A Chance Encounter (29 page)

Elizabeth sank back into her seat again and glowered at her tormentor. “What do you want?” she asked.

He grinned again. “You,” he answered.

“I am here against my will,” she said, “and yesterday I said no. How can you expect to achieve anything from such a situation?”

He settled his shoulders against his corner of the coach and looked at her. The grin had faded, though he still smiled. “I have excellent hopes,” he said. “I have ached for you for six years, and you have suffered too, I know. I love you now as I have from the beginning, and you love me. I believe we have a chance for a good marriage.”

“What makes you believe that I love you?” she asked frostily.

“I have it on excellent authority,” he replied. “William Mainwaring, Mr. Rowe, your brother and sister-in-law.” She looked sharply across at him. “Mr. Rowe?” she asked, frowning.

“He told me so at Bath a few days ago,” he replied. “At Bath?”

“How do you think I knew you were here?” he asked with a sigh. “When I found my uncle in Paris, I thought that my wanderings were over. But when I arrived in Granby to claim you, I was told the Rowes were in Bath. I found them there, but not you, love.”

Elizabeth turned to stare out the window. “Robert, take me back,” she said, “or let me down here. Please.”

“No, I cannot do that, love,” he said very quietly.

She sat stiffly in her place, staring sightlessly at the passing scenery. Several minutes passed in silence.

“Robert,” she said at last, “you cannot take me to your home like this, with no warning, with no one knowing who I am. Your staff will all think me some kind of doxy.”

He chuckled. “A very strange kind of doxy dressed like that,” he said. “You do look a perfect fright, you know, Elizabeth. Did you hope to hold Chatsworth off with such a costume? You would not have succeeded. Your charms show through quite shockingly.” He reached out a hand and flicked a chestnut curl on her neck.

Elizabeth turned to him with pleading eyes. “I cannot go to Hetherington Manor with you, Robert,” she said, “indeed I cannot. I am not ready. Please take me back.”

He smiled into her eyes, and the hand that had touched her hair moved to cup her chin. “We are not going home yet, love,” he said. “We are going to Devon.”

“To Devon?” she echoed.

“My grandmother's house passed to me on her death,” he said, “though I have not been there since then. But now is the right time. We have a honeymoon to complete.”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “No, don't take me there, Robert.”

He still held her chin. “Do you remember the salt smell of the air, love?” he asked, holding her eyes with his. “Do you remember that wide golden beach, the sand, the waves, the cliff path, the gulls, the view from our window? We were standing there when our honeymoon was interrupted, although at the time we did not know how long that interruption would be. I had just finished unbuttoning your dress, I believe?”

As he spoke, Hetherington had untied the ribbons of her bonnet and tossed it onto the seat opposite. Her pelisse had been unbuttoned and thrown back from her shoulders. His hands held her shoulders now. He gazed tenderly into the white face that looked back at him.

“I can't,” she whispered. “I am so afraid, Robert. I am afraid to love again.”

“I know,” he said, “but I am afraid not to. Look ahead, Elizabeth. Ten years. Twenty years. Thirty. Can you bear to think of the emptiness? I cannot. I need you and I believe you need me just as much. Come back to me, love. Please.”

Elizabeth felt the tears springing to her eyes. She moved forward to hide her face against his coat, and his arms came around her to hold her to him.

“Will it be the same?” she asked. “Will the magic be gone, Robert? I am afraid to go back.”

He laughed. “Have you grown so fearful, love?” he asked. “I remember the time when you defied the world to run away with me, although I was a penniless nobody at the time. Do you remember the ocean, love? Have you ever seen it before or since? And did you notice any difference? Some things always remain the same. We are not the same people we were six years ago. We will have to get to know each other again. But our love has survived, has it not? Can we not give it a chance again, Elizabeth? You do love me, do you not?”

“Yes,” she admitted hesitantly against his coat, “I always have.”

“Well,” he said, chuckling against her hair, “you have sealed your doom now, love. You cannot expect me ever to let you go after you have admitted that, you know.”

“Would you have let me go had I not said so?” she asked, her voice muffled by his coat.

“No,” he admitted.

“You see?” she said, raising her head, her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed. “You do not play fair, Robert Denning.”

“No,” he said, “I don't, do I? And are you not glad of it?”

She glared at him, until her face dimpled suddenly. “I promise you, you will not win all our arguments so easily, my lord,” she assured him severely.

“Have I won this one?” he asked meekly.

“Oh, Robert, please kiss me,” she begged suddenly. “Make me forget all my fears. John and Louise are very much in love with each other and they are perfectly happy. There is not any reason why we should not be, is there? If we really try. ...”

“Elizabeth,” he said, pulling her close against his chest again, “you asked me to do something. Now would you have the kindness to allow me to do it?”

“Oh,” she said, “is it advisable to kiss on an open highway, Robert?”

He clucked his tongue in mock annoyance and turned to pull the cord that held the curtains back from the window. He leaned across Elizabeth to do the same at her window. The interior of the carriage immediately became intimately dark.

“The answer to your question is yes,” he said, grinning down into her upturned face, “but I am having the forethought to realize that I may want to do a great deal more than kiss you once we get started.”

“Oh,” she said. “Should we not wait, Robert? The servants mmmm—”

“Thank goodness I have a wife who knows when to stop prattling,” the Marquess of Hetherington said with a self-satisfied smile several minutes later. “Now, if I could just train you not to wear these gowns that have a few score of buttons down the back, love!”

“Robert!” she protested, horrified, as she felt his fingers working the buttons free of the loops. “We are on a public mmmm—”

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Mary Balogh
was born and educated in Wales and now lives with her husband in Saskatchewan, Canada. She has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been
New York Times
bestsellers. They include the
Bedwyn
saga, the
Simply
quartet, the
Huxtable
quintet, and the seven-part
Survivors' Club
series.

The Westcott Series
Someone to Love

The Survivors' Club Septet
The Proposal
The Suitor
The Arrangement
The Escape
Only Enchanting
Only a Promise
Only a Kiss
Only Beloved

The Huxtable Quintet
First Comes Marriage
Then Comes Seduction
At Last Comes Love
Seducing An Angel
A Secret Affair

The Simply Quartet
Simply Unforgettable
Simply Love
Simply Magic
Simply Perfect

The Bedwyn Saga
Slightly Married
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Dangerous

The Bedwyn Prequels
One Night For Love
A Summer to Remember

The Mistress Trilogy
More Than A Mistress
No Man's Mistress
The Secret Mistress

The Horsemen Trilogy
Indiscreet
Unforgiven
Irresistible

The Web Trilogy
The Gilded Web
Web of Love
The Devil's Web

Standalone Novels
The Wood Nymph
A Chance Encounter
The Double Wager
A Masked Deception

A Certain Magic
An Unlikely Duchess
Lady with a Black Umbrella
Red Rose

Christmas Miracles
Christmas Gifts

Silent Melody
Heartless
Longing
Beyond the Sunrise

A Matter of Class

A Counterfeit Betrothal
The Notorious Rake

The Temporary Wife
A Promise of Spring

Lord Carew's Bride
Dark Angel

A Christmas Bride
Christmas Beau

The Famous Heroine
The Plumed Bonnet

A Christmas Promise

A Precious Jewel
The Ideal Wife
The Secret Pearl