“Oh, darling. It’s only that I know you so well, and,” she added, lowering her voice, “I know what you’re about. I saw your quarry not five minutes ago.”
“You did?” Eliza’s heart gave an unequivocal thud in her chest. She’d barely slept a wink since that evening at Astley’s. She could still feel the heat of Nic’s body, the rasp of coarse hair beneath her cheek, still hear the frantic beating that told her he was as defenceless and held in thrall by whatever it was between them as she was.
Vivien nodded and gave her a naughty wink. “I’ll get Ash to chaperone us.”
Eliza waited whilst Vivien got her twin’s attention. Ash did not look thrilled at being dragged away from the group of young men he’d been chatting with, but he greeted Eliza amiably.
“Afternoon, Eliza. Shall we take a turn about the fair?”
“Thank you, Ash. You are good to play chaperone,” Eliza said, taking his other arm.
“You mean I am good to be a hopeless, hapless chaperone who notices nothing?”
His sister elbowed him.
Ash grunted. “Stop that. You are so dashed violent, Viv. I’m black and blue. You know, Eliza, she is forever bashing me about. And really, you cannot believe me so bottle-headed as not to notice you two are up to something?”
“Well, we can believe it, I assure you,” Viv said placidly. “But it seems you have figured us out this time. Just don’t interfere, brother dear. I have it all in hand.”
“That’s what worries me,” Ash muttered.
“Take us to the Aunt Sally, please.” Vivien pointed imperiously over the far side of the fair. “I want to try my hand.”
Ash guided them through the crowd. This new event, arranged by the mayor of Henley, was a huge success and very well attended. There were dozens of stalls, selling wares of all varieties and many, like the Aunt Sally, where you could win a prize if you had the skills — or if the play wasn’t so badly rigged that it was impossible. The place was thronged with people and there was much excitement over the boat race to come. The strolling players and stilt walkers in particular took Eliza’s attention. She wondered what other circus acts might be here, and if Nic knew any of them.
The Aunt Sally stall was always popular, and they had to wait in line for a while before Viv could take her turn. The Aunt Sally was a crudely wrought woman’s head, with a pipe sticking out of her mouth. The players had to throw quite heavy wooden sticks at the Sally, which was a fair distance away and either knock the pipe out of her mouth or break it. Eliza, who was not in the mood for playing games of this nature, fidgeted.
“Dearest, we cannot just stroll up to him as if he was our only objective,” Viv remonstrated, noticing her distraction. “We are having a lovely time and will bump into him, quite by accident.”
Eliza sighed at Vivien’s firm tone but did not protest. For a start, she did not know quite how to proceed when she saw him. Despite her bold words to him she was not entirely confident she could manage Nic, not when he was being his usual gruff and difficult self. Flirting with him was one thing, getting him to believe she was not toying with him quite another. Since her accident, Eliza had sworn to be honest with herself from now on and not to shy away from the things she felt, or from what she wanted, no matter if it was hard to accept. Somehow, she had to make Nic see it was him she wanted, and she would not be shy about it, no matter how exposed that made her feel.
She had come to realise that her understanding with Cassius had been a shield that she’d used to keep herself safe, so she need not put herself in a vulnerable position. She’d never needed to go to the bother of revealing her true self to a man she thought might be a good husband because she had one safely tucked away in her pocket, awaiting the day when she was ready to marry him. Though she had missed Cassius while he’d been gone, it was not at all the same as the way she missed Nic, a man she barely knew. The time she had spent with Nic was like something precious and shimmering, a glittering moment in time. Every second spent away from him was grey and dull, and she ached to see him again. Her life was becoming like the strands of a necklace, one shiny, priceless diamond of time desperately awaiting another to join it and complete the set.
All at once she felt very foolish, and rather guilty for having never realised what love and desire really were… and for having just assumed she would be happy with a man who had been like a brother to her. Cassius had never asked her to marry him. Indeed, when she thought about it now, she realised he had never spoken of their future at all. She had just… assumed. He had not protested, that was true, but then they had fallen into the trap together. Too young and happy to realise marriage was far too different a prospect from friendship. When his family had insisted he take a couple of years to go travelling and see the world, she had not protested in the least. She had been happy for him. If she were quite honest, she’d been relieved. She had not felt a jot of jealousy over the fact he might have love affairs whilst he’d been apart from her. The idea that Nic might go away and fall in love with someone else made her want to retch or throw things.
Possibly both.
“Oh, good shot, Viv! That was a close one.”
Eliza dragged her attention back to the Aunt Sally and to Vivien, who was picking up her next stick. As with most things in life, Viv did nothing by halves. She glared at the Aunt Sally as if the wooden head had done something to personally offend her and then lanced the stick with a huff of effort. The surrounding ladies, waiting to watch their men folk play, gasped and muttered, but Viv didn’t give a hoot for such things. She lived life to the full and, if she wanted to win, by God, she’d give it everything… and Vivien always wanted to win.
The fourth stick smashed the pipe out of the Aunt Sally’s mouth and Viv gave a little squeal of triumph. The owner of the stall gave her a resigned smile and asked her to take her pick of the prizes. Viv chose a garishly dressed doll with a painted wooden head and an expression of permanent surprise, clutching it to her chest with all the glee of a small girl. Ash gave her an affectionate glance, shaking his head.
