Elise (4 page)

“Probably?” Elise responded, watching the transformation taking place in the mirror. She didn’t argue the points Daisy was making. It was a waste of breath. Besides, she couldn’t breathe deeply enough to argue them.

“So do I have your promise?” Daisy asked, as she lifted the maroon dress down from the armoire door.

“What would I have promised now?”

“That you’ll speak to His Grace. Tonight.”

Elise groaned.

“You’ll find a way to tell him. Tonight. Promise.”

“He doesn’t listen to anything I say, though. He treats me like a strumpet who lacks morals and a mind.”

“You’ve got him where you want him, then. Good girl.”

“What?” Elise asked.

“He’ll not consider you marriage material, either. It works on just about every gent, except that poet-snake fellow. He’d take you with no questions asked. Of him, either, I might add.”

“Poet-snake fellow?” Elise repeated.

“Sorry. Personal opinion. I have them. I do try to keep them to myself, though; otherwise, I’d find myself without any employ. Should you find my services lacking, of course.”

“Never.” Elise smiled. ‘There’s not another lady of the peerage deserving of such service. But I think you denigrate Roald without reason. You forget, I enjoy his company.”

“Not as much as he enjoys your gold.”

“He’s got a wicked sense of humor, Daisy. You do have to admit that. Come along, admit it.”

“Wicked? Yes, that he is. Here, try this.” The maid was holding out a maroon vinaigrette, a small bag for holding smelling salts and other ladylike necessities.

“Am I planning on swooning now?” Elise asked, raising her eyebrows. “What good will that do?”

“It’s the coward’s way. Try it. It might work.”

“Daisy, I’m beginning to wonder at your sanity, and I’ve never been cowardly. I’m not about to start. The notorious Ice Goddess fainting? I’ll never live it down.”

Daisy clucked her tongue. “I put lavender-scented note cards in there. Put the words on one. Press it into his hand. They’ll think it a love note. Take it. You might need a lifeline.”

An hour later, Elise was pronounced ready and allowed to leave the chamber. Daisy had added more height by wrapping Elise’s hair all about her head before placing a small ruby tiara in it. More of the same stones were set in a necklace that molded along the tops of her breasts, drawing the eye there. Looking there, no man could possibly think she needed meat to any part of her frame. The vinaigrette dangled from her left wrist with a note already written out

Elise knew no part of her appearance could be faulted. It was a good thing. She needed it. She entered Barrigan’s drawing room and Sir Roald was instantly at her side. Elise looked him over critically and could find nothing amiss, or snakelike. He was immaculately groomed, in stovepipe trousers, a high, starched cravat, and he had a small, linked chain draped to the monocle in his breast pocket.

“My lady, you eclipse the stars.”

Elise tipped her head and glanced up at him. “I haven’t forgiven you yet, Roald. Pray don’t force it.”

“I’m but a mere man, and such a lowly creature can never take note in the radiance cast from your own beauty.”

Elise winced. “Pray don’t bore me with such prose tonight.”

“When should a man speak such things, then?”

“When they’re requested, of course. Why look, there’s Lady Beth. She does look spectacular, doesn’t she?”

“You expect me to take note of other women when I’ve the most ethereal creature in the country at my elbow?” he asked.

“I’m warning you, Roald.”

He sighed in an exaggerated fashion, then turned to look at their host’s mistress. Lady Beth was graced with a complexion as pale as ivory, a font of light, auburn hair, and black eyelashes. That was a combination nature would never have gifted her with. Elise knew Lady Beth had liberally rubbed her lashes with watered-down soot to get such an effect. Elise knew because she wasn’t above such artifice herself.

Lady Beth was wearing a peach gown and a resplendent, three-strand pearl necklace that must have set Barrigan back a few pounds. Elise wondered what Lady Beth’s husband would think of his wife’s new acquisition. Then she wondered, for the thousandth time, why she cared about such things.

“Bloody fortune on her, isn’t it?”

Roald’s venomous whisper startled her. “Don’t begrudge it, Roald. Harry seems happy enough.”

“Some women expect payment for services rendered. I’m in luck with you, am I not?”

Elise sucked in the gasp. “You dare much with such words.”

He shrugged, and the tightness of his coat barely allowed the movement. Elise looked away. He was rapidly losing his attractiveness to her, if he’d ever had any.

