Twenty-four

S he was going to die, right there in the main salon, either by his hand or the sudden failure of her own, wildly beating heart.

With nothing but a divan between them to protect her, she stared, mortified, trying to comprehend how he could come to be here, in this house, at this moment. Of all the things she had imagined and feared, she had never believed he could find her here or could have trumped her so completely and unexpectedly. Her mind raced around how he might have tracked her, and more astounding, how he could have possibly made Richard's acquaintance.

"Be still," he said gruffly, "or ye'll only make it worse, although it's right hard to fathom how much worse ye could possibly make it."

Fear gripped her. "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded insanely, inching her way down the back of the divan, away from him.

"Have I?" he answered incredulously, then threw back his head and laughed so bitterly that her fear soared uncontrollably. She darted from behind the divan to the loveseat Judith had vacated, but Liam was too strong and too quick; he was there at the same moment, lashing out with his arm, trying to grab her.

"Dear God, Liam, what do you think you are doing here?" she blurted in a panic as she reared back, avoiding his grasp. "This isn't a battlefield! You can't come in here and claim me like some spoil!"

"Ah, Ellie," he said, moving carefully on the other side of the loveseat, smoothly matching every move she made, "did ye honestly think ye'd escape me?"

The question made her suddenly and irrationally furious with him for having found her, because honestly, she had thought she'd escaped him. "How did you find me?" she demanded hotly.

Liam merely chuckled as he leaned over and gripped the back of the loveseat. "Do ye think ye are as clever as all that? Ye had nowhere to go now, did ye, lass? And who's been delivering the post to ye day after day?"

Follifoot! He had betrayed her—

Liam suddenly moved the loveseat a few inches; with a shriek, Ellen whirled and ran blindly to the opposite end of the room, granted a reprieve only by the heaviness of the loveseat that still blocked Liam's way. With a growl, he pushed it aside and started toward her—but the door suddenly opened, and both of them froze, mid-stride.

Filbert stepped in, looked curiously at her, then Liam. "Miss Farnsworth?"

"Yes, Filbert?" she asked, an absurd smile pasted on her face in spite of the breathlessness in her voice.

"Is…is everything in order?"

"Well of course!" she said gaily. "I was just about to show Captain Lockhart the, ah…the lovely, ah…" She blinked, trying to focus on the things in front of her.

"Vase," Liam politely provided for her. "Quite a lovely piece of art, is it no'?"

"Oh, indeed," she said, smoothing her hair, chuckling a little hysterically. "I believe Judith said it was fifteenth century. "

"Ah. Good century, that," Liam said, watching her closely while at the same time they both watched Filbert.

Filbert continued on to the sideboard, examined the various bottles there. Satisfied that all was in order, he turned, seemed startled that they were staring at him. "Is there anything you require, madam?"

Yes! A gun. A rope. A dagger or heavy candlestick would do! "Ah…no. No thank you, Filbert. I think we are quite comfortable." She glanced over her shoulder to see exactly where Liam had gone and was startled by his nearness; he had moved furtively and silently to stand directly behind her. "Are you comfortable, sir?" she asked, frowning, taking one step, then another, away from him.

"Quite," he said, his dark green gaze ferocious in its intensity.

Filbert nodded and began walking toward the door.

"Filbert, wait!" Ellen cried, and instantly darted to his side. "Umm, there is one thing," she said, stealing a glance over her shoulder at Liam. "The tea biscuits Judith likes so very well? Perhaps we might have a few. You could bring them straightaway, could you not? No, no, wait… I'll fetch them. You've enough to do—"

"I beg your pardon, miss," Filbert said, looked past Ellen and nodded at the plate of tea biscuits on the sideboard.

"Stale!" Ellen cried, smiling deliriously at the butler's slightly perturbed expression.

Nonplussed, Filbert said, "I shall bring some—"

"I'll go!"

"Pardon, Miss Farnsworth," he said sternly, "but I shall bring fresh biscuits straightaway." He bowed, glanced at Liam again, then stepped out the door.

