by Jenny Brown
Her words cut him to the heart. But he was not as bad as she thought. He stretched out one hand toward her. “Eliza,” he began, “I deserve every angry word you can heap on my head. I’ve been a fool and you are paying for my foolishness. But I will get you out of here. And when I do, please, Eliza, tell me you will forgive me.”
Eliza sat stiffly across from him, her head bowed. “Why should it matter to you what I think of you? You warned me that it would be dangerous to give my heart to you, but I ignored your warning. I am my own victim, not yours.”
The pain in her eyes tore through the last shreds of his self-control. “I cannot bear to have you hate me, Eliza. Not after last night. I found the letter that you left for me this morning, and it horrified me to realize that because I had not the courage to speak up then, you’d been left believing you would be abandoned. I should have asked you to marry me as soon as you gave me the precious gift of yourself. I meant to, but I was a coward. I can only beg your forgiveness for that, too.”
He dropped to his knees, feeling the cold dampness of the stone floor seep through the silk of his breeches. “This isn’t how I’d hoped it would be when I made my proposal but I cannot bear to delay another moment. Eliza, I would consider myself the most fortunate of men if you would consent to be my wife.”
Eliza’s eyes opened wide and for a moment he thought he saw surprise flash through them. Then she cocked her head and laughed sourly.
“Marry you?” she said. “And ensure myself a lifetime of misery, instead of just a single episode of disaster? You must be mad.”
Edward said nothing, aghast at how much pain had been hiding behind Eliza’s own fearsome self-control.
“It is all a game to you, isn’t it?” she said bitterly. “Playing tricks on your mother, making me fall in love with you. And now you think you can fix everything just by assigning me a new role.”
Edward wanted to protest that she was wrong, but he was silenced by the heavy realization that every word she said was true.
“I, too, have been a fool,” Eliza said. “But I finally understand my own danger. After you’d awakened me to all the excitement I’d missed in life that evening at your town house, I pretended I could stay objective. I convinced myself I stayed with you so I could offer you help. But I was self-deluded. I fell in love with Lord Lightning. I let myself succumb to the charms of a practiced rake. My aunt tried to keep me sheltered and protect me from my own impetuous nature, but it was no use. I am too much my mother’s daughter. She married a charming man whose only flaw was that he couldn’t think past his own desires. She, too, thought she could change him.”
Her words stung, but he forced himself to silence, knowing he must not try to justify himself to her. The pent-up anger in her words was so familiar to him, so like his own. But perhaps all was not lost. Had she not just said that she loved him? It had frightened him yesterday to think Eliza might love a man as flawed as he knew himself to be. But now, with a sudden awakening he knew her love for him was all that stood between himself and total devastation.
Eliza’s dull voice went on relentlessly. “My father was a charming man when my mother first met him, just as you are now. She was far his inferior in rank. They might not have married except that, as my aunt told me, she behaved as imprudently with him as I have with you. She gave herself to him thinking she loved him and when she discovered she was to bear me, she was forced to marry him or face society’s judgment upon her.”
Eliza stopped and took a ragged breath. “By the time I was born she had learned the extent of her mistake. My father was out gambling the night of my birth. He didn’t come home for three days, and, when he did, it was to tell her he had gambled away the last of her dowry. I don’t think her love for him long outlived my birth, but by then it was too late for her to free herself.” Eliza toyed nervously with the edge of her sleeve. “At least I am fortunate to find myself the full victim of your thoughtlessness before I was swayed by my passions to accept your offer. I’ve been reminded of what a lifetime with you would mean before I was condemned to live through it. I will not make the mistake my mother made.”
Edward wanted to protest that he was not so entirely lost in his own selfish desires as her dreadful father had been. But his protests died unspoken. He had been so obsessed with his own wounds he hadn’t noticed hers, though life had hurt her as badly as it had hurt him. Perhaps worse.
Why else would she have chosen to be a spinster despite her beauty and her lively nature? Why else had she maintained that schoolmistress’s air of cold emotional control? It had been that control of hers which had so attracted him—the thought that she could remain unaffected by the surging anger and pain that so often filled his own heart. It had been her relentless control which had goaded him to use all his skills to penetrate her defenses.
As he had done, oh so successfully, last night.
He felt terror now as he became aware of how little he could trust himself. Did he really know where the games ended and where reality began? Last night, when he had seduced her, had he really meant to marry her? He remembered how his body had burned for her and how easy it had been to convince himself her seduction was necessary. And though he had justified taking her with the belief he must marry her, had he not ripped through the last of her defenses when he had kissed her by the sea, before he’d seen her father’s damning letter with its revelation of who she really was?
It had been a game to him, a novel game filled with tenderness and desire rather than coldness and disdain, but a game nonetheless, like the game he played with his mother, the game that kept him from feeling the anger that otherwise might overwhelm him. Playing Lord Lightning kept him safe, but at what cost?
