A/N: I know I left you hanging, but I hope you like where I pick up again.

Chapter 5

One moment Eliza was admiring the way the moonlight reflected on the water, the next, William was there, mad as a hatter and cussing a blue streak. She was used to him being angry with her, so she wasn't fazed by his reaction to her disobeying his overbearing commands. Sometimes ignoring his bluster was the best way to calm him, she'd discovered, and this time she used distraction. She'd directed his attention to the beauty of the sea before them, but somehow, it didn't quite go as planned, for his eyes never left her face.

Had it been daylight, perhaps she would have noticed his intentions, but it was she that was taken by surprise when his mouth fairly crashed into hers. His hands came to her face, warm and slightly callused, a sensual contrast to the softness of his beard and the firm seduction of his lips. She gasped, her eyes shutting involuntarily as his mouth molded to hers. This was a far cry from the chaste kiss of an adolescent—no, this was an experienced, determined, and somewhat angry man, very obviously at the end of his rope with her.

His hands turned her head this way and that as if he could finally bend her to his will, at least in this way. He learned the shape of her mouth, discovered the best way that his lips fit against hers. Her heart was racing within her breast, her mind going blank as she felt the wet heat of his tongue entreating entry at the seam of her lips. She shuddered as she became acutely aware of her body's intense reaction, helpless in the face of the feelings he pulled from deep inside of her.

"Eliza," he breathed, her name a desperate plea. He sensed her hesitation, her fear.

She'd never been kissed like this before. Oh, she knew about the kind of kiss he was seeking, for it had been the stuff of schoolgirl giggles, and later, the object of innuendo whispered behind fans at society balls. Talk had always been that only loose women and soiled doves engaged in such behavior, that it was sinful and vulgar. But this was William, and he respected her. She trusted him.

And she loved him.

Her hand came up to slide into his smooth hair, her blanket falling unnoticed to the sand. Eliza surrendered at last to her feelings, surrendered to him. She opened her mouth to the forbidden, and he groaned and accepted what she offered. Light seemed to explode behind her eyes, and she was suffused in his warmth, in his scent, in his taste, in the way each swipe of his tongue against hers threatened to melt her legs into the cold sand. His hands fell from her cheeks, only to pull her to his hard body. It was as if time had no meaning as they kissed and kissed, their passion building with the rise of the sea. His large hands splayed over her back, tracing her delicate spine through the thin cotton of her nightgown before resting on her trim waist, holding her tightly while he continued to ravage her mouth.

An errant wave from the incoming tide splashed coldly against their feet, breaking the spell and eliciting a shocked cry from both of them. They jumped apart and stood a moment, chests heaving, momentarily disoriented, until another wave brought icy water up to their ankles. William laughed and grabbed her by the hand to pull her away from the encroaching sea.

"My blanket!" she cried, pointing to where the blue fabric was drifting out to sea. With an annoyed curse, he dropped her hand and went back out for it, returning with wet drawers and a robe with a sodden hem.

She laughed as he held up the blanket, waterlogged and dripping. "My hero," she teased. He dropped it at her feet, safe now from the waves, his eyes taking in how the wind made her white nightgown cling to her body. His hand went to her waist, and she found herself once again merging easily into his embrace.

"Eliza," he said, hoarse with feeling, and then he was kissing her again. His mouth moved to her cheek, then over to her ear, his beard like velvet against her skin. She was shivering now, both from the feelings he evoked and the chill wind. "You'll catch your death," he whispered. "Let's go inside."

She nodded and they walked hand-in-hand back to the kitchen door.

Inside, the abrupt quiet was disorienting, and they both felt suddenly shy, awkward in the candlelit room. William busied himself bolting the door, while Eliza fished down one of the towels left drying on a line from her bath. She bent and began brushing the sand from her feet with it. William watched her, saw how her hands were shaking, felt his own heart still hammering inside his ribs. Silently, she passed him the towel, and he did the same, shadowed eyes never leaving her.

