Her Master's Touch (12 page)

The music stopped and Elizabeth started to
back out of his arms, ready to flee, but his hand tightened around
hers. “I will have the next dance with you, Lady Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth glanced up, held the cobalt-blue
depths of his steady gaze, and said, “Is that a command, Your
Highness?”

“No, Lady Elizabeth. It’s my greatest desire
at this moment." The music started again. He tightened his arm
around her waist, drawing her to him, and guided her around the
dance floor. Closing his palm around her hand, he pressed it
against his heart where she could feel its heavy beat. When she
looked away, he raised their clasped hands together, and with his
bent knuckle, lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His
breath tickled her temple as he said, “Is it so hard to look at me,
Elizabeth?”

She held his mocking gaze. Still, she
couldn’t be
absolutely
certain who she was looking at. There
was still that shred of doubt. She tipped her face from his touch
and said, “You are rude to address me by my given name, Your
Highness. In our country a gentleman never addresses a lady in such
a familiar way.”

He smiled a slow, unequivocal smile. “Because
I am a prince is not to say that I am also a gentleman. But since I
intend to remain one of your suitors, I’ll do as you say... Lady
Elizabeth.” His hand meandered up her spine to caress her bare back
again, but this time it lingered, his fingers moving up her neck to
softly stroke the sensitive skin there, sending tingles coursing
through her. “Yes,” he said, “I find English women far more
desirable than our Indian beauties, and infinitely more passionate,
like you, Lady Elizabeth. Beautiful, spirited and passionate. All
the qualities I want in a wife.” The tips of his fingers teased the
tender flesh behind her ear.

Her nostrils flared and her breath came so
fast and heavy she could barely get the words out as she said, “If
you were not a prince, Your Highness, I would slap your arrogant
face and leave you stranded on the dance floor.”

He laughed a soft, rumbling sound. “Then why
don’t you, Lady Elizabeth? Are you afraid I’ll have your head on a
block? I don’t wield that much power.”

Unable to contain herself any longer,
Elizabeth pushed against the hard wall of his chest and verbally
struck out at him. “Your Highness, I’m finding this conversation
distasteful and I’ll request that my father not receive you in our
home.”

He pulled her back into his arms, and said,
“I stand chastised, my lady. And I will, in future, try to behave
more gentlemanly, because I intend to continue vying for your
affection.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin and looked directly
at him, caring not who he was, as she said, “It will do you no good
if my father refuses to receive you in his house.”

Cobalt-blue eyes held her captive, as he
replied in a quiet, self-assured tone, “But your father will
receive me in his house, regardless of your wishes.”

The challenge in his unyielding gaze, the
uncompromising set to his jaw, the controlling way he held her
while they danced—Elizabeth's assessment of him when they'd first
met was correct. He was a dangerous man. Dangerous, and confident.
“What makes you so sure he'll receive you?” she asked. And as she
looked into the unfathomable depths of his intense blue gaze, she
was all but certain they were the eyes of Lord Damon
Ravencroft.

“Because, Lady Elizabeth, I always get what I
want," he said. "And I want you.”

Her chest rising and falling with her anxious
breaths, Elizabeth said, while tugging against his restricting
hold, “And do you intend to take me against my will?”

“Never.” Trapping her hand against his chest,
he moved so close their lips almost touched as he said, in a voice
that held forewarning, “You have something to hide. I have
something to hide. I think we understand each other.”

Elizabeth twisted her hand to be free from
his grasp, as she said, "I don't know what you're talking
about."

"I think you do," he replied. "But if there's
any doubt, I'll lay it out for you. I’ll have you, and your dowry,
and your father’s blessing, and my opal back. And with your
approval. Like I said, gypsy girl, I always get what I want." His
voice was as firm as it was decisive.

Gripping her elbow, he escorted her off the
dance floor, turned, and left.

Elizabeth stared at her father in total
disbelief. “An offer of marriage from Prince Rao Singh? Surely you
must be joking?”

Her father steepled his fingers, looked
directly at her, and said, “I would never joke about something as
serious as marriage.”

