Scandalous Brides Page 12

  “She is. And, despite her protestations, I do believe she will wed again.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. She is far too romantic not to. It will take a very special man indeed, though.”

  “Oh? And do you have a candidate in mind for her?”

  “Hmm. But not you, Nicholas. You are already spoken for.”

  “I am that.” He leaned closer to her, so close that she could feel his warmth through her gown and shawl, against her skin. Her eyes began to drift shut.

  But to her great disappointment, he did not kiss her.

  “Will you walk with me in the garden, Elizabeth?” he asked instead.

  “I thought you would never ask.”

  Arm in arm, they strolled out of the dining room and down the terrace steps to the garden. It was almost a full moon, and the trees and the barely awakening flowers were bathed in silver. Their footsteps crushed blossoms into the walkways, releasing their sweet scent into the air.

  A small, cool breeze had crept up, and Elizabeth leaned closer to Nicholas for warmth in her thin silk dinner gown.

  “It is almost like the night we met,” she mused. “The moonlight, the scent of the flowers.”

  “But there is no canal,” he said. “No masked ball, no gondolas.”

  “This is much more pleasant. It is only us.”

  “Elizabeth.” He stopped and caught her arm, turning her about to face him. “I brought you out here to talk to you. I must...”

  She stared up at him. His face was drawn and serious, not a hint of sparkle in his dark eyes. “What is wrong, Nicholas? Are you ill?”

  “No. I simply must... must speak with you, before we can go on. There is something I must tell you.”

  Her eyes dropped. This was a moment she had been dreading. A moment of revelation. Of judgment.

  “I must tell you something, as well,” she said.

  “You, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.” She turned from him, and went to sit on a marble bench beside a statue of a cavorting Cupid. She stared up at the moon, and thought of Peter and of the dead duke. She hardly knew where to begin.

  And she did not truly want to begin at all. She wanted their lives to go on as they had been ever since they had met, full of laughter.

  She had suffered so much, and only tonight had she come to feel truly secure, truly in the midst of a real family at last. Did she not deserve this time of joy, however fragile, however brief?

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered. And I cannot allow anything to harm this time, to spoil it.

  “What did you say, Elizabeth?” Nicholas sat beside her on the bench.

  “I merely said—I do have things to tell you. Many things. But not tonight, please. Tonight is too beautiful.”

  “But, Elizabeth...”

  “No.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “Tomorrow is time enough for reality. Or the day after. Tonight I only want you to hold me. Please, Nicholas, just hold me against you, as if you would never let me go.”

  Nicholas gathered her against him, his cheek pressed to the softness of her hair. He inhaled her sweet, precious scent, and all seemed peaceful and perfect in their small corner of Eden.

  But his mind was shouting one word—Coward.

  “Someone seems very happy this morning!” Georgina said, around a mouthful of hairpins. She smiled at her friend as Elizabeth leaned against her open window, humming and plaiting her hair.

  “Someone?” Elizabeth said. “You could not mean me!”

  “Oh, no. You are just the little lark singing love songs all morning long.”

  “It must be all the fresh country air.”

  “And a fine gentleman. What did happen in the garden last night?” Georgina pushed the last of the pins into her coiffure of deliberately disarranged curls, and stood to button up her morning dress. “I know when romance is afoot in my very house.”

  Elizabeth laughed aloud. “Oh, Georgie! He loves me. He told me yesterday on our picnic, and I have been aching to tell you ever since.”

  “Oh!” Georgina shrieked, running to clasp Elizabeth in an exuberant embrace. “I knew it! I absolutely knew it. I could tell from your faces at dinner last night. Tell me, how did you answer him?”

  “Well ...” Elizabeth sat down on the edge of Georgina’s unmade bed and kicked her bare feet idly. “Actually, I declared myself first.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did, and I have no regrets, not a whit. He had just confided in me, you see. About his past. You were right that there was more to him than seemed, Georgie. He had such a miserable childhood. I was crying, and he had his head on my lap, and I just could not seem to help myself. The words just poured out.”

