Kathryn Caskie (20 page)

When ignorant of your quarry and of yourself, you are in certain peril.

Gray slashes of rain pelted the hired coach, drumming the cab’s slick black roof and fogged windows with an almost savage tempo. Magnus exhaled, frustrated that he’d been reduced to lurking in the darkness outside the Featherton home. He slammed his fist against the glass and rubbed a porthole in the condensation.
Dammit, Eliza, where are ye?

After the previous evening, he knew she would be suspicious and would not receive him, willingly anyway. Everything had gone wrong at the theater. He’d only meant to talk with her, calmly, to find out why she would not see him. But instead, he’d lost control, had given in to his baser instincts. And yet, he didn’t regret one moment of the passion that raged between them in the darkness of the storage room. The touch of her lips, the feel of her soft curves against him. Their night together would remain in his heart forever—for he knew they would likely never share another.

In the sobering light of morn, the truth of his dire situation laid plain his future. And he had to face it like a man: Unless
The Promise
survived the stormy seas and made port, which seemed less and less likely with each passing day, he and Eliza could never be together.

Tonight, he needed to explain everything to her. Apologize and beg her forgiveness.

And so, he waited for Eliza to leave the house—he’d wait all night if he had to—for his moment to catch her alone. He knew he must remain in gentlemanly control this time. Resist every urge to sweep her into his arms. He only hoped he could do it.

Eliza glanced out the window. A fine mist supplanted the rain, which had fallen so heavily minutes before. Her aunts and Grace would be leaving soon—without her—if her ploy was successful.

Lifting the back of her hand to her forehead, and with as much dramatic flare as she could muster, Eliza collapsed into the chair beside the hearth. “My apologies, Aunt Letitia, but I fear I am unable to attend the
Spectacular
at the Serpentine. I am far too fatigued.”

“Cannot attend?” Aunt Letitia stammered. “But everyone will be there, Lizzy—
everyone”

Aunt Viola patted Eliza’s shoulder. “Come now, surely you do not wish to miss the fireworks or the parade of fanciful gondolas. This event is quite the to-do, you know.”

Peering into the mirror over the mantel, Grace pulled enough golden curls from beneath her bonnet to frame her face. She bit her lips and puckered them, then smiled prettily at her own image.

As Eliza slumped miserably in her chair, she noticed that her sister watched her in the mirror’s reflection, her blue eyes soft with concern.

“Even Lord Somerton is bound to attend,” Aunt Viola added.

"Auntie!” Grace whispered harshly. Whirling around, she surreptitiously shook her head, warning her aunt to avoid the subject.

Eliza gave a long, drawn out sigh. Yes, Magnus likely would attend, which is exactly why she wasn’t setting a slipper outside the house.

After last night at the Drury Lane, she could not risk seeing him again—not until she was in control of her pounding heart and ridiculous wilting knees.

“Not that I do not trust you alone, mind you …” Grace lifted a suspicious golden brow at Eliza. “But I may need your help. It is possible we might encounter Lord Hawksmoor at the
Spectacular
and I thought you might speak with him about… well… about the woman he escorted to the theater.”

“Grace, I told you, Lord Hawksmoor’s attention is in your basket. If you see him, do not make a cake of yourself by bringing up what you
think
you saw at the theater.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though I do wish you would come,” Grace replied. “The
Spectacular
is the
place
to be this eve. Only a mutton-head would stay at home.”

“A very
tired
mutton-head,” Eliza replied, adding a long sigh for effect.

Concern cinched Aunt Viola’s brows. “You are not ill, are you, dove?” She raised her hand to Eliza’s cheek. “You do not feel overwarm.”

Eliza shook her head. “There’s no need to fret, Auntie. I am well. Just too weary to spend the evening strolling around the Serpentine.”

Aunt Viola glanced at her sister, who chewed her lower lip in indecision.

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked. “Why is it so important that I attend this eve?”

“Well,” Aunt Viola began, “since we were all going to the
Spectacular,
I had given the staff the evening to themselves, but I shall call them back if you will be at home.”

