Almost Heaven Part 6

Startled, musical laughter erupted from her before she could stop it. "You did nothing of the sort," she chuckled. "Besides, if you wouldn't duel with Lord Everly when he called you a cheat, you certainly wouldn't harm poor Lord Howard merely for touching my arm." "Wouldn't I?" he asked softly. "Those are two very different issues."

Not for the first time, Elizabeth found herself at a loss to understand him. Suddenly his presence was vaguely threatening again; whenever he stopped playing the amusing" gallant he became a dark, mysterious stranger. Raking her hair off her forehead, she glanced out the window. "It must be after three already. I really must leave." She surged to her feet, smoothing her skirts. "Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I don't know why I remained. I shouldn't have, but I am glad I did. . . ."

She ran out of words and watched in wary alarm as he stood up. "Don't you?" he asked softly.

"Don't I what?" "Know why you're still here with me?" "I don't even know who you are?" she cried. "I know about places you've been, but not your family, your people. I know you gamble great sums of money at cards, and I disapprove of that."

"I also gamble great sums of money on ships and cargo will that improve my character in your eyes?"

"And I know," she continued desperately, watching his gaze turn warm and sensual, "I absolutely know you make me excessively uneasy when you look at me the way you're doing now."

"Elizabeth," he said in a tone of tender finality, "you're here because we're already half in love with each other."

"Whaaat?" she gasped. "And as to needing to know who I am, that's very simple to answer." His hand lifted, grazing her pale cheek, then smoothing backward, cupping her head. Gently he explained, "I am the man you're going to marry."

"Oh, my G.o.d!"

"I think it's too late to start praying," he teased huskily.

"You-you must be mad." she said. her voice quavering. "My thoughts exactly," he whispered. and, bending his head, he pressed his lips to her forehead. drawing her against his chest, holding her as if he knew she would struggle if he tried to do more than that. "You were not in my plans, Miss Cameron."

"Oh, please," Elizabeth implored helplessly, "don't do this to me. I don't understand any of this. I don't know what you want."

"I want you." He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to meet his steady gaze as he quietly added. "And you want me."

Elizabeth's entire body started to tremble as his lips began descending to hers. and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him. "A gently bred Englishwoman," she shakily quoted Lucinda's lecture. "feels nothing stronger than affection. We do not fall in love."

His warm lips covered hers. "I'm a Scot," he murmured huskily. "We do."

"A Scot!" she uttered when he lifted his mouth from hers. He laughed at her appalled expression. "I said 'Scot,' not 'ax murderer'." A Scot who was a gambler to boot! Havenhurst would land on the auction block, the servants turned off, and the world would fall apart. "I cannot, cannot marry you."

"Yes, Elizabeth," he whispered as his lips trailed a hot path over her cheek to her ear, "you can."

His lips brushed back and forth across her ear, then his tongue touched the lobe and began delicately tracing each curve, slowly probing each crevice, until Elizabeth shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response, his arm tightened, supporting her, while his tongue plunged boldly into her ear. His hand curved round her nape, sensually stroking it, and he began trailing scorching kisses down her neck to her shoulder. His warm breath stirred her hair and his whisper was achingly gentle as his mouth began retracing its stirring path to her ear again. "Don't be afraid, I'll stop whenever you tell me to."

Imprisoned by his protective embrace, rea.s.sured by his promise, and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, Elizabeth clung to him, sliding slowly into a dark abyss of desire where he was deliberately sending them both.

He dragged his mouth roughly across her cheek, and when his lips touched the comer of hers, Elizabeth helplessly turned her head to fully receive his kiss. The sweet offering of her mouth wrung a half-groan, half-laugh from him, and his lips seized hers in a kiss of melting hunger that deepened to scorching demand.

Suddenly, Elizabeth was being lifted and lowered onto his lap, then shifted down onto the sofa, his mouth locked fiercely to hers as he leaned over her. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part, and then insisting. The moment they yielded, his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking and caressing. Her body jerked convulsively with the primitive sensations jarring through her entire nerve stream, and Elizabeth surrendered mindlessly to the stormy splendor of the pagan kiss. Her hands shifted restlessly over his heavily muscled shoulders and forearms, her lips moving against his with increasing abandon as she fed his hunger and unwittingly increased it.

When he finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, their breaths were coming in mingled gasps. Feeling almost bereft, Elizabeth surfaced slightly from the sensual Eden where he had sent her, and forced her heavy eyelids to open so that she could look at him. Stretched out beside her on the sofa, he was leaning over her, his tanned face hard and dark with pa.s.sion, his amber eyes smoldering. Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a golden lock of hair off her cheek, and he tried to smile, but his breathing was as ragged as hers. Unaware of the effort he was making to keep their pa.s.sion under control, Elizabeth let her gaze drop to his finely chiseled mouth, and she watched him draw an unsteady breath. "Don't," he warned her in a husky, tender voice, "look at my mouth unless you want it on yours again."

