Marry the Man Today (9 page)

"Excuse me, what?" Ross found himself standing over her at the bookcase, staring into her wildly smiling eyes. Surely not hearing right.

Making naked love on the beach?

Is that what the brazen woman had just said?

Naked love
?

Or was he going slightly mad with the scent of her? With the sound of her.

"I'm afraid you've lost me, madam."
Or found me.
He leaned as close to her as he dared. Taking in her scent. A little dizzy, a lot stunned.

"I only meant, my lord, that I haven't the faintest idea where Lady Wallace is at the moment. But that wherever she is, I hope she's found her heart's delight."

He still wasn't sure he'd gotten this right. Should have jotted it down for proof.

"So, Lady Wallace had no paramour who might have spirited her away? You merely plucked these plans for the South Seas out of your dreams."

"Oh, my dreams are nothing like that, sir." Her smile became wry and soft.

"Not"—
n
aked lov
e
—"escaping to a beach with a handsome lover?"

"Good heavens, no!" She drew her brows together, her eyes twinkling up at him. "I think the sand would be quite uncomfortable for lovemaking, don't you?"

"The sand?"

"Abrasive, I would imagine"

Bloody hell!

"I'd prefer a waterfall and a sun-warmed poo
l
—"

Bloody hell! He was about to do something very foolish. Kiss that bold invitation right off her glistening, upturned mouth.

Or take his leave through the window.

Or douse himself with the pitcher of water that was sitting on the sideboard.

But he was saved from certain doom by a knock at the door. A rat-a-tat-tat that seemed to shake the brazen lunatic from her enchantment.

The rap again.

"Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth. Are you in there?"

"Oh, yes! I'm coming." The woman blinked up at him, then dashed away, straightening her skirts and her hair before throwing open the door.

"Skye! What is it?"

The young woman's eyes caught his in a worry and caused a deep frown. "Wel
l
..."

The rest of the exchange was a lightning fast tangle of whispering, tight gesturing, ending with Miss Dun-away turning back to him.

"Ah, you'll have to leave now, my lord. Something's come up."

Damn right it had. Hard and throbbing. And he hoped to hell she hadn't noticed. "I can wait here, madam." Cool down.

"I'm afraid you can't. This will take some time."
 
She hooked his elbow with hers and drew him out of the room, the young woman trailing after them. "I'll be quite happy to answer any more of your questions later today or tomorrow. Just not right now."

His thoughts had slowed to mush and his head seemed to wobble drunkenly on his neck as she breezed him through the club room, into the foyer, and then right to the front door, where she offered her enthralling smile.

"Until later, my lord," she said.

"Good day, madam." He took his hat from the footman, gave Miss Dunaway and her assistant a generous bow, and left the Abigail Adams while he still had all his faculties.

At least he'd gotten a few answers out of her. The fact that Lady Wallace had been a member since April twenty-seventh, and .. . and tha
t
the missing woman didn't have a lover.

Or did.

Or
wanted to.

Damnation, he hadn't really learned a single thing for his efforts.

Except that Miss Dunaway was a cunning opponent.

And a beautiful woman.

The most dangerous combination in the history of mankind.

******************

"Where did you put her, Skye?" Elizabeth's heart was still slamming around in her chest. Still juggling the threat of Blakestone's investigation against the new crisis that had arrived on her doorstep.

"She's upstairs in your sitting room," Skye said, heading toward the back staircase. "With his lordship wandering around here so freely, I didn't think you wanted him finding her and then asking questions."

Indeed, the earl was very good at asking questions.

Very good at answering his own.

But she couldn't let him ask this one.

"Did she give her name?" Elizabeth followed on Skye's heels, terrified of what she would find this time.

"Lydia, I think she said. She was shaking so that I didn't get any more of her name than that."

"You did perfectly, Skye. As ever. Thank you, sweet."

They sped up the backstairs, down the corridor into the easterly wing of the club. Elizabeth's own quarters, her home. And so recently a refuge for the heartbroken.

Skye stayed well out of sight in the corridor as Elizabeth peered through the half-open doorway, expecting the worst and finding plenty of it.

The woman was sitting in an armchair in the pale light coming through the sheer curtains. Her back ramrod straight, her gaze fixed on the floor. She clung to her cloak with white-knuckled fingers, as though she still expected its fine cashmere to be a shield against the world.

Not wanting to violate the woman's silence or to threaten her obviously tattered nerves, Elizabeth took a single step into the room, just to let her know she wasn't alone, then waited to be invited farther in.

Her own heart throbbing against her chest, tears threatening the composure she would need to help the woman through the trauma, Elizabeth finally spoke softly.

"Lydia?"

After a very long time, the woman raised her wary, weary eyes, and Elizabeth knew the rest of her story.

The bruises were already darkening around her left eye. Shadows turning to evidence that would never be allowed to stand in a court of law against the brutal man who had done this to her.

Not when a husband had an inalienable right to his property.

She saw the plea in the once-bright young face, the hopelessness, even before she heard the harrowingly familiar words spill from Lydia's shattered soul.

"They said ..." Her tremulous pause was long and so courageous. "... you could help me. ..."

Elizabeth cleared the sob from her throat and put on her most hopeful smile.

"Oh, my dear Lydia, you've just taken the first step toward helping yourself to a new life."

And a new chance at happiness.

Just like Lady Wallace had done.

