Midnight Bride (11 page)

She jumped, splattering ink on the letter, fortunately only half finished and largely incoherent. She looked up and then lowered her eyes quickly. To his surprise, Dunstan was as embarrassed as she. Both their faces flamed. The clothes they were wearing did not matter. Neither could see them because the memories of that morning kept getting in the way.

Falling back on the polite behavior she had been taught from childhood, Elizabeth asked, her voice not as steady as she could wish it to be, "Would you like some tea?"

"No." Dunstan cleared his throat nervously. "No thank you." She motioned that he should take a seat and positioned herself as far from him as she could. For several minutes neither of them said anything, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

"Miss
Beckworth
." "Viscount Dunstan," they began at the same time. They
they
both fell silent again.

Dunstan sneaked a look at her. She was staring at the floor, her cheeks a rosy red that clashed with the ribbons on her dress. This time he could appreciate how she looked, her dress
a soft
, creamy muslin sprigged with flowers of rich apricot. Around the neckline and under the bust were ribbons of the same apricot color. Through the short brown curls her maid had laced another ribbon that matched the others. "Miss
Beckworth
," he began hesitantly. "I can never tell you how surprised I was by the incident this morning."

"Nor I," she added quickly. "How could you do something like
that.
If you had been caught . . ."

"I didn't do anything."

"You must have. You were in
my
room," she reminded him with a shaking voice.

"And that poses quite a problem, doesn't it? How did I get there?"

"You are asking me?" Elizabeth rose and went toward the window, her skirts swishing angrily.

"Well, it is your home, and I was in your room." He followed her, standing behind her.

She turned hurriedly. "You can't believe . . ." She stepped back hastily, startled by his presence so close to her. Her hand went to her throat. Elizabeth regretted that the need for secrecy had caused her to forgo her cousin's cheerful and protective presence.

"All I know is that I ended up in your bed." His dark blue eyes stared into her hazel ones as if to force her to deny his story.

"How?"
She tossed her head, setting her curls dancing. Flouncing across the room, she sat down, primly straightening her skirts. Determined to stop his ideas before they grew more outrageous, she asked, "Did someone come to your room and ask where you had spent the night?"

"The only people who came to my room were your footman and my valet, and neither of them discussed the matter." He paused for a moment, thinking of the conversation at the breakfast table but dismissed the idea quickly. "Perhaps your brother had something to do with it?"

"Charles? He would kill you if he found out what had happened!" At that she blanched, realizing the truth of what she said. "Charles. If he should hear of this . . ."

"He will not hear it from me, I promise you that." Dunstan crossed the room until he was across from her. Dragging one of the delicate Chippendale chairs she liked so well from its position against the wall, he sat down in front of her. His face serious, he straightened the sleeves of his dark blue coat nervously. She drew back slightly and closed her lips firmly, startled by his closeness.

"Elizabeth?" She looked at him as if to ask why he used her given name. He began again. "Miss
Beckworth
, have you discovered any information about how the incident happened?"

She stared at him aghast. "And how was I supposed to do that, pray tell? Ask my maid if she let a man in my rooms last night?"

"She did."

Elizabeth gasped. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again.

"When I asked to see your brother this morning, I was told he was still sleeping. The footman was very pleased to supply the details. Apparently you and Charles quarreled and then made up last night. As you stayed in your rooms last evening, I assumed he saw you there." He tried to make his voice as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, but it wasn't easy. All he could think
of
was how lovely she looked the first thing in the morning. And he had decided that he would have the exclusive rights to that loveliness.

"You do not know what happened last night? Weren't you there?"

This time he was the one who was embarrassed. "According to the breakfast gossip I indulged rather heavily last night."

"You mean you were drunk. That's how it happened. You came to the wrong room by mistake. I've almost made the same mistake before in a strange house, and I wasn't drinking heavily." Now that the matter was at least partially explained, Elizabeth felt momentary relief. Then her imagination took hold. She frowned. Perhaps he had just pretended to be drunk.

"But why didn't you wake up? Are you normally such a heavy sleeper?" No matter how much he had had to drink, Dunstan knew he had a good sense of direction. He had never lost his way at a house party before. His conscience reminded him, however, that never before had he been so drunk he could not remember the evening.

