My second is universal. Placed by God in all our hearts.
For its favor, wars have been fought and empires shaken.
But no army on earth is powerful enough to claim it
For though it can be given it can never be taken.
“Garrett? What is it?”
Lifting his head to meet his fiancée’s concerned gaze, Garrett forced a smile. They were in the dining room of the Pultney Hotel, having a quiet dinner away from family and servants. It was supposed to be a pleasant evening, but it had been her decision to come here, and Garrett found the surroundings anything but pleasant.
“It’s nothing, Caroline. I was just thinking.” Thinking, yes. Thinking about the woman who agreed to meet him there eight months earlier and never showed up. He’d thought of her often since that night—sometimes with anger, but more often than not, with regret. And when he’d faced Napoleon’s army at Waterloo, it had been the thought of her that kept him alive.
Caroline smiled that serene smile of hers. “It’s nothing serious, I hope?”
“No,” Garrett lied, raising his glass to his lips. “Not at all.” I’m just obsessed with a woman who saved my life and then saved my soul and left me. Forgive me, my dear, but I didn’t go to Waterloo to protect you. I went looking for her.
It was true. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for it. When she didn’t show up for their arranged meeting, Garrett had torn London—and the Home Office—apart looking for his mysterious “Mrs. Vail,” only to discover she’d left again for the Continent.
The Season had just started and he knew he couldn’t leave again without seeing his sister, and as fate would have it, he saw Caroline, too. Everyone expected them to marry now that he was back, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually propose—not when she was out there. So he went to war and came back with nothing more than a hole in his shoulder, and an even larger one in his heart. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. The Home Office wouldn’t tell him anything.
He returned a hero and, with the war against Napoleon over, settled back into his role as viscount. With his return to his former life came his former responsibilities. He needed to marry, they said. He needed an heir, they said. Caroline’s been waiting, they said. So he proposed, and the girl who’d always been more a friend than a lover said yes.
And now he sat across the table from her, watching unease flicker in her gaze and he felt awful for it. Awful because he wanted her eyes to be the color of sherry, not the summer sky and because he wanted her hair to be black instead of blond.
“I’ve decided to go to Devon for Christmas,” he announced as the waiter refilled his glass. “Regina’s been after me to make a visit. I thought this would be the perfect time.”
Caroline smiled. She always smiled at whatever he said. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her frown. He’d never seen her eyes darken in passion. And she’d certainly never whispered hot little sex words in his ear as he took her on an old, rickety table.
“I think that’s a lovely idea. The children always love to see their war-hero uncle.”
Garrett smiled at the mention of his niece and nephew. It had been too long since he’d spent any real time with them and Christmas had always been one of his favorite times of year.
“I think you’re right to spend Christmas with Regina. It’s better than spending it here alone in London.”
“I wouldn’t be alone,” he reminded her. “Your family is here.”
Something flashed in her gaze. Was it panic? Nonsense. What would she have to panic over? But she did look uneasy . . .
“Spending Christmas with my family is not the same as being with your own,” she replied, smile firmly back in place. “Besides, we’ve decided to go to Cornwall this year. When do you leave?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Was it his imagination or did her perpetual smile brighten just a bit? Did she want to be rid of him? No, that couldn’t be. She’d accepted his proposal. Surely she would have refused him if she hadn’t been expecting to marry him just as everyone else had been expecting him to ask her.
“Give Regina my love, will you?” Caroline sipped her wine. “I miss her now that they rarely come to town.”
His younger sister Regina and Caroline had been at school together. That was how Garrett had met her in the first place. The last few months, Garrett had taken to wondering how different his life would have been had Regina never invited her friend to Devonshire for a visit.
He would probably just be engaged to someone else, he thought as he told Caroline he would be happy to deliver her message to his sister. And it probably still wouldn’t be the woman he wanted.
After taking Caroline back to her family’s house in Mayfair, Garrett had his driver take him to the docks. It wasn’t the safest of places for a man of his rank, dressed in his black evening finery, but Garrett didn’t doubt his ability to defend himself. Nor did he doubt the blade concealed within his walking stick.