  “And?”

  “And then he said that he loved me, too, and that nothing could ever be allowed to come between us. And it will not.”

  “What of your fears before? About your brother, and your true identity?” Georgina sat down beside her, her forehead creased in concern.

  Elizabeth waved an airy hand. “That is all forgotten.”

  “Then you told Nicholas of what happened?”

  “Well, no. Not precisely.” Elizabeth looked away. “I tried to, last night in the garden, but it was so wonderful. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

  “Then you will tell him?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. When the right time presents itself. But I am far too happy here to bring that ugliness to this lovely place. What harm can it do to wait just a bit longer? Until we are back in Venice?”

  Georgina looked doubtful, but all she said was, “Whatever you think best, Lizzie.”

  “Yes. And I will have to tell him soon. My real name will be on the marriage lines, will it not?”

  “Marriage?” Georgina gasped. “Has he ... ?”

  “Not yet! Not yet. But I think he very soon will.”

  They shrieked in unison, and threw their arms about each other in a flurry of ribbons and lace.

  “The yellow silk we saw in Signora Benini’s shop window last month!” Georgina cried, ever the planner. “It would be utter perfection, Lizzie, with yellow roses in your hair.”

  Elizabeth giggled, and swept the sheet off the bed. She twirled it over her head like a bridal veil and marched about the room humming a stately pavane. “It would be wonderful! Oh, but we mustn’t plan yet, Georgie. It would be ill luck.”

  “Hey-ho!” Nicholas’s shout floated up through the open window. “Is someone being murdered up there, with all that shouting?”

  Elizabeth ran to the window, the sheet still clasped about her head, and waved down at him. He was handsome and smiling in the morning sunshine, his strong throat revealed in the open-throated peasant shirt he wore with a simple knotted red kerchief. He was her gypsy prince. “Not at all!” she answered. “I was merely deciding on what to wear today.”

  “I think what you are wearing now is charming.”

  Elizabeth looked down, and saw she still wore her night rail under the trailing sheet. She stepped back. “Rogue! Wait right there. I shall be down directly.”

  “Do not be very long. The light is just right for viewing the ruins.”

  “I said I would be there directly! Be patient.”

  “ ‘Tis twenty years till then!”

  “You have been reading Shakespeare again!” She blew him a kiss from her fingertips, and withdrew from the window, closing it against his protestations.

  “Such a rake.” She sighed and reached for the blue dress of Georgina’s she was borrowing for the day. Pausing only to button it up and reach for her slippers, she waved at Georgina and danced out the door to where Nicholas was waiting with their picnic hamper.

  “There she is at last, my Juliet.” He lifted her by her waist, twirling her about and about until the sky tilted drunkenly and her skirts flew about her knees.

  “You shall have to set me on my feet, Romeo, before I cast up my accounts all over your fine shirt!” She laughed, clutching at his shoulders in her dizzi
ness.

  “And we can’t have that, now can we?” Nicholas lowered her to the ground, his hands warm and safe on her waist. For a moment, he clasped her to him, so close and tight it was almost painful.

  “Nicholas?” Elizabeth stepped back a bit, frightened that whatever had been about to be said last night was going to haunt their day again. “Is something amiss?”

  He only smiled faintly, and wrapped a long strand of her black hair around his finger. He studied it closely, as if he had never seen such hair before. “Amiss? What could possibly be amiss, on such a day as this? I have apricot tarts in my hamper, and a lovely girl on my arm, and the Italian sky above me.” He laughed, and danced her around in a circle. “You see, dear, I have even begun to wax poetical today.”

  Elizabeth laughed obligingly. “Byron need have no fears of his new rival, I think.” She linked her arm in his, and led him toward the pathway that went to the old Roman ruins. “It is a fine day, just as every day has been since we came here. I vow I have never stopped smiling, even in my sleep! I even have sweet dreams here.”

  “Then we shall have to come here very often indeed.”

