Page 21 of Unbound Duchess

As they stopped at a carriage on the street, Ellen listened quietly as the two men in gray masks argued. She was not at all certain what they were talking about, but when the one who was not Laurence Curtis spoke of destroying the auction, she felt even better about her decision to ask for the duke’s help.

“We will speak about this later, Solomon!” the duke snapped. “I am taking her out of here.”

The man Laurence called Solomon turned to her then, and even through his mask, she could feel his disapproval coming off of him in waves.

“Yes, we will,” Solomon answered through gritted teeth. He then turned back to Laurence and stepped close as he put a hand on his shoulder. “You might have saved one, but the others are still damned. This will not avenge Annabel.”

It was only slight, and nowhere near as hurtful as Benedict’s, but Ellen felt Laurence’s grip tighten even more around her hand as a tense silence stretched between the two rather large men.

“I am well aware of that, old friend.” Laurence’s deep voice sounded hollow, even pained, as he said the words.

Solomon’s mask moved, as if he was grinding his jaw in frustration. Then he bowed his head and gave a sigh.

“I will see you soon,” he said defeatedly, patting Laurence’s shoulder.

“You are not coming?” Laurence called after him.

“I need a walk,” Solomon called over his shoulder. “I will find my own way home when I am ready.”

Tension churned in the air as Ellen and Laurence both watched Solomon disappear into the darkness at the end of the street. Then Laurence sighed, and opened the carriage door.

“Come,” he urged, guiding her to her seat inside first. “You need to get away from this place and I need to get this infernal thing off my face.”

Ellen said nothing, her mind still whirling with all the events the night had unfurled. She’d gone from running away, to thinking she was free, to being captured by the man she was running away from, sold at an auction, and was now considered ‘property’ of the only man that had ever offered to help her.

It was only after they were settled on opposite sides of the carriage, and the driver was taking them down the street, that Laurence removed his mask and expelled a weary breath. Ellen studied his face; exhaustion marred his handsome features. Features that, though she could not quite place them, seemed far more familiar. She told herself it was simply because she’d seen and met him in her home, and that their strange argument had been so odd, that she had no choice but to remember it.

“You did not want to do this,” she said quietly, breaking the silence.

Still resting his elbows against his knees, Laurence’s green gaze slowly lifted up, his mouth still set in that grim expression.

“Neither did you,” he replied.

Though she didn’t know why, Ellen laughed. Perhaps because it was so ridiculously awful that if she did not laugh she would cry again, and she did not wish to do that.

“So,” Laurence sighed, leaning back into the cushioned seat. “It seems you did need my help after all.”

Ellen followed suit and sat back in her seat, realizing only in that moment that several hours, if not days, had passed since she let her body relax.

“How did you know?” she asked, twirling her fingers together, then apart, over and over again in an effort to self-soothe. “At the party, I mean. How did you know I needed help?”

Laurence’s gaze fell to the bruises on her face.

“I saw you flinch. Twice. Once when he reached for you. And once when I reached to push your hair out of your face,” Laurence answered.

“I was so prideful when you first asked me if I needed help,” Ellen sighed, ashamed of how she’d yelled at him that night. “I thought I did not need help from a stranger. That I could do this on my own! I ran my father’s house. I can surely run my own life!”

A bitter laugh broke from her lips as she looked down at her hands.

“I was a stupid girl,” she muttered.

“Some would say brave,” Laurence offered, his deep voice smooth and gentle.

A smile twitched on Ellen’s lips, but only for a second.

“That is kind of you to say, but not necessarily true. My efforts landed me in the auction,” she replied, reaching up to gingerly touch the marks on her face. “With more bruises than before.”

“Might I ask, how did you end up here?” Laurence asked.