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Chapter Twenty-Four

“ M rs. Winters?” Eleanor called out, searching for the housekeeper.

Several days had passed since that dinner on the terrace with Spencer, several days of him gathering her into his arms suddenly to embrace her, of him buying new dresses for other occasions he had planned for them.

She was slowly warming up to the idea of attending the opera. He had already bought tickets.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Mrs. Winters emerged from the drawing room carrying a stack of books.

Eleanor cast a glance at the spines, smiling a little as she realized it was Charlotte’s reading.

“Where is Frances?” she asked, frowning. “She did not come to me before breakfast nor after.”

The housekeeper frowned. “Ah. My apologies, Your Grace, I had thought your new maid would arrive sooner.”

“New maid?”

Mrs. Winters gestured for Eleanor to follow her to the library, where she placed the books back on the shelves. “Frances quit rather suddenly.”

“Oh.” Eleanor paused. “She… she did not say why?”

Mrs. Winters shook her head. “It can happen often. Young girls are either offered better positions or get overwhelmed by their duties. Some are called back by their families or must relocate. There are many reasons. Sometimes it is best not to get attached or ask questions.”

Eleanor bit her lip, nodding. “I see.”

What she didn’t say was that it seemed out of character for Frances to not give her prior notice. They had grown rather close, hadn’t they? She had thought so at least.

“Very well. It is a shame, for I would have liked to say goodbye.”

“Ah, Eleanor, there you are!”

Eleanor turned around at Charlotte’s voice.

Her friend’s eyes were alight with mischief. “I am coming to steal you away. We are to attend an afternoon tea with my aunt and Spencer. Word has it that Lord Avington will be across the street in the gentlemen’s club.”

“You wish to spy on him?”

At that, Charlotte froze, as if realizing what she had said. “No, of course not. I-I simply want to be nosey. He has promised me tales of socializing and parties. I want to see who he mingles with.”

Eleanor looked a little longer at her friend, seeing through her excuse. She had to bite her tongue.

Charlotte hardly ever mentioned Lord Follet, which only made Eleanor wonder how their courtship had started in the first place.

“Do you feel trapped?” she wanted to ask.

But asking about Lord Follet might only encourage Charlotte to see him, or think she had to.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Mrs. Winters, if you could keep me updated about who will take over Frances’s duties…”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Is there any news on the investigation?” Eleanor asked Spencer in his study the following day.

She was perched on the edge of his desk, assessing a jasmine she had grown for him and potted. She had once teased that he could put it in his study to think of her during long days of work.

Yet he had, and she could not stop looking at it.

“Some,” he answered. “Larkin has more information, but since he’s still involved with his clients, he will likely not speak to me openly. In the meantime, I only have moments to look through his ledgers, and that is only when I convince him that I am checking up on my bets.”

“What about the Renshaws?”

“Clean, when it comes to Belgrave,” he muttered.

“Everything else is murky, of course. I have been looking into the overseer Theodore and I saw meeting with Renshaw, but he seems clean so far. Either these people are excellent at deception—it is unlikely, for there is always one person who messes up without meaning to—or they really do not realize who they are transporting.”

Eleanor sighed, her hopelessness growing.

“The only good thing, perhaps,” Spencer continued, still sifting through his papers, “is that no more notable ladies have disappeared from the ton. And I say notable because they are the only ones I might get information on.”

“That is what scares me,” Eleanor murmured.

“I know.” Spencer nodded. “But the more notable they are, the more they will sell for. Forgive my crassness, but if they have lost you—and with Charlotte under my protection—then they are at a great loss.”

Before Eleanor could say anything, Mr. Fulton entered, carrying a note. “Your Grace, this is from Mrs. Winters regarding your new maid.”

“Thank you.” Eleanor hopped off the desk to take the note.

The butler left, and she tore it open, finding a letter—but also finding another concealed within it.

She frowned. And then her blood ran cold.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her knees trembling.

She held out the letter to him, and he took it immediately, standing to move to her side.

“The seal has been tampered with. It is very meticulous work to be noticed, but… the housekeeper’s note was intercepted.”

He read it, and she looked at the bold handwriting.

Frances, Frances,

I wonder who is next?

Her hands shook as she gripped Spencer’s desk, leaning against it for support. He stood behind her, holding her up with a mere touch.

