She forced herself to stand straighter, wiping her damp palms on her skirts. Every nerve felt raw and exposed.
There was a knock.
Elizabeth froze.
“Ye’ll be fine, lass,” Alasdair said, his voice calm and low, but his green eyes glittered with possessiveness. “Look at ye, still as bonnie as ever. Like nae Scotsman ever ravished ye with his mouth in a darkened room.”
“Are you there, Elizabeth?” came a voice from the other side. Her stepmother. Sharp. Suspicious. “I knew you’d be hiding again. Come and talk to some lords who have been asking after you.”
“Coming!” Elizabeth squeaked, her voice higher than usual.
She glanced at Alasdair, who had already disappeared into the shadows, finding a nook behind the tall shelves. Then she opened the door with forced composure, stepping into the hall.
Lady Grisham’s gaze was cutting. “So, you were there all along?”
Elizabeth said nothing, but her face was a little too flushed, her breathing not quite as even as it should be.
“You know we can’t waste time. Not anymore.”
Elizabeth said nothing, but her heart twisted. She knew what that meant.
Their time was running out.
There was the cruel truth: her stepmother, strategic and exacting, was eager to erase every trace of their father’s first marriage.
Marianne, Elizabeth, Daniel.
Even the twins, though technically hers, didn’t seem to be spared her calculated plans. Elizabeth was only useful now if she married well. Quickly.
She nodded stiffly. “I’m here now. I’m ready.”
That was the lie of the century.
In truth, she could still feel Alasdair’s tongue and his fingers between her thighs. Still taste his name on her lips. Her entire body was alive in a way she’d never imagined. Her nipples were still tight, aching against the fabric of her dress.
The idea that Lady Grisham—or anyone—might have stumbled in a moment earlier turned her stomach with a mixture of dread and shame.
It could never happen again. She couldn’t let it.
She wouldn’t survive it if it did.
“I see you’re back to hiding from the ton now, Elizabeth,” Lady Grisham remarked the next morning, her tone sugar-laced with criticism.
They were in the drawing room, the windows thrown wide to let in the weak morning sun. Elizabeth had taken her tea to her bedroom, pleading yet another headache. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her mind was a storm.
“You were doing so well,” Lady Grisham continued. “Attracting lords of all kinds and ages. People have been talking about how beautiful you are. How intelligent. Do you know what a rare combination that is?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mind kept flashing back to the library. The feel of his mouth. The sound of his voice when he’d whispered,Let me worship you. Her entire body heated at the memory.
“I truly think I won’t be able to converse with said lords properly when I am not well,” she said at last, lying flat on her stomach in her room.
Her pillows were stacked high, her face turned to the side, cool fabric brushing her cheek.
Lady Grisham lingered in the doorway, watching her with a narrowed gaze.
“Mmm. A touch of illness here and there to avoid the crowd? You are getting good at it, Elizabeth.” Her voice was light, but there was an edge under it. “Could it be something worse?”
Elizabeth stiffened. “It’s nothing more than a headache. However, I know I won’t be contributing to any meaningful conversation when my temples are pounding, and my eyes can barely tolerate light.”