by Julie Beard
"I wish you wouldn't."
Liza smiled grimly. "I must. It is a fait accompli. When I marry Barrington, Papa will have his precious title in the family."
"But there are other noblemen you could have chosen, Liza. The viscount is so hideous. Why him? Why?"
"I have my reasons." She kissed Celia's forehead. "Leave that to me. Once I'm married to a viscount, Papa won't care who you wed."
"Do you think?" Celia's face lit with wild hope. "Oh, Liza, that would be famous."
"Just give it time, darling. I will marry soon and then you can have your Season. You'll pretend to consider Lord Such-and-Such and Earl Fat-Calf and the marquess of Boredom and then, if Mr. Honeycut makes something of himself, you can run off to Gretna Green with him. By then I will have had an heir, and perhaps even a spare, and Papa will forget all about your egregious choice for a husband."
Celia hung on her every word, and then threw herself
112
into her sister's arms. "Oh, Liza, I love you. I just wish you could marry a man you loved, too."
Liza squeezed hard and smiled, drawing away and stroking her cheek. "It cannot be done, dearest. Now be smart about this, Celia, will you? If you aren't, you'll end up married to the earl of Bedwald."
Celia shivered, shaking from head to toe. She swallowed a vile taste. "Oh, do not say it! Have you seen him?"
Liza nodded. The earl was an enormous, gelatinous hedonist who was said to have a taste for small boys. Of course, Liza's father never believed the gossip. He was too blinded by his desire to raise his family up from the merchant class through his daughters' marriages.
"I would rather die than marry him," Celia declared with a final shudder.
"I would feel quite the same way. But we won't let that happen. Now go back to the house and act as if nothing happened here."
"Very well." Celia wiped the last of her tears and looked up, noticing Jack for the first time. He stood discreetly at a distance, though she was sure he had heard every word. She regarded Liza speculatively, wondering what her sister was about, letting this stranger have such intimate access to their family secrets. If she lived to be a hundred, Celia was quite sure she'd never understand her splendid older sister. Celia turned and walked back to the house.
CHAPTER TEN
iza watched her go and moved not at all. An owl hooted overhead, so loud and true a sound it sent a tremor down her spine and a tear down her cheek. Sometimes life was so painfully beautiful she could do naught but weep. Thank God she could still feel. How long would that last, though, once she was Barring-ton's wife?
She heard Jack's feet brushing through the grass as he came up behind her. She felt his presence. It tingled along her back. She longed to feel his embrace, to take comfort, and yet he was the one who was really to blame for Celia's indiscretion. When Jack touched Liza's arms, she stiffened and turned, stepping back to withdraw from the magnetism he exuded.
"Don't touch me," she said coldly. "Don't ever touch me again."
"Miss Cranshaw—"
"No! Don't say anything. This is your fault. Do you
114
still not know that? How can one so exquisitely intelligent and sensible as you not know that this is all your fault?"
He frowned at her rising pitch and took another step forward. "How—?"
"She saw you kiss me." Liza flung a hand in the air as if this should be obvious to even a fool. "She saw us kiss and it gave her ideas."
Jack grinned. "I doubt that very much. I'm sure Miss Celia had planned that kiss for some time."
Liza shook her head violently. "No, I unwittingly gave her permission when I allowed you to steal that bold kiss the other day. She idolizes me and saw me acting wantonly."
"You are too hard on yourself, Miss Cranshaw. The fate of your entire family does not, or at least should not, rest on your shoulders! It breaks my heart to think you will sacrifice yourself so that your father can boast a titled grandson."
Liza stood so still she could have been a statue in the moonlight. "Your heart breaks! Your heart? Was it your heart that so inspired you that night we danced eight years ago?"
He shifted his weight and folded his hands. "Was that night so terribly important to you?"
"It changed my life."
He said nothing.
She looked up and smiled bitterly. "You do not believe me. You still do not remember, do you?"
"Remember what?"
"Oh, you bloody bastard," she rasped. "Don't you remember this?"
She walked the distance to him and gripped his lapels. She tugged him down until their lips met. Her heart
115
skipped a beat. His eyes widened momentarily, then fell shut. She cradled the back of his neck and made him kiss her even deeper, longer, harder. Her tongue gently parted his lips, flickered between his teeth, and plunged into the intimacy of his being. He went rigid. His arms clutched her waist. His shaft pressed hard against her stomach.
"Oh," he groaned and bent her back, taking over, dominating as she had just dominated him. He explored her deeply, nipping her tongue with his teeth, angling his head in his quest for deeper, ever deeper. When it was over, when they finally broke off in a stalemate, he was panting hard. He stood straight and stepped back as recognition dawned. "Oh, gads, I do remember."
"How could you have forgotten?" She shook her head incredulously.
He bent an arm around his waist and rested his other elbow on it, rubbing his eyes remorsefully. "I'm sorry. There have been so many."
"And it was the only kiss I've ever had. If you'd only been somehow less imploring, less consuming of me, I might have easily forgotten it. But it was your fault. It was you who gave so much, and took so much in return, in that one blasted little kiss."
'Tell me, please forgive me, my dear, but tell me, what happened?"
