by Mary Balogh
As she ate and listened, Elizabeth let her eyes rove around the company. Lucy Worthing and Mr. Dowling, she was amused to see, were sitting together and conversing-or, at least, Lucy was listening to Mr. Dowling talk. The girl was looking almost pretty today with her sky-blue muslin dress that did not make her hair look too yellow or her complexion too pasty. Ferdie, Cecily, and Amelia Norris formed a group with Hetherington, but Elizabeth noticed that Cecily, flushed and slightly disheveled, was talking animatedly to Ferdie, while Hetherington, looking quite genial again, was entertaining his betrothed. He must have been angry to remember that he had invited her, Elizabeth thought, and that was why he had looked so out of sorts a short while before.
When everyone had eaten his fill and the food was packed away again, Mrs. Prosser got to her feet. "Come, Miss Claridge," she said, "show me this church of yours on top of the hill. Is it worth looking at?"
"Oh, not really," Anne said, standing up and shaking out her skirts, "but there is a splendid view from the top."
"Is there? Come, Henry, I need your arm," his wife called cheerfully.
"May I come too?" Mr. Mainwaring asked, and offered his arm to Anne Claridge.
"Miss Rossiter, I should like to discover the walk you were just showing to William," Hetherington's voice said from close to her shoulder.
Elizabeth turned, startled. She was even more surprised to see that he had put the church group between himself and those who were still sitting on the blankets, so that it was almost a private moment that they shared. He obviously meant that she was to go with him alone, not with a group.
She looked into his face for a clue to his motive. But his expression was polite, impassive. She smoothed her skirt and turned quietly to walk along the bank of the stream again toward the bend that would take them out of sight of the group. They walked in silence until they were unobserved. Then he began.
"What is your game, Elizabeth?" he asked quietly. "Is it Mainwaring you are out to captivate now?"
She looked across at him blankly. "What?" she said.
"Because if it is," he said, his voice now revealing an underlying fury, "I am here to tell you that you will not be allowed to succeed."
"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth stopped and turned to him, a puzzled frown on her face.
"Do you think I have forgotten what you are like?" he sneered. "He is wealthy and he is vulnerable, is he not? And it seems that you need money again. So you have set to work. And your plan is succeeding already, damn you. 1 have never seen Mainwaring so taken with a lady."
"I believe I have walked into a conversation not meant for me, my lord," Elizabeth said, breathing rather fast. "I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about, except that I realize you are being insulting. I wish you would explain yourself more clearly."
He turned fully to her now, his fury showing in his heightened color and in his flashing eyes. "You wish me to put the matter plainly to you?" he snapped. "I shall do so. If your position does not offer you enough in the way of luxuries, and if you need more money, you may apply to me for it. I shall give it to you. But you will not ruin a friend of mine who has had a hard life and deserves some happiness. You will leave him alone, ma'am."
Elizabeth's eyes had widened. Her body was rigid, fists clenched at her side. For a moment she could not speak. "How dare you!" she whispered at last. "By what possible right could you so insult me?" Her hand rose of its own volition and cracked across his face.
She watched in fascination as the white marks left by her fingers darkened almost immediately to an angry red. Then she met his eyes, which still blazed.
"By God, Elizabeth, you forget yourself," he said through clenched teeth, and then his hands clamped painfully on her shoulders and crushed her against his body. His mouth came down on hers, hard and bruising.
Elizabeth reacted in panic. This could not happen, her mind screamed. It must not happen. Her only defense against him was distance. If she did not get away immediately, she would be lost, in the same state of raw pain she had suffered for months six years before. So she fought. She clawed at his chest with her fingernails, kicked at his shins, twisted her head from side to side, and moaned her protest. His answer was to haul her harder against him so that hands and breasts were crushed against his coat, and to open his mouth over hers so that she could not pull away.
Elizabeth continued to moan, but gradually collapsed against him and angled her head so that his seeking tongue could slip past the barrier of her teeth. And he was Robert, the man she had always loved, the only man who had ever touched her, the only man she had ever wanted. And wanted now with a searing passion.
But suddenly she was alone again, cold, back beside the stream close to her place of employment, only two hands holding her shoulders in a bruising grip, a pair of cold blue eyes looking at her cynically.
"You could have had it all, could you not, Elizabeth, had you only waited a little while?" he said. "You must have felt that fate had dealt you a treacherous blow. But you have made your choice, ma'am, and you must live by it. You will stay away from William Mainwaring. Do I make myself understood?"
His words had thawed some of the numbness that seemed to grip Elizabeth's heart. "Remove your hands from me, my lord," she said calmly. "I have nothing to say to you, now or ever. I had never thought to hate anyone. Hut I believe I do hate you."
They stared at each other for a long moment, each cold and unyielding. Finally his hands dropped and she turned to go back the way they had come.
"Let us continue with our walk," he said stiffly. "You are flushed and breathless. I do not doubt that I still have the mark of your hand on my face. It would not do for us to be seen in the near future."
They walked side by side, coming around at the back of the hill, and climbed the slope to join the other group, which was still at the top, sitting on the grass admiring the view.
