opinion need to be sorted out before any promises are made.

“We can financially support as many as you want.” Elijah’s answer is vague, but it tells me all I need to know.

He has money, more so than my family. My father was run thin with three girls and barely had enough for our doweries. That’s why he was so adamant we learn a skill, something that made us valuable. I learned piano.

“What if I want to have five girls?” I ask.

I don’t, but I want to know his answer.

Men don’t like having daughters and dislike a large number of them even more. One or two is considered ideal, but any more than that is a strain on resources.

“Then I suppose we would have five girls,” Elijah responds.

I suck my cheeks into my mouth. He’s just saying that to appease me.

“And their doweries?”

We both know that I’m prying, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want a better understanding of how much money my husband has. He never complains when I ask him for money, but I never take much, so that’s not a suitable measurement.

“Would you rather I give you my books and let you look over them yourself?” Elijah laughs.

He’s joking. I know that, but if he’s going to offer, I will accept. Jack may be my dearest younger baby brother, but he’s sharp and has taught me well.

“Yes, please.”

Elijah and I stare at one another, both waiting for the other to call our bluffs. I straighten my spine and take a sip of my drink, and after a second Eliah quirks a brow and stands.

“Very well.”

What?

“What?” I ask.

Eliah hardly spares me a glance as he gestures for me to stand and follow. I practically trip over the leg of my chair in my mad scramble to stand. No words are exchanged as he leads me to his office, and I can barely contain my excitement as he pushes open the door and steps inside.

He lights a candle and unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk. I walk around to peer into it and let out a squeak when he pulls out his chair and nudges me into it. He sets a large book on the desk in front of me, but I’m too busy feeling powerful to pay much attention to it.

I’m sitting in a leather chair in front of a large wooden desk. I am the man of the house.

“Enjoy.” Elijah’s voice breaks my daydream.

He opens the book and points to the section I should pay attention to, and I’m so distracted trying to understand the numbers I’m looking at that I don’t even notice him lean in.

My body goes rigid as his lips make contact with my cheek, and I hold my breath and stare straight ahead until he pulls away and leaves the room.

What the hell was that?

I still can’t tell whether he was joking, but I can tell the books he gave me are real and I’m going to take full advantage of the time I have before he returns.

I’ve never had the opportunity to look at somebody’s books before, especially not like this, but it’s not too hard to figure out. Elijah keeps them pretty well organized, and everything is well labeled. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a financial adviser who does this for him, but it’s benefiting me right now so I’m not going to complain.

My eyes just about bug out of my head when I find the figures I’m looking for, and I slap a hand over my mouth to stop any noises from seeping out. Is this truly how much money he has? I gulp.

We could have a dozen daughters.

I flip through the pages, searching for anything nefarious, but nothing stands out. Most of his payments are boring and expected. Wages for his employees, new wheels for the carriage, brick to fix a section of the retaining wall in the garden. He’s even written down the amounts I’ve taken from his damned coin pouch these past few months.

Is there anything this man hasn’t recorded?

There’s nothing in here regarding my dowry, confirming Jack’s hypothesis that Elijah forewent it, but the sum he got from his uncle for marrying me more than makes up for it. He easily got four times the amount he’d have gotten from my father.

A knock on the door has me flinching, and I snap the book shut just as Elijah steps inside.

“Have you found the information you wanted?” he asks.

I nod, unable to find my voice.

Elijah cracks a smile as I stand and step to the side so he can put the book away. I fiddle with my gloves before clearing my throat and gesturing to the door.

“I should probably retire for the night,” I say, refusing to acknowledge the way Elijah’s smile falls. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Rebecca.” Elijah blows out the candle, the action plunging us into darkness.

The sun fell while I was here, and only a sliver of sunlight still shines.

Elijah approaches, and I don’t comment on the hand on my lower back as I leave his office.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Chapter 25

Elijah is looking at me funny.

I don’t like it.

We haven’t spoken much since I intruded into his finances two days ago, but it seems like he’s everywhere I turn. I pride myself on how good I’ve gotten at avoiding him these past few months, but now it seems damn near impossible.

