In the ensuing two weeks Ian managed to buy back Elizabeth’s emeralds and Havenhurst, but he was unable to find a trace of his wife. The town house in London felt like a prison, not a home, and still he waited, sensing somehow that Elizabeth was putting him through this torment to teach him some kind of well-deserved lesson.
He returned to Montmayne, where, for several more weeks, he prowled about its rooms, paced a track in the drawing room carpet, and stared into its marble-fronted fireplaces as if the answer would be there in the flames. Finally he could stand it no more. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, and when he tried, he made mistakes. Worse, he was beginning to be haunted with walking nightmares that she’d come to harm-or that she was falling in love with someone kinder than he-and the tormenting illusions followed him from room to room.
On a clear, cold day in early December, after leaving instructions with his footmen, butler, and even his cook that he was to be notified immediately if any word at all was received from Elizabeth, he left for the cottage in Scotland. It was the one place where he might find peace from the throbbing emptiness that was gnawing away at him with a pain that increased unbearably from day to day, because he no longer really believed she would ever contact him.
In the center of the room Elizabeth stood stock still, clasping and unclasping her hands, watching the handle turn, unable to breathe with the tension. The door swung open, admitting a blast of frigid air and a tall, broad-shouldered man who glanced at Elizabeth in the firelight and said, “Henry, it wasn’t necess-“
Ian broke off, the door still open, staring at what he momentarily thought was a hallucination, a trick of the flames dancing in the fireplace, and then he realized the vision was real: Elizabeth was standing perfectly still, looking at him. And lying at her feet was a young Labrador retriever.
Trying to buy time, Ian turned around and carefully closed the door as if latching it with precision were the most paramount thing in his life, while he tried to decide whether she’d looked happy or not to see him. In the long lonely nights without her, he’d rehearsed dozens of speeches to her-from stinging lectures to gentle discussions. Now, when the time was finally here, he could not remember one damn word of any of them.
Left with no other choice, he took the only neutral course available. Turning back to the room, Ian looked at the Labrador. “Who’s this?” he asked, walking forward and crouching down to pet the dog, because he didn’t know what the hell to say to his wife.
Elizabeth swallowed her disappointment as he ignored her and stroked the Labrador’s glossy black head. “I-I call her Shadow.”
The sound of her voice was so sweet, Ian almost pulled her down into his arms. Instead, he glanced at her, thinking it encouraging she’d named her dog after his. “Nice name.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to hide her sudden wayward smile. “Original, too.”
The smile hit Ian like a blow to the head, snapping him out of his untimely and unsuitable preoccupation with the dog. Straightening, he backed up a step and leaned his hip against the table, his weight braced on his opposite leg.
Elizabeth instantly noticed the altering of his expression and watched nervously as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching her, his face inscrutable. “You-you look well,” she said, thinking he looked unbearably handsome.
“I’m perfectly fine,” he assured her, his gaze level. “Remarkably well, actually, for a man who hasn’t seen the sun shine in more than three months, or been able to sleep without drinking a bottle of brandy.”
His tone was so frank and unemotional that Elizabeth didn’t immediately grasp what he was saying. When she did, tears of joy and relief sprang to her eyes as he continued: “I’ve been working very hard. Unfortunately, I rarely get anything accomplished, and when I do, it’s generally wrong. All things considered, I would say that I’m doing very well-for a man who’s been more than half dead for three months.”
Ian saw the tears shimmering in her magnificent eyes, and one of them traced unheeded down her smooth cheek.
With a raw ache in his voice he said, “If you would take one step forward, darling, you could cry in my arms. And while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done-“ Unable to wait, Ian caught her, pulling her tightly against him. “And when I’m finished,” he whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her arms around him and wept brokenly, “you can help me find a way to forgive myself.”
Tortured by her tears, he clasped her tighter and rubbed his jaw against her temple, his voice a ravaged whisper: “I’m sorry,” he told her. He cupped her face between his palms, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes, his thumbs moving over her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his. “I’m so damned sorry.
With a raw ache in his voice he said, “If you would take one step forward, darling, you could cry in my arms. And while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done-“ Unable to wait, Ian caught her, pulling her tightly against him. “And when I’m finished,” he whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her arms around him and wept brokenly, “you can help me find a way to forgive myself.”
