"Oh... Ross!" Her little moan came immediately, burst into his chest like sunlight. She broke off a moment and looked at him with startled eyes.

Then she smiled and met his mouth again, her kiss wet and torrid, as hungry as his.

Lord, and there was all that smooth, unexplored skin beneath her chemise, lean legs beneath her petticoats, silky thighs, the humid heat of her.

But he repeated to himself inside the steaming muddle of his brain: we're in a library just now. A library. As public as the Reading Room at the British Museum.

"Enough for now, Elizabeth," he whispered against her delving kiss, whispered over and over, "Enough, enough." And then caught his lips against her ear. "Tonight."

But he suddenly sensed something out of place in the room. Something crowding them. And when he finally glanced up from the heat of her searing kiss, over her head, he realized they were no longer alone.

"Ah. 'Morning ladies," he said to the three pairs of bright eyes staring at them from the doorway.

"Will you look at that, Skye!"

"Am I seeing right, Jessica?"

"It's the earl!"

Already light-headed and breathless from Ross's intoxicating kiss, Elizabeth felt the room spin as she turned quickly inside the circle of her husband's embrace. She tried to focus on the figures in the library door but all she could feel was Ross's thick erection, throbbing against her bottom.

"Ah, there you are, ladies." Her skin still on fire, she drew his jacket together from behind, then popped out of Ross's arms and strode toward her three gape-mouthed a.s.sistants. "Can I help you? His lordship and I were jus 't... discussing something."

And her knees weren't working.

Ca.s.sie nodded, obviously unconvinced. "We just came in to let you know that your... uhm... your gown for the charity ball tonight has arrived."

"Ah! Good. Thank you." She'd forgotten all about Lady Maxton's Charity Ball. Had good reasons to have forgotten so many things in the course of the last day.

Tonight was the scheduled night of their Turkish trousers fashion rebellion. Not enough time to send out messages to her members to change their plans now.

Certainly no time to consult her handsome privy counselor. He would just have to be surprised along with the others.

Jessica pointed weakly toward the upper floors. "The seamstress is upstairs in your sitting room, Miss Elizabeth, ready for your final fitting."

"Very good." Since she was still wearing the same clothes she'd worn to jail yesterday. With a too short visit inside her husband's nightshirt.

"Shall I tell her that you're coming right up?" Skye was still staring between Elizabeth and her husband.

A man who seemed a giant presence just a dozen feet at her back.

"Yes, please." She glanced back at Ross, and found herself marveling at his easy composure when only moments ago his large hands had been everywhere, inside every tuck and fold of her dress, his mouth breaking boundaries with his pleasures, and unstringing her knees. "His lordship was just leaving. Weren't you?"

He smiled slyly as he pushed away from the bookcase. "Ah, yes, Miss Elizabeth. Though I'll be back at, say, eight, to pick you up for the ball."

She hadn't thought about tonight, let alone tomorrow. Where they would live, their social calendar, their acquaintances. Lydia. And of course, Ross was due to appear on Lady Maxton's auction block.

Her husband! Hers! Slave to another woman's desires. I think not, came the sudden thought. As shockingly possessive and jealous as a fishwife.

"Yes, of course, your lordship," she managed, as the man who was now bound to her by every means possible took her hand and put it to his lips, dizzying her with the pleasure of it all. The significance of it all.

"Good day, ladies," Ross said from the doorway, nearly knocking them all into swoons with the casual elegance of his nodded exit.

Elizabeth stared after him, as immobilized with awe as were her three faithful a.s.sistants.

Until they finally broke into a tangle of questions and surrounded her with speculation.

Skye waggled a chiding finger at her. "That man was kissing you."

"He was." He was fondling her.

Ca.s.sie looked utterly scandalized. "And you were kissing him back."

"Yes, I was." And fondling him. Wanting him so fiercely she could still feel the pressure of his hard places, his ridges and heat.

Jessica frowned. "Where were you last night, Miss Elizabeth?"

"With him?" Ca.s.sie jerked her head toward the door. "The earl?"

"That very earl. My husband."

They gasped together like a great, sucking furnace bellows.

"I married the Earl of B lakestone last night."

Another gasp of disbelief.

"That's amazing, my lady!"

"And wonderful!"

"But what about Mrs. Bailey?" Jessica asked. "And all others who need our help?"

As bright a star as her husband might turn out to be among the constellation of men, there were surely some details that even a queen must keep from her privy council for as long as possible.

And d.a.m.n the consequences.

More than the simple fact that a pair of Turkish trousers were waiting upstairs for her to try on for tonight.

"Come then, ladies, the seamstress is waiting. I'll tell you all about everything on the way upstairs."

The seamstress did the last of her tucking and st.i.tching under the watchful eyes of Elizabeth's entourage. She was gone within the hour, leaving careful instructions for putting it back together for the ball.

That was hours ago. Now it was after seven and the minutes were flying past. Ross would be here any time now, and she didn't want to give anything away before the last possible moment.

"Oh, it fits perfectly, my lady! Turn! Turn!" S k ye laughed as she clapped her hands, setting off Jessica and Ca.s.sie with their ooos and ahhhs.

"You'll be the talk of the ball," Jessica said as she tried to catch up with the unruly curls let loose against Elizabeth's nape.

"Let's hope there'll be more women than just me to set tongues wagging tonight."

Please let her husband approve. At least a little.

Whatever the outcome, the Turkish trousers made Elizabeth feel utterly exotic. The blouse was richly cut in the sleeves, the bodice set off by a short vest with a ta.s.seled hem.

The folds of silk sluiced against her bare skin when she moved, like cool, cascading water. The fabric draped freely around her limbs like a heated caress from an unblushing lover. The colors were a celebration of autumn, with sunny yellows and deep violets, oranges and browns, all of it shot through with leafy designs in the finest gold thread.

