The Lady Confesses (15 page)

Oh, to the devil with it!

What on earth was he doing here? In fact, what had been the thinking behind his invasion of her bedchamber when he knew her to be still abed? Had he been thinking at all, or just acting instinctively, because his temper was already out of sorts even before Tennant’s roses arrived?

His impulsive behaviour this past few minutes was so beyond his normal studied control that he felt totally unable to answer any of his own questions, especially with her still lying there, displayed so temptingly before him.

Elizabeth sensed a subtle shift in the tension that now existed between them. A tension, an awareness, that had not been present a few seconds ago, the very air in the room now seeming to be filled with a waiting expectation.

She slowly moistened her lips. ‘Perhaps it is time that you left my bedchamber, Nathaniel.’

He quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘My aunt made it more than clear to me that I should not come here at all.’

‘Mrs Wilson knows you are here?’ she squeaked.

Nathaniel grimaced. ‘Unfortunately she does.’

Elizabeth’s heart sank in her chest. ‘What must she think of me?’ she gasped her dismay.

‘Of you?’ he said. ‘I believe it is my reputation that has suffered in my Aunt Gertrude’s eyes.’

Elizabeth somehow doubted that. Not only did Mrs Wilson adore her nephew—he really could do no wrong in her indulgent opinion—but it was invariably the woman whose reputation suffered in situations such as these. ‘You must leave immediately.’ Elizabeth threw back the bedclothes, stood up and grabbed her robe before slipping her arms inside and tying the sash firmly about her waist. ‘This instant! What are you doing?’ she exclaimed as she suddenly found herself being pulled into his arms, the softness of her breasts crushed against the firmness of his waistcoat-covered chest.

He gave her a wicked little grin. ‘I should have thought my intent was more than obvious, Elizabeth.’ His lips nuzzled the sensitive column of her throat.

Of course his intent was obvious unless one was an imbecile, which she certainly was not. Nor could she deny that she enjoyed being in Nathaniel’s arms again, feeling his lips exploring the arched delicacy of her throat. But such behaviour was not wise when Mrs Wilson might decide at any moment that her nephew had been in Elizabeth’s bedchamber quite long enough and came up the stairs in search of him.

‘I cannot seem to keep my hands from you,’ Nathaniel muttered as one of his hands cupped beneath her breast, the soft pad of his thumb moving across the already engorged tip.

‘You must!’ Even as she voiced her husky protest Elizabeth arched into his skilful hand.

‘I cannot!’ His lips were warm as the moistness of his tongue explored and tasted the hollows at the base of her throat. ‘Do not ask something of me that I cannot give.’

Elizabeth was lost to the pleasure of those heated caresses, feeling as if liquid fire coursed through her veins now instead of blood, all of her aflame as she clung to the broad width of his shoulders. Indeed, she was so overcome from the passion of his kisses that she feared if she did not hold fast to him she might actually collapse at his feet!

‘You have the most glorious hair I ever beheld.’ Nathaniel’s fingers became entangled in those long, ebony curls that reached the slenderness of her waist. ‘I want to wrap this about me as I lie naked in your bed.’ He lifted his head to gaze down in wonder at those dark silken tresses.

‘Nathaniel…’ Elizabeth groaned weakly at the sensual vision he portrayed.

‘I must speak to you immediately, Osbourne!’ A knock sounded on the door to accompany his aunt’s hissed command.

Elizabeth froze in his arms, her eyes wide with alarm as she turned to look across the room.

‘Now, Osbourne!’

Elizabeth half expected that at any moment Mrs Wilson might lose all patience and throw open the door to the bedchamber to see them intimately entwined…

Chapter Fifteen

‘W
e will talk of the unsuitability of your presence in Elizabeth’s bedchamber later, Nathaniel,’ his aunt said primly as he accompanied her down the stairs some seconds later.

Nathaniel was sure they would—and that Aunt Gertrude would do most of the talking. But that could wait for now, as it was not the reason his aunt had come to fetch him.