Tortured by her tears, he clasped her tighter and rubbed his jaw against her temple, his voice a ravaged whisper: “I’m sorry,” he told her. He cupped her face between his palms, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes, his thumbs moving over her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his. “I’m so damned sorry.”
She kissed him back, holding him fiercely to her while shattered sobs racked her slender body and tears poured from her eyes. Tormented by her anguish, Ian dragged his mouth from hers, kissing her wet cheeks, running his hands over her shaking back and shoulders, trying to comfort her. “Please darling, don’t cry anymore,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Please don’t.” She held him tighter, weeping, her cheek pressed to his chest, her tears soaking his heavy woolen shirt and tearing at his heart.
“Don’t,” Ian whispered, his voice raw with his own unshed tears. “You’re tearing me apart.” An instant after he said those words, he realized that she’d stop crying to keep from hurting him, and he felt her shudder, trying valiantly to get control. He cupped the back of her head, crumpling the silk of her hair, holding her face pressed to his chest, imagining the nights he’d made her weep like this, despising himself with a virulence that was almost past bearing.
He’d driven her here, to hide from the vengeance of his divorce petition, and still she had been waiting for him. In all the endless weeks since she’d confronted him in his study and warned him she wouldn’t let him put her out of his life, Ian had never imagined that she would be hurting like this. She was twenty years old and she had loved him. In return, he had tried to divorce her, publicly scorned her, privately humiliated her, and then he had driven her here to weep in solitude and wait for him. Self-loathing and shame poured through him like hot acid, almost doubling him over. Humbly, he whispered, “Will you come upstairs with me?”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing his chest, and he swung her into his arms, cradling her tenderly against him, brushing his lips against her forehead. He carried her upstairs, intending to take her to bed and give her so much pleasure that-at least for tonight-she’d be able to forget the misery he’d caused her.
You see,” she explained slowly, “I anticipated that you might send me away until you got over your anger, or that you’d live with me and retaliate in private-things that an ordinary man might do. But I never imagined you would try to put a permanent end to our marriage. And to me. I should have anticipated that, knowing what Duncan had told me about you, but I was counting too much on the fact that, before I ran away, you’d said you loved me-“
“You know damned well I did. And I do. For God’s sake, if you don’t believe anything else I’ve ever said to you, at least believe that.”
He expected her to argue, but she didn’t, and Ian realized that she might be young, and inexperienced, but she was also very wise. “I know you did,” she told him, softly. “If you hadn’t loved me so deeply, I could never have hurt you as much as I did-and you wouldn’t have needed to put an end to the possibility I could ever do it again. I realized that was what you were doing, when I stood in your study and you told me you were divorcing me. If I hadn’t understood it, and you, I could never have kept fighting for you all this time.”
“I won’t argue with your conclusion, but I will swear to you not to ever do anything like that again to you.”
“Thank you. I don’t think I could bear it another time.”
“Could you enlighten me as to what Duncan told you to make you arrive at all that?”
Her smile was filled with tenderness and understanding. “He told me what you did when you returned home and discovered your family had died.”
“What did I do?”
“You severed yourself from the only other thing you loved-a black Labrador named Shadow. You did it so that you couldn’t be hurt anymore-at least not by anything over which you had control. You did essentially the same thing, although far more drastically, when you tried to divorce me.”
“In your place,” Ian said, his voice rough with emotion as he laid his hand against her cheek, “I think I’d hate me.”
His wife turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. “Do you know,” she said with a teary smile, “how it feels to know I am loved so much…” She shook her head as if trying to find a better way to explain, and began again, her voice shaking with love. “Do you know what I notice whenever we are out in company?”
Unable to restrain himself, Ian pulled her into his arms, holding her against his heart. “No,” he whispered, “what do you notice?”
“I notice the way other men treat their wives, the way they look at them, or speak to them. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“I am the only wife,” she whispered achingly, “with the exception of Alex, whose husband adores her and doesn’t care if the whole world knows it. And I absolutely know,” she added with a soft smile, “that I am the only wife whose husband has ever tried to seduce her in front of the Hospital Fund Raising Committee.”
His arms tightened around her, and with a groaning laugh, Ian tried, very successfully, to seduce his wife on the sofa.
Stroking her hair, he swallowed and spoke, but his voice was shattered. “I love you,” he said, telling her what she had told him that terrible day in his study. “I never stopped loving you.”
She raised her face to his, and her answer made his chest ache. “I know.”