It was cold this close to the water, and Garrett welcomed the icy air on his face, even as his nose started to numb. The blue-white light of the moon gleamed on the patches of ice that peppered the walkway, and made it easy for him to scan the names written on the sides of the ships tied up nearby. He made this journey twice a week, one visit during the day, the other at night. And every time, he walked this same route, looking for a sign. Every time, he was disappointed.
He would soon have to stop this nonsense. Very soon he would be a married man, and even if he didn’t love his wife like Regina’s husband loved her, he would still respect and honor her as she deserved. And that meant giving up this ridiculous obsession with a woman he knew only by her surname. He should have given up a long time ago, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life not knowing . . .
Dear God.
Hoisting his stick, he ran on shaky legs toward the small ship shifting on the waves in front of him. He forgot to watch where he was going and lost his footing on a patch of ice, falling to one knee.
He scarcely felt it. As soon as both feet were under him again, he continued toward the boat; slower this time because his knee refused to work as fast as he wanted. The most he could manage was a fast hobble. Still, it brought him close enough so that he could see that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. They hadn’t been.
There, sitting pert and pretty on the surface of the Thames was The Vail of Tears. It was the boat that had brought him back from France all those months ago. It was the boat he’d been searching for ever since. It was hers.
Heart pounding, Garrett limped up the ramp as quickly as his knee would allow. “Hello,” he called. “Hello?” Leaning heavily on his stick, he started for the stairs that led below.
A burly man with a lantern met him at the top. “ ’Ere now! Wot’s all the racket about?” Then, as his gaze took in Garrett’s appearance, his expression relaxed somewhat. “What can I do for ye?”
“I’m looking for the owner of this ship,” Garrett informed him, resisting the urge to push his way past the man to the cabin below.
The man puffed up like a peacock surrounded by a flock of hens. “Yer lookin’ at him.”
Dismay hit Garrett like a boot in the stomach. “How long have you owned this vessel?”
The man scratched his chin as he thought. Garrett’s hand tightened on the handle of his walking stick. He’d run the great oaf through if he didn’t answer him soon!
“About four or five months now. It were summer when I bought her.” He grinned. “Ain’t she a beaut?”
“She certainly is,” Garrett agreed from between clenched teeth. “Do you know where I might find the previous owner?”
The man shook his head. “I bought ’er from a gent who said his mistress wouldn’t be needing her anymore.” His eyes narrowed. “It was all done legal like, guvnor. I got the papers to prove it.”
Shaking his head with the heaviness of defeat, Garrett managed to smile weakly at the man. “I’m not questioning the legality of your ownership, my good man. Did the gentleman happen to say why his mistress wouldn’t be needing The Vail of Tears anymore?”
“No, sir. ’E didn’t say much about her at all.”
So she could very well be dead after all. The very best scenario was that she had given up the spy trade after Waterloo, but even that did little to satisfy him. She may be alive, but the Home Office certainly wouldn’t give him any information about her, and she could be in a different country for all he knew.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, his voice rough and empty. “Thank you for your time.”
He limped back to the docks, suddenly very aware of the throbbing pain in his knee. Fortunately, his driver had seen his mad dash to the Vail and was waiting a short distance away for his return.
“Where to, my lord?” the man asked just as Garrett was about to climb inside the carriage.
“Home,” Garrett replied, his body now as tired as his soul. “I’ll be leaving for Devon in the morning, however. Have the horses ready to leave by eight.”
He had to get the hell out of London.
“Eliza! I’m so glad that you could join us!”
Elizabeth stepped into her friend Regina’s jasminescented embrace with a contented smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t bear to see you spend Christmas alone!” her friend cried, releasing her. “It just isn’t right. A person should be with the people who love them.”
And sadly, Elizabeth realized just how few of those people existed in her life. Her own parents were long gone and Thomas’s family, while kind, just served to remind her of how much of a failure she’d been as a wife.
And then there was him. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing for Christmas. He probably would spend it in London, surrounded by all his rich, titled friends. Perhaps he’d married. There were bound to be plenty of women who’d love to be his viscountess. Hadn’t she even foolishly entertained the notion?
