MY RUIN: In Love With My Step-Uncle-Chapter 22 - Twenty-Two: The Ghost of Eleanor

//CLARA//

We rode back to the stables in silence, the only sounds the soft footfall of hooves and the distant call of night birds. Casimir’s hand found mine in the dark, squeezing once before we rounded the final bend.

"We need to be careful," he murmured.

"Let me guess. I sneak in, you sneak in later, we pretend we didn’t just spend the evening in a forest clearing." I tilted my head. "Very mysterious. I like it."

His mouth twitched. "I thought you might."

I raised an eyebrow. "And then?" 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Just as you said. Fifteen minutes."

"Very romantic."

"Survival."

I kissed him once—quick, fierce, and entirely too short—then slipped toward the manor before I could talk myself out of it.

The servants’ corridor was dark, thank God, which was either incredibly fortunate or deeply ominous depending on how paranoid I was feeling. I crept along the wall, counting doors, my ruined lavender dress rustling with every step. Nearly there. Just a few more feet—

Footsteps.

I pressed myself into a shadowed alcove, heart hammering so loudly I was certain it could be heard in the next county.

Higgins rounded the corner.

He stopped. His eyes traveled over me with the kind of quiet assessment that made me feel like a bug under a very polite microscope. My rumpled dress. My tangled hair. The small leaf I had somehow missed caught in the lace at my shoulder.

His face revealed absolutely nothing.

"Miss Eleanor." A pause that stretched into eternity. "It’s late."

"I couldn’t sleep. Took a walk." I smiled with all the innocence I could muster, which was approximately zero. "Very meditative. You should try it. Great for the constitution."

"Of course." Another pause, weighted with everything he was too professional to say. He bowed slightly. "Goodnight, miss."

He continued down the hall. I stood there frozen, my pulse slowly returning to something resembling normal.

Well. That’s fine. Everything’s fine.

He definitely didn’t notice the thoroughly kissed look or the fact that I look like I just rolled out of a hedge maze. Which I technically did.

I made it to my room, locked the door, and slid down against it, pressing my hand to my chest until my breathing steadied.

Sleep was a lost cause.

I paced the perimeter of my room like a caged tiger, too wired, too full, too everything to even contemplate closing my eyes. I touched my lips, still buzzing from the memory of his taste. I replayed every second of it. The way he’d said my name. The way his fingers had tightened in my hair. The way he’d looked at me afterward, like he was still trying to process what just happened.

Restless didn’t begin to describe the energy crackling through me.

I pulled open drawers at random, not looking for anything specific, just needing to move, to do something with my hands. I rummaged through silk stockings and linen chemises and a truly alarming number of hair pins. I shoved aside gloves and ribbons and things I couldn’t name.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Then my fingers hit something solid beneath a stack of embroidered handkerchiefs.

I pulled it out.

A diary.

The familiar leather-bound book, aged and soft with years of handling. Wrapped in silk, as if someone had tried to protect it. Or hide it.

My heart stopped.

I knew what this was before I even opened it.

I sat on the floor, my back against the bed, and let the candlelight spill across the first page.

Property of Eleanor Thorne. 1879.

The handwriting was elegant, precise, nothing like my blocky scrawl. I turned the page and began to read.

*20th March, 1879*

The solicitor came today. The papers are signed. I am to go to New York, to live with my new guardian. Mr. Casimir Guggenheim...

I turned another page. And another.

*2nd April, 1879*

I’ve arrived. The house is enormous, like something from a fairy tale...

*23rd April, 1879*

He spoke to me today. Just a few words, "Good morning, Eleanor. I trust you slept well" and I’ve replayed them a hundred times...

I read until the candle burned low, until my eyes blurred and my heart ached. Entry after entry of Eleanor documenting every glance, every word, every tiny kindness. Building a shrine to a man who barely noticed her.

And then the final entry. The ink was different. Fresher. Dated just days before I arrived.

*13th June, 1879*

Something is wrong. I feel strange, disconnected, like I’m watching myself from far away. I forget things. I lose time...

I closed the diary and stared at the wall.

