Betrayed
It had been almost a week since the duel , and Lizzie's life had fallen into a easy pattern.
A tacit agreement to a truce of sorts had been called, Lizzie and Alexander circled each other warily. Careful of what they said. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that all they had to focus on was the physical connection. And they couldn't get enough of one another.
The house became a place outside reality. Lizzie knew she was in danger of indulging in a fantasy that somehow this was real. That this existed. As if in some bizarre stroke of fate, her dreams as a seventeen-year-old had come true and she'd got her prince.
But that dream was quashed over and over again as it became all too clear that for Alexander this was purely physical. Lizzie had tried to start countless conversations, trying to get to know him better. Last night at dinner, Lizzie had tried to find things to talk about, Alexander had remained largely monosyllabic. In desperation at her own increasing sense of humiliation and futility, she'd jumped up in agitation.
Two days later, nothing had changed and Lizzie's legendary impatience was near implosion point. And she simply couldn't wait one more day to have her say. Waiting, trying her limited store of patience, wasn't helping. Maybe nothing would, a quiet, sad voice whispered in the back of her mind.
But she had to try.
And since he was leaving for a four day trip to Paris, it was now ... or wait some
More.
She swallowed her tea, then set her cup on the counter. " I need a few minutes with you before you leave. We have to talk."
As if someone had hit a switch, she actually saw those now-familiar shutters slam down over his eyes. He didn't have to physically back up for her to see him put more distance between them. "Can't," he said shortly. Checking his gold wristwatch briefly, he looked back at her. "Have to leave and-"
She interrupted his flow of excuses. They weren't good enough anymore, and she wouldn't let them stop her. "Alexander, you can't just ignore me. Why can't you just talk to me? Why can't we have a conversation? Am I so boring-?‟
He walked past her toward the tea pot. Pouring himself a half a cup, he glanced at her. "Nobody's ignoring you, Lizzie."
He was so close his smell seemed to surround her. And yet, he was further away from her than ever. "Forgive me for the wrong choice of words." She reached up and tightened the ribbon in her hair before dropping her hands to the edge of the cold, gray-yes, gray, God, was everything in his world gray?-granite counter.
Steeling herself, she blurted, "You're not ignoring me. You're placating me."
"What?"
At least she had his attention. She swallowed hard. Now all she had to do was keep it. "This house for instance."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "What're you getting at love?"
The use of endearment should have warmed her. It didn't. It was simply something he tossed her, like throwing a hungry dog a meatless bone. He used it to pretend they were close. To somehow assure himself that everything was fine. It wasn't. She sighed, tipped her head back and looked him squarely in the eye. "We have to talk."
Alexander's stomach fisted.
Every muscle in his body tightened as if waiting for a blow. He'd been expecting this. But even he was a little surprised that this moment had arrived only one short week after their arrival here in London. He had hoped to keep her so busy in the house that she would not realize that she was practically a captive in the house
Watching her, his heart turned over. Her dull-gold hair, in the neatly tied ribbon she wore early in the morning swung like a pendulum behind her head, ticking off her movements. It bounced when she walked and seemed to swing even harder when she was mad. It was a soft, shining indicator of her moods. And he loved the way it moved with her. She wore her nightgown and nothing under it. How he wanted to take her back to bed.
Everything about Lizzie got to him.
Living with her, being with her all the time had been both heaven and hell. Hearing her voice in the darkness, having her no more than an arm's reach away during the long nights was more happiness than he'd ever known. She sang-badly-in the bathtub, cried when the maids told her about their plight and thrived on the most appalling gossips he'd ever heard. When happy, she laughed with a wholeheartedness that made him envy her joy. She'd stormed into his life and turned it all upside down.
And realizing it was all going to end, knowing that he'd have to send her back to the country as it was not safe for her to be here in the city , haunted him day and night. He knew every day she spent here with him he was putting her life in danger that is why he was not allowing her the time to go out on her own
He wanted to enjoy what time they might have together, but every instinct kept urging him to pull back. To keep his heart distant.
Safe.
She smiled and he hungered for more. She sighed and turned into him in her sleep and his soul ached.
"All right then tell me what you want to talk about "
"Ever since my family died," she said solemnly, "I've always had to handle everything myself. But I wasn't brought up to be independent. I never had to make decisions for myself unless it involved what book to read, what gown to have made, or what party to attend. My parents protected me from everything, but they couldn't protect me from their own deaths."
