Log In
Or create an account ->
Imperial Library
Home
About
News
Upload
Forum
Help
Login/SignUp
Index
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE The Folly, Fortune Hall, Yorkshire—June 1810 A little before midnight IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT for an abduction. The moon sailed high and bright in a starlit sky. The warm breeze sighed in the treetops, stirring the scents of pine and hot grass. Deep in the heart of the wood an owl called, a long, throaty hoot that hung on the night air. Lady Elizabeth Scarlet sat by the window, watching for the shadow, waiting to hear the step on the path outside. She knew Nat Waterhouse would come. He always came when she called. He would be annoyed of course—what man would not be irritated to be called away from his carousing on the night before his wedding—but he would still be there. He was so responsible; he would not ignore her cry for help. She knew exactly how he would respond. She knew him so well. Her fingertips beat an impatient tattoo on the stone window ledge. She checked the watch she had purloined earlier from her brother. It felt as though she had been waiting for hours but
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO NAT WATERHOUSE STOOD in front of Fortune Hall, stared up at the darkened window of Lizzie’s bedroom and tried to think. What would Lizzie do now? Would she run? Would she hide? Where would she go? He should know the answer to these questions. He had known Lady Elizabeth Scarlet for ten years, since she was eleven years old, and he a youth of eighteen. He had seen her grow from a child into a woman. He had thought he knew everything there was to know about her. How wrong he had been. Where was she? His mind did not seem to be functioning as clearly as usual. He could not seem to focus on the practicalities of his situation, what to do, how to put matters right. All he seemed capable of thinking about was Lizzie. What the hell had he done? Pointless question. He knew precisely what he had done. He had seduced a woman who was not his fiancée on the night before his wedding. He had ended over a year’s celibacy by making love to the one woman he should never, ever have touched.
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE MISS FLORA MINCHIN stood in the drawing room of her parents’ elegant home in the village of Fortune’s Folly—new, shiny, spacious, everything that money could buy, no converted medieval building for them—and studied the Earl of Waterhouse, who was standing on the Turkish carpet in front of the fireplace in the exact same spot as when he had proposed marriage to her four months before. Four months had been the engagement period prescribed by Mrs. Minchin as the shortest possible time in which to assemble Flora’s perfect trousseau. That self-same trousseau was now packed and ready for the wedding trip—Windermere and the Lake District, so pretty, so fashionable—and for the removal after that to Water House, the Earl’s ramshackle family estate near York, which was to be restored with Flora’s lovely money. It was not yet past breakfast and they had in fact been roused from the table by the butler disapprovingly imparting the news of the Earl’s arrival. It was a shockingly early
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR DAMN THE WOMAN! He had chased her through every back street and alley of Fortune’s Folly. He had had to pay the china merchant and soothe the outraged coachman and calm some skittish horses, and he was sick and tired of acting as Lizzie’s conscience and wallet. She was spoiled and headstrong and she never faced up to her responsibilities. She had been running away for as long as he had known her. She was running away from him now. Nat smoothed his hair, calmed his breath and watched the hansom cab disappear over the cobbles with a clatter of wheels and a cloud of summer dust. Lizzie did not look back. The tilt of her head, even the back of her spring straw bonnet, looked defiant. But he had seen her eyes and they had looked terrified. He bent to retrieve the parcel of blue muslin that was resting in the gutter. Goodness only knew why Lizzie had bought it. She was the least accomplished woman in the world with a needle and had always scorned embroidery and dressmaking. Nat
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE “DEAREST LADY ELIZABETH!” Lady Wheeler gushed. “Such a pleasure to have you with us tonight! So unexpected but so very welcome!” She wafted about Lizzie like an enormous moth, all fluttery arms and flapping draperies. Lizzie hoped that she would not go too near the fire or there might be a disaster. “You never normally grace our functions,” Lady Wheeler continued. “This is most magnanimous of you!” “Not at all,” Lizzie murmured. Many of the residents of Fortune’s Folly considered her to be a terrible snob who seldom condescended to join in their events because she was an earl’s daughter and therefore too good for them, but it was in fact because so many people toadied to her so shamelessly that Lizzie tended to avoid their dinners and balls. That, and the fact that Sir Montague neglected his role of guardian so thoroughly and did not give a damn about what she did or did not do. Lizzie had not in fact had any intention of accompanying her brothers to Lady Wheeler’s dinner
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX HE WAS SO ANGRY he thought that he would explode. He was angry with a special sort of fury that only Lizzie could arouse in him, a mixture of protectiveness and complete exasperation. Nat had made his excuses to Lady Wheeler, and given his apologies to Priscilla Willoughby, whom he had shed with a ruthlessness she deserved. When had Priscilla become so shockingly persistent? He did not remember her being so pushy as a debutante, but then he had been fathoms deep in love with her in his salad days and so had probably not minded her draping herself all over him and claiming his attention at every possible opportunity. Now her clinging only served to irritate him when all he wanted was to talk to Lizzie. He had to confront her. The need to do his duty, to offer Lizzie the protection of his name, drove him. So did the need to have her in his bed. He had followed Lizzie back to Fortune Hall and seen her tumble out of the carriage. He had been prepared to accost her on the doorst
