Wicked Promise (3 page)

Undoubtedly Elizabeth Woolcot would frown on his drinking. She didn't approve of him, he knew. He had seen it in her eyes at their first meeting and several times since. His mouth thinned. He downed the liquor in a single swallow, lifted the lid off the decanter, and refilled his glass to the brim.

From her place in the garden, Elizabeth studied the spires arid towers, the pediments and gables, of Ravenworth Hall. It was fashioned of smooth gray stone with tall mullioned windows and ornately carved doors. It was completed in the sixteenth century, according to the butler, and owned by the Warring family ever since. It was a huge house, with a hundred and forty lavishly furnished rooms, sixty of which were bedchambers.

Currently much of the hall was not in use, but all of it was surprisingly well maintained, and the grounds, an almost parklike setting, were as beautiful as any Elizabeth had ever seen.

She trailed a finger over the scrollwork on the wrought-iron bench where she sat and tried not glance up at the second floor, at the window that was the Earl of Ravenworth's private study. She knew he was watching. She had seen him there at the window nearly every day since her arrival.

She wondered what he did in the room during the hours he was there—certainly not the same sorts of things he did later on in the evening. Elizabeth knew what went on in the house after dark, even though she was supposed to be banished to her suite. On more than one occasion, she had crept down the servants' stairs and watched the earl and his drunken friends playing cards, had listened to them tell their bawdy jokes, seen them gaming away an indecent amount of money.

The earl would join in their drunken laughter, but there was something in his eyes that made her wonder if he were truly enjoying himself. She wondered as well at the earl's choice of friends. Elizabeth didn't like a single one of them. They were nothing but a bunch of preening peacocks and worthless hangers-on, sponging off Ravenworth's generosity.

Then again, who was she to criticize? Wasn't she doing the very same thing?

Elizabeth glanced up at the window, but the shadowy figure of the dark earl was gone. Without him there, the garden seemed somehow less intriguing and she wandered back up to her room.

Mercy Brown was waiting, the lady's maid Ravenworth had assigned her. "Look at ye—Lord luv ye. Yer chilled to the bone." With a ripe, full figure that Mercy did everything in her power to display, a thick Cockney accent, and almost nonexistent knowledge of feminine etiquette, Mercy Brown was the furthest thing from a lady's maid Elizabeth could imagine.

"To tell you the truth, I rarely notice the cold. The day was sunny and the sky full of fluffy white clouds. It was simply too nice to stay indoors."

Mercy clucked and coddled her like a mother hen, though she was only four or five years older than Elizabeth. "You'll catch yer death, ye will. 'Is lordship would 'ardly be pleased."

Elizabeth draped her cloak over the foot of the big four- poster bed and Mercy began helping her out of her clothes. "I'm sure his lordship couldn't care less whether or not I caught a chill."

" 'E cares, all right. 'E don't show 'is feelin's much, but 'e cares about people, and 'e 'elps 'em whenever 'e can."

"I'd say he spends most of his time helping himself to another glass of gin and gaming away his coin," Elizabeth knew that by now the earl would be readying himself for his evening of drinking and cards. He'd be drunk by midnight and losing endless sums of money.

Mercy Brown gave up a sigh. " 'E lets 'em take advantage, Lord luv 'im. 'E's as good a man as ever come down the pike—not a whit like them others. I don't know why 'e puts up with 'em. Sometimes I just don't think 'e cares."

It was an interesting observation. Elizabeth wondered as well. "Perhaps he is lonely. The earl is an outcast from polite society. Perhaps the company of these men is better than having no friends at all."

The buxom little maid merely scoffed. " 'Is Lordship 'as a number of friends. Not such 'igh-and-mighty nobs as them 'e drinks with downstairs, but fine men all the same."

Elizabeth started to ask which men it was Mercy spoke of, but the girl was already off to her chores, bustling busily around the room, trying to assemble a change of clothing for supper. Whatever men they were, surely they were better than the dandies, coxcombs, and sycophants downstairs, insects out of the woodwork, a blight on Ravenworth Hall.

