Historical Trio 2012-01 (47 page)

The flush that warmed her cheeks was not entirely due to the exertion of the dance. The Earl of Osbourne, a man every woman in the room eyed so covetously, had just called her beautiful…

And what if he had? Admittedly she had so far received few compliments in her young life, but no doubt the earl had spoken just so to dozens…hundreds of other young women before her! ‘I am sure that Miss Miller and Miss Rutledge did not suffer the same fate in your own company,’ she retorted waspishly, having been aware, as she listened politely to the drone of Sir Rufus’s voice—he had proved to be a man who did so love the sound of his own voice—of the giggles and simpering of those two young ladies at dinner.

‘Let us hope not,’ Nathaniel teased as they came together again in the dance. ‘I do have something of a reputation to uphold, you know.’

Of course he did, Elizabeth reminded herself firmly. A disreputable and womanising reputation that he had no doubt enjoyed earning. The fact that she had become totally aware of the wretched man throughout the course of the dance, of the warmth of his hand through her glove whenever it clasped hers, the heated masculinity of his body when they came together, along with the slumbering sensuality in that dark brown gaze as he looked down at her, was of absolutely no import when she also considered how long and in whose company he had been nurturing that rakish reputation.

She lowered her dark lashes as she rose from her curtsy at the end of the set. ‘No doubt you are intending to ask Letitia to dance the next set, my lord?’

It had not so much as occurred to Nathaniel to dance with his aunt’s cousin, a woman aged in her mid-fifties, and whom he knew did not enjoy having attention drawn to her, which it surely would be if he were to invite her to dance. ‘And why would I wish to do that?’

Elizabeth gave him a pained frown. ‘Possibly because Mrs Wilson looked rather displeased when we stood up together for the first set of the evening.’

‘Ah.’ Nathaniel glanced across to where his aunt sat with several other older ladies, knowing by the fixed smile upon Aunt Gertrude’s face that she was not listening to their conversation, her steely gaze fixed upon himself and Elizabeth as they stepped from the dance floor. ‘I believe it might be more…politic to ask my aunt herself rather than Letitia.’

Elizabeth gave a gracious nod of her head. ‘I am sure she will be most gratified.’

He bowed. ‘As no doubt you will enjoy dancing the next set with Tennant. Perhaps he might even offer advice on how to grow tulips or daffodils next.’

‘Oh, very droll, my lord.’ She sniffed, her frown turning to a gracious smile as Sir Rufus arrived to claim the next set.

‘Osbourne,’ he clipped abruptly.

Nathaniel raised haughty brows at the obvious dismissal, looking every inch the superior Earl of Osbourne as his stern gaze raked mercilessly over the older man. ‘Have a care, Tennant,’ he growled softly.

Sir Rufus gave a start. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The earl eased the tension from his shoulders as he affected a charming smile. ‘I was advising you to have a care for Miss Thompson’s feet; I am afraid I may have inadvertently stepped upon one of them during the latter part of the set.’ The two men continued to look at each other, eyes of pale and glittering blue and hard unblinking brown, neither man, it seemed, willing to yield in that silent battle of wills.

‘I am feeling a little thirsty, Sir Rufus—perhaps we might find some refreshment before we dance?’ Elizabeth’s calm request broke into that tension. ‘And I believe you were about to ask your aunt to dance the next set, my lord?’ she added firmly.

What Nathaniel had been about to do, and what he now wished to do, were two entirely different things—especially as the one involved planting a firm right hook on the pompous chin of one of his aunt’s guests!

Instead he turned and took one of Elizabeth’s gloved hands in his. ‘I will seek you out again later in the evening,’ he promised as he raised that gloved hand to place the warmth of his lips against it.

Elizabeth snatched her hand out of the earl’s grasp as soon as she was able to do so without being overly obvious and watched him beneath lowered lashes as he left them to stroll across the room to talk to his aunt. Her palm burned beneath the lace of her glove from the touch of his fingers, the back of her hand aflame from the feel of those lips so close to her skin.

She knew that the intimacy had occurred only as a direct result of an irritating need on the earl’s part to annoy Sir Rufus, but that did not make her own response any more acceptable as she sternly reminded herself that Nathaniel Thorne was a practised rake and a bounder, and his flirtatiousness in regard to herself—for whatever reason—was not to be tolerated.

She turned to smile at the glowering Sir Rufus. ‘What a tedious young man the earl is, to be sure!’

That glower instantly faded as he returned her smile. ‘I am relieved to hear you share my own opinion in that regard.’ They strolled out to where refreshments were being served in the spacious hallway.

