The Mysterious Heir (26 page)

He held out his arm and Elizabeth rose and placed her hand upon it.

“Quite so,” she said, holding her head high as she went from the library with him.

“Very good,” he bent to breathe into her ear. “Now, do smile, or Weathering will have my head.”

*

Elizabeth did not have to face Lady Isabel that afternoon. She did not know if the Earl had spoken with her, but Lady Isabel decided to have a light luncheon with Owen in her rooms. Anthony was out riding alone, and the Earl, his man-at-law, and Lord Beverly had gone together to the Earl's study. Finding herself alone, Elizabeth selected a promising book from the library and settled herself at a bright window seat in the same small salon where she had been so roundly insulted in the morning. She felt that by revisiting it she would show the world that the whole incident was of no import to her. And in truth she did not ponder it. But she read little of the book before her, she was so busily thinking, not of the morning's events, but of her future. Most especially of what her future would be when the Earl at last had set his decision down upon paper.

Anthony, Richard, or Owen? she wondered. Which would make the better heir? And then, omnipresent, the thought came to her that, to herself alone, it mattered little now which he chose, despite all of Uncle's hopes. She only wondered whether she would ever set eyes upon him again once she left his home. Perhaps, she thought, growing drowsy in the sunlight, he would stop off in Tuxford one day to see how his cousin did. Perhaps if Anthony was named heir, he would have him to Lyonshall again to go over accounts, and Elizabeth could come along for the journey. Perhaps, she thought at last, half-conscious from her lack of sleep, he would want to kiss her again. Just once again, she thought, laying her book down and her forehead against the cool windowpane.

“How lovely,” Lord Kingston said.

Elizabeth started up with such force that the book slid to the floor. She reached for it, but Lord Kingston retrieved it first, and she found herself looking up into his intent blue gaze. He held the book, and did not offer it to her outstretched hand.

“Your pardon for awakening you,” he said quietly, “but you looked so very lovely, like some sleeping dryad surprised in the wood.”

“Dryads don't read much, I think,” Elizabeth said crossly, “and there's not a tree in sight.”

“Why do you always attempt to take the wind from my sails?” he asked seriously.

Elizabeth saw the frown which only slightly marred his smooth even features and watched the late light play upon his fair hair. He was a tall, straight, well-looking man, and now that he had left off wearing his black sling, claiming that only the damp troubled his wound these days, he looked a picture-perfect man of fashion. She wondered again why she remained so impervious to his gallantries.

“I suppose,” she answered just as seriously, being still too dazed with waking to take care with her words, “because everything you say to me seems so rehearsed. And quite the same as the things you say to Lady Isabel. And whenever I do say a thing you don't expect, you seem displeased.”

“How am I to communicate with you, Elizabeth?” he asked plaintively, sitting down on the seat beside her. “My usual manner you distrust. I have asked Tony about you time out of mind, but he doesn't understand your attitude either.”

Elizabeth stood up abruptly. “It doesn't matter, really,” she said, “for soon we shall both be on our separate ways.”

He reached out and grasped her by the wrist and said earnestly, “But it does matter to me, Elizabeth. Very much.”

Elizabeth did not wish to be rude enough to pull free from him, so she only said simply, “Lady Isabel is far more conversant with the art of light flirtation. I wonder that you do not concentrate on her, for you two are of the same world. I am only a shopgirl from the provinces, Lord Kingston, and you shouldn't wonder at my gaucheries.”

“But I do,” he said, rising, and still holding her fast by
the wrist. “And I know Lady Isabel of old. She is like all the others of her ilk. It is your freshness, your naturalness, which enchants me.”

Elizabeth grew alarmed at his insistence and reached out for the book he held, so that she might make a retreat. But he only dropped the book and then grasped her by both hands.

