Outrageous Confessions of Lady Deborah Page 15

  ‘Elliot, I can’t…’

  His mouth smothered her protests. His lips were gentle, soft, and persuasive. He tugged her closer, so that their interlaced hands were pressed against his chest, and she made no attempt to resist. Warmth and light flooded her.

  Elliot released her just as the warmth turned to heat. ‘You see,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose, ‘you can.’

  She could think of nothing to say. Risking a glance at him through her lashes, she caught his smile and couldn’t help returning it. She had missed him. She only just caught the words before they betrayed her.

  ‘You look different,’ he said.

  ‘A new dress. Do you like it?’ The walking dress had been an impulse purchase from Madame LeClerc’s in Bond Street, which had cost her a ridiculous amount of her savings. The round gown of primrose-jaconet muslin was simple enough, but the three rows of French work around the hem made it much more fashionable and elegant than anything she had ever worn. The matching spencer was mint green with full puffed sleeves trimmed with satin, and the same satin lined her leghorn bonnet. She was absurdly pleased that Elliot had noticed. She had bought it for herself, because she wished to have some colour in her wardrobe, but she had worn it for him.

  He took her hand and bowed over it. ‘New gloves, too. You look quite charming.’

  Deborah blushed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve been sparring. I suspect I look as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge.’

  ‘A little windswept.’ She had missed him. She liked him this way, slightly dishevelled, smelling of clean sweat. Deborah reached up to straighten his neckcloth, then pushed back a lock of black silky hair from his brow, realising too late what she was doing and so deciding to pretend that she hadn’t. ‘Are you any good—as a boxer, I mean?’ She allowed herself a moment to imagine him, stripped to the waist, his torso glistening. She liked that he was so tall. And so solid. Muscle-packed described him perfectly. Everything about him was so very masculine and so very Elliot. And so very, very not Jeremy. ‘Have you got—is it science?

  Elliot laughed. ‘I’m good enough, but I’m too tall. I spar simply to exercise. In the army, I spent my time breaking up mills rather than taking part in them. When it came to the fancy, Henry was your man.’ His smile faded as he realised what he’d said. He never mentioned Henry in casual conversation. He ushered Deborah into a chair and sat down opposite her.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’m pleased you mentioned Henry. I’ve been thinking about him.’

  ‘And?’ Elliot stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He wondered what on earth was coming next. Judging by the way Deborah was making a play of untying her bonnet strings, they were getting to the crux of her visit.

  ‘I’m embarrassed at how little I know of the war,’ she said, having carefully placed her hat on the floor at her feet. ‘The suffering that went on in the battlefields, the suffering that goes on still, right under our noses. The sheer extent of it all, what your men and their families endured and surrendered so that we could have peace—it’s overwhelming. So many men must have gone through what Henry did. Their families and friends and comrades must be struggling with their losses, too.’

  Deborah paused, waiting for Elliot to comment, risking a glance at him, but his face was impassive. ‘You’ve made me realise I’ve been walking about with my eyes closed—well, me and practically everyone else. The press make such a fuss about the begging and the pilfering, the tavern brawls and the picking of pockets which have increased so dramatically since Waterloo. And housebreaking.’ She risked a small smile. ‘The reports about the Peacock’s activities—they are interested only in the fact that the law has been broken. No one thinks to question why.’

  ‘Except my brother-in-law,’ Elliot said drily. ‘He was here this morning, subtly warning me off. He’s put two and two together and near as dammit made four.’

  Deborah’s eyes widened. ‘What will he do?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need to fear, I gave him short shift and he’s no idea of your involvement. Alex won’t inform—the last thing he wants is to see me brought to justice, for that would upset Lizzie, and not upsetting Lizzie is all he really cares about.’

  ‘All the same, Elliot, it is surely becoming far too risky for you to continue as the Peacock.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s more a case of running out of victims, to be honest. I’ve almost exhausted the list of those who can be held directly accountable. I could always turn Robin Hood, I suppose.’ Elliot grinned. ‘Steal from the rich to give to the deserving poor. That would certainly give me an occupation for life.’

