Marry the Man Today (29 page)

"Pay them no mind, Elizabeth." Her husband's unexpected whisper of support caught her right in the heart, right where she was the most vulnerable to him.

"I would especially like to thank Miss Elizabeth Dunaway, the owner of the Adams, for her inventive ideas for making this charity event one that will be remembered for years and years to come."

"We'll have to tell them we're married, sooner or later, wife," he whispered against her temple in the wake of the applause.

"I guess later, Ross."

"Miss Dunaway, if you could come up."

Well, here goes!

But before she could step safely away from her husband, he slipped his hand through her elbow and pulled her back against his chest. "What's this about, Elizabeth?"

Fearful of his wife's inventive ideas, Ross made sure he was looking directly into her eyes when she answered.

But she tilted her head up to him with one of her devastating smiles and whispered back, "You'll see, husband."

"That's what I'm afraid of." But he let her go anyway, trusting in her sense of fair play, in her common sense, and watched her wade through the admiring crowd.

"Don't be shy, Miss Dunaway!" Lady Maxton was beckoning with a finger. "Come on up, dear. Please, let her through. That's it."

His wife mounted the three short steps onto the dais, drawing a murmur of admiration from the crowd. Only making him more impatient for her. He pulled out his pocket watch for the umpteenth time.

Eleven-fifteen. And counting.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," Lady Maxton continued, "as each of you can see for yourselves, the members of the Abigail Adams chose as our theme tonight 'A Thousand and One Arabian Nights,' in honor of our beleaguered Turkish brethren."

A highly political cheer rose up in the room, followed by a few huzzahs tossed in for good measure.

From all but the Russian contingent, which stood in a sullen knot at the rear of the room.

All things Turkish might be a popular theme in the press these days, but pro-Turkish sentiment was quickly becoming a flash point among the diplomatic corp.

Yet, he doubted that Lady Maxton or the ladies of the Abigail Adams had an international political motive for their mischief.

But mischief it was bound to be. He could tell by the twinkle in his wife's eyes and the looks she was exchanging with Lady Maxton as she turned her back to the crowd to work at something at the front of her waist.

"And what, ladies and gentlemen," Lady Maxton called out like a festival barker, "could be more Turkish than ... a harem full of lovely ladies. As Miss Dunaway will demonstrate ..."

Good Lord, no! She wasn'
t
—

But his suspicions lagged way behind reality. He watched helplessly as Elizabeth turned back around to face the crowd, at the same time dropping the skirt from her waist and smiling that jaunty, self-assured smile.

The crowd gasped.

Ross gulped. Christ, look at those legs! Long and lithe and shapely beneath the erotic draping of satiny silk.

And now everyone else in London knew it too.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Lady Maxton shouted over the growing tumult. "Turkish trousers!"

And there went Lady Maxton herself. A few years his wife's senior, but showing a pair of legs that would do any husband proud.

Other women among the crowd on the dance floor began discarding their skirts with a flourish and revealing silk-trousered legs by the dozens.

The spectators parted with a collective gasp, leaving the happily scandalous women standing in the center of the uproar, preening.

And his magnificent wife standing at the dais, stripping him of his will, taking his breath away.

Elizabeth hadn't known what to expect of her opinionated bridegroom. She'd kept her eyes on him through it all, had easily found his gaze when she revealed her trousers, hoping he wouldn't be too scandalized, too angry.

She still couldn't read him as he stood stock-still, staring at her across the heads of the crowd.

It's all for a good cause, husband. Lost children, unloved children, frightened children.

You were one of them once.

And still he stared, and then frowned more deeply when Lady Maxton waved her arms and slowly quieted the crowd.

At least they hadn't rioted. Perhaps they were spellbound.

Or paralyzed.

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to speak, and she seemed to have every eye. She swallowed hard.

"We've auctioned bachelors tonight. And
s
old tickets to a lottery. Lady Maxton has resorted to outright blackmail in some cases."

They laughed, their wallets nearly empty.

"But now, gentlemen, it's your turn." The men in the crowd took a few steps closer as though they were indeed interested; Ross took a dozen steps toward her, still frowning.

She hurried on while she still had their attention.

"For the rest of the night, whenever you partner with a member of our delightful harem in a dance, you'll be asked to make a generous donation for the opportunity."

They began to grumble and bluster; Ross looked ready to spring.

"And, to make your giving as simple as possible, my lords, the footmen will come around as you're dancing to accept your contributions."

And instead of letting the momentum die on the vine, or turn into a complete imbroglio, Elizabeth clapped her hands together twice then motioned to the band to begin.

Then complete pandemonium erupted below the dais.

"That went quite well, Miss Elizabeth!" Lady Maxton gave her a hug as Elizabeth watched the dance floor churn with confusion below. "Just as I knew it would."

"Unless they take us off to jail."

"Not to worry, my dear. It's all for such a good cause, it can't fail."

"And speaking of good causes, do you know whether Lord Stopes is married or engaged?"

A quick frown quirked the lady's mouth. "Recently engaged to a very wealthy young heiress. Why?"

Elizabeth stepped closer. "He's a monster, isn't he?"

"A profligate of the first order. I was forced to invite him; her uncle is my husband's first cousin. If he's been bothering you, I'l
l
—"

"He hasn't." Wouldn't stand a chance with her husband. She'd never felt quite so well protected as she did with Ross in her life. "It's just that I saw him berating a young woma
n
—"

"Doubtless his fiancée, a Miss Preston. Damn the man."

