Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Watters

  Unfolding the clipping from the London Times, dated June 2, 1865, she read: LORD WINSTON CARLISLE SHOT AND KILLED BY BROTHER. An inquest held by the coroner of Middlesex in the White Horse Inn at Kensington disclosed today that Lord Winston Carlisle, Earl of Westwendham, died as a result of wounds suffered at the hands of his brother, Edmund Carlisle, next in line to the earldom, who was arrested, but enroute to prison he escaped. Authorities are searching for the fugitive...

  Eliza stared at the clipping. Certainly the man who'd held her in his arms and teased her with his kisses and caresses could not have shot his brother in cold blood. But then, she knew little about Lord Damon Ravencroft. Or, was it Lord Edmund Carlisle?

  Heart thrumming, she reread the piece. Why would he do such a thing? How could he do such a thing? Returning the papers to the box, she left on silent feet, anxious to be away from this room, away from Damon. But she still had not found the opal. There was only one other place to look. The master study. Another locked chamber. And she'd go there now.

  ***

  Damon sealed his letter to the Queen informing Her Majesty of the existence and the availability of the Burning of Troy opal. He hadn't planned to sit at his desk in the middle of the night and compose the missive, but it was impossible to sleep. A beautiful face kept invading his mind. He slipped the opal from his pocket and held it in his fingers. Turning it in the lamplight, the stone blazed with scintillating flashes, reminding him of the fire in Eliza's eyes after he'd kissed her. "My friend, I'm a sad sap," he said aloud, because the opal seemed to be a living, breathing thing, "falling for a woman who's as aimless as an autumn leaf, as vagrant as the wind, and as elusive as a dream." The opal, absorbing the heat from his hand, grew brighter, blazed redder. "So you agree? But what am I to do?"

  Until Eliza whirled into his life and made him yearn with a desire he'd never known, Damon hadn't realized how much he dreaded an existence without her. He wanted her beyond all reason, wanted to hear her melodious voice, and laugh at her quick wit, and taste her sweet lips, and feel her warm naked body beneath him. Her image hovered in his mind by day and haunted his thoughts by night. What he couldn't imagine was letting her slip out of his life, and that was the crux of it. After the sale of the opal and the plantation he'd be returning to England and he couldn't arrive with a gypsy hoyden for a wife, but for the time he had left, he'd do everything in his power to have her as his mistress.

  Hearing footsteps, he turned. And stared in shocked surprise. Eliza stood in the doorway. For some reason she'd changed into her black working dress, and standing in the shadows as she was, she was more beautiful than he could ever imagine a woman being. He dropped the opal into his coat pocket and waited for her reason for being there.

  ***

  Struggling to find her voice, her mind still visualizing the opal in Damon's coat pocket, Eliza said, while walking toward him, "I couldn't sleep, my lord. All I wanted was to be with you, so, I thought I'd come find you. I hope you don't mind."

  Damon walked up to her and kissed her. "You look like an elegant lady, not the gypsy hoyden I captured at the fair."

  Eliza felt awkward, knowing what was to come. Still, she had to do it. Curving her arms around his neck, she said, "So, you think I look like a lady?"

  Damon clasped his hands behind her waist. "I venture to say if you dressed in gowns of silks and satins you'd look the proper memsahib."

  Eliza peered up at him. "And where would I get these gowns of silks and satins?"

  "From me."

  Eliza laughed lightly. "Do you plan to keep me on as your laundry maid and pay me in gowns?" she asked, her voice playful, though her heart was beating rapidly with the thought of what she was about to do.

  "Not as my laundry maid. As my mistress."

  "Your mistress?" His proposal caught Eliza up short. But of course that's what she'd be. She was a half-blood. Someone to become a man's mistress, never his wife. Then she realized it made no difference. Soon she'd be away from Lord Damon Ravencroft and the effect he had on her.

  He kissed her lightly. "Why so serious? Certainly you like the idea of gowns and jewels and silk against your skin? I'd have you dressed like a queen and riding in a fine coach, and all you'd have to do is warm my bed."