Yes, for all of five seconds.
She’d gone to meet him that night at the Pultney Hotel. She’d even worn her best dress—it was a season or two out of style as women in her profession didn’t often have time to visit the dressmaker unless it was part of the job, but certainly it would be good enough for her Mr. Maxwell, spy and soldier.
But her Mr. Maxwell wasn’t a mere mister at all. As Elizabeth had stepped out of the hired cab, she’d spotted him also climbing out of a carriage—a splendid equipage with matched grays at the front and a fancy crest upon the door. And how incredible he’d looked in his evening clothes! Right then, she knew he was out of her league. She watched him enter the hotel and then asked his driver who his master was.
“The Viscount Praed, ma’am,” he’d replied.
A viscount! Elizabeth stood in front of the hotel in her outdated gown and wondered what to do. It didn’t take her long to decide. As much as she was attracted to him, as deep an impact as he’d had on her life, viscounts did not marry widows who were spies—not that she had even entertained the idea of marrying him, but now that she knew his true identity, it changed everything.
The only thing men of his station could want a woman of hers for was a mistress. She was worldly enough to accept that. She just hadn’t expected it from him. And even if it wasn’t what he wanted from her—even if he did want something more, Elizabeth wasn’t foolish enough to think it could actually work, not after being foolish enough to hope that what had happened between them had been more than just sex.
She hadn’t been able to keep herself from feeling something for him any more than she’d been able to make marriage to Thomas work, and he was only a spy, a soldier. She certainly couldn’t be a wife to a viscount—a man who would want a lady for his wife. A man who would want an heir. In the five years before Thomas’s death, Elizabeth had spent the better part of those years learning how to be a spy, learning how to be anything but a lady. And she’d never once had the joy of even suspecting herself of being pregnant. She’d never been the wife Thomas deserved.
She would never be what Mr. Max—Viscount Praed—deserved either. He would not be content with someone like her, someone who didn’t want excitement and intrigue in her life—someone who’d rather live out the rest of her life in peace and quiet. He thought she was mysterious, alluring, and wanted her because of it. One look at her gown, one look inside her heart, and he’d know she wasn’t what he wanted.
And at the exact moment when that realization sank in, Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked away from the Pultney Hotel. The next day she went to the Home Office and instructed them to give no personal information to anyone—anyone—who came looking for her. And then she left England as quickly as she could. She went back to war, to do the one thing she knew she could do well.
But she thought of him. She thought of him for months after that. She still did, when she was feeling particularly weak.
It had been one of those weak moments, after returning from the Continent and Waterloo, that had driven Elizabeth to Devonshire, to the coast near Exeter, and to the tiny little village she now called home. She didn’t think it was the same village Viscount Praed called home—she’d never heard anyone mention him. She couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally meeting him again—but it was close enough that she could almost feel him near her, and share the beauty of his home.
She let a cottage near the beach and sold the house she and Thomas had shared in London. She made a new life for herself on the comfortable nest egg she’d stored away from her spy work and the sale of the house. She’d even made a few friends. The dearest of which was Regina Abbott.
“Would you care for some tea, Eliza?” her friend asked as they seated themselves in the comfortable warmth of the ladies’ parlor.
Regina’s husband was an MP and the younger son of an earl, and they lived in the manner befitting their station. Oddly enough, Elizabeth never once felt inferior to her friend. Regina always made her feel at ease.
One of the reasons Elizabeth felt so comfortable with “Reggie,” as her husband called her, was because Regina never referred to anyone by their title. Anyone close enough to be her friend was called by the first name. Social rank didn’t matter in her home, and oftentimes Elizabeth would sit through an entire dinner party not knowing if the person talking to her was socially above her or not. It was eccentric behavior, and no doubt London society would frown upon it, but no one ever seemed to complain—at least not that Elizabeth knew of.
