Tempted

by Rita Thedford

  "Bring yourself directly back, Sally! Her Grace's brown lace evening gown is in a bad state o’ wrinkles from your cramming it in the trunk all willy-nilly, and I will not have it. Git your slack-witted arse up here now while the iron is still hot!"

  Seeing his rapt attention, she simply grinned and shrugged before whirling away in a rush of cambric skirt.

  As the trunks began to make a hefty pile in the entryway, he tired of waiting for Elizabeth. Turning toward the study, he paused as the doorknocker rapped soundly. George, an elderly doorman, answered the summons just as Christian went into his study and settled himself behind his desk.

  After a moment or two, George teetered in and presented a card on a silver salver. Looking at the card, Christian frowned. “Send him in."

  Why had an officer from Bow Street come to his door?

  Moving around his desk, he waited until the elegant man came inside. George closed the door with a chilling snap of finality. Christian steeled his features to a calm he did not feel. Had someone recognized Elizabeth beneath her manly garb? Dear God in heaven, no! Had her dangerous game been uncovered at last?

  Knowing he must protect her at all costs, he forced a smile of greeting as the officer came into the room.

  "How do you do, Your Grace,” said the man, with a slight bow. “I am Lieutenant Jeremiah Cotswold of Bow Street.” He was tall, an elegant figure of a man in his red Bow Street vest. His hair was blonde with a dash of gray trimming the temples and his features were saturnine and sharp. Weary dark eyes gazed at Christian in a most worldly fashion, alerting him to the seriousness of the matter.

  He indicated that Cotswald sit and offered him refreshments, which he waved away. “Now, sir,” Christian began, as cold fear raced over his skin, “what brings you to my door on this fine morning?"

  "Well, Your Grace,” Cotswold replied after clearing his throat. “I have come bearing, I am afraid, some very bad news."

  Christian felt his unease grow. As he opened his mouth to speak, the door of the study opened, and Elizabeth glided into the room looking lovely in a traveling gown of navy blue. Shiny gold, braided frogs trimmed the front from below the mandarin collar to her waist. Her hair was caught up at the crown in a cluster of curls. A tiny, feather-adorned hat sat upon her bright hair. She was obviously ready for travel.

  A sense of premonition hit him with the force of a cannon shot, and he suddenly had the urge to carry her away from anything unpleasant. She looked so happy. Perhaps it was the adventure of a trip. Or maybe it was, he hoped, his simple presence that lightened her mood. Whatever it was, he wanted to whisk the officer away immediately before the light in her eyes dimmed.

  Both men stood as she walked inside wearing a slight, curious smile. Christian made introductions as she moved to his side. She paled dramatically to learn their visitor was an officer of the law. Cotswold bowed low and when he rose, Christian saw the dazed look of admiration in the man's eyes.

  Ordinarily, he suspected, the Lieutenant was a man unphased by the sight of a beautiful woman but then, Elizabeth was no regular sort of lady. No, she was ravishing despite the slightly hunted look in her eyes.

  Composing herself, she moved slightly closer to Christian's side as he settled a protective hand at the small of her back.

  "What brings you here, Lieutenant? Nothing dreadful, I hope,” she said in a tranquil voice.

  "I am afraid that I cannot offer assurance here,” he answered. “Bow Street had a report just this morning that a man's body has been found. I am assigned to investigate the matter, and it was brought to my attention that you know the man quite well.” Cotswold coughed discreetly into his hand and to Christian's amazement, blushed slightly as if embarrassed.

  "Who died, sir?” Christian asked.

  "Edward Huntley, Lord Stanhope, Your Grace, and he did not die. He was murdered."

  Elizabeth gasped and leaned against Christian while Cotswold went on. “He was found stabbed in his bed. Probably dead for several days from the look of the body. I am truly sorry for being indelicate here, but we, of course, must investigate."

  Christian wasted no time in leading Elizabeth to the sofa and sitting beside her. Taking her hand, he indicated that Cotswold should take his chair again. “Why have you come here?"