The instant the door swung to, Ellen was running again, this time to the hearth, where she grabbed up the iron poker and whirled around, brandishing it like a sword.

Right behind her, Liam laughed as if he were playing a child's game. Laughed so hard, actually, that it was a wonder he didn't topple right over on his bum. That infuriated her.

"Mi Diah! Ellie, ye canna escape me again—ye know it! Come now, I'll make it easier on us both. Just hand over the bloody beastie, and I'll let ye be, I will."

She could tell by the glint in his eye that she would not be so easily dismissed. "Liar! You must take me for a great fool, Liam! Do you think I believe that if I give you the beastie, you'll just quietly step into the night and go away?"

"No' without me supper, no," he said, grinning wickedly.

"You don't intend to dine with us!" she said harshly.

"What, mo ghraid, are ye fearful I'll give ye away? Tell yer friends that their illustrious guest is, in reality, a conniving little thief?"

Actually, that was precisely what she feared.

"Oh, no—I'll stay for supper, I will. And after that delightful repast, I'll have the beastie."

"That's all?" she asked incredulously. "That's all you want?"

"Ah, leannan is it no' as plain as the nose on yer face? I want the goddamn beastie, naturally. But I also want yer pretty arse on one of these fancy platters."

Ellen gasped; Liam started forward, and she raised the poker, prepared to strike.

"Suithad!" he growled.

Whatever that might have meant, Ellen raised the poker higher—then instantly dropped it at the sound of the door opening on the far end of the room.

Liam straightened casually, his burning gaze still on her .

"What are you two doing?" Judith trilled from the other end of the room.

"Stirring the fire!" Ellen said on a nervous laugh. "It's rather cold."

"Oh…I thought you said you were warm, dear!"

"Did you?" Ellen asked cheerfully, thrusting the poker at Liam as she started toward Judith.

Liam chuckled beneath his breath and moved to the hearth to stir the coals as Ellen sailed around him, to Judith's side, and quickly linked her arm through her friend's. Judith smiled, patted her hand, and whispered, "Your color is quite high."

Fabulous. And she was about to be quite ill, thank you.

Richard, following Judith, was all smiles himself. "What marvelous coincidence, Captain Lockhart! Cook informs me we are having excellent Scotch beef this evening, roasted to perfection."

"Ah, but the good fortune is all mine, sir. New friends, a dear acquaintance, and an excellent meal. The angels are smiling on me, to be sure," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking like some soft country gentleman.

Ellen rolled her eyes.

"And might I add that I look forward to our supper, for Miss Farnsworth has always been an excellent conversationalist," he said.

"Oh yes, she is indeed," Judith eagerly agreed.

"Very clever, too. And quite witty with her words."

Judith laughed, and as Liam turned away to hear something Richard was saying, she squeezed Ellen's hand. "You are so very fortunate, darling, to have such a brave and agreeable gentleman so very smitten with you, and it's quite obvious that he is. Oh, this is very exciting!" she whispered, and shivered, as if the whole notion of a love match gave her goose bumps .

Ellen forced a smile and extracted her hand from Judith's grip. "Exciting," she muttered, "hardly begins to describe it."

Supper, much to Liam's added delight, was actually delectable, owing chiefly to the most excellent Scotch beef Peasedown had managed to purchase. Equally delectable was Ellie, who acted as if she were sitting on a pin cushion throughout the course of the meal. When she wasn't squirming in her seat or feigning interest in something one of the Peasedowns said, she was staring daggers at him.

And looking quite beautiful as she did so.

Nevertheless, her haughty attitude was beyond comprehension. Obviously, in the land of Laria, or wherever her little head was residing, it was perfectly natural for her to go around binding people up and stealing their belongings, but appalling for him to come and take his belongings back. The longer the supper wore on (and it wore on quite long, no thanks to Peasedown, who was, apparently, quite fond of telling long, twisted tales about absolutely nothing ), the more incensed Liam became. She had her nerve, this mad, barmy little English chit, to treat him as if he were some kind of thief! In fact, he was so incensed by the time the last course of plum cake was served that he inserted himself into the middle of Lady Peasedown's discourse about a silly little problem the parish was having with missing hens.

