She was going to set Fort free.
Perhaps she didn’t have him trapped, but just in case, she was going to give him his liberty.
She could have visited him during the day with Chastity as chaperone, but he was quite capable of again refusing to see her. And anyway, she couldn’t imagine having an honest talk with him during the day. No, night was their time and she had his pistol, an excuse of sorts for a clandestine visit.
In Abingdon Street, they avoided the front of Walgrave House, and headed for the back, looking for the gate Elf remembered. It still wasn’t locked and so they slipped through and down the garden.
As she’d expected, the house was quiet. Fort, still an invalid, would go to bed early, and the servants would take the chance to get a good sleep. She couldn’t be sure they’d all be in their beds, though, which added a little spice to the moment.
Elf paused to inhale the sweet smells of the dark garden, and to admit that she was enjoying this last adventure. In fact, she enjoyed adventure. The excitement was like wine—sweet and liberating.
Yes, she was very like Cyn.
Hunot was watching her, and she could see well enough to know he was smiling. “God help the man who marries you.”
“Perhaps I’ll just save any man the trouble. You stay here. Don’t worry, the worst that can happen now is that I’ll get thrown out on my ear. Prepare to catch a flying Malloren!”
He laughed as she slipped toward the house.
It was a hot night, and she was relying on there being some windows open. She’d expected to have to climb the scullery roof to get at a higher floor, but she spotted a small window there left ajar.
His servants need a firmer hand, she thought, then grimaced at the direction of her mind.
The window opened farther without squeaking, and she eased through onto the stone sink. Soon she was in the familiar kitchen.
The big room was quiet, though again a few figures slept rolled in blankets on the floor. Surely all the other servants would be in their beds. A faint meow made her look down, where she saw a familiar dark cat. She crouched to stroke behind its ears.
She daren’t speak, but she hoped it understood her apology for using it to escape, and her thanks.
At least when she rose to make her way across the kitchen, it didn’t follow. Nor did anything else happen to prevent her making her way through the servants’ quarters and up the stairs to the first floor.
It was easy from there. She knew the way to Fort’s bedroom.
Gingerly, heart beginning to race, she eased open the door to a pitch-dark room. He must be asleep. Carefully, she worked her way to the bed and touched the surface. Her wandering fingers found only a smooth surface. He wasn’t there!
Irritated, she pushed back the heavy window curtains to let in a glimmer of moonlight. Not only wasn’t Fort here, this room was unused. No water stood ready on the washstand. No towels hung on the rail.
For a horrified moment she thought he might be dead, but then sanity returned. This was not a house of recent death.
So where on earth was he?
With a woman?
Jealousy threw up that suggestion, but reason immediately quashed it. He surely was in no state to enjoy a woman, or to be traveling over town in search of one.
So, he had moved to another room.
Elf caught sight of herself in a mirror, surprised at how much like her brother she looked in his clothes. Then she remembered other images in that mirror and wondered if Fort had simply fled the memories this room held.
Fled to where? If she’d expected this problem, she would have asked Chastity.
She eased into the adjoining room, but it too was unused.
The ground floor.
She shook her head and laughed at herself. Of course, a man with a wounded leg would not use stairs if he didn’t have to.
In moments she was downstairs trying to remember her earlier explorations, and choose a likely room. She made her decision and walked boldly into his study.
Fort lay in bed, reading by candlelight.
He started and half-rose, but then relaxed back on his pillows. “Trying to terrify me to death? I thought you were Cyn.”
Elf’s heart beat so fast she feared she’d turn dizzy. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
He closed his book and put it aside. “I’m surprised. But with you I’ve come to expect the unexpected. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
He was decorously clothed in a white nightshirt, and neatly tucked into the narrow bed. But his brown hair hung loose, and the reflective candleholder close to his head gave it a golden aura. A wave of love and lust engulfed Elf, threatening her mission.
Then she noticed the frame holding the bedclothes off his leg and she just wanted to take care of him. “Does your leg still pain you?”
“Frequently. I thought Chastity took back regular reports.”
“Regular, but not detailed. I’m sorry you were shot.”
“I don’t think you were responsible. Were you?”
“Of course not!”
“With a Malloren, all things are possible.” He threw the family saying at her like a knife. Just like old times. Squabbling again.
Elf carefully extracted the pistol and put it on the desk. “I wanted to return this.”
“Thank you. You could have sent it as you sent other items, however.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“We spoke today.”
“In private.”
With a sigh, he spread his hands. “I am here, and you would have to sting me viciously to persuade me to move. By all means, say your piece.”
Elf sat in a chair, forcing herself not to show how much his words hurt. She’d expected this, hadn’t she? Clearly he didn’t feel the same powerful attraction that she did. To him, she was merely importunate. Doubtless he planned to marry Lady Lydia, and thought the fact that she was a sweet innocent a bonus rather than a handicap.
So be it.
“First,” she said, “I want to apologize for anything I might have done to hurt you.”
“Accepted.”
“Second”—and she looked at the scrolls, the fan, and the toy on a table by the bed—“I will bother you with no more gifts.”
