Authors: Jo Goodman
Elizabeth Penrose had known it once. Not a dalliance. Not a flirtation. Not a yearning. She had loved, and having loved, she also knew there would be no second time for her.
She would not permit it.
This dark, sweet, deep kiss had nothing to do with love. It was the absence of that very emotion that made it tolerable.
They drew back slowly and at the same time. She held his steady, assessing gaze, not turning away disingenuously or affecting an accusation where none was deserved. When his gloved hand cupped the side of her face she did not try to escape it. His thumb brushed her bottom lip then just touched the damp underside. She could taste leather and salt and sense the vitality of the man.
His eyes were dark mirrors as they searched her features, reflecting what he saw and giving no hint of what he thought. There was no smile, no mockery or judgment. The remnants of passion were fading, replaced by something more measured and pensive. Color had returned to his face. He breathed evenly through slightly flared nostrils. His brow was smooth and the cant of his head was coolly inquiring. There was no hint of tension in the line of his lean jaw, no muscle working in his cheek or cords visible in his strong throat.
Northam's hand fell away from her face slowly. The touch of his thumb on her mouth lingered. She felt the pressure of it there even as he was drawing his hand down the length of her arm and settling it at her waist. From behind his back he brought around her hat and placed it on her head. It was only then that her eyes darted away from his. It was as if the return of the hat erased this short passage of time, that they were both back in the moment before it had been recklessly removed and could choose a different course, one where intentions counted for something.
Northam lifted Elizabeth onto her mount. She took up the reins as Becket shifted under her weight. She stared straight ahead to the opening in the trees some twenty yards in front of them and then drew Becket's attention away from the mare with a snap of the reins. A moment later Northam fell in behind.
When they cleared the woods they could see what looked to be the rest of the hunting party crossing a distant field in pairs and threes. For the first time Elizabeth realized how far she and Northam had separated themselves from the others. She felt the nascent stirrings of panic.
Northam saw the direction of her gaze and was not insensitive to her fears. Drawing closer he bid her stop and listen, indicating the shelter of trees they had just left. "The light brigade," he said dryly.
Frowning, Elizabeth glanced behind her and saw the boughs trembling in the wake of thundering hooves. She had been deaf to the sound until Northam pointed it out. It was only when Southerton and Eastlyn charged into the clearing that she understood his reference to the light brigade. They were his friends. She doubted most sincerely that they had followed to make repairs to
her
reputation. "I believe they mean to rescue you, my lord."
He gave her an odd look. "That would be the last thing they mean to do."
Southerton reached Elizabeth's side first, or at least claimed that he did. "You owe me a shilling," he told Eastlyn.
"Hah! I had to twist my head one hundred eighty degrees to watch you arrive."
"By all means," Southerton said."Allow me the pleasure of completing that rotation for you."
Eastlyn looked at Elizabeth."My lady, perhaps you would settle the dispute. What say you? Choose a direction. Is it South or East?"
Elizabeth's attention was caught by a movement in her peripheral vision. Northam had directed his mare to make a small retreat and now, outside of his friends' sight, he was shaking his head at her, warning her not to take sides.
Knowing very well the cause of Elizabeth's hesitation, Eastlyn said, "Pay no attention to North. He is no Solomon and therefore is excused from giving an opinion on the reasonable grounds that he has none. South and I are quite willing to accept your judgment in the matter of my clear victory."
Elizabeth pressed the back of one hand to her lips to quell a bit of hysterical laughter. She wondered at their foolery when she knew they were not fools. Northam did not strike her as a person who would suffer them. Her voice was not quite her own as she asked, "The wager is a shilling, you say?"
"That's right," Southerton said. "You must have seen—"
Elizabeth regarded him quizzically as he stopped midsentence and did not continue. His head was cocked to one side, his manner suddenly alert. She noticed that Eastlyn was watchful as well. Northam's glance had darted toward the perimeter of the wood and she realized they were all in expectation of something appearing... or someone. She had only just drawn this conclusion when a small entourage including Battenburn, Lord Allen, and Mr. Rutherford entered the open field.
More to herself than to her companions, Elizabeth said, "It seems odd they would come this way."
"We did, didn't we?" Northam said.
A small crease appeared between Elizabeth's brows. She had the impression that Northam meant his statement as something more than a mere observation, as if the arrival of the others was no mere chance occurrence. When the baron's party had crossed half the distance toward them, Elizabeth steadied Becket. For no reason that she could determine, Battenburn suddenly veered to his right and headed toward the stable. The others in his group responded in kind, taking the sharp turn in direction with rather less skill than the baron had demonstrated on his mount.
"I believe they are playing at following the leader," said Elizabeth.
Northam and the others did not disabuse her of that notion. She was correct, after a fashion. Elizabeth Penrose seemed to have no idea that she had been the leader. "We may as well set our own pace," Northam said, bringing his mare around. "We are sadly out of the chase now."
"There's still the matter of my shilling," Southerton said, pointing at Eastlyn.
Before the marquess could reply, Elizabeth held up her hand. "Oh, I beg you, please allow me to settle the matter as you asked. I declare the race a tie and will give you each a shilling upon our return." She saw immediately that the men were inordinately pleased by her decision, and she could not help but laugh at the sly, mischievous exchange between them. It was not as if Northam had not warned her. "I take it you two have been quite successful in emptying the pockets of women in this manner for some time. It is really too bad of you."
Southerton nodded agreeably. "We are scoundrels, Lady Elizabeth. It is just as well you know the truth at the outset."
"The trick," Northam said, a wry twist to his mouth, "is to pay them no attention."
"And you?" she asked. "Do you count yourself as one of them?"
"Most definitely. But I will not be ignored."
