Marry the Man Today Page 22
All things Turkish might be a popular theme in the press these days, but pro-Turkish sentiment was quickly becoming a flash point among the diplomatic corp.
Yet, he doubted that Lady Maxton or the ladies of the Abigail Adams had an international political motive for their mischief.
But mischief it was bound to be. He could tell by the twinkle in his wife’s eyes and the looks she was exchanging with Lady Maxton as she turned her back to the crowd to work at something at the front of her waist.
“And what, ladies and gentlemen,” Lady Maxton called out like a festival barker, “could be more Turkish than … a harem full of lovely ladies. As Miss Dunaway will demonstrate …”
Good Lord, no! She wasn’t—
But his suspicions lagged way behind reality. He watched helplessly as Elizabeth turned back around to face the crowd, at the same time dropping the skirt from her waist and smiling that jaunty, self-assured smile.
The crowd gasped.
Ross gulped. Christ, look at those legs! Long and lithe and shapely beneath the erotic draping of satiny silk.
And now everyone else in London knew it too.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lady Maxton shouted over the growing tumult. “Turkish trousers!”
And there went Lady Maxton herself. A few years his wife’s senior, but showing a pair of legs that would do any husband proud.
Other women among the crowd on the dance floor began discarding their skirts with a flourish and revealing silk-trousered legs by the dozens.
The spectators parted with a collective gasp, leaving the happily scandalous women standing in the center of the uproar, preening.
And his magnificent wife standing at the dais, stripping him of his will, taking his breath away.
Elizabeth hadn’t known what to expect of her opinionated bridegroom. She’d kept her eyes on him through it all, had easily found his gaze when she revealed her trousers, hoping he wouldn’t be too scandalized, too angry.
She still couldn’t read him as he stood stock-still, staring at her across the heads of the crowd.
It’s all for a good cause, husband. Lost children, unloved children, frightened children.
You were one of them once.
And still he stared, and then frowned more deeply when Lady Maxton waved her arms and slowly quieted the crowd.
At least they hadn’t rioted. Perhaps they were spellbound.
Or paralyzed.
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to speak, and she seemed to have every eye. She swallowed hard.
“We’ve auctioned bachelors tonight. And sold tickets to a lottery. Lady Maxton has resorted to outright blackmail in some cases.”
They laughed, their wallets nearly empty.
“But now, gentlemen, it’s your turn.” The men in the crowd took a few steps closer as though they were indeed interested; Ross took a dozen steps toward her, still frowning.
She hurried on while she still had their attention.
“For the rest of the night, whenever you partner with a member of our delightful harem in a dance, you’ll be asked to make a generous donation for the opportunity.”
They began to grumble and bluster; Ross looked ready to spring.
“And, to make your giving as simple as possible, my lords, the footmen will come around as you’re dancing to accept your contributions.”
And instead of letting the momentum die on the vine, or turn into a complete imbroglio, Elizabeth clapped her hands together twice then motioned to the band to begin.
Then complete pandemonium erupted below the dais.
“That went quite well, Miss Elizabeth!” Lady Maxton gave her a hug as Elizabeth watched the dance floor churn with confusion below. “Just as I knew it would.”
“Unless they take us off to jail.”
“Not to worry, my dear. It’s all for such a good cause, it can’t fail.”
“And speaking of good causes, do you know whether Lord Stopes is married or engaged?”
A quick frown quirked the lady’s mouth. “Recently engaged to a very wealthy young heiress. Why?”
Elizabeth stepped closer. “He’s a monster, isn’t he?”
“A profligate of the first order. I was forced to invite him; her uncle is my husband’s first cousin. If he’s been bothering you, I’ll—”
“He hasn’t.” Wouldn’t stand a chance with her husband. She’d never felt quite so well protected as she did with Ross in her life. “It’s just that I saw him berating a young woman—”
“Doubtless his fiancée, a Miss Preston. Damn the man.”
“Perhaps Miss Preston needs to join us at the Abigail Adams?”
And Lady Maxton was just the sort of revolutionary to join up with her in her most underground operations.
“An excellent idea, my dear, I’ll sponsor her myself.”
“Thank you.” And woe betide any fool who tried to get in their way.
Lady Maxton planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now you’d best go claim a dance from that handsome Earl of Blakestone, else he’s liable to start a brawl over you.”
Or lock her up and toss the key into the Thames if he ever discovers the growing depths of her conspiracies. “A very good idea.” She could see him waiting at the base of the dais, blocking the stairs.
“Better yet, my dear,” the woman whispered, with a lift of her brow, “marry the man.”
Elizabeth smiled and whispered back, “I already did.”
Lady Maxton’s approving laughter followed her to the top of the stairs. To the sight of her husband’s stubborn face.
He tapped the crystal of his watch with the teasing scowl of an impassioned lover. “It’s nearly midnight, madam.”
And he still wanted her, wasn’t shocked beyond speech. “But, sir, I’m wanted here in the seraglio.”
“You’re wanted in my bed, wife,” he said from between his teeth.
Heavens, he was a joy to tantalize. And she might as well play out her fantasies with him for as long as she could.