She stood erect, trying to be so strong. He desperately wanted to hold her, to protect her, but she held herself apart.
"I was incompetent, and so very uneducated," she said.
He knew that was why she wanted the right to use money, to better others like herself. She looked toward the window, as if she couldn't Lizzie the sight of him.
"Do you know how it felt to be the poor relation no one wanted? Not only did I have no family, I did not even know where I would sleep after my cousin took the house, but for a kind neighbor temporarily taking me in. But she had no room for me, either." And then her hot gaze met his again. "I came so far down in life that I had to work as a chambermaid cleaning rooms at an inn owned by Stanwood, because sewing garments did not bring in enough rent money. Men regularly propositioned me because I was powerless, helpless."
"I will make you happy. I promise, Lizzie," Alexander vowed, his dark eyes gleaming golden into hers, and in that moment something intensely personal, a recognition of their need for each other, flowed between them.
"I know you will," Lizzie confessed, "But you must give up your quest for vengeance"
Alexander found her lips with his own. The ground seemed to shake beneath her feet as Alexander deepened the kiss, his strong arms holding her firmly against his hard body. It was a kiss of infinite tenderness, a promise of commitment.
'No talking,' he insisted. 'I have changed my mind. I am taking you to bed, in my room.' He kept his finger on her lips as he continued, 'Not to have sex with you; that can wait. I just want to hold you.'
'W-why?' she asked as soon as his finger moved away from her mouth.
His eyes held hers for seemingly endless seconds before he answered. 'Because when I hold you I forget about my brother. I forget about my grief about my vengeance. I think of nothing except how you feel in my arms.'
She drew in a breath that got caught somewhere in the middle of her chest, her heart squeezing at the honesty in his dark gaze as it rested on her.
'All right.' She lowered her eyes.
And that's how they spent the remainder of the day and night , together in each other's arms ,just enjoying the leisure of each other's company , but still Alexander would not talk about his hunt for Walker or the fact that how smoothly he stopped her from stepping out of the house.
Lizzie rolled over and smiled. "Another beautiful day. I'll miss waking up to the view of your magnificent body."
He propped himself on his side, smiling down at her, a caressing warmth in his eyes.
"I'm glad you've enjoyed it."
"I was just thinking what a great week it's been."
"With me," he prompted, clearly wanting the admission.
"Mmm...you did contribute quite a lot to my pleasure." She wasn't about to feed his arrogant ego too much.
"Now we need to face the day," he continued, rolling off her and bounding out of bed. It was amazing how good revelations-and sex-could make a man feel.
"I must. I can't let Walker escape"
"Trying to get rid of me, My Lord?" she asked
"I take care of my responsibility "he replied. Reminding her own inadequacy in protecting Isabella
It was a playful taunt, yet she paled , and turned that delectable body away from him to shrug into her dressing gown. He swiftly put his arms around her from behind, then cupped her breasts before she could cover them.
"You can't take everything so seriously," he admonished, knowing that although she might resist his touch mentally, she quivered beneath his caresses.
She put her hands over his, holding them still against her. "This is my life, Alexander. It's all I have, and I've had to do terrible things to protect it. It isn't easy to know that my sins have become an amusement to you."
He gripped her hands, and pulled her even tighter against him. "Forgive me."
And that's how they parted , with him planting a quick kiss and then hurrying out to dress and leave for Paris.
The scented letter with the elegant lilac seal arrived on the side of Lizzie's tea tray the next morning. She sat up in bed, yawning and glanced curiously at the unexpected missive.
"When did this arrive, Mary?"
"One of the footmen said it was brought round by a lad not more than a half hour ago, my lady." Mary bustled about the room, drawing the curtains and laying out a pretty cotton morning
Lizzie sipped tea and slit the seal on the envelope. Idly she scanned the contents and then frowned as she realized they made no sense at first. There was no signature, just initials in the closing. It took her a second reading to comprehend the import of the letter.
