"Tomorrow night it is, assuming the weather is fine,” Elizabeth said. “See that Kathleen is found and taken, if she wishes, to our refuge."
Pandora nodded. “I find it sad, though, that we cannot help all of them, my lady."
"I know. Once married, a woman is completely subjugated. She has no rights or recourse. We can help the others, however. Those young unmarried women, who are seduced or raped, need our help, and the money we steal helps see to their care. This is truly all that we can do until laws and attitudes change."
Elizabeth, feeling suddenly drained after a night filled with temptation and turmoil, slid between cool cotton sheets and savored the scent of rose that clung to the fabric. “We shall discuss this more tomorrow, Pandy,” she said on a yawn.
"G'night, m'lady. Think only of good things this night.” At the door, she stopped and grinned cheekily. “Think on the dashing Duke with the tight bum. That should bring on some right splendid dreams."
When Elizabeth shuddered delicately and groaned, Pandy laughed outright. “What an impertinent cork-brain you are!"
When the door closed at last, Elizabeth lay in the darkness and felt the smile fade from her face. Christian Delaford, a man she knew nary a whit about, had touched within her something new and vastly frightening.
Preconceived notions about relations between men and women had almost always revolved around men like Edward and his ilk.
Whilst leaping from alleyways to steal the occasional trinket, she'd come into contact with many. None of them, or any other young man of her acquaintance, had set off such showers of feeling within her body.
His touch made her want to lose control, and control was something she desperately needed. Never could she allow herself to become as Charlotte, a walking, talking, dead woman. But thoughts of him filled her body with such a strange longing.
Lazily, she moved her hand beneath the sheets where she slowly stroked a breast. Her nipple tingled, and Elizabeth gasped in the darkness.
Wanton.
That was what she was ... wanton.
This stranger would ruin her life for a certainty. Change who and what she was!
It wouldn't be borne, she vowed. The Duke was a man to be avoided at all costs. Closing her eyes, she sighed with regret. Remembering his touch made her begin to doubt all that she believed. Surely she was not wrong!
With that worry circling her brain, she struggled to forget the novel feel of his mouth devouring hers. To forget the scent of him. Those hands, strong and searching.
She tried to forget the way she wanted him but, later in her dreams, she relieved it all again.
It proved to be a bothersome night indeed.
Four
Rain slapped out a steady beat against the windows of Elizabeth's Grosvenor Street townhouse. Opening her bleary eyes to the gray shadows permeating her room, she thought for just a moment of attempting a bit more sleep, but knew the effort would be futile. Haunting dreams made her toss and turn through the long, stormy night, and the continuing weather merely added to her misery.
Fortune, it seemed, was not with her.
Serious riders enjoyed their early morning forays through Hyde Park. A fast, exhilarating ride would have been just the thing to shake off her dour mood, but it was simply not meant to be.
Elizabeth sighed, prayed for patience.
Assuming the weather cleared, she would be relegated to a stately stroll along Rotten Row much later in the day. The promenade would fill with London's elite who were more concerned with being seen than in the actual exercise of riding. Hyde Park in the afternoon was a ridiculous display of manners, fashion and, of course, gossip. Today much of that gossip would be focused upon herself.
Best face it bravely and go forward.
Steeling herself for the day to come, she donned a morning gown of apple green sprigged with yellow flowers. A fichu of Mechlin lace was tucked and draped about the neckline.
Walking to her vanity, she tucked a stray lock of auburn hair into the braided coronet at the crown of her head. As was her habit, she opened a Mother of Pearl-inlaid box, a gift from her sister, and reached inside. Alone on its bed of black velvet lay the gold watch she'd stolen from Edward. The gift from Charlotte to her husband on their wedding day was something with which Elizabeth had been unable to part. Pressing the latch to open it, Elizabeth read, once again, the words written there.
To Edward, the love of my life.
Your devoted Charlotte.
