by Julia London
He had worried about that a bit, actually, as he never had a chance to close the cabinet, being so intent on ushering her out of the room. Ah, well. Little harm done, surely. When the family discovered the armoire open, there would be more than three hundred suspects, if indeed they ever believed the latch was unlocked by someone other than a parlor maid. And as there was nothing missing—not this time, at least—they’d likely forget the whole thing had occurred. Therefore, when and if they did discover the beastie missing—which Liam rather doubted, since it was locked away—the chances were very slim that Miss Addison would recall with any reliability that she had seen the armoire open with him in the room.
Actually, after the kiss he had bestowed on her, he was quite certain she’d remember nothing else. Not that he was particularly adept at kissing, for he really didn’t fancy himself so. But the element of surprise coupled with the rather illicit nature of stealing a kiss from a woman one has just met, in a dark room, in a mansion full of London’s most important society members, had left them both a little breathless. Miss Addison’s earlier cynical bravado had quickly melted away into moon-eyed gaping, and to keep her in that dreamy state, Liam had marched her into the ballroom, had engaged her in a rather long waltz, and had whispered little things in her ear, such as, Yer eyes are as dark as black opals, and his personal favorite, Yer skin is as creamy as mother’s milk. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but it sounded rather poetic, if he did say so himself. Certainly Miss Addison seemed to think it quite a compliment and he reckoned she’d forget the armoire ever existed if she remembered it at all.
Escaping the Lockhart house altogether had been another ordeal, but fortunately, Nigel and his chums had decided they should have a look around the gentlemen’s clubs after they grew weary of dancing, and Liam had eagerly tagged along on their tails, leaving Cousin Barbara and Miss Addison smiling after him from opposite ends of the room. Once outside, he disappeared into the alley mews and stole around the house until he was standing directly beneath the last room. As he looked up at the window in the pale moonlight, he grinned happily. There it was, a trellis, attached to the brick wall beneath the ladies’ sitting room he had first entered. It was as if a higher authority had built him a ladder for this very purpose, and he did indeed send up a word of thanks.
When the hack arrived at Belgrave Square, Liam was in exceedingly good spirits, and he leaped to the ground, tossed a coin up to the driver, and with a jaunty tip of his hat sauntered inside.
The Farnsworth house was, as usual, cold, dark, and as quiet as a mausoleum, a stark contrast to the gaiety of the Lockhart mansion. Liam made his way to his rooms, shucking out of the absurdly tight suit of clothing and donning a pair of buckskins, over which his shirttails hung. He then took one of his last few pieces of vellum and wrote:
Dearest Mother, I have attended my uncle’s ball, which was far too crowded for good health, but that is the way of things here. My eyes are ruby red from the smoke of many cheroots and I eagerly await my return home to the cool Highland air to soothe them. Fondly, L.
Humming an old Gaelic tune, he sealed the letter, put it aside for posting first thing in the morning, then looked at his pocket watch. It was two o’clock in the morning—but he was too restless, too anxious to sleep. The end of his mission was drawing near, and it excited him. The accomplishment of one successful mission meant there would soon be another, and he was ready for it, as he had wasted too much time in London. All he needed now was an opportune time to enter the house and steal the blasted beastie. Simple.
Except that it wasn’t simple at all. Stealing the beastie inevitably meant there was Ellie to consider, and Liam felt his good spirits slipping.
God blind him, what was he to do about Ellie?
He loved her; there was no question of it. When he was with her, she made him feel as if he had reached for the sun and now held it in his very hand. He had never felt so light, so happy—every thought of her brought a smile to his face.
Aye, he loved her, heart and soul…but it was quite another thing to think he could take her with him. What, did he think she would pack her many trunks and follow him to God knew where his military career would lead him? And what of war? Where exactly did he stow her away during times of war? Talla Dileas? Worse, even if he could come to terms with the thought of leaving this sort of love behind (really, what choice did he have?), he could hardly leave her like this, could he? He despised Farnsworth. How could he leave her to years of his cruelty? Jesus God, if only he had a bit of money! Unfortunately, his entire military pension, tiny bit that it was, went to help pay the upkeep of Talla Dileas and was sorely needed in that regard—he could not spite his family’s needs in favor of Ellie. Perhaps he could send her his pension when the beastie was sold. Ah! There it was—yet it still was not enough to actually free her.
