The Sinister Spinster Page 17

  "What did you write?"

  "I wrote that I loved him; that I always had and always would. And I wrote that as much as I loved him, as much as I respected him as my father, I couldn't do what he wanted. America might now be his home, but England was mine, and I would not betray her. I wrote to tell him good-bye." Her voice broke on the last word.

  Adam beat down the urge to go to her side and dry her tears. "Have you proof?" he demanded harshly.

  "Only my word," she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with an unsteady hand. "And you've made it plain how much my word means to you. You wouldn't believe anything I say, would you?"

  Because he so desperately wanted to believe her, he gave a harsh laugh. "My dear, you could go down on your knees and profess undying love for me and I'd not believe you."

  She jerked as if he'd struck her, and the expression on her face shocked him into an awareness of his vile cruelty. He took an impulsive step toward her, his hand held out in mute appeal.

  "Elizabeth—"

  She took a stumbling step back. "Then it's as well I never said it," she said, her slender body trembling. "I should hate to have wasted such words on the likes of you."

  Her expression of pain shattered him, and he felt literally sick with shame. "Elizabeth, wait," he pleaded, taking another step forward. "Please, let me—"

  "No!" she cried, backing toward the door. "Don't come any closer! You've hurt me all you can ever hurt me. Arrest me, hang me, do whatever it is you feel you must, but keep away from me!" She turned and ran from the room, as if fleeing from the devil himself.

  Adam stared after her, a whirlwind of violently clashing emotions roaring through him. He'd been so hurt by what he viewed as her treachery, he'd deliberately closed his heart to everything save the coldest and hardest of facts. But in his pain and anger he'd overlooked the only fact that mattered: Elizabeth was no traitor. A wave of icy horror shuddered through him as the full scope of his sins overwhelmed him. What had he done? he wondered in sick despair. God in heaven, what had he done?

  "Elizabeth!" He shouted her name and tore off in pursuit, his heart pounding with a fear he could not name.

  Elizabeth had no idea where she was going; she only knew that if she didn't get away, she would shatter into so many pieces she'd never be whole again. Pulling open the French doors, she ran out onto the terrace, glancing frantically about for some avenue of escape. The conservatory lay to the right, but since Mr. Colburt's murder it had been kept shut up. The gardens lay to the left, but at this time of day it was likely she would encounter guests strolling amongst the pinks and blooming roses.

  She was trying to decide which path to take when she heard Adam calling her name. Without pausing to look behind her, she made for the conservatory, praying she could reach it before he caught her. She made it inside, but before she could close the door he was already there.

  "Go away!" she sobbed, pride and decorum forgotten as pain overwhelmed her. "Go away, Adam. Please."

  "I can't," he said, his voice raw and his face pale as he advanced toward her. "We have to talk, Elizabeth. I want you to listen to me."

  She sent him an incredulous look, furious he would dare ask such a thing of her. "What more could you possibly have to say?" she demanded bitterly. "Haven't you insulted me enough already?"

  "I didn't mean it," he told her, continuing toward her until he was inches away. "Upon my honor, I didn't mean it. I was mad; I must have been utterly out of my mind to say such things. But I never believed them. Even when I was saying them, I didn't believe them." He held out his hand again, the gesture both commanding and pleading. "Forgive me, Elizabeth, please."

  Her tear-filled gaze went from his hand to his face. "Why?" she asked, tears spilling out of her eyes to flow down her cheeks. "Why should I forgive you? How do I know you aren't pretending to believe me so you can trap me in a lie?"

  This time he was the one to jerk back, but he kept his hand held out to her. "You can't know," he replied quietly. "Any more than I can know you are innocent of any wrongdoing. But I do know, Elizabeth, because I know you. I know I don't deserve it, but I am begging you to find it in your heart to forgive my ridiculous accusations. I cannot bear to know I have hurt you as I have."

  Now she did shatter, undone not by his anger but by his humility, and by the unshakable sense of honor compelling his heartfelt apology. Without being aware of having moved she took his hand, offering no resistance as he pulled her into his arms.

