by Mary Brendan
Elizabeth snatched herself from her grandmother’s touch with two crisp backwards steps. Her whole being felt as taut as a coiled spring. She wasn’t sure when last she had been in the throes of such all consuming white-hot wrath. And she wasn’t sure on whom to vent it: her idiotic, well-meaning grandmama or the pompous, egotistical villain in the next room. What she was sure of was that she didn’t now want him to quit the house before she’d had the opportunity to impress on him a few things. She stalked to the door and pulled it open with such violence that, Edwina, just behind, had to catch at it to prevent it damaging her cream silk wall.
As Elizabeth marched the few yards to the drawing room, her quivering fingers found some pins in her hair and yanked them out. So, he was used to keeping company with beautiful, stylish young women, was he? She tossed the pins carelessly aside, then messed the trailing pearly locks into snarls. When satisfied with that disarray, she scrunched the expensive material of her skirts in her fists, just stopping short of ripping into it in her fury.
She halted before the drawing room door, oblivious to Edwina a few paces behind hissing at her, flapping her hands in wild gestures, then watching her, transfixed. Elizabeth closed her violet eyes, took a huge breath, then reached for the handle…
She made her entrance fast, before her courage deserted her, her eyes fixed forward to where she envisaged him to be: either lounging on a sofa or perhaps posing regally by the hearth. The momentum of her pace having taken her a way into the room, her first impression was that it was vacant. The unoccupied sofas, the uncluttered mantel made her thankfully certain that he had deemed himself too important to wait after all. Her head swayed back on her graceful, stalk-like neck, her eyelids drooped and she sighed relief. Dragging forward the few paces to the fire, she warmed her hands against the leaping flames, rubbed her glowing palms along her goose-pimply forearms. The sudden knowledge that she was timorously grateful for his absence, and the reprieve, had her flinging herself around in self-disgust. She had retraced barely a pace when she froze.
He had actually stationed himself on the right-hand side of the room, by a window adjacent to the double doors. Once the doors were opened, the narrow casement was obscured from view to anyone entering. He was still turned slightly towards the glass as though he had been observing the street scene. Now he was looking at her.
For what seemed a small eternity, yet was probably no more than seconds, she stared at him, her heart in her drying mouth while all manner of disjointed messages raced through her mind. It was him. Although all trace of youth was gone from his hard, rugged features, this was the same man who had held court amid a band of wild Corinthians a decade ago and occasionally bestowed on her an idle mocking glance on catching her spying on him. He was gypsy dark, his hair bronze-black and long with a slight curl where it rested on his collar. Sartorially, he was all stylish elegance. His powerful broad-shouldered frame was garbed in shades of brown: buff trousers, tan tail coat. An amber stone glowed in the intricate knot of his sepia silk cravat. With a skipped heartbeat she realised the tiger’s eye resembled the hue she could discern between his close black lashes. He seemed taller than she remembered; if she stood against him she guessed the top of her head would barely reach his chin. The thought of being placed that close to him jerked her out of her trance and into awareness that she was openly staring. A fact that had not gone unnoticed by him: a corner of a finely chiselled mouth had tilted in acknowledgement.
Heat stung into her complexion. But despite her embarrassment, she became aware he was assessing her equally closely. A sardonic, hooded gaze was roving her tangled blonde hair, her crumpled rose-pink gown. Spontaneously, a hand jumped to attend to the self-inflicted damage. She forced it to clench before it could smooth one ruck, undo one snarl. It returned to her side, then slipped behind her to be joined by the other. Her fingers gripped together and her chin tilted, her beautiful flushed visage a study in hauteur.
‘Have you had an accident?’
For no reason she could understand she flinched at the sound of his husky, baritone voice. At that moment, she hated him simply for the lazy humour in his voice, in his eyes, as he alluded to her disarray. She moistened her lips. ‘Accident?’ she echoed as though attempting a foreign tongue.
‘You seem a little…dishevelled,’ he mentioned taking a step towards her.
