Chapter 19 #3
She returned home after midnight, which was why she had arranged for Hunot to be in the mews of Malloren House at one o’clock.
She met him in some clothes she’d sneaked from Cyn’s room.
The breeches were rather tight in the hips and loose in the waist, but otherwise fit quite well.
She was a few inches shorter than her twin, but that merely meant the sleeves of the coat hung down a bit over her hands.
Dark-skinned Hunot was almost invisible in the shadows of the mews, but she could see him shake his head. “You’ll not fool no one in a good light, milady.”
“I’m not planning to. I just thought I’d be safer if I dressed as a man.”
“With me, you could walk the streets in your shift and no one would touch you. You just like to play games, you Mallorens.”
Elf flashed him a grin. “And there, you might be right.” She led the way down to the nearby street. “It’s not far. I just thought I’d be prudent and take a bodyguard.”
“Prudent,” he said. “Uh-uh.”
Elf chuckled, enjoying strolling through the dark streets safe from the bosky gentlemen and the hovering cutpurses.
She was completely safe, for she had Fort’s pistol in her pocket. A sheathed knife snuggled alongside the pistol, and another nestled in her right boot. And she had Hunot, who could handle a small army with his knives and his lethal hands.
She wasn’t really happy, though, for she dreaded what she was about to do.
She was going to set Fort free.
Perhaps she didn’t have him trapped, but just in case, she was going to give him his liberty.
She could have visited him during the day with Chastity as chaperone, but he was quite capable of again refusing to see her. And anyway, she couldn’t imagine having an honest talk with him during the day. No, night was their time and she had his pistol, an excuse of sorts for a clandestine visit.
In Abingdon Street, they avoided the front of Walgrave House, and headed for the back, looking for the gate Elf remembered. It still wasn’t locked and so they slipped through and down the garden.
As she’d expected, the house was quiet. Fort, still an invalid, would go to bed early, and the servants would take the chance to get a good sleep. She couldn’t be sure they’d all be in their beds, though, which added a little spice to the moment.
Elf paused to inhale the sweet smells of the dark garden, and to admit that she was enjoying this last adventure. In fact, she enjoyed adventure. The excitement was like wine—sweet and liberating.
Yes, she was very like Cyn.
Hunot was watching her, and she could see well enough to know he was smiling. “God help the man who marries you.”
“Perhaps I’ll just save any man the trouble. You stay here. Don’t worry, the worst that can happen now is that I’ll get thrown out on my ear. Prepare to catch a flying Malloren!”
He laughed as she slipped toward the house.
It was a hot night, and she was relying on there being some windows open. She’d expected to have to climb the scullery roof to get at a higher floor, but she spotted a small window there left ajar.
His servants need a firmer hand, she thought, then grimaced at the direction of her mind.
The window opened farther without squeaking, and she eased through onto the stone sink. Soon she was in the familiar kitchen.
The big room was quiet, though again a few figures slept rolled in blankets on the floor. Surely all the other servants would be in their beds. A faint meow made her look down, where she saw a familiar dark cat. She crouched to stroke behind its ears.
She daren’t speak, but she hoped it understood her apology for using it to escape, and her thanks.
At least when she rose to make her way across the kitchen, it didn’t follow. Nor did anything else happen to prevent her making her way through the servants’ quarters and up the stairs to the first floor.
It was easy from there. She knew the way to Fort’s bedroom.
Gingerly, heart beginning to race, she eased open the door to a pitch-dark room. He must be asleep. Carefully, she worked her way to the bed and touched the surface. Her wandering fingers found only a smooth surface. He wasn’t there!
Irritated, she pushed back the heavy window curtains to let in a glimmer of moonlight. Not only wasn’t Fort here, this room was unused. No water stood ready on the washstand. No towels hung on the rail.
For a horrified moment she thought he might be dead, but then sanity returned. This was not a house of recent death.
So where on earth was he?
With a woman?
Jealousy threw up that suggestion, but reason immediately quashed it. He surely was in no state to enjoy a woman, or to be traveling over town in search of one.
So, he had moved to another room.
