Wicked Promise (33 page)

He cared for her. He also cared for his beautiful horses, for Elias Moody and the convicts he had hired at Ravenworth Hall.

Had he also cared for Miriam Beechcroft? She imagined that in some small way he probably had.

Oh, God, oh, God, it hurt so badly. She had known the risk she was taking when she gave her heart to the Wicked Earl. She never could have guessed the awful, terrible grief she would feel to discover she had lost what small part of him that she had ever had.

Elizabeth leaned back against the sofa, giving in to a hot round of tears. She had instructed the servants not to disturb her and so far none of them had intruded. Aunt Sophie had taken leave to visit a friend in the country. She wouldn't be back for several days, and Elizabeth was glad.

She needed time to pull herself together, time to decide what course she should take. They could no longer stay in her town house—Nicholas's town house, she corrected—the place she had come to think of as their home.

Her throat constricted. She couldn't stay here, yet with Bascomb still a threat, she couldn't leave. Perhaps Nicholas was right and she should simply marry the viscount, get on with her life as best she could.

Elizabeth suffered a fresh jolt of pain. For now she didn't want to think about the future. She simply wanted to sit alone in the darkness and try to deal with her grief.

Oliver Hampton strode up the wide stone steps of his West End town house. In truth, it wasn't exactly his, or at least he didn't live there. He simply paid the rent. It was occupied by his mistress, an opera singer named Chartrice Mills, a saucy little chit of two and twenty with overblown aspirations. She wanted to sing center stage instead of being happy in the cho¬rus.

He had seen her some months back, a girl with a pretty face and incredible auburn hair. She was slender and willowy, taller than average, with fair skin and a passable figure, even if her breasts were a bit too small.

After six months of having her in his bed, he still knew nothing about her and didn't really care. He rarely listened to her monotonous conversations, usually just walked in and dragged her off to bed. He had wooed her for one simple reason.

With her fair complexion, slender stature, and long dark auburn hair, she reminded him of Elizabeth Warring.

Oliver opened the door without knocking, climbed the stairs, and went into her bedchamber. Sitting on a small petit- point stool in front of the mirror, she gave a start at the sight of him appearing in her room so unexpectedly. Still, she came to her feet with a smile.

"My lord. You should have sent word. I would have been better prepared." She indicated her dishabille, that she was dressed simply in her chemise and stockings, her hair free of its pins, a loose cloud of burnished auburn around her narrow shoulders.

Oliver felt a tug at his groin. He had come for a purpose— the time had arrived to end the affair and he wanted it over and done. Still... she did look fetching sitting there half- naked.

She rose from the stool, the simple chemise molding to her slender curves. "You seem tense, my lord. Is something the matter?"

He smiled. "Nothing a go at you won't cure. Come here, my dear."

She flushed a bit. He liked that about her, that she hadn't had many lovers. For a whore, she was relatively innocent— just like Elizabeth. The thought made his mood a little darker, but his shaft went stiff as a stick.

"I told you to come here."

"Yes, my lord."'

She was surprisingly well trained. He had seen to that him¬self. It was amazing what a bit of discipline could do, a cuff here and there, the back of his hand now and again. She hadn't complained. She needed the money. She liked the trinkets he brought, and he was more than generous. And there was al¬ways the promise he had made, that in time she would sing at the center of the stage. She wanted to be a star and she believed he had the power to see it done.

Perhaps he did, but not for her.

She came to him as he demanded, pressed a soft kiss on his lips. "My lord?"

He thought of Elizabeth, imagined her responding to his commands, imagined her naked and standing in front of him. "Remove your chemise."

She did so without complaint, allowing the soft embroidered fabric to pool at her feet. When she was left in only her white silk stockings, her tiny nipples erect from the slight chill in the room, he rested his hands on her shoulders and urged her down, telling her without words what he wanted.

She complied, of course, opening the front of his breeches, filling her hands with his stiff member, taking him into her mouth. He imagined Elizabeth's warm lips caressing him, her hands cupping his heated flesh. He imagined her obeying each of his commands without question, and filled his hands with thick auburn hair. Chartrice's clever little tongue darted out. She used it to tease him, used her fingers to stroke him and make him even harder than he was already.