In fact, Regina reminded her of someone, but Elizabeth couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She didn’t know anyone else who shared her friend’s exotic coloring of rich auburn hair and bright green eyes, but still the feeling was there, like an itch in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. Sometimes she almost thought Regina reminded her of him. Depending on her mood, however, just about anything could have the same effect.
“Have you heard from your brother?” she asked, as Regina handed her a cup. “Will he be joining us for Christmas?”
“Oh, yes!” Regina’s eyes sparkled at the mention of her beloved sibling. Elizabeth didn’t know much about her friend’s brother other than that his name was Garrett, that he was the ideal brother, and that he’d been injured during Waterloo. But Regina’s face lit up so brightly whenever she talked of her brother that Elizabeth looked forward to one day meeting this paragon of brotherly virtue.
“I expect him to arrive sometime today, as well. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Cake?”
Never one to turn down sweets, Elizabeth set her cup and saucer on the table and accepted a thick slab of frosted goodness. Regina didn’t believe in being skimpy with her cake, and Elizabeth didn’t believe in pretending she couldn’t eat it all.
The first bite elicited a moan of pure pleasure. “Oh dear, this is good.”
“It’s Garrett’s favorite,” Regina replied, helping herself to a large slice. She giggled. “I hope there’s some left when he arrives.”
Licking a dab of frosting from her lip, Elizabeth grinned. “I’m sure we can save him a little piece. You’re looking forward to seeing him, aren’t you?”
Regina stared at her as though she thought the answer obvious. “Of course I am. I haven’t seen him since the summer. Of course, there was the Season and then he and Caroline announced their betrothal.”
“Oh, so the paragon has found his match, has he? The way you go on about him, I’m surprised such a woman even exists.”
Regina waved her fork in the air. “The only woman who comes even close to being perfect enough for my brother, my dear, is you,” she replied with a teasing grin. “But Caroline is a precious girl and she’ll do.”
Elizabeth laughed. It was a running joke between them that Regina was constantly trying to find her a new husband. In fact, Regina had declared that the only man she knew who could possibly match Elizabeth’s incredibly high standards was her brother, the noble and honorable Garrett.
“I’m so glad that my fiancée meets with your approval, Egg Head.”
Elizabeth’s heart froze at the sound of that low, rough voice. Icy-hot pinpricks danced along her skin and behind her eyes. No. It couldn’t be.
“Garrett!” Regina cried, her plate clattering to the table as she leapt to her feet. She raced toward her brother, her arms outstretched.
Elizabeth sat hunched in her chair, barely hearing the joyous voices behind her. Slowly, her hands trembling, she placed her plate and fork on the table. Please, God, let me be wrong. Please.
“Eliza,” came Regina’s bubbly voice. “Come meet my wonderful brother, Garrett.”
Her knees shook so badly, she had to cling to the arm of the chair for support. There was no escape, so she might as well face them. Besides, there was always the chance that she was wrong, that it wasn’t him.
“Ah, the much talked-about Eliza,” she heard Garrett say, his voice light and teasing. Lord, but it sounded like him. “I’ve been eager to make your acquaintance.”
Standing, she released the chair and turned. Oh, God.
“I believe, my lord, that we’ve already met.”
Garrett couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He could only stare. That hair, those eyes, that mouth. It was her. He’d found her. Eight months too late, but he’d found her, and in the most ironic of places. Here she was, in the one place he hadn’t looked—the one place that always called him.
Why was she there? It wasn’t to see him—he could tell that from the horrified expression on her face. She wasn’t happy to see him, not one bit.
“You two know each other?” Regina’s face was bright with surprise. “How very extraordinary! However did you meet?”
Garrett’s gaze fastened on the woman standing stiffly before him. Anger flared within him. After all he’d gone through trying to find her and here she was hiding in Devonshire—in his own sister’s house! And now he was engaged to someone else and she was lost to him forever.
“Mrs. Vail was the woman I told you about, Reggie.” Those golden eyes widened, no doubt wondering just how much he’d told his sister about her. He stared at her, a bitter smile curving his lips. “You know, the woman who saved me.”
Regina’s head whipped around to face her friend. “You’re a spy?” She made it sound so wonderfully naughty. “Oh, Eliza, why didn’t you tell me you knew Garrett?”