Chapter 7

Women are like tricks by sleight of hand,

Which, to admire, we should not understand.

William Congreve,
Love for
L
ove
,
16
95

“How
to Seduce Your Own Husband
W
ithout Giving Him Apoplexy' has been such a popular class, ladies," Elizabeth said from the podium of the crowded club room, "that we've added another session."

The room erupted into applause at her announcement, and Eloise Barnes waggled her hand in the air. "Beginning when?"

"Please, Miss Elizabeth, the sooner the better!" Bonita Deverel said in an unusual burst of eagerness. "From what I've heard from a few of the other ladies who have actually taken the class, wel
l
... it's rather eye-opening. Even for a woman who's been married a long time."

"Especially
for a woman who's been married a long time, Mrs. Deverel!" Lady Maxton was quick with her usual wit, always so elegant and poised.

Elizabeth smiled at the woman and pointed to the calendar propped against the easel. "The new session will start two weeks from today, and will run for the following three Mondays, seven to eight in the evening."

"And what of the Abigail Adams Tatting Consortium?" Renata Garrison asked from her familiar perch in the most comfortable chair in the room. "Will we still meet on Mondays at eight as well?"

"Absolutely, Mrs. Garrison." Another program that was becoming increasingly popular.

"That's a relief," Vita Sa
ye
rs said with an air of keen conspiracy, "because though my dear husband is in full support of me tatting away one night a week, he just wouldn't understand that I've actually been learning the secrets of investing funds from my new bank account on the open exchange."

Eloise laughed broadly. "Imagine my Harold, a banker! He'd surely burst a vein in his neck if he ever found out that I've been putting aside money every week in my own secret account. And that it's not even in his bank."

Using Barnes's bank to house Eloise's account would have been foolhardy in the extreme.

"He'd do worse than that, Mrs. Barnes," Justine Knox said, "if the poor man learned that we'd been making fifteen percent on our money. All thanks to Elizabeth's guidance."

"No, no, ladies!" Elizabeth shook her head fiercely. The point here was independent thought. Taking credit for one's personal successes. "You mean thanks to the research you've all been doing into our target companies."

Who knew that the ladies of the Abigail Adams Tatting Consortium would set out upon London's financial district like a band of highly trained detectives and bring back such pertinent trading information as cotton embargos, coal futures, shipping contracts?

"You taught us the ropes, Miss Elizabeth."

Making her feel suddenly like a Fagin with her wily band of pickpockets.

"Speaking of an abundance of profits," Elizabeth said, purposely changing the subject, "I don't need to remind you of how important it is for all of us to attend Lady Maxton's Charity Ball at the end of the month, and to be conspicuously generous to her dear orphans."

"And if I might add something else about the ball, Miss Elizabeth," Lady Maxton said, rising from her chair to fully face the rest of the meeting, a bright twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Something I've been hatching in my brain ..."

"Of course, my lady." Though Elizabeth hadn't a clue what the woman was going to add.

"Well, then, I've been wondering what could be done to increase the charitable giving during the ball. Something besides the fabulous Turkish theme we've chosen. Something exciting that could happen during the dancing, or before, or after. Something possibly even scandalous!"

The rumble that tittered through the group was one of approval and anticipation. The complete opposite of the way the same group would have reacted to the same statement just three months ago.

"What kind of scandal are you thinking of, Lady Maxton?" Elizabeth asked the question because she was vastly curious and the others were still whispering to each other, speculating on their own.

"Just a hint of scandal, really." Lady Maxton rolled her eyes at Elizabeth. "I was thinking of an auction."

"Auction of what?" Elizabeth asked, wondering how an auction could ever be considered scandalous.

Mrs. Garrison snorted. "Racehorses would grab my Anderson's attention."

"Do you mean like paintings or sculptures, Lady Maxton?"

"Opera tickets?"

"Men," Lady Maxton said finally, letting the word drop onto the carpet.

The room went utterly silent for a very long time.

"Did you say 'men,' Lady Maxton?" Elizabeth f
i
nally asked, though she was sure that's what she heard.

"Bachelors, really. Wouldn't that be just the best kind of fun? Bidding on a chance to be escorted to the theatre by one of our eligible swains."

More silence, and then someone said, "For unmarried women only, surely, Lady Maxton."

"Married ladies as well. I don't see why not. It would all be perfectly aboveboard, chaperoned by the husband, of course, and in public. And all for a good cause."

"Isn't it a little bit indecent? I mean, what if the authorities make a raid on your house right in the middle of
the ball?"

"Let them try, Mrs. Barnes." A twinkle lit up Lady Maxton's eyes. "I mean, what better publicity for our charity ball, to have Scotland Yard troop into our ballroom, handcuff us all, and drag us off in a paddy wagon like they did to us two days ago? And who wouldn't bid a thousand pounds to sit beside the Earl of Blakestone in a darkened theatre box?"

Blakestone! Ha! I wouldn't give a fig for a whole week with the lout!

But that didn't seem to be the opinion of the other women.

"Two thousand for the man, Lady Maxton!"

"Three!"

Then they were all laughing with anticipation.

"So there you see, ladies!" Lady Maxton said, obviously pleased with herself and her lunatic idea. "We could make bundles of money for the orphanage."

"Isn't that in poor taste, though?" Elizabeth asked, telling herself that she had no reason at all to be blushing like she was. "I mean, isn't our primary intention to present ourselves as independent of men?"