Mercy's voice drew Elizabeth's attention. " 'Ow bout this one?" She held up a beaded gold satin gown more suited to a ball than a quiet evening supping with her aunt in their private sitting room. "Lord, is it perty."

"Too pretty for an evening in my suite, I'm afraid." She pointed to the gown beside it. "The apricot muslin should do nicely."

Mercy still held the gown. "Ye ain't takin' supper with 'is lordship? I though mayhap tonight—"

"I'm not invited, which, considering the caliber of his lordship's guests, I am not at all unhappy about. I assure you Aunt Sophie will be far better company."

Mercy grumbled something she couldn't hear and marched toward the rosewood armoire, her hips swaying with every step. Elizabeth watched her begin to lay out a fresh chemise and her mind turned to Nicholas Warring. She couldn't help wondering why a man as handsome and intelligent as the Earl of Ravenworth would choose to throw his life away.

The earl was still on her mind when she saw him the following morning. Having always been an early riser and certain that none of the dissipates who had gamed in the hall the night before would be up before noon, Elizabeth had, begun taking her morning meals in the sunny little breakfast room at the rear of the house. It was a quiet, pleasant place, done in saffron and olive green, with windows that overlooked the garden.

This morning, however, as she seated herself on a yellow- striped chair in front of the oak table, the door swung open and in walked the earl. Surprise arched his sleek black brows while Elizabeth's own eyes widened.

"My lord, I... I didn't think you'd be up quite so early."

A thin smile lifted a comer of his mouth. He closed the door and strode toward the place where she sat suddenly fidgeting with nerves. "And I thought we had an agreement. You were to take your meals in your suite while I had guests."

Her chin inched up. "Your guests are hardly likely to be downstairs at this hour, considering the drunken state they were in last night. And even if they were, by some miracle, to appear, I doubt my presence would offend their delicate sensibilities."

"I am not concerned with their sensibilities, Miss Woolcot. I am concerned with yours. Though some of them may be peers, they are definitely not of the first stare, hardly the sort of acquaintance for an innocent young girl." He braced his hands on the opposite side of the table and leaned forward. "And how is it you know what state my guests were in last night?"

She flushed a bit and unconsciously smoothed a wrinkle from the skirt of the same apricot muslin gown she had worn the night before. "I am not a fool, my lord." She met his unrelenting gaze. "Your friends drink all day and well into the evening. They stagger through the halls as if Ravenworth Hall were their own private alehouse, and you expect me not to notice? It is a miracle our paths have not already chanced to meet."

Ravenworth leaned farther across the table, his blue-gray eyes skewering her to the seat. "Do not make me regret my decision to let you stay, Miss Woolcot. There are a hundred and forty rooms in this house. Should you choose to, you could disappear for days. From now until my guests return to London, I'd advise you to stay out of their way."

She shoved back her chair and stood up. "I shall do so, my lord. And out of your way, as well." She brushed past him and started for the door, but the earl caught her wrist before she could escape.

The eyes on her face were gentler, more a soft blue-gray. "You have come for breakfast. There is no need for you to leave before you have had the chance to eat." He turned to a servant who stood near the door to the kitchen. "Miss Woolcot and I will be breaking our fast together this morning. Have Cook send a pot of chocolate and some cakes." He glanced in her direction, his gaze even lighter, skimming over her face. Elizabeth could feel it almost as if he touched her.

"Would you care for some eggs, Miss Woolcot, or perhaps a slice of meat? Tis a habit I acquired since my return from the West Indies." He smiled, a flash of white in a dark, compelling face. "There are times even now, I wonder if I shall ever get enough to eat."

Something pulled in Elizabeth's chest. For the first time it occurred to her how much he must have suffered during the years of his indenture. It surprised her he could speak of it with such ease, that the smile he wore seemed so unexpectedly genuine. She could hardly believe the transformation. If he was handsome before, when he smiled that way, he was devastating. Absently, she rubbed her wrist, which still tingled where his fingers had wrapped around it.

"Miss Woolcot?"

She dragged her gaze from his face. "No ... no, I prefer to eat light until later in the day. Chocolate and cakes will be fine."

