Historical Trio 2012-01 (50 page)

‘Do you find you like Devonshire?’ Sir Rufus prompted politely.

‘It is very pretty.’

Sir Rufus nodded his satisfaction with her answer. ‘There is nowhere else quite like it.’

Elizabeth looked at him beneath lowered lashes. ‘And what of your family? Do they also prefer the simplicity of Devonshire to the rush and bustle of London?’

His expression settled into its usual austerity. ‘I have no family.’

Her eyed widened innocently. ‘Oh, but I was sure that Mrs Wilson mentioned your having a younger brother?’ Elizabeth’s heart was pounding so loudly in her chest at the lie that she was afraid Sir Rufus might actually hear it.

His jaw clenched. ‘I had a younger brother. He died some years ago.’

‘I did not mean to be insensitive.’ Elizabeth stopped on the pathway to place her gloved hand lightly on Sir Rufus’s arm, hoping that her sympathetic expression did not betray the inner frustration she felt with his having omitted to say exactly how many years it was since his brother had died.

A nerve pulsed in Sir Rufus’s cheek. ‘You could not have known,’ he accepted smoothly.

‘You have no other family?’

‘None to speak of, no.’

She nodded. ‘Your brother must have been very young when he died.’

His expression hardened. ‘I would prefer not to talk of it if you do not mind.’

Elizabeth minded very much, at the same time as she accepted that Sir Rufus did not know her well enough as yet to confide the intimate details of his family with her. Indeed, he did not appear to be the type of man who ever felt the need to confide in anyone, about anything.

‘Of course,’ she accepted lightly; after all, she did not at all wish to alert Sir Rufus as to the depth of her interest in his brother’s death—or her possible connection to the woman Giles Tennant might have killed. ‘I should not have intruded upon what is obviously a sensitive subject to you.’

A dark scowl appeared between those pale blue eyes. ‘It is not a sensitive subject at all; merely one I see no point in discussing any further.’

His tone was such that it was impossible for Elizabeth to continue probing right now. But it was a subject she had every intention of returning to at the earliest opportunity. ‘Mrs Wilson has given her permission for me to go riding with you in your carriage tomorrow if that is convenient with you?’ She looked up at him expectantly.

Allowing her every opportunity to see the look of triumph that suddenly lit those pale eyes. ‘Tomorrow afternoon will suit me perfectly.’

‘Wonderful!’ Elizabeth smiled at him. ‘Now I really should be getting back to Hepworth Manor—’

‘So soon?’ Sir Rufus now scowled darkly.

‘Mrs Wilson relies on my advice when choosing her gown for dinner,’ she added affectionately, if not quite truthfully.

But even this brief time in Sir Rufus’s company had been taxing on Elizabeth’s nerves and revealed he was not a man that she felt in the least comfortable with, let alone enjoyed his company. Besides which, she had nothing else she wished to talk to him about and had already shown enough curiosity about his brother for one day.

‘If you really feel that you must.’ Sir Rufus still looked less than pleased.

‘I do.’ Elizabeth once again placed her hand briefly on his arm. ‘After all, I would not wish to abuse Mrs Wilson’s kindness when she had already given permission for us to go driving together tomorrow.’

‘Of course not.’ Sir Rufus seemed perfectly happy to accept her going now that he was safe in the knowledge of seeing her again tomorrow, although that look of satisfaction faded somewhat when he looked down at the scampering Hector. ‘I trust there will be no need to bring that dog with you?’

Elizabeth was once again reminded that she had been advised that a man who did not like dogs and children was not to be trusted. Admittedly, at this moment in time Elizabeth was only sure that Sir Rufus did not like dogs, but even so… ‘I am sure not.’ She smiled tightly. ‘After all, there would be no exercise for him sitting in a carriage.’

Sir Rufus looked relieved as he attempted to explain his aversion. ‘I was once bitten by a dog when I was a child, you understand.’

‘Ah.’ Elizabeth nodded. ‘I assure you, Hector is the most good-natured of animals. Perhaps the dog that bit you was ill or in pain?’ Or perhaps Sir Rufus had been as cold and unpleasant in his earlier years as he was as a man…

He looked down at her coldly. ‘That is no excuse for such unacceptable behaviour.’

Elizabeth feared even asking what had happened to that poor dog after he had bitten him! ‘Animals can sometimes sense when one is…not comfortable with them.’

Those blue eyes became glacial. ‘Afraid, you mean?’