Elizabeth accepted the glass of punch he handed her, taking a sip to cool the guilty blush from her cheeks before answering him. ‘Tell me again how you managed to produce that beautiful white bloom you have named Purity.’

‘Ah.’ He brightened considerably. ‘Well, there…’

Elizabeth once again gave thanks for her sister Caroline’s advice as Sir Rufus launched into a repeated explanation of how his obsession with growing roses had encouraged him to produce a hitherto-unknown bloom, and in doing so allowing Elizabeth to smile and nod on occasion without any real need to listen for a second time this evening.

The dance with Sir Rufus was not to be completely avoided, however, and they joined in the third dance of the set, Sir Rufus proving to be an adept dancer, if not a particularly graceful one. That the dance involved her twirling from partner to partner, with the elegantly graceful Lord Thorne as one of those, did not help the other man’s cause.

Consequently Elizabeth was relieved when the set came to an end and she was claimed for the next by Mr Amory, followed by Viscount Rutledge, the latter an exceedingly charming widower of perhaps fifty or so years, his conversation, on the local area and his role as magistrate, proving to be of far more interest than Sir Rufus’s roses. An interest for which Elizabeth was grateful when she saw Nathaniel Thorne take to the dance floor with Miss Rutledge on his arm and Sir Rufus with Mrs Wilson, fortunately in a dance in which the partners remained together rather than not—Elizabeth had suffered quite enough of the earl’s and Sir Rufus’s company for one evening!

Indeed, Elizabeth was so taken with the viscount’s undemanding company that once the set came to an end she readily accepted his invitation, and his arm, to step out into the hallway for further refreshment.

‘It would seem that you have captured the admiration of yet another middle-aged suitor.’

Elizabeth stood to one side of the hallway awaiting Viscount Rutledge’s return with the glasses of punch, closing her eyes now as the annoying Earl of Osbourne spoke softly behind her.

Very close behind her if the way the warmth of his breath stirred the curls at her nape was any indication…

Chapter Six

E
lizabeth drew in a deep breath, a smile fixed on her lips as she turned to face the earl standing so confidently in the hallway behind her. ‘I am sure that Viscount Rutledge’s attentions to me are nothing but a politeness on his part, my lord,’ she dismissed coolly.

Nathaniel did not miss the unspoken implication that ‘politeness’ was a trait Elizabeth did not feel he, personally, possessed!

‘Nor would I consider Sir Rufus to be middle-aged,’ she continued.

But she would consider him to be an admirer…?

Quite rightly so, Nathaniel acknowledged with a frown. The other man was only eight and thirty, and passably wealthy. Observation of Tennant had also shown him to have been watching Elizabeth constantly throughout the evening, often with an intensity that bordered on rudeness. ‘Do you not consider it a little greedy on your part, when there are several other single young ladies here this evening, to have so obviously bewitched all the single gentlemen present?’ he rasped.

Her sapphire gaze swept over him dismissively. ‘Not all, my lord.’

Nathaniel was not as convinced of that as she appeared to be; certainly he had found he had been watching her more this evening than was necessary—or wise—too.

Young women of Elizabeth Thompson’s station in life, whilst perhaps suitable for marriage to a man of lower rank, were completely unsuitable for any role in an earl’s life other than as his mistress; there was an air of independence about this young lady that said she would be totally averse to such a suggestion, from him or any other gentleman.

Which posed a serious question for Nathaniel as to what he was to do about his rapidly growing attraction towards her…

‘Warm evening, is it not, Osbourne?’ Viscount Rutledge returned to present Elizabeth with a glass of punch, a rotund man who invariably beamed good humour—even so, Nathaniel had heard, when the man was sending some poor devil off to be incarcerated in prison for several years!

‘Very warm, sir.’ Nathaniel replied.

‘Perhaps you would care to take my punch and I will go back for another?’ The older man offered him the second glass.

‘Not at all,’ Nathaniel refused evenly as he gave an inward shudder at the thought of drinking such a sweet concoction. ‘I merely came over to secure Miss Thompson for the next set of dances.’

‘Good for you.’ The older man beamed. ‘You will not regret it; I do not think I have met a partner so light on her feet for many a year.’

Elizabeth blushed, both at the obviously well-meaning compliment and the fact that Lord Thorne had not asked her to dance at all, but instead now placed her in the position of having to stand up with him for the next set or name him the liar he had earlier called her!

It was not that she did not find the earl an exciting man to dance with—he was possibly far too exciting—but she was unhappy about the fact that she had been so totally aware of him as they’d danced together earlier. She had also found herself watching him rather too closely as he’d danced with others. Elizabeth thought perhaps it was best for her peace of mind if she did not dance with him again this evening…

Her saviour came in an unexpected—but not necessarily unwelcome—form.

