Let Me Be The One (26 page)

"He did? To see how you were getting on?"

"Something like that."

"Oh," she said. "He put you up to some intrigue, no doubt. Blackwood is known for that, or so I've heard my father say. He never discusses the same with me. I take it your meeting with him went a long way to piquing your interest in living again."

"It damn near got me killed."

She laughed as he intended she should. It was probably no exaggeration of the truth, she thought, yet she knew his put off, sour expression was feigned. Northam had a great deal of admiration for her late mother's cousin. "And so here you are. You will have something of extreme interest to report to Blackwood this time around, will you not?"

On this subject Northam felt no compunction to tell the truth. "I was only asked to encourage you to write to him. I have done that."

"My, you are a good soldier."

"Yes," he said, with none of her lightness of feeling. "I am."

Elizabeth knew her tone had been misplaced, but it had not been without purpose. She did not apologize. "It's very late," she said.

"It is. Do you mention it as a casual observation or as a prelude to asking me to leave?"

"You should leave."

And that, he supposed, answered his question. He was tempted to ask if she had another liaison after him. He held back, dismissing it as unfair and unwise. "How is it that no hint of scandal has ever touched you?" he asked instead.

She made no reply, choosing to stare at her hands in her lap.

"It seems odd that I've never heard talk about your... your..."

"My promiscuous proclivities."

"Yes, that might be an apt description."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Perhaps you've heard nothing because you travel in different circles."

"The
ton
has but one carousel," he said. "Sooner or later everyone meets the same painted horses."

"That is a... umm... unique perspective."

"My grandfather's, I'm afraid. It's the strangest thing, Elizabeth, but you bring out his voice in me. I'm not thanking you for it, either. I am two and thirty, not two and eighty."

"And here I had been thinking how much younger than me you seemed."

Northam was fairly certain he should not accept that as a compliment. "How is that?"

"It's just that you seem so unaffected. I suppose, in light of what you've told me, that's not remotely true, yet I cannot shake the feeling that you are never worried overmuch, that you believe in a kind fate, and that if your wits fail you, your charm will carry the day. It keeps you young, I think."

Northam found that with Elizabeth, his first response was rarely the most considered one. He held back a moment. "You have been too long alone, Elizabeth. Family. Friends. They are what see one through."

"I have friends," she said. "Louise. The baron. They have been very good to me."

He doubted she knew how much by rote her response sounded. She would have been more careful to make it seem otherwise. "Of course there is your family."

"Yes."

"I see." And he did. Elizabeth was every bit as alone as she appeared to him. "So you have no need of my friendship."

"Everyone can use more friends, my lord. It is your help I have no need of."

"You called me North a while ago."

"I did?" She thought back. "I suppose I did, my lord."

A chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. She could be very provoking if he let her. "What happens after this rout?" he asked. "Will I see you again?"

"You said it yourself. The
ton
has but one carousel. It is inevitable that we'll meet from time to time."

"And will you share my bed?"

"I must point out that you are sharing mine."

"So I am. Will you permit me the same privilege in the future?"

Elizabeth was not at all certain she had permitted it this time. It just seemed to happen. "I think not."

"Then you would not consent to having me set you up in a house of your own."

She couldn't even pretend to be insulted."Most definitely not." She moved from his side, putting some space between them on the bed. Far from turning her back on North, she faced him, drawing her knees up to her chest as she regarded him curiously. Her chemise fell around her like a cloud. "Did you think I might?"

"No, but it seemed that I should make the offer."

"Oh, then by all means, you may consider that you have done right by me."

"And marriage?"

She paled a little but went on gamely. "I see no reason why you should not do so. There is some pressure from your mother, I collect."

"Considerable pressure."

"And there is the wager."

"Yes. There is the Compass Club to take into account."

"Then might I again suggest Miss Caruthers? Or Miss Farthingale. Lady Anne also comes to—" She gave a little squeal as he caught her wrist and tumbled her forward. She fell into his arms still curled in a ball. Her voice was soft, a shade breathless."They do not interest you? Then perhaps Lady Martha. She is, by all accounts, a most—"

"Marry me, Elizabeth."

Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him, stunned, before she found the presence of mind to attempt to push away. He held her fast, his fingers pressing firmly into the flesh of her upper arms. "Do not ruin everything," she said tightly. "You know what I am."

"No." His voice was gentle. "I know what you
think
you are."

She pushed at his chest again and got no farther from him than she had before. Continued struggle, it seemed, was not only undignified but futile. "I will
not
allow you to save me," she told him. "You have some notion that I require rescuing. It is not true, Northam. Have done with me."

He held her eyes, not missing the light of panic that brightened the shards of gold. "Why are you trying to save me, Elizabeth?"

"I am not. I—"

"You are. You think you present some danger to me. You said as much soon after I met you." He shook his head. "You cannot take it back now. You said my life would not be my own if you were in it. You were right about that, though I don't think you meant it in quite the way it has happened." He regarded her steadily. "My life is not my own any longer, Elizabeth."

