To Court, Capture and Conquer

Amanda McCabe

London, 1589

Lord Edward Hartley plans to get revenge against Sir Thomas Sheldon, the man who destroyed his brother, by stealing Sheldon’s intended bride. Standing in his way is Lady Elizabeth Gilbert, the girl’s chaperone and a reputed paragon of virtue.

Yet Edward cannot help but notice the sensual longing in her eyes. He is sure that her cool exterior conceals a passion waiting to be set free. And when Edward kidnaps Elizabeth by mistake, neither can resist unleashing their desire….

I admit it—Shakespeare in Love is one of my favorite movies! It’s such a romantic, witty, joyful look at the theatrical life in Elizabethan times, and I find new things in it every time I re-watch. (And Joseph Fiennes in that leather doublet doesn’t hurt to look at, either…)

But my love of the Elizabethan theatre scene started much earlier, when I was eight years old and my parents took me to see my first Shakespeare play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was infatuated, and started reading everything I could about the period! This led to studying Elizabethan poetry in college (so useful for finding real-world jobs—not!) and seeing Shakespeare plays every chance I get (including a magical night at the new Globe Theatre in London, seeing Dream again!). It’s a time of such vital, explosive creativity and energy, and massive changes in society. The perfect backdrop for romance hero and heroines and their passions!

I had so much fun meeting Edward and Elizabeth, and getting a taste of their world in To Court, Capture and Conquer. We’ll see them again next year in the story of actor/playwright/spy Robert Alden and his unpredictable heroine Anna Barrett. And we’ll also find out what happens to Sir Thomas Sheldon. Stay tuned, and visit my website, http://ammandamccabe.com, for excerpts and behind-the-book info…

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

Chapter One

London, 1589

“They say she is a virgin, pure and chaste as a new snowfall.”

“Do they now?” In the roar of the playhouse, Lord Edward Hartley could hardly hear the muttered words of his friend Robert Alden. But their meaning was loud and clear.

This was the chance for him to take his revenge. The “pure and chaste” virgin who sat in the gallery across from Edward’s box, all golden curls and wide blue eyes as she watched the stage, would bring as end to his torment.

If he could ignore the spasm of disgust he felt at the thought. Disgust for the villain who forced him to this desperate end—or disgust at himself for seizing such a low chance?

Edward shoved away that obnoxious twinge of conscience. Sir Thomas Sheldon had shown Edward’s innocent brother no mercy. Edward could show none now.

“No doubt such purity is exactly what Sir Thomas values in her,” he said.

“So they say,” Robert answered. Rob Alden was Edward’s friend, despite the fact that they came from different worlds. Edward served Queen Elizabeth at Court, advancing his family’s position with his skills in the joust and at swordplay, as well as in the dance, while Rob was a playwright and actor, a connoisseur of London’s low streets and stews.

But the taverns, brothels and gambling halls cared not where their coin came from, and the two men frequented the same hells. They also gleaned and shared valuable information from their various contacts, high and low. Which was how Rob came to discover that Sir Thomas Sheldon intended to take the virginal sixteen-year-old Jane Courtwright as his blushing bride.

Jane was usually sequestered at her family’s grand house by the river, seldom seen at Court. Her appearance at the playhouse today was fortunate.

She was a pretty girl; Edward saw that. A gold-and-white doll in her fine blue velvet gown. Her plump, downy cheeks were pink with the pleasure of being out in the world, of watching the antics on the stage and the colorful crowd in the yard below. Poor lamb, she was obviously ripe for Sheldon’s slaughter. Yet another victim of the man’s greed.

“What could her parents be thinking?” Rob said. “Sheldon must be thirty years older than her, and two hundred pounds heavier. She’ll be crushed in the marriage bed.”

“And out of it, too. That is what Sheldon does—destroys innocence wherever he finds it,” Edward answered. He thought not just of the unfortunate Jane Courtwright, but of his brother Jamie, who had been just as young and wide-eyed as she, just as eager to embrace the world without really knowing it. Until Sheldon destroyed him.

That was what Edward had to remember now. His brother, and the revenge he owed Jamie. He couldn’t afford pity for the girl. She would just have to learn the cold ways of the world, as Edward had.

“I think I know what her parents are thinking,” he continued. “Money. They do say at Court that the girl’s family are quite bankrupt. Entertaining the Queen so lavishly at their country estate last summer cost them their last farthing. No doubt Sheldon will pay handsomely for their daughter’s purity.”

Rob tapped his ink-stained fingers against the wooden railing of the box. “He would be enraged if that purity was…exaggerated. Mother Nan at the brothel across the alley says he wants only young, virginal whores—or ones good at playing the virgin, anyway. He pays well for it.”

“And what would he pay for a wife’s virginity?”

“I see your plan,” Rob said. His blue eyes narrowed as he watched the girl. “But have you the stomach for it, my friend? I know you’ve bided your time, patiently waiting for this day, but I know you. You’re no Sheldon.”

Edward gave a harsh laugh. “It’s true I don’t share his taste for dewy purity. Virginity is most overrated as a commodity. But as much as Sheldon is paying for the girl’s actual intact state, he’s also paying for the appearance of her innocence. Sheldon certainly values his worldly reputation above all else. I won’t hurt the girl, Rob. I only mean to give Sheldon public cause to fight me at last. The girl will be well rid of him.”

“And then you will disgrace him before the world, deprive him of all he holds dear.”

“Yes,” Edward said simply. That was the one thing he had been living for ever since Jamie died—to take his vengeance on Sheldon at last. The rest of life had been merely grim survival. Meaningless.

Rob shook his head. “It is your right to expose Sheldon, and no one would say you nay if they knew the true circumstances.”

And if Sheldon had not been able to hide his nefarious deeds behind a veneer of respectability for so many years. Edward needed to be sure the man’s disgrace was complete. “This will expose him to the world at last.”

“But it’s well known here in Southwark that he’s a cheat. Surely he would cheat in a duel, too, if it came to that. If he killed you…”

“Then it would still be at an end. I would be gone from this world, and the Queen would be furious with Sheldon for robbing her of her favorite courtier.”

“Her favorite handsome face, you mean.”

Edward laughed. “He won’t kill me. I’m younger and stronger, and I’ve been practicing for this day for a long time. Once he is disgraced at Court he won’t be able to come near any of us again.”

Rob nodded, but Edward could still see the doubt in his friend’s eyes. Rob’s methods were more direct—a rapier in a dark alley, a tavern brawl. But Edward had to expose Sheldon to the world for the villain he was. And Jane Courtwright was the means to do that.

Rob suddenly slammed his fist on the railing. “God’s blood!” he shouted. “The varlet has ruined my words again.”

Ethan Camp, the company’s clown, cavorted on the stage below, declaiming an improvised speech of his own devising instead of Rob’s written lines. Rob ran from the box, slamming the door behind him, and Edward was left alone with his dark thoughts.

He leaned his forearm on the railing to study Jane Courtwright. The White Heron Theater, open to the gray sky above and filled with people for the afternoon’s play, placed Edward’s private box across the yard from Mistress Courtwright’s second-story gallery and gave him an excellent view. She was laughing at the clown’s antics, her eyes shining as she fidgeted on the narrow wooden bench and clapped her hands.

Suddenly, a hand in a pale gray kid glove touched Jane’s arm, and Edward’s attention swung to her companion. It was a woman, older than Jane but still young, clad in a simple, well-cut doublet and skirt of gray velvet trimmed with gold satin. Shining red-brown hair was gathered into a gold caul and covered with a tall-crowned gray hat. Beneath it her face was a pale oval with a few golden freckles over her high cheekbones, and brown eyes that missed nothing around her. She whispered in Jane’s ear, and the younger girl immediately settled down on her seat.

“God’s blood,” Edward muttered, echoing Rob’s curse. Lady Elizabeth Gilbert—and she appeared to be the girl’s chaperone. How would he get around her?

