A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. The sapphire that burned in the white of his cravat was the only color in his entire ensemble other than his eyes. “Must I do what?” he asked, coming farther into the room. “Ask you questions?”
“I don’t mind you asking questions, but I must protest the way you sneak up on people.” She pressed a hand to her thumping heart, which was still pounding an unsteady rhythm in her chest.
His gaze followed her gesture, his eyes lingering in appreciation at the neck of her gown. “I was not sneaking. Although I could, if you found it amusing—”
She dropped her hand from her chest. “Oh! Everything I say to you, you turn into some sort of innuendo. You are insufferable.”
He chuckled. “And you, my sweet, are too easily startled. I admit I did not knock, but then the door was open.”
“The door was closed and I know it. I didn’t hear the latch, so you must have been very careful.”
He pretended to consider the door, which he’d not only opened, but silently closed, as well. “Perhaps the latch is broken.”
“Pish. There is nothing wrong with that latch and you know it.”
He grinned, his teeth flashing whitely. “Perhaps. All I know is that the hinges are well oiled.”
“I could tell.” Beth eyed the scoundrel narrowly, aware that if she wished to maintain her decorum, she’d have to calm her already jangled nerves. The bounder had been in the room mere minutes, and already her palms were damp, her heart lurching along like a drunk. Thank goodness he was all the way across the room, by the door, and she was here, protected by the expanse of mahogany and green felt. Yes, that was quite good indeed.
As if aware of her thoughts, Christian shoved himself from the door frame and walked to the table, regarding her from the other side of it. Immediately the room grew smaller, somehow more intimate. His eyes still meeting hers, he reached across the table…and picked up a black billiard ball.
Beth’s fingers closed over the smooth wooden edge of the billiard table. “This will not do,” she said, wincing when her voice cracked just the slightest bit. “Pray open the door.”
“Why? Do you wish others to hear what we have to say?”
“I wish to maintain my reputation, my lord. There could be repercussions if you do not open that door, repercussions neither of us will like.”
His eyes sparkled. “How do you know what I would like?”
That was an interesting question indeed. Beth regarded him a long moment. “We’ve already established that you are not pursuing me out of romantic interest, but simply because you wish to discover some sort of information about my grandfather. Whatever it is you wish to know, I cannot imagine it is worth giving up your freedom. If we are caught alone together, that is exactly what the cost will be for us both.”
He tossed the ball into the air, catching it with one hand. “What if I have decided to tell you the truth about why I have been asking about your Grandfather? What then?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Have you?”
He tossed the ball again. It arced and landed in his palm with a firm smack. “Perhaps.”
“Are you playing with me, Westerville?”
“Not yet,” he said quietly.
She frowned. “You came here with Lady Jersey. She is quite a fascinating woman.”
“Yes, she is,” he drawled. His eyes flickered over Beth, lingering on her eyes, her mouth, her gown. “But she is not one hair’s breadth as fascinating as you.”
Beth had to fight a very unladylike urge to grin. “I am sure she is an admirable person and quite lovely, as well.”
“She is an amusing companion, no more. I hold her husband in too much esteem for her to be else.”
“That is very honorable of you,” Beth said, a touch of sarcasm deepening her voice.
“I call it necessity. Sally is a woman who would devour as soon as love. I would rather not be with a woman who so confused the two.”
“I don’t know about Lady Jersey’s propensities in that direction.”
“She does not matter, my love. I did not come to the musicale to see Sally Jersey.” He set the ball on the table, then crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the mahogany edge with one thigh. “I came to see you and no one else.”
She really shouldn’t have been pleased at this news, but she was. Very pleased.
“I knew you were here the moment I arrived because I saw your coach. It has your family crest emblazoned across it.”
She made a face. “It is horridly gaudy, isn’t it? Grandfather says—” She stopped when she noted how his gaze had sharpened. Disappointment lent a bitter tone to her voice. “We are back to that again, aren’t we? You wish me to speak about Grandfather. Why, Westerville? Why are you so interested in him?”
Christian heard the almost plaintive note in her voice. He’d had such plans for this evening. He’d compliment her, tease her, perhaps win a few smiles. He’d wanted to woo her, and then…when she wasn’t thinking about it, ease her into talking about her grandfather. But now, looking at her across the billiard table, her honest gaze locked on him—“Damn it all.”
Her brows rose. “I beg your pardon.”
Frustrated, yet with no way to show it, he reached over and with a deft twist of his wrist, sent the black ball spinning across the table. “Reeves was right, blast him.”
She looked thoroughly confused now. “Reeves?”
“My butler. I inherited him from my father.”
“Ah.” She thought about this a moment. “And what did he say that was so right?”
“That I should not involve an innocent in my schemes.”
She stiffened, her gaze even more wary than before. “How does he know I’m an innocent?”
Christian slowly raised his brows.