A dilemma, to be sure. But he had time to think on it—at the moment, he was rather chomping at the bit to tell Ellie that he had found it.
Ellie was asleep, of course. Liam stood at the foot of her bed with his arms crossed over his chest, admiring her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest in sleep. Her hair, long and bound at her nape, draped her shoulders in glimmering strands of white and gold. Her lips were dark and succulent even in the dim moonlight and her expression soft, as if she enjoyed a tranquil dream. He hoped, for her sake, that she dreamed of fields of gold, with flowers and butterflies and bright sunshine and gentle, warm breezes.
After a moment, he touched her slender foot. Ellie did not move. He walked to the side of the bed, reached down to stroke her cheek with his bare knuckle; that caused her to mumble and roll to her side. Carefully, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, put his hand on the sleeve of her nightshift. “Ellie,” he whispered.
Nothing.
He shook her lightly. “Ellie, lass. Wake now, leannan.”
Her eyes fluttered open; she affixed her gaze on him, blinking several times as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing. “Liam?” she asked sleepily.
“Aye.” He leaned over and touched her warm cheek with his lips.
“But what are you doing here? You should be at the ball. You should be dancing,” she sighed, and her eyes were fluttering shut again.
Liam smiled, stretched out until he was lying beside her, face-to-face, and stroked her hair. “I danced. Ye would have been so proud, Ellie! But I couldna wait ’til the morrow to tell ye.”
“Tell me what?” she yawned.
“I found the beastie,” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open so suddenly that Liam all but rolled off the bed; she came up on her elbow, wide-eyed now, staring down at him. “You found it?” she whispered loudly, then looked toward the door, saw that it was ajar. With the grace and agility of a cat, she scampered over him, grabbed her dressing gown, and shoved her arms into it as she hurried to the door. Peering into the adjoining room, she carefully closed it, then flew back across the room and landed on the foot of her bed.
Liam pushed himself against the headboard, folded his arms behind his head, crossed his feet at the ankles, and grinned broadly at her.
“Well?” she exclaimed excitedly, slapping at his shoes. “You will not dare leave me in suspense! Where did you find it?”
“In a sitting room on the second floor.”
“Just like that? Sitting out, was it?”
“Ah, no. In an armoire.”
“An armoire,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “And then what?”
“Then what?”
“Liam! How did it look?”
He clucked his tongue. “Uglier than ye can imagine. I’ve no’ seen anything so ugly, on me honor,” he assured her.
“Yes, but the rubies?”
“All there.”
“Big enough to bring the value?”
“Aye. More than we hoped, I’d wager.”
“Small enough to carry?”
“Aye, of course.”
Ellie suddenly came to her feet a
nd began pacing the carpet by her bed. “Then the only thing left to do now is to figure out how to get it, isn’t that so? I mean, now that you know where it is—”
Liam laughed at her earnestness. “Ellie, leannan, ye’re no’ to worry yer pretty head about it. I know what must be done.”
“But how will you get in?” she asked, tapping a finger against her lips, deep in thought as she peered at him.
“A trellis. It’s just below the window to the room adjacent to it. ’Tis in the mews, so no one could see a body climb up in the middle of the night.”
“But what of the window?”
“What of it?”
“If it’s locked from the inside—”
“Too high. More trouble than no’ to lock it up and unlock it all over again.”
Ellie nodded, her brow furrowing so delightfully that Liam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
“Donna fret about the armoire. I popped the lock as easy as a child’s toy box.”
“How?”
He waved a hand toward his boot. “Sgian dubh… a small dagger. Just slipped the tip into the lock, and there it was, she opened. ’Tis an old lock, it is.”