Dear Madam:
First, allow me to begin by offering you my most sincerely felt felicitations on the occasion of your recent marriage. I have never had the honor of being introduced to you but I feel a degree of familiarity exists between us owing to our having a certain mutual friend. I am also certain that you are a woman of sensitivity and discretion as our friend is not the sort to make the same mistake in choosing a bride for the second time as he made on the first occasion. Having faith in your discretion, I believe that, once having read the contents of this letter, you will wish to take the simple step that will ensure that the details of my most agreeable association with our mutual friend remain private. I am, Madam, presently engaged in the difficult task of assuring the peace and tranquility of my old age. I do not wish to be forced to rely on charity in my later years. I am achieving my goal by means of the publication of my Memoirs. Perhaps you are familiar with
The first installments? There will be several more published in the near future. My aim in writing these Memoirs is not to humiliate or embarrass, but rather simply to raise sufficient funds to provide for an uncertain future. In that light, I am offering an opportunity to those concerned to assure themselves that specific names do not appear in print and thereby cause unpleasant gossip. This same opportunity will also afford me the funds I seek without obliging me to resort to revealing intimate details of past associations. As you can see, the proposition I will put to you presently is beneficial to all
Involved. Now, then, Madam, I come to the point: If you will send the sum of two hundred pounds to me by five o'clock tomorrow afternoon you may rest assured that a number of charming letters your husband once wrote to me do not appear in my Memoirs. To you such a sum of money is a mere pittance, less than the cost of a new gown. To me it is a building block in the cozy little rose-covered cottage in Bath to which I will soon retire. I look forward to hearing from you promptly.
I remain, Madam,
Yours very truly,
C. E
Lizzie reread the letter a third time, her hands shaking. She was dazed by the flames of rage that burst to life within her. It was not the fact that Alexander might once have been intimately involved with Charlotte Featherstone that infuriated her, she realized. It was not even the threat of having that past association detailed in print, as humiliating as it would be, that left her trembling with anger.
What made Lizzie lightheaded with fury was the realization that Alexander had once taken the time to write love notes to a professional courtesan yet he could not be bothered to jot so much as a simple love poem to his new wife.
"Mary, put away the morning dress and get out my green walking dress."
Mary glanced at her in surprise. "You have decided to go for a walk this mornin', ma'am?"
"Yes, I have."
"But Lord Rothsay does not like you to go out of the house all alone" Mary stated as she set to work. "No, he does not , but since he is not here so there is no one to stop me ." Lizzie shoved back the covers and got to her feet, still clutching Charlotte Featherstone's letter in one hand.
"Anne Silverthorne rides nearly every morning in the park. I believe I will join her today."
Mary nodded. "I'll send word to have the curricle brought up' for you downstairs, my lady. The groom and the footman will accompany you ."
"Please do that, Mary."
A short while later Lizzie was assisted onto a fine curricle led by a liveried groom. She set off at once for the park.
It was not difficult to find Anne who was cantering along one of the main paths. Her groom followed at a discreet distance.
Anne's froth of red curls gleamed in the morning light and her vivid eyes sparkled with welcome as she caught sight of Lizzie. "Lizzie, I'm so glad you could join me this morning. I have just started my walk.
Isn't it a beautiful day?"
"For some, perhaps," Lizzie allowed ominously. "But not for others. I must talk with you."
Anne's perpetually serious gaze grew even darker with concern. "Is something wrong, Lizzie?"
"Very wrong. I cannot even bring myself to try to explain. It is beyond anything. Never have I been so humiliated. Here Read this." Lizzie handed Charlotte's letter to Anne as the women slowed their steps to walk along the path.
"Good heavens," Anne breathed, looking stricken as she scanned the note. Without another word she handed the letter back to Lizzie.
Anne perused the missive quickly and then glanced up, clearly shocked. "She is going to print the letters Rothsay wrote to her?"
Lizzie nodded, her mouth tight with anger. "So it seems. Unless, of course, I pay her two hundred pounds."
"This is outrageous," Anne declared in ringing accents. "Only to be expected, I suppose, After all, Featherstone has not hesitated to name several members of the Beau Monde in the first installments. She even mentioned a royal Duke, remember? If Rothsay was associated with her at some time in the past, it is logical that his turn would come sooner or later."
"How dare he!' Lizzie whispered half under her breath.
Anne gave her a sympathetic glance. "Lizzie, dear, you are not that naive. It is the way of the world for most men in Society to have mistresses. At least she does not claim that Rothsay is still an admirer. Be grateful for that much."
"Grateful" Lizzie could barely speak.
"You have read the first installments of the Memoirs along with the rest of us. You have seen the number of well-known names Featherstone was associated with at one time or another. Most of them were married during the time they were involved with Charlotte Featherstone."
"So many men leading double lives." Lizzie shook her head angrily. "And they have the gall to lecture women on honor and proper behavior. It is infuriating."
