A Visit From Sir Nicholas (36 page)

She clenched her teeth. "Which was only necessary given your intractable stand regarding the control of my finances, indeed, the control of my very life."

"In many ways they sound already married." the voice of one of her aunts drifted to her. Once again, Elizabeth had failed to note the silence in the room.

Heat flushed up her face.

Nicholas leaned closer. "I'd say it appears inevitable."

She met his gaze, his dark eyes shaded by amusement and something deeper, something important, something… forever.

The ladies in the room, the very room itself vanished. She existed only in the look in his eyes, the thud of her heart. And in that very moment she surrendered to what indeed was inevitable and so very right. For the first time in ten long years she faced the truth of what, somewhere deep inside, she had probably known all along. She'd loved him then, she loved him now, and she had never stopped loving him. He was and had always been her fate. Her grand passion.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and smiled in a manner only slightly unsteady. "Perhaps some things were indeed meant to be."

Surprise flashed across his face, and he stared for a long moment. Then he smiled slowly and looked as if he wanted to pull her into his arms right here and now. Instead he took her hand and drew it to his lips. It would have been somewhat disappointing save for the promise in his eyes.

His voice was low and meant for her alone. "Will you join me for supper tonight, Lady Langley? Around half past eight, I should think."

She swallowed hard and gazed into his eyes, knowing full well that, regardless of what had passed between them up til now, supper with him tonight would truly be the beginning of what was meant to be. A grand passion.

A grand madness.

"I should like nothing better, Sir Nicholas," she said softly.

"Well, I daresay I can't hear a blasted word," one of her cousins muttered somewhere in the distance.

"What are they saying?"

"I have no idea," someone else murmured. "But from their expressions, I'd wager it's good." He grinned down at her and she laughed up at him, not really caring at the moment what anyone else thought at all. "Until tonight then," he said quietly, released her hand, and turned toward her mother. "I should be off, Your Grace."

"You will not be joining us then?" A twinkle lurked in her mother's eye. "For tea, that is." Nicholas shook his head. "I think not. Frankly, this is rather a formidable gathering, and I should feel much like a wolf in a herd of lambs."

"Nicholas, you are a delight," Mother laughed. "The fact of the matter is, in this gathering, it is the wolf who should have fear of the lambs."

He grinned that disarming grin of his. "Precisely my meaning, ma'am." He turned toward the assembly, the ladies hanging on his every word, and swept an impressive bow. "Ladies, felicitations of the season. I wish you all the merriest of Christmases."

"We will see you at the Effington Christmas Ball, will we not?" Mother said.

"I would not miss it for the world. Good day, Your Grace." He nodded at Elizabeth. "Lady Langley."

"Sir Nicholas," Elizabeth said with a cool nod of her own that belied the fluttering within her brought on, no doubt, by the acceptance of her own feelings and the anticipation of what was to come. Tonight and every night thereafter.

He strode out of the parlor, her gaze, and that of every lady present, following him until he disappeared from sight. As if on cue, his exit prompted an immediate upsurge in eager female voices all intent on describing and praising the charms, the thoughtfulness, and the appearance of Sir Nicholas.

"I wonder who assisted him," Jules murmured from somewhere behind Elizabeth.

"No doubt the people at Fortnum and Mason," Mother said. "Although it scarcely matters. The important thing to note is that he came to Elizabeth's aid. It speaks well of the man."

"It does, doesn't it?" Elizabeth said softly, still gazing unseeing at the door.

"You do realize you and Charles never argued," Mother said thoughtfully. Jules snorted. "While you and Nicholas argue constantly."

"I think it's something to consider." The duchess paused for a moment. "And I think it's quite significant."

"You're absolutely right, and I should do something about that." Elizabeth turned to her mother and sister with a brilliant smile that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep inside her. From her heart, or perhaps her soul.

"Indeed, I would be a fool if I failed to snatch him up right now and drag him to the altar."

Nick leaned back in the chair behind his desk and stared unseeing at the library door. What in the hell was he supposed to do about this?

He drummed his ringers absently on the desktop. Elizabeth professed to want honesty between them, yet honesty was a vague and elusive thing, much given to individual interpretation. How much honesty did she really want? Was this something she needed to know? Besides, it was all over and done with, and firmly in the past. Wouldn't any revelation of the truth at this point in time simply hurt her, perhaps deeply?