Ellie nodded, glanced away for a moment, then turned her gaze to him once more with an expression so dark that it sent a shiver down his spine. “What are ye thinking, then?” he asked softly.
She shrugged, looked at her feet. “That you’ll be gone when you have it,” she whispered.
Liam held out his hand to her.
Silently, she crawled up on the bed until she was lying beside him. Neither of them said a word, just looked at each other while an ocean of grief pooled between them, pushing them apart. At last, Ellie bent her head and kissed his neck, then his lips. She kissed him so fully and tenderly that he felt himself falling deep into her enchantment, his body vibrating with it. He was lost in her, lost in himself, so lost that when she bit his lower lip—hard—it startled him badly.
Liam instantly grabbed her shoulders and jerked her away from him. But instead of looking contrite, Ellie smiled wickedly, touched the spot where she had bit him, then held up her finger so that he could see the tiny bit of blood she had drawn. “You should punish me,” she murmured.
Those words rifled through his entire body, igniting him. He shoved her onto her back, straddling her as he pinned her hands above her head, while his body held her beneath him. “What is it ye said, lass?” he demanded as he leaned over her, breathing her in.
Ellie smiled that wickedly seductive smile again. “I said, Captain, you should punish me.”
Ach, he’d punish her, he would. With a throaty chuckle, he suddenly moved off her, yanking her as he went, pulling her across his lap, facedown. “It’s punishment ye want, is that it?” he breathed as he casually pushed her dressing gown aside and slipped his hand beneath her nightgown.
“Yes,” she said, with a low, seductive laugh, moving on his lap to accommodate his roaming hand as it slipped in between her thighs.
“If ye want to be punished,” he murmured as he casually explored her bottom, “ye must ask me nicely.”
Ellie sighed, lifted her hips in response to his probing fingers, and whispered huskily, “Punish me—” She gasped as he grabbed her bare hip and squeezed it roughly. “Please punish me,” she continued, her breath growing ragged. “Make me sorry for having bit you,” she rasped.
Liam’s body came alive, and he moved beneath her, so that she could feel just how alive he was. Ellie shifted, rubbing against him, lifting her hips higher, silently asking for more until Liam could bear it no more. Suddenly he pushed her forward, off his lap, fumbling with his trousers as she pulled her nightgown up to her waist, exposing her bare bottom to him, pink from his handling. With his trousers half on, Liam mounted her from behind, thrusting deep into her damp heat as he whispered in her ear, “I shall punish ye lass. I shall punish ye until ye beg for mercy.”
Ellie arched into him, lifted her head, and whispered, “Deeper.”
Twenty
Ellie had succeeded in introducing Liam to a new sensual world; their lovemaking that night was electrifying, and left him fully sated, exhausted and feeling disturbingly warm and a little fuzzy, as if he were walking about in something of a lush fog or wallowing about in a vat of figgy pudding…. All right, that was definitely not something Liam was accustomed to feeling, and frankly, he was having a difficult time adjusting to the idea that he rather liked feeling so terribly unfocused. But dammit it all to hell, he liked being in love! And it didn’t help that this latest, tantalizing nocturnal experience with Ellie came back to him over and over again, bringing a smile to his face.
Yet not nearly as bright or as deeply felt as the one he wore each time he saw Ellie, his beautiful, luscious Ellie.
As fortune would have it, he saw quite a lot of her after the ball. Nigel, predictably, was indisposed for two days afterward. Liam might have called on him, but the thought of encountering Cousin Barbara was more than he could endure, and besides, Nigel’s taking to his bed gave Liam the opportunity to spend as much time with Ellie as he could. They walked in Hyde Park together, took tea, strolled among the shops that lined Bond Street, and even ventured again to Vauxhall Gardens, where he bought Ellie and Nat each a gillyflower corsage with his dwindling funds. It hardly concerned him, as he was certain he would be leaving London soon, now that he had found the beastie.