As he saw how hard Eliza was fighting the tears threatening to overwhelm her, and the emotions she, too, had tried so hard to deny, something shifted within him. It was as if he could feel the chain break that had kept his own feelings safely bound. As his control snapped, he felt tears welling up within him, as he waited for the catastrophe that must follow as his feelings, finally liberated, overwhelmed him.
But it did not come. Pain surged up in him, and need, and raging anger so violent it must soon consume him, but as he stood in the center of the storm that was his own heart he was steadied by the beauty that radiated from Eliza. She stood so wholly exposed as she grappled with her own annihilating fear, and the fury within him retreated. It slunk off like some wounded animal, the broken chain clanking behind it as it dragged itself off to die. And as the anger ebbed, another emotion flooded into him.
Love.
As he watched Eliza’s dear freckled face flush as she contended with the release of her own long buried terror, he realized with painful clarity how much he loved her. How he loved her more than he loved himself. And he knew beyond question he was willing to make whatever sacrifice it took to heal her wounds the way she had tried to heal his. She deserved better than the man that he had been. But he was all she had. So there was nothing left to do but rescue her from the predicament that man had put her in.
“I have been all that you say I am,” he said, his head bowed. “My words can do nothing for you now, so I will spare you them. But know this: I am not like your father. I will free you from this imprisonment. I am not completely without influence, and I will not rest until you are free.”
Eliza nodded, but her eyes when they met his were dull with misery.
He bit his tongue and stopped himself from pouring out words that would tell her of the love now filling his heart. That would only be more selfishness. It wasn’t what she needed. Instead he just stood silently before her, opening himself up to the fullness of what he felt for her. As he did, tears coursed down Eliza’s face, and she began to shake. He put his arms around her and drew her close, comforting her like a dearly beloved child, patting her on the back, and making feeble soothing sounds. As he held her, he felt once again that indescribable flow of energy that arose between them when they embraced.
&
nbsp; This must be love, he thought with wonder, this joy that arises when I am close to her, even when there is no reason to feel joy, this hope that fills me when there is no reason to hope.
Eventually she calmed. She said nothing more but did not push him away, and simply clung to him, as if she, too, knew they were bound by something beyond words, until they heard the clatter of the gaoler’s key as it turned in the cell door.
She sprang back, and Edward was forced to leave her.
Chapter 18
“Quite a tasty piece,” Mr. Cuthbertson remarked as he led Edward up the stairway away from Eliza’s prison cell. “Wouldn’t mind sampling a bit of what she’s been peddling meself.” He smacked his lips together in anticipation.
Edward resisted the temptation to kill the man where he stood. It would solve nothing. Instead he drew him aside and hissed, “There’s another five guineas waiting for you when she leaves here, but only if she leaves here untouched by you or any man.”
“So it’s like that, is it?” the man said, suddenly remembering to tug his forelock respectfully. “Fond of the lady, are you? Well, take no offense, Your Lordship. It was only my little way o’ jokin’, not meaning any disrespect to the lady.”
“See that you remember that,” Edward commanded.
He hoped the hefty bribe would be enough to keep Eliza safe, but he was troubled. He knew what happened to women imprisoned for prostitution. It was essential that he find some way of getting her released immediately. Every hour she spent in custody increased the danger to her. But how to free her?
Appealing to his mother to withdraw the charges would be useless. Clearly she felt it was safe for her to challenge him and until he understood why, he must move carefully. Whatever the explanation, she was far too pleased with the advantage her latest move had given her in their battle to give it up now. He might have seen the futility of such game playing, but why should she quit the game, when at last she was ahead? He must find some other way to rescue Eliza.
Mentally he went through the list of his acquaintances, trying to find one who might have enough influence to get her freed, but they were a frippery lot, and besides, it would take more than wealth and titles to free Eliza. Only the Regent had the kind of power that could interfere with the majestic grinding of the law. But Edward had never run in the Regent’s circles and doubted that his name would mean anything to him—unless he was aware of Lord Lightning’s terrible reputation.
There was only one person of his acquaintance who had been a familiar of the Regent: Mrs. Atwater. His heart sank when he remembered the shameful scene in which he had just compelled her to play a role. Once again his thoughtless playacting had made Eliza’s situation more difficult. He had almost dismissed as worthless the idea of appealing to her, when it occurred to him that though Mrs. Atwater might not wish him well, perhaps he could sway her by making it clear that the favor he asked was not for himself but for Eliza, a woman, after all, whose situation must remind her of her own, and one, moreover, who was a victim of her own protector’s hateful wife.
It was worth a try.
He turned his steps toward the modest street in an unfashionable part of town where Mrs. Atwater had her dwelling and when he reached it, knocked decisively on her door. When she opened it herself, he breathed a sigh of relief. He not been certain she would have agreed to speak to him had he been forced to relay his message to her through a servant.
He suspected he had woken her from slumber. She was dressed in an old-fashioned pink silk wrapper that had clearly seen better days and her graying hair was still braided for sleep. She was blinking, blearily, and her posture told him she wished to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Still, she took his hat and led him into the small parlor whose walls were lined with richly framed faded prints depicting the scenes of her former triumphs.
