Chapter 17

The main sitting area of Aphrodite was buzzing with activity, but James was indifferent from the revelry, lost in thought as he swirled the whisky in his glass. It had been an entire week since he last saw and held Elizabeth in his arms, and James fiercely missed her. It was unnerving.

"If I had not witnessed this myself, I would not have believed it," Radbourne remarked, his voice tinged with amusement as he nudged James's boot with his foot. "You are entirely detached from everything around us. Madam Rebecca went out of her way to organize tonight's Egyptian theme and dances, and you are decidedly unimpressed. Why did you even come?"

A humorless smile quirked James's mouth. "To gain perspective," he replied, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass.

"Oh?" Oliver said, his attention partially diverted from the buxom beauty trying her best to capture his interest. "What do you need perspective on?"

"This unending craving I have for a particular woman," James confessed, his voice low.

Radbourne straightened up, his casual demeanor shifting to one of keen interest. "One particular woman?" he echoed, clearly surprised. "Is such a thing truly possible?"

"Hmm," James murmured, taking a long sip of his whisky. "I have deliberately stayed away from her for the last seven days, thinking this feeling will surely pass. Instead, every damn day I must talk myself out of sending her a note to meet me or seek her out."

"A note?" Radbourne laughed. "How … sweet."

James, unable to suppress a smirk, grabbed a cushion and tossed it at his still laughing friend.

"Take a woman upstairs to your rooms," Oliver suggested casually. "See if—"

"I gave up my rooms earlier," James cut him off, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Radbourne sobered immediately, and Oliver looked at James with astonishment. The atmosphere around them shifted, the earlier mirth cooling into something more contemplative.

James chuckled dryly. "I haven't taken one of the ladies here in months. Hell, there was a time I was tupping, and I felt so damn empty I just stopped without climaxing. That happened three times before I just lost interest."

He paused, emptying his glass before setting it down on the table before them. "I still found a measure of amusement coming here, but since … since her, Aphrodite is like a damn afterthought. The only time I feel a measure of excitement is when I think about bringing her here."

"Ah," Radbourne murmured, "that lady who teased us with your riding so exquisitely is her."

James's usual detached fa?ade cracked slightly, revealing a depth of emotion that he seldom allowed others to see. A man known for his dispassionate dalliances and libertine lifestyle, now it appeared he was caught in the throes of something far deeper and entirely consuming.

It was bloody laughable. It was also an alchemy he might never understand.

"Who is this lady? Do we know her? Never say—" Radbourne's words broke off sharply, and he with a devilish glint in his eyes, said, "Armstrong. We have not seen you in a couple of weeks. I heard a most interesting tidbit, that you are enamored with one of Madam Rebecca's girls and you are hoping to set her up as your mistress."

Surprisingly, a flush mounted on their friend's cheeks as he dropped his weight onto one of the armchairs.

Radbourne chuckled and continued, "Beatrice, I think her name is, but you fondly call her Bea."

The flush on Armstrong's face deepened, indicating the topic touched a nerve. He took the drink offered by a woman in a revealing gown with a distracted nod.

"I have no time for your ribbing, Radbourne. My sister was in a carriage accident, which still has me rattled, and Madam Rebecca is annoying me by insisting I cannot ask for the same lady each time I visit. I believe she is trying—"

An emotion James couldn't quite identify twisted through his gut. "What did you say, Brandon?"

He was momentarily confused by James's intensity. "Madam Rebecca says—"

"About the carriage accident," James interrupted sharply. His heart felt like it would pound outside of his chest.

Brandon paused, the levity draining from his expression as he registered the seriousness in James's tone. He hesitated, then spoke with more caution, "My aunt's carriage was involved in an accident a couple of days ago. My sister was the only person aboard."

"Was she hurt?" James pressed, his tone sharp, each word clipped with concern that he could not be bothered to disguise.

"I ... what is happening?" Brandon was visibly shaken by James's reaction.

"Was she hurt?" James demanded again, his patience wearing thin.

"She had a small bruise on her shoulder and complained of some pain there," Brandon responded. "The physician was called, and he gave a good report, thankfully."

Without another word, James was on his feet. He moved swiftly, cutting through the crowd of guests dressed in the opulent finery of an ancient Egyptian-themed event.

He barely noticed the surprised looks from those he brushed past, his concentration entirely on getting out of the pleasure palace and finding out more about Elizabeth's injury. The idea of Elizabeth hurt, even slightly, was enough to set his world off its axis, exposing the depth of his feelings for her even if he wanted to bloody hide from them. As he pushed through the doors, the cool night air hit him, and he took a steady breath.

James rattled off instructions to his coachman and went into his carriage. They moved with an urgent but careful pace through familiar streets. The carriage stopped, and he dismounted, nodding to his coachman, who had stopped a few houses down.

James stealthily moved toward the side gate leading to the back gardens.

