Almost Heaven (27 page)

She bent down, feigning absorption in picking up a twig and inspecting it. “I was rather hoping that, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Lucinda and I could stay here for the agreed-upon time.”

“It’s out of
 
the question,” he said curtly, and Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Besides, I seem to recall you were already betrothed the night we met – to a peer of the realm, no less.”

Angry, frightened, and mortified, Elizabeth nevertheless managed to lift her chin and meet his speculative gaze. “He-we decided we didn’t suit.”

“I’m sure you’re better off without him,” he mocked. “Husbands can be very disagreeable to wives who indulge in ‘weekend flirtations’ with clandestine visits to secluded cottages and dark greenhouses.”

Elizabeth clenched her fists, her eyes shooting green fire. “I did
not
invite you to meet me in that greenhouse, and you know it!”

He stared at her in bored disgust. “All right, let’s play this farce out to its revolting conclusion. If you didn’t send me a note, suppose you tell me what you were doing there.”

“I told you, I
received
a note, which I thought was from my friend, Valerie, and I went to the greenhouse to discover why she wanted to see me. I didn’t send you a note to meet me there, I
received
a note. Good God!” she exploded, almost stamping her foot in frustration when he continued to regard her with visible disbelief. “I was terrified of you that night!”

A poignant memory, as fresh as the moment it happened, came back to Ian . . . a bewitchingly lovely girl thrusting flowerpots into his hands to keep him from kissing her . . . and then, moments later, melting in his arms.

“Now do you believe me?”

Try as he might, Ian could not completely blame or acquit her. His instincts told him she was lying about something, keeping something back. Moreover, there was something very odd and entirely out of character in the way she seemed so eager to stay here. On the other hand, he knew desperation when he saw it, and for some incomprehensible reason Elizabeth Cameron seemed on the verge of desperation. ‘What I believe doesn’t matter.” He broke off as the smell of smoke drifted into the yard from an open window and reached them both at the same time. “What the –” he began, already heading toward the house, with Elizabeth walking quickly beside him.

Ian opened the front door just as Jake came hurrying in from the back of the cottage.

“I got some milk –” Jake began, then he stopped abruptly as the stench hit him. His gaze snapped from Ian and Elizabeth, who were just rushing inside, to Lucinda, who was sitting exactly where she had been, serenely indifferent to the smell of burning bacon and incinerated eggs as she fanned herself with a black silk fan. “I took the liberty of removing the utensil from the stove,” she informed them. “However, I was not in time to save its contents, which I sincerely doubt were worth saving in any case.”

“Couldn’t you have moved’ em
before
they burned?” Jake burst out.

“I cannot cook, sir.”

“Can you
smell?”
Ian demanded.

“Ian, there’s nothing for it – I’ll have to ride to the village and hire a pair o’ wenches to come up here and get this place in order for us or we’ll starve.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucinda seconded promptly, already standing up. “I shall accompany you.”

“Whaat?”
Elizabeth burst out.

“What? Why?” Jake echoed, looking balky.

“Because selecting good female servants is best done by a woman. How far must we go?”

If Elizabeth weren’t so appalled, she’d have laughed at Jake Wiley’s expression. “We can be back late this afternoon, assumin’ there’s anyone in the village to do the work. But I –”

“Then we’d best be about it.” Lucinda paused and turned to Ian, passing a look of calculating consideration over him; then she glanced at Elizabeth. Giving her a look that clearly said “Trust me and do not argue,” she said, “Elizabeth, if you would be so good as to excuse us, I’d like a word alone with Mr. Thornton.” With no choice but to do as bidden, Elizabeth went out the front door and stared in utter confusion at the trees, wondering what bizarre scheme Lucinda might have hatched to solve their problems.

In the cottage Ian watched through narrowed eyes as the gray-haired harpy fixed him with her basilisk stare. “Mr. Thornton,” she said finally, “
I
have decided you are a gentleman.”

She made that pronouncement as if she were a queen bestowing knighthood on a lowly, possibly undeserving serf. Fascinated and irritated at the same time, Ian leaned his hip against the table, waiting to discover what game she was playing by leaving Elizabeth alone here, unchaperoned. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said coolly. “What have I done to earn your good opinion?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she said without hesitation. “I’m basing my decision on my own excellent intuitive powers and on the fact that you were born a gentleman.”

“What gave you that idea?” he inquired in a bored tone.

“I am not a fool. I’m acquainted with your grandsire, the Duke of Stanhope. I was a member of his niece’s household when news of your parents’ unsanctioned marriage caused a furor. Other, less informed persons may need to conjecture on your ancestry, but I do not. It’s apparent in your face, your height, your voice, even your mannerisms. You are his grandson.”

Ian was accustomed to having the English study his features circumspectly and, on rare occasions, to ask a probing question or two; he knew they wondered and debated and whispered among themselves, but it was the first time anyone had ever had the effrontery to tell him who he was. Reining in his mounting anger, he replied in a voice that implied she was deluding herself, “If you say so, it must be true.”

“That is
exactly
the sort of patronizing tone your grandfather would use,” she informed him on a note of pleased triumph. “However, that is not to the point.”

“May I inquire what
is
the point?” he snapped impatiently.

“Indeed you may,” Lucinda said, thinking madly for some way to prod him into remembering his long-ago desire for Elizabeth and to prick his conscience. “The point is that I am then apprised of all that transpired between Elizabeth and yourself when you were last together. I, however,” she decreed grandly, “am inclined to place the blame for your behavior not on a lack of character, but rather a lack of judgment.” He raised his brows but said nothing. Taking his silence as assent, she reiterated meaningfully, “A lack of judgment on
both
your parts.”

“Really?”
he drawled.

