by Donna Hatch
She laughed softly. “Certainly not, Captain Flirt. However, I will appreciate any illumination you can shed on his character, especially if it proves less than sterling.”
Kensington laughed and Richard joined in. Dinner was announced. Richard congratulated himself for having the sense to direct Mrs. Brown to hire more help and especially for finding the new French chef.
At dinner, he sat at the head of the long table with Elizabeth at his right. The guests’ voices ranged from a murmur to a crescendo, punctuated by occasional laughter, all underscored by the clinking of silver on china. A snowy tablecloth highlighted dozens of dishes in an impressive array of delectables.
Lady Elizabeth drew his attention. Bathed by candlelight from crystal chandeliers and silver candlesticks, and accented by her demure gown, her skin took on a golden glow. Each movement of her mouth seemed designed to draw his gaze. He had to consciously transfer his attention onto his other guests. As he ate, he found himself the object of an uncomfortably honest scrutiny by Elizabeth who held her lip between her teeth each time her searching gaze fell upon him.
While the other guests sat absorbed in discussions of two’s and three’s, Richard raised a brow at Elizabeth. “Have you come to a conclusion?”
Her eyes opened wide. “Regarding?”
“Me, apparently, since I’ve been the object of your rather unabashed stare.”
She blushed and one corner of her mouth lifted. “No. I suspect there is more to you than I previously supposed.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“You seem to go to a great deal of trouble to appear serious, even stern. Yet, you have a softer side that you seldom reveal.”
“My dear Lady Elizabeth, I assure you there is nothing soft about me.” If she only knew how hard he worked at being taken seriously at House of the Lords by peers twice his age.
Kensington flirted with the lady at his right, and nearby, several guests laughed, completely unaware of Richard’s conversation with Elizabeth.
She sipped her wine, her lips lingering on the glass, and smiled as if she knew a secret. “You are kind to servants and flower girls. You are also thoughtful. The vase of violets in my bedroom, for example.”
He waved it off. “Courtesy to servants inspires loyalty. The violets were a mere gesture. I was taught manners, after all.”
“You took the trouble to find out my favorite flower.”
He lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “’Twas nothing. A trifle. Besides, their scent reminds me of you. I couldn’t find angelica.”
Uncommon softness entered her expression and she dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “You showed me that you were concerned about protecting me when you asked if we ought to marry in haste.”
“I wouldn’t want our marriage to begin amid scandal.” Uncomfortable, Richard shifted.
The light in her eyes dimmed and she lowered her gaze, hurt showing on her face. “Of course. You mustn’t taint your own good name.”
Richard silently cursed, realizing how his words must have sounded to her, as if he cared nothing for her reputation—only his family’s. It was true, of course, but suddenly sounded very self-serving. He reached for her hand. She startled, her gaze flying to his face.
“That’s not what I meant, Elizabeth. My family name will be yours, and I want you to feel safe and welcomed into any circle.”
Solemnly, she studied him before whispering, “I haven’t felt safe in a very long time.”
Something fierce and protective overcame Richard as he squeezed her hand when he ached to take her into his arms. “’Tis my pleasure, and my duty, to ensure your safety.”
She nodded, studying his face as if she wanted very much to believe him. “I trust you.”
Trust. How rare. How precious. She’d handed him a priceless gift. If only he could hand her his trust as well. In time perhaps.
Throughout the remainder of the meal, she bestowed ready smiles upon him, and he stopped searching for signs of her nervousness about their upcoming marriage. Instead, he searched for new ways to earn more of those priceless smiles.
After the last of the dessert had been consumed, Richard stood and expressed his appreciation for his guests’ presence at his wedding on the morrow. He raised his glass to Elizabeth. “To my future wife; the most beautiful lady in all of England. May we share much joy together.”
As her pale, gray-green gaze locked with his, he thought of everything he found desirable about her, hoping she could see his sincerity.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. With his chest swelling, Richard raised her hand to his lips as guests made other toasts and offered well wishes.