He had encountered Lady Elizabeth a few times at Court. She was the daughter of an earl, the widow of a wealthy baron, and she served as one of the Queen’s ladies. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, and many gentlemen had tried their luck with her, hoping to find their way into her bed. What they usually found instead was a slap to the face or a sharp knee to the groin.

Lady Elizabeth Gilbert was an impregnable fortress of virtue, despite her gorgeous hair and fine bosom, and despite some initial temptation, Edward had decided he valued his testicles too much to try her.

Now here she was with Jane Courtwright. No doubt she would be as fierce in protecting her charge’s virtue as she was her own. This was an obstacle he had not counted on.

Lady Elizabeth looked across the theater just then, and her gaze caught his. Her eyes widened but she didn’t look away. For an instant her face was unveiled, the cool, distant expression she usually wore gone. She appeared startled and flustered, a faint pink blush touching her cheeks. Her lush lips, so full and sensual and at odds with her virtuous reputation, parted.

Edward suddenly had a vision of kissing those lips. He imagined catching her gasp with his mouth and feeling her softness against him. What would she taste like, feel like? Surely her chilly exterior concealed a passion long suppressed, just waiting to be set free.…

Then that cool mask fell back over her face, and she looked like her usual disapproving self. His vision of sex and kisses, of Elizabeth Gilbert’s naked body against his, faded.

She gave him a curt nod and turned away. Jane Courtwright glanced across the playhouse to what her companion looked at, and her head tilted in curiosity when she saw Edward. He gave her a slow, admiring smile, the smile that so often worked a charming magic on the ladies of Court. Jane giggled and blushed a bright pink before Elizabeth tapped her arm and Jane turned away.

He had made a beginning with the girl. But strangely, he had the cold, hollow feeling that it wasn’t Jane Courtwright he wanted to capture.

Chapter Two

“Aunt Bess, who is that man?”

Lady Elizabeth Gilbert stared fixedly at the stage below and tried to ignore the man who sat across the playhouse, watching her. She was all too aware of his attention; it was as if she could feel the regard of his gray eyes on her skin, and it burned like the glow of summer sunshine. It made her long to jump out of her seat, to run, and it took every bit of her strength to hold on to her calm, still demeanor.

Or maybe it was Jane he watched. Her beautiful, sweet niece attracted attention wherever she went, even though Jane took no notice of it at all. That was probably why Elizabeth’s sister and her brutish husband kept the girl locked up all the time. It had taken all Elizabeth’s persuasions to get them to allow the poor child this outing. Jane was sixteen now; she deserved a little enjoyment in life before she was rushed into marriage, as Elizabeth had been at her age.

But Elizabeth’s marital ordeal was over. She had been a widow these two years now, since she was twenty-three. Jane’s hadn’t even begun. The poor, dear girl.

“What man, Jane?” she said, once she was sure her voice would be steady. Edward Hartley always had that effect on her, curse him. He was much too handsome, challenging her stern resolve to be done with men.

“That one in the box over there, of course! The man who was staring at you,” said Jane. “What a splendid doublet he’s wearing. Does everyone at Court dress like that?”

“When they are rich show-offs like Edward Hartley, they do,” Elizabeth murmured.

“Edward Hartley? Is that his name?”

“Lord Edward Hartley. He is the son of the earl of Pensworth.”

“An earl! And handsome, too.” Jane’s eyes, usually as blue and vacant as the summer sky, sharpened. “He does seem to admire you, Aunt Bess. He keeps looking at you like he’s starving and you’re a haunch of beef.”

Did he indeed? Elizabeth struggled not to peek to see if that was true. A haunch of beef! “He looks at all women. He’s one of the most notorious flirts at Court.”

“Really? Oh, I do wish I could go to Court and see it all for myself!”

“It’s very dull at Court, Jane. There’s naught to do all day but read and play primero, and listen to idle gossip.” And watch Edward Hartley whenever she thought he would not catch her at it. He didn’t need any more boosts to his vanity. All the young beauties at Court already chased after him, and he didn’t need a sensible widow doing the same.

Yet somehow she did not feel so very “sensible” when he was around. He made her wonder what it would be like to be in the bed of a man like that, instead of her old, wrinkled, grasping husband. What it would be like to kiss him, touch him, to have a lover she wanted? With one careless smile he made her feel…

Well, he made her feel things she never had before. Certainly not with her husband, whose fumblings and proddings under the sheets made her feel only cold and nauseous. But Court gossip said Lord Edward was most skilled.

Elizabeth dared to glance at him from under the narrow brim of her hat. He watched the stage now, and she could study him in safety for a moment without fear of discovery. He was known as one of the most handsome men in a palace filled with good-looking, well-dressed men, and with good reason. He had waving, glossy dark brown hair worn a little too long, brushing the high collar of his purple satin doublet. His face, all sharp, elegant angles, was bronzed, as if he spent much time in outdoor exercise and not just lurking in palace corridors. Though he was clean-shaven there was a shadow of beard along his hard jaw, and a gleaming pearl earring dangled there, white next to the dark skin.

The doublet was cut fashionably close to his body, hugging his strong shoulders and lean, muscled chest. He was no pale, doughy courtier, but a warrior.

A warrior who, it was rumored, spent much time on battlefields of romance, making conquests in the bedchamber.

Well, Elizabeth had no use for romance, or men who were too attractive and blatantly sensual, no matter what stray fantasies came into her mind. Her marriage had been a miserable disaster, and she was free at last to live her own life.

But surely life could include passion without marriage, if a woman was careful.…

Nay! Not for her. Not with Edward Hartley.

“How can Court be dull, Aunt Bess?” Jane said. She watched the stage with a dreamy glow in her eyes. The clown had been dragged offstage by a tall, furious-looking man and replaced by the pair of young lovers whose elopement started the action. They held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes as they uttered sweet vows of eternal love.

That surely wouldn’t end well.

“You hear tales of balls and pageants, Jane, and think every day at Court must be like that,” Elizabeth said. “Yet it seldom is. Mostly it is just passing time.” And that was surely why she was having such ridiculous daydreams of Edward Hartley—she was bored. She needed to travel again, refurbish her house, distract herself.

“It can’t be as boring as living at home,” Jane said with a pout. “There is nothing at all to see or do there. No one to talk to. If it wasn’t for—”

Jane suddenly broke off, her face turning bright pink.

“If it wasn’t for what?” Elizabeth asked in sudden suspicion. It wasn’t like her niece to get into mischief—she was much too confined for that. Still, boredom could create strange situations.

“Nothing, Aunt Bess,” Jane said quickly. “Let’s just watch the rest of the play. I’m dying to see what the wicked grandfather will do next.”

Elizabeth nodded. She would let the girl watch the comedy in peace, but then she intended to find some answers. She couldn’t let Jane get into trouble.

She glanced back at Edward’s box, but he was gone. The space was empty. And she felt unaccountably disappointed. With a sigh she propped her elbow on the railing and watched the actors. Surely she cared naught if he was there! She saw enough of him at Court, flirting with the ladies, showing off his lean chest in too-tight doublets like a—a peacock.

Though that chest was rather nice, she had to admit that. Swordplay, tennis, tournaments—and, rumor said, brawling—had honed his tall body to a muscled hardness that looked much too good in his velvet and leather garments.

What would he look like out of them?

Cease this at once! Elizabeth told herself sternly. She curled her gloved hand into a tight fist and pounded it on the wooden balustrade, trying to ground herself in the real world and not in giddy fantasies.

She focused on the play as Jane did, and lost herself in the romance and action of the plot. It was a good story, this new tale by the famous playwright and poet Robert Alden, full of deep emotion and tearful sadness, and with a lively jig at the end. She even forgot about Edward Hartley for a time.

