The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis
Page 25
“Any beautiful woman transformed into a shrew is certainly a tragedy,” Simon retorted. “Then it is the one where the king loses his head?”
“No, guess again.”
Simon tapped his chin in thought, and Sam could practically see him thinking through all the works of Shakespeare.
“It is Romeo and Juliet,” Sam offered before Simon became any more flustered. “A grand love story with an ill-fated ending.”
Simon huffed with irritation. “I have read the work, studied the aged writings of Shakespeare. Of all his plays, I think it his most implausible story.”
“How so?” Eli asked, breaking his silence.
“No man or woman so deeply in love would go to such lengths to prove their affection. It is ludicrous.” Simon nodded, as if his decree were fact and there was little point in refuting its validity.
Just the thought made Sam shake her head. Her time spent around Simon had increased so much she’d started thinking much like him: validity. She hardly knew the meaning of the word, yet was able to use it in a proper sentence, even if only in her thoughts.
“The notion is not ludicrous,” Jude countered, turning to face Simon. “I know a certain woman who was willing—and prepared—to turn herself over to the magistrate to prove her love. Primed to spend an indeterminable amount of time locked in The Tower. And she would have done it without a second thought if only to show her love for another.”
Jude clearly spoke of herself and her past with Simon, though Elijah likely did not know the story. She’d need share it with him at a later time, but this evening was about them…and Sam finding out what would happen next in her dream of his hand inching ever higher up her leg. Her body seemed to understand what came next, but Sam craved the physical knowledge over her own imagination.
“You are correct, Judith, as seems to be your habit.”
“May I have you commit that uttering to paper and have Sam and Lord Ridgefeld sign as witnesses?”
“Not a chance,” Simon muttered with a chuckle. “And do stop scaring Lord Ridgefeld. He must think the pair of you overbearing and demanding. The man will never set his sights on a leg shackle if you two are an example of the ladies to be found among society.”
Elijah stiffened beside her. “I certainly have no aversion to marriage, my lord.”
Sam risked a glance in Jude’s direction and noted her sister’s knowing grin. While Sam had no aversion to marriage, neither did she plan to step into the role of wife quickly.
“Call me Simon—or Cart—and every sane man should have a healthy aversion to marriage, or they will never survive the ordeal.”
Jude straightened in her seat and crossed her arms. “You best be jesting, my lord, or you shall not survive the night!”
“As I said, Ridgefeld, marriage is utter insanity,” Simon continued. “Thankfully, I am also a firm believer that a man must be a bit insane to hold any sense in his head.”
“Oh, you!” Jude uncrossed her arms and slipped her hand into Simon’s. “I knew you loved me.”
“Against my better judgment—and the advice of the Dowager Countess Cartwright—I do adore you.” He squeezed her hand. Many would think he kidded, but Simon rarely joked. In fact, Sam was certain that unless there was a written numeric formulae for creating a jest, her brother-in-law was incapable of it. “Now, let us not monopolize the conversation. Ridgefeld and I have made startling progress with his grandfather’s collection over the last two days.”
By not monopolizing the conversation, Cart clearly meant he sought to refocus the discussion on another topic that interested him: anything to do with antiquities or collecting objects of advanced age.
“I expect it will take us another two days, at most, to sort through everything and confirm all the details on each piece.” Elijah lit up much like Simon at the shift in conversation.
Would he be happy to be done with his time at the museum? What were his plans after that?
Sam would not expect him to stay in London over returning home…even for her.
Though she held no hold on him as he held no hold on her.
He was a distraction, and once he left London, Sam would need find another means of keeping the likes of Lord Gunther and Proctor at bay. The men sought a most scandalous association—much to Sam’s dismay. She would be no man’s mistress, no matter the promises such men made.
“I worked with my servants for over a month’s time preparing everything, but I fear the collections multiplied on my journey to London.” Both men laughed at Elijah’s witty comment; Simon’s an open, heartfelt chuckle, while the laugh of Sam’s bench mate would be better described as reserved. “There are many memories hidden within mere objects. An adventure to Greece, a near-death experience off the coast of a tropical island when our ship took on water, or the time my grandfather was determined to climb a sheer vertical cliff in the Congo.”
“You must have lived an exciting childhood, my lord,” Jude sighed. “My sister and I were confined mostly to London and ventured farther than an hour’s ride only a handful of times until last year.”
“I must admit, you both appear intelligent and worldly. I never would have suspected the pair of you had never left England.”
“But you would be surprised where we’ve traveled inside of England.” It was Sam’s and Jude’s turn to laugh, while the men looked uncertain about what Sam spoke of. Jude had confessed she’d spoken with Simon about their combined past: their time spent stealing into and out of London’s finest homes without anyone the wiser until Lord Cartwright discovered their nightly escapades and demanded Jude give up her scandalous activities…and return the items she and Sam had worked so hard to steal. “We are worldly in our own way.”
“Even if you had been kept in a cell for your entire life, I still would have thought you captivating,” Simon gushed.