Elf caught sight of herself in a mirror, surprised at how much like her brother she looked in his clothes. Then she remembered other images in that mirror and wondered if Fort had simply fled the memories this room held.
Fled to where? If she’d expected this problem, she would have asked Chastity.
She eased into the adjoining room, but it too was unused.
The ground floor.
She shook her head and laughed at herself. Of course, a man with a wounded leg would not use stairs if he didn’t have to.
In moments she was downstairs trying to remember her earlier explorations, and choose a likely room. She made her decision and walked boldly into his study.
Fort lay in bed, reading by candlelight.
He started and half-rose, but then relaxed back on his pillows. “Trying to terrify me to death? I thought you were Cyn.”
Elf’s heart beat so fast she feared she’d turn dizzy. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
He closed his book and put it aside. “I’m surprised. But with you I’ve come to expect the unexpected. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
He was decorously clothed in a white nightshirt, and neatly tucked into the narrow bed. But his brown hair hung loose, and the reflective candleholder close to his head gave it a golden aura. A wave of love and lust engulfed Elf, threatening her mission.
Then she noticed the frame holding the bedclothes off his leg and she just wanted to take care of him. “Does your leg still pain you?”
“Frequently. I thought Chastity took back regular reports.”
“Regular, but not detailed. I’m sorry you were shot.”
“I don’t think you were responsible. Were you?”
“Of course not!”
“With a Malloren, all things are possible.” He threw the family saying at her like a knife. Just like old times. Squabbling again.
Elf carefully extracted the pistol and put it on the desk. “I wanted to return this.”
“Thank you. You could have sent it as you sent other items, however.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“We spoke today.”
“In private.”
With a sigh, he spread his hands. “I am here, and you would have to sting me viciously to persuade me to move. By all means, say your piece.”
Elf sat in a chair, forcing herself not to show how much his words hurt.
She’d expected this, hadn’t she? Clearly he didn’t feel the same powerful attraction that she did.
To him, she was merely importunate. Doubtless he planned to marry Lady Lydia, and thought the fact that she was a sweet innocent a bonus rather than a handicap.
So be it.
“First,” she said, “I want to apologize for anything I might have done to hurt you.”
“Accepted.”
“Second”—and she looked at the scrolls, the fan, and the toy on a table by the bed—“I will bother you with no more gifts.”
He too glanced at her offerings. “Ah. They have enlivened the tedium of convalescence. Why stop now?”
“So you won’t offer for Lydia North in retaliation.”
He looked back at her then. “You do think me a shallow fellow, don’t you?”
“No!”
“No? You think I would spoil the life of a charming girl merely to hit back at you?”
Elf shook her head, trying desperately to understand. “You wouldn’t spoil her life. You’d make her a wonderful husband.”
“Are you carrying my child?”
The question caught her unawares, though she’d planned to tell him. She knew she was flushing as she said, “No.”
He leaned back, watching her from beneath lids so low they effectively blocked interpretation. “We were lucky, then.”
“Yes, very.”
If he wanted it this way, she could play the game. She crossed her legs as her brother would do. “So, you have no intention of marrying Lady Lydia?”
“Not in the near future.” He shrugged. “Next year, or the year after, who knows? She is a delightful young lady.”
“But young.”
“Desist!” In a completely different tone, he added, “I kissed her today.”
Elf caught a breath. “And escaped uncommitted? A miracle!”
“I’m sure you have been kissed many times and yet escaped bondage.”
“But then, despite the clothes, I’m not a man.”
“And such matters are much more hazardous for us. Unfair, really, wouldn’t you say?”
They shared a smile that Elf couldn’t interpret, yet treasured. They had slid into talking as friends, or even as she might talk with Cyn—something she had never experienced with Fort before.
“We were left alone for a few moments, and I wanted to kiss her. I had already discovered that very proper ladies can be a surprise in these matters.”
Elf swallowed, knowing she was blushing.
“She, it turned out, was just as eager to experiment. I started very gently, of course, but at her insistence became a little bolder. She made no objection, but soon pulled back.”
“She didn’t like it?”
