Nathaniel viewed Betsy Thompson through narrowed lids. ‘You have not been a paid employee for very long, have you?’

A delicate blush coloured those ivory cheeks. ‘What makes you say that, my lord?’

The mere fact that she was daring to question him like this was reason enough! ‘You do not appear to know your place.’

Those blue eyes sparkled with what he knew without doubt to be a fierce temper. ‘My place, my lord?’

Had he ever had another conversation like this one? Nathaniel mused ruefully. Somehow he doubted it. ‘I believe it is the usual practice to show a little more respect when addressing one’s elders and betters,’ he drawled with deliberate provocation; after all, the blue of her eyes did look particularly fine when she was in a temper!

Elizabeth fumed silently. As she was really Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the daughter of an earl, he certainly was not her ‘better’. Except she was not Lady Elizabeth Copeland at this moment, was she? And she had no idea if she ever would be again …

The Lady Confesses

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE LADY GAMBLES**

THE LADY FORFEITS**

*The Notorious St Claires **The Copeland Sisters

You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:

The Scandalous St Claires: Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed! JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS THE RELUCTANT DUKE TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

Carole Mortimer has written a further 150 novels for Modern™ Romance, and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE

CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY

Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my wonderful parents, with much love.

Chapter One

May, 1817—Hepworth Manor, Devon

‘How dare you? Lord Thorne, I insist you release me at once!’

Lord Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, laughed huskily, his lips moving to the ebony-haired beauty’s throat. She avoided his kiss by struggling in the confines of his arms, the squirming of those slender curves as she lay across him only succeeding in increasing Nathaniel’s pleasure. ‘You know you do not mean that, my dear Betsy …’

‘I most certainly do mean it!’ She raised her head to glare down at him with eyes of an indignant and deep blue surrounded by long dark lashes, her dark curls smelling of lemon and jasmine.

Nathaniel smiled confidently. ‘A kiss, Betsy, that is all I ask.’

Her mouth tightened determinedly. ‘Very well—you asked for this!’

Nathaniel drew in a swift hissing breath as the woman in his arms deliberately pushed against his chest in an attempt to wrench herself free, a painful reminder that he had broken several of his ribs only nine days previously, which had resulted in his being confined to this bed or another ever since.

A fact this little minx was well aware of!

‘And you have been asking for this for days!’ Nathaniel’s arms tightened instead of releasing her as his teeth nibbled at one delicately scented earlobe.

Her struggles ceased, her expression one of blank bewilderment as she looked down at him. ‘I have?’

Well … perhaps he exaggerated the situation slightly. But after four days spent in London being confined to his bed and fussed over by his closest relative—his widowed and childless Aunt Gertrude—followed by another four days of discomfort inside his coach as they’d travelled to his aunt’s home on the rugged Devonshire coast, Nathaniel had felt in need of some feminine diversion.

Waking from an afternoon nap to find this delicious morsel tidying his bedchamber, also aware that no matter how painful his injuries were they had also allowed him to escape the tedium of a London Season and his aunt’s intention of finding him a wife, Nathaniel had decided to reward himself for that lucky escape by indulging in a little sport with his aunt’s young companion.

He grinned up at her unabashedly now. ‘You have been fussing about my bedchamber, and latterly myself, for this past half an hour: tidying the room, straightening my bedclothes, plumping my pillows.’ During which time he had been gifted with a tempting view of the fullness of her breasts as she leant across him and a tantalising glimpse of the plump, rosy-hued nipples that tipped those delicious breasts!

‘It was on your aunt’s instruction that I sat with you this afternoon.’ The ebony-haired beauty looked down the length of her little nose at him.

‘And where is my dear aunt this afternoon?’ he enquired.

‘She felt rested enough from the journey here to be able to go out in the carriage to reacquaint herself with friends in the area—You are deliberately changing the subject, my lord!’ She glared her indignation at him once again.

‘Am I?’ Nathaniel drawled in amusement.

‘Yes,’ she maintained firmly. ‘And I fail to see any encouragement on my part of this—this attack upon my person, in the mundane actions you have just described.’

Which was not to say that Elizabeth had found those attentions completely disagreeable, if she was being totally honest with herself.

Her last kiss—in fact, her only kiss—had been taken—stolen—from her several months ago by the local vicar’s precocious fifteen-year-old son, who unfortunately had a propensity for sweetmeats, cakes, spots and an unbecoming plumpness.

It had only been that expression of lazy satisfaction upon Lord Nathaniel Thorne’s handsome face, as he’d pulled her effortlessly into his arms, which had prevented Elizabeth from enjoying the sensation of allowing those sensually sculptured—and no doubt much more experienced—lips to possess her own.

The same satisfaction the earl displayed now as he looked down at the plump swell of her breasts made visible by the low neckline of her blue gown. ‘A man can only stand so much temptation, my dear Betsy.’

Elizabeth gave an inner wince at Lord Thorne’s continued use of the name bestowed upon her by Mrs Wilson almost two weeks ago, after that lady had declared ‘Elizabeth’ was far too refined a name for the young lady she intended to employ as a companion.

Nor did Elizabeth appreciate the way in which Lord Thorne continued to ogle her breasts; she had no doubts Mrs Wilson would dismiss ‘Betsy’ without a single reference if she were to enter the bedchamber and witness this damning scene! ‘I am sure I offered you no such temptation, sir,’ Elizabeth argued.

He eyed her with amusement. ‘Then perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part?’

‘And no doubt I should have expected such behaviour from someone who is obviously so well acquainted with a man such as Lord Gabriel Faulkner!’ she came back tartly.

The challenging insult had the desired effect of obtaining Elizabeth’s sudden release as she felt his lordship’s arms instantly fall back to his sides, which allowed her to struggle back onto her slippered feet. She pulled her crumpled gown into some semblance of order and tidied the disarray of her hair before venturing a glance at him once again.

The icy haughtiness of the earl’s expression and the dangerous glitter in the narrowed brown eyes that looked up at her so coldly warned her instantly that she had said something heinous. She sighed inwardly. Despite his suddenly cold demeanour, Lord Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, had to be one of the handsomest men in England—he was certainly one of the most handsome males Elizabeth had ever set eyes upon. His fashionably styled hair was the colour of ripe corn, those brown eyes a rich mahogany. His face was stunningly masculine, with high cheekbones, a long aristocratic nose and sculpted lips above a square and determined jaw.

As the earl had spent the majority of the last nine days wearing very little other than a shirt, and occasionally pantaloons, for the comfort of his injuries, Elizabeth could also vouch for the fact that he had very wide shoulders, a muscled chest and stomach sprinkled with a fine dusting of golden hair, lean and powerful hips, and long masculine legs perfectly suited to those thigh-hugging pantaloons and the highly polished Hessians he had worn for their journey into Devonshire.

Until this moment, from the occasions she had witnessed him in conversation with his overly affectionate aunt, she would also have said he was in possession of a tolerably pleasant, if slightly haughty, nature to go along with those rakish good looks.

The dangerous glitter that now lit those dark, almost black, eyes showed another side of him completely. No doubt it was that same ruthlessness of nature that had stood the earl in such good stead during his five years of fighting as an officer in Wellington’s army.

‘You will explain that last remark, if you please.’

The even pleasantness of Lord Thorne’s tone did nothing to soothe Elizabeth’s feelings of unease—the sort of unease one might feel, she imagined, as if the good-natured cat sleeping peacefully upon one’s hearth suddenly turned feral!

Her chin rose. ‘I noted Lord Faulkner’s visit to you five days ago.’

‘On the day of his return to England after an absence of eight years, yes.’ The earl’s manner remained frosty.

‘I—well—his scandalous past is well-known, surely, my lord?’

‘Is it?’

Elizabeth’s throat moved convulsively at the dangerous edge she now heard beneath the mildness of the earl’s tone. ‘The servants were all agog following his visit to you and I couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying about him, about the scandal that marred his past.’

‘Indeed?’ Those blond brows rose. ‘And am I to take it you are the type of young lady who enjoys listening to such malicious gossip?’

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush at this deliberate set-down. ‘It can hardly be termed as malicious when it also happens to be the truth.’

Nathaniel’s previous arousal had completely dissipated during the latter part of this conversation. ‘How old would you have been eight years ago?’ he asked.

‘I do not see—’

‘I asked how old?’ he demanded harshly.

She blinked. ‘I believe I would have been but eleven years old, sir.’

Nathaniel nodded. ‘And no doubt you resided in Cambridgeshire at that time?’

A perplexed frown marred her creamy brow. ‘I have never resided in Cambridgeshire, my lord.’

‘Then how can you, a mere child of eleven years, who did not even reside in Cambridgeshire at the time of this supposed scandal, possibly speak with any authority as to what is or is not true with regard to Lord Faulkner’s past?’ Nathaniel looked at her implacably as he sat up against the pillows she had recently plumped.

A delicate blush darkened her creamy cheeks, although that stubborn little chin remained high. ‘It appears to be public knowledge that Lord Faulkner was once involved in the seduction of an innocent young girl.’

Nathaniel was well aware of the gossip that had circulated amongst the ton eight years ago with regard to Gabriel Faulkner, one of his two closest friends. He had not, however, been aware that very same gossip was once again in circulation upon Gabriel’s return from the Continent to take up his duties as the new Earl of Westbourne. Duties which Gabriel had calmly stated would include making an offer of marriage to one or other of his wards, the three young Lady Copelands, who were the previous earl’s daughters. Never having met any of the sisters, Gabriel had apparently not stated a preference as to which of them it should be.

Damn it, Nathaniel should have been in London to at least stand at his friend’s side when Gabriel announced his presence back in society, and not languishing in Devon nursing broken ribs. Not that Nathaniel believed Gabriel would need, or indeed appreciate, anyone’s support, tacit or otherwise; during his eight long years of exile Gabriel Faulkner had become one of the proudest and most arrogant men the English ton was ever likely to meet!

