His use of her first name made her overwhelmingly aware of his nearness. Suddenly, she felt out of breath, as if she'd been running for a long way. Startled, she looked up into his face, allowing her gaze to slide over his aquiline nose, his well-molded lips, his perfectly cut cheekbones. She'd thought him handsome from the first moment she saw him, but never as breathtaking as he looked now. Something about the seriousness of his expression tugged at her insides.
When his gaze shifted to capture hers, she gasped lightly at the intensity filling his blue eyes. The soft stroking of the cloth slowed, becoming more of a caress, as he held her gaze.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, leaning forward until mere inches separated them.
The urge to close the distance between them swept over her. For the first time in her life, she wanted to feel a man's kiss, to explore the burgeoning desire inside her. “My lord,” she began softly as she shifted another inch closer.
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Richard,” he corrected her.
Dropping her gaze onto his curved lips, she allowed herself to fall into her emotions. “Richard,” she said breathlessly, her lips remaining parted as she watched him move even closer, trembling in her eagerness to experience her first kiss.
“Lady Elizabeth,” called Mr. Dunfee from the back room. “Would you mind stepping back here for a moment? I think you might be interested in a piece I just received.”
Mr. Dunfee's call broke the spell binding her to Richard. With a sharp intake of breath, she jerked herself out of his arms, stepping back and pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. “I . . . I . . .”
“Lady Elizabeth?” called Mr. Dunfee, popping his head through the doorway. “Would you care to see my find?”
Tearing her gaze away from Richard's taut features, she nodded to Mr. Dunfee. “Y-y-yes, I would, sir.”
As the proprietor disappeared back into the second room, Elizabeth tried to compose herself. “I should go now,” she whispered softly.
His eyes darkened. “I know.”
Tremulously, she smiled at him. “It's wonderful to know you share my passion for tinkering, Richard, and even more comforting to know you will hide my secret,” she confided. “After all, the worst thing that could possibly happen to either one of us is someone finding out about our hobby.”
The hand he'd raised froze an inch from her cheek, before he let it drop to his side. “The opinion of the ton means that much to you?”
“Of course,” she replied automatically. “I've been trying to gain acceptance for three years now. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what success I've achieved so far.”
“No,” he murmured softly. “That would be utter folly.”
Pressing her fingertips to her lips, Elizabeth couldn't hide the burst of happiness inside her. “When will I see you again?” she asked, unable to hold in the question.
The way Richard drew back confused Elizabeth. “I don't know,” he said in an oddly stiff voice.
“Oh.” Feeling self-conscious, she rubbed her hands on her skirts, ignoring the stains she left behind. “Of course you don't,” she stuttered, before continuing awkwardly. “Very well, then. I shall simply bid you a good day, Richard.” Turning on her heel, she hurried into the backroom, leaving Richard behind.
He couldn't get out of the blasted shop fast enough to escape his thoughts. The image of Elizabeth gazing at his mouth, her lips softened and parted, her eyes darkening with the beginnings of desire pounded through him, making Richard slam the door of Mr. Dunfee's shop behind him.
Blast the woman, he thought, as he stormed past her waiting carriage and down the street. He'd been looking forward to dallying in the shop, wandering amongst the various parts to see if he could find something of use for his factory, but the moment he'd seen Elizabeth, all thoughts of work were erased from his mind.
He'd been intrigued by her interest in dirty machine parts and downright charmed by the streak of grease she'd left upon her skin. Ah, yes, her skin. That soft flesh had beckoned him for a longer, more intimate touch. Under his hands, Elizabeth had turned into a gentle, giving female, eager to sample the delights of desire.
But the desire she felt was for the man he appeared to be, not the man he actually was. His ears still burned with her shock at the very notion of being associated with trade. She sought acceptance from the ton and, if he aligned himself with her, he would destroy her hopes. For the moment society discovered his secret, his pride in being a pretzel maker, for God's sake, he would, as Elizabeth predicted, be ostracized forever.