  "You destroyed me," she whispered brokenly, laying her head on his chest. "When you didn't believe me, you destroyed me."

  "Elizabeth." He held her to his heart, pressing desperate kisses to the top of her head. "I am sorry, my dearest. I am so sorry."

  "How could you think that of me?" she cried, striking his shoulders with her fists. "How could you think I would ever betray my country? That I would betray you?"

  "I didn't want to think it," he whispered, his arms tightening about her and drawing her against his shaking body. "God, my sweet, I didn't want to.

  "Why do you think I was being such an ogre?" he added, gently cupping her face between his palms and tilting her head up to his. "My heart and my mind were at war, and the battle was destroying me. I know I hurt you. I meant to. Forgive me." He bent his head, his mouth seeking hers in a kiss of desperation and desire.

  The press of his lips on hers was almost brutal, but it was its very intensity that made it so sweet. Adam was the most controlled man Elizabeth had ever met, and that he could kiss her with such a lack of restraint showed her more eloquently than words the true depth of his emotions. The knowledge should have terrified; instead it reassured, as nothing else would have done. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms to circle his neck, pressing herself against his hardening body and eagerly offering him every particle of the love she felt for him.

  As if he'd been waiting for just such a response, Adam gave a low groan. His fingers buried themselves in the thick fall of her hair, tilting her head back even farther as he deepened the kiss with hungry ferocity. The sensual intimacy of the kiss shattered Elizabeth's reserve, and she gave a soft cry of pleasure.

  "Adam!"

  "Elizabeth." He breathed out her name in a voice ragged with passion, sliding his mouth down her neck in a string of sizzling kisses. Unsteady hands slid down her shoulders to cup the undersides of her breasts, and audacious fingers teased the throbbing nipples to hardened peaks.

  Elizabeth had never known so bold a caress, and she was helpless to disguise the pleasure it brought her. Her fingers dug deeper into the velvet covering his broad shoulders, and she trembled with an intoxicating blend of excitement and uncertainty. Adam must have felt her shivering because he lifted his head without warning, his eyes glittering like faceted topaz as he stared down into her flushed face. He studied her for several seconds before drawing a ragged breath.

  "We have to stop, my sweet," he said regretfully, brushing a final kiss across her trembling mouth. "This is neither the time nor the place for lovemaking, and we've much to discuss."

  Feeling somewhat bemused, a silent Elizabeth allowed Adam to capture her hand in his and guide her across the conservatory. She thought he meant to lead her back into the house and was surprised when he led her to the stone bench located in the far corner of the room. A bubbling fountain carved in the shape of a capering Pan and a veritable forest of palms and broad-leaf ferns shielded them from the rest of the room, keeping their presence hidden from anyone who might casually glance inside. The effect was like being in a secluded glen, and Elizabeth wondered what Adam might have in mind. She was weighing several intriguing possibilities when he scooped her up in his arms and sat on the bench.

  "Now," he began, settling her across his thighs and keeping his arms looped companionably about her waist, "tell me about your father. This time I promise I will listen."

  The sudden shift of conversation had Elizabeth hesitating, and then she was leaning her head against his shoulder, her voice s
oft with sorrow as she told him of her mother's unexpected death and her father's furious response.

  "You don't know my father," she concluded, tears of regret in her eyes as she kept her gaze fixed on the folds of his starched cravat. "You don't know what my mother's death did to him. He hates England with all that he is, and now he hates me as well."

  "But why should he blame England for her death?" Adam asked curiously, stroking a gentle hand through her curls. "You said she died of the fever."

  Elizabeth shuddered as she recalled those terrible days when her mother had hovered between life and death. "She did. There was a great deal of sickness in the city at that time, and Papa hoped to get us out on the first ship sailing for home. It was a military transport, and the captain refused to take us, even when Papa offered him a bribe. Mama caught the fever while we were waiting for the next ship and died in less than a week. It was only when we were under sail on the other ship that we learned the captain refused us because he'd already been bribed by a British lord to ship his household furniture back to Portsmouth. It filled an entire cabin; a cabin we might have taken had it not been for the captain's greed and the other man's selfishness. Papa kept saying Mama died because of a sideboard, and he vowed never to forgive or forget that fact."