“Who is next…” Eleanor echoed. “You do not think?—”

“No,” he said firmly. “No, I will not let anything happen to you or Charlotte.”

He thought she was worried about herself, but it was Charlotte she feared for.

She knew the men were simply lying in wait. She had been bracing herself for a while, yet it still struck her to her core. She trembled at the thought of anything happening.

“You will both be safe,” Spencer promised her. “I swear it.”

The music followed Eleanor and Spencer out of the dinner party they attended later that week.

Spencer had argued that if they went out together with Charlotte and his aunt, it would reaffirm that Charlotte was under protection. That they were not afraid of Lord Belgrave or Lord Follet.

“It could force one of them to show their hands,” he had said on the way over. “They will grow tired of waiting, especially if money is involved. Lord Follet will want to stop delaying the announcement of his engagement, but until then, Charlotte remains safer and out of his clutches.”

The garden that spread out beyond the open terrace doors welcomed them, offering them a moment of privacy.

The dinner party so far had been full of suggestive glances and lingering touches, the two of them still wrapped up in one another enough that they could scarcely go a half-day without leaving for a private moment.

As soon as they were in the garden, Spencer led them to a secluded part—a stone balustrade blocking them from view.

“We will be missed,” Eleanor protested, but then she laughed as she reached for his face, pulling him closer.

Spencer’s hands slid up her waist, his mouth already on hers.

“I do not care,” he muttered between kisses. “Lord Abrams is deep in his cups, and Lady Abrams is too busy holding court. Charlotte is safe with her and my aunt. But you … you deserve to be beneath my hands and mouth, receiving the best attention.”

His mouth was hot on hers, barely able to get a sentence out for how deeply he kissed her, and she laughed again, shushing him properly with her own kisses. She threaded her fingers through his.

“I do not trust you to touch places you cannot commit to,” she teased.

“I will commit to anything at this moment,” he groaned, pressing against her. “Do not challenge me.”

“You have little shame.”

“When it comes to my beautiful wife, who deserves to be worshipped all day? Indeed, I have very little shame.”

“You must,” she insisted, giggling as his mouth traveled down her neck. “We are in public.”

“All the more sensual,” he murmured. “I just want to kiss you.”

Eleanor pulled his face back to hers, her smile soft. “Then kiss me.”

So he did, and she got lost in the feel of it, in the way it took her breath away.

His lips were soft, his hands wandering suggestively without going too far. He moaned into her mouth, backing her up against the balustrade. He deepened their kiss, and her eyes closed, moving in sync with him.

He pressed his hips against hers, not trying to move or deepen their kiss, but simply enjoying their closeness. Her fingers tangled in his hair before they slid down to curl into his cravat.

Her head lolled back as he kissed his favorite spot on the column of her throat, and he nuzzled her skin before kissing his way back up to her lips.

“You taste like rich wine,” he said. “Get me drunk on you, my darling wife.”

Darling wife.

Eleanor felt a rush of affection at the endearing term, pulling him closer.

But as he pressed into her, a resounding snap echoed through the garden behind her.

She froze, confused. The sound was loud, and Spencer immediately moved back, reaching for her. But it was too late.

The structure behind her was already crumbling, toppling to the ground, and she didn’t have time to catch herself. She flailed her arms for balance, and Spencer finally caught her.

She hissed as the jagged edge scraped her side. Pain ripped through her, and she cried out.

“Eleanor!” Spencer shouted, alarmed, but she was already stepping toward him, wincing.

His eyes were on her, but then he looked up, and she followed his line of sight. A figure slipped away in the shadows, too fast to notice, but she could swear she saw the livery of a footman.

“Who was?—”

“This is Belgrave’s doing,” Spencer hissed. “I should have known. I should not have gotten comfortable. The note. It was a clear threat.” He moved further back, pulling her with him. “I should not have risked you tonight.” His arms tightened around her.

“Charlotte,” Eleanor said urgently. “Do you think she is in trouble?”

“As you said, he would not do something so publicly. We are alone. We are being watched .”

His eyes scanned the shadows. Eleanor could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest, but nothing tore his attention away from his search. She tried to get his attention, but his eyes were vacant.

She could see him sifting through thoughts he wouldn’t share, and she tried to pull his focus back to her to no avail.