Until they were pushing their way down the narrow stairs, caught up in the thick, jostling crowd trying to leave the theater. Someone trod on the hem of her gown, making her stumble. She felt a jolt of panic as she fell forward, and she flung out her hand to catch herself on the rough wall.

Instead of unyielding whitewash, she fell against a warm, hard body. Strong arms closed tight around her, lifting her from her feet and twirling her out of the melee.

Her breath caught in her throat. Elizabeth found herself pressed tight to the paneled wall of a private box, her arms twined around a man’s neck. In the dim light, she could barely see the outline of her rescuer’s face, the rich plumes of a pearl-trimmed cap. He held her as if she weighed no more than one of those feathers, his hard, muscled arms around her waist.

“Thank you, sir,” she gasped.

He glanced at her—and a sizzling jolt shot through her, as if lightning zapped through the thatched roof and into her body. It was Edward Hartley who held her so close, his hot, hard body pressed to hers. In the shadows his cloud-gray eyes glowed with heat.

She couldn’t look away from him. The very air around them seemed to crackle, then grow very still. She felt like a bird poised on the steep edge of a roof, teetering, unsure, ready to soar—or plummet to earth.

Her hands slid up into his hair, which fell in glossy waves over the high, jeweled collar of his doublet. The rough-silk strands clung to her kid gloves, wrapping around her fingers. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a muscle flex along his jaw. He also seemed to hold his breath, as if he felt the same tension.

Slowly, slowly, he slid her to her feet, still holding her pressed to his chest. She could sense only him, the heat of him, the clean, spicy scent of him, wrapped all around her in the warm darkness.

His head lowered toward hers, a frown on his sensual lips as if he didn’t want to reach for her but couldn’t help himself. They were compelled together in that moment. She felt that terrible compulsion as well; she couldn’t seem to break away from it.

His lips brushed her cheek, his breath warm on her skin. She sighed and shut her eyes, swaying closer.…

“Aunt Bess! Where are you?” she heard Jane call from outside the box. It was like a dash of icy water, waking her from the sensual haze of a dream.

Elizabeth jerked herself out of Edward Hartley’s arms. “I—thank you, my lord,” she whispered, and ran back out to the stairwell on shaking legs.

She pressed her palm to the wall for a moment to steady herself. Once she felt calmer, cooler, she dared glance back through the doorway at Edward.

He stood with his back to her, perfectly still, leaning his forearm on the paneling. A gold signet ring gleamed on his smallest finger. For an instant, she wanted to run back to him, to feel his lips on her skin again.

“Aunt Bess!” Jane called from down the curve of the stairs, and Elizabeth knew how foolish she was being.

I am becoming just like those foolish Court women, she thought sadly. She had to banish these longings at once, before she was lost in them.

“Here I am, Jane,” she said, and hurried down the now-empty stairs to find her niece at the next landing. She took Jane’s hand and walked with her into the bruising light of day. The scents of Southwark—the pungent gutters and ditches, the sharpness of chimney smoke, the press of unwashed bodies in the yard, almost erased the memory of Edward’s body against hers, the smell of him in her throat.

Almost.

Edward closed his eyes, listening as Elizabeth Gilbert ran away from him and down the stairs. It felt as if his every sense was heightened, focused on one point—her. He could hear the rustle of her skirts, the tap of her shoes on the wooden floor, the rush of her soft breath. He could still smell her rose perfume, feel her softness under his hands.

His body was steel-hard with desire, clamoring to sink itself into her welcoming, wet heat. He was painfully aroused—by Elizabeth Gilbert, of all women!

And she had wanted him, too, if only for that instant when she forgot herself and forgot who he was. He’d seen it in her eyes, the glowing light in their starry depths, felt it in the pliable warmth of her body. When she’d swayed toward him, her soft lips parted…

“God’s teeth!” he muttered, and drove his fist into the wooden wall. He could barely feel the impact—his body still ached with wanting her.

How had he never seen before how truly beautiful she was? How she hid her longings under her correct, icy exterior?

By damn, but he did not need this distraction now. Not when he was finally so close to having his revenge.

“There you are,” he heard Rob Alden say. His friend’s boots clattered on the stairs as he came up from the tiring-house behind the stage. “Ready to pay a visit to Mother Nan’s bawdy house? I hear she has a new girl there who can verily suck the Thames dry.…”

Now that sounded promising. Just what Edward needed to drive away fantasies of Elizabeth Gilbert’s soft lips and slender body. That body naked, waiting for him on a rumpled bed—or on her knees before him.

Mother Nan always had the prettiest girls in her house. Perhaps he could even find one with red-brown hair and a ladylike demeanor. And yet that image of Elizabeth in his bed wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to make it. She was still there, watching him, waiting, and no counterfeit would do. Surely he would be no good for Mother Nan or her pretty Winchester geese tonight.

“Maybe another time, Rob,” he said as he pushed himself away from the wall. “I have some important business to arrange.”

Chapter Three

“Now, Jane. Tell me what you are about.”

Elizabeth watched as Jane squirmed on the carriage seat and stared down at her gloved hands. “I—I don’t know what you mean, Aunt Bess.”

“Oh, my dear. You are such a terrible liar,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. Her niece had obviously never been to Court, where prevaricating and deceiving were an art form. Individuals never dared to show their true feelings there or they would be destroyed. She herself had been forced to become most adept at maintaining a serene facade. Without it she could never have recovered from her encounter with Edward so quickly.

At least outwardly she had recovered. Inside she was still trembling.

“Tell me, Jane,” she said. “Is something amiss?”

The girl crumbled with a choked sob. “Oh, Aunt Bess! It is the most terrible, dreadful thing.”

Alarmed, Elizabeth reached for her hand and clutched it tightly. She had not been blessed with children herself, and Jane was the closest thing she had to a daughter. She loved her so much, and the thought that she was going through something dreadful pained her terribly. “Are you ill?”

Jane shook her head. “I almost wish I was. I am in love!”

Elizabeth almost laughed aloud with sheer relief. But her niece looked so miserable she knew laughter wouldn’t help. “Oh, Jane, dear. Is that all?”

“All? Aunt Bess, it is terrible!” she wailed. “My parents insist I must marry Sir Thomas Sheldon. They won’t listen to me when I tell them I have already pledged my troth to Walter. They made me go to a betrothal dinner at Sir Thomas’s home last week and it was awful.”

Sir Thomas Sheldon. Elizabeth felt suddenly as if her blood turned to ice water in her veins. Nay—surely not even her brother-in-law could be so cruel? Sweet Jane, wed to Sheldon? He was one of the most infamous men in London, cruel and cold even by the standards of Court. He ruined innocent lives and stole fortunes, had been married twice already and buried those wives. It was whispered that they’d died of abuse. Yet he was clever and had not yet been caught in any crime. His vast fortune protected him.

Jane could not marry him! She was right—it was dreadful indeed.

“He has offered them a great deal of money for my hand,” Jane said with a sniffle. “And Walter…”

Elizabeth’s head was still spinning at the thought of her dear niece sold to a lecher and a cheat. “Who is Walter?”

A gleam of hope replaced the despair on Jane’s face, and she smiled. “Walter Fitzsimmons. Oh, Aunt Bess, he is the most wonderful man! He is the nephew of Viscount Carrick, and quite well placed in the world, with an estate of his own—even if he is not as rich as Sir Thomas. I met Walter at the shops one day when Mama let me out with only my maid, and we have been meeting in secret since then. He is so handsome, and so kind! He wants to marry me, and I know we would be happy together.”

“But your parents refuse?”

“They won’t even meet with Walter, and they won’t listen to me at all!” She collapsed against Elizabeth’s shoulder with a sob. “Walter is leaving on a journey to France and Italy soon, and surely by the time he returns I’ll be married off. Oh, Aunt Bess, what should I do?”

Elizabeth gently patted her niece’s trembling shoulder. “Shh, my dear, don’t cry. It will all be well.”