He gazed down at her, and then, curiously, looked quickly at the clock upon the mantel. Seeing her puzzled expression, he said hurriedly, “There is time for us. Someone always comes to interrupt our conferences, but I see that this once I have time to speak my heart. Elizabeth, you delight me. I think you have been so dazzled by Morgan that you have not given me a chance. But Morgan, you see, can feel nothing toward you. His late wife destroyed all faith in women for him. I can see that a female might find him intriguing, but, Elizabeth, there is no hope for you from that quarter. But I am heart-whole, or was, until I met you. It is high time you considered me. But,” he said, cocking his head to the side, “it is my words which have always displeased you, isn't it? I think”—he smiled, pulling her toward him—“it is time you judged my actions.”

He wrenched her to him and held her close. And lowered his head and kissed her gently before she knew what he was about. His lips were cool and undemanding, but still she fought free of his embrace.

“Lord Kingston,” she gasped, trying to pull her arms away, “you go too far. I am not interested in lovemaking. You can only anger me this way. Please let me free.”

He stood for a moment, considering her. Then his eyes turned to the clock once more.

“On the contrary,” he said, smiling. “I think it is only that I have not gone far enough.”

This time she was prepared for his onslaught and dragged her hands together so that when she was pulled close they at least acted as a buffer between their bodies. This time, however, he was adamant, his mouth was open and hot upon her lips. This time he kissed her savagely. While she struggled he quickly transferred both her fists to one large hand, so that he could grasp at her breast with his other.

Elizabeth felt no responsive delight in his kiss, and his gripping hand at her breast caused no thrill to her senses such as the Earl's gentle touch had aroused. She felt only suffocating panic and disgust.

He had forced his tongue against her gritted teeth, when she suddenly remembered the advice Anthony had given her in jest long ago. She relaxed a moment and he took heart from her surrender. As he groaned against her mouth and gripped her closer, she eased one slippered foot behind his highly polished boot. Feeling her slight movement, he chuckled low in his throat and thrust one leg between hers as he strove to lower her to the chaise. Then she gave him a sudden strong shove which sent him backward, stumbling over her impeding foot. He went reeling back, releasing her as he attempted to regain his balance.

She stood appalled, backing away from him. He recovered himself and stood upright, only looking at her. He did not appear to be a man driven by passion. Though his cravat was askew, he did not breathe hard, nor did his cool light blue eyes register anything but calculation.

Elizabeth neither slapped him nor burst into tears. Rather she wiped her mouth savagely with the back of her hand and cried in ringing tones, “That was revolting! If that is how you thought to win me over, I think London females must be wanting wits! I find you quite revolting! A popinjay, a fool! Pray leave me and never, never speak to me again!”

But he made no answer. He only looked beyond her to the doorway of the room; then he shrugged. “What could I do?” he said simply. “I misread the situation and went a bit too far.”

Elizabeth wheeled around to see that the Earl and Anthony stood within the room, goggling at her.

“A bit too far?” Elizabeth cried in disbelief.

Anthony was the first to step forward. His fists were clenched and he looked from Elizabeth to his friend in troubled confusion.

“Come, Tony,” Lord Kingston said, straightening his cuffs. “You are a man now. Your lovely cousin went to my head. It was only a bit of light lovemaking that got out of hand. I
don't often lose control, and for that I do apologize, but she does not know the strength of her own charms. I understand your anger, to be sure. But I am a gentleman. If it will satisfy you, I will offer for her. Although,” he went on calmly, “in London a mere kiss would not be considered such a shocking disaster. Still, I am your friend. And Elizabeth is your cousin, and lovely. I could do a great deal worse. And so could she. For with all her protestations, which I do understand, my dear,” he said placatingly to Elizabeth, as though they shared a great secret, “it seemed to me that she was enjoying it well enough till I forgot her youth and inexperience,” he went on with a lifted brow that robbed his words of meaning.

“But then,” he sighed, “I was ever self-congratulatory, eh, Morgan?”

The Earl remained quiet, though his face was shuttered and grim, while Anthony stood taut and flushed with anger.