  ‘If you did that, I suspect your brother-in-law would turn Sheriff of Nottingham,’ Deborah said with a chuckle.

  She began to twist her gloves between her fingers. ‘It’s not enough though, is it? However much the Peacock can steal, there have been more than three hundred thousand men demobilised—you see, I do listen. No matter how successful you are, the need will always be too great. Three hundred thousand men, Elliot—it’s such an incredible number. And what about the thousands and thousands who did not come home, the thousands more who are too maimed to look for work? Against such a mountainous problem, housebreaking, no matter how successful, can only scratch the surface of need.’

  ‘You put it depressingly well.’

  ‘I’m not trying to make what you’ve done sound paltry,’ Deborah said earnestly. ‘What you’ve done is—is—I can’t tell you how much I admire you. You have made me realise how inward-looking I have allowed my own life to become. You’ve made me think and you’ve made me want to help. I don’t care that you’ve broken the law to further your aims, the law deserves to be broken, if doing so helps just a little.’

  Elliot’s mouth curled into a smile once more. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I shall employ you to speak on my behalf at my trial, should it come to that.’

  ‘I sincerely hope it shall not,’ Deborah replied curtly.

  ‘Then we are at one on that,’ he said, regretting the flippant tone immediately as she began to retreat behind her haughty look. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Deborah studied him for a moment, her lips pursed. Obviously deciding he passed muster, she gave one of her serious little nods that always, rather perversely, made Elliot want to laugh. He refrained and instead gave her an encouraging look. ‘You have a plan for raising funds without breaking and entering. Go on, I promise you I’m interested.’

  ‘Very well, then. Pamphlets and preaching are how philanthropists who aren’t housebreakers raise money, but pamphlets are such dull things and preachers are generally more worthy than interesting. It is no wonder that they raise more hackles than funds,’ Deborah said caustically. ‘I think what we need is a story. A real story about a real man, something dramatic, not a dull old piece of polemic. If we could tell people what this man was really like—funny, brave and flawed—if we could show, in the language of a novel, what happened to him, how he suffered and died—how could they not listen? If we could do that, no one would be able to ignore his legacy.’

  Deborah spoke quickly in the rush to make him understand, to share her enthusiasm for her idea, leaning forwards in her seat, her gaze fixed on his. ‘I’m talking about Henry’s story, Elliot. Henry’s bravery, Henry’s sacrifices, Henry’s life cut tragically short—that’s a story that needs to be told, don’t you think? I’m a writer, I can tell it, but I need your help. What do you say?’ She sat back and tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear, gazing at him expectantly.

  ‘I’m not sure what to say,’ Elliot answered, somewhat dazed. ‘What exactly are you asking of me?’

  ‘Tell me about Henry. Show me where all the money the Peacock earns goes. Help me to understand what else needs to be done. Help me to reach those who won’t or don’t listen now. Such a story could make a huge difference, in the right hands. Your hands, for instance.’

  ‘What would I do with
it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Deborah said candidly. ‘I was hoping that you’d have some ideas.’ She grinned. ‘I’d rule out becoming a Member of Parliament, though. Frankly, the more I think about it, the less I can see you joining political forces with the likes of Wellington.’

  ‘There we are in complete agreement.’ Elliot got to his feet and disentangled Deborah’s new gloves from her restlessly twisting fingers, putting them out of reach on the window seat along with her bonnet, which he retrieved from the floor. ‘My sister and her husband have been making a concerted effort to introduce me to the many members of the Establishment in their acquaintance, but I’m sorry to say that the more I see of the lot of them, the more I am certain that I don’t want to join their club.’

  ‘Despite the fact that there would be a delicious irony in knowing that they had taken a Government spy-turned-housebreaker for one of their own, I think you’re right,’ Deborah said. ‘Elliot, I don’t pretend to have a fully formed battle plan, but I do believe that I have the kernel of a very powerful weapon. I want so desperately to help and I believe that doing so will give me a purpose that I lack.’