Elizabeth took a step back. ‘Oh, that.’ She launched a freezing smile at him while an unsteady finger worked its nonchalant way into a blonde tangle. ‘I have been reclining in my chamber, but thought you would prefer me not to tarry and primp in your honour. My grandmother said you impressed upon her your eagerness to soon leave. So here I am, come directly to impress upon you how well that suits me.’
A slight movement of his dark head acknowledged the insult, as did his dry tone as he said, ‘I’m greatly obliged.’
‘Good.’
So here she was, indeed, Ross mused wryly to himself. The one place he hadn’t expected to find the blonde beauty he had glimpsed in the street, was within Edwina’s house…within her family. Her granddaughter had figured in his imagination as a dumpy, uninteresting young woman: an insipid version of Edwina. A sense of chivalry had made him stay and at least meet her. He couldn’t have been more wrong about it all. And he couldn’t have been more right, thinking he’d seen this woman somewhere before. Such exquisite loveliness was rare, unforgettable. It was also, oddly, unmarred by the fact that she looked as though she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. If only he could bring to mind where and when they’d met. ‘I’m afraid Edwina has left me a little at a loss. I don’t know your name…Miss Sampson…?’ he ventured.
‘Lady Elizabeth Rowe,’ Elizabeth stated, her voice wobbly but her tone strong with pride. Her worst fears were realised; she felt her stomach tumble at the immediate intelligence in his eyes. Oh, she knew what caused the strengthening smile, his lashes to droop to conceal the base interest…
His memory finally served him correctly and everything had suddenly become crystal clear. Not least, Ross realised, cynically, why Edwina had omitted revealing her granddaughter’s identity and was so damned keen to buy her a husband. He had imagined the chit to be impeded in the marriage stakes by homely looks, not by her ruined reputation…or her age. Not that she looked approaching thirty, but he guessed she must be. If she’d been seventeen at her debut she’d now be in her twenty-eighth year.
Edwina Sampson, he laughed inwardly, really was the most unpredictable woman. He’d never known of her connection to the Thorneycrofts: a less likely mother-in-law to the late Marquess, he couldn’t imagine. Now Edwina wanted her sullied granddaughter wed and thought she had found the perfect sap to take her…in him. In fact, despite the lady’s haughty disdain, they were probably in cahoots. They wanted to manipulate him to get her off the shelf and respectable before she got too much older and started losing those beautiful looks. And she was desirable…barely five minutes in her company and his body was already impressing on him just how badly he wanted her.
Elizabeth could sense his contempt! But she knew his interest was growing. But then gentlemen were always more interested once they’d discovered her identity. She had come beneath lingering male appraisal too often to be ignorant of what excited it. Because her stupid temper had made her burst in like some unkempt virago, he would now brand her every manner of slut. She scoured her mind for some insolence to send him quickly on his way, for she was horribly afraid she might not manage to brazen it out today…with him. She could feel her throat closing, feel ice shivering her lower lip. She clamped teeth into it. She would not bolt from the room, hide away ashamed…
‘I hear you do good works.’
‘I hear you don’t,’ was flung back at once with a childlike defensiveness, even though he had spoken conversationally.
Ross smiled. ‘Our sovereign might challenge you on that. He seems happy enough with my services.’
‘How well a King so easily pleased befits this great natio
n,’ she sneered.
Ross laughed and his head fell back a little. He frowned at the ceiling. So much for polite chit-chat. ‘Look, I’m trying to make this easier for both of us,’ he said affably. But his steady gaze, as it levelled on her again, was quite devoid of amity or humour. ‘As you appear to disdain small talk…and most other things…let’s get straight to business. I imagine you’re aware that your grandmother owes me a sum of money?’
‘I’m aware that you allege she owes you a sum of money.’ Elizabeth slanted a contemptuous purple stare at him. Softly, fluidly, she announced, ‘However, there are things, sir, you should be aware of: firstly, I do not believe any transaction has taken place between you and my grandmother. I think you have bamboozled her in some way to lay hands on my dowry. You may fool her, you will never fool me. Secondly, the whole matter of money loaned or borrowed is of no consequence whatsoever. I have no intention of marrying you, now or at any other time. You will need to look elsewhere for money to embezzle.’ She turned her face from his. ‘I think that is all. Oh, now you may go,’ she added with an idle wave of a slender hand at the door. Although she had shown him her back, she knew he was yet there. The silence was deafening. Unable to bear the tension longer she gathered her creased skirts, tossed her shaggy head and, chin up, headed for the door.
