“And why is that?” He smiled. “I think we’ve established that I don’t bite.”
“True.” Elizabeth searched her mind for some reason to give him. “I…I’ve never known an earl before. I’m afraid my behavior might not be proper enough for you.” Oh, for heaven’s sake, was that the best she could do?
He turned to face her, and leaned so close she could smell the soap he used to shave. “Miss Townsend?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“You are a terrible liar.” He held her gaze for a few heartbeats before he straightened, and they continued down the stairs.
Elizabeth’s heart was thumping like a scared rabbit’s. Surely he could feel her pulse racing right through the sleeve of his coat. There would be no hiding the truth from this man for very long.
They finally arrived at the bottom of the stairs. “Ah, here we are, safe at last,” he said, keeping his hand securely over hers. “How did you fare?”
“I am…surprisingly tired,” Elizabeth admitted. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get back up the stairs once she’d selected her book.
“Then perhaps you should allow me to escort you to the library. To ensure your safety,” he added.
She was about to protest, but he gently guided her away from the stairs. A sheen of perspiration dampened her brow. From her exertion, of course. Definitely not because she was on the arm of a handsome man. She allowed him to lead her down the hall toward the back of the house. The warmth he provided seeped through the muslin of her dress as she leaned heavily on him, accepting his strength. How he could make her so anxious and yet comfort her at the same time?
“I'll have Mary bring you some tea in the library, if that is to your liking,” he said, breaking into the silence.
“That sounds lovely, thank you.” She glanced about her, just beginning to notice how large his house was. “You have a splendid home, my lord.”
“It's been in the extended family for generations, though my father only inherited it in his mid-twenties. Perhaps not as fashionable an address as Mayfair, but I prefer the space it affords me. And the peace. London proper is far too crowded and noisy—the outskirts suit me just fine.”
“I completely understand. I've never been much of a city girl myself. I much more enjoy the freedom of the country.”
“Were you raised in the country?”
“Yes.”
Aidan waited, but no further information came. “Whereabouts?”
“North of here.” Elizabeth smiled, her eyes crinkling in amusement.
“There's a lot of country north of here, Miss Townsend.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You'll have to be a little more specific, I'm afraid.”
“You can't possibly expect me to reveal all of my secrets, my lord. I would lose my mysterious air,” she teased. Please stop asking questions! she wanted to scream.
He stopped walking and turned to gaze down at her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Townsend, but I don't believe you've revealed any of your secrets thus far. Except that you have secrets to reveal,” he said, the velvet in his voice reaching out to her in an intimate caress. He pinned her with a stare and she flushed, realizing that she had just openly admitted that she was hiding something. He leaned a bit closer to her. “Did I mention how much I like to solve mysteries?”
And just like that, the intense Lord Ashby appeared and stole her breath away. She shrank back from him, cursing herself for getting too chatty. Damn him and his ability to fluster her! He flashed her a devilish grin and slipped his arm past her to open the door to the library. He stepped back and gestured for her to enter.
Elizabeth gasped as she entered the room. Shelves of books surrounded her, the floor-to-ceiling windows letting in plenty of natural light. The room was appointed nicely, definitely to a man's taste, but it was welcoming and intimate, dotted with comfortable-looking leather chairs and thoughtfully placed tables, a cozy fireplace at one end. She wanted to live in here and forget every horrible detail of her life. It was why she liked to read so much—she could escape everything in a book.
“Is this agreeable to you?” Aidan asked from behind her. She turned to answer him, realizing for the first time that he was a full head taller than she was, which left her staring at a rather broad chest. He was standing too close. She caught another whiff of his soap. Sandalwood. Definitely sandalwood.
“It's heavenly.” Was she talking about the library or the way he smelled? She wasn't entirely sure.
“Excellent. Then I trust you will have enough to keep you occupied while I attend to some business in town.”
“I think I can find something to do,” she said, her expression one of mock seriousness.
“In that case, Miss Townsend, I shall take my leave of you. Have a pleasant day.” He sketched a shallow bow and turned to leave.
“Lord Ashby?”
He turned at the door. “Yes, Miss Townsend?”
“My…my name is Elizabeth. I appreciate your propriety, but you needn't address me as Miss Townsend.”
