Elizabeth sat down at her dressing table, carefully sweeping her skirts out of the way. She looked in the mirror and evaluated herself objectively — or tried to. She was pretty enough, she thought, her complexion good, her hair thick and long, her eyes a pleasant clear blue.
Why did she even care?
She sighed as Sally came up behind her and started to brush out her hair. She knew why she cared — it was Red, haunting her thoughts, the touch of his lips still lingering at her wrist. She didn't want this, not the attention, not Society, not courtship, or marriage, or any of it.
And yet…she still wanted him to think well of her, and she couldn't shake off the feeling.
She looked at herself again, hating it more than a little. Her gown had made Aunt June frown, and name it too somber still. But Elizabeth thought the deep, midnight blue looked well on her, darkening her eyes and bringing out the roses in her cheeks.
Sally cleared her throat politely, so Elizabeth looked up to meet her eyes in the mirror.
"Are you certain that you don't want me to do a little… something with your hair, miss? If Lord Blackwood is escorting you, everyone will be looking your way."
Elizabeth hesitated, then sighed. She wanted him to look at her with that warmth in his eyes; to touch her in that coaxing way that made her shiver. Why was she trying to deny it, even to herself?
"Oh, very well," she said, trying to sound reluctant; trying not to blush. "If only to pacify Aunt June. Nothing ornate though, and do keep it out of my face."
She had no patience for the clusters of short curls that were currently fashionable, and absolutely refused to cut her hair.
"Yes, miss," Sally said, a little dolefully, and went to work with quick, deft fingers and hot tongs.
She was just finishing the pinning when they heard the knocker bang on the front door below. Sally held up a hand mirror so Elizabeth could see and approve her work. The steady girl had done a good job, Elizabeth thought — not so very different from her customary low knot, but pulled a little bit higher, curled and tucked into a neat pattern of twists.
"That's lovely, Sally, thank you," she said. "Would you fasten this for me, please?"
She held out a cameo on a thin gold chain — one of the few things she had of her mother's, she often wore it as her sole ornament. Toilette complete, Elizabeth stood and straightened her gown a bit nervously.
"You're beautiful, miss," Sally said loyally. "But I still think you should wear a corset, it–"
"Nonsense," Elizabeth interrupted cheerfully. "I enjoy breathing far too much to even consider it. You know I believe in Rational Dress, Sally." Her maid sighed, clearly disappointed with this show of common sense. "I'm wearing my chemise, and that's more than enough," Elizabeth continued firmly. "My gown isn't particularly low-cut, and I'm perfectly decent."
Sally sniffed. "As to that, miss, I–"
Elizabeth interrupted again with a laugh, her spirits fully restored by this habitual exchange. She gave Sally a warm kiss on the cheek.
"I'm afraid you'll never make a fashion plate of me, Sally, dear," she said. "Try not to mind too much."
She took up her reticule, gave herself time for two deep breaths, and headed for the stairs.
Alone in the drawing room, waiting, Raymond felt unaccountably awkward — and then ridiculous over feeling awkward. He tugged a little at his cravat, which, while still simpler than dictated by fashion, had been tied higher and tighter than usual at his valet's insistence.
Apparently, the theatre required only the best of presentations.
Thankfully, he wasn't waiting long before Aunt June swept into the room, her Societal armour of gleaming smile, sharp-edged fan, and sparkling jewels firmly in place. He put on his own politely charming smile and bowed with a click of his heels.
"You are the picture of elegance, Lady Chester," he offered.
"How delightful of you to pretend to notice me at all, Lord Blackwood," she replied. Her eyes shone with knowing amusement.
His smile became much more genuine, appreciating both her humour and her candor. "It's a pleasure to see you, nonetheless."
He was astonished to see the dowager grin widely. "Should I be inquiring after your intentions, my lord?"
He laughed aloud this time. If only he knew for certain what they were, he'd be happy to tell her. "I assure you, Lady Ch–"
His words dried up in the blink of an instant, the world stopping in the face of Elizabeth.
She stood in the doorway, her skirts gathered in one hand, a shy smile on her face. Her gown was of the darkest of blues, making her skin fairly glow in the candlelight, her features clean and clear. Her eyes were the deepest pools, beckoning to him. He took a step toward her in answer, then another, still strangely bereft. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly as she took in his expression.
He couldn't imagine what he looked like.
