The Secrets of Lord Lynford Page 10

  Eliza tied up her skirts and went to join them. There was a good breeze blowing and the kite was flying high. ‘Look, Mama, we’ve used almost all of the string! I’ve never got a kite up so high before,’ Sophie exclaimed.

  ‘You’re a natural flier,’ Eaton complimented. ‘Why don’t we try some tricks?’ His hair was mussed and his calves were speckled with sticky sand, proof he’d been running in the water, no doubt saving the kite from a soaking before Sophie had become a natural. Eaton stood behind Sophie, an easy hand on her shoulder, ready to intervene if needed. A gust of wind took the kite and it dived, dipping dangerously towards the waves. ‘Oh, no!’ Sophie exclaimed in panicked worry.

  ‘Steady, Sophie.’ Eaton’s voice was calm. Instead of taking the spool and fixing the situation for her, he coached her in even tones. ‘Reel in the string, just a little, don’t tug, that will only make the kite jerk more and then it can’t stabilise. There, see, you’ve done it. The kite has settled and you can let out the string. Well done, Sophie. Now, are we ready for some tricks?’

  They were enjoying each other. How exciting it must be for Sophie to have the attention of an adult other than herself. Eliza busied herself gathering seashells, wanting to be close, but not wanting to intrude overmuch on the interlude. She surreptitiously watched Eaton show Sophie how to make the kite soar like a bird, swooping and diving in the sky before turning the kite back over to her. Sophie was clapping her hands and saying something to Eaton that Eliza couldn’t hear. It must have pleased him. He smiled at Sophie and bent down to say something in return.

  This was yet another sight to warm her. How different he was from Huntingdon. Huntingdon had been an old parent, too set in his ways to visit the nursery and play with a toddler. He’d adored his daughter, but he’d been unable to be the sort of father a child dreams of—a father who runs along the beach with them, a father who takes them for horseback rides and carries them to bed as if they were featherweights.

  Eaton would be a spectacular father.

  It was an unsettling and inappropriate thought. Eliza looked away from the kite flying. She could not give flight to that sort of fantasy. It was best to quell it before it got out of hand and the best way to do that was to think about reality. Argument one: a day with a child did not prove a man was good father material. It merely showed that he had a capacity for kindness. Argument two: Eaton Falmage had no intention of taking on another man’s child. It wasn’t what heirs to a dukedom did. Dukes’ heirs made their own families. Argument three: she wasn’t looking for a father for Sophie or a husband for herself. She’d made that decision years ago. She’d best get her emotions under control and rein in these fantastical constructions. She’d made her situation clear to Eaton last night. Today, he was merely being kind. He knew there was no hope in pursuing her. She was complicated.

  Eliza allowed herself to glance at the duo again. Eaton smiled, this time for her. He strode towards her, collapsing beside her in the sand. ‘She’s having a good time.’ He propped himself up on an elbow. ‘Your daughter is wonderful. You’ve raised her well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Eliza found herself blushing. ‘I worry for her, being an only child. I was an only child and it’s a lonely way to grow up. I would have preferred she had a brother or sister, at least one.’ She drew an abstract figure in the sand, uncomfortable with the confession. It brought the conversation too close to other truths. She had not meant to say so much. She hazarded a glance at Eaton and offered a tremulous smile.

  Eaton’s dark gaze clouded, his brows knit as a shadow scuttled across his features. Perhaps talk of children unsettled him. It unsettled many bachelors. ‘You could marry again. You’re still young. You have much to offer.’ A quiet intimacy settled between them at the suggestion. A new awareness of him unfurled in her belly, warm and inviting. She must resist.

  ‘No.’ Her answer was firm but barely audible over the waves. ‘I’ve become too set in my ways these last five years. A husband would not find me biddable.’ She shook her head with finality. ‘I refused the last man who proposed.’

  ‘Why?’ Eaton did not allow her to dismiss the topic.