“How can it be? I will die if I have to marry Sir Thomas! The way he looks at me—it is disgusting.”

Elizabeth remembered too well how it felt to be Jane’s age, to be full of romantic hopes and dreams. And she remembered what it was like to have those dreams crushed in the bed of a clammy-skinned old man. It killed a girl’s spirit day by day, inch by inch, until there was only coldness left.

She had had no Walter to save her; she’d had only herself. She had survived, but Jane was made of more fragile stuff. And Thomas Sheldon was a villain indeed.

Elizabeth held the girl close as her mind raced. Jane was like her own daughter, and even if she had to fight the whole world she would save her.

“You say young Walter is to leave for France soon?” Elizabeth said slowly.

“Aye, within the week,” Jane whispered.

“And I assume he has passports for himself and at least one servant?”

Jane slowly sat up, blinking. “I—I suppose so.”

A plan slowly formed in Elizabeth’s mind, one that probably came from a stage plot. It was daring and dangerous, but it just might work.

“Then listen to me carefully, Jane,” she said, holding tight to her niece’s shoulders. “I will persuade your mother to let you stay with me for a couple of days before your Walter leaves. Gather what money and jewels you can, and we will have to find you a page boy’s clothes. Send Walter a message, and tell him to be ready to fly at my word.”

“I’ve had word from my friend who works for the girl’s father,” Rob Alden said as he slid onto the tavern bench across from Edward. “She is to visit her aunt, who has a house on the Strand, tomorrow, and a carriage is ordered.”

“God’s wounds, Rob, but do you know everyone in London?” Edward asked. He poured a goblet of ale from the pitcher he had been draining, and pushed it over to his friend.

Rob laughed. “A man in my position needs connections wherever he can find them. But what happens next is up to you.”

Up to him. Edward took a deep drink of the rough ale. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, and now it was at last within his grasp. He had to strike.

“The aunt in the Strand,” he said. “It isn’t Lady Elizabeth Gilbert, by some chance?”

“The very one. Do you know her?”

Not in the way he wanted to know her, he didn’t. He remembered holding her so briefly in the theater, her body against his, her eyes wide as she looked up at him in that one unguarded instant. It was absurd to feel such a hot surge of lust for Elizabeth Gilbert! The cool, serene, untouchable widow. Surely he had been without a female in his bed for too long, and that was all it was.

“It won’t be easy to get the girl away from her,” Edward said.

“A dragon, is she?”

“With icicles shooting from her fingers.”

“Well, my friend could be persuaded to detain the coachman for a price,” Rob said. “A quick switch when Mistress Courtwright stops at a shop…”

Edward almost laughed aloud. He did have a reputation at Court as something of a rogue among the ladies-in-waiting, but he would never have thought he could stoop to kidnapping a young woman. There were too many willing ones around for such villainy. But he would do what he had to—to let his brother rest in peace at last.

“Rob,” he said. “I think you have the beginning of an excellent plan.”

Chapter Four

Elizabeth eased back the hood of her cloak to watch out the carriage window. The ship carrying Jane and her new husband to their new life abroad slipped away from the dock on the evening tide and moved off down the river toward the sea. By the time Jane’s parents realized she was gone, she would be well on her way to France, and her marriage would be consummated.

And Elizabeth, safe back at Court, would know nothing at all.

“We’ve been terribly deceived,” she whispered in her best “shocked and appalled” voice. Then she laughed and blew a kiss to the departing ship. “Godspeed, my dearest niece. Be happy now.” She tucked the small bag of papers Jane had left with her under the seat, and rested her feet on it. Jane had said they were for safekeeping, something she had taken from Sir Thomas’s desk when she went to their ill-fated betrothal dinner. Elizabeth was too tired to look at them now.

She sat back on the velvet-covered seat and closed her eyes. These last few days had been quite frantic, full of plans and arrangements, and she hadn’t been sure until this moment that the scheme would come off. Now Jane was safe, and Elizabeth was exhausted.

The night outside her carriage was very dark now, and she should be on her way home. The house would be so quiet with Jane gone. Her whole life would be quiet now. Quiet, peaceful, and—boring?

There was a sudden loud thud above her head and the carriage rocked. Startled, Elizabeth lowered the window and peered outside.

“Is all well?” she called. She could see the dark, muffled figure of the coachman in the night.

“All well, mistress,” he said hoarsely.

“Then let’s return to the house,” she said. She fell back as the carriage lurched into motion.

The rocking movements lulled her into a drowsy state for a time—until she woke with a start and peered outside again. All she could glimpse beyond the window was the shadow of trees in the moonlight. There were no crowds, no torchlight, no houses.

They were no longer in London.

Elizabeth’s stomach clenched in a hot rush of panic. She was being abducted! She pounded on the door and shouted, “Stop at once! Turn around!”

The carriage only went faster, bouncing along the rutted country road so hard she was thrown from the seat. She screamed as loudly as she could and kicked at the door, but she was trapped. If she threw herself out she would be killed for certain.

Perhaps that would be better than whatever awaited her once the carriage stopped.

“How can this be happening?” she moaned as she pulled herself back onto the seat. She had heard terrible tales of such things, kidnappings and ravishings. But that usually befell young heiresses, girls forced to marry their captors, villains who were after their fortunes.

But she was no virginal heiress.

She screamed until she was hoarse, to no avail. At last the carriage slowed and came to a halt in a clearing deep in the woods. The sudden stillness seemed somehow even worse than the wild ride. Who knew what would come along to fill that silence?

Elizabeth gathered her cloak tightly around her and slid as far back on the seat as she could. She had never considered herself a coward; a person had to be strong to make her way in the Queen’s thorny Court. Yet she couldn’t stop shaking.

The door suddenly flew open and a tall, black-cloaked figure appeared there. He was outlined in the chalky moonlight, and his face was half covered with a scarf. But she could see how broad his shoulders were and what long legs he had. How could she fight him off or outrun him?

She only knew she had to try, no matter what.

“My sincere apologies for the rough journey, mistress,” he said hoarsely. His accent was refined, though, elegant and smooth, like any Court gallant. This was no ordinary highwayman or dockside ruffian. “I feared you would accept my invitation no other way.”

Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath and dragged all her courage and dignity around her. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “I insist you return me to London immediately!”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the man answered. “But you needn’t fear. You will not be harmed.”

Not be harmed? What did the villain call kidnapping her? A surge of hot anger swept away the fear. “Filthy bastard!” she screamed. She launched herself at him so suddenly he couldn’t step out of her way. Her nails scored his cheek and tore the scarf aside. She wrapped her arms around his neck and wouldn’t let go, kicking and twisting.

“Vixen!” he growled. He caught her about the waist in an iron grip and swung her off the ground.

A ray of moonlight fell across his exposed face. To her shock, she saw it was Lord Edward Hartley who had abducted her.

And unbidden, mixed up with the fear and anger and fury, was something else, something strange and unfamiliar, totally inappropriate.

A twinge of quicksilver excitement.

“You,” she gasped. “Edward Hartley. They do say you’re a rake of the first order, but I would not have expected this.”

He stared down at her, the blood she had drawn stark on his cheek, and shock vivid in his glowing gray eyes. “Oh, God’s wounds, no. It can’t be.”

Chapter Five

“Blast you! Let me out at once! The Queen shall hear of this, I promise you that.”

Edward paced the length of the small cottage floor and back again. He wanted with all his strength to drive his fist into something, kick the wall—turn back time to erase this mistake. He had to be rid of his damnable temper, to think calmly in order to fix this mess.

But Elizabeth Gilbert’s shouts from behind the locked bedchamber door were not helping the thinking process. She pounded her fist on the old, warped wooden panels and screamed.

As soon as Edward realized they had the wrong woman, that it was Lady Elizabeth Gilbert and not Jane Courtwright they had seized, he had thrown his cloak over her head and carried her into the cottage. But it was too late—she had recognized him. And he could see it in her wide, shocked eyes that she knew him, even before she said his name.

