Wicked Promise (8 page)

Perhaps he remembered what it felt like to be a prisoner, no matter that Elizabeth's prison was hung with satin draperies and furnished with deep feather beds. Whatever his motivation, it was early the following morning that he suggested an outing, a trip into the village for her and Aunt Sophie.

"Surely there are things you need," he said from his seat across from her in the breakfast room, "sewing supplies, ribbons—whatever it is that women buy when they spend half the day out shopping."

Elizabeth laughed. "To tell you the truth, there is nothing I need, but I shall be happy to pretend there is if it will provide an excuse for a trip into the village."

His mouth curved up. A silvery glint appeared in the pale blue of his eyes. "You will have to stay close to me, I'm afraid. Bascomb's men may still be about and I don't want to take any chances."

Her stomach did a funny little twist. Spending time in the handsome earl's company was hardly a burden. In truth, the notion was all too appealing. It worried her, this growing attraction, but not enough to deter her from a day out of the house. She smiled. "I suppose I shall simply have to endure."

Ravenworth flashed one of his charming smiles. "An hour, then, shall we say? I'll have the carriage brought round and await you and your aunt in the Red Drawing Room."

Elizabeth nodded, feeling a surge of pleasure, and two hours later their small entourage was making its way from one shop to another along the busy street. It was market day in Sev- enoaks; an area in the middle of the main street of town was filled to overflowing with colorful stalls. Vendors hawked their wares: fruit sellers, knife grinders, coal merchants, rag pickers; there were butcher stalls, cheese stalls, cloth stalls, gingerbread men, oystermongers, and a variety of arts and crafts.

As Elizabeth had told the earl, there was little she needed, but that didn't lessen the joy of being out among people again, or if she were honest, the pleasure of having Nicholas Warring all to herself.

Not that they were actually alone. The footman, Theophilus Swann, had come with them, as well as Ravenworth's valet, Elias Moody. Both of them, she recalled, were acquaintances of his from the days of his indenture, capable, hard-edged men who were obviously there for protection.

She glanced at the earl, who was dressed in a dark plum tailcoat and tight black breeches. A lacy white cravat nudged the dark skin at his throat and she found herself staring at the long lean muscles that moved whenever he spoke.

"I am so enjoying myself," Aunt Sophie said, blessedly interrupting the train of her thoughts. "And such a marvelous day it is." She wandered into a corner of the cloth merchant's stall to examine a length of scarlet ribbon, and the earl led Elizabeth away to look at a painted fan in the stall next door.

"Do you like it?'' he asked, his eyes on hers instead of the fan.

Elizabeth had to force herself to look down at the object in her hand. "It's magnificent." She turned the fan over, lightly touched the tiny seed pearls that were sewn into the silk. The artist had incorporated them into the scene he had painted, a shimmering accent to the moonlit landscape on the fan. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Ravenworth smiled. "Then it's yours."

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly—"

"You're my ward, Elizabeth. I have every right to buy you whatever I wish, and I wish for you to have it."

A rush of pleasure spilled through her, curling warmly in her stomach. "Thank you, my lord."

Nicholas Warring smiled again, and her eyes fixed on his mouth. It was finely carved, yet she thought that his lips might be softer than they appeared. The thought made her stomach flutter in an odd, unexpected manner and her mouth felt suddenly dry. She dragged her gaze away and studied her surroundings.

"I wonder where Aunt Sophie has got off to?" She surveyed the overflowing stalls and the milling crowd but didn't see her. Aunt Sophie was in no danger and she often wandered about, yet a thread of worry began to niggle at her insides.

Ravenworth also scanned the crowd. "She has probably just wandered away, but perhaps we had better go and find her." He turned to the men he'd brought with him. "Elias, you and Theo split up. See if you can find Mrs. Crabbe. We'll meet back here in half an hour. And remember to stay alert, keep an eye peeled for anyone who might look suspicious. There is every chance Bascomb's men have been watching the house. If they have, undoubtedly they followed us here."

"We'll keep a sharp watch, milord." The fair-haired Theo grinned. "Won't we, Mr. Moody?"