‘So Finch says Midnight’s condition has worsened rather than improved as we had hoped?’ Nathaniel asked.

His aunt’s expression softened somewhat. ‘I am so sorry, Nathaniel.’ She placed a comforting hand upon his arm. ‘Finch seems of a mind that—he believes that your beautiful stallion is likely to die.’

And as the other man had worked amongst horses all his life, his father having been head groom here before him, Nathaniel had no doubt Finch knew what he was talking about.

It seemed incredible that Midnight had become so ill so quickly. He had seemed perfectly well when they rode out yesterday. What could he possibly have found to eat during the intervening hours that might have made him so ill?

Finch kept his stables meticulously clean and the horses expertly tended; indeed, he was so good at his job that Nathaniel had several times in the past tried to poach the head groom away from his aunt’s household! No neglect there, then. So what—?

‘I am so sorry, my lord.’ A white-faced Finch looked up at him from the hallway, one of the young grooms at his side. ‘Jim here has just informed me that Midnight died a few minutes ago…’

Despite Mrs Wilson not having spoken a reproving word to her, Elizabeth had still been left in little doubt as to the older woman’s disapproval at finding her nephew in Elizabeth’s bedchamber.

In truth, she wished that she might never have to face that dear, kind lady again, yet at the same time she knew it to be a foolish hope. Mrs Wilson was probably even now thinking of how she would tell Elizabeth she was dispensing with her services forthwith. Without reference, of course—how could she possibly give a favourable reference to a young lady she had found in private company with her nephew, dressed only in a thin robe and nightgown?

Despite her shame, she had hastily dressed and followed Nathaniel and his aunt. He had looked positively ill after Mrs Wilson had quickly explained that his stallion had taken a turn for the worse, and that his presence was required immediately in the stables.

It took only one look at the white and shocked faces of the four people now standing below in the hallway for Elizabeth to realise that the summons had come too late. Midnight must already be dead.

‘You must try to eat something, Nathaniel,’ Mrs Wilson advised gently.

‘Must I?’ Nathaniel knew that his aunt meant well, that she was only concerned for him, but still he could not bring himself to join her and the other ladies enjoying their afternoon tea, feeling too raw still from the sudden and inexplicable death of his favourite stallion.

He had owned the horse since its birth, having bred him out of one of the prime mares on his estate in Kent from a prize-winning stallion. Midnight had been a likely-looking colt and had matured into a stallion of spirit and loyalty, with the sweetest mouth of any horse Nathaniel had ever possessed.

He had spent what was left of the morning in the stables with Finch and his grooms, seeing to the disposal of Midnight’s body, before searching the stables from top to bottom in an effort to find what might have afflicted the stallion. They had found nothing of any relevance.

Nathaniel felt utterly heartsick and suddenly required his own company. ‘I believe I will leave you ladies to enjoy your tea together and return to the library.’

Elizabeth’s heart went out to him as she watched him exit his aunt’s parlour, aware of his obvious suffering; his face was pale and haggard, those dark eyes for once not filled with laughing mockery or arrogant disdain, but a profound mourning. She had offered Nathaniel her sympathy on the loss of his horse earlier today, of course, but politely, even stiltedly, aware as she was of Mrs Wilson’s avid attention to any exchange that took place between Elizabeth and her nephew.

At least the sudden death of Nathaniel’s horse had postponed that lady’s reprimands about their earlier impropriety.

‘Poor boy,’ Letitia Grant clucked her sympathy.

‘He was ever fond of his animals.’ Mrs Wilson sighed even as she cast an affectionate glance at Hector lying snug and comfortable in his basket asleep before the fire lit for that very purpose.

Elizabeth found it somewhat endearing when these two ladies referred to Nathaniel as if he were no more than a young boy, which no doubt he must seem to them. Not so Elizabeth, who would never see Nathaniel as being less than a man—a brooding and handsome man who made her heart pound loudly just thinking of the passionate heat of his kisses and caresses.

