But Elizabeth Gilbert’s shouts from behind the locked bedchamber door were not helping the thinking process. She pounded her fist on the old, warped wooden panels and screamed.
As soon as Edward realized they had the wrong woman, that it was Lady Elizabeth Gilbert and not Jane Courtwright they had seized, he had thrown his cloak over her head and carried her into the cottage. But it was too late—she had recognized him. And he could see it in her wide, shocked eyes that she knew him, even before she said his name.
Their quarry was gone who knew where, his chance at revenge vanished—and now he had Elizabeth Gilbert to contend with. She wasn’t the sort of woman to be meek and quiet at the best of times.
He’d been a damnable fool, a knave, to think such a scheme could work.
“I know it was you,” she cried through the door. “I want to know the meaning of this villainy at once!”
He would like to know that himself, for he had almost forgotten the original purpose. He had to mend this quickly, before all was lost.
Edward strode to the door and threw back the bar. It opened so suddenly that Elizabeth stumbled onto the edge of the bed. A ray of torchlight fell across her, and he saw that her hair had spilled from its caul and tumbled over her shoulders like a curling dark cloud. The cloak lay in a heap on the floor and the sleeve of her doublet jacket was torn, revealing the thin linen chemise beneath. A smudge of dirt marred one pale cheek.
And her eyes were huge with fear, her face white. She no longer looked like that calm, efficient lady-in-waiting who glided coolly along the corridors of Whitehall, untouched by anything. She looked young and vulnerable—and beautiful. Very beautiful.
But that fright in her eyes pierced his conscience like a poison-tipped arrow. He hadn’t known he still possessed a conscience until that moment.
He didn’t care for that remorseful feeling at all. He hardened himself toward her and the whole damnable situation, and leaned lazily against the door frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Elizabeth slowly push herself to her feet.
She swallowed hard, her delicate, pale throat trembling with the movement, and lifted her chin to glare at him. Even cornered she refused to back down.
And that defiance made her even more beautiful.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said. “Are you holding me for ransom? Do you have gambling debts you can’t pay, a mistress who wants a new bauble you can’t afford?”
Was that truly what she thought of him? After all he had seen and done in his life, after what had happened to Jamie, Edward believed he could not be wounded. But strangely, the contempt in Lady Elizabeth’s voice stung.
And it made him angry.
“I’m not such a lout as all that, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “This was merely a mistake, and one I will rectify at once.”
“A mistake?” She gave a harsh laugh. “The great Lord Edward Hartley, the darling of the Court, makes a mistake?”
A smile lingered about her lips—those lush, full pink lips that belied her cool exterior. The lips he had imagined kissing, tasting, feeling beneath his. And somehow that smile made his control snap.
He lunged across the small space and took her by the shoulders, dragging her to her feet and up against him. Her smile faded, but she was so surprised she didn’t pull away. She fell against him, her palms braced on his chest.
“You were the wrong woman,” he growled.
The wrong woman?
Elizabeth stared up at Edward’s hard, angry face in disbelief. She had been kidnapped, scared out of her wits, shocked by his appearance on the scene—experiencing so many reactions so fast that her head was spinning. And all because he’d taken the wrong woman?
Suddenly she felt the most inexplicable emotion of all—anger that she wasn’t even the one he wanted.
She stared up at him, outlined in the dim, flickering torchlight from the room beyond. His face, those elegantly carved, handsome features she had once admired so reluctantly, were set in a hard, cold mask. His body against hers was unyielding. He held her by the shoulders tightly, as if he couldn’t let her go, but she couldn’t have moved away if she tried. It was as if she was caught by the cloud-gray light in his eyes.
His black velvet-and-leather doublet was open, revealing the loosely laced shirt beneath and a deep vee of smooth, bronzed skin, glistening damp. Elizabeth slowly curled her fingers into the soft linen, feeling the heat of his hard body under her touch. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a muscle flex in his beard-roughened cheek. His hands tightened on her shoulders.
So he was not entirely unaffected by her. She smiled at the realization.
It was as if the darkness outside, the small, strange cottage in the middle of the woods, and the nearness of him cut off her real world, her real life. They closed around her until she could no longer see the past or the future, could no longer feel the careful caution that had ruled her life for too long. She only had this one moment, and it made her feel like an entirely different person.
Like maybe the wrong woman could be the right one, after all.
Her gaze slid over his bare throat, the naked skin where his shirt was unlaced. A tiny bead of sweat glistened diamondlike in the hollow there, and she leaned forward to catch its salty sweetness on the tip of her tongue. He tasted delicious, like summer sun, and she knew she had to kiss him again. Her anger spun around and around, transformed into a rush of rough lust.
Aye—she was not herself tonight.
Her lips barely touched his skin again when Edward let out a deep, primal growl and pushed her back. But he didn’t let go. His hard grasp tightened on her shoulders and he swung her around, to hold her pressed to the wall. His body was against hers, so close she could feel his blazing heat all through her, his raw power.
She heard a sharp crack above her head, and for an instant she thought it was her heart. Then she knew it was thunder from outside, heralding a storm. Lightning flashed beyond the high, narrow window, a sizzling jolt of silver.
