A Touch of Scarlet

by Renee Ryan

  He blessed her with that lazy smile he’d given her in the moonlit garden.

  Her heart took another tumble.

  The way he looked at her. A sensation akin to floating poured over her. She felt weak and strong at once, fearful and daring.

  But then, he spoke. “Good evening, Little Bit.”

  Little Bit.

  A thick, hot wall of disappointment crashed into her.

  “Luke, I . . .” Taking a breath, she pulled the remaining shreds of her composure about her like a shield of armor. “You are early.”

  The lazy smile turned into a rakish grin. “For the party, yes. But my meeting with your grandfather, for that I’m right on time.”

  “You have another meeting with Grandfather?” She cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “So soon after the last?”

  He nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “When I want something, I go after it quickly and decisively.”

  Oh, my.

  How very intriguing.

  The soft glow of the wall sconces defined the angles of his face. His hair had darkened during the years he’d been out of the country, and smile lines now appeared around his eyes, both of which only added to his appeal.

  Luke was not a man who needed added appeal.

  He pushed away from the wall.

  Elizabeth searched her mind for something to say; anything would do, anything at all. But she couldn’t seem to make her mind cooperate. He filled the room. His scent, his voice, his smile. He always exuded refined elegance, but tonight—tonight, he was even more compelling.

  “I assume you are meeting with my grandfather about a business matter?”

  “That’s correct.” His molten amber eyes roved across her face. “Had I known I would come across you looking so lovely, I would have arrived sooner for the sheer pleasure of admiring you.”

  Coiling warmth spread through her, weakening her knees. She had no idea what to do with these strange new feelings Luke inspired.

  “Next time,” she said in a trembling vibrato.

  “Next time, Elizabeth, I will definitely plan accordingly.”

  Elizabeth. He’d called her Elizabeth.

  Her heart raced so fast and hard, she worried if one of her ribs would crack from the added pressure.

  Though he’d intimated he was running late, Luke didn’t take his leave. Instead, he glanced at her gown, then raised a single eyebrow. “New?”

  “No.” He remembered their conversation in the garden. Elizabeth couldn’t hide her pleasure. “It’s from two seasons ago.”

  Appreciation filled his gaze.

  He took a step toward her. And another.

  Elizabeth held steady, unmoving, eager to see how near he would come.

  He stopped his approach at a polite distance but close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

  For the span of three rib-cracking heartbeats, Elizabeth simply stared up at him. A sigh slipped past her lips. The sound was far too tremulous. “My mother will never know of my impertinence, but I will know. And now, you do, too.”

  “Elizabeth.” A look of strain tightened around his eyes and mouth. “A little rebellion isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  His tone said otherwise. He definitely had more to say on the subject; she could see it in his eyes.

  Bracing herself, she urged him to continue. “However . . . ?”

  “I feel the need to warn you.”

  Said the big brother to the little sister.

  She made a face, which he promptly ignored. The man was on a mission now.

  “What starts out as a small defiance can take a devastating turn very quickly.”

  “It’s a dress, Luke.”

  “It’s more, and we both know it.” His tone turned grave. “Cross the wrong line, and you will end up hurt, or worse, you will hurt another.”

  She heard something besides gravity in his voice: sadness, secrets, hidden pain. She’d heard the same emotions in Hester’s voice two days ago. But where Elizabeth’s former governess clearly mourned the things she hadn’t done, Luke seemed to mourn the things he had.

  Doubt left Elizabeth feeling unsettled. She didn’t want to go through life without experiencing at least one real adventure. Perhaps even two. All right, three. Three was the absolute limit.

  But what if she went too far?

  What if she, as Luke suggested, crossed the wrong line?

  “I would not wish to do something I could not take back,” she murmured.

  “I would not wish that for you, either.” Luke spoke equally softly.

  Although he stood no closer than before, Elizabeth was aware of his presence with sharp-edged clarity. His scent overwhelmed her, a pleasant blend of bergamot, masculine spice, and . . . him.