“Of course,” she said, reaching out and brushing the dust from the back of a chair, then rubbing her fingers together and grimacing with disapproval. “What else except lack of judgment could have caused a seventeen-year-old girl to rush to the defense of a notorious gambler and bring down censure upon herself for doing it?”

“What indeed?” he asked with growing impatience. Lucinda dusted off her hands, avoiding his gaze. “Who can possibly know except you and she? No doubt it was the same thing that prompted her to remain in the woodcutter’s cottage rather than leaving it the instant she discovered your presence.” Satisfied that she’d done the best she was able to on that score, she became brusque again – an attitude that was more normal and, therefore, far more convincing. “In any case, that is all water under the bridge. She has paid dearly for her lack of judgment, which is only right, and even though she is now in the most dire straits because of it, that, too, is justice.”

She smiled to herself when his eyes narrowed with what she hoped was guilt, or at least concern. His next words disabused her of that hope: “Madam, I do not have all day to waste in aimless conversation. If you have something to say, say it and be done!”

“Very well,” Lucinda said, gritting her teeth to stop herself from losing control of her temper. “My point is that it is my duty, my obligation to see to Lady Cameron’s physical well-being as well as to chaperon her. In this case, given the condition of your dwelling, the former obligation seems more pressing than the latter, particularly since it is obvious to me that the two of you are not in the least need of a chaperon to keep you from behaving with impropriety. You may need a referee to keep you from murdering each other, but a chaperon is entirely superfluous. Therefore, I feel duty-bound to now ensure that adequate servants are brought here at once. In keeping with that, I would like your word as a gentleman not to abuse her verbally or physically while I am gone. She has already been ill-used by her uncle. I will not permit anyone else to make this terrible time in her life more difficult than it already is.”

“Exactly what,” Ian asked in spite of himself, “do you mean by a ‘terrible time’?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that, of course,” she said, fighting to keep her triumph from her voice. “I am merely concerned that you behave as a gentleman. Will you give me your word?”

Since Ian had no intention of laying a finger on her, or even spending time with her, he didn’t hesitate to nod. “She’s perfectly safe from me.”

“That is
exactly
what I hoped to hear,” Lucinda lied ruthlessly.

A few minutes later Elizabeth watched Lucinda emerge from the cottage with Ian, but there was no way to guess from their closed expressions what they’d discussed.

In fact, the only person betraying any emotion at all was Jake Wiley as he led two horses into the yard. And
his
face, Elizabeth noted with confusion – which had been stormy when he went off to saddle the horses – was now wreathed in a smile of unrestrained glee. With a sweep of his arm and a bow he gestured toward a swaybacked black horse with an old sidesaddle upon its back. “Here’s your mount, ma’am,” he told Lucinda, grinning. “His name’s Attila.”

Lucinda cast a disdainful eye over the beast as she transferred her umbrella to her right hand and pulled on her black gloves. “Have you nothing better?”

“No, ma’am. Ian’s horse has a hurt foot.”

“Oh, very well,” said Lucinda, walking briskly forward, but as she came within reach the black suddenly bared his teeth and lunged. Lucinda struck him between the ears with her umbrella without so much as a pause in her step.

“Cease!” she commanded, and, ignoring the animal’s startled grunt of pain, she continued around to his other side to mount. “You brought it on yourself,” she told the horse as Jake held Attila’s head, and Ian Thornton helped her into the sidesaddle. The whites of Attila’s eyes showed as he warily watched her land in his saddle and settle herself. The moment Jake handed Lucinda the reins Attila began to leap sideways and twist around in restless annoyance. “I do not countenance ill-tempered animals,” she warned the horse in her severest tone, and when he refused to heed her and continued his threatening antics she hauled up sharply on his reins and simultaneously gave him a sharp jab in the flank with her umbrella. Attila let out a yelping complaint, broke into a quick, animated trot, and headed obediently down the drive.

“If that don’t beat all!” Jake said furiously, glowering after the pair, and then at Ian. “That animal doesn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty!” Without waiting for a reply Jake swung into his saddle and cantered down the lane after them.

Absolutely baffled over everyone’s behavior this morning, Elizabeth cast a puzzled, sideways glance at the silent man beside her, then gaped at him in amazement. The unpredictable man was staring after Lucinda, his hands shoved into his pockets, a cigar clamped between his white teeth, his face transformed by a sweeping grin. Drawing the obvious conclusion that these odd reactions from the men were somehow related to Lucinda’s skillful handling of an obstinate horse, Elizabeth commented, “Lucinda’s uncle raised horses, I believe.”

Almost reluctantly, Ian transferred his admiring gaze from Lucinda’s rigid back to Elizabeth. His brows rose. “An amazing woman,” he stated. “Is there any situation of which she can’t take charge?”

“None that I’ve ever seen,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle; then she felt self-conscious because his smile faded abruptly, and his manner became detached and cool.

Drawing a long breath, Elizabeth clasped her shaking hands behind her back and decided to try for a truce. “Mr. Thornton,” she began quietly, “must there be enmity between us? I realize my coming here is an . . . an inconvenience but it was your fault . . . your mistake,” she corrected cautiously, “that brought us here. And you must surely see that we have been even more inconvenienced than you.” Encouraged by his lack of argument, she continued. “Therefore, the obvious solution is that we should both try to make the best of things.”

“The obvious solution,” he countered, “is that I should apologize for ‘inconveniencing’ you, and then you should leave as soon as I can get you to a carriage or a wagon.”

“I can’t!” she cried, fighting to recover her calm.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because – well – my uncle is a harsh man who won’t like having his instructions countermanded. I was supposed to stay a full sennight.”

“I’ll write him a letter and explain.”

“No!” Elizabeth burst out, imagining her uncle’s reaction if the third man also sent her packing straightaway. He was no fool. He’d suspect. “He’ll blame me, you see.”