Stolen Love (20 page)

"You should not talk to me so."

"Surely I have the right to tell you the truth, Elizabeth? My God! Have you seen yourself tonight?" He grasped her shoulders. "You might have any man you wanted. Even bloody Mr. Beaufort Latchley." And to himself, he thought, She might have me.

She was looking at him, but when he mentioned Beaufort Latchley, she glanced away. "Please don't tease me, Nicholas."

"What makes you think I am?" She lifted her eyes to his, and it came into his head that if he was in love with her, he ought to tell her so. "Elizabeth…" His fingers slid across her cheek to curl around the nape of her neck.

He had few inhibitions about the satisfaction of his appetites, and he was not, he believed, any stranger to sexual passion, but his upbringing had been scrupulously correct about the differences between ladies and the women to whom a man might properly make love. Therefore, he knew it was wrong to want to make love to Elizabeth; but there it was, he did want to, and badly enough to risk everything to have her. He did not know if she took a step closer to him or if he pulled her to him, but they were suddenly so close it was a simple matter to tip her head so that their lips would meet. She did not pull away from him as he was afraid she might. Instead her arms went around his neck, and she melted against him.

It was not a chaste kiss. The propriety, or the stupidity, of passionately kissing a woman in a place lacking even a semblance of privacy did not occur to him. It was natural to be kissing her this way, and it was more than a little arousing that she obviously felt the same. She fit perfectly in his arms, exactly the right height for him. He deepened their kiss, opening her lips under his, oblivious of anything but the feeling of his tongue moving over her teeth, then past to explore her mouth, of being completely and exasperatingly excited. He could not get enough of her; just kissing her would never, could never, be enough.

He brought his hand up between them, letting his fingers settle gently around her throat before sliding them down over the curve of her chest. He stopped kissing her, pushing her to arm's length because it was impossible to speak if she was so close. "Elizabeth…" It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to leave with him, which would have been madness, absolute madness, but at that moment he was fully prepared to do it, and damn the consequences.

The sound of someone walking down the hall startled them both, and he was not
at all certain he was glad of the interruption. It was a sobering realization. He could not live with himself if he ever did anything to hurt Elizabeth. And that would be the only possible result if he were to let things between them go any further. He stepped away and closed the window before turning back to say the first thing to come into his head.

"I promised a second dance to Amelia. I'll not forgive myself if she's disappointed." Her gray eyes were fixed on him, not reproachful, not even hurt, only watchful. "I'm sure the others must have missed you by now," he added. "I should not have taken you away from the dancing."

"No, I suppose not," she said after what seemed an eternity.

Not another word passed between them until they reached the ballroom. He bowed over her hand and was turning to leave when she prevented him by grasping his arm.

"What were you really going to say to me, Nicholas?"

He had a panicky feeling that she knew.

"Tell me," she demanded softly.

It would be insane. Better that he should bewilder her now than hurt her later. "I don't remember."

"You're lying." She said the words evenly, without any hint of uncertainty.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry, but I don't remember." He shrugged and laughed. "If it was important, no doubt I would recall."

"Go, then!" She pushed him away. "Go to Amelia!"

"I'm sorry—" He stopped, began again. "What happened—"

"What did happen, Nicholas?" She turned away when he did not answer. He took a step to follow her because he could not bear to have her think he wanted Amelia, stopping before she was lost in the crowd. He did not know if he was making a mistake by letting her go, he only knew he felt as if he were shutting a door that ought to have remained open.

It was ironic that Amelia found him not long after her cousin had left him. She dimpled with pleasure and readily convinced him to help her to the dining room, where he piled a plate with food she did not eat. They talked pleasantly enough since it took no effort of will to remain calm with Amelia. He was barely listening to her chatter when she suddenly leaned forward to put a hand on his arm.

"Tell me, Mr. Villines," she said earnestly, "what do you think of my cousin tonight?"

For an instant he thought she had seen him with Elizabeth, and he stared at her, dumbfounded. "Pardon me?"

"I mean, her dress, Mr. Villines."