The words enforced her resolve and served as a reminder of her quest. Today, however, she felt cowardice roar up to rip away her confidence. It was a deadly game she played, and after last night's scene, all eyes would be focused in her direction.
A dangerous thing for a thief, indeed.
Her goal in attending the rout had been solely for the purpose of gleaning what information she could, yet she'd been unwillingly tossed into a sea of speculation.
Then there was the Duke.
How was she to keep focused on her work with him treating her in such an outrageous manner? Perhaps it was as simple as avoiding him, or maybe he had forgotten her already. Elizabeth didn't know him, after all. With his satyr's face and godlike body, he surely could have his choice of female companionship.
Surely he would forget her. Most likely, he would not.
Those silver eyes had blazed in the darkness, certain of the night's outcome. Determination was there, to be sure, along with a strange glint of something indecipherable that had sent a thrilling shiver through her body.
Elizabeth had never been so at odds. Her heart battled with her head, and she knew that her mind must rule if she were to succeed on her chosen course. She had no time for men. Most particularly men like Christian Delaford, who could make her forget everything but the touch of his lips against hers.
London was a city teeming with amusements at the height of the Season. Most likely, she would not see him often.
Closing the box, she went downstairs to face her father over breakfast and the morning issue of The Times. Like herself, Lord Henry was an early riser and if one wanted to speak with him, haste was imperative as he was wont to retreat from his wife and daughter.
"Good morning, Papa,” she said upon entering the dining room.
Lord Henry set down the paper and gave her a solemn nod. “Hello, Moppet."
She laughed softly as she filled her plate from the sideboard. “I ceased being a Moppet many years ago, as you well know."
"Old habit, my dear. You shall always be my Moppet despite the fact that you have blossomed into a beautiful and courageous young woman."
She took a chair to her father's right and broke open a steaming hot muffin to butter. Rolling her eyes, she scoffed. “Hah. Hardly courageous."
Henry stared at her through eyes identical to her own and shook his head. “From the account in this morning's Times, you faced your sister's killer like Joan of Arc and a Valkyrie maiden rolled into one. Everyone is singing your praises for dealing with the devil as you did.
"You must have been magnificent, my dear. My only wish is that I had been there to take up the sword in your defense."
"Never say it, Papa. At the time of Lottie's death you wanted to duel with him, and never were we, Mother and I, more relieved than when he left immediately for the continent."
Henry propped both elbows on the table and laid his face in his palms. “I was a coward, Elizabeth. I should have chased him down. Demanded satisfaction."
"You were racked with grief. We all were. During those dark days, you were never a coward, but Edward is a marksman of skill. We would have found a way to stop you from risking yourself even if it involved locking you away somewhere. Mama and I needed you. We still do."
Straightening, Lord Henry drew his fingers through thick silver hair and flattened his well-sculpted lips. As a child, she'd thought her father the most handsome man in the world. He was still handsome despite his age and the grief that marred his features. Tall and distinguishe
d, his black slashing brows and hawkish features drew the eye and were capable still of catching the notice of ladies both young and old.
"I have let you both down while wallowing in my selfish grief. Elizabeth, I realize I have neglected you over these past years. This must change. We must continue on and a part of that means I must begin to deal with things."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well, I plan to take back my seat in Parliament, for a beginning. Then your mother and I must re-enter society once again. It is not fair for her to remain so isolated, as she is a creature who abhors solitude.
"Along with this, I have resumed my interest as a trustee for The London Museum. I regret I have not mentioned it, but I had to be sure I was ready to rejoin the world. Each morning, after you leave for your ride, I hie myself off to deal with museum acquisitions. I must admit that I have enjoyed myself."
"Ooh, Papa. You could not give me better news."
Henry arched a brow and stood to regard his daughter. “This brings me to other, very interesting news."
Knowing what was to come, Elizabeth gazed into her cup of tepid tea. “Mmm?"
"Haverton appears to have an eye out for my very charming, marriageable daughter. Is it true that he danced with no one other than you at last night's affair?"
