by Amy Sandas
Eliza followed his instructions. The steps felt smooth and well-worn beneath the soft soles of her slippers and the stone wall, though cool, was dry to the touch. With each turn of the stairs, she was able to see a bit better. At first, she suspected it was simply that her eyes were becoming more accustomed to the darkness, but after a while it became clear that a gentle yellow glow flowed from above. A bit higher and she could see the floor of an upper room and then the distinct outline of an arched doorway. Beyond was the flickering light from a single candle.
Intrigued, Eliza stepped through the narrow archway and gasped at the scene that appeared.
By the uncertain light of a single candle Eliza saw woven tapestries covering the stone walls from ceiling to floor. Small windows could be seen in the spaces between. But unlike the arrow slits she’d passed on her way up the stairs, these were diamond-shaped and set with stained glass. The floor was covered with rugs in various sizes and colors and in the center was a heap of large pillows reflecting the candlelight with the sheen of satin and the rich texture of velvet.
The night air outside had held a distinct chill, but the tower room exuded intimacy and warmth.
She wandered toward a lushly curved chaise nestled into the corner, remembering the day the marquess had laid her down on the sofa in his room. Heat suffused her bones and a tremble weakened her muscles as she thought of that sensual afternoon. She glanced over her shoulder. Though he had remained silent as they made their way up the stairs, she had felt his presence behind her the entire way. Searching the shadows where the candlelight couldn’t penetrate, she saw him just beyond the arched doorway, keeping to the concealing darkness.
With a small smile for his diligence in trying to remain unrecognized, she lifted her hands to release the fastenings of his borrowed cloak. She swept it from around her shoulders and dropped the covering to the chaise.
“Will you keep yourself in shadow for the entire night?” she asked.
“That depends.”
Eliza paused to study him. He stood with his shoulder propped against the doorframe in a deceptively casual stance. His arms were crossed over his chest and his chin was dipped low. Though he effectively blocked the entrance with his large form, she did not get the sense it was his intention to do so. She knew he would step aside should she ask to leave.
“I would like to ask my first question,” she stated after several minutes. She sensed rather than saw him stiffen and she felt compelled to remind him of his promise. “Three questions in all and remember you vowed to answer truthfully.”
“I did. And I will,” he replied.
Eliza thought carefully about what she would ask and decided to start with something the least threatening to his disguise. “What prompted you to sit in wait along the highway the night we met?”
“I was compelled to assist a friend who had gotten himself into a difficult predicament.”
“Helping him required you to steal from unsuspecting travelers?”
He hesitated, likely aware that her question had not been phrased to be one of the three and that he could answer in any way he wished. “Our intention was to retrieve something of personal value that had fallen into the wrong hands.”
Eliza felt the truth of his words. “And the rest of the items were returned,” she added in dawning understanding. “Of course. I knew it had not been for greed or glory. And what about the second time in Hertfordshire?”
He shook his head. “Your curiosity is relentless. Enough questions for now.”
“But that is why I am here,” Eliza argued with a smile. “To discover your secrets and reveal the mystery behind the mask.”
His low chuckle reverberated from the shadows. “Some mysteries run too deep to be uncovered.”
“Oh?” Her curiosity perked more acutely. “What sort of mysteries?”
“The mystery in a woman’s heart, for one.”
She scoffed. “The heart of a woman is not so enigmatic, I think, to one who would honor her as she is without trying to change her or curb her passions.”
“Only a foolish man would rein in a passionate woman.” The rough timbre of his voice crept silkily through the room. He gestured toward the heap of pillows on the floor. “We have all night to speculate over such things. Relax. Enjoy the refreshments.”
Eliza noticed for the first time a large silver tray overflowing with fresh fruits, cheeses and other tempting delicacies. Beside the tray stood a bottle of wine and two crystal goblets. She looked back to the marquess and arched her brows. “It is quite the nest of luxury you have created in this hidden tower.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I am nothing if not resourceful.”
“Indeed,” Eliza muttered as she approached the food and wine and lowered herself to kneel amongst the pillows. She plucked a ripe red grape from an overloaded bunch. Popping the grape into her mouth, she lifted her gaze back to the marquess. He had not moved from his position in the shadows. “You do not intend to join me?”
“Not at the moment.”
She narrowed her gaze, fighting the temptation to challenge his reticence. With more poise than she felt, she leaned forward to grasp the opened bottle of wine and poured a small amount into both glasses. Eliza settled herself more comfortably in the pillows. She unfurled her legs to the side and leaned her weight on one hand as she reached for another grape. A piece of sugared pastry tempted her next and she savored the rich flavor before lifting her wine.
And all the while she could feel him watching her. The heat of his gaze flowed over her with the richness of golden honey and warmed her from the inside. Feeling the direct effects of his attention yet not knowing what he thought became an unbearable torment.
“I believe it is time for my second question,” she declared, setting her wine on the floor beside her.
