by Julia London
“Judith!” Richard cried out, and was suddenly chasing after her. “I’ll not stand for your impudence, madam!” he shouted after her, and Judith’s reply to that was muffled by the great distance she had managed to already gain from her husband.
They were alone again. Ellen jerked her gaze to Liam; he was looking at her with a predatory expression. Instantly, she came to her feet, prepared to run if she must, but Liam chuckled low, obviously enjoying her discomfort. Ellen frowned as she backed away from him. “What a lovely little game you have brought us, sir.”
“What is it, then, lass? Does it make ye feel a wee bit uncomfortable?”
“No!”
“I rather thought it seemed appropriate for the occasion. After all, it is the game we are playing—have been playing, eh? Truth or consequence? Granted, I have had yer consequence forced on me against me will, but I thought ’twas certainly appropriate all the same.”
“Dear God, Liam, I know you are angry—”
“Ha!”
“—and if you want to embarrass me, if you want to expose me, then go ahead and do it. But why not leave the game playing to the children?”
“God blind me,” he said, shaking his head. “How could ye forget so soon, Ellie? How could ye forget who started this awful game? No’ me! Ach, no, I thought we were two people caught up in extraordinary circumstance, who had found each other in spite of it all, if only for a moment in time. I never thought it was a game, and I never thought we were anything but honest with one another. What a goddamn fool I was, eh? Aye, ye started this game, Ellie. But I intend to finish it.” He lowered his head and took a step forward.
Fear and fatigue spiraled in her gut—Ellen started for the door, but Liam caught her easily, jerking her around and crushing her up against the wall with his body, looking down at her with a face twisted in anger and confusion. He grabbed her chin and held her head back so she was forced to look at him, to see the pain there. “How could ye?” he breathed as his eyes wildly roamed her face. “How could ye make me love ye, then betray me so?”
Tears welled in her eyes; she caught a sob in her throat and whispered hoarsely, “I didn’t want to do it!”
“Bloody liar,” he growled, and moved his hand slowly from her chin until his fingers were splayed against her neck, holding her captive against the wall. For a split moment, Ellen feared for her life as she watched a thousand emotions sweep across his dark green eyes. But then Liam shocked her by suddenly kissing her, his mouth indignantly devouring hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth, searching for an answer, kissing her with all the angry emotion he felt. His knee pressed hard against her legs, forcing them open, so that he could hold her aloft with his leg. One hand went to her breast, caressing it roughly.
Ellen could feel his erection against her belly, hardening, and it was more than she could bear, more than she could endure. Helpless, hopeless, she responded to his primal call, her body lifting to his, pressing her breast into his palm, her hands running up and down his strong back while her body moved wantonly, riding his thigh. She wanted to memorize the feel of his body against her, every hard length of him, to hold him close one last time. All the emotions that had been boiling beneath the surface the last few days were suddenly bubbling out in that scorching kiss—all the overwhelming guilt, the gnawing hunger, the frightening uncertainty of what would happen to her now. To them now.
But her responsiveness seemed to dishearten him somehow; Liam suddenly let go of her, pushing away, pushing her out of his arms. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping that dangerously passionate kiss from his lips as he considered her. “If I were a shrewd man, I’d go to me grave without asking ye. But I’m no’ a shrewd man, I’m a simple man, one who had the bloody misfortune to fall in love with the likes of ye, Ellie. I canna help myself…I want to know, then, when ye said ye had ever been in love…did ye mean me? Or did ye mean Natalie’s father?”
The need in his voice stabbed at her heart; she felt her knees begin to quake and pressed her hands to her breast, pushed her racing heart down as she cried out, “What difference does it make now?”
“It makes all the difference in the goddamn world to me! What did ye mean, then, Ellie? Me or him? Did ye ever love me, or did ye think to betray me from the beginning?”
