He smiled a slow, unequivocal smile. “Because I am a prince is not to say that I am also a gentleman. But since I intend to remain one of your suitors, I’ll do as you say... Lady Elizabeth.” His hand meandered up her spine to caress her bare back again, but this time it lingered, his fingers moving up her neck to softly stroke the sensitive skin there, sending tingles coursing through her. “Yes,” he said, “I find English women far more desirable than our Indian beauties, and infinitely more passionate, like you, Lady Elizabeth. Beautiful, spirited and passionate. All the qualities I want in a wife.” The tips of his fingers teased the tender flesh behind her ear.
Her nostrils flared and her breath came so fast and heavy she could barely get the words out as she said, “If you were not a prince, Your Highness, I would slap your arrogant face and leave you stranded on the dance floor.”
He laughed a soft, rumbling sound. “Then why don’t you, Lady Elizabeth? Are you afraid I’ll have your head on a block? I don’t wield that much power.”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Elizabeth pushed against the hard wall of his chest and verbally struck out at him. “Your Highness, I’m finding this conversation distasteful and I’ll request that my father not receive you in our home.”
He pulled her back into his arms, and said, “I stand chastised, my lady. And I will, in future, try to behave more gentlemanly, because I intend to continue vying for your affection.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin and looked directly at him, caring not who he was, as she said, “It will do you no good if my father refuses to receive you in his house.”
Cobalt-blue eyes held her captive, as he replied in a quiet, self-assured tone, “But your father will receive me in his house, regardless of your wishes.”
The challenge in his unyielding gaze, the uncompromising set to his jaw, the controlling way he held her while they danced—Elizabeth's assessment of him when they'd first met was correct. He was a dangerous man. Dangerous, and confident. “What makes you so sure he'll receive you?” she asked. And as she looked into the unfathomable depths of his intense blue gaze, she was all but certain they were the eyes of Lord Damon Ravencroft.
“Because, Lady Elizabeth, I always get what I want," he said. "And I want you.”
Her chest rising and falling with her anxious breaths, Elizabeth said, while tugging against his restricting hold, “And do you intend to take me against my will?”
“Never.” Trapping her hand against his chest, he moved so close their lips almost touched as he said, in a voice that held forewarning, “You have something to hide. I have something to hide. I think we understand each other.”
Elizabeth twisted her hand to be free from his grasp, as she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do," he replied. "But if there's any doubt, I'll lay it out for you. I’ll have you, and your dowry, and your father’s blessing, and my opal back. And with your approval. Like I said, gypsy girl, I always get what I want." His voice was as firm as it was decisive.
Gripping her elbow, he escorted her off the dance floor, turned, and left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Elizabeth stared at her father in total disbelief. “An offer of marriage from Prince Rao Singh? Surely you must be joking?”
Her father steepled his fingers, looked directly at her, and said, “I would never joke about something as serious as marriage.”
“Well, I flatly refuse," Elizabeth said. "I’d rather sit in my room and become a whiskery old maid with warts on my nose than be married to that man under any terms."
“Stop being melodramatic," her father said. "The Prince is an upright, honorable and very wealthy man. He will provide all your worldly needs, and honor and care for you with the love and respect you deserve. You could certainly do worse.”
“I cannot live in India again!" Elizabeth cried. Nor could she tell her father the truth about how she lived while there. If he learned she’d roamed with gypsies, worked as a common servant, was wanted for a murder she didn’t commit, and had stolen a valuable gem from the man who was asking for her hand in marriage, he’d turn her out, just as he’d turned her mother out, and she couldn’t bear to be back on the streets again. But to marry the insufferable man posing as a prince was almost as unthinkable.
Her father looked at her dispassionately, and said, “As the wife of the prince, you would live in luxury in India, with every comfort you have here in England.”
“Even with every conceivable luxury that could be imported to India from England," she said in a frantic tone, "there would still be bugs and mice and mold and snakes and... I would hate every minute of it!”
