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