“Satisfied now?” he asked.
Viv’s eyes glittered.
“As if,” she said tartly, but grinned all the same.
“Remind me never to make you angry enough to throw things,” Ash remarked, offering them an arm each. “Where to now, then? I assume that poor Aunt Sally did nothing to offend you and we are in hunt of something entirely different in this part of the fair.”
“You have a suspicious mind, Ashton,” Vivien said, the picture of innocence.
“I’m your twin, of course I do. We are two peas in a pod, and I know what you’re capable of. It’s enough to give me nightmares, I assure you.”
Vivien huffed but did not contradict him. Instead, she halted and looked directly at Eliza. “Do you trust me?”
Eliza stopped and stood frowning at her. “Yes, of course, I do.”
Vivien nodded. “Then do exactly as I say.”
“I… er… very well.”
“Take two steps backwards.”
“Wha—?”
“Now!” Vivien said sharply.
Too surprised by the force in the command, Eliza did as she was asked, and gave a squeak of alarm as she hit something hard and stumbled. Strong arms went around her, steadying her, and the alarming sensation of falling was instantly replaced by one of perfect safety.
“Nic.”
She breathed rather than spoke his name and saw the answering flare of heat in his dark eyes.
“Well, Lady Elizabeth, what a surprise to see you here, and how fortunate for my brother to have you fall into his arms. It is his lucky day, it appears.”
Louis César was as elegant, urbane, and exquisitely beautiful as ever, and in no way betrayed the fact that he had helped her manoeuvre his brother into being here. Eliza blushed all the same, discomforted to know that the comte knew of her feelings for Nic. Still, his letter had been kind, and she had always liked him and enjoyed his company. She just didn
’t want to marry him. He did not wish to marry her either, it appeared. Not that she was surprised. He had been attentive, and his interest was flattering, but he did not appear to be a man with a passionate desire to be alone with her. Flirting might not have come naturally to Eliza, but she was not so dim-witted as to not have at least a suspicion that a man may want her position in society and her dowry rather than her heart. She didn’t blame him for it either. That was life, for all of them. For most of their kind, marriage was an exchange: beauty for money, respectability for desire, security for ownership.
Nic had let her go and stepped away the moment she was on her feet again. Now he stood, glowering and uncomfortable as everyone else conversed easily together. Her heart ached. She wanted to go to him and tell him to stop worrying, to just let them spend some time together and see where it led them, but he would never let it be that simple. Though she did not know him well, she knew enough to understand he was an honourable man, and that his pride was easily hurt. Eliza wondered what life had been like for him being the bastard brother. Not that he seemed to resent Louis. Quite the opposite. For all the talk and speculation about who they were, where they had come from and whether Louis César was good ton, one thing was not in question. The brothers were inseparable. Hurt one, and the other would take you apart.
Louis was watching her. She could sense his eyes upon her, though he was conversing animatedly with Ash and Viv. He turned away now as they had, by unspoken arrangement, begun walking again, away from her and Nic, giving them privacy. Eliza smiled at Louis as he went, hoping that he understood her gratitude in helping her see his brother again… though it only helped them to be at the same event. Getting the devil to talk to her was another matter. She turned back to Nic to see him studying her intently, a frown between his heavy eyebrows. It occurred to her then that he’d seen the way she’d smiled at Louis and may have misconstrued it.
“Will you walk with me?” she asked him.
He frowned, but fell into step all the same, following a little way behind the others. Silence stretched between them until Eliza decided she must spell it out once again.
“Nic, I will not marry Louis César. Under no circumstances. So do stop glowering at me.”
He glowered a bit more and then huffed, looking away.
“You ought to address me as Mr Demarteau,” he said gruffly. “If anyone hears, you’ll start them talking.”
“Oui, monsieur,” Eliza said, her tone low.
To her delight his mouth curved up at one corner, barely a smile, but it was there, no matter how ruthlessly he’d tried to stop it.
“You don’t like my French?” she asked. “I’m told I speak very well.”
“I’m sure you are told you do all things very well,” he retorted, with a trace of bitterness. Eliza’s eyebrows went up and Nic cursed, shaking his head. “Forgive me, I did not mean… I am…”
He clamped his mouth shut and she could sense his frustration, the tension in his big body rolling off him in waves.
“Just speak to me. Please,” Eliza said, reaching out to him but stopping in mid-air, suspended, a silent plea for him to relax and be himself. She wanted to take his arm as Vivien had taken Louis César’s but Nic was all prickles, and she did not feel able to.
“Your French is… beguiling,” he said after a long moment.
“Oh.” Pleasure warmed Eliza to her toes, the compliment more than she had expected or hoped for. “It is?”
He nodded. “I like the way you say my name.”
“Monsieur Demarteau.”
To her astonishment, a tinge of colour became visible high on his cheeks and he turned away from her again.
“You’ll make a damned fool of me yet, Eliza,” he muttered.
“I would never—” she began, but he turned back to her, his eyes hard and angry.