‘Our dance, I believe, Miss Thompson?’ Sir Rufus announced firmly as he joined their group.

Elizabeth had only said she would dance with him again later in the evening if there was time. ‘Of course, Sir Rufus. If you will excuse us, gentlemen?’ She handed her empty punch glass to the scowling earl before leaving on Sir Rufus’s arm.

‘Intelligent as well as pretty gel, that,’ Giles Rutledge murmured as Nathaniel was left holding an empty punch glass rather than Elizabeth.

His mouth tightened as his narrowed gaze followed her progress back into the ballroom. ‘So it would seem.’

Giles chuckled. ‘Has she worked in your aunt’s household for very long?’

For far too long in Nathaniel’s frustrated opinion. In fact, it might have been better for all concerned if she had never come to work for his aunt at all.

‘You really should tell Mrs Wilson if young Osbourne’s attentions are becoming a nuisance.’

Elizabeth glanced sharply up at Sir Rufus as they danced. ‘I have no idea what you mean, sir.’ But, of course, she did. And no doubt Mrs Wilson would have something to say to her, either later tonight or first thing tomorrow morning, concerning her nephew’s marked attentions towards her. The matter was not currently helped by the fact that Lord Thorne and Viscount Rutledge had returned to the ballroom and the former was once again watching her from beneath hooded lids.

Elizabeth had been invited to join the party this evening to make up the numbers, not, as Nathaniel Thorne had pointed out so mockingly earlier, to find herself engaging the attentions of every single gentleman present.

Although it was rather a pleasant feeling to be so popular, Elizabeth acknowledged ruefully, after years of being secluded in the country, where there was only her father, Squire Castle or his son Malcolm that her father had considered as suitable partners for his daughters to stand up with at the local Assemblies.

‘That man is becoming a damned irritant,’ Sir Rufus grumbled as he obviously also noted the younger man’s presence. ‘Every time I turn around, there he is at your elbow.’

Elizabeth doubted that too many people—most especially the women—would consider the Earl of Osbourne’s attentions as an ‘irritant’! Nor did she welcome the almost possessive tone she had heard in Sir Rufus’s voice.

‘I am sure he is just being kind.’ Elizabeth kept her lashes lowered so that this pompously autocratic man should not see the anger glittering in her eyes; her role of humble companion, she had found, was becoming more and more difficult to maintain in a room full of her peers.

Diana had always acted as their father’s hostess during the rare social occasions at Shoreley Park, but Caroline and Elizabeth had also been expected to make their guests welcome and see to their comfort. Here, amongst the local and landed gentry of Devonshire, she had found herself behaving in the same way, which surely was not a role that Betsy Thompson would ever have presumed to take upon herself!

Sir Rufus responded with a sceptical snort. ‘Men like Osbourne are not kind to beautiful young women out of the goodness of their hearts.’

She took exception to Sir Rufus’s comment—despite having said exactly the same thing herself to the earl’s face only days ago! It was one thing for Elizabeth to say it, quite another for this man to do so.

She looked up at him with deliberately innocent eyes. ‘What other reason could there possibly be?’

‘Why, the obvious one, of course!’

‘Obvious, sir?’ Surely this man would not dare to voice anything so outrageous in her presence?

‘From all that I have heard, Osbourne prefers to take his mistresses from his inferiors.’

He would dare!

It was an indecent indiscretion Sir Rufus also seemed to become aware of as he began to bluster. ‘Not that I am suggesting for one moment that you have in any way encouraged his attentions—’

‘Perhaps that is as well!’ Elizabeth came to a halt in the dancing. ‘If you will excuse me, Sir Rufus? I—I feel I have danced enough for one evening.’ She turned and walked from the dance floor, in the opposite direction from where Lord Thorne now stood conversing with Lady Miller.

‘Miss Thompson!’

Unwisely, Sir Rufus had followed her. Even more unwisely, he had dared to grasp Elizabeth’s arm and turn her to face him once again. She feared she really had suffered enough of this boorish man’s company for one evening! ‘Release me at once, Sir Rufus,’ she spoke quietly, but the force behind her words was unmistakable.

A warning he quite rightly heeded as his hand dropped back to his side. ‘I meant you no insult—’

Tears of humiliation had gathered on Elizabeth’s lashes as she looked up at him. ‘Whether it was your intention to do so or not, that is obviously what has occurred, sir.’ Her chin rose proudly.

