A Most Unconventional Match (21 page)

Elizabeth might escape with her name and reputation unsullied after all.

He was watching the last bits of the page blacken into cinder when a voice taut with anger assaulted his ear. ‘My, Mr Waterman, how busy you've been.'

H
al's mood rocketed to simmering anger in the instant it took him to recognise Sir Gregory's voice. He turned to stare at the baronet who'd walked up behind him, several friends loitering in his wake.

‘Not as busy as some,' he responded tightly.

‘Have you no tact or discretion at all?' Sir Gregory demanded. ‘To have broached such a topic to…a certain lady now, while she is still so vulnerable to upset and alarm! 'Twas as unpardonably cruel as it was unnecessary.'

Hal looked down at Sir Gregory. ‘Crueller than making her object of wager? Crueller than what you intended?'

Sir Gregory made a deprecating noise. ‘You can't claim to know how she would have reacted to the…prospect, had you not ambushed her with it now, all unprepared and her emotions so unsettled. Once a widow recovers her spirits, she often finds she enjoys her independence and has little desire to remarry. For a widow in…this lady's position, virtually unknown and with limited means and standing, a discreet liaison with a well-respected
ton
gentleman could have many advan—'

Unable to tolerate another word of the baronet's self-serving justification, Hal grabbed Sir Gregory by his fashionable lapels, cutting him off. ‘Ruin reputation an advantage?' he asked savagely.

Pulling himself free, Sir Gregory smoothed his coat. ‘I marvel you have the effrontery to make such an accusation to me!
I
am not the one urging her to pursue something that would damage her position in society much more thoroughly and permanently.' He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘To become a common artist! Have you run mad?'

‘She
un
common,' Hal countered. ‘Has rare gift. Could employ it discreetly.'

‘Is that what you've been telling her?' Sir Gregory laughed scornfully. ‘You think by inspiring false hopes, she'll look kindly on you? If so, you're more bacon-brained even than I suspected! Very well, go advertise her wares to all your low-bred banker friends like some itinerant pedlar. Perhaps the lady will smile on you—for a time, until she comes to her senses, which, as a lady of breeding, she surely must. An ungainly, incoherent lump like you could never be more to such a beauty than a convenience. Like the horse that draws her carriage or the maid who kindles the fire in her room.'

The baronet's words cut deep, touching Hal's innermost fears. All the anger, uncertainty, regret and pain that had made his last days a torment expanded until he thought he must explode. That volatile tempest of emotion focused on the man before him, Hal forgot that he avoided fisticuffs, no longer cared how severely a man of his size and power could punish his opponent in the ring.

‘May be right,' he replied. ‘But never be what you intended. Someone to use her, cast her away.'

Hal exulted as Sir Gregory's face flamed.
Just say it
, he urged silently, every fibre of him raging to expand their confrontation beyond words into the physical.
Utter an insult that will justify a challenge.

Before Sir Gregory could speak, though, one of the baronet's friends interposed himself between Hal and Sir Gregory. ‘Think you've said enough, Holburn,' the man said. ‘You, too, Waterman. White's is a haven for gentleman, not a tavern for brawlers.'

Reaching over the shoulder of the baronet's protector, Hal grabbed Sir Gregory's neckcloth and jerked the man to face him. ‘Leave her alone. Or find you later, when watchdogs not on guard.' He shoved the baronet away.

His hands trembling as he attempted to repair his neckcloth, a shaken Sir Gregory ducked back behind the protective circle of his friends. Cautiously the group edged away from Hal.

Once the red haze of rage in his brain faded, he realised his own body was shaking, his hands curled into rigid fists. Only gradually, as his blood cooled, did Hal realise he should thank the level-headed man who had prevented him from assaulting the baronet. In his fury, he might easily have killed Sir Gregory and now be facing a flight to the Continent rather than a trip north.

Sadness and fatigue seeped in to take the place of the strong emotion leaching out of him. He'd return home, drink enough of the excellent brandy Nicky had sent him from France to capture sleep. Then tomorrow he'd begin finalising his plans to leave London.