"Right ye are, old son." His eyes swung to the earl's. "With any luck, one of us will 'ave your missin' lady in tow by the time we meet again."

Nicholas nodded and took hold of Elizabeth's arm. "You come with me and remember to stay close. I don't want to lose you, too." They started through the streets, both of them quietly searching.

"Perhaps she got hungry," Ravenworth said. "I smell something roasting. We'll follow the scent and see if she is anywhere near." Resting a hand at Elizabeth's waist, he urged her off toward the aroma of roasting meat. Outside the Fat Ox Inn, a big boar turned over the hot coals of a fire pit. For a few shillings, a portion of meat was carved off and served with a chunk of coarse brown bread.

Elizabeth's stomach growled but worry overrode her rising appetite. Aunt Sophie wasn't among the people standing in line for food and she wasn't at any of the tables inside the inn. It wasn't until they stepped into the alley at the side of the building that Elizabeth spotted her aunt's bulky figure bent over a heap of garbage, busily retrieving parts of a rusted hinge.

Ravenworth stopped dead in his tracks. "Good God, what on earth is she doing?"

Elizabeth's face went warm and her heart went out to her aging aunt. "Something in the trash has caught her eye. Please don't be angry. Aunt Sophie can't seem to help herself. It is some sort of odd compulsion."

Ravenworth snorted. "That is ridiculous. Your aunt feels compelled to pick through other people's trash?" But he didn't move from his place in the shadows, and as he stood watching the woman gowned in pink silk who rummaged in the alley, a look of pity shifted across his features.

He had taken a single step forward when a group of children appeared a few feet away. Apparently they also had been watching.

"Crazy old woman," one of them shouted. "Are ye daft? Whot's a lady like you want with pieces of a rusty old hinge?"

Aunt Sophie looked offended. "Well, I... with a little effort it can be mended. It can be fixed good as new."

"Crazy old woman," a skinny blond boy sneered. "Notty in the noodle, ye are." They started a singsong chant, calling her names, picking up small stones and twigs and tossing them in her aunt's direction.

Ravenworth's face went hard, his bold black brows drawing together over eyes that had suddenly gone cold. He stepped out of the shadows and strode toward the children, his tall frame rigid. He opened his mouth to unleash an angry tirade, then paused.

Watching him, the children stood frozen, as caught in the unfolding drama as Elizabeth was. Suddenly Ravenworth smiled. Turning away from the children, he made a slight bow to Aunt Sophie.

"Good afternoon, madam. Would you mind very much if I examined that hinge?"

"Wh-why, no," Aunt Sophie sputtered, "of course not, my lord." Carefully, one by one, she rested the broken pieces in his palm.

"This is an extremely excellent hinge, madam. Yes... a very nice hinge, indeed. I should be happy to offer you a shilling apiece for each of the parts."

"A shilling apiece? But surely—"

"Two, then. You drive a hard bargain, madam."

"You are offering me two shillings? But surely they are not—"

"All right, three shillings for each, but not a penny more."

For a moment Aunt Sophie looked dumbfounded, but whatever her problems, she was not dumb. It took only a glance at the children, whose mouths were gaping open, to catch on to the ruse.

Grinning at the earl, she nodded. "All right, milord, three shillings it is."

Elizabeth's chest hurt with the effort to stifle her laughter. She hid it behind her hand.

"If you wouldn't mind," said the earl to her aunt, "perhaps we might conclude our business in the tavern. I find that I am quite hungry. Perhaps you would care to join my companion and me?"

"Yes," Aunt Sophie said, "as a matter of fact I would." The children continued to stare at the woman in pink. Aunt Sophie accepted his arm, Elizabeth took the other, and he ushered them into the inn.

It was in that moment, with her aunt smiling up at him with obvious adulation, that Elizabeth realized the true peril she had stumbled into in coming to Ravenworth Hall.

In truth, it wasn't Lord Bascomb she needed to fear but the Earl of Ravenworth, who, with only the slightest effort, had just managed to capture another small piece of her heart.

N
icholas looked down at the naked woman beneath him in his big four-poster bed. Long black hair streamed like silk across her shoulders. Her face was flushed and her eyes were closed, the lids fringed with thick black lashes. Small white teeth bit into her lush bottom lip.

