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She gave an inelegant snort. ‘Of course I do not.’
‘Then why object to my calling you Elizabeth?’
‘Because you did not ask, my lord, you told.’ There was the heat of anger in her voice.
‘Very well.’ Nathaniel gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘May I address you as Elizabeth when we are alone?’
‘No!’ she obviously took great delight in denying him.
‘Now you are just being deliberately difficult,’ he rasped impatiently. ‘Is all this indignation because I told Tennant that you are employed by my aunt?’
Elizabeth stiffened. ‘Why should I be in the least concerned at your having stated the truth?’
‘I have no idea, I only know that—damn it to hell!’ Nathaniel had turned to take a firm grasp of Elizabeth’s arms, only to then draw his breath in sharply as the agony in his chest caused him to abruptly release her and fight back the urge to double over with the pain.
‘My lord?’ Elizabeth was full of concern as she turned to him in the darkness.
‘I apologise for my language,’ Nathaniel grated through clenched teeth as he slowly straightened.
‘Never mind that now.’ She gave an agitated shake of her head, dark curls bouncing beneath her bonnet. ‘You have hurt yourself again—’
‘I have merely exacerbated the original injury,’ he corrected, jaw tightly clamped to ward off the pain. ‘Owing, no doubt, to the fact that I had to step in and save you from your own recklessness!’
Her indignation returned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I expected at any moment to see you trampled to death beneath the horse’s hooves.’ Nathaniel glared down at her accusingly. ‘What on earth did you think you were about, leaping into the fray in that way?’
‘I assure you I knew exactly what I was doing.’
‘Indeed?’ Nathaniel scorned.
‘I was put upon my first horse at the age of—’ She broke off abruptly, lips closing firmly together as she realised she had said too much.
Or not enough, Nathaniel thought with considerable frustration. If it should turn out that Elizabeth Thompson was the daughter of some minor and impoverished gentleman, as he was seriously beginning to believe she might be, then his behaviour towards her earlier could place him in a very awkward position. A very awkward position, indeed …
‘Yes, you were saying?’ he encouraged persuasively.
Elizabeth straightened. ‘Let me help you back to the house, my lord.’
‘I am in pain, Elizabeth, not crippled!’ Nathaniel gave a wince at the excess of aggression in his tone as she attempted to take his arm.
Her hand fell back to her side. ‘Then perhaps, sir, you should look to your own actions before criticising my own.’
‘How so?’ Nathaniel frowned.
She gave a curt nod. ‘If you had not become involved in a drunken brawl, then you would not have received the injuries from which you now suffer.’
‘And if I received these injuries in the defence of a lady?’ he offered drily, the waves of pain starting to recede now.
She raised sceptical brows. ‘I find that very hard to believe. A lady of quality would never have placed herself in the position of needing such a defence,’ she added as Nathaniel looked enquiringly at her.
That might well be true. Although, as Nathaniel’s friend Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone, had stated that he intended making the lady in question his wife as soon as was possible, it would perhaps be prudent on Nathaniel’s part to keep that opinion to himself! ‘I am sure that you would never place yourself in such a position,’ he drawled instead.
Elizabeth frowned, obviously suspecting that he was mocking her. ‘I am a lady’s companion, my lord, not a lady,’ she informed him haughtily as she resumed her walk back to Hepworth Manor.
A haughtiness that rendered Nathaniel no more convinced of that statement than Tennant had obviously been minutes earlier! ‘But no less deserving of a gentleman’s protection, surely?’ He fell into step beside her.
Elizabeth looked at him sharply, the earl’s features becoming clearer as they approached the candlelit house, harsh and uncompromising features that she found wholly disturbing to her already troubled peace of mind. ‘The only person from whom I have needed protection this evening was you, my lord!’ she sniffed.
‘All evidence to the contrary, Elizabeth—it has been my experience so far in our acquaintance that you are more than capable of protecting yourself,’ Nathaniel muttered with feeling.
