Elise (7 page)

“Where is he?”

Fresh tears obliterated everything for a moment, then they cleared as she blinked them into existence down her cheeks. His features may as well be carved from stone, she thought.

“Well?”

She was surprised at herself, and for good reason. She hadn’t been so naive since she’d been sold into wedlock. Surely an attack like Sir Roald had perpetuated was reason enough to defend herself. What had she been thinking to run as she had?

She willed strength into her legs, but they just shook more as she tried to stand upright. Everything wavered for a moment, then cleared. It was as crystal clear as everything had been since she’d met him.

“He’s ... in my chamber. In—in my bed.”

That reply got her MacGowan’s enlarged nostrils, heavier breathing, and a snarl, too. Elise opened her mouth and kept talking.

“He ... came to me! He wouldn’t leave. I—I didn’t mean it to happen, I swear it!”

“There’s naught that happens about you that you dinna’ plan, down to every excruciating detail.” He lifted his gaze from where he’d pinned her in place to speak again to the man at her back. “Was there anyone else about, Mick?”

“I dinna’ see another. She was alone.”

“No one about? No witnesses?”

“None.”

“You were at your post all eve?”

“Aye.”

“Then how did he get in?”

“Stop this! You don’t understand!” Elise burst out, stopping the arguing male voices that just kept getting louder and louder. “He tried to—! He—!”

“Yes?”

She had his attention again, and for the life of her she didn’t know why she’d wanted it. There wasn’t a soft bone anywhere on his body. He reached out and lifted the front of her nightgown where it was torn, then put it back on her shoulder, where it stayed plastered to her with the adhesive of drying blood.

“He wanted to—! He ripped my gown!” She was shaking and sobbing and stammering. It surprised her that he understood.

A nerve in his jaw tensed out one side, defining the strength and shape of it, as well as every bit of his disgust. Elise recoiled from it.

“Doona’ you dare leave these chambers.”

“But I—” she began.

“That’s an order. Mick?” He was looking over her head again.

“Your Grace?”

“Get cleaned off. Burn those. Get that off her, too. Call the guard.”

He was leaving. Elise watched as the door opened in seemingly slow motion, before slamming shut with a precise cannon-like boom of sound that should have reverberated everywhere, but rather felt like it throbbed in waves to penetrate to where she was still, miraculously, standing.

“You heard him. Gown.”

Elise stumbled out of the strange enclosure of Mick’s embrace. Her legs were just as insubstantial and weak as she’d suspected. She went to her knees, and the jolt scraped skin that had never felt the like. Mick didn’t move.

“You heard him. Gown,” he said again, with the exact same inflection in his tone.

“I don’t obey him,” she replied to the Aubusson carpet at her nose. That was odd. She had fallen inches away from padded luxury.

“You will. You heard him.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Then give me your gown.”

She shook her head, denying every blush that heated everywhere on her.

“I’m to take it from you. You heard him.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She whispered the words to the floor.

“Don’t make me prove it, lass. Gown.”

“Is ... there a privy closet?” she asked.

“Yonder. Lift your head. Get me the gown. You heard him.”

If he said that one more time, she was going to scream all her vexation and anger, rage and shock at him. Elise bit her tongue to still it. Then she stumbled to her feet again. She shouldn’t need the hint. Colin’s bedchamber had the same arrangement as her own.

She forced her legs to get her around the wooden slatted divider that screened the water closet.

“I’ve na’ got all eve. We may be caught before I can get them burned. Hurry, lass. Hurry.”

Elise’s hands belonged to someone else, as did the entire episode. She couldn’t believe the last half hour of her life. She’d killed Roald, and then what had she done? She’d managed to involve the Duke of MacGowan. And then what was happening? He was hiding the crime.

Elise’s hands shook before her eyes as she squelched the screams that came from being a party to what Colin MacGowan was doing. But what else could she do? Wait for the discovery of the body? And then her blood-stained body in the duke’s chamber? What could everyone say had happened, but a lover’s spat? Or even worse, a fight over her?

“Doona’ make me come in there,” Mick said.

Elise gripped her hands into fists, cracking the dried blood, and tried to control her own body. It wasn’t possible. Everything on her looked to be a dried reddish color. Horror overwhelmed her.
I’ve taken a life!
She gagged on the recurrent thought.

“I doona’ hear any cloth moving.”