He too glanced at her offerings. “Ah. They have enlivened the tedium of convalescence. Why stop now?”
“So you won’t offer for Lydia North in retaliation.”
He looked back at her then. “You do think me a shallow fellow, don’t you?”
“No!”
“No? You think I would spoil the life of a charming girl merely to hit back at you?”
Elf shook her head, trying desperately to understand. “You wouldn’t spoil her life. You’d make her a wonderful husband.”
“Are you carrying my child?”
The question caught her unawares, though she’d planned to tell him. She knew she was flushing as she said, “No.”
He leaned back, watching her from beneath lids so low they effectively blocked interpretation. “We were lucky, then.”
“Yes, very.”
If he wanted it this way, she could play the game. She crossed her legs as her bother would do. “So, you have no intention of marrying Lady Lydia?”
“Not in the near future.” He shrugged. “Next year, or the year after, who knows? She is a delightful young lady.”
“But young.”
“Desist!” In a completely different tone, he added, “I kissed her today.”
Elf caught a breath. “And escaped uncommitted? A miracle!”
“I’m sure you have been kissed many times and yet escaped bondage.”
“But then, despite the clothes, I’m not a man.”
“And such matters are much more hazardous for us. Unfair, really, wouldn’t you say?”
They shared a smile that Elf couldn’t interpret, yet treasured. They had slid into talking as friends, or even as she might talk with Cyn—something she ha
d never experienced with Fort before.
“We were left alone for a few moments, and I wanted to kiss her. I had already discovered that very proper ladies can be a surprise in these matters.”
Elf swallowed, knowing she was blushing.
“She, it turned out, was just as eager to experiment. I started very gently, of course, but at her insistence became a little bolder. She made no objection, but soon pulled back.”
“She didn’t like it?”
“Your astonishment is flattering. It wasn’t clear, but she did say that she thought she’d wait before permitting other men such liberties.”
“One day, she will make some man a truly remarkable wife.” Elf had not intended the question in that “one day,” but it rang out.
He looked at her without any obvious artifice. “Elf, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I feel as unformed as a babe.”
It was horribly unsatisfying, but it was honest, so she rose, smoothing down her man’s coat. “And I’m stinging you when you can’t retaliate.” She’d come to set him free, and now she must do it. “Did Chastity tell you I’ve taken over part of the family business?”
“An estate?” His brows rose with surprise.
“No, part of our industrial concerns.”
“I didn’t know the Mallorens had concerns other than making my life a misery.”
Elf stared at him. “How strange. But we don’t spread the word, I suppose. Yes, we are busily engaged in many matters to do with industry and trade. I have charge of fabrics of all kinds. It started with silk . . .”
A little while later, she stopped. “Oh, Lud. I’m chattering like a ninny!”
His lips twitched into a smile. “Just like an Elf. I’m glad you’re enjoying all this hard labor.”
“Well, I am.” Something in his manner had her blushing and fiddling with the cuff of her coat. She made herself relax and tell him the whole of it. “I quite see that my interest in trade makes me even less of a perfect lady. As does my ability with a throwing knife.” She pulled the one out of her boot. “Hold one of my poems up against the wall.”
After the briefest hesitation, he picked up the pink scroll and held it out at the full extension of his arm. “Bear in mind that I already have one wounded limb.”
“At least you’re not suggesting I could kill you by mistake at this distance.” She was surely mad, Elf thought, but she couldn’t back down now. It would just be like throwing at a target. Praying for a steady hand, she flicked the knife, and it thudded into the wall through the paper.
“Thank heavens!” she exclaimed.
He released the paper. “If I’d known you were so uncertain of your skills . . .”
And they shared a smile. Not a lovers’ smile—something more.
“Friends?” he said.
She nodded, fighting tears. She relished the precious moment, but knew it might be the end of other things. She almost asked whether friends could ever enjoy a physical relationship, perhaps just in fun, but she stopped herself. It could never be just in fun for her, and so it would tear her part.
And probably in a year or two he would marry Lady Lydia.
She walked over and pulled her knife out of the wall, sliding it back down into her boot.
“We do seem to have come full circle,” he said.
“Except that I’m in the breeches, and you’re in the robe.”
“A half circle with more to go?”
She looked down at him. “I don’t know, either.”
And that was a strange admission. She’d felt so sure that she wanted him, that they belonged together.
Then she’d felt so sure that she could let him go.
Now she wasn’t sure of anything.
He held out a hand. “Kiss me, Elf. The Earl of Walgrave has never been kissed by Lady Elfled Malloren.”
She sat on the edge of his narrow bed. “He won’t be now. I’m still in disguise of sorts.”
“What is real, what is disguise?”
Elf looked at him, lying back on his snowy pillows in a pristine white night gown, his wavy hair loose on his shoulders.
She chuckled.
“What now?” he asked resignedly, but with humor in his eyes.
“It’s just that with me here in men’s clothing, I’m sure this looks like one of those scandalous pictures of the amorous suitor about to ravish the trembling maiden.”