A small, polite cough from behind him brought him abruptly back into reality, back into himself. He managed a half-decent courtly bow, and offered Elizabeth his hand. Her face eased into a smile as she stepped into the room; placed her hand overtop his delicately.
"Elizabeth," he said, his voice low and rich. "You are…a vision. A diamond of the first water, to be sure."
She gave him a blinding smile that held a hint of surprise, her cheeks rosy with pleasure, as if she wasn't used to compliments. "You are too gracious, my lord," she answered, the picture of politeness.
How could she wear that demure facade when he was so lost? He wanted to snatch her up and lose himself in her, to absorb her sweetness, to drown, endlessly, forever. He felt more than slightly deranged by the overwhelming need. Thank heavens, they weren't alone, could hardly ever be alone.
Aunt June, with a blessed officiousness, took control of the situation with a smug smile, urging them out the door and into her well-appointed carriage. She kept the atmosphere light and friendly on the slow trek to Drury Lane, drawing Raymond into conversation with questions about his life in the West Indies.
He spun entertaining tales of hot sun, ships, and sand; of dense, humid pockets of strange and graceful trees; of sly business dealings that had to evade lurking pirates. As he spoke, he watched Elizabeth's face illuminate with fascinated interest. He remembered her glowing descriptions of Egypt, her love of traveling with her father.
And tucked away the potential weapon for when it might be needed.
Elizabeth found herself seated in her aunt's box beside one of the ton's biggest catches, and couldn't imagine how it had happened. Aunt June was sequestered on the other side of the box with Lady Browning and a third crony, Lady Ashbury, all of them full of fresh gossip and chattering away cheerfully.
Leaving absolutely no doubt what Lord Blackwood was doing with them. Leaving Elizabeth to try and ignore the mutters from those close enough for her to hear; the opera glasses aimed their way from across the stalls. Miserably uncomfortable, she looked sidelong at Raymond only to find he was already looking at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"How they love having something new to talk about," he murmured, the laugh clear in his tone.
Somehow, it made her feel better, feel able to easily avoid the stares and whispers. She was able to roll her eyes with a mischievous grin.
"It's a good thing we have more sense," she said. "And much better things to talk about."
He gave her a sort of huff of agreement, but something in his face seemed to change. She wondered what he was thinking; wished it was even remotely acceptable to ask. They sat in silence for what seemed like a long minute.
"It is convenient, though," he said abruptly.
She turned in her seat to face him, curious. "Convenient?"
"If it appears I am courting you, Elizabeth, it gives us a reason to be seen spending time together," he pointed out.
She supposed that was true, and it was, in fact, convenient, but…something about it bothered her. She just wished she could say what that something might be.
The lights dimmed, and she settled back into her seat, a small frown creasing her face. Once the play was underway, she heard a low shuffle of movement, and then felt a huff of breath on her neck. Raymond had moved his chair directly beside hers, and the warmth emanating from his body made her shiver a little.
"Does the idea of spending time with me bother you, Lizzy?" His voice was a low rasp against her senses. "It was your plan, after all."
"You know I enjoy your company, Raymond," she whispered back. "But I have no interest in courtship or marriage. Just so things are clear between the two of us, whatever Society thinks."
"Really?" She thought that he didn't sound very surprised, and wondered why. He added thoughtfully, "Life can be very lonely without someone to share it with."
"That's easy for you to say," she retorted. "A man may marry for any number of reasons, and still carry on in life exactly how he chooses. If I were to marry, I would lose everything I have — my money, my freedom… myself."
There was a brief pause, and she hoped he was considering her words, rather than sitting silent because he was deeply offended. She was more relieved than she wanted to think about when he spoke again.
"How much you would lose would depend on the husband you chose," he pointed out. "No one who cared for you at all would take everything from you in such a way. And you would gain as well — a companion, a partner; love and passion. Do you truly want to live without those things?"
She wasn't sure how to respond to his words, no less heartfelt for being only whispered. She wasn't sure how to respond without being horrifically shocking, because of course, if one was daring enough… A companion, love, passion — all of those things were possible outside of the marriage bond. Not for a proper young woman, of course.
Not for her.
She sighed, and then shrugged. "I merely thought you should know how I feel about things," she said. "I don't want to mislead you, along with the ton. I care about you a great deal, Red."