“You go too far, my lord.” Sam turned a pointed stare on her brother-in-law. “If she’d seen that fate, her skin would be pasty, her hair limp and dull, and she’d be as feral as a wild cat.”
Sounds of revelry invaded the interior of the carriage, and Simon gazed out the windowpane. “We have arrived. Lord Haversham was kind enough to give us use of his private box so we will have no need to mingle with the general masses.”
Sam only smiled, knowing she planned to do her best to keep herself—and Elijah—out of the private box and deep in the shadows off the lighted paths.
The trio interacted as if they’d known one another for longer than the current London Season. Elijah was undoubtedly the outsider in the group, yet he enjoyed the back and forth between Sam and her sister, as well as Lord Cartwright’s input. The earl never intended to incite laughter with his comments; however, the man possessed an unknown talent for making a jest. And as they traversed the crowd within the outdoor theater, their easy conversation continued.
Despite the paper crammed in his trouser pocket, Eli found he enjoyed their company immensely, and his pride swelled at having Miss Samantha on his arm as they collected drinks and hurried to their box before the play began.
He’d debated calling on the other men listed on the betting sheet, but he’d been stumped as to what to say to them. Brandishing threats or instigating a duel would be no more proper in this situation than demanding Sam stay far away from the group of lecherous men hell-bent on ruining her before all of society.
He felt his blood boil at the very thought of the group’s nefarious designs. Betting on Sam’s innocence like one would on a horse race…unthinkable, despicable, and uncivilized.
“Lord Ridgefeld,” Sam asked, tugging on his arm. “Is all as it should be?”
“Very.” He managed a weak smile, but felt the strain to keep his anger within. “However, I think I would relish a spot of fresh air before continuing to our box. I am unused to such crowds, and I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
She eyed him suspiciously, knowing there was something more than a sense of claustrophobia that clung to him. “I wil
l come with you.”
“This is not necessary—“
“Of course, it is,” Cart said. “Samantha knows the location of Haversham’s box; otherwise, you might very well be wandering the theater in search of us long after the performance begins. If I am to sit through the entire blasted thing, so are you.”
“It is the only noble option, my lord,” Eli answered. “Miss Samantha and I will return before the play is underway.”
“See that you do.” It was Sam’s twin who offered the warning, her glare squarely on her sister.
If Eli didn’t know women were strictly forbidden from entering White’s, he’d believe Lady Cartwright was privy to the wager he’d ripped from the betting book. Maybe he should speak with the countess and discover the best course for keeping Sam out of harm’s way. Eli’s offer of marriage would certainly be the most direct way of keeping Sam’s reputation from being tarnished by the men’s petty wager.
But would Lady Cartwright offer him assistance, or would she rebuff his honorable intentions with Sam?
“This way, Lord Ridgefeld.” Sam steered him from the crowd to several lit paths bordered by shrubs and hedges on each side. “The trails are notably untraveled at this time of the evening.”
The buzz of conversation and laughter from the playhouse crowd faded the farther they walked toward the paths that seemed to travel outward and wind around the outdoor theater. Eli guided her down a narrow path just wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, her top occasionally snagging on a wayward branch.
They continued past a private nook with a bench.
“Your gown is stunning this evening. And your hair, I have not seen it styled in such a fashion before.” The words tumbled from his mouth, one after the other. Eli was little better than a smitten schoolboy with his first infatuation. Shockingly, he realized, Sam was, indeed, the first woman he’d felt anything more than friendship for. Fondness and affection were growing rapidly. Almost more rapidly than was comfortable. “I think sedated hues suit you.”
Now he sounded a true English dandy; the kind who flitted around like a butterfly with garb colored to match.
She kept her gaze trained on the ground before her as they ambled. “I’ve always favored bright, bold fabrics over muted tones, but I think you are correct, Elijah.”
Would there ever be a spoken word as sweet as his name on her lips?
A dandy and a poet. Very fitting they were to watch a Shakespearean play.
“My lord.” She halted, causing Eli to either pause beside her or leave her behind—and he had no intention of leaving her. Why did the thought ring true for more than just this moment? “I owe you a reward,” she breathed softly.
His reward? Her company was reward enough to keep him satisfied for many days to come.
Eli kept silent as she stepped closer to him, pressing her body to his. He feared moving—or even breathing—as it would surely sever the connection between them and douse the fire that resided in her intense gaze and rocketed through his entire body.
“You owe me nothing.” How to explain it was he who owed her? Besides the late marquis, Eli had never felt close to another person, never trusted another not to hurt him by leaving. But Sam…everything about her was different. She threw her entire self into every outing they shared, damn the consequences. She was light, yet inside, he sensed a darker, deeper soul who had experienced her own hurt, but never did she allow that to cast a shadow over her present. “I have a confession, Sam.”
Her form, a moment before melting against him—curving to fit the contours of his large body—now stiffened. Eli wrapped his arms around her to keep her close. He would never find the courage to say what must be said if she was not in his arms.
“Elijah?” The question had barely left her lips when she rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was instantly demanding, drawing from Eli, and he gave himself over to her as her hands encircled his neck and ran through his hair.