Still, if nothing else, he would have liked to have been present to see some of those well-bred faces when Gabriel took up his rightful place in society. Instead of which Nathaniel had left London for Devon almost immediately upon Gabriel’s arrival back in town, his only means of entertainment being this outspoken young lady who was his aunt’s companion.

‘Indeed?’ he drawled icily.

Elizabeth pursed her delectable mouth. ‘You are aware of a different version of events, perhaps?’

Nathaniel’s gaze swept over her contemptuously before he replied in a disdainful voice. ‘If I am, then I assure you I am not inclined to share it with you.’

He meant to be insulting, and he had succeeded, causing the colour to drain from her cheeks as she felt herself suitably chastened for having seriously overstepped the bounds of her current role of companion.

For it was a role. And one which did not sit altogether comfortably upon the slender shoulders of a young woman who, until two and a half weeks ago, had enjoyed the title of Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the youngest daughter of the previous, and now deceased, Earl of Westbourne.

It was the very reason Elizabeth had taken such an interest in acquainting herself with the gossip concerning Lord Gabriel Faulkner, the man who had not only become the new Earl of Westbourne on the death of Elizabeth’s own father almost seven months ago, but also guardian to Elizabeth and her two sisters.

All three of the Copeland sisters had been badly shaken by their father’s sudden demise and equally alarmed on learning that, their two cousins having died at the Battle of Waterloo, the title of earl had now passed to a man who was a second or third cousin of their father’s. That man was Gabriel Faulkner. A man none of the sisters had ever met. A man, moreover, who was rumoured to have behaved so disgracefully eight years ago that society had chosen to banish him, and his own family had disowned him.

Having lived all of their lives at their father’s country estate, Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth had never been made privy to the details of that scandal and, despite having made discreet enquiries upon learning he was now their guardian, none of them had been able to ascertain the exact nature of that disgrace. The only information any of them had been able to garner on the man at the time—it had been left to the recent gossip below stairs at Mrs Wilson’s home to fill in the exact nature of that scandal—was his banishment to the Continent eight years ago, and that he had been an officer in Wellington’s army for five years, before residing in Venice these past two years.

Lord Faulkner, it seemed, had not been in any hurry to return to England and take up his duties as the Earl of Westbourne, or his guardianship of the Copeland sisters, none of them having so much as set eyes upon him when they had received a letter from that so-called gentleman some months after their father’s death, in which he had made an offer of marriage to whichever of the three Copeland sisters would have him!

No doubt, with the scandal of their own mother having abandoned her husband and three young daughters ten years ago—Harriet Copeland had fled Shoreley Park for London and the arms of her young lover, then been shot by that young lover only months later before he had then turned the pistol upon himself—Lord Faulkner had perhaps believed that one of the Copeland sisters would be so desperate for marriage they would be happy to accept an offer from a man equally as shrouded in scandal.

He had been wrong.

Her sister Caroline’s answer to that offer had been to run away from her home and sisters three weeks ago. Equally as horrified at the prospect of such a marriage, Elizabeth had followed her sister’s example only days later.

Having made her escape from the possibility of that unwanted marriage, and subsequently managing to find employment in London with Mrs Wilson, Elizabeth had then been shocked to her core when Gabriel Faulkner had arrived at that lady’s house only days ago to visit Mrs Wilson’s injured nephew, Lord Nathaniel Thorne, the two men having apparently been best friends for some years!

Admittedly the new Earl of Westbourne had proved to be exceedingly handsome, more so than Elizabeth or her two sisters could ever have guessed. But those arrogantly dark and fashionable good looks did nothing to lessen the shock she had felt upon hearing the details of that gentleman’s past scandal as the servants gossiped below stairs whilst he visited with Lord Thorne upstairs …

Only the fact that the whole of Mrs Wilson’s household was to be immediately removed to Devonshire, well away from London—and Lord Faulkner!—had prevented Elizabeth from fleeing into the night for the second time in as many weeks.

‘It was not my intention to insult Lord Faulkner,’ she dismissed coolly now, knowing from Mrs Wilson that Lord Faulkner and that lady’s nephew had been friends from their school-days; a fact Elizabeth should perhaps have realised sooner, considering that Mrs Wilson had also informed her shortly after she had taken employment with that lady of her nephew’s recent return from visiting with a friend in Venice!

‘Then perhaps the insult was directed at me?’ Nathaniel drawled softly.

She had meant to insult him, Elizabeth acknowledged ruefully. She could not imagine why any gentleman of the ton would wish to remain friends with a man as dissolute and rakish as Gabriel Faulkner was reputed to be. Unless that gentleman was equally as disreputable himself?

A fact perhaps borne out by Lord Thorne having received his present injuries in what sounded distinctly like a drunken brawl, as well as his recent un wanted advances towards her? ‘I apologise if that was your impression, my lord,’ she said stiff ly. ‘Although, in my defence, I do believe you offered me just provocation,’ she could not resist adding.

Nathaniel regarded her beneath hooded lids. At a little over five feet tall, her slender figure shown to advantage in the plain blue gown, with her ebony curls arranged in a simple if fashionable style, and her face one of delicate beauty—fine dark brows, deep blue eyes, a tiny nose above a perfect bow of a mouth—Miss Betsy Thompson somehow did not have the looks, or indeed the voice, of a paid companion to a lady of wealth and quality.

And how would he know what one of those should look like? Nathaniel mused self-derisively.

Yes, Miss Betsy Thompson was in possession of a rare and tempting beauty, and the refinement of her voice spoke of an education, but for all Nathaniel knew of such things that could merely be because she was the daughter of an impoverished gentleman or clergyman, in need of employment to support herself until some equally impoverished young gentleman took her as his wife, before then producing a houseful of even more impoverished children to continue the cycle!

Incarcerated in Devon, and so robbed of rakish entertainment as well as all news of London society—his aunt had refused to even allow Nathaniel to read the newspapers this past eight days in case he ‘became overset’ by anything printed in them!—Nathaniel had only thought to provide himself with a diversion from his increasing boredom when he’d attempted to kiss his aunt’s young companion. Certainly he had not intended engaging in a verbal exchange during which this outspoken young woman had dared to insult one of his closest and dearest friends.

He had no doubts that Gabriel would have simply laughed off such an insult, used as he was to the sideways glances of the gentlemen of the ton and the gossip behind the raised fans of their wives and daughters—along with their surreptitious and hypocritical lust for his dark and dangerous good looks. Nathaniel had never been able to dismiss those slights to his friend so easily, and never ceased to feel enraged by them.

Especially as he knew that gossip to be wholly untrue.

His mouth thinned now as he looked at Betsy Thompson beneath hooded lids. ‘The apology alone would have sufficed,’ he rasped. ‘Now, is there not some other service which you need to be busy performing for my aunt? Surely you have completed this one to the best of your ability.’

And been found wanting, Elizabeth acknowledged irritably, very aware that the laughingly flirtatious man who had tried to kiss her a few minutes ago had completely disappeared to be replaced by a gentleman who was now every inch the wealthy and powerful Earl of Osbourne, with vast estates in Kent and Suffolk, as well as a beautiful town house in London.

She gave a brief inclination of her head. ‘I believe it is time for Hector’s afternoon walk.’

‘Ah, yes.’ The earl gave a hard, mocking smile. ‘I have noticed, with my aunt’s cousin Letitia already in residence, you are more companion to my aunt’s dog than to my aunt herself.’

Yet another insult, no matter how smoothly it was delivered, Elizabeth recognised with a frown. Unfortunately, experience had shown her that with no references it was almost impossible to find employment in London. Indeed, Elizabeth had only succeeded in securing her present position in Mrs Wilson’s household because of her heroic rescue of that lady’s pampered and much-loved Scottish Terrier, after he had slipped his lead in a London park one afternoon and run amok.

As such, Elizabeth needed to maintain her employment with Mrs Wilson if she did not wish to return to Shoreley Park and that dubious offer of marriage from Lord Faulkner. A fate Elizabeth still considered— despite now knowing of that gentleman’s roguish good looks—to be more painful than death itself.

Lord Faulkner could not know it, but Elizabeth was actually doing him a great service by not accepting his proposal; she was the daughter most likened to her mother in looks, and as such had always been viewed with suspicion by neighbouring matrons of sons of marriageable age, in the fear, no doubt, that she might be like her mother in other ways …

Her chin rose proudly. ‘I really do sincerely apologise for any offence I may have given, my lord.’

Somehow Nathaniel doubted that very much. He had easily seen the battle taking place within Miss Betsy Thompson’s beautiful head as she wrestled with the knowledge that she considered herself to be in the right of it, whilst at the same time totally aware that she was speaking to the favourite nephew—in fact, the only nephew—of her employer.

Indeed, that inner battle had been so transparent he might have laughed aloud if he were not still feeling so disgruntled with her on Gabriel’s behalf.

After all, he had earlier attempted to steal a kiss from this young woman for his own enjoyment. And the fact that Nathaniel had received his injuries from paid thugs as he’d left a gambling club owned by yet another of his disreputable friends was not in the least flattering to his own reputation …

He viewed Betsy Thompson through narrowed lids. ‘You have not been a paid employee for very long, have you?’

A delicate blush coloured those ivory cheeks. ‘What makes you say that, my lord?’

The mere fact that she was daring to question him like this, an earl and the nephew of her employer, was reason enough! ‘You do not appear to know your place.’

Those blue eyes sparkled with what he knew without doubt to be a fierce temper. ‘My place, my lord?’

Had he ever had another conversation like this one? Nathaniel mused ruefully. Somehow he doubted it. ‘I believe it is the usual practice to show a little more … respect, when addressing one’s elders and betters,’ he drawled with deliberate provocation; after all, the blue of this young lady’s eyes did look particularly fine when she was in a temper!

Considering Nathaniel Thorne was a mere eight, or possibly nine years, her senior, Elizabeth did not consider him in the least ‘her elder’. And as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the daughter of an earl, neither was he ‘her better’.