  Eliza put her hands on his chest. "I'll think on it and let you know tomorrow," she said, knowing there would be no tomorrow for them. Only the next few minutes.

  Damon planted a kiss beneath her ear. "Is it so hard for you to choose between working in a wash house or wearing silk gowns and sleeping in my bed?"

  Eliza tipped her head back, allowing him access to her throat. "I've never been a man's mistress before… umm," she moaned, as his lips moved down the column of her neck. "Perhaps I wouldn't meet your expectations."

  "You already have. You're everything I want." Damon kissed her chin and her jaw and teased her lips apart, caressing her tongue with his.

  As his hands began to seek those places that gave her pleasure, Eliza was almost overcome with desire. But she would not be distracted. Not this time. And when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, then slowly and repeatedly withdrew it in a pre-mating ritual as old as time, Eliza moved her palms down his sides and ever so slowly slipped a hand into his pocket, where her fingers closed around a smooth round object.

  Heart thumping, adrenaline rushing through her, she broke the kiss and whispered against his ear, "Tomorrow, my lord, we can talk about the arrangement you have in mind."

  "Then you will be my mistress?"

  "Yes, but for tonight I must get back to my room." Eliza felt a flush of remorse that she'd never know the pleasures his intimate caresses promised. Although she'd been greatly distracted by his kiss and the path of his hands, she'd obtained her objective.

  Anxious to flee before he discovered the opal missing, she said, "Goodnight, my lord. Until tomorrow..." then turned and left the room.

  The opal clutched in her hand, she scurried down the hallway and left the house.

  Crouching low and staying in the moonlit shadows, she crept toward the gates where she saw Januz's shadowy figure. But as she approached, she caught sight of something laying in the path. A body. She recognized at once Damon's gateman, with her ivory-handled knife in his chest. Her knife had come up missing from the sheath on her leg when she'd changed into the black dress. Now she knew she'd lost it while dancing.

  When she reached for the knife, Januz grabbed her arm and dragged her to where his horse stood waiting. But he'd brought no horse for her.

  "Let me go," she cried.

  Januz tightened his grip on her arm. "They find gateman with ivory-handled knife in heart, knife belonging to gypsy girl who steal opal. You in big trouble, posh-rat."

  Eliza looked toward the dead gateman. Damon would recognize the knife as hers and blame her for his murder as well as for stealing his opal, and she'd been betrayed by gypsies who used her to recover their talisman, yet had no intention of letting her return to the tribe.

  "The opal," Januz said. "I take it. Now!"

  "No!" Eliza tightened her fist around it.

  Januz grabbed her wrist. Iron-like fingers pried her hand open and he took the opal.

  From the direction of the house came excited voices. With no time to recapture the gem or retrieve her ivory-handled knife, Eliza launched herself onto Januz's horse, kicked it in the flanks, and sent the animal racing down the moonlit road and into the night.

  CHAPTER 4

  London, England – Three Years Later

  "By Jove, is it really you? What a sight for sore eyes." Lord William Sheffield addressed the elegantly-clad gentleman in the white silk tunic, fitted black breeches, and deep purple turban. "Prince Rao Singh I presume," he added in jest, while clasping Damon's hand. "Welcome to London, my friend. I trust your ocean crossing was uneventful?"

  Damon let out a short guffaw. "As uneventful as it could be for a Rajput prince from the Punjab." He stroked his thick moustache and full beard. "It seems the ladies have a
fondness for whiskered princes decked out in silks. I look forward to my return voyage when I can be my depraved self again."

  Lord Sheffield laughed. "You might consider keeping the crop of whiskers, Damon. Not only do they conceal your identity, but they hide your perennial scowl."

  Damon cocked a cynical brow. "The scowl will go along with the bloody whiskers and Indian garb when I clear my name and claim my birthright."

  "And you expect to accomplish that while here in London?"

  "I intend to get the process started, with your generous help. I'll be forever indebted to you, William.

