Stolen Love (21 page)

"Perhaps so." She did not feel as flustered now. "But is it not odd for you to do me the singular honor of asking me to be your wife without once having said you love me?"

"You demonstrate your youth, Miss Willard. Love is an emotion best left out of marriage. It never lasts. When it does wear off one is left miserable, and the object of former passion serves only as a daily reminder of one's condition. If, at your tender age, you had ever been in love, you would know what a wretched thing it is." She did not answer, and Beaufort took her arm again. "If it is agreeable to you, we will talk of this again after you have come to know me better."

"I think that would be best, Mr. Latchley. But I must first speak with my uncle."

"That is only as it should be. Shall we go back?"

Elizabeth was grateful when Beaufort led her into the dining room, and when she saw Amelia, for once she was glad.

"Beth!" Amelia waved back at her. "Good evening, Mr. Latchley," she said when the two reached her. "Where have you been?"

"We have been walking, Miss Willard."

"How kind of you to take Beth along. I'm sure she was glad for the fresh air. Do sit down, Beth. You look simply exhausted. Poor Mr. Latchley. I hope you did not look so poorly while you were with him."

"In my opinion, you cousin has never looked lovelier."

"Oh, nonsense. Why, she looks positively wretched, I'm sure."

"I am a little tired," Elizabeth said.

"Please excuse me, ladies." Beaufort bowed to them. "I hope to see you tomorrow." He was looking at Elizabeth, but it was Amelia who answered.

"I should be simply delighted, Mr. Latchley." They both watched him leave. "Have you seen Mr. Villines?" Amelia asked. "I believe he is looking for you."

"Did he say why?" In spite of herself, her heart leaped.

"No. But perhaps I have an idea. Nicholas has the most ridiculous notion that Mr. Latchley admires you. Can you fancy that?"

Elizabeth was so shocked to hear Amelia using Nicholas's given name that she could say nothing.

"Do you not agree Nicholas is handsome?" Amelia leaned back in her seat and sighed.

"Of course." It was all Elizabeth could do to speak without letting her voice tremble.

"Do you know, Nicholas has kissed me?" Amelia closed her eyes and sighed again. "And told me I am the most beautiful woman he has ever had the pleasure of knowing?"

There was no response from Elizabeth but silence.

Amelia opened her eyes and sat up. "Well," she said, "and if you are supposing that I am also in love, you might be right. Are you not happy for me?"

"You are to be congratulated, Amelia." She stood up.

"Thank you, Beth. I think I must be the happiest woman in the world."

Elizabeth nodded and walked out of the dining room. The crowded ballroom made her almost frantic to be alone; not for a moment longer could she tolerate these laughing, smiling people. She made her way through the room as quickly as the crowd would permit and did not halt until she saw she was at the very corner of the hall where she and Nicholas had stood before. She whirled and went the opposite direction. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of how she had let herself think he wanted to be anything more than friends. It was Amelia he loved, Amelia he wanted to many. Tears burning behind her eyes made her hurry down the hall. She twisted the knob of the first door she came to, sobbing with relief when it opened.

When the door was closed behind her, she leaned back and squeezed her eyes shut against tears she could no longer keep away. Her misery was utter for wanting to believe that Nicholas had meant his attentions to her to be anything but what they were. He was going to marry Amelia. She did not know how she would stand it, but stand it she would. Stand it she must. There was nothing else she could do.

"I wish I were dead!" Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt, she balled it up and pressed it to her eyes. At last she willed the tears gone and let her head fall back against the door. When she opened her eyes, it was a moment before they adjusted to the darkness. She was in some sort of anteroom; she could just make out an open door on the opposite side, leading to the main bedroom, no doubt. There was a lamp on the table near the door, and walking slowly because of the darkness, she made her way to the table. She found matches and in a moment was putting flame to the lamp. A noise made her fingers pause just above the wick.

