His friend grinned, making Alynwick want to plant his fist in his face.
“This bargain you have with Larabie’s wife is eating at your soul.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t doubt it, but I do doubt that you realize what the cost of this endeavour will be.”
“I suppose my mortal soul and all that rot. God, Black, you’ve become an irritating pontificate since your short marriage. Sod off, and pass me my Scotch and the pistol.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“If you don’t hand me that blasted duelling pistol, I’ll put the bullet in you!”
With a sigh of reluctance, Black reached for the wooden case. Iain couldn’t help but notice his friend had not agreed to the other request. The decanter remained out of reach, unless Iain was inclined to spring from the bench and sprawl overtop Black to reach for it.
He’d rather be hung naked in the middle of Piccadilly than lower himself before his friend and fellow Brethren Guardian.
Grunting, he accepted the pistol. “It’s not loaded.”
“I know. I have visions of you tripping down the carriage steps, falling to the ground and triggering the blasted thing before we can get you to walk your paces.” BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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Iain glared at him. “I do believe I would have done better with some scoundrel from the East End as a second.”
“Then you should have procured one. As it’s one minute before the designated meeting time, I will have to do.”
“Bloody hell,” he growled as he stood to leave the coach, “what could make this night worse?” The carriage door suddenly flew open, to reveal the glinting end of a pistol and a set of dark eyes blazing with hatred. Both were aimed at him.
“Oh, good evening, Larabie,” Iain drawled. “I see your wife is correct. You do have a habit of firing off early.” Behind him, Black groaned. Alynwick grinned. If he was going to die, then damn it, he was going out with a bang, not as a self-pitying weakling.
“You think you are so amusing, Alynwick,” Larabie snarled, “but I will make you regret what you have done to me. I will take great delight in blowing you away.” Alynwick flashed a wicked smile. “Now you really do sound like your wife. She said the very same thing to me last night.”
“NOW, THEN, YOU’VE GOT wind in those sails.” Elizabeth paused on the landing of the curved staircase, her hand on her companion’s arm. Her fingers were trembling, and Lizzie knew it was not from exertion—
she was bloody quaking with fury. “And what does that mean, Maggie?” she enquired coolly, which only made her longtime friend laugh.
“Oh, you’ve got his bluster, all right. Your father used to storm around like a ship in a hurricane. You look just like him, I vow.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t meant to be in such a foul mood upon entering the house. She thought she’d rid herself of the insolence and anger that had ruled her on the carriage BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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ride home. Poor Lucy had been forced to sit in the carriage in complete silence while Lizzy brooded and her brother tackled his own thoughts.
And they both had the Marquis of Alynwick to thank for that.
“Come now, let’s go on up and you can tell me all about it. It can’t be that bad.” Yes, it could. And it would only get worse, because Elizabeth knew she could not confide in Maggie. This was her secret. Her own scandal to bear.
All those years ago she could have confided in her companion, but hadn’t; she’d been too embarrassed at being so easily taken in by the marquis. So she had chosen to hide her shame, and to not think of how foolish she’d been.
In the ensuing years, she had been rather successful at forgetting her stupidity, her gullibility. But that had changed tonight, when Alynwick had cornered her, towered over her and turned her into a melting pot of heated flesh.
So much for the mature, controlled woman she had always believed herself to be!
“Now, then, what’s got you blustering?”
“Nothing,” she murmured as Maggie ushered her into her bedchamber. “I am just not used to Society, that is all.”
“Was it a trial, then?”
“That would be too banal a description. I felt…” Elizabeth struggled for the right word. “An outsider, I guess.”
“It will come,” Maggie said as she pulled the pins from Elizabeth’s heavy hair. “You’ve been gone from it too long, is all.”
“Apparently not long enough,” she found herself muttering, thinking of her run-in with the marquis.
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“Perhaps if you shared your worries, that might help soothe them.”
Lizzy laughed despite herself. “Believe me, Maggie, there is nothing anyone could say to make me feel better.
I never want to think on the matter again.”
“Well, then, there is no sense brooding over something you don’t wish to share. I can’t help you if you don’t want it. Now step out of that gown if you please, the buttons are already undone.”
Practical, strong Maggie. She knew how to get what she wanted from her charge, and it was not with cajoling.
Normally, Lizzy might have indulged her companion’s curiosity, and even solicited her sage advice. But not in this. This matter must never come to light.
Stepping out of the gown, which pooled around her legs, Elizabeth reached for the bedpost she knew was directly before her, and held on. She was growing calm, as she always did in her room, where everything was as it should be. Where she could move about with freedom, knowing she would not trip over something and hurt herself, or worse, destroy some priceless family relic. In her room, she was not disabled. She was not an invalid. She was just plain Elizabeth York.
A thumping sound followed by a little whimper greeted her, and she smiled, closed her eyes and allowed the warm tongue awaiting her to brush against her cheek.
