As the end of the maze came into sight, John reached forward to touch Catherine's arm. She stopped abruptly at the gentleness of his touch and fell still. “You will remember what I said about getting involved in discovering that woman's identity, won't you?”
Turning her head, she gazed coldly at him over her shoulder. “If I say no, will you kiss me again?”
He clenched his teeth, ruthlessly pushing aside the desire that burst to life at the mere suggestion. “I thought you wanted to forget that ever happened.”
A chagrined expression crossed her face. “My mistake,” she said after a moment. “Good day, Lord Wykham.”
Shaking free of his hold, she stepped from the maze and into the sunlight.
Damn. If only he could rid her from his thoughts as easily.
10
“What is wrong with you, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth started guiltily at her sister's demand. “N-n-othing,” she stammered.
Apparently her lie sounded as utterly pathetic as she'd suspected, for Catherine simply narrowed her eyes and stared at her. “All afternoon you've been on edge, looking as if you fear a big, bad monster is going to jump out and grab you.”
No, not a big bad monster, Elizabeth thought, holding in a hysterical laugh, just a handsome, tempting Richard. “I have not,” she protested weakly, before deciding to ask a question that had haunted her all afternoon, after she'd seen Cat disappear into the maze with Richard's brother. “Though I did wonder if Lord Wykham mentioned anything about last night,” she said, trying to sound completely casual.
The distinct blush staining Catherine's face alarmed Elizabeth. Oh, dear God, had Richard actually told his brother about the torrid kiss last night? After a telling hesitation, Catherine replied in a high-pitched tone. “No, not really, I mean, not at all.”
Her silver-tongued sister stuttering? Now Elizabeth knew something had been said. “What did he say about last night?”
Catherine's eyes widened with shock. “Last night? What do you know about last night?”
“Everything,” Elizabeth replied, confused by the question. “I was there after all.”
“You were?” Catherine sighed in relief. “Thank God! Now you can help me find her.”
Elizabeth was completely lost. “Find who?”
“Why, that poor, tragic lady, of course.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Elizabeth asked, utterly bewildered.
Catherine blinked twice. “I'm speaking of the woman whose lover was abducted last night.”
Now it was Elizabeth's turn to stare in shock. “What woman?”
“That's what I wish to discover,” Catherine said, exasperation coloring her voice. “And you can help me uncover her identity by making discreet inquiries about her.”
“I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about,” Elizabeth stated.
“Then why did you tell me you were there?”
“Because I thought you were speaking of what happened . . .” Elizabeth broke off her explanation. It was perfectly obvious that Catherine hadn't heard a word of what had happened between her and Richard . . . and she would be an utter fool to tell her fanciful sister. Lord, Catherine would start planning a wedding!
A slight frown marred Catherine's features. “What else happened last night?”
“Nothing of importance,” Elizabeth replied, lifting a shoulder nonchalantly. “I merely stumbled into the Wykham family box and watched the second half of the play with Rich . . . er, Lord Vernon.”
With a nod, Catherine accepted the explanation. “So, will you help me?”
“Find some unknown woman with blonde hair?” Elizabeth gazed out onto the dance floor and saw at least two dozen blonde heads dance by them. “I see quite a few right here.”
“But none of them are the particular lady I seek.”
Elizabeth glanced down at her sister. “Then how can I possibly be of help to you? Can you give me more of a description?”
“You're right,” Catherine conceded, tapping her slipper against the floor. “And I suspect that their meeting was a secret one, so it's highly unlikely to be common knowledge.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Finding this lady seems a daunting task, to be certain, but I can't allow her to believe her lover has left her when, in reality, he was forcefully taken.”
Catherine's words gave Elizabeth pause. “How forcefully?”
“There were two men—one held the young man while the other knocked him out,” Catherine explained. “When we saw what was happening, Lord Wykham bravely charged forth and tried to stop them, but he was knocked down as well.”
