Before Sir Gregory could speak, though, one of the baronet’s friends interposed himself between Hal and Sir Gregory. ‘Think you’ve said enough, Holburn,’ the man said. ‘You, too, Waterman. White’s is a haven for gentleman, not a tavern for brawlers.’
Reaching over the shoulder of the baronet’s protector, Hal grabbed Sir Gregory’s neckcloth and jerked the man to face him. ‘Leave her alone. Or find you later, when watchdogs not on guard.’ He shoved the baronet away.
His hands trembling as he attempted to repair his neckcloth, a shaken Sir Gregory ducked back behind the protective circle of his friends. Cautiously the group edged away from Hal.
Once the red haze of rage in his brain faded, he realised his own body was shaking, his hands curled into rigid fists. Only gradually, as his blood cooled, did Hal realise he should thank the level-headed man who had prevented him from assaulting the baronet. In his fury, he might easily have killed Sir Gregory and now be facing a flight to the Continent rather than a trip north.
Sadness and fatigue seeped in to take the place of the strong emotion leaching out of him. He’d return home, drink enough of the excellent brandy Nicky had sent him from France to capture sleep. Then tomorrow he’d begin finalising his plans to leave London.
Late the next morning, his head throbbing from the prodigious quantity of brandy that had been required to finally lull him into sleep, Hal sat at his desk, trying to force his aching head to concentrate on the figures the engineer had left. A sharp rap at the door made him wince.
Jeffers entered, holding out a note. ‘Ah, roses!’ the valet said, sniffing the cream velum before handing over the missive. ‘Perhaps the fragrance will ease your headache better than my infallible morning-after brew!’
‘Not infallible,’ Hal said acidly. ‘After two cups, still have headache.’ Even so, the scent of roses made his pulse accelerate while hope, that treacherous, unruly brat, began to jump up and down in his gut.
For a moment he simply held the note in his hands, breathing in the scent that was Elizabeth, knowing without even glancing at the handwriting it must come from her. After their acrimonious parting, would it bring him good news or bad? Taking a deep breath, he broke the seal.
‘Dear Mr Waterman,’ she began, ‘I sincerely beg your pardon! I now recognise that only a deep concern for my welfare prompted you to broach a matter you must have found distasteful and embarrassing. In this, as in all things, you braved censure to do what you felt necessary to protect me, just as Nicky would have. Your generosity of spirit leaves me ashamed of my own abominable behaviour.
‘Will you not let me make amends? I should be most grateful if you could call and take tea today. Sincerely yours, Elizabeth Lowery.’
Intense relief washed through him, followed by a wave of euphoria. Perhaps he’d not ruined his chances after all. It seemed she now understood that he’d been forced to speak in order to safeguard her.
In the midst of his gladness, one small voice warned that perhaps, having begun yesterday the process of distancing himself from her, it would be wiser to remain so. Savagely he stifled it.
Mayhap he would never become more to Elizabeth Lowery than a friend who’d stepped in to assist her when she’d most needed it. Just a convenience, as the baronet had taunted. At some point, longing for her, desiring her, mere friendship might become too painful to bear.
But for now, friendship meant hope. Which was a thousand times better than exile.
He realised Jeffers was still standing beside the desk, smiling. ‘Wipe smirk off face, bring another mug,’ Hal said, gesturing his valet towards the door. ‘Must get through figures before head explodes. Then brush best coat. Have appointment later.’
Jeffers’s grin widened. ‘Very well, sir,’ he replied, backing toward the door. As the portal closed behind the valet, for the first time since he’d steeled himself to warn Elizabeth about Sir Gregory, Hal smiled.
Jittery and uncertain as he was, Hal was relieved to discover when he arrived at the Green Street town house that afternoon that David sat with his mother in the parlour, reading from a primer. The boy broke off as Sands opened the door and announced him, his face lighting up.
‘Uncle Hal! Mama’s letting me drink tea with you!’
‘As long as you can behave like a young gentleman,’ Elizabeth admonished.