  Adam uttered a furious imprecation beneath his breath. "All right," he said after a few moments. "I suppose I can understand why he might hold some resentment against his country. But why should he hate you? You were only doing what you thought right, as he was doing."

  "Papa doesn't see things so clearly," Elizabeth replied, tears spilling from her eyes to trail down her cheeks. "In his view I chose England over him, and that he cannot forgive. I am dead to him, as he is dead to me. I will never hear from him again."

  He tilted her face up to his, an expression of infinite sorrow on his handsome features. "I lost both my parents when I was not yet fourteen," he said, brushing the tears from her cheeks with a gentle thumb. "It is a pain that time neither dims nor soothes." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm sorry, my love."

  The simple words soothed her pain and she laid her head once more against his shoulder, listening to the reassuring beat of his heart. They sat in silence for several seconds before she spoke.

  "Why were you so convinced of my guilt?" she asked curiously, tilting back her head to study him. "Was it the letters?"

  "They certainly didn't help the situation," he grumbled, his arms tightening about her. "Where did you have them hidden, if I may ask? I can't believe they escaped discovery."

  A spark of mischief had Elizabeth's lips curving in a reluctant smile. "They were in my writing desk at first," she admitted. "But after I thought someone might have been reading them, I hid them in the band of the hatbox. That's how I smuggled them into the house," she added, unable to resist the temptation to tease him.

  He didn't disappoint her. "Devious little devil," he muttered, administering a playful slap of admonishment on her curving thigh. Then he frowned. "What do you mean, when you thought someone else had read your letters?" he demanded. "You never told me that!"

  "You never gave me time!" she reminded him, a feeling of incipient indignation rising in her. "You were too busy measuring me for a rope to bother!"

  He ignored that. "Well, I am bothering now," he said, his voice taking on the hard edge of command. "Tell me everything."

  Elizabeth was too intelligent to waste time pouting, tempting as the thought might be. Instead she told him of discovering the letter and suspecting it had been opened. She thought he would give an indulgent laugh or roll his eyes in masculine impatience and didn't know what to do when he did neither.

  "Bronyeskin was in your room?" he asked when she finished.

  "Yes," she said, giving his chest an annoyed poke, "and if you're thinking he has aught to do with this, you may think again. Alexi would never do anything to endanger either my reputation or my life!"

  "I realize that," Adam responded, tightening his arms about her and drawing her closer against him. "But that doesn't mean I am pleased at the thought that he feels free to visit your room whenever he desires. I shall have to have a word with him, I see."

  Elizabeth froze. Alexi hadn't said his departure was to be kept secret, but neither had he given her leave to discuss it. Still, the thought of keeping yet another secret from Adam was not to be borne, and after giving herself a moment to consider the matter she gazed up into Adam's handsome countenance.

  "If you wish to speak with Alexi, I fear you shall have to wait," she said, striving for a nonchalant tone. "He has returned to London."

  Adam's jaw clenched, but other than that he gave no outward sign of his emotions. "When?" he demanded starkly.

  "This afternoon," she said, relieved to have the matter out in the open. "He received an urgent missive from the Grand Duchess and left almost at once. He said he was going to speak with you," she added, frowning at the memory.

  "I was away from the house for most of the afternoon," Adam responded cryptically. "But it is of no moment, I suppose. I never seriously thought him to be a part of all of this, despite strong evidence to the contrary," he added, sending her a censorious scowl.

  "What evidence?" she asked, concern for Alexi making her wary.

  "The day Colburt's body was discovered, I heard you scolding him for taking too many chances," he reminded her. "A rather poor choice of words, considering."