  ‘I had nothing to give up when I married Huntingdon. But I have much to lose in a marriage now and I’ve seen what a woman gives up when she marries. It cost my mother everything. She turned her life over to her husband, who was only moderately good with money, and then to her husband’s brother when her husband died. My well-meaning uncle was even worse with money than my father. By the time I was fourteen I knew with surety I’d do whatever it took to avoid my mother’s fate. I started learning about the family business.’

  ‘And then you married a man twice your age and more.’

  ‘I was not after his money,’ Eliza snapped.

  ‘I did not mean to suggest that you were. I was merely curious as to what impelled you to marry as you did,’ Eaton answered in sharp offence.

  They were teetering on the brink of a quarrel. She would not be judged by anyone, certainly not by a marquess who’d had his perfect life handed to him, no matter how humble he seemed. ‘Huntingdon Blaxland came to my uncle and proposed the match. And I took the offer. He was a good man and my choices were limited.’ Not that it was any of Eaton’s business. If she was upset over these disclosures, it was her own fault for having shared them.

  Eliza blew out a breath, gathering her composure. She should not be discussing these things with a man she barely knew. She groped for a better topic of conversation, something lighter. ‘Sophie will be spoiled after today. She’ll expect to come to the beach every day.’

  ‘Perhaps she should.’ Eaton’s smile returned, the shadow had passed. ‘I think fresh air and exercise cannot be overestimated for children. You know what they say about all work and no play.’ Eaton gave her a thoughtful look. ‘It seems her home in Truro is a quiet place.’

  Eliza looked down at her hands, wondering what Sophie had told him. ‘We don’t go out much. I have the mines to look after and before that we were in mourning and she was very young.’ Sometimes she felt they’d never truly come out of mourning. It had been a convenient shield to hide behind, a legitimate reason to take herself out of the public eye. She went to business meetings and charity meetings, but she seldom went out at night to Truro’s social gatherings. The few times she had gone out, Miles had been beside her and that had proved disastrous. Afterwards, it had seemed easier and safer to use mourning as an excuse not to engage.

  ‘You’re not in mourning any longer,’ Eaton pointed out. ‘Pardon my saying so, but it’s been five years.’ His gaze held hers and she knew he was doing the sums. Sophie would have been four, she wouldn’t recall her father at all. He was thinking she didn’t need to hold on to mourning for Sophie’s sake. ‘It must be lonely, living a secluded life with just Sophie for company.’ His gaze studied her, unnerving her with the intensity of his dark eyes. ‘Oftentimes people who choose seclusion see it as a form of protection.’

  ‘And sometimes they simply value their privacy,’ Eliza answered swiftly before she could take advantage of the opening and spill her troubles. How tempting it was, with nothing around them but sea and sand, to lay her problems on his shoulders.

  ‘Should that cease to be the case, Eliza, I hope you would tell me.’ Eaton pushed up from the sand with a burst of energy. ‘Shall we eat? I have it on good authority Sophie is starving. I had the chocolate cake from last night packed and there might even be a few late-season strawberries.’ He grinned at her and gave her his hand, banishing the seriousness of the prior moment; perhaps he also realised that a line had been crossed and a retreat into friendly acquaintanceship was necessary.

  * * *

  Lunch was an animated affair with Sophie talking of kites and seashells between bites of sandwiches and swallows of cider. As they relaxed on pillows beneath the canopy, Eaton fished through the bucket of shells. He held one up and shook it. ‘Put that to your
ear, Sophie, and tell me what you hear.’

  Sophie did and her face lit up. ‘I can hear the ocean!’ She shook it again. ‘Is the ocean in there?’

  ‘No.’ Eaton shook his head and took the shell, holding it on the flat of his palm. ‘Do you see how the shell is curved? Air gets trapped in there and it makes a roaring, rushing sound when it bounces around inside the shell.’ He looked over their heads and caught her gaze. ‘Ambient noise is what it’s called.’

  ‘Let’s try another!’ Sophie was already digging through the pail, eager to test the hypothesis. This was an example of his curriculum, Eliza realised, the one he’d designed for Cador Kitto’s conservatory. Learning by doing, by touching. How splendid it was to watch Sophie’s face light up as she tried out the new word.

  ‘Am...bi...ent...’

