Midnight Bride (6 page)

She did not pause in her work. Elizabeth, however, trembled, certain the man's presence was going to be discovered. Who was he? She ground her teeth for a minute and then relaxed her jaw. Jeffries had told her his name when he appeared with the tea tray.
Tea—
Teasley
?
Elizabeth shook her head, dislodging a pillow. The maid
turned,
her eyes on her mistress. Elizabeth forced herself to breathe deeply, feigning sleep.

As soon as the maid returned to sweeping the hearth, Elizabeth relaxed. Not "A," she thought, or "B." "C"? Yes, that sounded right. Or was it "D"? Clarke? Clare? Clarendon! That was it. But didn't he have a title? Was Clarendon his name or his title? She tried picturing him once more as she had seen him the previous afternoon. The sight of him on the floor beside her bed kept getting in the way. Her face a flaming red, she burrowed deeper in her pillows, a tiny smile on her lips. He was certainly more intriguing than the rest of her brother's friends.

The thought of her brother almost brought Elizabeth out of bed. A quick peek at the windows told her it was still early, far too early for Charles to be up. Once again the thought of his slurred speech made her want to shake him. She had seen what a constant round of drinking and gambling could do to a man. She did not intend her brother to go the way of her
fiancé.

"Dunstan! Viscount Dunstan!" she whispered under her breath. The details came flooding back. Jeffries had said the man had inherited the title recently. Now that the name was firmly in her mind, the gossip her stepmother insisted on sharing came to the surface.

Viscount Dunstan was a name associated with the wildest parties, the deepest gambling. If Charles were running with that crowd, she had better contact her stepmother soon.

So intent was she on these thoughts that she did not hear the door close behind the maid. "Miss
Beckworth
? Elizabeth? May I come out now?" a deep voice asked.

Elizabeth jumped. "No!"

"Do you plan to keep me here forever?" he asked with a laugh. "If so, I do hope you plan to give me a duster." The danger now past, he could see some humor in the situation.

Elizabeth could not. "What are you doing in my room?" she said, her tone angry.

"Sleeping," he said as casually as though he were in his own bed at his grandfather's estate.

"What?"

"Apparently I spent the night with you. You did invite me, didn't you?"

"Me? How dare you! Just wait until my brother hears about this!" She slid out of bed with a thud and dashed across the room to the bell pull, stopping only when she realized the futility of the gesture.

"You plan to tell your brother?" Dunstan asked, his voice reflecting his confusion.

"You invade my chamber and expect me to accept your insults. Of course, I am going to tell my . . ." As she realized what she was saying, Elizabeth paused. She could not call for anyone, not if she wished to keep the encounter a secret. And it had to stay that way. She was not ready to face another public scandal.

Two long, well-shaped legs poked out from under the cream lace and turquoise satin bed skirts. Elizabeth stared at them, shocked, for a moment. "No!" she said loudly. "Get back under there."

"I do not plan to stay here forever," Dunstan said, his voice more calm than he believed possible. "It is far too dusty."

"Dusty?" she asked, confused.

"I recommend that you speak to your housekeeper. Someone has been shirking this job," he added with a laugh. "I will give you a minute to cover your eyes. Then I am coming out."

"I'll—I'll go in my dressing room. Then you can get out," Elizabeth said hurriedly. She moved across the room, and he heard the door close behind her. What he did not realize was that she was leaning against the other side of the door, trembling. Her heart pounding, Elizabeth breathed heavily.

What was happening to her? Never in her life had she acted the part of a wanton. Why was this happening now?

On the other side of the door, Dunstan crawled out from under the bed. He crossed to the pitcher and bowl and poured some warm water to wash away the dust, pausing for a moment to wonder once again how he had gotten there. He looked at the door and smiled. Gathering his clothes and shaking them, he quickly dressed. Then he knocked on the dressing-room door.

"What?"

"I'm dressed."

"Then leave." Elizabeth said, relieved.

"I'm afraid there is more to this situation than simply leaving will solve," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Come out. We need to talk." His voice was quiet and sincere.

Elizabeth pulled away from the door. She stood up straight. "I'll be out in a minute," she said quietly.

Although she thought it impossible, Dunstan realized how difficult those simple words must have been for her.

When she appeared a short time later, he held his breath for a moment. She had donned a deep amber velvet dressing gown trimmed with blond lace. The deep collar of lace formed a frame for her flushed face, and the soft gathers of the high waistline emphasized her figure.

Elizabeth too stopped for a moment. He was standing by the window, his handsome face highlighted by the early morning sunlight, his dark brown hair tousled becomingly over his forehead. It did not seem like the face of a man who was known for hard living, but Elizabeth had learned the hard way that a person's nature is not always reflected on his face.