  Elizabeth remembered the conversation. "I was referring to his penchant for insulting people in Russian and then demanding I translate," she said, also recalling Adam's churlish behavior after he'd joined them. She'd wondered if his ill temper had aught to do with her; it would seem she had been right.

  "What of the day he arrived?" Adam pressed. "I saw you leaving his rooms, and he was promising to keep your secrets if you would keep his."

  Elizabeth flinched, knowing her answer would anger him but accepting the fact that a lie would anger him even more. "I told him I was writing Papa," she said, meeting his gaze with what bravery she could muster. "He was a friend. I couldn't lie to him."

  "Yet you could lie to me," he challenged, the soft words containing a wealth of hurt.

  She refused to prevaricate, even to spare him pain. "Yes."

  He was silent for several seconds before reaching up to gently cup her face between his hands. "And his secrets?" he demanded softly, tracing her trembling mouth with the pads of his thumbs. "If I asked you to tell me about them, would you?"

  She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. It was just like with her father, she thought bleakly, desolation filling her heart. Only instead of being asked to choose between her father and her country, she was being asked to choose between the man she loved as her brother and the man she loved with every fiber of her being.

  "I can't, Adam," she whispered rawly, steeling herself for his fury. "I would do anything for you, but I can't betray Alexi. His secrets are for him to share, and if you want to know what they are, you must ask him. Only know they have nothing to do with all that has happened here."

  She thought he would push her away, shout at her, and was surprised when instead he drew her even closer. "I know that, my sweet," he said, his voice as gentle as the kiss he pressed to her lips. "But it was something I had to ask." He kissed her again, deeper, but just as Elizabeth raised her arms to embrace him, he was setting her away from him.

  "Will you be at the services tomorrow?" he asked, his demeanor changing from that of soothing lover to imperious lord.

  The sudden change of topic had Elizabeth's senses whirling. "For chapel services, yes," she replied, struggling to keep pace with him. "Will you?"

  "I shouldn't miss it," he replied, his voice assuming the familiar hard edge of command. "In the meanwhile, I don't want you haring off on your own. I have enough on my plate just now without worrying about what new mischief you may be falling into."

  Elizabeth gave an aggrieved sniff at what she considered an unfair accusation. "You make it sound as
if all of this is somehow my doing," she muttered.

  To her surprise he gave a low chuckle. "And so it is, my love," he murmured, smiling down at her. "Only think of the trouble you might have spared us all if you'd come to me from the start. Now come," he added cajolingly, flicking his finger across the tip of her nose, "give me your word you'll behave sensibly."

  Elizabeth's heart gave a painful flutter at the casual endearment. "I thought you didn't believe my word," she said, saying the first words to pop into her head.

  The laughter in Adam's eyes died, replaced by a look of raw anguish. "I lied," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "God forgive me, I lied." And he swept her up against him, his lips taking hers in a kiss that sent all Elizabeth's senses reeling with delight.

  It was a day well suited for a funeral. The sky was dark and swollen with clouds, and a chilling rain lashed against the leaded windows. Over the murmur of conversation Adam could hear the ominous roll of thunder, and he saw more than one person casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. Both Carling and Derwent seemed particularly affected by the Gothic atmosphere, and Adam's eyes narrowed as he studied each man in turn. He was deciding how best to approach them when Lady Barrington drifted over to join him.

  "You're looking properly somber, my lord," she murmured, her blue eyes coolly assessing as she studied him over the rim of her glass. "How surprising; I didn't know you were so fond of Mr. Colburt."

  Adam's first reaction was to administer the scandalous widow a sharp set-down, but upon reflection he thought better of it. He'd spent a great deal of last evening and this morning subtly interrogating the other guests, but he'd yet to question her grace. Deciding now was as good a time as any, he took a careful sip of his cordial before responding.

  "One needn't be fond of someone to mourn his death, your grace," he said, knowing the duchess would mistrust any sudden show of friendship on his part. "Especially when that death comes so violently and unexpectedly as did Mr. Colburt's."