Late the next morning, his head throbbing from the prodigious quantity of brandy that had been required to finally lull him into sleep, Hal sat at his desk, trying to force his aching head to concentrate on the figures the engineer had left. A sharp rap at the door made him wince.

Jeffers entered, holding out a note. ‘Ah, roses!' the valet said, sniffing the cream velum before handing over the missive. ‘Perhaps the fragrance will ease your headache better than my infallible morning-after brew!'

‘Not infallible,' Hal said acidly. ‘After two cups, still have headache.' Even so, the scent of roses made his pulse accelerate while hope, that treacherous, unruly brat, began to jump up and down in his gut.

For a moment he simply held the note in his hands, breathing in the scent that was Elizabeth, knowing without even glancing at the handwriting it must come from her. After their acrimonious parting, would it bring him good news or bad? Taking a deep breath, he broke the seal.

‘Dear Mr Waterman,' she began, ‘I sincerely beg your pardon! I now recognise that only a deep concern for my welfare prompted you to broach a matter you must have found distasteful and embarrassing. In this, as in all things, you braved censure to do what you felt necessary to protect me, just as Nicky would have. Your generosity of spirit leaves me ashamed of my own abominable behaviour.

‘Will you not let me make amends? I should be most grateful if you could call and take tea today. Sincerely yours, Elizabeth Lowery.'

Intense relief washed through him, followed by a wave of euphoria. Perhaps he'd not ruined his chances after all. It seemed she now understood that he'd been forced to speak in order to safeguard her.

In the midst of his gladness, one small voice warned that perhaps, having begun yesterday the process of distancing himself from her, it would be wiser to remain so. Savagely he stifled it.

Mayhap he would never become more to Elizabeth Lowery than a friend who'd stepped in to assist her when she'd most needed it. Just a convenience, as the baronet had taunted. At some point, longing for her, desiring her, mere friendship might become too painful to bear.

But for now, friendship meant hope. Which was a thousand times better than exile.

He realised Jeffers was still standing beside the desk, smiling. ‘Wipe smirk off face, bring another mug,' Hal said, gesturing his valet towards the door. ‘Must get through figures before head explodes. Then brush best coat. Have appointment later.'

Jeffers's grin widened. ‘Very well, sir,' he replied, backing toward the door. As the portal closed behind the valet, for the first time since he'd steeled himself to warn Elizabeth about Sir Gregory, Hal smiled.

Jittery and uncertain as he was, Hal was relieved to discover when he arrived at the Green Street town house that afternoon that David sat with his mother in the parlour, reading from a primer. The boy broke off as Sands opened the door and announced him, his face lighting up.

‘Uncle Hal! Mama's letting me drink tea with you!'

‘As long as you can behave like a young gentleman,' Elizabeth admonished.

‘Oh, I can!' he assured her as he hopped to his feet. Making Hal a creditable bow, he said, ‘We're so pleased you could join us this afternoon, Mr Waterman.'

Solemnly Hal returned his bow. ‘Delighted, sir.'

‘Good,' David said, grabbing Hal's hand and tugging him to a place on the sofa. ‘Cook made her special macaroons just for today. Have one, they're 'licious!'

Elizabeth motioned for Sands to pour the tea. After the butler bowed himself out, she handed Hal a cup, then listened, faintly smiling, as David chattered on about how much he liked macaroons, how well he was learning the stories in his new reader and Max's latest exploits.

Once or twice while her son talked, Elizabeth looked up to meet his gaze. Her cheeks pinking, her smile deepening, she held his eyes for a moment before modestly dropping her gaze back to her son.

Restored now to Elizabeth's presence after fearing she might never receive him again, it seemed as if the very air he breathed was purer, the tea more flavourful, the colours of the fire playing on the hearth more vivid. All of existence, every thought and feeling, seemed sharper, brighter, more intense because he was with her.

