Wicked Promise (37 page)

Elizabeth took a long, slow breath and steeled herself for the battle she knew she must win.

Choosing a particularly fetching green silk gown sprigged with embroidered roses, Elizabeth dressed with care the following morning. A note had been sent to Mercy Brown the night before, and the girl had arrived at the Duke of Beldon's man¬sion with an assortment of clothes which she hoped would serve their purpose.

Elizabeth studied herself in the mirror, thinking Mercy had chosen well, pleased with the way the tops of her breasts were exposed, liking the way the little maid had fashioned her hair in soft curls at the crown of her head, hoping the care they had gone to would produce the desired results.

She had gone over the plan a dozen times since Nicholas had at long last, grudgingly, agreed. It was decided she would arrive at his town house alone, seek out Jackson Fremantle and set things into motion. The hope was Fremantle would go to Bascomb, and the earl would take the bait.

"Bait?" Nicholas had raged when she had first presented her plan. "Tell me you are not speaking of yourself. Tell me you are not the bait!" But of course she was and only hours of pleading and the duke's solid support had convinced him to let her proceed.

She glanced in the mirror one last time, plucked her shawl up off the bed, and headed downstairs where the men would be waiting, Nicholas and Rand and a judge named Wilton Sommers, a powerful friend of the duke's who had agreed to help them.

The plan was set, every possibility considered and hopefully prepared for. Oliver was obsessed with having her—or ob¬sessed with revenge against Nick—or perhaps a little of both. He always believed the worst of people. She prayed, knowing the earl as she had begun to, the role she meant to play would prove convincing.

Enough so that the earl would admit the truth,

Elizabeth descended the stairs of the duke's town mansion. Beneath the Crystal chandelier in the entry, Nicholas paced the black-and-white marble floor.

"I don't like this, Elizabeth. I never should have agreed. It is simply too risky." His eyes were dark and piercing. The Earl of Ravenworth was a formidable man, particularly when his protective instincts were aroused.

Elizabeth held her ground. "We've been over this time and again. Oliver Hampton has been the scourge of my life for years. I am sick unto death of the power he holds over us. I want all of this to end." She gently caught his arm. "Bascomb isn't going to hurt me—not as long as you and Rand are there."

Nicholas stared at her for long, disturbing moments, his eyes an intense bluish-gray. A muscle throbbed in his cheek. "It may not work, you know. Bascomb may simply send one of his henchmen after you instead."

"I don't think so. Not this time. They have failed him too many times already."

Rand squeezed Nick's shoulder. "Never fear, my friend. Should Bascomb appear, we'll be waiting. Elizabeth will be fine."

Nicholas said nothing more, but his features looked tense and grim. Wordlessly, he helped her into the carriage. Eliza¬beth arrived at the town house as scheduled at exactly ten o'clock and went directly out to the stables. Jackson Fremantle was there, a stout, middle-aged man With sharp blue eyes, waxing Nick's sleek black phaeton. If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it.

It was certain he knew Ravenworth's name had been cleared. Everyone in London was aware of the viscount's con¬fession. Elizabeth smiled as she gave him the message that Nicholas and Elias had gone to settle matters with the author¬ities.

"I'm not certain how long it will take them. Certainly not more than a couple of hours. His lordship wishes you to pick the two of them up at the magistrate's office."

"And you, miss? Are you to go with me?"

"I believe I shall wait for them here." She smiled at him sweetly. "It will give me a chance to read. I do so enjoy the soft light in the library."

It was the room they had chosen for their trap. With a small anteroom off one end, it was easily accessible from a door at the rear of the house that was only kept locked in the evenings.

"Are you sure you should be stayin' here by yourself, miss? I thought his lordship was worried about your safety?"

"They'll only be gone a couple of hours. No one knows I'm here. I'm sure I'll be fine until then."

Jackson grinned. "I'll fetch him home, miss. Don't you worry."

"Thank you." She returned inside the house and watched out the window till the carriage pulled out of the stables. By now the other men had arrived. Scowling and pacing like a frustrated bull, Nicholas waited in the drawing room, along with Rand and the judge, Wilton Sommers.