Their quarry was gone who knew where, his chance at revenge vanished—and now he had Elizabeth Gilbert to contend with. She wasn’t the sort of woman to be meek and quiet at the best of times.

He’d been a damnable fool, a knave, to think such a scheme could work.

“I know it was you,” she cried through the door. “I want to know the meaning of this villainy at once!”

He would like to know that himself, for he had almost forgotten the original purpose. He had to mend this quickly, before all was lost.

Edward strode to the door and threw back the bar. It opened so suddenly that Elizabeth stumbled onto the edge of the bed. A ray of torchlight fell across her, and he saw that her hair had spilled from its caul and tumbled over her shoulders like a curling dark cloud. The cloak lay in a heap on the floor and the sleeve of her doublet jacket was torn, revealing the thin linen chemise beneath. A smudge of dirt marred one pale cheek.

And her eyes were huge with fear, her face white. She no longer looked like that calm, efficient lady-in-waiting who glided coolly along the corridors of Whitehall, untouched by anything. She looked young and vulnerable—and beautiful. Very beautiful.

But that fright in her eyes pierced his conscience like a poison-tipped arrow. He hadn’t known he still possessed a conscience until that moment.

He didn’t care for that remorseful feeling at all. He hardened himself toward her and the whole damnable situation, and leaned lazily against the door frame. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Elizabeth slowly push herself to her feet.

She swallowed hard, her delicate, pale throat trembling with the movement, and lifted her chin to glare at him. Even cornered she refused to back down.

And that defiance made her even more beautiful.

“What is the meaning of this?” she said. “Are you holding me for ransom? Do you have gambling debts you can’t pay, a mistress who wants a new bauble you can’t afford?”

Was that truly what she thought of him? After all he had seen and done in his life, after what had happened to Jamie, Edward believed he could not be wounded. But strangely, the contempt in Lady Elizabeth’s voice stung.

And it made him angry.

“I’m not such a lout as all that, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “This was merely a mistake, and one I will rectify at once.”

“A mistake?” She gave a harsh laugh. “The great Lord Edward Hartley, the darling of the Court, makes a mistake?”

A smile lingered about her lips—those lush, full pink lips that belied her cool exterior. The lips he had imagined kissing, tasting, feeling beneath his. And somehow that smile made his control snap.

He lunged across the small space and took her by the shoulders, dragging her to her feet and up against him. Her smile faded, but she was so surprised she didn’t pull away. She fell against him, her palms braced on his chest.

“You were the wrong woman,” he growled.

The wrong woman?

Elizabeth stared up at Edward’s hard, angry face in disbelief. She had been kidnapped, scared out of her wits, shocked by his appearance on the scene—experiencing so many reactions so fast that her head was spinning. And all because he’d taken the wrong woman?

Suddenly she felt the most inexplicable emotion of all—anger that she wasn’t even the one he wanted.

She stared up at him, outlined in the dim, flickering torchlight from the room beyond. His face, those elegantly carved, handsome features she had once admired so reluctantly, were set in a hard, cold mask. His body against hers was unyielding. He held her by the shoulders tightly, as if he couldn’t let her go, but she couldn’t have moved away if she tried. It was as if she was caught by the cloud-gray light in his eyes.

His black velvet-and-leather doublet was open, revealing the loosely laced shirt beneath and a deep vee of smooth, bronzed skin, glistening damp. Elizabeth slowly curled her fingers into the soft linen, feeling the heat of his hard body under her touch. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a muscle flex in his beard-roughened cheek. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

So he was not entirely unaffected by her. She smiled at the realization.

It was as if the darkness outside, the small, strange cottage in the middle of the woods, and the nearness of him cut off her real world, her real life. They closed around her until she could no longer see the past or the future, could no longer feel the careful caution that had ruled her life for too long. She only had this one moment, and it made her feel like an entirely different person.

Like maybe the wrong woman could be the right one, after all.

Her gaze slid over his bare throat, the naked skin where his shirt was unlaced. A tiny bead of sweat glistened diamondlike in the hollow there, and she leaned forward to catch its salty sweetness on the tip of her tongue. He tasted delicious, like summer sun, and she knew she had to kiss him again. Her anger spun around and around, transformed into a rush of rough lust.

Aye—she was not herself tonight.

Her lips barely touched his skin again when Edward let out a deep, primal growl and pushed her back. But he didn’t let go. His hard grasp tightened on her shoulders and he swung her around, to hold her pressed to the wall. His body was against hers, so close she could feel his blazing heat all through her, his raw power.

She heard a sharp crack above her head, and for an instant she thought it was her heart. Then she knew it was thunder from outside, heralding a storm. Lightning flashed beyond the high, narrow window, a sizzling jolt of silver.

It was be nothing compared to the storm inside her.

Elizabeth went very still, not even daring to breathe as she stared up at him. His pale gray eyes burned with anger and passion; his hands were hard, almost bruising, on her shoulders. She knew she should run, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even look away from him.

He seemed to feel that bond as well. His body on hers was taut with tension, the sound of his breathing harsh. She stared at his mouth, the sensual curve of his lips, and she wanted to feel them on hers. She swayed against him and his hands gentled. They slid slowly down her arms to twist her fingers with his, holding her there against the wall.

His lips parted as his head tilted down toward hers. Elizabeth shivered and arched up against him. She was his prisoner, yes, but surely she could also make him hers.

He kissed her at last, the soft, sensitive spot just below her ear, and he touched her there with the tip of his tongue.

She gasped at the hot rush of pure sensation that poured through her. Her fingers convulsed in his grasp and her eyes closed. His mouth slowly slid down her throat, open and hot. She felt him bite lightly at the curve of her neck and shoulder, felt his breath on her bare skin there, and her knees collapsed under her.

He caught her, his arms coming around her waist to lift her up. He braced her between the wall and his body, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to keep herself from falling. The whole room whirled around her, and she had never felt like this before. Weak and powerful all at the same time.

His mouth met hers, rough and full of urgency. She felt the press of his tongue against her lips, and she opened to him hungrily. She tangled her fingers in the waves of his hair to hold him with her.

He groaned as her tongue tangled with his, and the sound of his desire echoed within her, driving her desire even higher. Impatiently, she pushed his shirt out of her way so she could touch his bare skin, feel him under her hands. He felt like hot satin over steel, the roughness of curling hairs and an old scar over his shoulder registering in her awareness. She felt the beat of his heart under her palm, vital and alive.

It had been so very, very long since sh’d felt alive. She kissed him back with all the force of passion she had hidden and suppressed for so long, drunk with the wonder of it all. She could feel again! He made her feel.

And he met her kiss with an equal force of lustful passion. There was no careful, seductive art to the kiss, as she would have expected from a Court libertine. Only the same hungry, desperate need that built inside her. She was drowning in him.

His mouth trailed away from hers, leaving a damp, hot ribbon of kisses over her cheek and jaw, along her throat to where her gown met her bare skin.

“You were surely sent here to drive me to madness,” he growled.

“Then we’re both mad, in truth,” Elizabeth whispered.

His arms tightened, to draw her even closer. Her skirts fell back, and above her gartered stocking she felt the hard, heavy press of his erection. He did want her, just as she wanted him.

He kissed her lips again, wet and hot, full of that raw need, and she felt the room spin once more. This time it truly did spin, and he tumbled them both onto the bed. Her legs fell apart and his body came down between them, heavy and enticing on top of her.

Through the heat of their kiss, she felt his hand slide roughly over her hip until he grasped a handful of her skirts. He dragged it up until her leg was bare, and his skillful fingers slid under her ribbon garter to caress the bare skin of her thigh.

It felt wonderful, that touch of skin on skin, and she tightened her legs around his hips. The wool cloth of his breeches was deliciously abrasive and it made her shiver.