Too naive to know how to hide her feelings, Elizabeth lifted her green eyes to his, and her longing for his kiss was in their soft depths. Ian drew a steadying breath, and yielded to temptation again, gently telling her how to show him what she wanted. "Put your hand around my neck," he whispered tenderly.

Her long fingers lifted to his nape, and he lowered his mouth to hers, so close their breaths mingled. Understanding finally dawned, and Elizabeth put firmer pressure on his nape. And even though she was braced for it, the shock of his parted lips on hers again was wild, indescribable sweetness. This time it was Elizabeth who touched her tongue to his lips, and when she felt him shudder, instinct told her she was doing something right.

It told him the same thing, and he jerked his mouth from hers. "Don't do this, Elizabeth," he warned.

In answer, she tightened her hand at his nape and at the same time turned into his arms. His mouth came down hard on hers, but instead of struggling, her body arched against him and she drew his tongue into her mouth. Against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she felt his heart slam into his ribs, and he began kissing her with unleashed pa.s.sion, his tongue tangling with hers, then plunging and slowly retreating in some wildly exciting, forbidden rhythm that made the blood roar in Elizabeth's ears. His hand slid up her side to her breast, covering it possessively, and Elizabeth jumped in shocked protest.

"Don't," he whispered against her lips. "G.o.d, don't. Not yet. . ."

Stunned into stillness by the harsh need in his voice, Elizabeth gazed up into his face as he lifted his head, his eyes moving restlessly over the bodice of her dress. Despite his protest, his hand was still, and in her befuddled senses, she finally realized he was honoring his promise to stop whenever she asked him to stop. Helpless to stop or encourage him, she looked at the masculine fingers, still and tanned against her white shirt, then she dragged her eyes to his.

Heat was beating behind them, and with a silent moan, Elizabeth curled her hand behind his head and turned into his body.

It was all the encouragement Ian needed. His fingers moved and spread across her breast, but his gaze was locked with hers, watching the way her beautiful face reflected first fear then pleasure. b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to Elizabeth, had heretofore been like legs-they both had a purpose; legs were to walk on and b.r.e.a.s.t.s were to hold up and fill out the bodice of a gown. She had no idea they could give such sensation, and kissed into insensibility, she lay quiescent while his fingers unfastened her shirt, pulling down her chemise, baring her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his hot gaze. Reflexively she reached to cover herself, but he swiftly lowered his head, distracting her by the expedient means of kissing her fingers, then drawing a fingertip into his mouth and sucking hard against it. Elizabeth stiffened in shock and pulled her hand away, but his lips only found a breast and did the same thing to her nipple. Raw pleasure streaked through her, and she moaned, her fingers sliding into the soft dark hair at his nape, her heart hammering out a frantic warning to tell him to stop. He nuzzled the other breast, his lips closing tightly around the taut nipple and her body arched, her hands tightening on his nape. Suddenly, he raised up, his eyes restlessly caressing her swollen b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then he swallowed and drew a long, tortured breath. "Elizabeth, we're going to have to stop."

Elizabeth's swirling senses began to return to reality, slowly at first, and then with a sickening plummet. Pa.s.sion gave way to fear and then to anguished shame as she realized she was lying in a man's arms, her shirt unfastened, her flesh exposed to his gaze and touch. Closing her eyes, she fought back the sting of tears and shoved his hand away, lurching into an upright position. "Let me rise, please," she whispered, her voice strangled with self-revulsion. Her skin flinched as he began to fasten her shirt, but in order to do it he had to release his hold on her, and the moment he did, she scrambled to her feet. Turning her back to him, she fastened her shirt with shaking hands and s.n.a.t.c.hed her jacket from the peg beside the fire. He moved so silently that she had no idea he'd stood until his hands settled on her stiff shoulders. "Don't be frightened of what is between us. I'II be able to provide for you-"

All of Elizabeth's confusion and anguish exploded in a burst of tempestuous, sobbing fury that was directed at herself, but which she hurtled at him. Tearing free of his grasp, she whirled around. "Provide for me," she cried. "Provide what? A-a hovel in Scotland where I'II stay while you dress the part of an English gentleman so you can gamble away everything-"

"If things go on as I expect," he interrupted her in a voice of taut calm, "I'll be one of the richest men in England within a year two at the most. If they don't, you'll still be well provided for."

