by Hatch, Donna
“You are a sheer delight.” He enclosed one of her hands between both of his. Though terribly, terribly improper, the sweet possessiveness of his gesture sent giddy little thrills through her. “Do you know that in many countries, once a person has saved the life of another, that person must remain with his savior until the debt is repaid? If we were to honor that, then I must be with you, watching over you, every minute of every day.”
She considered remaining in this man’s presence every moment of every day. Definitely not. Her good sense would never survive it.
She disentangled her hand and said primly, “Fortunately, we do not have such an inconvenient custom in England.”
He chuckled. “I think you don’t really mean that.”
That sensual quality entered his voice, bringing to mind a stark remembrance of his kiss. His gaze lowered, focusing on her mouth. Her lips parted of their own volition as she remembered how soft and warm his lips were, the way she’d tingled at the touch. The way she tingled again now just remembering it.
For one brief, horrifying moment, she had the insane hope that he would kiss her again. Longer. Over and over…
She took herself in hand and drew a shaky breath. “Do you always accost women in this manner?”
“Only those who capture my interest. You see, I’ve never met an angel.”
An angel? That was probably the loveliest thing any man had ever said to her. Too bad she harbored secret desires that contradicted such a compliment. Too bad it came from a scoundrel who probably used it with every woman he hoped to seduce.
“You, sir, are a dangerous flatterer.”
He laughed with abandon. “You might as well tell me your given name. I’ll find out anyway.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. Why was he so insistent to learn her Christian name? “Very well, in exchange for a satisfactory explanation of your straits that day on my property, I will tell you. But you do not have permission to address me by it.”
“I fear I may not be able to resist.”
“Exercise a measure of control.”
“Hmmm. Like the control I exercised when I kissed you?”
Her face flamed. “No!” she whispered tersely.
“I assure you, I was tempted to do far more than I did.”
Arrogant wretch! “Then truly you are no gentleman.”
“You’re right. I only pretend to be. It’s a guise I wear when necessary. No doubt my mother would be horrified.” A brief shadow touched his face. Sadness? Regret? Grief?
“My given name is Elise,” she heard herself say.
“Elise,” he repeated in a tone approaching reverence.
“But you do not have my permission to use it.”
One corner of his mouth turned up, dispelling the earlier show of emotion. “Yes, ma’am.”
A flare of light in the heavens caught her attention, and she watched a star streak across the darkened sky. “Look. A falling star.”
“Make a wish,” he suggested.
“I have no need of wishes. I have a home and a son and everything I need. I’ll make one for you. What do you wish?”
“Freedom.”
She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected answer. “Freedom? From what?”
The light in his expressive eyes dimmed. “I wish I could tell you.”
When he said nothing further, she ignored her upbringing and asked, “Why can’t you tell me?”
A self-deprecating smile touched his mouth. “You already dislike me. If you really knew me, you’d be repulsed.”
She touched his sleeve. “I never said I dislike you. Besides, we’re virtually strangers; why should my opinion matter?”
Rigid with tension, he looked down at her hand resting upon his arm, his lashes concealing his eyes. Then he turned that lethal gaze upon her. Very quietly, he replied, “It matters.”
Stunned, she stared. Again, the mask of a playful rogue had fallen away and genuine loss shone through. A deep and poignant sadness entered the depths of his eyes, holding her in its grasp. Seized with an overwhelming desire to discover the source of his haunting pain, coupled with the urge to offer comfort, she cast about for a method to cheer him.
She indicated the starry sky. “Then I’ll make a wish for you. I wish for you to have all the desires of your heart.”
He looked at her in wonder. Just when she’d begun to think she’d been wrong about him, the wickedness returned in the lopsided upturn of his mouth. “Even if my heart desires you?”
“I…” Her heart thumped and tightness coiled in her abdomen.