  Deborah fished for her gloves, found her lap empty and began to lace her fingers together instead. ‘You see, I am being honest. I cannot pretend to be wholly

  altruistic.’ She had had no intention of saying anything of the ghosts which she had set loose these last few days, so it had taken her unawares, this sudden temptation to speak. But where to begin? And how much could she say, before Elliot began first to pity, then to despise her? She couldn’t do it. He was the only person in her life who had no connection with her past and she wanted to keep it that way. ‘I have been at a loss, since Jeremy died,’ she said awkwardly instead.

  ‘You told me once that you didn’t know who you were.’

  ‘Did I?’ Deborah grimaced. ‘Well, at least I know now who I don’t want to be. I’ve had enough of being Jeremy’s widow. And enough of being—of writing the stories I write. It’s time for a change.’

  ‘For both of us, you mean?’ Elliot said wryly.

  Deciding it was wiser not to rise to this bait, Deborah shrugged.

  Elliot got to his feet, gazing sightlessly out of the window. ‘It’s a new approach, there’s no doubt about it,’ he said. ‘Do you really think you can write something which will sell?’

  ‘I have done before. This will certainly be different. I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.’

  Elliot held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Then so, too, am I,’ he said, laughing. ‘If only they would allow women into politics, I’d put you forwards. You have most expertly manoeuvred me into a corner.’

  ‘Yes, but is it one from which you wish to escape?’

  She was offering him a get-out, but Elliot had already decided not to accept it. Deborah’s eyes had a sparkle to them today; there was a vibrancy about her that he hadn’t seen in the cold light of day before. It roused him, just as it had when they had broken into houses together. He was touched, too, not so much by what she proposed as by the thoughtfulness and understanding which had led to it. Whether something productive would come of their collaboration he had no idea, but the opportunity it offered to postpone thinking about the future made Elliot more than happy to agree. That, and the rather more enticing opportunity her proposition presented. ‘You realise,’ he said musingly, ‘that we’d be forced into each other’s company for significant amounts of time if we’re to do this properly?’

  Deborah studied her hands. ‘I am prepared to suffer for our cause, if you are,’ she said lightly.

  Suppressing a smile, Elliot tugged on the bell by the fireplace. He was glad he had resisted opening that parcel of books. Relieved he had resisted the temptation to dig into the scandal which Lizzie had hinted surrounded Jeremy’s death. Here was the opportunity to persuade Deborah to trust him enough to confide in him herself. ‘Champagne,’ he ordered the astonished underling who answered the summons. ‘Unconventional, I know, in the middle of the day,’ he said to Deborah, in response to her raised eyebrow, ‘but that seems to me a perfect reason to drink it, for you are the most unconventional female I have ever met.’

  Relieving his servant of the tray when he returned a few minutes later, Elliot closed the door firmly behind him. ‘Stand up, I have a toast to make.’ He handed Deborah a glass full of bubbles. ‘To a unique partnership and a most unique woman,’ he said, smiling. ‘Let us drink to our success. To us.’

  His smile was half-mocking, wholly sensual. Their eyes met and locked. A shock of awareness made Deborah’s skin prickle. ‘To us,’ she said. As she touched her glass to Elliot’s, she imagined their lips meeting. She sipped and the champagne bubbles tickled her tongue. The fierce force of his gaze made her look up again. The message in those dark eyes reflected her thoughts. Mesmerised, Deborah stepped into his arms.

  The touch of his lips on hers made her head spin. Save for that first time in the park, she had never kissed him in daylight before—not properly. It felt different. His mouth was warm on hers, his hands cradled her face, making her feel precious. Their lips clung, then parted. It was the sweetness of it which dazed her. The perfection of it. The completeness, for it was a beginning and an end in itself. She touched Elliot’s cheek, rough with the day’s growth of stubble. His thumbs stroked the line of her jaw. Their eyes met in a smile which was different, too. Like the kiss, a beginning and an end in itself.

