Authors: Jo Goodman
Lady Battenburn paced the floor of her bedchamber from window to door and back again. Her husband sighed. "Come, dear, sit down. You will wear yourself out."
"I will not," she said stubbornly.
"Then you shall wear out the carpet."
This had no effect on her either. Her elbow-length gloves lay on the arm of a wing chair, her plumed turban at the foot of the bed. She was still wearing her evening gown.
"Will you not at least allow Fitz to assist you in preparing for bed?"
"I could not possibly sleep."
Harrison looked toward the fireplace where Elizabeth stood. He shrugged, turning over his hands in a gesture meant to imply that he had made his attempt and was done now.
Elizabeth drew a short breath. "Perhaps, Louise, it would—"
The sound of Elizabeth's voice did what Harrison had been unable to do. Louise stopped cold. "Do not speak to me, Libby. You are a wicked,
wicked
girl. I can only think that you are responsible for what happened tonight. The Gentleman Thief! The very idea that such a thing could be done under my nose is not to be borne."
Elizabeth met Louise's gaze but said nothing.
"Oh, I cannot imagine what you were thinking when you removed that snuffbox."
The baron leaned back in his chair. His valet was waiting in the adjoining bedchamber to help him out of his evening wear. He wondered what Pipkin did while he was waiting and amused himself with this line of thinking until Louise's spring wound down.
"Did you consider my humiliation? Did you think how it would appear to my guests? I shouldn't wonder if they don't believe I am in
league
with the Gentleman Thief! Was that your intent?"
There was a pause, but Elizabeth was not certain she was meant to fill it. Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed. Louise's anger did not seem likely to run its course quickly. She had had to contain herself too long in the gallery, first to recover from her own shock when Southerton held out his snuffbox, then to express her embarrassment that their game had been tampered with. Now Lady Battenburn's face was mottled with angry color and she looked very near tears.
"Say something, Elizabeth," she said. "Can you comprehend our complete mortification?"
Elizabeth glanced at the baron, since he had now been included in the humiliation. For a time it seemed that Louise had no intention of sharing martyrdom. "No one blames you for the work of the thief," she said quietly. "When I reached behind the Vermeer I removed what was there."
"You certainly did."
"Lord Northam would have found it if I had not."
Louise actually stamped a slippered foot. "I am so out of patience with you."
"I defended you and Harrison," said Elizabeth.
Harrison came out of his reverie to cock his head at Elizabeth. "Did you?" he asked dryly, pinning her back with a cool blue study of her face. "That was good of you. Really, Louise, it was good of her to defend us."
"It was the least she could do. The very least."
The baron nodded slowly. "Yes, well, there is that."
Elizabeth's fingers curled at her sides. "It was a gracious gesture for the thief to return the snuffbox. Why can you not consider that?"
"Because I have no liking for interference in my plans!"
"Perhaps the fob and pendant will be returned."
"They'd better be," Louise said severely.
Harrison waved his hand, dismissing this notion. "They were trifles, dear. Not treasures."
Louise's satin gown rustled as she began pacing again. "Out of my sight!" she snapped. When Harrison and Elizabeth only exchanged questioning looks, she added, "Both of you. I am completely overwrought."
Harrison stood, caught his wife's proffered cheek as she passed, nodded vaguely in Elizabeth's direction, and left the room for the quiet and comfort of his own bedchamber. Elizabeth's hand was on the doorknob when Louise called to her. She only turned her head to regard Lady Battenburn.
"We are not finished," Louise said.
"But you said—"
"I am speaking of the future, not of this moment. You may go anywhere you like now, but you must know we are not finished. There
will
be consequences, Elizabeth. You may depend upon it."
Elizabeth's palm was damp on the knob. It required two attempts for her to open the door, an effort she was certain was not lost on her hostess, the Honorable Lady Battenburn.
* * *
Elizabeth lay on top of her rumpled bedcovers and stared at the ceiling. She wished she had even one of the sleeping powders she had pretended to take a few days earlier.
Restless
did not begin to describe what she was feeling now. Trepidation had given way to the proverbial ball of dread. It was indeed lodged heavily in the pit of her stomach.
She had not needed to hear Louise remind her things were unfinished between them. Elizabeth had never once considered this evening's harangue would be the end of it. But Louise did not do something without reason, even when she was in a rage, so her parting words had been intended to make Elizabeth know that the retribution would be stiff. It was this thought that was keeping Elizabeth sleepless. There were so many ways in which she was vulnerable. From which direction would Louise attack?
Elizabeth rose from the bed and went to the window. She pushed it open and leaned out. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and made her skin prickle. She forced herself to look down. Could a fall from here kill her? she wondered. Or would she only be maimed? And how could that be worse than what she contended with now?
But if she died...
She came in through the opening slowly, knowing full well she would never throw herself through it. An accident could accomplish what she was unable to bring herself to do, but she could not set about the thing deliberately. The hands she always felt pressing at her back, pushing her, guiding her, would have to be there in fact, not fiction.
Her stomach lurched when she heard the panel in the wainscoting sliding open. She had not expected Louise to have arrived at a plan so soon. In a way it would be a relief, Elizabeth thought, to have the matter between them over quickly, to have this terrible strain eliminated.
She turned, the words calmly leaving her mouth before she realized she meant them for someone else. "I was not expecting you."
"It never occurred to me that you would be." Northam stood, brushing himself off. He was dressed as he had been earlier in the evening: a black frock coat with tails, dark gray trousers, and a perfectly white shirt with starched collar points and an intricately tied stock; and he was none the worse for his journey through the passage. "But it begs the obvious question: Who
else
were you not expecting?"