He fluttered his lashes. “I’m prepared to scream, sir. But I might permit a kiss.”
“If you scream, they’ll probably make me marry you.” She leaned forward slowly to put her lips to his.
It was true. They had never kissed like this before, in honesty and without urgency. Bracing herself on one arm, she threaded the other hand through his hair, exploring the silky, springy texture of it as she enjoyed the soft firmness of his lips and the familiar taste of his mouth.
His hand touched her neck, drawing her gently closer as he deepened it, as his tongue greeted hers in play.
Almost, she collapsed down on top of him, but she made herself stop. Even if he wanted it, even if he were capable of it, now was not the time. She pulled back, straightened, and stood to give him a formal court bow.
“Au revoir, Monsieur Le Comte.”
With that, Elf turned and left before weakness could make her stay.
Chapter 20
The box arrived just before Christmas.
Elf was in the middle of last-minute preparations for the grand Christmas masquerade they always held at Rothgar Abbey in mid-December. Servants and family had spent the day outside gathering traditional greenery. Now they were transforming the great house with it all, creating an indoor forest—a forest twined with scarlet-and-gold ribbons, and hung with mistletoe kissing boughs.
Spontaneously, the servants were singing traditional Christmas songs and she saw some of the younger ones sneaking nuts and oranges. That was allowed on a day like today.
Elf put the box aside for a moment to give instructions to the maids hanging the gilded nuts among the boughs on the staircase.
A squawk alerted her, and she turned to see Portia, her five-month-old son on her hip. Red-haired Portia was slim and petite, and her son was growing so healthily he seemed almost too much for her to carry. Despite the fact that Elf knew Portia was much stronger than she looked, she reached to take the child. She received a bright smile from both mother and little Francis. She carried the wide-eyed child around the hall, showing him the gilded ornaments and the scarlet ribbons.
“Elf,” said Portia, “this package is from Fort.”
Elf turned back slowly. She’d learned to put him out of her mind, she’d thought.
Now, immediately, her heart raced.
Not long after their last meeting, he’d removed to Walgrave Towers in Dorset. At the same time, Cyn and Chastity had finally left for Portsmouth and shortly thereafter, sailed. They’d been in Nova Scotia now for months. Their first letter had been enthusiastic, even if Cyn had been annoyed to find out halfway through the voyage that his wife was with child and had concealed it from him.
Elf’s revived pain at saying farewell to Cyn had been soothed by time spent at Candleford and the birth of Portia and Bryght’s son.
At some point, however, it had dawned on her that she missed Fort more than she missed Cyn.
That was an ominous sign when Fort had made no attempt to contact her.
With Chastity gone, Elf heard little about the Earl of Walgrave. He’d already left the country for Italy when she learned about it.
It shouldn’t have mattered whether he were one hundred miles away or five, but it did. Elf had been hard-pressed to keep up her cheerful manner, but since she wanted to assure her family that she was completely happy, she did.
And she was happy, more or less.
Her days were filled with business she enjoyed, including a certain amount of mingling with friends and relatives. She was a wondering and devoted aunt. The first of the Spitalfields silk weavers had s
ettled in Norwich, and the business there was prospering.
Just last week she had journeyed to London to celebrate an early Christmas in Prince George’s Almshouse, down near Harrison’s Wharf. Dibby Cutlow ruled the seven other elderly inhabitants, considering the place virtually her own establishment.
The king had graciously permitted them to name the charity after his newborn son. These days, he beamed on all things Malloren. He had been delighted when informed that Portia and Bryght’s son had been born on the same day as his own. He was already talking of the two being companions in a few years—a suggestion that did not appeal to Portia and Bryght at all.
Bryght had even been heard to mutter that Rothgar must have had a hand in it.
Rothgar had merely remarked that if they didn’t like the situation, they should have planned with greater foresight.
Whether by accident or foresight, Bute and Grenville were openly contesting for power and the king’s favor. This had made George even more devoted to the undemanding Marquess of Rothgar. In fact, the king was here at Rothgar Abbey, complete with wife, child, and entourage, looking forward to the masquerade.
There was still much to be done, but Elf walked over to return Francis to his mother and look at the box.
She felt a strange reluctance to open it. She’d found a kind of equilibrium, and wasn’t sure if she could handle any disturbance to it. But she commanded a pair of scissors from a maid and snipped the string. Pulling off the lid, she revealed scarlet and gold.
“Oh, it’s a costume,” Portia said. “Gaudy, to say the least.”
“And inappropriate. You know that tonight we have to be in character.”
“You could go as a Covent Garden whore.”
Elf flushed, and covered the thing, wondering how she could have ever thought it appealing. More important, why had he sent it? She’d assumed it had been thrown out.
“I suppose this must mean Fort’s back,” Portia said, setting Elf’s heart racing once again. She hadn’t thought of that. “Did you send him an invitation?”
“I’m sure we must have, as a matter of form . . .” Now Elf’s heart rate teetered on the edge of panic. Surely he wouldn’t come.
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