  "Well, I wish you luck, my friend. It's been a long time coming. I only hope my daughter will receive you well. She's been away at finishing school so she knows nothing about you or your quest while here in London, and we'll leave it at that. How much time can you spare for courting?"

  "A few days at most, but judging from the reaction of the ladies aboard ship, a prince from the Punjab has an edge over London's fops and dandies, and definitely over Lord Damon Ravencroft, if my infamous name followed me from India."

  "If it did, Elizabeth will have my assurance that Lord Ravencroft is a man of honor. You are still a man of honor aren't you, Damon?"

  Damon eyed the man with assurance. "Where your daughter is concerned, I give you my word. When do you intend to tell her who Prince Rao Singh really is?"

  "Only when necessary. All females like to talk nineteen to the dozen, and it wouldn't do for word to get out that Lord Carlisle was roaming around British soil, at least not until your solicitor has built a solid case for you. Incidentally, the full beard and thick mustache do indeed hide your identity. I would not have recognized you had you not told me in advance. I'm also glad you are finally taking steps to clear your name."

  "I am, but it won't be easy. My half-brother had powerful friends who, even after his death, wouldn't hesitate to tamper with documents in order to prove I'm not rightful heir to Westwendham."

  "Well, if Elizabeth accepts your hand, this will be behind you in the near future."

  "I hope so, and I look forward to meeting Elizabeth."

  Lord Sheffield gave him a wavering smile. "I think you'll find her not only a woman of rare and exotic beauty, but poised and gracious as well, now that she has completed finishing school." He eyed Damon with uncertainty. "However, I need to explain the circumstances leading to her flight to India. In our correspondence I touched only briefly on it. I didn't want to scare you off before speaking directly to you."

  Damon laughed. "You should know by now, William, I don't scare easily."

  "I know, but it would be dishonest of me to withhold from you Elizabeth's motives for leaving school years ago and running off to India as she did, the way she did."

  Damon looked at Lord Sheffield with interest. "Well then, please continue."

  Lord Sheffield steepled his fingers, drew in a slow breath, and said, "When Elizabeth was eight and we were living at Shanti Bhavan, her mother did something that was so beyond the pale, I led Elizabeth to believe she died. I also thought it best for Elizabeth to leave India in order to be away from the servants' scuttlebutt, so I sent her to boarding school in London, but, when she was sixteen, her mother learned of Elizabeth's whereabouts and wrote to her. When Elizabeth found out her mother was alive and living in Calcutta, she was so angry with me she ran away from school then convinced a couple voyaging to India that in return for providing passage for her, she'd mind their bevy of children. This left me to assume she'd been kidnapped from school. She didn't contact me for many years, but when she did, I immediately arranged passage for her return. She's a very resourceful young woman, and not disobedient under normal circumstances. I'm sure you'd have no trouble with her as a wife."

  Damon laughed in irony. "Indeed. Every man wants a poised, gracious, rare and exotic run-away for a wife. Actually, she sounds fascinating."

  Lord Sheffield's brows gathered in a deep frown. "I don't know whether fascinating is the right word to describe Elizabeth. Maybe impulsive, though she's not impulsive as a matter of course, only under extreme circumstances."

  "I suppose that's understandable."

  Lord Sheffield smiled. "I'm relieved you feel that way. It's not been easy finding a suitable match for Elizabeth. I wouldn't delve into her dubious behavior with any of her suitors, unless of course they asked for her hand, in which case I'd have to tell them. I'm relieved you're still open to the idea of taking Elizabeth as a wife. I had faith you would be, which is why I wrote to you about her. I'm glad it coincided with your plans to clear your name. I'm just sorry I cannot offer you my youngest daughter, Helen. She's much more settled than Elizabeth, but I have to marry my eldest first. You do understand?"

  "Of course, and I'm thankful you'd entrust either of your daughters to me. And you're very generous with the dowry. It should more than cover the expenses needed to clear my name, and your offer to intercede in my behalf is greatly appreciated."

  "That's because I know you're a man of honor who'd be good to my daughter, but there's one thing more about Elizabeth."

