“Yes.” Elizabeth glanced guiltily at Valen. “I... um… they were very... uh... interesting.”
“I warned you.” Valen shrugged. “Telescope at the upstairs window, no doubt.”
Lady Alameda appeared affronted. “Whatever can you mean?”
Valen didn’t answer, merely cocked his head and smiled sardonically at his aunt.
Lady Alameda concentrated on her soup, scooping up a spoonful laden with almonds. “We were simply concerned about where Lady Elizabeth might have gotten off to, what with spies running about the countryside and all.”
Valen shook his head as if they were a pair of wayward children. “I think it is safe to say the only spies here in Suffolk are you two.”
“You were both at the window?” Elizabeth asked, wishing she might crawl under the table and hide.
“Piffle. We weren’t spying. I was merely showing your father the new glass I’d purchased. Latest rage. Everyone has one. Daresay mine is considerably more advanced than the ones most sea captains have.”
“I’ve no doubt.” Valen seemed unconcerned that he and Elizabeth had been watched, their private moments invaded.
Exactly how much had his relatives seen? Elizabeth worried, had they witnessed her brazenly throwing herself into his embrace?
“Purely an accident we happened to sight you two at the old castle. Now, let me see, what were we discussing?” Lady Alameda tapped her spoon against the tablecloth. “Oh yes, I don’t believe you answered my question, Lady Elizabeth. Did you enjoy yourself?”
Lord Ransley coughed and frowned heavily at his sister over the edge of his kerchief. “Second course already, Honore, and you’ve hardly touched your soup.”
The countess lifted another spoonful, a piece of thinly sliced bacon dripping over the edge, and mumbled. “Hmm. Well, it certainly looked to me like she was enjoying herself.” She slurped loudly.
Lord Ransley heaved a sigh at his ornery sister.
Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed up, and her soupspoon wobbled horridly as she attempted to carry it to her mouth. A slice of celery dropped to the table.
Chapter 19
Silver Threads of Moonlight Muddles
THE REMAINDER of dinner passed in relative silence apart from Lord Ransley’s coughing spasms. As they finished up over quince tarts and Stilton cheese, he announced that he had hired some local musicians to entertain them for the evening.
Lady Alameda grumbled, “Don’t tell me it’s those bothersome Meyerson sisters and their old maid aunt. Who ever heard of three spinsters serving as musicians? Most peculiar. If anyone were to ask me, I’d say they were up to some sort of mischief.”
“High praise, indeed.” Valen rolled his father’s chair out of the dining room and down the hallway. “Especially coming from you, a lady so well known for orchestrating a wide variety of mischief.”
“Me? Fiddle faddle. Stand aside, I’ll do this.” She nudged Valen out of the way and took over pushing Lord Ransley. “Mischievous. Me? Ha. You are all about in your head, my boy. Obviously, you’ve had too much wine with dinner.” Putting her back into the task, she shoved her brother vigorously ahead of Valen into the gallery.
“She saw everything.” Elizabeth whispered to him.
“Can you doubt it?”
No, but she had hoped.
Valen chuckled, obviously not as disconcerted as she, and led her into a long gallery whose doors hung open to the gardens in the back of the manor.
Three middle-aged women sprang to attention at their approach and curtseyed charmingly to Lord Ransley. He expressed his gratitude at their coming on such short notice and explained that he wished to take the evening air, stroll about the garden, while they played.
“Your excellent music,” he explained, “will make the evening perfect.”
The three musicians took their places at their instruments, the piano, a harp, and flute.
Before they went out through the large double doors, Lady Alameda turned to Elizabeth and whispered behind her fan, “Perhaps you might like to perform with them Lady Elizabeth? You play the recorder, do you not?”
Elizabeth endeavored to smile. “Perhaps the sound did not carry well enough across the fields, my lady. I am certainly not proficient enough to play for company.”
“Ah, well, a pity. You would fit so well in their midst, don’t you think?” She waved at the spinster trio warming up their instruments.