"And so grossly unfair," Anne added vehemently. "Just one more example of why I feel the married state has so little to offer an intelligent woman."
"Why did he have to write Featherstone those love letters?" Lizzie asked in soft anguish
"If he put his feelings into writing, then the entire affair must have occurred a long time ago. Only a very young man would make that mistake, "Anne observed.
Ah, yes, thought Lizzie. A young man who was still capable of strong romantic emotion. It would seem that all such sentiment had been burned out of Alexander. The feelings she longed to hear him express to her he had squandered years ago on women such as Charlotte Featherstone and Marissa. It would seem there was nothing left for Lizzie at all. Nothing.
In that moment she hated both Marissa and Charlotte with all the passion in her soul.
"I wonder why Featherstone did not send this note to Rothsay." Lizzie mused.
Anne's mouth curved wryly. "Probably because she knew full well Rothsay would tell her to go to the devil. I do not see your husband paying blackmail?"
"No, I do not see him sending the two hundred pounds to Featherstone. Not even to spare me the humiliation that is bound to follow the publication of those horrid letters."
"So," concluded Anne, "knowing she stands little chance of getting any money out of Rothsay, Featherstone has decided to try blackmailing you, instead."
"I will never pay blackmail to that woman," Lizzie vowed, her hands tightening so abruptly on her reticule.
"But what else can you do?" Anne asked gently. "Surely you do not want those letters to appear in print. Only think of the gossip that will ensue."
"It will not be that bad," Anne added soothingly. "Everyone will know the affair happened long before Rothsay married you."
"The timing of the affair will not matter," Lizzie said dully. "There will be talk and we all know it. This will not be simple gossip Featherstone will be repeating. She will actually be printing letters that Alexander himself wrote. Everyone will be discussing those blasted love notes. Quoting them at parties and the opera, no doubt. The entire ton will wonder if he has written similar letters to me and perhaps plagiarized himself in the process. I cannot bear it, I tell you."
"You are right," Anne agreed. "And because you are a new bride you are more vulnerable. People are just becoming aware of you socially. This will add a nasty edge to the talk." There was no refuting that simple truth. Both of them fell silent for a few minutes . Lizzie's brain was churning. It was difficult to think clearly. Every time she tried to sort out her thoughts she found herself thinking of the love letters Alexander had once written to another woman.
"You know, of course, exactly what would happen if this situation were reversed," Lizzie finally said after a few more minutes of seething thought. Anne looked at Lizzie with dawning awareness.
"Lizzie, do not fret yourself about this," Anne urged. "Show the letter to Rothsay and let him handle it. You've pointed out yourself that his idea of handling it would be to tell Featherstone to go to the devil. The letters would still appear in print."
Lizzie hesitated a moment and then said quietly, "You say that because we are women and therefore accustomed to being powerless. But there is a solution if one views this in the same light as a man would view it."
Anne gave her a wary look. "What are you thinking, Lizzie?"
"This," Lizzie declared with a newfound sense of resolution, "is clearly a matter of honor."
"I agree," Anne said slowly, "but I do not see how viewing it in that way changes anything."
Lizzie looked at her friend. "If a man had received such a note threatening blackmail because of a past indiscretion on the part of his wife, he would not hesitate to call out the blackmailer."
"Call him out!" Anne was astounded. "But, Lizzie, this is not the same sort of situation at all."
"Is it not?"
"No, it is not," Anne said quickly. "Lizzie, this involves you and another female. You cannot possibly consider such a course of action."
"Why not?" Lizzie demanded. "My father taught me how to use a pistol and I know where I can secure a set of duelers for this event."
"Where would you get a set of pistols?" Anne asked uneasily.
"There is a fine pair in a case mounted on the wall in Alexander's library."
"Dear God," Anne sucked in her breath, her expression ablaze with determination
This is most certainly an affair of honor. If the situation was altered so that the indiscretion was Lizzie's, you may be sure Rothsay would do something quite violent."
"I would need seconds," Lizzie said thoughtfully as the plan began to take shape in her head.
"I will be one of your seconds, " Anne stated loyally. "As it happens, I know how to load a pistol. And we can ask Eleanor as well? However I wish there was some other way out of this mess "
"It is my only honorable option," Lizzie said soberly. "We must hope Featherstone will accept the challenge."
"I, for one, will pray she refuses," Anne said tightly.