“How did you know, sweetheart?” he asked, trying to smile.
“Because,” she said, “I wanted it so badly to be true, and you’ve always given me everything I wanted. I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t do it, just one more time. Just once more.”
She moved slightly and Ian checked her, tightening his arms. “Stay still, darling,” he whispered tenderly, and seeing her confusion, he told her, “because our child is being conceived.”
Her eyes searched his. “Why do you think so?”
“Because,” he said, slowly smoothing her hair off her cheek, “I want it so badly to be true, and you’ve always given me everything I wanted.” A lump of emotion swelled in Ian’s chest as she pressed closer against him, cradled in his arms, not moving. She was willing it to be true; he knew it as surely as he knew that, somehow, it was.
When she was turning the bacon, he came up behind her, his hands settling on her waist as he peered over her shoulder. “That looks awfully edible,” he teased. “I was rather counting on our ‘traditional’ breakfast.”
She smiled and let him turn her around. “When do we have to return?” she asked, thinking whimsically of how cozy it was up here with him.
“How does two months sound?”
“It sounds wonderful, but are you certain you won’t be bored-or worried about neglecting your business affairs?”
“If they were going to suffer overmuch from my neglect, my love, we’d have pockets to let after the last three months. Evidently,” he continued with a grin, “I’m much better organized than I thought. Besides, Jordan will let me know if there’s a particular problem that needs my attention.”
“Duncan has provided me with nearly a hundred books,” she said, trying to think of ways he could occupy his time if they stayed, “but you’ve probably read them already, and, even if you haven’t,” she said with laughing exaggeration, “you’d be done with the lot of them by Wednesday. I’m afraid you’ll be bored.”
“It will be difficult for me,” he agreed dryly. “Snowbound up here with you. Without books or business to occupy my time, I wonder what I’ll do,” he added with a leer.
Snowbound up here with you. Without books or business to occupy my time, I wonder what I’ll do,” he added with a leer.
She blushed gorgeously, but her voice was serious as she studied his face. “If things hadn’t gone so well for you-if you hadn’t accumulated so much wealth-you could have been happy up here, couldn’t you?”
“With you?”
“Of course.”
His smile was as somber as hers. “Absolutely.”
“Although,” he added, linking her hands behind her back and drawing her a little closer, “you may not want to remain up here when you learn your emeralds are back in their cases at Montmayne.”
Her head snapped up, and her eyes shone with love and relief. “I’m so glad. When I realized Robert’s story had been fabrication, it hurt beyond belief to realize I’d sold them.”
“It’s going to hurt more,” he teased outrageously, “when you realize your bank draft to cover their cost was a little bit short. It cost me $45,000 to buy back the pieces that had already been sold, and $5,000 to buy the rest back from the jeweler you sold them to.”
“That-that unconscionable thief!” she burst out. “He only gave me $5,000 for all of them!” She shook her head in despair at Ian’s lack of bargaining prowess. “He took dreadful advantage of you.”
“I wasn’t concerned, however,” Ian continued teasing, enjoying himself hugely, “because I knew I’d get it all back out of your allowance. With interest, of course. According to my figures,” he said, pausing to calculate in his mind what it would have taken Elizabeth several minutes to figure out on paper, “as of today, you now owe me roughly $151,126.”
“One hundred and- what?” she cried, half laughing and half irate.
“There’s the little matter of the cost of Havenhurst. I added that in to the figure.”
Tears of joy clouded her magnificent eyes. “You bought it back from that horrid Mr. Demarcus?”
“Yes. And he is ‘horrid.’ He and your uncle ought to be partners. They both possess the instincts of camel traders. I paid $100,000 for it.”
Her mouth fell open, and admiration lit her face. “$100,000! Oh, Ian-“
“I love it when you say my name.”
She smiled at that, but her mind was still on the splendid bargain he’d gotten. “I could not have done a bit better!” she generously admitted. “That’s exactly what he paid for it, and he told me after the papers were signed that he was certain he could get $150,000 if he waited a year or so.”
“He probably could have.”
“But not from you!” she announced proudly.
“Not from me,” he agreed, grinning.
“Did he try?”
“He tried for $200,000 as soon as he realized how important it was to me to buy it back for you.”
“You must have been very clever and skillful to make him agree to accept so much less.”
Trying desperately not to laugh, Ian put his forehead against hers and nodded. “Very skillful,” he agreed in a suffocated voice.