"I wouldn't know.” Elizabeth dreaded this conversation, but knew it must be dealt with at once. She set her cup into its saucer with a decided clink. “Furthermore, I could care less. The man is arrogant, presumptuous, and all too forward. He is not for me."
"Hah! Then why are you blushing! You need not lie about your interest in him, and I know you too well. You are lying. Over and over again, you have said you would never marry, yet your expression, that nervous twitch in your fingers, tells me otherwise."
"I never twitch."
"Ah, but you do when you lie. Tell me that you do not still insist on remaining unmarried. Why ever would a young woman as lovely as you not want all the usual things? Family, children, a man who will take care of you?"
Elizabeth bristled. “Take care of me? I thought you respected me more than that. I resent this, Papa. I truly do."
Henry settled his hands on her shoulders and bent to stare into her eyes. “Never have I met a more self-sufficient female, and you know this. I just do not want a life of loneliness for you. I know something of the Duke. He is rich in his own right, wealthier even than myself, and that, as you well know, is saying much. This is not a man who, like Edward, searches for an heiress to fatten his bank account. You should consider his suit, if he presses it. Like myself, you must begin living again."
Millicent chose that moment to enter the room. Lovely in a rich chocolate brown that complemented her auburn hair, she went smiling into Henry's arms. Theirs had been a love match, the talk of London many years ago, and Elizabeth watched them a bit wistfully. It was odd, that, considering she'd imagined her heart hardened to the notion of true love.
Vengeance had ridden her so long and hard, she'd almost forgotten that deep inside she was a woman with a woman's emotions.
"Ah, darling, there you are.” Her mother embraced her. “Have you quite survived your horrid ordeal?"
"Yes, Mama. As you well know, I shall survive with my usual aplomb."
"Wonderful.” Millicent beamed. “Then you shan't object to a visit to Madam Costanza's shop. Several gowns are due to be finished, and I need a new bonnet as well. Something to match my yellow walking dress."
Elizabeth found her mother's excited smile difficult to resist, so she nodded, but as they turned to the door, it suddenly opened.
"Goodness me, James,” Millicent gasped with a hand over her heart. “You gave us a startle."
The servant bowed with a sheepish look and turned his attention to Elizabeth. “M'lady, something just arrived for you. It's in the foyer."
Lord and Lady Grayson went with Elizabeth to see for themselves and together they smiled at the sight that greeted them.
Elizabeth blinked in awed delight at the vision of so many gorgeous orchids. “Ohhh, my,” she whispered, reaching for one of at least a half dozen white baskets.
"Orchids,” she crooned, stroking her cheek along a velvety petal. Wildly violet, there were dozens upon dozens of them trimmed with greenery and bright pink ribbon. “My favorites, but who would have sent them?"
While Henry motioned to the servants regarding distribution of the blossoms, Millicent waved an embossed card beneath her nose.
Almost dreading the truth of the matter, Elizabeth read aloud. “For the most exotic flower in England. Your Servant, Lord Christian Delaford, eighth Duke Haverton.
"Oh no. I cannot have this. I simply cannot."
"Why not, darling?” Millicent asked. “Is this the young man connected to you in the papers?"
Elizabeth longingly studied the perfection of the blooms before setting the basket aside and resolutely turning away. “We are not connected in any way at all nor will we ever be. The man is a menace."
Exotic. He thought her an exotic flower.
Heaven help her. Everything about the man thrilled her. Utter dismay launched itself at her head.
Millicent sniffed. “Excuse me, daughter, but a man that rich, charming, and handsome could never be a menace."
"How do you know? That he's handsome, I mean."
Her mother twittered her fingers as if swatting a pesky gnat. “Well, I do not know precisely, but I have heard it from the very best sources. The ladies in my little afternoon group all speak of him. I suspect many have the young Duke picked out for their debs. He has been from society for years; just returned from China, I hear.” Millicent gave Elizabeth a wicked wink. “Appears I shall have much to discuss when next we meet. Such fun I am going to have!"