Lady Alameda pushed her brother through the doors, leaving Elizabeth to brood over that lady’s acidic observation. Although, it was possible Lady Alameda had meant her pastel gown would coordinate with the light shades of the fluttering pink and green gowns of the sisters? But it was far more likely the countess meant that she, like the musicians, was a spinster.
Lord St. Evert took Elizabeth’s arm, and they walked in the evening air. The scent of roses floated like twirling gauze on the breeze, brushing against their nostrils while the piquant notes of Mozart’s concerto danced around them like audible fireflies.
The manor gardens were fit for a royal palace, with huge ball-and-arrow topiaries that must have taken decades to shape, stone benches, and a fountain in the center. In the waning light Elizabeth could not identify the individual flowers, but she caught glimpses of their color patterns artistically arranged in neatly kept borders.
In short order, Lord Ransley’s cough worsened. “Regrettably, I must retire for the evening.” He had another fit and waved his hand at them. “But I insist you must stay, enjoy the music and air as long as you wish.” As he continued to cough, Lady Alameda rolled him back to the house.
Elizabeth watched them go and couldn’t help but feel she and Valen had been maneuvered into this intimate situation. “Perhaps we ought to return as well.”
Valen brushed a lacewing fly away from her hair. “It would be a pity to waste such a beautiful night, such a perfect setting. Indeed, I believe the two of them have gone to a great deal of trouble to make it nearly ideal.”
Nearly? What could be lacking, she wondered, aside from the correct partner to share it with. “It is too bad Miss Dunworthy cannot be here to share it with you.”
“Don’t spoil it, Izzie.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Can you really be so blind?”
She said nothing but watched him press a kiss on her fingers.
“Even my father is under the impression I feel passionately about you.”
“You must enlighten him.”
The corner of his mouth curled up. “And how would you suggest I do that?”
“Tell him the truth, that you dislike me excessively.”
“The truth? Then I would have to explain to him that I wish to make love to you every time I see you.” He set her hand, the one he had just kissed, on his forearm. “Did I mention that you look particularly bewitching tonight?”
“No.” She stared at him, dazed.
“Well, you do.” He smiled warmly. “I’d mistakenly thought your inventive gowns were partly to blame for my inability to resist you. Yet tonight, when I saw you in this dress which reveals nothing, and still I felt such an overwhelming—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. “Kindly repeat that part again.”
“Which part.”
“The...” She bit the edge of her lip, unsure how to proceed without being indelicate. “The ‘make love’ part.
“Ah. You would triumph over me.” He leaned his head back, staring at the sky as if the stars and the moon might explain the complexities of women. “You would reduce a man to the sum of his urges. Very well, my lady, I will tell you. You drive me to madness for want of you.” He frowned. “There. Does that please you?”
Elizabeth shook her head. It could not be. “It can’t be. What of today? You stopped.” She stamped her foot, slipper striking feebly against the gravel path. “Because of your horse.”
“Ahh.” He laughed at her.
She glowered at him and crossed her arms.
“And if I hadn’t stopp
ed?” He tilted his head toward her, his words husky and rich, thrumming harmoniously with the mellow harp strains swirling around them.
She considered his question. I should have enjoyed it very much. But in the dim evening light, she noted the heat in his expression and realized her error. How very shortsighted she had been.
“Do you think I am made of stone?
Yes. No. She stepped back and shook her head.
“Did you think I could withstand the onslaught of your kisses without being moved?”
She averted her eyes. “I did not intend...”
“No.” He chucked her chin. “I don’t believe you did. Come. Walk with me. Before I am forced to kiss you again—right here in my father’s garden.”
He secured her hand on his arm and leaned to her ear, whispering conspiratorially. “They are probably, this very minute, up there cracking open the window and extending the telescope, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.”
She ignored his aside, still struggling to comprehend his declaration. “I thought you merely enjoyed taunting me. I didn’t believe you truly hid any warmth behind it.”