  He reached into his coat pocket and removed a small notebook. Flipping carelessly through the pages, he read a bit then lifted his gaze to Elizabeth. “Stanhope was your brother-in-law, was he not?"

  "Yes. He was once married to my sister, Charlotte."

  "I am sorry about the line of questioning, Your Grace,” he said, still speaking to Elizabeth. “It is well known in finer circles that you detested him. Is that accurate?"

  She lifted her head proudly and gripped Christian's hand. “Yes, I did hate him and still do, sir, but that does not make me his murderer."

  "Of course not. But I must know why you hated him so that you risked haranguing him in public."

  "That is enough, Cotswold,” Christian said harshly. “I will not allow you to harass my wife. If you must know, it is widely believed that he killed Charlotte. All of society suspected him and shunned him for it. The man, no doubt, had enemies around every corner. He was wicked, evilly twisted, and a gambler. Why are you not out investigating scoundrels who spend their time in the Hells?"

  "Oh, I promise that I shall. My investigation has just begun. Again I apologize, but these matters must be addressed.” Cotswold thumbed through several more pages. He lifted his head to look at Elizabeth. “Word has it that earlier this spring, he accosted you at a lavish party. He accused you, Your Grace, of ruining his life. Violent words were spoken, and you dashed a glass of punch in his face. Is that true?"

  "It is.” Elizabeth leaned closer. “I hated Edward and I shall not deny it. When was he killed?"

  "Several nights ago. Um, Thursday evening, I believe. Where were you on that night, Your Grace?"

  Christian squeezed her hand, wishing the man gone. “I can answer. We were at the home of my father-in-law. There was a ball given in our honor that night."

  Cotswold smiled slightly. “By the way, congratulations on your marriage. Now, I must ask: did you leave the affair at any time?"

  Elizabeth blinked, frowned, then pinned him with a look. “Absolutely not. How can you even suggest that I would be so rude as to do such a thing?"

  Cotswold looked away and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. I must ask, you see. When did you return home?"

  Once again Christian answered. “Dawn. Ask anyone who attended the party. They will vouch for our activities."

  Cotswold rose and gave another short bow as he prepared to go. “I shall. You must understand, Your Graces, that as an officer, I have to investigate the entire matter, and you, my lady, are allowed to hate anyone you choose without being named murderess. From what we have learned, Stanhope was a sly and off-color man. I am sure we shall learn the identity of his killer soon."

  "Perhaps, you will give the man a medal,” Christian snapped. “Is there anything else we can do for you?"

  "No, not at the moment. It does appear, however, that you are planning a trip."

  "We leave for my estate in Sussex within the hour."

  "Will you give me your address in the event I have questions?"

  "Certainly,” Christian said, rising to walk to his desk. Once there, he jotted the information on a card and gave it to the Lieutenant. “We shall be there for perhaps a month, but I doubt seriously that we can be of more help."

  "Of course.” Cotswold bowed again and moved to the door where he paused. “Do not leave the country, Your Graces. You do understand, of course?"

  Elizabeth lifted a hand that shook and plucked aimlessly at a braided frog. Fisting his hands, Christian could do nothing but answer the man. “Yes, Lieutenant. I understand."

  Twenty

  Sussex

  Picking out an aimless tune on the piano made Elizabeth remember Charlotte and how she'd loved to play. As expected of proper
English schoolgirls, they'd both had lessons, and Lottie had taken to the instrument with an enthusiasm that Elizabeth lacked.

  Sighing deeply, she studied Windmere's spacious music room, surprised that it was one of her favorite rooms in the mansion. Though she loved to listen, she'd never been inclined to play. But the room was beautiful, especially now at early afternoon when the sun's brilliance streamed through the huge windows. The floors were of bronze marble veined with gold. The marble had been imported from Italy, Christian had said during her tour of Windmere. Buttery yellow paint covered the walls of the ballroom-sized room. Gauzy white curtains fluttered softly at the open doors and windows. Lottie would have loved it.

  Why now did Elizabeth feel her sister's presence so strongly? Since leaving London for the south, Charlotte had never been far from her thoughts. How very much Lottie had loved the country.