The ladies retired to the drawing room to allow the men their habitual male-only conversation around the dinner table, which he suspected would be full of innuendos about the wedding night and unsolicited advice on how to keep a female under his thumb. He was not mistaken. Fortunately, Rhys Kensington managed to steer the conversation away whenever Richard’s embarrassment became painful. Interesting, that, since Kensington usually delighted in needling Richard himself. Soon, more comfortable subjects arose such as crop and tenant issues, as well as the latest on dits of horseracing and whose hounds were considered the finest for hunting. Drinks flowed freely and snuffboxes appeared.
Richard’s attention drifted until the term “illegal market” caught his attention.
Lord Jenison said, “Some claim there’s an organized crime ring run by someone named Mr. Black which is fueling the alarming increase of theft in London.”
Richard became alert. “Yes, the ‘King of Crime.’ I’ve heard a great deal about him.”
Lord Jenison tapped his snuffbox. “If it’s truth, this Mr. Black is very secretive. Not even his employees seem to know who he is.”
The Duke of Pemberton scowled. “A couple of burglars believed to be associates of Mr. Black broke into my son-in-law’s house in London and roughed up a couple of servants. Dreadful. I’m grateful my daughter wasn’t home at the time. I increased security around my London properties. I hope you’ll do the same.” He leveled a meaningful look at Richard.
“A precaution I’ve already taken,” Richard agreed.
Jenison added, “In addition to his link to several burglaries, some violent, he allegedly owns a number of brothels and flash houses.”
Richard sipped his drink, considering. “I assume Bow Street has investigated?”
“Only those crimes committed in their jurisdiction. A few constables have tried to infiltrate the organization but all have gone missing, some of whom later turned up dead.”
A chill went down Richard’s spine. Silence settled over the dining room.
Pemberton arose. “Come now. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let us retire to the drawing room to join the ladies, shall we?”
Amid a chorus of agreement, the others arose and headed toward the drawing room.
Elizabeth’s brother, the Marquis of Martindale, matched paces with Richard. “I’m impressed with how well you’ve handled the idea of marriage to Elizabeth, Lord Averston. You seem genuinely fond of my sister.”
“The more time I spend with her, the more fond of her I become.”
“Elizabeth and I have never been close, but I do have her best interests at heart. I hope you do as well.”
Richard met his gaze. “I give you my word I will be good to her.”
Martindale raked Richard with a piercing stare before nodding. “See that you do.” He quickened his steps to catch up to Pemberton.
Richard slowed his pace as the weight of his marriage, and the added responsibilities that accompanied such a large step, pressed on him.
In the corridor outside the drawing room, Kensington gripped his shoulder. “You look as jittery as a youth plotting to steal his first kiss.”
Richard laughed weakly. Leave it to Kensington to find a way to shock him out of his protective wall. “You’re as bad as Tristan.”
Kensington grinned an
d Richard could not resist grinning back. He didn’t know what he would have done without Kensington and Tristan in those early days when he’d lost his father and had to shoulder the responsibilities of a title at such a young age.
“Where is your prodigal brother?” Kensington asked.
“I’m sure he’s on his way, as soon as he can pry himself out of the arms of whatever woman with whom he happens to be at the moment.”
Richard shook his head. “He makes me look like a prudish old maid.”
“He makes everyone look that way.”
Kensington sobered. “Your betrothed is lovely. Really. Your father would have approved.”
“I believe he would.” The thought gave Richard no small amount of pride.
In the drawing room, as his gaze met Elizabeth’s, a pleased smile touched her mouth. Richard puffed out his chest.
Kensington’s voice broke in. “I envy you.”
“Definitely no regrets,” Richard said with conviction.
