Stolen Love Read Free Page B

fascinating. With such beauty as was hers, and a fortune to be had from her father, there was no doubt that she would marry well.
    Elizabeth did not have the sublime attraction of a fortune. Havoc prayed that in all of London there would be at least one man capable of seeing his niece for the prize she was. To that man he would gladly give a fortune—if that was what it took—to secure the match. In his most private moments Havoc wondered if he did not love Elizabeth better than Amelia. The suspicion that it was true tortured him, and he had always indulged Amelia's many whims to atone for it.
    The sound of a carriage outside interrupted Havoc's thoughts, and soon the unmistakable sound of Amelia's laughter could be heard. He sighed, put out his cigar, and rose to his feet when he heard Mr. Poyne, the butler, pulling open the front door.
    "Good afternoon, Father," Amelia Willard said a few minutes later as she glided into the room in her characteristically regal fashion. She stopped just short of Havoc to take off her hat and survey the room. The top of her perfectly coiffed head was barely level with the middle of his chest.
    Every time Havoc looked at Amelia, he was struck by how much she resembled his wife. Mary Willard had been an acknowledged beauty in her day, and their daughter had the same delicate looks. She was nineteen years old, with a plump but well-proportioned figure, jet black hair, startlingly blue eyes in a heart-shaped face, and a perfect, pink-tinted complexion.
    "Why, this is simply too lovely!" She faced her father again. Not one bow on her dress looked the slightest bit affected by the journey to London. "Isn't this room lovely, Beth?" Her smile revealed two dimples in either cheek.
    Elizabeth was just coming in as Amelia spoke. Taking off her hat, she gazed at their surroundings. Her simple blue dress and plainly braided hair would have instantly told even a stranger that she was a schoolgirl new to London. She pushed a lock of chestnut hair from her face and then stooped to pick up her hat when it dropped to the floor. She was taller than Amelia, and her slender figure added to the impression of height. Elizabeth Willard was not the sort of woman who immediately struck one as beautiful. She was certainly not beautiful in the same way her cousin Amelia was, but still there was something about her that eventually made a man wonder how it was that he had not noticed her sooner.
    "Uncle Havoc, you've been smoking one of those vile cigars!" Her hat fell to the floor again as she stepped into Havoc's outstretched arms. "The house couldn't be lovelier," she said, looking up into eyes that were the same quiet gray as her own.
    Havoc briefly rested his chin on Elizabeth's head. "Welcome to London." He released her to ask, "Where's your aunt? You didn't leave her at the station, did you?"
    "Oh, Father!" Amelia said. "Don't be silly! She's making sure the servants don't mix up our trunks."
    "There you are, Mr. Willard!" Mrs. Willard stepped into the room after Mr. Poyne and his wife, the housekeeper. "What a lovely house you've found us!" The silk of her skirts rustled as she crossed the room to her husband's side, where she put a hand on his arm. Her hair was lightly streaked with gray, but she stood as straight as Amelia. She was still a striking woman. "Please show us the house, Mr. Willard."
    After he had left his wife to meet the servants and had shown Amelia to her room, Havoc took Elizabeth's arm to guide her to the room he had reserved specially for her. It was not as large as Amelia's and perhaps not as conveniently situated, being located at the very end of the hall, but he had reason to believe Elizabeth would prefer this one. He opened the door and waited for his niece to enter. The walls of the L-shaped room were covered with a green striped paper, and on the floor were thick wool rugs from one of Havoc's London warehouses. The bed, a bulky, overcarved mahogany, was in the section farthest from the