“Little mouse,” she whispered as she buried her face in her spaniel’s soft fur. “Still up?” Rosie, her pregnant springer spaniel, whimpered as Elizabeth spoke nonsense into her long floppy ears.
Adrian had bred her with another springer in the hopes that her offspring might prove as useful as Rosie herself.
It was amazing, but true, that Rosie very often acted as Elizabeth’s eyes, guiding her away from furniture and BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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objects in the way. It was Adrian’s hope that he could train the pups to help others like Elizabeth.
“That dog has been waiting for you on the bed for hours now,” Maggie said as she unlaced Elizabeth’s corset. “Poor lamb, she’s as big as a house and couldn’t manage the jump up by herself.”
“So you helped her, even though you think it’s sacri-lege for an animal to be on a bed.”
“Or the settees, or that grand leather chair of His Grace’s,” Maggie reminded her. “Aye, I helped her. I couldn’t resist when she looked at me with those sad eyes of hers.”
“She is the most adorable and loving creature, isn’t she?” Elizabeth murmured as she released her hold on the bedpost and snuggled against her beloved pet. “Yes,” she murmured, “I love you, too, sweet.”
“I wouldn’t let her lick my face,” Maggie muttered, and Elizabeth could almost see her lips curled in distaste.
“Well, they’re the only kisses I am liable to receive, so I shall take them,” she teased, but Maggie merely grunted as she pulled the corset from Elizabeth’s bre
asts and tossed the silk-and-steel garment onto the bed. Her companion liked to claim that Rosie was a nuisance, but Lizzy knew she had a soft spot for the dog, regardless of what she wanted people to believe. Maggie might give the impression of being a commander, but inside, she had a very kind heart and a rather romantic soul. But she’d given it all up to stay and live with Lizzy. More than her lady’s maid and her eyes, she had been a substitute mother, a nurse and was now a treasured friend. Lizzy could not have gained any measure of independence if it had not been for her. People thought it a testament to Lizzy’s own courage and drive that she had accomplished so much despite her blindness, but really, it was BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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because of Maggie’s strength, her untiring nature and unrelenting belief that Lizzy could succeed. She owed much of what she was to her companion, who had been with her since Lizzy was fifteen and Maggie barely eighteen. They could have been sisters, and despite the difference in their social status, got on as if they were family.
At some point, Lizzy was going to have to once more bring up the topic of her friend living her own life. The trouble was, Maggie was every bit as stubborn as she, and would hear none of it.
“Now, then, you’re down to your chemise. Why don’t you sit at the dressing table and I’ll brush out your hair?” With one last nuzzle, Elizabeth left the dog and turned, making her way across the room without assistance. She found her way to the table and slowly lowered herself onto the waiting chair.
“I met a gentleman tonight,” she said, trying to keep her thoughts away from Alynwick and what had transpired between them at the musicale.
“Did you now? Must be a handsome gent for just the mention of him put those roses in your cheeks.” Smiling, Elizabeth flicked her hair over her shoulders.
“I’ve blushed more tonight than I did when it was actually acceptable for me to blush.”
“Nonsense, ’tis a woman’s right to blush whenever the spirit moves her. Nothing to do with age or steadfast sensibilities.”
“I allow it was rather nice,” she said, recalling how it felt to walk beside a man who was not her brother, or her brother’s friends. “Lady Lucy assures me that he is most handsome—and tanned.”
“Tanned?” Maggie mumbled. She had hairpins in her mouth again, Lizzy could tell. “What proper English gentleman allows his flesh to get tanned?” BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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“A perfectly improper one, I think,” Elizabeth answered, chuckling when Maggie gasped in surprise.
“And you, an innocent speaking like a coquette!” How she wished she could see Maggie’s expression.
In her heart she knew her companion was not shocked by her frank speaking, but was actually smiling. Maggie was not an old matron. She was in the prime of her life, and must occasionally think of the opposite sex.
“I am nearly thirty, Maggie. Coquettes are young women who flirt and flit about. I am the furthest thing from one.”
“What would you know of improper gentlemen?” Maggie asked, and Elizabeth lowered her sightless gaze to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. Quite a bit, actually, was her first response, but she bit it back, knowing Maggie would be standing behind her, watching her face in the dressing-table mirror.
“Nothing, other than they can be rather enticing, don’t you think?”
“I cannot say,” Maggie scoffed. “Myself, I think I would prefer a nice gentleman to a rogue that made me blush.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Maggie Farley. You’d throw over a nice ‘gennleman’ any day for a rogue. Do not bother to deny it. I can hear the excitement in your voice. You’re enticed by the very image.” Maggie tsked. “This is proper talk for two respectable ladies?”
“No, it isn’t, is it? But just once I think it might be all right to be completely unrespectable, don’t you?”
“Indeed, I do not.”
“Oh, Maggie, you will not give an inch, will you?”