‘Not at all,’ Elizabeth hastened to say as she realised the tangle she was falling into. ‘I, for instance, did not grow up with cats and tend to be slightly wary in their company.’

Some of the tension left Sir Rufus’s shoulders. ‘Cats are like horses, independent creatures all. I simply cannot abide the way dogs grovel and whine for attention.’

Elizabeth decided that was quite enough on that particular subject too—if they continued in this way there would be no safe subjects left for them to discuss! ‘Until tomorrow afternoon, Sir Rufus.’ She dropped him a brief curtsy.

He nodded in response, a slight softening in his icy demeanour. ‘I am already looking forward to it.’

Which was more than Elizabeth was!

She did not like Sir Rufus in the least, Elizabeth realised with a sinking heart as she turned to walk slowly back to Hepworth Manor. She found him pompous, opinionated and even slightly cruel when he talked of darling Hector.

Perhaps she should not have agreed to go driving with him at all. Perhaps, now that she was over her first shock at the things Lord Thorne had told her about Giles Tennant, and thinking more clearly, it would have been wiser to ask Mrs Wilson if she had any knowledge of Sir Rufus’s younger brother; Mrs Wilson was not a woman who cared for gossip, certainly, but that did not mean she would not know exactly when and how Giles Tennant had died. And also the name of the married lover he had killed before taking his own life.

Yes, perhaps it would have been more sensible on Elizabeth’s part to have spoken to Mrs Wilson on the subject rather than suffer several hours alone in Sir Rufus’s company tomorrow…

Chapter Nine

‘B
y the time you return from your carriage ride with Tennant tomorrow afternoon my aunt will have organised the vicar reading the banns at church on Sunday and spoken to the seamstress concerning the style and time it will take to make your wedding gown!’

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly as she came to a halt in the vast and otherwise deserted entrance hall of Hepworth Manor. Having excused herself and left the other two ladies drinking tea in Mrs Wilson’s private parlour, following yet another sumptuous dinner—and an embarrassingly speculative conversation concerning Elizabeth’s carriage ride with Sir Rufus tomorrow!—she had been anticipating the privacy of her bedchamber. Instead of which, it appeared she must once again deal with the mocking Earl of Osbourne before she could make good her escape.

She turned slowly to face him now, sincerely hoping she retained her coolness of expression as she took in the fact that the earl had removed his jacket and necktie since leaving the dining room, and now stood in the doorway of the library wearing only a pale blue brocade waistcoat over a white silk shirt that was unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the beginnings of that light dusting of dark golden hair which Elizabeth knew from the days he had been incapacitated in his bed covered his muscled chest before dipping down below the waist of his pantaloons…

She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling and the return of the temptation she felt to touch the silky softness of his already slightly ruffled golden hair as she drew in a ragged and shallow breath before answering him frostily. ‘I am sure that your friends find you highly amusing, my lord, but I am afraid, this evening at least, your particular brand of humour is completely wasted on me!’

Nathaniel leant a shoulder against the door frame as he observed her through narrowed lids. Aware, from the stirring of his arousal just from looking at her in the pale peach gown that left the tops of her shoulders and a large expanse of her breasts bare, that he had probably imbibed too much brandy since dinner to have engaged her in conversation at all.

An unusual occurrence for him, no matter what she might think to the contrary. Indeed, Nathaniel did not believe he had overindulged to this degree since his years in the army, when it had seemed the bitter taste of battle could only be expunged by downing a bottle of the excellent brandy which Gabriel had invariably kept in his luggage for just such occasions.

The reason for his overindulgence this evening was due to a battle of quite another kind and could be placed squarely at the slippered feet of the young lady now standing so aloof and unattainable across the entrance hall. Elizabeth looked absolutely enchanting, the peach colour of her gown giving her skin a creamy hue and her lips a pearly rose tint, both of which he found highly desirable, the candlelight also lending an ebony sheen to the darkness of her curls. A fact he had been totally aware of throughout the whole of the time they had been sitting at the dinner table.

His mouth twisted derisively now. ‘Why especially this evening?’

Elizabeth looked even more irritated. ‘Because I fear you have all misunderstood my reasons for agreeing to accompany Sir Rufus tomorrow.’

‘Indeed?’ He raised blond brows in interested query.

Her mouth firmed. ‘Yes.’

‘Then perhaps you would care to come into the library and explain those reasons to me?’ He stood to one side in invitation for her to enter.