He’s got to be doing it on purpose.

It’s the only explanation.

He bites his bottom lip and holds eye contact as I walk past him. It takes everything in me not to ask why he’s staring. Have I got something in my hair?

I’m stupid and weak and have been wearing it down, and maybe a piece of food is caught in the strands. I glance at myself the second we pass one another, but nothing seems amiss.

What’s he even doing near the bedrooms this time of day? Usually, he’s in his office.

The little voice in the back of my mind whispers that he was probably taking a mid-afternoon break with one of the maids, but I refuse to give it the time of day. To my surprise, Elijah hasn’t done anything fishy since I fired his mistress. I expected him to find a new one, but it seems the man is yet to do so.

I wonder if he will.

“Oh, Rebecca!” I spin at the sound of his voice.

He’s already facing me, an infuriating smile still teetering at the corners of his lips. Not knowing why he’s looking at me like this will drive me insane.

“Yes?” I ask.

“You mentioned wanting to do some shopping today,” he states.

I nod. I still intend to do that. Jack’s birthday is in mere weeks, and I have no idea what to buy him. He’s into whittling, so I think a new knife might be excellent, but that would be hard to purchase. Not many men are willing to sell a weapon to a woman.

“I need to get a birthday present for my brother.” I’m sure I told him this last night over dinner, but I repeat it in case he forgot.

Elijah clasps his hands behind his back. He’s still staring at me all funny, and I still don’t like it.

“I also need to go into the city, so I’ll accompany you,” he decides.

What? Elijah has never gone into the city with me before. Other than the one awkward lunch we went on and Millie’s party I practically forced him to attend, we don’t go out together. It’s not something he’s ever shown interest in, and I never wanted to ask.

The me that first entered this marriage would be overjoyed he’s taking the initiative to join me on an outing, but now it doesn’t feel sincere. What’s he trying to get out of it?

“I’m leaving now,” I say, hoping to dissuade him.

Elijah glances at his watch, his eyes narrowing as he reads the time, before he levels his stare with me again.

“That works for me. Let me grab some coin.” He’s turning and heading for his office before waiting for my response, and I watch him disappear around the corner before slumping against the wall and running a stressed hand down my face.

Louise tied my corset tight today, so I was hoping to be in and out. I can barely breathe as it is, and walking around the city running errands is sure to make the situation worse. Elijah’s going to kill me. I’m going to suffocate and die.

Just my luck.

I head downstairs and ask the driver to bring around the carriage. Elijah joins me just as it pulls up and runs ahead to open the door for me.

Oh? Is he being chivalrous now? That’s new.

I avoid eye contact as I accept his outstretched hand and step inside. I’m wearing gloves so nobody can see my bandage, but Elijah is still careful not to apply any pressure to my palm. We’ve gotten into the habit of him wrapping it each morning and night, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s feeling much better already.

“What errands do you need to run?” I ask.

Elijah climbs inside the carriage and closes the door before settling in the tiny seat opposite mine. I pull open the window covering to let in the light. Being alone in such a small space with him is awkward enough, and I don’t want to make it worse by being in the dark.

The light makes everything better.

And more appropriate.

“I need to purchase a few new undershirts. It seems mine keep going missing,” he answers, his gaze sliding to the neckline of my dress.

My pulse races, and in a panic, I drop my head to peer down at it. Is his shirt collar exposed? I relax into the seat when I realize his shirt is tucked away and well hidden. I might have died if he could see any part of his shirt hanging out from underneath my dress.

Despite my initial reaction, I try to pretend I’m not affected by his words.

“That’s odd,” I say.

Elijah smiles, this time so wide a stupid dimple appears on his cheek.

“It is, isn’t it?”

It’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit to anything, and I plaster my best smile on my lips and pretend everything is normal. He’s not outright accusing me, so I’ll play dumb until he does. It’s worked for me before, and I hope it works for me again.

“I also thought we would stop by the dressmaker so you could pick out a few new pairs of gloves.”

My heart stops. What?