“There is no accounting for it, I agree.”
She squinted at the trees in the park ahead of them and thought she saw something rustling the shrubbery—probably a fox or an owl. “But we are not suited. You have said as much on several occasions.”
“Exactly.”
“You needn’t agree so readily.”
He patted her hand. “Would you have me deny the truth? That I find you arrogant in the extreme and—”
She yanked her hand away and turned to him, hands on hips. “I am not arrogant.”
“You most certainly are. And you have the sharpest tongue in all of Christendom.”
“I do not.”
“Right.” He knocked his palm against his forehead. “I forgot about my aunt. Very well, you have the second most lethal tongue.”
“Flatterer.” She crossed her arms.
He chuckled. “Yet in the face of it all, I find I am completely done for.”
“You have my sympathy.”
“I’m serious, Izzie.” He rubbed his hand against the satin on her shoulder. “What if I told you that I can no longer deny my feelings for you?”
He took his hand away from her shoulder.
She waited.
“It is unexplainable, this pull within me. I cannot resist you. Nevertheless I accept the reality of it. And after today, I cannot imagine...” He kneaded his brow for a moment and then straightened, soldierlike. “Life without you simply would not be palatable.”
It sounded very nearly like a proposal, and yet he was not down on one knee, he had not ascribed her beauty, or her character, as the source of his passion. Nay, he had ranted about her reprehensible traits.
“I am not quite certain what you are asking, my lord. But I am very sorry for your palate—to have to deny it such a distasteful morsel.”
He groaned. “You’ve taken offense.”
“It surprises you? You tell me you think me a perfectly dreadful person, and yet, much to your dismay, some wretched part of your physiology prefers to keep me nearby. I have no idea whether this is an indecent proposition or a proposal.”
He lifted a hand to heaven as if he might grab some help there. “It’s glaringly obvious, Izzie. I’m asking you to marry me. I may have done it badly—”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Very badly.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Surely you understand my bewilderment. You’ve held me in contempt since we first met. I felt certain you had as much aversion to me as I did to you. Then things slowly shifted, and today, after you kissed me, I realized…” His shoulders slumped and he ran his thumb gently over her shoulder. “This is all very confusing.”
“On that point, we are in complete agreement.” She refused to look at him, afraid she might fall for that earnest expression in his eyes.
“Look at me, Izzie.”
“No.”
“Please.”
She reluctantly complied.
“Things have changed.” He said it with a sincerity that almost frightened her.
“Not all things.” Elizabeth could not keep her chin from jutting up defensively. “You still insist on insulting me at every turn. No compliments. Nary a one. Anyone looking on would think you positively loathe me.”
“Is that it?” He squeezed her shoulders and let go. “You wish me to humble myself at your alter? Praise your beauty? Wax poetic over the softness of your lips? Tell you how I envy the moonlight because it touches your hair?” He exhaled loudly. “I’m a man of action, my girl. If I say such things aloud, I’m apt to yank out your pins and let your hair fall into my palm. Why talk about lips when I might be tasting them?”
She stood there wishing he would do exactly that. But he didn’t. Instead he left her raw senses at the mercy of the caressing breeze and the seductive music.
Elizabeth sighed and sat down on a bench. Valen stood in front of her like a Viking warlord losing his patience.
She could not drum up a confident air. “You are right. This is all very confusing.” In the face of her weakness and turmoil, she glanced up at Valen, knowing before she said it that she would regret the words. “You know my predicament, my lord. There are certain monetary considerations—”
In a low hard tone, he demanded the truth. “And these monetary considerations, do they take precedence over any feelings you may have toward me?”
“Feelings are fleeting.” She quoted from her father and her governess. She lifted her hand to emphasis her point, but it fluttered impotently back down to her lap. “One cannot dine on feelings nor button them up against a chill.”
“Eloquently said.”