A frisson of unease raced through Elizabeth. “These men sound dangerous.”
“Which is precisely why they must be stopped and that poor fellow found as soon as possible. Lord Wykham has set a Bow Street Runner on finding the man, but he did nothing to locate the lady.” Wearing an expression of displeasure, Catherine shook her head. “He hadn't even considered how that poor woman would feel if she believed herself abandoned. And when I informed him that I would find her on my own, well, he . . .” Catherine paused for a moment, her cheeks reddening once again. “. . . let's just say he was less than pleased.”
Concern filled her as Elizabeth placed a hand upon her sister's arm. “Perhaps you should heed his lordship's advice and refrain from inquiring after this woman. If you don't know who abducted that man, then you don't know who you will upset if you begin to ask questions.” She felt a moment of panic. “What if they come after you?”
A sigh of utter disgust ripped from Catherine. “Good Heavens, Elizabeth. You sound just like John,” she muttered before walking away.
John? The casual use of Lord Wykham's first name surprised Elizabeth. She hadn't been aware that the romance between her sister and the marquess had progressed so rapidly. Still, the matter was of little import when weighed against the dangerous task Catherine was determined to undertake.
Though her attempt to dissuade Catherine had failed miserably, Elizabeth knew she had to try again. She was considering different arguments to use on her younger sister when Catherine's words came back to her. You sound just like John. That was it! If she enlisted Lord Wykham's aid in dissuading her sister from pursuing this matter on her own, perhaps the two of them could succeed together where they had each failed on their own.
Knowing time was critical, Elizabeth immediately began to search through the crush for the marquess. Having no luck, she headed toward Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper, who sat watching the festivities from their chairs near the fireplace. The closer she came to the two matrons the more nervous she grew, but her need to find Lord Wykham outweighed her fear of approaching the two dragons.
Stiffly, Elizabeth came to a halt in front of the ladies. “I wondered if you'd seen Lord Wykham,” she asked politely.
Lady Jersey pressed a hand to her chest and shot a look at her companion, before murmuring, “Well, good evening to you, too, Lady Elizabeth.”
Flustered, Elizabeth tried again. “Many pardons if you found my greeting lacking, my lady. I did not intend to offend you.”
“One very seldom intends to offend, madam,” sniffed Lady Cowper.
This was getting her nowhere. With her lack of social graces, she'd been a fool for even attempting to approach these ladies. Lifting her chin, Elizabeth nodded stiffly. “I shall bid you a good evening, then,” she said, pausing for a moment before adding, “and hopefully you won't take offense to that as well.”
Turning on her heel, she took one step and bumped directly into a gentleman's back. Lord, this evening couldn't get any worse.
The gentleman turned around . . . and she discovered she'd been wrong. It could get much worse.
Richard's gaze swept over her with burning intensity for a second. But the next instant, he gave her such a cold look that Elizabeth was surprised she didn't begin shivering. Then, to her horror, without a single word uttered, he simply turned back around, cutting her directly.
Even the cruel snickers bursting around her couldn't cover her pained gasp. Utterly mortified, Elizabeth struggled to remain composed as she headed toward the ladies’ parlor, where she could hide from the vicious whispers and avid stares.
“Oh, my, you are the wicked one, Lord Vernon,” murmured Lady Jersey as she sidled up beside Richard. “Just yesterday you were sharing a box with Lady Elizabeth, appearing quite cozy in fact, and now you give her the direct cut.” She raised both her eyebrows, not bothering to hide her eagerness to hear the gossip. “Whatever happened between you two, my lord?”
Lady Cowper appeared to his right. “Indeed, Lord Vernon. Do tell.”
Dear God, what had he done? When he'd turned around and seen Elizabeth, a wave of desire had swept over him, making him want to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her the way he'd thought about all day.