For there were so many dangers ahead of them.
“But, husband, just think of the money I can make for the children.”
He sighed with great drama and whipped out his wallet for the third time tonight. “How much?”
“For what?”
“If I danced with just you the rest of the night, how many dances would that be?”
“From midnight until the wee hours … I’d say eight, maybe ten dances. In fact, make it twelve, my lord, just to be on the safe side.”
“Then I’ve just bought out your dance card.”
“Excellent, sir. At a shilling a dance, that’s twelve shillings. But perhaps you ought to just make it twenty; an even pound. Per dance. A crisp twenty-pound note ought to do nicely.”
“Blackmail, madam, pure and simple.” Her delightfully impatient husband handed her down off the dais, a smile lurking inside him somewhere.
“As they say, Ross, charity begins at home.”
“Then consider me a man in dire need of your charity.” He pulled a twenty pound note out of his wallet, caught a passing footman then tossed the note into the man’s brass pot. “Come, wife, before I haul you over my shoulder and carry you home. You’ve caused enough scandal for one night.”
“If you think so, Lord Blakestone!” Elizabeth held fast to her husband’s hand as he steamed with her out of the ballroom and into the gravel drive up.
What a grand difference twenty-four hours could make. Last night she had fought the arrogant man every step of the way, from her jail cell, into a forced wedding, right into a loathsome marriage.
But tonight she was snuggled against him in the circle of his arms, wrapped in his coat, eagerly waiting for their enchanted carriage to speed her off to their marriage bed.
However fleeting that peaceful happiness might be.
Fortunately, their carriage pulled up a moment later, but as Ross handed her up the steps, she could see something moving in the darkness of the cab.
“Shhhhhhh!” came the hissing noise from inside.
Then someone grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forward into the carriage. The door slammed behind her, plunging her into darkness as the carriage jerked forward.
She flew to the rear window in time to see Ross ambushed by two men. “Ross!”
“It’s all right, Elizabeth! It’s us!”
She made a grab for the door latch, ready to fling herself out of the carriage, but stopped short when she recognized the laughing voices.
“Kate?” Her pulse was pounding against her eardrums, her limbs as loose as a rag doll’s.
“And me! Caro!” The princess was peering at her from the opposite seat, obviously pleased with herself and her confederate.
“Dear Lord!” Elizabeth collapsed back against the seat. “You nearly frightened me to death!”
“Oh, dear, we didn’t mean to.” A match flared in Kate’s hand, lighting her impish, unrepentant smile. “But we decided that the bride and groom should have a proper send-off after all.”
“Good heavens! What did you do with Ross?” The man was going to be seething.
“We left him to Jared and Drew.” Caro lifted the glass for Kate to light the candle in the carriage lamp. “He’ll be fine.”
“He’ll be furious.”
They giggled like a couple of schoolgirls. “Perfect!”
“That’s what he gets for not telling us you were going to be married.” Kate scooted forward on the seat and tucked a few curls behind Elizabeth’s ear. “The man’s always been a bit preemptive.”
Elizabeth couldn’t let them keep thinking that Ross was to blame. The fault had been hers entirely.
“But the timing wasn’t his doing at all,” she said. “He had no idea that I would actually marry him until five minutes before it happened.”
“Kept him guessing, did you?” Caro scooted in beside her. “Excellent. Very romantic.”
“And just like a man,” Kate said, suddenly fanning herself and leaning back against the seat. “Couldn’t plan their way out of a pasteboard box.”
“It wasn’t exactly that way.” Confession was good for the soul. The basis of a growing friendship. “You see, I either had to marry Ross or spend the next twelve years in jail.”
The two women froze, mouths open, but absolutely silent. Giving her the horrid feeling that she had disappointed them beyond repair.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Caro finally said, gathering up her hands between her own, “you are simply one of us.”
“I am?” That seemed a very good thing.
“We can spot them a mile away.” Kate handed down three lap blankets. “Now just settle back and tell us all about your romance with Ross. Every gory detail.”
Caro snugged herself back into the corner of the seat. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
Her head swimming with confusion, she peered out the window into a softening landscape of trees and fields. “You mean you’re not taking me back to the Huntsman?”
Kate laughed. “That fusty old gentleman’s club? Not a chance!”
“We’re delivering you to your perfect honeymoon lodge.”
No, this was some fairy tale. And she’d managed to hook up with a pair of mischievous wood sprites. “Where would that be, Caro?”
But Caro only smiled slyly and tucked the blanket around her knees. “Not far. You’ll see.”
Not far was good. She really needed to see Ross. To prove to herself that he was real.
“We’ve sent ahead to make the place perfect for you and Ross. Food and a fire and privacy. You won’t be wanting for anything.”
“But when did you arrange this? You couldn’t have been planning beforehand. You found out less than two hours ago that we were married.”
“True.” Kate smiled at Caro. “But a princess works in mysterious ways.”
Caro winked back at Kate. “So does a mother of twenty.”
“Twenty children?” Not possible! The woman couldn’t be more than twenty-five. “You and Jared have twenty children? How?”