Of course, she had not seen them. "It is a stunning thing," he answered.

She frowned. "Yes, the gown is stunning, but do you not think Elizabeth seems, well, out of place in it?"

"In what way do you mean, Miss Willard?" He was startled into sitting upright.

"You know she has nothing from her father, at all."

"I don't believe I follow you." He was afraid he followed her quite well enough. It was no wonder Elizabeth thought no one would be interested in marrying her.

"I mean," she said, leaning forward again to deliver her judgment in a confidential tone, "the dress only shows she has pretensions above her due, Mr. Villines."

"Elizabeth is the least pretentious person I know." He spoke stiffly, hoping it would make Amelia realize he disapproved of the conversation.

"I am afraid she will be hurt. If she does attract the notice of a gentleman, she will only be disappointed when he discovers her position."

"You talk as though you think she is a peasant." He let his dismay show in his voice and expression.

"Not a peasant, of course."

"Mr. Latchley is said to be quite enamored of her." He did not know that it was true, but as soon as the words were out he was certain it was.

"Mr. Latchley? Oh, my goodness, Mr. Villines." Her dimples appeared. "That is simply impossible. Beth?" She lifted her hands. "She isn't capable of attracting the notice of Mr. Latchley. I assure you, if he pays attention to her, it is only because he wishes to attract—" She glanced at her lap. "To attract the notice of someone else."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Beth has quite lost her mind if she thinks a man like Beaufort Latchley has any interest in her."

Nicholas stared at her. "Let me remind you, Miss Willard, your cousin has been a particular friend of mine for nearly fifteen years."

"Exactly, Mr. Villines."

"I assure you, Elizabeth is more than capable of attracting the serious attention of any man in this room."

"Mr. Villines." She shook her head sorrowfully. "I only hope I can prevail upon you to tell her of the danger she exposes herself to."

"Danger?" He drew his eyebrows together.

"Yes. The danger of making a fool not only of herself, but of my father, who has been so misguidedly kind to her."

"This seems to be such a serious matter, perhaps you ought to tell her yourself."

"I have considered it."

"And?"

"I believe she would not take it well from me." She bit her lip. "I would hate to have her misunderstand my motives. That is why I am asking you to talk to her. You are, as you say, her particular friend."

"Miss Willard, I will think very seriously about your suggestion. But you judge Elizabeth far too harshly. Ripton Rutherford, whom you know adores you, is by his own admission half in love with Elizabeth. Why, if you can believe it, I'm more than a little in love with her myself." He rose. "If you will excuse me, I have something to attend to."

"Mr. Villines." She pulled him back to his seat.

He sighed. "Amelia, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. You have breeding and the grace and accomplishment other women only dream of. With all that you do have, I confess I fail to understand why you are not as charitable toward your cousin as she is to you. Now, forgive me, but I must go."

"Then, you'll speak to her?" she asked anxiously.

"Amelia…" He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You may rely on me to say exactly what needs to be said."

"Miss Elizabeth!" Ripton stood back to look at her. "My compliments," he said. His eyes expressed what little admiration had not been in his voice. "Will you dance with me?" The contrast of his dark clothes and his fair hair made his eyes seem almost unnaturally blue. It was lucky for him he was handsome enough that his eyes did not overshadow his looks. "I am in luck," he cried as he led her to the dance floor. "A wicked waltz is the very dance a gentleman ought to have with the most beautiful woman at a ball."

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" she asked wistfully.

"Indeed I do," he answered. He broke the moment by smiling at her. "I'm sure," he said, "that we must be positively wicked-looking together."

He took her hand as the music started. His hand on her waist was firm, and although he held her just a little too close for good manners, Elizabeth did not mind. He did not seem to notice it himself. Ripton was not quite as tall as Nicholas, and she found herself looking directly into the blue of his eyes.

"You waltz beautifully," he told her. She smiled back at him. "Is there anything you do not do well?"

"I consider myself to be a model of perfection, Mr. Rutherford."