‘Oh, I can!’ he assured her as he hopped to his feet. Making Hal a creditable bow, he said, ‘We’re so pleased you could join us this afternoon, Mr Waterman.’
Solemnly Hal returned his bow. ‘Delighted, sir.’
‘Good,’ David said, grabbing Hal’s hand and tugging him to a place on the sofa. ‘Cook made her special macaroons just for today. Have one, they’re ’licious!’
Elizabeth motioned for Sands to pour the tea. After the butler bowed himself out, she handed Hal a cup, then listened, faintly smiling, as David chattered on about how much he liked macaroons, how well he was learning the stories in his new reader and Max’s latest exploits.
Once or twice while her son talked, Elizabeth looked up to meet his gaze. Her cheeks pinking, her smile deepening, she held his eyes for a moment before modestly dropping her gaze back to her son.
Restored now to Elizabeth’s presence after fearing she might never receive him again, it seemed as if the very air he breathed was purer, the tea more flavourful, the colours of the fire playing on the hearth more vivid. All of existence, every thought and feeling, seemed sharper, brighter, more intense because he was with her.
So grateful was he to be here with Elizabeth smiling at him, her demeanour warmly welcoming, Hal could have remained for ever on the couch while the tea grew cold and David talked himself hoarse. His senses hummed, his heart swelled in his chest like a hot air balloon being readied for ascent, merely at the pleasure of watching her.
After David had finished his cup and devoured every crumb of the macaroons, in response to a nod from his mother, he stood up. ‘Mama says I can go and play with Max now, since the grown people need to talk. Thank you, Mama, for letting me have tea with you. G’bye, Uncle Hal!’
Giving his mother a kiss and Hal another bow, with a mischievous smile, David bounded out.
The room seemed still and silent after his departure. Suddenly nervous again, Hal felt his face flush. He wanted badly to say the right thing, something that would preserve the smile on her face and the warm glow in her eyes.
‘Wanted to say—’ he began.
‘I wished to tell you—’ she said at the same instant before they both fell silent.
‘You first,’ Hal invited.
‘Well,’ she began, her cheeks colouring as she took a deep breath, ‘first let me tender you an apology. I’m afraid your suspicions about…about a certain delicate matter were entirely correct. Your courageous intervention prevented me from making a disastrous and potentially humiliating mistake.’
‘Sorry suspicions correct,’ he replied, anger flaring again at the memory of Sir Gregory’s duplicity. ‘Deserve better.’
‘Thank you, although you would have every right to despise me after how shabbily I treated you!’
‘Upset. Understandable.’
‘I don’t know about that. I do know I shall never again doubt or question your advice.’
Gratification warm and sweet as melting butter filled him. ‘Hope advice good. Finances stabilised, anyway. Ledgers in order. Repayment begun on debt. Coin available at bank. Should do until Nicky returns.’
‘Do you mean to abandon us, then?’ she asked, looking alarmed. ‘What of our discussions about my work?’
Hal wanted to tell her he’d never abandon her, that it was his greatest pleasure to listen to her voice, bask in her smile, that he’d love to advise, counsel and cherish her with all the strength he possessed for the rest of his days. But now—especially now, after she’d just gone through that unpleasantness with Sir Gregory—was not the time for a declaration.
‘Still stop by, consult. Have to train Max. And pony soon
to come. What wish to do about art? Can speak with potential clients, assess interest.’
She nodded. ‘I think that would be wise. Despite your assurances, having viewed the work at the Royal Academy, I hardly feel qualified to proceed.’ She sighed. ‘How I wish I might study there!’
‘Could visit rooms, sketch. Perhaps one of members give private lessons. Look into it, if like.’
‘If it would not be an imposition, I should like that very much!’ Her smile turned tender. ‘You are so very kind. I can’t believe I struck you! I don’t know what came over me. Never would I wish to hurt you.’
To Hal’s surprise, she reached over and stroked the cheek she’d slapped, as if to erase some invisible mark.
Instinctively he laid his own hand over hers, cradling it against his cheek. ‘Not hurt me. Never hurt me.’
