by Anne Stuart
"Adolphus?" she shrieked in disbelief. "But why?"
"Despite what he says, he knew as well as anyone what his uncle was up to. I gather LeBoeuf was somewhat indiscreet before he . . . ahem . . . died. Adolphus was hoping to avoid any trouble by seeing to his uncle himself. That involved keeping everyone else blind to the goings-on, including your curious little self. He told me he greatly regretted the need for violence upon your person."
"Did he, now?" she snarled, slapping the cards down on the table with unnecessary vehemence. "I'd like to show him what violence is."
"I would suggest, Miss Traherne, that the less said about the events of the last few days, the better. I know Jeremy would agree with me. It would be in everyone's best interests if you simply rose above your justifiable provocation and ignored Sir Adolphus's assault. He said he hit you as gently as he could."
"Thoughtful of him," she observed cynically.
"I can trust in your discretion in this matter?" There was a hint of steel beneath Sir Henry's light tones, and Elizabeth nodded reluctantly.
"That's the girl." He placed a paternal kiss on her unbruised cheek. "Well, I just wanted to say good-bye and to tell you that I couldn't be more delighted. Michael's been like a son to Lady Beatrice and myself." And with those cryptic words he bowed himself out of the room before Elizabeth could do more than stare in bewilderment.
Elizabeth turned back to the neglected game of patience, with all the patience she herself could muster. She was allowed a mere three minutes of peace before Lady Elfreda, whose deep seclusion had begun to pall, tottered into the room on unsteady feet, dressed in flowing black crepe, her basilisk eyes red-rimmed from weeping.
"There you are, missy," she said in waspish tones. "I suppose you're pleased with yourself, eh?"
"What do you mean?"
"Matchmaking for that lily-livered brother of yours and my Brenna. I had her picked for Adolphus!"
"I really don't think they would have suited," she said gently. "I am sorry about your brother-in-law, Lady Elfreda," she added mendaciously, mindful of her duty. "If there is anything I can do, you must let me know."
"You won't like living with Brenna, my girl," Lady Elfreda said, brushing the polite phrases aside. "She has a mind of her own, that one. The vicar'll be living under the cat's paw in no time at all, and you'll simply be in the way. I think you'd best come take Brenna's place with me. I'll need a companion, and you'll need a genteel occupation, eh?" To punctuate the flattering offer, she leaned over and gave her a little pinch.
Elizabeth controlled her start of pain. "I am more than grateful for the thought, Lady Elfreda, but I'm afraid I have other plans," she said in a silken voice. "Jeremy will be back, and I can always keep house for him until he marries. Failing that, my old governess could keep me company when I set up house on my own."
"Sumner mentioned some such nonsense," her ladyship said, dismissing it offhandedly. "He'll never allow you to do any such thing."
"He'll have no say in the matter. I have little doubt that Brenna will be more than happy to see me settled elsewhere."
"You'll be sorry you threw away a chance like this, Elizabeth Traherne. And don't think I'll change my mind and have you when you're destitute and disgraced!"
"I have no intention of being either, thank you. Goodbye, Lady Elfreda. I've had a simply delightful time these last few days, but I think I shan't repeat the experience."
The old woman stared at her, her pale, lined face mottled with rage. "Impertinence!" she fumed before striding out of the room, nearly colliding with the contessa on her way in.
The elegant black-clad figure watched the old lady storm away, then turned her lively dark eyes back to Elizabeth. "Do you mind if I join you?"
"It wouldn't do me any good if I did," she said bitterly. "Everyone seems to have it in mind."
"You've seen Michael this morning?" she inquired, obviously surprised.
"Everyone but Michael Fraser," Elizabeth amended irritably. "At least I've been spared that."
"I was startled because I thought I saw him leave a short while ago. No doubt he's coming back before he takes off for Sussex."
"He's going to Sussex?" Elizabeth questioned idly, suddenly intent on the forgotten card game.
"To his parents' place. A lovely spot, I hear, though Michael's estate in Kent is every bit as pretty, although somewhat smaller, Sir Henry tells me. For a younger son Michael is quite well off."
"How felicitous for him," Elizabeth said sourly.
