Stolen Love (16 page)

Ripton had just finished dancing with Amelia when he asked Elizabeth for a dance. "Is it true, what everyone is whispering about Mr. Beaufort Latchley being in love with you?" he asked as he swept her onto the floor.

"Goodness, no, Mr. Rutherford. Mr. Latchley is in love with Amelia."

"Do you really think so? I believe he admires you a great deal." He saw her blush and smiled. "I'd forgotten you think having admirers is a nuisance. Only secret admirers for Miss Elizabeth Willard." She did not answer him, and when the music ended Ripton took her hand. "May I get you something to drink?"

They were standing by the punch bowl when he said, "You blushed charmingly when I mentioned secret admirers, Miss Elizabeth. Dare I guess you have one?"

"You had better not, as you would be wrong." She looked up from her cup. "Amelia has got one, though."

"Amelia? Do tell."

"I found out quite by accident." She shook her head when Ripton took her glass to refill it. "Mrs. Poyne, our housekeeper, mistakenly gave me a letter meant for Amelia, and I read it before I realized the error."

"But how could such a mistake have been made?"

"It wasn't really her fault. It was directed only to Miss Willard of Tavistock Square."

"If it was directed to Miss Willard, how do you know it wasn't meant for you?"

"It was clearly meant for Amelia, Mr. Rutherford."

"So you gave it to her?" One blond eyebrow arched quizzically.

"Of course. She was furious with me for reading her letter. It was quite…"

"Yes?" He looked past her at the dancers.

"Complimentary." She followed his gaze. Amelia was dancing with Mr. Latchley for a second time. "Will you come outside with me, Mr. Rutherford?" she asked.

"Of course." He followed her without saying a word. They walked outside and into the garden until they were standing at the far corner, away from the lights of the house.

"Are you all right now, Mr. Rutherford?"

"Why?" He looked surprised. "Did I seem upset?" he asked, looking fascinated by his shoes.

"You seemed to be in need of some fresh air." Elizabeth had to smile. He walked a few steps farther to stand at the side of an oak tree. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and stared resolutely at the ground. "You should not worry about Amelia dancing twice with him," she said into the dark.

"Dancing twice with whom?"

"Why, with Mr. Latchley, of course."

"Beaufort Latchley." He emphasized the name "Beaufort" and leaned against the trunk of the tree, taking one hand from his pocket just long enough to unbutton his coat. "Do you not see the obvious, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I suppose it was because he asked her twice," she said, thinking that he was scowling because he was jealous of Mr. Latchley.

"Would you dance twice with a man merely because it happened to be the number of times he asked you?"

"And how many times did you ask Amelia to dance, Mr. Rutherford?"

"That, Elizabeth, is not the point."

She said nothing when he used her given name; they were friends, after all.

"There are no secrets in London society, you know." He reached up to tug at one the branches of the tree. "Mr. Latchley seems to visit you often enough."

"Maybe you ought to call more often."

"Well, however one chooses to look at it, Mr. Latchley spends altogether too much time at Tavistock Square. And if you want my opinion, he spends too much time with at least one of the two Miss Willards."

"Mr. Rutherford," she said with an exasperated sigh, "you will never make Amelia love you by sulking."

"I am not sulking." He continued to stare up into the branches of the tree. "I am despairing." He looked down for a moment when Elizabeth put a hand on his arm.

He sounded so bitter she felt sorry for him, and she moved so she was standing directly in front of him. "You must be patient." She pulled gently on his cravat in order to make him look at her. "Amelia is not ready to marry. She does not want to distinguish any one gentleman yet." Ripton was looking at her, and encouraged because he seemed calmer, she smiled.

"I am finished being patient." He returned her gaze.

"Will you force her to love you, then?"

"No, I am giving her up," he said with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders.

"If you really love her, I think it is not so easy as that."

"Perhaps not." He shook his head and was quiet for a long moment. "You are very kind, Elizabeth," he said at last. He let a hand fall lightly on her waist. "Why do you suppose that is?"

She ignored his question and reached up to straighten the cravat she had just a moment before set aslant. "You are twice as handsome as Mr. Latchley," she said. "But even more important, you are amiable where he is not."