That stung her badly. “Liam! You don’t understand—”
“The hell I donna understand, Ellie! Ye left me bound up like a Christmas goose under the pretense of making love! Ye stole the one thing that can save me family! Ye know what it means to me just as well as ye know I’ll take it back. Yer betrayal is done; I’ll no’ pursue it further, and we can go on with our lives. Just…answer me! Answer me now, or I will make ye answer me with yer friends present, I will make ye feel the humiliation ye put on me! I…I must know, Ellie.”
Dear God, he must have truly loved her; and she had hurt him deeply. She could see it in his eyes, the clench of his jaw, the fist at his side. That dreadful mix of hope and pain on his face. “I meant…” But Ellen choked on her own hope and pain, finding it impossible to speak, to say all the things out loud that were in her heart, the emotion inside her too thick. “I meant…you,” she said softly, and let go the sob that had lodged in her throat.
It seemed almost as if her words hit him square in the jaw. Liam reeled backward, unable—or unwilling—to look at her. His hands went to his waist; his head dipped low.
Oh, God. Oh God oh God. “I meant you, Liam,” she continued recklessly, desperate. “I love you—”
“Then…how could ye, Ellie?” he asked, his voice sadly distant.
“Dear God!” she cried to the ceiling. “How could I not? You saw what was happening to Natalie! Oh, how I wish it had never happened! I wish you had never come to my father’s house, or come up those stairs! I wish you’d never told me—”
“Here we are, back again!”
Liam whirled toward the sound of Judith’s voice just as quickly as Ellen turned away and walked unsteadily to the window, desperately trying to compose herself as Judith sailed through the door.
She stopped mid-stride, looked first at Ellen, then Liam, who had crossed his arms implacably across his chest, and smiled smugly. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you two!” she trilled. “But unfortunately, my lord husband could not find the bracelet in question, and I’m afraid he’s putting on a bit of a sulk.” She continued on to the sideboard and poured herself a small sip of wine. “Perhaps we might amuse ourselves with a game of loo until he feels up to joining us again?” she asked gaily, and swished toward the card table, expecting Ellen and Liam to join her.
Liam wasn’t really very sure how he made it through the afternoon, seated across from the thieving vixen at the card table as he was. He could scarcely see the cards in front of him, could see nothing but her hair, made flaxen by the firelight, the curve of her slender neck, her pale blue eyes. And he could think of nothing but the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth when he had kissed her. Supper was wearisomely protracted, with Lady Peasedown doing her best to match him with Ellie, and Lord Peasedown having lost his desire to participate after whatever it was that had gone on between him and his wife.
Truthfully, Liam had lost his taste for the fight. For some reason, to hear her say she loved him, to see the pain in her eyes when she had told him had been far more devastating than believing she had played him for a fool to betray him. It left him feeling terribly at sea, and silently, he debated what he should do. Did he give up the fight for the beastie, ask her to accompany him to God knew where? Not particularly his most brilliant thought, was it? How exactly would he provide for her and Natalie? In spite of her estrangement from her father, it was obvious she was accustomed to living at a high standard. How would she fare in small houses in cities, countries far from here and the comforts she had known all her life? How would Natalie? And could he really take her with him knowing that she had betrayed him? Could he ever trust her again? Or did he take what
was rightfully his, leave with that and the ache in his heart, and hope that his military regiment would go somewhere so far away that his heart would eventually heal over and scar like an old battle wound?
Diah, his head hurt. Throbbed. And for the first time he could remember, he had no appetite.
But over the main course of supper, which he had difficulty eating, Lady Peasedown attempted almost frantically to engage him with tales of Ellen as a wee lass. Enchanting stories that painted a charming picture of a child living in luxury and privilege, accustomed to a certain way of life. And it was in that recitation that Liam finally understood there had never really been any question—he had to go home. He was all but out of funds, had nothing to offer her, and worse, had lost his trust in her. He would, he reckoned, have nothing of this extraordinary brush with love other than the memory of it…one he would carry in his heart for all eternity.
As supper drew to a close, and the port was served, Liam announced he was leaving on the morrow, and thanked the Peasedowns for their hospitality.
“I beg your pardon, you’re to do what?” Lady Peasedown demanded, her voice full of the fatigue and bewilderment of matchmaking.
