Elizabeth slipped easily from the mews into the kitchen, sliding smoothly along the wall to try and avoid being seen. The kitchen was a busy hub of activity, and she managed to move quickly and quietly enough that she made it to the back staircase without incidence.
Overly pleased with herself, she forgot to pause and listen for footsteps on the stairs. And so it was, perhaps, inevitable that about halfway up she ran into Sally, who gave a shriek of surprise and dismay, and dropped her basket of linens.
Thank goodness it's only Sally, Elizabeth thought, as she yanked off her cap and shushed the other girl with a tinge of desperation. She'll keep my secrets.
"Sally, do hush, it's only me, don't get upset."
Sally blinked at her, frozen in startlement. "M-Miss Elizabeth? What on earth…?"
"Never mind right now," Elizabeth said, picking up the basket and handing it back to the maid. "I'll explain everything, but not here. If you could please bring some fresh hot water to my room, we can talk there."
Whatever Sally's thoughts might be, she nodded obediently with a small, awkward bob. "Yes, miss, of course."
She snatched up the few pieces of fallen laundry, and the two girls turned sideways to squeeze past one another, and then trotted off on their separate ways. It was just as well, really, Elizabeth reflected, as she sped off to her room. She'd need help getting properly dressed, and her hair was a mess.
She discovered just how much of a mess she was when she entered her bedroom and caught a glimpse in the mirror that made her laugh out loud. Her hair, once again free of the cap, was a loose and tousled mass of tangles; her face, despite her best efforts with poor Red's handkerchief, was still streaked liberally with the mud she'd applied as part of her disguise.
And even so, even in her state of complete dishabille…there had been that long, heavy moment, when Red had stood over her, his hands threaded into her hair, when she'd thought he might kiss her. The look on his face had been…she shivered in response even now at just the memory of that look.
Even when the moment passed, she couldn't shake the heaviness of it. The warm ball of something that had lodged inside her and made it extremely difficult to continue their conversation as if nothing had happened. That had made her fly in the face of all manners and propriety and touch her lips to his cheek.
She'd just needed to touch him in return, just once. She didn't understand how just a second's glance could throw her into such turmoil. It wasn't as if she was some fresh-faced innocent, after all.
She thought, a bit dreamily, of her last kiss, a precious goodbye from sweet Femi, the son of their dragoman on Sam's final dig in Egypt. Almost from the moment they met, she had lost herself to Femi's deep, dark eyes; had listened, enraptured, when he walked her around their campsite in the evenings, telling her stories of constellations, of long-dead kings. Only when they'd been leaving had he worked up the courage to kiss her, a soft, sweet press of lips that had filled her heart and made her stomach flutter.
Sitting down now to pull off her rough stockings, she relived that shining moment — up until today, the most romantic of her life. The thought struck her that a kiss from Raymond Reddington would be an entirely different experience.
She was flushed just thinking about it, the room too hot, that mysterious warmth back in her belly. Thankfully, Sally came bustling in then, a basin of steaming water in her arms. She immediately started fussing, and Elizabeth's wayward thoughts were diverted by their conversation.
But as she washed herself clean, as she was laced into her dress and then sat while Sally did her hair up, as she excused her disguise as a whim to go out alone — her mind kept flashing back to that one, wordless moment. She couldn't help but wonder if, the next time they found themselves alone, he might really kiss her.
And if she would lose her heart to him again, as simply and easily as she had the first time.
Dressed again, wearing her pelisse and carrying her hat for verisimilitude, Elizabeth crept quietly down to the first floor. She opened and closed the heavy front door, just in case, and laid her hat down on the foyer table.
Satisfied that she had successfully disguised her morning's outing, she walked through to the study, taking a peek inside for Tom. He was gone, though — she supposed he had either needed to attend another appointment, or simply run out of things to do that gave him an excuse to wait for her.