Chapter Fifteen
While waiting for the gentlemen to join the ladies in the drawing room, turmoil swirled in Elizabeth’s heart each time she considered her burgeoning affection for Richard when her feelings for Tristan were still so poignant. Throughout their courtship, Lord Averston had been a delightful surprise in many ways. How different he was from her first impression of the stern, unemotional man she’d previously supposed.
In the morning, she would be his wife. She had faith marriage to him would be as pleasant as their courtship, regardless of its origin. With trembling fingers, Elizabeth touched her white and silver gown laying over a large chair, pressed and ready for tomorrow’s ceremony. All day, serenity had settled into her heart and she’d been certain marrying Richard would bring her happiness. Yet tonight, nervousness plagued her. Silly. Richard was a good man. This coming marriage, while not to the man in her heart, would bind her to a man of honor and kindness. It would be enough. She gathered the serenity that had settled in her heart the moment she’d arrived at Averston Castle and tucked it in firmly around her. Emboldened, she left the safety of her room for the crowded drawing room.
With Captain Kensington at his side, Richard awaited her in the drawing room. From the opposite side of the room, he gazed at her through eyes that had once seemed as impenetrable and cold as onyx, but now held promise. He wasn’t cold; he was cautious, careful. While he lacked the overt charm of his brother, his thoughtfulness touched a tender place in her heart.
How had she missed what a handsome man he was? Only Captain Kensington came near him in height and breadth, and no one in the room could compare to Richard’s masculine allure. More importantly, she could not have found a man of more integrity and decency.
She should wait for Richard to come to her, but could not resist his pull. She moved toward him, unable to keep her gaze off him.
A hand grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and Duchess’s voice hissed into her ear, “A lady never approaches a gentleman.”
Elizabeth halted and her breath froze. “Of course. I was…merely moving to the window where I might feel the breeze.” Although why it mattered that she approached her husband-to-be, she could not guess.
The guests’ soft murmur of voices continued uninterrupted, unaware of the private drama.
Duchess’s fingers dug into Elizabeth’s arm. “Everyone is watching you. See that you give them no reason to gossip further about you or our family.”
“Yes, Duchess,” she whispered.
“Do not fail this time.”
“Duchess.” Richard’s warm bass rumbled sweeter than any music as he appeared next to her as if conjured by magic.
Elizabeth wanted to weep in relief that he had come to her rescue. Duchess straightened and put on a practiced smile as she turned to Richard.
Richard’s gaze lowered to Duchess’s grip on her arm. Quietly, but with intensity, he murmured, “I would ask that you not leave bruises upon my intended bride, nor touch her in such a rough manner again. If she’s damaged, the wedding is off.”
Duchess let out a huff and said sotto voce, “You know perfectly well she’s already damaged, thanks to your brother.”
“Only her reputation, which I am attempting to repair.” His gaze flicked to Elizabeth. “I would speak with you, Lady Elizabeth.” Again, that icy gaze moved to Duchess and a dark brow lifted.
Duchess let out a laugh of cold humor, a sound Elizabeth knew all too well. She opened her hand and released Elizabeth’s arm. “Of course, Lord Averston. I’ll give you that pleasure. As long as you marry her on the morrow, I don’t care what you do to her tonight.” She gave him a meaningful look and turned away.
Trembling, Elizabeth clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering and stared at the floor. Moving slowly, as if trying not to frighten off a wild bird, he held out a hand and waited for her to take it. He stepped closer, enfolding her hand inside both of his.
“Come.” He led her to an adjoining room and closed the door.
Stillness enveloped them. Richard brought one of Elizabeth’s hands into his chest and smiled down at her with tenderness shining in his eyes. With slow, deliberate movements, he tugged at each fingertip to loosen her evening glove and slid it off her arm. He lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand. His breath, warm and moist, caressed her skin. And his lips. Oh, his lips were so soft. So gentle. The last of her fears scattered as he kissed first her hand, then each finger. He turned over her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers, her palm, her wrist. Pleasure glided along her skin in unexpected sensuality. Her heart thumped. Heat built inside. She inhaled his masculine scent and stepped closer. He kissed her palm again before wrapping his fingers around it. Warmth shone in his eyes as he raised his other hand to her face. He traced the curve of her jaw and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, up and down.