“I’m leaving on the morrow, Lady Peasedown. Our regiment will depart in a month or so, and there are matters that require me at home.”
“But…but we had so hoped you’d stay!” she cried.
“Judith…” started Lord Peasedown, but wearily shook his head when Lady Peasedown began to protest.
“I’m certain you don’t have to go straight away, Captain Lockhart!” Judith said, looking to Ellie for help.
But she’d get none there—Ellie bit her lower lip, looked at her china plate, and allowed Lady Peasedown to pout.
Liam declined the offer of a cheroot and begged their forgiveness as he stood to leave. “I must be up ere dawn,” he lied.
The Peasedowns and Ellie accompanied him to the front hall, where he took his greatcoat, hat, and gloves from Filbert for the last time. Lord Peasedown shook his hand vigorously, declared he had had a splendid time of it, would send a man for the curricle on the morrow, then urged his wife to say good-bye. Lady Peasedown was not quite as endearing in her send-off, and Liam could see that she was hurt by his unwillingness to play at her game any longer. He thanked her profusely, and thought had it been any other circumstance, he would have indulged her.
Lord Peasedown, openly embarrassed by his wife’s sulk, forced her to accompany him to the salon, leaving Liam alone with Ellie.
Ellie stood with her arms crossed under her bosom, studying the pattern of the marble floor.
“Look at me, then,” he softly commanded her as Filbert walked away to open the door.
She looked up; the tears shimmering in her eyes surprised him.
“I’ll come back for it,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “Ye know I will.”
She nodded; a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and spilled down her cheek. “You won’t find it, Liam. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you have it.”
He smiled sadly. “I’ll no’ harm ye, Ellie. I could never.” He drew a breath, put a finger under her chin, and lifted her face higher, so that he could see it one last time, take in every feature. Still and always an angel, wasn’t she, a bloody angel who happened to be hurtling toward Earth. “I couldna harm ye in any way, for the truth is…tha gràdh agam ort.”
Another tear fell.
“That is to say, I love ye, above all else, and I always will.”
More tears fell, streaming down her face, yet Ellie said nothing, just gazed at him, her thoughts hidden behind that shroud of tears. There was nothing left to say. He bent his head, kissed her softly on the lips, then stepped away and walked out the door, not daring to look back.
And in the dead of night, just before the sun would rise, he tiptoed from Ellie’s dressing room into her bedroom, holding the plaid bundle under his arm. Natalie was sleeping soundly at her side, and Ellie was fully clothed. He knew she had waited for him, had tried to stay awake. And she had hidden the beastie well, but it had been exactly where Natalie had seen it last, and he had found it easily, wrapped in his kilt, the bulky shape and glint of a ruby where the plaid did not meet giving it away.
Liam leaned over, looked at Natalie. The lass was sleeping, her breath loud and deep, and he knew that disappointing her might possibly be the greatest regret of his life. Someday yer prince will come, Nattie. Someday.
He shifted his gaze to Ellie; saw the frown that creased her brow. How long he stood there he had no notion, but he finally turned and walked away, taking his beastie and the memory of his angel with him.
Twenty-six
It was no more than a pinprick of sound that woke Ellen that morning; a small and insignificant noise that wended its way down into her consciousness, penetrating her hated dreams. Whatever it was, her body remembered all at once that she was supposed to be awake, and she bolted upright, her heart pounding.
Everything looked the same.
Beside her, Natalie moaned in her sleep and rolled onto her side.
Ellen sat perfectly still, straining to hear whatever it was that had awakened her.
Nothing.
Complete silence—except for the cacophony of her tortured thoughts screaming in her head, of course, as they had done all night. Slowly, she put one leg over the side of the bed, then the other, and stood cautiously. Still nothing. Was it her imagination, nothing more? Another unfounded panic? She glanced at the clock on the mantel; it was four o’clock, and the embers still glowed warm in the hearth. She hadn’t slept long then—an hour, maybe two.
