Let Me Be The One (14 page)

It was a scream that woke him. For a moment he imagined himself trapped in the pages of a Gothic novel, where all screams were described as bloodcurdling. Northam promised himself he was done reading the likes of
Castle Rackrent.
The scream rose again, less shrilly than before, but managed to sustain the warbling notes with all the tragic passion of an operatic lament.

Northam rose to his feet and shook out his legs. Leaning over the parapet, he was able to vaguely determine which rooms were the likely origin of the scream. He was not so foolish as to attempt to scale down the wall to the open window. Instead he left the roof and hurried down the steep spiral staircase to the main hallway. If he had not already fixed the source of the caterwauling in his own mind, it would have been easily found by the crush outside Lady Battenburn's bedchamber.

The door to her room was flung wide and guests who had been moved to investigate were pressing themselves into the opening and craning to see what manner of injury had taken place.

The baroness sat at the foot of her bed. Her heels dangled several inches above the floor, making her seem younger and more vulnerable than her earthy appearance would otherwise suggest. She was fanning herself with one hand, which had the effect of changing the pitch of her scream. The other hand was being held by her husband, who soothed and patted it in the hope it offered enough comfort for blessed silence to follow.

"It is Lady Battenburn's diamond necklace," he told the crowd gathered in the doorway. "It has been stolen."

It seemed to Northam that something more than a stolen necklace was causing Louise to scream like a banshee. How had the lady come to miss the piece of jewelry at this hour of the morning? From his position outside the circle of onlookers, Northam reached past Allen and Heathering and politely tapped Eastlyn on the shoulder. That worthy had somehow found himself near the center of the crush.

East managed to swivel his head. He grinned when he saw Northam. "Excuse me," he said to those around him. "Let me out. That's it. Lift your arm. View's better at the front." He extricated himself without too much difficulty, and the guests realigned themselves quickly."South is sleeping?" he asked Northam.

"I suppose he must be. He's not here." He again surveyed the bodies jammed in the tight circle around the doorway. "No, he's not here."

Eastlyn raked back a fallen lock of chestnut hair. His tone was admiring. "He can damn near sleep through anything."

Northam nodded and pointed to the pistol that Eastlyn was carrying. "You, on the other hand..."

Eastlyn tucked the pistol away. "I was already awake. I wanted to make an early start of it to London." He glanced back toward the door when the last notes of Lady Battenburn's scream faded away. The crowd seemed to swell slightly as they heaved a collective sigh of relief. East rolled his eyes. "I had my doubts that would ever stop."

Northam had wondered the same thing. "How soon did you arrive?"

"A minute, no more, after she first cried out. I would have been here sooner, but I got lost again. I should have been at the forefront of the charge, instead I was in the middle."

"Did you see anyone leaving her room?"

"No. Rutherford was already here. Heathering, too. Allen came from the opposite direction and we arrived almost together. Do you think the lady surprised the thief?"

"It occurs to me that was the cause of all her screaming."

Eastlyn gave his friend a considering look. "Where did you come from?"

"The roof."

There was only a fractional widening to East's eyes. "Alone?"

"Very much so."

"Lady Battenburn had one arm extended in the direction of the open window when I arrived. I thought she was merely reaching for her husband, who provided little calming influence, by the way. It suggests to me now that she may have seen the thief leave by that route."

Northam mulled this over. "Can you assist in a search without shooting anyone, most particularly me?"

One corner of Eastlyn's mouth kicked up. "I can certainly try."

"Not precisely the assurance I was looking for."

Eastlyn's grin deepened. "It's all I can promise. Am I searching for the necklace or the thief?"

"Either. Both." Northam drew East farther away from the guests as their circle began to loosen, and they milled about, contemplating their next step."Be careful. The others are bound to get underfoot."

* * *

Elizabeth Penrose stirred sleepily. Her cheek rubbed against the back of her hand in a languorous, feline movement. She murmured something, her lips parting and shaping themselves around words that could not be understood by the man standing over her. Northam knew he should step away from her bed, let himself out of her room as quietly as he had entered, but there was that unmistakable pull she exerted, and he was learning sleep did not diminish its force.

She lay on her side with the sheet and blankets tangled close by but not covering her. Her nightshift was a loose fitting batiste chemise, devoid of even the simplest ornamentation. The neckline was low and rounded and gaped slightly above the shadowed cleavage of her breasts. The hem had ridden up to her knees, and where one slim leg was extended Northam had a very nice view of a finely rounded calf and trim ankle. Her arms were bare, the chemise having only short sleeves. The fine hairs on her forearms were glazed golden by the early morning light.

When his eyes, dark at the centers now and as reflective as mirrors, reached Elizabeth's face again, he saw it was too late to beat a retreat.

Elizabeth bolted upright. As her mouth opened wider than her eyes, Northam was moved to take action. In the event she had practiced screaming in the same school that had tutored Lady Battenburn, Northam considered it the wisest course to shut her up. Because he doubted she would be receptive to a kiss, he clamped his hand across the lower part of her face and kept it there even when she managed to bite him.

He gritted his own teeth and punctuated his pain with a short grunt. It seemed to satisfy her and she let off.

To get better leverage, Northam sat down on the edge of the bed. The back of Elizabeth's head was pressed against an intricately carved walnut headboard and he suspected it was very nearly painful. Over the edge of his hand her eyes no longer expressed any surprise or fear but had narrowed accusingly and remained unblinking and steady in their regard. He eased his hold a fraction, not removing his hand but giving her space enough to tickle his palm with her breath.

