Kathryn Caskie (13 page)

Eliza couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But his words were true. All of them.

"I hope for Grace’s sake that she marries before the season concludes. Then there is yer youngest sister, Meredith, is it? Will ye write her future as well?”

Eliza pressed her hand over her face convulsively and sank down on the bench beside him. “I had not thought of it in quite those terms.”

“I was certain ye had not.”

Eliza raised her chin and looked at him. “Before you spout anymore of your sanctimonious drivel and warn me about scandal, please recall just who led an unmarried woman down the Dark Walk only moments ago.”

Magnus nodded his head thoughtfully. “Touché, my dear.”

“And besides, Meredith is safely tucked away at school where my behavior is unlikely to abrade her. And Grace, well, once an offer is made for her hand, which I have every confidence will be soon given her verve to become engaged, she will also be safe from the sting of my influence. So, my lord, I simply need to come up with an acceptable way of leaving for Italy. It cannot be too difficult. Mayhap … we shall say I have gone to visit a long lost relative. One way or another, I will go to Italy. I will become a great artist.”

Magnus stared at her in disbelief. “Ye are most determined, Miss Merriweather.”

Eliza smiled. “Why thank you, Lord Somerton. I am glad you are finally beginning to understand.”

A loud snap of a branch diverted their attention to the footpath. Instinctively, Eliza retreated into the safety of Magnus’s arms. She could not see anyone, though she could hear shuffling about in the grove beyond.

“There they are,” came Viola’s whisper. “You may begin.”

The smooth tones of a violin broke from the darkness and enveloped Eliza and Magnus in song.

Magnus smiled down at Eliza. “Might I add, Miss Merriweather, that yer aunts are equally determined.”

Eliza broke their embrace. “That they are, indeed.”

Rule Eight

Know him as yourself, and the engagement will never be endangered.

It was nearly eleven at night when the barouche carrying Eliza and Lord Somerton returned to Hanover Square.

Still wary after her aunts’ clandestine escapades at Vauxhall Gardens, Eliza gave a cursory glance out the window before disembarking. She scanned the exterior of the house, mentally preparing herself for yet another assault drawn from her aunts’ detestable strategy book.

The curtains in the front parlor swayed mysteriously, then suddenly, two noses appeared between the center break in the velvet drapes. Eliza exhaled with exasperation.

“You need not see me inside, my lord,” she said, hoping Magnus would see her to the door, then do the considerate thing and take his leave.

Why, even now she pulsed with his nearness. She could not look at him without recalling the sweet thrill of being crushed in his embrace, his tender lips pressed against her bare skin.

Wanton thoughts swarmed like bees, humming wickedly through her body, heightening her womanly senses. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, her mouth anticipating, craving, what her mind did not want to allow.

Why, at that moment, just one honeyed word from Magnus could spur her to do something she’d regret. Eliza shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She snapped open her fan hoping to cool her face, which, like another part of her anatomy, had grown exceedingly warm and damp.

Appalled at her body’s reaction, she turned away to gather up her wrap and reticule from the leather seat cushion. Was it too much to hope that he would simply go home?

“It seems my aunts have already arrived,” she told him. “And, if I am not mistaken, we are about to be ambushed.”

When the stairs were let down, Magnus climbed out of the cab and raised up his hand to Eliza. Amusement, heightened by something sharper, flickered brightly in his eyes.

“Bring them on, I say. I’m up for the challenge,” he said.

With that, Eliza’s hopes for a quick farewell dissolved. As she rose from her seat and emerged from the carriage, she reached out for Magnus’s hand, but suddenly thought better of it, and stepped down from the conveyance unassisted.

She saw him wince at this small slight, but she could not hold his hand, even for a moment. Even the most innocent of his touches meant danger for her.

If this evening had proved one thing, it was that she was simply incapable of being near Magnus without her body resonating like a bell, her mind turning to the most depraved of thoughts. Heavens, a kiss was all it had taken to persuade her to bare her breasts to him—in a public place no less.

Eliza’s body simmered with the memory. Oh, she was doomed. Doomed. Where had her self-control gone? One thing was for certain, she could not remain in his presence until she bettered her grip on her resolve.

She looked up at Magnus. “Bring them on? You are courageous, my lord, or perhaps simply very foolish. My aunts are not to be underestimated.”

“Of that, dear lady, I am sure,” Magnus replied.