“I’ve not much to lose, have I?” he asked.

“Sir Roald ... Easton, is na’ it?”

Colin MacGowan loomed right beside them and introduced himself. Elise guessed he’d been eavesdropping on their whispered conversation. She felt, rather than saw, Roald stiffen.

“MacGowan, I’m debating whether to shake your hand or call for my seconds.” Roald tipped his head to look up at the other man.

“Seconds? A duel? Over her?” the duke asked, motioning with his head toward Elise.

Roald nodded.

“Why shake, of course. I’ve nae desire to kill a man when there’s nae honor at stake.”

Elise watched them clasp hands with a detached sense of fascination as to why Roald would put his fingers through the torment of such a wrenching handhold. She watched his fingers whiten, and then watched his jaw as he gritted his teeth. Then MacGowan released him.

Roald put the injured limb inside his jacket lapel, as though it belonged there. Elise was very close to rolling her eyes.

“I believe the lady shall be accompanying me to sup this eve. You may need to seek an assist with that hand, Easton. Lady Elise? Your servant.” He was holding out an arm, awaiting her.

“Oh dear, you’ve learned my name. I’m not at all certain that’s a good thing, Your Grace.”

He grinned, completely opening a hole in the floor in front of her; then he winked, making it worse.

Chapter 4

There was something about this Scottish duke fellow, something Elise couldn’t put her finger on. Just being next to him was the strangest experience. Everything sounded and looked more vivid, crisp, and bright, and felt more alive. Elise couldn’t credit what it was, and she spent more than a bit of time trying to decipher it as they sat in a strangely companionable silence. It was as if someone had put magnifying glasses to her nose and she was looking through them at everything.

The first course was some molded confection made of salad greens in a jellied mixture that was neither sweet, salty, nor bitter. In fact, it was fairly tasteless and felt loose and insubstantial on her tongue. Elise tasted it, before putting down her spoon. Beside her, the duke devoured it. That course then was removed and everyone was served a hard, cold, blackened roll. Elise pulled off a bite, nibbled on it, and set it back down. They had baked large wheat kernels into the bread, making a crunchy texture that was tart tasting. Elise slid the bite about her mouth before swallowing. Beside her, she felt, rather than saw, the duke devouring that course as well. She didn’t know why she cared to note what he ate, or how he did it. He hadn’t grown to the size he was without eating.

The next course was a small Fillet of Whiting in a cream sauce. She toyed with the sauce, dribbling it over the fish, before bringing it to her mouth. It was perfectly seasoned with mushrooms and garlic pepper, and it was served at the correct temperature. The fish melted where it sat on her tongue. Elise couldn’t remember having such sensations with food before, and then the man at her side opened his mouth and put a halt to the dreamlike sequence of it all.

“You eat less than a bairn,” he said, startling her.

Elise slid her glance sideways, taking in the perfectly cut and tailored jacket, the crisply starched cravat, and now that she was so close, she could see his eyes sparkled with flecks of green highlights. She swallowed.

“Most gentlemen wouldn’t remark on such a thing, Your Grace,” she replied.

“Most men you’ve been around were na’ gentlemen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You always say that. I doona’ think you know what it means.”

“I beg—” She stopped the exclamation herself.

“See?” His lips twitched. “I believe begging someone’s pardon means you wish the words repeated because you can na’ believe you heard them right the first time. True?”

She lifted a shoulder and felt the rubies slide across her breasts with the motion. She watched his glance flick there before returning to her face. Shivers accompanied it.

“So why beg it of me? You heard it right the first time.”

“Your words are insulting. You’re insulting.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Am I now?”

“I’m beginning to think you take great pride in it, too.”

“If I do, it’s your fault.”

“Mine?” She asked it with a bit of incredulity to her voice, and then she asked it again with more conviction. “Mine?”

“You specifically requested to have me placed right next to you this evening. Our host told me of it. For the life of me I can na’ imagine why. Oh, yes, I do. It was to make your lover jealous.”

Elise’s eyes widened, but she caught the gasp as he leaned toward her to whisper the rest of it.

“You need na’ bother. He looked jealous enough already.”