  Something unspoken hovered in the air between them, communicated in a language Elizabeth should know but couldn’t quite comprehend.

  “Be careful, Little Bit.”

  Little Bit. He was feeling protective again. His concern was sweet but misguided.

  Did he not know she already had regrets, for not having the courage to question the direction of her life sooner? Her greatest fear was that she’d waited too long. Freedom felt a long way off, close enough to wish for but too far away to grasp.

  “Elizabeth, did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you.” Her voice sounded as discouraged as she felt. “You want me to stay locked in my safe, sheltered world.”

  “That is not at all what I said. I am simply warning you to think before you act. Consider your reputation. One misstep is all it would take to smear your good name.”

  She couldn’t prevent a feeling of disappointment. Luke was like all the other men in her life. Be a good girl, Elizabeth. Do what you’re told.

  Her desire to push against the boundaries returned with renewed vigor. “I do not think a little harmless rule-breaking will permanently stain my good name.”

  He scowled. “There is no such thing as harmless rule-breaking. Every rebellion has a cost.”

  Who was this man? And what had he done to the adventurous Lucian Griffin that Elizabeth knew? “You’re certainly full of advice. Yet you rebelled once, and your reputation survived.”

  A shadow passed across his face. “I’m a man. The rules are different.”

  “That’s terribly unfair.”

  “Perhaps, but don’t think that simply because I have been forgiven for my mistakes that I don’t still suffer the consequences. If I could erase my transgressions and the harm I inflicted, I would.”

  Elizabeth heard the guilt in his voice and wondered what he’d done to cause such remorse. Luke was a good man, an honorable one. Whatever he’d done couldn’t have been too terribly awful. He was being too hard on himself.

  He was also being too hard on her.

  “I wish I were a man,” she blurted out.

  “You . . . what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You cannot mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do. Then I could do whatever I wanted whenever I wished.” I could ask you questions about your past, and you would answer me honestly.

  He made a sound of impatience in his throat. “You know that’s not entirely true.”

  “Close enough.”

  He remained silent for several seconds, studying her as though she were a complicated puzzle that needed solving. She had to stiffen her muscles to keep from fidgeting under his intense scrutiny. With each breath she took, Elizabeth could feel her confidence slipping.

  Hester had advised her to be bold. Luke, it would seem, was telling her to remain cautious. Which of them was right?

  “For argument’s sake, what sort of rules do you plan to break?”

  The question took her off guard. She’d expected another warning. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “You have already defied your mother’s dictates regarding your clothing.” He looked pointedly at her gown. “What else would you do?”

  Gla
ncing to the ceiling, she thought carefully about her answer. Possibilities tugged at her, tangling into a big, heaping ball of want.

  She lowered her gaze. “I don’t have the specifics sorted out, not yet. But I would do as much as I could without getting caught or jeopardizing my reputation.”

  Luke’s sharp intake of air had Elizabeth’s stomach twisting with tension. She refused to be dissuaded. Now that she’d voiced what was in her heart, she couldn’t stop her mind from racing over all the possibilities spread out before her. There was so much she wanted to do.

  She would make a list.

  She was good at making lists, even better at following them. She could map out a specific plan and systematically mark off each item once she’d accomplished the task.

  The force of her excitement felt strange, almost painful, as if a part of her that had been asleep was finally awakening.

  “Careful, Little Bit, I see your thoughts clearly in your eyes. I fear you are heading into dangerous territory.”

  “Isn’t it exciting?”

  “It’s terrifying.” For a moment, there was something haunted in his eyes, but then it was gone and Elizabeth wondered if it had been there at all.

  Her mind returned to her list. The first thing she would do was kiss a man, beneath the moon and stars, or perhaps . . .

  Somewhere else, say, somewhere like a formal drawing room in a New York mansion. It would be so simple, so wonderful.