Except she was not Lady Elizabeth Copeland at this moment in time, was she? And she had no idea when she would become so again. Or, indeed, if she ever would …

Leaving her home had been a purely impulsive act on her part, a response to Caroline’s identical response to Lord Faulkner’s proposal two days earlier. Those two days had been spent in a fruitless search of the local area for the missing Caroline and had resulted in the other two sisters assuming that she had likely fled all the way to London.

London …

All three of the Copeland girls had always wished for, and repeatedly been denied by their father, so much as a single visit to England’s capital, let alone the Season that might have secured a marriage for any or all of them, on the basis, no doubt, that Marcus Copeland had considered the temptations to be found there to be responsible for his wife’s abandonment of her family.

Whatever his rationale for the decision, Caroline and Elizabeth especially had longed to experience some of those ‘temptations’ for themselves; Diana, the eldest sister at one and twenty, had always been the more reserved of the three, taking her responsibilities as mistress of Shoreley Park and surrogate mother to her two younger sisters very seriously indeed.

And so first Caroline, and then Elizabeth, had left the only home they had ever known for the excitement that London represented. Elizabeth could not speak for Caroline, of course, having had neither sight nor word of her sister’s whereabouts since reaching the city, but she had quickly realised that the excitements of town only applied to the wealthy and titled members of London society, and that the paid companion she had been forced by circumstances to become was merely a lowly employee at the mercy of the whims and fancies of her employer, with very few glimpses of the world she had so longed to inhabit.

Elizabeth had also had plenty of time in which to realise how much she missed her sisters, how alone she felt without the two of them to laugh and gossip with. To realise how, being the youngest sister, Caroline and Diana had been her companions for all of her nineteen years.

Indeed, Elizabeth had missed them so much that, on the day she had effected the recapture of Hector after he had made his escape from Mrs Wilson in the park, she had briefly, foolishly, thought she had seen Caroline seated as a passenger of the most fashionable coach travelling in the park that day.

It was nonsense, of course, a ridiculous notion only confirmed by Elizabeth’s glimpse of the gentleman easily controlling the pair of perfect but highly strung greys in front of that gleaming carriage. An aristocratic gentleman whose arrogant good looks were made to look dangerous by the scar that ran down the left side of his face. The rakish sort of gentleman none of the Copeland sisters had ever, or would ever, be acquainted with.

Nevertheless, that brief encounter had served to emphasise how deeply she wished to be with her sisters again. Unfortunately, Elizabeth—and no doubt Caroline, too—had realised since arriving in London that, when she’d left Hampshire so suddenly she had given no consideration as to how she was ever to learn when or if Lord Faulkner had quit Shoreley Park, thereby making it safe for her to return to her home.

Until a remedy to that situation occurred to her, it was very necessary that she retain her current position in Mrs Wilson’s household—something she would not be able to do if she ran foul of that lady’s much-loved nephew. ‘I apologise again, my lord, for any—any misunderstandings,’ she said stiff ly, ‘but I am sure that your aunt will be pleased to hear how much better you are feeling this afternoon.’

‘Indeed?’ Nathaniel eyed her closely. ‘And what else do you intend telling my dear aunt about this afternoon?’

She looked pained at the accusation in his tone. ‘Why, nothing else, my lord.’

‘You do not consider I owe you an apology for my own behaviour just now?’ He looked across at her shrewdly.

Delicate colour warmed her cheeks as she avoided meeting his gaze. ‘I would much rather forget the incident ever happened, my lord.’ She looked slightly flustered. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Hector will be waiting for his walk.’ She swept him a polite curtsy.

Nathaniel watched beneath hooded lids as Betsy left his bedchamber, knowing a slight disappointment in her response to his deliberate challenge; instead of a return of that temper he had been expecting—hoping for—the light of battle had seemed to fade from those clear blue eyes as she once again assumed the mantle of the young and demure companion of his aunt’s dog.

Assumed, because Nathaniel had serious doubts that Miss Betsy Thompson had ever been born to such a subservient role …

Chapter Two

‘I have decided, as you are obviously feeling so much better—’ Mrs Wilson bestowed a warm smile of approval upon her nephew as he stood somewhat stiffly beside the fireplace in the drawing room prior to dinner ‘—to arrange a small dinner party. For … three days hence, I believe,’ she announced with satisfaction.

‘Aunt—’

‘As I said, it will be but a small group. Only twenty or so of my closest neighbours,’ she added persuasively.

Elizabeth, having entered the drawing room in time to hear this announcement, looked at Nathaniel beneath lowered lashes as she curtsied before moving to the back of the room to sit demurely on the chaise beside Letitia Grant, feeling slightly breathless at how handsome the earl looked in his black evening clothes and snowy white linen, the candlelight casting a golden sheen over his fashionably styled hair and lightly tanned features.

She had instantly seen how his warm mahogany eyes had briefly flared with alarm at his aunt’s announcement, before that emotion was as quickly masked by a look of cool uninterest. Elizabeth easily guessed the reason for that mask!

Mrs Wilson, a widowed and still attractive lady in her early-forties, had made it clear she had no interest in remarrying herself, instead preferring to turn her considerable attention to finding her nephew a countess. Indeed, she had already been full of the news, when she’d returned in her carriage earlier, that there were at least three young and attractive ladies in the neighbourhood who were up to the task and might meet her nephew’s critical approval.

She considered, she had stated firmly, that at the age of eight and twenty it was past time that her nephew gave up his bachelor life and produced an heir; as he had no mother to guide him, it was her duty to see the woman he chose as his countess and mother of his children was entirely suitable for that role, whether or not the earl had any inclinations in that direction himself.

Nathaniel Thorne’s now guarded expression would seem to indicate that he most certainly did not!

After their earlier altercation, Elizabeth could not help but feel a little inward pleasure at the earl’s obvious discomfort; Mrs Wilson, once set on a course of action, was rarely, if ever, thwarted. Elizabeth’s own presence here was proof of that!

Having secured Hector in the park that day, it had been a simple enough task for Elizabeth to then locate his mistress; she had so obviously been the lady remonstrating most passionately with one of her coachmen as she strode determinedly across the park towards where Elizabeth held the runaway dog in her arms.

The reunion between dog and mistress had brought an emotional tear to Elizabeth’s eyes—for a completely different reason than that of the poor coachman, who stood beside his mistress rubbing his ringing ears!

Once reassured of her ‘darling Hector’s’ well-being, Mrs Wilson had turned her narrow-eyed attention to his rescuer, insisting that Elizabeth must return home in her carriage with her and receive more thanks over a cup of tea. Once inside the opulence of that comfortable house, Mrs Wilson had demanded to know what a young lady such as Elizabeth had been doing walking alone in the park at all. Upon hearing that she was merely crossing the park to cheer herself after failing to secure a position in a haberdashery, that lady had insisted that she must come and work for her, that her ‘darling Hector’ had obviously taken such a liking to her there could be no other course of action.

Before Elizabeth had been able to draw a breath, it seemed, she had found herself, and the few belongings she had brought to London with her, moved into Mrs Wilson’s home and herself charged with the care of the mischievous and totally lovable Hector.

If Mrs Wilson had now decided to turn that considerable attention to finding her nephew a suitable wife, then she had no doubts that lady would succeed—whether the Earl of Osbourne wished it or not!

‘—it is fortuitous that the Millers have not gone up to town for the Season this year, as they are still in mourning following Lord Miller’s demise,’ Elizabeth heard Mrs Wilson state with satisfaction as her attention returned to that lady’s conversation with her nephew.

‘I doubt that Lord Miller sees it as being in the least fortuitous!’ the earl drawled drily.

Elizabeth repressed another smile, only for the humour on her face to fade completely as she looked up and found herself the focus of Lord Thorne’s intent gaze.

She looked quickly away again to engage the elderly Letitia Grant in conversation, all the time aware that the rakishly handsome earl continued to observe her broodingly …

Nathaniel was only half listening to the twittering of his aunt as she continued to list the guests she proposed inviting to her dinner party on Saturday evening, having absolutely no interest in any of his aunt’s guests, least of all the two Miss Millers and their mother, or Miss Penelope Rutledge, the equally eligible daughter of the local magistrate, Viscount Rutledge.

His aunt would no doubt be outraged to learn the only female that in the least piqued Nathaniel’s interest at this moment in time was now seated on the chaise at the back of the drawing room and engaged in muted conversation with Letitia Grant—and that his intentions towards Betsy earlier this afternoon had been entirely dishonourable!

Nathaniel had been aware of that young woman’s presence the moment she slipped quietly into the room to curtsy politely before joining Letitia on the chaise, the simply styled cream gown she wore a perfect foil for those ebony curls that clustered at her crown and framed the ivory oval of her face, its high waist and low neckline leaving bare her throat and the tops of the breasts Nathaniel had so admired earlier this afternoon.

Miss Betsy Thompson, Nathaniel had decided after she’d left his bedchamber earlier, was a contradiction that warranted further investigation. Discreet enquiries from Letitia Grant earlier had revealed that as far as she was aware his aunt knew absolutely nothing about the young lady she had so recently employed, other than that Hector obviously adored her—which in Aunt Gertrude’s eyes appeared to be reference enough!

Nathaniel had a far different opinion—for all any of them knew Betsy could be a runaway wife avoiding detection by her aggrieved husband, or, worse, she might be a felon hiding from justice!

At least, those were the excuses Nathaniel had given himself for his lingering interest in that young lady …

‘—are you even listening to me, Osbourne?’ his aunt now snapped as she obviously became aware of his inattentiveness.

Nathaniel turned his lazy gaze onto his slightly irate aunt. ‘You were extolling the virtues of Miss Rutledge, I believe,’ he drawled uninterestedly. ‘How accomplished she is upon the piano. That you and others consider her needlework and painting to be of a particularly high standard. That she has acted as competent and gracious mistress of the Viscount’s home since her mother’s death three years ago. How—’

‘I trust you are not mocking me, Osbourne?’ His prettily plump, and totally well-meaning, aunt prompted severely.

