“Eloquently said.”
Yes. It was a carefully constructed litany. One she had recited to herself over and over during the previous year as she convinced herself that she must marry to save her family from poverty. Elizabeth bowed her head feeling unaccountably ashamed.
“One last question, and then I will not trouble you any further with my irksome declarations.”
Declarations? She glanced up. Were they? If only he had declared his love, she might have... done what? Abandoned her family? No. Better that he hadn’t forced her to make that choice.
“This afternoon.”
She didn’t look up, but she could hear him saying it through clenched teeth.
“When you came so readily into my arms and willingly kissed me...” His shadow fell over her, blocking out the moonlight. “Did you feel nothing?”
I felt as if my soul might melt into yours. He would jeer at her for such a foolish notion.
Valen stepped back, waiting, as shafts of moonlight landed in her lap. Elizabeth stared at her useless hands, catching the silver of the moon but unable to hold it. She glanced up, desperate for him to understand without being forced to say the words.
“Exactly.” He held out his arm and led her back to the gallery.
The ladies had just finished playing. His aunt sat in a chair facing the musicians and clapped enthusiastically.
Valen deposited Elizabeth into the chair next to Lady Alameda. “You must excuse me.” He bowed to them. “The day’s activities have wearied me.”
The trio began playing a selection from Handel, a lovely melancholy sonata that twined around Elizabeth’s frayed emotions like a choking vine.
Lady Alameda turned to her. “Made a muddle of it, did you, my dear?”
Elizabeth found she could not answer for fear the giant lump in her throat might suffocate her. A tear trickled down her cheek, a hot stinging tear. She dashed it away. Lady Alameda clucked her tongue in a wordless scold. And the gentle music wound tighter and tighter around Elizabeth’s lonely soul.
20
The Phantasmagorical Embroidery of Time
Her scream awoke him—ripping through the heavy quiet of night with stark terror. Valen bolted upright, his heart pounding like gunfire.
Another of her nightmares. Devil take Merót!
The second scream was cut short. He threw back the blankets. She would wake the entire household. He jumped up and yanked on his trousers. Perhaps Biggs was right, maybe he ought to wear something to bed. It might save him time in situations like these. But a nightdress? He pulled on a shirt as he stumbled out of his room and down the hall toward her chamber.
“Elizabeth?” He pushed open her door.
She sat up in bed, trembling, her eyes wide, hugging her pillow, shaking her head at him. The curtain hung open, the window thrown wide, allowing a soft breeze to ruffle through the room. Moonlight trickled in from behind racing clouds.
She looked so terrified of him, Valen wondered if she might still be half-asleep. Her face was nearly as white as the bed covers. “Izzie? Don’t be afraid, sweeting. It’s only me. You’re having another of your dreams.”
“No!” She held out her hand, warding him off, shaking her head frantically, gulping for air.
“Don’t be frightened.” Valen went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. He cupped her cheek, smoothing back her damp dark hair. “You’re safe, Izzie.”
“N-o.” The simple word fell from her lips in two syllables, broken by gasps of air and fear. Her gaze darted to the gloom in the corner of the room, and her panic intensified. Valen realized, too late, his error. He spun around.
From the shadows, he emerged. “An interesting tableau, eh?” A pistol leveled at them.
“Merót.”
“The same.” He inclined his head. “Good evening, Monsieur Hawk.”
Valen reached back and pulled Izzie close behind him, keeping his body between her and the Frenchman. He kept his voice steady, fighting the fury swelling up inside him. “I see you evaded my men in London.”
“Evaded? Ha! I strolled out of London without the least hint of trouble. You British, you are so egotistical. So deliciously overconfident.” He kissed his fingers and threw it at them, chuckling. “Your king is insane. Your prince is a fat idiot. Your people are hungry. And still, you think you rule the world. Bah! Soon you will see—you are nothing but a pathetic little island.”
Valen eased off the bed, keeping Elizabeth behind him. “You may have escaped for now, but my men will soon be on your scent.”
“Ahh. So you think you are the hunter, no? The infamous Red Hawk. You would do well to remember the renard, the fox, n’cet pas? He is a hunter as well.” No more flippancy in his tone, his voice resonated with challenge. “And so we meet, the hawk and the fox, over this fearful little rabbit. Which of us shall have her for dinner, I wonder.”
Valen took a step toward Merót, still shielding Elizabeth. “She has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Oh? You think not? She is all part of the game. Part of the hunt, yes? The lure.”
“She wasn’t a spy, if that’s what you think. Purely an accident that our paths crossed at Smythe’s.”
“I do not believe in accidents.” Merót shrugged. “Fate, perhaps. But it does not matter. She is the bait which brings us together. And now the fox will devour the hawk.”
Valen took another step. “Very well, let us settle this between ourselves. I will meet you outside.”
“How very convenient for you. But no. I wish to have this delectable little rabbit for dessert.” He smiled and bobbed the pistol in Valen’s direction. “Kindly stay where you are. I did not make the mistake of bringing a single shot this time. As you can see, I have two bullets—one for you and one for our quivering hare.”
Valen frowned at the over and under. Would one shot from the small