  “Yes, we shall.” Elizabeth paused to examine an oleander bush. “But sometimes, Nicholas, I ...”

  “Yes, dear? You.... ?”

  It had to be said. “Sometimes I feel as if you did not completely share in this happiness.”

  Nicholas was silent a very long moment. He held Elizabeth’s hand but he did not look at her. “Wise Elizabeth,” he said at last. “There is ... something. But you were correct last night in saying that this is not the place for such things. It is far too lovely. You are too lovely to have your holiday marred in any way. And what I have to say is not so urgent.”

  “But you will tell me?” she whispered. Just as I must tell you.

  Instead of answering, he raised her fingers to his lips. “We are being far too serious for such a day! This is a day meant for frivolity of the most blatant sort. Were we not going to view the ruins?”

  Elizabeth looked around at the warm sun, the sapphire sky, the flowers just beginning to peek from the ground. It was a lovely day. Misgivings still lurked in her mind, but she shrugged them away and smiled. “I have a much better idea.”

  “Oh? And what is that idea?”

  “A swim.”

  “Now?”

  “This instant!” Elizabeth hurried off down the twisting pathway that led to the sparkling sea, tugging Nicholas by the hand behind her. “Or are you frightened?”

  That was a challenge Nicholas had never been able to let pass by. “Scared? I was a champion rower at school, I will have you know. And I took more than one spill into the Thames, which was considerably colder than this little pond.”

  “Good. Then perhaps you can keep up with me!”

  They reached the shore, where gentle pale blue waves, tipped with white, lapped at the rocky sand. Elizabeth shed her shoes and stockings, and reached for the buttons of her gown.

  Nicholas laughed at her utter audacity. “Are you going in the altogether?”

  “Certainly not! I am a lady.” Her gown joined the pile of clothing, along with her single petticoat. “I will wear my chemise.”

  Nicholas was utterly unable to look away as she turned and waded into the water, disappearing little by little until only her seal-dark head was visible above the waves.

  Nicholas had seen her bare legs that night on the terrace in Venice, and her décolletage was revealed in many a ball gown, but that had always been at night, dark. In moonlight, Elizabeth was lovely.

  In sunlight, she was incomparable.

  Her legs were not long, but they were slender and white, her feet elegantly arched as they kicked behind her. He wished he had her skill with a paintbrush; then he could capture her forever, just as she was this moment. A mermaid frolicking in the Mediterranean surf.

  “Are you not coming in, champion rower?” she called. “The water is cool, but wonderful!” She beckoned to him, revealing the enticing sheerness of her wet garment.

  Nicholas, frozen in place for those long moments, suddenly sprang into motion. His clothes joined hers on the sand, and he swam out toward her until he could grasp her waist. He lifted her high against him, kissing the seawater saltiness of her lips until she gasped.

  “I love you,” he whispered, staring up into her shining eyes, the sunlit corona of her hair. “I love you, and I wish that this day, this moment, would never end.”

  “It won’t.” She pulled his head back to hers, kissing him in return. “We will not let it end. Ever.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Venice

  “Signorina! Signorina, you must wake up!”

  Elizabeth burrowed deeper beneath the bedclothes, trying to escape from Bianca’s ever-more insistent voice. Since their return to Venice three days ago, when Nicholas had carried her, giggling, over the threshold, she had not retired once before dawn. She had been sitting on the terrace the night before, drinking champagne and gossiping with Nicholas and Georgina until the sun had been quite high. It felt as though she had only just fallen asleep, and she was loath to have her delicious dream interrupted.

  “Oh, do go away, Bianca!” She groaned. “It is hardly morning.”

  “But, signorina, there is a visitor! Such a visitor.” Bianca rolled her eyes.

  “A visitor? So early?” Elizabeth groaned again. It was very likely some patron who was not happy with their portrait, or one of Georgina’s spurned suitors. All their artist friends would be still abed, as all sensible people should be. “Go and wake Georgina. Or Nicholas.”

