The Bridal Season (33 page)

“Doesn’t matter if I am,” Letty said, a hint of roughness in
her throat. “He is.”

“Thank you,” Eglantyne whispered. Her eyes were overly bright,
and the thin hands stroking Fagin’s head trembled. “Thank you so much.”

A discreet knock sounded on the door and Eglantyne turned,
overcome with emotion, leaving Letty to answer. “Come in.”

Cabot opened the door and stood back. “Sir Elliot.”

She hadn’t expected to see him again, and his appearance
caused her heart to flutter uncontrollably. He looked so beautiful: Clean and masculine
and fine. Yet there were subtle signs that he had come in haste. His shirt
cuffs weren’t straight, and his tie was slightly askew. She longed to fix it.

He saw her and his body tensed. His gaze traveled past her to
Eglantyne. “Miss Eglantyne, if you would be so kind as to allow me a few
minutes of Miss Potts’s time?” His voice was cultured and resonant and velvety,
sending shivers through Letty.

Eglantyne didn’t answer. Still holding Fagin, she simply
brushed past Elliot, closing the door behind her.

The morning light filtering through the windows picked out
glossy blue highlights in his hair. The crinkles at the corners of his
extraordinary eyes looked deeper, as did the lines bracketing his nose and
mouth. The bruises on his face had faded a little, the darkest areas blooming
yellow.

“I am so sorry he hit you.”

“I assure you it was a mutual exchange.” His smile was
self-conscious and utterly disarming. “I ought to regret it, I suppose. It’s a
childish sort of way of expressing oneself.” His smile grew wry. “But it was
vastly satisfying.”

She couldn’t help laughing. His gaze warmed with shared
amusement.

“He didn’t hurt you too badly?” she asked.

“No. The worst thing about it is not being able to boast of
the manly way I dispatched the ba—the bounder.”

“And why can’t you do that?” she asked, her tone still
flavored with amusement.

He shrugged. “It isn’t done. You’d think me coarse.”

Her smile faded.
“Never.”

The single word seemed to bring him abruptly back to the
reality of their situation. He clasped his hands behind his back, and it looked
to her as if he wasn’t sure how to begin or what to say. Such indecision was
foreign for him, she was sure. He frowned, glanced up at her, frowned again,
and paced a few steps. He stopped abruptly.

“That,” he said, his gaze rising above her face, “is the most
confoundedly attractive hat I have ever seen.”

Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been that. Her bewilderment
relaxed him and he moved closer, his gaze traveling with flattering attention
over her hat. “Audacious, bold, yet vastly feminine.” His gaze fell to her
eyes. “Exactly the sort of hat one would expect you to own.”

She couldn’t think of how to reply. She had no idea where he
was leading. She could only stand helplessly, wanting to fix his tie, wanting
to be in his embrace.

“Merry said you were leaving this morning. Going back to
London.”

She nodded.

“Isn’t that rather precipitant? I mean, it was assumed that
you would finish making the arrangements for Angela’s wedding.”

“I’ve finished,” she said. “Or as good as. I’ve made sketches
of the set designs and instructions. The caterer and wine merchant are already
engaged and the extra servers hired. The staff has all been apprised of their
duties.” She lifted her shoulders. “Everything is done.”

He did not look convinced. “But won’t this need someone to
oversee the lot?”

For the first time since he’d entered, she smiled. “Grace
Poole and Merry are more than up to the task.”

“I see.” He didn’t appear pleased and she understood his
displeasure. He didn’t know these women as well as she did.

“It will all be well,” she promised. “Besides, I received a
telegram this morning. I’m to testify at Nick Sparkle’s hearing.”

His brows drew together. “And you will do so?”

“Yes, of course.”

“If he is set free, are you concerned he’ll seek retribution?”
he asked. His scowl had become fierce, his expression dangerous.

Could he still care?

“No,” she answered breathlessly. “That is, I don’t see any
possible way he can be set free.”

Elliot moved within a few feet of her. His gaze was somber,
his concern clear. Despite what she’d done, planned to do, despite having
stolen his love for one night, he cared for her.

