That satisfied him and soon the carriage was gone. Beth ran up the wide marble steps of the British Museum and made her way across the marble portico.
Her half boots clicked smartly as she pushed open the huge, heavy doors and walked inside. An attendant raced up to take her pelisse, but Beth shook her head. It was quite cold inside the museum, and she had no intention of shivering her way through the next half hour. Besides, the coat added yet another layer of protection, and she needed all she could get.
Beth paid for a subscription ticket, took the guidebook from the attendant, and made her way into the entryway toward several wooden and glass cases. Inside each was a variety of colorful and intricate Chinese silk fans being admired by several onlookers.
Pretending an interest she did not feel, Beth paused at the display. Inwardly she was trembling, wondering when the viscount would arrive and what he would say. Of their own accord, the memories of her dreams began to flash through her mind, vivid and startling.
Her body immediately began to respond; her skin prickled, her breasts tightened, a restless feeling spread from her stomach to her knees.
“Oh, just stop it!” she told herself. She caught the startled gaze of a matron who was standing near.
A hot blush rose in Beth’s cheeks. If she was not careful, the entire world would think her mad. “I said, ah, ‘How startling!’”
The matron blinked.
Beth pointed to one of the fans in the case. “The red fan. It is quite startling.” She enunciated every syllable very distinctly.
An expression of relief crossed the woman’s face. “I thought you’d said something about shopping.” The woman’s cheeks creased as she grinned good-naturedly. “I never miss a comment about shopping unless I can help it.”
Beth chuckled. “Nor I! I am sorry to have disturbed your viewing.”
The woman shrugged. “Not at all. I just—” Her eyes widened as she focused on something past Beth’s shoulder. Her mouth sagged open, and she didn’t move until her companion—an older man who looked sorely displeased when he realized what the woman was staring at—harrumphed loudly, took her by the arm, and pulled her to the other side of the room.
It was Westerville. It had to be. Blast it, why did she have to be attracted to a man who looked so like a fallen angel that women could not help but stare? It was most annoying. The sad truth was that she was mad. Mad to come here, mad to think she could get any sort of information from a man she barely knew.
She should just leave. That is what a sane woman would do. Leave and never look back. She could write a nice note from the safety of her own home and be done with the whole thing. Of course, she’d never discover his intentions toward Grandfather. She didn’t think he’d respond kindly to such high-handed treatment, and it would definitely make her persona non grata in his eyes.
Oddly, the thought of never seeing him again made her feel strange. Not lost, really—she didn’t know the man that well. But wistful, as if she’d found something special, and then misplaced it.
A prickle up her back told her he was approaching. She quickly pretended to be absorbed in her guidebook. As she stood there, head bent over the book, a faint sliver of heat tumbled over her skin and between her shoulders.
Her entire body tightened with response. She had to remember herself and, worse, remember to stutter, at least a bit. She wet her lips, straightening her shoulders and trying to ignore the crazed beating of her heart.
It was ridiculous to have such a reaction to a mere presence. Ridiculous and a complete waste of time.
A hand closed over her elbow, and heat flared up her arm, making her breasts tingle, her lashes flutter over her eyes.
“There you are.” The deep, melodious voice dipped lower, nearer. “I have been looking for you.”
Beth sucked in her breath and tried desperately to gather herself. “H-have you?” She tugged her arm gently, trying to pull free.
He released her elbow, but slowly, allowing it to slide from his long fingers, his touch lingering. “I did not know if you would come.”
Gathering herself, she turned and smiled brightly up at him, trying not to look him directly in the eyes. “Of course I c-c-came. I could not resist a ch-ch-challenge, and you know it.”
He grinned, his lips quirked in amusement. He looked much as she’d thought he would, except for one thing. He was slightly unkempt—his eyes unusually bright, his hair mussed, a faint shadow to his face as if he’d just—
He was still wearing his evening clothes.
“You…you haven’t been home since last night!”
His teeth flashed, startlingly white. “Observant lass, aren’t you?” Dissipation etched deep lines in his face, making his eyes appear more deep set than usual.
The jackanapes didn’t even have the decency to pretend to be embarrassed. Beth plopped her hands on her hips, righteous indignation flooding away her previous trepidation. “My lord—”
“Christian.”
“My lord,” she repeated stubbornly, “I don’t know why I agreed to meet you here.”
“I do.”
She paused at the sound of certainty in his voice. “Why?”
“Because you are curious.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.” She met his gaze directly. “Why are you interested in my grandfather?”
There was a long, heavy pause, then the viscount leaned one shoulder against the wall and slid his hands deep into his pockets.
Beth thought he would argue with her, or at least downplay his interest from the day before. She was ready for prevarication, deception, and subterfuge.
She wasn’t ready for him to look directly at her mouth and say, “You have quite an unusual stutter.”
She ground her teeth, her hand fisting about the hapless guidebook. She’d forgotten that silly stutter once again, blast it. “Un-un-unusual? H-h-h-how so?”