The contessa smiled, greatly amused. "I came in to tell you that Adolphus and I plan to be wed next month. Just a small ceremony, since he, of course, is in mourning. We hoped you might be my maid of honor."
She stared at the contessa's irrepressible face in amazement. "You must be funning! After what he did?"
"Oh, I shan't mind that. Most of the men I've been attracted to have a murderous streak. And none of them have been half so well-off. I intend to enjoy myself fully as Lady Wingert."
"I only hope you won't regret it."
"That's what Michael says. But I assure you, I shan't. I'm getting too old to racket around the world. The war will be over before too long. It won't take much to capture the Corsican monster this time, and let us hope they keep him someplace where he can't escape so easily. Wish me happy?"
"I wish you luck," Elizabeth said firmly. "You'll need that more."
"Unhandsome of you, Lizzie. You don't mind if I call you that, do you? I heard Michael use it, and I must say it suits you."
"It would do me little good if I did mind," she said wearily.
"True enough." The contessa laughed with what Elizabeth considered to be heartless merriment. "Well, I wish you all the happiness in the world. Lord knows, you deserve it almost as much as I do." And she sailed out of the room, leaving Elizabeth in doubtful peace once more.
Disconsolately she rose, strolling over to the window. Years ago, months ago, even days ago, she would have viewed the prospect of an offer from Rupert St. Ives with unalloyed joy. Now the mere thought filled her heart with the deepest depression. The thought that Jeremy was actually home, safe at last, brought a temporary lightening to her mood, only to be sunk in gloom once more at the insistent memory of Michael Fraser.
Michael Fraser, who had been acting a pan for the better portion of a year. Pretending to be a traitor, a gambler, a ne'er-do-well. Pretending to care for her, when all the time he was merely doing his duty. All his "my love's" and "when we're married's" were of a piece with his dangerous image. All fabrication.
And she had been a complete, utter, blind, infatuated fool. How he must have been laughing at her as he lied to her, played with her, kissed her, and then abandoned her. There was nothing Elizabeth wanted more than to crawl away and hide. She was too furious and embarrassed to ever want to see Michael Fraser again. It was fortunate he had felt a complete lack of interest, she told herself, and had taken off so that she could still retain the shreds of a much assaulted dignity. If she ever saw Michael Fraser again, she told herself stormily, she would nod coolly and walk on by. Not by any action on her part would he know that her heart was irrevocably shattered. She stared gloomily out the leaded glass windows to the front drive, contemplating a future filled with noble suffering.
A very large, very elegant coach was waiting by the front entrance, piled high with trunks and valises and pulled by a perfectly matched set of bay horses. It took Elizabeth a few moments to realize that the trunks on top of the coach looked familiar and a few moments more to realize that they were hers. In a blind fury she strode into the hall only to careen into Michael Fraser.
"What are my trunks doing on that coach?" she demanded furiously, disentangling herself with a stifled pang of regret. "Where did they come from?"
"The manse," he replied, a faint smile playing around his mouth. In the light of day he appeared surprisingly lighthearted, the sapphire blue eyes smiling down at her, the grim planes of his tanned face relaxed and happy. "Brenna pac
ked them for me."
"I'm sure she did," Elizabeth said bitterly. "Whatever for?"
"Well, I'd be more than happy to take you without a stitch on your back, but I thought you'd be more comfortable visiting my family with your wardrobe intact."
"Who says I am visiting your family?" she demanded in dangerous tones.
Surprisingly enough for an experienced soldier, Fraser failed to recognize his peril. "I do. I wrote them to expect us when I sent for the carriage. They're very eager to meet you, and Jeremy will be coming along in a few days, as well. He approves, you know."
"Approves of what? Not of your high-handed ways, I hope," she said in a dampening tone of voice. "And why should I meet your parents?"
His dazzling smile left her stonily unmoved. "Don't you think they deserve to meet my future wife?"
Her temper exploded once more. "How dare you?" she fumed. "How dare you just assume I would fall into your arms if you merely beckoned! You certainly have a high opinion of yourself, Captain Fraser, if you think you're such a catch for every unattached female."
"I would think you'd be far happier with me than with Brenna the Beastly. Poor Sumner is already looking a bit downtrodden."