"Hens," Ellie repeated, as if she hadn't heard Lady Peasedown clearly, her long fingers fidgeting with the stem of her crystal wineglass.

"Hens! Quite shocking, isn't it? It's rather well established, really—hens from as far away as the parish church all the way down to the river on the other side of King's Lynn have all up and disappeared! Who would do such a vile thing, do you suppose? "

"Mrs. Radley," Lord Peasedown said instantly, flicking something from the tablecloth. "I saw her in town not two days past carrying about a basket of eggs for the church wards."

"Oh, Richard!" Judith exclaimed with much exasperation. "Mrs. Radley is quite ancient, and she's been known for her prized hens for years now. You can be sure to find her every Thursday morning delivering eggs to the needy! I rather suppose she has all her hens under lock and key!"

"She might be ancient, darling, but I think it rather odd that she is the only one in the entire shire who hasn't lost a hen!"

"Well, if it is Mrs. Radley," Judith argued, "then her age must be taken into account. Elderly people can be rather batty, you know, all at sixes and sevens, not knowing quite who they are or what they are about," she added with an authoritative sniff, leaning to one side so the footman could remove her plate.

"If indeed the work of a demented old woman," Liam interjected amicably, looking at Ellie, "would ye dismiss her actions altogether, then?"

"Of course not!" Judith said instantly. "Thievery of any kind is insupportable."

"But what if ye had a dear demented friend do the same—"

"Which I would not, for my friends are neither thieves nor demented," Judith quickly assured him.

"As far as ye know. But say one was to fall on a wee bit of bad luck and were to take something that didn't belong to her—or him—and just the one time, mind ye. Would ye still condemn her—er, him?"

"Certainly! As I said, thievery of any kind is insupportable," she said emphatically.

"But Judith, surely you remember the tale of Robin Hood," Ellie interjected, her blue eyes twinkling like ice as she glared at Liam. "What if this supposed friend stole from the rich to give to the poor? Is that not commendable on some level?"

"Oh…well, I'm not certain what I would make of that, if something were taken for a good cause…"

"Judith, darling, please do not leave our guests with the impression that it is quite to your liking to have someone steal from us to give to the less fortunate. If there are those among us who go lacking, I, for one, should like to give charitably rather than have it taken from me without my consent."

"Oh yes, dear," Judith hastily agreed. "I should certainly and earnestly agree with that."

"So there is no circumstance, then, that you might see it is the right thing to do?" Ellie tried again. "Or perhaps less reprehensible?"

"Are there degrees of reprehension, Miss Farnsworth?" Liam asked.

"Apparently!"

"I should think there is only reprehension," Judith said, oblivious to the debate raging between her guests. "And to answer your question, Ellen, no, I could not see my way into thinking it the right thing to do, most assuredly not."

"But suppose it was something simple—a flower . A bouquet of flowers picked from your neighbor's prized garden—without his knowledge, of course—and given to someone's particular favorite? Surely that is innocent enough to avoid your complete censure." She sat back, folded her arms across her middle, and cocked a triumphant brow for Liam's benefit.

Judith seemed terribly confused, but finally shook her head. "No, I should think even something as small and insignificant as that would be insupportable. Don't you agree, dear?" she asked hopefully of Richard.

"Of course, darling. If one is inclined to take something that doesn't belong to one, be it a single rose or a precious jewel, it is still quite criminal and therefore wholly insupportable. Port, Captain Lockhart?"

"Aye, thank ye," Liam said, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "I canna argue with yer reasoned thinking, milord," he said as Filbert poured the port for him. "But I believe there are certain circumstances, perhaps quite rare, that the taking of something without permission is warranted."

"Indeed? When would that be, sir?"

"If, for example, something belonged to ye by right and was taken by a close acquaintance, and the acquaintance wouldna return it—"

"Ridiculous," Ellie muttered.

"I should think in that circumstance one might consider thievery a legitimate course of action."