“Wouldn’t you? Can you promise you will never grow tired of me, that the novelty won’t wear off? Would it amuse you to have me at your beck and call, on my knees for you? Or will you come to despise me for needing you so badly?”
Eliza gasped, bewildered by his anger. “No! No, I would never…! Is… Is that what you think of me?”
His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin.
“You think I would toy with your affections?” Eliza could not disguise the hurt in her voice any more than he could the regret she saw in his eyes for causing it.
“Not purposely,” he said, gentler now. “But you don’t understand what you are doing, what you are putting at risk. You don’t understand what shame feels like, for the world has always put you on a pedestal.”
“So not a cold-hearted seductress, only a proud fool,” she said angrily. “Thank you so much.”
Damn him, the pig-headed oaf! Too irritated to be sensible, Eliza walked away. She neither knew nor cared where she was going, only that she would hit him or kiss him if this carried on, and she could do neither in public.
Eliza had never allowed herself the luxury of losing her temper before. She had always tamped those feelings down. Allowing them full reign was somewhat… liberating. Perhaps she ought to go back to the Aunt Sally and throw some sticks to vent her feelings. She could pretend the big wooden head was his thick one. Or perhaps she could throw them at him and have done with it.
“Lady Elizabeth!”
She heard his voice but ignored him. If he was worried, he could blasted well follow her. Perhaps if she could get him alone for a moment, she could talk some sense into him. Eliza hurried on, weaving through the outskirts of the fair on the far side of the river where carts and tents for those stallholders who’d travelled miles for this event made an untidy and ramshackle village of impromptu dwellings.
“Lady Elizabeth! Will you… Damn you, Eliza, stop!”
A large hand grasped her arm, and she spun around to confront him. “What is it, sir? Have you thought of another way you wish to insult me?”
Nic stared at her, his face the picture of consternation. Then he muttered a word in French she had never heard before in her life but suspected was not the least bit polite…and kissed her.
Eliza sighed with relief as he pulled her close and melted into him. All the tension and irritation she had felt just moments before simply dissolved in the rightness of being here, in his arms. She might have known it wouldn’t last.
“Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed, practically leaping away from her, and staring about them in horror. “You make me…complètement fou!”
Eliza smiled indulgently at him. “I know, my darling. You make me quite ridiculously muddle-headed, too.”
“I must be out of my damn mind! Anyone could have seen us,” he hissed, looking anxiously around them. “You’d be ruined.”
“Yes. Then you’d be stuck with me. How awful,” she said with a heavy sigh and a great deal of sarcasm.
He glowered at her, which she was fairly certain was his natural expression. She needed to do something about that.
“It would be. You’re just too—”
“Stupid to realise? Yes, I am aware of your opinion of my intelligence. You have illustrated it perfectly already, I thank you,” she said dryly.
He rolled his eyes to the heavens. “That is not what I meant at all. I have the greatest respect for your intelligence. The trouble is your judgement is clouded by—”
“By what, Nic? Desire? Love? Yes, quite possibly. What shall I do about that?”
“Run,” he said savagely.
“No.” Her reply was unequivocal. “I have spent too long hiding from my own nature, afraid of revealing the things I want for fear I might be ridiculed or thought less than perfect. I won’t do it any longer.”
Nic snorted, a derisive sound she did not care for one bit. “Then you will end just as you feared, ridiculed for having sunk so far beneath your station you’ll never see the sun again.”
“Poppycock. Some may well ridicule and scorn me. The thing is, I realise now the people who make up that some are the ones I�
�ve forced myself to be polite to. They are the ones who are rude and obnoxious and pompous, and I have allowed them to get away with it for the sake of propriety and good manners. Well—” She snapped her fingers. “—that for propriety and good manners! From now on, I am resolved to speak my mind and ask for what I want.”
She stared at him, a look that could not be misinterpreted. She wanted him, and by God she would have him… if he was of the same mind.
Nic rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired and wretched.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
“Only that you give me a chance,” she said at once, hope daring to spark to life in her chest. “That you give us a chance.”
He took a deep breath and let it out again. “I cannot court you in public. At least not until you are certain. For one, your father would hunt me down if he knew.”
Eliza shook her head. “I think you underestimate Papa.”
“I think you do too,” he muttered.
“He won’t be pleased,” Eliza admitted, acknowledging to herself that this was an understatement of some magnitude. “But he won’t have you knocked on the head and thrown in the Thames, if that’s what is worrying you.”
“How reassuring.”
She grinned, and he huffed, shaking his head.
“Leave me alone, Eliza.”
“What? But—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “For two weeks. Leave me alone, get on with your life. Put me to one side. Meet people and have fun. Remind yourself of everything you stand to turn your back on if you choose wrong, and your friends decide being with me makes you an object of pity and ridicule.”
“And after that?”
“And after that, if you are still not recovered from your blow to the head—”
Eliza held her breath.
“—perhaps we could… spend a little time together. Not alone, but perhaps with Louis César and your friends to chaperone, if they are agreeable. I assume that outrageous chit, Miss Anson, is aware of your folly, and her brother has more hair than wit, so I suppose they will help you,” he added gloomily.
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 9