“But if he
is
set free?” he insisted.

She could no longer resist. She reached up and jiggled the
knot until it aligned with the fall of his tie. “Well, that’s why I’m going to
testify. To make certain he isn’t.”

“If you married me, I would make certain you were safe.”

Her hands froze. He covered them with his own, enveloping them
in warmth. She could see the slight abrasions that covered his knuckles. The
dusting of dark hairs on the back of his hands.

Careful,
she cautioned herself, though her heart was
racing and her knees felt weak.
This was to be expected; it was simply all
of a piece.

They’d made love; she’d been a virgin. It wouldn’t matter to
him that she was a bastard and a criminal. He would see marrying her as an
obligation, a matter of honor. And he would even do it without ever, by
inference or action, showing regret, because that was not his nature. He was a
gentleman.

“Letty, please. Do me the honor of being my wife.”

The paralysis gripping her broke and she pulled her hands
free. “No, no,” she said struggling to keep her voice light. “That isn’t
necessary. I swear it. Nick would never hurt me. Really. He’s a bully, but not
a killer. And I suspect that after the trial, even if he is freed, which I
cannot believe for an instant he will be, his influence in London will be
greatly reduced.”

He followed her retreat, his face grave and intent. “I said
that badly. I don’t want to marry you to protect you. Or yes, I do, but that
isn’t the—” He broke off abruptly and reached up, caressing her cheek with the
back of his scraped knuckles. Involuntarily she closed her eyes.

“I love you, Letty.”

“Elliot.” His name came out on a sigh of hopeless longing.

“It’s the truth. I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I
saw you smile. Please, Letty, look at me.”

She opened her eyes and saw his sincerity. He cupped the side
of her face.

“I love you, Letty. I don’t want to live without you.”

“How can you love me?” she asked, forcing herself to say the
words that would kill the tenderness in his eyes. “You don’t even know me. You
know ‘Lady Agatha,’ a composite, a character, a role I played.”

He shook his head, his negation gentle but certain. “I didn’t
fall in love with a character, a title, or an occupation. I didn’t fall in love
with you because of your past or despite it.

“I love you because of your intensity and passion, because you
make me want to be better than I am, because seeing my reflection in your eyes
makes
me better than I am. I love you because you laugh easily and honestly. I
love you because you carried an ugly mutt into a drawing room as though it were
a prince and because you gave an old soldier a strawberry trifle. I love
you,
Letty.”

“No.” The more she wanted to believe him, the more strongly
she denied him. He should choose someone of his class, someone who was as much
a lady as he was a gentleman. And he would. “You’ll go to London and become a
baron and meet some fine, beautiful lady whom you will be proud to introduce,
who will be your equal in birth and in nobility.”

“No,” he said gravely. “I won’t.”

She laughed, a horrible fake sound. “Yes, you will. You’ll
see. It just feels like you won’t now. But you reconciled yourself to Catherine’s
marriage. Why, you live in the same town. And it’s not as if we’ll be forced
into each other’s company to remind us. London is so big.”

His eyes were like fire pits, burning with intensity. “You are
not Catherine. This is not the same. I can promise you that no city in the
world is large enough to hold the both of us if you refuse me. The entire damn
island will be too small.”

“Elliot—”

“Please, stop.” His tone was harsh. “If you don’t feel you can
marry me, you needn’t come up with excuses.”

A mask of imperturbability was falling over his features, but
not before she saw the bone-deep wound she’d caused. She couldn’t let him think
that he loved and was not loved in return, not to save her soul she couldn’t.

“Elliot, I love you.”

The mask fell from his face. His eyes were fierce. “Then marry
me. Or tell me you don’t love me.”

“I can’t.”

“Listen to me, Letty. I don’t want a courteous, lukewarm
relationship. I don’t want to greet a paragon every morning and say good
evening at her bedroom door each night. I don’t want a polite, civilized
union.”

Abruptly, he seized her and pulled her close. Silver pins fell
from her hair and scattered across the dark red carpet, pinpricks catching the
light like stars on a wine-red sky. His eyes grew dark and lambent, as sensual
and caressing as his touch. “I want you, Letty, in every way imaginable. Fresh
from your bath with your hair still wet, coiling about my wrist and dripping on
my chest.