“Soft. Beautiful.” Tenderness was joined by intensity. “I will never give you cause to fear me, sweet Elizabeth. I count myself fortunate that we shall wed on the morrow. Any man would be proud to have you as his bride.”
She’d only ever dreamed of a man saying such lovely words to her and touching her with such gentleness. Light filled the dark places inside, bringing hope and belonging. Tears rose up and spilled down her cheeks.
He carefully wiped the moisture away with the pad of his thumb, tracing her cheek again. “I hope those aren’t tears of sadness.”
She let out a half sob, half laugh. “No, indeed. Your words mean much to me, my lor…Richard.”
He kissed her hand again. “Ah. A good sign. You give me hope. I’d like to enjoy the pleasure of your company more, but I suppose, sadly, we ought to return to our guests now.”
Speechless at the warmth tumbling over her, she nodded.
Richard. A knight in a gentleman’s clothing.
In dream-like bliss, she returned to the drawing room with her hand on his arm. During that fateful house party, she thought she had found the man of her dreams in Tristan. Perhaps it was always that way with first loves, but she’d felt such a connection with him. She’d hoped—foolishly—that Tristan would convince Father that love was more important than peerage. It had seemed a doomed dream.
After Richard’s tenderness a moment ago, that dream came alive in vivid color that at long last, she’d found safety and contentment, seeds that might bloom into true love.
Chapter Sixteen
Inside his private study, Richard cast a baleful eye at the clock, wondering how his guests expected him to play the host until the wee hours of the morning, and then appear clear-eyed at his wedding on the morrow.
The ladies had long since retired. Sometimes he suspected they were the only ones with any sense. At last, one by one, the men thanked him for his hospitality, complimented him on his exceptional punch—a concoction designed to put any man under the table after only a few glasses—and staggered off to their beds. Martindale ended up in the wrong room, but eventually everyone settled down for the night.
R
ichard sat alone in his study, sketching a nearby vase of flowers. The subject wasn’t of particular interest, but sketching helped him order his thoughts, and tonight his thoughts centered around his imminent wedding. His bride was gracious and kind. Her vulnerability, especially with regards to her boorish mother, touched a soft place inside he’d not known existed. He again recalled the abject terror in her face as her mother had threatened her only hours ago. Something fierce had arisen inside Richard, demanding action, and when Elizabeth had turned to him, so frightened and trapped, his heart had filled with protectiveness.
Despite being overshadowed by her sisters’ classic beauty, Elizabeth was lovely. Her skin had been softer than a flower petal. She’d shivered at his touch, hinting at untapped passion and innocence. Yes, the thought of wedding Elizabeth held tremendous appeal.
Approaching footsteps caught his attention. The door opened, admitting his brother.
“Evening, Richard.” Tristan lounged against the door. “You look far too serious for a man about to wed and bed a comely wench tomorrow.”
Richard shot a glare at the irreverent quip and set down his pencil. “I should take you to task for calling my betrothed a wench.”
“Instead, you’re just too happy to see me.” Tristan grinned.
“Insolent pup.” Yet he could not deny his pleasure that Tristan had arrived.
Tristan chuckled. “My apologies for my delay. I had five hundred pounds to win and a lass to woo.”
“Did you succeed?”
“At both.”
Richard let out a huff of mingled pride and disgust, and shook his head.
Tristan crossed the room and picked up a decanter and glass. “Do you want one?”
“I had some punch earlier.”
“You’re still standing? You’ve clearly not had enough.”
“I don’t want to arrive at the ceremony three sheets to the wind.”
“Or unconscious?”
They shared a laugh. Sobering, Richard added, “I’m glad you’ve come.”