“What do you desire to know, mistress?”
There was a definite sensual undertone in his voice, undisguised by the lowered tenor. Spoken in such a way, his phrase took on a provocative meaning. The words snaked through her mind with sexual suggestion. She wished she could see his face, wanted so badly to witness the curl of his lips as he spoke and feel the depth of his stare.
If she responded in the way he tempted her to, the delicate balance of his deception would be tipped off its scale.
“I would like to know why you brought me here,” she asked, choosing a safer query.
He replied without hesitation. “It seemed a comfortable and logical place to escape the chilling mist.”
Eliza snorted at his smooth evasion of her question’s true meaning. The dry humor in his voice was characteristic of the marquess. She doubted he realized the slip.
His elusive reply did tell her one thing. He was not yet ready to reveal his intention.
She took another drink from her goblet. And then another. The heady depth of flavor in the red wine soothed her nerves, inciting a languid sort of relaxation through her body. She did not often drink wine that had not been watered down. Eliza discovered she enjoyed the weighted easing in her limbs and the alluring seduction of her thoughts. She brought the glass to her lips again, savoring the velvety flow over her tongue as the wine made her bold.
Bold and impatient.
“You know one of the items you stole from me was not returned,” she said without looking in his direction.
“Impossible,” he said. “I ensured the inclusion of your jewels myself.”
“I speak of something much more personal in nature.” He remained silent and she chanced a look in his direction.
He no longer leaned in a semi-casual stance against the door frame. He now stood with his feet braced apart. The ready tension in his body was palpable. Eliza wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t angry. But she had started along this path and would continue bravely.
“Do you remember?” she asked with a gentle tilt of her head. “You stole a kiss. I would like it back.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rutherford stared at her, to
rn between desire, longing and terrifying jealousy.
Eliza, his Eliza, had just boldly asked the highwayman to kiss her. And he wanted to. His entire body hummed with a need so great it transcended physical desire to something far more elemental. The moment her demand permeated his brain, he nearly lunged from the shadows to claim her. But he was brought up short by the stark awareness that he was not the marquess. He was not the man who had once been her betrothed.
Was this here now the true reason she had fled from him?
A sharp, painful tightening in his chest startled him. The blood thundered in his ears and he felt a burning in his throat.
He stared at her, trying to bring his conflicting feelings under control. And as he studied her languorous posture and the enticing fire in her eyes, he noticed something that gave him pause.
The barest hint of a smile hovered deliciously at the outer corners of her mouth.
He knew that secretive smile. It said she knew something of tantalizing interest. Something that amused her and delighted her. Something that made her feel superior.
She knew he was the marquess.
Rutherford didn’t know how he was so certain of that fact, but as soon as the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t shake it.
She knew. It was as clear to him as if she had said it out loud.
The ugly jealously dispersed in a puff of mist and searing desire claimed him.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
She blinked, staring at him from across the room. He could see the expectancy present in the tension of her fingers holding her wine glass and in the bend of her spine as she lounged in the pillows.
Those pillows had been an ingenious idea. He could see that now as the faint flicker from the candle danced over Eliza’s stretched form, accentuating her sensuous curves, though he had balked when Lord Neville first suggested it. Before marrying Blackbourne’s cousin, Neville had been a renowned Lothario with undisputed expertise in the sensual arts. Rutherford had argued he was trying to design a scene of seduction and romance, not a sultan’s harem. But Neville had just grinned at Rutherford and reminded him that he had come for professional advice and that was what Neville provided.
Rutherford was grateful he had gone with the viscount’s suggestions, though it had rubbed him on the raw to go to the man. But as always, when the marquess set up a scheme, he made sure to do it right, down to the details. Seeing the length of her legs stretched across pillows, her evening gown sliding seductively over the lines of her body and the way the glow of candlelight caressed her bare shoulders, Rutherford admitted to the viscount’s expertise.
Though he wondered exactly who was being seduced in the current scene.
Finally responding to his command, she closed her eyes.
Rutherford advanced in long strides, reaching her side so quickly she gasped when he lowered to one knee beside her. But she didn’t open her eyes. Turning her head toward him, she lifted her chin the barest amount in a silent offering of her lips.
He paused. Though his entire body was poised and ready to claim her, the whole reason he had instigated this farce was to discover the truth in her heart. He wanted to know if she could love him. And he wanted to prove to her that he understood where he had gone wrong. As he leaned toward her and felt her breath bathe the side of his throat and the warmth emanating from her lush body, he forced himself to go slow.
He lifted his hand to slide his leather-gloved fingers around the back of her neck. With calm but forceful intention, he drew her to him until she was compelled to stretch her body and arch her back to meet the demand of his silent direction.
Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
He kissed her with a reverence he would not have shown as the arrogant marquess or rebellious highwayman. His lips brushed over hers. Soothing and coaxing. Teasing her with the suggestion of deeper contact until she whimpered and lifted her hand to his knee. The heat of her touch burned through the material of his breeches, sending a jolt of lust through his body.