"And now the skirt that will hide my shocking little act of rebellion until the most prope r - o r dare I say imprope r - in oment."

Her three a.s.sistants giggled and gossiped as they hooked and tied and tucked the elegant skirt to its waistband, then put the rest of her costume together, just as the seamstress had shown them earlier. A dashing cap of lush velvets adorned the crown of her hair, exotically hued, yet subtle enough not to draw attention to her.

Although when eight o'clock and her husband arrived at the same time, and she appeared at the top of the stairs, she thought at first that he'd caught on to her ruse.

He stood unmoving in the foyer below, magnificent in his evening clothes, his gaze locked on hers, following her every step as she descended.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, his gloved hand extended toward her. He slipped it into the warmth of hers, then tucked it into the crook of his arm.

His eyes were hot with something that she had come to learn was desire for her.

"You will dazzle them tonight, my love," he said with a prideful smile.

Oh, I intend to, my lord husband. The rebellion had been set in motion long ago. Like an avalanche on the brink, she couldn't send it backward now.

She could only hope that she didn't dazzle her husband beyond his capacity to forgive her.

Chapter 16.

The time draws nigh, and is at hand,When females will with courage stand!Each heart united will decree,We'll have our rights, we will be free!We'll sever ne'er, but steadfast be!We'll die to have our liberty!Mrs. Collie, "Chartist Song"Scotland, 1840"We leave the ball at the stroke of midnight, wife," Ross whispered in the wake of his beautiful bride, who had once again been swept away from him and onto the dance floor by another lumbering oaf.

His skin had always felt too tight whenever he was forced into the midst of London society, the b.a.l.l.s and soirees and other such dry-boned galas. But this particular charity affair was proving to be of an even more diabolical nature, conspiring to remind him that he had by the dumbest of all good luck married the most bewitching woman in the kingdom.

She hadn't merely dazzled them tonight, she had laid them flat.

And yet finding an empty slot on her d.a.m.nable dance card had been nearly impossible. Worse than that, not a soul yet knew that she belonged to him, lock, stock, barrel, and bookstore, as Elizabeth would doubtless accuse.

Because this truce of theirs was untested. As untested as their marriage.

So far, three eligible bachelors had fallen to Lady Maxton's charitable endeavors. With any luck, he'd be long gone, in bed with his wife, by the time his own name came up. He would have pulled it from the auction already, but then he'd have had to admit that he was no longer an eligible bachelor.

Gossip that would have spread like wildfire. And he owed it to Jared and Drew to tell them in person about his hasty marriage to Elizabeth.

And, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he dreaded the moment that Kate and Caro found out they hadn't been invited to the wedding.

Fortunately, the two couples hadn't yet arrived. At least he hadn't heard their names announced. And these charity ball matrons always made a great deal of noise over the attendees, hoping one donor would choose to outdo the next one who ventured down the stairs into the pit.

He'd been willing to pledge his left arm to the orphans, but Elizabeth had insisted that he pledge his right leg as well, and so he had.

Indeed, Lady Maxton was the consummate professional. The manor house looked like a pasha's palace, from the filigreed arch at the front door, to the staircase, to here in the ballroom. There were delicate lanterns and potted palms, huge bra.s.s platters and be-jeweled jugs, tendrils of incense and pantalooned footmen. Every spare inch had been richly draped, dripping in deeply hued silks, colors much the same as his wife was wearing.

Indeed she wasn't the only woman who had come dressed with the hint of the Ottoman. He could count more than a dozen others.

But a l l that was beside the point. At the moment he would offer up his life just for a moment in bed with his pink-cheeked bride.

"Why aren't you out there dancing with her, Ross?" Caro appeared suddenly at his elbow, her eyes flashing up at him. "She's liable to slip away from you forever into the arms of some other swain."

Kate joined up at his other elbow. "Or has she already danced you silly?"

He saw Jared and Drew then, striding toward them along the edge of the dancing, each with a huge grin and a pair of champagne flutes.

"Left at the wall without a partner, Ross?" Jared cuffed his shoulder and handed him one of the gla.s.ses. "You need this more than I do."

Ross handed it back. "No thanks. I want my wits about me tonight."

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say to his overly vigilant friends."An odd turn of phrase, Ross.""He's hiding something, Caro.""Or is he planning something big?"Planning to announce the news of his marriage to these barbarians, in private. But with Elizabeth at his side. If she could only break free of the dancing.

Caro tugged on his sleeve. "Are you hoping she'll bid for you, Ross?"

"What?" he asked absently, scanning the dancers. d.a.m.n, he'd lost her again in the crowd.

"Miss Dunaway. Surely she'll bid for you until she wins you." Caro tugged again, and he glanced down into her smiling eyes. "During the auction."

Kate nudged Caro. "I suspect the bidding will be fierce for our Ross. After all, he's the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom."

Not anymore. He wanted to laugh out loud. But that would only bring on more questions.

And the waltz had ended. His wife was finally being escorted back to him on the arm of an eager young man, who tripped over his own feet on the way, oblivious, because he was grinning, unblinking, at Elizabeth.

Ross reached for her just as another lummox started toward her, but he stepped directly in the man's way.

"Sorry, Bollensburg, but the lady is engaged."

Married, actually. To me.

"Thanks, Ross," she whispered, blowing out a weary breath as she lifted a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Wishing he'd done that himself, Ross took his smiling wife by the hand and strode past his friends, nodding for them to follow him out onto the terrace. Arriving first, he tucked Elizabeth slightly behind him and faced down the four people he loved most in the world.

That was until Elizabeth had come marching into his life, protesting all the way.

Jared and Kate stared at them with baffled smiles.