She eyed him disdainfully. ‘Perhaps that is as well.’ The front door was duly opened by the butler, allowing the two of them to step inside out of the cooling night air. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord?’ Elizabeth kept her eyes demurely lowered in front of the butler. ‘Mrs Wilson will be anxiously awaiting Hector’s return.’
Nathaniel stood in the hallway, watching through narrowed lids as Elizabeth ascended the staircase accompanied by the scampering dog, making a note to speak to his aunt tomorrow as to exactly what she did or did not know about the young lady she had so recently employed.
‘I will take brandy in the library now, if you please, Sewell,’ he instructed the butler distractedly.
‘Very good, my lord.’
Having settled himself beside the fire in the library, a much-needed glass of brandy in his hand, Nathaniel turned his thoughts to that strange encounter with Sir Rufus Tennant.
He did not know the Tennant family well, had only been slightly acquainted with Sir Rufus’s younger brother Giles, before his involvement in a scandal some years ago that had resulted in his taking his own life. He did not know Sir Rufus himself at all, the other man being eight or more years Nathaniel’s senior. Reputed as being taciturn and somewhat reclusive, Sir Rufus’s visits to London were infrequent, his forays into society non-existent, and without so much as a rumour or two regarding his romantic inclinations.
An occurrence that had, on one occasion, prompted Nathaniel’s Aunt Gertrude into scandalously musing, after that gentleman had refused yet another of her invitations to dinner, as to whether or not Sir Rufus’s … tastes might be in another direction entirely.
Tennant’s request to call upon Elizabeth tomorrow would seem to imply his aunt’s conclusions were entirely wrong.
‘Sir Rufus Tennant is here to see you, madam,’ Sewell announced loftily as he stood in the drawing-room doorway late the following morning.
Elizabeth looked up from her needlework as she sat unobtrusively at the back of the room, curious to see what Sir Rufus would look like in the light of day.
The gentleman who stepped into the room some seconds later was probably just under six feet tall, with dark hair in need of a trim in order to be completely fashionable, with the palest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen set in an austere but not displeasing face, his figure shown to advantage in the brown superfine, tan waistcoat and buff-coloured breeches, and brown black-topped Hessians that had obviously become somewhat dust-covered on the ride over here.
He paused in the doorway, those pale blue eyes narrowed as his gaze swept briefly over the two older ladies before coming to rest upon Elizabeth. He appeared to draw in a sharp breath, jaw tensing slightly, before he stepped further into the room to bow stiffly before Mrs Wilson. ‘I trust you are well, madam?’
Elizabeth had mentioned last night’s encounter to her employer over breakfast this morning, so Mrs Wilson, unsurprised to see him, smiled graciously up at her visitor. ‘It has been far too long since we saw you last, Sir Rufus.’
That hooded pale blue gaze flickered briefly across to Elizabeth before returning to the older woman. ‘I am, as usual, kept busy with estate business, ma’am. In fact, I only called this morning to ensure that Miss Thompson and your nephew returned safely from their walk yesterday evening.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Wilson’s kindly gaze turned towards the now-blushing Elizabeth. ‘Betsy has told me of what occurred. I trust that your horse suffered no ill effects from the encounter?’
‘None at all, thank you, ma’am,’ Sir Rufus assured.
‘You will take tea with us, Sir Rufus?’ Mrs Wilson nodded to Letitia to ring for Sewell.
‘Thank you.’ Sir Rufus nodded abruptly. ‘I—do I have your permission to enquire after Miss Thompson’s well-being?’
Elizabeth’s blush deepened at the speculation that glittered briefly in Mrs Wilson’s gaze as she nodded her permission before to all intents and purposes returning her attention to her own needlework. But Elizabeth knew that well-meaning but interfering lady well enough by this time to know that Mrs Wilson would be aware of every word exchanged between Sir Rufus and her young companion.
‘Miss Thompson?’ Sir Rufus stood before her now, that pale blue gaze piercing as he looked down at her.
‘Sir Rufus.’ Elizabeth nodded graciously, standing up to place her embroidery down on the chair behind her before curtsying briefly, not altogether sure that she was comfortable with his having singled her out in this way. ‘I am pleased to hear of Starlight’s good health.’