Unable to look at her one more minute and resist his desire, Richard had simply turned around so he wouldn't be tempted by the sight of her. He hadn't even considered how it would appear to others. Bloody hell, he'd given Elizabeth a direct cut. Still, perhaps it was for the best. After all, she certainly would avoid him in the future.
The matching expressions of salacious avidity worn by Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper turned Richard's stomach. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, my ladies,” he began smoothly, hiding his distaste, “but I've never been one to gossip about a lady.”
Lady Cowper tapped Richard on the arm with her fan. “Oh, come now, Lord Vernon. Don't turn high-brow on us now.”
Richard stared coldly down at her for a moment. “ Refusing to tarnish a lady's good name is hardly cause for insults, my lady.”
“How dare you reprimand me!” exclaimed Lady Cowper, pulling back her shoulders. “After all, I'm not the one who publicly insulted Lady Elizabeth, now, am I?”
Guilt raked through him, but Richard refused to buckle beneath it. “What does one incident have to do with the other?” he asked coolly.
Lady Jersey waved impatiently at her companion. “Lady Cowper's actions are neither here nor there, my lord,” she said briskly. “I am merely inquiring as to the reason behind your sudden . . . dismissal of Lady Elizabeth. Have you had a falling-out? If so, I'd find that most interesting, because she just approached us and asked if we'd seen Lord Wykham.”
“My brother?”
Nodding once, Lady Jersey flicked open her fan. “One and the same. As you know, I'm not one to gossip,” she said, lying through her aristocratic teeth, “but I have heard tales of your brother seeking a match with Lady Elizabeth as well. Though that was before she was seen with you at the theater.” She fanned herself quickly. “It is quite confusing us all, so if you can clear up this matter as to who is courting whom, I would be more than happy to spread the truth. After all, I feel it my moral obligation to set the gossip right.”
If Richard had been less consumed with thoughts of why Elizabeth sought out John, he would have laughed at Lady Jersey's pronouncement. Moral obligation, indeed. “I appreciate your interest, my lady, but I shall relieve you of this burden now.”
Lady Jersey's expression reflected her disappointment. “I assure you, Lord Vernon, it is no trouble to . . .”
“While I appreciate the generosity of your offer to clarify the gossip, my lady, I cannot allow you to become embroiled in this affair,” he replied easily, leaving her no room for a gracious protest. “Thank you for your concerns.” With a bow to both ladies, Richard excused himself and strode across the room, headed for the study to find his brother. What on earth had Elizabeth wanted with John? He intended to find out.
He wasn't hiding.
Perhaps if he kept telling himself that, he might come to believe it. Disgusted with his own thoughts and more so with the possibility that he was hiding from Catherine, John splashed more brandy into his snifter and tried to focus his attention on the conversation flowing in Atherton's study.
“. . . say I shall win my wager about Lord Hancroft,” protested Lord Atherton. “After all, everyone knows he was left a penniless estate, so marrying a wealthy merchant's daughter is his only way out of his current bind, as no self-respecting nobleman would allow his daughter to marry Hancroft now.”
“I think Atherton has the right of it,” John agreed before taking a sip of his drink. “Hancroft's less than savory reputation would put off any heiress, leaving him the choice of marrying beneath him or being tossed into debtor's gaol.”
“I don't know which is worse,” remarked Lord Weatherby with a laugh.
John shook his head. “Don't be such an elitist, Weatherby.”
Scowling, Weatherby glared at him. “I am no such thing! I just feel it best not to mix the classes.”
“That is an antiquated view, sir,” John pointed out. “More and more estates are being run to the ground, bled dry of any income, leaving the heirs little choice but to marry for money. And, at this point, the merchants are making money hand over fist, enough to purchase a titled gentleman for their daughters.” Lifting his glass, John toasted Lord Weatherby. “And voila—the classes are mixed forever.”
“Doesn't that bother you, Wykham?” asked Lord Atherton in a disbelieving tone.
“Not at all.”