So grateful was he to be here with Elizabeth smiling at him, her demeanour warmly welcoming, Hal could have remained for ever on the couch while the tea grew cold and David talked himself hoarse. His senses hummed, his heart swelled in his chest like a hot air balloon being readied for ascent, merely at the pleasure of watching her.

After David had finished his cup and devoured every crumb of the macaroons, in response to a nod from his mother, he stood up. ‘Mama says I can go and play with Max now, since the grown people need to talk. Thank you, Mama, for letting me have tea with you. G'bye, Uncle Hal!'

Giving his mother a kiss and Hal another bow, with a mischievous smile, David bounded out.

The room seemed still and silent after his departure. Suddenly nervous again, Hal felt his face flush. He wanted badly to say the right thing, something that would preserve the smile on her face and the warm glow in her eyes.

‘Wanted to say—' he began.

‘I wished to tell you—' she said at the same instant before they both fell silent.

‘You first,' Hal invited.

‘Well,' she began, her cheeks colouring as she took a deep breath, ‘first let me tender you an apology. I'm afraid your suspicions about…about a certain delicate matter were entirely correct. Your courageous intervention prevented me from making a disastrous and potentially humiliating mistake.'

‘Sorry suspicions correct,' he replied, anger flaring again at the memory of Sir Gregory's duplicity. ‘Deserve better.'

‘Thank you, although you would have every right to despise me after how shabbily I treated you!'

‘Upset. Understandable.'

‘I don't know about that. I do know I shall never again doubt or question your advice.'

Gratification warm and sweet as melting butter filled him. ‘Hope advice good. Finances stabilised, anyway. Ledgers in order. Repayment begun on debt. Coin available at bank. Should do until Nicky returns.'

‘Do you mean to abandon us, then?' she asked, looking alarmed. ‘What of our discussions about my work?'

Hal wanted to tell her he'd never abandon her, that it was his greatest pleasure to listen to her voice, bask in her smile, that he'd love to advise, counsel and cherish her with all the strength he possessed for the rest of his days. But now—especially now, after she'd just gone through that unpleasantness with Sir Gregory—was not the time for a declaration.

‘Still stop by, consult. Have to train Max. And pony soon to come. What wish to do about art? Can speak with potential clients, assess interest.'

She nodded. ‘I think that would be wise. Despite your assurances, having viewed the work at the Royal Academy, I hardly feel qualified to proceed.' She sighed. ‘How I wish I might study there!'

‘Could visit rooms, sketch. Perhaps one of members give private lessons. Look into it, if like.'

‘If it would not be an imposition, I should like that very much!' Her smile turned tender. ‘You are so very kind. I can't believe I struck you! I don't know what came over me. Never would I wish to hurt you.'

To Hal's surprise, she reached over and stroked the cheek she'd slapped, as if to erase some invisible mark.

Instinctively he laid his own hand over hers, cradling it against his cheek. ‘Not hurt me. Never hurt me.'

'Twas a lie, he thought even as he spoke the words. An outrageous lie, for she'd long ago skewered his heart on the lance of her goodness and beauty. No one living had more power than she to hurt him, shrivel his soul and leave him utterly desolate.

But the ability to form thoughts slipped away as his body began to pulse from the heat of her hand against his face. As if each slender finger triggered a whaler's dart, sensation fired at their gentle touch from his cheek through his body to his loins, his chest, his toes, trailing everywhere a stinging, scalding flame.

He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. His mind, his soul, his whole being smouldered and burned for her.

Under his avid gaze her face flushed. Her chest commenced to rise and fall rapidly, her breathing growing as shallow and frantic as his own.

He stifled a groan as the image seized him…the full breasts outlined by the bodice of her gown naked, free of their stays, rubbing against his bare chest, the pink-kissed nipples pebbled with desire. Passion and adoration intertwined, each inflaming the other, expanded to fill him until he felt he must turn molten on the spot.

Hal had no idea how long they stood, he as incapable of motion as he was of speech. Finally, she gently pulled at her hand. Releasing the slight pressure he'd used to hold it against him, he caught her fingers and brought them to lips, kissing them reverently before letting go.