He nodded arid turned to the servant, who bowed and hurried away. Elizabeth returned to her chair and the food arrived a few moments later. It occurred to her this was the most time she had ever spent in his company. Feeling the odd thud of her heart, the dryness in her mouth as she looked at his darkly handsome features, she vowed she would not do so again.

Nick studied Elizabeth Woolcot over the porcelain rim of his coffee, cup. "How old are you, Miss Woolcot?"

Her head snapped up. She looked him in the face. "I turn twenty the end of next month."

Twenty. Older than he had thought. Nine years his junior but certainly not the child he kept trying to convince himself she was. "So why is it you have not married before this? Surely you have had plenty of suitors." No doubt of that, not with the face of a fiery-haired angel and the spark of the devil in those pretty green eyes.

She took a sip of her chocolate. "To tell you the truth, marriage never really occurred to me. When my father died three years ago, I was devastated. I spent the first year deeply in mourning, and the year after that, trying to sort out my situation. Six months ago, Aunt Sophie came to live with me and my life took another, different turn. That is about the same time Oliver Hampton began his efforts to court me."

He wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about it."

She sat up a little straighten carefully set her cup back down in its saucer. "As you mentioned before, Lord Bascomb lives in Surrey, just as I do. His property borders the small estate my father owned, which now belongs to me. Perhaps owning the adjacent property was part of his motivation."

Perhaps, Nick thought. Or perhaps he was simply entranced by Elizabeth Woolcot's beauty and fierce determination.

"My father never liked him,'' she went on. "He caught Lord Bascomb cheating at cards. Papa said a man like that hadn't the least amount of honor."

"Your father was a remarkable man. My father had a great amount of respect for Sir Henry."

Sadness flickered for an instant in her eyes, then it was gone. "I am grateful for the help your father gave me through the years ... and of course for your help as well."

"Of course," he said dryly.

She flushed a little, glanced toward the window then back again. "At any rate, my father would never have approved a marriage between Lord Bascomb and me. But after Papa was gone and the period of mourning had ended, there was nothing to stop him from making advances. He appeared at my door on any number of ridiculous pretenses, and at first I was cordial to him. As soon as I realized his intention, I started refusing his calls, but by then it was too late. Lord Bascomb had decided he wanted me for his wife and he was determined to have me."

"Sydney said there was an incident..."

Twin spots of color settled high into her cheeks. He noticed they were the same rose shade as her lips. "There were several unpleasant incidents with his lordship, but the one Mr. Birdsall is referring to is the time Lord Bascomb managed to elude the servants and discover me alone in the study. He was attempting to ... to compromise my person when my aunt walked in." She shook her head at the unpleasant memory.

She smiled but it looked a little tight. "Aunt Sophie may be somewhat eccentric, but she is quite clever. When Bascomb began to apologize for his behavior and speak of marriage to set the matter aright, my aunt simply acted as though she had witnessed nothing untoward happening between us. I did the same, smiling all the while, and Bascomb had no choice but to leave. He stormed out of the house—brideless again, I am happy to say—and I went to see Mr. Birdsall shortly thereafter. Sydney agreed to intercede with you."

He pondered that. She made it sound quite painless, simply an "unpleasant" encounter with Bascomb. Nick had a feeling it was far worse than that. "There is little Oliver Hampton holds sacred, Miss Woolcot. You are fortunate to have escaped him as you did."

"As I said, my lord, I am grateful for your help. I realize I am a burden, but—"

"Hardly that. A bit of an inconvenience at times, perhaps, considering the life I am used to, but I imagine we will all survive." He shoved back his chair and stood up. He was beginning to feel an unwelcome desire to linger in her company and that was the last thing he wanted. "Thank you for being so forthright. It is a rare quality in a woman. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters I must attend. Have a pleasant day, Miss Woolcot."

She bowed her head slightly as he departed. "And you, my lord."

Two days passed. More guests arrived, two gentlemen and their ladies who had been taking the waters at not-too-distant Tunbridge Wells. Elizabeth knew who they were, Mercy Brown turned out to be a wellspring of information. For a simple vow of silence, Elizabeth had access to every hit of gossip in the house.