“Well, I flatly refuse," Elizabeth said. "I’d
rather sit in my room and become a whiskery old maid with warts on
my nose than be married to
that
man under any terms."

“Stop being melodramatic," her father said.
"The Prince is an upright, honorable and very wealthy man. He will
provide all your worldly needs, and honor and care for you with the
love and respect you deserve. You could certainly do worse.”

“
I cannot live in India again!"
Elizabeth cried. Nor could she tell her father the truth about how
she lived while there. If he learned she’d roamed with gypsies,
worked as a common servant, was wanted for a murder she didn’t
commit, and had stolen a valuable gem from the man who was asking
for her hand in marriage, he’d turn her out, just as he’d turned
her mother out, and she couldn’t bear to be back on the streets
again. But to marry the insufferable man posing as a prince was
almost as unthinkable.

Her father looked at her dispassionately, and
said, “As the wife of the prince, you would live in luxury in
India, with every comfort you have here in England.”

“Even with every conceivable luxury that
could be imported to India from England," she said in a frantic
tone, "there would still be bugs and mice and mold and snakes
and...
I would hate every minute of it!
”

The valet appeared in the doorway and
announced the arrival of Prince Rao Singh. Before Elizabeth could
protest, her father instructed the valet to show him in.

When Damon stepped into the room, Lord
Sheffield stood and offered his hand. Damon shook it heartily
before smiling graciously at Elizabeth and saying, “A pleasure to
see you again, Lady Elizabeth. I hope this finds you in good
spirits”

Elizabeth glared at him and stood, prepared
to leave.

“You will sit down at once, Elizabeth,” her
father said. “We are not finished.”

“I will not marry this... this... man,
father.
He’s an impostor!”
There! It was said.

Her father’s gaze shifted between Damon and
Elizabeth, settling on Elizabeth as he said, “I know exactly who
this man is. Now do as I say and sit down.”

“
But he is not who he presents himself to
be!”

“You will not raise your voice to me,
Elizabeth. Sit down at once.”

Elizabeth lowered herself and sat propped on
the edge of the chair, lips pursed, hands clasped in her lap, eyes
fixed on her father. “You must listen to me, Father, and take heed
of what I say. This man is not who he claims. His name is Lord
Damon Ravencroft—though since he’s not a prince, he may not be a
man of title either.”

Lord Sheffield sighed. “Excuse my daughter’s
rudeness, Damon. I had not yet told her who you were. And please,
draw up a chair and sit where we can discuss this.”

Damon angled a chair close to Elizabeth and
sat down. Elizabeth looked from her father to Damon and back at her
father. “Then you've known all along who he was ?”

“Of course," Lord Sheffield said. "I wouldn’t
offer your hand to a man whose lineage I could not trace. Lord
Ravencroft has been falsely accused of murder. He is in England to
clear his name. But once that's done, he will become the Earl of
Westwendham and a very wealthy man. In exchange for your hand in
marriage, he will receive a dowry from me sufficient for him to
seek counsel to clear his name, after which time you will be
married to a titled man of wealth, and live a life of luxury in
England.”

Elizabeth wondered just how much more her
father did know about Damon and the running of his household in
India, or if Damon told him about one particular servant who stole
an opal from him—a gem he believed she still had—and whose
ivory-handled knife ended up in the chest of his gateman. “What
else do you know about this man, Father? You’re asking me to share
his life and his bed and have his children, and we are
strangers.”

Lord Sheffield gave his daughter an
empathetic smile. “I understand your concern, Elizabeth, and I know
Damon to be an honorable man. He also feels affection for you, even
though you’ve only just met. But ever since he purchased
Shanti
Bhavan
from me, we have corresponded and engaged in other
business, and he has always been forthright in every way. I would
not offer your hand to him should I believe he was anything less
than what he has presented himself to be over the years.”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands and said
in a voice just above a whisper. “Father, I cannot marry this
man.”

“I’m sorry Elizabeth, but I know what’s best
for you. In time you’ll grow fond of each other and perhaps even
grow to love each other.”

“But you’re sending me back to India.”

