Elizabeth automatically started forward three steps, then halted, mesmerized. An acre of thick Aubusson carpet stretched across the book-lined room, and at the far end of it, seated behind a massive baronial desk with his shirtsleeves folded up on tanned forearms, was the man who had lied in the little cottage in Scotland and shot at a tree limb with her. Oblivious to the other three men in the room who were politely coming to their feet, Elizabeth watched Ian arise with that same natural grace that seemed so much a part of him. With a growing sense of unreality she heard him excuse himself to his visitors, saw him move away from behind his desk, and watched him start toward her with long, purposeful strides. He grew larger as he neared, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the room, his amber eyes searching her face, his smile one of amusement and uncertainty. "Elizabeth?" he said.
Her eyes wide with embarrassed admiration, Elizabeth allowed him to lift her hand to his lips before she said softly, "I could kill you."
He grinned at the contrast between her words and her voice. "I know."
"You might have told me."
"I hoped to surprise you."
More correctly, he had hoped she didn't know, and now he had his proof: Just as he had thought, Elizabeth had agreed to marry him without knowing anything of his personal wealth. That expression of dazed disbelief on her face had been real. He'd needed to see it for himself, which was why he'd instructed his butler to bring her to him as soon as she arrived. Ian had his proof, and with it came the knowledge that no matter how much she refused to admit it to him or to herself, she loved him.
She could insist for now and all time that all she wanted from marriage was independence, and now Ian could endure it with equanimity. Because she loved him.
Elizabeth watched the expressions play across his face. Thinking he was waiting for her to say more about his splendid house, she gave him a jaunty smile and teasingly said, "'Twill be a sacrifice, to be sure, but I shall contrive to endure the hardship of living in such a place as this. How many rooms are there?" she asked.
His brows rose in mockery. "One hundred and eighty-two."
"A small place of modest proportions," she countered lightly. "I suppose we'll just have to make do."
Ian thought they were going to do very well.
Her eyes wide with embarrassed admiration, Elizabeth allowed him to lift her hand to his lips before she said softly, "I could kill you."
He grinned at the contrast between her words and her voice. "I know."
"You might have told me."
"I hoped to surprise you."
More correctly, he had hoped she didn't know, and now he had his proof: Just as he had thought, Elizabeth had agreed to marry him without knowing anything of his personal wealth. That expression of dazed disbelief on her face had been real. He'd needed to see it for himself, which was why he'd instructed his butler to bring her to him as soon as she arrived. Ian had his proof, and with it came the knowledge that no matter how much she refused to admit it to him or to herself, she loved him.
She could insist for now and all time that all she wanted from marriage was independence, and now Ian could endure it with equanimity. Because she loved him.
Elizabeth watched the expressions play across his face. Thinking he was waiting for her to say more about his splendid house, she gave him a jaunty smile and teasingly said, "'Twill be a sacrifice, to be sure, but I shall contrive to endure the hardship of living in such a place as this. How many rooms are there?" she asked.
His brows rose in mockery. "One hundred and eighty-two."
"A small place of modest proportions," she countered lightly. "I suppose we'll just have to make do."
Ian thought they were going to do very well.
( Judith McNaught )
[ Almost Heaven ]
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