His mouth slid along her throat, and her head fell back to give him access. His fingers followed his lips, deftly unfastening her doublet jacket and spreading it open to reveal her thin, low-cut chemise.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue hotly traced the ribbon-trimmed neckline and dipped into the hollow between her breasts. She felt the scrape of his teeth on that sensitive spot, and then he soothed it with a soft, gentle kiss. Her nipples ached, and a heavy longing expanded low in her abdomen. Her whole body hurt for more of his touch.

His hand curled into the edge of her chemise and tugged it down to release one pale breast.

Startled by the cool rush of air over her skin, Elizabeth opened her eyes, only to find Edward staring down at her with a smoldering hunger that made everything else vanish.

“You are so beautiful,” he said hoarsely. “How can you hide it away from the world?”

And he leaned down to capture her erect nipple between his lips, rolling it, biting it lightly before he drew it deep into his mouth.

She cried out, and twined her fingers in his hair to hold him against her. But he escaped her, resting his head on her shoulder as his hand slid again over her thigh. One fingertip searched out the damp center of her womanhood, and she moaned as it slipped inside her with a delicious, enticing friction.

“Now, please,” she whispered.

“I was hoping you would say that,” he said. His fingers widened her as he unfastened his breeches and entered her welcoming body.

Elizabeth tensed, and Edward went still against her. It had been a long time since she was with a man, and her body had never felt like this. Slowly, the sensation of pressure faded away, and there was only the pleasure building again, hot and heavy inside her, moving over her until it was all she knew. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and arched her spine to pull him even deeper.

He drew back one slow, alluring inch at a time, almost leaving her. She murmured a protest and he plunged back inside, deeper, faster.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out, but the sound escaped with the rush of pleasure. It was like falling into a consuming fire that didn’t burn, but sparkled with sheer, wondrous delight. Edward’s movements grew even faster, desperate, harder. The whole world turned dark at the edges and she heard a humming in her ears, louder and louder until she was overcome by it.

Then her climax broke over her, a great explosion of stars—red, blue, white—that sent her soaring into a vast, wondrous emptiness.

Above her, Edward’s body arched in turn, and he shouted roughly, wordlessly. She felt his shoulders tighten under her hands and he threw back his head in primitive pleasure.

He collapsed to the bed beside her, their arms, legs and torn clothes entangled. She felt the soft rush of his breath on her bare neck, warm and ragged, and her own lungs felt tight with the effort to breathe. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she felt as if she was slowly sinking back to earth.

She had never felt so wonderfully tired before.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to stare up at the low, beamed ceiling above her head. Edward’s breath grew slower, as if he was slidding into sleep beside her, and reality tugged at her as if to drag her from this moment of fantasy. But she didn’t want to go. Not yet.

Tomorrow, in the light of day, she would have to face the foolishness of what she had done. Not just now, though. Now she wanted sleep, and dark forgetfulness.

She smoothed her clothes over her bare, tingling skin and slid down to gather the blankets around them. The night was turning cool, and she could hear the patter of rain against the cottage walls, the rumble of thunder in the distance. Without opening his eyes, Edward seized her hand and held it tightly, as if he wanted to be near her in his dreams.

“If only we could live in dreams forever,” Elizabeth whispered. Then she closed her eyes and slept.

Chapter Six

Edward leaned his shoulder against the bedchamber door frame, watching Elizabeth as she slept. She looked so young and openhearted, so vulnerable. Her dark hair fell in loose, heavy waves over the pillows and her lips, berry-red from his kisses, were parted as if she whispered secrets in her dreams.

The room smelled of wood smoke and clean rain, of her rosewater perfume. The scents seemed to curl around him, luring him back to her, to the pleasure they had found together so unexpectedly.

In truth, he had never felt like that before, not with any of his women. For a moment he’d forgotten everything in the world but her. She was all he could see.

He even forgot what had brought them here to this place—his scheme for revenge. The kidnapping that had gone so wrong.

He knew he had to let her go, and that once she knew the full truth she would hate him even more than she had before. He had to be ruthless, to push away these unwelcome emotions and find his cold center again. She had no place in his life. He couldn’t hurt her again.

Edward kicked his discarded doublet under the bed and softly closed the door on her beautiful slumbering face. He left the cottage for the overgrown, tangled garden, letting the rain pour over his head and bare chest. Cold and pelting, it fell in needlelike drops on his skin, but he didn’t care. He wanted it to wash away the past, all his pain and guilt.

He held out his arms and turned his face up to the gray sky. “I’m sorry,” he shouted to the heavens, to his poor brother. To himself. “I failed you.”

And now he had failed Elizabeth Gilbert, too. He closed his eyes and gathered his cold, hard strength around him. The strength that had sustained him for these many years. It was all he had needed, all he needed now to send Elizabeth away.

He heard the cottage door squeak, and he opened his eyes. She was there; he could feel her, sense her. Slowly he turned to see her standing there under the meager shelter of the eaves, her white chemise like a beacon in the storm. She watched him with a calm stillness, her face pale and expressionless.

Then she wordlessly held out her hand to him. He knew he should turn away, run from the cottage and from her. But he was drawn to that offered hand. He walked slowly across the rain-soaked garden and took it in his.

It was like being pulled up from the depths of the sea and into the light again. Her fingers closed tightly on his and she drew him with her back into the dark silence of the cottage.

When Elizabeth awoke, for an instant she didn’t know where she was. It wasn’t her brocade-draped bed in her apartment at Court, and the small, dim room wasn’t her own grand chamber in the Strand. The one tiny window cast only a faint gray light, throwing the few pieces of battered furniture into shadows. The only sound was the rain against the walls outside.

She sat up in a rush of fear—and then remembered. Remembered everything. Being kidnapped and taken to this place—making love with Edward Hartley. Oh aye, she especially remembered that part. Every single pleasurable moment of it. Every kiss and touch and moan.

Elizabeth covered her burning face with her hands and fell back to the rumpled bed. At least he was gone now, the chamber door closed, and she was alone with the roiling turmoil of her emotions.

She had become someone entirely not herself, someone free and open and sensual. Even now that stranger who was part of her lingered, sighing with remembered pleasure.

All because of Edward Hartley and his villainous, mysterious schemes. He had kidnapped her! She should be struggling for a way to escape, hating him.

But she could not.

She opened her eyes to stare up at the ceiling again, seeing his face in her mind. He had looked so very…sad. His beautiful gray eyes were filled with so many shadows and violent emotions, things he usually kept hidden behind his facade of the rakish, devil-may-care courtier. She only saw them because she also lived a hidden life.

“It can’t be,” he had said when he’d lifted her out of the carriage and seen her face. What did that mean? Had he meant to bring someone else here?

She knew she couldn’t leave until she found out. Until she knew if there was a way she could help him banish that hidden sadness.

Elizabeth pushed back the blankets and slid out of bed. In the faint light she found a brush on the table and raked it through her tangled hair, pulling out the few pins that still clung to the strands. She tested the door and found it unlocked, so she cautiously peered into the cottage’s main room.

It was empty, the fire in the grate died down to embers. The front door was closed. Had he left her here, then? Surely he would not. She could sense that he was still somewhere nearby.

Barefoot, she tiptoed over the rough wood planks of the floor and eased the door open. The rain still poured down outside, gray and cold, and Edward stood in the garden in the very midst of the storm. He was bare-chested, his arms outflung and his head thrown back as if to shout at the sky. Rivulets trailed over his naked skin.

He looked like a primitive god commanding the elements. But when he turned to look at her, that deep sadness still lingered in his eyes.

Elizabeth swallowed hard past a sudden knot of tears in her throat. Silently, she held out her hand to him.

For a moment, she feared he wouldn’t take it, that he would turn away and this fragile new bond between them would be broken.