He pulled back, releasing her from the kiss and from his hold.
He heard her gasp as he rose to his feet and crossed the room behind her. He kept his back to her now and the candle in front of him, blocking the light from illuminating him further.
“You mentioned a lost friendship,” he began roughly and then cleared his throat.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Tell me about it.”
There was a pause before she replied. “He would have had me deny something that is as much a part of me as breathing. I rejected the life he offered. I rejected him.” She choked over the last words as if her throat had started to close up.
Self-directed anger flashed through his blood and his muscles tightened. He recognized the heartache in her voice. He had caused it by thinking to force her into a mold she would never fit because she was so much more than anyone could have designed.
After a moment, he replied, “It sounds to me this man betrayed you.”
There was a lengthy pause before she responded softly but with solid conviction, “No. He is a loyal and honorable man who does what is right by his position in society and his duty to his family. I would have made him a terrible wife.”
“If his pride gave way to understanding would you forgive him?”
“I pray he forgive me.” Her voice rose.
“You were true to yourself and unwilling to compromise your happiness for unreasonable expectations. You have no cause for remorse, mistress.”
“And neither do you.”
Rutherford tensed at the feel of her hand on his back. He had not heard her approach and was shocked to feel the alluring nearness of her presence directly behind him.
And then it registered that she had just responded to him as the marquess.
He turned. She stood before him, her hand resting against his chest over the harsh beating of his heart. Her rich, earthy gaze met his and she smiled with a mixture of sadness, compassion and something else he hoped he did not misread.
“I was a fool, Eliza.”
Her smile widened and she shook her head. “So was I.”
He settled his hands on the generous curve of her hips and drew her body into his. Reveling in the feel of her softness and the familiar warmth pressing to him, he flexed his fingers and struggled to find the right words to confess the errors of his past judgment.
He took a breath, but she spoke first.
“I have one final question, my lord highwayman, which you must answer in truth before I can consider your promise met.” He arched his brow before he realized she could not see the facial gesture behind his mask. But either she assumed his acknowledgement or decided she didn’t need it as she looked into his eyes with bold assurance. “Do you love me?”
Rutherford gave his answer without words as he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the center of the room. Lowering her into the plush mound of satin and velvet, he covered her.
She laughed at his show of physical possession and her eyes danced with merriment. “I love it when you act the conquering hero.”
A growl rumbled low in his throat as he settled more fully atop her, pressing his thigh between her legs, forcing them to part. “I know. And what about this?” he asked as he brought his gloved hand up along her side to cover her full breast.
She arched beneath him and her eyelashes fluttered. “Yes,” she replied in a breathless tone, “I love that as well.”
“And this?” he murmured as he lowered his head to press his open mouth to the creamy flesh that swelled from the top of her bodice. She gasped her reply and he kissed his way to the pulse beating rapidly at the side of her throat. Then he clamped the soft lobe of her ear between his teeth and laved it with his tongue.
She clutched at the shirt covering his shoulders and twisted her body beneath him.
He grasped her skirt and yanked it up to her hip. Catching the fingertip of his glove in his teeth, he pulled his hand free, desperate to fee
l the smooth texture of her flesh beneath his bare palm. As he curled his fingers around her thigh, she bent her knee, drawing her leg up against the side of his hip. He delved higher, feeling the under curve of her buttocks, the tips of his fingers gently teasing the slick heat of her sex.
“And do you love this, mistress?” he asked and was surprised by how gruff and raw his voice had become.
“Yes,” she gasped again. “But you have not answered my question.”
He growled and lifted his head to look down into her flushed and smiling face.
“Because you were not supposed to ask me that, you bold minx. I had planned to confess my failings as an arrogant ass and short-sighted cad in a dramatic and touching fashion. Then I was going to quote a passage from The Highwayman and the Runaway—”
“You read my book?” she interrupted, eyes wide with shock and delight. “Really?”
He scowled at her interruption. Then he realized that if all went as he hoped, he would have to get used to the idea of her taking the lead every now and then, altering his carefully plotted plans and insisting on doing some things her way. He shook his head in willing surrender. Taking her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes and felt all of his emotions well up through his throat to his lips.
“Eliza, I love you. And it scares me because I have no control over it. In truth, I have no desire to control the storm of passion and tenderness I feel for you. I never should have expected you to do anything less than everything you wish to do. Publish a thousand books, perform them on the stage if that is your fancy, just please say you will do it all as my wife,” he finished in a passionate plea.
As he waited for her response, he was certain his heart stopped beating.
It felt like near to a lifetime, though it was probably no more than a second that passed before she laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You know I love you too,” she replied with a wide grin. “That is really what matters, isn’t it? That we love each other. All of the rest can be figured out.”
“And you will be my wife?” he asked again, needing to hear her say the words.