Yes, he had trained her well, as he would train Elizabeth.

Her mouth opened wider, took more of him, and he knew his release was near. He imagined Elizabeth on her knees in front of him, imagined plunging himself between her willing lips, and a hot climax rolled through him. He gripped the little whore's shoulders, hissed out a sound of pleasure, and swayed on unsteady legs as the final spasms of release subsided.

Chartrice simply smiled. Reaching for a towel, she wiped him clean of the remnants of his seed, tucked him back inside his breeches, and refastened the buttons. For a moment he said nothing, enjoying the satisfaction, the moments of content¬ment, the last vestiges of a memory that didn't really exist.

He straightened as she retrieved a thin silk robe and drew it over her slim white body. Smoothing a wrinkle from the front of his coat, he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and retrieved a small bag of coins.

"Thank you, Chartrice, you did very well. I have no doubt your next protector will find you quite accomplished. He'll have me, of course, to thank for that. And you... you will have learned a few things that should make you a valuable commodity." He handed her the bag of coins.

She looked at them strangely. "What are these? What are you talking about?"

"1 am bidding you farewell, Chartrice. 'Tis time for our affair to end. There is money enough in the pouch to see you through the next few months, until you are able to find another protector."

The girl stared down at the bag, then back into his face. "You came in here intending to get rid of me? You used me like a whore and now you wish to discard me?"

Oliver frowned. He didn't like that tone of, voice. He had warned her of that before. "I told you, I no longer require your services. You are free to choose someone else."

Her auburn brows flared up. Anger heated her face to a mottled red. "Someone else? I don't want someone else. I want you to do the things you promised. You said you would make me famous. You said—"

"I know exactly what I said. Now I am saying something altogether different, and I am warning you, m'dear, that you had better listen."

Instead she threw the bag of coins at him with all of her strength, the weighty pouch just clipping the side of his head. "You aren't getting rid of me that easy. You are going to do what you promised!"

His hands fisted. He stepped toward her. "I thought I taught you to obey your betters. I believed you had learned to do as you were told." He reached out and slapped her, sent her reeling toward the bed. "Apparently, you have not."

Her face went from rosy to pale. "Don't touch me. Leave me alone."

"You don't give orders here—I do." He reached for her, grabbed the front of her robe and jerked her toward him, slapped her hard, once, twice, hit her again and watched the blood spring into the corner of her mouth. With a grunt of satisfaction, he tossed her backward onto the bed.

"All right, you win," she whispered. "Don't hurt me any¬more. Just leave the money and go."

But it was too late. The anger pumping through him had aroused him again and he had decided to have her one last time. He gripped her wrist and twisted it up behind her, rolled her over and forced her facedown on the bed. "I thought you were smarter than this, my dear."

She whimpered, tried to speak, but he wrenched the arm higher and the pain forced her into a trembling silence. With his free hand, he unbuttoned his breeches and freed himself, spread her legs with his knee. He fondled her, felt her tight¬ening against his intrusion, and drove himself roughly inside her. She whimpered again and he knew he was hurting her. Somehow that added to the pleasure.

"Little fool," he taunted, grunting over her, ramming into her again and again. "When the next man tells you something, you will know enough to do as he says." He surged deeply once more, allowed his release to come, then withdrew and casually rebuttoned his breeches.

He could hear her weeping as he crossed the room toward the door. "I want you gone by tomorrow." With a last glance over his shoulder at the pitiful lump she made on the bed, he turned and walked away, stopping only long enough to pluck up the pouch of coins and tuck it back into his waistcoat.

*       *       *

Elizabeth retired to her bedchamber early. Aunt Sophie would be home tonight and she wasn't ready to face her. She had no idea what she would say to her when she did.

After hours of tossing and turning, she finally fell asleep, only to awaken in the hours before dawn. Unconsciously, she reached toward the place beside her, searching for Nicholas, desperate to feel his warmth. The cold sheet was empty, bring¬ing her brutally awake, reminding her he was gone, that he would never sleep beside her again.