She noted with heated cheeks how the opening of his robe revealed he wore no shirt underneath, and she had an insane longing to touch the springy dark hair of his chest, wondering if it was coarse or soft, like his beard. Her gaze travelled up to his hair, and she smiled a little, seeing a few curls falling now over his forehead, victims of the wind and her wandering fingers. When they were younger, she used to tease him about it, how he'd tried so hard to tame his wild locks with oils and pomades. He'd finally succeeded once he'd become an inspector, but she found she missed that wildness, that young man not long from the workhouse, with abrasive manners and a twinkle in his eye. She still thought of that younger, more devil-may-care version as her true William. But he was not hers, she reminded herself. This interlude had been ill-advised, had been unfair to a woman who, though Eliza still would never like her, didn't deserve this betrayal.

"Arabella," she whispered pointedly, guiltily.

William re-hung the towel. "She ended things night before last."

"What?" her stomach flipped over. "Why…why didn't you tell me?"

"Because there have been more pressing matters of late."

"Oh. Yes."

"I wouldn't have kissed you if I were still with Arabella, Eliza."

"No. I don't suppose you would have. You're an honorable man, William. So…Arabella broke your heart, and I am your consolation prize…"

"Eliza, it isn't like that at all—"

"I know she's more like the kind of woman you want. I will never be her, you know. I can't bake, and I will never give up my work to stay home. I don't care a fig for fancy parties or balls, or stylish clothes, or making frivolous conversation with frivolous women. I don't fit in with that set, William, and I never shall. Besides, you're always shouting at me for being so headstrong when you are just as pigheaded. We would probably kill each other after a week—"

During her speech, he'd moved in closer to her, the candle flickering at his movement. His heart twisted painfully to hear that she didn't think they were right for each other, that she was trying to talk herself out of this before it had even truly begun. His hands went up to her shoulders, and he looked intensely down into her eyes.

"Stop it, Eliza. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this."

"But William, I—"

He hushed her with his mouth, taking her lips, already swollen from their kisses, their taste more intoxicating than Fitzroy's best whiskey. A little cry sounded from her throat as he deepened the kiss, and William felt lightheaded and overwhelmed. He'd never felt so enthralled by anyone, so filled with desire. He was rapidly losing control, drowning in the scent of lavender and sea air and warm, aroused woman. His hand inadvertently tightened on her upper arms, and her gasp of pain barely registered for a moment before she tore her mouth almost violently from his.

"William—my arm!"

"What? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Are you all right?" he lifted his trembling hands from her arms. "Let me see."

He moved her closer to the candlelight. Blood had seeped out of her bandage to stain her white nightgown, and he swore under his breath, furious with himself for losing control like that, for hurting her. He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. "Here. Sit down and—"

"No, I'm going back to bed. I'll be fine. It can wait until Mrs. MacKenzie comes in the morning. I'm suddenly very tired." Allowing him to assess her wound would entail all kinds of things she wasn't ready for. She wore nothing beneath her nightgown, and she would need his help to get the garment off over her head. Short of cutting up the sleeve of her another nightgown, there was no way he could tend to her arm without plenty of embarrassment and, if she were honest, temptation.

"Eliza," he was saying, his accent thicker than usual. "Please, don't run away from me. Let me take care of you."

She shook her head, her eyes alight with unshed tears. "That's just it, William. I don't know how to do that. Good night."

Head held high, she left the kitchen, moonlight from the windows guiding her way back to the stairs. He didn't follow her or call her back, and she was both relieved and disappointed, but she grasped the railing and found her way back to her room. She shut the door, her arm throbbing as much as her heart. She stoked the fire, feeling suddenly very cold and very close to tears. By the light of the flames she found the laudanum by her bed, and this time, didn't hesitate to take a dose, nightmares be damned. There was no way she'd be sleeping this night without it, and if this was another way William might accuse her of running away, then damn him too. She climbed back into bed, willing the opiate to work quickly, to steal from her mind the memory of his hands on her body, his hot tongue sliding over hers. Just as she began to drift off, she heard William's heavy footfalls outside her door. He knocked softly.

