The Undoing of de Luca
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Ellery jerked around, the dripping dishcloth still in her hand. She’d completely forgotten about his business proposition—what kind of proposal could he possibly have?
‘I’m really rather busy—’ she began and Larenz just smiled.
‘I promise you, it’ll be worth your while.’ He reached out almost lazily and took the dishcloth from her hand, tossing it easily into the sink where it landed with a wet thud. ‘An hour of your time, no more. Surely you can spare that?’
Ellery hesitated. Larenz stood there, relaxed and waiting, a faint smile curving those amazing lips, and suddenly she had no more excuses. She didn’t even want to have any more excuses. She wanted, for once, an hour to enjoy herself. To enjoy temptation instead of resist it. To see what might happen, even if it was dangerous. An hour couldn’t hurt, surely? That was all she’d give Larenz—or herself.
She let her breath out slowly. ‘All right. But we ought to wear wellies.’ She glanced pointedly at his leather loafers. ‘It rained last night and it’s quite muddy out.’
‘I’m afraid,’ Larenz murmured, ‘I didn’t bring any—wellies—with me.’
Ellery pursed her lips. She could just imagine the kind of clothes in the case Larenz had brought inside last night, and it didn’t run to rubber boots. ‘It’s a good job that we have plenty for guests,’ she returned, and Larenz quirked one eyebrow in question.
‘We?’
‘I mean I,’ Ellery clarified, flushing. ‘The boots are from when I was growing up—when we had house guests.’ Her throat suddenly felt tight. She tried not to think of those days, when she was little and Maddock Manor had been full of people and laughter, the rooms gleaming and smelling of fresh flowers and beeswax polish and everything had been happy.
Had seemed happy, she mentally corrected, and went to the utility room to fetch a pair of boots she thought might be in Larenz’s size.
Larenz followed Ellery out of the kitchen door to the walled garden adjacent to the Manor. He took in the remnants of a summer garden, now bedraggled and mostly dead, the grass no more than muddy patches. He wondered if the parsnips for last night’s soup had come from here. He imagined Ellery harvesting the garden by herself, a lonely, laborious task, and something unexpected pulled at his heart.
He felt a single stab of pity, which was most unlike him. He’d worked too hard for too long pulling himself up from the gutter to feel sorry for an aristocrat who’d fallen on hard times, no doubt in part due to her family’s extravagant living.
Yet, as he watched Ellery stride ahead of him, the boots enveloping her slender legs, her back stiff and straight, he realized he did feel a surprising twist of compassion for her.
She would be horrified if she knew. Ellery Dunant, Larenz thought with amusement, possessed a rather touching amount of pride. She seemed to love this heap of hers about as much as she disliked him, and was, he knew, most reluctant to spend time with him. She resented the attraction she felt for him, that much was obvious, but Larenz did not think she could resist its tug for long.
He certainly had no desire to. He wanted to release that platinum fall of hair from its sorry scraped little bun; he wanted to trail his fingers along her creamy skin and see if it was as soft as it looked—everywhere. He wanted to transform the disdain that pinched her face to a desire that would soften it. And he would. He always got what he wanted.
‘Did you plant a garden this summer?’ Larenz asked, nudging a row of withered runner beans. Ellery turned around, her hands deep in the pockets of her waxed jacket.
‘Yes—a small one.’ She glanced around the garden, remembering the vision she’d once had, the rows of hollyhocks, the cornucopia of vegetables, the neat little herb garden. She’d managed only a few potatoes and parsnips, things that were easy to grow, for she’d learned rather quickly that she did not have much of a green thumb. ‘It’s difficult to manage on my own,’ she explained stiffly. ‘But one day—’ She stopped, letting the thought fall to the ground, unnourished. One day what? Every day she stayed at Maddock Manor, Ellery was conscious of how futile her plans really were. She would never get ahead on her own, never have enough money to make the necessary repairs, much less the renovations, never be able to see Maddock Manor restored to the glory it had once known. She tried to avoid these damning realizations, and for the most part she did, simply living day by day. It was Larenz de Luca, with his knowing smile and pointed questions, who reminded her of the futility of her life here.
She turned away from the garden to lead Larenz out to the half-timbered barns that flanked the rear of the property. ‘So just what is this business proposition?’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Let me see the barns,’ Larenz returned equably, and Ellery suppressed a groan. She’d only agreed to show Larenz the grounds because she’d already discovered how persistent he could be, and in a moment of folly—weakness—she’d wanted to spend time with him. She’d wanted to feel that dangerous, desirable jolt again. Even—especially—if it went nowhere; there was nowhere for it to go.
Yet, now that they were actually outside, Larenz inspecting the overgrown gardens and crumbling brick walls, Ellery felt no enjoyment or excitement, only the ragged edge of desperation as a man who looked as if he’d never known a day of want or need strolled through the remnants of her own failure.
‘A lovely building,’ Larenz murmured as Ellery let him into the dim, dusty interior of the barn that had once stabled a dozen workhorses. She blinked in the gloom, the sunlight filtering through the cracks.
‘Once,’ she agreed, and Larenz just smiled.
‘Yours is hardly the first stately home to fall into disrepair.’
Ellery nodded rather glumly. It was a story being told all over England: estates crippled by rising costs and inheritance taxes, turned over to the National Trust or private enterprises, hotels or amusement parks or even, in the case of a manor nearby, a zoo.
Larenz stepped deeper into the dimness of the barn and ran his hand over a bulky shape shrouded in canvas tarpaulin that took over most of the interior. ‘Have you ever thought of turning the place into a park or museum?’