All's Fair in Love and Seduction

Chapter Eleven

Elizabeth dropped her hand from his arm. “I’m going back to the ball.” Her voice wasn’t all that strong but her will was.

“Elizabeth…. Please” It wasn’t his tentative touch on her arm that halted her mid-stride but the entreaty in his voice. She felt scalded by it.

If she had any sense at all, she’d leave. But he’d never spoken to her like that before. As if he’d yearned for her from a distance and now she was within reach. So she stayed because when it came to her dealings with Derek Creswell, rational thinking sprouted wings and flew out the front door, attaining heights far out of mortal reach.

She was just a flesh and blood woman.

She turned and peered up at him. He even looked different. The way he looked at her; it was softer, wistful almost. As if she was no longer that Elizabeth Smith of Penkridge, Staffordshire, somehow connected to all that was treacherous and wicked in the world.

“What is it you want from me, Derek?” He’d made it clear he wasn’t going to marry her, so perhaps he thought to have her as his mistress.

And foolish foolish girl that she was, she didn’t know she would refuse him.

“Not here.” He glanced around. “Let us speak in private.”

The hallway was dimly lit and empty save them, but the entrance to the great room was within sight. Anyone could venture out and see them.

She hesitated a moment before relenting with a nod.

Taking her hand in his, he led her down a narrow hallway that branched from where they’d been.

“It seems you know this house intimately,” she murmured, not exactly accusing him of other intimacies with one of the female occupants she couldn’t bear to think of.

“I played here as a child. Lord and Lady Templeton are as close to me as family. I practically grew up with their son,” he responded, with a brief look down at her.

With those words, Elizabeth no longer wanted to hang the very lovely Marchioness of Templeton in effigy. His explanation certainly explained the easy familiarity between him and the lady of the manor. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere no one will interrupt us,” came his cryptic response.

She nearly pulled back then. Interrupt them from doing what? Did he intend to…do anything untoward? Here of all places? The thought did not arouse her or fill her with wicked anticipation.

He must have taken her hesitation as trepidation for he tightened his hold on her hand, angled his head down slightly and whispered in her ear, “Trust me.”

Trust him as much as he trusted her? That was reason enough for her to leave that instant. But she didn’t. She stayed because, ironically, she did trust him.

Seconds later, he pushed open the door to a room and ushered her inside. A quick glance around revealed a room really the size of a rather large closet furnished with a small writing desk, one solitary bookshelf, a cushioned armchair and a reading gas lamp. The lamp was unlit but light poured in through a passageway from the adjoining room. Elizabeth gathered this was the antechamber to the study or library.

Derek released her hand, removed his gloves and quickly lit the lamp. With deft efficiency, he fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out a key, which he used to open the desk drawer. The contents of the drawer now had Elizabeth’s focused attention. She watched as he picked up a sheaf of papers—no more than four in number—and handed them to her.

In dull surprise, she looked down at the papers filled with bold masculine scrawl now clasped in her hand and then back at him. “What is this?” she asked.

His mouth curved and his eyes seemed to light from within. Elizabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as his smile.

“With that report you are ensured Lady Danvers will never breathe a word of what she witnessed that evening in the garden. She will in fact never be a threat to your reputation whether you marry or not. I will even go as far to say she could see you prancing about as naked as the day you were born and would never speak a word of it.”

The individual words, Elizabeth understood, but together they colluded to confuse her and send her mind into a tailspin. And not because she was daft but because the notion didn’t seem possible. “What did you—? How could you have—? Do I even want to know?” She stared blindly down at the papers in her hand. Her mind registered dates and Italy and the name Vincent.

He laughed softly and smiled tenderly.

“Let us just say Lady Danvers is anxious that a certain Vincent Trifoli remain in Italy. He has more than a passing resemblance to her son and heir, Steven. They became acquainted forty-five years ago, just ten months shy of the earl’s birth.”

“The Earl of Danvers?” Elizabeth asked in a hushed voice.

Derek nodded.

And the dowager had had the nerve to lecture her on morality? It was beyond the pale, yet somewhat satisfying to know that the dowager couldn’t lord the incident over her anymore.

But that meant… She furrowed her brows. Why had he gone to the trouble of digging up the dowager’s past?

“But why would you do that? You never intended to marry me. I thought you wanted to see me ruined.”

He flinched at that. Reaching out his hand, he grasped her wrist and pulled her inexorably closer. In silence, he slowly peeled the glove from her hand and dropped it on the desk beside his. He then did the same to the other.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong,” he said, his voice deep and low. He drew her into his arms.

Elizabeth went stiff. He had been wrong about so many things. “Wrong about what precisely?”

“Your sister. I spoke with my brother and he admitted to bedding her,” he said grimly.

Madeline. He was sorry about her sister. That had been the one thing she’d understood—his loyalty to his brother. She was happy he’d learned the truth but—

“I have something for you.” He released her and moved toward the bookshelf.

Elizabeth immediately missed the warmth of his arms.

From one of the upper shelves, he retrieved a glossy wood figurine measuring approximately a foot and a half in height.

“You once asked to see my work and asked if I ever sculpted people. I told you only if I found them interesting enough. Well no one has interested me more than the subject of this one.” He offered the carving to her.

Dazed, Elizabeth accepted it, her fingers registering the smoothness of the shiny surface. It was a woman bedecked in a lovely ball gown, her head angled over her shoulder. The lace on the gown had been intricately carved as were the combs decorating her hair. She was slim and slightly full in the breasts, and the face…the face was undeniably hers. It was beautiful.

Her breath hitched, her hands began a violent trembling and her eyes grew wide as her gaze flew up to his. Tears burned the back of her eyes.

“This is how I first saw you, peeking at me over your shoulder. That image has remained ingrained in my mind since.”

“Derek.” His name came out choked as emotion seared her throat.

“I don’t want you to marry me for fear of ruination. I want you to marry me for the same reason I want to marry you. For love.”

Elizabeth didn’t have the capacity to speak. At least not with any proficient articulation. She was buffeted by too many emotions, all of them overwhelming. She let out an uneven breath.

“I will be forever grateful that Lady Danvers is the biggest gossip in all of Christendom.”

She smiled despite the tears beginning to fall.

“That,” he glanced pointedly at the wood carving of her, “is yours only if you agree to marry me. If you refuse me, I will have to keep it as it will be all that I have of you.” He wore his vulnerability on his face, his eyes exhibiting a caution she’d never seen before, his voice low and uncertain.

Carefully and with undue care, Derek extricated his gift from her trembling hands and placed it on the desk. It was then she noticed the adhesive plaster wrapped around his index finger.

Instantly concerned, she asked, “What happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly and held up his finger. “It’s just a nick from the carving knife. I gave myself three days to finish and I succeeded with only minor war wounds.”

Elizabeth’s vision blurred as a sob wracked her frame. He immediately enclosed her in his arm and she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, melting into the hard contours of his body.

He leaned down and pressed a possessive kiss against her lips. “I was your first—”

A heartfelt apology.

“—and I want to be the only man in your life.”

A heartfelt declaration.

“Will you do the honor of agreeing to be my wife?”

A proposal.

She let out a shuddery breath. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

Keeping her in the tight circle of his arms, Derek sank into the chair behind him, tumbling Elizabeth into his lap.

He quirked his brow. “Oh? That is all?”

Elizabeth found it hard to speak, now distracted by his erection pressing up against her bottom. She choked down a sob.

“Shhh, my love,” he said gently wiping a tear with his thumb.

Elizabeth had never felt so much in all her life. Her feelings were just too big, too extraordinary, too exhilerating.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Her acceptance.

And then she kissed him.