Elizabeth s.n.a.t.c.hed her bonnet and backed away from him in a fear that was partly of him and partly of her own weakness. "This is madness. Utter madness." Turning. she headed for the door.

"I know," he said gently. She reached for the door handle and jerked the door open. Behind her, his voice stopped her in midstep. "If you change your mind after we leave in the morning, you can reach me at Hammund's town house in Upper Brook Street until Wednesday. After that I'd intended to leave for India. I'll be gone until winter."

"I-I hope you have a safe voyage," she said, too overwrought to wonder about the sharp tug of loss she felt at the realization he was leaving.

"If you change your mind in time," he teased, "I'll take you with me."

Elizabeth fled in sheer terror from the gentle confidence she'd heard in his smiling voice. As she galloped through the thick fog and wet underbrush she was no longer the sensible, confident young lady she'd been before; instead she was a terrified, bewildered girl with a mountain of responsibilities and an upbringing that convinced her the wild attraction she felt for Ian Thornton was sordid and unforgivable.

As she left the horse in the stable and saw with sinking horror that the party had already returned from the village jaunt, she didn't think of anything except sending Robert a note begging him to fetch her that night, instead of in the morning.

Elizabeth had supper in her room while Berta packed, and she scrupulously avoided the window of her bedchamber, which happened to look out over the gardens below. Twice she'd glanced outside, and both times she'd seen Ian. The first time he'd been standing alone on the terrace, a cheroot clamped between his teeth, staring out across the lawns, and his solitary stance ,made her heart ache because he seemed lonely somehow. The next time she saw him, he was surrounded by females who'd not been there last night new arrivals at the house party, Elizabeth supposed and all five of them seemed to find him irresistible. She told herself it didn't matter, could not matter to her. She had responsibilities to Robert and Havenhurst, and they had to come first. Despite what Ian obviously thought, she could not link her future with that of a reckless gambler, even if he was probably the handsomest Scotsman ever born and the gentlest Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to shut out these thoughts. It was incredibly silly to think of Ian in this way. Silly and dangerous, for Valerie and some of the others seemed to suspect where she'd been all afternoon, and with whom. Wrapping her arms around herself, Elizabeth shivered as she remembered how neatly she'd been trapped by her own guilt that afternoon as soon as she'd walked into the house.

"Good heavens, you're wet," Valerie had exclaimed in a cry of sympathy. "The stable said you've been gone all afternoon. Don't say you were lost and in the rain all that time!"

"No, I-I came upon a cottage in the woods and stayed there until the rain let up a little while ago." It had seemed the wisest thing to say, since Ian's horse had been nowhere in sight and hers had been perfectly visible, should anyone have cared to look.

"What time was that?"

"Close to one o'clock, I think,"

"Did you happen to come upon Mr. Thornton while you were out?" Valerie inquired with a malicious smile, and everyone in the salon seemed to stop talking and turn toward them. "The gamekeeper said he saw a tall, dark man mounted on a big sorrel stallion go into the cottage. He a.s.sumed the man was a guest, and so he didn't challenge his presence."

"I-I didn't see him," Elizabeth said. "It was . . . very foggy. I hope nothing untoward happened to him."

"We aren't certain. He isn't back yet. Charise is concerned, although," Valerie continued, watching Elizabeth closely, "I told her she needn't be. The scullery maids gave him a luncheon a deux to take with him."

Stepping aside to let a couple pa.s.s, Elizabeth explained to Valerie that she'd decided to leave tonight instead of tomorrow, and without giving Valerie an opportunity to question her reason she quickly excused herself to change out of her wet clothing.

Berta had taken one look at Elizabeth's pale face and guessed at once that something was terribly wrong, particularly when Elizabeth insisted on sending word to Robert to fetch them home tonight. By the time Elizabeth had sent the note off Berta had managed to pry most of the story out of Elizabeth, and Elizabeth was forced to spend the rest of her afternoon and early evening trying to soothe her maid.

Chapter 7.

It won't do you a bit of good to wear a path through the carpet," Berta told her. "We'll both be spending time enough on the carpet when that Miss Throckmorton-Jones hears what you've been about."

"She won't hear anything," Elizabeth said with more determination than conviction, and she sank into a chair, nervously plucking at the skirt of her bright green traveling costume. Her bonnet and gloves were on the bed beside their packed valises, waiting to be brought downstairs when Robert arrived. Even though she'd been expecting it. the knock on her door made her nerves jump. Instead of telling her that her brother had arrived, the footman handed her a note when she opened the door.

With clammy hands she unfolded it, praying that it wasn't news from London that Robert couldn't be found to fetch them. For a moment she frowned in blank incomprehension at the hastily scrawled, almost illegible note that said "Meet me in greenhowse. Must talk to you."