As to that—his inevitable departure—he and Ellie avoided the subject entirely, choosing, apparently, to leave that discussion to another, more pressing time. On those occasions Ellie tried to talk about it, usually having something to do with the nabbing of the beastie (about which she seemed rather nervous), he humored her, steering the conversation clear of such unpleasant reminders. He did not want to face the uncertain future. He wanted only to think about carefree things. He wanted only to love her while he could. He had been shown a glimpse of heaven, complete with angels, and he wasn’t ready to plummet back to Earth.
So they spent their time speaking of light topics, such as the many books Ellie had read in her solitude. Liam rather imagined she and his mother could have been fast friends, as they both seemed to have voracious appetites for reading. She repeated gossip (albeit woefully dated gossip) about various people he had met and talked at length about slippers and gowns and horses and paintings and other such inconsequential things.
Liam returned the favor, teaching Ellie a bit about Scottish history, which he had not previously realized he knew quite so much about. He would have astounded and pleased his family with his recitation of events, his description of Talla Dileas and Loch Chon, and the people who lived there. He talked about Payton Douglas and his suspicion of the man’s regard for his sister, Mared. He told her about Griffin and his desire to be part of the set that moved in and around Mayfair. He spoke fondly of his parents, and of his dogs, and of his horses, and naturally, the hairy cattle that grazed there.
When they weren’t conversing, or playing with Nattie, or preparing edible food, they were making love. It was, to Liam’s way of thinking, a fascinating, almost irrational dreamlike experience. It was tender and loving, certainly, for he loved Ellie. But it was also dangerously, precariously exciting. And it was never enough.
He had, he realized one day as he watched Ellie and Natalie walking along the path in front of him, fallen so hard into this abyss of love that he was privately fearful he might not ever recover. Every wee thing about her made him want to be with her more; every time he thought of being without her, he felt a growing sense of desperation. His was a violent conflict of emotions—part of him wished he had never found the damned beastie. Yet another part of him hoped he got his hands on it quickly, and the sooner the better, as it was best to end this now and carry on. But he was, all in all, quite unwilling to dwell on the negative, was perhaps even fearful of facing the inevitable, and he refused to let himself think in those few days, tamping everything down, down, down. He would only allow himself this glimpse of
heaven and angels.
But all of that ended one afternoon not three days later when Liam ran into Nigel, who, having recovered from the overindulgence of his father’s ball, was back at his usual haunts along Pall Mall, and had engaged Liam in a card game, during which he casually mentioned his impending departure from London.
Liam glanced up as he dealt cards for a game. “Leaving?”
“Yes, yes, toodle-pip, off to Bath for a day or two while Mummy’s away. You know, take the waters and all that.”
No, he didn’t know—no one in Loch Chon ever “took” waters that he was aware. “And how long, exactly, does one take waters?”
Nigel snorted his laughter. “Cousin Liam, how very quaint you are. Surely you don’t really think…Oh, dear, I suppose there are some gentlemen who go to Bath for the purpose of taking the waters there, for I understand they are quite healing, actually, but really, most of us go for a change of scenery.”
“’Tis rather pretty, then, is it?”
Nigel looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Scenery, Cousin Liam,” he said, sketching an hourglass with his hands. “Knockers. You know, those sweet little buds of feminine flesh that make our wee willies dance with delight?”
Certainly Liam had sat around many campfires and shared in more than one discussion about the female anatomy, but he couldn’t have been more shocked if his very own mother had uttered those words. Wee willies! Before he could regain his composure, Nigel was waving an effeminate hand at him. “Not to worry, old chap. But you should really think of coming with us,” he said, arranging his cards precisely so in his hand. “We’ll not be abroad more than a day or two. Uckerby’s driving, and he’s got a rather grand carriage, so it should be a rather comfortable journey.”
“Ah, but how will Uncle ever manage without ye, Nigel?” Liam asked idly.
“Goodness to mercy, Liam, Father is coming, too, naturally!” Nigel exclaimed.