"Perhaps Miss Preston needs to join us at the Abigail Adams?"

And Lady Maxton was just the sort of revolutionary to join up with her in her most underground operations.

"An excellent idea, my dear, I'll sponsor her myself."

"Thank you."
And woe betide any fool who tried to get in their way.

Lady Maxton planted a kiss on her forehead. "Now you'd best go claim a dance from that handsome Earl of Blakestone, else he's liable to start a brawl over you."

Or lock her up and toss the key into the Thames if he ever discovers the growing depths of her conspiracies. "A very good idea." She could see him waiting at the base of the dais, blocking the stairs.

"Better yet, my dear," the woman whispered, with a lift of her brow, "marry the man."

Elizabeth smiled and whispered back, "I already did."

Lady Maxton's approving laughter followed her to the top of the stairs. To the sight of her husband's stubborn face.

He tapped the crystal of his watch with the teasing scowl of an impassioned lover. "It's nearly midnight, madam."

And he still wanted her, wasn't shocked beyond speech. "But, sir, I'm wanted here in the seraglio."

"You're wanted in my bed, wife," he said from between his teeth.

Heavens, he was a joy to tantalize. And she might as well play out her fantasies with him for as long as she could.

For there were so many dangers ahead of them.

"But, husband, just think of the money I can make for the children."

He sighed with great drama and whipped out his wallet for the third time tonight. "How much?"

"For what?"

"If I danced with just you the rest of the night, how many dances would that be?"

"From midnight until the wee hours ... I'd say eight, maybe ten dances. In fact, make it twelve, my lord, just to be on the safe side."

"Then I've just bought out your dance card."

"Excellent, sir. At a shilling a dance, that's twelve shillings. But perhaps you ought to just make it twenty; an even pound. Per dance. A crisp twenty-pound note ought to do nicely."

"Blackmail, madam, pure and simple." Her delightfully impatient husband handed her down off the dais, a smile lurking inside him somewhere.

"As they say, Ross, charity begins at home."

"Then consider me a man in dire need of your charity." He pulled a twenty pound note out of his wallet, caught a passing footman then tossed the note into the man's brass pot. "Come, wife, before I haul you over my shoulder and carry you home. You've caused enough scandal for one night."

"If you think so, Lord Blakestone!" Elizabeth held fast to her husband's hand as he steamed with her out of the ballroom and into the gravel drive up.

What a grand difference twenty-four hours could make. Last night she had fought the arrogant man every step of the way, from her jail cell, into a forced wedding, right into a loathsome marriage.

But tonight she was snuggled against him in the circle of his arms, wrapped in his coat, eagerly waiting for their enchanted carriage to speed her off to their marriage bed.

However fleeting that peaceful happiness might be.

Fortunately, their carriage pulled up a moment later, but as Ross handed her up the steps, she could see something moving in the darkness of the cab.

"Is there someone there?" She stopped at the top step and peered into the shifting shadows, wondering if she was getting into the wrong vehicle. "Excuse me, please, bu
t
—"

"Shhhhhhh!"
came the hissing noise from inside.

Then someone grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forward into the carriage. The door slammed behind her, plunging her into darkness as the carriage jerked forward.

She flew to the rear window in time to see Ross ambushed by two men. "Ross!"

"It's all right, Elizabeth! It's us!"

She made a grab for the door latch, ready to fling herself out of the carriage, but stopped short when she recognized the laughing voices.

"Kate?" Her pulse was pounding against her eardrums, her limbs as loose as a rag doll's.

"And me! Caro!" The princess was peering at her from the opposite seat, obviously pleased with herself and her confederate.

"Dear Lord!" Elizabeth collapsed back against the seat. "You nearly frightened me to death!"

"Oh, dear, we didn't mean to." A match flared in Kate's hand, lighting her impish, unrepentant smile. "But we decided that the bride and groom should have a proper send-off after all."

"Good heavens! What did you do with Ross?" The man was going to be seething.

"We left him to Jared and Drew." Caro lifted the glass for Kate to light the candle in the carriage lamp. "He'll be fine."

"He'll be furious."

They giggled like a couple of schoolgirls. "Perfect!"

"That's what he gets for not telling us you were going to be married." Kate scooted forward on the seat and tucked a few curls behind Elizabeth's ear. "The man's always been a bit preemptive."

Elizabeth couldn't let them keep thinking that Ross was to blame. The fault had been hers entirely.

"But the timing wasn't his doing at all," she said. "He had no idea that I would actually marry him until five minutes before it happened."

"Kept him guessing, did you?" Caro scooted in beside her. "Excellent. Very romantic."

"And just like a man," Kate said, suddenly fanning herself and leaning back against the seat. "Couldn't plan their way out of a pasteboard box."

"It wasn't exactly that way." Confession was good for the soul. The basis of a growing friendship. "You see, I either had to marry Ross or spend the next twelve years in jail."

The two women froze, mouths open, but absolutely silent. Giving her the horrid feeling that she had disappointed them beyond repair.

"Oh, Elizabeth," Caro finally said, gathering up her hands between her own, "you are simply one of us."

"I am?" That seemed a very good thing.

"We can spot them a mile away." Kate handed down three lap blankets. "Now just settle back and tell us all about your romance with Ross. Every gory detail."

Caro snugged herself back into the corner of the seat. "We've got plenty of time."

Her head swimming with confusion, she peered out the window into a softening landscape of trees and fields. "You mean you're not taking me back to the Huntsman?"