‘I assure you, Aunt Gertrude, that a man as in need of his dinner as I rarely feels the inclination to mock.’ Nathaniel presented his arm to his aunt as the butler appeared in the doorway and announced that dinner was now ready to be served.

Elizabeth could not help but appreciate how smoothly the earl had extricated himself from the awkwardness of that conversation as she fell into step beside Letitia to follow Nathaniel Thorne and his aunt through to the small family dining room. Many fashionable young gentlemen—in need of their dinner or otherwise!—would have dealt most severely with Mrs Wilson for being so blatant in their matchmaking. It was a testament of the genuine affection in which Lord Thorne held his aunt that he had chosen not to do so.

Although this did not in any way excuse the set-down he had given Elizabeth earlier in regard to what she considered her perfectly justified outspokenness concerning the scandalous behaviour of his friend, Lord Faulkner.

Or the over-familiar behaviour she had suffered at his hands prior to that …

Which was perhaps not the memory Elizabeth should have been dwelling upon as the earl, having seen to the seating of his aunt and Letitia Grant, now loomed over her attentively as he stood behind her own chair.

‘Dare I hope that blush is on my behalf, Betsy?’ he murmured, the warmth of his breath caressing the dark curls at Elizabeth’s nape as he bent forwards to place her chair beneath her.

Elizabeth tensed brief ly before continuing to sit, presenting her stiffly disapproving back and shoulders to the earl as she did so. She couldn’t help feeling a little chagrined that he had been correct in his assumption as to the direction of her wayward thoughts! She had been too shocked earlier by the suddenness of this man’s advances to completely gauge her own reaction to being held in his arms as he had attempted to kiss her.

Unfortunately, that had not proved to be the case as Elizabeth had later walked Hector in the peace and quiet of the woods adjoining Hepworth Manor … Her thoughts had then returned again and again to the hard warmth of Nathaniel Thorne’s body as he’d held her against his muscled chest, the thrill of briefly feeling his lips against hers and the shiver of pleasure that had coursed through her as those same lips travelled the length of her throat. As to the lascivious way in which he had eyed the swell of her breasts, she tingled all over just thinking about it.

The life Elizabeth had led at Shoreley Park had been a sheltered one, with very few young men living in the area, and hardly any of those considered by Marcus Copeland to be suitable company for his three young daughters. The exception to that rule had been Malcolm Castle, the son of the local squire, but as he had always shown a preference for her sister Diana’s company from childhood, that particular avenue of flirtation had been closed to Elizabeth and Caroline.

Even if it had not, Nathaniel Thorne’s earlier familiarity could not possibly be called merely flirtatious! The liberties he had attempted to take had implied that he considered Elizabeth as being no more respectable than a—than a woman with whom he had paid to spend the night! No doubt her lowly position in his aunt’s household was responsible for that familiarity, but even so …

‘I would be as inclined to blush at thoughts of a viper as you, my lord.’ Elizabeth muttered back as she turned to smile up at him for the benefit of the watching Mrs Wilson and Letitia, as if she were thanking the earl for his attentiveness rather than insulting him.

Nathaniel’s own smile was one of wolfish appreciation for her spirited reply as he slowly straightened before taking his own seat at the head of the table, a tacit signal for the first course to be served and his aunt to begin another diatribe as to the virtues of the local gentry and their marriageable daughters who were to be invited to her forthcoming dinner party.

It was a monologue that Nathaniel again listened to with only half an ear as he instead observed both the refinement of Betsy’s table manners and the way in which she graciously engaged the less-than-vivacious Letitia in conversation as the two women sat facing each other across the dinner table. Letitia was, of course, the perfect companion for his Aunt Gertrude, being of too agreeable and insubstantial a disposition to ever oppose her more forceful cousin. But being neither of those things, it was to Betsy’s credit that she troubled herself to engage the older woman in conversation.

Nathaniel was so entertained by her efforts to avoid so much as a glance in his direction—and, of course, by the excellence of the dinner provided by his aunt’s cook—that he even managed to forget the discomfort of his broken ribs for several hours.

‘I believe it is time for Hector’s last walk before bedtime, Betsy,’ his aunt finally announced with an affectionate glance across the room to the fireplace beside which that much-loved pet lay in his basket in both warmth and resplendent comfort.

The ladies were about to go to the drawing room in order to drink tea together before retiring for the night, leaving Nathaniel at the table to enjoy the after-dinner cigar and brandy that had been denied him this past week and a half, his aunt having an aversion to anyone smoking cigars in her bedchambers. Reason enough, indeed, for Nathaniel to hasten his recovery!

He had risen politely to his feet as the ladies stood up to leave, but now gave a frowning glance out of the dining-room window. ‘Is that altogether safe for Miss Thompson, Aunt Gertrude?’ The moonlit darkness on the other side of that window testified as to the lateness of the hour.

‘I have never been afraid of venturing out into the dark, my lord,’ Elizabeth assured him sharply.

He ignored her protest to continue his conversation with his aunt. ‘Perhaps it would be better if one of the footmen attended to Hector’s needs last thing at night, Aunt?’

Mrs Wilson looked momentarily disconcerted. ‘Betsy has not complained …’

Deep brown eyes swept fleetingly over Elizabeth before Nathaniel Thorne’s addressed his aunt a third time. ‘Miss Thompson does not appear to me to be the type of young lady to make complaints, my dear aunt,’ he pointed out with a wicked little smile.

Elizabeth felt the warmth of the blush that coloured her cheeks at his obvious reference to the fact that she had so far kept her word to make no complaint to his aunt concerning his own forward behaviour earlier today. Nor did she have any intention of breaking that word; given the lowliness of her position in Mrs Wilson’s household, the older woman was as likely to blame Elizabeth for the earl’s forwardness as she was her much-loved nephew!

‘Miss Thompson might encounter any number of … dangerous individuals, roaming about the Devonshire countryside at this time of the night,’ the earl added drily.

As far as Elizabeth was concerned the only ‘dangerous individual’ she might encounter here at night—or any other time—was standing in this very room with her! Nor did she appreciate the earl’s interference in a matter that was none of his business; Elizabeth had so far enjoyed the solitude of her late-night walks with Hector, both in London and here. Moreover, she resented any implication from Lord Thorne that she was some lily-livered miss too afraid to go out into the dark of the night.

‘This is Devonshire, Osbourne, not London.’ Mrs Wilson obviously shared her scepticism.

‘Even so …’

‘I am sure I shall be perfectly safe, Lord Thorne.’ Elizabeth managed to keep her tone suitably demure—at the same time glaring her displeasure at him from beneath lowered lashes.

A glare he met by raising one mocking brow. ‘Perhaps I should stroll outside with Miss Thompson, Aunt?’ he suggested mildly. ‘I can as easily smoke my cigar out there as in here.’

‘I could always accompany Betsy,’ Letitia offered with obvious nervousness.

‘I fear that would only place you both in danger, dear Letitia,’ the earl dismissed kindly.

Mrs Wilson frowned her concern. ‘You seriously think there is danger in Betsy going outside alone at night here?’

Lord Thorne shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I doubt the smuggling in the area is any less rife now than it has been for several years past.’

Elizabeth had been rendered uncharacteristically dumbstruck by the earl’s suggestion that he accompany her on her walk outside, but now she gaped at him. ‘Smuggling?’

Deep brown eyes regarded her with mocking amusement as he gave an inclination of his head. ‘Still a very lucrative, though totally illegal trade in Devonshire, I believe. One that I am sure the gentlemen involved would prefer not to be interrupted by a young woman walking her dog.’

‘I had not thought of that.’ Mrs Wilson nodded briskly. ‘Perhaps you should accompany Betsy, Osbourne …’

‘Betsy’ could have screamed with the frustration of being discussed as if she had no will or mind of her own. Which, of course, as Betsy Thompson, companion to Mrs Wilson’s pampered and much-loved dog, she did not …

‘Unless Betsy believes it improper to venture outside alone with me?’ the earl asked huskily.

Elizabeth’s mouth tightened as she looked up into his rakishly handsome face, knowing that he was certainly not above mocking her now that his appetite for his dinner had been satisfied. ‘You—’

‘That is as ridiculous as the suggestion that the maid should not tidy your bedchamber, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson dismissed impatiently.

Placing Elizabeth firmly in the position of lowly servant, a role she was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain when in the company of the rapidly recovering Nathaniel Thorne …

‘How long has it been since you acquired the name of Betsy?’

The young lady striding determinedly at Nathaniel’s side on the moonlit pathway that ran along the cliff-top now stumbled slightly at the unexpectedness of his question.

That she was furious at his intervention earlier was obvious, considering the frosty silence with which she had treated him since her return from collecting her black-velvet pelisse from her bedchamber. She had taken Hector’s leash from the waiting footman and stalked outside without so much as a glance in Nathaniel’s direction.

He had followed at a more leisurely pace, enjoying his cigar at least as he did so, his much longer strides enabling him to reach her side within seconds. From her continued silence, and the subsequent glance down at her resolutely averted features as they walked along side by side, he realised she had no intention of even acknowledging his presence unless provoked into doing so.

Which, unless Nathaniel was mistaken, he had effectively just done …

She looked up at him sharply in the moonlight. ‘What do you mean?’

It was a clear spring evening, warm enough that Nathaniel had no need of an outer coat, with not a cloud to mask the brightness of the stars shining in the velvet-black sky overhead. Probably not the ideal night for smugglers to be abroad; Nathaniel believed they usually preferred a few clouds to cover the light of the moon and so mask their movements.

In which case, it should have been pleasant to walk in the moonlight with a young and desirable woman and the happy little white dog trotting ahead of them. Instead it had so far been a silent battle of wills between them.

He sighed. ‘I have noticed that you seem to flinch whenever my aunt—or indeed, anyone else—addresses you as such.’