She hugged herself. "It was the second week of my second Season. I knew I shouldn't dance with you, but I managed to accept your invitation in spite of my chaperon's careful scrutiny." Suddenly exhausted, she leaned her head against his chest. He put an arm around her and held her close and the memories came tumbling back so clearly it was as if it had happened yesterday.
By the time her second Season rolled around, seventeen-
116
year-old Liza had begun to feel like a true member of the beau monde. She knew precisely what sorts of gowns would attract the most attention at the balls and soirees, and she knew which of the young bloods she wanted most to dance with. She was too strong-headed and excited by glittering London to feel like a failure simply because she hadn't made a match during her first Season.
She wasn't expecting much from marriage. Simply a title, civilized conversation, and children. Good looks would be splendid, but they were not required. Her father had impressed on her the importance of marrying well. This was a duty she did not question, in large part because it meant so much to her darling Papa. To Liza, the process of picking a mate was an exciting diversion from the serenity of country life. And all had gone well until the night she first saw Jack Fairchild.
He was younger then, just as dashing and brazen, more quick to laugh, and always surrounded by the most fashionable young bloods. She saw him at the Carletons' ball. She was passing by and he looked up from his circle of friends. His riveting eyes narrowed on her, and he tipped up his chin in interest, his lips curling in a slight smile. She looked away immediately, but already she began to burn from head to toe with excitement. With one look, he had laid to waste all her plans for a tranquil execution of duty. With a seductive charisma that was impossible to define, but easy to recognize, he had drawn her into the vortex of womanly desire. The devil had tempted her, for even then he was known for his devilish exploits with forbidden women. Married women, of all things.
Later, when the dancing had begun, he distracted the earl of Hilborne's son, sending him off on a goose chase,
117
simply so he could steal the dance Liza had r
eserved for the earl's son. Then he deftly escorted her through the hubbub of dancers to the far end of the crowded dance floor, just out of sight of Aunt Patty and her friend, Mrs. Green. Liza had watched in wide-eyed wonder as it all transpired and did nothing to stop the audacious coup, for in truth there was no one with whom she would rather dance than the gorgeous Jack Fairchild. Even though she sensed he was the kind of man who could lead a young lady to ruin.
They'd been introduced the previous week at a crushing soiree so crowded one could scarcely breathe, and so he knew a little of her, but it was clear by his hungry, curious gaze that he wanted to know much more.
"My dear Miss Cranshaw," he said as he circled her with graceful dance steps, "you are the most enchanting and refreshing young belle I've seen in years."
Liza's skin felt like it was on fire. Every word, every flicker of his eyes, every brief touch of his hand on hers in the course of the dance, made her tingle with delight and a strange, fierce hunger.
"I should think you've said that before, sir," she managed to reply. "Perhaps even here tonight to another young lady."
A smile broke over his handsome face, cheeks dimpling deeply. "Oh, la, Miss Cranshaw, you pierce my heart."
"But not with Cupid's arrow, I think. I've heard all about you, sir, and know you reserve the most prodigious amounts of your charm for untouchables, like Mrs. Ver-traux."
"Mrs. Vertraux is a good friend."
"I should like to be your good friend," Liza said stupidly, then blushed to the roots of her raven curls, for
118
she'd all but invited an advance with that naively honest statement.
"Ah, but you are the one they call the Untouchable. No one is good enough for Miss Liza Cranshaw. And now I know why. You are bound to surpass everyone's expectations of you, my dear. Do not settle for less than you deserve."
He slanted her a charming grin, and she knew he meant it as a compliment. And so the dance proceeded, with him flirting and her parrying, and all too frequently revealing her raw desire for him, as she wasn't experienced enough to hide it. When the dance ended, they somehow managed to end up on the balcony. It was no accident. Liza felt him tugging her by the hand in such a way that no one could see. She followed, a warning screaming distantly in her ear. Don't follow. It is doom he leads you to. You can never have him. He will only steal and run, taking the best of you and leaving you wanting. Stop now. Go back while you can.
But her heart would not listen. She knew only that she wanted this dangerous, forbidden thing he had to offer. With her heart mumping wildly in her chest, she breathlessly followed him to the balcony and stepped behind the half-open door. They were shielded by the drapes. No one could see them. And in that dangerous, transitory privacy he'd ferreted out for them, he kissed her.
At first it was a simple kiss. One that allowed time for a slap on the face if it was to come. But she was frozen, suspended in a swirling spiral of hunger and need and fire and obsession. She had to admit to herself that she'd fallen in love at first sight the week before. Since then she'd dreamt of him, thought of him, imagined what he was like, and generally made much more of him than she
119
might otherwise have made had he not been an enchanting vision just out of reach.
When he felt no resistance, he deepened the kiss and pulled her close with a hand scandalously wrapped around her waist. He was all lean muscles and lithe limbs and firm hands. He seemed to be drawing the very life from her, and giving it back again. He was tender and demanding and arousing as he breathed her in, tongue exploring sensuously in his intoxicating kiss.
He finally drew back, very slowly, as if he could not bear to part. When her eyes fluttered open and focused on him, he was frowning, disconcerted about something.