Suddenly terrified at the realization that, on at least one level, she did desire him, she fled. Passing the ornamental trees and flowers, arches and statues, she ran without pause until she reached the safety of the terrace outside the brightly lit drawing room. Ordinarily she would shun bright lights that might reveal her discomfort, but she’d be safer inside away from him. From herself.
She halted just outside the doors to catch her breath. Glancing back, she looked for his pursuit but she was alone. As she smoothed her hair, she realized his ploy. In exchange for her given name, she’d demanded an explanation regarding the noose and the men who’d been threatening him, yet he’d managed to distract her without answering her question. And she’d still given him her name. She clenched her teeth. Rogue!
She entered the drawing room and hoped her guilty thoughts about the stranger weren’t apparent all over her face.
Charlotte Greymore approached wearing a wide smile. “Elise, you look magnificent.”
Elise touched her gown self-consciously. “How do you feel, Charlotte?”
“I am quite well, thank you. And you?”
Elise laughed softly. “I’m not the one increasing, Charlotte.”
Glowing with happiness, Charlotte placed a hand on her slightly rounded abdomen. “I’m over the sickness, and aside from some fatigue, I feel wonderful.”
“I’m gratified to hear you aren’t going to be ill the entire nine months as was I.”
Charlotte smiled and glanced over her shoulder at her husband. Mr. Greymore stood laughing in a circle of men.
“I’m in need of the ladies’ retiring room.” Charlotte blushed. “Excuse me.”
Elise watched her pass her husband, touch his arm, and leave the room. Charlotte seemed happier than ever now that she’d wedded her childhood sweetheart. But then, Mr. Greymore was a remarkable man.
“Mrs. Berkley. How delightful to see you.”
Elise turned to see her neighbor, Mr. Bradford. Edward and Mr. Bradford used to banter good-naturedly about the rightful ownership of the lake that spanned their adjoining land. She’d seldom exchanged more than a few words with her neighbor.
She swiftly regained her comportment. “Good evening, Mr. Bradford. How are you?”
He blinked and looked away. “I’m well, thank you. I miss Emma, of course, but we are getting along.”
Elise felt a twinge of guilt. “I must apologize for having neglected you during this difficult time. I should have been there for you more.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve always been most kind. And my daughters adore your Colin.”
Lily announced, “Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served.”
Mr. Bradford bowed to Elise and moved to another lady he’d been assigned to escort into the dining room.
“It appears I have the happy privilege of escorting you to dinner, Mrs. Berkley.”
She looked up into Mr. Amesbury’s eyes. He’d reconstructed his mask of careless charm, his self-possession firmly in place.
She shot a scathing glare at Lily for pairing her with Mr. Amesbury for dinner, but her friend smiled in satisfaction. Resigned, Elise placed her hand on his offered arm, again struck by his strength and that world-weariness about his face.
Those moments of vulnerability she’d seen in him moments ago in the garden had touched her inner needs to soothe and comfort. She wanted to learn his secrets, heal his hurts.
But that would be unwise, considering she had no desire to risk placing herself under the thumb of a man.
He smiled. “Are you trying to divine my thoughts?”
“I’m not sure I dare venture into such dangerous territory.”
Softly chuckling, he led her to the dining room, following the other guests according to rank and precedence, and pulled out her chair for her before taking his place at her right. Lord Druesdale sat at her left. Directly across from her sat the young widower, Mr. Bradford. She felt like a fish in a glass bowl on display for a dozen hungry cats.
Mr. Amesbury settled next to her looking amused and satisfied. As servants brought each course, Elise concentrated on her food and tried to politely include both gentlemen next to her, so as not to show any favoritism. She did not wish to give any sign that might be misconstrued as preference.
A guest sitting further down the table caught her attention. Lord Von Barondy, a viscount, was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and sharp, darting eyes. Though he and his wife were respectable members of the community, Elise found them both terrible boors.
“Yes, I suppose I have had a run of good luck,” the viscount said, his chest puffing out. “It’s nothing terribly magical, really, just a series of good business investments. I fear I have a weakness for spoiling my lovely wife.” He glanced at the lady beside him.