And, as much as he wanted her, he knew he'd be the worst thing that could happen to Elizabeth. No, it would be best for Elizabeth's welfare if he stayed as far away from her as possible.
Lost in his thoughts, Richard didn't notice the approach of another gentleman until he literally bumped into him. “Pardon me, sir . . . Morrow!”
Viscount Morrow smoothed the shoulder of Richard's jacket. “The apology should be mine, old chap. I'd hoped to run into you.”
Richard's mood soured even more. First, realizing he had no future with the intriguing Elizabeth, now a chance meeting with the debased Viscount. Whenever he ran into Morrow, it brought back memories of his past debaucheries. Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, Richard reminded himself he was no longer the rakehell he'd once been. “If you'll excuse me, I . . .”
“Surely you can spare an old friend a moment of your time?” Morrow said, reaching out to clasp Richard's arm.
He looked pointedly down at Morrow's hand until the man released him. “We were never friends,” he said coldly.
“I seem to remember us haunting the same gaming hells, then sharing a hackney to a brothel.”
“Another time, another place, . . . another man,” Richard finished softly. He still found it difficult to think on all the things he'd once done in his misguided youth.
Morrow scowled darkly. “You look the same to me.”
“Look again then, for I assure you I have left those foolish pursuits behind.” Thrusting his hand through his hair, Richard sighed deeply. “While I often accompanied you on the quest for lecherous pleasures, Morrow, I never considered us friends.”
Though Morrow's features grew mottled with anger, his tone remained civil. “You often lent me blunt back then. Isn't that the conduct of friends?”
“I purchased a doxy for you, Morrow, or spotted you a bit of money for a game.” Richard lifted a shoulder, thrusting away the memory of just how much money he used to toss carelessly about . . . and how quickly he ran through his generous inheritance. Looking down at Morrow's face, Richard could see the puffiness that accompanied a drinking binge and the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. This man represented all that he wished to forget in his past . . . and Richard was willing to do anything to make him go away. “What do you want with me, Morrow?” he finally asked.
Morrow shifted on his feet. “I'd hoped you would float me a loan for a few days. I've gone to some of my other friends, but they seem to be in the same predicament. You see, I've run into a bit of bad luck and . . .”
“No explanation necessary,” Richard said, cutting off Morrow's explanation. He knew all too well how easy it was to fall into a “bit of back luck” . . . and how hard it was to find a way out of the hole. Well, he had finally found his way out, managed to shake the dirt off himself, and had rebuilt his life. Still, he knew the panic that Morrow must be feeling at the moment, the desperation when you feared society would find out just how far you'd sunk. Wearily, Richard nodded slowly. “Very well, Morrow. Send your card around to my address and I'll be certain my man-of-business arranges for a transfer of funds into your accounts.”
A broad grin split Morrow's face as he slapped Richard on the shoulder. “You are a king among men, Vernon.”
Richard reached out and tugged Morrow's fingers off his shoulder. “In the future, you should approach someone else for assistance.”
Apparently Morrow was too relieved by Richa
rd's offer to take offense at his remark. “Naturally, Vernon. I'll not bother you again.”
Bidding Morrow farewell, Richard hastened away, satisfied that he'd freed himself from another piece of unwanted history.
7
When his mother stepped into his study, John put down his pen upon the open accounting ledger and rose to his feet. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he murmured, escorting her to one of the chairs facing his office desk.
“Thank you, dear,” she said before gesturing toward his open ledgers. “Though I do hope I'm not disturbing you.”
Despite the fact that he'd been deeply engrossed in balancing his estate books, John hurried to reassure his mother. “Of course not,” he said before settling into the seat opposite her. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“I wish to discuss the latest gossip with you.”
John groaned softly. “You know I don't . . .”
“About you and the Everley girls.”
His protest died unspoken. “What are the gossips saying?”
“The ton is abuzz with your courtship of the Everley girls.”
“My what?”