"Is there someone here?" she called out. Nothing. She shook out the match and lit another. The lamp flickered, then caught, suffusing the room with a dim light. Another noise made her freeze. She was not alone. Before she could call out to let the person know she had intruded, she was grabbed from behind and fingers were pressing tightly over her mouth, holding her head back against a hard shoulder.

"Don't make a sound," a voice whispered in her ear. "If you value your life, not a sound." Paralyzed with fright, she nodded. He took his hand from her mouth, and for a moment his fingers pressed into her shoulder.

"Who are you?"

There was no answer; then a black-gloved hand was holding something in front of her. The light from the lamp flickered off it, making a mysterious green seem to leap from the stones. Emeralds, she thought. They must be emeralds!

"Do these answer your question? They are beautiful, aren't they?" he whispered when he heard her intake of breath. His low voice, seductive and soft, was that of an educated man, a gentleman. The necklace flashed in the dim light. "On you, they would be even more so." He put the emeralds up to her throat. "Against such skin as yours, they would be spectacular."

For one eerie moment, she was certain she knew the voice, but it was impossible to be sure when he spoke only in a whisper. She gasped when she felt his fingers brushing against the back of her neck, unfastening the clasp of her own necklace. She knew she ought to scream, but she could not. Then she felt cold metal against her skin, shivered when he fastened the clasp and let the heavy weight settle around her neck. His fingers were holding her shoulders, pulling her against him. The buttons of his coat dug into her back. His hands slid slowly down her shoulders, and with the fingers of one hand he traced on her chest the outline of the largest, bottom-most stone. She shivered again. His hand lingered, moving caressingly over the curve of her breasts. "I should like to have you wearing only this," he whispered, breath hot in her ear. Again she felt that she knew the voice. "Naked in my bed." Hot mouth on her shoulder, sliding up to the side of her neck. "I have never wanted a woman the way I want you. I thought I would go mad with desire for you when I saw you tonight."

Quickly he unfastened the necklace. One of his hands disappeared for a moment. His voice was hardly loud enough for Elizabeth to hear as he held up her plain gold chain. "This, I will keep." Then it too was gone from sight. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he leaned forward and put out the lamp. She could see nothing in the blackness. Still holding her, he moved around the table. Then she heard the sound of a window being opened, felt the chill of the night air on her, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. "Oh, Elizabeth, I do love you," he said.

She was alone. There was nothing to show that anyone had been in the room with her. It might have been a dream, except for the lingering sound of his voice in her ear. In her heart, she thought she recognized the voice. She raised a hand to her bare throat.

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I
n spite of not having arrived home until past two in the morning, Nicholas awoke at five o'clock. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, pulling the covers over his head. He was half-asleep again when he began to think about Elizabeth. The way she'd looked, she could have made any man hunger for her, let alone one who was more than a little in love with her. It was not the first time he'd seen her wearing a dress that bared her shoulders, but it was the first time they had been bared so dramatically. She had felt so substantial in his arms, and he had not been able to resist the intensity of his desire for her. He wondered if she would have left with him. Of course. She trusted him too much not to have agreed to go. And she had been every bit as aroused as he, there was no doubting that. He should have taken her to Cambridge Terrace, where they would be undisturbed. Where he could unfasten her hair and tangle his fingers in it when it was loose and flowing…

The back of her dress was fastened with dozens of tiny buttons, yet they fell away as soon as his fingers touched them. She was looking at him with parted lips as he pulled off her gloves because he wanted to feel her bare hands on him when she touched him. He was aching for her. She was so sleek, so perfectly willing to let him explore the soft curves of her. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, holding her tight against him. When he picked her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him just as passionately as she had at Lord Lewesfield's ball. He was weak with desire as he let her slide down slowly when he reached the bed. Then she helped him to undress, whispering to him that she desired him, too. Her hands on him were hot and making him tremble. They fell onto his bed, his fingers were in her hair, the scent of violets in the air, the sound of her sighs in his ears as he entered her. What he wanted was to hear her crying out his name, to hear her gasping when he touched her.