She flushed again. "I do not believe my sleeping habits are any concern of yours, sir," she said in her haughtiest tone. She straightened her back and stared at him.

"They were not until this morning. They are now." His voice was as haughty as hers. His eyes took hers prisoner, forcing her to glare at him.

"But we have decided what must have happened."

"No, Miss
Beckworth
. We have discovered a possible reason, but nothing has been established for certain."

"You sound just like a magistrate," she muttered so low she did not expect him to hear her.

"My grandfather is the magistrate for his county. I hope to follow in his footsteps someday; therefore, I have often been to inquiries with him," he told her quietly. She glanced up, surprised. "I don't spend all my time in the beds of ladies I
admire,"
he said, startled by his ability to make a joke when the situation was as serious as it was.

Elizabeth did not think the remark funny. "Only in those you wish to cause problems for, I suppose."

"No. You—" Elizabeth glared at him as if daring him to finish his thought. He started again: "I never meant to harm you."

"Then you certainly should consider the results of your actions more carefully," Elizabeth said, her anger beginning to build. "If anyone had seen you—"

"But they didn't. I arrived at my room safely, I think."

"What do you mean, you think? Did someone see you or not?" Elizabeth jumped up, feeling too agitated to keep still for much longer.

"They didn't," he assured her, also standing up. "But I do not feel that is the main concern. We know." He stopped and drew himself up, standing as stiffly as a life guard. His brain muddled by her presence, her scent, he tried to remember one of the logical arguments he had developed that morning.

"Well, I do not plan to tell anyone. Do you?" For Elizabeth the answer to that question held the answer to her safety, the guarantee that her life could go on as it always had. She wondered why the thought gave her so little pleasure.

"No."

"Then as far as the incident is concerned, I think we both should forget it. Good-bye, Viscount. You will understand if I ask that you leave the manor as soon as possible." Elizabeth swept to the door, her head held high.

"Wait." His command stopped her, froze her in place. "What if someone did see and has just held his tongue. What then?"

She turned slowly, her face a calm mask. "You said no one saw you. Were you lying?"

"No." He walked across the room to stare out the window at the garden with its early blooms. "You probably will not understand, but something about this bothers me."

"A great deal about it bothers me," she said sharply.

"I don't mean you. Have you ever been in the woods or in town and felt as though someone
were
watching you, and later you discover it is true?" His voice was low, so low that it was obvious that he did not really want to speak his thoughts aloud.

She shook her head. Then realizing that he could not see the gesture, she said, "No."

"It may sound as though I should be in Bedlam, but that is the way I am feeling now—as though someone were watching me, someone who is waiting until the right moment to reveal
himself
to me." He turned around and crossed the room to her. "We cannot afford to have that happen."

"What do you mean?" Her normally throaty voice sounded hoarse. She waited impatiently for his answer, her face as impassive as she had learned to make it.

"Well, can you afford to be involved in a scandal?" Dunstan had turned back to the window, remembering how embarrassed he had been when his father or brother had been the on-
dits
of the
ton.
Because he had his back to her, he did not see her face become stony.

"That must have been what you were counting on." The anger in her voice was so evident that Dunstan, caught up as he was in his own emotions, could not fail to hear it.

"What?" Dunstan turned around, startled.

"How long did you intend to fool me?" she asked bitterly. "Did you intend to convince me that you cared for me too?"

"Elizabeth—Miss
Beckworth
"—he was growing accustomed to those fiery glances—"all I want, as I said this morning, is for you to marry me. Then I will be able to protect you."

"Oh? And what advantage will you have?" Her voice was as cold as a mountain stream during a thaw.

"I will not have to live through another scandal," he said quietly. His face was as determined as she had ever seen it.

"And I will avoid one, too?
How convenient!"
Elizabeth whirled around and put her hand to the latch again. "Good-bye, Lord Dunstan, I do not believe that we have anything further to discuss. I appreciate your offer." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "But I regretfully decline."

"But you can't . . ."

"I believe that at my age I have that right." Her face, once red with embarrassment, blazed with anger. "I have asked you to leave, sir. If you are any kind of gentleman, you will respect my wishes."