“I didn’t know I did,” Eliza—the name didn’t suit her—replied, breaking their stare to address his sister. “I knew him only as Mr. Maxwell.”
“We didn’t even know each other’s first names,” Garrett added in her defense, wondering why he should even care if she was the least bit distressed.
Obviously it was the wrong thing for him to say, for she fixed him with a gaze that was filled with anger and mistrust. “Or titles, for that matter.”
Garrett’s eyes widened. She was angry because he had a title? His heart seized in his chest. Or was she angry because she hadn’t known? Would she have shown up for their meeting that night if she’d known who he truly was?
He didn’t want to believe her capable of such behavior, but the fact remained that she was angry at him, and for the life of him, he had no idea why. After all, he’d been the one who’d waited at the hotel for three hours for her to show up. He’d been the one who looked like an idiot, sitting at that table by himself with an unopened bottle of champagne and a dozen roses.
“No,” he said, surprised at how cold his own voice sounded. “We really don’t know each other at all.”
Her chin rose a notch. “And how’s your friend? Mr. Willis, did he recover?”
Garrett held her gaze and replied in the same frostily polite tone, “He’s quite well, thank you.”
From the corner of his eye he watched his sister as her gaze moved back and forth between the two of them. Reggie wasn’t stupid; she knew there was something going on.
“Yes, well . . .” Regina cleared her throat. “I think I’ll just go check on dinner and leave the two of you to get to know each other a little better.”
From what little Garrett could see she practically ran from the room. Neither he nor Eliza turned to watch her go. Neither of them said a word until the door clicked shut again.
Garrett made the first move, literally and figuratively. “I never would have pegged you for an Eliza,” he remarked, stepping toward her.
“It’s Elizabeth, actually,” she replied. She didn’t retreat, but he noted with some satisfaction that she gripped the back of the chair so hard her knuckles were white.
He took another step. “Why didn’t you come that night?”
Elizabeth—now that regal name suited her—stiffened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a viscount?”
“Would it have made a difference?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Her eyes flashed with anger. “You know it would have!”
His stomach clenched. “When? On the boat, or after?”
She flushed. Two deep crimson spots of color stained her otherwise pale cheeks. “Both. Neither. I wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t have . . . if I’d known.”
Garrett stood directly in front of her now. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—she smelled of flowers, like the tiny ones embroidered on her garters that night.
“Wouldn’t have what?” he taunted, staring at her cleavage when she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He could still feel her breasts in his hands. “Wouldn’t have begged me to come inside you?”
Her flush deepened. “No,” she whispered.
He took another step closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest. She didn’t try to move away, but her breathing had quickened—as had his own. He placed his hand beside hers on the back of the chair, just enough so that their fingers touched.
“I still would have wanted to be there, Elizabeth.” His lips brushed her ear as he spoke. She shuddered.
God, but he wanted to be inside her now! The last eight months didn’t matter. Lord help him, but his engagement didn’t matter. He didn’t care why his title meant so much to her, he just wanted to bend her over the back of the chair and show her what she’d missed by not meeting him that night.
No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t know what she’d missed that night, other than the chance at something that he thought could have been pretty special. She’d touched something within him that night. He’d thought she’d felt the same way, and it hurt to think the only thing she’d felt inside her was him.
That didn’t stop him from wanting her, but he suspected what he was feeling right now was a mixture of attraction and the need to vent all his anger and frustration. All these months, he’d feared she was dead and now she was alive, and it seemed the only reason she had for not showing up that night was that she hadn’t wanted to.
He’d never felt any rejection so acutely in his life.
She raised her gaze. Her eyes glittered like a thousand tiny daggers. “You can say that even though I didn’t come that night?”
His smile was mocking. “But you did come that night.”
It took a minute for the meaning of his words to sink in, but he knew the minute they did. Her cheeks bloomed with color and her mouth, that incredibly sensuous mouth, parted in exclamation.
“In fact,” he continued, enjoying disconcerting her, “I seem to remember you coming several times.”