Elizabeth did not care to explain herself to anyone, least of all the unsettling Nathaniel Thorne! Indeed, the lack of formality to the earl’s appearance rendered the whole idea of her being completely alone in the library with him a disturbing one.

Even if—in complete contradiction to the way she felt at the thought of being alone with Sir Rufus Tennant—it was a temptation she found hard to resist.

‘I think not,’ she answered primly. ‘You are obviously slightly…indisposed—’

‘I am slightly inebriated, Elizabeth, not “indisposed”,’ Nathaniel corrected drily before straightening. ‘With emphasis on the
slightly
.’

‘Even so…’

‘Are you going to behave like the lioness or the mouse, Elizabeth?’

Her eyes flashed deeply blue. ‘I do not believe I am either of those things, my lord. I simply consider it inadvisable to be alone in a gentleman’s company at any time, but especially when he has been drinking brandy.’

‘The demon drink, hmm?’

‘Not at all.’ She frowned as he continued to mock her. ‘Indeed, my father considered it a panacea to anything that might ail him,’ she added affectionately.

‘And what, do you imagine, might be ailing me this evening?’

Her frown deepened. ‘I have no idea.’

‘No?’ the earl challenged before his eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘You used the past tense just now when referring to your father.’

Colour warmed her cheeks at the realisation she had revealed too much yet again to the highly observant earl. ‘Perhaps that is because my father is dead, my lord.’

‘I see,’ he murmured slowly. ‘And what things might have “ailed” your father before he died that he felt the need to imbibe brandy in order to ease them?’

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. ‘No doubt the usual ones of a father with several young daughters.’

‘So there are more of you at home?’ Nathaniel drawled thoughtfully as he stored that knowledge away for future reference. ‘Older or younger?’ he prompted sharply.

She gave him a wary look. ‘The number and age of my siblings is irrelevant, my lord—’

‘Perhaps you should allow me to be the judge of that?’ He eyed Elizabeth challengingly.

‘No, I do not believe that I should.’ She met that challenge unblinkingly. ‘Now if you will excuse me…? I was on my way to bed when you…engaged me in conversation.’

Nathaniel gave her a wicked smile. ‘I have no objection whatsoever to continuing this conversation in your bedchamber. In fact, I believe I might prefer it.’ He straightened with the obvious intention of joining her.

‘That was not what I meant at all!’ Elizabeth gasped as that becoming blush once again coloured her cheeks.

He came to a halt. ‘The library or your bedchamber; it is your choice, Elizabeth.’

She drew her breath in. ‘I do not see that as being any choice at all, my lord!’

‘The library.’ Nathaniel glanced into the room behind him, the glow of the fire adding to its air of intimacy. ‘Or your bedchamber.’ His gaze swept over Elizabeth, from her slippered feet to her dark curls, before slowly shifting to the top of the staircase.

She appeared agitated. ‘You are being unreasonable, my lord—’

‘I am giving you a choice, Elizabeth.’ His voice was steely. ‘It is completely up to you which one you make.’

The choices he’d given her were, in her mind, no choices at all; whichever she chose she would then be alone with him.

A lioness or a mouse…?

Lord Thorne had meant to challenge her with that taunt and unfortunately he had succeeded; Elizabeth was certainly no longer a mouse—if, indeed, she had ever been one—but as yet she did not feel she was quite the lioness. ‘The library,’ she announced before sweeping past him to enter that candlelit room. The reason for the discarding of the earl’s jacket and necktie was immediately obvious to her; the fire in the hearth rendered the library very warm indeed on this mild spring evening.

The half-full decanter of brandy sitting on the table beside the fireside chair, along with a glass containing a measure of that liquid, and an open book placed across the arm of that chair, were clear indications of what the earl had been doing when he’d heard her outside in the entrance hall.

Elizabeth was wearing peach-satin slippers to match her gown and had often been complimented as to how light she was upon her feet—all of which seemed to suggest that the earl had left the library door open for the very purpose of hearing her walk past.

She was frowning slightly as she stood on the rug before the fire and turned to face him. ‘What did you wish to discuss with me, Lord Thorne?’

Nathaniel wondered if she had any idea how regal she looked as she stood bathed in the glow of the firelight: her eyes were a cool blue, her nose short and perfectly straight above the full and enticing bow of her lips and challengingly raised chin, her bearing one of extreme haughtiness.