“I spoke to Louise, and she told me you only have four pairs. That doesn’t seem enough considering you wear them daily,” he continues.

My eyebrows furrow as I absorb his words. I’m going to be giving Louise a firm piece of my mind when we get back home. Why didn’t she tell me of her conversation with Elijah the moment it occurred? It’s supposed to be us against him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I had to practically beg Louise for the information, and even then, she glared at me throughout the entire conversation,” Elijah laughs.

I straighten up, happy to hear that. Louise is daring to give him such unfriendly looks, but Elijah deserves it, and it seems he’s not upset, which is good. I’d never speak to him again if he fired her.

“You should pay her for her information.” I’m pushing my luck, I know that, but somebody needs to demand it and I know she’d never do it for herself.

Information is valuable, and Elijah can’t expect people to give it to him for free because he employs them.

Elijah licks his lips, and I find myself glancing down at them before clearing my throat and looking away.

“I’ll give her a coin for her help once we return,” he promises.

Good.

The remainder of the ride into town is quiet, and by the time we arrive, I’m more than ready to get out and stretch my legs. Usually, I will lay out and move around when it’s just Louise and me, but I don’t feel comfortable doing that with Elijah.

He’d probably judge me for my unladylike behavior.

The square is busy today, and I can practically feel eyes boring holes into the side of my head as I step out of the carriage. Those eyes shift to Elijah as he follows my lead, and I feel my cheeks turning red as I hear the door close and feel him come to stand next to me.

“If I take your arm, will you pull away?” he asks, his voice quiet.

I understand why he doesn’t want to attempt it when so many people are looking at us. I’d say no if we were alone, but this is the perfect opportunity to have people think Elijah and I are in a better spot than we are. I’m tired of the rumors spreading about me, and having him accompany me in the middle of the workweek says a lot.

Gulping, I reach out and loop my arm with his.

My hand rests on his forearm, and I curl my gloved fingers around it as he begins to lead me down the street. People stare, and I plaster a broad smile on my face and nod in their direction.

A few eyes dart to my hair, but I pretend not to notice.

“Do you truly think my hair looks better down?” The question is thick with insecurity, and I wish to swallow them up the moment they escape.

Elijah pulls us out of the way of an approaching couple before spinning to face me, his patience unwavering even when it takes me a long few seconds to work up the courage to meet his eye. He reaches out and touches a curl that rests in front of my shoulder, and I hold my breath as he slides his finger down it and tugs at the end.

The hair straightens before bouncing back into a curl when he releases, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his childish action.

“I think it looks beautiful down,” Elijah whispers.

He’s looking at me in a way I don’t even want to try and decipher, and I’m glad when he doesn’t push it and instead turns and continues leading us down the street. I’m sure my face is flaming at this point, but thankfully Elijah isn’t looking and doesn’t notice.

What’s he getting out of being so nice to me?

We go to the tailor first, and I sit in a chair and wait while he gets fitted for new shirts. He orders four before looking at me, laughing, and changing the number to six. I don’t think it’s nearly as funny as he seems to think, and I glare at him until he begins to tug off his shirt.

He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to put his shirt back on, and it takes everything in me to remain strong and not peek. I don’t want to be attracted to him, and I know that’s precisely what will happen if I look up and see his body.

Thankfully the tailor doesn’t take long, and they settle on a delivery date before Elijah gives him some coins and we leave the store.

The seamstress is next, and I will my racing pulse to slow as we step inside and I inform the lady I’m looking to purchase a few pairs of gloves. A part of me still waits for Elijah to tell me he’s joking and would never take me shopping like this, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he sits in the small gentleman’s waiting room in the front of the shop and reads today’s newspaper. He crosses his left ankle over his right knee, and I try not to be too overwhelmed by the sheer number of options the seamstress gives me.

Getting clothing not for necessity has always been a treat, and I feel my palms sweat as the seamstress informs me of the prices. Elijah said a few pairs, and I should have asked for a specific number. I’ll be humiliated if I pick some out only for him to say it’s too many.

I don’t want anybody to think I’m greedy.