God, but she was magnificent when she was angry! Her entire face was a study in bright and dark.
“What do you want?” she snarled. “A medal? Anybody with the right equipment and a little stamina could have achieved the same result, my lord.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. It felt good to get a response—any kind of response out of her. At least he knew that he wasn’t the only one who remembered what had happened on the boat. He hadn’t been the only one affected. He had touched her. Only someone who’d made herself vulnerable to a person—him—could be this angry.
So why hadn’t she met him?
“Is that why you didn’t meet me? Because you’d gotten what you wanted and had no further use for me?” He let his gaze roam over the pale expanse of bosom revealed by her gown. “You could have used me some more if you’d wanted.”
Hurt flickered across her features, stabbing him in the heart with remorse. He didn’t want to hurt her. He thought he did, but now that he had . . .
“I didn’t want to use you,” she replied, her voice dangerously soft. “I wasn’t the one who lied.”
Lied? What the devil was she talking about? His title? “The Home Office was under strict orders not to reveal my identity.”
She glared at him. “And what about you? Were you under strict orders, too?”
Garrett sighed. He was getting tired of this. Why wouldn’t she just come out and admit what bothered her so much about his title? He would almost rather hear her admit to being a fortune hunter than continue on in these verbal circles.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” he admitted. And it shouldn’t have. That night on the boat they’d simply been a man and a woman, not spies, not a viscount and a widow, just two people sharing themselves, body and soul. At least that’s what he had believed it to have been.
There was that hurt look again. “You should have told me.” Oh God, was she going to cry? Her voice had that low timbre to it that women always had before they burst into heart-wrenching sobs.
“Tell me why,” he pleaded, feeling dangerously emotional himself. “Tell me why it matters so much.”
Then the hurt was gone, replaced with what experience told him was her spy face. Perfectly neutral, perfectly blank.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She took a step back. He hadn’t realized just how close they’d been standing until she was gone, when all the parts of him she’d been pressed up against—his stomach, his chest—felt the chill of her absence. “Congratulations on your betrothal.”
Was that what had been bothering her? “I wasn’t engaged when I met you.”
Her expression was cool. She looked nothing like the hot-blooded woman he remembered. “Would it have made a difference?”
“Of course it would have!”
She didn’t look convinced. “I’m sure she’s perfect for you, my lord. I wish you both happiness.”
Desperate, Garrett grabbed her. Pulling her hard against him, he brought his mouth down on hers. She stiffened but didn’t respond.
A silent scream of frustration welled up inside him. He couldn’t have been wrong, he couldn’t have been. She’d been as shaken by their lovemaking as he had been. It hadn’t been a dream and these past months hadn’t distorted his memory.
He slipped his tongue between her lips, tasting her. She tasted of buttercream frosting—his favorite. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, softened the pressure of his lips against hers, poured all the heartache and loss of the past few months into her, and prayed for a response.
Slowly, her arms wound around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair as her tongue met his, tentatively at first, then with more deliberation, as though she were searching for something, something within him.
His fingers splayed along her back, feeling the warm softness of her through the fabric of her gown. He’d never thought he’d hold her again, and now that he was it felt so completely, utterly right.
And it was so hopelessly wrong. He had a fiancée, and no matter how Elizabeth affected him, he’d made a vow of honor and he couldn’t just walk away. Even if Elizabeth wanted him, even if she could forgive him for whatever wrongs she accused him of, he could no more turn his back on Caroline than he could pretend Elizabeth didn’t exist.
He released her. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. She stared at him as though she’d found the answer to whatever she’d been searching for in his kiss.
“That can never happen again,” she told him, her voice trembling. “Whatever happened in the past is the past. We can have no future, so please . . . don’t touch me again.”
She left the room with her spine and shoulders as straight as any soldier’s. Garrett watched her go with a mixture of hope and sorrow.
He couldn’t forget the past, no matter what she said, and he had no idea what the future held in store for either of them. But he did know about the present, and if she wanted to carry out this charade that they meant nothing to each other, then so be it.
But things weren’t over between them. Of that, Garrett was certain.