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN LIZZIE WOKE with a headache from the brandy and a bad taste in her mouth. The house was silent. Monty, she knew from past experience, had taken so much drink that he would not wake until past noon. Tom was probably not even home yet though the bright yellow of the sun cutting through the gap between the curtains told her that it must be late morning. What had happened the night before? Her evening gown and shawl were lying in a puddle on the floor. Her evening slippers, resting in a patch of sunlight, looked discolored and spoiled. She stared at them and the memory flooded in, pushing back the tide of brandy-induced forgetfulness. Of course—she had walked into the wood, amongst the dew-stained grass. That was why the hem of her gown and slippers were ruined. Other memories were impossible to ignore. Nat had followed her and had proposed marriage to her and she had turned him down. He had kissed her and it had been as deliciously seductive as before. The temptation to melt
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT DESPITE DEXTER relieving him of any responsibilities in the investigation into Monty Fortune’s death, it was Nat who found Tom Fortune that afternoon in an advanced state of inebriation at the Half Moon Inn, some ten miles distant from Fortune’s Folly. Nat had not been able to sit idly by whilst his colleagues hunted Monty Fortune’s murderer. For Lizzie’s sake, if nothing else, he wanted to do whatever he could to help. He had seen her face, stricken and pale, when she had heard the news of Monty’s death. He knew how much she was hurting over the loss of her brother, even a brother as feckless as Monty had been. The scoundrel had not deserved a loving sister. It pained Nat that Lizzie would not turn to him in her misery and loss, but he knew that she had always been one to deal with her unhappiness in private. A girl who could also be spectacularly, publicly outrageous, Lizzie was nevertheless one of the most contained people he knew. The landlady of Half Moon Inn, Josie
CHAPTER EIGHT
PART TWO
CHAPTER NINE July—2 weeks later FLORA WAS OUT OF BREATH as she approached High Top Farm. She was nervous and she also felt hot and flustered, for the night was humid and the air itself seemed too thick to breathe. The last shreds of twilight were fading from the night sky and no moon or stars showed. Away on the horizon there was a flicker of lightning. Flora shivered. Only the direst necessity could have prompted her to come out alone at night, especially on a night like this when there was something strange and elemental in the air. She had been to High Top three times since the day of her canceled wedding a month ago. On the first occasion she had hidden from sight and had watched Lowell working in the fields. He had glanced in her direction on more than one occasion and she had had a lowering feeling that he knew she was there, but he had not broken off his work to come over and speak with her. On the second occasion they had had a short conversation and she had pretended that she
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN THEY WERE THE TALK of the town. Nat Waterhouse and his blazing, unconcealed lust for his wife—and hers for him—were the on dit of Fortune’s Folly. Lizzie felt wretched. She had been the center of gossip many times before and it had never troubled her and if she and Nat had been happy and scandalous together, then the salacious chatter of the village would have meant nothing to her. But they were not. She could not deceive herself. She and Nat were not happy because they wanted different things. He was quite content to use physical passion as a substitute for real intimacy. He wanted nothing more than a dutiful wife in the house and a wanton bride in his bed, whereas she wanted everything: his desire, his love, his very self. In a very short space of time she had learned that the extremes of sensual delight had nothing to do with true love. It was a hard lesson for such a hopeless romantic as she had turned out to be and it made her miserable for with Nat’s lust she also wan
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN “I WILL BE MAKING your cousin Mary an offer of marriage tomorrow morning.” Tom Fortune lay sprawled in his chair in the study at Fortune Hall. His shirt was hanging loose and his trousers were unbuttoned. He was enjoying the ministrations of Priscilla Willoughby’s skilful mouth and equally clever hands and was feeling very mellow. Being pleasured by a veiled woman was proving extremely erotic. Priscilla had refused to let him either see her or touch her because the skin complaint she was suffering had left her with a terrible rash. Tom thought it hilarious that Lizzie had apparently inflicted such humiliation on his vain mistress. Priscilla seemed to find it less amusing. In fact Tom suspected that the only reason she was here and was prepared to indulge his vices as usual was because she wanted something from him in return. “I tried to seduce Mary,” he continued. “I wanted to make sure she would be obliged to wed me.” “What happened?” Priscilla’s mouth brushed his cock
