Page 17 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

seventeen

E LIZABETH HAD TO blink away hot tears as she left Christopher behind. As much as she disliked agreeing with her mother, if Pearce found her with Christopher, he would be upset and most importantly, she didn’t want to cause Christopher trouble.

She had barely time to turn a corner before bumping into Pearce.

“Elizabeth.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I was looking for you. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re flustered. Were you crying?”

“No, I …” Couldn’t she have a moment alone?

Christopher’s intoxicating smell lingered on her skin, reminding her of how close they’d been a moment ago.

“Something upset you.” Pearce took her hand and led her to a small sitting room.

When he shut the door behind him, a flare of worry pinched her chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just want to know what happened to you. Why are you upset? Was it me?”

“I had an argument with my mother. Nothing important.” That was true. At least the part about the argument.

“She wants a quick engagement, doesn’t she? She wants us married in six months. She’s quite insistent. When I discussed the possibility of marrying you with your parents, they were both eager for a quick engagement.”

She rubbed her forehead. “If you’ll excuse me, I need the ladies’ room … again.”

She went to open the door, but he took her wrist. The grip was gentle, but it was also a reminder of how strong and powerful he was.

“I’m sorry if I put pressure on you. I know you feel overwhelmed,” he said. “Marrying a duke usually is. But it’s the most logical decision for you.”

Most logical. How awful. She loved logic and mathematics, but not when it came to matters of the heart. And if she heard one more comment on her phantomatic wedding, she was going to scream.

She tugged at her hand, and he let her go without hesitation.

“We can be happy together. You’ll have all the things you want,” he said.

Things. She didn’t want things. She wanted love, passion, companionship.

“Thank you for your understanding.” She left the parlour, wondering if he’d caught the sadness in her voice.

Since he didn’t follow her, she walked back to the corridor where she’d met Christopher, but it was empty.

She returned to the ballroom and waited for her mother. Smiling and nodding her head politely at the other guests required a ridiculous amount of control. She paused in front of the window overlooking the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Christopher. Her heart stuttered when she spotted him watching the house. The glow from a street lamp lit his blond hair.

She had to admit that, for those who weren’t aware of the days she and Christopher had shared in the cottage, her concern for his well-being had to sound absurd.

Officially, she had no reason to care about him, having seen him only once. Pearce wouldn’t understand the bond between them—she didn’t fully understand it, either—but he would also do his best to keep Christopher at bay.

On a cold, rational level, she couldn’t deny her stubbornness; wanting to see him was impractical, to say the least. Dangerous at the most.

The combination of care and tenderness she felt for him had no future. She would never have the opportunity to explore those feelings because, unless she abandoned her status, position, and family, they wouldn’t be together.

And what her future would be? She wasn’t ready for such a drastic change of her life. There wouldn’t be any going back. Was she ready to leave her house and family? No, unless Christopher shared her same wish to be together.

But he might not want to be involved with her in that fashion. Perhaps he didn’t care about a wife. Perhaps he already had one.

She pressed a gloved hand on the glass. He lifted his head up and raised a hand although she wasn’t sure he was staring at her. If she opened the window?—

“I can’t believe you didn’t learn your lesson,” Mother half-hissed, half-whispered, somehow managing to sneak up on Elizabeth unseen. “You’re still thinking about him.”

“He’s a good man, despite what you say.” Although she wondered why he carried a gun. Pearce had mentioned something about Christopher being a criminal, but a gun?

Mother forced a smile at a passing lady before speaking again. “You’re about to become a duchess. You can’t and mustn’t associate yourself with someone like him. Whatever childish fantasy you indulge yourself in about him, it must stop now.”

“I’m not about to become a duchess, and I don’t indulge myself in any fantasy. I only think we behaved horribly with him.”

“Of course, His Grace is going to marry you. He bought you an engagement ring. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh, please. I’ve never agreed to marry Pearce.” How many times could she repeat that without going mad?

“Tell me the truth,” Mother said after another lady had passed. “Have you seen that man in secret all these years?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Think very carefully about what you want. Mistakes aren’t always forgiven in society. Your father and I can’t protect you from everything, and you’ll excuse me if we don’t want to be disgraced because of you. Because that’s what will happen if you ruin yourself with that man. And that’s it. I don’t want to discuss this subject ever again.”

Elizabeth glanced at the spot under the street lamp, but it was empty. Without his presence after their brief encounter, it was as if a cage were closing in on her, trapping her. The familiar choking sensation made her hitch a breath.

Pearce was dancing with an old lady, looking elegant and handsome in the glittering, excessive golden ballroom.

He was such a contrast with Christopher, who was all darkness and shadows, but somehow she wasn’t sure she’d be warm in Pearce’s light.