Wicked Promise (19 page)

Nick stared in Elizabeth's direction. She was sitting across the table, her expression carefully guarded as they bantered back and forth. She was lovely in her mint-green muslin gown, her hair swept into fiery ringlets on top of her head. Looking at her made the knot in his stomach clench harder. The gown outlined the roundness of her breasts and he felt another tightening lower down.

Dammit, he.wanted her. No matter how he fought it, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself she wasn't for him, his body would not listen.

There were times he hated her for stepping through the door of his room that night at the inn.

He felt her eyes on his face, deep green and probing, seeing things he did not want her to see. Bloody hell. The sooner she was married, the better. He wanted to stop feeling guilty. He wanted to stop feeling this constant, tormenting desire for her. He wanted her gone and his life back to normal. Grudgingly he turned in her direction. "You probably do need some clothes," he said gruffly. "Get your bonnet. I'll have the carriage brought round."

They drove along Piccadilly to St. James's, passing into an area of elegant shops and restaurants. The streets were crowded with carriages and vendors: newsboys, coal merchants, bellmen, cherry-sellers, shoeblacks. There seemed to be no end to them. Along the paving stones, ladies and gen-tlemen hurried past, elegantly dressed, their arms piled high with brightly wrapped packages and boxes.

Maggie chatted pleasantly, but Elizabeth only kept wishing that she wasn't there.

"Look, Nick!" Maggie pointed toward a cluster of children standing in a circle outside L. T. Piver's, a perfume and glove shop. "It's a puppet show. I haven't seen one since I was a girl."

Nicholas caught the heightened color in his sister's cheeks, and for an instant, Elizabeth thought he might actually smile. He didn't, of course, simply instructed the driver to pull over, drawing the carriage to a halt in front of Madame Boudreau's, the city's most fashionable modiste.

With brusque efficiency, he helped them down from the carriage and Elias Moody joined them, a guard of sorts, she suspected, jumping down from the top where he had been riding with the coachman.

While Elias stood out front and Nicholas waited patiently on an elegant settee, lending his opinion now and then on fabric, design, or color, Elizabeth and Margaret were fitted for gowns.

Elizabeth finished first, needing only a few new dresses to supplement her wardrobe. When the last gown was fitted, she had no choice but to join the earl where he sat on the small settee, their legs nearly brushing, her skirt trailing over the top of his polished black shoe.

He flicked her a glance, a row of thick black lashes coming down to veil the silver-blue of his eyes.

"You chose well," he said. "The emerald and gold is perfect for the ball the duke has planned."

"I'm glad you like it."

" 'Tis not a matter of what I like but of what will show you off to your best advantage, as the emerald and gold will surely do."

She stared into his handsome face and a fine thread of anger slid through her. "I am not a piece of merchandise, my lord, to be packaged and put on display. If my suitors do not approve of the way I look, they can find someone else to many."

Nicholas's black brows pulled into a frown. "And what of Oliver Hampton? Need I remind you the man means to force you into his bed?"

Color burned up her neck and infused her cheeks. "I assure you I haven't forgotten."

He leaned closer, his eyes dark gray and intense. "Listen to me, Elizabeth. I know how you feel about Bascomb. I know things have grown even more . . . complicated over the past few weeks. But in truth, I only want what is best for you." He turned her cheek with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "I want you to be happy. You deserve a man who will care for you and treat you with respect."

He was staring at her with such sincerity, her bottom lip began to tremble. "Do I?"

"Yes, you do."

"And what of love, my lord?"

His turbulent gaze slid away. "Love is a fairy tale, Elizabeth. Perhaps for some it is real, but for the rest of us, it is only a fantasy. It doesn't really exist."

Elizabeth said nothing, but she ached inside. Ached for the love she felt for Nicholas that he would never return, ached for the love that Nicholas had never known.

The afternoon crept by, tense, and often strained. Even Maggie's lighthearted banter couldn't penetrate the brittle atmosphere in the carriage as they finished the last of their shopping. When they were done, at Maggie's insistence, they stopped for an orange ice in a small confectioner's shop. Elizabeth managed to spill some down the front of her dress and, for the first time that day, Nicholas smiled. Then Maggie handed her a damp cloth to wipe away the stain and the wetness made her nipple peak beneath the fabric. Elizabeth flushed and Nicholas scowled. He turned and stalked away.

