Poking his head into the corridor like an emerging mole would be no less scandalous than walking out boldly. Eli chose swiftness over subtlety, and dashed from Olive’s chamber down the short corridor to his own.
He heard a murmur of distant voices around the corner, but managed to slide into his room and bolt the door without being called to account for his actions.
Before a maid or footman caught him standing about in fashionable but suspiciously wrinkled apparel, Eli washed with the basin of cold water and donned fresh, unwrinkled attire.
What now?
He raked a hand through his hair as he gazed about his guest chamber.
When he’d first arrived, he hadn’t expected to stay for more than a day, and as such, had packed more books than clothing. A few days with Olive wasn’t enough. He wanted to spend a lifetime with her. He wanted—
His books.
He stared bleakly at years of meticulous, hard-won research piled atop the dressing-table he’d been using as a makeshift desk.
There had to be a way to save lives without destroying Olive’s in the process.
But how?
Once his father learnt of Eli’s romantic interest in the daughter of his mortal enemy, there would be no funding for future cures. No further research at all.
Father would forbid chemists and botany and physic gardens altogether.
There would be no hope of helping women like Eli’s mother. No lessening the chances of the same tragedy befalling children, helpless babies, like Eli had once been.
He put his books away. Without Olive, nothing else mattered.
No matter what life threw at her, she didn’t just climb back in the saddle. She adapted, she raced ahead, she beat Fate at its own game.
Every time she heard “Ladies don’t do...” she went out and did it. She’d trained the most infamous horse in all of England.
Eli would have to do the impossible, too.
He had to deal with his father.
Swiftly, he retrieved his hat and coat, and strode out of the front door and into the bracing air.
Father would be awake at this hour. As far as Eli knew, the marquess never slept. He was too busy plotting revenge against all perceived wrongs.
It was no way to live.
Eli chose Olive. Even if he could never convince her to marry him, even if all they could ever be was lovers, even if all they had was one more night, his answer did not change. He choseher.
He chose love.
Despite the early hour, the castle doors were wide open. The staff bustled about the interior, stoking fires, arranging the refreshment table, attending to guests.
Eli walked past them. He headed up the marble stairs, his pace never flagging despite the knowledge that he was walking into war.
The Marquess of Milbotham’s lair was the true enemy territory.
Eli rapped on the door.
It was wrenched open at once, almost breathlessly so, as though the London under-butler had perched at the threshold for an entire week without sleep, just in case Eli chanced to call.
Well, here he was.
The marquess turned from the window as though he’d been expecting this meeting. He probably had. The Harper farm was visible in the distance. The marquess would have seen Eli step outside and plotted his next move accordingly.