“I’ve got to get clean.” Elise stopped her own throat’s motions, swallowed, and then managed to whisper the words.

“I doona’ hear any water, either.”

Elise grabbed the pitcher. She spilled water onto the walnut-grained cabinet as she poured. The empty ewer tipped over when she set it down. She ignored it.

She spilled more water onto the wood as she shoved her hands into the bowl. She didn’t care. Elise splashed water again and again onto her face, chilling her and making it difficult to breathe. She felt for Colin’s soap and started scrubbing. She couldn’t seem to get clean no matter how much soap she used or how many times she rinsed. The soap slipped from her hands, and Elise’s tears started up again as it fell into the water.

Oh, dear God, I’ve murdered a man!

She wiped the moisture from her face roughly with a towel. The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how she sponged at them. Elise buried her face in the towel. She’d killed Sir Roald. She’d broken the number one commandment. There was no penance for that There was no going back. No salvation for her. Ever.

She recognized the horror in her eyes when she moved the towel away and looked at herself in the mirror. Her mouth fell open to scream, but no sound came. Her nightgown gaped to the waist, and more of Roald’s blood was staining her bared breasts.

She started ripping the gown from her, and the more of it she got off, the more she ripped and pulled and cried.

“I did warn you, lass.”

The hulk of a man was in the space with her, his mouth a slash of a line, his teeth clenched, and his face averted. Then he helped, lifting her out of the mass of cloth at her feet, before setting her back onto them.

Then he was gone, his head bowed, and his back hunched as he backed from her. Elise heard his steps, then the door, and then complete and absolute silence.

Chapter 7

There was a stag head mounted above Colin’s unlit fireplace. Elise studied it when she wasn’t tossing playing cards onto the table in front of her. The stag’s eyes were on her. They had been all night.

She knew the duke had been gone for hours. The clock, out in the hall, chimed every quarter hour. According to that clock, it was nearing four in the morning. It would be dawn soon, and still Colin hadn’t come with further information for her. That didn’t bode well.

Her hands wouldn’t warm. No matter how much she rubbed them together, she couldn’t keep them warm. She’d had the same trouble with her feet, until she’d rifled through the duke’s armoire and found two pairs of socks. He wasn’t going to like that, she supposed. He probably wouldn’t like the fact that she was wearing his cast-off dressing robe, either. It was made of a fleece-type material softer than any fur. It was also patterned in red, green, and black plaid, as was most of his wardrobe. There was an embroidered crest of the MacGowans on the right front yoke. Elise felt the weight against her skin like a rock. There was probably real gold in the thread. That would explain the weight and rigidity of it, and why it chafed her breast every time she moved her arm.

She wondered what he was doing and how he expected to get away with it. Was he hiding the body, adding his sin to hers? How were they supposed to explain that? Sir Roald Easton couldn’t just disappear. He’d be missed by someone who cared. Surely there was someone, somewhere, who cared for him. Elise was ashamed to admit that she didn’t even know if he had family who would care.

Was this another lesson she needed to learn? Was the duke, even now, awaiting the arrival of Barrigan’s constable to have her arrested?
And why won’t my hands warm?
she wondered.

Elise had been watching the wrong door. She had no warning as the ornate chamber door opened and the hulk of man that was Colin MacGowan entered, attired in yet another plaid dressing robe that reached to the floor.

“Forgive me, darlin’. I could na’ prevent this.”

Elise’s eyes went wide at the endearment, her hand went to her throat, and she pushed away from the card table to stand. It gave her a little courage as four men followed on the duke’s heels. Elise met the Viscount of Beckon’s gaze for but an instant; she ignored Lord Barrigan and his watchman. She put her full attention on the rotund figure of a man she recognized as a constable.

At this hour of the morning, the man already looked overworked in his rumpled greatcoat and unshaven cheeks. Then she realized he probably hadn’t slept. He’d spent his night gathering evidence to arrest her. Elise didn’t have to ask it. The man seemed emblazoned with it.

From the back of her mind, she registered that the clock was chiming the hour of four. If she’d known the duke was bringing a roomful of observers, she’d have prepared herself better. She’d have been wearing something more suitable than Colin MacGowan’s plaid robe and two overlapping argyle socks on her feet. This was not how the Dowager Duchess of Wynd’s social prominence was supposed to end.