"I still don't like this," Nicholas grumbled.

"Relax, my friend. You've Theo and Elias for protection outside and the three of us in here. Surely that is enough."

"Where Bascomb is concerned, an army of men is not enough." But he didn't protest further, and as the time slid past, the men took up their places, the duke and Sommers behind the door of the anteroom, Nicholas behind a high wall of bookshelves at the back of the library.

Elizabeth sat down in a window seat that overlooked the garden. If Bascomb came in through the rear, as they hoped he would, he would know she was in the library as Fremantle would have told him.

She opened the heavy tome she had chosen and tried to read, but there wasn't the slightest chance she could concen¬trate on the words. The clock ticked loudly. Elizabeth thought that if Oliver Hampton decided to come, it would be soon. He would want her spirited away from the house before Nicholas and his tough-fisted valet could return.

Minutes ticked past. Twice, she heard a slight impatient noise behind the bookshelves, then the silence would thicken again. From the corner of her eye, she caught some movement on the path through the garden. No, just a shadow magnified by her nerves. Time was slipping away. Perhaps he would not come. A small part of her almost wished he wouldn't. The other half wanted this over and done.

It was a full fifteen minutes later by the clock on the mantel that the library door swung open and Oliver Hampton, Earl of Bascomb, walked in. She didn't have to pretend surprise. She had convinced herself he wasn't going to come.

"Oliver..." She closed the book with a shaky hand and stood up as he closed the door.

"You use my first name." A hard smile edged his lips. "I suppose that is a start."

"What are you doing here?"

"Surely you know the answer to that, Elizabeth. I have come here for you."

Her heart beat faster. The palms of her hands felt damp. She pressed them against the sides of her skirt, "I am surprised you would make the effort. You must know by now that I will not go with you. I'll scream if you come near me. Servants will come. You can't simply drag me out of here."

"I hoped I wouldn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that perhaps, after all that has occurred, you might have tired of your dalliance with Ravenworth, I hoped it had finally occurred to you that in light of all the scandal, should you remain with the earl—perhaps even marry him— you will be forever relegated to a lifetime of boredom in the country."

Her gaze met his, held steady. She shrugged and glanced away. ''Actually, it has occurred to me—rather recently, to be sure, but in truth, the thought did cross my mind. I am not entirely enthralled with the notion of being ostracized from Society for the rest of my life. On the other hand, Ravenworth has offered to marry me, while you want merely to make me your mistress."

"There was time I wanted you for my countess."

"I was younger then, less experienced. I was less certain of what I wanted."

A thick brow arched up. He studied her long and hard. "And now?"

She allowed the faintest of smiles. "I have to admit, you've begun to intrigue me, Oliver." She walked toward him, mov¬ing with what she hoped was a slightly seductive air. "You're stronger than I ever imagined—and far more clever."

 "That is true, of course, but I am surprised you have finally realized it. What was it that convinced you?"

She paused a few steps in front of him. "Rachael Warring's murder. I don't believe there is a person in London who imag¬ines you played a part in her death, but I do. I think you are the only man smart enough to have devised a means of placing the blame on Nicholas."

A smug smile curled the corners of his mouth. "And you find the possibility intriguing."

"In a strange way, I do." Only a man as corrupt as Bas¬comb would believe such a thing. Only a man who had no feelings for anyone else would believe she could turn away from Nicholas as if she had never really cared.

He took a step toward her and a faint noise sounded behind the bookshelves. She prayed Bascomb hadn't heard it, and that Nicholas wouldn't be too hasty.

"I could show you things, Elizabeth, take you places. I could give you riches—anything your heart desires. All you have to do is come with me. Leave with me now, and I prom¬ise your life will never be boring."

She stared at him, hiding the loathing she felt, the disgust that roiled in the pit of her stomach. With every moment that passed, she was more certain he was somehow involved in Rachael's murder.

She turned away from him, pretended nonchalance. "There is something I want. Something Rachael Warring had that Nicholas can no longer give me."

