Let Me Be The One Page 18

  "I know nothing about your Mr. Marchman, but I suspect after meeting the rest of your little Compass Club that he falls into the latter category, and that you became his friend because he would have let you kill him before he would have stopped challenging you."

  He was silent for a long time. Elizabeth turned her face toward him, expecting to see that derision or defense had changed the shape of his mouth. Instead she saw a sheen of tears. She found his hand under the covers and held it between both of hers. His decency made her want to weep. His kindness made her frightened for him.

  North felt Elizabeth's head return to his shoulder. He collected himself, drawing in an uneasy breath at first, then another that came less painfully. "It was just as you said," he told her. "West kept coming at us. Me first. Then at East. Later South. We had to do something about him or it would never have ended." Northam shook his head, memory tugging at the corners of his mind. "He broke my nose. That's how this bump was fashioned." He ran his finger along the offending bridge. "He said I needed it. That I was too pretty by half and that without it I should be better off a girl."

  Elizabeth laughed softly. "I think it is safe to say that Mr. Marchman was a bit envious of your very fine looks."

  He grunted, unappeased by this defense."My grandfather said much the same thing. Told me it gave me character. Made a point of meeting Marchman at the next visitor's day and thanking him. My mother was less forgiving of West. She still brings it up from time to time. She is likely to think of him as a ruffian, though he has better manners than the lot of us put together."

  "I imagine she's prejudiced in your favor."

  "I suppose," he agreed reluctantly. "She's the other one besides you, by the way, to comment favorably on my looks. She thought it was a great pity about my nose. Said I had character enough without it."

  Elizabeth pretended to study his face with great care. "I'm afraid, my lord, that without your nose you would be a character."

  "Hah! I meant the bump and well you know it. You must think you're very amusing."

  "No," she said. "But I should like to be."

  "Why?"

  "To make you laugh." She said it without thinking and, once said, could not draw it back. Her eyes darted away from his, knowing she had revealed too much. "You have a very nice laugh," she said lightly, as if it was of little significance.

  "Do you think so?"

  "Well, it is not so fine as Lord Southerton's, but it is a shade more robust than the marquess's. Though, now that I consider it, perhaps robust does not quite serve. Have you been to the zoo, my lord? There is an animal there that has a laugh—"

  He kissed her. There was nothing else for it. If he let her, Elizabeth would spend the rest of the night trying to assign no importance to what had just spilled past her lips. It would be highly diverting, somewhat humbling, and certainly an invention from beginning to end. Far better to kiss her.

  "Oh." She blinked at him widely when he raised his head.

  "Indeed."

  It was all she could do not to bring her fingertips to her mouth. It was something an ingenue would do, she thought. Something she had done once. She did not know what bothered her more: that she remembered being so innocent, or that he made her feel that way again. She heard herself ask in a tight little voice, "Do you want to take me now?"

  She was like a cornered kitten, he decided. Back arched. Spitting. Tiny claws bared. He was beginning to know this aspect of her character better, not that he felt any assurance about the best way to handle it. Upon reflection, he suspected that it was something about the kiss that troubled her. Then again, perhaps it was only a wayward thought that had prompted this reaction. Whatever the source, she was clearly feeling threatened.

  Northam ignored her tone and responded only to the words."No," he said. He made a show of choosing a pillow, plumping it, and stuffing it behind the small of his back for his comfort. "Not just at this time. Perhaps later." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her mouth open, then close again. Good. Keeping her confused seemed to render her speechless. He filed this tactic away. He had virtually no doubt he would be presented with the opportunity to use it in the future.

  Settling comfortably back against the headboard again, he said, "I believe I was telling you about Hambrick Hall. None of us was very popular with the other boys. I was too serious. South was too brilliant. And East... well, East was rather... how shall I put it?... well, round in those days."

  Elizabeth was interested in spite of herself."Do you mean to say he was a roly-poly?"

  "Just so. Almost as wide as he was tall. His mother was forever sending him boxes of baked goods. Scones. Cakes. Hot cross buns. He was fond of the icing and picking out the raisins. What was left he fed to the birds."

  "He doesn't sound the kind of person Mr. Marchman would have picked on."

  "Oh, East had a reputation as a thrasher. He could knock anyone down. Had to. He was always being teased, and there were the cakes to protect, you know." Northam caught a glimpse of Elizabeth's smile. "So Marchman went after him. Never ridiculed him about his size, simply tried to remove his rep as the best thrasher."

  "What happened?"

  "You may have noticed that the marquess does not have a bump on his nose," he said dryly. "East won, of course. Several times. I don't know precisely how the fighting ended and the friendships began, but one day we noticed we were all sharing Eastlyn's feast from home and that was that."

  "And you never thought to exclude Mr. Marchman?"

  "Never."

  "It seems he caused you all a good deal of trouble."

  "He brought us together."

  "The Compass Club," she said quietly.