"What a remarkable thing," he said, sounding wholly shocked.
She'd never known what he meant by that, for just then someone started to come out on the balcony. He stopped the guest from pushing the door open further, and hurried around, engaging the man in conversation. Jack looked back at her once, with a peculiar mix of longing and regret. It was understood that she should linger long enough to make it seem as if she'd been on the balcony alone.
To her knowledge, their forbidden kiss had never been discovered by anyone else. She might have escaped the incident unscathed. Except that she'd learned then just how passionate in nature she was. She felt ashamed, and didn't understand why she was that way until she'd learned of Desiree. But more than that, she felt an absolute certainty that if she couldn't have a man like Jack Fair-child, she would have no man at all.
She smiled wistfully, remembering it all in such clear, sad detail. She looked up at him in the moonlight, thinking how little he had changed since then.
"You managed to pull me out onto the balcony after
120
our dance, do you remember? When it was over, you leaned down to kiss me. It was going to be a gentle peck, wasn't it?" She studied his solemn expression. He was there again, transformed in time, remembering every heated breath, every flick of the tongue. They gazed at one another, remembering together that fateful kiss.
"Yes, I had meant it only to be a rather innocent kiss, because you were so extraordinarily unique and lovely."
"But as soon as our lips touched, we caught fire."
He smiled, remembering that smoldering interlude. "Yes. I was amazed you had that effect on me."
"On you! What about me? I'd never known a kiss could be that... violent."
"In a pleasing way," he amended.
"Of course. That was the problem. I felt utterly... transformed."
"Ruined," he said ruefully.
"Yes, but not in the way you might imagine. No one ever saw, Mr. Fairchild. My reputation survived that night."
He frowned. "But you left a few minutes later and I never saw you in Town again. At least not that Season."
"I left of my own volition. And when I came back for a third and final Season in Town, I made sure we never attended the same functions."
She reached out and touched his cheek. The skin over high bones was warm and smooth, save for the stubble of hair that felt like sand. She loved touching him. Loved having that special privilege, adored his look of being entranced by her touch, of needing her without even knowing it. How many times after that kiss had she dreamt of touching him just one more time?
"You spoiled me, Mr. Fairchild. You gave me some-
121
thing so fine, I wanted nothing less in its place."
He took her hand and kissed her gloved palm, then pressed it to his chest. "I am sorry."
"With that kiss I realized that I wanted a man like you. Handsome and kind and passionate and intelligent."
His eyes darkened with irony. "Are you sure you're not talking about another gentleman?"
Charmed by his humility, she gave a short, breathless laugh, wondering what strange convergence of stars had brought them back together. "I knew I could never have you. You'd let the world know you didn't want to marry. The gossips all said you'd be the last to succumb to marriage. You were like this strange god of love who lived by his own rules. And even if you had been so inclined to commit, my parents would never have approved. You had a scandalous reputation. And so I decided then that if I couldn't marry the sort of man I wanted, I wouldn't marry at all."
His face went blank. "No, Liza, say it's not so." He frowned and gripped her forearms. "That couldn't have happened. Not after one little kiss from me. Say it's not so."
She slipped her hand in his and smiled wryly. "Very well. It's not true."
"You're lying to please me. Damn, Liza, but how could that have happened? I scarcely knew you."
"But I knew you." She pulled away, feeling like a loon for having based such an important decision on one evening. "I know it sounds mad, but I believe the heart knows what it wants from the first moment."
She hugged herself and put more space between them, glancing up at the mo
on. "So you are to blame for this debacle. I would have been happily married long ago if
122
not for you. And Celia would never have seen me succumb to such a frivolous kiss."
"Maybe it wasn't so frivolous," he shot back with a hint of frustration.
She glared at him. "Don't. Don't pretend you feel more than you do."
He held her gaze for a long, dangerous moment, but he was the first to look away. "One kiss from me did not force you to accept an offer from a jackanapes like Barrington. I refuse to accept responsibility for that."
She smiled sadly. "Of course you are right. It is not fair of me to give you so much credit and blame. You are who you are, Jack Fairchild. I never expected more from you. I knew how little you were willing to give a woman of the things that matter most in life."
He pressed a palm to his heart, acting as if he'd been stabbed. "Shall I help you twist the knife further? You know, Miss Cranshaw, you never asked for more of me. In fact, you avoided any future contact with me."
"I was ashamed. And I was just a girl!" she shot back. "I was but seventeen. What did I know about asking things from experienced men of the world?"
Liza sighed wearily. Jack took in a deep breath and stretched his neck as he scanned the starry sky. "I must give you credit, Miss Cranshaw. I have never regretted anything in my life. But you now have me full of remorse. I was too stupid to know then what a prize you were. And I am sorry for it."
She nodded her acceptance of his apology and forced a smile. "Good. Then there just may be hope for you yet. I think we need to prepare you for marriage, Mr. Fairchild. You're long overdue. And remorse is always the first step."
123
She started walking back to the house, only the slightest limp still evident. "May I visit your office tomorrow?" she called over her shoulder, not caring whether he kept up or not. "I need to ask a favor of you regarding a legal matter."