Stolen Love (17 page)

"The man must have no nerves at all to have waited calmly in an occupied room. He might easily have been discovered."

Nicholas shrugged.

"Do you believe in the Mayfair Thief now, Nicholas?"

"How do you know it was the Mayfair Thief?" He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

"Mrs. Lillick seemed certain it was. Even the constable mentioned the possibility."

"Well, whether it was the Mayfair Thief or only the Greenweald ghost, whoever it was," Nicholas snorted, "certainly wasn't very clever."

"What do you mean?"

"Because he made off with about five pounds' worth of paste."

"But Mrs. Lillick's necklace must be worth a thousand times that."

"If it was genuine, it would be."

"Of course it was genuine."

"No, Elizabeth, it was paste, and I should think a thief worthy of the name would know paste from the real thing."

"Are you sure?"

"All I know is that the necklace Mrs. Lillick wore was paste, and that she has a brother who's in a great deal of financial difficulty."

Elizabeth stared, then said, "Surely you don't think Mrs. Lillick made all that up?"

He lifted his shoulders.

"But why would she do a thing like that?"

"So she could sell the real one for her brother."

"Did you tell the constable that?"

"Maybe I'm wrong. I'm not an expert after all. Maybe it wasn't paste. Perhaps it really was the Mayfair Thief."

"Perhaps," she said.

He brushed his hand across her cheek. "You must be exhausted, Elizabeth. I shouldn't be keeping you up with tall tales." He opened the door for her. They stood looking at each other. "I tried to find you tonight, but you weren't anywhere. I suddenly realized we have never danced, and I wanted to waltz with you." He reached for her hand.

"You did?" She could not look away from the blackness of his eyes. She felt that if only she could look into them long enough, she would see in them the answer to all her questions.

"I did." His arm suddenly snaked around her waist, and for an instant she found herself pressed against him. Just as suddenly, he let her go. "I'm glad you're all right," he said in a husky voice.

"Of course I am," she said. She was trembling from the effect of his brief embrace. Without knowing how she found the courage to do it, she went up on tiptoe and pressed her lips against his. "Good night, Nicholas."

"Elizabeth…"

"Yes?" She leaned against the door frame because her knees were suddenly too weak to support her.

"Nothing." He took her hand and pressed it briefly. "Good night."

She fought back her tears even after she shut the door. He did not love her, for surely if he did, he would have done something besides stare at her like that after she had kissed him. There had been something in those black eyes of his, only she did not know what it was. Surprise, perhaps, but something else as well. When she finally fell asleep, she once again dreamed of a mysterious gentleman who made his way quite freely through a crowded room. Try as she might, she could not catch even a glimpse of his face.

Ripton and Nicholas left Greenweald together early the next morning. Ripton was sitting with his feet propped up on the edge of the seat across from him, looking intently at Nicholas. Then he stared up at the roof of the carriage and let out a breath. "Lucy Benford-Smith was certainly full of tales, wasn't she?" he said.

"What? Oh, you mean about Latchley?"

"Yes, I mean about Latchley."

"If you ask me, he's just trying to make Amelia Willard jealous."

"Well," Ripton said slowly, "it's possible. But, Nicholas, we can't be the only two men who've noticed Elizabeth."

"I thought you were busy falling in love with Amelia."

"I haven't made up my mind to fall in love with anyone just yet." There was silence for a while, then Ripton cleared his throat. "Do you remember the letter we sent her?" Nicholas cocked his head. "I was able to discover she did receive it."

"And?"

"And she gave it to her cousin."

"Gave it to Amelia?"

"Yes. She read it and decided it must have been meant for Amelia."

Nicholas closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. He opened them after a moment. "I ought to have foreseen that."

"I think she hasn't any idea how beautiful she is."

"She hasn't. Mrs. Willard sees to that," Nicholas said bitterly.

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T
he day after returning from Greenweald, Nicholas presented his card to Mr. Poyne. The man nodded at him. "Wait here, if you please, sir," he said. A few moments later he heard much lighter steps coming down the stairs.

"Poyne." He heard Elizabeth's exclamation of dismay before he saw her. "You shouldn't have made Mr. Villines wait. Nicholas." she called out from the middle of the stairs, "come up."