"Eliza?"

But she rolled over and let herself escape from both the pain in her arm and the pain she heard in his deep voice.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Down in the parlor, William availed himself of too much whiskey, seeking his own escape. His mind went back and forth, alternately reliving the passion of their kisses and the pain of their words. But it had always been that way for him when he was around her—wonderful and terrible, all at once. When he was with Eliza, he frequently felt like a bloody fool. He would always kick himself later for falling under her spell, for letting her push him to the brink of madness with just a word—or a different kind of madness when he'd looked into her beautiful (often deceitful) blue eyes, or imagined her full lips yielding beneath his. And now their innocent kiss from long ago (his standard for all kisses that came after), had been completely obliterated by the sweet taste of desire upon her lips this night. Damn the lass; she'd finally succeeded at ruining him completely for any other woman, and he both hated and loved her for it.

The bottle nearly empty, William stumbled up the stairs, some part of his addled brain hoping Eliza would change her mind and invite him into her bedchamber and into her bed. And so he'd knocked and called her name. But she was either asleep or ignoring him, so, feeling foolish once again, he found his way back to his own room, falling onto his bed into the blessed oblivion of a drunken sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Mrs. MacKenzie, who still had a key, let herself inside Rose Cottage. She listened for a moment, but heard no wakeful stirrings from above stairs. Then, she surveyed the remnants of what must have been quite the evening for the strange pair. In the parlor, she found Mr. Fitzroy's finest whiskey, all but depleted on the table beside his wingback chair. She frowned, and brought the crystal glass to the kitchen for a wash. She stopped short, surveying the mess of sand on the floor and the stub of a candle on the table. Someone had had a midnight stroll on the beach, she saw. It was all very strange.

"Ah dinnae ken rich fowk," she muttered to herself as she took the broom from the corner and began to sweep up the sand, "but tis none o' mah business, is it."

After she'd gotten the downstairs set to rights again, she went up to wake the mistress of the house, a tea tray balanced in her hands. She had other houses to see to, and couldn't afford wasting much more time waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Burns to awaken. She knocked softly on Mrs. Burns's door before going in. She wasn't at all surprised to see that the lady was still abed, especially when she saw the bottle and the spoon, still carrying the sticky, red-brown remnants of laudanum. She went to the windows and pulled open the curtains. Bright sunlight streamed in, but Mrs. Burns didn't stir. She'd give her a few more moments while she stoked the fire and added wood. Finally, a low groan came from the vicinity of the bed, and Mrs. Burns rolled into the light and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She blinked and looked in annoyance at the sun.

"Sorry, missus. Ah let ye kip as late as ah could. Ah hae anither jab, ye ken."

Eliza nodded, then yawned long and wide. Mrs. MacKenzie set the tray beside her on the bed and poured her a cup of tea. Eliza drank it thankfully.

"Is Mr. Burns up?" she asked, feeling suddenly wide awake at the thought of what had transpired the night before.

Mrs. MacKenzie regarded her with narrowed eyes, noting the uncertain tone in the lady's voice. So, something must have gone on between the couple, given their late sleeping and the empty whiskey decanter. But she wasn't a busybody, so she kept mum. Then she noticed the blood on Mrs. Burns's sleeve, and, with a click of her tongue, she scurried over to see to her wound. Finally, newly bandaged, and dressed for the day, Mrs. MacKenzie left her in a hurry, reminding her of the breakfast on the sideboard in the kitchen.