  "Mm. It was odd, that. None of us expected to inherit titles one day. It was one of the things that set us apart from many other students at Hambrick, most particularly the Bishops. Marchman's contention was that everyone in England was in line for a bit of land, a country home, and a title. It was only that so many people had to die first before one could claim it. To prove his point, he showed how each one of us could come by another name. Privately we took to calling ourselves by them."

  "Rather ghoulish."

  "It sounds so now. It wasn't at the time. Just a bit of silliness. There wasn't one among us who preferred a title. I was already determined to be a soldier. South intended he should serve in the Royal Navy. East fancied himself a diplomat, someone who could attend state dinners but still mend things."

  "And Mr. Marchman?"

  Northam paused then answered carefully, "It is not so easy to say about West."

  Elizabeth considered pressing him, then decided better of it. "It all came about though, didn't it?"

  "Our titles? Yes. That all came about. Or will. There is still Marchman." He was quiet a moment, thoughtful. When he began again it was with more deliberation. "I was with the colonel in India when I received word that my brother had died. It was the influenza. I became Viscount Richmond. A month later a letter reached me in Delhi that my father had succumbed to the same illness. I did not even know he had taken sick."

  "And so you became the earl."

  He nodded. "Responsibilities to my family meant resigning my commission and returning home."

  "Do you miss the soldiering?"

  "Sometimes. I miss my father and brother a great deal more."

  "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean—"

  He found her hand, squeezed it. "I know what you meant. The truth is, I had lived in dread of them dying for years. When it finally happened there was almost a sense of relief, and then, of course, the terrible burden of guilt that settled on me. I thought I should have been able to do something."

  Elizabeth was not surprised. Northam's nature remained unchanged.

  "I was not much good to my mother or my sisters early on. It was not that I drank too much or gambled the family fortune away; it was simply that I was not there. It is considerably difficult to explain. I was going through each day, each week, because o
ne knows it is expected, but feeling disconnected from it all, completing the routines of living without any sense of life."

  Elizabeth thought he had explained it rather well. Or perhaps it was only that she had intimate knowledge of the very same. "What changed circumstances for you?"

  He shrugged. "Small things. Many things. My grandfather's lectures were compelling, if only because they were so unwelcome. My mother was able to see through her haze of pain to my own. Leticia married. Pamela had her coming out. Regina left the schoolroom." He stopped, considering all those things, then added one more. "And the colonel sent for me."

  "He did? To see how you were getting on?"

  "Something like that."

  "Oh," she said. "He put you up to some intrigue, no doubt. Blackwood is known for that, or so I've heard my father say. He never discusses the same with me. I take it your meeting with him went a long way to piquing your interest in living again."

  "It damn near got me killed."

  She laughed as he intended she should. It was probably no exaggeration of the truth, she thought, yet she knew his put off, sour expression was feigned. Northam had a great deal of admiration for her late mother's cousin. "And so here you are. You will have something of extreme interest to report to Blackwood this time around, will you not?"

  On this subject Northam felt no compunction to tell the truth. "I was only asked to encourage you to write to him. I have done that."

  "My, you are a good soldier."

  "Yes," he said, with none of her lightness of feeling. "I am."

  Elizabeth knew her tone had been misplaced, but it had not been without purpose. She did not apologize. "It's very late," she said.

  "It is. Do you mention it as a casual observation or as a prelude to asking me to leave?"

  "You should leave."

  And that, he supposed, answered his question. He was tempted to ask if she had another liaison after him. He held back, dismissing it as unfair and unwise. "How is it that no hint of scandal has ever touched you?" he asked instead.

  She made no reply, choosing to stare at her hands in her lap.

  "It seems odd that I've never heard talk about your... your..."

  "My promiscuous proclivities."

  "Yes, that might be an apt description."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "Perhaps you've heard nothing because you travel in different circles."

  "The ton has but one carousel," he said. "Sooner or later everyone meets the same painted horses."

  "That is a... umm... unique perspective."

  "My grandfather's, I'm afraid. It's the strangest thing, Elizabeth, but you bring out his voice in me. I'm not thanking you for it, either. I am two and thirty, not two and eighty."

  "And here I had been thinking how much younger than me you seemed."

  Northam was fairly certain he should not accept that as a compliment. "How is that?"

  "It's just that you seem so unaffected. I suppose, in light of what you've told me, that's not remotely true, yet I cannot shake the feeling that you are never worried overmuch, that you believe in a kind fate, and that if your wits fail you, your charm will carry the day. It keeps you young, I think."

  Northam found that with Elizabeth, his first response was rarely the most considered one. He held back a moment. "You have been too long alone, Elizabeth. Family. Friends. They are what see one through."

  "I have friends," she said. "Louise. The baron. They have been very good to me."

  He doubted she knew how much by rote her response sounded. She would have been more careful to make it seem otherwise. "Of course there is your family."

  "Yes."

  "I see." And he did. Elizabeth was every bit as alone as she appeared to him. "So you have no need of my friendship."

  "Everyone can use more friends, my lord. It is your help I have no need of."

  "You called me North a while ago."

  "I did?" She thought back. "I suppose I did, my lord."

  A chuckle rumbled at the back of his throat. She could be very provoking if he let her. "What happens after this rout?" he asked. "Will I see you again?"