"Flatterer," he said in a low voice.

"No, it is the truth."

"If I had any sense, I would have given her up long ago."

"One day, Mr. Rutherford, she will want the attentions of one man in particular, and there you'll be—handsome, kind, and a true gentleman. If that does not make her love you, she does not deserve you."

"I am already convinced she does not deserve me." He shook his head. "You know, when Nicholas and I were in school, he was always talking about you. 'Elizabeth is such a clever girl. Elizabeth can do this and that. Elizabeth is so kind!' "

"I did not know he talked of me."

"Talked of you! My dear young lady, I used to think if I ever met you, I would instantly dislike a woman so perfect."

"And did you?"

"I tried my best, but I failed. Everything he ever said about you is true. It is impossible to dislike you."

"Well, I'm glad you don't dislike me."

"I only wonder that Nicholas never mentioned how beautiful you are."

The tone of his voice, she thought, was odd, and while she was wondering just what it meant—if, indeed, it meant anything at all—she heard him whisper something.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked. She looked down in surprise when he curled an arm around her waist.

"I said, I think I've been a fool." He put his hand under her chin and lifted her head so that she was gazing into his blue eyes. "Have I told you I admire you?" he asked.

"Only that you admire my cousin, Mr. Rutherford." She laughed in order to cover her nervousness when he did not let her go.

"I do admire you, Elizabeth."

At first she was too shocked to do much of anything when he bent his head to hers. No one had ever wanted to kiss her before. At least never badly enough to actually do it, and she was surprised that Ripton Rutherford did. It was pleasant, and after a moment longer, she decided she like being kissed.

When he stopped, she looked into his eyes. "Oh, my," she said, lifting her fingers to her lips. She was glad her inane comment did not make him laugh. Quite the contrary, in fact. He grasped her hand and kissed her fingers, then moved to pull her close to kiss her again, more insistently than the first time. She had not gotten used to the fact that he had kissed her once, let alone that he immediately wanted to do it again. For an instant she relaxed against him, let him pull her tight into the curve of his arms, and for an instant only, she trembled as she wished it were Nicholas who was kissing her.

Her hands were against his chest. "No!" She pushed away from him, ashamed and embarrassed at her thoughts.

He let go of her, looking at her with a startled expression. "I'm sorry. Will you forgive me? I did not mean to take advantage—"

"It's I who ought to be forgiven."

"That isn't so." He reached for her hand and, when he had it, held it to his lips.

"It is. Please." She gently pulled her hand away. "Let's not talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not want to."

"All right," he said softly, a little sadly. "Shall we go inside?"

"Yes."

Once inside, she could think of nothing but what a fool she had made of herself with Ripton. He must think her a child, to have reacted to his embrace as if he had frightened her to death. She could hardly have explained that it was wishing he were Nicholas that had made her push him away.

Nicholas, whom she loved with all her heart, and who thought she was a child, was dancing with Amelia. She was gazing at him, every perfect feature of her face focused on him. And he seemed equally fascinated with her. How could he not be in love with Amelia? Amelia was beautiful and accomplished—and rich, everything Elizabeth was not. She saw him smile at Amelia. There was a dizzy sensation in her stomach at just the sight of his lazy grin. He would never look at her the way he did Amelia, no matter how much she wished he would.

When the dance ended she saw Nicholas look around, searching for someone. She could not bear to see him, and she walked quickly out of the room. There was a small parlor a short way down the hall, and she went inside to sit until she felt she could face him. Dwelling on her situation wasn't likely to accomplish anything, but it was impossible not to feel sorry for herself. It was all too appropriate that she should be reminded of Jane Smithwayne and how she sat by and waited for Beaufort Latchley to fall in love with her. She and Jane had much in common. What had she ever done to make Nicholas think of her as anything but his "sweet little Elizabeth"? Well, there was the rub. If she did anything, she might succeed only in making a fool of herself, and she did not know if that was a risk she wanted to take. It might ruin their friendship forever.