The moon provided scant illumination, casting long shadows that helped conceal his movements. He remembered her once mentioning that her room was on the second floor, conveniently away from her aunt and mother's rooms on the third floor. James selected a few small pebbles from the ground, their rough edges cool and solid in his palm, and tossed them gently against a window. He waited, hoping for a sign of response. The first window remained dark and silent, as did the second. A twinge of frustration nudged him as he aimed at the third window, a bit more forcefully this time.

That window finally shoved open, and Elizabeth's head appeared, her hair loose, cascading around her shoulders as she peered down into the darkness. James's heart leaped at the sight of her, an unknown feeling momentarily flooding through him. Keeping to the shadows, he watched as she scanned the garden below, her expression a mix of confusion and concern.

Elizabeth withdrew, closing the window softly. Seizing the moment, James approached the wall beneath her window where a climbing trellis, laden with ivy, offered a precarious but viable path upwards. He began to climb, the old wood creaking under his weight, his hands finding holds among the thick vines.

Reaching the small balcony, he hoisted himself over the railing with a quiet grunt. The balcony window was not latched, and he pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit room. His sudden appearance elicited a startled scream from Elizabeth, followed by a sharp gasp.

"James! Have you taken leave of your senses?" she said, her voice a mix of shock and relief as she recognized him.

Then in the very next breath she hurtled forward, laughed, and jumped into his arms, hooking her legs around his hips, all but climbing his body. Her unbound hair rippled in glorious waves down her back. A few wisps enchantingly framed her face. Elizabeth twined her hands around his neck. The feel of her fingers against his nape sent a spark of want through his entire body. He closed his arms around her back, aware of his pounding heart.

"You scoundrel," she murmured, then lightly laughed. "I am astonished you snuck into my bedchamber. What if you were caught?"

"I have many experiences sneaking—"

She pinched his side, seemingly with all her strength.

"What villainy is this?" he muttered.

"It's a pinch," she groused. "How dare you mention stealing into other women's bedchambers before me."

James grinned. "My apologies."

A softening touched her eyes, and though a faint smile played on her lips, it was tinged with exasperation.

"I had to see you to make sure you were well," he said. "Brandon mentioned the accident."

"You could have called on me tomorrow; my aunt would have been delighted," she teased lightly, though her voice quivered with emotion.

"But where's the adventure in that?" he replied, pressing his mouth to her forehead.

James held her firmly, walked over to the bed, placed her in the center and then climbed beside her. Her face flushed a delicate, rosy hue, and her eyes searched his face, a question he did not understand in her gaze.

"Let me see your shoulder."

She gave him her back, and he tugged at the nightgown, baring her creamy shoulders. There was a red bruise. "Does it still hurt?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"I am."

He brushed his mouth over her nape, and she jerked away, giggling.

"You are ticklish."

"Frightfully so!" Elizabeth rolled toward him, nestling close and throwing her arm over his chest. "I missed you these last few days."

He lowered his head and tenderly brushed a kiss across her mouth. I missed you too, James silently admitted, refusing to say the words aloud lest they opened a door he could not step back from.

"Let me hold you," he said.

"Your heart is pounding so, James," she said softly, resting her cheek on his chest. "I can hear it."

"You could have been hurt or killed," he said gruffly.

"It was not such a serious accident," she murmured, tenderly brushing her finger over his brow. "You worry for naught. The pain in my shoulder has eased."

Relief washed through him. "What happened?"

"A carriage pulled by a team of four seemed to have lost control. It careened into aunt's carriage. Luckily, I was the only one who visited Hatchard's. No one else was harmed."

"Good."

"Your heart is still pounding."

"You are reposing atop me in a very provocative manner."

She giggled, and her sweet laugh sunk deep inside his bones, filling him with a warmth that banished the chill of the night.

"What books did you get?"

"Othello and Richard III and The Castle of Otranto."

"Ah, all excellent."

"You read them all?"

"Hmm."

"What else do you like other than tupping, chess, the pianoforte and reading?"

"You," he said, shifting to deeply kiss her. She moaned, parting her lips to sinuously glide her tongue against his. The beat of her heart against his chest was felt in every part of James's body.

He broke their kiss, and she smiled, resting her chin on his chest.

"You also like kissing," she drawled. "Do you wonder about me?"

"Every hour of the day."

She narrowed her gaze in mock outrage. "Only every hour?"

James chuckled. "Other than chess and reading … and tupping and kissing, what do you like?"

"I enjoy fishing."

"Fishing?"

"Yes." Another laugh came from her. "My father usually stole me away to teach me how to fish. When mama found out, she was enraged. Young ladies do not fish, but somehow, she never stopped me from tagging along with papa and Brandon."

How wistful she sounded.

"Then we shall go fishing together at my country estate in Derbyshire."

"I would be delighted, she said, grinning. Elizabeth delicately cleared her throat. "James?"

He frowned. "It is not like you to sound hesitant."

"I am not with child," she said softly.

He closed his eyes, for in her tone, he heard the echoes of disappointment and longing. James had no words to offer her and only held her in his arms until her breathing evened out and she fell asleep.