Nicholas remained curt and withdrawn all the way back to the town house. She didn't see him again until the end of the week, not until time for the dinner party Sydney Birdsall had arranged for Friday night. He was avoiding her, she knew, but Elizabeth preferred it that way. He had made it painfully clear he had nothing to say to her and she certainly had nothing to say to him.

Choosing a high-waisted sapphire-blue silk gown shot with silver and tied with a silver ribbon be-neath her breasts, Elizabeth prepared herself to face the evening ahead. All day she had dreaded the encounter with the first of her prospective suitors, but no amount of wishful thinking could postpone the inevitable for long.

Pasting on a smile, she made her way downstairs, stopping at the bottom to join Aunt Sophie, who walked with her into the drawing room. Sydney was waiting. She greeted him with a kiss on his wrinkled cheek, then made the appropriate greeting to Ravenworth. He was equally formal, presenting her as his ward to the rest of their guests, including the Duke of Beldon.

"My dear Miss Woolcot," the duke said with a smile, taking her gloved hand as she rose from a curtsy. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you." He grinned and a tiny dimple appeared in his cheek. "Praise from your admirers has been lavish, but I can certainly see it was not undeserved."

She had to admit she was impressed. Beldon's presence was magnetic. For a moment she was actually able to forget the equally powerful presence of Nicholas Warring. She smiled into the duke's handsome face. "Thank you, Your Grace."

She flashed an assessing glance at the earl, wondering what he might have said about her. They spoke a few moments more, then she excused herself and returned to stand beside Sydney, feeling safer, somehow, in his company.

"I believe you have already met Lord Tricklewdod." Sydney turned to the attractive young viscount—the first of her potential suitors—who had just joined them.

"Yes. Lord Ravenworth introduced us earlier in the evening." David Endicott, Lord Tricklewood, was lean and sandy-haired with a boyish smile and wide-set blue eyes. He was a little shy at first and she liked that about him, that he was as far the opposite of Oliver Hampton as any two men could get.

Maggie arrived just then, elegant and lovely in a gown of yellow silk that set off the gold of her hair. She paused for a moment, just inside the drawing room doors.

"Good God, is that little Maggie?" Beldon's deep voice boomed across the Oriental carpet.

Nicholas's deep laughter joined in. "I told you she wasn't so little anymore."

"Yes, you did." Beldon approached her, reached out and took both of her hands. "Welcome back, Lady Margaret. You have been away far too long."

Maggie smiled. "Thank you, Your Grace. There are times it seems I was gone forever. Now that I have returned, I can hardly believe I was ever away."

"You've grown into a lovely young woman. I know your father and mother would be proud."

A flicker of emotion, then Maggie smiled. "Thank you, Your Grace."

The evening went passably well. Aunt Sophie, in her usual good humor, was seated next to Sydney, and several times during the course of the meal, Elizabeth could hear his soft laughter at something Aunt Sophie said. There were other guests as well: the Marquess of Denby and his petite wife, Eleanor; Sir Wilfred Manning and a widow named Emily Chester whom Sir Wilfred was courting, all of them friends of Beldon's. They were present to begin Elizabeth's introduction into Society, along with the return of the disgraced Ravenworth siblings, a task far easier tonight than it would be in the future.

Elizabeth sat next to Lord Tricklewood, who grew less and less shy as the evening wore on.

"Mr. Birdsall tells me you quite like to read."

"Yes, I find it very relaxing. Currently I am reading one of Mrs. Radcliffe's Gothic novels, The Mysteries of Udolpho, though I am sure a number of people would not approve."

Tricklewood smiled. "Actually, I just finished reading it myself, and in truth, I liked it very much." Thus began a discussion of books, which turned to a discussion of gardens, which ended in of all things a lively discussion of birds,

"My last day at Ravenworth," Elizabeth said, "I spotted a citrine wagtail. As I had never seen one before, it was really quite a thrill."

Tricklewood seemed impressed. "I can imagine. I have never had the good fortune to see one, myself. I know that they are quite rare."

They continued conversing in a pleasant vein until Elizabeth felt Nicholas's hard gaze boring into her. When she glanced to where he sat at the far end of the table, she saw that his jaw was set, and his delicious plate of veal stuffed with woodcock sat nearly untouched in front of him. Apparently he didn't approve of David Endicott as a potential husband.

Which meant, in Elizabeth's book, he was an even more likely candidate.

"Well, what did you think?" Sydney Birdsall sat next to Rand Clayton in Nick's study the following morning. "I thought it went off rather well for a first attempt."

