Stolen Love (8 page)

"You have my sincere admiration."

She did not answer; she only blushed and stared at the sugar bowl.

"It's nothing to be modest about," he said. He felt as though he were trying futilely to reconcile opposites. There was Elizabeth the girl, he had told things he'd never told anyone else, who was his friend. And then there was the young woman before him, who clearly did not have the slightest idea she was almost painfully beautiful. It wasn't possible for her to be both girl and woman, and it was infuriating not to know which she was or which he preferred her to be.

"Tell me, Mr. Villines," Amelia said, "is your aunt well?"

He looked away. "Oh, yes, she's quite well."

"I like her immensely. Only she made you stop talking about Italy, and I would simply adore hearing more about your travels. I just know I should love to go there myself."

It was a relief of sorts to let himself be distracted by Amelia. She laughed at the proper time, shrieked if he intimated something only the slightest bit gruesome, and simply gazed at him the rest of the time. Yet her attitudes sometimes struck him as contrived. Each phrase was uttered for its effect rather than its meaning, each look was calculated to bring a particular feature into prominence. Amelia's features were, of course, quite worthy of admiration, and he was flattered she thought him worth all the trouble.

"Do you still drink your tea without sugar?" Elizabeth was looking at him, tongs poised over a cup of tea.

"Yes, but more milk than that." He watched her add the required amount of milk. Their eyes met, and he was relieved to see only Elizabeth in their clear depths.

Havoc Willard came in just as Amelia was telling Nicholas she was sure to simply die if she never got to Europe to see the places he'd talked about. A great deal of fuss was made over Mr. Willard, but soon he was comfortably settled with his tea and a plate of cold ham. The conversation flowed pleasantly from one subject to another, back again, over old stories, and off to new ones.

Nicholas smiled to himself. He was comfortable with the Willards, and he liked the tranquil feeling. He decided that if being married meant having a wife he adored and children as pleasant as Amelia and Elizabeth, then perhaps it was not a bad thing. He wanted to slow the passing of these moments. He'd not felt so at peace since before his father died. It was this sentimental turn of his thoughts that made him quickly agree when Mrs. Willard invited him to stay to supper.

His feeling of nostalgia increased during the meal. He had always liked Havoc Willard, and he liked him still, probably because it was so obvious he loved Elizabeth. Around him she joked, smiled, laughed, and did not spill a single thing. His memories of the times he had spent with the Willards were precious to him, and this evening they seemed dearer to him than usual.

"Perhaps," Nicholas remarked after he had made significant inroads into his beef, "I ought to try to steal away your cook as well."

Havoc lifted his eyebrows. "Which of the servants do you particularly want to steal away with, young man?"

"Well, your cook, for one. But gardening has become a particular hobby of mine, and this afternoon when I was admiring your garden I was informed Elizabeth was responsible for its remarkable condition." He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

"That's the truth," Havoc said, looking at Elizabeth. "So, you found yourself wanting to make off with our gardener, did you?"

"I'm afraid I was prepared to offer him vast sums of money to desert you."

Havoc turned to his niece. "How much would it take to get you off my hands, Elizabeth?"

She pretended to think about it. "Five or six pounds a month, at least, I should think, Uncle." She glanced at Nicholas, greatly amused, eyes fairly sparkling. This was the Elizabeth he remembered. There was nothing he would like better than to have everything back the way it was before his father died, and seeing Elizabeth laughing made him long for the days of his lost innocence.

"Five pounds a month and she's all yours, Mr. Villines."

"Father!" Amelia exclaimed. "And you, too, Beth. You should be ashamed."

"I hope you will keep this man away from our servants, Mrs. Willard," said Havoc.

"Is it true flowers are a hobby with you, Mr. Villines?" Amelia asked, giving her father a warning glance.

"Yes, I cultivate orchids in particular. I find it relaxing, especially after I've had a harrowing day."

"Do you really have harrowing days?" she asked. "You're so terribly stern, you don't seem the type to have them."

"I'm sorry to say I do indeed have the occasional harrowing day. It's working with my orchids that keeps me from tearing out my hair after a particularly bad one."