"A legitimate course of action? Do not the courts exist for that very thing, Captain Lockhart? To resolve disputes among differing parties, even cousins?" Ellie asked, straightening in her chair.

"Aye, indeed they do, Miss Farnsworth," Liam conceded with a deferential dip of his head to conceal his smirk. "If one could rely on the English courts to function properly…and if one could rely on his acquaintances to leave things where they be."

Lord Peasedown laughed at that, lifted his port glass to Liam's in mock salute. "Hear, hear, Captain Lockhart."

"Oh yes, hear, hear, what brilliance, sir," Ellie said with another roll of her eyes.

"Spoken like a true scholar of the British judiciary indeed!" Peasedown continued. "I've quite a few opinions of it myself, actually. Perhaps you might indulge me and join me on a shoot tomorrow—we could discuss it further without boring the ladies."

He received a smile from Judith and a withering look from Ellie for his thoughtfulness .

"I've one more day ere I return to Scotland," Liam said thoughtfully, stealing a glimpse of Ellie, who was, naturally, glaring heatedly at him. "Aye, a splendid suggestion. That would be grand, milord."

Ellie lifted her napkin and made a noise that sounded something like a snort.

"Then you must come for supper again on the morrow, Captain Lockhart!" Lady Peasedown exclaimed. "This has been such jolly fun, hasn't it? By my word, we'll keep you quite entertained until your departure. Won't we, Ellen?"

Ellie gave her such a look that Liam all but choked on his port.

But Lady Peasedown seemed quite oblivious to it; she put her linen aside and stood, smoothing her gown. "Ellen, dear, I think it is time we retired to the drawing room and let the gentlemen have their smoke, shall we?"

"Please," she said coldly. Her gaze skimmed over Liam, but he swore he saw the dangerous little gleam in her eye as the footman came around behind her, pulling out her chair. She rose, like a mist on the lake, as beautiful in a snit as she was in normal countenance, and walked on, preceding her hostess, sailing out of the dining room without a good evening, good day, or a lusty go to hell.

Lady Peasedown, still oblivious, paused to kiss her husband's cheek. "Don't be long," she said sweetly, then flashed a warm smile at Liam.

Poor Lady Peasedown, Liam thought as he returned her gracious smile, all her good intentions at making a match were as good as gone to hell in a handbasket.

Later, in the main salon, the evening became unbearably interminable. Ellen began to fear that Liam would never leave, and that Judith, in a burst of enthusiastic matchmaking, would convince him to stay and inhabit the suite of rooms directly next to hers for the rest of their natural lives, and the four of them might possibly live happily ever after.

But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was—alarmingly so—that her heart had skipped a beat at the first sight of him, had twirled a bit with his sardonic smile, and her spirit had soared through that drawing room with longing and the intense need to be held. How very ironic that she should still want to seek comfort in his arms and feel his strength surround her after what she had done. How very deplorable that she would never know his touch again.

Except, perhaps, to feel his hands around her neck squeezing the very life from her, which is exactly the way he was looking at her now.

No matter how much she longed for him, had longed for him, the cold hard truth was that he did not long for anything but to strangle the life from her. She could see as much in the hard glint of his eyes. It was painful to see, for deep affection had once shone in those beautiful green eyes, affection that had been thoroughly eliminated thanks to her betrayal. She hated herself for it.

Add that to the guilt she carried, and she was made quite miserable. Guilt, guilt, guilt that consumed her. She had never thought herself capable of harming another person, certainly not by betraying one, and certainly not after she had been so cruelly betrayed many years ago. She sorely regretted and despised the discovery that she was, apparently, that sort of person indeed, and worse, now that she had come this far—now that she had tasted freedom beyond her father's reach, had even reveled in it—she was the sort of person who was unwilling to give up her one hope for everlasting freedom, no matter how wrongly achieved it was. Yes, she was the sort of person who was rigidly unwilling to send Natalie back to their little patch of hell, and would hang on to this freedom with everything in her power. Which meant, unfortunately, that she must protect that god-awful beastie with her very life.