The valet appeared in the doorway and announced the arrival of Prince Rao Singh. Before Elizabeth could protest, her father instructed the valet to show him in.
When Damon stepped into the room, Lord Sheffield stood and offered his hand. Damon shook it heartily before smiling graciously at Elizabeth and saying, “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Elizabeth. I hope this finds you in good spirits”
Elizabeth glared at him and stood, prepared to leave.
“You will sit down at once, Elizabeth,” her father said. “We are not finished.”
“I will not marry this... this... man, father. He’s an impostor!” There! It was said.
Her father’s gaze shifted between Damon and Elizabeth, settling on Elizabeth as he said, “I know exactly who this man is. Now do as I say and sit down.”
“But he is not who he presents himself to be!”
“You will not raise your voice to me, Elizabeth. Sit down at once.”
Elizabeth lowered herself and sat propped on the edge of the chair, lips pursed, hands clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on her father. “You must listen to me, Father, and take heed of what I say. This man is not who he claims. His name is Lord Damon Ravencroft—though since he’s not a prince, he may not be a man of title either.”
Lord Sheffield sighed. “Excuse my daughter’s rudeness, Damon. I had not yet told her who you were. And please, draw up a chair and sit where we can discuss this.”
Damon angled a chair close to Elizabeth and sat down. Elizabeth looked from her father to Damon and back at her father. “Then you've known all along who he was ?”
“Of course," Lord Sheffield said. "I wouldn’t offer your hand to a man whose lineage I could not trace. Lord Ravencroft has been falsely accused of murder. He is in England to clear his name. But once that's done, he will become the Earl of Westwendham and a very wealthy man. In exchange for your hand in marriage, he will receive a dowry from me sufficient for him to seek counsel to clear his name, after which time you will be married to a titled man of wealth, and live a life of luxury in England.”
Elizabeth wondered just how much more her father did know about Damon and the running of his household in India, or if Damon told him about one particular servant who stole an opal from him—a gem he believed she still had—and whose ivory-handled knife ended up in the chest of his gateman. “What else do you know about this man, Father? You’re asking me to share his life and his bed and have his children, and we are strangers.”
Lord Sheffield gave his daughter an empathetic smile. “I understand your concern, Elizabeth, and I know Damon to be an honorable man. He also feels affection for you, even though you’ve only just met. But ever since he purchased Shanti Bhavan from me, we have corresponded and engaged in other business, and he has always been forthright in every way. I would not offer your hand to him should I believe he was anything less than what he has presented himself to be over the years.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands and said in a voice just above a whisper. “Father, I cannot marry this man.”
“I’m sorry Elizabeth, but I know what’s best for you. In time you’ll grow fond of each other and perhaps even grow to love each other.”
“But you’re sending me back to India.”
Damon reached out and patted her hand. “Lady Elizabeth, as I told your father, you
have stolen my heart, and it would do me great honor if you would agree to become my wife. I’d spend my days trying to make you happy and comfortable while we lived in India, and it shouldn’t be too long before I could bring you back to England where we would take up residency at Westwendham. It’s a magnificent estate. I’m certain you’ll fall in love with it once the place is restored to its original splendor.”
Elizabeth looked at Damon, her lips pressed in disapproval. His hostile demeanor on the dance floor did not match the man who was addressing her now, the man her father believed him to be. And the horror of it was, Damon Ravencroft had already secured half of what he wanted...
‘I’ll have you with your father’s blessing...’
But getting her approval was another matter. “If you force me to marry this man, Father, it will be against my will. There’s no way I'll willingly give him my hand.”
“Excuse me, William,” Damon interjected, “but may I ask your permission to escort Lady Elizabeth to the opera tomorrow night?”
“Yes, of course, Damon," Lord Sheffield said. "Perhaps Elizabeth will feel more inclined to accept your offer if she gets to know you better.”
“No, Father! I do not wish to go out with this man... Ever.”