He handed his coat and hat to Mr. Poyne and started up the stairs.

"I'm so glad you've come." Elizabeth skipped down a few stairs to meet him.

"Good afternoon, Elizabeth."

"Aunt Mary and Amelia aren't back yet," she said. "But they'll be home shortly. Will you stay to tea? Have you come to see the orchid? Will you come upstairs?" She grasped his hand.

"Of course I'll stay to tea, and of course I'll come upstairs. What is it that's got you so excited?"

"Come along and I'll show you." She tightened her hand around his and pulled him up the stairs after her. "It's
Vanda cerulea
. Oh, Nicholas, I think it's going to flower!"

He followed her into the morning room and, with Elizabeth hovering over him, examined the plant. "I'll be damned," he said under his breath, sitting down on the window seat. It wasn't exactly that it was going to flower, but there were obvious signs of new growth. When he looked up it was to see her shining eyes on him. This time he could not convince himself they were the eyes of a girl. It was quite possible for a man to lose himself in her eyes. They were large, expressive, thickly lashed, and the plain blue dress she always wore to garden in deepened the color to a smoky gray.

"Do you suppose we'll be rich?" she asked.

"If, in fact, it does flower, I expect so." He shrugged. "We would certainly be famous around orchid fanciers. I might even get a knighthood out of it."

"Sir Nicholas," she said slowly, testing the sound of it. "Oh! You would be unbearable if you were made Sir Nicholas!" She jumped up from her seat across from him and took his hand when he stood up. "Whom do you suppose was right, Sir Nicholas? Hmm?"

"You're being insufferable," he said.

She pretended to pout at him, and all he could think about was how much he would like to kiss those full lips.

"Are we really going to be rich?"

He laughed. "No doubt rich enough to buy a castle or two, perhaps even to pay the servants to clean it."

"Don't tease me, Nicholas." She let go of his hand and threw her arms around his neck. "I don't know how I shall stand the suspense."

He put his hands around her, sliding them downward and briefly tightening them about her waist. "I don't know how you shall stand it, either," he said into her hair. It smelled of violets, and he thought wryly to himself that the scent was going to haunt him for some time.

She leaned back to look at him. "You don't know how I'll stand it?" She slapped his chest lightly and pouted at him again. "How will you stand it?" she demanded.

"I don't know how I shall stand it, either." He reached to brush his fingers over her cheek. Soft, her skin was. That night at Greenweald it had taken all his will not to pull her into his arms, and this time was no different. He kissed her cheek, sliding the fingers of one hand around her neck when he did. She was looking at him, a teasing smile still on her face. Just as clearly as if it were actually happening, he could see himself bending her head back so that he could take her lips, could hear her moan of pleasure as he caressed her. His knees felt weak at the very thought of holding her body so close to him. He watched her smile slowly fade and the look in her eyes become questioning. His fingers tightened around the back of her neck, and he let himself enjoy the incredible tension of his desire. Then he heard someone clear his throat behind them and looked up to see Mr. Willard. He moved Elizabeth away a little too hastily. "Elizabeth was just showing me the orchid."

"Have you seen it, Uncle Havoc?" she asked, turning quickly to bend over the plant. "Come and have a look, and tell me if you don't agree it will soon flower."

"Is that so?" Mr. Willard said to Nicholas.

One glance at Havoc told Nicholas that Elizabeth's quick reaction had saved him from making what might have been a rather uncomfortable explanation of his behavior.

"You will stay to tea, won't you, Nicholas?" Elizabeth asked.

"Please do," said Havoc. He returned his attention to his niece. "I came upstairs to find you, Elizabeth, because Mr. Rutherford is here."

"Is he? Well, we shall make a party, then, won't we? Oh! But I've got to change." She looked down at her dress with dismay. "I'll be downstairs in a minute, Uncle Havoc."

Nicholas followed Havoc to the drawing room, where Ripton was sitting with Mrs. Willard and Amelia. He was silent, happy to let Ripton guide the conversation away from him. Ripton could always be counted on to sense his moods.