The entire sequence of her thoughts took but a fraction of time. Elise kept her head at an arrogant tilt and put as much disdain in her eye contact with all of them as she could. At the final chime of Barrigan’s clock, she moved from behind the table. She watched dispassionately as Colin seemed to follow her direction to walk across the Aubusson rug to her.

Then he reached out, and with one arm pulled her so completely against his side, she felt melded to it. Both her arms came out instantly and defensively. She put one hand at the small of his back, wrapping her fingers about his belt, and the other hand went to his chest to steady herself. She had no choice but to look up at him. His eyes shoved green sparkles at her.

And from what sounded like very far away, she heard him say, “I told you, gentlemen, that it would na’ be necessary to disturb my wife.”

The shock stilled her in place, and the weight and intent of his arm guaranteed it as he tightened his grip, lifting her slightly from the floor, where she hovered on tiptoes. The hand at the small of his back went into a fist about his knotted belt to stabilize herself.

“We know, Your Grace, but there’s still some questions.”

Someone was talking. Elise could sense it, but she couldn’t fathom what was said or who said it. All she could see was Colin’s jaw as he faced them, and all she could hear was the breathing of the man it looked like she was clinging to. He said something else, and all she heard was the rumble of sound through his body. She frowned, and for some reason he looked back down at her.

“You ... you told them—” Elise stammered, but he was interrupting her before she finished.

“Aye.”

One word, and then he was grinning down at her, dissolving the floor, the walls, and every person in proximity, and making everything very, very cushiony and warm and protected feeling. Elise’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

“I’m afraid they will na’ accept the obvious, however. They want to hear it from your lips.”

“What?”

The word didn’t make it to sound, but he heard it. He had little laugh lines all around his eyes, too, she noticed, as his smile reached there for the first time she’d ever seen.

“Tell them, my love.”

“Tell them... what?” she echoed.
My love?
She wondered it in absolute amazement. She was ashamed to realize the twinge deep within her was back, in force, and was shortening every bit of ability she had to breathe. She was taking short gasps of air to compensate. It wasn’t working.
My love?
she repeated in her thoughts.

“Why, that you’ve been in here tonight. All night.”

He was lowering his head a bit and raising her at the same time. Elise lost touch with the floor, but she hadn’t felt it for some time, and her eyes went wide with the surprise as he put a nose against her cheek.

“With me,” he finished, whispering it against her skin.

Someone cleared their throat, dropping her back into the reality that was Colin MacGowan’s arms, his bedchamber, and the murder of Sir Roald Easton. She knew then exactly what the duke was about, and his ability to playact was incredible, and very, very painful. He was saving her, just as he had at dinner, what now seemed a century ago. She meant nothing to him. She never had, and she never would. He was simply saving her. Again. It was extremely stupid of him, and she wondered if he knew what he was doing.

With every bit of skill and strength at her command, Elise made herself withdraw from what her body was experiencing, taking every bit of the twinge, the overly focused senses, and the burning at the base of where her heart should be, and she hid them.
Deep. Deeper
. She had to close her eyes partway to make it happen, for the look on Colin MacGowan’s face was making the blood gush through her ears with a force that made them ring.

“Elise?” he whispered.

She tilted her head and looked him over critically, and with every bit of loftiness she could. Then she smiled, coldly, calculatedly, and mechanically. “What have you been saying, again?” she asked, as clearly and perfectly as The Ice Goddess always did.

“You’ve been in here with me.”

“With you?” she asked.

“All night.”

“All night?” she repeated, automatically.

“I’m afraid they need some convincing.” He tipped his head, motioning to the others in the room.

“I hardly think—”

“That it would be necessary? I know, I was hoping it would wait until the announcement reached London, too.”

“Announcement?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that is na’ possible now. There’s been a dreadful accident in your chamber.”

Elise felt her face drain and her knees wobble, but she didn’t give a sign of any of it.

“It was a prowler, we think. Doona’ we, Lord Barrigan?” Colin turned his head back to their audience. Elise followed suit.

“It appears Sir Easton must have heard him and went to investigate,” Lord Barrigan explained.

“Is he—?”

“He’s unconscious. We don’t know the extent of it yet.”

Elise was so grateful for Colin’s continued embrace, she would have kissed him if he had been any other person on the face of the planet. As it was, she didn’t have any feeling left in the hand wrapped about the belt at his back, or in the other that was curved about his lapel in order to remain standing.