Her throat closed up and she started to cry, deep wracking sobs that tore at her heart and shook her slender frame. She cried for what seemed hours, until her throat hurt and tears soaked her pillow.

In the darkness, it took a moment to realize her aunt had come into the room and was sitting in the chair beside the bed.

"What is it, child? It isn't like you to cry this way. What terrible thing has happened while I have been gone?"

Elizabeth sat up slowly, dragging in a painful breath of air. Leaning over, she went into her aunt's pudgy arms. "Oh, Aunt Sophie—I just want to die." For the next few minutes, it was as though her heart had been lanced wide open. All of the hurt spilled out, all of the anger and the sadness.

"He doesn't love me, Aunt Sophie. He doesn't want me anymore. Oh, God, I should have known this would happen."

A plump hand gently patted her back. "He is a hard man, your Nicholas. And very brave, I think."

"I hate him."

"You love him."

Her throat constricted. "Yes. I love him so much."

Her aunt's hand smoothed back her hair. "So your Nicholas says he doesn't love you, that you should marry someone else. For a man who cares so little, it was quite a noble thing for him to do."

Elizabeth straightened, sniffed in a shaky breath. "Noble? What do you mean?"

"I mean that Lord Ravenworth is facing the gallows. His friends are few and he is in dire need of the ones he has left. He is locked behind prison bars yet he has driven away the only woman who can give him comfort. He has done it so that you will be free of the scandal, so that you will be spared the pain he believes he will bring you if you stand at his side."

She only shook her head. "He doesn't love me. He told me he doesn't even know what love is."

Aunt Sophie brushed tears from Elizabeth's cheeks. "Per¬haps that is the problem. Perhaps Lord Ravenworth is unable to recognize love as among the things he is feeling."

Her heart ached. She sniffed, blew her nose on the hand¬kerchief her aunt gave her. "What are you saying, Aunt So¬phie?"

"I am merely pointing out that before all this occurred, his lordship went to great extremes to offer you the protection of his name. He gave up his priceless family jewels. He was willing to suffer the stigma of divorce. He did those things for you, my dear. He made grave sacrifices—all of them for you. Perhaps he is making such a sacrifice again."

Something started throbbing, burning inside her chest. It was hope this time, desperate, aching hope. "You don't... you don't really believe he would lie about such a thing?"

"I believe he is trying to protect you. For a man like his lordship, love may be a difficult thing. It may take time for him to realize what exactly he is feeling. Whatever it is, his concern for you runs deep, and I do not believe he wishes you to marry anyone else but him."

Elizabeth blinked and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Was it possible? And yet it would be so like him. He believed himself so hard, so unfeeling, when the opposite was true.

"I don't want to marry David Endicott."

"Then I suggest you find a way to help free his lordship so that the two of you might have a chance to work things out."

Hope mushroomed, began to sweep through her. Her heart started pounding, no longer dull and hurting, but beating with a new well of strength. Nicholas had always cared for her. He had always done his best to protect her. Was it possible he loved her? There was no way to know for certain, yet what if it were true?

Elizabeth dragged in a shaky breath. She loved him. She would cling to the hope for as long as she dared. She wouldn't give up until she knew for certain what was true.

"You are right, Aunt Sophie. Nicholas needs my help. That is exactly what I must do." Drawing back the covers, she got up from the bed. Dawn had not yet grayed the windows. The household was still abed, and yet she was too keyed up to sleep.

"I need to think, Aunt Sophie. I've got to work this out."

"That is a very good notion. In the meantime, I shall go down to the kitchen, light the stove, and make us a pot of tea."

A feeling of gratitude moved through her. Elizabeth smiled at her aunt and blotted the last of her tears. Aunt Sophie was always there when she needed her. She always had been. Turn¬ing, Elizabeth reached for her wrapper, her mind already spin¬ning, churning over the words Nicholas had said. Mostly she was remembering the look on his face when he said them, the anguish he had worked so hard to hide. There was pain there, too. At the time, she thought she had imagined it.