“Very well then,” she said with a small sigh. Straightening her gown, Eliza raised her chin and charged ahead to the front door. “I did warn you,” she called out as her silk skirts swished past him.

Before her foot mounted the second step, the front door swung wide. Her aunts, Letitia and Viola, pushed against each other as they vied for prime position, shoving poor Edgar back against the door’s raised panels.

“Welcome back,” Aunt Viola said sweetly.

“And I trust you had a marvelous evening at the Gardens,” Aunt Letitia said, as she and Viola followed Eliza and Magnus into the parlor.

“We did, indeed.” Magnus flashed a roguish glance at Eliza, sending a flutter through her middle.

“I trust your evening was relaxing, aunties.”

The two old women exchanged nervous looks.

“Our evening was not the least notable,” Aunt Letitia replied, “so we shall hear all about yours.”

Catching up Eliza’s right arm and Magnus’s left, Aunt Letitia marched them across the passageway to the music room.

Aunt Viola entered behind them, stopping before the pianoforte to slide her hand almost affectionately along its top. “How was the music this eve?” she asked, her eyes wide with false innocence.

“Delightful,” Eliza said, and fought back the amused smile spreading across her lips.

“Most delightful,” Magnus agreed, as he leaned on the pianoforte and flashed a grin at Viola. Then he turned his gaze on Eliza, even as he replied to her aunt. “In fact, we were most fortunate during our
walk
to be serenaded by a strolling violinist.”

Walk, indeed. Eliza squirmed at the thought of what really had gone on at Vauxhall.

“Really, a violinist? How romantic!” Aunt Letitia sucked her lips into her mouth and turned away. A silvery titter emanated from her direction.

Eliza looked around the room and realized her sister was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Grace?”

“She is in the library with a gentleman friend.” Aunt Viola happily clasped her hands together.

“A gentleman?” Eliza was more than a little intrigued.

“Yes, dear. From what Gracie has told us, she became separated and was about to go in search of you when she quite literally bumped into a young man she’d known for years.”

Aunt Letitia bustled forward. “Well, after she left word of her plans with Somerton’s coachman, she allowed the young man to deliver her home in his new curricle. Fancy one too, I own, with a family crest emblazoned on the door. Though, with my poor eyesight, it might have just as easily been a fanciful split of mud.”

“Family crest?” Eliza was utterly flabbergasted. “Do you know this gentleman?”

“Sister and I hadn’t the pleasure of knowing him until this very eve.” Aunt Letitia put her arm around Eliza’s shoulder to calm her. “But I believe you know him, Lizzy.”

“I do?” Eliza said with astonishment.

At that moment, the click of boot heels in the passageway echoed off the music room’s walls. Eliza glanced up to see Grace proudly cross the threshold on the arm of a young gentleman.

“Eliza, Lord Somerton,” Grace began, seeming hardly able to contain herself. “I present Lord Hawksmoor.”

"Hawksmoor? H-how do you do?” Eliza blinked as she rose from her curtsey. She gazed at the fair-haired gent, who happily twirled a sterling-capped walking stick through his fingers. Her aunts were right. Somehow, she did know this gentleman. He seemed familiar. Quite familiar.

“Forgive my surprise, my lord,” Eliza began. “Hawksmoor Hall was but few miles from our home … near Dunley Parish. Are you attached to it?”

Lord Hawksmoor bowed at the waist. “Indeed. Hawksmoor Hall is my home. Inherited it from my uncle.” He looked at her then, as if waiting for something. “Do you not recall our last meeting, Miss Merriweather?”

“I certainly feel I should.” Eliza studied the young man intently, then shook her head in defeat. “Oh, I am sorry, my lord. Have we met?”

From the corner of her eye, Eliza saw Magnus straighten his back and take a step from the pianoforte toward her.

“How can you have forgotten?” Grace laughed. Then, she raised her finger in the air. “Perhaps I might prompt your memory.” Closing her eyes, Grace puckered her lips and leaned toward the young man.

Momentary shock at her sister’s unseemly pose faded when realization dawned.
“No.
It cannot be!” Eliza exclaimed.

Grace and Lord Hawksmoor nodded then burst into laughter.

Eliza stared at the two. “I do not believe it.” Then she felt the heat of Magnus as he moved alongside of her and every drop of blood in her veins rushed to her middle.