"Rightfully so, Miss Elizabeth." When the music ended, he bent over her hand. "It is with a great deal of reluctance that I hand you over to that fellow." He looked pointedly at the gentleman who had come to claim his dance.

"Good evening, Mr. Rutherford, and thank you for all your gallantry," Elizabeth said. "You've cheered me up more than you know."

"Then my evening has been an unqualified success."

Ripton was standing in the same spot, watching Elizabeth dance, when Amelia Willard put a hand on his arm.

"I saw you dancing with my cousin, Mr. Rutherford." She dimpled at him.

"Oh?"

"Yes, and I must say it was very kind of you."

"It is my habit to be kind to beautiful women," he replied.

"Now you are being too kind." She wrapped her arm around Ripton's.

He lifted his eyebrows. "Not at all, Miss Willard."

"I find it unsettling when a woman tries too hard. Do you not think so, as well? I mean," she said when Ripton gave her a blank look, "that Beth is stepping out of character tonight. She has always been content to stay in her place before. I would never have thought her head could be turned, but London seems to have done just that."

"Ah, now I understand you. You mean Elizabeth is at last not bothering to hide her beauty. Yes, you are quite right to notice it, quite right, Miss Willard. It shows what a discerning eye you have."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Rutherford. Do you not think it sad? I am greatly concerned for her." Amelia pursed her lips. "I should hate to see Beth's kind nature spoiled, would not you?"

"I share your concern. It's only a wonder she hasn't been spoiled yet, considering what she has been exposed to."

"Yet I fear it is inevitable, Mr. Rutherford."

"There I must disagree. Elizabeth Willard is the finest woman I know, and if anyone can endure such circumstances, it is she, to be sure."

"Would you be amenable, Miss Willard, to a stroll rather than a dance?" Beaufort tucked Elizabeth's hand under his arm.

Elizabeth did not much care what she did, so she nodded her agreement. A short hall led to a brightly lit room that opened into a courtyard, and Beaufort headed toward it. There were several others sitting, standing, or walking about, but the space was large and afforded no small amount of privacy. Beaufort came to a stop just before the open doors, where he let go of her arm and turned to face her.

"Miss Willard, I am a man of few words," he began. He paused until Elizabeth looked away from the courtyard and he had her attention. "I beg you, forgive me if I seem to speak abruptly." He winced as if he keenly felt his professed awkwardness. "I admit that when we were introduced you did not inspire in me any of the higher sentiments. Oh, I thought you a pretty enough girl, that certainly is true. But I am a man who admires spirit in a woman, and I mistook your quietness for something other than what it is. My error was not soon discovered, nor did I discover it suddenly. I have gradually come to hold you in increasingly greater esteem, to the point, Miss Willard, that I now think of you in terms quite different from what I felt even a month ago." He stopped.

He seemed to think his pause a significant one, and, uncertain what precisely he wanted her to say, Elizabeth spoke cautiously. "Mr. Latchley, such a high opinion of me is not justified."

"I have no doubt it is justified, Miss Willard," he said. "I could not hold you in higher esteem if I wanted to." He paused again, as if weighing the effect this was having on her. "Neither my family nor my fortune is old, though as to the latter, there is the advantage of its amount. If there is to be some connection between us, it would, I daresay, suffice."

"Mr. Latchley!"

Beaufort took her hand. "I will be a happy man, Miss Willard, if you do me the honor of consenting to be my wife."

She was at a loss for words. "I think, Mr. Latchley, I can make you no answer at all, absolutely none," she finally managed to get out, "without first speaking to my uncle."

"I have already acquainted your uncle with my intentions toward you."

She was nonplussed. "May I ask what he said?"

"He gave me to understand his approval was contingent only upon yours." He considered her obvious confusion. "I see, Miss Willard, that my declaration has taken you very much by surprise."

"Yes, it has."

"Is it impossible for you to tell me in what light you view the matter?" he asked.

"I had no idea you had formed any attachment to me," she said slowly. "I am honored, truly honored. But…"

"You have formed no similar attachment to me?" He smiled wryly. "That is something that may be changed over the course of time, do you not agree?"