But Eliza stayed up in her room much longer than she needed, drinking cold tea and pacing from the fire to the window and back, staring out at the sea and the blanket they'd left at the top of a dune. She looked at herself in the mirror over the vanity table, touching her lips and remembering. She wished she could be the kind of woman William wanted, but not enough to change herself for him, or for any man. She's long ago accepted that her choices would determine her lot in life, that of a spinster and a working woman, and she consoled herself with the notion that nothing had truly changed in that regard. William deserved to have what he desired, and most women these days were raised to be like that anyway, so a strong, important man like him would have his pick. Her hand went to her heart as she felt it squeeze at the thought of him kissing anyone else, now that she knew what she'd be missing.

"You must stop this at once, Eliza," she told her reflection. "You have your career, and the start of a whole new life now, with Nash and Sons. Imagine, you won't have to worry about money ever again, and that's worth more than all the kisses in the world." This was what she told herself, what she wanted so desperately to believe.

Nervously smoothing down her skirts and taking a deep breath, she left her room and went down the stairs to face the music. When she saw William, however, all of her earlier affirmations flew out the window. He was in the kitchen, her back to her as he served himself boiled eggs, sausages, and slices of leftover bannock with butter and jam. He was dressed unusually casual today, wearing a shirt and trousers, sans waistcoat, coat, and ascot. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, his back straight with an almost military bearing, his dark hair now tamed and back in place. She had felt that hair, she thought dreamily, how silky it was beneath her fingers. He turned to find her staring, and she felt her cheeks flush at being caught. He paused, his eyes widening to see her there, and they regarded each other uncomfortably, the air thick with the tension between them.

He cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning, William."

"There's breakfast," he said lamely, stepping aside so she could pass by him in the small kitchen.

"Yes. Thank you." The smell of his soap wafted over to her as he moved by her, and she had to close her eyes to get her bearings.

William sat at the table but waited politely for her to return with precisely half of what he'd put on his own plate. He smiled ruefully.

"How's your arm?" he asked when she'd sat down. She poured herself another cup of tea from the pot in the center of the table.

"Still sore, but better."

He nodded. "Good. I am sorry I hurt you."

"I know. I'm fine."

They ate in painful silence, until finally, Eliza could stand it no longer. "This won't do, William. If we're to be stuck here together for the next few days, we must come to some sort of truce or it will be unbearable for both of us."

He considered her morosely a moment, and she noted how his eyes seemed rather bloodshot, the circles beneath them more pronounced. She recognized this particular state as one where he'd drunk too much the night before. Obviously, he'd been as upset as she, and while this should have been a comfort to her, it wasn't at all.

"You think we could do that now, what with all that passed between us last night?"

So he wasn't in the mood to pretend any longer, she saw. She sighed in frustration. She supposed they must deal with this then, whether she wanted to or not. She set down her knife and fork.

"I'd be willing to try, if only for my own sanity."

"If I recall, nothing was truly settled," he said. "I hurt your arm, and you rushed off like the hounds of hell were chasing ye."

Her lips quirked at that characterization. "I suppose I did, rather. But…I felt a bit…overwhelmed."

"As did I."

Their eyes met and held, and shared understanding passed between them.

"Would it help to know," he said softly, "that what happened between us meant something to me, that you were nae consolation prize. That Arabella, God help me, was my consolation for not having you. The lass is a wise one; she realized what I was about sooner than I, which was why she rightly threw me over."

Eliza sat in silence, trying to process all he'd said. "No," she replied at last, though it was hard to think over the beating of her heart, "this information is not helpful at all."

He shrugged and took a bite of sausage, chewing determinedly. "Aye, tis nae helpful to me either. The question now is, what are we to do about it?"

"There's nothing to do, William, except try to forget about it and go on with our lives as before. The problem remains that we both want different things."

"Do we now? There was a fine meeting of the minds last night, and now I'm more certain than I have ever been before."

"I'm convinced too, that I don't want to lose your friendship, which I know will happen if we pursue something that will ultimately go nowhere."