"Oh, of course. Nothing could be more delightful than traipsing around Europe as you got yourself into one scrape after another! A spy is just my idea of a perfect husband."
"Well, actually this was my last assignment. In another week I'll be out of the army, and then I might stand for Parliament. You know you'd make an admirable politician's wife with your infinite tact."
"Ooooh," she fumed. "Well, difficult as it may be to believe, I find I must decline your flattering offer that was never even made. I have other plans!"
Fraser seemed amused by her rage. "Would you like me to go down on one knee, Lizzie? I thought we understood each other tolerably well. It's not every female I kiss in closets."
"I would like you, Captain Fraser, to go to the devil!"
"What is all this unseemly noise?" Lady Elfreda's stentorian tenor bellowed down the hall. "Doesn't anyone know how to behave in a house of mourning?"
Both combatants ignored the plaintive question. By this time Fraser was furious too, and his eyes blazed down into hers. "You are being extremely tiresome, Lizzie," he said evenly. "Do you or do you not wish to come with me?"
"If you won't pay any heed to what I've been saying, perhaps this will serve to convince you," she cried, and slapped him across the face with all her strength.
The sound echoed shockingly in the cavernous hall. Fraser stared down at her, unmoved. "If it's physical violence you prefer," he said, and scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her thrashing figure toward the door.
"Put me down this instant!"
"When we get to Sussex," he replied calmly, carrying her out the front door into the damp spring air. The carriage door was already open, and he tossed her inside with an enthusiastic lack of gentleness, following behind her and slamming the door. As she struggled to gain her balance, the coach pulled away, sending her toppling into Fraser's waiting arms.
"How dare you?" she demanded hotly, her eyes straying guiltily to the red imprint of her hand on his tanned cheek.
"I would suggest you watch your step with me, Lizzie," he drawled, a light in his usually somber eyes. "I can be quite ruthless when I need to be."
"I'm certain you can be," she snapped. "Including manhandling helpless females."
"Anyone less helpless I am unlikely to see," he protested. "However, I must confess you were absolutely right in your earlier supposition. I did bash poor Brenna on the head and then come and ply you with sweet words and kisses. To which you responded admirably."
"You didn't!" she gasped, barely managing to stifle the reluctant giggle at the thought of sour Brenna's downfall. "But why?"
"Because I didn't want her wandering around the east tower any more than I wished you to," he said simply.
"You could have kissed her too," Elizabeth offered. "That would have distracted her."
"But I had no desire to kiss Brenna. Only you, my love. So tell me, would you prefer to have the coachman leave you off at the vicarage?" he asked coolly, his arms nevertheless tight around her unresisting body.
"I dislike above all things having my mind made up for me," she muttered sulkily, trying to preserve her rage while clinging to his shoulders.
"Then by all means make it up yourself," he offered generously, one long-fingered hand straying beneath her willful chin. "Would you like to go back to the vicarage, or would you like to come to Sussex and meet my family?"
"Why should I meet your family?" she demanded in a gentler voice as his other hand tightened around her slender waist.
"Gad, you can be delectably tiresome at times," he sighed, nibbling her earlobe in a distracting fashion. She made no effort to wriggle out of the way. "Because you are going to marry me, like it or no, and—"
She tore herself out of his arms, landing with a solid thump on the carriage floor. "I will not be told what to do!" she declared thunderously, ignoring her ignominious position.
She was also unaware of how completely endearing she was, sitting there in her rumpled blue velvet dress, her tawny chestnut hair falling down around her shoulders, her sherry-colored eyes bright with suspicion, and the bruise across one cheekbone. Fraser smiled.
"Will you, my luscious, delectable termagant, marry the poor fool who sits before you completely besotted and rescue him from a life of loneliness and despair?"
Elizabeth considered him for a long moment. "Why?" she asked simply for what she told herself would be positively the last time.
Without further ado Michael pulled her willing form back into his arms, settling her comfortably against his shoulder. "Because I love you," he said, and proceeded to take unfair advantage of her by kissing her quite ruthlessly.
When he finally allowed her to breathe, Elizabeth decided that such an overbearing tyrant had best be humored. "In that case," she murmured dreamily, "I will."