  Eaton sorted through the bucket and pulled out one of the larger shells. ‘Do you think you can spare these, Sophie?’ He rose and went to his long-abandoned coat and fished in the pockets, discarding all sorts of bits until he drew out a length of twine and a penknife. Eliza laughed. ‘You have the pockets of a schoolboy. Are you sure there are no toads in there?’

  Eaton gave her a wink. ‘No toads, but plenty of useful items. Just watch.’ He sat down beside Sophie and took the shell in hand, stringing it on a length of twine before tying it about Sophie’s neck. ‘There, a sea talisman for you. Now you can keep the ocean with you wherever you go, even when you’re in Truro and miles away.’ For a moment, the reminder lingered that this would all end. Then, Eaton leapt to his feet. ‘Now, who wants to go exploring? There’s an old smuggler’s cave down the beach. Let’s find it and see if there’s any treasure left. You go on ahead, Sophie, and clear the way, while your mama and I follow.’

  ‘You are as indefatigable she is. Do you never slow down?’ Eliza laughed as they strolled at the edge of the beach, waves teasing their toes.

  ‘Never. There’s too much to do, too much to enjoy.’ Eaton grinned and steered her out of the way of a large wave that threatened their feet.

  It was her turn to probe as he’d done earlier on the beach. ‘If we don’t slow down, we often lose our chance to think, or perhaps that’s the very reason we don’t slow down. We don’t want to think.’ A whirlwind could be as effective a place to hide as the solitude he accused her of keeping. ‘What’s your reason?’

  Eaton chuckled. ‘What would I hide from, Eliza? I have everything I could want. Money, status, the power to do good in this world.’ He bent down to pick up a pebble and skipped it out over the waves, perhaps to give himself something to do. He couldn’t be still even in the moment. It made her wonder if she’d hit upon something after all. What could he possibly have to hide? What didn’t he want to tell her?

  ‘What will you do now that the school is underway? Are there other projects looming on your agenda?’ She’d not meant to discuss the business of the mining schools today, but the opening was ideal.

  Eaton shrugged and skipped another pebble. ‘I’ll plan my trip to Italy. I was supposed to go last spring, but then the school came along.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll visit my sisters for the winter holidays, maybe spend a little time in London to make up for not being there this Season. I have experiments to conduct in the orangery. Perhaps Sophie can be my assistant. She has an agile mind.’

  ‘You needn’t feel you have to entertain her, or me,’ Eliza quickly absolved him. ‘I have work at the mine and a shareholders’ meeting coming up and she has Miss Gilchrist to see to her.’ Although Miss Gilchrist’s lessons would hardly compare to the excitement of learning about ambient sound on the beach with Eaton or the physics of flying a kite. He might say he wasn’t keeping score, but she was, and the ledger between them was becoming woefully unbalanced.

  Eaton leaned close, whispering at her ear, ‘Have you ever considered that maybe you’re the one doing me the favour? That it’s not the other way around, after all?’

  ‘I fear we are a distraction, not a favour,’ Eliza chided softly. She was not wrong. Eaton Falmage was a busy man for whom children were a passing fancy, not a priority. He had other things to consider: trips to Italy, London Seasons. His life was a collection of whirlwinds of which she and Sophie were merely one. Within a month they’d be forgotten.

  They reached the cave. Sophie was already inside and Eaton had to duck to get through the entrance. ‘I used to explore in here with my friends,’ he told her. ‘We once spent all summer looking for hidden treasure. We even had a map.’

  Sophie’s eyes went wide. ‘Did you find anything?’ she asked and Eliza found herself holding her breath along with Sophie, waiting for his answer.

  ‘No, we never did.’ He knelt down to Sophie’s level and said seriously, ‘But you know what that means.’

  ‘That there isn’t any treasure?’ Sophie replied, disappointed.

  ‘It means the treasure is still there. Waiting. Maybe for you to find it. Off you go, don’t leave any rock unturned, no crevice unexplored.’

  Sophie ran off and Eaton turned to Eliza, catching her frown. ‘You disapprove? Or is it that you don’t believe in treasure?’