Chapter 5
She was listening to her father again, her father without his usual gruff manner, hesitant, troubled, almost apologetic, telling her. After all the agony and uncertainty that had gone before, she finally knew the worst.
"No!" she was saying. "Please, no!"
"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said. "I can think of no way to soften the blow. Eventually you will realize that you are well out of it, of course, but…"
His voice trailed away when he realized that she was not listening. She rocked back and forth on the chair, her hands spread over her face, trying desperately to shut out the truth, to blot out reality, life.
"No!" she moaned over and over. "Please, no. It can't be true. No! Oh, God, no!"
John was there, though she had a feeling suddenly that it was a few days later.
"Elizabeth," he pleaded, kneeling on the floor in front of her and trying to look into her face, "You must pull out of it, love. You have not eaten for days."
"No," she moaned.
"He is a scoundrel, Elizabeth," he said angrily. "You must tell yourself that over and over again. Let me hear you."
"No," she replied, her hands before her weary face again. "No. No. No. Robert!"
She screamed the name and clawed at the arms of the chair as she pulled herself upright, gasping for air. John had disappeared. Everything had disappeared. She stared wildly into the darkness, heart thumping loudly, hands gripping bunches of the bedcovers. It took her several seconds to realize that she was in her bedroom at the Rowes'.
Elizabeth slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She put her hands, palm downward, on the bed beside her and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. The old nightmare! She had thought she was over them. But, of course, the reappearance of Robert in her life was bound to revive some of the old pain. It would pass again, she told herself soothingly, unconsciously assuming for herself the role that John had played for several weeks six years before.
She would not think about it anymore tonight. She must think of something more pleasant. Elizabeth knew from experience that if she
tried to divert her thoughts entirely from that episode in her life, she would fail utterly. She must relive some pleasant memory, before things went bad. She set herself deliberately to recalling the evening when Robert had first told her about his grandmother, his mother's mother.
"She lives in Devonshire most of the time," he had explained. "We used to see her once a year when Papa would send us down there for a duty visit. At least, Tom used to come for the first few years. Then I suppose he felt himself too old, so I used to go alone, with a nurse, of course. I used to be terrified of Gram. A crusty old bird, Papa always called her, and I always felt the description fit."
He had gone on to explain how his grandmother, Lady Bothwell, had never treated him like a child, but always conversed with him as if he were a sensible adult. She had demanded a great deal of him and had occasionally referred to "that young fool, your father." She suffered from rheumatism. Her slow, stiff movements, her constantly tapping cane had frightened the child. It was only as he grew older that he came to appreciate the keen intelligence and blunt good sense of his grandmother. He had learned that the bad feeling between her and his father had been caused by her refusal on more than one occasion to help him out of debt.
Robert had always continued the annual visits to his grandmother, from choice once he was old enough to make the decision himself. He had developed a deep, if undemonstrative affection for her.
And now she was making one of her very infrequent, always unannounced visits to London. She had taken a house for the duration of the Season, refusing as she always did on such occasions to stay with her son-in-law.
"I want you to meet her, Elizabeth," Robert had said, smiling eagerly into her eyes. They were waltzing at Almack's. He always chose waltzes with her, because the dance gave them some time to be together and to talk. It was hard to steal time together otherwise.
"Do you really think I ought?" she had asked doubtfully. "She sounds rather frightening."
He had laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, white teeth flashing at her. "She will adore you, my love," he had assured her, squeezing her hand tighter. "And do not try to persuade me that you are afraid. You are always easy in other people's presence. You never seem at a loss for topics of conversation."
"But perhaps she will think a visit from me an impertinence?" Elizabeth had suggested.
His eyes had softened as they gazed back into hers. "I love her, Elizabeth," he had said. "I have told her about you and all that you mean to me. She insists on meeting you. I do believe that if you will not call on her, she will call on you."
"But that will never do," she had said, aghast. "How would it look if your grandmother came calling on my aunt when we are not even betrothed?"
He had grinned, looking suddenly like a mischievous boy. "Then you have no choice, do you, my love?" he had said. The music had been drawing to a close. "Tomorrow afternoon?" he had suggested. "I shall call for you at three."
And so they had gone. Elizabeth's Aunt Matilda had raised no objection to her charge's going with Robert Denning to visit his grandmother. Despite Robert's assurances of the night before, Elizabeth had been nervous. Lady Bothwell was the first member of Robert's family to whom she had been formally presented. And she had wondered what he had said about her. Did the old lady really know that they loved each other? Did she know that they had pledged to wait three years until they were free to marry? Would she like Elizabeth, or would she find her ridiculously young and gauche?
That first meeting had certainly been disconcerting. The old lady had risen to her feet when they were announced, and stood with her back to the fireplace, leaning heavily on a cane. She had watched Elizabeth through an old-fashioned lorgnette as Robert led her forward.
"This is Elizabeth Rossiter, Gram," he had said simply.
