Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (10 page)

everything released in one rush; the water washed over the dam. Pleasure washed over her body. She let out a loud moan and Harold pushed into her harder and faster, pushing and pushing, thrusting hard and deep. Both of them were moaning now; pleasure had captured the two of them at the same moment.

Harold rolled onto his side when it was over and took Elizabeth in his arms. “That was incredible,” she whispered. “I never knew it would feel like that.”

“I never knew it could
be
like that,” Harold said. “It was never like that before.”

They lay there in silence until around midday when Elizabeth woke to a kiss on the forehead. Harold was leaning over her, his hands in her hair. “I have an idea, my lady,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Let’s get married today, right now.”

“Harold, are you—”

“Yes, I mean it. If we did not love each other, we would be in a terrible situation now. The only decent thing for me to do would
be marry
you. Luckily, I
want
to marry you. I think I love you, Elizabeth. Why should we wait?”

Elizabeth did not need to think about it any longer. The only possible negative was that Father and Mother would not be able to be there. But if Father came he would only ruin it in some way, and Mother would never come without Father. She jumped to her feet, still naked, and threw her arms around him. His hands reached down for her buttocks and began to rub. “Later, we’ll do it twice,” he said into her ear.

She giggled and kissed his neck.

“I will call for the parson,” Harold said. “Dress, and we will be married within the hour.”

He left the room and Elizabeth went to the dresser and sorted through the clothes.

What an odd series of events
, she thought, a wide smile on her lips.

*****

She had chosen a simple white gown for the wedding. Harold was dressed in his military garb. The parson gave a traditional speech about the sanctity of marriage, and then asked them both if they wanted the other person. Elizabeth had no problem saying
I do
, and neither did Harold. Within the hour the two of them truly were married.

Afterwards
, they walked the grounds of the Castle hand in hand. It was good to feel his bare hand against her bare hand, skin on skin, and not have to worry about scandal or retribution of any kind. They were man and wife now; it was the most natural thing in the world for man and wife to walk hand in hand together. They walked into the woods and far away from the Castle until they came to an enclosed copse of trees where they could sit and pretend that the greater world did not exist. Sitting on an upturned log, Elizabeth truly felt as though they were the last people alive.

“This is only the start,” Harold said. “My lady, we will have a beautiful life together. I believe that a man and wife can never fully know each other, but I promise to do my best to know you as well as I know myself. I want us to become one, my lady.”

“Where do you think we will be in five years, my love?” Elizabeth wondered.

#

The Hawk family is no longer spoken of with such vindictiveness. The marriage between the Duke of Summerset and I put an end to that. Soon after our marriage, the Duke paid off our family’s debts in full, and invited Father and Mother to come and live in the Castle (in their own wing, of course). This allowed us to check Father’s gambling before it started. He has not gambled in five years, and he grumbles less, too.

The Duke and I are as one; or, rather, the Duke and our two children are as four. He was everything I wished him to be on that day long ago in the woods, where I rested my head on his shoulder and talked of the future, and he laughed and said he would give us everything. The King has even visited us once or twice, and Charlotte practically begs me to come to some social function or other.

But I am content to lay awake at night in the Duke’s arms, breathing heavy from our love-making and looking to the future which still looks so bright.

Perhaps, Ms. Diary, this proves something. Perhaps this proves that one does not have to conform to cunning and meanness to get along in the world. Perhaps this proves that one need not have a heart of ice. Take the Duke, for example. He used to be cold, but now he has thawed and grows warmer every day.

Perhaps ice often hides the warmest hearts.

“I hear he is a frightfully cold-hearted man,” Father said, sucking on his pipe and looking deep into the fire. Lord Lloyd Emerson would have caused a scandal if he’d voiced his opinions in public. Luckily they were just in their drawing-room in the deep country of south west England, just north of Cornwall. “His Grace Edison Wells, he fought in France, you know. His Grace fought the French for us! Yes, but that doesn’t change his bearing toward the world! A cold, cold-hearted man.”

“Husband,” Mother said. “You shall cause a disturbance with such talk.” Lady Esther Emerson shook her head. “We have been invited to a ball by the Duke of Waltren, and all you can think about is causing a disturbance. I pity you, my dear husband.”

“Ha!” Father cried, slapping his knee. “These are dark times indeed, when a man is pitied for having an opinion.”

“It is not the opinion that matters, Father,” Lady Rebecca Emerson said, smiling across the fire at him. “It is the way one expresses it. You cannot just come out and
say
what you think. It is awfully uncouth, not to mention tactically misguided.”

Father grinned. “Daughter of mine, how intelligent you sound!”

“Yes,” Mother muttered. “It is no way for a lady of three-and-twenty to sound. So arrogant, and yet still unmarried! I wonder if the two are not connected in some pernicious way! Young lords aren’t overly fond of arrogant women, dear. You ought to know that by now.”