  ‘You’re getting her hopes up. She’ll be disappointed when she doesn’t find it,’ Eliza scolded softly.

  ‘Disappointment isn’t all bad,’ Eaton replied, unconcerned. ‘It’s adds a certain flavour to life, as you well know. Certainly you’re the better for your challenges, wouldn’t you agree?’

  It was hard to disagree with him at the moment. In the confines of the cavern, Eliza was acutely aware they were very much alone. In the cave, Eaton came fully into his height and breadth. His physique was not made for confined spaces. ‘Do you speak from experience? You hardly seem the sort to have had disappointments,’ she queried, slightly breathless. In such a space, it would be easy to be intimidated by him, or to think him invincible. She was not. She was enormously attracted to him. He filled the space entirely and her senses with it, reminding her, as he had in the garden, as he did every time she saw him, that she was more than a mine owner and a mother.

  ‘Maybe I have found treasure, despite my earlier disappointments, after all, Eliza,’ he whispered her name. ‘These last two days have been extraordinary.’ He leaned an arm against the rocky wall, bracketing her with his body. ‘Maybe treasure doesn’t come in an iron chest.’

  ‘No, maybe it doesn’t,’ she answered, her breath catching, her imagination running wild. Maybe it came in the form of kisses stolen in a golden moment on a sun-kissed day. Her lips parted just a fraction in invitation and he took it without hesitation, his mouth commanding hers with a kiss, his body strong against her, and she gave over to it, surrendering herself to his mouth. How wondrous to lose herself just for a moment, to be swept away by another’s touch, not to be an island unto herself.

  There was a scream of glee somewhere beyond them, recalling them to reality. Eaton stepped back, but his eyes were hot even as his mouth curled in a smile. ‘Sophie’s found something,’ he said softly with a laugh, but he took her hand, apparently as unwilling as she to break contact entirely. ‘Shall we go and see? Then we’ll have to head back. The tide will be in soon.’

  Sophie didn’t find any treasure, but she had found a starfish Eaton helped her throw back into the sea.

  They headed back to the picnic area, their linked hands surreptitiously hidden in the folds of her skirts. It was a simple intimacy, one she should discourage, but it was less dangerous than a kiss. Perhaps that was why she allowed it. Perhaps there were other reasons, too. Perhaps she was lonely, starved for adult-human contact, although it did her no credit to admit it. It made her seem desperate, something she didn’t like appearing even to herself. That was a craving she’d have to bottle. It had no place in her life now. She slipped her hand free.

  ‘Where shall we go tomorrow?’ Eaton asked as they gathered discarded socks and shoes.

  ‘I have to work.’ Eliza
made her excuses before her willpower waned. Another day with Eaton was an intoxicating prospect.

  ‘Not all day, certainly?’ Eaton pressed irresistibly.

  ‘No, not all day, but it’s not just that.’ She drew him aside with a meaningful glance and lowered her voice. ‘One day is understandable, perhaps, if anyone saw us today. But a second day? I am a private woman by choice, Eaton, and by necessity. A woman in a man’s company does not pass unnoticed, especially when that man is a marquess.’ She arched a brow. ‘Do you think because I am a widow that I am above censure?’ It was precisely what he thought, she could tell from the rebuttal that died on his lips. The widows he knew were the former wives of aristocrats, who could afford, perhaps even welcomed, a little scandal to spice up their lives. ‘What do you suppose happens to me as the head of the mining company if scandal is attached to my name?’ She put the question to him point-blank. He did not run in her circles. She did not expect him to understand the knife edge she walked, but she could expect him to respect it. ‘One false step and all I’ve worked for is forfeit.’

  For a moment, she thought she’d convinced him, but his next words surprised her utterly. ‘Then we’ll go to the Trevaylor Woods. No one will see us and I can ensure complete privacy.’ He was caressing her with his voice, low and seductive beneath the rhythm of the waves. ‘Never say never, Eliza.’

  Intuition told her this was the pivotal moment that would put her on a path down which she should not journey. She needed to proceed with business as usual. That meant no attachments. She needed to say no, but she didn’t.