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE LIZZIE HAD WOKEN before the dawn, when the very first call of the birds had broken the quiet of the night and the very first rays of the sun had barely started to lighten the eastern sky. She had been profoundly glad that Nat had not stirred when she slipped from the bed. She had known she had to get out of the house, into the fresh air, to breathe, to think. In the peace of the early morning she had sat in the garden and thought about the disaster that was her marriage. She had been so angry with Nat last night for his mercenary acceptance of Gregory Scarlet’s bribe and even more so because he had not told her about it, and he had been equally angry with her for her wildness and her outrageous behavior. They had been pushed as far apart as the poles. That such mutual fury had erupted into equally mutual desire had not surprised her in the least. That was the way that it was between herself and Nat. That was the only thing there was between herself and Nat. And it was no
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN IT WAS A VERY HOT afternoon. Four o’clock saw Nat strolling through Fortune’s Folly village with Miles Vickery, discussing the latest development in the murder case. “We’re very little further forward,” Miles was saying. “The murder of Spencer must surely be linked to that of his master and the gossip that he was murdered by mistake for Tom could well be true, but once again no one saw anything except for another mysterious sighting of a masked woman last night.” “At least we know it wasn’t Lizzie,” Nat said, lips twitching, “unless she combines murder with naked riding.” “Yes…” Miles cleared his throat. “Um…I hope that everything is all right between the two of you?” “Perfectly, I thank you,” Nat said. A few hours ago, he thought, his response might have been very different. Now, however, he had cause to hope. “Because every man who was there last night views Lady Waterhouse with the utmost admiration and respect,” Miles continued. “Doing it too brown, old fellow,” Na
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN LIZZIE WAS CROSSING the street on her way from Chevrons to visit Laura and Lydia at The Old Palace when she saw the small crowd that was gathered outside Mr. and Mrs. Minchin’s townhouse. Previously it had troubled Lizzie slightly that she and Flora were such close neighbors now. They had never been friends—indeed, Lizzie had always thought that Flora was the most irritating pea-brained creature imaginable, a feeling she could now admit a little shamefacedly might have sprung from a certain jealousy. Even so, when she saw the crowd she almost hurried past. Then she heard the screams from inside the house, a sound that was easily defined as Mrs. Minchin having the vapors, and despite herself she paused. “What on earth is going on?” she asked Mrs. Lovell, who was one of the many people milling on the steps outside. “Flora’s the one who murdered Sir Montague and Spencer, his valet,” Mrs. Lovell said importantly, her face alight with excitement. She loved a good scandal. “
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN “MARY! No!” Lizzie ran down to the river, stumbling in the darkness, her feet slipping on the wet stones. She could see a shape in the water, tossed on the current like a piece of wood, a face, an outstretched hand…She plunged into the river, gasping as the shock of the cold water hit her, buffeted by the current, the mossy stones slipping beneath her feet as she stretched desperately to reach Mary. She grabbed at her, caught her arm and pulled with all the strength she had. The sodden material of Mary’s gown ripped beneath the clutch of her fingers but then they were out of the grip of the current and they landed in a panting heap on the wet stone at the side of the river. Mary was as slack as a doll, as though all the strength had suddenly left her. And with it went all Lizzie’s furious anger and misery, leaving nothing but numb despair. “Why?” she said. “Why did you do it, Mary?” Mary looked up. Her face was dull, wet and pale. “It was his fault,” she said. “Whose fa
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PART THREE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN NAT WAS SHAKEN to discover how strong was the urge to go and find Lizzie as soon as Tom had left, to speak to her, to wake her even if she was sleeping. He knew he needed to tell her the truth at once before Tom had the chance to see her. Despite buying himself some time, he did not trust the man an inch. Nat had begged for time from Tom not because he intended for one moment to give him the necklace, not because he wanted to keep the truth from Lizzie, but because he simply had to lull his brother-in-law into a false sense of security. He had to keep Tom away from Lizzie until he had the opportunity to tell her about the blackmail himself. Nat knew that Tom, in his cruelty and malice, would hurt Lizzie again, smash all the bright confidence that Nat had seen growing in her, trample her feelings in that hateful, careless way he had and destroy Lizzie’s happiness all over again. The thought of Tom harming Lizzie, crushing her spirit, made Nat furious. He could see now th
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “BACK ALREADY, EH?” Josie Simmons said, as Lizzie collected Starfire from Half Moon House that afternoon. “And wearing the same clothes as you were yesterday.” She shook her head at Lizzie, her expression suggesting that she had seen any number of unfaithful aristocratic ladies come a cropper. “Your husband was here last night looking for you,” she added. “I told him you’d gone with Lord Jerrold.” “How kind of you,” Lizzie said. “I really do appreciate that.” “Whole village knows now,” Josie said with what seemed to Lizzie to be grim satisfaction. “Never seen a man so distraught as Lord Waterhouse,” she added. “Except perhaps Major Falconer when he thought Mrs. Falconer would refuse to marry him. Or Mr. Anstruther,” she continued, “when he found out that Mrs. Anstruther had been a highwaywoman.” She sighed massively and placed her hands on her hips. “Any road, he was proper upset was Lord Waterhouse,” she said. “She’s a bolter,” I told him, “just like her mama. Sees a
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
← Prev
Back
Next →
← Prev
Back
Next →