Northam waited. She was so very pale. She seemed to shrink into herself. After a moment tears made her eyes liquid. Hurt? Fear? Pity? He didn't know and he didn't ask. He simply pulled her closer, released her arms so he could wrap his around her, and waited for her to unfold against him and sob out the misery she had no other way to express.

She cried at length. It was no soft weeping but shudders that racked her. She stuffed her knuckles against her mouth, embarrassed by the sounds she made reaching deep for another breath. He rested his lips against her hair, sometimes his cheek. He never tried to quiet her. His body became her sanctuary, the circle of his arms a place where she could know safety.

Northam found a handkerchief in the bedside table and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Over the top of her head he smiled to himself. He was careful not to let her see it when he lifted her chin to look at her face. Taking the balled up handkerchief from her fist, he used it to erase the tracings of tears from her cheeks and the corners of her eyes. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, a tender, familial kiss. For reasons he did not entirely understand, she began weeping anew.

When she finished it was because she was asleep in his arms.

In time, Northam joined her. They lay curled like spoons in a drawer, heads on the same pillow, a sheet pulled over them. He did not know how long they slept that way. It was still dark when he woke. The candles had both been gutted and only a sliver of moonlight slipped through an opening in the curtains. He was lying on his back. At the first trickle of something wet and warm on his belly he jerked up his knees protectively.

Elizabeth's low laughter greeted him. "It is only I, my lord," she said. "Come to assist you with your ablutions." She twisted the damp cloth in her hands and wrung out more droplets of water. His knees knocked hers as he tried to escape. She snapped him smartly on the stomach with one end of the cloth.

"Ow."

"Show some backbone."

"I have heard tales of a Chinese water torture."

"I do not think it is this one."

Northam tended to agree. He eased down his knees. "The water could be a tad warmer."

"In a few minutes you'll be complaining it is too hot."

Real Chinese water torture couldn't have dragged that admission from him, though he found it to be true enough. Elizabeth used the damp cloth on him to erase all trace of their last lovemaking. She was thorough, pulling back his foreskin to trickle water over the head. Her touch was not delicate but perfunctory. Darkness, he thought, made her bold. What she did made him hard. His penis started to swell long before she abandoned the cloth in favor of her hands, and by the time she lowered her mouth to him, he was ready to come out of his skin.

The orgasm that shuddered through him had the same intensity as Elizabeth's sobs. He cried out so that she was forced to cover his mouth with hers, swallowing even the sound of her name. She held him, fingering his hair until his body lay quiet again and his breathing came easily.

His head rested on her breast. He curled one hand in the filmy fabric of her gown, pulling it tight across her waist and hip. She had had no real pleasure tonight, he knew. Their coupling had been for him; she had seen to that. And now this...

He lifted his head enough to reach the tip of her breast with his mouth. He heard her soft moan. She had earned something for herself, Northam thought, and giving her pleasure would be his best revenge.

Chapter 8

Standing at the bank of arched windows in the gallery, Northam had an unobstructed view of the guests gathered on the lawn for the archery contest. Targets had been placed on bales of hay near a stand of trees so even the most wayward arrow would have little chance of doing anyone injury. There were five targets, three of them traditional concentric circles of varying diameters and colors. The remaining two, in honor of the anniversary of Wellington's victory at Waterloo, were rather skillful renderings of Boney himself, powerful and glowering in his commander's full regalia.

Northam noticed that the women invariably aimed their bows at the bull's-eye. The men, when they were not giving advice or making wagers on the women's shots, sent their arrows flying toward Napoleon's cocked hat.

The archery contest was the last outdoor entertainment planned for the Battenburn rout. Northam knew that some drawing room amusement would take place that evening, but he had no idea what Lady Battenburn had arranged. Even Elizabeth said she did not know. Earlier in the week that same response from Elizabeth would have been met with skepticism on his part; however, he had observed a certain lessening of the amity between Elizabeth and their hostess, a coolness that was not easily measured except by what no longer occurred between them.

Northam had not seen Louise draw Elizabeth to one side to ask her advice or whisper a bit of gossip. They were also less likely to be together in the same clutch of laughing women. Lady Battenburn had disagreed with Elizabeth on two occasions, both of them very public and rather pointed. What struck Northam was Elizabeth's good-natured acceptance of the rebukes. She neither defended her position nor offered a witty reply. She took the sting out of Louise's words by graciously accepting them. Except for the fingers that curled into gentle fists at her sides, Northam might have been fooled into thinking she had actually taken them to heart.

To the best of his recollection, this shift in the relationship between Louise and Elizabeth had taken place following the recovery of the snuffbox. Northam could imagine that Lady Battenburn was distressed that it had been found in such a manner, but what she thought Elizabeth could have done differently to avoid that end continued to elude Northam.

It was also that same night that he had visited Elizabeth's bedchamber. He could not help wondering what Lady Battenburn knew about that evening. He was unable to convince himself that Elizabeth had shared any part of that night with her friend, but he recognized that his thinking was not entirely clear where Elizabeth was concerned. She might have been moved to tell Louise that he had extended a helping hand in the mistaken belief she was in need of it. It was more doubtful that she would have mentioned that he had offered to place her under his protection, first as his mistress, later as his wife.