He recalled telling Ripton that he loved Elizabeth like a sister. Certainly what he felt was considerably more complicated than the affection he had claimed, and it confused him. He did not know precisely what he felt, he was torn between a guilty desire for her and their long friendship. Why he felt guilty he did not know; it made no sense at all. Elizabeth was beautiful; any man in his right mind would be drawn to her. Only, sometimes he did not know where to place the line between friendship and his growing attraction to her. It would be entirely too dangerous to involve himself with Elizabeth. He did not think he could bear her disapproval of the choices he had made, nor did he think he could keep them from her for long. As young as she was, she saw too much and knew him too well. It would be impossible to keep his secret from Elizabeth if they were to become anything more than friends. It was hard enough now.

When Elizabeth came in she was wearing a dress he had not seen before. The gold silk was high-necked and exceedingly plain. She looked youthful in it, but instead of convincing him she was too young for the kinds of thoughts he'd been having about her, he felt his attraction to her all the more strongly. Ripton was right: they couldn't be the only two men in London who had noticed her. Could he bear it if she fell in love with some other man?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rutherford," she said. Ripton took her fingers, and Nicholas saw his lips come perilously close to brushing the back of her hand.

"You said I ought to visit Tavistock Square more often, so here I am."

"How wonderful it is that you've decided to call more often, Mr. Rutherford," Amelia said.

Mr. Poyne came in to announce another visitor just as Ripton was retaking his seat. Mrs. Willard frowned when she read the card Mr. Poyne presented. "Who is Mr. Percy Johns?" she said. "I've never heard of him. Do you know him, Amelia?"

"I do not remember meeting him, Mother."

"He says he is with the Metropolitan Police, Mrs. Willard," said Mr. Poyne.

"The police! What does he want with us?"

"Show him in," said Havoc.

"So sorry to disturb you," Percy said when he was standing in the middle of the drawing room, looking out of place.

"Do sit down, Mr.…" Mrs. Willard glanced at his card again. "Mr. Johns."

"Thank you, madam. I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Havoc Willard, do I not?"

"Yes."

"And the rest of your company, if I might be so bold as to inquire?"

"My husband, Mr. Havoc Willard, our daughter, Miss Amelia Willard, our niece, Elizabeth. And our guests are the Honorable Ripton Rutherford—"

"A pleasure."

"And this is Mr. Nicholas Villines. Lord Eversleigh's grandson."

"I am well of aware of Mr. Villines's background." He sat down at last. "It seems I've had a stroke of good fortune in finding Mr. Rutherford and Mr. Villines here as well," he commented.

"And why is that?" Havoc asked.

"Because I have all your names on my list."

"Goodness! Why?" Mrs. Willard was horrified at the thought of being on a policeman's list.

"You were all guests at the home of Mr. David Lillick on the evening of the alleged theft of Mrs. Lillick's necklace, were you not?"

"We've all given statements to the constable, Mr. Johns," said Mr. Willard.

"Yes, indeed you have. And he was kind enough to let me read them. However, it has always been my practice to speak to witnesses personally."

"Why are the Metropolitan Police even involved in the affair?" Havoc asked.

"Because of Mrs. Lillick's conviction that the Mayfair Thief is responsible for the theft of her necklace. It has fallen upon my shoulders to investigate the possibility that one man, the Mayfair Thief, as the public seems to call him, is responsible for several recent thefts. The idea that he absconded with Mrs. Lillick's necklace is not entirely without merit and so"—he shrugged—"here I am."

"What reason have you to believe it was the Mayfair Thief who stole the necklace?" asked Ripton.

"There are similarities in the modus operandi, if you will, most notably the boldness of the theft, that would indicate the Mayfair Thief."

"You sound as though you have doubts," Nicholas said.

"To be truthful, Mr. Villines, I do." He did not look away from Nicholas until Elizabeth spoke.

"You mean because of Mrs. Lillick's situation, Mr. Johns?"

Percy turned to her. "Astute, very astute, Miss Willard. The notion of Mrs. Lillick's brother somehow being involved in the puzzle is not without merit of its own."

"The only one of us who may have seen something is Elizabeth," said Mrs. Willard.

"Nonsense. None of us saw anything!" Havoc exclaimed.

"But, Mr. Willard, how do you know you saw nothing?"