She knew by the sudden quiet and lowering of voices that the musicians had put away their instruments. She wished she knew what to do, she wished she knew whether Nicholas was in love with Amelia and whether there was even the slightest possibility that Nicholas might ever think of her as anything but his friend.

There were no voices to be heard at all now, and when she looked at the clock on the mantel she saw with surprise that it was well past two o'clock. She sighed and stood up. No one was in the room that had been used for dancing, and she climbed the stairs to her room. She was hardly ten steps down the hall when she heard a scream. She stopped, eyes open wide in fear. The thought of Mr. Martindale's ghost leapt to her mind, and there was a moment when she found herself listening for ghostly laughter. Another scream was followed by the sound of a woman sobbing. Then the door to Mrs. Lillick's room opened and Mrs. Lillick staggered out, clutching the neck of her dressing gown.

"Mrs. Lillick!" Elizabeth ran to her. "Are you all right?"

Another door opened. "What's happened?" Mr. Martindale was hastily fastening his robe as he came out of his room.

Mrs. Lillick fell sobbing into Elizabeth's arms. "It's gone," she moaned. "Stolen from underneath my very nose. He was right in the room with me. It was the Mayfair Thief."

"Good heavens!" Mr. Martindale put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Take her to the sitting room." .

Mr. Benford-Smith came out of his room, and Mrs. Lillick repeated the story even less coherently than before. When Mr. Martindale put a hand on the door to Mrs. Lillick's room, Mr. Benford-Smith restrained him. "I've a pistol in my room," he said. "Wait here."

With one arm around Mrs. Lillick, Elizabeth led her to the sitting room and opened the door. "Oh, excuse me," she said.

"What's wrong?" Havoc stood up when he saw Mrs. Lillick's tear-streaked face.

"We thought we had imagined the screams," said Beaufort Latchley. He quickly crossed the room to help settle Mrs. Lillick on a chair.

"No, Mr. Latchley, you did not," Elizabeth said. "Someone was in Mrs. Lillick's room."

"Is there anything we can do here, Elizabeth?" Havoc asked.

"No, Uncle Havoc. Could you find Mr. Lillick and tell him where we are?"

Mrs. Lillick gratefully accepted the handkerchief Elizabeth handed to her when Havoc and Mr. Latchley were gone. "I was frightened half out of my mind to see someone in the room with me," she said, dabbing at her eyes. She looked up. "I must look a fright." Elizabeth patted her arm and murmured some words of comfort. "He stole the necklace! I took it off and left it on the dressing table. I wasn't away two minutes, but when I came back he was half out the window and the necklace was gone. He must have been in the room with me the whole time." She shuddered at the memory.

"Martha!" Mr. Lillick came in and sank to his knees, relieved to see his wife was safe.

She threw her arms around him. "Oh, David!"

"What's happened?" Nicholas whirled around when he heard Elizabeth close the sitting room door. "Is Mrs. Lillick all right?"

"Yes, I believe so. She's with Mr. Lillick now."

"Could you make any sense of what she was saying?" asked Mr. Martindale, who had been waiting in the hall with Nicholas and Mr. Latchley.

"Her necklace has been stolen. She left her dressing room for a moment, and when she came back it was gone."

"Has anyone sent for the constable?" asked Mr. Latchley.

"I sent one of the servants for him," Mr. Martindale answered.

The constable was a short balding man who listened to Elizabeth's relation of what happened with a skeptical expression on his face. By the time she had finished answering his questions and was told she was free to go, she was exhausted. She left the drawing room where they were interviewing the guests, intending to go straight to her bed.

Nicholas was waiting in the hallway. "Are
you
all right, Elizabeth?" he asked, taking her arm.

"Of course."

"Are you sure?" He stroked her cheek. The moment he touched her, her stomach tightened and she was entirely unable to speak for fear of what she might say. "You look pale. Come along, I'll walk you to your room."

"I don't think the constable believed a word I said, Nicholas," she said when they reached her door. "He just kept looking at me and blinking."

"It's his job to listen."

"Well, I think he was annoyed at being dragged out of his bed."

Carolyn Jewel "No doubt he was."

"Have you given your statement?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. I saw and heard absolutely nothing, so it did not take even five minutes."