‘You are mistaken, my lord—’

‘I think not,’ he interrupted firmly; his patience with this young woman was not limitless.

Elizabeth glanced up at him warily, knowing that she had seriously underestimated him, that his insight now showed that there was far more to this gentleman than the affectionate nephew he was to Mrs Wilson, or the flirtatious friend of the scandalous Lord Faulkner who had attempted to make love to her this afternoon.

‘Your lengthy silence betrays your need to think of a suitable explanation for your behaviour,’ Nathaniel said quietly.

She drew in a determined breath. ‘You need only question your aunt to receive that explanation, my lord,’ she replied lightly as she continued to walk along the narrow path.

‘Which, for obvious reasons, I am not about to do!’

No, it really would not do for the Earl of Osbourne to show such an interest in the young lady who was companion to his aunt’s dog! ‘I assure you there is no mystery to the explanation, my lord; Mrs Wilson did not consider my full name of Elizabeth to be suitable for a servant in her household,’ she explained airily.

So her name was really Elizabeth, Nathaniel mused as he continued to stroll along at her side. Yes, he believed the elegance of that name suited this contradictory young woman far better than Betsy. ‘Then in future I shall call you Elizabeth—’

‘I wish you would not!’ She had come to another halt in her agitation. ‘I—your aunt would not like it,’ she added with far less vehemence.

‘I do not recall saying that I intended asking my aunt’s permission,’ Nathaniel said drily.

Elizabeth frowned her displeasure. ‘You have not asked my permission, either, my lord—for if you had I should certainly have refused it.’

‘Perhaps when we are alone together like this—’

‘No, my lord!’

He shrugged. ‘I call Letitia by her given name.’

‘Because the two of you are related by marriage,’ she reasoned primly. ‘Whereas I am merely—’

‘—the young lady I kissed earlier today,’ Nathaniel completed her sentence huskily.

Deep blue eyes flashed up at him in the moonlight as she came to another halt on the pathway. ‘That you attempted to kiss, Lord Thorne! An attempt I believe I successfully routed,’ she added with smug satisfaction.

Her satisfaction alone would have been enough to prick Nathaniel’s masculine pride; that obvious air of smugness was taking things altogether too far!

Something that Elizabeth also became aware of as she began to back away from him warily. ‘You really cannot go around taking advantage of the young ladies who work in your aunt’s household, sir.’

‘There is only one young lady in my aunt’s household in whom I have the least interest in taking advantage of, my dear Elizabeth,’ Nathaniel murmured as he threw away the remains of his cigar to slowly follow her.

‘I am not your dear anything!’ she protested with righteous indignation.

‘Not yet, no,’ he acknowledged throatily.

‘Not ever!’ Her dark curls bounced in the moonlight. ‘My lord, you really cannot—’

‘Oh, but I really can.’ Nathaniel nodded with certainty.

‘You—oh!’ This second protest came to an abrupt halt as he pulled her effortlessly into his arms to hold her tightly against him.

‘And, my dear Elizabeth, this time we will have no unfair advantage taken of my bruised ribs.’ He grinned down at her wolfishly before his head lowered and he claimed her lips with his own.

Elizabeth had not been mistaken earlier; it was both enthralment and pleasure she felt at having Nathaniel Thorne’s experienced lips upon her own. A warm, tingling pleasure began at her breasts, causing them to swell and those tiny swollen buds at the tips to press sensitively against the bodice of her gown, before it surged through the rest of her body and ended between her thighs.

Oh, my!

Elizabeth had never experienced anything like this particular heat before; it felt as if she were swelling there, too, and there was also a dampness that, although slightly uncomfortable, nevertheless made her legs tremble and her knees feel decidedly weak …

Her hands moved to the front of Nathaniel’s silk waistcoat, fingers curling into that material in an effort to steady herself, instantly becoming aware of the heated hardness of his muscled body beneath that waistcoat and shirt—firm, ridged muscle that quivered in response to her touch as his mouth continued to devour her own.

It was, Elizabeth decided completely breathlessly, the most thrilling experience of her life. Unlike anything she had ever known or felt before. The heat that coursed through her body increased tenfold as one of his hands moved to capture the swell of her breast—

Elizabeth felt bereft as he suddenly ended that kiss, blinking up at him as he scowled off into the darkness.

‘What have you done, you silly girl!’ he exclaimed.

What had she—?

‘Hector …?’ Too late Elizabeth realised she must have let loose the little dog’s lead as they kissed, and that Hector, barking somewhere far in the distance, had not only wandered off, but already been swallowed up into the darkness.

Chapter Three

‘You are to blame for this!’ she gasped furiously.

‘I was not the one so taken up with our kisses that I allowed my charge to wander off,’ Nathaniel reminded her grimly as the two of them hurried along the darkened cliff path in pursuit of the mischievous little dog. Or, at least, Elizabeth hurried; Nathaniel’s normal strides were still more than a match for hers.

‘I was not—Hector! Hector!—so taken up with them, either!’ She glared up at him accusingly as she continued to call for her charge. ‘If you had not—Hector! Hector!—taken liberties—Hector!—’

‘A word of caution, Elizabeth—’ Nathaniel de cided to interrupt what appeared to be warming up to a tirade worthy of his aunt when she had worked herself into an indignant lather ‘—the smugglers in this area are very real. And if some of them should be abroad at this time …’

‘I believe you are merely trying to frighten me, my lord.’

‘And why on earth should I wish to do that?’ he enquired mildly.

‘No doubt because you take some sort of dubious pleasure in doing so,’ Elizabeth retorted, having had more than enough of this man’s nonsense for one evening, of one type or another … ‘And I have no intention of being frightened by myth and legend—’ She broke off abruptly as she once again heard Hector barking in the distance.

A bark that was accompanied by a sharp command closely followed by the snorting and whinnying of an obviously disturbed and unsettled horse!

‘Hector!’ Elizabeth gasped before running forwards into the darkness.

Nathaniel hurried after her, his heart seeming to stop beating in his chest as he saw Elizabeth hurtling headlong towards where Hector could be seen barking up at a huge and ghostly pale horse that snorted and showed the whites of its eyes as it danced precariously close to the edge of the cliff, resisting all of its rider’s efforts to regain control as it reared up on its back legs.

‘Quiet, Hector!’ Nathaniel rasped at the same time as Elizabeth grasped hold of the horse’s reins, talking soothingly as it came down on all four dancing—and lethally dangerous—hooves in front of her, eyes wild, nostrils flaring as it continued to snort and prance despite the dog having now been rendered silent. ‘Get control, man!’ Nathaniel instructed the black-clad rider harshly, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he stepped forwards to take a firm grasp of the horse’s bridle.

Held captive on both sides, the grey finally began to calm. ‘There’s a good lad,’ Elizabeth crooned soothingly as she stroked and petted the horse’s silky neck. ‘Good boy. Good lad,’ she continued admiringly as the hose became calmer by the second. ‘There’s a fine fellow.’

Nathaniel decided he would deal with Miss Elizabeth Thompson’s recklessness in approaching a rearing horse later, instead concentrating his not inconsiderable wrath upon the rider of the horse as the man slid smoothly down from the saddle to stand beside him on the pathway. ‘What did you think you were doing, man?’ he demanded forcefully as he maintained a hold upon the bridle of the still-skittish horse.

‘What did I—?’ That gentleman seemed momentarily at a loss for words. ‘If you had not allowed your wretched dog loose to startle Starlight, then none of this would have happened!’

Elizabeth was very aware—the slight upon Hector aside—that the gentleman’s accusation was a merited one. ‘I am afraid that was my fault, sir.’ The pale oval of the man’s face turned sharply in her direction. ‘I inadvertently allowed Hector’s leash to slip through my fingers, and in doing so obviously caused—’

‘Who are you?’ the man demanded sharply, his black cloak billowing gently about him in the darkness, his tall hat having also somehow remained secure upon his head. Elizabeth was startled by the intensity of the question. ‘I am Eliza—Betsy Thompson, sir. And I sincerely apologise if I have caused you and your horse any distress. I am afraid I was momentarily—distracted, and allowed Hector to escape.’ She scowled at the reason for that distraction.

‘Eliza Thompson, you say?’ that gentleman prompted tersely.

‘Elizabeth. But I am called Betsy,’ she said. ‘I trust you and Starlight have suffered no harm, sir?’

‘I cannot vouch for that until I have Starlight back in his stable and a lantern to see by,’ the man growled.

‘Is that you, Tennant?’ Nathaniel asked suddenly.

‘My name is Sir Rufus Tennant, yes.’ The other man eyed him down the length of his nose. ‘And you are …?’

‘Osbourne.’

That single name had the desired effect as some of the tension appeared to leave the other gentleman’s broad shoulders. ‘Nathaniel Thorne?’

‘Just so,’ the earl confirmed tersely.

‘You are staying at Hepworth Manor with your aunt?’

‘Obviously,’ Nathaniel said drily. ‘What on earth are you about riding the cliff-top in the dark, Tennant?’

‘A gentleman does not discuss his night-time pursuits in front of a lady, Osbourne.’ Sir Rufus Tennant sounded ruefully amused.

And so leaving Elizabeth, as she knelt on the ground stroking the heavily panting Hector, in some doubts as to whether he was involved in smuggling, after all, or was simply a gentlemen returning from a lovers’ tryst.

‘You surprise me, Tennant …’ Nathaniel murmured slowly, obviously believing it to be the latter.

‘Indeed?’ the other man came back coolly.

‘I believe it is time we were returning to Hepworth Manor, my lord.’ Elizabeth straightened, Hector’s leash once more safely secure in her hand.

‘Introduce the two of us, Osbourne,’ the other man instructed curtly.

‘Betsy Thompson. Sir Rufus Tennant.’ The earl’s terseness was evidence of his irritation at the other man’s high-handedness.

‘Miss Thompson.’ Sir Rufus Tennant sketched her a bow. ‘Do I have your permission to call upon you tomorrow?’

