by Gayle Callen
She pointed to the far wall, and with his height, he looked over many of the guests.
“Ah, I see her. Would you like to accompany me, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth thought that if she had to smile nicely at his family, after the sinful things they’d just done together, she would be a quivering wreck. “Would you mind if I join you later? I’d like to speak with Lucy.”
He nodded, kissing the back of her hand, his eyes smoldering. Another hot wave of weakness swept over her. She couldn’t even pretend it was caused by too many people packed into one small ballroom. He smiled winningly at Lucy before disappearing into the crowd.
Lucy plucked at her skirt and Elizabeth frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I found a leaf caught in your beading!” her friend whispered.
Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes. She wanted to seem desperately in love with Peter, but this was too much.
“You were outside with him?” Lucy asked into her ear.
Elizabeth looked about. “We can’t talk here.”
“Since the card games are in the drawing room, let’s try the library for privacy.”
“The library,” Elizabeth said grimly. “Of course.”
Once inside the empty room, Lucy locked the door. Elizabeth stood awkwardly, trying not to twist her fingers together. She’d already clutched the front of her skirts, perhaps damaging the delicate satin.
Why was she worried? she thought bitterly. Any damage had already been done on a stone bench, under Peter’s hands.
When she at last looked into her friend’s expectant face, her guilt seemed to sit in the pit of her stomach. Why did she feel this way? After all, Lucy knew almost everything—except about the painting and Thomas’s threats—and had approved of her using Peter’s courtship methods on William.
But . . . surely Lucy was just as ignorant as she herself had been about the intimacies between men and women, or she would have argued against Elizabeth’s plan.
“How does it go?” Lucy asked. “You were outside with Mr. Derby?” She held up the leaf.
Elizabeth crumpled it and tossed it into the bare hearth. “I was.”
“And . . . ?”
“Do you see any other leaves or twigs?”
Lucy circled her. “What were you doing, falling onto the lawn?”
“No, I was on a bench. And I was letting Peter kiss me.”
“Oooh! How exciting!”
“Lucy, I am not marrying Peter, remember?”
“I know, but you’re not engaged to my brother either. There is no reason to feel embarrassed for kissing a man.”
“Being found kissing a man can make a woman engaged very quickly.”
“But you’re already engaged,” Lucy said in a confused voice. “Or so they all think. Why is kissing always taken so seriously?”
“Because of where it leads,” Elizabeth whispered, hugging herself.
Lucy’s smile faded. “Where did it lead, Elizabeth?”
“Too far. Men like to . . . touch a woman. And it feels far too good. Do you remember how wonderful it felt the first time you danced in a man’s arms?”
Lucy nodded uncertainly.
“It is so much better than that.”
“But . . . you’re not in love with Mr. Derby.”
“And he’s not in love with me. But that doesn’t seem to matter. It’s like . . . my body had its own mind, and I wasn’t in charge.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in sudden horror. “Did he . . . ruin you?”
“No! Heavens, no! I stopped it before it went too far. But at least now I know something of what men like.”
“And William will like this?”
“I’m certain he will.”
Lucy grimaced. “I can’t picture my brothers alone with women. It’s unnatural.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Elizabeth. “Thank you for that distraction. You want William alone with me, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t have to think about it, do I?”
“I don’t want to think about it either.”
“It was so terrible?”
“Oh no—and that was the problem. How will I face Peter again, remembering the scandalous way he touched me—and the forbidden way he made me feel?”
Peter had gone to bed late and frustrated—and not just out of aching desire for Elizabeth. Yet he’d still awoken early, and was already dressed for riding.
Having learned nothing new about her secrets, at least he now knew she was not indifferent to his touch. He had known she enjoyed his kisses, of course, but that was far different than sharing the intimacies they had last night. She’d been so responsive, so wonderful—how could she not see that she belonged with him?
He’d had too much experience with women this past year, as he’d striven to change himself, to forget. Being with Elizabeth was like opening a window on the first day of spring—he felt like he’d come back to life, or perhaps found the life he was always meant to have.
But she was innocent; it was up to him to show her the truth. And the only way to do that was to spend even more time together. Elizabeth and Mary Anne were driving in the park this morning. He would “accidentally” meet up with them.
It rained during the night, but the mist had burned off by the time he reached Hyde Park. There were not many carriages, so he thought it would be easy to spot them, but none looked familiar. Had they argued and gone already?
And then in the distance he saw two horses thundering toward him. Two women rode sidesaddle, one with her light hair streaming back—Mary Anne—and one with a jaunty hat perched on her dark hair. Elizabeth. He only briefly glimpsed her expression, but he could not miss her exhilaration, her joy. She’d forgotten her worries with this ride, and he was glad for her.
As they shot past him at a gallop, he lifted a hand, but wasn’t sure they even saw him until they gradually slowed the animals to a walk. They circled back toward him, their horses blowing with exertion, their own breathing quickened.
“Couldn’t leave us alone for even a morning?” Mary Anne demanded lightly.
Peter shrugged. “I thought you might come to blows.”
Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Who won?” then glanced almost haughtily at Elizabeth.
“I didn’t really notice,” Peter said, finding that he couldn’t stop watching Elizabeth, that hat tied with a ribbon beneath her chin making her look so adorable. Adorable? What kind of word was that? Hardly masculine vocabulary. “Ravishing” was clearly a better word. There was a flushed glow to her face, and her black eyes gleamed.
“You didn’t notice?” Mary Anne said, then followed his gaze to Elizabeth. “Lovesick men,” she grumbled.
Elizabeth held his gaze, and her blush only heightened. Her horse nervously danced to the side, and he saw her relief as she looked away to control the animal.
“I think you won, Mary Anne,” Elizabeth said.
Mary Anne sighed her frustration. “Don’t be so conciliatory.”
Elizabeth glanced with more interest at his sister. “You didn’t want to win? You’re the one who suggested we ride.” She looked at Peter, smiling. “I thought we would be driving in a carriage so we could talk.”
And then she blushed and couldn’t look at him anymore. He knew exactly what she was remembering.
“Too boring,” Mary Anne said. “And even you have to admit that was thrilling.”
Elizabeth’s sparkling eyes gave her away. “It has been some time since I raced.”
She’d raced against him in her youth, Peter remembered, sometimes regardless of his protest that the path was too dangerous or the fence too high. She’d been fearless then. Like most adults, she’d learned caution—perhaps too much. And then all her buried wildness had burst forth with that painting.
“You’re not bad.” Mary Anne’s compliment was grudging but seemed sincere.
Peter grinned. “I think she’s rather reckless on a horse. Always was.”
Elizabeth frowne
d at him.
Mary Anne didn’t notice as she said, “Reckless? She had superb control. Women don’t have to sedately walk a horse. I never thought a brother of mine wouldn’t understand that.”
“I didn’t say anything of the kind,” Peter answered.
“I imagine you want to ride with her yourself,” Mary Anne continued.
Elizabeth straightened, hastily saying, “Oh, no, please ride with us. It’s been a very enjoyable morning.”
“Thank you, but I can see true love needs time together. My groom is here somewhere. Have a good day, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Call me Elizabeth,” Elizabeth said to her retreating back. Then she sighed.
Peter studied her. “That seemed to go well.”
Elizabeth shrugged and turned her horse, about to continue walking down the path. “We didn’t talk much.”
“But she respects your horsemanship.”
“I imagine it’s a start.”
She looked straight ahead as she rode, and although her horse gradually cooled down, she did not, for the blush still lightly touched her face.
Hesitantly, she said, “I was hoping to talk about—”
“You looked magnificent as you galloped toward me,” Peter said.
She stiffened so much her horse danced sideways and bumped into his.
“Peter—”
“Your Spanish eyes were alight with fire. You enjoy letting go of your control.”
“It was only a race! You and I must have done the same thing dozens of times.”
“You always were competitive.”
“But I didn’t know how very competitive Mary Anne felt toward me,” she said glumly. “Not much of a basis for friendship. Especially since I trapped her into accepting my company.”
“As you said, it was a start. We can’t discover Mary Anne’s problem and help her in a day or two.”
“We don’t have all that much time, Peter. When we break the engagement, any relationship she and I have will be finished.”
He didn’t intend to break the engagement, but he couldn’t very well tell her that.
“We did talk a bit while we waited for the grooms to saddle two horses,” Elizabeth said. “Strangely enough, we talked about you.”
“Much as you two grew up as neighbors, I seem to be the only common link between you,” he said wryly.
“We talked about your businesses again.”
“Businesses?”
“I understand you’ve branched out from railways to shipping. You never told me that.”
“It is a natural progression, two different methods of shipping goods. The investment is sound.”
“And attending a dinner tonight with the Southern Railway board of directors is part of your investment strategy?”
He hesitated, watching her profile until at last she met his gaze. She was interested, concerned, as if he were hiding a dark secret from her. “Yes.”
“Mary Anne says the directors and their wives are attending. She seemed to be very interested that you chose not to invite your fiancée. She was a tad . . . smug.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. You know she’s not taking this well.”
“And she’s competitive,” Elizabeth added, smiling faintly. “But if I’m pretending to be your fiancée, wouldn’t I be invited tonight?”
“I didn’t think it would matter to you.”
“Won’t everyone believe I hold myself above them, that I didn’t deign to attend a meeting of industrialists and their wives?”
“I would assure them—”
“I would like to attend, Peter.”
“Even after last night?” he asked softly, at last allowing his gaze to travel down her body, to those breasts he’d held and worshipped.
She seemed to stop breathing, then indignantly said, “You’re trying to distract me!”
“Elizabeth—”
“Will you take me with you?”
When they were only friends, he would have thought nothing of it. But now his very future with her might ride on this night.
“Very well,” he said. “I will call for you at six.”
It was her turn to give a smug smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“But I have one condition.”
Her expression turned wary. “And what is that?”
“You wear a gown and corset that are easily removed.”