“No, no, no,” Eliza said, waving the idea away. “Do not ask them to remain on my account. I shan’t be in need of their services.”

Grace slipped her arms into her spencer and fastened it. “Now that the rain has let up, we’ll miss the firework display if we do not leave at once.”

“Grace is right.” Eliza rose and shooed them all toward the door. “Go now and enjoy yourselves. You can tell me all about it in the morning. I will just finish my tea and be off to bed.”

“Very well, Eliza. Good night,” her aunts chimed as one.

“Good night,” Grace echoed, as she and her aunts stepped through the door into the cool, misty night.

Eliza pressed the door closed and exhaled her breath through her nose. “Good
night.”

At last, the house was quiet, so still that the only sound Eliza could detect was the almost imperceptible creak of her stays as her lungs filled with air. For several moments, she held still, not wanting to so much as ripple the settling calm.

But then a secret smile burst onto her lips and she laughed aloud. Dropping her head back, she gleefully flung her hands outward and spun round in a wild circle. By stars, it was good to be alone, even if she had to feign fatigue to achieve it. But her charade was justified. She just could not take the chance of facing Magnus again.

She thought of what had passed between them in the theater storage room and flushed with the memory. Had the play not ended when it did, who knows what she might have done? It had been as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses.

Oh, that she could whisk Magnus and this blasted season from her life. Everything would be so much simpler with only her art to fill her days … and nights. At the thought, she started for the parlor where her easel now stood, but caught sight of Grace’s kid gloves lying on the entry table.

Just then, the doorknocker slammed twice to its rest. Shaking her head at her sister’s forgetfulness, Eliza snatched up the gloves and carried them to the door.

“I’ve got them, Grace. You’d forget your head if it wasn’t tied down by your bonnet,” Eliza called out as she made her way to the door. As she passed the mirror, she paused and plucked the pins from her hair. She shook her curls loose, hoping to make it appear she was already preparing for bed, and happened to notice one of her crimson-edged “Thank you for not calling” cards on the floor. Lud, what was that doing down there? She’d been so careful to keep those hidden!

Scooping it up, she hid it behind her back and swung the door wide. But it was not her sister wanting her gloves, nor their footman. Her breath caught in her throat.

Magnus removed his hat and politely bowed his head. “Good evening, Eliza.”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I told ye last night, we must talk.” Without waiting for an invitation, Magnus walked through the doorway and passage, then entered the parlor.

Eliza glanced frantically about. Lord above! How did she get herself into this mess? She closed the door slowly, took a deep breath, and followed him. “You cannot stay.”

“Why not?” he asked, moving toward her.

“Because we are alone. Receiving you now would be improper.”

“I saw yer house staff leave, then yer aunts and sister. I wondered why ye were not with them.”

"Y-you were watching the house?” Eliza drew her brows angrily, but her body tingled peculiarly inside.

Magnus dropped his hat on the corner table then settled back comfortably on the settee. “I could not chance missing ye this eve. How fortunate for me that ye chose to remain at home.”

“I am … fatigued.”

Magnus lifted a brow and one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Are ye truly, Eliza?”

Eliza folded her arms over her thudding heart. “No. I am not, as a matter of fact.” She lifted her chin. “I did not venture out this evening because I did not wish to encounter
you
again. Not after we … you—well, you were there.” A prickly blush swept her cheeks.

“Aye, I was.” The easy smile that had played at the corners of his mouth faded from his lips. “Which is why I am here this evening. We have matters to discuss.”

“Really?” Eliza turned away from Magnus. She went to the fire, which to her dismay had already been banked for the night, and pushed her crimson-edged card deep into the embers. “I do not think we need to discuss what happened
ever
again.”

She heard Magnus rise from the chair and suddenly felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her. Eliza stiffened the moment their eyes met, but she could not make herself look away.

“Eliza …
stop this,” he breathed, angling his mouth toward her own.

She turned her head away. “Please do not say my name that way.”

He slipped his fingers under her chin and brought her back to him. “Why not?”

She bowed her head and closed her eyes so as not to look at him. “Because your tone promises things that can never be.”