It was be nothing compared to the storm inside her.
Elizabeth went very still, not even daring to breathe as she stared up at him. His pale gray eyes burned with anger and passion; his hands were hard, almost bruising, on her shoulders. She knew she should run, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even look away from him.
He seemed to feel that bond as well. His body on hers was taut with tension, the sound of his breathing harsh. She stared at his mouth, the sensual curve of his lips, and she wanted to feel them on hers. She swayed against him and his hands gentled. They slid slowly down her arms to twist her fingers with his, holding her there against the wall.
His lips parted as his head tilted down toward hers. Elizabeth shivered and arched up against him. She was his prisoner, yes, but surely she could also make him hers.
He kissed her at last, the soft, sensitive spot just below her ear, and he touched her there with the tip of his tongue.
She gasped at the hot rush of pure sensation that poured through her. Her fingers convulsed in his grasp and her eyes closed. His mouth slowly slid down her throat, open and hot. She felt him bite lightly at the curve of her neck and shoulder, felt his breath on her bare skin there, and her knees collapsed under her.
He caught her, his arms coming around her waist to lift her up. He braced her between the wall and his body, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to keep herself from falling. The whole room whirled around her, and she had never felt like this before. Weak and powerful all at the same time.
His mouth met hers, rough and full of urgency. She felt the press of his tongue against her lips, and she opened to him hungrily. She tangled her fingers in the waves of his hair to hold him with her.
He groaned as her tongue tangled with his, and the sound of his desire echoed within her, driving her desire even higher. Impatiently, she pushed his shirt out of her way so she could touch his bare skin, feel him under her hands. He felt like hot satin over steel, the roughness of curling
hairs and an old scar over his shoulder registering in her awareness. She felt the beat of his heart under her palm, vital and alive.
It had been so very, very long since sh’d felt alive. She kissed him back with all the force of passion she had hidden and suppressed for so long, drunk with the wonder of it all. She could feel again! He made her feel.
And he met her kiss with an equal force of lustful passion. There was no careful, seductive art to the kiss, as she would have expected from a Court libertine. Only the same hungry, desperate need that built inside her. She was drowning in him.
His mouth trailed away from hers, leaving a damp, hot ribbon of kisses over her cheek and jaw, along her throat to where her gown met her bare skin.
“You were surely sent here to drive me to madness,” he growled.
“Then we’re both mad, in truth,” Elizabeth whispered.
His arms tightened, to draw her even closer. Her skirts fell back, and above her gartered stocking she felt the hard, heavy press of his erection. He did want her, just as she wanted him.
He kissed her lips again, wet and hot, full of that raw need, and she felt the room spin once more. This time it truly did spin, and he tumbled them both onto the bed. Her legs fell apart and his body came down between them, heavy and enticing on top of her.
Through the heat of their kiss, she felt his hand slide roughly over her hip until he grasped a handful of her skirts. He dragged it up until her leg was bare, and his skillful fingers slid under her ribbon garter to caress the bare skin of her thigh.
It felt wonderful, that touch of skin on skin, and she tightened her legs around his hips. The wool cloth of his breeches was deliciously abrasive and it made her shiver.
His mouth slid along her throat, and her head fell back to give him access. His fingers followed his lips, deftly unfastening her doublet jacket and spreading it open to reveal her thin, low-cut chemise.
Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue hotly traced the ribbon-trimmed neckline and dipped into the hollow between her breasts. She felt the scrape of his teeth on that sensitive spot, and then he soothed it with a soft, gentle kiss. Her nipples ached, and a heavy longing expanded low in her abdomen. Her whole body hurt for more of his touch.
His hand curled into the edge of her chemise and tugged it down to release one pale breast.
Startled by the cool rush of air over her skin, Elizabeth opened her eyes, only to find Edward staring down at her with a smoldering hunger that made everything else vanish.
“You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “How can you hide it away from the world?”
And he leaned down to capture her erect nipple between his lips, rolling it, biting it lightly before he drew it deep into his mouth.
She cried out, and twined her fingers in his hair to hold him against her. But he escaped her, resting his head on her shoulder as his hand slid again over her thigh. One fingertip searched out the damp center of her womanhood, and she moaned as it slipped inside her with a delicious, enticing friction.
“Now, please,” she whispered.
“I was hoping you would say that,” he said. His fingers widened her as he unfastened his breeches and entered her welcoming body.
Elizabeth tensed, and Edward went still against her. It had been a long time since she was with a man, and her body had never felt like this. Slowly, the sensation of pressure faded away, and there was only the pleasure building again, hot and heavy inside her, moving over her until it was all she knew. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and arched her spine to pull him even deeper.
He drew back one slow, alluring inch at a time, almost leaving her. She murmured a protest and he plunged back inside, deeper, faster.
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out, but the sound escaped with the rush of pleasure. It was like falling into a consuming fire that didn’t burn, but sparkled with sheer, wondrous delight. Edward’s movements grew even faster, desperate, harder. The whole world turned dark at the edges and she heard a humming in her ears, louder and louder until she was overcome by it.