  Damon smiled in amusement. "I'm beginning to think there's a lot more to this woman than you're revealing, which I suppose adds to her mystique. Go ahead."

  "She also tends to be a bit more outspoken than a woman should be."

  Damon pondered another rare and exotic beauty who was also too outspoken—a gypsy wench who absconded with his opal. Had it not been for the chit, he'd long since have returned to England, but not in the guise of a whiskered Indian prince. Nor would he have to resort to an arranged marriage and a woman's dowry to clear his name. The thought that he'd allowed a piece of gypsy fluff to dupe him not only once, but twice, still grated… even while the memory of her passionate kisses and eager body clinging to him refused to let go.

  "I don't have a problem with outspoken women," he said. "And your daughter sounds intriguing. In the short time I've been in London trying to ferret out information about my enemies, I've heard talk about the beautiful and mysterious Elizabeth Sheffield who appeared on the London scene as if from out of nowhere. If she's outspoken as well, I can handle that."

  "Good because it had me worried," Lord Sheffield said. "She undoubtedly picked up the unladylike behavior while in India, though finishing school seems to have curbed that tendency. But since she's a rather headstrong young woman, and I know you to be an honorable man, I give you permission to rein her in and modify her behavior as you see fit, though never with physical force, but with firmness and understanding."

  Damon leaned forward. "I give you my word, William, I would never lay a cruel hand on your daughter. In any event, I'm glad she's finally returned to you."

  "So am I, though I regret to say, I could learn nothing about the family she lived with while in India. She's determined to put that part of her life behind, and I could get nothing out of her before she left for finishing school. I leave it to you to ferret out that information, if it's important for you to know."

  "It's not, and maybe it's best left at that. If she's happy with her life now, you should feel blessed. She's returned to you and that's what's important."

  "Yes, I suppose." Lord Sheffield's voice became wistful. "I'm just sorry you won't have a chance to meet her before the ball, but she, along with my wife and everyone else in the household, are busy with preparations, so it won't be possible."

  Damon shrugged. "I understand. Nor can I take the time. I have a lot to achieve in a short stay. If I'm here too long, London's Bobbies will start asking questions about Prince Rao Singh and learn he doesn't exist. In any event, I look forward to meeting Elizabeth at the ball, and I'll do my best to make my way to the top of her list of suitors."

  Lord Sheffield clapped Damon on the shoulder. "Good luck, my friend. If anyone can capture her willful heart, it would be you.

  ***

  Elizabeth peered at herself in the long mirror while inspecting her white ball gown with its wide skirt and numerous petticoats billowing
out, and said, "Why must I walk down the stairs instead of standing in a receiving line when the guests arrive?"

  Her step-mother, Cora, eyed her with enthusiasm. "Because this is the latest means of introducing a young woman who has been away. You'll make a grand entry."

  "But I'll feel like a giant bell." Elizabeth eyed the gown with its tulle puffs, satin ribbons, and overlay of numerous flounces.

  Cora gazed at her in approval. "But you look like a princess. You'll be the sensation of the season."

  "I don't know about that." Elizabeth repositioned the small crown on her head. "I thought tiaras were not to be worn except in the presence of royalty."

  "You will be in the presence of royalty," Cora said. "Your father invited a prince from the Punjab in India, Prince Rao Singh. The prince is anxious to meet you."

  Elizabeth looked in the mirror, catching her step-mother's eye. "That man! Why on earth did father invite him?"

  Cora held her gaze. "Because the prince is looking for a wife."

  Elizabeth laughed lightly. "Then he's looking in the wrong place. Besides, I'm only going through all of this coming out humbug to please Father."

  Although her father had been good to her since she returned from India, their relationship was tenuous. After fleeing Shanti Bhavan she'd telegraphed him, and he'd arranged passage for her to England. When she arrived he'd been overjoyed to have her back, but after that their relationship became strained. When he learned she ran away from school and made her way to India to find her mother, and didn't send word of her whereabouts because she was angry, he'd been furious. Still, he refused to divulge anything to her about the circumstances surrounding her mother, so she surmised he was hiding something, just as she was.