His wife, several years younger and wearing an enormous diamond and ruby necklace, smiled at him. He looked fondly at her, and Elise felt a pang in her heart. Her own dear husband had looked at her that way in rare, tender moments. Elise redirected her gaze to her plate and unclenched her hand.
“I wish I knew your secret,” Mr. Bradford replied.
The viscount’s wife fidgeted with her necklace with several bejeweled fingers as she ate, as if assuring herself all remained in place.
Von Barondy waved a hand magnanimously toward the other guests. “Let us not bore the ladies present with business. We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Besides, you don’t expect me to reveal all my methods for success, do you?”
Mr. Amesbury kept his focus upon his plate, giving no indication that he neither heard the exchange nor was even aware of the speakers. Yet, something about his stylishly bored manner gave her pause. It seemed too deliberate.
She frowned. Deliberate stylish boredom? She watched him with greater focus. He gripped his fork tight enough to whiten his fingertips. An alert stillness suggested he knew at that very moment the precise location of everyone in the room and the topics they discussed.
He glanced at her. His eyes widened briefly in surprise at her unabashed stare. A mischievous grin slid into place. Then his eyes took on a rakish glint.
“Having trouble keeping your eyes off me, eh, Mrs. Berkley?” he murmured in a voice only she would hear.
She shot him a quick glare.
One corner of his mouth lifted before he turned to speak to Mrs. Carson sitting to his other side, his voice calm, his demeanor relaxed.
Elise shrugged off the foolish notion that he’d been so tense. She must have imagined it. After all, she’d not kept the company of gentlemen in years, so what did she think she knew about them, or him in particular? Keenly aware of his presence, her eyes repeatedly moved to him, but she fought to direct them away. If only he weren’t so uncommonly handsome!
He turned to her and leaned in close enough to send her heart flipping. The knots in her stomach made it difficult to eat. She glanced at him, wondering if he knew his effect upon her. Probably. The blackguard.
With perfect propriety, he murmured, “Are you enjoying your dinner, Mrs. Berkley?” His hand toyed with his glass, reminding her of his gentle touch despite his scars and calluses.
She swallowed. “Of course.” She did not dare mention in front of other guests that he sat too close.
“Tell me, Mrs. Berkley,” Lord Druesdale said, “have you any interest in Egyptian artifacts?”
Desperate to prove to Mr. Amesbury that he had no effect upon her, she gratefully turned from Mr. Amesbury to Lord Druesdale. “I, ah, no. That is, I have not become familiar with the subject. I read a great deal, but that is not a subject I have studied.” She cringed, fully aware at how badly she was failing at her attempt to appear calm.
“Pity,” replied Lord Druesdale. “It’s fascinating. I was a member of Napoleon’s excursions into Egypt and was present during some impressive and historic finds.”
“Yes, I had heard,” Mr. Amesbury rumbled. “While some of us were fighting a war, you consorted with the enemy.” There could be no mistaking his accusing tone.
Druesdale stiffened. “I was present as a scholar, not as a supporter.”
The tension between the two men crackled. Elise felt as if she’d been caught in the crossfire of a duel.
“Your presence alone could be considered support,” Mr. Amesbury shot back.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
They stared at each other hard until she feared they’d actually come to blows.
Then Mr. Amesbury glanced at her. “Forgive us, Madam. You mentioned you enjoy reading. What do you like to read?”
She scrambled to formulate a reply. “Oh, many things. I especially enjoy novels by Ann Radcliff and Sir Walter Scott. I recently read one called Frankenstein—”
“Novels? You surprise me,” broke in Lord Druesdale. “I thought you the type who reads ladies’ magazines, looking at the latest fashion plates and needlepoint patterns.”
“I enjoy a wide variety of subjects.”
“Poetry?” asked Mr. Amesbury.
“Not so much” Elsie said. “I think Byron is one of the better poets, but he can be a bit dark for my taste.”