Yes. It was a carefully constructed litany. One she had recited to herself over and over during the previous year as she convinced herself that she must marry to save her family from poverty. Elizabeth bowed her head feeling unaccountably ashamed.
“One last question, and then I will not trouble you any further with my irksome declarations.”
Declarations? She glanced up. Were they? If only he had declared his love, she might have... done what? Abandoned her family? No. Better that he hadn’t forced her to make that choice.
“This afternoon.”
She didn’t look up, but she could hear him saying it through clenched teeth.
“When you came so readily into my arms and willingly kissed me...” His shadow fell over her, blocking out the moonlight. “Did you feel nothing?”
I felt as if my soul might melt into yours. He would jeer at her for such a foolish notion.
Valen stepped back, waiting, as shafts of moonlight landed in her lap. Elizabeth stared at her useless hands, catching the silver of the moon but unable to hold it. She glanced up, desperate for him to understand without being forced to say the words.
“Exactly.” He held out his arm and led her back to the gallery.
The ladies had just finished playing. His aunt sat in a chair facing the musicians and clapped enthusiastically.
Valen deposited Elizabeth into the chair next to Lady Alameda. “You must excuse me.” He bowed to them. “The day’s activities have wearied me.”
The trio began playing a selection from Handel, a lovely melancholy sonata that twined around Elizabeth’s frayed emotions like a choking vine.
Lady Alameda turned to her. “Made a muddle of it, did you, my dear?”
Elizabeth found she could not answer for fear the giant lump in her throat might suffocate her. A tear trickled down her cheek, a hot stinging tear. She dashed it away. Lady Alameda clucked her tongue in a wordless scold. And the gentle music wound tighter and tighter around Elizabeth’s lonely soul.
Chapter 20
The Phantasmagorical Embroidery of Time
HER SCREAM AWOKE him—ripping through the heavy quiet of night with stark terror. Valen bolted upright, his heart pounding like gunfire.
Another of her
nightmares. Devil take Merót!
The second scream was cut short. He threw back the blankets. She would wake the entire household. He jumped up and yanked on his trousers. Perhaps Biggs was right, maybe he ought to wear something to bed. It might save him time in situations like these. But a nightdress? He pulled on a shirt as he stumbled out of his room and down the hall toward her chamber.
“Elizabeth?” He pushed open her door.
She sat up in bed, trembling, her eyes wide, hugging her pillow, shaking her head at him. The curtain hung open, the window thrown wide, allowing a soft breeze to ruffle through the room. Moonlight trickled in from behind racing clouds.
She looked so terrified of him, Valen wondered if she might still be half-asleep. Her face was nearly as white as the bed covers. “Izzie? Don’t be afraid, sweeting. It’s only me. You’re having another of your dreams.”
“No!” She held out her hand, warding him off, shaking her head frantically, gulping for air.
“Don’t be frightened.” Valen went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. He cupped her cheek, smoothing back her damp dark hair. “You’re safe, Izzie.”
“N-o.” The simple word fell from her lips in two syllables, broken by gasps of air and fear. Her gaze darted to the gloom in the corner of the room, and her panic intensified. Valen realized, too late, his error. He spun around.
From the shadows, he emerged. “An interesting tableau, eh?” A pistol leveled at them.
“Merót.”
“The same.” He inclined his head. “Good evening, Monsieur Hawk.”
Valen reached back and pulled Izzie close behind him, keeping his body between her and the Frenchman. He kept his voice steady, fighting the fury swelling up inside him. “I see you evaded my men in London.”
“Evaded? Ha! I strolled out of London without the least hint of trouble. You British, you are so egotistical. So deliciously overconfident.” He kissed his fingers and threw it at them, chuckling. “Your king is insane. Your prince is a fat idiot. Your people are hungry. And still, you think you rule the world. Bah! Soon you will see—you are nothing but a pathetic little island.”
Cut from the Same Cloth: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 3) Page 14