His expression changed, turned to wary regard. "Surely you aren't speaking of the rubies? Their theft was all over the papers. I didn't realize you had an interest in such things."

"I'm a woman, aren't I?"

A sound escaped, not quite a laugh. His smile became one of triumph. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, walked over to one of the tables, and set it on the top. "I thought these might prove tempting. Such a treas¬ure would be hard for anyone to resist. Open it."

Her pulse trip-hammered, seemed to thunder in her ears. She followed him to the table, reached down to examine the small white bundle he had placed there. With trembling fin¬gers, she parted the linen handkerchief embroidered with the Bascomb crest—and stared down at the Ravenworth rubies.

For a moment she said nothing, her gaze locked on the glittering bloodred gems that placed him at the scene of the murder. Slowly, she turned to face him.

"You were there. I knew it. I knew you were somehow connected."

He chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. "It was quite an in¬genious plan—though it didn't go exactly as I had envisioned. That poor fool Kendall actually believes he was the one who killed her—not that he didn't come close. His jealous tirade made the whole affair quite simple. I merely finished what that young fool started. I knew everyone in London would be certain it was Ravenworth who killed her."

Elizabeth said nothing. She couldn't squeeze the words past her lips.

"The rubies are yours if you come with me. We'll have them reset. They'll be our symbol of triumph. No one will ever guess the truth."

Her hand shook as she shoved the rubies away. "You mur¬dered her and let Kendall take the blame." Her fingers felt numb as they crept to the base of her throat. "You lied about Nicholas, too—the night he shot your brother."

"Ravenworth killed Stephen. Everyone knew he was a far better shot. The fact that my brother was armed was entirely irrelevant."

"Not to the courts, if wouldn't have been."

Bascomb frowned. "I am tired of talking. It is time for us to leave."

"I'm not... I'm not going with you."

Bascomb's features hardened. If he was surprised, it didn't show. A hand disappeared inside his tailcoat and reappeared holding a pistol. His smile was thin and harsh. "Oh, but you are, my dear,"

The door to the anteroom flew open the same instant Nich¬olas stepped out from behind the bookshelves. Both Rand and Nicholas held pistols.

Nicholas moved forward. "Put the gun down, Bascomb. Now."

A look of pure hatred washed over his features. He stared hard at Elizabeth. "I was a fool to believe you had changed. I should have known you wouldn't have enough sense to ac¬cept the gift I offered."

"I love him. A man like you can't begin to understand what that means."

Very slowly, Bascomb turned the gun in Nicholas's direc¬tion. "You think you have finally outsmarted me. You think this time you have won." His hand tightened on the gun and Elizabeth's heart constricted. "Does she really mean that much to you?"

"She means everything," Nicholas said softly.

Bascomb's mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. "That's too bad." With a single quick movement, he swung the pistol toward Elizabeth and squeezed the trigger.

"Nooooo!" Nicholas's cry cut the air and his pistol rang out as a blinding pain seared into her chest.

Rand's gun went off, but her legs had turned to butter, re¬fusing to hold her up. She slid to the floor, Nicholas calling her name, his boots pounding toward her. Elizabeth could barely hear him. Her eyelids felt heavy and the pain was so fierce she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. Her breath came in short, choppy bursts, and her arms felt tingly and numb.

She looked up to see Nicholas kneeling beside her, lifting her head into his lap, repeating her name again and again. She saw that there were tears on his cheeks. The pain burned hot¬ter, sharper. She realized his hand held hers, but she couldn't feel it.

"Don't die," he whispered. "Please don't die."

"Nicholas . . ."

He smoothed back her hair with a hand that shook, pressed her fingers to his trembling lips, but she couldn't feel the warmth.

"Elizabeth . . . please . . . you can't leave me. I've waited all my life for you. I need you, Bess." His voice cracked on the last. "I need you so much."

She didn't want to die. Oh, God, she didn't want to leave him. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted to bear his chil¬dren. She tried to tell him so, but her voice wouldn't work. She tried to lift her head, but it felt like a lead weight, im¬possible to move.