A delicious pink flooded her cheeks. “I am, of course. I just wondered why he knew—or at least thought he knew—although he couldn’t, of course—”
“You are adorable.” He leaned against the table, placing his hands on the mahogany edge, smiling gently at her, his frustration slipping away.
She bit her lip, unconsciously wringing her hands.
“Elizabeth, my love. I am going to do what I should have done since the beginning. What I must do because you are far too intelligent to let me get away with subterfuge. I am going to tell you everything and hope you will help me.”
“This has to do with my grandfather.”
“It has everything to do with your grandfather.”
She regarded him for a long minute. He could see the thoughts raging behind her eyes.
Finally, she straightened. She met his gaze and nodded. “I am listening. Tell me what you want.”
Christian took a deep breath. Everything hung on this moment; if he could gain Beth’s help…that was all he needed. “It is a long story, but I want you to know everything. This is about my mother.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “I thought it might be.”
He looked at her. “You know about my mother?”
She shook her head, her cheeks pink. “No, not really. I mean, I don’t know much. I just heard—” She bit her lip.
“When I was ten years of age, my mother was imprisoned for treason. Someone provided the Crown with evidence that she had commerce with France while we were at war. She was innocent, a woman who had harmed no one and yet—” He winced at the harshness of his own voice. “I am sorry. I cannot tell you how much it hurts to know she was subjected to such a horrid ending when all she did was trust too well.”
Beth’s gaze never left his. “I understand. Please go on.”
“Someone provided that ‘evidence’ to the king. Someone who wished her ill.”
“And you think my grandfather knows who did that.”
Christian didn’t answer. He absently reached out to pick up another billiard ball, this one white. Smooth and cool, it rested perfectly in the palm of his hand. “Not quite.”
“Surely you can’t th
ink—” she breathed, her face suddenly pale. “You think Grandfather was the one who provided the false evidence.”
“I have reason.”
“No,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “It was not him. He would never do such a thing. Never.”
“I can prove what I say.”
“How?”
He glanced at the closed door. “We cannot talk here for long and it’s complicated. Will you meet me somewhere else? I will tell you everything I know.”
“And then?”
“And then it is up to you. I want your help, Elizabeth. But with you or without you, I will find what I am seeking.”
“What are you looking for?”
“There is a necklace that was once my mother’s. It is a very special necklace. Just before she died, she discovered who had betrayed her. They offered to admit their deceit if she’d send them the necklace as an inducement.”
“Did they?”
He placed the ball back on the table. “No. They kept the necklace and she…she died.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her forehead, her gaze clouded. “You think Grandfather has that necklace.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said loudly.
He raised his brows. “Elizabeth, it’s not a pretty picture. But at least I am telling you the truth, why I wished to know more about your grandfather.”
She bit her lip, her brows lowered. “I don’t wish to return to the musicale just yet. I-I must think,” She rubbed her temples. “I cannot believe such a thing of my grandfather.”
“I have evidence that someone from your household betrayed my mother. It can be no one else.”
“No! You must be wrong.” She turned in a jerky movement, her elbow accidentally hitting the rack that held the billiard sticks. With a noisy clatter, they fell to the floor.
“Oh!” she said, her hands clenched in irritation.
“Leave them,” Christian said, moving to pick them up. He began replacing the sticks in the carved wooden rack. “I did not want to tell you this, but I need your help.”
“My help?”
“The necklace must be in Massingale House; I am certain of it.”
“I have never seen my grandfather with such a necklace.”
“Then you have nothing to fear. If he does not have it, then perhaps someone else does.”
She looked at him, her brown eyes steady and unwavering. “What if you do find this necklace? What then?”
His jaw tightened. “Then your grandfather is guilty.”
A long silence met this.
“Westerville, I don’t know what to say. What to think. I just know Grandfather would never harm another person. I know it.”
“I can show you what information I have collected so far and we can begin from there.” He leaned forward, his gaze earnest. “Beth, will you meet with me again, let me explain why I think it was your grandfather? Why I think someone in Massingale House is to blame for my mother’s death?”
“Someone at Massingale House? How do you know it wasn’t one of the servants? Or Charlotte?”
“None of the servants would have visited my mother in gaol in a carriage emblazoned with the Massingale crest.”
She winced. “I see. And Charlotte?”
Christian pursed his lips, his brows lowered. “I had dismissed her because she does not seem capable. Do you think I am wrong?”
Beth’s shoulders slumped. “No. She can barely manage to deal with Grandfather. She spends more of her time in her room or with Lord Bennington.”
Christian nodded. “Well? Will you meet with me again and see the information I have collected?”
“I suppose I must.”
“And if I convince you that my suspicions are founded?”
She was silent a long moment. Finally she nodded as if she’d made a decision. “Then I will see to it that you are invited to the house so you can search.”
That surprised him. “Yes?”
“Of course,” she said coolly. “I will do what I must to prove Grandfather’s innocence. I know he didn’t do this, so why should I fear what you might find?”