“Lass, I’m sorry … I—”

Magnus gently touched her cheeks and drew her face upward to his. She felt his lips brush hers, softly, tenderly. Her eyelids suddenly felt weighted, wanting to close and welcome his kiss.

No, no!
She flicked her eyelids open. She wouldn’t do this. Not again. Eliza stepped to the side, thrusting her finger accusingly at him. “You see? You see?
This
is why we cannot be alone. Not even for a moment.”

Magnus’s eyes widened, as if surprised by his own actions.

Rising up on the balls of her feet, Eliza raced behind her easel, hoping to shield herself from his clever seduction.

“Is that my portrait?” he asked, starting toward her again.

She glanced down at her painting. “Err … yes, of course it is. Or … will be.” When she looked up again he stood only a breath away. “Stay where you are.”

“Would it make ye feel more at ease if ye painted while we spoke?”

Eliza assessed him narrowly.

“I shall not leave until we discuss last night.” Magnus lifted his brows. “But I will remain on
this
side of the canvas.”

Eliza squinted her eyes at him, then, wanting to speed his departure by whatever means she could, nodded cautiously. She lifted a brush and pointed its fine tip toward him. “I will agree.
If you
keep your promise and remain on your side of the canvas.”

“When will yer staff and yer aunts return?” His question sounded ever so casual. “I want to be sure that we have plenty of uninterrupted time—to talk.”

"We shall have plenty of time. But once we’ve finished, you will leave at once. Agreed?” Eliza clarified.

“Of course.”

Eliza dabbed small mounds of pigment onto her palette, glancing warily at Magnus all the while. Agreeing to this was insane. But what other choice did she have? He was right. They needed to settle what had happened between them once and for all.

When her preparations for painting were complete, she stepped from behind the easel to position him, her subject, in the chair.

“Would you please turn your head to the right a bit. No, lift your chin a little higher. No, not that high.”

Magnus stared blankly at her, causing Eliza to fire a frustrated breath.

“Oh botheration. Let me ...” Tentatively, she reached out her hands and nervously laid the pads of her fingers against his beard-roughened chin, drawing it slightly upward and to the left. From her vantage, she looked down at his moist lips, unwittingly reminding herself of the wickedness of which they were capable.

Her breath hitched, and she knew he heard it, for like a sprung trap, his arms shot upward and cinched her waist.

Startled, Eliza looked down into the luminous, and oh so dangerous, silver eyes peering up at her.

“Y-you promised to behave,” she feebly reminded.

“I only promised to remain on my side of the canvas.”

In an instant she felt his moist breath tease her breast through the thin muslin of her gown. She closed her eyes and gasped at the feel of it. “Magnus,
please.”
Though her mind objected, her tone was smooth and sultry, transforming her meaning from “please stop” to “please do it
again.”

He looked up at her then, appearing torn, almost as though he was struggling and didn’t know which direction to turn. “I wish ye knew how hard this was for me. Christ, ye must know how I feel. And I know ye feel something for me too.”

“Do you?”

“Aye, ye love me. I know ye do.” As he spoke, his fingers moved behind her and deliberately loosed the bow at her back, allowing the satin ribbon to fall at her sides. “Why do ye deny it?”

“L-love?” She cleared her throat, trying to appear unaffected. But as his hands worked free the four tiny buttons at her back, her breath came faster, her heart beat wildly. “Where do you come up with these notions, my lord?”

Magnus held her snugly, imprisoning her against him, but heaven help her, she had no desire to escape.

“Tell me. Tell me, lass.” His deep voice hummed against her throat as he spoke, as he kissed her, and she shivered with pleasure. “Tell me that ye feel what I feel. I just need to hear it once. Only once.”

“I cannot,” she managed, but inside a strange excitement grew.

“Nay?” he whispered, drawing her back so he could read her eyes.

The separation of their bodies was all Eliza needed to think more clearly and logically. “Because a relationship is impossible. We both know it. Why complicate matters with words that cannot change that fact?”

“Because it matters to me, Eliza.” At once his eyes flashed an imperious warning. Before she knew what had happened, Magnus tumbled them both to the plush Turkish carpet and had rolled atop of her.