Her blue eyes, so like his own, danced with mirth as she settled back into her chair. “I have your attention now, don't I?”
“Most assuredly. Now please explain, Mother.”
“I visited my good friend, Eugenia Weatherby, this afternoon for tea and heard an earful about my sons and their recent behavior.”
Though he wanted to urge his mother along, John knew from experience that she took her own sweet time telling a story.
“Apparently, all of polite society has taken note of the interest both you and Richard have shown in the Everley ladies.” Smoothing down the ribbons on her dress, her mother paused for a moment. “Yet no one seems to know which son prefers which daughter, for, according to gossip, you and Richard have spent time with each of the girls over the past two nights.”
John chose his words carefully, not wishing to give his hopelessly romantic mother hope that there was anything of depth between him and either one of the Everley ladies. “While it might be true that I have conversed with both Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine over the past few days, I have not directed undue attention toward them.”
His mother twirled a ribbon around her finger. “ According to Eugenia, you escorted Lady Elizabeth into the musicale, then the two of you were missing for a while . . . leading everyone to believe that you snuck off for a moment of private conversation. Last night, you were seen obtaining refreshments with Lady Catherine, then no one caught sight of either you or the lady for quite some time.” She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a pointed look. “I do believe that qualifies as undue attention, John.”
Cursing the growing warmth in his cheeks, John tried to keep his voice level. “Escorting a lady into a musicale or for refreshments are hardly acts that declare an interest in courtship,” he pointed out calmly.
From his mother's skeptical expression, John knew she didn't accept his protest. “Come now, John,” she began softly. “I'm your mother. I know when you're deliberately dissembling and, I assure you, there's no need. I've longed for the day when you'd forget your responsibilities for a few moments and enjoy the company of a young lady. There's no need to hide your interest in one of the Everley girls from me.”
“I'm hiding nothing,” he stated firmly, rising abruptly. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, John began to pace across his study floor. “Good God, mother, the last thing I'm looking for at this moment is a wife. If you must know, I'd spoken with Lady Elizabeth because I felt she would be a fine match for Richard, a sensible lady who would help him settle down a bit. As for Lady Catherine . . .” He broke off with a harsh laugh. “I pity the man who marries that lady. She's far too romantic, too unconcerned with appearances, too . . . too . . .”
“Exciting?”
“Yes. No!” he corrected himself as soon as he realized what he'd said. But from the avid gleam in his mother's gaze, John knew his correction had come a moment too late. “Please try to understand, Mother. I have no wish to burden myself with more responsibility. I'm hoping Richard weds and I can be reassured he's settled and happy; then I can tour the world. I'll walk through the Coliseum in Rome, tour the isles of Greece, climb the Alps.” John walked behind his desk, running his hands along the back of his office chair. “For as long as I can remember, I've been sitting here, in this very room, focusing on caring for the family and . . .”
“Dreaming of escape,” his mother finished softly. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Oh, my darling John, I'm so sorry to have placed such a burden upon you at such a tender age.”
He shook his head. “You didn't place anything upon me,” he assured her. “I took hold of it on my own and haven't a single regret over these past years. All I'm saying is that, before I settle down and take on the additional responsibility of a family, I wish to travel, to explore the world outside of England for a while.” He shrugged lightly. “When I've had my fill, I shall return and marry someone sensible, someone practical, someone with whom I can settle into a comfortable life.”
Indeed he'd never even consider marrying a woman who thought nothing of asking a gentleman to dance in moonlight. A shimmering memory of just how tempted he'd been to take Catherine up on her offer, to sweep her into his arms, to toss caution aside and claim what she so tauntingly offered, swept through him.
Forcibly, he stilled his now racing heart. He needed to remember what he wanted out of life and not allow himself to be tempted from his path . . . regardless of how alluring the lady might be.
“You've been particularly quiet this afternoon.”