"Oh, please, Mother.” Elizabeth scrunched up her eyes at the thought. “Do not say a thing. I shall never marry, and well you know it."
Millicent's romantic heart shone in her eyes. She smiled dreamily. “We shall see, won't we? The man is no doubt pining away with love for you. Perhaps, at this exact moment he is plotting his next move."
* * * *
Christian moved smoothly through her silken channel, consumed by sexual gratification. At the flex of his lover's fingers on his shoulders, he took her nipple between his teeth and suckled strongly. Delphine Beauchamp, moaned and lifted her hips once more as he plunged deep. High and hard, he stroked as she cried out. He loved the way her body squeezed him, milked him.
Delightful.
London's newest and loveliest actress ran slender fingers over his scalp and threaded them through his long hair. “Oui, darling. Once again, s'il vous plaît? Oh yes, yes, yes."
Feeling her move closer to the edge, he took her buttocks in his hands and lifted her high against him. Hard and fast he rode, driving deeply amid her cries of pleasure. Quivering, Delphine panted out her pleasure as she began to climax. Christian sucked her nipple harder at that exact moment, and she gave a wild cry. With one last primitive thrust, he joined her in release.
Later, as Delphine lounged in her bath, Christian stood at the vanity mirror and tied his cravat. Lovely thing, Delphine. He'd met her weeks ago after her appearance as Desdemona opposite Sir Edmond Keene's Othello. Although her French accent tended to distract the audience, she had turned in a fair performance. But it wasn't her fine ability on the stage that had drawn Christian. No, it was her wealth of shiny golden hair and lush figure.
"Darling Christian,” she crooned from the rose-scented water. Lazily she stroked a small sponge across her chest, drawing attention to her abundant breasts. “Tell me. Shall I see you again? Tonight perhaps?"
Her hungry gaze moved over him as she nibbled her lower lip in a quite provocative manner. Christian knew he satisfied her voracious sexual appetites, but she was a greedy wench and wanted more than casual trysts. Her campaign to become his mistress was obvious. Since their first encounter, Delphine had become more cloying, more grasping. Not appealing traits.
; Returning his attentions to repairing his clothing, Christian steeled himself for what he must do, hoping against hope to avoid a nasty scene. It was time to pursue fairer game, namely the gorgeous Miss Temptation.
After a night of bedeviling dreams, most of them erotic in the extreme, his body had twisted in a torment of lust. Seeking momentary release, he had sought out the actress. He genuinely liked her. Delphine was magnificently wild in bed and utterly sweet out of it.
Thankfully, she didn't realize it was Elizabeth's face he'd visualized while in the throes of ecstasy. He wanted to possess her cool, remote beauty and make her burn. For him. In some part of his brain, he'd perhaps wanted to negate his growing feelings for her by mindlessly coupling with a woman he cared little to nothing about.
Poor, unsuspecting Delphine had sweetly, eagerly accepted his lovemaking, and he felt a dash of guilt at misleading her so.
Elizabeth Grayson would never be cloyingly sweet, he imagined. Wild in bed? Yes. She was a passionate woman, who whetted his curiosity in the extreme. Smart as well, she would learn of his affairs through the gossip mills, and he suspected the game would be lost. He must win her loyalty, and bedding women from one end of London to the other would not be a way to achieve the desired goal. His affair with Delphine must come to end.
"Christian?"
"I am sorry, chou-chou. My mind wandered.” He clubbed his hair back with a strip of leather and shrugged into a buff coat.
Delphine pouted prettily. “Tonight. Shall you come?"
"Not tonight as I have other business. Perhaps another time.” Christian didn't like to prevaricate, yet did not want to injure her feelings. Walking toward her, he bent to give her a brief but sumptuous kiss. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a long velvet box and opened it for her. “For you, Delphine."
The pearl bracelet caused her dark eyes to widen as she fingered its diamond clasp. “Ooh."
"Pearls to match your creamy skin, my chère amie."
"Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly.
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