Since the house was quiet, she sat down at the desk and penned a brief note, assuring him that she had returned home safely and that her adventure had passed without incident. There was no point trying to explain her run-in with Blackwood, and it certainly wouldn't do for anyone to know she'd been to his home unescorted.
She sealed and addressed her missive, then rang for Jensen. The butler appeared with his usual alacrity, assured her that her note would be dispatched immediately, and swept off with message in hand and her pelisse over his arm.
Elizabeth felt quite smug, overall, about the success of her first quest. True, she'd been caught out, but that minor issue had resulted in her obtaining a valuable ally. Really, it was almost as if she'd planned it that way.
She made her way upstairs to the drawing room, where, as she'd expected, Aunt June was sharing a cup of tea and a cheerful round of gossip with her dearest friend, Lady Browning. After the usual polite greetings, Elizabeth sat neatly on the settee and wondered how to share her news.
As it turned out, Aunt June made it simple by inquiring about her shopping trip — was Meera in good health, had Elizabeth found anything to purchase, had they run into anyone they knew?
"Actually," Elizabeth said, careful to sound only mildly interested, "we did meet Lord Blackwood in Bond Street. He indicated he might be inclined to call on us tomorrow afternoon."
"Did he, indeed?" June said thoughtfully. "How very nice of him." She eyed Elizabeth appraisingly and Elizabeth tried not to squirm.
"The Earl of Blackwood?" Lady Browning exclaimed. "He only just returned to London, and he's planning to call on you? Perhaps he has…a special interest?"
Her eyes gleamed with keen delight in this tidbit of news, and her voice was so suggestive that Elizabeth blushed in spite of herself.
"I'm sure the Earl is merely reintroducing himself to Society," she demurred.
Aunt June, for a wonder, supported Elizabeth with a cool smile. "The Earl is an old family friend," she said. "It's only natural that he would want to pay his respects now that he's back in London. All the same," she continued, before Elizabeth even had time to breathe a quiet sigh of relief, "you should make sure your blue muslin is clean, dear — it brings out your eyes beautifully."
Elizabeth thought woefully that she might be in for some matchmaking, after all.
Raymond twitched rather more than usual as his carriage wound its way to the Scott home the next afternoon. He told himself that it was perfectly normal to be a bit apprehensive when visiting such an unpredictable young lady. The only thing that one could expect of Elizabeth seemed to be that it would not be what one should be able to expect from a young Society miss.
Of course, he reminded himself firmly, she was hardly a young miss at all, verging on spinsterhood at twenty-four and only coming to London the past year, never mind out in Society. Part of him wondered what on earth Samuel Scott had been thinking; the rest of him was thoroughly pleased with her.
Willful and unpredictable she might be, but she was also intelligent and quick-witted, well-mannered and well-spoken, confident and self-assured. And, of course, possessed of an unconventional beauty that would surely–
He forcibly halted his thoughts before they ran away from him completely. Age notwithstanding, her vivacious prettiness, lively friendliness, and appealing sweetness — not to mention the comfortable income Sam had surely settled on her — would certainly guarantee her a generous quota of suitors.
Such a woman would have no interest in a widower old enough to be her father. The affectionate gestures she had bestowed on him could easily be attributed to a residual childhood fondness, combined with the vein of impulsiveness in her nature.
And he wasn't looking for a wife, anyway.
Before his thoughts could tangle any further, the carriage lurched to a halt. Thank goodness, he thought, as he swung down and strode to the door ahead, knocking briskly and straightening his coat.
He really must try harder to keep himself in order.
The door was promptly opened by a hatchet-faced butler of suitably somber expression and impeccably neat attire.
"Blackwood," Raymond said shortly, proffering his card. "For Lady Chester."
"Very good, sir," the butler intoned solemnly. "I shall see if her ladyship is at home."
He ushered Raymond politely into the foyer and whisked away, leaving Raymond to twitch a little more as he waited. Luckily for him and his wandering thoughts, it was only a few moments before the butler reappeared with a polite smile affixed to his face.
"Please do follow me, my lord."