“No, no, you first, Elizabeth,” Kate said, pulling a wad of knitting out of her bag. “Tell us everything.”
She told them nearly everything.
About the protest march and Scotland Yard.
The set-to in Parliament.
The arrest warrant and Ross’s overwhelming gallantry.
The wedding and the nonexistent wedding night.
But she didn’t have to tell them how much she had come to love him.
They seemed to have known that before she did.
Chapter 17
For God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
John Donne, 1572-1631
The Canonization
“Damn it all! First we made circles around London and now we’re in Hampstead. On the way to God knows where.” Ross glared at the two men sitting across from him in the carriage as it jounced and jolted along the rutted country road. “I’m going to kill you both.”
“I’ll risk it. What about you, Jared?” The blighter was doubtless grinning like a chimp.
“I’m in with you for the whole pound, Drew. Besides, if I remember rightly, Ross was instrumental in tricking my Kate into stepping into my lair at the lodge.”
“At your own request, Jared.”
“Still, turnabout’s fair play.” Drew laughed. “Because we all knew it was for her own good.”
“Kate and I both benefited.” Jared whistled. “Damn, if we didn’t have the finest wedding night in the history of the world. No matter that it was two years late.”
“Pardon me if I’m a bit more driven, but I’d prefer that my wedding night occur sometime within a month of the wedding. Now let me out of this carriage at the next—”
“I agree with you, Ross.” Drew sprawled back against the carriage seat. “Caro and I had our wedding night first and then got married the next morning.”
The carriage rounded a sharp curve to the right as the road left the village, then started down a hill.
“Where the hell are you taking me?”
“Oooo, the boy is eager, isn’t he, Drew?”
“Can hardly blame him, though. We all did marry beauties.”
Ross ignored them and glared out the tiny window.
A quarter mile outside the village the carriage slowed as it rolled through a hedge gate then came to rest.
Without waiting for an invitation, let alone an explanation, Ross leaped out of the carriage, and stopped dead on the gravel walk.
“See, Ross,” Jared said, following him down a step. “Grousemeade Cottage.”
“Good Lord.” Ross laughed. Hard-won ages and ages ago by Jared. In a day-long dice game. With their pooled funds from the first of Craddock’s gold buttons. Their erstwhile home for nearly two years. He’d almost forgotten it.
“Your bride is inside.”
Ah.
“The family moved out a month ago,” Drew added from the coach. “It’s yours for as long as you’d like it.”
“There’s a gig out in the carriage house and a horse in the paddock, should you ever wish to leave your paradise.”
“Now, are we forgiven, old man?”
Ross laughed again and, without a backward glance, started toward the front door and the softly amber glow from the mullioned windows. “Good night, gentlemen.”
The carriage sped out into the darkness, stirring the cool, rose-scented air into billowing clouds that drew him closer to the arbored entry.
With a quaking hand, Ross merely touched the door latch and the oak panel drifted open like an invitation.
The main room was just as he’d remembered it, though neater and more substantially furnished. The hearth blazed from the center of the room, flanked by wide, timbered arches on either side of the large-stoned
structure. Its flames danced shadows across the carpet, up the walls, and into the parlor behind the chimney, where the hearth was open between the two rooms.
“Elizabeth?” He stood in the entry, his nerves jangling as he scanned the room for his wife’s lovely face in every curve and darkened corner, but without any luck.
Grousemeade Cottage wasn’t large at all. Three rooms up, three down, and a snug kitchen attached in the rear. Difficult to get lost in.
Unless, of course, his pals had dumped him here without a bride. For which they would pay the rest of their stinking live s. If they lived.
“Your friends are quite wonderful.”
“Elizabeth?” His heart leapt toward the sound of her, somewhere in the weaving shadows of the candlelight beyond the arch to the right of the fireplace. A silky voice without substance.
He could feel her, could sense her heat, taste her savory fragrance on the air.
“They’re devious too. Caro and Kate, especially.” And then she appeared like a spirit just inside the arch. A shape, a shadow. His willful harem dancer.
She had been dazzling in the ballroom tonight; here in the cottage she was sumptuous, glittering. Her hair cascading freely across her shoulders, her cleavage deep and lush.
“You call them devious, wife? What of you and your trousers?” He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it across a chair back, savoring her smile, the glint of her eyes. “Shocking London to its marrow. Exposing your legs to the world, when I, your ravenous husband, haven’t yet had the pleasure.”
“All for a good cause.”
“Ha! You’d wear those trousers every day for your own convenience if you could get away with it.”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Skirts can get in the way of doing all sorts of chores. What would you do without your trousers? Oh, I… ah-ha!” She paused in her realization, then sent him a teasing smile so beguiling that he would follow it to the ends of the earth.
“Are you threatening my trousers?”
“Come see for yourself.” She cocked an eyebrow, dipped her shoulder at him, then disappeared into the flickering shadows beneath the arch.
And he followed like a wake follows a ship. Followed her exotic scent of sandalwood, the soft shoosh of silk that stirred against her legs. Followed her through the arch and into the parlor.