’Twas a lie, he thought even as he spoke the words. An outrageous lie, for she’d long ago skewered his heart on the lance of her goodness and beauty. No one living had more power than she to hurt him, shrivel his soul and leave him utterly desolate.
But the ability to form thoughts slipped away as his body began to pulse from the heat of her hand against his face. As if each slender finger triggered a whaler’s dart, sensation fired at their gentle touch from his cheek through his body to his loins, his chest, his toes, trailing everywhere a stinging, scalding flame.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. His mind, his soul, his whole being smouldered and burned for her.
Under his avid gaze her face flushed. Her chest commenced to rise and fall rapidly, her breathing growing as shallow and frantic as his own.
He stifled a groan as the image seized him…the full breasts outlined by the bodice of her gown naked, free of their stays, rubbing against his bare chest, the pink-kissed nipples pebbled with desire. Passion and adoration intertwined, each inflaming the other, expanded to fill him until he felt he must turn molten on the spot.
Hal had no idea how long they stood, he as incapable of motion as he was of speech. Finally, she gently pulled at her hand. Releasing the slight pressure he’d used to hold it against him, he caught her fingers and brought them to lips, kissing them reverently before letting go.
‘Never hurt you either,’ he murmured.
Her heart pounding ferociously, Elizabeth gave him a minute nod, afraid if she moved too quickly the dizziness in her head and the scintillating vortex of sensation in her body might make her fall right off the couch.
Once again, every tingling nerve had urged her to lean into the arms Hal looked as if he would have willingly wrapped around her.
Except this time, that desire was even more intense. Only terror over what she might have done next, with David no longer present to forestall her madness, had given her the strength to pull her hand back and move away.
Her nerves still afire and her mind fogged by the battle between desire and sanity, she struggled to focus on what Hal was saying.
‘Borrow sketches. Show to select gentlemen? When ready to begin, demand for your work.’
Sketches. Work. They’d been talking about her painting. Perhaps beginning art lessons or even discreetly exploring commissions.
‘Yes, I’ll…I’ll gather some to send you.’
‘Good.’
The mantel clock struck the hour and—as disorientated and befuddled as she?—Hal jumped. With a regretful glance toward the clock, he drained his cup and rose. ‘Another meeting. Must go. Thanks for tea. And forgiving me.’
He was grateful for her forgiveness, when the fault was all hers? What a truly noble gentleman he was!
‘You did nothing for which you need ask pardon. ’Twas I who was hasty, quick tempered and in error. Thank you for your forbearance with my foolishness. And again, for watching out for both David and me.’
He bowed. ‘Pleasure.’
She rose to escort him to the door. Now that she’d become so attuned to him physically, she didn’t seem to be able to turn off the awareness. As she followed him, her eyes drifted to the crisp curl of red-gold hair at his collar, the broad width of his back, the muscles of his arms and shoulders under the snug-fitting jacket.
And when he turned back to face her…oh, my, how wicked was the knitted cloth of his breeches, moulding as it did so closely over his thighs, against the flatness of his belly, the impressive ridge at the junction of his legs…
Her cheeks flaming anew, she jerked her gaze back up to his face, hoping the disjointed farewell she uttered made some sense. As he bowed and walked away, she watched him stride out, trying to get a peek at the contour of his derrière beneath the tails of his coat.
She plopped back on the sofa, reached for her cup and gulped down some tea. Maybe the tepid brew would help cool her overheated thoughts.
What had come over her? She’d surmised the first time she experienced a strong physical reaction to Hal Waterman, before and during their trip to Astley’s, that her long-dormant physical urges must be awakening. But the power of the desire that consumed her for Hal far exceeded what she’d ever experienced before.
If maturity increased one’s passion, she had best not grow much older! She wasn’t sure she could survive a greater intensity without fainting dead away.
A danger that might well concern her, for she had best acknowledge the truth. Unless distracted by some crisis, whenever she looked at Hal Waterman…she desired him.