“You trust him deeply.”
“So would you, if you knew him. Grandfather cannot abide someone who tells falsehoods. I can’t imagine—” She bit her lip and looked down, unconsciously running her fingers over the mahogany edge of the billiard table.
Christian watched her for a while. She didn’t look upset so much as she looked thoughtful. He wished he knew of a way to explain himself better, but there was none. His fingers tightened about the billiard stick. He hadn’t meant to tell her any of this, but somehow, in looking into her honest gaze, he’d suddenly known he could do no less.
The silence stretched, loud and uncomfortable. The desire grew to break the invisible wall that had sprung between them.
Before he could think of a way, she lifted her head and looked at him. “You should know that Grandfather is not well.”
Christian tried to dredge up some pity, but could not. “I know he is quite old.”
“Yes, though his mind is as sharp as they come.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “Westerville, if I do not help you, what will you do?”
“I will find some other way to search for the evidence I need.”
“If you do it by force, someone will get hurt.”
“Someone already has. My mother died in that gaol. She deserves the truth and so do I.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I knew you would say that. Just know this; there is a cost for my help.”
“Such as?”
“From now on, you will involve me fully in all aspects of your search.”
“Wait a moment—”
“You will do nothing—not write a note, make a call, visit someone with information—without letting me know about it and, whenever possible, taking me with you.”
“Anything else?” Christian asked grimly, setting the billiard stick to one side.
“No. Not if you wish entry into Massingale House.”
Christian rubbed his fingers together, his mind working furiously. He had no wish to include Beth in all his plans. It was not only inconvenient, but it could also be dangerous. “What if I say no?”
“Then not only will I not help you, but I will go straight to Grandfather and divulge all you’ve told me.” Her gaze pinned his. “You will never, ever find a way into Massingale House if you don’t agree.”
“Damn you.” The words were out before he knew it.
She flushed, and he immediately regretted his temper. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You seem to think I’m out to harm your grandfather for no reason. I have no wish to hurt anyone other than the person responsible for my mother’s death.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I suppose I would do the same, if it had been my mother. At least we understand one another in that respect.”
“Then we are partners,” Christian said with a smile.
“Uneasy partners.”
“Oh, it will get easier. We have but to become used to one another.” His gaze fell on the billiard table. “Have you ever played?”
“What?”
“Billiards. Have you ever played?”
“Oh. There is a table at my grandfather’s, but I have not touched it in months.”
“Let us play then.”
She appeared aghast. “Now?”
“Why not? If we are to begin on an adventure together, surely it would behoove us to learn a bit more about one another. What better way than a game of billiards?”
“Westerville, you just told me you suspect my grandfather of sending false evidence to the Crown about your mother, evidence that put her in gaol where she eventually died. That does not make me want to play billiards.”
“Nothing can be answered at this moment, so you might as well enjoy a game of billiards with me.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the table. He was now directly behind her, the curve of her bot
tom beguilingly near. His legs brushed her skirts. “First lesson—how to control the stick.”
Christian reached around her and placed the pole in her hands, arranging her fingers to clasp it correctly. His body pressed intimately to the back of hers.
Beth had to fight a shiver as his warmth began to seep through her thin skirts. Her mind was awhirl with the accusations he’d made. The only reason she hadn’t raised her voice and called him a liar was his own calm, deadly sure demeanor. Wrong he might be, but he truly believed what he said. It was sobering and just the tiniest bit frightening.
She knew why he’d suggested the lesson in billiards; the silence had been just as difficult for her. But still, her heart was not in it. “My lord, I don’t really feel like playing right now—”
“Shush,” he said, one arm reaching around her to grasp the billiard pole. His hand closed over hers on the stick, his fingers warm against her bare skin. “It is an honor to assist such a lovely woman.” His voice brushed over her and sent a thousand trembles across her skin.
Beth bit her lip as she stared blankly at his hand where it encircled hers. Large and well formed, it completely engulfed hers. She moved her fingers the slightest bit and was rewarded when he rubbed her hand with his own.
“I-I—” Beth swallowed. “Your skin is rough, my lord.” She glanced back over her shoulder, up into his eyes. “They are not the hands of a gentleman.”
She hadn’t meant it as an insult. Indeed, she rather liked the feeling of skin that had experienced life and accomplished untold deeds to be bared against her own.
But his eyes flared at her words, his lips thinning ominously, his hand tightening almost painfully over hers. “I have the hands fate has given me.” With that he slid his hands off hers and below them on the stick.
That was all the explanation he proffered. All the explanation she was going to get. But somehow, she knew she’d wounded him and in a way that went far deeper than it seemed. Impulsively, she lifted the stick, bringing up his hand. She then placed her cheek against his fingers. Beth closed her eyes and willed away the pain she heard in his voice, saw in his eyes.
Her Officer and Gentleman Page 16