  Christian stood in the doorway and watched Elizabeth daydream. A flicker of a smile graced her lips, and he hoped she might be thinking of him. What a besotted fool he was! Since their arrival two weeks ago, he'd often found her here pecking at the piano keys and gazing into a dream world to which only she was privy.

  Today the village of Haverly would come to Windmere to celebrate their marriage, and the house was abuzz with activity. The scent of delicious food carried on the air as his staff cooked in the kitchen. Other servants had placed tables and chairs along the grounds.

  But here in this room, the world seemed to stand still, and Elizabeth seemed farther away than ever.

  Since their arrival, she, though not hostile, remained wary of him. They occupied separate rooms and seldom saw each other. It was a situation that he planned to change starting now. “May I ask where your daydreams take you, my dear?"

  She started and swiveled to face him. “Christian! Must you sneak up on me?” She smiled faintly, recovering. “I was thinking of Lottie and how she would have loved this room."

  "Ah.” He walked across the marble floor toward her, boot heels clicking against the shiny surface. Gesturing her over, he seated himself beside her on the bench. “Did she play?"

  "Oh yes, she was wonderful. Lottie loved to play. Even as a little girl, she entertained for my parents’ guests. By nature, she was extremely shy, yet she was so eager to please that she never turned down a request of perform."

  "You did not play, I assume?"

  She laughed. “Heavens no! I love hearing it, but not playing. I was a genuine hoyden, drawn to the outdoors and all thumbs at a musical instrument. Lottie was bookish as well. She loved to curl up by the parlor window and read on a rainy day.” Elizabeth smiled. “Though Papa thought romances silly and frivolous, Mama would pass the ones she'd read on to my sister in a most sneaky fashion. When I caught Lottie crying over some maudlin tale of lost love, I teased her."

  "And she forgave you?"

  "Yes, always. We were the closest of sisters. Though we were very different in our enjoyments, we understood each other."

  Christian studied her face, unable to miss the sweet melancholy in her expression. Tilting up her chin, he kissed her softly, hoping against hope that she wouldn't pull away. Parting at last, bereft of her touch, he looked into her eyes. “Would that we could understand each other as well."

  "Do not press me on this, Christian. Please. I feel uncomfortable with revelations at present and must accustom myself to the things I have just learned."

  Feeling that changing the subject was the best course of action, he stood and moved nearer to an open French door. There he plucked lazily at the strings of an enormous gilt harp. It caught the sun in such a way that it made one think of heaven and angels. “This was my mother's favorite room. After she died, I was prone to linger here and grieve. Learning of my habit, my father had the room locked.” He frowned, continuing to strum. “In that blunt way of his, he told me in no uncertain terms that grieving was not healthy. I was to forget."

  "What a barbaric man! How old were you?"

  "Ten."

  Elizabeth came to him and touched the sleeve of his coat. “How dreadful for you. We must all grieve. It is natural."

  "Did you?” He looked down into her stricken eyes.

  "I grieve still.” She rested her head against his arm and sighed. “I remember the exact moment that she died."

  He stilled. “You were there?"

  "No. No, of course not. I would explain, yet I fear you will think me silly."

  "Never."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. “I was in bed when suddenly, I knew. I cannot explain it, but I believe it to be a phenomenon between twins. I felt her soul pass like a light brush through my body. Whispers ran through my brain, soft whispers that swirled through me. I knew it was good-bye and that Lottie was gone."

  He felt her shiver and raised his arms to hold her close. “Enough sad thoughts, pigeon. Lest you forget, we have a party to attend. You look delightful, by the way."

  Drawing her forward, he placed both hands on her shoulders and examined her from top to toe. Her dress was a quiet, misty green and so pale it provided a glorious contrast with her vivid hair and bright eyes. A frothy confection reminiscent of a spring day, it was in the empire style and trimmed beneath the bosom with slender satin ribbons that trailed down the front of the gown. Reaching out, he took a frail ribbon in his hands and fingered the tiny satin rose at the end. “Quite lovely, Elizabeth."