The footman had already started down the hall, and Elizabeth called after him, "Who gave you this note?"

"Miss Valerie, my lady." Elizabeth's relief that it wasn't from Ian was immediately replaced by guilty terror that Valerie had somehow discovered more about Elizabeth's disappearance this afternoon. "Valerie wants me to meet her in the greenhouse right away," she told Berta.

Berta's color drained. "She knows what happened. doesn't she? Is that why she wants to see you? It's not my place to say it, but I can't like that girl. She has mean eyes."

Elizabeth had never in her life been embroiled in intrigue or deceit, and everything that was happening seemed unbearably complicated and tinged with malice. Without replying to Berta's comment about her friend she looked at the clock and realized it was only six. "Robert can't possibly be here for at least an hour. In the meantime I'll go and find out why Valerie needs to see me."

Walking over to the windows, Elizabeth parted the draperies, studying the guests who were standing on the terrace or strolling about the gardens. The last thing she wanted was for Ian to see her go to the greenhouse and follow her there. Such a possibility seemed extremely remote, but even so, it seemed wise to take no further chances. She almost sagged with relief when she saw his tall form on the terrace below. Clearly illuminated by a pair of torches, he was occupied with three women who were flirting with him while a footman hovered on the edge of their group, patiently waiting for recognition. She saw Ian glance at the footman, who then handed him something she supposed to be a drink.

Ignoring the sharp tug of her senses as she looked down on his dark head, Elizabeth turned away from the windows. Rather than leaving the house by the back doors, which opened out onto the terrace where she knew Ian was, she left by the side doors and stayed away from the lit torches.

In the doorway to the greenhouse Elizabeth hesitated. "Valerie?" she called in a low voice, looking around.

Moonlight poured in through the gla.s.s panels of the roof, and when no one answered, Elizabeth walked inside and looked about her. Pots of flowers bloomed everywhere-in orderly rows upon the tables and on benches. More delicate species adorned the shelves beneath the tables, sheltered from the direct rays of the sun that would pour through the gla.s.s ceiling in the daytime. Trying to calm her nerves, Elizabeth strolled down the aisles, studying the blooms.

The greenhouse was larger than the one at Havenhurst, she noted, and part of it was apparently used as a sort of solarium, for there were trees growing in pots, and beside them were ornate stone benches with colorful cushions on them.

Elizabeth wandered down the aisle, oblivious to the dark shadow looming in the doorway, moving silently down the aisle. Her hands clasped behind her back, she bent down to sniff a gardenia.

"Elizabeth?" Ian said in a clipped voice. She whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs, her hand flying to her throat, her knees turning to jelly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You... you startled me," she said as he strolled up to her, his expression oddly impa.s.sive. "I didn't expect you to come here," she added nervously.

"Really?" he mocked. "Whom did you expect after that note the Prince of Wales?"

The note! Crazily, her first thought after realizing it was from him, not Valerie, was that for an articulate man his handwriting verged on the illiterate. Her second thought was that he seemed angry about something. He didn't keep her long in doubt as to the reason.

"Suppose you tell me how, during the entire afternoon we spent together, you neglected to mention that you are Lady Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth wondered a little frantically how he'd feel if he knew she was the Countess of Havenhurst, not merely the eldest daughter of some minor n.o.ble or knight.

"Start talking, love. I'm listening." Elizabeth backed away a step.

"Since you don't want to talk," he bit out, reaching for her arms, "is this all you wanted from me?'

"No!" she said hastily, backing out of his reach. "I'd rather talk."

He stepped forward, and Elizabeth took another step backward, exclaiming, "I mean, there are so many interesting topics for conversation, are there not?"

"Are there?" he asked, moving forward again.

"Yes," she exclaimed, taking two steps back this time. s.n.a.t.c.hing at the first topic she could think of, she pointed to the table of hyacinths beside her and exclaimed, "A-Aren't these hyacinths lovely?"

"Lovely," he agreed without looking at them, and he reached for her shoulders, obviously intending to draw her forward.

Elizabeth jumped back so swiftly that his fingers merely grazed the gauze fabric of her gown. "Hyacinths," she babbled with frantic determination as he began stalking her step for step, past the table of potted pansies, past the table of potted lilies, "are part of genus Hyacinthus, although the cultivated variety, which we have here, is commonly called the Dutch hyacinth, which is part of H. orientalis -"

"Elizabeth," be interrupted silkily, "I'm not interested in flowers." He reached for her again, and Elizabeth, in a frantic attempt to evade his grasp, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a pot of hyacinths and dumped it into his outstretched bands.

