They shook hands warmly, and actually embraced. Elizabeth heaved a huge sigh of relief and smiled.
At last she risked looking her brother right in the eye. But no, there was no dissembling on his part at all, she was sure of it. He was beaming in delight at them both, happier than she had seen him look for a long time. Then her head turned to look up into the face of her beloved.
Her heart nearly dropped into her feet. For there, smiling down at her tenderly, his mask finally off, bending nearer and nearer to kiss her, was Wilfred Joyce.
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabath's head swum at the enormity of what had just happened on the terrace. Thomas had well and truly caught her in the most passionate encounter behind the potted plant. Her lover had offered for her, and she was now engaged to none other than Sir Wilfred Joyce.
Elizabeth's mind screamed that it simply wasn't possible, but even as she formed the words of denial and refusal in her mind, Will was taking her hand. The sparks almost flew off their flesh despite their gloves still being on, and she understood it all at last.
Marcus Fitzsimmons had pursued her ardently, it was true, but he had never been able to ignite the fires within her such as she had felt in the mysterious dark cave. She had assumed his failure in that regard as a lover had been a result of the less romantic, more mundane surroundings of Ellesmere Manor, and the constant round of socialising which had prevented them from more intimate contact or conversation.
Now she knew it had not been the Manor. It had been the man. He had been the wrong man.
Well, to be fair, she had never come right out and reminded him of what they had supposedly shared in the cave, so he could not be said to have deceived her. She had deceived herself, reading things into what he had said, but her heart and body had not.
But Sir Wilfred? Mr. Joyce? He had never once dropped so much as a romantic hint before his poetry this evening, and that had been more of an intellectual exercise than a declaration of desire. But then, gentlemen should not kiss and tell, or press their attentions where they might not be welcome…
She looked at him again in a whole new light, reviewing all he had said and done since they had been introduced. He had been an excellent companion, going out of his way to elicit her opinions, find out what she truly thought about things. He had treated her as a person in her own right, not just the Duke of Ellesmere's sister. Or as a mere woman to be flirted with, her views on politics like so many bubbles of sparkling conversation to be laughed and teased over.
He had to feel the same overwhelming desire she did. He had said so himself. She had felt his physical response, something she doubted a man was able to fake. Marcus Fitzsimmons had never been able to reproduce even a reasonable approximation of the overwhelming urgency Wilfred, Will, she reminded herself, had shown for her.
Why then the lack of assertion on Will's part for so many days whilst she had been flirted with by every other man in the house party?
The kiss on her hand now told her much of what she needed to know. He loved her. Loved her. Strange though it seemed, he had resisted the stirring of his loins to make certain of her in his heart. But even more importantly, he had been trying to vouchsafe her certainty. To allow her to make her own choice, with no pressure or demands upon her person such as Fitzsimmons had made.
Fitzsimmons had been gradually taking her over with more and more of a proprietary air which she had found vaguely disquieting. She had had increasingly frequent moments of doubt in which she had thought her fortune far more tempting that herself. Now she knew why. It had been.
Looking at Mr. Joyce, Will, she corrected herself again mentally as he smiled down at her now, she saw the look she had seen in her own eyes as she had thought of the marvelous man in the secret cave.
She stared up at him, and stroked his shimmering blond hair in fascination. His lean, hard cheeks, his darkly clad right shoulder, it was all warm and real and oh so familiar now, and yet so exciting.
"My love," he whispered, kissing her right hand once more.
"My dear fellow, my most cherished sister, I don't want to rush your tender display, but we need to get back inside," Thomas said, taking both their stroking hands in his own to separate them. "You've already been missed, and I'm afraid, well, if we don't make your announcement soon, we may have to ward off some unpleasant gossip."
"Gossip?" Will echoed.
Thomas nodded. "I hate to spoil your magical moment, my dear, but I was coming to tell you that Marcus Fitzsimmons has already asked for your hand, Elizabeth."
"My hand?" she gasped, now shuddering with disgust at the very thought.