  Deborah disengaged herself and Elliot let her go. She lifted her glass again. ‘And to Henry,’ she said.

  ‘To Henry,’ Elliot replied gruffly.

  Chapter Eight

  They spent the next hour laughing over foolish plans and drinking the champagne. ‘I think the bubbles have gone to my head,’ Deborah told Elliot as she struggled with her bonnet strings, ‘for this ribbon simply refuses to co-operate.’

  ‘Here, let me.’

  ‘Certainly not. Gentlemen don’t tie lady’s ribbons.’

  ‘No, more often than not they untie them.’ Elliot untangled the crushed satin from Deborah’s fingers. It hadn’t occurred to him that half a bottle of champagne would go to her head, but he was amused and charmed by the effect.

  ‘Have you untied many ribbons?’ Deborah asked, grasping Elliot’s wrist and quite ruining the bow he had been about to finish.

  ‘A gentleman never discusses such things.’

  ‘You are a spy and a housebreaker, which should preclude you from being a gentleman.’ Deborah thought this over, frowning. ‘But it doesn’t. How strange. So, have you known lots and lots of beautiful women?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘And drunk champagne with them, in the middle of the afternoon?’

  An image of himself, sprawled naked on a bed with satin sheets, popped into Elliot’s head. Rose satin. He’d hated those sheets. He couldn’t for the life of him remember who they belonged to, though.

  ‘You have!’ Deborah exclaimed indignantly.

  Despite the champagne, her gaze was remarkably clear-sighted. She would know if he lied. ‘I have,’ Elliot confessed with a wicked smile, ‘but I’ve never done it with all my clothes on.’ He straightened Deborah’s bonnet. ‘You, madam, have the honour of that first,’ he said, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘Though if you were willing, I would of course be more than happy to oblige you by divesting us both of clothes and calling for another bottle.’

  ‘Oh! That was…’

  ‘Outrageous? Shocking? Scandalous?’

  ‘Delightful, is what I was going to say, actually,’ Deborah said, turning up her nose, ‘but since you obviously didn’t mean it, I shan’t oblige you now.’

  For a startled moment, Elliot was quite speechless. It was her eyes that gave her away, positively dancing with mirth. ‘You are a minx, did you know that?’

  The low, husky note of his laughter whispered over her skin, making her acutely aware of his masculinity, making her intensely aware of her own femininity. Deborah’s smile wobble
d as heat washed over her. Her heart began to beat erratically. Her mouth was dry. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him. The intensity of her wanting made her reach for him. ‘Elliot.’

  His laughter faded as he caught the hand she held out to him. She saw it in his eyes, the reflection of her desires, and it was the strength of it which brought her to her senses. Too much. ‘I think I should go home now.’

  Elliot hesitated. His fingers twined with hers. Then he nodded. ‘Perhaps you should.’ He rang the bell, asked his servant to call a hack, then retrieved her gloves from the window seat and helped her button them. ‘I’ll call for you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Deborah.’ He tilted her chin up, so she could not avoid looking at him. ‘Whether we are fully clothed or naked as nature intended, you are the only woman I want to drink champagne with in the middle of the day. Or the middle of the night, for that matter. I promise.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Elliot said, relieved to see that she was smiling again. Quite enchanted, he kissed her. Then he straightened her bonnet again. He would have kissed her again, had not his servant interrupted them with the information that her transport was waiting.

  * * *

  ‘I thought we’d start at the dispensary in Spitalfields,’ Elliot said, extending a hand to help Deborah into his curricle. He picked up the reins and set the horses off at a smart trot. Traffic was light at this time of day, after the rush of morning deliveries, before the modish hour for shopping. ‘How is your head today?’

  ‘Much clearer, thank you,’ Deborah replied primly, keeping her eyes fixed firmly ahead.

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed, you have no need to be.’

  ‘I got hiccups in the hackney on the way home. I am eight and twenty, far beyond the age for hiccups. It was mortifying.’