“Perhaps someone will share the reason for such amusement with the rest of us,” Magnus said, edging near enough that his boot brushed her slipper.

Both aunts lifted their brows expectantly.

Magnus focused his gaze on Eliza. “Miss Merriweather, are ye acquainted with this gentleman?” he asked, distinctly piqued.

Eliza glanced at him. That could not be jealousy in his eyes. Certainly not. Couldn’t be.

“Miss Merriweather?” Magnus urged, almost sternly.

“I—I.” At that moment, Eliza wasn’t at all sure what Magnus had asked her until Grace stepped into her breach.

“I daresay she is acquainted with Hawksmoor,” Grace replied, as she gasped for breath between girlish giggles.

Eliza focused her eyes upon Hawksmoor, who was propping his cane near the door. Then, all at once, she began to laugh quite unexpectedly and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I
do
remember him. It must have been ten years ago, at least.”

“That’s right,” Grace confirmed.

Eliza laid one hand to her breastbone and gestured to Grace and Lord Hawksmoor with the other. “One afternoon, I went to collect Grace from the orchard. It was early autumn, and she had been picking apples. But when I arrived, I saw a boy was about to kiss her. I shouted for him to stop, but he kissed her anyway, then took off willy-nilly through the trees.”

Grace cut in. “Eliza gave chase, of course, and being ever so light of foot, caught him at the river.”

Hawksmoor stepped forward. “Where I kissed her as well. Of course, then she pushed my face into the mud until I swore I would not try to kiss her
or
her sister again.”

The two aunts hooted merrily, chuckling until they clutched their middles and gasped for breath.

Magnus’s brows migrated toward his nose. It was clear he did not seem to see the humor in the situation. “And ye, sir, were that ill-mannered lad.”

“Yes, I was at Hawksmoor that month visiting my uncle, you see,” Lord Hawksmoor replied, flashing a broad grin. But as he noticed Magnus’s dour expression, his smile evaporated and his gaze shifted to the polished tip of his Hessian boot.

“And have ye?” Magnus asked coolly.

Hawksmoor glanced up, confused. “My lord?”

“Have ye kissed Miss Grace since?”

Aunt Letitia’s laughter ceased abruptly and she leaned forward so as not to miss his reply.

The young man was taken aback. “Why, of course not. I gave Miss Merriweather my word, did I not?” His gaze drifted from Magnus and fell lightly on Eliza.

Aunt Letitia passed behind Grace and the young man, then using her hands as makeshift bookends, pressed the couple together until their shoulders met.

She looked to Eliza. “Dear, perhaps this young man should be released from the promise you coerced so many years ago.”

Eliza laughed as she studied the young man, though she knew her aunt was quite serious. “You are Reginald Dunthorp.”

“Yes, well… Lord Hawksmoor now. I have held the title for three years.”

Aunt Viola sidled up to Grace and patted her grand-niece’s hand before depositing it atop the young man’s forearm. “Lord Hawksmoor, you have come to London for the season? Mayhap to find a wife, hmm?”

“Auntie,
please.”
Though Grace protested the remark, she did not seem truly discomfited by her aunt’s comment. Instead she drew close, wide-eyed, and breathlessly awaited his answer.

Lord Hawksmoor puffed his broad chest out, not seeming to mind being the center of such focused attention. “I have come simply to enjoy the season’s events,” his tone hinting that this was hardly the truth.

"I do find London’s sights most diverting,” he added. At that, Hawksmoor’s gaze firmly affixed itself to Eliza, giving her the uncomfortable impression that she was being assessed.

Magnus must have noticed Hawksmoor’s gaze too, for much to Eliza’s surprise, he protectively folded her hand over his arm as though claiming her for his own. Her heart fell into patters at his presumptive gesture.

But then, as if detecting deficiency in Eliza’s own charms, Hawksmoor’s attention shifted abruptly back to Grace.

“Of course, I do hope to marry someday,” Hawksmoor said.

Scarlet bloomed on the round apples of Grace’s cheeks. The smile she returned him was alive with unbridled delight.

Just then, Edgar shuffled into the music room with a decanter of cordial on his tray along with several glistening crystal glasses.

Aunt Letitia smiled broadly. “Perhaps some music might be in order?”

“And some libation,” Aunt Viola chirped as she caned her way back to the pianoforte. “As they say, time flies when you’re having rum!”