When Nicholas woke the second time, it was past nine o'clock. He lay still, remembering, even savoring, his dream and not sure if he was sorry it had only been a dream. When Mr. Chester came in to help him dress, he was fully awake. He had his breakfast brought to him in the parlor, where he sat cradling a cup of coffee in his hand. One of the servants brought him the morning paper. The only article he was interested in was on the front page.

A valuable emerald necklace had been stolen from Lady Lewesfield's private rooms, in spite of heavy police presence at the house. The theft was the work of the Mayfair Thief, there could be no doubt of that. The writer scoffed at Mr. Percy Johns's vow that he was close to learning the identity of the Mayfair Thief. Would society ever be free of this mysterious thief, queried the writer, when the police had just demonstrated, yet again, their inability to capture him even when he was under their very noses?

Nicholas put down the paper and stared out over Regent's Park. He dared not ask Elizabeth to marry him, the risk for them both was too great.

He did not stir until nearly eleven-thirty. He gave strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed for any reason and spent the afternoon with his orchids.

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E
lizabeth glanced out the window before sitting down and pouring herself a cup of steaming coffee. She added a liberal helping of cream and asked for the morning paper to be brought to her. The paper was duly brought, and with the unusual luxury of being the only one yet about, she was soon absorbed in reading the account of the theft of Lady Lewesfield's emeralds. The story occupied the better part of one page, and she was rereading it when Mr. Poyne came in.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

"A gentleman is calling."'

"At this hour?" She put down the paper. "Who in heaven's name is it?" She looked at the card Mr. Poyne had brought her.

"Shall I tell him you are not at home?"

"No, Poyne. Show Mr. Rutherford in. And would you ask Mrs. Poyne to please bring some toast, if it isn't too much trouble?"

"Yes, miss." Mr. Poyne nodded and left. When he returned, it was with Ripton Rutherford close behind him.

"Mr. Rutherford."

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth," he said after Mr. Poyne left. He stood looking at her, hands clasped behind his back.

"Do sit down, Mr. Rutherford. Will you have some coffee?" She was already reaching for the pot when he nodded.

"Thank you, yes." He seated himself on the chair across from her, readjusted his position once or twice, and took the cup she held out. "I hope I find you well this morning."

"Very well, thank you."

"Not too tired from the ball?" He put several lumps of sugar in his cup and stirred the mixture.

"No." She shook her head. "And yourself? How are you?"

"As well as one might expect under the circumstances," he said.

"Oh?" There was a strained tone in his voice that surprised her. "What circumstances are those?"

"The usual ones, I suppose." He took a sip of his coffee and immediately put it down. "Did you sleep well?" He added another lump of sugar to his cup.

She was not certain if it would be best to pretend there was nothing unusual about his behavior, but she answered him as if there were not. "Yes, I did. And you?"

"Not well, I'm afraid." He looked up briefly from his study of his spoon. "Actually, I slept quite well, once I did fall asleep, but it was a deuced long time coming."

"How terrible for you." His awkwardness was beginning to make her feel ill at ease, too. "I'm afraid, Mr. Rutherford," she said, hoping it would prod him into telling her why he had come, "that Amelia is not up yet." She refolded the paper carefully and placed it by her cup, determined to show him by her manner that she was perplexed.

"Oh, I haven't come to see Amelia. In fact, I'm rather glad to have had the good luck of finding you alone." He was startled when a servant came in with the toast Elizabeth had asked for, but he recovered himself quickly.

They were silent until the woman was gone, and then, to put an end to what was becoming an uncomfortable moment, Elizabeth said, "Then you are here to see me?"

"Yes," Ripton said. "I am." He seemed gratefully absorbed in transferring a slice of toast to a plate.

"May I ask why?"

"Certainly. It has to do, in a way, with what went on at the Lillicks'. I've not been able to get it off my mind."

"The Lillicks'? Oh!" She reddened when she realized he must be referring to having kissed her. "There isn't anything to apologize for."

"Oh, I haven't come to apologize. Unless, of course, you think I ought to," he added hastily. "I should be happy to, you know, if you think I ought."