“I assure you, Elizabeth, he will treat you with respect," her father said. "Now I will hear no more about it.”
“But Father...”
“Enough, Elizabeth!”
Damon stood. “I look forward to enjoying your company at the opera tomorrow night, Lady Elizabeth. I’ll call for you at seven.” Although Elizabeth didn’t offer her hand, he lifted it from her lap, placed a chaste kiss on it, nodded to Lord Sheffield and left.
Elizabeth quietly fumed. Somehow she would get out of this marriage, if she had to act like a woman on the verge of insanity to do so. Whatever it took, she would absolutely not marry Lord Damon Ravencroft... Ever!
***
Prince Rao Singh’s coach, pulled by two white horses, arrived at the Sheffield Manor house at precisely seven o’clock. Dressed in fitted gold breeches, a blue velvet tunic that matched the deep blue of his eyes, and flashing a stunning star sapphire from the aigret of his gold turban, he near took Elizabeth’s breath away. She had to remind herself that he was not a prince come to take her to the ball in a great pumpkin coach and later whisk her away to his castle. He was Lord Damon Ravencroft, who wanted to ferret her away to India and... And what? She had no idea what he planned after that. But one thing was certain: she had not stolen his heart, she’d stolen his opal. And his intention was definitely not to spend his days trying to make her happy and comfortable while they lived in India.
Coincidentally, Elizabeth wore a gown of blue velvet—much the color of Damon’s tunic—and a pearl necklace that featured a sapphire ringed by small diamonds, an overall effect that bothered her immensely. She and Damon looked far too much like a betrothed couple, as if their attire had been coordinated. Hers was also a décolleté gown that dipped fashionably low on her bosom. She refused to analyze why she was being so daring as to wear the gown this particular evening, but she had no time, nor inclination, to change gowns when she could care less what Damon Ravencroft thought.
He stood beside her father in the large entrance hall while waiting for her, and as she descended the long curved bank of stairs, the flare in his eyes and the focus of his gaze was unmistakable. And she realized she’d made a grave error by wearing the décolleté gown. He looked far too eager to be alone with her.
When she reached the bottom step, he bowed so low she could feel his warm breath against her bosom as he said, “Lady Elizabeth, what I see takes my breath away." He lifted his head and smiled at her, and his meaning was unambiguous. He reached for the hand she refused to offer and brought it to his lips. She attempted to pull her hand free, but lost the tug-of-war when he placed it in the crook of his elbow and trapped it with a firm hand. She struggled for an instant, then gave up the effort and glared at him.
Lord Sheffield caught her hostile behavior. "Elizabeth, you will conduct yourself as you have been taught," he said, giving her a look of dire warning.
Elizabeth eyed her father, and replied, "Not to worry, Father. I will conduct myself as the occasion calls." She refused to look at Damon, but knew he got her message.
Damon helped her into the coach and climbed in to sit uncomfortably close beside her, reminding her of their ride from the horse fair to Shanti Bhavan, two years before, a memory she quickly repressed. Once inside the close confines of the coach, however, she said, “Don’t expect me to refer to you as Your Highness or My Lord. I will not.”
He reached out and took her hand. “I’ll expect you to call me Damon," he said. "After all, we are soon to become engaged.”
She yanked her hand from his. “We will not be engaged under any circumstances. And if you think that by marrying me you can recover your opal, you are mistaken. I don't have the opal. Januz Kazinczy, a man on the tribal council, took it from me when I was leaving. He was also the man who killed your gateman."
Damon took so long to reply, Elizabeth thought he hadn't heard her. Then she realized he was only just now learning that she no longer had the opal. He looked at her, guardedly, and said, "Why should I believe you? You've done nothing but lie to me since the first day I met you."
"I won't deny I've lied to you," Elizabeth replied, "but this time it's the truth. If Januz had not taken the opal from me I would have returned it to the tribe as I had been instructed to do. I did not find my way into your house to steal it for myself. And I had nothing to do with your gateman being killed, even though it was my knife that killed him. Januz found my knife where you and I had been... that is... it must have come lose when I was dancing."