  “Signora Georgina is already downstairs, and Signor Nicholas is not at home.”

  Georgina, awake and downstairs before noon? And Nicholas out already, after their late night? Very odd. “Where is Nicholas, Bianca?”

  “I do not know. He said he had an errand, and would be back for breakfast.”

  Elizabeth opened one eye to peer up at the maid. “And who is this caller?”

  Bianca shrugged. “I do not know. He would not give his name, but he is molto handsome.”

  “He?”

  “Yes, and he is asking for you, but Signora Georgina, she says you are not to be disturbed and he must go away.”

  Curiouser and curiouser. Elizabeth swung her legs out of bed and reached for her dressing gown. “What does this man look like? Aside from being molto handsome.”

  “Oh, tall, as tall as Signor Nicholas. And golden. And very elegant.”

  Tall, golden, and elegant. Could it be ... ?

  Elizabeth turned quite as white as her sheets.

  “I must be found out,” she whispered.

  “Signorina?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Hand me my slippers, Bianca. I must greet our guest.”

  As if in a daze, she brushed her hair and tied it back with a piece of ribbon, donned her slippers, and made her way down the stairs with Bianca fluttering behind her.

  It was as she had feared, as she had dreamed on many a disturbed night. Georgina stood before the empty grate, still wearing her night rail, and brandishing a fireplace poker at the Earl of Clifton.

  Peter was elegant, every bit as elegant as she remembered. He quite overpowered their rented room in his doeskin breeches and many-caped greatcoat. He stood behind her writing desk, his hat and walking stick resting atop some of her sketches of Katerina Bruni. His gloves slapped rhythmically against his thigh.

  He quite looked as if he owned the place, and they were merely his recalcitrant servants. Two years might almost never have passed.

  Except that she was different now. She no longer would stammer and blush and cry before his coldness. She was free. She was a woman who had made her own way in the world, and was no longer a little girl.

  Was she not?

  “Good morning, Peter,” she said coolly, as if it had not been so very long since they had seen each other; as if they might have dined just the night before. She took the poker from Georgina�
�s hand, placed it back beside the grate, and drew her glowering friend firmly to her side. “And what brings you to Venice at such a quiet time of year?”

  “Why, the charming weather, of course.” He gestured with his gloves to the steady, silver rain outside the windows. “Such a vast improvement on English rain.”

  “I am certain you will notice no difference when you have returned to England.” Where you belong, she added silently. “When will you be returning?”

  “I shall be back beside my own cozy hearth very soon. When you have packed your trunks, dear sister, we shall be gone from here.”

  Georgina surged forward. “Why, you bas ...”

  Elizabeth grasped Georgina’s hand tighter, holding her back from scoring Peter’s golden features with her wicked nails. “I am afraid that is impossible, brother dear. My home is here now, and I cannot abandon my work.”

  “Oh, I think not.”

  A knot of ice slowly formed in Elizabeth’s belly as she watched Peter remove a sealed document from inside his coat. She watched in a haze as he laid the paper on the desk.

  “I am still your guardian, Elizabeth. Until you reach your twenty-first birthday, which, if I am not mistaken, is almost a year away. Those were the terms of our parents’ will.”

  “This is absurd!” Elizabeth whispered.

  “Oh, my dear, it could not be less absurd. I have here a magistrate’s order, giving you into my care.” He glanced about their dim, dusty drawing room, littered with canvases and sketches. “And you obviously need my care, Elizabeth. No gently reared woman in her right mind would choose to live such a ... disordered life. If you do not come home with me now, your friends could be brought up on charges of kidnapping.”

  “What?” Elizabeth cried, utterly shocked. All the times she had tried to imagine what would happen if Peter found her, she had never envisioned this, threatening her friends.

  “No, Lizzie!” Georgina seized Elizabeth’s arm, and drew her into the empty corridor, whispering furiously, “You must not go with him. Who knows what will happen? Something quite dreadful, to be sure. He cannot be in his right mind to come here like this, barking unreasonable orders, taking over your life.”