Still, could he—in all good conscience and the interest of honesty—keep this from her? If they were to have a life together, and that had been his intention all along, shouldn't it indeed be based on honesty?

Shouldn't they begin their future without secrets between them? Especially secrets of this magnitude. He glanced at the Viennese clock on the mantel. Usually the automata in the base of the timepiece depicting a cobbler's workshop, the cobbler and his apprentice moving in consort with the clock movement, brought a smile but this evening he was only concerned with time. It was just past seven. He had more than an hour until Elizabeth's arrival. Plenty of time to dress for dinner. No time at all to come up with an answer.

Damnation. There didn't seem to be an answer. Not a good one, at any rate. Nick blew a long, frustrated breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this unsure about anything. It was this pesky business of being in love, no doubt. It fogged a man's mind and destroyed any possibility of rational thought.

He didn't know how on earth he could tell her, but he knew full well that if he held his tongue and she found out, she would never understand that his only interest had been in protecting her. And she might never forgive him.

He stared at the cobbler's workshop, the apprentice's hammer striking off the seconds on the sole of a shoe. One… two… three…

He should definitely tell her. There was simply no need to tell her today. His mood brightened. Or even tomorrow, for that matter. He smiled at the apprentice. Why not wait until they had shared five years of wedded bliss together? Or better yet—ten. Even twenty. That would put it all nicely in perspective. Why, there was a very good chance that with the passage of a great deal of time she would find his revelation no more than mildly interesting.

A sharp rap sounded at the library door, followed almost at once by Edwards.

"Beg pardon, sir, but Lady Langley is here."

"Already?" Nick got to his feet. Her timing was decidedly fortuitous. A few minutes earlier and it would have been most awkward indeed. Even so…

He grinned. Elizabeth's early arrival might well mean that she was so eager to see him she could barely wait for her guests to depart. Certainly he wanted nothing more than to be with her. To take her into his arms. To accept her gratitude, graciously of course, for the success of her tea in whatever manner she wished to express it. Hopefully, naked and sprawled across his bed wearing nothing but a corset. Red, if he was very, very lucky, although he couldn't imagine Elizabeth owning a red corset. Wearing one but not owning one. Perhaps a gift was in order? For Christmas. Privately given, of course. And stockings. Definitely stockings. The finest available and nothing the least bit practical.

"Nicholas." Elizabeth swept into the room with a curt nod, her chin held high, her shoulders back, her breasts straining at the fabric of her dress. Oh yes, he could definitely imagine Elizabeth in a red corset.

"You're early."

"I could scarcely wait." The words were right, but there was something definitely amiss in her tone. He narrowed his gaze. "Did your guests have an enjoyable time?"

"Yes," she said coolly.

He studied her carefully, the corset in his mind even now fading to a serviceable, practical, well-washed white. She was obviously annoyed about something. Or rather annoyed at him about something. He racked his brain, but he really hadn't done anything. Not yet, that is.

"Elizabeth," he said slowly, "is there—"

"Do you have something to tell me?" Her voice was overly casual, her manner idle. Her gaze was firmly on him, but she absently picked up a small Ming ginger jar.

"What are you doing with that?"

She glanced at the jar in her hands as if she was unaware that she held it. "I had rather thought I had cured myself of this habit." Her brows pulled together. "Until you returned, that is."

"What habit?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"I have become a vase thrower, Nicholas." She shrugged as if she held some worthless piece of penny pottery and not a priceless relic.

"Yes, I've noticed." He eyed the ginger jar. "Only vases?"

"Primarily vases. Sometimes a pot, crockery, the occasional dish, every now and then a glass."

"Ah well, then, specifically, that is a ginger jar."

She smiled. "Ginger jars."

"I don't remember you as a vase thrower."

"I didn't used to be a vase thrower." Her brow furrowed. "I don't remember when I started throwing vases. When life became rather frustrating, I suspect."

"Frustrating?"

"Oh, I don't know. That may well be the wrong word." She shifted the jar from hand to hand in the manner of a small boy with a ball. He did wish she wouldn't do that. "There is an astounding amount of satisfaction in throwing something with weight to it." She glanced up at him. "This has a nice throwing weight, by the way."

"I'm sure the Ming dynasty created it with that in mind," he murmured.

"And it is appreciated." At least she didn't seem quite as annoyed as she had a moment ago.

"That is an exceptionally valuable piece." He circled the desk. "Quite rare and very, very old."