A glimmer of belief flared in Damon's eyes. "That may be," he conceded, because it was not on your leg when I ran my hand up it. Your legs were bare, all the way to your thighs."
Elizabeth was so angry, she could barely get the words out when she said, "Do not ever speak of that incident again. I hate you because of it."
"You do not hate me, Elizabeth," Damon said. "You want me. You want the things I do that make you writhe in passion."
"I want nothing to do with you ever again. And since I no longer have the opal, you have no reason to marry me. The sale of Shanti Bhavan will provide you with enough money to clear your name and re-establish yourself in London."
"If you are telling the truth," Damon said, "my marriage offer still stands because I need your dowry to clear my name, and you back in India to recover the opal from the gypsies. The sale of Shanti Bhavan would not begin to cover the expenses needed to restore Westwendham. After the opera we’ll thrash out the rest of my proposal. There are changes, which I won't discuss with your father, for obvious reasons.”
“There is nothing you could possibly add that would tempt me to change my mind," Elizabeth replied. "In fact, I cannot think of any man I’d rather not marry than you.”
“I hold the same sentiment about you," Damon returned. "But the fact remains, I need your dowry and my opal, and you need the truth about your unsavory past kept silent so your father won’t turn you into the gutter. It’s as simple as that.”
“What makes you think my father would turn me out if he knew about my past?” Elizabeth said, wondering if she'd ever be free of this man who was making her life a living hell.
Damon shrugged. “I’ve known your father for years. I know how his mind works.”
Elizabeth couldn’t argue. Her father had done precisely that with her mother, though she’d never learned what her mother had done. “Then you’re threatening to tell him everything if I don’t agree to marry you?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Damon eyed her with dispassion. “I'll do whatever it takes. Like I told you, Elizabeth, I always get what I want. And I want you.”
“You want my dowry and your opal back, not me,” Elizabeth clipped.
“I want you in my bed, gypsy girl, there’s
no question about that," Damon said. "I've wanted you in my bed from the moment I saw you at the horse fair, and nothing's changed. I want to feel all that gypsy fury and raw passion and wild spirit warm and naked beneath me and see the fire in your eyes when you abandon yourself to me. That day will come.”
“I'd slit my wrists first,” she said.
“I assure you, it won’t come to that.”
"You're right, because you'll never find me in your bed!"
“Never is a word I refuse to acknowledge," Damon said. "And we will discuss my marriage offer after the opera. Meanwhile, this will be your night to show London society that Lady Elizabeth Sheffield has Prince Rao Singh on his knees, professing his undying love and begging her to marry him, or he’ll go mad.” He curved his arm around her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth hissed, moving to the edge of the seat.
“Picking up where we left off in India," Damon replied. "I want you to kiss me the way you did in my bedchamber, with fire and passion, and your legs around me and your mouth sucking out my breath. You know the way, gypsy girl, the way you kiss a man when you want something from him.” His pulled her toward him until his lips were inches from hers.
Elizabeth braced her hands against his chest and turned her face away. “Stop this at once," she rasped, "and move away from me! I don’t want you to touch me!”
“This is not about what you want.” Damon cupped his hand behind her head and pressed his mouth to hers. At first Elizabeth was so preoccupied with the feel of his mustache and beard that she didn’t think to push him away, and when she finally did consider doing so, his all-absorbing kiss distracted her, setting her heart hammering a staccato beat and her mind reeling between slapping his cocky face, or pounding his chest with her fists, or biting the tongue he’d thrust between her lips... Or savoring the sooty-sweet taste of him...
All logical thought seemed to vanish when he broke the kiss and bent over to nuzzle the high swell of her breast and press his lips there. And deep in her throat, a soft little moan of pleasure escaped... And rang in her ears like a warning bell!
Her Master's Touch Page 9