  "Thank you,” she murmured, giving him a shy glance. “You look—"

  "Yes?” he whispered, staring deeply into her eyes.

  "I—"

  He ached to possess her again. He lowered his head and took her mouth. Her lips, lush and full of promise, parted sweetly in a long-awaited response. Victory was close. He could taste it in her kiss, feel it in the way she melted against him. But perfect moments were not meant to last. A noisy crowd began to gather outside and with reluctance, he ended the kiss.

  Elizabeth glanced away as a bloom of red colored her cheeks. He forced a smile. Lifting the sheer bonnet she would wear, he placed it on her head and neatly tied the satin bow beneath her chin. “Come, love,” he said softly. “Allow me to show off my bride."

  * * * *

  The owner of the Red Bird Inn, a portly man named Deeds, puffed out his chest and studied the crowd of villagers surrounding him. Turning himself toward the Duke and Duchess, he lifted his tankard and gave the young couple a gap-toothed grin. “'Ere's to the new Duke and his bride. May all good fortune fall upon ye're ‘eads!"

  A loud chorus of “hurrahs” and laughter surrounded them as Elizabeth looked up into Christian's smiling face.

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I hope it doesn't hurt."

  She giggled, unable to help herself, as the entire village of Haverly celebrated their marriage with food, flowers, and kegs of ale. She knew most of them by now since the village boasted only about two hundred souls, most of hard-working, peasant stock.

  As the crowd cheered them on, Christian flung back his head and laughed. Unable to prevent it, she laughed along, but gasped as he clasped her beneath her bosom and lifted her high.

  Unseemly.

  But what fun, she thought, as he swirled her in wide circles to the boisterous appreciation of the crowd. Twirling. Twirling to the delight of the happy crowd, she laughed harder than she had on any day since childhood.

  As he swung her dizzily to her feet, he caught one of the flowers raining down upon them. Holding it out to her, he grinned and flicked the tip of her nose with a white petal before pressing the daisy into her hand.

  "Thank you, gallant knight,” she teased, and he swept her close for a hug.

  Yes, she was still hurt and angry, but she had to admit that he was wearing her down with his attentions. He had lied to her, deceived her, but in the living day to day, she could not help but notice the sweetness within him. His people loved him, too. A sense of pride filled her at the notion.

  Turning in the circle of his arms, she watched the villagers enjoy the lavish countrys
ide surrounding Windmere. Rolling green hills ran from the mansion to beautifully straight country roads leading down to the village itself. Country people, eager to celebrate their marriage, had begun to arrive to offer their welcome.

  Blankets spread all around them were littered with plates of food, and children yelled in play in the fields just beyond. The boys and girls cared nothing for the marriage itself, but for the fun to be had. From the house, Christian's servants had brought out plump, comfortable chairs for the elderly and added contributions of food from the Windmere kitchens. Then, they too, joined the festivities.

  Elizabeth sensed it was something that his father would never have done. Since coming here, she had heard much innuendo about the man. It was apparent that he wasn't held in high regard among the people of Haverly.

  "Are you having a good time?” Christian asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  "Oh, yes. This is wonderful. I do not remember having such fun. Have the folk here always been so kind and welcoming?"

  "Yes, as I recall,” he said turning solemn. “After my mother died and I reached my majority, I could not leave this place quickly enough. Over the years, I realized how good these people were and missed them, missed this place."

  "Then, why did you leave?"

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “Let us hold this discussion for another time. There is much to explain, but I dare not take that lovely smile from your face."

  Holding her by the shoulders, he smiled. “Come, let me escort you to our spot beneath that tree. I shall be your servant and fetch you something cool to drink. Lemonade, perhaps?"

  "That sounds wonderful,” she agreed, not wanting to mar his pleasure with sad revelations.

  After he settled her upon a bright yellow quilt, he placed a glass of lemonade in her hand. Reaching out to tease the frothy fabric of her dress, he sighed and lifted his fingers to examine the small red curls peeking from beneath her bonnet. “You look attune with nature, my love, in your pretty green dress, though you could never blend into the scenery. You are much, much too lovely."