Laughing, Weatherby slapped a hand onto John's shoulder. “For all your fine claims, sir, I don't see you showing interest in a merchants’ daughter.”
“Nor do you see my financial situation floundering, Weatherby,” John reminded him.
“True enough. Though you don't seem opposed to the idea of marrying for money.” Lord Weatherby's expression grew sly. “I've heard that Shipham has settled a large portion on each of his daughters.”
Atherton nudged John with his elbow. “I always knew you were a clever one, Wykham. Never can have too much money, as I always say.”
“Too bad your younger brother isn't as smart.” Weatherby drew in on his cigar. “He all but had the eldest daughter eating from his hand, then he goes and publicly cuts her.”
John almost dropped his snifter. “What?”
“It shocked me as well,” Weatherby agreed. “Imagine being that close to securing the hand of an heiress, only to destroy all of your hard work with one careless action. And from what I've heard, your brother is something of a spendthrift, and could use the funds to replenish his holdings.” He shook his head. “Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself not ten minutes ago.” Before John could respond, Weatherby gestured toward the door. “Here's your foolish brother now.” Raising his glass, Weatherby called a greeting to Richard as he stepped into the study. “Evening, Vernon, we were just discussing you.”
“In only the best context, I presume,” Richard drawled.
Before Weatherby could reply, John set down his snifter and moved toward his brother. “Pardon me, gentlemen, but I need a private word with my brother.”
As John moved toward Richard, he heard Lord Atherton call out to him. “Talk some sense into the boy. He shouldn't be so quick to toss away a fortune.”
But John wasn't concerned about the bloody fortune. No, his concern was for the insult to Elizabeth, a fine, upstanding young lady who deserved better than to have her name tossed about in a gentlemen's study. “I need to speak with you in private,” John said without preamble.
Richard's expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. “Perfect. I wanted to speak with you as well.”
“Me?” John asked in confusion. Usually Richard went out of his way to avoid him whenever he'd done something foolish.
“Not here,” Richard said abruptly before heading out of the study.
John followed Richard into the next room. As soon as they were both in the library, Richard shut the door behind him.
“Why was Elizabeth looking for you?”
Richard's question caught John completely off guard. “Pardon me?”
“Why was she looking for you?” Richard repeated, revealing his anger. “Apparently Elizabeth approached Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper and asked if they'd seen yo
u. Now why would she do that?”
“I haven't the foggiest,” John returned testily. “But if the story I just heard from Weatherby is true, you have some nerve, pretending to have concern for the lady.”
“What story?”
Richard's expression grew wary. “Weatherby told me that you just gave Lady Elizabeth a direct cut . . . in front of the entire assemblage.”
A dull flush crept onto Richard's cheeks. “Indeed, I did.”
Bracing himself against a chair, John realized he'd been hoping the story had just been false. “Dear God, Richard. Why?”
“That is none of your concern,” Richard stated firmly.
Accustomed to his brother's prevarications, John blinked twice at the cool, collected man standing before him. “I beg to differ, Richard, as I consider Lady Elizabeth to be a friend.”
“And do you interfere in all your friends’ squabbles?”
“No,” John admitted readily, “but then again, I've never before claimed a lady as a friend.”
Sighing in frustration, Richard thrust both of his hands through his hair. “Just leave this one alone, John. Trust me when I say that it is a personal matter, one between Elizabeth and me . . . and my actions were in her best interest.”
“How could publicly insulting her, besmirching her reputation, be in her best interest?”
“I didn't intend to harm her reputation,” Richard admitted quietly. “It was for the sake of her reputation that I turned my back on her.” His jaw tightened. “I'm not the man she wants; she just doesn't realize it yet.”
It wasn't the anger and frustration John heard in Richard's voice that stopped him from pressing for more details; it was the hurt. For the first time in his life, John heard raw pain echoing in his brother's voice and, since Richard clearly understood the ramifications of his actions, John had no choice but to respect him.
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