At Catherine's remark, Elizabeth redirected her gaze from the carriage window toward her sister. “Sorry. I was just thinking about my visit to Mr. Dunfee's shop today.” And of her encounter with Richard.
Catherine's gaze sharpened upon her face. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing of mention,” she said vaguely. Despite their close relationship, Elizabeth didn't wish to discuss her confusion over Richard's odd behavior. At least not until she'd sorted through the mess herself.
“Must you go there?” their father asked with a shake of his head. “It is a dangerous section of town.”
Elizabeth patted her father's hand comfortingly. “Trust me, Papa. I'm perfectly safe when I go in our private coach with a few servants. Besides, while the shops on Bond Street might offer me anything from hats to boots, not one can provide me with a machine gear.”
“Thank Heaven,” Catherine replied with a smile. “I don't think I'd enjoy a society that was focused on the experiments of da Vinci.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “If the ton were ever to become fascinated with da Vinci's works, we'd have to rename London and call it Utopia.”
Their father joined them in laughter as their carriage rocked to a stop in front of the theater. As they alighted from their conveyance, Elizabeth paused for a moment, taking in the grandeur of society's elite dressed in their finest. Glancing down at her own plain white dress, she felt as she always did when amongst the ton—dowdy and awkward, a peahen amongst swans. In her own environment, surrounded by machinery parts, Elizabeth always felt confident and comfortable; yet here, out in the social world, she felt utterly inadequate.
Drawing back her shoulders, Elizabeth hid her shaky nerves, retreating behind a wall of cool reserve when she saw Lady Atherton sailing toward them.
“Lord Shipham! How wonderful that you and your lovely daughters could attend this evening's performance.” She offered their father her hand, smiling in a manner that struck Elizabeth as being completely false.
“Your presence only enhances my enjoyment of the evening,” Father murmured as he bent over Lady Atherton's hand.
A laugh fluttered from the matron. “My gracious, you are ever the charmer, my lord.”
“You inspire that in a gentleman, my lady.”
Father's return almost had
Elizabeth rolling her eyes. With all the flowery falsehoods tossed about, it was little wonder she had a hard time functioning in polite society.
Catherine, however, suffered no such inadequacies. “Lady Atherton,” Cat exclaimed as she stepped forward. “It is wonderful to see you here.” She offered the matron a sweet smile. “I am so looking forward to seeing Miss Newton's performance in Mr. Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. Everyone says she is simply marvelous.”
“Indeed, she is,” gushed Lady Atherton. “Stunningly brilliant.”
Elizabeth tried to enter the conversation. “I believe the credit should be given to Mr. Shakespeare, for it is his words that move people.”
Lady Atherton sniffed in derision. “Without the talents of a gifted actress, the play would be a very dull affair.” She gestured toward the door. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll take my seat,” she said before walking off.
The fact that she'd offended Lady Atherton was clear, but what remained uncertain in Elizabeth's mind was how she'd upset the lady.
“Oh, Elizabeth, how could you?” sighed Catherine.
“How could I what?” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don't know what I said to upset Lady Atherton.”
Leaning closer, Catherine explained, “Lady Atherton considers herself the premier patroness of theater.”
Still at a loss, Elizabeth shrugged lightly. “So why did I offend her by pointing out Mr. Shakespeare's talent?”
“Because you belittled Miss Newton's talent in the process.” Catherine nudged Elizabeth's arm. “And, if you'll remember the conversation we had at the Mortimer's tea last week, Lady Weatherby mentioned that Lady Atherton sponsored Miss Newton.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes as the depth of her faux pas sank in. “So it is only natural that Lady Atherton would be offended by my suggestion that it is Mr. Shakespeare's play that has everyone atwitter, rather than Miss Newton's performance.”
“Precisely.”
Shaking her head, Elizabeth looked at her sister. “Even when I try to be polite, I end up making a horrid gaffe.” She sighed in exasperation. “Is it little wonder that I prefer my experiments? I'm a dismal failure at this.”
Wedding of the Year Page 9