‘Thank you,’ he returned. ‘I—Are you from these parts?’
‘No, Sir Rufus, I am originally from H—’ Elizabeth broke off abruptly, delicate colour once again warming her cheeks as she realised she would be revealing too much about herself if she were to announce she came originally from Hampshire. ‘Herefordshire,’ she announced firmly. ‘But from the little I have seen, Devonshire is a very beautiful county.’
‘Its cliff paths are perhaps not to be traversed at night, by either foot or horse,’ he drawled ruefully.
‘Perhaps not,’ Elizabeth conceded with a smile. ‘I trust the rest of your journey home was uneventful?’
A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘I am sure I could find nothing in the least disturbing after our own … momentous meeting.’
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as she realised that Rufus Tennant was attempting to flirt with her. Not in the least practised or smoothly—as if it had been far too long since he had done such a thing—but nevertheless he was attempting to flatter her, at least. ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Sir Rufus.’
He attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps—’
‘How good to see you again, Tennant,’ Nathaniel greeted briskly as he entered the room to stride over to where the older man stood beside Elizabeth.
She had ample time, as the two men exchanged greetings, in which to note the contrasts between the two of them. Unfortunately to Sir Rufus’s detriment, she finally conceded grudgingly.
Nathaniel Thorne was probably ten years younger than Sir Rufus and possessed a vitality and smouldering good looks the older man so obviously lacked. Sir Rufus was dark where Lord Thorne was golden, and the younger man’s hair was styled in the latest fashion. Lord Thorne’s superfine hair was blond, and of a much more fashionable cut and with the same richness of colour as his eyes, its tailoring perfectly complimentary to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the long length of his legs encased in tan pantaloons above brown Hessians polished to such a degree it was almost possible to see one’s face in them, rather than dusty and mud-splattered as the older man’s now were.
All of which only succeeded in arousing Elizabeth’s sympathy for Sir Rufus’s more homely looks …
Nathaniel could almost pick the thoughts out of Elizabeth’s beautiful head as she looked at the two men from beneath the fan of her long, dark lashes. He sensed that she had compared the two of them, found Tennant wanting, but still preferred that gentleman’s company to Nathaniel’s own. Not surprising after the two of them had parted so at odds with each other the previous night!
He had given in to the temptation to kiss her once again—a kiss that should never have happened, he knew, but which had nevertheless kept him tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed for far longer than it should have done.
Admittedly it had been three weeks or more since Nathaniel had bedded a woman whilst visiting Gabriel at his palazzo in Venice, but even so merely kissing Elizabeth Thompson should not have affected him so deeply that he had been unable to dampen his arousal. Taking himself in hand to alleviate that arousal had not been in the least appealing, either, which was why Nathaniel did not feel in the best of humours this morning.
His temper had not been improved in the slightest upon entering his aunt’s drawing room a few minutes ago to find Tennant at the back of the room in private conversation with Elizabeth.
The fact that he had felt that way at all had only succeeded in increasing his irritation concerning this completely inappropriate attraction towards Elizabeth Thompson. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin my aunt, Tennant, and leave Miss Thompson to her needlework?’ he suggested coolly as Sewell entered with the tea tray.
The other man looked at him with the pale, cold blue eyes of a fish. ‘I—’
‘Yes, do come and join Letitia and me,’ his Aunt Gertrude invited lightly. ‘I can then extend an invitation to Sir Rufus for the dinner party we are to have on Saturday evening,’ she added warmly.
Tennant, although obviously displeased by the interruption, had no choice but to give a brief nod in Elizabeth’s direction before strolling over to sit with the two older women.
Leaving Nathaniel alone with a quietly displeased Elizabeth …
Chapter Four
‘Do you take some cruel delight in humiliating me?’ she breathed accusingly.
‘I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself by flirting with one of my aunt’s guests,’ Nathaniel came back coldly.
Elizabeth gasped at the insult, tears of humiliation glistening in her deep blue eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Sir Rufus was the one to seek out my company, not the other way about.’ Her voice was shaky with emotion.