I should feel guilty. I should feel like a thief, wearing this girl’s skin, living her life, loving her love.

Instead, I felt something else entirely.

You don’t need to be sorry, Eleanor. I’m going to live the life you couldn’t.

I looked toward the window, toward the dark shape of the manor, toward the room where Casimir was probably lying awake. Eleanor had loved him in silence, had waited and hoped and died never knowing what his hands felt like on her skin.

I wasn’t going to wait for anything.

I’d make him burn out loud.

I blew out the candle and lay back, staring at the ceiling until dawn crept through the curtains.

The next morning, I found him in the library.

Aunt Cornelia was occupied with callers in the drawing room. The servants were busy with their endless tasks. We had minutes, maybe, before someone came looking.

I slipped through the door and locked it behind me.

He looked up from his ledger, and his eyes went dark in that way that made my entire body hum.

"You shouldn’t be here."

"Probably not." I crossed the room and slid into his lap before he could argue. "Shut up and kiss me."

His mouth found mine almost instantly, already hungry, as if we had been apart for years instead of hours. His hands slid under my skirts, finding bare skin, and I bit his lip to keep from making a sound that would echo through the entire manor.

A knock shattered the moment.

"Mr. Guggenheim? Your two o’clock is here. Mr. Ashworth from the railway consortium."

Casimir’s voice was remarkably steady for a man with his hand up my dress. "One moment."

He kissed me deeply for one more second before I slid off his lap and under his desk, pressing myself against his knees. My skirts pooled around me like a cloud, hiding me completely.

The door opened. Heavy footsteps crossed the room.

"Mr. Guggenheim! Good to see you, my friend. Sorry to interrupt your afternoon."

"Not at all, Mr. Ashworth. Please, sit."

I held my breath as the visitor settled into the chair across from Casimir. Through the narrow gap beneath the desk, I could see polished shoes and the hem of an expensive coat.

"Now, about the Hudson River line—"

The conversation droned on. Shipments and schedules and profit margins and God knew what else. I pressed my face against Casimir’s thigh to keep from laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here I was, hidden beneath the desk of a railroad magnate, while he conducted business as if he didn’t have a twenty-first century socialite curled at his feet.

Then inspiration struck.

I reached up and trailed my fingers along his calf. Just lightly. Just enough to remind him of my existence.

His leg twitched.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Guggenheim?"

"Fine. Just... a cramp. Continue."

I bit my lip to contain my grin and let my hand wander higher. His thigh muscle jumped beneath my touch.

"The figures for the third quarter are quite promising, as you can see—"

My fingers found the inside of his thigh. Traced lazy circles. He shifted in his seat.

"Mr. Guggenheim? You look distracted."

"I’m listening. Go on."

I pressed my palm flat against him and felt exactly how much he wanted me. His breath hitched as I began to move my hand, tracing the rigid outline of him through his trousers. Above me, I heard him swear under his breath.

"Are you certain you’re alright?"

"Perfectly. Please. Continue."

I was going to kill him. I was going to kill him and it was going to be glorious.

My fingers found the fastening of his trousers.

"Mr. Guggenheim—"

"Mr. Ashworth." His voice was strained, controlled, barely hanging on. "I think we’ve covered enough for today. I’ll have my secretary send over the revised contracts in the morning."

A pause. "If you’re certain."

"I am."

More shuffling followed. Polished shoes standing, crossing toward the door.

"I’ll see myself out. Get some rest, my friend. You look a bit peaky."

The door closed.

I didn’t wait for Casimir to pull me out. I emerged on my own, grinning up at him from my knees.

His chest heaving, his composure shot to hell with eyes wild, staring at me like I’d personally dismantled every wall he’d ever built.

"I just conducted an hour of business with a woman hidden under my desk. Do you have any idea how close I was to losing my mind?"

I tilted my head, all innocence. "I have absolutely no idea what you mean."

"You," he said, his voice still rough, "are an absolute menace."

"I’ve been called worse."

He hauled me up and kissed me so hard I saw stars.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"I have a few ideas."