"I could have guessed that, boy," she had replied gruffly, still surveying Elizabeth. "Well, if her sense matches her looks, it seems you have made a good choice. Come and sit down, girl."
"Thank you," Elizabeth had replied, and she had perched stiff-backed on the edge of a nearby chair.
Robert had laughed, looking endearingly handsome and at ease in this very uncomfortable situation. "Gram, you old rogue," he had said outrageously, "you are deliberately trying to make Elizabeth uncomfortable just to discover if she has character. Now admit it," he had said.
"Hmm," had been her reply as she lowered herself slowly into a wing chair close to the fireplace.
"I told you that she is not a silly, empty-headed chit, now, did I not?" he had said. "She may sit like that, looking ill-at-ease, Gram, but she will not dissolve into tears or the vapors, I do assure you."
"Hmm," the old lady had repeated. "You never did learn manners living with that young fool, did you, boy? Now, you go upstairs to my room and fetch the paisley shawl I left on the bed. It is chilly here."
And, remarkably, by the time he had arrived back a few minutes later, Lady Bothwell and Elizabeth had been conversing quite comfortably on some topic that Elizabeth had now forgotten. The three of them had taken tea and cakes and talked for an hour or more. For Elizabeth it had been a blissful time. For once she and Robert did not have to steal a little time together in a public place. For once they could talk and laugh and relax together. And for once she felt the delight of being accepted by at least part of his family. There had been better to come. The old lady had finally pulled herself to her feet and grasped her cane.
"I have to go and check on my plants," she had announced. "They almost did not survive the journey from Devon. Old, like me. It takes me ten minutes to water them. No, I do not need any help, boy." She waved aside Robert's outstretched arm and hobbled toward the door. She had shut it firmly behind her.
Robert and Elizabeth had stared at each other incredulously for a moment. Then he had laughed. "Do you doubt now that she likes you?" he had asked, and he had stretched out a hand to pull her to her feet.
They had spent ten shameless minutes in each other's arms, kissing, gazing into each other's eyes, whispering love words, just holding each other. Elizabeth had rested her head against his shoulder at one point. She had closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his warm, masculine body touching hers. How strong his thighs and chest and arms felt! How broad and comforting the shoulder! He was not very much taller than she and she liked him that way. She fit so comfortably against him.
He had nibbled on her earlobe and blown into her ear so that she had raised her head, giggling, to meet his laughing eyes again. They had embarked on another exploration of each other's lips and mouths before they heard the slow but unmistakable approach of the cane again. By the time Lady Bothwell had reentered the room, they had been sitting in their former places, Elizabeth flushed, Robert's fair hair looking less than immaculate.
"Hmm," the old lady had said, "sorry to keep you waiting."
That visit had set the pattern for a series of visits that look place every few days. They would converse with Lady Bothwell for an hour and then she would have to check on her plants. Never for longer than ten minutes. But the visits and the brief times alone had been sufficient for their relationship to grow. Their love had developed out of friendship; friendship helped it deepen.
And what had happened to the friendship and the love? Elizabeth asked herself now. They had seemed strong enough for a lifetime of happiness. But she did not dare let her memories stray any farther forward. Not tonight. She had no idea how late it was, but it felt very late indeed.
How could yesterday afternoon have happened? What was the explanation of his coldness and his anger? Elizabeth had gone over and over his words during the drive back home from the picnic and during the evening, which she had spent in her room, pleading fatigue. But she was no nearer a solution now. He had accused her of setting her cap at Mr. Mainwaring. That was outrageous enough, though at least partly understandable, perhaps, as the man had danced with her a few evenings before and had walked with her that afternoon. But Hetherington had accused her
of dangling after Mr. Mainwaring's money. The idea was absurd. When had she ever suggested to Robert that money was important to her? She had been willing to marry him when neither of them had a feather to fly with. He must have known then that she had other admirers, wealthier ones, who might have been brought to the point had she given them the smallest encouragement.
He had seemed almost to hate her when he had charged her not to ruin a sensitive man like his friend. Yes, she had learned for herself that Mr. Mainwaring was a sensitive man, that he could probably be hurt easily. But to suggest that she would lead him on only to hurt him, to suggest that she was somehow heartless and dangerous, was, was… absurd! And he had told her to go to him for money. That he would give it to her. The gall of the man! The sheer gall! Elizabeth tapped her palm convulsively on the bed. How she itched to slap him again. She wished she could have hit him harder.
And she wished-how she wished-that she had not responded to his kiss. Perhaps it had not been so obvious, had it? She had certainly struggled hard enough at first. Perhaps he would think she had just grown tired of the struggle, had just gone limp in his arms. Would he? You did not open your mouth to a man when you just went limp, though, did you? And he would not look at you afterward with a contemptuous sneer, would he? Oh, drat the man, he knew, all right.
Elizabeth flushed with mortification and burrowed her head in her pillow, determined to sleep again. Persistence helped her to feel drowsy; she began to drift into welcome unconsciousness.
Suddenly her eyes flew open. Now, what had he meant when he had said that she could have had it all if she had only waited? She sighed and willed sleep to come yet again.