"So, you took your grandfather's advice after all," Elizabeth said.

"I suppose I did at that." He should not have been surprised she remembered. "My grandfather always encouraged me to take up gardening as a hobby," he explained. "He said it was a gentlemanly thing to do."

"I should love to see your orchids," Elizabeth said longingly and completely without the archness her cousin would have affected for his admiration.

"I've even built a conservatory for them. You must call on me, so I may give you a personal tour." He looked around the table as he issued the invitation.

"We should be simply too thrilled to come," Amelia said.

"Then you must. I'd be happy to show you the house as well."

The rest of the evening passed in a similar fashion, and even after he and Havoc had been left alone to sample the port and smoke one or two of his excellent cigars, it was not long before they joined the women in the drawing room. For a time they talked about London, then listened to Amelia play the piano and sing. At Elizabeth's insistence, Nicholas did some of his magic tricks. Elizabeth accused him of being a liar after he professed to be out of practice but managed to successfully carry off each trick. After he finished a complicated attempt, Elizabeth suddenly said, "Tell me, Nicholas, what do
you
think of the Mayfair Thief?"

"I'm afraid I don't know him," he answered.

She frowned at him. "You know what I mean. Mr. Rutherford says he admires him."

"Honestly, Elizabeth, I don't believe there's any such person. And I don't think Ripton does, either."

"But what if there were?"

"Thievery is hardly exciting," said Havoc.

"I concur with your uncle, Elizabeth."

"Well." She was blushing a little. "I still think he exists."

"I can see exhaustion has affected your brain, Elizabeth," he said, laughing as he stood up. "If I may, regretfully, say good night and thank you for a charming evening, I believe I ought to go."

"You must come and see us often, Mr. Villines," said Mrs. Willard.

"I believe you'll find I'll take advantage of such a kind invitation."

"Oh, but you must. We will be simply devastated if you do not," Amelia added.

"Watch out you don't run into the Mayfair Thief, Nicholas," Elizabeth called out as he was leaving.

"He only steals jewels, and I haven't any with me tonight. I'm leaving them behind at Tavistock Square," he replied with a smile.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Villines." Amelia giggled. "But do be careful!"

"I'll be quite safe, I assure you," he said, hardly loud enough to be heard. The sound of Amelia's laughter followed him out into the hall.

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N
icholas lived on Cambridge Terrace in one of the stucco buildings facing the west side of Regent's Park. The house was really too large for a man living alone, but when it had become available after his improvement in fortunes, he'd rather liked the idea of having so much unused space. He was determined to have the purchase reflect the grandeur of the scheme that had made it possible, and the Cambridge Terrace house was certainly grand. But it was the view from the front parlor that had decided him. The way the evening light spread slowly over the green of the Park was a soothing sight to him and one he never tired of. It was worth every hard-earned shilling the place had cost. His favorite room in the whole of the house was the front parlor. It was high-ceilinged and spacious, and he kept it free of clutter. The large windows were curtained with a muted gold fabric and held open with tasseled lengths of similar fabric. The rugs, too, had golden highlights. He had decorated the room with furniture from the last century; there was none of that heavy, dark modern stuff in his parlor. A large table dominated the center of the room. His favorite armchair was by the fireplace, two side tables flanked the windows, a few chairs were scattered about, and a gold high-backed sofa nestled against the wall opposite the windows.

He was sitting in his parlor with a book open on the table before him. He was not reading; instead he was gazing at the Park. When his butler came in to announce the arrival of visitors, he scowled and looked away from the view. Though he took the card from the salver, he did not look at it, glancing instead out the window as if he expected to see his company standing outside. He did not normally receive much before two o'clock, and he disliked having his quiet mornings interrupted.

"Shall I tell the ladies you are not in, Mr. Villines?" Mr. Baker asked. He was thoroughly used to his employer's moods, and he thought he recognized this one. He waited for a nod of assent.

"The ladies?" Nicholas finally troubled to look at the card. "By no means, Baker, you must show them in at once."