Then her climax broke over her, a great explosion of stars—red, blue, white—that sent her soaring into a vast, wondrous emptiness.
Above her, Edward’s body arched in turn, and he shouted roughly, wordlessly. She felt his shoulders tighten under her hands and he threw back his head in primitive pleasure.
He collapsed to the bed beside her, their arms, legs and torn clothes entangled. She felt the soft rush of his breath on her bare neck, warm and ragged, and her own lungs felt tight with the effort to breathe. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she felt as if she was slowly sinking back to earth.
She had never felt so wonderfully tired before.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to stare up at the low, beamed ceiling above her head. Edward’s breath grew slower, as if he was slidding into sleep beside her, and reality tugged at her as if to drag her from this moment of fantasy. But she didn’t want to go. Not yet.
Tomorrow, in the light of day, she would have to face the foolishness of what she had done. Not just now, though. Now she wanted sleep, and dark forgetfulness.
She smoothed her clothes over her bare, tingling skin and slid down to gather the blankets around them. The night was turning cool, and she could hear the patter of rain against the cottage walls, the rumble of thunder in the distance. Without opening his eyes, Edward seized her hand and held it tightly, as if he wanted to be near her in his dreams.
“If only we could live in dreams forever,” Elizabeth whispered. Then she closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter Six
Edward leaned his shoulder against the bedchamber door frame, watching Elizabeth as she slept. She looked so young and openhearted, so vulnerable. Her dark hair fell in loose, heavy waves over the pillows and her lips, berry-red from his kisses, were parted as if she whispered secrets in her dreams.
The room smelled of wood smoke and clean rain, of her rosewater perfume. The scents seemed to curl around him, luring him back to her, to the pleasure they had found together so unexpectedly.
In truth, he had never felt like that before, not with any of his women. For a moment he’d forgotten everything in the world but her. She was all he could see.
He even forgot what had brought them here to this place—his scheme for revenge. The kidnapping that had gone so wrong.
He knew he had to let her go, and that once she knew the full truth she would hate him even more than she had before. He had to be ruthless, to push away these unwelcome emotions and find his cold center again. She had no place in his life. He couldn’t hurt her again.
Edward kicked his discarded doublet under the bed and softly closed the door on her beautiful slumbering face. He left the cottage for the overgrown, tangled garden, letting the rain pour over his head and bare chest. Cold and pelting, it fell in needlelike drops on his skin, but he didn’t care. He wanted it to wash away the past, all his pain and guilt.
He held out his arms and turned his face up to the gray sky. “I’m sorry,” he shouted to the heavens, to his poor brother. To himself. “I failed you.”
And now he had failed Elizabeth Gilbert, too. He closed his eyes and gathered his cold, hard strength around him. The strength that had sustained him for these many years. It was all he had needed, all he needed now to send Elizabeth away.
He heard the cottage door squeak, and he opened his eyes. She was there; he could feel her, sense her. Slowly he turned to see her standing there under the meager shelter of the eaves, her white chemise like a beacon in the storm. She watched him with a calm stillness, her face pale and expressionless.
Then she wordlessly held out her hand to him. He knew he should turn away, run from the cottage and from her. But he was drawn to that offered hand. He walked slowly across the rain-soaked garden and took it in his.
It was like being pulled up from the depths of the sea and into the light again. Her fingers closed tightly on his and she drew him with her back into the da
rk silence of the cottage.
When Elizabeth awoke, for an instant she didn’t know where she was. It wasn’t her brocade-draped bed in her apartment at Court, and the small, dim room wasn’t her own grand chamber in the Strand. The one tiny window cast only a faint gray light, throwing the few pieces of battered furniture into shadows. The only sound was the rain against the walls outside.
She sat up in a rush of fear—and then remembered. Remembered everything. Being kidnapped and taken to this place—making love with Edward Hartley. Oh aye, she especially remembered that part. Every single pleasurable moment of it. Every kiss and touch and moan.
Elizabeth covered her burning face with her hands and fell back to the rumpled bed. At least he was gone now, the chamber door closed, and she was alone with the roiling turmoil of her emotions.
She had become someone entirely not herself, someone free and open and sensual. Even now that stranger who was part of her lingered, sighing with remembered pleasure.
All because of Edward Hartley and his villainous, mysterious schemes. He had kidnapped her! She should be struggling for a way to escape, hating him.
But she could not.
She opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling again, seeing his face in her mind. He had looked so very…sad. His beautiful gray eyes were filled with so many shadows and violent emotions, things he usually kept hidden behind his facade of the rakish, devil-may-care courtier. She only saw them because she also lived a hidden life.
“It can’t be,” he had said when he’d lifted her out of the carriage and seen her face. What did that mean? Had he meant to bring someone else here?
She knew she couldn’t leave until she found out. Until she knew if there was a way she could help him banish that hidden sadness.
Elizabeth pushed back the blankets and slid out of bed. In the faint light she found a brush on the table and raked it through her tangled hair, pulling out the few pins that still clung to the strands. She tested the door and found it unlocked, so she cautiously peered into the cottage’s main room.
To Court, Capture and Conquer Page 3