For a few moments neither spoke. They looked at each other and then at the floor, color flooding their faces. Dunstan cleared his throat; Elizabeth raised her head and looked at him. "Ah, Miss
Beckworth
, Elizabeth," Dunstan said, his voice cracking as it had not done in years, "you must believe that I did not intend to do you harm." He paused, thinking in embarrassment of what he had said while he was under the bed. How could he have acted as though what had happened had been a silly prank? He cleared his throat again when he realized that she was not going to say anything. "There is no other apology I can give for my behavior." He took a deep breath and then hurried on, spitting out the words in one breath. "Miss
Beckworth
, I request that you do me the honor of becoming my wife." He stood there looking at her, his deep blue eyes sincere.

Ready to accuse him of plotting her ruin, Elizabeth stood speechless for a moment. She stared at him as though he were an exhibit at the fair. Then she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of the situation. She had awakened early as she usually did; she had gotten more comfortable in bed and prepared to go back to sleep. That was it; this was a dream. She opened her eyes, hoping that she was right.

"Elizabeth?" Dunstan asked.

"You are still here," she said tiredly.

"Did you think I would go away without discussing what has happened?" he
asked,
his voice stern.

"I was hoping you had never been here at all," she explained. She sank into an ivory velvet chair beside the window, her face somber in the early morning light. "Why don't you go away?"

"And where will I say I have been? If the maid has been in to light your fire, won't someone have been to my room as well?" He walked over to stand behind her, wanting to smooth her hair but resisting the impulse.

"Oh." She closed her eyes again, her shoulders slumping. Then she sat up straight. Her eyes were wide. "What room are you in? Is it close to my brother's?"

"On the same floor."
He crossed to stand in front of her. "Why? What difference does that make?"

"Jeffries will not allow a maid to work there. Our footmen must serve more rooms than normal. Are you at the end of the hall or near the stairs?" She got up quickly. Then she realized how close he was to her and sat back down.

"At the end."
He paused and took a deep breath. "Elizabeth, I asked you to be my wife. Do you plan to ignore me forever?" Dunstan
asked,
his voice harsher than he had planned.

"Good. Now if you only hurry . . ." She got up again and rushed toward the door to the hall, ignoring what he was saying.

"Elizabeth!"

"What?" She turned back toward him, annoyed to find him standing in the same spot as before.

"Are you going to marry me or not?" No matter how she tried to pretend the situation had never happened, Dunstan knew that it could not be ignored. He had worked too long to preserve his reputation. Even now, a year and a half after the deaths of his father and older brother, people still wondered about him. He did not plan to give them any more ammunition to use against him. And she met his grandfather's requirements as well as his own.

"Not." He stared at her in shock. "If you hurry, you can return to your room and no one will be the wiser." She tried to make
herself
appear composed and calm, as though finding a man in her bed did not disturb her. "Come. I'll check the corridor and be certain it is clear." She turned back to the door, her hand on the latch.

"No." Dunstan sat down in the chair she had just left. "We must talk before I go."

Elizabeth froze. Then she whirled around, the amber velvet swinging around her like a swirl of gold. She hurried over and stood in front of him. "What are you trying to do? You broke into my room, climbed into bed with me—against my will, I might add—and now refuse to leave. Jeffries told me that certain members of my brother's
houseparty
were no gentlemen. Now I believe him!"

"I climbed into bed with you?" Dunstan rose and stood glowering over her. "How did I get here? I must have been invited. I never go where I am not wanted." His blue eyes snapped angrily.

"Invited? You—you. . . ." Elizabeth raged at him, standing so close to him that he could feel her chest heaving. She longed to slap him, but gradually she gained control of herself. She took a deep breath. Realizing that words alone were not going to convince him to leave, she moved back, her eyes on his face. "If I agree to talk to you later, will you go now before you are discovered here?" she asked. Her voice was as calm as she could make it. If she could only get rid of him so that she could find out what had happened.

"How much later?" he asked suspiciously. Dunstan knew the problems his being found in her room could cause and wanted to avoid them as much for himself as for her sake.

"At eleven."
Elizabeth almost heaved a sigh of relief as she watched his face relax. In a few minutes he would be gone, and she would be safe again.

"Where?"

"My morning room."
She was holding her breath, hoping he would agree.

"You promise you will come? The word of a
Beckworth
?" he asked, not at all certain whether this was merely a ploy to get rid of him.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth silently. Then she smiled. "I promise." Even if I do have to see him again, it will be better there than here, she thought. She glanced at the bed and blushed as she remembered the sight of him on the floor.

"Check the hallway." Quickly he made certain he had all his belongings. Then he crossed to the door, where she waited impatiently. Certain he was ready to leave, Elizabeth opened the door cautiously. There was no one in sight. She signaled for him to go. He slid past her, at the last moment before he went out the door impulsively turning and kissing her on the lips. "Eleven," he said softly. Then he hurried away.

The door safely closed, Elizabeth sank to the floor, a hand over her mouth. "Eleven."

Elizabeth
sat with her back against the door to the hall for a few minutes, long enough for her feet to feel as though they were becoming icicles. Finally, moving as though she were in a dream, she climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over her head as she had done as a child whenever she had had a bad dream. If only that were what had hap
pened now.