Her mouth dropped open, red flooded her face, and she drew her horse to an uneasy stop. “What kind of wicked condition is that?”
“I’m not finished with your lessons, Elizabeth,” he said with quiet firmness.
“I think last night I learned all I want to know!” But her voice was breathless, hesitant.
“Really? You think you know everything? I’ve taught you how to please a woman, but I don’t think that lesson will do you much good.”
“But—”
“Doesn’t this reluctant mystery suitor of yours need persuasion?”
“I—I—” She practically sputtered, and no coherent words formed.
He leaned an elbow on the pommel and gave her a knowing look. “I promise to wear something equally easy to remove. Now why don’t I escort you back to my town house, so you can take your carriage home.”
Her lips practically slammed together in a straight, prim line as she nodded and rode ahead of him.
Chapter 14
That night, Peter sat across from Elizabeth in the carriage and watched her squirm. She didn’t meet his eyes, only looked out the window as if she’d never seen Mayfair before and was fascinated. But she must have been very aware of him, for every time he adjusted his position, she flinched. He didn’t try to make conversation, didn’t try to seduce her—that would come later.
The deep green gown she wore was elegant, but without elaborate decorations. He was almost tempted to ask her to show him the fastenings, but decided that would make her too nervous. Let her think he was only teasing her this morning.
When the carriage stopped after a very short time, she at last gave him an astonished look. “We’re here already?”
“Mr. Bannaster has a fashionable town house. He’s made himself a very wealthy man.”
As they waited for the footman to open the door, she said, “He is married, yes?”
He nodded.
“And how many people will be here tonight?”
“I would think less than twenty, but I’m not certain of the exact amount. Other people might bring guests, just like I’m bringing you.”
“You didn’t tell them I was accompanying you?” she demanded, her expression aghast.
“I only decided this morning.”
“But—But—Mrs. Bannaster will have worked out the seating arrangements, and now my presence will change all of her plans!”
“I’m certain she’ll be fine with it,” he said, surprised at her reaction.
“Oh—you men!” She flounced back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “Do you think a dinner party just magically happens?”
He frowned. “No, it looks like there is some effort involved.”
“And seating arrangements!”
She would have said more, but the door was opened from the outside, the step lowered, and a white-wigged footman bowed and reached to help her descend. Peter followed, then offered her his arm as they walked up the stairs.
In the gilded entrance hall, Elizabeth lagged behind to hand her wrap to the butler, so Peter faced their host and hostess first.
“Bannaster,” he said, nodding as he shook the older man’s hand and smiled at his wife. “Mrs. Bannaster, thank you so much for offering us your home for the evening.”
They were both middle-aged and stout, but with a vitality that seemed to come along with being a part of a new industry transforming the world.
Elizabeth appeared at his side, smiling and lovely. Mrs. Bannaster arched a brow at Peter even as she smiled back.
Peter cleared his throat. “Please forgive me for failing
to notify you in advance, but I’ve brought my fiancée. Mr. and Mrs. Bannaster, this is Lady Elizabeth Cabot.”
Mr. Bannaster’s bushy brows rose halfway up his forehead, while Mrs. Bannaster’s face paled and her mouth briefly fell open. Peter felt Elizabeth’s hand tense on his arm, and he knew she feared that her worries were coming true.
Then Mrs. Bannaster burst into a silly grin and sank into a curtsy. “Milady, what an honor ye do me!”
Mrs. Bannaster’s accent betrayed her humble East London beginnings, but to Peter it was a testament to her determination.
Elizabeth blinked for a moment at the effusive greeting, then her smile returned, although to Peter’s trained eye she still appeared worried.
Elizabeth curtsied back. “Please, Mrs. Bannaster, the honor is all mine. I hope I have not inconvenienced you.”
“Oh, my dear, of course not! Do come in and allow me to introduce ye.” As she took Elizabeth’s arm to lead her forward, she looked back at Peter. “What a devil you are, Mr. Derby, snarin’ yourself a lady.”
He exchanged a laugh with her husband, but he wished he could have seen Elizabeth’s expression.
Mrs. Bannaster led Elizabeth about the drawing room, introducing her to the Staplehills, the Perries, the Huttons, and the Wiltons. The husbands were all directors of the Southern Railway. One by one the ladies curtsied and the men bowed, and Elizabeth responded to each. Whenever she moved from one group to the next, the women she left behind reacted the same way, gaping at each other behind her back as if royalty were in their midst. The men had one identical reaction as well—an approving grin for Peter.
“And of course you must know Lord and Lady Thurlow,” Mrs. Bannaster said last.
Viscount Thurlow, heir to the Earl of Banstead, was a tall, powerfully built man with pale blue eyes that gleamed with intelligent amusement. His wife was small and plump, with hair so blond as to look like a halo about her head.
“Lady Elizabeth, it is good to see you again,” Lord Thurlow said.
She curtsied to him. “Good evening, Lord Thurlow.” Then she smiled at his wife. “Lady Thurlow, I am so sorry I was unable to attend your last reception for the arts. It is the favorite event of my cousin, Miss Susanna Leland.”