Yet he came to her and took her hand in his, letting her draw him back into the cottage. Without a word, Elizabeth closed the door against the storm and retrieved the discarded cloak to wrap around him. She gently wiped the raindrops from his handsome face—and had the wildest, strongest urge to kiss them away and hold him against her until she could banish his mysterious, palpable pain.

Confused by the sudden rush of tender emotion toward Edward Hartley of all men, Elizabeth turned away from him and sat on a rickety stool by the wall. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in the small, bare room except for a table that held a large basket, and was lined by two benches. Shutters were drawn over the windows, but she could see the bright flashes of lightning between their uneven slats. The storm wasn’t abating yet.

Edward stirred the slumbering embers of the fire, building them up to warming red-orange flames again. Elizabeth studied him as he stood there by the hearth, his tall body silhouetted by the glow. He had dropped the cloak and his bare chest gleamed in the light. His hair was pushed back in damp waves from his face and the pearl in his ear glinted, the one remnant of the courtier she knew before.

He no longer looked like the gentleman of fashion, elegant and roguish, but like some tribal king of centuries past, so rough and primal. That glimpse of him, the Edward Hartley no one else ever saw, made her want him all over again.

But surely she did not look like herself, either. She was rumpled and tired, clad only in her chemise, her feet bare and her hair loose. She tucked her dusty feet beneath the stool and watched warily as he left the fire and came to kneel beside her.

He took her hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to her fingers. He turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist, at the point where her pulse pounded beneath her skin, and in the vulnerable center of her palm.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I never meant for you to be caught in the middle of my old battles. I’ll send you back to London as soon as the storm ceases.”

To return to London, to her old life, as if naught had happened. Was that what she wanted? Yesterday, in all her fear and fury, of course it had been. But she felt as if during the course of the night something had shifted inside her, something deep and real. Surely nothing could be the same again.

She softly laid her free hand on his head, feeling his damp, silken hair against her skin. Her fingers slid down and cupped his cheek. A muscle flexed there, and his body stiffened, but he didn’t draw away from her.

“Tell me why I’m really here,” she said. “That is all I want now.”

He stared up at her, and his gray eyes were very dark. “Aye,” he said. “I do owe you that at least.” He sat down on the floor beside her, his back to the wall and one knee drawn up so he could brace his forearm there. The leather breeches he wore stretched taut over his muscled thigh.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Elizabeth said. “This place seems made to hold secrets, I think.”

Edward looked at her, his gaze unreadable. A tiny, humorless smile touched his lips. “Do you have secrets, Lady Elizabeth?”

She had one now—her growing feelings for him. “No one lives a blameless life.”

“My brother did. And that is why I’m here.”

“Your brother?” she said in surprise. She had never heard of another Hartley son.

“Jamie. He was younger than me, and a sweeter, kinder soul never lived,” Edward said, and in his words Elizabeth could hear the love he had for his sibling—and a terrible pain. “But he was also much too trusting. It led to his death.”

“I am so very sorry,” she said gently. She wanted to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, but it seemed as if he were encased in ice. So distant from her. He was lost in that old sadness and anger. “How did he die?”

“On a voyage to the New World, one of Raleigh’s schemes for an American colony to rival the Spanish. Jamie died of a fever aboard the ship, though we knew nothing of his death until months later.”

Elizabeth nodded sadly. She had heard tales of the terrible conditions aboard ships on such long, perilous voyages. Men such as Raleigh and Drake grew wealthy from the journeys, but many more died painful deaths of disease or drowning. “How did he end up on such a voyage? And what does his death have to do with what has happened here?”

“He went on the voyage because he lost most of his fortune to a scheme he was persuaded to take part in by a man he considered a friend. Jamie was ashamed to face our father with his mistake, and he thought he could make back his money on this journey. He still thought this man was his friend, you see, that the loss had been mere misfortune. The man was able to persuade Jamie to invest what he had left in this colony—and to go there himself to oversee the venture. Jamie left before my family knew what he was about, and we only discovered all this later, in reading his journal.”

“How appalling!” Elizabeth cried. She had heard of such criminal, coney-catching schemes before, of the fleecing of poor innocents, and it never failed to make her angry. “What happened to the villain? Did he hang for what he did?”

“No indeed, for like many successful villains, he covered his scheme well,” Edward answered. “In fact, he is quite wealthy from his ill-gotten gains, and betrothed to your friend Mistress Jane Courtwright.”

“Sir Thomas Sheldon,” Elizabeth gasped. Strangely, she was not surprised—she would put nothing beyond the man’s greed and ambition. It was a great blessing Jane was safe from him now. If only Jamie Hartley could have made such an escape…

Then the realization of what this story truly meant hit her like a lightning bolt. Oh no. It could not be. “You meant to kidnap Jane to avenge your family on Sheldon!”

Edward merely nodded. “That was the scheme. He would be shamed in front of the world at last, Mistress Courtwright would find a better husband from among my friends, and Jamie would at last be able to rest in peace. But…”

“But you met me instead,” Elizabeth said tightly. She wasn’t sure what to think or feel. Anger and confusion—and an odd relief—were all tangled up inside of her. Poor Jane would have been terrified to be snatched like that—until she found out the reason why, and that she was being saved from the clutches of Sheldon.

But what if Sheldon cheated once again and it was Edward who fell prey to some scheme?

She stared down at him, her vision suddenly hazy with tears. He smiled up at her, once again the unrepentant Court rake, as if he had not just told her his deepest secrets and changed her life forever. He reached for her bare foot and kissed her ankle, openmouthed, his lips hot and damp.

“I found you instead,” he said. “And it hasn’t been such a terrible mistake, after all, has it?”

As she watched in dizzy fascination, he slid his mouth over her ankle and traced the tip of his tongue over the sensitive arch of her foot. It made her shiver, all ticklish and tingling. He softly kissed the curve behind her ankle and lightly bit it.

Elizabeth’s eyes closed, and her head fell back in a rush of abandon as his mouth traced a fiery path of kisses up to her knee and the curve of her bare thigh. His hand slid up her leg, pushing her chemise out of his way.

“Edward…” she whispered. How could he do this so fast, make her forget all else with his touch?

“Shh, Elizabeth,” he said against her skin. “Just let me touch you, I beg you.”

He begged her? Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from screaming out as he rose up on his knees before her and urged her legs apart. He eased her chemise higher around her hips, and his hands closed on her waist to pull her closer. To her shock, she felt his cool breath on the dark, damp triangle of curls between her thighs.

“Edward!” she cried as a thousand hot sensations shot through her. Her hips arched but his hold on her tightened, and he wouldn’t let her go.

And she didn’t want to leave him at all.

He leaned closer and kissed her there, his tongue darting deep inside her to touch her most sensitive, secret spot. With one hand he still held her by the waist, and with the other he gently spread her open so he could kiss her even deeper, taste her, rough and delicate at the same time.

Elizabeth twined her fingers in his hair to hold him to her. Damn him, but he was so good at that! He knew just where to press hard, to be soft, to linger. It was so terribly intimate, somehow even more than when their bodies were joined, and she felt so—so…

So open to him. To the vivid life he offered in his touch.

His mouth slid away from her to kiss the inside of her thigh. He rose up before her and pulled her close to kiss her, hot and desperate, just as she was for him. He tasted of rain and mint, and shockingly, of her. He lifted her high in his arms, not breaking their kiss, and carried her back to the bedchamber.

Everything was hot and blurry around her as he tumbled her to the mattress. He came down on top of her as she moved her legs higher to hold him in the curve of her body.

Her hands reached around him to feel the heat of his skin, to trace the hollow of his back and the hard strength of his shoulders. How very alive he felt, so real and true! And he made her feel alive, too, for the first time in her life.

His lips traced the curve of her lips, her cheekbone, her closed eyes, and she couldn’t wait any longer. Her fingers slid down to unfasten his breeches and test the hard length of his penis. He was erect and ready, and she opened her legs wider in silent invitation. With a deft twist of his hips he plunged inside and buried himself to the hilt.