"Get out."
"I noticed the vanity is no longer a barricade to the entrance. I take it that was in anticipation of a visit by someone other than me. I know Lady Battenburn uses the passage from time to time, but does her husband?"
As if struck, Elizabeth stepped backward. "Leave."
Northam's head tilted to one side as he considered her response. "Perhaps I was wrong about that. Forgive me." He bent, closed the panel, and straightened again. "Do you know, I'm not certain if I could have found my way here without tonight's entertainment? I stumbled upon a connecting passage while hunting clues with Lady Powell."
Elizabeth did not think for a moment that he had
stumbled
upon anything. If he had come to this part of the house during the treasure hunt, it had been by design, not because he misread the clues. Elizabeth glanced toward her dressing room. She had a fleeting thought of retreating there, barring the door with her armoire, and staying put until Northam had the good sense to leave her.
"I thought you had no liking for cramped spaces."
North glanced back at the close passageway. "Perhaps I overstated my discomfort. It is armoires I fear."
Gritting her teeth, she said, "You must go." With some part of her mind she recognized the very steadiness of her voice was a complete contradiction of her rising hysteria. When was the last time she had actually surrendered to her feelings?
The answer came quickly and was accompanied by a rush of searing humiliation. She stood only a few feet from the wall where Northam had pinned her back with his hands and mouth and made her think of nothing but her own selfish pleasure. Yes, she had been all of a piece that morning, the same on the inside as out, and it had brought her no enduring calm. She was paying for it again now, was she not?
Northam nudged the vanity backward with his hip until it partially blocked the panel. He did not require Elizabeth to tell him if her door was locked; he crossed the room and did the thing himself. He pointed to the open window. "I will not be leaving by that route tonight," he said. "If the consequences of being here include a hasty marriage, I am prepared to repent at leisure."
Elizabeth's mouth opened, but no sound emerged. She snapped it shut because even in the red haze that colored her consciousness, she understood that gaping would only serve to amuse him.
Northam pulled the padded stool away from her dresser and sat on it. He crossed his arms in front of him and extended his long legs. "Will you sit, Elizabeth?" he asked politely. "I mean you no harm."
She remained exactly where she was.
"Shall I get you a shawl?"
He was not so different from Louise, she thought. He extended a kindness to balance the cruelty. She refused his offer.
"Very well. I'm afraid I have started off rather badly." He did not expect an argument from her for the truth of those words, only one that pointed to their obvious understatement. She said nothing, however, but stood quietly, framed by the dark window behind her, candlelight from the bedside limning her features so he could detect the fine tremor of her figure. "I could be your friend, Lady Elizabeth, if you would but let me. I cannot dismiss the notion that you may be in need of some help. I am offering mine. It is meant most sincerely and is extended without strings. You need have no fear I desire anything in return."
Elizabeth drew a deep breath. Her delicate nostrils flared slightly and her breasts rose. She let the breath leave her lungs slowly. Her lashes fluttered closed, then opened, and when her eyes settled on Northam they were devoid of all emotion. Passion and pain, fear and resignation, were all suppressed by a perfect blankness of expression. "Leave," she said. "It is all I require of you."
Northam considered his choices before he finally stood, sighed, and began walking toward her. Her very stillness made him want to shake her. Perversely, he also only wanted to place his arms about her so that he might hold her. He stopped a short distance in front of her. His hands remained at his sides. In deference to the possibility of discovery, his voice was low. There was no simple explanation for its huskiness. "What did you say this evening to South that made him laugh so?"
It was in that moment that Elizabeth understood physical contact was not required to set her off balance. Northam could make it happen on the strength of his words alone. She reminded herself that he had been a soldier, quite possibly a strategist, and that he was skilled in tactics as she was not.
She blinked, the absurdity of the question drawing an immediate response from her. It never occurred to her to dissemble. "I believe I disparaged his brilliance."
North considered that. "Really? And he laughed?"
"I think, perhaps, it was the
way
I said it."
He smiled faintly. "Ah, that I can understand. You do adopt a tone from time to time..." His eyes were thoughtful as they slid over her face. He took no great pleasure in exposing her vulnerability, but he could not let her pretend that she was indifferent. "Southerton proved himself to be very clever this evening, did he not?"
"Yes," she said quietly, wondering at North's direction. "He did. He unraveled the meaning of each clue we found."
"I'm certain it seemed that way." The slight curve of his mouth was enigmatic now. "I was referring, though, to his placing us together at the end."
"I don't—" She stopped herself from making a rote denial and thought back to the evening past. Her brows lifted fractionally as the truth was borne home. She and North had been moved about the gallery like pieces on a chess board. "My, he
is
clever," she said softly.
"He would say that was damning him with faint praise. He likes to think of himself as cunning."
She could believe that. "What piece were you?" she asked. "A bishop? The king?"
"Oh, nothing like that. South knows I'm a soldier."
"A knight, then."
"More likely a pawn."
Elizabeth nodded, her own smile weak. She could identify with the piece herself. "What was his purpose?"
"You would have to ask him. Perhaps his efforts were in aid of making Lady Powell his companion." He saw skepticism flash in her amber eyes. "I know; it doesn't pass muster with me either. I spent most of the evening with her and cannot imagine South purposely seeking to do the same."
"Lady Powell is a most congenial—" Elizabeth stopped because Northam was shaking his head, not having any of it. "No, she's not, is she?"