"That's very kind of you, Lizzy," he replied. He'd moved closer somehow, his breath soft and warm and raising the hairs on her skin. "And I think that I should tell you that I'll be doing my best to change your mind."
Something hot and trembling uncurled inside her. 'I–I won't," she said stubbornly, doing her best to sound convincing. She turned back toward the stage, determined.
"All right," he said agreeably. She felt his fingers then, trailing down her arm to rub against the edge of her glove, and the heat inside her spread. She thought he was smiling. "But I believe I'll enjoy trying."
And, oh, he had indeed enjoyed himself, most thoroughly; was absorbed in her still, though he had left the two ladies at their door some time previously. He should be using this time more wisely — Dembe and Cooper sat with him, all three ensconced comfortably in plush chairs in front of the club's crackling fire, having a genial conversation about trade in the West Indies. It was the ideal time for him to ask Cooper a few carefully aimed questions about Samuel Scott.
Instead, he brooded over his brandy, staring into the flames, lost in recollection.
The soft silk of the inside of her wrist where he'd kissed her; where, under the cover of darkness, he'd unbuttoned her glove and stroked with eager fingers, again and again.
The catch of her breath when he'd touched her, skin to skin.
The light and lovely fragrance of her, intoxicating as he leaned close to whisper in her ear.
Her warmth, her smile, her fierce independence.
He was in serious danger of becoming obsessed.
With no small effort, he forced his attention back to his immediate surroundings. The conversation seemed to have progressed to a new mining venture in Cornwall. Raymond swirled his brandy absently and waited for an appropriate pause. When it came, he slipped neatly in as if he'd been participating all along.
"I'm wondering, Cooper, if you ever had any dealings with my old friend Blanchford?"
"I'm afraid that I never had the pleasure," Cooper said, and then grinned widely. "Why do you ask? Wondering if rumours about a certain inheritance are true?"
Apparently, the mill ran more efficiently and more boldly than he'd thought. If Elizabeth thought that a marriage was already on the minds of the ton, she might well withdraw from him completely. He issued a look that was chilly enough to freeze the very fire before them.
"I'm not in need of anyone else's money, I can assure you," he said stiffly. "And even if I were, I'd certainly have no idea what you are referring to."
Cooper just laughed aloud, not in the least intimidated by the posturing of an old friend. "Oh, come now, Reddington," he chuckled. "No need to play the prim gentleman here. One of the first things you did on returning to Town was pay court to Blanchford's daughter. You've singled her out at parties, called at her home, escorted her to the theatre — what did you expect?"
"Good grief," Raymond replied mildly. "I see Society hasn't found any legitimate amusements while I've been absent."
"Gossip flows much faster than the Thames, my friend, and you are an ideal topic. And Miss Scott was already the object of much attention."
The instant flash of hot anger was a bit of a surprise, and Raymond had to wait a moment before responding. It wouldn't do to give the game away.
"Has Miss Scott many suitors, then?"
"I don't believe so, although not for a lack of admirers," Cooper said. "She's only been out of mourning a few weeks, but coming out early caused quite a flurry. She draws quite a lot of attention — being both lovely and wealthy — but the only man she hasn't neatly discouraged is you, my friend. Gossip, I'm afraid, was inevitable."
Raymond sighed. "She's quite something, that's for certain," he allowed, thinking that didn't give too much away.
Dembe smothered a laugh, and Raymond knew he was remembering the filthy stable lad.
"Ha!" Cooper slapped Raymond on the knee in good-humoured triumph. "So, the rumours are true."
Raymond shrugged carefully. "Blanchford was a good friend to me for a long time; of course, I want to make certain of his daughter's welfare."
"Oh, of course," Cooper agreed, nodding solemnly, clearly not believing a word.
"At any rate," Raymond said, "I asked about Blanchford because he contacted me before his death. He had some concerns about his financial affairs, and I feel obligated to look into things on Miss Scott's behalf."
Cooper's expression sobered, and he nodded again, thoughtfully this time. A bit too fond of gossip he might be, but he was a good friend with a sharp mind.
"I'd be happy to make some inquiries," he said. "If it would be of help."
"Thank you," Raymond said. "I've been out of the country for so long, I don't have the connections I once did."
"Consider it done," Cooper said quietly. "I'll let you know if I discover anything of interest."
Raymond sat for a long while after that, thinking not of his old friend and the mystery surrounding his death, but of soft skin, sapphire eyes, and a sweet, sad smile.