"Elizabeth and the young viscount definitely seemed to get along," Rand said. "From what I've heard, Tricklewood is quite a decent fellow. What did you think, Nick?"

He leaned back in his chair. "David is a boy. Elizabeth needs a man."

Beldon frowned while Sydney pursed his lips. "He is nearly three and twenty, three years Elizabeth's senior. Old enough, I should think. He has money enough, but a modest fortune, so her dowry will still be of interest."

"Elizabeth seemed to like him," Beldon put in.

"Elizabeth likes everyone," Nick grumbled.

"Except for Olver Hampton."

His jaw tightened. "I stand corrected," he said darkly.

Rand smiled. "Cheer up, old man. We've only made the first foray into the field of battle. Elizabeth is lovely in the extreme. She won't want for suitors. You'll be able to pick and choose."

Pick and choose, yes. Except that because of me she is no longer a virgin. But he would deal with that problem when the time came.

"The ball at your house is next," he said to Rand. "That should be a crucial move in the game. With you as Elizabeth's sponsor, they'll be hard-pressed to ignore her, but of course we can't be sure."

"Leave that to me," the duke said with no little authority. "If they know what is good for them, your ward will be welcomed with open arms."

Nick glanced up. One look at his friend's stern features and he could almost believe it. Still, it wouldn't be easy. Not for him. Not for Maggie, and especially not for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth dressed with care for what would be her official debut into London Society. She was wearing the gold and emerald gown Nicholas had insisted she purchase in Madame Boudreau's dress shop. It was actually a soft cream silk, trimmed beneath the bodice, down the sides, and along the hem with bands of emerald and gold in an Egyptian motif. The low-cut bodice displayed a good bit of her bosom. The color, he had said, brought out the deep green of her eyes.  Standing in front of the mirror, she grudgingly admitted the earl was right. With her auburn hair and fair complexion, the gown set off her features better than any dress she had ever worn.

Elizabeth smiled bitterly. Ravenworth would surely be pleased. He wanted to be rid of her, to see her married and out of his hair. He had satisfied his desire for her and now he wanted to dismiss her, just as he had done Miriam Beechcroft. God, she had been a fool to believe a man like the earl could change.

"Are you ready?" Maggie stuck her head through the open door to her bedchamber.

"I suppose so, though I must say I'm hardly looking forward to the evening."

Maggie stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. "Believe me, I quite agree. God only knows what reception we shall receive." She was gowned in ice-blue silk, a shade lighter than her eyes. With her fair skin and golden blond hair, she looked stunning. "Poor Nick is likely to get the brunt of it. He should be used to it by now, but Sydney says he isn't."

Elizabeth made no reply. She didn't want to think about Nicholas Warring. She certainly didn't want to feel sorry for him.

Maggie studied her from beneath a row of gold lashes as thick as Nicholas's black ones. "On the surface, my brother seems hard, but in truth, he is more sensitive than you might believe. He cares for people—cares very deeply. If he thinks of you as a friend, he'll do anything in his power to protect you—no matter the pain it might cause him."

Elizabeth pondered that. Was Maggie trying to tell her something? As far as she knew, Margaret Warring knew nothing of her feelings for her brother, or had any idea what had transpired between them. She studied the toes of her gold satin slippers, carefully choosing her words;

"Lord Ravenworth has been very generous to my aunt and to me. Both of us are greatly indebted."

Maggie's expression turned intense. "He cares for you, Elizabeth. I can see it in his face whenever he looks at you. I hope you don't hurt him. Nick's been hurt enough already."

Elizabeth just stood there, her eyes wide with astonishment. "You think I might pose some sort of threat to your brother?''

Maggie smoothed a lock of her short blond hair, tucking it neatly behind an ear. "Nick is lonely. His wife has abandoned him. He doesn't know it, but he is desperately in need of a woman who will love him. Unfortunately, he is married, which means that woman can't be you."

No one knew that better than she. Elizabeth walked over to the window, stared down at the street lamps below. A watchman reached the corner, stopped and turned, walked back to the small wooden shed in which he was housed.

"You've been gone a long time, Maggie. People change. From what I've seen, your brother is quite adept at assuaging whatever loneliness he might feel. He has any number of women at his beck and call, and he doesn't shy away from taking what is offered." That wasn't exactly true. He had tried more than once to avoid what Elizabeth had practically forced on him. It was her fault, not his, that he had failed.