Kathryn Caskie (15 page)
Authors: Rules of Engagement
Heaven help her make it through this night… a virgin.
After three laps of the clock’s minute hand, and a dozen tedious games of piquet, during which she repeatedly ignored Magnus’s attempt to discuss the evening at Vauxhall Gardens, Eliza’s weighted eyelids began to droop from the dreadful combination of the early hour and her aunts’ blasted cordial. She leaned against the door, forced her lids abnormally wide, and tightened her grip on the pearl-handled fruit knife she held protectively before her.
Eliza stared bleary-eyed at the drained bottle of cordial before her wishing she hadn’t passed the time with a glass in her hand. Magnus, by comparison, seemed perfectly unaffected.
“I fail to understand how you can sit there so agreeably when we are trapped in this glass cage,” she snapped, her defenses failing miserably.
Magnus rose from his chair and moved deliberately toward her. “Must be the scenery. For it certainly isna the conversation. But of course, that is about to change.”
“There is nothing more to discuss,” Eliza protested for the tenth time, but her voice was quavering as she helplessly watched him near.
“Oh, lass, but there is.” Magnus loomed above her now. “What happened in the Gardens was no accident and we
will
speak of it.” Sparks of excitement seemed to flash in his eyes as he stared down at her. “Admit it, lass. I know ye feel something for me, Eliza. Feel it down to yer verra toes.”
“You’re wrong,” she managed to say. “Ours is naught but an arrangement of convenience.”
Then suddenly he was standing before her, reaching out to her. Too tired to twist away, she closed her eyes as his fingers trailed along her jawbone, welcoming the pleasurable tickle as he brushed the skin beneath her ear. She sighed as he slipped his hand back to cup the nape of her neck and drew her closer.
Slowly, she lifted her lids, gazed into his eyes, and was startled by the purposeful glint she saw in them.
What am I doing ?
With feeble intent, Eliza raised the dull blade threateningly, but Magnus only chuckled at her well-meant defense.
“Enough games. Enough words, lass.”
Her eyes tracked Magnus’s left hand as it reached between them, twisted the small knife from her grip and cast it skidding to the floor.
Now empty of her weapon, Eliza’s fingers curled toward her wrist, but Magnus gently pressed them open and touched his lips to her palm. The moist heat from his mouth made her tremble, even as he leaned back and threaded his fingers with hers.
Her breath came in pants when he pulled her from the bench and drew her to her feet. He yanked her into his arms, fanning his fingers to press against her back until their bodies were so close that she could feel his heart thudding against her.
She knew he was about to kiss her, and lord help her, she wanted him to. Needed him to. Slowly, she tilted her chin up, closed her eyes, and stood motionless, breathless. Waiting.
Then she felt him, felt his tongue brush her lower lip, tasting her. Teasing her. Coaxing her mouth open to him. At long last, he kissed her fully, his tongue masterfully exploring every recess of her mouth. There was no escape. She was helpless to resist him. Helpless to refuse him anything.
The longer he kissed her, held her, the weaker her knees felt. Then, his hand was suddenly on her breast.
Good lord! Eliza’s eyes snapped open. Had she been a proper lady, she would have certainly fainted dead away! Then it occurred to her. Mayhap there was a way to stop him. Stop herself.
In the next moment, Eliza’s eyelids fluttered closed and her body fell limp in Magnus’s arms.
“Eliza? Eliza?” Magnus held Eliza’s wilted body in his arms, stunned. He shook her. “Damn it, Eliza! Answer me.”
She was breathing, he could see that. Had the silly chit fainted? Nay, not his Eliza. She wasn’t the sort.
But still, despite his calls, his pats to her cheeks, she made no response. Magnus laid her out on the wooden floor, turning her on her side so he could release the row of small buttons at her back then loosen her stays. Then, he settled the candelabra on the floor beside her and waited, but his ministrations made no difference.
Eliza had worked so hard to avoid him for the past few hours. To put space between them. And he’d given her that, even given in to her marathon card games for a time. She was just so damned adorable, so transparent as she struggled against the physical urges inside herself.
