Page 87 of A Literary Liaison
The mention of Thornton’s name sent jealousy surging through Edgar’s veins like poison. Steven. When had she begun using his given name? “Steven, is it?” he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “I had presumed you held little regard for the gentleman, yet it seems you consider him a friend.”
Elisha’s expression shifted, taking on that patient look she got when she thought he was being unreasonable. “We are neither friends nor foes, Edgar. He is my superior at theMetropolitan, but also my best friend’s brother. He has been kind to me, whatever his other motivations might be.”
Kind to her. The words rankled more than they should. “He attempted to separate us,” Edgar said, his voice carrying more heat than he intended. “And not out of concern for your wellbeing.”
“Perhaps,” she said, then lifted her chin with growing confidence that somehow made his jealousy worse. “But it’s equally possible that he was attempting to protect me from what he perceived as a notorious rake—namely, you. Your reputation does leave rather a lotto be desired, after all.”
The accusation stung because it was true. Before Elisha, he had been exactly what she described. But the next words hit like a well-timed jab to the face.
“His only true transgression in your eyes is that he has actually proposed to me—which is more than I can say for yourself.”
Edgar felt the blood drain from his face. The words hung in the air between them, a challenge and an accusation wrapped in simple truth. Thornton had done what Edgar hadn’t—made an honest offer, laid his cards on the table, treated Elisha with the respect of a straightforward proposal.
While Edgar continued to deceive her.
The guilt was overwhelming. She deserved better—deserved honesty, deserved a man who could offer marriage without the shadow of theton’sostracization hanging over their relationship.
“You are right,” he said quietly, the admission feeling like acid on his tongue. “You may invite him, though I shan’t pretend enthusiasm at the prospect of watching you navigate waters filled with Mr. Thornton and other gentlemen who might seek your attention.”
“The waters shall not only teem with potential suitors,” Elisha said with a small smile, “but with eligible ladies as well.”
Edgar frowned, genuinely confused despite his internal turmoil. “Surely that cannot be Mother’s objective when she knows perfectly well where my heart lies.”
He watched Elisha lean back against the settee cushions. “Your mother is a shrewd woman, Edgar. If I were in her position with a son of my own, I might employ the very same strategy. She may wish to ensure you are certain about your choice by tempting you with more eligible ladies.”
“Indeed…” he said, recognizing his mother’s strategic mind but also impressed by her cold logic. “That does sound possibly like something she would orchestrate.” He studied Elisha’s face, dreading how this might be hurting her feelings. “Does this prospect trouble you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, and Edgar felt warm affection flow through him. “After all, you are not the one issuing these invitations. Had you been the one to surround yourself with beautiful debutantes, I might feel quite differently about the matter.”
“That is remarkably rational of you, my darling,” he said, leaning closer.
Laying a gentle kiss on her throat, he said in a low voice, “Now, perhaps you should read your correspondence from Thornton.”
Edgar sat up as Elisha reached for the letter. Her expression changed as she read, concern replacing curiosity. “What is amiss?” Edgar asked with alarm.
“‘My dearest Miss Linde,’” she read aloud, “‘I trust this missive finds you in good health and spirits. I cannot help but observe the conspicuous absence of correspondence between yourself and Mr. Steele. As the proprietor ofMetropolitan Review, I feel duty-bound to intervene in this matter.’”
Edgar stiffened. “Intervene?” he managed to say. “What the devil does he mean by that?”
But even as he spoke, Edgar’s mind was racing ahead to the implications. If Thornton was monitoring Steele’s communications, if he was planning to take action…
“‘I have taken it upon myself to arrange a public revelation of the victor, to transpire on the eve of the New Year,’” Elisha continued reading. “‘Despite my earnest efforts, I have been unable to locate Mr. Steele or his representative, but I have dispatched a communiqué to his publisher to this effect.’”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A public revelation. On New Year’s Eve. Edgar felt panic rise in his throat. How was he supposed to appear as both Steele and himself? How could he maintain the deception when Thornton was forcing a public confrontation?
“While I can understand his eagerness for a dramatic conclusion,” Edgar said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “the timing is most inconvenient.”
Inconvenient. The understatement of the century. This was a disaster of epic proportions, and Edgar had no idea how to navigate it without destroying everything. Not only would he be ridiculed for penning a romance novel, but Elisha would be humiliated. If not publicly, then at least personally. No, Steele could not appear in person. He’d send a representative on his behalf.
“Indeed,” Elisha agreed, setting the letter aside. “I shall be obliged to reveal myself as Miss Lovelace, lest he intends to declare a winner without my presence.”
“You will likely be compelled to reveal your identity regardless, should my mother proceed with her plans,” he said gently. “She’s far too cunning not to see the advantage in your notoriety.”
“Do you mean to imply that your mother would deliberately exploit my fame to gain my approval by theton?”
“Without question. If maintaining your anonymity is of paramount importance to you, I could speak with her about it.”
Elisha sat in contemplative silence, her expression changing from one of indecision to one of determination.