I settle on two, one a beautiful emerald green silk and another a traditional white lace. I already own a white lace pair, but the color has grown dingy so I never wear them. These will be suitable replacements.

My legs feel heavy when I enter the gentleman’s waiting area and gesture for Elijah to come and pay. He does so with a smile, and I hide halfway behind him as he approaches the seamstress. I’m still waiting for him to say I can only get one pair.

The seamstress spent a lot of time pinning and measuring them for me, and I’d hate for her to feel that time was a waste.

Elijah touches the two pairs I picked out, and I cannot help but notice how small they look compared to his hands.

“I’ll need a few days to hem them. We can have them delivered on Thursday?” she asks, glancing at Elijah.

He nods.

“That sounds good. I also have an order in at Mr. Johnson’s down the street. You might want to coordinate with him so only one delivery boy needs to be sent,” he informs, his attention drifting to the pile of test gloves still sitting out.

“Let’s also add the red pair,” he says, pointing to the ones I loved but felt were too scandalous to purchase. “And the white satin ones with the frilly wrists.”

The seamstress does a poor job hiding her smile as she adjusts the price. The white satin ones are the most expensive, but Elijah hardly bats an eye as he slides his coin across the counter.

He’s leading me out of the shop a second later, his arm linked through mine. I can barely contain my excitement, and I’m sure the bounce in my step is noticeable. Elijah laughs and tugs me in the direction of the narrow street most ladies stay away from, and I try and fail to hide my horror when he tells me to sit and wait on a nearby bench.

What is he doing? He disappears into a shop no lady would ever enter, and I glare at the doors before turning away.

There are rumors about what happens there, things only gentlemen are permitted to see. Some ladies say it’s a brothel, but while I may not have the highest regard for Elijah, I doubt he would sit me inside while he pops in and has a tryst with a prostitute.

I tap my foot against the ground and poke at my covered palm. The pain helps to distract me, and when Elijah returns minutes later with a discreet paper bag, I am full of a thousand questions.

“What’d you get?” I pry.

Elijah takes his arm in mine.

“Something for you. We’ll wait until we’re alone in the carriage to discuss it,” he says.

I nod, but I’m not happy with that answer. I want to know what’s in there now. Especially considering he got it from such a notorious establishment.

“What do you want to get for Jack?”

I’m surprised he knows my brother’s name, but I hide my shock well.

“He likes to whittle, so I was thinking of a new knife, but I doubt anybody would sell one to me,” I say, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

Elijah invited himself onto my day trip, so he might as well make himself useful. He snorts, catching on immediately to what I’m insinuating before leading me in the direction of a gentleman’s store. This is one I’m allowed to shop within, and I wrinkle my nose at the overpowering cologne scent that hits my nose the second we step inside.

This is a great place to look for masculine gifts, but the horrid smell gets me every time. It’s much too strong.

I lead Elijah to the back where I know they keep fancy knives, and I pretend the way the man behind the counter only talks to Elijah doesn’t annoy me. It does, but thankfully Elijah directs all the questions to me.

Eventually I find one I like, and I reach into my purse and pull out the coins I brought. They’re from my stash, and I hate to spend them, but it’s for something important. Elijah puts a hand over mine, and I bite the inside of my cheek as he pays for the present himself.

What’s got him feeling so generous today?

The man wraps the knife and hands it to Elijah, and I let him hold it as I loop my arm with his. Jack’s going to love this. It’s got a beautiful dark wooden handle, and the man has promised its small size is perfect for getting the tiny, intricate detailing of a carving.

As we walk out of the shop, I lock eyes with Ben. The man is standing directly in our path and looks terrified as he glances between Elijah and me, and I hold my chin high and press myself further into Elijah’s side.

Please don’t make a scene.

Ben steps to the side, and Elijah and I walk past with no issues.

Thank god.

“Have you spoken to him since that night?” Elijah asks the second we’re out of hearing distance.

I shake my head before realizing he probably wants a verbal response.

“No,” I answer.

Elijah nods. “Good. Let’s go home now.”

____

what do you think he got her?