“Only an inch, mind,” she allowed as she pulled the brush through Elizabeth’s long, thick hair. “I will admit I BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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hope you invited him to call. I would like to get a glimpse of this tanned improper gentleman. And I shall give you a good accounting of him. Not that I doubt for a second that the mischievous Lady Lucy did not do so!” Lizzy smiled at the memory of Lucy’s hushed descriptions. “She did indeed. But I would like to see him through your eyes.”
“I confess I am eager to relate my accounting.”
“And you shall. I expect him to call any day.” The brush was replaced on the table and Maggie’s strong hand gently wrapped around Elizabeth’s upper arm. “Well, then, to bed, Beauty, if your prince is calling.”
“I didn’t say it would be tomorrow.”
“He’d be a fool to let any length of time pass till he next saw you. You are much too beautiful to risk losing.
Why, there might have been other gentlemen present who desire to call upon you.”
Just one, and he was the most improper man of all.
Alynwick took no notice of the rules of their world. He cared about nothing, no one, other than himself. Elizabeth would not fool herself into believing that the scoundrel wished to call upon her. He observed none of the proprieties. No, what Alynwick had been about was ruining her evening with Lord Sheldon. For what reason, she could not fathom, other than he had always enjoyed making sport of her. And she had allowed it—for a time. What Alynwick did not realize was that she would no longer tolerate his interference in her life, her friendships or indeed, any possible courtships.
He could go hang for all she cared.
“’Night, miss,” Maggie murmured as Elizabeth settled back against the fluffed-up pillows.
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“Maggie,” she found herself whispering, “what is the time?”
“Nearly two, miss.”
“And dawn?” she asked quietly as she turned to face the window she could not see out of. “What time does it arrive, now that we are in the midst of November?”
“Thinking of your gentleman caller, by chance?” her companion teased.
“Perhaps.” But she wasn’t. For some ungodly reason she was thinking of a mist-shrouded field and tendrils of early morning light flickering off gunmetal.
“Dawn will arrive by six. There is no need to fret. I will wake you with plenty of time to help you prepare.” Maggie’s departure was silent, with only the click of the closing door alerting Elizabeth to the fact her companion had departed. Gathering Rosie close to her, she ran her hands through the spaniel’s long, silky coat.
“I won’t sleep tonight,” she whispered to the dog.
“Damn him, he’s robbed me of another perfectly decent night’s sleep.”
Rosie made a little growling sound as she struggled to get comfortable. Despite the blackness that shrouded her, Lizzy turned to face her bedroom window. Beyond the glass, she could see in her mind’s eye the black, sooty grime of London. The town houses and the spire of churches and the dome of Saint Paul’s—all memories from when she’d possessed sight.
She saw a field covered with a thick white blanket of frost, and tendrils of mist hovering over the ground. In the breeze, wool greatcoats flapped, and she heard pistols fire, the shots cracking through the silent air, leaving grey smoke twirling upwards from the barrels.
She imagined the scene a hundred different times in those long hours she lay silently i
n bed, but it was always BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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the same. The colour of blood had swum before her eyes, and the prone body of a man was revealed with the parting of the crimson.
It was Alynwick. And despite her attempts to deny it, her heart ached at the very thought.
Unable to withstand the images she saw in her head, she felt around her nightstand, searching for the drawer pull. Finding it, she opened the drawer and lifted out the little leather journal that lay hidden inside.
Opening the cover, she allowed her fingers to trace over the brittle vellum page. She had found the diary of her notorious ancestor Sinjin York years ago, while playing in the attic of her family’s country house. She hadn’t understood what it was until she was older.
Once she discovered that it was a very detailed account of Sinjin’s illicit affair with an unknown woman whom he called “My Veiled Lady,” Elizabeth had been on a quest to discover the woman’s identity.
She had lost her sight before she could, and now she was left with only the memories of passages she could no longer read.
But tonight, for some reason, she took comfort in the feel of the familiar brittle pages, which she knew held Sinjin’s flowing script. And words that had captured not only her imagination, but aroused her womanly needs—
needs she had always imagined sharing with one person.
4th May, 1147—Carpathians.
I have taken up the cross for my kingdom in the fight to protect Jerusalem and all of Christendom.
My army is amassed, and a truce, however tenuous, has been reached between myself and the French king, Louis VII, whose army has joined with mine.
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We will march to Bucharest, where we will meet with the German emperor. Then on to Byzantium, where I pray we will be allowed a peaceful crossing. I have received a missive from the Byzantine emperor, Manuel I Comnenus, who will guarantee our safe passage.
We leave on the morn, the 6th of May, the feast day of Saint George. The priest that travels with me will not hear of crossing the woods and mountains on the eve of Saint George. For at nightfall on this day it is believed that all things evil have full sway. The priest is old and superstitious, but I relent for the peace of my men, who are swayed by the tales of village peasants and gypsies, who fill their minds with talk of unnatural creatures that roam unseen around us.
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