The least he could do, she thought morosely, was stop staring at her. Every time she looked up from the fretting of what to do, she caught him staring at her, studying her, that awful smile of contempt on his face. And she hated the look in his eyes, hated that she couldn't quite read what it was, that she didn't fully understand it as she had just days ago. It made her positively demented in her anger—she wondered what he would have done had he been in her shoes? Undoubtedly ask politely, may I have the beastie, please? Honestly, what moral high ground! And now he had come and ruined everything! It infuriated her, almost as much as her own bloody irrational thoughts about it. Was she insane? Quite possibly! And to hell with her, but she didn't give a bloody damn!

When Liam at last stood and bade them all a good night, and Richard insisted he take the curricle so that he might return promptly at eleven o'clock for their little shoot, Ellen could scarcely stand still, so anxious was she to rush upstairs and assure herself that he had not, by some miracle or magic trick, snatched the beastie back.

They all accompanied him to the front entry, walking languidly down the long corridor, Judith smiling at her, Liam eyeing her carefully, and Richard still talking about a particular dog he intended to bring along tomorrow, as if anyone could possibly care. They stood as Filbert handed Liam his hat, gloves, and regimental coat (still missing the button he had given to Natalie, which the poor girl carried, closely guarded, in her little reticule).

He casually shrugged into the coat, then donned his gloves, shook Richard's hand— Looking quite forward to our shoot, I am, bowed over Judith's hand— I couldna possibly be more charmed, Lady Peasedown, ye've made me feel so welcome, ye have— then turning to Ellen as Judith and Richard beamed like proud parents.

He held out his hand; Ellen reluctantly put her hand in his gloved one. His fingers closed around her hand, squeezing it painfully, so painfully that she could feel it buckling her knees. Somehow she managed to keep standing, keep smiling. Albeit a very thin smile.

"Ye canna imagine how happy it leaves me to make yer acquaintance again, Miss Farnsworth. As I said, heaven's angels have taken a particular fancy to me."

"I should not go so far as that," she retorted coolly, and tried not to wince at the pressure on her hand.

"Aye, no doubt ye're quite right, for if heaven's angels truly fancied me, they'd no' have let ye escape in the first place, eh?"

"Ooh," Judith sighed.

"Perhaps it is the case then, sir, that heaven's angels fancy me," she said, returning his smirk and ignoring Judith's gasp. "Good night, then."

Liam chuckled, let go of her hand. "Good night, Miss Farnsworth. I anxiously await our next meeting."

Ellen stepped back beyond his reach and nodded demurely, wishing he would leave, just… leave . Leave her alone, leave her with her memories. That was the only way she knew how to live, wasn't it? Alone, with nothing but memories?

"Good night, and 'til the morrow," he said to them all, and as Filbert drew the massive doors open, Ellen peeked up through her lashes, watched him walk out into the night, and pushed down the little voice inside her that cried out for him to come back.

She took her leave of Judith and Richard immediately, citing a slight headache, to which Judith flashed her a knowing smile. "You get some rest, dearest, and we'll chat it all up on the morrow, shall we?" she said with a sly wink.

God save her. "Good night," she said, and quickly made her way upstairs to her dressing room, where she fell down on her knees, crawled under several gowns Judith had hung in the dressing room for her use, moved aside the hatboxes and pulled out the small portmanteau where she had put the beastie, wrapped tightly in Liam's plaid. She withdrew it, could tell by the weight of it that Liam had not somehow managed to steal it back, but she unwrapped it nevertheless.

It was still there, just as hideously ugly as it was the first time she had laid eyes on it. Ellen rocked back on her heels with a sigh of relief and stared down at the ugly little thing. What to do? There was no hope of keeping Liam from searching for it. If there was a way to gain entry to her suite, he would find it, if he hadn't already. And he wouldn't let it slip through his fingers again. She first thought to hide it someplace new, someplace he couldn't find in this massive house. But then she feared a servant would find it, or Judith and Richard. Even their children. There was Natalie's room—but if she found this thing, it would scare her half to death. No, better to leave it here. At least she could keep an eye on it.