Servants were removing the whiting and the duke had to lean away so they could do so. Elise turned forward and reached for her wineglass. They had served a Chablis. It was excellent with fish, she decided, letting the swallow linger in her mouth to rinse and refresh it.

“You like these society things?” he asked, when all she did was studiously look at the centerpiece of roses.

She put her goblet down in time for the servants to remove it. They were getting ready to serve the beef. That called for a wine change to a Bordeaux. She waited until it was poured to turn back to him. She didn’t have any other recourse. Roald was still noticeably absent from his assigned seating, and Colin was ignoring the woman on his other side, giving Elise his undivided attention. To do anything other than converse civilly, when he was making this effort, would be déclassé.

“In what context?” she asked finally.

“These dinners. These clothes. The jewels. The flowers. The candlelight. The conversation. The funds expended on it all. Ambiance. That sort of thing.”

Elise sighed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t enjoy it, Your Grace.”

“You’ve a strange way of showing it, then.”

“I beg—” Elise cut it off again. She really did say it too much.

He grinned. The resultant blaze of fire through her chest frightened her, and there wasn’t a thing she could blame it on. She had to look away.

“Don’t think I’m fey. I’m na’.”

“Fey?” she asked the roses.

“Sighted.”

“Oh,” Elise replied, although she hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was talking about.

“I doona’ think you do much that you do enjoy, although you playact like you do. You’re verra good, too. It’s hard to spot.”

Elise frowned at what he said, and then she frowned at the plate being set before her, which contained several folded-over, thin slices of roast beef. She knew exactly how it would taste by her enhanced sense of smell, and then she got to frown at that, too.

“I think you’re overstepping yourself,” she replied finally. The roast beef tasted just like she’d known it would, and Elise chewed thoughtfully on the four bites she allowed herself. Any more and she’d have trouble with the corset’s confinement.

“I usually do,” he said beside her, as he devoured his own platter. “Get used to it.”

“Good heavens, why?”

He shrugged, and that movement in his tight jacket made the material go taut, defining sculpted shoulders for a moment, and then it was gone. Elise’s eyes flew wide, and she was afraid to breathe.

“You asked for my company. You’ve got it.”

“I never said—”

“You know most people who say they enjoy a meal actually eat it,” he interrupted her, motioning to her unfinished serving.

“I am eating it,” she replied, lifting her fork again.

“Like I said before, you eat like a bairn.”

“And you eat enough to kill a horse,” she replied, goaded into her own insult.

His eyebrows rose again. “How do you expect to create healthy ones if you doona’ eat enough to support them?”

“Healthy what?” Elise asked.

“Bairns.”

She was reeling in place, astonished that she still sat upright, twirling her dinner fork, and extremely amazed that not one of the other diners appeared to have heard anything Colin MacGowan was saying.

“I believe I called you barbaric earlier, Your Grace. Allow me to embroider and refine that. When they invent the word, that is.”

“I’m checking the market, dear lady. You’re on it. You’re making certain I take note of that. Very well, I am. I’m simply examining and testing the merchandise before the purchase. It’s impressively arrayed, too, I might add. It’s my prerogative, no?”

“No. Unequivocally, irrevocably, and inescapably no. N. O. No. Never. No.” Her heart was pounding painfully against the little ribbon tie on the front of her silk chemise. She was afraid he’d spot it.

“Then why this game?”

“Game?” she asked.

“The courtship game. I was beginning to think you were playing it. Then you deny it. Is that part of the game?”

“The courtship game? I never thought of it—I mean, I never...” Elise stammered through her comment, and then put her fork down so the servants could remove her plate. She finished her words to the molded fruit sorbet that was being put in front of her. She didn’t dare look anywhere toward him. If she held her breath, counted to ten, and kept her voice low, she was ready to blurt out her secret, and then she was going to run, as fast and as far as she could. She started counting.

“What are you doing?”

“Counting to ten,” she replied without thinking.

“Why? It’s na’ going to change things. You’re very good at the play of it. Very.”

“The play of what?” she asked.

“The courtship game. Intrigue. Witty remarks. Entrancing displays. Catching interest. Holding it. You catching mine. Literally.”

Elise lost her inhaled breath, every bit of her nerve, and any ability to answer. Little needles of reaction felt like they were racing her body to reach her toes in the heeled shoes Daisy had made certain she wore. She’d never felt anything like it. She didn’t think she liked it, either.