Raymond was led upstairs and left at the drawing room entrance with a delightfully gloomy, "Lord Blackwood, miss."
It was Elizabeth who rose from the sofa to greet him, and he simply forgot to breathe for a long moment.
She was wearing a dress of cornflower blue that enriched her creamy skin and reflected in her bright eyes. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd seen her in a colour, and it elevated her reserved prettiness to an astonishing beauty.
She was smiling at him as his presence somehow made her day complete, perfect, and something lonely inside him responded eagerly to the show of warmth.
He stepped forward, stricken and wordless, and took her offered hand.
"Lord Blackwood," she said, a touch primly. "How lovely to see you."
"Miss Scott," he managed, his voice hoarse.
He bent over her hand, intending merely a swift courtesy, but the herbal scent of her caught at him. He turned her hand in his, and, gently but deliberately, pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist, letting himself taste her ever so lightly. He heard her slight gasp with pure satisfaction, and stood to see her eyes widened and cheeks flushed.
"Red," she said.
"The pleasure is mine," he finished softly.
All his self-admonishing thoughts and fine resolutions seemed to have dissolved into dust around him, leaving nothing behind but a fierce desire. The taste of her, bright and lovely, lingered on his tongue, and it took all of his formidable self-control not to grasp her face in his hands and devour her.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he offered her a charming smile. "Shall we sit?"
"Oh," she replied, even more flustered by her own loss of manners. "Of course. Please do have a seat, my lord." She gestured to the sofa and they sat down together, a modest cushion of space between them.
"And where might your aunt be this afternoon?" he asked, thinking — possibly for the first time in his life — that a chaperone was an absolute must.
"I believe she is just consulting her maid about her gown for the theatre this evening," Elizabeth said faintly, seemingly unable to look at him.
"Then…then we should speak about your father while we're alone," he said quickly, grasping the distraction with both hands.
That seemed to bring her back to herself. "Have you thought of anything?" she asked eagerly. "I'm sure that at least some of Papa's associates belong to your club."
"I'm sure they do," Raymond answered. "Unfortunately, I've been out of the country for so long, I don't know who Sam might have been doing business with that last year. Do you?"
She frowned. "No," she said, then her expression turned thoughtful. "But I'm sure I can find out."
He wasn't sure that he liked the sound of that. "Your young friend?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice even.
She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a bit shy and entirely appealing. "He really is a friend, you know," she ventured. "We're not…I mean…" she stumbled to an awkward halt.
He smiled again, her nervousness somehow making him calm. "I'm glad," he heard himself say. "Elizabeth, I–"
"Goodness me, Lord Blackwood, I'm so sorry." Aunt June bustled into the room, cutting him off and assuming control over the conversation with the effortless skill of long experience.
He stood and bowed, greeting the dowager with a bland smile. The rest of his visit was spent in polite pleasantries and banal conversation about mutual acquaintances and Society happenings. Elizabeth kept surprisingly quiet, watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. If Aunt June noticed, she did a remarkably good job of hiding it.
He wanted more time with Elizabeth, had never been so annoyed with Society's restrictive conventions. He wanted her, he realized, regardless of how foolish it might be. How could he possibly… She had mentioned the theatre.
They all rose when it was time for him to take his leave.
"Lady Chester, Elizabeth tells me the two of you are planning to attend the theatre this evening," he said. "Perhaps you'd allow me the great pleasure of escorting you?"
Lady Chester fairly beamed.
"I'm sure we would be most pleased to have your company, Lord Blackwood."
Satisfied, he made arrangements to call for them later and said his farewells. He kept his eyes on Elizabeth's face as he took her hand; her answering flush assured him that she was remembering the touch of his lips.
He could do this, he thought, determination sweeping over him. He could win the heart of this eminently desirable woman. He just needed time, and handily, she wanted time with him as well. They may not have the same goal, but there was no reason they couldn't both get what they wanted.
He savoured the sweet taste of her all the way home.