But then he pushed her. Tried to make her admit the feelings she denied. And she had admitted them. Not with words. Nay, he felt it… in the way her body softened against him. In her passionate response to his kiss. Her feelings for him, her need for him, were as certain as daybreak.
But look where his manipulation had gotten him.
Bluidy hell.
He had to get her out of here. Had to get help. Snatching the fruit knife from the floor, Magnus hurried to the door. He knelt down and examined the door’s brass hardware, then slipped the knife’s point into the keyhole and turned it little by little until he felt the lock release.
Movement in a reflection in the glass caught his notice and he was astonished at what he saw. Eliza was watching him, mouth fully agape at his success in unlocking the door.
But within the seconds it took for him to come to his feet and turn around, Eliza’s head was back on the floor. Her eyes closed. Magnus stifled a chuckle. So this is how it was to be?
Ach, ‘twas time he left anyway. He had an early morning meeting with
The Promise’s
other investor in two hours time. “First light at the docks” the card had read. And Magnus intended to be there, despite his long evening, for
The Promise
was scheduled to make port by morn. And, it was just possible that his financial shortfall would come to an end and a life with Eliza could begin.
Magnus exhaled a sigh, then slid his hands beneath Eliza’s warm body and raised her gently into his arms. “Come with me, sweeting,” he whispered softly against her ear as he carried her above stairs. Magnus felt his way along the dark passageway until his hand connected with a cool door handle. He pressed it and pushed the door open with his boot.
In the glow from the flickering golden flames in the hearth, he could make out the lines of a bed near the window.
“Who is there?” came a shriek.
He recognized the voice as Grace’s. “Hush now.” He carried Eliza toward Grace’s bed.
“Lord Somerton? What are you doing in my bedchamber?” Her tone was frantic. “If you touch me, I shall scream.”
"I have Eliza in my arms. May I lay her down with you?”
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “I suppose. But why—”
He settled Eliza on the bed, then bent close and whispered in her ear. “Ye win this time, lass. This time.” But as he felt her slow breath on his cheek, he realized she didn’t hear him. The cordial had already ushered her to sleep.
Turning, Magnus passed through the doorway, then paused with his hand on the door handle. In a finger of moonlight, he could see that Grace’s startled eyes were as wide as her open mouth. “Good night, Miss Grace.”
“G-good night, Lord … S-Somerton.”
Magnus descended the stairs, stopping only to gather up his coat and hat before heading out into the night.
As his waiting hackney drew up before the house, a sudden movement from across the street snared Magnus’s attention. His muscles tensed, every nerve fired, as he peered around his vehicle. A dark carriage, nearly invisible in the cushion of fog, had stopped two houses up the street. The cab window was open, this he could see, but little more. Suddenly, for a scant second, a flame illuminated the hack’s ebony interior.
Magnus squinted his eyes, but the dull glow from the lit tip of the cheroot was all he could see.
He had the distinct impression he was being watched.
“West India Import Dock, guv’nor,” the hackney driver bellowed as he pulled the horses to a jerking stop.
Magnus rubbed his weary eyes and peered out the window at a row of brick warehouses before him. Packed cheek-by-jowl, the five-story buildings buffeted an endless dock lined with bobbing, thick-masted ships.
He stepped from the hack into the cool morning air, flipping a heavy coin to its driver, who circled the horses around, and headed down the damp paving stones in the direction he had come.
Magnus breathed deeply of the air blowing off the Thames, drawing into his lungs the vaguely salty scent of the wooden ships beyond.
He glanced warily behind him, scanning the shadowy slants of gray between the buildings. But he saw nothing. The carriage that had paced his hack through the wet streets of London was no longer anywhere to be seen. That was something to be thankful for at any rate, but unnerving just the same.
He had no clue as to who had been following him.
Ach,
if he had indeed been followed at all. London was a busy city and movement in the early morning, by tradesmen, barrow girls and shopkeepers, was not uncommon. He’d do well to dampen his military acuity. Forget his training. London’s streets were not trenches in a battlefield after all.
Putting his suspicions aside for the time being, Magnus reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the card he’d received the afternoon before.
Twenty-two, West India Import Dock. First light.
It was not quite six in the morn, though twenty ships already filled to capacity the thirty-acre Import Dock basin.