Elizabeth was rendered momentarily speechless for the second time in the past few minutes. That Sir Rufus believed her to be a guest at Mrs Wilson’s home was obvious. That she was not was made glaringly obvious to Elizabeth as Nathaniel answered the other man.

‘Miss Thompson is my aunt’s companion, and will no doubt be busy about her duties if you should decide to call tomorrow,’ he bit out harshly. ‘But I am sure Mrs Wilson will be only too pleased to receive you.’

Elizabeth, although aware that Sir Rufus’s searching gaze was still fixed firmly upon her, remained stoically and uncomfortably silent, having been reminded all too forcibly that companions to wealthy ladies did not receive visits from titled gentlemen.

‘Are you going to remain silent for the whole of our walk back to Hepworth Manor, too?’ Nathaniel snapped, his ribs now aching abominably from the force necessary to quieten Tennant’s mount, an ache not helped in the least by the quickness of the pace Elizabeth had set for the both of them. No doubt in her hurry to be free of his company!

‘I had thought you would prefer it, my lord,’ she responded. ‘I am sure that the tedious chattering of a mere lady’s companion would grate upon a gentleman’s nerves!’ she obviously could not resist adding waspishly.

Once again Nathaniel was alerted to the contradictions that surrounded this young woman. That Tennant had also believed her to be a lady of quality from the mere sound of her voice had been obvious from his request to call upon her tomorrow—a request Nathaniel had found not in the least pleasing! Any more than Elizabeth had obviously found the sharpness of his reply to Tennant to her liking.

‘I do not find the chattering of this particular lady’s companion in the least tedious,’ Nathaniel admitted.

Glittering blue eyes were turned to him in the darkness. ‘I find that very hard to believe, my lord!’

‘Why is that, Elizabeth?’

‘I have told you not to—’

‘And I have told you that when we are alone I have every intention of addressing you as Elizabeth.’

She gave him an exasperated glance. ‘And as I am employed by your aunt I am to have no say in the matter?’

He gave a shrug. ‘Do you prefer the name of Betsy?’

She gave an inelegant snort. ‘Of course I do not.’

‘Then why object to my calling you Elizabeth?’

‘Because you did not ask, my lord, you told.’ There was the heat of anger in her voice.

‘Very well.’ Nathaniel gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘May I address you as Elizabeth when we are alone?’

‘No!’ she obviously took great delight in denying him.

‘Now you are just being deliberately difficult,’ he rasped impatiently. ‘Is all this indignation because I told Tennant that you are employed by my aunt?’

Elizabeth stiffened. ‘Why should I be in the least concerned at your having stated the truth?’

‘I have no idea, I only know that—damn it to hell!’ Nathaniel had turned to take a firm grasp of Elizabeth’s arms, only to then draw his breath in sharply as the agony in his chest caused him to abruptly release her and fight back the urge to double over with the pain.

‘My lord?’ Elizabeth was full of concern as she turned to him in the darkness.

‘I apologise for my language,’ Nathaniel grated through clenched teeth as he slowly straightened.

‘Never mind that now.’ She gave an agitated shake of her head, dark curls bouncing beneath her bonnet. ‘You have hurt yourself again—’

‘I have merely exacerbated the original injury,’ he corrected, jaw tightly clamped to ward off the pain. ‘Owing, no doubt, to the fact that I had to step in and save you from your own recklessness!’

Her indignation returned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I expected at any moment to see you trampled to death beneath the horse’s hooves.’ Nathaniel glared down at her accusingly. ‘What on earth did you think you were about, leaping into the fray in that way?’

‘I assure you I knew exactly what I was doing.’

‘Indeed?’ Nathaniel scorned.

‘I was put upon my first horse at the age of—’ She broke off abruptly, lips closing firmly together as she realised she had said too much.

Or not enough, Nathaniel thought with considerable frustration. If it should turn out that Elizabeth Thompson was the daughter of some minor and impoverished gentleman, as he was seriously beginning to believe she might be, then his behaviour towards her earlier could place him in a very awkward position. A very awkward position, indeed …

‘Yes, you were saying?’ he encouraged persuasively.

Elizabeth straightened. ‘Let me help you back to the house, my lord.’

‘I am in pain, Elizabeth, not crippled!’ Nathaniel gave a wince at the excess of aggression in his tone as she attempted to take his arm.

Her hand fell back to her side. ‘Then perhaps, sir, you should look to your own actions before criticising my own.’

‘How so?’ Nathaniel frowned.

She gave a curt nod. ‘If you had not become involved in a drunken brawl, then you would not have received the injuries from which you now suffer.’

‘And if I received these injuries in the defence of a lady?’ he offered drily, the waves of pain starting to recede now.

She raised sceptical brows. ‘I find that very hard to believe. A lady of quality would never have placed herself in the position of needing such a defence,’ she added as Nathaniel looked enquiringly at her.

That might well be true. Although, as Nathaniel’s friend Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone, had stated that he intended making the lady in question his wife as soon as was possible, it would perhaps be prudent on Nathaniel’s part to keep that opinion to himself! ‘I am sure that you would never place yourself in such a position,’ he drawled instead.

Elizabeth frowned, obviously suspecting that he was mocking her. ‘I am a lady’s companion, my lord, not a lady,’ she informed him haughtily as she resumed her walk back to Hepworth Manor.

A haughtiness that rendered Nathaniel no more convinced of that statement than Tennant had obviously been minutes earlier! ‘But no less deserving of a gentleman’s protection, surely?’ He fell into step beside her.

Elizabeth looked at him sharply, the earl’s features becoming clearer as they approached the candlelit house, harsh and uncompromising features that she found wholly disturbing to her already troubled peace of mind. ‘The only person from whom I have needed protection this evening was you, my lord!’ she sniffed.

‘All evidence to the contrary, Elizabeth—it has been my experience so far in our acquaintance that you are more than capable of protecting yourself,’ Nathaniel muttered with feeling.

She eyed him disdainfully. ‘Perhaps that is as well.’ The front door was duly opened by the butler, allowing the two of them to step inside out of the cooling night air. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord?’ Elizabeth kept her eyes demurely lowered in front of the butler. ‘Mrs Wilson will be anxiously awaiting Hector’s return.’

Nathaniel stood in the hallway, watching through narrowed lids as Elizabeth ascended the staircase accompanied by the scampering dog, making a note to speak to his aunt tomorrow as to exactly what she did or did not know about the young lady she had so recently employed.

‘I will take brandy in the library now, if you please, Sewell,’ he instructed the butler distractedly.

‘Very good, my lord.’

Having settled himself beside the fire in the library, a much-needed glass of brandy in his hand, Nathaniel turned his thoughts to that strange encounter with Sir Rufus Tennant.

He did not know the Tennant family well, had only been slightly acquainted with Sir Rufus’s younger brother Giles, before his involvement in a scandal some years ago that had resulted in his taking his own life. He did not know Sir Rufus himself at all, the other man being eight or more years Nathaniel’s senior. Reputed as being taciturn and somewhat reclusive, Sir Rufus’s visits to London were infrequent, his forays into society non-existent, and without so much as a rumour or two regarding his romantic inclinations.

An occurrence that had, on one occasion, prompted Nathaniel’s Aunt Gertrude into scandalously musing, after that gentleman had refused yet another of her invitations to dinner, as to whether or not Sir Rufus’s … tastes might be in another direction entirely.

Tennant’s request to call upon Elizabeth tomorrow would seem to imply his aunt’s conclusions were entirely wrong.

‘Sir Rufus Tennant is here to see you, madam,’ Sewell announced loftily as he stood in the drawing-room doorway late the following morning.

Elizabeth looked up from her needlework as she sat unobtrusively at the back of the room, curious to see what Sir Rufus would look like in the light of day.

The gentleman who stepped into the room some seconds later was probably just under six feet tall, with dark hair in need of a trim in order to be completely fashionable, with the palest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen set in an austere but not displeasing face, his figure shown to advantage in the brown superfine, tan waistcoat and buff-coloured breeches, and brown black-topped Hessians that had obviously become somewhat dust-covered on the ride over here.

He paused in the doorway, those pale blue eyes narrowed as his gaze swept briefly over the two older ladies before coming to rest upon Elizabeth. He appeared to draw in a sharp breath, jaw tensing slightly, before he stepped further into the room to bow stiffly before Mrs Wilson. ‘I trust you are well, madam?’

Elizabeth had mentioned last night’s encounter to her employer over breakfast this morning, so Mrs Wilson, unsurprised to see him, smiled graciously up at her visitor. ‘It has been far too long since we saw you last, Sir Rufus.’

That hooded pale blue gaze flickered briefly across to Elizabeth before returning to the older woman. ‘I am, as usual, kept busy with estate business, ma’am. In fact, I only called this morning to ensure that Miss Thompson and your nephew returned safely from their walk yesterday evening.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Wilson’s kindly gaze turned towards the now-blushing Elizabeth. ‘Betsy has told me of what occurred. I trust that your horse suffered no ill effects from the encounter?’

‘None at all, thank you, ma’am,’ Sir Rufus assured.

‘You will take tea with us, Sir Rufus?’ Mrs Wilson nodded to Letitia to ring for Sewell.

‘Thank you.’ Sir Rufus nodded abruptly. ‘I—do I have your permission to enquire after Miss Thompson’s well-being?’

Elizabeth’s blush deepened at the speculation that glittered briefly in Mrs Wilson’s gaze as she nodded her permission before to all intents and purposes returning her attention to her own needlework. But Elizabeth knew that well-meaning but interfering lady well enough by this time to know that Mrs Wilson would be aware of every word exchanged between Sir Rufus and her young companion.

‘Miss Thompson?’ Sir Rufus stood before her now, that pale blue gaze piercing as he looked down at her.

‘Sir Rufus.’ Elizabeth nodded graciously, standing up to place her embroidery down on the chair behind her before curtsying briefly, not altogether sure that she was comfortable with his having singled her out in this way. ‘I am pleased to hear of Starlight’s good health.’