She barely saw him move but somehow he had managed to station himself in the middle of her escape route. She made to sweep first one way, then the other around him. Whichever way she stepped, he seemed to block her path.
Backpacing from his proximity, she raised flashing eyes. ‘Come, my lord. I thought you were in a tearing rush. Please go before me, if you’d rather impress me with your status and quit the room first. Conscious of your aggrandisement, I did offer you the opportunity…’
Ross took a moment before lowering his face to look at her. He then gave her a smile so laden with deceit, so obviously unmeant and threatening, it took her breath away. As did his eyes. They were cold as metal yet extraordinarily beautiful in hue: green-flecked gold and fringed with thick black lashes that were incongruously childlike in their length. Her face quickly lowered. I do just reach his chin, scuttled deliriously through her mind as she blinked at the cleft in it.
‘Are you naturally this rude? Or have you been practising insults in my honour, instead of…primping…wasn’t it?’
Despite herself, Elizabeth turned scarlet. ‘Remove yourself from my way. I wish to leave this room…right now,’ was all she could manage in response.
‘And I wish to receive back my money…right now,’ flowed back, honey-voiced.
‘You’re lying! My grandmother has no need of your money. She has more money of her own than she knows what to do with,’ Elizabeth spat at him.
Ross smiled coldly. She was a damn good actress. And very aware, he was sure, of the effect she was having on him. His fingers itched to touch her, slide her gown from shoulders that looked as fragile as milky glass. They clenched at his sides. Barely two feet separated them. He was so damned aroused that if she locked the door and gave him a taste for an early wedding night on the sofa, he’d get a licence this afternoon.
‘I don’t doubt Edwina’s lying about her ability to repay,’ he gritted, angry and frustrated. ‘Nevertheless, two weeks ago I was foolish enough to be taken in by some bleeding-heart story concerning the loss of her butler to a rival and her eagerness to try a little deviousness to outwit the woman and keep him. In short, she persuaded me to loan her ten thousand pounds to fund the chicanery.’ He withdrew a parchment from his inside pocket. ‘The contract states that repayment was due yesterday. Patient soul that I am, I have allowed her one day’s grace already.’ He moved the document, indicating Elizabeth should take it to check his story’s veracity.
Elizabeth eyed the proffered paper as though it might bite. From sounding like lies, it now all sounded horribly plausible. How would he know of Alice Penney poaching Pettifer unless Edwina had related it all? Why would he bother mentioning their domestic arrangements at all unless he had a vested interest in them? Why would he let her read the contract? Her hands seemed welded together behind her back. Suddenly they sprang apart, snatched at the paper. Swishing about, she ran to the fire and fed it to the hungry flames. Her defiance was almost palpable as she put up her chin and shook back tangled locks from her sculpted white face.
‘I’m lucky in my man of business,’ she heard him say in a voice that dripped irony. ‘He’s thorough…sometimes tiresomely fussy. He sets a clerk to duplicating documents and nothing else. And Mrs Sampson was obliging enough to sign the set…even that spare lodged in my safe.’
‘I don’t care,’ Elizabeth gasped through the mounting rage and fear tightening her chest. She was behaving with reckless abandon. More stupidly than she had in a long…long while. It seemed the more patient and polite he was, the more rude and abrasive she became. But she couldn’t seem to stop. Everything was running out of control. ‘I won’t marry you. I will never marry you,’ she stormed.
‘Progress at last,’ Ross drawled. ‘We’ve come to something we agree on. You appear to be under the misapprehension that I have proposed. I don’t recall doing so, or ever intending to do so. I am done, my lady, with enduring your puerile insolence and disdain in the hope we might amicably solve this problem. I want payment. To be honest, I would much prefer the cash, but I’ll take retribution in its stead.’
Chapter Five
‘What do you mean?’ Elizabeth forced out through her sandpaper throat.