"Yes, Mr. Villines." He masked his surprise at such a breach of custom. "At once, sir."

Nicholas stood up when Mr. Baker came back with his guests. "Mrs. Willard, Miss Willard… I'm honored you've come. Good morning, Elizabeth." He bowed briefly to all three and took Amelia's arm to lead her to the sofa, commenting as he did that she ought to have a view of the Park. "Baker," he said, "please have someone bring refreshments. Perhaps some lemonade."

"Yes, sir."

"We were so intrigued when you described your orchids, we wasted no time in presuming on your offer to show them to us," Mrs. Willard said after she had taken a seat next to Amelia. "Beth, dear, do sit down so poor Mr. Villines may be comfortable in his own house." She waved a gloved hand while she spoke, taking in every detail of the room, from its old-style furniture to the portrait of Nicholas's grandfather that hung over the fireplace.

Elizabeth looked for a place to sit where she would be out of the way, but Nicholas quickly pulled out a chair for her at the table and seated himself at the head of it in order to have an unimpeded view of the three women.

"I should be more than happy to show them to you." A maid came in with a tray as he was speaking. "I'm ecstatic you've come so soon."

He was amused to see Elizabeth glance at Amelia and then at him, evidently imagining the comment to be directed at Amelia in particular. He was not sure it wasn't true. He returned Amelia's smile and wondered if it would be very hard to make her fall in love with him. The idea was not without a certain attraction. Amelia was very beautiful, and there would be the added benefit of frustrating Beaufort Latchley, who, if gossip were to be believed, was much enamored of her.

He was still considering the notion when he saw Elizabeth was not paying attention to the conversation. She was sitting with one elbow propped on the table, the side of her face cradled in the palm of one hand, examining the surface of the table. One slim finger lazily traced a pattern in the grain of the wood. Every now and then she would make some exclamation of interest, presumably for the benefit of Mrs. Willard. Eventually she turned her attention to the book he had left lying open before him. It was just close enough to tempt her into leaning forward to read the title. It was, of course, upside down in relation to where she sat, and it was just far enough away that she could not quite make out the legend at the head of the pages. She shifted so she was sitting at the very edge of her chair. Nicholas stopped midsentence to watch her. Biting her lower lip and squinting, she craned her neck, leaned forward one last inch, and almost toppled over.

"Beth! What in heaven's name are you doing?" Amelia's voice was sharp. "Do go on, Mr. Villines," she said when Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and said nothing. "What you were saying was fascinating."

"I believe I was saying that if you enjoy the opera, you would like Paris a great deal. The opera there is superlative."

He reached for the book and, after replacing his bookmark, closed it. Certainly there had been no need for Amelia to snap at Elizabeth.

"Which city do you prefer, Mr. Villines, Paris or London?" Mrs. Willard asked.

"Next to London at the moment, Paris is my favorite city." With his forefinger, he pushed the book along the tabletop until it was within Elizabeth's reach.

"I should like to travel to Paris one day," Amelia said.

"I rather think Paris should love it if you did," he said.

"How very gallant of you, Mr. Villines." Amelia's smile made him think he could forgive her for continually calling Elizabeth "Beth" when she had to know full well Elizabeth hated the diminutive.

He waited until he saw that Elizabeth had put down the book before he rose to his feet. "Shall we go to the conservatory?" A few minutes later he was leading the three women to the back of the house. He held the door to the conservatory open for them, but as soon as he closed it, Amelia took his arm again.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed when the moist air closed in on them.

They walked down one of the aisles just ahead of Mrs. Willard, with Elizabeth bringing up the rear. Nicholas had spared no expense in fitting out his conservatory. It sported the very latest innovations for the cultivation of exotic plants. The ceilings were high, and panes of glass served as roof and walls so there was a profusion of light from all directions. The conservatory was not large; there were two aisles just wide enough to admit two persons walking side by side. Ferns planted in abundance softened the light to a gentle green, and water falling from heated pipes projecting over rough stonework was directed into a system of rills that made the air heavy with moisture and the scent of flowers. Most of the orchids were blooming, and there was silence while they looked around.