Nevertheless, it was time to go. Everything was packed. The house was dead to the world and it wouldn’t be long before the servants were stirring. With a little luck, she and Natalie would be on the six o’clock coach to Cambridge before anyone would notice them missing. Richard had asked her one interminable evening about her journey from London, then had explained the intricacies of the public coach system in King’s Lynn. There were three in all, coming from and headed to three separate directions, all leaving promptly at six o’clock each morning, and returning at promptly six o’clock that very evening.
At the very least, she had come to the conclusion that with three coaches leaving at the same time and going in opposite directions from one another, it might add some necessary confusion to their flight. It was conceivable that no one would remember a woman with her young daughter at all, and if anyone did, perhaps would not remember with any clarity which coach they had boarded. That should at least give them time to reach Cambridge, where she thought she had the best chance of selling the damn beastie, before taking another public coach to the sea and sailing to France.
Her plan, hastily concocted, was undoubtedly full of holes, but was no longer open to internal debate, for if she and Natalie didn’t start soon, there would be no hope of it.
Ellen collected herself and hurried to her dressing room to gather her things and wash before they fled. But as she entered the dressing room, she immediately noticed that an empty portmanteau had been moved slightly, if only a fraction of an inch. But there was no doubt in her mind—it had been moved. Her body reacted before her mind, flying to the case and shoving it aside, then the hatboxes—
It was gone.
Astounded, Ellen sat back on her heels, her mind racing as she gaped at the empty space where she had left the false beastie. Her mind raced along with her heart, unable to fathom how he had managed it, how he could have possibly come into this room, undetected, and taken the bundle she had left for him. Was that the sound that had awakened her? Was it possible he was still here? Had he discovered what she had done?
Panicking now, she jumped up, ran to her bedroom, and fell down on her knees before the bed, reaching under it. It wasn’t there! She felt about wildly for it, grimacing at the dust balls, tears building in her eyes, thinking he had found them both, had left her here with no way to escape, no option but to return to her father—
There it was! Her hand closed around the foot of it; she dragged it out, the real beastie wrapped in part of his kilt. She tore the thing open to make sure he hadn’t discovered her ruse and felt the tears stream down her face when she realized she had, by some miracle, managed to dupe him a second time.
Quickly, she wrapped the beastie again and held it close to her chest as she woke Natalie and whispered for her to get dressed.
Liam slept badly, tossing and turning on a horrid mattress, his dreams broken into images of Ellie and the beastie. He woke as the sun was turning the morning sky pink, his head still throbbing.
He rose, shoved into his buckskins, then yanked the frayed bellpull. When the chambermaid appeared, he ordered a bath, then wandered to the small little portal window of his room, braced his arms on either side of it, and stared out into the dirty courtyard. He wondered if she had awakened yet, if she had discovered that he had come while she was sleeping. What would she do now? Return to London and that bastard Farnsworth? Then what? And what of Natalie?
Natalie. His guilt was ripe on that one; for he had promised that child he would rescue her. Of course he had thought not a whit about her silly little game of princesses trapped in towers, at least not until he had found her sobbing in her sleep. And then, of course, he had seen the look of desperation in her blue eyes, had realized that for all her talk of Laria, it was not a game to Natalie. Her despair and her desire to be rescued were very real.
Mo creach, he could scarcely think of it without feeling ill. But he simply could not be her prince.
A knock on the door, and the chambermaid appeared carrying two pails of water, followed by a lad carrying three. They set the pails down and together dragged in a heavy hip bath. When they had departed, Liam shucked the buckskins, and grimacing, stepped into the ice-cold water. With the lye soap, he bathed quickly.
Now he was freezing, and he looked about for something suitable to cover him. His kilt! He immediately walked to the knapsack, which he had dropped the moment he entered the room this morning, and reached in, withdrawing the beastie. He noticed, as he untied the plaid that wrapped it, that the corner seemed frayed. That brought a frown to his face—she might have at least cared for it. He yanked at the plaid, saw the jagged corner was really a jagged edge, and clenched his jaw. What, was it not enough that she had to dupe him? She thought it necessary to go and ruin his kilt, too?