That was not all she had found to like about him, of course. She had long since realised that his air of cynical charm and studied boredom was a shield for much softer emotions. He might not have any stronger feelings for Elizabeth than the desire he had shown her on several occasions, but his affection for his aunt was genuine, he had an easy tolerance of the sometimes irritating and over-effusive Letitia and was never anything but polite to the servants and guests of his aunt.

It seemed that only she and Sir Rufus Tennant were exceptions to the latter rule…

‘Perhaps we should all think of returning to London when Nathaniel leaves tomorrow.’ Mrs Wilson obviously required no input from either Letitia or Elizabeth as she made her words a statement rather than a question.

It was so exactly what Elizabeth now wished to do herself that she had to bite her tongue in order to stop from saying so, sure that her opinion would count for nought in her now-precarious position within Mrs Wilson’s household.

Instead she stood up. ‘If you will both excuse me?’

‘Where are you going?’ Mrs Wilson asked suspiciously.

As well she might, considering it had been Elizabeth’s intention to seek out Nathaniel in the library and offer him her private condolences. Had Mrs Wilson guessed? ‘I had thought that I might take this opportunity to…rest for a while before dinner.’

‘I believe that—’ Mrs Wilson broke off whatever she had been about to say as Sewell quietly entered the parlour.

‘Sir Rufus Tennant is here to see you, madam,’ he informed his mistress evenly.

Elizabeth’s heart sank at the news as she recalled those roses sent to her earlier today. She hadn’t wanted to respond to the gesture, but surely it could not be ignored any longer when Sir Rufus was now here in person?

How much she wished that she had made her excuses earlier. Instead she was not yet excused by her employer and so was forced to remain here for at least the next few minutes.

Moreover, she wondered what the earl would say or do, in his present state of mind, if he were to realise Sir Rufus had dared to call after being categorically told not to come here until after Nathaniel had left.

‘Show him in, Sewell.’ Mrs Wilson’s impatience with the inconvenience of the visit was barely contained, although she bestowed a gracious enough smile upon her guest as he was shown into the room. ‘You must excuse the informality of my parlour, Sir Rufus.’ She acknowledged his formal bow. ‘We are all out of sorts today, I am afraid.’

‘So I have heard,’ he said. ‘This is the country, Mrs Wilson; news always travels at greater speed here than in London,’ he added as that lady raised her brows.

‘So it would seem…’ Mrs Wilson frowned her displeasure at finding the doings of her household the subject of such idle tittle-tattle.

Sir Rufus’s pale blue gaze flickered in Elizabeth’s direction as he gave another bow. ‘Ladies.’

‘Sir Rufus.’ She gave him a cool nod as Letitia simpered a greeting.

He made himself comfortable in one of the low armchairs when invited to do so. ‘Osbourne has lost one of his horses, I believe?’

There was such a lack of sympathy in his voice that Elizabeth instantly bristled with furious indignation on behalf of the earl.

An indignation Mrs Wilson shared if the angry colour that rose in her cheeks was any indication. ‘We are a family with a close affinity with our animals,’ she stated, her previous gratitude towards this man obviously forgotten in the face of his rudeness.

‘So I have noted,’ Sir Rufus replied, casting a scathing glance in the pampered Hector’s direction. The little dog immediately responded by once more growling deep in his throat.

Mrs Wilson offered no apology for her pet’s behaviour today. ‘You speak as if you do not approve, Sir Rufus?’

He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I have to admit to a lack of understanding with regard to an Englishman’s—or woman’s…’ he gave his hostess a wryly acknowledging nod ‘…obvious affection for anything with four legs.’

Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as a strained silence fell over the gathering. She waited for the explosion that seemed to be about to circumvent Mrs Wilson’s usual politeness towards a guest in her home.

‘Perhaps that is because you have little in the way of affection to give anyone, Tennant, four-legged or otherwise!’ the cold voice of Nathaniel Thorne bit out contemptuously.