Whoever this young lady’s antecedents were, Nathaniel would stake his reputation on there being a duchess or a countess amongst them. Perhaps, in view of his tendency to imbibe brandy, the father Elizabeth had spoken of a few minutes ago had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, possessing all the genes of a gentleman if not the legitimacy, genes he had then passed on to his own children?

Each day seemed to add but another layer of mystery to Elizabeth’s background. She was an enigma he found himself being increasingly drawn to, despite wishing it were otherwise.

Elizabeth looked across at Nathaniel warily as he softly closed the door behind him and moved across the room to stand only inches in front of her.

‘Elizabeth.’

She felt the husky timbre of his voice all the way down the length of her spine. A tingling, shivering, quivering of awareness that warmed her from the inside out, bringing a flush to her cheeks and a brightness to her eyes, whilst her lips felt swollen and sensitive as she ran the moistness of her tongue across them. As for the rest of her body…!

She ached in places she had only ever talked about in whispers with her sisters: her breasts and between her thighs. The hard nubbins at the tips of her breasts chafed against the soft material of her gown, and between her thighs once again felt hot and slightly damp.

She looked up at the earl beneath the curtain of her long lashes. ‘My lord…?’ Could that soft and breathy voice really belong to her?

Nathaniel could not resist touching her any longer as he lifted his hand to gently touch the dark curls at her temple, the tips of his fingers tingling as they touched the silkiness of her skin. ‘We were discussing the reason for my having enjoyed several glasses of brandy this evening…’

Those dark lashes fluttered nervously, briefly revealing the dark blue of her eyes. ‘We were?’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed with a small smile. ‘Elizabeth, do you have any idea of the effect you have upon me?’

The creaminess of her throat moved as she swallowed. ‘I—perhaps,’ she allowed bravely.

Nathaniel’s answering laugh wasn’t entirely happy. ‘And do you have any idea how unsuitable such an attraction is?’

Elizabeth started to feel cross. ‘I believe you are being insulting, my lord.’

‘What the devil are you still calling me that for? We are well past the stage of you calling me anything but Nathaniel,’ he announced, glaring down at her.

She blinked nervously. ‘It is most improper—’

‘This is even more so…’ And with that, he gathered her up into his arms before lowering his head and fiercely claiming her mouth with his. He had been wanting, aching to kiss Elizabeth again for hours—no, days, it seemed—and now he took full advantage of the fact that he once again held her beguiling softness in his arms.

There was no gentleness in him as his lips devoured hers with the force of a storm that swept away any resistance in its path. It was all she could do to cling to the broad width of his shoulders as she knew herself lost to everything but the passionate demand of that kiss.

Elizabeth almost forgot to breathe beneath that avalanche of heat, aware of nothing and no one but Nathaniel’s mouth and the warm caress of his hands as he moulded her curves against his much harder ones before cupping her bottom and drawing her into him intimately.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard as he moved his lips to the slender column of her throat, her neck arching in invitation as she felt the heat of that questing mouth against her flesh, her whole body aflame with feeling.

Her fingers finally got what they had been craving when they became entangled in the heavy gold of Nathaniel’s hair. She trembled as his hand moved to cup beneath her breast and the warmth of his lips pressed against the bared swell of flesh visible above the scooped neckline of her gown.

‘How beautiful you are, Elizabeth,’ he groaned hoarsely, his breath a hot caress against her fevered flesh as he unfastened several buttons at the back of her gown so that he might tug the bodice and shift down and bare her breasts to his enraptured gaze. He drew one of the swollen nubbins into the heat of his mouth and rasped his tongue over and around that sensitive tip as she sighed and moaned her delight with his touch.

Looking down at Nathaniel as he embraced her—his eyes were closed, lashes long and golden against his perfectly sculptured cheekbones, his lips moist and demanding about the tip of her breast—was the most erotic experience of Elizabeth’s life.

She couldn’t even think about denying either of them this sensual pleasure as he swept her up in his arms and carried her across the room to lower her onto the chaise that stood in front of the window. He straightened to throw off his waistcoat and then pull his shirt over his head, revealing the strapping still about his chest and the muscled strength of his shoulders bathed in candlelight before he knelt beside the chaise, his eyes hot with desire as he looked his fill of her bared breasts. His heated gaze moved up to capture hers as his hands cupped beneath those sensitive orbs before he lowered his head to place a lingering kiss on first one swollen and aching nipple, then the other.