He quickly explained the situation to her and asked her if she would be willing to use whatever influence she had with the Regent to ask him to effect Eliza’s release.
A look of annoyance crossed her face. “So your mother has taken away your latest toy, has she? Surely with what I’ve heard of your tastes, Your Lordship, you can easily replace her.”
“What you hear of me is much exaggerated. But she is not my toy, nor could anyone ever replace Eliza in my life. My mother sensed that and chose to strike back at me by harming an innocent woman whose only fault was to have seen good in me where none existed.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that your mother did strike back, nor should you have been. She was never one to leave an insult unavenged. And the insult you offered her was beyond anything. Had I known what you had planned for her that night you bid me to her home, I shouldn’t have gone, no matter how much money you offered me. Truly, Your Lordships I was ashamed to have been part of it.”
“I deserve your reproach. Eliza has opened my eyes to many things, not the least of which is the inexcusability of the way in which I treated you. But she didn’t do it soon enough to save herself from becoming my victim.”
Mrs. Atwater’s eyebrows lifted and he sensed that his words might have gone some way toward winning her over to his cause. “Would you pay me to speak to the Regent for her, too?” she asked.
“If that was what it took to convince you to help her, yes.”
“How much?”
“Name your figure. I will not haggle over it. I must free Eliza.”
She let out a long, slow whistle, “So, you really do care about the girl. More’s the pity for you, for I cannot take your money. It’s been many a year since I’ve run in Prinny’s circle. Why, I doubt he would recognize me now, looking like this.” She gestured ruefully toward her ruined face. “Besides, you of all men should know how little note men of the world take of women like me. After all this time, I doubt he would recall my name, far less wish to hear me ask him for some favor. I’m just a face in the crowd to him, now, I am, whatever I might have once been to him.”
“You won’t even try?”
“And humiliate myself again for your sake? I’m not that hard up, thank God!”
Edward’s shoulders sagged. “Then I must take my leave of you and look for help elsewhere. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my request.”
She went to get his hat. When she returned, she favored him with a long, examining look. “This Eliza of yours is more than a passing fancy, isn’t she?”
“Far more. I have asked her to be my wife.”
“Well fancy that! That will get the world atalking. Lord Lightning’s to marry his mistress!”
“No. He will not. She’s turned me down,” he said quietly. “And I do not expect to be able to change her mind.”
“Yet you still are willing to pay whatever it takes to free her. Why I believe you do care for the girl.”
“I do, though it would have been better for her had I lived up to my reputation for heartlessness. Had I not cared for her, she would not have become my mother’s victim.”
Without handing him his hat, which she still held in her hand, Mrs. Atwater said, “I must think very well of this Eliza of yours, as she seems to have taught you some humility. And for her sake, I must tell you this: I’ve just remembered something quite troubling, Your Lordship. I’ve heard distressing stories about the magistrate.”
“What have you heard?”
Mrs. Atwater’s voice dropped. “Only that he likes to examine the girls privately.”
“Privately?” he repeated.
“Yes. Privately. Late into the night.” She shook her head, making her long gray braids shake. “And after he is done with them quite a few of them are reported as having escaped.”
“You mean he lets them go in return for sexual favors?”
“It’s worse than that. The girls are never seen again. The rumors are that he sells them to a brothel keeper in London who caters to the sort of men who like to hurt women.”
Edward’s stomach clenched. “If this is known, why is nothing done to stop it?”
<
br /> Mrs. Atwater sighed and smoothed one age-spotted hand over her heart. “They’re fallen women. No one cares a fig what happens to them. And there are powerful men who find such perversions pleasing. They wouldn’t like to see the supply of criminals to the brothel stopped.”
He felt as if ice were forming around his heart. The danger to Eliza was far worse than he had imagined. Could he threaten to expose the magistrate? It was unlikely. He had no proof but the wild assertions of an aging demimondaine. No, his usual theatrics would be no use in this situation.
He turned back to Mrs. Atwater. “My behavior to you has robbed me of any claim on your kindness,” he said. “But I beg of you, for Eliza’s sake, if there is anyone else you know who might be able to effect Eliza’s release, tell me who it might be.”
Mrs. Atwater fixed him with a stern gaze. “There is only one person who can free her, Your Lordship,” she said. “And you must know already who it is—though your pride might keep you from addressing her.”
“And who is that?”
“Lady Hartwood.”
His heart sank. Lady Hartwood. Who hated him. Who had always hated him. Who could not really be his mother. But even as the old familiar protest flashed through his mind he realized with a shock that perhaps this, too, was only another game—a game he had played with himself since he was young, because if she really were his mother, the pain of her rejection would be too great to bear.
Meeting his father’s mistress’s once beautiful blue eyes, their color faded now with age, he said, “You are right. I have no choice but to appeal to Lady Hartwood. But before I do, there is one thing I must know.”