‘Thank you,’ he returned. ‘I—Are you from these parts?’

‘No, Sir Rufus, I am originally from H—’ Elizabeth broke off abruptly, delicate colour once again warming her cheeks as she realised she would be revealing too much about herself if she were to announce she came originally from Hampshire. ‘Herefordshire,’ she announced firmly. ‘But from the little I have seen, Devonshire is a very beautiful county.’

‘Its cliff paths are perhaps not to be traversed at night, by either foot or horse,’ he drawled ruefully.

‘Perhaps not,’ Elizabeth conceded with a smile. ‘I trust the rest of your journey home was uneventful?’

A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘I am sure I could find nothing in the least disturbing after our own … momentous meeting.’

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as she realised that Rufus Tennant was attempting to flirt with her. Not in the least practised or smoothly—as if it had been far too long since he had done such a thing—but nevertheless he was attempting to flatter her, at least. ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Sir Rufus.’

He attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps—’

‘How good to see you again, Tennant,’ Nathaniel greeted briskly as he entered the room to stride over to where the older man stood beside Elizabeth.

She had ample time, as the two men exchanged greetings, in which to note the contrasts between the two of them. Unfortunately to Sir Rufus’s detriment, she finally conceded grudgingly.

Nathaniel Thorne was probably ten years younger than Sir Rufus and possessed a vitality and smouldering good looks the older man so obviously lacked. Sir Rufus was dark where Lord Thorne was golden, and the younger man’s hair was styled in the latest fashion. Lord Thorne’s superfine hair was blond, and of a much more fashionable cut and with the same richness of colour as his eyes, its tailoring perfectly complimentary to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the long length of his legs encased in tan pantaloons above brown Hessians polished to such a degree it was almost possible to see one’s face in them, rather than dusty and mud-splattered as the older man’s now were.

All of which only succeeded in arousing Elizabeth’s sympathy for Sir Rufus’s more homely looks …

Nathaniel could almost pick the thoughts out of Elizabeth’s beautiful head as she looked at the two men from beneath the fan of her long, dark lashes. He sensed that she had compared the two of them, found Tennant wanting, but still preferred that gentleman’s company to Nathaniel’s own. Not surprising after the two of them had parted so at odds with each other the previous night!

He had given in to the temptation to kiss her once again—a kiss that should never have happened, he knew, but which had nevertheless kept him tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed for far longer than it should have done.

Admittedly it had been three weeks or more since Nathaniel had bedded a woman whilst visiting Gabriel at his palazzo in Venice, but even so merely kissing Elizabeth Thompson should not have affected him so deeply that he had been unable to dampen his arousal. Taking himself in hand to alleviate that arousal had not been in the least appealing, either, which was why Nathaniel did not feel in the best of humours this morning.

His temper had not been improved in the slightest upon entering his aunt’s drawing room a few minutes ago to find Tennant at the back of the room in private conversation with Elizabeth.

The fact that he had felt that way at all had only succeeded in increasing his irritation concerning this completely inappropriate attraction towards Elizabeth Thompson. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin my aunt, Tennant, and leave Miss Thompson to her needlework?’ he suggested coolly as Sewell entered with the tea tray.

The other man looked at him with the pale, cold blue eyes of a fish. ‘I—’

‘Yes, do come and join Letitia and me,’ his Aunt Gertrude invited lightly. ‘I can then extend an invitation to Sir Rufus for the dinner party we are to have on Saturday evening,’ she added warmly.

Tennant, although obviously displeased by the interruption, had no choice but to give a brief nod in Elizabeth’s direction before strolling over to sit with the two older women.

Leaving Nathaniel alone with a quietly displeased Elizabeth …

Chapter Four

‘Do you take some cruel delight in humiliating me?’ she breathed accusingly.

‘I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself by flirting with one of my aunt’s guests,’ Nathaniel came back coldly.

Elizabeth gasped at the insult, tears of humiliation glistening in her deep blue eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Sir Rufus was the one to seek out my company, not the other way about.’ Her voice was shaky with emotion.

Nathaniel glanced across at the older man as he attempted to converse politely with Mrs Wilson and Letitia Grant. Tennant was obviously ill at ease in female company; the occasional glowering glance he sent in Elizabeth’s direction seeming to indicate that she was the only reason he was putting himself through such discomfort today.

Nathaniel’s mouth twisted derisively as he turned back to Elizabeth. ‘No doubt he would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion.’

She gave a pained frown, not altogether sure what she had done to incur the earl’s displeasure this time, only aware that she had. Sir Rufus Tennant might indeed be ‘a catch’ for a paid lady’s companion—the same could not be said with regard to Lady Elizabeth Copeland.

‘No doubt.’ She kept her expression deliberately bland.

‘Perhaps—’

‘Are you not coming to join me in my endeavours to persuade Sir Rufus into joining our dinner party on Saturday evening, Osbourne?’ Mrs Wilson looked slightly disapproving at her nephew’s continued conversation with her employee.

‘I will join you in a moment, Aunt,’ he answered his elderly relative, once again lowering his voice as he spoke to Elizabeth. ‘Of course, Tennant may be a little old for you …’

She raised dark brows. ‘I doubt that a lady’s companion has the luxury of worrying about such things as the age of one’s husband, my lord.’ She glanced across at Sir Rufus. ‘His looks and manner seem pleasant enough. And he appears to be a moderately wealthy man, too.’

‘And is that important to you?’ Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her.

Elizabeth’s lashes were lowered. ‘I am sure it would be important to most prospective brides, my lord.’

‘As a bride’s dowry is invariably of import to the groom,’ he drawled pointedly.

Reminding Elizabeth that a dowry was something neither she nor her sisters possessed …

Their father had been the dearest of men, loving and kind, but always somewhat vague after his wife had left, resulting in him becoming slightly removed from his family and society to such a degree that he had not given his daughters’ future after his demise the consideration that it deserved.

His death had been unexpected, so perhaps their father had believed Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth would all be safely married before that occurred. Although how that should have come about, when none of them were ever allowed to meet eligible gentlemen, Elizabeth was unsure.

Whatever his reasoning, the reading of Marcus Copeland’s will had revealed that he had made no provision for dowries for his three daughters, that lack of foresight instead leaving them to the guardianship and mercy of his distant cousin and heir, Lord Gabriel Faulkner.

Elizabeth smiled tightly. ‘Then let us hope, for your sake, that the two Miss Millers and Miss Rutledge are all possessed of a large fortune.’

Nathaniel frowned darkly, not at all pleased with the way she had turned this conversation towards his aunt’s less-than-subtle matrimonial intentions towards himself.

His two closest friends might have recently succumbed to the idea of marriage, Dominic intending to marry the masked beauty Caro Morton, and Gabriel, more sensibly, planning to offer for one of the three young ladies who had become his wards on his inheriting the title of Earl of Westbourne. But this didn’t make Nathaniel feel any more kindly disposed towards the parson’s mousetrap for himself. Indeed, he considered it his duty to uphold the very idea of bachelorhood for those others of his peers who had also so far managed to escape such a fate.

Elizabeth barely restrained her smile at the look of disgust that had come over Nathaniel’s face at the mere mention of matrimony in regard to himself, revealing to her, at least, that Mrs Wilson’s hopes in that direction were likely to come to nought. ‘You really should join your aunt and her guest, my lord.’ She looked up at the earl challengingly, feeling that she had emerged the victor in that particular exchange.

Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am used to doing as I please, not as others might wish me to do.’

She smiled briefly. ‘One would never have guessed!’

Brown eyes narrowed at her obvious sarcasm. ‘You—’

‘Your tea is becoming cold, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson cut in imperiously.

Alerting Elizabeth to the fact that she was seriously in danger of incurring that lady’s wrath herself if she did not bring this conversation with her nephew to an immediate end. She did not so much as glance in the earl’s direction again before crossing the room to stand before the older woman. ‘Lord Thorne was merely advising me concerning the safest path for me to take in regard to Hector’s walk.’ She gave Sir Rufus Tennant a distracted smile as he rose politely to his feet.

‘Of course.’ Mrs Wilson gave her nephew an affectionate smile as he joined their group. ‘Such a dear boy, always so concerned for the well-being of others …’

Elizabeth’s snort of disbelief escaped before she had chance to stop it, a snort she quickly turned into a cough as she saw the way her employer frowned up at her. But, really, the mere idea of Nathaniel Thorne as a ‘dear boy’ who was ‘concerned with the well-being of others’ was perfectly ludicrous; the man was arrogance personified, and the only person towards whom he showed the least consideration, besides himself, was his aunt.

‘I do hope you are not coming down with a cold, Betsy.’ That lady delicately raised a lace handkerchief in front of her nose.

Elizabeth could see the irritating earl out of the corner of her eye, was completely aware of the mockery in the smile that now curved those sculptured, and oh-so-sensuous lips. ‘I do not think so,’ she assured the older woman mildly. ‘I am probably just a little allergic to something in the room,’ she added for the smirking earl’s benefit. ‘I am sure that it is nothing that a brisk walk outside in the fresh air will not cure.’

‘I was about to take my leave.’ Sir Rufus Tennant placed his empty tea cup on the table. ‘Perhaps I might walk with you for a short distance?’

Elizabeth felt her heart sink at the suggestion. Her remarks to Lord Thorne a few minutes ago regarding Sir Rufus had been pure bravado on her part; she had absolutely no romantic interest in a man who was not only almost twenty years her senior, but so plain in appearance that she was almost ashamed to admit, as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, she would probably not even have noticed his existence.

‘I am sure my knowledge of the area is far superior to Osbourne’s,’ that gentleman added haughtily.

Not only plain to look at, but pompous too, Elizabeth noted with an inward wince, making sure not to so much as glance in the earl’s direction now, knowing that gentleman was sure to be frowning his disapproval, which was perhaps, contrarily, reason enough for Elizabeth to accept Sir Rufus’s invitation. Except she really did not have the least romantic interest in the older man, as either Betsy Thompson or Lady Elizabeth Copeland …

She drew in a light breath. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, Sir Rufus—’

‘Very kind, indeed,’ Mrs Wilson said warmly. ‘Are the bluebells still out in the West Wood, Sir Rufus?’