She wrapped her legs around his waist in joyous welcome, moving with him, arching and striving until they found their rhythm together, faster and faster. Her nails dug into his back to hold him with her.

That burning pleasure built inside her and she grabbed for it with all her strength. It drove her ever higher and higher, until at last she could jump free and soar up into the sky—with him.

He let out a rough shout and his body grew taut above hers. A great tremor rippled through him and he fell down beside her.

Elizabeth couldn’t think or speak, or even move. She could only shiver with the force of her feelings and hold on to him as she sank back down to earth and into sleep.

Chapter Seven

Edward watched as Elizabeth sorted through the basket of provisions Robert had left them, placing loaves of bread, wheels of cheese and jugs full of wine on the table. She hummed a soft madrigal as she worked, smiling as she sampled a bit of fruit. She wore her chemise again, and a blanket over her shoulders like a shawl. Her hair, waving and dark, was tied back with a length of ribbon, and her cheeks glowed pink.

She looked ridiculously happy—and he had never seen anything so very beautiful in his life. She made him smile, too, a true smile of contentment for the first time in so very long.

For years, ever since Jamie died and Edward embarked on his empty life of carousing and Court advancement, he had felt dead inside. Cold and numb, existing only for the day he would take his revenge.

Now he felt warmth again, like summer sunshine after a long, cold winter, just from gazing at Elizabeth. How had this happened to him? He had never looked for such tenderness in his life, never wanted it, yet here it was before him.

What was he going to do about it? Would he—could he—reach out for this rare gift that had dropped into his hands? Or would he abandon it to continue on his long-set, destructive course?

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at him and her smile widened. It made him smile in return—he simply could not stop it, not when she looked at him like that.

“Such a luxurious captivity this is!” she said merrily. “Ham, cheese, wine, fine white bread. I doubt any prisoner in the Tower is half so well provisioned.”

Edward laughed. “I’m a careful gaoler. I would hate for any captive of mine to suffer in my charge.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Elizabeth popped a bit of bread into her mouth as she watched him thoughtfully. “I’m tempted to stay here in this prison forever.”

He was tempted, too. This tiny cottage had given him a small moment of peace in a life that felt made of war. But their time here grew short. He felt it slipping away, even as he used all his strength to hold on to it.

He held out his hand to her, beckoning her to come to him where he sat on the stool. When she slid her fingers into his, he tugged her down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

Elizabeth laughed and curled up against him. “But I suppose we can’t stay here forever,” she said, as if she could sense his very thoughts.

“Nay, not for much longer. We will be missed.” Edward kissed her temple, inhaling deeply of her sweet perfume. He wanted to remember this, how she felt and smelled, how she looked as she lay against him.

“And you still have your task to complete,” she said.

“I do. I can’t let Sheldon get away with his foul deeds.”

“Of course not. But he should not take you as well as your brother.” She pleated a fold of his shirt between her fingers, a little frown creasing her brow as if she was thinking furiously. “But surely you can’t be the only person he has hurt. There must be many others, even people we know at Court.”

Edward went very still at her words. “What are you saying?”

“Perhaps using Jane is not the only way to expose him!” She sat up straight in his arms, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she looked at Edward. “We must find his other victims and unite with them to bring Sheldon down. If he would hurt my poor niece and your brother, then he would…” She suddenly paused.

“Would what?” Edward asked. At her words, wild and jumbled as they were, he felt an idea take hold in his own mind. A coalition to bring down Sheldon—it could work, if they could find the others. He knew they had to be out there; they were just ashamed, as Jamie had been, to be so taken in by the villain. Shame helped cruelty like his to thrive in the darkness.

They had to bring in the light.

“I just remembered,” Elizabeth said. “The papers!”

“Papers?”

“My niece managed to snatch some documents from Sheldon’s house at her terrible betrothal dinner. She can’t read very well, so she wasn’t sure what they were, but she wanted some kind of leverage against him.”

Well, well—so pretty little Jane Courtwright had something of her aunt in her, after all. “Where are they now?”

“Under the carriage seat. She gave them to me before she eloped with her sweetheart. Surely they would have something that could help us?”

“Possibly. And I have friends in Bankside who can help us, as well. I’m sure they would love to see Sheldon gone, since he takes away their own business.” Edward knew Robert Alden would be up for any scheme, and he was very well connected in the darker side of London.

Perhaps this scheme could work, after all.

Elizabeth kissed him and cried, “How exciting this is!”

“Oh, no,” Edward said. He tightened his arms around her, as if to hold her safe, keep her from touching Sheldon and his filth. “You must go back to Court, Elizabeth, and forget this happened.”

“Go back to my dull life? How can I?” she protested. “Besides, Sheldon tried to hurt Jane. I want him gone, too.”

“I can’t see you hurt,” Edward said roughly, dragging her close. “I’ve hurt enough people in my life already.”

“You will protect me, I know you will. And I want to help.” She reached up to catch his face gently in her hands, her gaze earnest as she watched him. “I will be very careful. I do know how to do that. And I haven’t felt so alive in a long time!”

As he looked into her eyes, Edward knew that for the first time in his life he had found a spirit as willful as his own. Elizabeth would not back away—and neither would he. He would just have to stay very close to her to protect her, always.

And that was a prospect he liked only too much.

“On one condition,” he said.

Elizabeth frowned. “And what is that?”

“That you stay with me,” he answered. “I must insist.”

“Why?” she said suspiciously. “So that you can lock me up, keep me away from Sheldon?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” he said teasingly. “But that would be one of the positive aspects of being your lover.…”

Elizabeth slapped him on the shoulder, and he laughed. He had never thought he could feel so lighthearted with a woman. But now, with Elizabeth, it was something he wanted most eagerly. He had found a spirit that matched his at last, a woman of fire, and together they could have a grand life of adventure. If he could persuade her to stay with him.

“I want to be with you because I have fallen in love with you,” he admitted. “And I never want to be without you. We could have a wonderful life together. One of excitement and adventure…”

Elizabeth seemed so surprised she nearly fell off his lap. He held on to her, not letting her go. “You—love me?” she whispered.

“Absurd, I know. I wasn’t even sure what love was before. But now I do, because of you and our precious time here.”

Tears appeared in her eyes, sparkling, and she laughed. “I—I love you, too, Edward. And I will stay with you. If you promise never to lock me up or lie to me again. I want this to be very different from my first marriage! I want this adventure with you.”

“I promise,” he said. “Unless I am locked up with you…”

And he kissed her, hard and desperate for the taste of her, a kiss full of all the passionate love he had thought could never be his. They were together now—they would never be alone in the world again. That was the best kind of freedom.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him, her fingers buried in his hair as she kissed him back. In her he could feel the promise of a whole new life—a life with her, his love.

If you liked this story, be sure to check out more of Amanda McCabe’s historical romances always available in eBook format:

A Notorious Woman

A Sinful Alliance

High Seas Stowaway

Regency Christmas Proposals

Shipwrecked and Seduced

The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor

The Maid’s Lover

The Winter Queen

To Bed a Libertine

To Catch a Rogue

To Deceive a Duke

To Kiss a Count

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Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to undone@harlequin.ca.

Amanda McCabe wrote her first romance novel at the age of sixteen in Algebra class, an epic starring all her friends as characters! That story will never be published (and she nearly failed Algebra), but now she’s the RITA-nominated, award-winning author of many other books and novellas. She lives in Oklahoma with two cats, a Pug, and a bossy miniature Poodle, and loves dance classes, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network—even though she doesn’t cook. Visit her at www.ammandamccabe.com for Behind the Book information, contests, and upcoming releases, and at riskyregencies.blogspot.com.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-5296-1

To Court, Capture and Conquer

Copyright © 2010 by Ammanda McCabe

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