He attempted a placatory smile, but it was as though the gesture were not one he was familiar with. ‘I do most sincerely apologise, Miss Thompson.’

‘Your apology is accepted,’ Elizabeth replied, very aware that those hot tears were close to falling down her cheeks.

‘I had intended to ask Mrs Wilson if I might take you out driving in my carriage tomorrow afternoon,’ he said.

Elizabeth bit her tongue to stop the sharp reply that sprang to her lips; unbelievably this man insulted her and then expected her to go out driving with him in his carriage tomorrow! ‘I am afraid that will not be possible, Sir Rufus—’

‘You can even bring that wretched animal with you if you wish,’ he offered with obvious distaste.

A reluctant concession that only made Elizabeth all the more determined to refuse him. ‘I am sure my time will be taken up tomorrow with helping to tidy away after this evening’s festivities,’ she said.

‘Mrs Wilson has servants to do that—’ He broke off with an uncomfortable wince.

‘And I believe we have just decided I am one of them,’ Elizabeth pointed out acerbically. ‘Now you really must excuse me.’ She did not trouble herself to wait for his reply, but instead quietly slipped out of the French doors that led out onto the terrace at the back of the house, moving to stand beside the metal balustrade and draw in deep breaths of air as she tried to stop those scalding tears from cascading down her cheeks.

And failed.

What an absolutely priggish man Sir Rufus Tennant was! How dared he—? Who did he think that he was—? To have insulted her so by implying—ooh!

Elizabeth was enraged. Incensed. Her evening totally ruined. Nor, she knew, would she ever again take for granted the feelings of her own maid Mary.

Not that she believed she had ever been unkind to that cheerful and obliging young lady, but having played the subservient role herself this past two weeks, Elizabeth better appreciated Mary’s efforts on her behalf, and now realised that even the slight of taking those efforts for granted could be hurtful.

Had Mary ever had to suffer the unwanted attentions and insults of men such as Sir Rufus Tennant? If she had, then Elizabeth could only pity her—

‘Elizabeth?’

Even if she had not instantly recognised those husky sensual tones as belonging to Nathaniel Thorne, she would have known it was he; the earl was the only person at Hepworth Manor who insisted on calling her by her given name.

And she was standing here like a ninny with tears of humiliation scalding her cheeks and no doubt also causing her eyes to appear red and puffy!

Nathaniel, having witnessed Elizabeth’s altercation with Tennant and her abrupt departure from the house, was not in the least reassured now by the fact that she would not so much as turn and look at him. ‘Elizabeth—’

‘Go away, my lord! Please!’ she added less forcefully.

Nathaniel strolled across the terrace to stand beside her, the moonlight strong enough to allow him to see the whiteness of her knuckles as she tightly gripped the metal railing. A glance up at her averted face also revealed the evidence of tears on the paleness of the cheek visible to him. Nathaniel frowned as he reached out to grasp her arms and turn her to face him, to see more evidence of those tears on her other cheek. He looked down at her searchingly before taking her into his arms, the softness of her dark curls resting against his chest as his arms encircled the slenderness of her waist.

Perhaps not the most sensible thing for him to have done, considering he had hardly been able to take his eyes off her all evening!

He had meant to offer her comfort and hopefully was doing that. But the close proximity of her soft and alluring curves, the beguiling feminine perfume of her hair, were all having their effect upon his own senses. Nathaniel could feel the stirring of his arousal—a fact that she would also soon become aware of if he continued to hold her so closely against him!

He put her slightly away from him. ‘What did Tennant do or say to upset you so?’ he demanded.

She shook her head. ‘It is not important—’

‘I disagree.’

‘Please release me so that I may get my handkerchief from my pocket.’ She looked up at him pleadingly.

A plea that Nathaniel acceded to as he saw the fresh tears escaping over her long lashes and down her cheeks, waiting until she had mopped them up before speaking again. ‘Did Tennant proposition you?’

Elizabeth gave a choked laugh at that irony. ‘No, of course he did not.’

‘Then what did he do?’ Nathaniel scowled down at her darkly. ‘And do not tell me he did nothing, because I will not believe you.’

She drew in a deep and steadying breath before answering him evenly. ‘What you do or do not choose to believe is of no relevance to me.’

‘Indeed?’ he drawled drily. ‘Then perhaps I should discuss this incident with my aunt.’

Elizabeth gasped. ‘You will do no such thing—’

‘And how do you intend to stop me from doing so?’ He raised a mocking brow.

She glared up at him in frustration, knowing that the patient expression on his face was nothing but an illusion; she could feel the earl’s inner displeasure as it came off him in waves.