‘They are, ma’am.’

‘Oh, then you must allow Sir Rufus to show you the West Wood in bloom, Betsy.’ Her employer smiled her approval. ‘Hector has always liked to frolic in the bluebell wood,’ she added, as if that settled the argument.

Which, in fact, it did, Elizabeth accepted at the same time as she struggled with her inner frustration; Mrs Wilson’s indulgence where her little dog was concerned was limitless, and if Hector liked to go to the bluebell wood then Elizabeth must surely take him there.

Chancing even the briefest of glances at Nathaniel Thorne beneath lowered lashes, in order to gauge his reaction to this conversation, had been a mistake. Horrible, horrible man—instead of disapproving he looked highly amused—no doubt because he was fully aware of Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for Sir Rufus’s company!

Nathaniel’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if to suppress the smile that was reflected in the laughing brown eyes that looked down at her so engagingly. ‘I am sure you will greatly enjoy the bluebell wood, Betsy.’

If it were not for their listening and watching audience she would enjoy telling him exactly what she thought of him! ‘I am sure that I shall.’ She turned to Sir Rufus. ‘If you would not mind waiting a few minutes more, I will go upstairs and collect my bonnet, sir.’

‘Not at all.’ He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod.

Elizabeth’s steps were slow as she made her way up the stairs. In truth, she did not know quite what to make of Sir Rufus Tennant. Oh, he was polite enough in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of manner and did indeed seem desirous of her company, yet at the same time he made no effort to charm or cajole as a younger gentleman might have done in order to secure a lady’s interest. She—

‘I believe that is the first time I have been referred to as an allergy, Elizabeth.’

She turned so sharply on the stairs at hearing that mocking voice directly behind her that she might have tumbled down them if Nathaniel had not reached out to clasp the tops of her arms to help her regain her balance.

Elizabeth moved out of that grasp as soon as she felt steady enough on her feet, rendered briefly breathless as she looked straight into the earl’s rakishly handsome face as he stood on the stair two steps down from her. Standing so close to him, in fact, that she could see the golden shards of colour amongst the brown of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. As soft as a kiss …

Elizabeth stepped back and up another step to escape that sensual pull. ‘I believe it is more an irritation than an actual allergy,’ she bit out frostily.

‘Are you ever at a loss for an answer?’ The earl looked up at her admiringly.

‘I sincerely hope not,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And you should not have followed me, my lord,’ she added, a perplexed frown on her brow; the role of lady’s companion might not sit altogether comfortably on her shoulders, but for the moment that was indeed what she was.

‘I did not “follow you”, Elizabeth,’ he denied. ‘I only came to the drawing room at my aunt’s behest so that I might say my hellos to Tennant. Having done so, I now have work to finish in the library.’

Elizabeth cheeks felt warm at the obvious rebuke. ‘Work, my lord?’

‘Try to sound a little less incredulous, Elizabeth,’ Nathaniel drawled drily. ‘Despite my recent stay in Venice, I am not completely a man of leisure,’ he added irritably as her expression remained unchanged. ‘As the Earl of Osbourne, I do have estates and such like to attend to.’

‘I would have thought you had estate managers and a lawyer to do those things for you,’ she commented.

‘Well. Yes. Of course that is so,’ Nathaniel acknowledged. ‘But those people are directly answerable to me.’

‘I see …’

His frown deepened. ‘Why is it, do you think, that even the mildest of remarks from you sounds like a criticism?’

Elizabeth looked up at him with innocent blue eyes. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘That is not your first untruth of our acquaintance,’ Nathaniel muttered impatiently, ‘but it is certainly one of the more obvious ones.’

Elizabeth instantly felt on her guard as she regarded him warily. ‘I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my lord.’ She had never been particularly good at deceit and prevarication; in fact, she was surprised that she had managed to maintain her role as a servant in Mrs Wilson’s household for the amount of time she had without detection.

If, indeed, she had …

Mrs Wilson had been too caught up in other things since her nephew’s return from Venice to trouble herself in questioning ‘Betsy’s’ origins too deeply, but Lord Thorne had already made it obvious that he was starting to regard her as something of a puzzle that needed to be solved.

Indeed, his next comment confirmed it. ‘Just as long as you are aware that, as my only living relative, my Aunt Gertrude’s welfare is of the utmost importance to me,’ he bit out pointedly.

Elizabeth looked alarmed. ‘I trust you are not implying that I would in any way wish to do that kind lady harm?’

Nathaniel looked at her speculatively, noting the pallor of her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened. Guiltily? Or was it pain at Nathaniel having voiced his suspicions? ‘Not deliberately so, perhaps,’ he allowed slowly. ‘But my aunt is apt to trust people rather than not—’

‘Whereas you, no doubt, are apt to distrust them until proven otherwise?’ she shot back.

His jaw tightened. ‘Perhaps.’

There was no ‘perhaps’ about it in Elizabeth’s eyes; Nathaniel Thorne had shown only too clearly these past twelve hours or so that the easy charm he chose to present to society—that Elizabeth had also believed to be the nature of the man—was, in fact, nothing but a front for his intelligence and shrewdness of mind. A shrewdness, now that he was back on his feet and out of bed, that was obviously causing him to question her motives for taking employment with his aunt.

She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘I will keep your concern for your aunt in mind. Now, if you will excuse me …? I have been gone so long Sir Rufus will think that I have changed my mind about taking our walk together.’

The earl gave a wry smile. ‘A word of warning with regard to Sir Rufus …’

‘Another one?’ Elizabeth raised irritated brows.

That smile widened. ‘It would seem to be my day for them.’

She sighed. ‘And what do you now wish to tell me about him?’

Nathaniel considered what he knew of the older man’s history. How Nathaniel, and most of society, had believed that the suicide of Tennant’s younger brother several years ago, and the tragic nature of that death, might have temporarily unhinged the older man. Certainly Tennant’s withdrawal from all society since then had been cause for speculation.

A withdrawal from female company, at least, which was now at an end, if the older man’s reason for riding along the cliff path late the previous night was to be believed, along with the interest he had shown in Elizabeth Thompson by calling upon her today.

And if that interest should prove to be serious, to the point that Tennant actually made an offer for Elizabeth, surely it was then Tennant’s prerogative to relate the tragic history of his own family to the young woman he intended to make his wife? What right had Nathaniel to interfere, after all, when any relationship between himself and his aunt’s companion could go nowhere and was, in fact, highly inappropriate?

‘It is of no import.’ Nathaniel straightened dismissively. ‘Enjoy your walk in the bluebell wood.’

Elizabeth remained on the stairs, looking down at the earl as he moved lithely down to the hallway below before disappearing in the direction of the library. Which was when she began to breathe again.

She had believed Lord Thorne’s personal interest in her to be inappropriate, but the interest he was now taking in her past could only be considered dangerous.

‘Whereabouts in Hampshire do you hail from, Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth looked at the man who strolled along beside her in the bluebell wood that backed onto Hepworth Manor and then glanced behind them. It had been decided by Mrs Wilson, whilst Elizabeth was upstairs collecting her bonnet, that it was not altogether proper for Elizabeth to go walking alone with a single gentleman and that Letitia should go with them. Although much good that did when the other woman had become so distracted collecting up the fragrant blooms the moment they entered the wood that she now lagged far behind them.

Sir Rufus had chosen to lead his horse by the reins, a fact that Hector, released from his leash so that he might roam free, was taking much delight in. Sir Rufus was less than impressed, judging by the irritated glances he shot the little dog.

Elizabeth smiled. ‘I believe I told you I am originally from Herefordshire, Sir Rufus.’

‘Ah, yes, so you did.’ He nodded, the bright sunlight not in the least kind to the narrowness of his features, but instead emphasising the lines beside his mouth and those pale blue eyes. ‘Whereabouts in Herefordshire?’

‘Leominster.’ Elizabeth named the only town in Herefordshire she’d ever heard of. ‘And have you lived all of your life in Devonshire?’ she enquired politely.

He smiled briefly, that smile lightening the harshness of his features somewhat and, in doing so, lending him a mild attraction. ‘I find very little to interest me in London society.’

As one who had never been into London society, for obvious reasons Elizabeth found this statement intensely irritating. ‘Not even the shops and entertainments?’

Sir Rufus gave a delicate shudder. ‘Taunton is not too far a ride if I should need to shop. As for the entertainments, no, I do not miss them in the slightest,’ he said brusquely.

No, this man did not in the least set out to charm, she acknowledged ruefully. But perhaps his frankness was to be admired? Considered a trait to be appreciated rather than a fault? Certainly her own father had shared Sir Rufus’s opinion of the entertainments London had to offer …

‘In that case, I am surprised Mrs Wilson was able to persuade you into accepting her dinner invitation for Saturday evening,’ she remarked bluntly.

His expression softened somewhat as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘That particular invitation held another … attraction for me.’

She was not sure she was altogether comfortable with the almost flirtatious note she detected in his tone, especially as it seemed to sit so uncomfortably upon the stiffness of his otherwise tense demeanour. ‘Mrs Wilson does have a particularly fine chef.’

‘I was not referring to her chef—’

‘No, Hector!’ Elizabeth deliberately chose that moment in which to turn and chastise the little dog for harassing the long-suffering Starlight. ‘I am afraid he is rather mischievous,’ she excused as she went down on her haunches to re-attach the dog’s lead.

Sir Rufus’s features were once again austere. ‘Mrs Wilson is somewhat … relaxed in her discipline of him.’

Elizabeth did not in the least care for the obvious criticism; Mrs Wilson might be over-indulgent with the little dog, but for the main part Hector did not take advantage of that indulgence. He was just naturally mischievous—and as such, totally lovable—by nature.

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