Closing the door of her room behind her, Elizabeth fought the urge to cry. Of all the people who could be Regina’s brother, why, why did it have to be him?
And why did he have to be bigger and more virile than she remembered? And why did she find it next to impossible to stay angry with him?
Probably because she had nothing to be angry about. Not really. No, he hadn’t told her who he was, but he was right, at the time it hadn’t been important. And it wasn’t the kind of thing one dropped into casual conversation. No doubt he would have told her had she met him that night at the hotel, but by then it would have been too late.
And now it definitely was. There could be no future for them. Even if he weren’t above her, even if she dared believe she could be what he wanted, he was engaged to another, and she could never be a man’s mistress. That night on the boat had been different—they’d used their bodies to comfort each other, to fill the emptiness inside them both. She wouldn’t cheapen it by selling herself. It was worth more than that.
But that didn’t stop her heart from racing at the sight of him. And it didn’t stop her body from responding to his kiss.
How was she going to survive the next few days under the same roof as him? There was no point in wishing he’d leave. This was his sister’s home. He had more right to be there than she did. She should be the one to leave, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to spend Christmas alone in her little cottage. She wanted to spend it with people she cared about, like she had growing up.
But how could Regina not have mentioned he was her brother? Oh sure, she knew Regina was the daughter of a viscount, but not caring about titles, she’d never mentioned it. And Elizabeth had been intimidated enough by her friend’s social status that she hadn’t bothered to ask. Oh, if she’d only asked!
She drew a deep breath. She could do this. She had to. It was only for a few days and then he would be gone.
Crossing the plush blue and cream carpet, Elizabeth moved toward the window. The heavy blue velvet drapes were tied back with cream and gold cord, giving her a wide, clear view of the grounds below. She could hear David and Elsa, Regina’s two children, laughing below.
Through the chilled glass, she could see the two children romping in the few inches of snow that covered the grass. It wasn’t enough to make a fort or to lie down and make angels in, but it was sticky enough for making snowballs, and that’s what the two youngsters were doing.
Smiling, Elizabeth pressed closer to the window. Little Elsa’s face was pink with cold and bright with joy as she drew back her arm and let her snowball fly. She laughed, loud and hard, when it struck its target. Her brother followed suit.
Suddenly, two snowballs flew back in retaliation. One hit Elsa square in the bottom as she bent to pack more snow. The other struck David in the shoulder. Who were they playing with?
The answer should have been obvious, she realized as soon as she saw their opponent. Her smile faded. Of course it would be him. Neither Regina nor her husband, Henry, were the snowball-throwing sort.
Her heart twisted painfully as she watched him laugh as a sloppily packed snowball struck him in the face. He looked different when he laughed. Silly, and young, not at all the fierce warrior who’d made love to her on her boat.
Regina said he’d been injured during the war. She noticed he limped a bit as he chased after the children. Had it been a leg wound? He could have been killed and she never would have known what happened to him.
No, she would have known if he’d died. Somehow she knew she would have felt it, somewhere in her soul.
Shaking snow from his hair, he looked up at her window. Their gazes locked. His smile faded a bit, but not completely. He stared up at her as if waiting for her to either approve or find him lacking. Against her better judgment, she returned the smile.
“Eliza!” Elsa yelled at the top of her lungs. “Come help me!”
Elizabeth shook her head at the girl. No, she couldn’t.
The expression on Garrett’s face changed slightly. He was still smiling, but it was almost as if he were daring her to come out and face him. What did he think? That she was frightened of him?
She was. Terrified, actually, but not in any way that made sense. And she certainly wasn’t going to let one little toe-curling kiss keep her from enjoying time with the children.
Besides, it would please her to no end to wipe that smug, arrogant expression off his face with a hard, icy snowball.
Just as the thought occurred to her something struck the window directly in front of her face. Snow. And she didn’t even have to ask which one of them had thrown it.
So he wanted to play that way, did he? Well, she certainly wasn’t going to disappoint him. If it came down to childish behavior or having him kiss her, she’d take the childish behavior.
Lord Praed needed a little cooling off.