Though tired beyond words, Magnus’s mood remained light and he whistled as he walked. He was almost sure that at any moment he would spot the ship he’d bet his future on—
The Promise,
sitting low in the water, heavy with precious cargo.
He recalled
The Promise’s
distinctive rigging and scanned the forest of masts for a glimpse of her. For with the ship’s arrival, the financial challenge his brother bequeathed could be put to rest—and he could begin the season anew by offering for the woman who’d come to mean everything to him—Eliza.
A smile came to his lips as he remembered the warmth and softness of her against him in the music room. The seductive curve of her body. The fullness of her lips. The faint scent of lavender in her hair. He drew a half breath, remembering.
“Heads up, sir!” came a warning shout.
Magnus looked up. A coach-sized crate dangling from a crane whooshed toward him.
Mirthful thoughts of Eliza instantly evaporated as he dove from the crate’s path just in time to avoid being flattened beneath its bulk.
“Damn it all.” Magnus’s heart pounded as he crawled to his feet. He blinked at the hulking crate and adjusted his coat, shaking off the shock of near catastrophe.
The slap of clapping hands drew his attention to a small doorway all but cloaked in morning shadow.
“Well done, Somerton.” Charles Lambeth stood just outside the next factory with a toothy grin on his narrow, freckled face. “But just where was your head, man? Hitched to a bit of muslin, I’d reckon.”
Though they were from different worlds—Magnus a peer, and Charles Lambeth, the son of a merchant—they had served together at the Peninsula, where war-born hardship sealed many an unlikely alliance. There, amidst the death and suffering, they had become fast friends.
Magnus crossed the wharf and gave Charles’s shoulder a good-natured cuff. “There ye are, my good man. Why the summons?
The Promise
arrived on schedule, has she?”
Lambeth’s smile dissolved. “You’d best come inside.”
Despite the coolness of the morn, buds of perspiration moistened Magnus’s brow as he followed Lambeth into a small room off the main warehouse. It was clear the news he’d hoped for was not to be had. “Come now, what’s wrong?”
Lambeth looked out the casement window toward the basin. “We should wait for the other investor.” There was an unnerving edge to his voice this morn.
“If there is something amiss, I demand to hear it now,” Magnus replied, his own tone hardening. “Ye know of my situation. My life is crated inside that ship—my future.”
Exhaling his breath, Lambeth gazed at the floor as if collecting his thoughts. Slowly, he turned his eyes upward to Magnus. “I think it best if you take a chair.”
Magnus pulled a ladderback forward and sank into it. “This news disna sound promising.”
Clouds of dark worry gathered in Lambeth’s eyes as the door swung open and the second investor, Porter Hanover, Lord Dunsford, entered and took a chair.
“What’s going on to rouse a man so early from his bed?
The Promise
has arrived, hasn’t she?”
Lambeth dispensed with the greetings and instead set himself to the business at hand.
“Last night, I received several reports of an immense storm crossing the western shipping lane. Yesterday, The East India Company confirmed the loss of two ships.”
Magnus came to his feet. “And
The Promise?”
Lambeth shook his head. “I cannot say. She has not been included in the reports thus far. I hope for the best.”
“Hope for the best?” Dunsford leapt up. “Is that all you can offer us,
hope?”
“Sadly, yes,” Lambeth replied, his gaze scraping the floor once more. “Gentlemen, we must have faith.”
“Faith?” Dunsford repeated. “You sound like a bloody vicar!”
Lambeth moved toward Dunsford and laid his hand on his arm to calm him.
Dunsford smacked it away. His brows bunched as he narrowed his eyes. “You know, I should have listened to the players at White’s—even
they
cautioned me against this gamble.” Dunsford pointed his finger at Lambeth. “ ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ they said.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re just like your father—a swindler.”
"You bloody whoreson—” Lambeth charged at Dunsford.
Magnus launched himself between the two men as Dunsford lunged toward Lambeth, who snatched up a ladderback in his hands and hoisted it over his head, prepared to strike.
Thrusting his shoulder before Lambeth, Magnus then caught Dunsford’s lapels and threw him bodily into a chair.
