Elizabeth turned over, shifting around to make herself more comfortable. No, that wasn't the spot. She rolled again, impatient. But it was impossible.
She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling through the dark. So much for being a woman of the world, when just one kiss could affect her so.
But oh, what a kiss it had been.
She would swear she could still feel it, if she didn't know how ridiculous it was. His mouth on hers, warm and gentle, moving softly in a way that made her insides quiver oh, so delightfully. An appealing, answering warmth had curled low in her belly, making her lean into his embrace in a way she was sure was wanton, and assuredly wrong.
She couldn't bring herself to care, even now.
His fingers had curved lightly against her cheek, his breath had quickened. Could it be possible that he had been as deeply affected as she? That he, even now, was lying in his own bed, thinking of her?
His voice, just before, had seemed to reach into her every corner, so that her entire being was permeated with him. You are utterly mistaken, he'd said — did that…could that mean he wished to…ravish her?
Another entirely unsuitable thrill shivered through her at the thought of it — even though she didn't know quite what to think. Would he touch more than just her face? What would those large, capable hands do with her? To her?
The warmth was back, a rising inner heat, as she contemplated such a fate. It seemed more compelling than not — she could at least admit it to herself. She wasn't completely naive, she assured herself. She knew that men and women…lay together, and that human babies were made much the same way as any animal's.
But trying to imagine it escaped her best creative thoughts.
All she could think is that if a single kiss had undone her so, any more and she'd become obsessed. She can still feel the imprint of his lips — why was it, how, that his every touch seemed to imprint itself upon her like a brand? She thought, just before he'd drawn away, that she'd felt a quick flickering, a touch of his tongue, tasting her.
She shivered again, and curled into a ball, to hold the heat inside.
She wondered if he'd been pleased with what he'd found in her. They hadn't spoken of it — he'd merely given her a forbidding sort of look as if to say, you see? Do you see what can happen?, and turned their horses for home. Lost in wonder, Elizabeth hadn't found her voice until it was too late. Raymond had left her at her door with promises to begin his own investigations, and to see her again two nights hence at the Dorchesters' ball.
She'd managed a suitable polite nod and that was all. Now that was humiliating. She rolled over again, wondering if he had been entirely disgusted by her inexperience, by her relatively passive response.
She wondered, lying in the dark, if he'd want to kiss her again. Because, she realized, she wanted it, wanted it a great deal. And maybe, she dared to think, maybe more.
She wanted to know more about this compelling inner heat, about the shivery thrills he caused. Wanted to feel more than the fine leather of his glove on her cheek; wanted him to touch her, in reality.
But could she ask for it?
She had meant what she'd said to him the previous night — she had no interest in getting married and forfeiting all her freedom and independence. No interest in being shackled to some feckless lord who cared for nothing but her wealth and her ability to bear him a son. Least of all to Raymond, who seemed so different — for it would utterly break her heart if he turned out to be just like all the rest.
But to know more about these astonishing feelings, that she did want. Was she worldly enough — brave enough — to get what she wanted?
Could she ask Raymond Reddington, the Earl of Blackwood, to have an affair?
Raymond stretched his legs out before the fire in his study with a windy sigh. It had been a long day, and he was still in no condition for sleep.
He'd spent the evening at the club, re-making business acquaintances and putting out gentle feelers about the names on Lizzy's list. None had immediately jumped out as the villain, although Spencer was apparently depending rather heavily on this last investment. It was a large step from strapped for cash to murderer, though, and Raymond needed to step carefully.
Cooper had been an invaluable asset — full of gossip about just about everyone; amiable enough to make any number of introductions without asking questions. Raymond was grateful he'd managed to keep the other man as a friend, despite his years away.
In just the one evening, Raymond had been re-introduced to one of the men her knew from the list, had an interesting and friendly conversation with the man, and concluded that he could be eliminated as a murder suspect.
The thought made him chuckle aloud — what on earth was he doing? Playing the part of Bow Street Runner for an impetuous young woman with too much imagination and too much time on her hands, like an utter fool.
But even as he chastised himself, he recalled the earnest plea in those bright blue eyes, and knew he would keep looking. If for no other reason than to keep that innocent faith in him alive. She was certainly the first to see Raymond Reddington as a saviour. The thought made him smile. He rather thought he'd enjoy saving young Miss Scott — even from herself, if necessary.
And he had clearly given up not thinking about Elizabeth. He would have scoffed at the idea of infatuation, would have claimed to be far too old to be so foolish, but…that kiss. He pictured the sweet bewilderment on her face when he'd drawn away from her; remembered the fresh taste of her on his tongue.
If he hadn't already decided to pursue her, he certainly would have at that moment. It had been so difficult not to just sweep her into the bushes and make her his own, he'd barely been able to speak. He wondered if she thought him rude, unpardonable, or worse, a brute.
The thought of losing her regard was extremely distasteful. If she'd been offended, though, she hadn't said anything — too horrified to speak? She hadn't looked angry or revolted, though, merely thoughtful, as if he had given her a puzzle to solve.
He could work with thoughtful. And her mystery — whether he believed in it or not — gave him an excuse to be with her, to become a part of her life. In doing so, he could make her care for him, he was sure. If he was cautious, if he was clever, he could.
