“I believe he was. He was decorated and mentioned in dispatches.”
The sorrow in her face made him long to draw her into his arms. Purely for comfort, he told himself. And didn’t believe it.
She went on. “I’ve always been sad that his service record was lost. Along with his medals and his effects.”
Leath stepped toward her. “That’s a blasted shame.”
“I’ve been thinking of him lately.” Her attempt at a smile touched him in a place deeper than lust. He suddenly realized that cozy chats deep into the night were as dangerous as forbidden kisses. “Perhaps because… you call me Eleanor.”
Leath knew he shouldn’t touch her. If he touched her, her unusually confiding mood and the hunger that had tormented him since he’d kissed her would lure him to more. And she was a virtuous woman. While he was a gentleman. An affair would do neither of them credit.
It was a struggle to sound merely kind when his pulse pounded like a battalion of drums. “Have you contacted the War Office?”
She sighed. “My mother must have written a hundred letters, but at the time, the war was raging. They had more important things to think about.”
“More important to them,” Leath grunted. Sergeant Major Trim had given his life for his country. That deserved more respect than he’d received.
Behind him, the kettle boiled. Leath lifted it and poured water into a bowl. He expected Eleanor to smile to see him using a cloth to hold the handle, but she seemed lost in memories. It was as if she’d forgotten his presence. He should be grateful. There was safety in distance. But he couldn’t help mourning the end of an interval when they’d spoken almost as… friends.
Hell, Eleanor Trim befuddled him more than anyone he’d ever met. He needed to talk to Dr. Angus about Crane. But still this woman held him as captive as if she’d cast a net over his head. He had a grim feeling that like a fish in the sea, he was well and truly hooked.
What in blazes was he going to do about it? He couldn’t even blame Eleanor. She wasn’t trying to captivate him. He retained a lurking suspicion that she didn’t like him, however smitten she claimed to be, however hot her kisses.
“I wouldn’t have managed nearly so well tonight without you.” He hated how stilted he sounded. The awkwardness that abruptly descended reminded him that he’d been in the saddle most of the day and that hauling Crane through the rain hadn’t been easy. He was cold and weary and, as he met Eleanor Trim’s cool gaze, discouragingly lonely.
“I’m here to serve, my lord,” she said neutrally.
Was she mocking him? He remembered all his reasons for avoiding this woman, not least her dashed slippery behavior. His eyes sharpened on her. “In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “you were astonishingly quick to serve. You appeared out of nowhere.”
She stared back as uncompromisingly as a young saint facing martyrdom. Except now that he’d kissed her, he’d learned that, with the right encouragement, she could sin gloriously. “I waited up to talk to you, my lord.”
“What the devil have we been doing for the last twenty minutes?”
His sharp question made her frown. “I’d like to know your plans, given what happened the other night.”
With a loud clank, he slammed the kettle back on the heat. A mixture of hope and disbelief set his heart banging against his ribs. He’d convinced himself that she was out of reach. Was he mistaken? “My plans? For bedding you?”
Her eyes widened with shock and she stepped back. Much further and she’d be in the corridor. “No, of course not.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it,” he muttered, disappointment descending like a landslide. He wanted Eleanor Trim. At this moment, he wanted her more than he wanted his political career or his good reputation. For a brief, dazzling moment, he’d wondered if he might yet get her.
She licked her lips, setting his blood to flame. He needed to get out of this kitchen before he abandoned his honor. Her hands twined nervously at her waist, another characteristic gesture. “When are you going to dismiss me?”
He scowled, cranky with her, the world, himself. Heaven had created her to lie in his arms. Why did this world make that perfect outcome impossible? “What bloody rot is this?”
The tense line of her shoulders eased until she stood more naturally. How interesting that she was more comfortable with his bad temper than his questions. More than ever, he was convinced that she hid something.
“I can’t bear this waiting, my lord. It’s cruel. I know you want me gone. I heard you talking to your mother last week. When you caught me—”
“When I caught you red-handed in my bedroom,” he said silkily, perversely beginning to enjoy himself. He’d had no idea that she’d been on such tenterhooks.
She nodded. “It’s a good excuse to get rid of me.”
“I have no intention of telling my mother that I kissed her companion. I told you that what happened was my fault.”
“You also told me that gentlemen didn’t chase the servants,” she retorted.
“Miss Trim…” Although in his heart, he called her Eleanor. “That night reflects badly on both of us. Perhaps we should close the door on it.”