‘Well, I’ll tell you my dear. I think that the lady doth protest too much. I think you are an accomplice, possibly the instigator, in this feeble plot to trick me into marrying you. I think your pathetic insults are perversely intended to endear you to me in some way.’ He walked away from her, braced a hand against the window sill. It looked heavy and dark against the narrow white-painted ledge. Idly he looked down, scanning the street, then up at the clear blue sky. ‘You may tell Edwina it might have worked. It’s true I like women who are novel and present a challenge. But not that much. If you were planning to ride back into the ton on my wedding coat tails, I’m afraid I’m about to disappoint you. Forgive me for being blunt, but I’d never take to wife a rude, supercilious little bitch ruined by scandal.’ His sweeping gaze relinquished the heavens and he pivoted about to lean back against the wall. His hands were thrust into his pockets, an indolent look levelled at her. ‘I also mean that it’s in your best interest to persuade Edwina that you both now act sensibly. Concede defeat. Return my money and the whole trifling matter is at an end…finished.’
He couldn’t be sure if her chalky pallor stemmed from shock or fury at his explicitness. More gently he added, ‘I’m not a fool, neither am I a vindictive man. I don’t want to give credibility to my infamy as a ruthless swine by finishing your grandmother in a debtor’s cell…or finishing you in my bed. And I will bring you down…’ Between them was catastrophic silence, absolute stillness for a moment. ‘If I’m generous and allow you to work off the debt at two thousand a year, including interest due, that’s six years service. You might be a trifle sullied now; after a lengthy stint as one of my paramours, you’ll be a professional courtesan approaching her mid-thirties. It would be a kindness if I took the trouble to prepare you for meaner partners before ejecting you. Eventually you’ll have nothing left but base standards and spoiled looks. You’ll be grateful to scrape a living as a tavern whore in Whitechapel.’
Elizabeth moistened her lips, swallowed, tried to speak. No words formed. Dumbfounded, she couldn’t find a voice. Never in all her life, even directly after that horrible shame he alluded to, had anyone spoken to her with such deliberate brutality.
But she couldn’t fault his honesty. She had encountered similar wretched specimens of womankind as those he alluded to almost every week on visiting Newgate or Bridewell. Sometimes she saw them at a mean liberty, lolling hollow-eyed against a wall in Barrow Road or its environs. At first glance they seemed no different from t
he rough trade they now lived amongst. Then there might be a hint of once-graceful deportment, or a cultured inflection to an overheard word, and they were betrayed as once having known gentility. And she would try to glimpse, beneath grey, gin-cracked masks, the pride and vivacity that must once have sparkled beneath. And he wasn’t being vindictive. His words were harshened by impatience, not malice. His desire to be elsewhere, his indifference, made it all so much worse.
She accepted it now. He was owed a fortune by her grandmother and he wanted it back. Dealing with her was just a vexing waste of his time. She wanted to shout at him that she wasn’t involved, that she had known of her grandmother’s plot less time than he. Instead she simply stared at him, unblinking, her glossy violet eyes huge in a face that was cold, milky, immovable as marble.
‘Persuade your grandmother that a banker’s draft for ten thousand pounds would do well to find its way to Grosvenor Square by four this afternoon. I’ll forgo the interest for now. Inform her that the cuisine at the Fleet leaves a lot to be desired and she’s in danger of fading away. I’m told by disgruntled paramours that my selfishness leaves a lot to be desired. So you choose,’ he offered dulcetly. ‘But know this, my lady. I want what’s due. Parting with the cash might be relatively painless. In your position, that’s what I’d choose. That’s all I mean,’ he stressed in conclusion.
Elizabeth finally unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. The shuddering, indrawn breath she took was barely perceptible. ‘Thank you for that explanation, sir. I do now know exactly what you mean.’ Her voice strengthened from thready whisper to gruff choke. ‘Perhaps I might be permitted to trespass on your precious time a few moments more and let you know what I mean.’ Her tousled blonde head came up and she stalked away from the fire towards him, suppressing the shock and bitter humiliation that had moments ago threatened to humble her, crumble her like a rag doll at his feet as his lazy contempt withered her bones.