“Everywhere I’ve been and everywhere I go, there you are. Are you following me?”

Elise swallowed and turned to him. “Not because I want to,” she replied.

It was his turn to gape, and she watched those brown eyes widen. She’d slighted him before. He was actually extremely handsome, once one got past the first impression of the man. It was a shame he was the one man who, not only would she never play any sort of game with, but whose clan had decreed her unfit for even the participation, just as they’d already branded her sister. Pariah. Jezebel. Unwed mother. Harlot. Sinner. Her pious sister, Evangeline, forever labeled a sinner?

Elise’s lips tightened; she turned back to her sorbet and watched with a strange, detached sense of dread as Roald’s chair was pulled out for him and he dropped into it. She rather fancied he’d been drinking. When he opened his mouth and started speaking, she knew it.

“Elise?” Roald pushed away the serving placed before him. She caught the motion out of the corner of her eye. She sighed and tipped her head toward him, because there wasn’t anything else she could do.

“Yes, Roald?” she replied, excruciatingly aware of the male on the left side of her. She noticed Roald wasn’t using his right hand yet. In fact, he had it tucked beneath the table linens.

“You can cease avoiding me. I’m contrite.”

“Roald, I’ve been dining. You’ve been absent. That hardly constitutes avoidance on my part.”

“You know what I mean.” His left hand snaked out for the wine goblet. Elise watched it.

Beside her, she heard Colin chuckle, although the sound was barely discernible. “Something amuses you, Your Grace?” Elise turned her head back to him.

“These society affairs can be amusing. Na’ what I’m used to. I believe I can understand your sentiment about them.”

“I never said—” Elise stopped the words herself, and there was an awkward silence, for it seemed conversation stopped as those diners across the table from them listened, too.

The servants were removing the sorbet, preparatory to serving the next course, which her nose alerted her was going to be a meat-filled pastry. Murmurs of appreciation accompanied the presentation of each plate, where an individual pie had been formed from paper-thin shells of pastry, and then baked into a small custard cup.

“My only regret is that I can na’ linger much longer. I’m anxious to return to my home, Castle Gowan,” the duke said, from her left.

“But you’ve not gained what you sought,” Roald said loudly, on her right. Then he looked sidelong at Elise. “Or have you?”

Now Colin was looking steadily at her. Elise didn’t bother to check. Her heightened senses were telling her exactly what he was doing. Her stomach lurched queerly. She gulped. Then he was talking loudly enough for everyone to overhear, easily deflecting the attention from her. She listened to him do it and knew what he was doing without asking—he was rescuing her. Elise didn’t betray herself by so much as an eyelash flutter as she examined the rose centerpiece with minute detail.

“That may seem a puzzle, Easton, but I find myself longing for the burn I used to fish in, a good round of golf, and the stables. My father improved the MacGowan stock some years back. I’m told we compare favorably with any in the South, something unheard of, if you ask the right Englishman. I’m nae slacker in the saddle, either, and I miss a good ride. That’ll most likely be the first thing I do when I return, although I’ve probably grown too soft for the clime, now.”

The duke... soft?
Elise contemplated his tight-fitting jacket, the cuffs at his hands, and from there to where the black trousers molded and defined his thighs. He didn’t look a bit soft. The instant she thought it, Elise had to move her glance back to her entwined fingers.

Roald answered, “You’re in luck, Your Grace. I understand there’s to be a foxhunt on the morrow. First light. There will be plenty of time to show off your prowess at riding ... a horse, that is. As an Englishman, I look forward to seeing it.”

Elise went white and then dark pink with her blushes. She knew it, too, because her skin was cold, and then flushed with heat. She hadn’t been slighting Roald earlier to Daisy. He had a wicked sense of humor and a rapier-sharp tongue. She just hadn’t had it turned on her before.

Elise heard the gasps and then the twitters of amusement about them. She took a deep breath.

She had to do something. “You say nothing of your home, Your Grace. Do you miss it as well?”

She batted her eyelashes up at him, pleading silently for him to ignore Roald’s taunt. Elise’s eyes widened as he winked again; then he smiled, and those green flecks sparkled at her. Elise had to force herself to continue looking at him without showing that it was affecting her, and very much so.