Lord Kingston went on smoothly, “Still, if you won't accept my apology, or my offer, you may wish to call me out. Come, Tony, cry friends, or it will be pistols at dawn, old fellow. Shouldn't you rather have me as a brother than as an opponent?”

Anthony glanced to Elizabeth's horrified face and made up his mind.

“Pistols, then,” he said tightly, “for I know Elizabeth too well to stomach these lies.”

“No,” the Earl said coldly, limping into the room. “Not in this house, or upon these grounds. Go to London if you wish to do battle. I shall not countenance it. Harry, we will talk about this later. And, Anthony, Harry is correct only in that such things are not considered so rigidly in the sets he travels with in Town. But he has apologized. And we are none of us tattlemongers. It need go no further. Elizabeth, come tell us, do you think it a bloodletting matter?”

“No,” Elizabeth said quickly, thinking that Anthony had never held a pistol in his young life, while Lord Kingston often bragged about his marksmanship, even with one “bad wing,” as he called it, at Manton's in London. “But,” she said quickly, “I did not…” Her words trailed off into
silence when she saw the chilled and chilling expression of distaste upon the Earl's face.

“So, then, it is forgotten,” he said quickly. “Harry, if you are to pursue a courtship, it will not be in this house. At any rate, there will be no further opportunity here again. Elizabeth,” he said, looking hard at her, unmoved by her stricken face and rapid breathing. “I think that there is no further reason for you and Anthony to remain here at Lyonshall. The business at hand is done. No,” he added, noting her indrawn breath, “have no fear, this afternoon did not weigh at all. The decision has been made—decided and signed. It would have been past time to do so, no matter what else transpired. All the parties involved will be informed by letter of the outcome. It would be callous to do otherwise. But you two should leave. Tonight, I think.”

Elizabeth's thoughts were in turmoil. If she defended herself now, she would only cause Anthony to rush to her defense again. But she wanted desperately for the Earl to know her innocence in the matter.

As though he knew what she was about to say, a slow, sad expression crossed his previously grim features. He looked down at her and almost whispered, “For now, it is best that you go. Believe me.”

But Elizabeth could only search his face, and in a last effort to communicate the whole of her feelings, she murmured only one incoherent question: “Is there nothing else?”

At length, quietly and with finality, he spoke. “What else could there be, Elizabeth?”

14

“It is wrong. And wicked,” Lord Beverly stormed as he paced the front hall. He gestured toward Anthony's and Elizabeth's luggage.

“Morgan's been my friend since we were in short coats, but when a chap is wrong, he's wrong. That blasted Kitty,” he raged. “It is not right to speak ill of the dead, but she's behind it. Not that she could be, of course, as she's dead. But her memory, you know. Now he wouldn't trust his own mother—if she were alive, that is.”

“It doesn't matter, really, Bev,” Elizabeth said softly, putting a hand tentatively on his sleeve, “for his lordship did say his business was concluded, and so we must leave at any rate.”

“Then why has he left the others to stay on? It's devilish bad business,” Lord Beverly brooded. He had run his long fingers through his tousled blond hair so often that he looked quite deranged, and not at all the figure of impeccable splendor he so often was.

Anthony said nothing. Indeed, Elizabeth thought, it was unlike him to remain silent for so long. She would have thought him ready to flow into a full spate of condemnation of the aristocratic classes, and at least have a thing or two to say about the downtrodden. But now that he was, in fact, for the first time in his young life actually downtrodden, he said nothing. He only stood white-faced and hot-eyed as he waited for the coach to come round to the front entrance to pick up their belongings and themselves.
Elizabeth herself had scarcely had time to think about the turn of events. Her night of missed sleep, her encounter with Lady Isabel's spite in the morning, capped by Lord Kingston's assault not a few hours past—all had combined to leave her feeling only bruised in spirit and sadly lost. The thought that the Earl thought her capable of playing up to his friend was the cruelest blow of all. As she had watched the maid pack her belongings, her mind had been blank of all but that single terrible thought.