“Still, I wonder why he was so agreeable?”
Swallowing a surge of laughter, Ian said, “I imagine it was because I showed him that I had something he needed more than he needed an exorbitant profit.”
“Really?” she said, fascinated and impressed. “What did you have?”
“His throat.
The last shot wasn’t bad,” he said, dropping the subject of the duel. “However, the target is the twig, not the leaves. The end of the twig,” he added.
“You must have missed the twig yourself,” she pointed out, lifting the gun and aiming it carefully, “since it’s still there.”
“True, but it’s shorter than it was when I started.”
Elizabeth momentarily forgot what she was doing as she stared at him in disbelief and amazement. “Do you mean you’ve been clipping the end off it?”
“A bit at a time,” he said, concentrating on her next shot.
She hit another leaf on the twig and handed the gun back to him.
“You’re not bad,” he complimented.
She was an outstanding shot, and his smile said he knew it as he handed her a freshly loaded gun. Elizabeth shook her head. “I’d rather see you try it.”
“You doubt my word?”
“Let’s merely say I’m a little skeptical.”
Taking the gun, Ian raised it in a swift arc, and without pausing to aim, he fired. Two inches of twig spun away and fell to the ground. Elizabeth was so impressed she laughed aloud. “Do you know,” she exclaimed with an admiring smile, “I didn’t entirely believe until this moment that you really meant to shoot the tassel off Robert’s boot!”
He sent her an amused glance as he reloaded and handed her the gun. “At the time I was sorely tempted to aim for something more vulnerable.
Ian’s method of dealing with Sir Francis Belhaven—who, his grandfather had discovered, was boasting that Elizabeth had spent several days with him—was less subtle and even more effective. “Belhaven,” Ian said after spending a half hour searching for the repulsive knight.
The stout man had whirled around in surprise, leaving his acquaintances straining to hear Ian’s low conversation with him. “I find your presence repugnant,” Ian had said in a dangerously quiet voice. “I dislike your coat, I dislike your shirt, and I dislike the knot in your neckcloth. In fact, I dislike you. Have I offended you enough yet, or shall I continue?”
Belhaven’s mouth dropped open, his pasty face turning a deathly gray. “Are—are you trying to force a—duel?”
“Normally one doesn’t bother shooting a repulsive toad, but in this instance I’m prepared to make an exception, since this toad doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut!”
“A duel, with you?” he gasped. “Why, it would be no contest—none at all. Everyone knows what kind of marksman you are. It would be murder.”
Ian leaned close, speaking between his clenched teeth. “It’s going to be murder, you miserable little opium-eater, unless you suddenly remember very vocally that you’ve been joking about Elizabeth Cameron’s visit.”
At the mention of opium the glass slid from his fingers and crashed to the floor. “I have just realized I was joking.”
“Good,” Ian said, restraining the urge to strangle him. “Now start remembering it all over the ballroom!”
“Now that, Thornton,” said an amused voice from Ian’s shoulder as Belhaven scurried off to begin doing as bidden, “makes me hesitate to say that he is not lying.” Still angry with Belhaven, Ian turned in surprise to see John Marchman standing there. “She was with me as well,” Marchman said. “All aboveboard, for God’s sake, so don’t look at me like I’m Belhaven. Her aunt Berta was there every moment.”
“Her what?” Ian said, caught between fury and amusement.
“Her Aunt Berta. Stout little woman who doesn’t say much.”
“See that you follow her example,” Ian warned darkly.
Who taught you to shoot?” he asked when she was standing beside him.
“Our coachman.”
“Better the coachman than your brother,” Ian mocked, handing her the loaded gun. “The target’s that bare twig over there—the one with the leaf hanging off the middle of it.”
Elizabeth flinched at his sarcastic reference to his duel with Robert. “I’m truly sorry about that duel,” she said, then she concentrated all her attention for the moment on the small twig.
Propping his shoulder against the tree trunk, Ian watched with amusement as she grasped the heavy gun in both her hands and raised it, biting her lip in concentration. “Your brother was a very poor shot,” he remarked.
She fired, nicking the leaf at its stem.
“I’m not,” she said with a jaunty sidewise smile. And then, because the duel was finally out in the open and he seemed to want to joke about it, she tried to follow suit: “If I’d been there, I daresay I would have—”
His brows lifted. “Waited for the call to fire, I hope?
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