Braced on his elbows, he surged into her again and heard her moan. He felt her body tighten around him, felt the tiny ripples of her climax. His own body tightened, straining toward release, yet his mind remained oddly numb.

He closed his eyes and for a moment it wasn't Miriam he saw but another. A woman with fiery dark auburn hair and eyes that sparkled with a touch of the devil. Her legs were longer, her body more graceful than tha one beneath him, yet her breasts were full and firm. He wondered if her nipples were small and tight, or large and dusky like Miriam's. He wondered how her skin would taste, wondered if the warmth of the sunlight she loved had seeped into her pores, if the freckles scattered across her cheeks would be slightly rough against his tongue.

He wondered how it would feel to be inside her, to touch the innocence of her, the joy of living that surrounded her like sweet perfume, a joy he had lost long ago. He wondered, and as he did, his body spasmed. Release hit him hard, washing over him like a wave. He thrust deeply two more times, taking what he once thought he wanted, wasting his seed inside a woman he cared nothing about.

He lay there in silence as she climbed from the bed, taking care of her needs, wiping away the evidence of a passion that had left him feeling cold. He watched her dress, watched her leave.

But this time he did not follow.

Elizabeth sat on a wrought-iron bench along a high stone wall of the garden. The budding leaves of a plane tree cast fingers of shade over her head. A small wooden bird feeder built in the shape of a castle hung from one of the branches. A little garden warbler, a plump brown bird with pale underparts and a stubby tail, sat on the miniature drawbridge plucking up seeds.

Elizabeth smiled to watch him, enjoying the slight, jerky movements of the small bird's head as it studied her in return.

Light footfalls sounded along the path and, like the warbler, she hastily turned her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you." The woman smiled, but it held no warmth. "You must be Miss Woolcot."

Elizabeth came to her feet. "I'm Elizabeth Woolcot." Her stomach suddenly tightened, knowing only too well that the beautiful silk-gowned, black-haired woman was Miriam Beechcroft, Lady Dandridge—Nicholas Warring's mistress.

"I've been hoping to meet you," the viscountess said with another of her slightly brittle smiles. "I'm Lady Dandridge, a close friend of the earl's."

"Lady Dandridge ... yes, I know who you are. I've seen you here before."

A fine black brow arched up. "Have you, indeed?"

Elizabeth merely smiled. The last thing she wanted was a lengthy conversation with Ravenworth's mistress. "I'm afraid his lordship isn't home at present. I believe he had some busi-ness to attend with one of his tenants."

"So I've been told." Lady Dandridge glanced back toward the gray stone house. "The whole place is empty. That isn't like Nicky at all. He usually has any number of people about. Apparently they have all returned to the city."

"I'm sure they'll be back," Elizabeth said with a touch of sarcasm she made no effort to hide. "You know what they say about bad pennies ..."

Thick black lashes lowered over eyes a perfect sapphire- blue. "I gather you don't approve."

"I'm a guest here. I haven't the right to approve or disapprove of any of his lordship's friends. Besides, I've only met a few of them."

The viscountess waved an immaculate white-gloved hand, and Elizabeth glanced down at her own bare hands, the backs lightly freckled from the hours she spent in the sun.

"I'll grant they are not exactly diamonds of the first water," the woman said. "Why Nicky puts up with them I cannot imagine." She gave Elizabeth a knowing, slightly condescending smile. "Of course, there are any number of people who try to take advantage of a man of Ravenworth's wealth and position."

The needle found its mark and Elizabeth's head went up. "I'm certain there are."

"His wife was that way." The viscountess toyed with the fingers of her glove. "You did know he was married?"

Something sharp stabbed through her. "Of course I did." But she never really thought of him that way and the reminder felt like a barb beneath her skin.

Miriam sighed, plucked up a pale pink blossom that had fallen onto the sleeve of her high-waisted gown. "A number of people don't know. Nick never mentions Rachael and neither does anyone else—not if they wish to remain in his good graces."

"How did his wife take advantage? That is what you were implying."

"Rachael wanted his money. Nick was the Ravenworth heir, after all. That is the reason she married him."