“Your astonishment is flattering. It wasn’t clear, but she did say that she thought she’d wait before permitting other men such liberties.”
“One day, she will make some man a truly remarkable wife.” Elf had not intended the question in that “one day,” but it rang out.
He looked at her without any obvious artifice. “Elf, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I feel as unformed as a babe.”
It was horribly unsatisfying, but it was honest, so she rose, smoothing down her man’s coat. “And I’m stinging you when you can’t retaliate.” She’d come to set him free, and now she must do it. “Did Chastity tell you I’ve taken over part of the family business?”
“An estate?” His brows rose with surprise.
“No, part of our industrial concerns.”
“I didn’t know the Mallorens had concerns other than making my life a misery.”
Elf stared at him. “How strange. But we don’t spread the word, I suppose. Yes, we are busily engaged in many matters to do with industry and trade. I have charge of fabrics of all kinds. It started with silk . . .”
A little while later, she stopped. “Oh, Lud. I’m chattering like a ninny!”
His lips twitched into a smile. “Just like an Elf. I’m glad you’re enjoying all this hard labor.”
“Well, I am.” Something in his manner had her blushing and fiddling with the cuff of her coat.
She made herself relax and tell him the whole of it.
“I quite see that my interest in trade makes me even less of a perfect lady. As does my ability with a throwing knife.” She pulled the one out of her boot.
“Hold one of my poems up against the wall.”
After the briefest hesitation, he picked up the pink scroll and held it out at the full extension of his arm. “Bear in mind that I already have one wounded limb.”
“At least you’re not suggesting I could kill you by mistake at this distance.” She was surely mad, Elf thought, but she couldn’t back down now. It would just be like throwing at a target. Praying for a steady hand, she flicked the knife, and it thudded into the wall through the paper.
“Thank heavens!” she exclaimed.
He released the paper. “If I’d known you were so uncertain of your skills . . .”
And they shared a smile. Not a lovers’ smile—something more.
“Friends?” he said.
She nodded, fighting tears. She relished the precious moment, but knew it might be the end of other things. She almost asked whether friends could ever enjoy a physical relationship, perhaps just in fun, but she stopped herself. It could never be just in fun for her, and so it would tear her part.
And probably in a year or two he would marry Lady Lydia.
She walked over and pulled her knife out of the wall, sliding it back down into her boot.
“We do seem to have come full circle,” he said.
“Except that I’m in the breeches, and you’re in the robe.”
“A half circle with more to go?”
She looked down at him. “I don’t know, either.”
And that was a strange admission. She’d felt so sure that she wanted him, that they belonged together.
Then she’d felt so sure that she could let him go.
Now she wasn’t sure of anything.
He held out a hand. “Kiss me, Elf. The Earl of Walgrave has never been kissed by Lady Elfled Malloren.”
She sat on the edge of his narrow bed. “He won’t be now. I’m still in disguise of sorts.”
“What is real, what is disguise?”
Elf looked at him, lying back on his snowy pillows in a pristine white night gown, his wavy hair loose on his shoulders.
She chuckled.
“What now?” he asked resignedly, but with humor in his eyes.
“It’s just that with me here in men’s clothing, I’m sure this looks like one of those scandalous pictures of the amorous suitor about to ravish the trembling maiden.”
He fluttered his lashes. “I’m prepared to scream, sir. But I might permit a kiss.”
“If you scream, they’ll probably make me marry you.” She leaned forward slowly to put her lips to his.
It was true. They had never kissed like this before, in honesty and without urgency. Bracing herself on one arm, she threaded the other hand through his hair, exploring the silky, springy texture of it as she enjoyed the soft firmness of his lips and the familiar taste of his mouth.
His hand touched her neck, drawing her gently closer as he deepened it, as his tongue greeted hers in play.
Almost, she collapsed down on top of him, but she made herself stop. Even if he wanted it, even if he were capable of it, now was not the time. She pulled back, straightened, and stood to give him a formal court bow.
“Au revoir, Monsieur Le Comte.”
With that, Elf turned and left before weakness could make her stay.