“Ah, you prefer the romantics such as Wordsworth and Coleridge,” said Druesdale.
Elise found her attention so neatly divided between the gentlemen on either side that she hardly knew where to look.
“If you must know, I read the newspaper more than anything else.” She glanced at Druesdale, who looked faintly scandalized. Through the corner of her eye, she observed Mr. Amesbury. One side of his mouth twitched in amusement. In his eyes shone approval.
Elise blinked. Approval? Most men, Edward included, disapproved of ladies reading the newspapers, viewing them as too sordid for a lady’s delicate nature.
Recklessly, she added, “In particular, I applaud the prison reforms and have made a number of contributions toward charities who seek change. I also support the idea of an educational system for the poor to give them the opportunity to improve themselves. Although I doubt we’ll see such a program during our lifetime.”
She looked at them in turn with a challenging lift to her chin.
Lord Druesdale stared with raised brows.
Mr. Amesbury grinned. “What an independent and forward thinker you are, Mrs. Berkley. You would like my sisters.”
She searched for mockery or condemnation but found none. Astonishing.
After dessert had been served, the guests raised their glasses in toasts to the upcoming wedding between Lady Standwich and Mr. Harrison. Elise offered a toast she hoped sounded heartfelt and congratulatory. Lily positively glowed as she beamed at her intended, and Elise squelched her selfish disappointment at Lily’s decision to remarry.
As dinner ended, the hostess stood and nodded to the men. “Gentlemen. You are most welcome to join us in the drawing room when you are so inclined.” She gave an affectionate smile to Mr. Harrison, who visibly softened when their eyes met.
The ladies rose and followed her out, leaving the gentlemen to their own discussion. Grateful for the separation from the man whose very presence threatened her safe existence, Elise went with the ladies.
As conversation buzzed around her, her thoughts returned to Jared Amesbury. She puzzled over his moments of vulnerability in the garden, and over her desire to soothe him. He’d needed her aid in the woods. How long since she’d had any desire to offer comfort to a man? How long since one had need
ed her?
A startling clarity pierced her thoughts; she desperately missed being needed. Colin needed her, of course, and her servants and tenants depended upon her, but that was different. None of them needed her as a woman.
Then again, as much as she’d loved Edward and enjoyed their comfortable companionship, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever actually needed her, either.
She sat stunned by the revelation of her own loneliness.
The shields, built up by years of fooling herself, fell away, revealing the chasm in her life. The chasm in her purpose. The chasm in her heart. Her hands shook, and she stared unseeing at the wall behind Lily’s head. Then she gave herself a scolding for sinking into self pity and reminded herself that widowhood was wonderful.
At the moment, she had trouble listing any reasons why.
The gentlemen joined them, and she sensed Mr. Amesbury the moment he entered the room. Like a great, hungry panther, he prowled closer. The image shattered when he halted, offered a polite bow, and indicated an empty place next to her on the settee.
“May I?”
She thought she heard a sound of annoyance from Lord Druesdale who had reached her at almost the same instant, but forgot the lord the moment she looked up into Mr. Amesbury’s face. The intensity in his eyes drove away her powers of speech. She swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth.
Though increasingly desperate to escape his unnerving presence and regain her self-control, Elise pulled her gaze away from his and nodded toward the empty seat. “Please.”
The seat sank under his weight. His clean, masculine scent called out to her. Acutely aware of him, and disturbed by her reaction, she adjusted her skirts, flicked off an imaginary speck, and looked for something else to do to keep her eyes off him. Her earlier compassion for him vanished, leaving her only with the desire to escape his disturbing nearness.
“Lady Standwich seems delighted at the prospect of her upcoming nuptials,” Mr. Amesbury commented benignly.
“I can’t imagine why,” she said before she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.
“You don’t approve of the match?”
Ashamed, she hastily added, “It isn’t that. He’s a fine man. It’s merely that I’m surprised she’s decided to remarry.”