"There is a mythological background to hyacinths that you may find more interesting than the flower itself," she continued fiercely, and an indescribable expression of disbelief, amus.e.m.e.nt, and fascination suddenly seemed to flicker across his face. "You see, the hyacinth is actually named for a handsome Spartan youth Hyacinthus who was loved by Apollo and by Zephyrus, G.o.d of the west wind. One day Zephyrus was teaching Hyacinthus to throw the discus, and he accidentally killed him. It is said that Hyacinthus's blood caused a flower to spring up, and each petal was inscribed with the Greek exclamation of sorrow." Her voice trembled a little as he purposefully set the pot of hyacinths on the table. "A-Actually, the flower that sprang up would have been the iris or larkspur, not the modern hyacinth, but that is how it earned its name."

"Fascinating." His unfathomable eyes locked onto hers. Elizabeth knew he was referring to her and not the history of the hyacinth, and though she commanded herself to move out of his reach, her legs refused to budge.

"Absolutely fascinating," he murmured again, and in slow motion she watched his hands reach out and gently grasp her shoulders, rubbing lightly. "Last night you were ready to do battle with a roomful of men because they dared believe I'd cheated, yet now you're afraid. Is it me you fear, sweetheart? Or something else?"

The endearment spoken in his rich baritone voice had the same stirring effect on her as the touch of his lips. "I'm afraid of the things you make me feel," she admitted desperately, trying to get control of herself and the situation. "I realize that this is merely a-a little weekend dalliance-"

"Liar," he teased, and he took her lips in a sweet, swift kiss. Her mind reeled from the brief touch, but the moment he lifted his mouth from hers she rushed into frightened speech. "Thank you," she blurted inanely. "H-Hyacinths are not the only flower with an interesting history. There are lilies, too, which are also part of the genus-"

A lazy, seductive grin swept across his handsome face, and, to Elizabeth's helpless horror, her gaze fastened on his mouth. She couldn't still the shiver of antic.i.p.ation as he bent his head. Her brain warned her she was mad, but her heart knew this truly was good-bye, and the knowledge made her lean up on her toes and kiss him back with all the helpless, confused longing she felt. The sweetness of her yielding. combined with the way her hand slid up his chest and rested against his heart while her other hand curved around his nape, would have seemed to any man to be either the actions of a woman who was falling in love or else those of an experienced flirt. Elizabeth-naive, inexperienced. and very young-was acting on pure instinct. and was unaware that everything she did was convincing him she was the former.

She was, however, not so lost as to the ramifications of her actions that she forgot about Robert's impending arrival, Unfortunately, she had never imagined Robert might have been on his way there before her note ever arrived.

"Please listen to me," she whispered desperately. "My brother is coming to take me home."

"Then I'll talk to him. Your father may have some objections, even after he understands that I'll be able to provide for your future-"

"My future!" Elizabeth interrupted in genuine terror at the way he was taking charge a gambler, just like her father. She thought of the rooms at Havenhurst, stripped almost bare of valuables, the servants counting on her, the ancestors counting on her. At that moment she would have said anything, anything to make him stop pursuing her before she lost control completely and gave in to the mindless, wicked weakness he seemed to inspire in her. She leaned back in his arms, trying to make her shaking voice sound cool and amused: "And what will you provide, sir? Will you promise me a ruby large enough to cover my palm, as Viscount Mondevale has? Sables to cover my shoulders and mink to carpet the floor, as Lord Seabury has?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course," she said with brittle gaiety, but she was choking back a sob. "Isn't that what all females want and all gentlemen promise?"

His face hardened into an expressionless mask, but his eyes were probing hers like daggers, looking for answers-as if he couldn't completely believe that jewels and furs mattered to her more than feelings.

"Oh, please let me go," she cried on a choked sob, shoving hard at his chest.

So intent were they that neither of them noticed the man striding swiftly down the aisle. "You miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Robert thundered, "you heard what she said! Take your filthy hands off my sister!"

Ian's arms started to tighten protectively, but Elizabeth tore free of his grasp and ran to Robert, tears streaking down her face. "Robert, listen to me. It's not what you think." Robert put his arm around her shoulder, and Elizabeth started to launch into explanations. "This is Mr. Ian Thornton," she began, "and-"

"And despite the way this looks," Ian interrupted with amazing calm, "my intentions toward Miss Cameron are perfectly honorable."

"You arrogant son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Robert exploded, his voice vibrating with fury and contempt. "My sister is Countess Cameron to the likes of you! And I don't need an introduction. I know all about you. As to your intentions or should I say pretensions. I wouldn't let her marry sc.u.m like you even if she weren't already betrothed."