  Be bold. Take a chance.

  One small step. One tiny rebellion. If she lifted to the tips of her toes . . .

  If Luke lowered his head just a bit . . .

  What an exciting, frightening, marvelous thought.

  Anticipation had her beginning her ascent, her eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord.

  The sound of Luke’s indrawn breath was muffled by the strike of determined footsteps approaching from the hallway.

  Elizabeth jumped back a full two feet.

  “That will be Aldrich,” she said in a rush. The butler’s purposeful gait was unmistakable.

  “Consider yourself fortunate.” Luke’s lips tilted at a sardonic angle. “You have been spared a rather stern lecture, Little Bit.”

  She wrinkled her nose at the nickname. If Elizabeth didn’t know better, she would think Luke had used it intentionally to distance himself from her.

  Aldrich materialized in the doorway.

  With his shoulders thrown back and his back ramrod straight, the butler shifted his very proper gaze from Luke to Elizabeth, Elizabeth to Luke. His eyebrows pulled together.

  “Miss St. James, a package has arrived for you by special courier. The young man insists he was given instructions to deliver it only to you.”

  How odd. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

  “Very good, Miss.” Aldrich turned his frown onto Luke. “Mr. St. James is waiting for you in his study.”

  “Inform him I’m on my way.”

  “As you wish.” The butler left the room, his back as pliant as a steel rod.

  When it was just the two of them once again, Elizabeth could feel Luke’s eyes on her. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment crashed in on her from all sides. She’d nearly kissed the man. He’d guessed her intent and hadn’t been pleased.

  Humiliating from start to finish.

  She let the silence stretch for several seconds. When she glanced at him again, he looked wary, as if he wasn’t sure what she might do next. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt a certain power that came with being born a female.

  “Luke, I—”

  “Not now, Elizabeth.” He pierced her with a stern look. “We will continue this conversation later. When we do, we’ll also discuss your plans concerning England.”

  “You have something to say about that?”

  “I do.” He did not look happy. That was . . . unexpected. Promising, as if he wanted her to stay in America.

  A little jolt of pleasure passed through her.

  “We will speak on the matter again,” he said, exiting the room a second later.

  Elizabeth hurried to the doorway and peered around the corner. Luke strode down the corridor with solid, deliberate strides. She admired the way he moved, all loose limbed and confident, like a panther.

  Lucian Griffin was a man comfortable in his own skin. He was also a man who’d once embraced life to the fullest.

  Elizabeth could learn a lot from him.

  Chapter Seven

  Elizabeth found the courier waiting for her in the foyer. He was young, probably fifteen, maybe fourteen. Thin and wiry, he was shabbily dressed, had ordinary features and slightly bemused gray eyes that watched her approach with obvious apprehension.

  “I understand you have a package for me.” She kept her voice soft, her smile bright.

  The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “You are Elizabeth St. James?”

  “I am.”

  “Then, yes.” He cleared his throat, glanced around, swallowed again. “I was told to give this to you and only you.”

  He held out a package wrapped in brown parchment paper secured by a thin piece of beige twine. The size and shape gave away nothing of its contents.

  Elizabeth reached out and took the package. “Thank you.”

  When she attempted to pay the boy for his trouble, he threw his hands in the air, palms facing forward. “I was already tipped by the lady who sent me here.”

  A lady had sent him. Elizabeth washed away a sudden bout of unease with several deep breaths.

  “Nevertheless.” She pressed several coins into his hand. “You came all this way.”

  Giving him no time in which to return the money, she thanked him again and escorted him out of the house.

  Alone in the foyer, back flat against the black lacquered door, she studied the package. The plain wrapping gave no clue as to the sender’s identity. There was no writing anywhere on the paper or discernable markings whatsoever.

  Yet Elizabeth immediately knew who had sent the package. She knew what was inside. She closed her eyes and expelled a slight shuddering sigh. Why would Hester give away her beloved shawl?