  "You said it yourself. The ton has but one carousel. It is inevitable that we'll meet from time to time."

  "And will you share my bed?"

  "I must point out that you are sharing mine."

  "So I am. Will you permit me the same privilege in the future?"

  Elizabeth was not at all certain she had permitted it this time. It just seemed to happen. "I think not."

  "Then you would not consent to having me set you up in a house of your own."

  She couldn't even pretend to be insulted."Most definitely not." She moved from his side, putting some space between them on the bed. Far from turning her back on North, she faced him, drawing her knees up to her chest as she regarded him curiously. Her chemise fell around her like a cloud. "Did you think I might?"

  "No, but it seemed that I should make the offer."

  "Oh, then by all means, you may consider that you have done right by me."

  "And marriage?"

  She paled a little but went on gamely. "I see no reason why you should not do so. There is some pressure from your mother, I collect."

  "Considerable pressure."

  "And there is the wager."

  "Yes. There is the Compass Club to take into account."

  "Then might I again suggest Miss Caruthers? Or Miss Farthingale. Lady Anne also comes to—" She gave a little squeal as he caught her wrist and tumbled her forward. She fell into his arms still curled in a ball. Her voice was soft, a shade breathless."They do not interest you? Then perhaps Lady Martha. She is, by all accounts, a most—"

  "Marry me, Elizabeth."

  Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him, stunned, before she found the presence of mind to attempt to push away. He held her fast, his fingers pressing firmly into the flesh of her upper arms. "Do not ruin everything," she said tightly. "You know what I am."

  "No." His voice was gentle. "I know what you think you are."

  She pushed at his chest again and got no farther from him than she had before. Continued struggle, it seemed, was not only undignified but futile. "I will not allow you to save me," she told him. "You have some notion that I require rescuing. It is not true, Northam. Have done with me."

  He held her eyes, not missing the light of panic that brightened the shards of gold. "Why are you trying to save me, Elizabeth?"

  "I am not. I—"

  "You are. You think you present some danger to me. You said as much soon after I met you." He shook his head. "You cannot take it back now. You said my life would not be my own if you were in it. You were right about that, though I don't think you meant it in quite the way it has happened." He regarded her steadily. "My life is not my own any longer, Elizabeth."

  Northam waited. She was so very pale. She seemed to shrink into herself. After a moment tears made her eyes liquid. Hurt? Fear? Pity? He didn't know and he didn't ask. He simply pulled her closer, released her arms so he could wrap his around her, and waited for her to unfold against him and sob out the misery she had no other way to express.

  She cried at length. It was no soft weeping but shudders that racked her. She stuffed her knuckles against her mouth, embarrassed by the sounds she made reaching deep for another breath. He rested his lips against her hair, sometimes his cheek. He never tried to quiet her. His body became her sanctuary, the circle of his arms a place where she could know safety.

  Northam found a handkerchief in the bedside table and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Over the top of her head he smiled to himself. He was careful not to let her see it when he lifted her chin to look at her face. Taking the balled up handkerchief from her fist, he used it to erase the tracings of tears from her cheeks and the corners of her eyes. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, a tender, familial kiss. For reasons he did not entirely understand, she began weeping anew.

  When she finished it was because she was asleep in
his arms.

  In time, Northam joined her. They lay curled like spoons in a drawer, heads on the same pillow, a sheet pulled over them. He did not know how long they slept that way. It was still dark when he woke. The candles had both been gutted and only a sliver of moonlight slipped through an opening in the curtains. He was lying on his back. At the first trickle of something wet and warm on his belly he jerked up his knees protectively.

  Elizabeth's low laughter greeted him. "It is only I, my lord," she said. "Come to assist you with your ablutions." She twisted the damp cloth in her hands and wrung out more droplets of water. His knees knocked hers as he tried to escape. She snapped him smartly on the stomach with one end of the cloth.

  "Ow."

  "Show some backbone."

  "I have heard tales of a Chinese water torture."

  "I do not think it is this one."

  Northam tended to agree. He eased down his knees. "The water could be a tad warmer."

  "In a few minutes you'll be complaining it is too hot."

  Real Chinese water torture couldn't have dragged that admission from him, though he found it to be true enough. Elizabeth used the damp cloth on him to erase all trace of their last lovemaking. She was thorough, pulling back his foreskin to trickle water over the head. Her touch was not delicate but perfunctory. Darkness, he thought, made her bold. What she did made him hard. His penis started to swell long before she abandoned the cloth in favor of her hands, and by the time she lowered her mouth to him, he was ready to come out of his skin.

  The orgasm that shuddered through him had the same intensity as Elizabeth's sobs. He cried out so that she was forced to cover his mouth with hers, swallowing even the sound of her name. She held him, fingering his hair until his body lay quiet again and his breathing came easily.

  His head rested on her breast. He curled one hand in the filmy fabric of her gown, pulling it tight across her waist and hip. She had had no real pleasure tonight, he knew. Their coupling had been for him; she had seen to that. And now this...