My Duke's Deception (Wicked Lords of London 2)

She hadn’t realized until far too late they’d been living well above their means.

Not that any of that mattered now. In this moment, what concerned her was her rescuer’s intentions. While her life depended on whatever he offered, it filled her with anguish to think that she’d be ruined beyond redemption.

He gestured for her to take a seat on one of the settees in the sitting room. There was no bed, and she could only assume that he occupied multiple rooms.

“May I ask your name?” she asked, ignoring his silent request for her to sit.

He started in surprise and then grimaced. “Bloody whisky,” he mumbled then seemed to recover himself. “I apologize for my ill manners. I am Matthew Rangely.” He gave her a slight bow.

She returned with a courtesy. “Charmed, Mr. Rangley,” she murmured. “And thank you for your help.”

He gave her a nod. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“Eleanor McIntyre.” She looked away, studying an oil canvas on the wall. “But my father always called me Ella. It seems appropriate under the circumstances.”

He didn’t respond but instead crossed the room to pull a cord located by the door. Then he turned back to her and gestured to one of the doors. “If you’re more comfortable, you might want to step into the bedroom while I speak with the staff?”

She nodded, both relieved and nervous. While she didn’t relish being seen in a man’s room late in the evenin

g, she wondered what it meant about his intentions that he did not want her seen either.

But she did as he bid, and stepped through the door, leaving it open a crack. She wanted to know what he said to the staff, hoping it would give her some hint of his intentions.

Within seconds, a knock came at the door, which surprised Ella. That kind of service was surely costly.

“Can I help you, sir?” a male voice asked.

“Please, I need a tray of food, a bath, a woman’s dress for a lady about this high and thin, nothing too fancy just a serviceable fashion.” The list went on but Ella lost track when he ordered clothes clearly meant for her. The fact that he intended to feed and clothe her, had her leaning against the door in relief. She didn’t dare think about what he might want in return.

The door snapped closed again Matthew’s voice called, “Ella.”

Her name rolled off his tongue sending a little shiver down her spine that wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, warmth spread through her. She stepped out quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting. At least for the moment, he acted as her benefactor. She would like to keep it that way. “Yes,” she answered.

“Please have a seat.” He gestured to the same chair he had before. “I’ve a few things I’d like to discuss with you, but we should eat first. I, for one, am too foggy in the head after my whisky.”

“Of course, sir.” She hurriedly sat down.

“Call me Matthew,” he said as he lit several more candles.

For the first time it was bright enough to make out his features. She nearly gasped aloud at how handsome he was. Tall, dark, and muscular, he moved with a grace that near left her breathless. His jaw was a bit square to be traditionally handsome but it lent him a masculinity that was softened by his full lips. His eyes seemed to look deep inside her, but were themselves dark pools of mystery. “All right,” she whispered almost in awe.

A knock at the door made him turn before he could say anymore. Crossing the room in long strides to answer it, he didn’t fully open it, then quickly returned carrying a large tray of food.

The sight nearly brought tears to her eyes and as he sat down across from her, she reminded herself to eat like a lady and not a heathen. Thankfully, she’d had something in her stomach. A companionable silence stretched between them as they both ate, though she did find his eyes assessing her several times. She watched him too. He held his fork with a light touch that spoke of grace and breeding. He was handsome and well-heeled. What did he want with her? Her nerves fluttered again.

“I’ve taken the liberty of requesting a maid to help you wash your hair,” he finally said. “But if you’re uncomfortable with that—“

“No,” she replied quickly. That sounded divine. “I appreciate your attention to detail.”

He gave her a nod but his eyes studied her again. Another knock at the door brought a parade of servants into the room, all carrying buckets of steaming water and large wooden tub that they brought into the bedroom. She wanted to cry with relief at the thought of a proper bath.

Within minutes her old clothes had disappeared and she soaked in the hot water while the maid scrubbed her hair. It was even more heavenly than she’d imagined. As she lathered up her skin, it was as though she washed some of the anguish from the last months away.

Rising from the tub, the maid scrubbed out the excess water from her hair and Ella pulled on the fresh shift delighting in the feel of it, along with a corset and pantaloons. Her hair still hung down her back and the maid assured her she’d return in the morning to dress it. “Unless, of course you need me to braid it tonight.”

“No thank you. I’ll take care of it as soon as it dries,” she murmured, pulling on the simple gown. It fit better than she ever dreamed it would and the crisp newness had her fingering the cuff, reveling in the feel.

The maid left and Matthew entered. She blushed, her hair still hanging down her back, but she supposed she ought to get used to it. “Hello,” she said softly.