"Can I count on your discretion not to scream?" he asked.

She nodded. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to call attention to his presence in her room. Her initial reaction had been predicated on primitive instincts of survival. Once she recognized Northam as her intruder, fear of the man was replaced by fear of the situation. Her voice fairly hissed. "What are you doing here? Haven't you the least sense of what is proper? My God, if you are discovered..."

"I shall hide behind the truth," he said calmly, "and hope for the best."

Elizabeth's brow puckered. Her eyes were still narrowed, but the expression was less accusing and more suspicious. "What truth is that?"

"Oh, I see," Northam said, pretending only now to comprehend the root of her concern. "You think I could not resist you, is that it? That the interlude we shared in the woods, for all that it was brief, served to whet my appetite for a larger feast?" He shook his head, letting his hand drop away completely now. It hovered a moment just inches above the curve of her breasts before dropping to rest on the bed beside her hip. "The truth, Lady Elizabeth, is that the baroness has been robbed, probably by the Gentleman Thief, and has awakened a goodly portion of her guests with more screaming than occurs in a Gothic novel."

Elizabeth blinked.

Northam took this as a good sign."East and I are making a search. There will be others in our wake, but we are the first."

"How...
heroic.
"

He ignored her sarcasm. "Yes, well, there you have it. When I opened the door to this room I had no idea that it was yours."

"Yes, but once you knew, you didn't leave."

Northam glanced around. Her bedchamber was appointed with a chaise longue near the fireplace and a secretary and chair by the window. A vanity and damask-covered stool were situated against one wall. A door he supposed led to her dressing room stood slightly ajar. A round walnut table flanked one side of her bed. It held a single book, a collection of short stories by the American writer Washington Irving, and two candlesticks. "I had to conduct a search," he said, bringing his dark glance to bear on her again.

"And have you?" There was unaccountably a small catch in her voice. "Finished conducting it, I mean?"

His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Presently."

Elizabeth could feel herself being drawn toward him as if his glance were a liquid, swirling vortex. The beautiful cobalt color of his irises was so deep a blue it was barely differentiated from the black pupils. His nose was strong, and even with the bump on the bridge it was perfect really, as perfect as his mouth, and the brilliant color of...

"Lady Elizabeth?"

She blinked again.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

That perfect mouth, set with just a hint of amusement, was homage to the greatest sculptors of the Renaissance. Elizabeth had to press her nails into her palms to think of something else besides those lips covering hers. "I want you to leave," she said.

He nodded. "In a moment. You know, if you had not been so bent on avoiding me these last days, I would not be reduced to this rather foolhardy tryst."

"This is
not
a tryst."

"A rendezvous, then."

"It is not that either."

The edge of panic in her tone made Northam put a period to his teasing. "But you have been avoiding me," he said, the merest inflection at the end making it a question.

"Yes."

He welcomed her honesty. "Why?"

"Because nothing can come of it." She shook her head and pushed at the strands of hair that fell against her temple. "No, that isn't precisely true. It is because nothing
should
come of it. You would do so much better to leave me in peace, my lord. Your life cannot be your own once it has become part of mine."

Northam frowned. Elizabeth's speech was candid but also enigmatic. He did not believe she had set out to intrigue him further; indeed, her intentions seemed to be quite the opposite, yet Northam knew himself to be responding to that pull again. "I think you are a riddle, Lady Elizabeth."

"No," she said earnestly, "I'm not. I'm exactly what you think I am: a whore."

It was not the word that shocked him, but that it came so fiercely from the lips of Elizabeth Penrose. Northam actually reared back. His spine stiffened, and for a moment he was his grandfather, all stuff and starch, sitting at the head of the dinner table delivering a lecture on what was acceptable behavior in a moral society. Each platitude carried the resonance of a commandment from God.
Thou shall not take a harlot to wive.
The old earl had never uttered that exact sentiment, but the spirit of it was with Northam now.

"Elizabeth."

He said her name in the exact tone one used when trying to encourage an unreasonable child to see reason. Elizabeth had no patience for it. His next line of attack would be to tell her that she was speaking nonsense, and Elizabeth knew she might very well hit him if provoked in that fashion. To save them both from that end, she lifted her chin and fired the first volley. "You know nothing about me save what the colonel told you and what you've gleaned on our short acquaintance. It is not enough for you to make accurate judgments. Whatever you have observed in me that speaks of good character is false. I cannot say it more plainly than that."

Northam was frowning deeply now. He absently raked his fingers through his hair, trying to make sense of what she was telling him."Why are you set on presenting yourself in such a manner?"

"Do not mistake my sincerity and believe I mean to intrigue you with this confession. I find it to be perfectly odious that I must say these things at all. There is no pleasure in it and I accept that you may well come to despise me."

"Indeed," he said dryly. "That seems to be your intent."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. You are wrong. I intend only to give you a choice. It is better that you hear the truth from me than discover I have misled you."

"And what truth is that? Do you mean to name yourself a whore again?"

"It is no more than you have thought yourself." She did not avert her eyes but watched him openly, daring him to deny it. "I do not blame you. Indeed, had you not at least considered the possibility, you could not be counted as very perceptive. Admit it, my lord, my response to your kiss surprised you."

Northam said quietly, "It rocked me back on my heels." He noticed that, if anything, she paled a bit more. She demanded answers but was not completely braced to hear them. "It does not mean I thought you a whore."

Elizabeth collected herself again. She was having none of it. "But you wondered at my experience."

"You are six and twenty. Was I wrong to assume you had been kissed before?"