Once Upon a Rake by Samantha Holt

become breathless.
    “The mill is around this
corner.” He motioned ahead. “You can see the smoke stacks.”
    Eleanor acknowledged his
words gratefully by eyeing the building that could not be hidden by the houses
lining the streets. It towered over them like a watchful master, its large
square windows like disapproving eyes. Once they rounded the corner she had a
full view of it and its magnificence was not lost on her.
    Even from their position
outside the iron gates, the noise of the machines smothered the street sounds.
On the forecourt were stacks of brown sacks piled to one side, and though there
were several dozen people outside, none were still or milling around. They all
moved with purpose. An excited thrum started in her stomach. She was to be a
part of this—the revolution of industry. These were exciting times indeed.
    Lucian pushed open the gate
and escorted her in. He led her into a door at the side of the building, and
she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dull glow of the lamps. Several
desks sat in rows and the heads of the men sat behind them lifted to
acknowledge Lucian.
    A young man, likely no older
than her stood and hastened over. “Mr Fuller would like a word with you when
you have time, my lord.”
    Lucian nodded and waved the
man back to his desk before indicating to a door at the end of the desks.
“Shall we?”
    Eleanor nodded, aware of
being watched as she walked past to the room. Were they wondering what she was
doing with Lucian? Who she was? Or did they know and were surprised by how
uncomely the Countess of Hawthorne was?
    The room turned out to be
Lucian’s office. Or at least she assumed it was. A generous carved mahogany
desk with a green leather top dominated it and the sounds of the mill filtered
in through the window which faced the forecourt. She imagined him sitting
behind it, lauding over his domain. Stacks of letters were piled on one side of
the desk and a bookcase to the right was filled with leather bound books. The
room smelled of that leather and a little of smoke.
    “So,” he said, closing the
doors, “here you are. This is the mill you own part of. Whatever shall you do
with it?”
    Eleanor ignored his mocking
smile and folded arms, and eyed the spines of the books. They were as she
thought—records of the mill dating back to its start by the looks of it.
    “I would like to look
through the records.”
    “Here? Now?”
    “As I said, my lord, I have
a fine head for numbers.”
    He snorted. Even she heard
it. It echoed between them. Years ago, when she thought he could do no wrong,
she’d have melted into a puddle of embarrassment but no longer. She would not
be victim of Lucian’s cruelty ever again. She knew how she had appeared. A
silly little girl with dreamy ideas and no way of achieving them. No white
knight would sweep the ugly Ellie Browning off her feet.
    “I should like to look
through them,” she repeated.
    “Very well. We have, oh,
twenty years’ worth of records here. Where would you like to start? I hope you
weren’t intending to return home for several months.”
    She narrowed her gaze and
tried to stop it from dropping to those lips, still turned up in a sardonic
smile. “I have little intention of pouring over all of the records. Just the
past two years perhaps. I was hoping you might send them to me at Broadstone
Hall.”
    “Impossible.”
    “Why should you need last
year’s records?”
    Lucian’s jaw worked as he stepped
closer. “If you wished for me to send you the records then why the blazes
demand a trip here and steal away much of my valuable time?”
    “I suppose my time is not
valuable.” Trying to quell the flutter in her stomach, she lifted her chin.
“Once upon a time Lord Rushbourne would think nothing of spending weeks
travelling and amusing himself.”
    “What makes you think I find
any of this amusing?”
    He had her there. Of course
her company wasn’t amusing. She was an irritation. A pest to be squashed