To that end, he supposed there was more work he could do to help her, to endear himself to her, rather than just sit around obsessing over her. Over her impossibly soft mouth, clean herbal scent, the deep pools of her…
Raymond shook himself, feeling absurd. He was no stripling boy, to moon about over a woman or write poetry to her eyes. He was an experienced man, a widow, a businessman — and if he wanted a woman, he would have her. He gave himself one more maudlin moment to hope that she might want him, in return, then picked up Sam's worn journal.
He flipped absently through the pages, smiling over his old friend's obvious delight in his daughter. Sam had been pleased by her curiosity and wit, her keen intelligence, and a near infallible ability to read people. Sam had been steered away from a bad business deal or dangerous acquaintance more than once by Elizabeth's dislike or distrust, and he appeared to have come to rely on her instincts.
Raymond paused, considering. If Sam had put so much trust in Elizabeth's feelings, perhaps he should do the same. Perhaps there was more to his mentor's death than a simple illness.
He moved to the last several pages and began to read anew. Sam's concerns over his last days seemed divided between his latest investment and one Thomas Keen. The investment appeared a standard enough affair, and Sam trusted his partners. His main concern over it was that it do well, and ensure a healthy inheritance for his sister and his child.
Not that you needed it, Raymond thought ruefully. It was like Sam to overdo, to go the extra mile for his loved ones.
Young Mister Keen, however, was another matter entirely. Sam's first thoughts on him were only brief mentions of a bright assistant, a worthy apprentice to Mister Oates. But his opinion quickly grew darker.
The young man paid too much attention to Elizabeth — far more than was seemly. Sam appeared to partially blame himself for this, as Elizabeth was well accustomed to making friends among the other young people on his expeditions, regardless of their position. He felt as though he had not adequately prepared her for how different things were — indeed, must be — here in Town.
And so, while Sam resettled into a life of business rather than exploration, busy at his desk with Mister Oates, Elizabeth made fast friends with Mister Keen, right there on the opposite side of the study. Sam was certain all was innocent on Elizabeth's part, but he could see the young man's attraction.
Raymond wondered how different he really was. Was he merely another dazzled supplicant, seeking to worship where only friendship was sought in return? Was he even worse, just another lecherous old widower seeking a sweet young body to warm his bed?
Then he thought of the soft give of her mouth under his, her shy smile, her sidelong looks, and felt sure it was different. He wanted her — oh, how he wanted — but he didn't think he was alone.
And such foolish thoughts were getting him nowhere.
Raymond turned back to the journal, paying more attention now as he scanned the pages. He read of the progress of Sam's investment, of the geniality of the partners, and their confidence in success. He also read of Tom Keen's increasing interest in Elizabeth — he'd begun to seek her out upon entering the house, slipping her little notes, bringing her books that she'd spoken of. All in all, the behaviour of a hopeful suitor — except, of course, that the boy was completely unsuitable.
Elizabeth laughed off Sam's concerns — they were simply friends, Sam worried too much, she was too old and not interested in romance and marriage. Raymond noticed it was shortly after the second such conversation that Sam had written his letter to Raymond himself, seeking advice. He took another moment to curse the capricious seas, then read on. Almost immediately, he encountered an entry that truly made his heart quail.
I have long been concerned over the friendship between my Lizzy and the boy Tom Keen. Today, my concern has been elevated to true fear, and I know not what to do.
Young Keen came alone to the house this afternoon, seeming determined to speak with me. With some trepidation, I allowed him to have his say — and all my concerns were quickly realized.
The young man had gathered his courage to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage. He spoke well and earnestly at first, and I could have respected him for that. For loving Elizabeth enough to try — for who could help but love her?
But after I refused him… I tried to be kind, of course, but obviously I cannot possibly countenance such a match. Unbelievably, he continued to press, having the nerve to argue with me!
Eventually, this young man flew into a rage, swearing he would have Elizabeth regardless of what I thought or said or did. He was near apoplexy when he struck my desk with his fists and hurled the inkstand across the room as though it weighed nothing at all. He appeared a madman, and in truth, I believe he would have attacked me had not Jensen come in the room, alerted by the noise.
I shall be forever thankful that Elizabeth and her aunt were out of the house making calls when this outrageous display occurred, or I truly do not know what might have happened. I still do not know, and I find myself deeply troubled. Will he accost her in the street? Haul her off to Gretna Green, or worse, seek to ruin her?
What must I do to keep my Lizzy safe? Shall we retreat to the country estate? Leave England again entirely, where we are both happier at any rate? Whatever I decide, I must do so soon.
Equal parts shocked and enraged, Raymond turned the page to find the next blank. This alarming tale had been Sam's last entry, and Raymond felt himself as adrift as his old friend had been. This Keen was clearly not just an earnest young man with an admiration for a lovely lady, but a dangerous individual. Just how dangerous, Raymond supposed, remained to be seen.
He thought of her again, Elizabeth — beautiful, impulsive, brave, clever. He thought of the clear blue of her eyes when he'd kissed her, of her mud-streaked face under a boy's cap. Of her lovely laugh and her kindness. Of the warmth of her silky skin.
He thought, staring into the fire once more, that finding a possible murderer was all well and good, but was no longer his priority. Now, his task was to safeguard Elizabeth — whether she wanted him to or not.
He would protect her, come what may.