  Perhaps she hadn’t.

  Elizabeth had seen how much her friend valued the garment. She’d handled the silk so carefully, with a reverent touch.

  A terrible, awful thought occurred. Remembering how ill Hester had looked, Elizabeth went still for a single heartbeat.

  Please, no, Lord. Let me be wrong.

  Fear had her tucking the package against her heart.

  After a long hesitation, she hurried to the winding staircase. She conquered the stairs quickly, her slippered feet making soft swishing sounds on the slick, cold marble. At the second-floor landing, she could stand the suspense no longer and veered into the drawing room, where she and Luke had discussed breaking rules, the consequences of rebellion, and regrets.

  It seemed the appropriate setting.

  Bottom lip clasped between her teeth, Elizabeth sat on her favorite brocade settee and placed the package on her lap. She tugged on one end of the string. Nothing happened. She tugged again. At last, the knot released.

  Ignoring the tiny flutter in her stomach, she peeled away the brown paper. With her heart in her throat, Elizabeth stared at Hester’s keepsake box. A grim chill danced along the base of her spine.

  She flattened her hand on the faded floral design. The wood was smooth beneath her palm, surprisingly warm. Eyes half closed, she removed the lid with much the same care as Hester had used. A thin layer of tissue covered the contents of the box.

  Impatient now, Elizabeth dipped her hand beneath the paper and wrapped her fingers around soft, silky fabric. The remaining shreds of doubt disappeared.

  With a flick of her wrist, she shoved the paper aside.

  “Oh, Hester, whatever possessed you?”

  Elizabeth lost her breath at the enormity of the gift.

  She dragged her fingertips along the fringed edges. A second later, she gave in to temptatio
n and draped the garment around her shoulders and moved to the mirror overlooking the room. She hardly recognized herself.

  The woman staring back at her was a stranger. She was still Elizabeth St. James, but also . . . somehow . . . more.

  Sighing in pleasure, she stroked the silk. The exquisite color added a rosy glow to her pale skin. She’d never worn anything so eye-catching. According to her mother, a lady of fine breeding was not to draw attention to herself. To do so was considered vulgar.

  At the moment, Elizabeth didn’t feel vulgar. She didn’t feel scandalous, either. She felt empowered. What would her father and grandfather say if she wore the shawl tonight?

  She would never know.

  Tonight’s gathering was a celebration for Caroline and Jackson. Elizabeth would do nothing to take away from the guests of honor.

  Enjoying the feel of the shawl in her hands, she carefully refolded the delicate silk. As she placed the shawl in its nest of tissue, a piece of feminine stationary caught her eye.

  Elizabeth retrieved the note, set the box on a nearby table, and sat down to read.

  Hester’s looping handwriting was still as pretty as Elizabeth remembered. For a moment, it was all she could do not to give in to the sense of terrible foreboding that sped through her.

  Lowering her gaze, she read the opening lines.

  My dear, sweet Elizabeth,

  I so enjoyed our recent visit. Our time together reminded me of all the good things in my life, you the greatest among them. The Lord has showered me with so much favor and goodness. I fear I let my melancholy overwhelm my faith and I forgot to count my blessings. Forgive me if I caused you unnecessary anxiety. That was never my intention. It pains me to say I am about to cause you more worry. Since last we met, my health has taken a turn for the worse. I am penning this letter from my hospital bed.

  Elizabeth’s hand flew to her throat, alarm driving her to her feet. She looked frantically around, paced to the edge of the drawing room, then paused. Before she went to Hester, she must know all the facts. With Herculean effort, she willed herself to read the rest of the letter.

  I imagine this news has you orchestrating a way to alleviate my suffering, at the very least sit at my bedside. Do not come. You will be turned away, for I have been denied visitors. Know that I am reconciled with my confinement and have complete confidence my Lord and Savior will heal me if it is His will. Or He will call me home. I welcome either outcome.