“I want you cool and regal, earthy and impertinent, spoiling
for a fight and abashed by your own temper. I want you flushed with exertion
and rosy with sleep. I want you teasing and provocative, somber and thoughtful.
I want every emotion, every mood, every year in a lifetime to come. I want you
beside me, Letty, to encourage and argue with me, to help me and to let me help
you. I want to be your companion and lover, your mentor and student.”

“And when you are made a baron, will you want me to wear a
coronet?” she asked breathlessly.

“Of course,” he said. But she’d seen it, the flicker of
hesitance, the little mote of darkness in his eyes. She understood. She knew
him so well. It was not that he wouldn’t be proud to give her a coronet. It was
that there would be no coronet to give.

The Queen would never grant a barony to a man who’d wed a
music hall actress.

She’d known. Atticus had told her. From that moment on, none
of her wildest dreams had found a way past that irresolvable point.

She forced herself to confront head-on everything that stood
between them, not only their pasts but also their futures. It wasn’t just that
she was a near felon and he a magistrate, it was also what he
would
be:
a baron, a member of the House of Lords, “a powerful proponent for good.”

If she married him she wouldn’t only be robbing him of his
barony; she would be hurting all the people for whom he could someday speak.
She gazed long and sadly into his eyes and gently touched his cheek.

“I love you, Elliot. I swear I did not know the meaning of the
word before I came here. Nothing in the world would give me greater joy than
being your wife. But I cant.”

“For God’s sake, Letty, why not?” he ground out.

“The Queen will never make you a baron if you wed me.”

He did not deny it. Instead, he caught her hand and pressed an
ardent kiss against her knuckles. “I have lived thirty-three years without
being a baron; I assure you I can survive without the honor,” he said, his
voice a warm caress against her skin. “I don’t know that I cannot survive
without you, but I do know that I don’t want to.”

She brushed his cool, silky hair with a feather’s touch. “It’s
not just you, my most... It’s not just for your sake.”

“For whose, then?” His turned his head, his brilliant gaze
locking with hers, demanding an answer.

“For those who need you to speak for them. For the soldiers
and the children and the women in the factories and the men in the mines.
Justice needs you, Elliot. The poor dear is already blind; she mustn’t be mute
as well.”

He dropped her hand and backed away with a muttered curse.
“You can’t do this. You can’t rob us of our future for the sake of nameless
people.” But she saw the torment, the agony of conscience it cost him to say
the words.

“Elliot, you said I made you better. That you saw yourself
through my eyes and was a better man for it. It’s the same for me, Elliot. Don’t
rob me of my nobility. Don’t see me as less than what you want me to be, what I
can be.

“How could I realize a moment’s honest joy knowing I’d
purchased my happiness with the silence of a thousand people, or bought my joy
with their loss? How could I be happy knowing that because you married
me,
I
diminished
you?”

His expression was desperate; his face ravaged by an inner
torment she’d unleashed.

“What of me, Letty?” he demanded. “What of what I am willing
to purchase for joy? What have I ever had of it, except your love? Is that all
the heavens have allotted me? A taste, to carry me through for the rest of my
life? A taste to let me know what I am missing each and every hour of my
existence?” he ended in a rasp of pain and outrage so intense the tears sprang
to Letty’s eyes.

“I don’t believe that!” He grasped her arms, shaking her
slightly. “There is some way. There must be. I won’t accept this!”

“What do you want me to say, Elliot?” she asked.

“Give me something, Letty. Anything. Some reason to hope.”

She could give him hope. It would hurt her more, because she
knew it would be an illusion. But by the time he realized it, his pain would
have faded. She couldn’t refuse him. She couldn’t let him hurt one bit more
than she had to.

“Come to me after you’re a baron. After you’ve taken your seat
in the House of Lords, find me. If you still want to marry me then, I’ll be
your wife.”

His gaze scoured her face intently. His hands tightened around
her upper arms. “You swear it? You promise that once I have sat in the House of
Lords you will marry me?”