Damon reached out and patted her hand. “Lady
Elizabeth, as I told your father, you have stolen my heart, and it
would do me great honor if you would agree to become my wife. I’d
spend my days trying to make you happy and comfortable while we
lived in India, and it shouldn’t be too long before I could bring
you back to England where we would take up residency at
Westwendham. It’s a magnificent estate. I’m certain you’ll fall in
love with it once the place is restored to its original
splendor.”

Elizabeth looked at Damon, her lips pressed
in disapproval. His hostile demeanor on the dance floor did not
match the man who was addressing her now, the man her father
believed him to be. And the horror of it was, Damon Ravencroft had
already secured half of what he wanted...

‘
I’ll have you with your father’s
blessing...’

But getting her approval was another matter.
“If you force me to marry this man, Father, it will be against my
will. There’s no way I'll willingly give him my hand.”

“Excuse me, William,” Damon interjected, “but
may I ask your permission to escort Lady Elizabeth to the opera
tomorrow night?”

“Yes, of course, Damon," Lord Sheffield said.
"Perhaps Elizabeth will feel more inclined to accept your offer if
she gets to know you better.”

“
No, Father!
I do not wish to go out
with this man... Ever.”

“I assure you, Elizabeth, he will treat you
with respect," her father said. "Now I will hear no more about
it.”

“But Father...”

“
Enough, Elizabeth!”

Damon stood. “I look forward to enjoying your
company at the opera tomorrow night, Lady Elizabeth. I’ll call for
you at seven.” Although Elizabeth didn’t offer her hand, he lifted
it from her lap, placed a chaste kiss on it, nodded to Lord
Sheffield and left.

Elizabeth quietly fumed. Somehow she would
get out of this marriage, if she had to act like a woman on the
verge of insanity to do so. Whatever it took, she would absolutely
not marry Lord Damon Ravencroft... Ever!

***

Prince Rao Singh’s coach, pulled by two white
horses, arrived at the Sheffield Manor house at precisely seven
o’clock. Dressed in fitted gold breeches, a blue velvet tunic that
matched the deep blue of his eyes, and flashing a stunning star
sapphire from the aigret of his gold turban, he near took
Elizabeth’s breath away. She had to remind herself that he was not
a prince come to take her to the ball in a great pumpkin coach and
later whisk her away to his castle. He was Lord Damon Ravencroft,
who wanted to ferret her away to India and... And what? She had no
idea what he planned after that. But one thing was certain: she had
not stolen his heart, she’d stolen his opal. And his intention was
definitely not to spend his days trying to make her happy and
comfortable while they lived in India.

Coincidentally, Elizabeth wore a gown of blue
velvet—much the color of Damon’s tunic—and a pearl necklace that
featured a sapphire ringed by small diamonds, an overall effect
that bothered her immensely. She and Damon looked far too much like
a betrothed couple, as if their attire had been coordinated. Hers
was also a décolleté gown that dipped fashionably low on her bosom.
She refused to analyze why she was being so daring as to wear the
gown this particular evening, but she had no time, nor inclination,
to change gowns when she could care less what Damon Ravencroft
thought.

He stood beside her father in the large
entrance hall while waiting for her, and as she descended the long
curved bank of stairs, the flare in his eyes and the focus of his
gaze was unmistakable. And she realized she’d made a grave error by
wearing the décolleté gown. He looked far too eager to be alone
with her.

When she reached the bottom step, he bowed so
low she could feel his warm breath against her bosom as he said,
“Lady Elizabeth, what I see takes my breath away." He lifted his
head and smiled at her, and his meaning was unambiguous. He reached
for the hand she refused to offer and brought it to his lips. She
attempted to pull her hand free, but lost the tug-of-war when he
placed it in the crook of his elbow and trapped it with a firm
hand. She struggled for an instant, then gave up the effort and
glared at him.

Lord Sheffield caught her hostile behavior.
"Elizabeth, you will conduct yourself as you have been taught," he
said, giving her a look of dire warning.

Elizabeth eyed her father, and replied, "Not
to worry, Father. I will conduct myself as the occasion calls." She
refused to look at Damon, but knew he got her message.