“Oh, leave the poor girl alone,” Father said. “She is merely cutting to the heart of it, as she always does.”

Auntie Garnet Leverton looked up from her knitting with a furrowed brow. “I am afraid I must agree with my dear sister,” she said. “If I had known thirty years ago what brashness gifted a woman, I would have become quite meek indeed.”

“You are threatening the girl with your own fate,” Father said, with a kind smile to take out the sting. “You will send her to the Colonies if you keep up such talk.”

“The Colonies?” Mother said. “Did you not hear, my love? There has been a Revolution.”

Father waved his hand. “Revolutions, what a phase! What next, pigs that can ascend to the heavens! Oh, the world! The world!”

Rebecca listened to all this with a profound sense of anticipation. She was to attend a ball at His Grace’s castle in Wells. Oh, how many lords and ladies would be there, how much beauty! She had not lost all the novelty of balls and dances, though she had become slightly jaded by it all. This was her
fourth
season without a husband, after all. And Mother and Auntie were quite keen to use this ball as an opportunity to find her a husband. It was only her beauty and her family’s wealth that had stopped her becoming a wallflower.

“It will be quite the party, I am sure,” Father said. “Yes, yes, quite the party indeed. Perhaps Rebecca, my sweet daughter, will cause another lord to nearly throw up his lemon cake!”

Rebecca hid a smile. “That is quite scandalous, Daddy,” she said. “I did not
cause
him to do a thing. He was merely surprised by something he had not hitherto known existed: a woman’s wit.”

“It cut him like a saber!”

“Really, daughter, must you…”

*****

The four of them arrived at the ball on a sweltering August day, when the sun burnt down rays of preposterous heat, and Mother and Auntie looked up at the sky as though mortally offended. The footmen escorted them from the carriage and led them through into the chamber, wherein lords and ladies in tight circles talked, and the dancing floor was
Quadrille
, that new French dance which caused Mother and Auntie to turn their noses in disgust, but which they had to accept because it had made its way into His Grace’s ballroom.

The lords wore tight britches with long-tailed jackets and knee-high boots. The ladies were dressed much as Rebecca was, with tight ringlets of hair and elaborate dresses. Rebecca’s dress flowed around her as though she was walking upon clouds. Father leaned in and whispered. “What do you make of our chances of coming face to face with His Grace, himself?”

“They have just increased, I should say,” a voice came from behind.

Father almost jumped up in surprise. Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca turned swiftly. A footman circulated, handing out cups of wine; and for a moment the voice was obscured by two of these footmen passing in opposite directions, creating a momentary shield. But then they passed, and His Grace came into view. It was clear that it was His Grace; he was the only man wearing military garb, his jacket studded with medals and commendations. He was a well-built man, with a handsome face and cold, blue eyes.

“You are the Emersons, I should say?” His Grace said.

Father bowed profusely, and Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca curtseyed so deeply their knees almost touched the ground. There was a general murmur of
Your Grace, Your Grace
. “Lord Lloyd Emerson,” His Grace said, facing Father. “I was thrilled when I heard you were coming, I must say, but now I am doubly thrilled.” A caustic spark played in His Grace’s eye. “Not only have you partaken of my hospitality, but I have also been the tool to facilitate your witty gossiping. It is rather a bifurcated vindication one feels at present.”

“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” Father said in deep tones of apology. “One sometimes forgets one’s surroundings.”

“You must crash into a lot of walls,” His Grace said, but then he allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “I am merely making sport of the encounter,” he went on. “You need not fear that I am genuinely distressed. Once one has faced hordes of bloody men, one does not fear ballroom gossip.”

“I must protest, Your Grace, I really did not mean to gossip—”

“It is irrelevant,” His Grace said. He moved around Father and stood before the women. “You must be Lady Esther Emerson.” Mother curtseyed once more. “And you are Miss Garnet Leverton.” Auntie curtseyed, somewhat awkwardly. “And you are Lady Rebecca Emerson.”

Rebecca curtseyed deeply, and snuck a quick look up into his face. He was smiling down at her as though mightily pleased with something she had done. When she rose, His Grace smiled at her once more. “Bantering aside, I must say I am glad you are here,” His Grace said. “One must extend one’s home to as many people as possible when one has been at war for so long.”

This was not the sort of thing a lord should say to a lady, and if some minor lord had broached the topic of war in the presence of her daughter, Mother would swiftly end it. But this was His Grace, the Duke of Waltren, and different rules applied to him. The Emersons (and the Leverton) stood in a circle and looked at His Grace with anticipation for his next comment, but presently some esteemed guest arrived, and he was forced to go and greet them. “Lady Emerson,” he said, facing Rebecca. For a moment Rebecca felt as though His Grace and she were the only people in the ballroom. “May I take a dance, once I am free?”

“If chance permits it,” Rebecca said, before she could stop herself.

“Daughter!” Mother cried, at her shoulder.

Even Father looked abashed.