Nathaniel glanced across at the older man as he attempted to converse politely with Mrs Wilson and Letitia Grant. Tennant was obviously ill at ease in female company; the occasional glowering glance he sent in Elizabeth’s direction seeming to indicate that she was the only reason he was putting himself through such discomfort today.
Nathaniel’s mouth twisted derisively as he turned back to Elizabeth. ‘No doubt he would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion.’
She gave a pained frown, not altogether sure what she had done to incur the earl’s displeasure this time, only aware that she had. Sir Rufus Tennant might indeed be ‘a catch’ for a paid lady’s companion—the same could not be said with regard to Lady Elizabeth Copeland.
‘No doubt.’ She kept her expression deliberately bland.
‘Perhaps—’
‘Are you not coming to join me in my endeavours to persuade Sir Rufus into joining our dinner party on Saturday evening, Osbourne?’ Mrs Wilson looked slightly disapproving at her nephew’s continued conversation with her employee.
‘I will join you in a moment, Aunt,’ he answered his elderly relative, once again lowering his voice as he spoke to Elizabeth. ‘Of course, Tennant may be a little old for you …’
She raised dark brows. ‘I doubt that a lady’s companion has the luxury of worrying about such things as the age of one’s husband, my lord.’ She glanced across at Sir Rufus. ‘His looks and manner seem pleasant enough. And he appears to be a moderately wealthy man, too.’
‘And is that important to you?’ Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her.
Elizabeth’s lashes were lowered. ‘I am sure it would be important to most prospective brides, my lord.’
‘As a bride’s dowry is invariably of import to the groom,’ he drawled pointedly.
Reminding Elizabeth that a dowry was something neither she nor her sisters possessed …
Their father had been the dearest of men, loving and kind, but always somewhat vague after his wife had left, resulting in him becoming slightly removed from his family and society to such a degree that he had not given his daughters’ future after his demise the consideration that it deserved.
His death had been unexpected, so perhaps their father had believed Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth would all be safely married before that occurred. Although how that should have come about, when none of them were ever allowed to meet eligible gentlemen, Elizabeth was unsure.
Whatever his reasoning, the reading of Marcus Copeland’s will had revealed that he had made no provision for dowries for his three daughters, that lack of foresight instead leaving them to the guardianship and mercy of his distant cousin and heir, Lord Gabriel Faulkner.
Elizabeth smiled tightly. ‘Then let us hope, for your sake, that the two Miss Millers and Miss Rutledge are all possessed of a large fortune.’
Nathaniel frowned darkly, not at all pleased with the way she had turned this conversation towards his aunt’s less-than-subtle matrimonial intentions towards himself.
His two closest friends might have recently succumbed to the idea of marriage, Dominic intending to marry the masked beauty Caro Morton, and Gabriel, more sensibly, planning to offer for one of the three young ladies who had become his wards on his inheriting the title of Earl of Westbourne. But this didn’t make Nathaniel feel any more kindly disposed towards the parson’s mousetrap for himself. Indeed, he considered it his duty to uphold the very idea of bachelorhood for those others of his peers who had also so far managed to escape such a fate.
Elizabeth barely restrained her smile at the look of disgust that had come over Nathaniel’s face at the mere mention of matrimony in regard to himself, revealing to her, at least, that Mrs Wilson’s hopes in that direction were likely to come to nought. ‘You really should join your aunt and her guest, my lord.’ She looked up at the earl challengingly, feeling that she had emerged the victor in that particular exchange.
Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am used to doing as I please, not as others might wish me to do.’
She smiled briefly. ‘One would never have guessed!’
Brown eyes narrowed at her obvious sarcasm. ‘You—’
‘Your tea is becoming cold, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson cut in imperiously.
Alerting Elizabeth to the fact that she was seriously in danger of incurring that lady’s wrath herself if she did not bring this conversation with her nephew to an immediate end. She did not so much as glance in the earl’s direction again before crossing the room to stand before the older woman. ‘Lord Thorne was merely advising me concerning the safest path for me to take in regard to Hector’s walk.’ She gave Sir Rufus Tennant a distracted smile as he rose politely to his feet.