Christian watched his now-flushed companion with amusement. “It’s odd; it comes and goes at the most opportune times.”
Elizabeth’s fists clenched at her sides, her mouth pressed into a straight line. He could tell she was struggling with irritation at her own forgetfulness and discomfort at his direct questioning. He hadn’t planned on taxing her so, even though he’d decided yesterday that her stutter was a scheme of some sort, probably a simple attempt to free herself from the clutches of those fools he’d seen pestering her in the park.
Frankly, he’d have done far worse to be rid of the lot of them.
But when she’d looked directly at him and asked why he was interested in her grandfather, his good intentions flew out the window. He hadn’t meant his questioning to be so obvious. But perhaps he hadn’t been. Perhaps he had just been dealing with a very, very astute young woman.
He stepped forward, his arm brushing hers. “Please feel free to stammer away. I find it quite attractive.”
Her irritation disappeared behind a flash of surprise. “Attractive?”
“Very.” He took her hand and placed it within the crook of his arm and led her out of the display room and down a side corridor. He paused at the door to the first room and glanced in, but found it far too crowded. He took the crushed guidebook from her hand and paged through it. “Are you interested in Etruscan art?”
“What? I—no. I don’t think so.”
“Good. Neither am I. Furthermore, I doubt anyone here is interested in it, either.” He slid the book into his pocket and drew her down the hallway, toward the last door.
“Where are we going?”
“You will see.” He reached the door and looked inside, then gave a satisfied nod. “Ah. Just as I thought. It is perfect.”
She halted on the doorway, pulling her hand free from his clasp as she looked about the exhibit room. “No one is here.”
“Did you wish someone to be?” Christian leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, admiring the way the soft light from the window caught the light in her curls. “Someone other t
han me?”
She bit her lip and looked at the door, then back to him. He could almost see the war being fought behind her brown eyes. She was curious about him, of that he was certain. But she was also cautious.
She sighed. “I should have known this would turn out like this. I should not have come without a chaperone.”
“Why?” he asked, amused. “Are you afraid I will attempt to seduce you?”
To his surprise, his comment did not embarrass her. Indeed, she sent him an exasperated glance before saying in a chilled voice, “With you, I am never certain of anything. You are always…hinting.”
“Hinting?”
“Yes,” she said severely. “About things. Things like—like us. Do not pretend you don’t know it, for I am quite certain you do.”
Christian laughed a little at that. He’d spent the entire night in a gaming hell just south of here. He’d gambled and flirted and drunk his fill, trying all the while not to think of this meeting. He’d been grossly unsuccessful. The blue ink on the gaming cards had reminded him of Elizabeth’s bonnet ribbons, the warm brown ale had carried the same light as her expressive eyes, the widow who’d tried to tempt him into going upstairs with her had—for all her obvious beguilements and wiles—been plain and unexciting compared to Elizabeth. All in all, his “escape” had turned into an endless cycle of memories.
She was damnably entrancing, and he regretted having to use her. His admiration of her was real, though. Too real. So real, in fact, that last night when he’d returned home after having a late supper at White’s, he had been unable to sleep, but had tossed and turned in his bed. Every time Christian closed his eyes, he saw Elizabeth’s face, peeping up at him, that damnably certain smile on her lips, her brown eyes warm and inviting.
It was quite unlike Christian to lose sleep over anything. Not since he’d been a child had silly emotions kept him awake all night. But thanks to Reeves and his constant harping about “seducing innocents,” sleep had proven elusive indeed. After an hour of uncomfortable reflection Christian’d gotten back up, dressed once again, and left the house. Free from the whispers of his bedchamber, he’d made his way to the nearest gaming hell where he’d spent the time ’til dawn tossing his coins on the table and drinking just enough to keep his thoughts dulled and unsharpened.
Now, awake but heated by the brandy he’d consumed, Christian pushed himself from the wall and moved until he stood directly before Elizabeth. It always startled him to realize how small she was; the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. For some reason, she always seemed taller. Elizabeth raised her brows, but did not pull back.
Christian lifted a finger to the lace at the shoulder of her gown and traced the outline of the fleur-de-lis embroidered on her pelisse. “I have been thinking about that entrancing stutter of yours. I quite believe it to be a ruse to chase off those mongrels that were sniffing at your skirts in the park.”
An arrested expression froze on her face before she flushed deeply. “I don’t stutter all of the time.”
“Oh, pray don’t explain it away. I enjoy your stutter.”
“How can you say that?”
He grinned. “Because I love the way your lips pucker at the sounds. Your stutter is an act of seduction. An invitation to seal your troubled lips with a kiss.”
“If you think a stutter is an invitation to a kiss, then it’s a good thing I did not belch, else you might have thought that an invitation to my bed.”
He threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. “I do not think you capable of either.” His fingers lifted to her chin, and he held her face tilted to his. “In fact, I’d wager my entire fortune you no more stutter than I.”
“Who are you to—” She snapped her mouth closed, a frown on her brow. Her eyes glared into his for a full moment before she sighed sharply and waved a hand. “Oh blast it all! You are right, of course. I do not stutter. I just did not want some fool offering for me. Grandfather might—” She stopped, her gaze narrowing.