What would it be like to strip the coat from that powerful frame, run her fingers along the muscles of his arms and shoulders? Nuzzle the red-gold hair adorning his chest down to the waistband of his breeches, licking and stroking…
What would it be like to pleasure him, to let him pleasure her?
Her skin grew hot and damp while a heated sensation surged in her belly.
Elizabeth brought unsteady hands up to fan her fevered cheeks. Goodness! If Hal could affect her thoughts this strongly, she couldn’t imagine how intense the reaction would be if he were to actually caress her.
Dizzy at the thought, she tried to steady herself. She must stop this! Transfer the passion Hal seemed to rouse in her to her painting. Perhaps resume the walks in the park she used to take with David and Everitt, which might dissipate some of the nervous energy sparking within her.
Much as she wished she had someone to ask about the frightening, exhilarating sensations her body had suddenly begun producing, even were Sarah in London, Elizabeth wasn’t sure she’d be able to talk to her about them. Somehow, she was going to have to manage on her own to bottle up her desire and behave in a proper, genteel manner around Mr Waterman.
At least for the present. Once her period of mourning was over, once she was freed from constraint and convention, if Hal Waterman were willing, Elizabeth meant to give herself free rein to follow her emotions and desires wherever they might lead.
Chapter Twenty
His heart and body still aflame after his meeting with Elizabeth the previous afternoon, Hal turned his curricle once again toward Green Street. He’d driven halfway to his meeting with the investors yesterday before he realised he’d forgotten to inform her about his imminent journey north. Now that a warm rapport—oh, my, how warm!—had been re-established between them, he wished mightily that he hadn’t agreed to go. But he always supervised a project’s beginning, the engineer and foreman were expecting him, so there was no question of cancelling.
Go he must. But in the time remaining before he must depart, he intended to visit Elizabeth as often as possible. So before meeting this morning with the bankers to arrange for the last of the drafts, he’d sent her a note telling her he’d call in the afternoon.
He even had a special treat to propose. After his investment meeting yesterday, he’d visited several dealers, investigating the possibility of selling some of Lowery’s art collection. At one of them, he’d discovered something he thought she’d like very much. Hoping she might be free to accompany him, he’d arranged with the proprietor for them to meet in a private showroom where no one i
n the ton in pursuit of new art acquisitions might chance to see them and generate gossip that could reach the ears of the gamesters at White’s—or his mother.
He pulled up his carriage before her door, the now-familiar surge of excitement and anticipation filling him. Tossing his reins to a waiting groom, he leapt down, almost running up the front steps in his eagerness, too expansive of spirit to be bothered by the chill greeting Sands extended before escorting Hal to the parlor.
He found Elizabeth already seated on the sofa when he entered. Joy fizzled in his veins at the brilliance of the smile she gave him as she rose to curtsy to his bow.
‘Good day, Mr Waterman! I hope the important business that brings you here today is more pleasant than the last.’
At her oblique reference to his warning about Sir Gregory, Hal grimaced. ‘Much more pleasant. Would like you to ride out, visit dealer. Interested in purchasing some of husband’s collection. Brief visit, not take long.’
‘If you think it useful. I don’t know enough of prices to ascertain its value, but I could describe the individual pieces,’ she replied. ‘Let me collect my pelisse and cloak and I’ll rejoin you shortly.’
‘Could bring sketchbook also?’
She halted in mid-step, her face colouring. ‘You…you would have a dealer look at my sketches?’
‘Give him idea of talent. Good appraisal of potential clients too.’
She stood irresolute for a moment, nervously clasping her hands. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this.’
‘Won’t commit you to anything,’ he assured her. ‘Dealer not know it’s your work. Describe sketches as part of husband’s collection.’
‘I suppose that would be a rather painless way to receive an impartial expert’s evaluation,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Very well, I shall do it.’
A few moments later, after ordering a hackney which Hal thought would prove more discreet than driving her through Mayfair in his open curricle, they set out, Elizabeth clasping her sketchbook nervously.
A Most Unconventional Match Page 20