But His Grace only smiled once more. “Let us hope chance is on our side this day,” he said.

Then he left them and circulated the room.

“That was frightfully silly of you,” Mother said. “He is a
Duke
, my daughter. You cannot play your bantering games with him. And you,” she went on, turning to Father. “What madness caused you to speak so carelessly when your tongue should have been guarded?”

Father looked at his wife – who was half the size of him in stature – like a chastised boy. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “We all know my traitor tongue can say such ghastly things. I do believe that was why you married me.”

Mother shook her head, but a smile touched her lips.

“I do hope he returns for that dance,” Rebecca said.

*****

Rebecca’s hopes were not disappointed. His Grace walked over to them around half an hour later and asked her to dance with him. They held each other at arm’s length, and strutted around the dance floor in practiced, and sometimes graceful, steps. “You would scare a lesser man away, with such a display of brazenness,” His Grace said, barely moving his lips.

Rebecca danced as naturally as before, but her heart was beating like a hammer in her chest. “I do not believe I have been called scary before,” she said. The dancers twirled around and around the floor, and yet Rebecca felt as though she and His Grace barely moved.

“I can envision may types of men being frightened by you, my lady,” His Grace said, with a wry smile. “Perhaps it is only that my heart has been hardened by years of war that I am able to sustain such punishment from you, my lady.”

“I do not believe even war could prepare you for my concentrated scorn,” Rebecca said.
Mother will not be happy
. She quickly added: “Your Grace.”

She knew full well that it was within His Grace’s power to ruin her there and then for speaking so out of turn. Her family would be labelled impudent and presumptuous and Mother would never talk to her again and Father would grow more and more distant. She knew all of this, and yet she could not stop herself. There was an excitement in this moment that could not be found in diurnal life. She awaited His Grace’s response with a building sense of dread.

Finally, His Grace spoke (all the while they were dancing, moving as one, in measured steps around the ballroom). “I do believe you have me stumped, my lady,” His Grace said, his voice suddenly become cold. “I do believe that quite bested me, in fact. And look, the dance has ended.” He dropped her hands and retreated from the floor as though it was a battlefield.

Rebecca watched him go with a sense of dread. Had she just offended His Grace in some way? Had she just put her family in an awful position?

*****

“But what happened?” Mother said. “What did you say to His Grace?”

They were in the carriage, the ball was over, and they were going home. After the dance with His Grace, many other lords had danced with Rebecca, but they had found her cold and distant. No matter what they said, her mind had gone back to His Grace, and the conversation they had had; and the possible outrage she had caused. She had thought that they, for a moment, were outside the normal realm of things; that they existed alone. But now she saw how foolish that was.

“Rebecca,” Mother said seriously. “What happened between you and His Grace that caused him to flee like that?”

“He did not flee, Mother,” Rebecca said stiffly. “The dance was over. What did you expect him to do? He could not simply stand there, once the dance was over, could he?”

“Do not be rude, Rebecca,” Mother said. “He left the floor with considerable alacrity. Would you really have me believe that there was not a reason for his swiftness?”

“I do not presume to know the motives of His Grace, Mother,” Rebecca said, struggling to hide her anger—and her shame. “And neither should you.”

“Come, now,” Father said. “Cannot we be friends? An Emerson does not treat an Emerson with such suspicion.”

“And a Leverton does not treat a daughter so,” Auntie muttered.

“Fine,” Mother said, relenting. “I can see you are all against me.”

*****

Rebecca, no matter how much she tried, could not prevent herself from going over the events of the ball. She kept seeing His Grace in her mind’s eye, the gracefulness of his dance steps, his wry
smile
and his cold eyes. She could not believe that she had offended a man like that. Indeed, going over the events in her mind cause her great confusion. What, exactly, had she done to offend him? Of course, what she had said was wildly impudent, and one should never talk to His Grace in such terms, but she had
sense
that there was a robustness to him that other men lacked. Perhaps she was wrong? Perhaps he was like the other men she had met, and feared a lady whose speech was not like a flower, or like the call of a pretty songbird? Perhaps she was wrong and he detested women who did not confirm his thoughts about the world like all men did.

Rebecca spent two long months doing little but going over these events in her mind. There was nothing else to do in the long endless countryside of southern Somerset. Lest she wanted to journey to the nearby village and attend fayres or visit with friends, which of late had become less and less interesting to her, all she could do was walk the grounds and spend time in the library. There were no suitors through August and September, and Mother talked at length about how her time was running out. Rebecca sighed at this speech. She had been reminded of
it her
whole life.

And then something happened that shattered the monotony. It was like a summer’s breeze in a desert. A letter came, addressed to Father. They were sitting in the drawing-room when he opened it. His eyebrows knitted and he leaned over the letter for a closer inspection. “Hmm,” he said, reading through the letter once more. “Hmm,” he
repeated,
and read through it again. “This
is
a surprise!”