Needy. It was the only way he could describe it.
She needed him.
He needed her.
The only question was: Were they searching for the same thing within the other?
It didn’t matter. Eli would give her whatever she demanded.
Attention. Complete adoration. Love. Possessions. Fancy gowns. Costly jewels. His home.
Anything she desired, he was willing to give her if it was in his power to do so.
The only thing beyond his power was walk away. Leave her. That he could not—would not—do.
A trumpet blared, signaling the performance was to start momentarily.
Reluctantly, Eli pulled back when every instinct told him to hold tight and never let go.
She looked up at him, her eyes hooded with lust—and dare he hope something far deeper?
Her usual coy smile returned. “I believe we are now even once more, my lord.”
They were nowhere near even. However, his confession need wait for another time as she set her hand on his arm and they started back toward Lord and Lady Cartwright, waiting in the Haversham’s private box.
Chapter 29
Eli stared up at the darkened townhouse before him, pulling his riding jacket tighter to ward off the chill. No light shone from any window, and no activity outside led him to believe anyone was home. The night was growing late. His borrowed horse stomped its hoof on the cobbled drive and tossed its head, showing displeasure at being out in the cold when he could be warm in the Cartwright stables.
It had been an entire day since Eli had seen or heard from Sam. Over twenty-four hours spent eating, sleeping, or laboring away at the museum, but his every thought had revolved around her. Her perfect rosebud lips, her scorching red locks, her unsettling stare that always seemed to find the tiny things Eli wished to keep hidden, but then she would just as seamlessly transform into the coy hoyden.
Eli had finally given up on his day’s work when he’d mislabeled a saber from the Orient as a scythe sickle from the wheat fields of England used after the Great Fire of London. It was a mistake no true collector would have made, and thankfully, Lord Cartwright had not discovered the error before Elijah had. He’d decided then it was time to return to the Cartwright townhouse; a meal, warm bath, and sleep were exactly what his body—and mind—craved.
Besides Sam in his arms.
He pulled the note from his pocket, a single line jotted on pristine, cream paper.
The Cartwright butler had handed him the note, addressed to him, when he’d returned from the museum.
14 Saint George Street, Hanover Square – 10 o’clock, sharp
Maybe the sender meant ten o’clock in the morning, not that night; however, Sam’s elegant script was unmistakable, and Eli would not risk missing another outing with her even if it took place in an unfamiliar part of London, at an unfamiliar home—with no explanation as to why. Eli spied a post where the drive disappeared behind the house. Tying the reins securely, he searched each window for any sign that someone was within.
The sound of carriage wheels and hooves sounded in the near distance, drawing Eli back toward the street, flanked on each side by neatly kept homes. He took shelter next to a tall shrub, keeping himself hidden from view as the carriage approached from the same direction he’d journeyed from. To his surprise, the coach slowed to a crawl before turning into the drive at 14 Saint George Street and stopping a mere several paces from where he stood in the shadows.
He was intrigued, there was no question about it. What exactly had Sam planned for their evening?
Sam exited the conveyance as if reading his thoughts. Her shimmering gold gown became visible only for a moment before she pulled her long cloak tightly around her. Eli noted that her hair was pinned under a cap, masking its vibrant color, but he still knew it was her: from the graceful curve of her neck, the confident set of her shoulders, and the tilt of her chin. That he also recognized the coach and driver from the previous evening only confirmed it was her.
“Miss Samantha,” he called, stepping from the shadows.
“Shhhh, my lord,” she hissed, meeting him halfway. “Take this. Tie it tightly.”
Sam held a black domino mask out to him, her own disguise matching but in gold and outlined in silver.
Eli took the mask and turned it over in his hands. “What is this?”
“Do hurry and don your mask, my lord, before anyone happens upon us.” She did not hesitate to tie her golden disguise securely to her face, a simple bow at the back of her head as her handbag dangled from her wrist.
The loud bells of St. George’s rang through the crisp night, sounding the ten o’clock hour.
“Come, it is to begin, and we cannot be tardy.” Her eyes fairly glowed in the dark with her excitement, and any lingering doubt on his part melted away as he quickly secured his own disguise.
His grandfather had been wrong. One did not need travel the seven seas to find adventure. It lay about London proper in great abundance if one had the right guide.
She grasped his hand the moment he was finished and pulled him toward the darkened house.
“There appears to be no one in residence.”
“Oh, my lord—I will refer to you only as such this evening—what lay beyond the front door of this townhouse is certain to shock you,” she said breathlessly as they reached the front stoop.
“What shall I call you?”
“Whatever you’d like, my lord.” Her teasing tone mellowed to something else as if his chosen endearment meant much to her. “But you must decide quickly before the door opens.”
Sam knocked loudly on the door, and footsteps sounded within.
“Do not delay…” She raised her eyebrow, challenging him to answer.
“My fair maiden,” he replied without further thought. When she scrunched her nose, he tried again. “My perfect English rose?” He thought the play of a red rose and her burnt color hair was perfect, yet her expression said the name did not suit her at all. “My enchanting marchioness?”