The ugly thing winked up at her with its awful ruby eyes. Part of her wished he'd just go on and find it— Ho, there! A silly, ridiculous idea popped into her head. Let him find it. She thought about that, then laughed at her own foolishness. No, no, he'd never… but wouldn't he? Honestly, this was an idea that just might work. And really, what else could she do, given the circumstance?

Ellen pushed herself to her feet, returned to the main room of her suite, and found the pair of shears Judith and her chambermaid had left when altering several hand-me-down gowns for her (they are frightfully too small for me, Ellen) . In the dressing room again, she grabbed a corner of Liam's kilt. Holding her breath, she made the first snip of the luxurious wool fabric. She could almost feel him out there somewhere, almost hear his roar of protest, and she quickly cut the plaid in half, releasing her breath when she had done it.

Ellen worked well into the night, even stealing out into the gardens on the east side of the house through an unused servant's entrance. When she had finished, she was certain it would never work. But she hid the beastie away nonetheless. And then she stepped into Natalie's room to have a look at her daughter.

In sleep, her young face was free of the lines of worry that Ellen so often noticed on her now. She tucked the coverlet more securely around Natalie, then quietly returned to her room and her bed, where she fell into a hard, fitful sleep, one peppered with dreams of Liam. Liam finding her, his eyes full of rage. Liam running from her, his eyes full of loathing… Liam.

She awoke before dawn, her head hurting from lack of sleep, and her sight blurred from the scars her dreams had left behind. After dressing, she checked one last time to make sure everything was in order. There was no longer any question—she had to leave Peasedown, and as soon as possible. How foolish she had been to have ever let down her guard. Now she would pay for her inattention and complacency.

Worse, there was no time to debate where she would go. So she decided she and Natalie would go to France. Richard had talked at length about it just two evenings past. He had said something she found quite interesting—that in the aftermath of war there was quite a lot of social and political reconstruction going on, and new faces, men and women alike, were gaining a foothold in popular politics and society. It had occurred to Ellen that a country recovering from war might be the very place for her and Natalie. They could, along with everyone else, start their lives over. Fresh. Anew.

When Natalie awoke, Ellen was sitting on the edge of her bed, gazing down at her with a soft smile.

"Mother?" she asked, yawning.

"Good morning, darling. I was waiting for you to wake." She leaned over, kissed Natalie's brow, then stood. "Let's get you dressed." Ellen walked to the small closet in Natalie's room, opened the door to remove the one frock she had not already packed away in anticipation of their escape.

"I had a funny dream last night," Natalie said, splashing water in the basin behind Ellen.

"Did you?"

"I dreamed that Captain Lockhart came and rescued us."

Ellen's blood ran cold. She turned slowly, glared at her daughter at the basin. "Is this another of your fantasies, Natalie?" she demanded. "If it is, it is hardly amusing."

Natalie turned a wide-eyed look of surprise to her. "No! Truly, I dreamed it!"

Ellen crossed the room in four strides and grabbed Natalie's upper arm. "Is that all there was to the dream? Did he say anything more?"

"N-no—"

"Where were you in this dream?"

"Here!" she cried, wincing at the force of Ellen's grip. "I only dreamed it! He's not come to my room—" The child gasped, slapped a hand over her mouth.

"What did you say?" Ellen demanded.

Natalie did not answer—she looked positively mortified. Dear God . Ellen's breath was coming fast and hard, and she swallowed, trying to see past Natalie's eyes, down into her very heart. Was it possible? "Have you seen him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tears began to stream down Natalie's face; she nodded uncertainly.

Ellen's heart sank. "What did he say?" she asked, trying desperately to remain calm.

"That he wanted to surprise you!"

"Is that all? Nothing more?"

"Just that we'd be rescued—"

"God in heaven, Natalie, this is not Laria!" Ellen cried with frustration.

"I didn't say that it was!" Natalie wailed, frightened now.

Ellen quickly grabbed her, held her close, and took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. "I'm sorry, darling. It's just that sometimes I don't know what is fantasy and what is real to you. Come on then, let's get you dressed," she said, and turned away so that Natalie could not see how truly distraught she was.