“I’m afraid my man, May, here, has a few questions for you.”

“He does?”

“It’s rather unfortunate that the incident happened in your bedchamber. Or, rather, what we all assumed was your bedchamber.”

Barrigan’s voice hadn’t lost a bit of volume. He was loud enough to wake anyone sleeping. Elise touched her glance on him and he grinned, before nudging the viscount at his side.

“I guess congratulations are in order, MacGowan. The devil knows I should send my condolences to the entire male population of England along with it, too.”

“My Lady? I mean . . . Your Grace?”

The constable cleared his throat. Barrigan’s chuckles died as Elise looked back at him. Beside her, she felt Colin stiffen.

“Yes?” she asked steadily.

“You say you were in this chamber all night? With His Grace, the Duke of MacGowan?”

“I already told you that she was,” Colin said in a low, menacing growl of sound.

Elise moved her hand up the lapel of that fleecy robe and touched his chin, moving his face toward her. The contact burned, or her hands were ice cold. She was afraid it was the latter. She had no choice. It was self-preservation now, and she was going to let the dominoes fall where they would. She sincerely hoped he knew what he was doing.

She smiled lovingly, but none of it reached her eyes. “Of course, you did, dearest,” she said softly and poignantly.

The words would have been choking her if she hadn’t closed off every emotion, and the slight pursing of his lips didn’t help. She was afraid he was enjoying this. She just didn’t know why. He was damning himself, too. Elise turned her head back to their audience and smiled across at them. “And it’s true, gentlemen. Every bit of it.”

“It’s true that the Duke of MacGowan and you are wed? You agree?”

Elise looked back to Colin. He hadn’t moved from the position she’d put him in. Her fingers still on his chin were probably the reason. She rubbed a thumb subconsciously across the slight scratchiness of his chin and watched the flicker of green that went through his eyes. Then it was gone, leaving nothing but an opaque brown glaze.

He nodded, but it was such a small gesture, if she hadn’t been holding on to him, she wouldn’t have known it. Elise turned back to the others.

“Why ever would you doubt his word, sir? I don’t believe I’m hearing this correctly,” Elise replied in her coldest, most arrogant voice.

The man flushed before replying. “Well, it is a bit of a tangle, I’m afraid. You see, it appears your bed was slept in. Since you weren’t using it that makes it a problem for me. There is also the matter of a woman’s robe still there. Unless you’d given your chamber over to another lady without letting your host know?”

The man was obstinate, and Elise narrowed her eyes before looking back up to Colin. She sighed loudly. “I’m afraid it’s not going to stay secret much longer, my love,” she said to him. Then she released his chin to move her hand to a span of shoulder no man should own.

Nothing about Colin was moving. She watched him watch her. She unwound her hand from his belt. She was already thinking through the ramifications. Annulment? No, too severe, much too spicy to stay the gossip. It was a mistake? No. Too much imbibing the night before? No. A bet gone wrong? That was going to be it. A bet.

With whom?

She was already calculating the amount and extent of it, and who she’d have to pay to advertise and start the propaganda, and Colin looked like he knew all of it. Elise sucked in on her lower lip and slowly lowered the hand that was still ice cold, despite being in such close proximity with him. Then she was turning her body, still keeping his arm about her but making it more of a conjoined defensive stance than an embrace of love. Colin’s arm dropped to encircle her waist, and he brought his other one to join it as she moved in front of him.

That was disturbing, but she let it go. Everything about the episode was. His Grace was a barbarian from a barbaric country. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what it was going to cost. She did. She released her lip to smile wryly at the floor. That was strange. The wood flooring looked the consistency of sand.

This was going to cause more of a stir than her trysting with the Marquis of Quorn had, once the story broke; consequently, she’d now have more whispers attached to her name. That might not be all bad, she decided, remembering Roald’s words. Any notice was better than none.

She lifted her head, facing everyone from a position in front of Colin. She felt every bit of him as his breath touched her neck.

“You must see, don’t you? We didn’t wish the explanations... yet. It—it all happened in such a hurry, you understand. I set the stage to look like I was there all night. That’s why I left my robe, so my maid wouldn’t question anything about my absence. I’m sorry it caused anyone such worry, and I’m exceptionally sorry about Sir Easton. Although, now that I think of it, I feel rather lucky that it wasn’t me there instead.”