“Your grandfather might what?”
“Nothing.”
Before, Christian had always thought brown eyes were merely soft and feminine, but hardly exciting. But on Elizabeth, they became something more—wildly determined, warm and unyielding, sparkling with anger, and altogether exciting.
He chuckled, rather pleased. “So the lovely Lady Elizabeth is frightening off her suitors one st-t-t-tuttered word at a time.”
“Lord Westerville, what I do or do not do is none of your concern.”
“I beg to differ,” he said softly. He brushed the back of his hand over the soft skin of her cheek. “What you do is of the utmost concern to me.”
And it was. This woman held the key to everything—to his past, certainly, and perhaps even his future. In some ways, because of that connection, Elizabeth was bound to him more closely than any woman he’d ever known.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for her eyes narrowed and she leaned away ever so slightly. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
He captured one of her curls as it fell over her ear. Silky soft, her thick blond hair begged to be released from the pins. “What you do is important to me because you are who you are.”
She jerked her head back, pulling the silky soft curl from his fingers even as her eyes blazed up into his. “Who I am? You mean the granddaughter of the Duke of Massingale. Westerville, it is time you explained your interest in my grandfather.”
Christian managed a casual shrug. “I was just being polite in asking about your closest relative.”
“I don’t believe that.” Her gaze never wavered, and the faint smile on her lips did not reach her eyes. “Yesterday, every time Grandfather’s name was mentioned, you lit up like a newly clipped candle.”
Damn it! She was quick-witted. Almost too much so. What could he say now?
Her mouth tightened. “I know you are not pursuing me for some silly, passion-filled notion. You are not the type for such romantic drivel and neither am I.”
She was right. If it had been any other woman than Elizabeth, he’d have simply declared himself deeply in love; most women wanted to hear such drivel and would believe it no matter how improbable.
But he somehow thought Elizabeth was made of sterner stuff. She would not accept a romantic declaration, which was a pity for he’d had just enough wine to make such a thing desirable. And being close to her was increasing the heady effects of the libations he’d used to drown out his sleepless night. That left him with the truth, and he had no intention of imparting that.
He bowed, smiling faintly. “Whatever I do, I will not bore either of us with romantic drivel, as you so correctly term it.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning and walking toward the closest display case. It held a number of small stone figures, which she peered at with feigned interest, her smile set in a way that made him uneasy. After a moment, she turned to look at him. “I am going to discover why you want to know about my grandfather, one way or another.”
He could not mistake the sincerity of her words. “Indeed.”
“Yes,” she said firmly, then turned back to the display.
He came to stand beside her, leaning on the case with one arm and noting that the nape of her neck was exposed as she bent over the display. “How do you plan on discovering my secrets—if I have any?”
She glanced up at him, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. “Logic. You are obviously a man of sophisticated tastes. I do not think you would normally dally with a woman who is so obviously being placed out for marriage.”
He raised his brows. “You?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand. My grandfather was not hesitant in letting the world know I was on the market and his heir as well.” She leaned her elbow on the case and faced him so that they were now standing mirror image.
“Let me explain what bothers me thus far,” she said smoothly. “First, you are sending out the unmistakable message you are pursu
ing me.”
He moved forward ever so slightly. She had the lushest lips. Plump and pink and turned up ever so slightly at the corners, even when she was in repose. “Go on.”
“Second, you are not interested in me in a romantic fashion. You, my lord, are not that sort.”
Her hair, too, was such a sensual shade. He smiled, remembering the feel of it beneath his fingertips. “Elizabeth, I find you attractive. I will not deny that.”
“Yes, but I am an unattached, marriageable female. Under other circumstances, you would run from an acquaintance with me.”
Damn, but she had measured him well. Still, it would not do to encourage her. “Perhaps.” His gaze drifted over her. “Perhaps not.”
“And third,” she replied in a firm voice, “You don’t seem all that interested in my dowry, either.”
“You are right. I have my own funds, my love. I have no need of yours.” He shrugged. “My father did me the favor of dying without legitimate issue. My brother and I benefited greatly from it.”
Her brows drew down. “Without legitimate issue? But your brother inherited the title, did he not?”
“Yes. And I inherited the title of viscount, but only because my father forged a church registry saying he’d married Mother years ago.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Forged? Are you joking with me, Westerville?”
“Would I joke about being illegitimate?” He shook his head. “I am a bastard, though a wealthy, titled one. My father, the late Earl of Rochester, attempted to legitimize me, poorly done as it was. All the world knows. Not that it matters.”
“I cannot believe you would so freely admit to such. Surely there are other relatives who might come forward if what you say is true. Relatives who might want both the title and the fortune.”
“They’d have to battle their way through a swarm of trustees, many of whom wear very large buttons, have exaggerated shirt points, and possess far too many little yappy dogs.” Christian feigned a shiver. “Personally, I would rather eat raw snails.”