Elizabeth gasped as she turned towards the doorway where the earl stood, his glittering gaze fixed upon the man seated across the room.

The older man rose slowly to his feet to return that gaze disdainfully. ‘I will excuse your rudeness to me, Osbourne, on the basis that you are obviously overset by the loss of your valuable horseflesh.’

‘Midnight’s value to me did not equate into pounds, shillings and pence,’ Nathaniel ground out. ‘Nor am I so overset that I do not know exactly to whom I am speaking!’

‘Nathaniel—’

‘What are you doing here, Tennant?’ Nathaniel demanded, ignoring his aunt’s attempt to intercede between the combatants.

‘I called to see Mrs Wilson, of course.’

‘Why?’

Sir Rufus looked slightly flustered and then his normal pomposity returned. ‘I called initially to offer my condolences on the loss of your horse—’

‘Considering the content of the sympathies I overheard just now, you would have done better not to have bothered!’ Nathaniel said cuttingly. ‘And what about afterwards?’ he prompted softly.

Tennant drew his breath in noisily. ‘I do not believe I need explain myself to you, Osbourne.’

‘As the only male in this household I have to disagree.’ Nathaniel knew that there could be no argument against such a claim.

Sir Rufus once again looked less sure of himself. ‘I had thought, with Mrs Wilson’s permission, to invite Miss Thompson to come on a small walk with me.’

Nathaniel snorted. ‘It is my understanding that after yesterday Miss Thompson has no wish to go anywhere with you ever again. Is that not so, Miss Thompson?’ He turned to Elizabeth, his brows raised in arrogant query.

Elizabeth was aghast by the level of tension that now filled the room; Mrs Wilson’s eyes were wide at her nephew’s rudeness, Letitia actually open-mouthed with astonishment, Sir Rufus’s redness of face giving every appearance that he might actually leap forwards at any moment and administer a fist to Nathaniel’s chin. As for Nathaniel himself…

She had never seen him so chillingly, dangerously angry as this before, not even yesterday when he had discovered her in Sir Rufus’s arms. Indeed, he looked as if he would welcome an attack from the other man, just so that he had an excuse to retaliate. If he actually needed an excuse, of course…

Elizabeth turned to look coolly at the red-faced Sir Rufus. ‘Lord Thorne is perfectly correct in his claim, sir. I am suffering from a slight cold today.’

‘So there you have the refusal straight from Miss Thompson’s lips, Tennant,’ the earl said.

The other man’s mouth thinned with displeasure. ‘I am sorry to hear that you are feeling unwell, Elizabeth,’ he bit out. ‘Perhaps I might call upon you again tomorrow?’

‘I—’

‘That will not be possible, I am afraid, Sir Rufus,’ Mrs Wilson put in smoothly. ‘In view of my nephew’s return to health, and the sad associations here at present, I have decided that all of my London household shall return to town tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Sir Rufus spluttered in protest. ‘But—Miss Thompson, too?’

‘Well, of course Elizabeth shall come too.’ Mrs Wilson, obviously now as tired as her nephew was of Sir Rufus’s boorish company, was less than patient in her reply. ‘She is a part of my London household, after all.’

For the moment
, Elizabeth added silently, knowing that situation could not continue for long after they had all returned to town. Indeed, given the circumstances, she considered it generous of Mrs Wilson to allow her to return to London with her at all; many employers in the same situation would have cast her out without thought for how she was to find the means or money to travel back to London.

Sir Rufus scowled. ‘Then perhaps I could be allowed a few moments in which I might talk alone with Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth felt her heart sink even further as the cold, contemptuous expression on Nathaniel’s face turned to a look of utter violence. ‘I—’

‘No, I am afraid Elizabeth cannot be spared even for a few moments if we are all to be in readiness to leave tomorrow,’ Mrs Wilson took it upon herself to answer the man swiftly. ‘I am sure you understand, Sir Rufus?’ The steely edge to her polite tone said that he had better.