He slowly set down his knife and fork neatly on either side of his plate, determined not to get angry at her infuriating stubbornness. He'd come to the conclusion that morning, when he'd awakened with an aching head and a wounded heart, that Eliza was merely frightened of these new feelings between them, of the physical reactions they'd both experienced. Lashing out at her would only make her dig in her heels. Sure, he'd made it clear on many occasions that he wanted a traditional wife, but he understood now that he would take Eliza no matter how he could get her, whether it was putting up with her unconventional employment or dealing with the fact that she would never become the ideal he'd long held in his mind. She'd convinced herself she knew what was best for him, when he'd only just realized it himself. It would take a lot of compromise, particularly on his part, to make this work between them, but she would be worth it in the end, of that he was certain. The trouble now would be convincing her of this.

He was annoyed to admit to himself that Nash had been right: a woman like Eliza needed finessing. If she would but give him another chance, he would take the next few days (or a lifetime, if necessary) to try to change her mind. He would use every technique in his arsenal, and some he must adapt to her in particular, to show her he was willing to do whatever it took to win her.

"Fine," he replied to her proclamation. "If that is the way ye feel, I will nae pressure you. But I would ask that you not completely close your mind to our being together." He reached a hand across the table and settled it over hers. It was small and soft, and just touching her made his skin burn. He held her eyes with his, for once letting her see his vulnerability, his true feelings for her. "Would you be willing to try, at least for the time we are here? If we feel by the end of it that it would never work, I'll let ye go, and we can part ways or try to go back to being friends."

"That's dangerous, William, and might only lead to heartbreak."

"Or it could lead to something to last a lifetime. Wouldn't it be worth the risk to find out?"

Oh he was good, she thought ruefully. He knew her well enough to know that if he offered her everything she wanted, she would take it, that she would always take the best deal possible. But she was by no means convinced he would ever be able to accept her as she was and be his wife at the same time. Perhaps this idea could work to show him his idea was untenable, that he would give up and move on, no matter how painful that might be. If nothing else, she might leave here, their little oasis against the dangers of the real world, with plenty of lovely memories to get her through the thousand lonely days ahead.

"I don't know. What would this risk entail? More kisses will just muddle our minds, I think. I won't deny there is a certain…spark between us, but acting on that will just make things more difficult."

He didn't like it, not one bit, but if that was his ticket to ride, he could manage it. "All right. No kissing, unless you initiate it. But may I take your hand when we walk along the shore—just to keep you safe, mind." He turned over her hand and laced his fingers with hers. He was pleased when she didn't pull away.

She blushed but nodded, her eyes on their joined hands. "I suppose that will be acceptable. Can we have long conversations about everything under the sun, like we used to do when we had our monthly dinners out? I've missed that."

"I would like nothing more."

"And will you try to control your temper? You've been even angrier than usual with me of late."

"These have been unusual circumstances, Eliza."

She narrowed her eyes menacingly and he sighed in resignation. "I will try, but only if you try not to bedevil me, which I know you often do just to get a rise out of me."

She grinned mischievously. "I don't know to what you are referring, William, but I will do my best to be more…agreeable."

"We have an accord, then?" he asked, smiling back. New hope had sprung up in his breast, and he felt like grabbing her and kissing her senseless, but he restrained himself.

"We do, at least temporarily." She shook his hand formally, but then he leaned across the table to bring her hand to his lips.

"Ah-ah. You're already violating Rule Number One."

"Forgive me," he said with a twinkle, not truly apologetic. He lowered her hand and released it with an affectionate squeeze. He dug into his breakfast with renewed appetite. "So, shall we explore the beach this morning as I promised? I would really like to see it in the daylight, although there is something to say about the way the moonlight floats upon the water…" His voice dropped to a low, seductive timbre, and a shiver shot down her spine.

Eliza knew what he was doing. He would try to seduce her with his charming side, but she would stick to her guns, keeping with her own plan to show him they would be much better off as friends. With kissing off the table, she was certain she would be able to resist him, no matter what he threw at her.

This was what she told herself, what she wanted very desperately to believe.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I would love to hear what you think!