Elizabeth's beautifully arched brows lifted a fraction. It occurred to her to wonder how she had come to this pass. In reluctantly accepting the attentions of one, it seemed she had come under the scrutiny of all. She could only think it was a fortunate thing that Mr. Marchman's business had taken him off. She was quite certain she could not have managed a fourth pair of eyes watching her.
Contrary to Northam's last words, Elizabeth deliberately turned away from him. She heard him chuckle under his breath and ignored this also."I understand, Lord Southerton, that a snuffbox in your possession has come up missing. Lady Battenburn is distressed that it might have been stolen."
Southerton waved that concern aside. "I never suggested such. Indeed, I had not entertained the notion myself. I hope you will do whatever you can to influence Lady Battenburn that this is not the case."
"More likely he misplaced the thing," said Eastlyn. "It will turn up directly."
"Which is precisely why I mentioned it to the baroness. In the event that it is discovered following my departure, it can be returned to me."
"Of course," said Elizabeth. "It is of some sentimental value, I gather."
Southerton nodded. "It belonged to my grandfather."
"Then, save for finding the box, I don't know what I can do to ease Louise's distress. You'll let us know, won't you, if the box is recovered elsewhere?"
"Of course."
Eastlyn removed his hat long enough to rake back his chestnut hair. "I hadn't considered the possibility of theft myself," he said, thoughtful now."Plain to see why it would occur to Lady Battenburn, though. This rascal, the one they call the Gentleman Thief in the
Gazette,
could be in our midst. Stands to reason with the plethora of activity in the country estates right now, he would move from London to where the pickings are more to his fancy."
Southerton considered this. "The Gentleman Thief, eh? It bears some thinking. He is credited with lifting Lady Carver's diamond brooch at the Winthrop ball last winter. As I understand it, Lady Carver was wearing the brooch at the time." In deference to Elizabeth's presence, the viscount did not laugh and was careful not to catch the eye of either Eastlyn or North. It was known to each of them, as well as the
ton,
that the lady was possessed of such an ample bosom, the thief could have found shelter beneath it for the entire evening without fear of discovery. When Southerton was certain the urge for ribald humor had passed him by, he met Elizabeth's eyes and saw they were troubled. "Do not concern yourself," he said. "The box will reappear. It is highly unlikely the Gentleman Thief is among Battenburn's guests."
"I hope you are right," Elizabeth said softly.
Northam moved abreast of her and explained to the others, "Lady Elizabeth was responsible for writing out the invitations. No doubt she believes it makes her accountable for the thief's behavior, if it should be discovered there really
is
a thief at Battenburn. The idea that it is this particular Gentleman Thief is fanciful, I think. There are more likely suspects."
Elizabeth bristled. "I take it you mean the servants. That is very unfair of you, my lord."
Northam took no offense. "Not unfair; merely a practical observation. I would be surprised if Lady Battenburn has not already called the staff into account and ordered a search of their quarters." One of his dark brows kicked up as he regarded Elizabeth's faint flush. "Aaah, then she
has
done so, and you were the one charged with communicating this unpleasantness to the staff."
"I spoke with Jennings," she said quietly. "As butler, it became his unpleasant task."
Southerton sighed. "I regret I mentioned the matter of the snuffbox at all. It seems to have caused an inordinate amount of trouble."
Eastlyn chuckled, pointing a finger at him. "And you'll look every bit the cake when it turns up in your St. James residence. Don't think we won't have some fun with you then."
Northam saw that Elizabeth did not share their humor. He changed the subject. "Did you notice, South, that we were observed during the hunt from the parapet? I believe Lady Powell was among those watching. She would have had no trouble picking you out on that spawn of Satan."
Southerton snorted. "I see you are bent on having fun with me now, but please do not disparage this fine animal." He patted the neck of the great black beast he was riding. His mount's nature was in every way the opposite of his imposing size and strength. Under Southerton's attention the stallion shook his head and showed off his thick mane. "Griffin has tender feelings and a gentle temperament." He looked up at the parapet and saw Lady Powell was leaning forward through a notch in the wall. He recognized the instrument in her hand as a spyglass. "Lord," he said under his breath, "she
is
watching me." Southerton smiled wanly, still not certain he wanted to encourage her interest.
Elizabeth raised her own face to the roof. This time she did not wave. "It must be a splendid view."
Northam was struck by this. "Do you mean to say you have never been up there?"
"Never."
"Then we should—"
She stopped him, shaking her head firmly. "If you mean to include me, then I must disabuse you of that notion."
Eastlyn glanced up and saw Lady Powell's spyglass was still riveted on them. "I shouldn't wonder if she topples head over bucket," he observed mildly. "Quite a distance to the ground." He looked back at Elizabeth. "Do you have some fear of heights?"
"No," she said with a certain ironic nuance in her voice. "A fear of falling." Elizabeth did not miss Eastlyn's stricken look or the way his dark eyes darted to her hip. She would not let him be embarrassed for inadvertently calling attention to her infirmity."It would be so much easier if people would simply ask what happened. One assumes after a while that everyone knows, then someone, like yourself, steps into it and reminds me that my ungainly gait is often a matter of speculation. On no account should you be chagrined. It is a simple enough tale: I fell from the ladder in the library at Rosemont. It was an accident that did not need to happen, and would not have happened if I had shown any patience. I did not fall far, but I landed hard and awkwardly. It has been five years and the bones have set as they will." She shrugged. "I do not climb ladders or step out onto parapets and I am not in demand as a dance partner, but this, perhaps, is fortunate, since I was ever at cross purposes with my dancing master. It is more important to me that my fears have not prevented me from riding and for that I am grateful."
"As am I," Eastlyn said. It was not gallantry that gave rise to the comment, or the need to make some amends, but the simple expression of sincerity. He offered the ultimate compliment. "You are a bruising rider, Lady Elizabeth."