Aidan frowned. “Does it offend you?”
“Of course not. I just…I am…no one, and yet you treat me as though I were a proper lady. I'm used to being just ‘Elizabeth’.”
He paused, studying her with that dark gaze of his. “Miss Townsend, I assure you. You are, indeed, someone. A very selfless someone who didn’t give a thought to her own safety when she saved the life of a very drunk and very stupid man, and you are every inch a lady. Do not sell yourself short.” He hesitated a moment more before saying, “You may call me Aidan if you wish. Or Ashby. But truth be told, I prefer Aidan.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “That would be most improper, my lord.”
“And yet you call Lainey by her given name.”
“Lainey is different.”
“How so?”
“Well, she's a woman, for one thing. And I believe we've become friends, so that makes it acceptable.”
“I see.” Aidan looked down at her, an expression on his face she couldn't discern. One side of his mouth curved up slightly. “Perhaps one day you and I will be friends as well. Good day, Miss…Elizabeth.”
Chapter 10
The rain had stopped, and it was another fairly warm day for March, so Aidan decided to walk home. As he strolled along, he thought of Elizabeth, as he seemed wont to do every day. It bothered him to his very core that he should be so preoccupied with her. He was usually very focused on business, with a drive to succeed, yet this morning's meeting with Gavin had been agonizing. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to thoughts of her, the feel of her hand on his arm, the essence of lilacs in her hair…how was it that she managed to smell like his favorite spring bloom? It was uncanny.
Perhaps it was the mystery that surrounded Elizabeth that made him want to talk to her every day, to try to peel away another layer of secrets so he could find out who she really was.
But did he want to know? Was she right about what she had said this morning? Would knowing ruin all the intrigue, or was it more than the mystery that made her so compelling? He knew one thing for sure. He hated the way she looked at him with mistrust in her eyes. No matter how kind he was to her, no matter what he could possibly think of to do that would put her at ease, she always had that same look in her eyes, and it irritated him to no end. She was afraid of him, and he couldn't fathom why.
He was so lost in thought that he collided with someone on the street. “I beg your pardon.” He looked up and was met with an unwelcome but familiar face. The muscles in his jaw tightened. “You again.”
“Lockwood. So soon we meet again,” Peter Smythe ground out. “Heard you took home the girl you stole from me.”
“I don't recall taking anything that belonged to you, Smythe. And the name's Lord Ashby.”
“Yer fancy title don't mean a thing to me, Lockwood. Neither did your father's.”
“Apparently his friends
hip didn't mean anything to you, either.”
A flicker of anger flared on Smythe’s face. Peter Smythe and Thomas Lockwood had been boyhood friends long before Aidan's father had unexpectedly inherited his title. Peter had never been as smart or as well liked as Thomas, and as they grew up, though Thomas tried to keep the friendship alive, it became more and more apparent that they were not destined to travel in the same circles. When Thomas became a peer, Peter had to hide the jealousy it caused even though it ate away at him inside, because he recognized the value of having a titled man for an acquaintance. All friendship had ceased, however, when Peter fell desperately in love with Marianne, yet she chose Thomas instead of him. He thought Thomas had plotted to steal her away from him, and his lofty title had secured her attentions. Peter's jealousy erupted into rage and bitterness, and he secretly plotted to seek revenge on Thomas. Peter Smythe had spent a lifetime hating his former friend, and when Thomas died, Peter’s hatred passed on to Thomas's son. Aidan wondered if Peter even remembered why he was still so angry.
“You'd best watch yourself, my lord,” Smythe ground out. “You may have gotten more than you bargained for with that one.” He snorted. “T'would serve you right. Like father, like son.” He stalked away, leaving Aidan puzzled.
What on earth had he meant by that? Did he know Elizabeth? Lord help him if Smythe was the one he had to turn to for help in discovering her identity. He was the last person on earth Aidan wanted to deal with, for anything.
He decided to try asking the person in question directly, and he would start by inquiring about that gold charm she had around her ankle.
Aidan was not surprised to find Elizabeth curled up in his favorite chair, sound asleep. He had often succumbed to slumber there himself.
She looked like an angel lying there with a book tipped up on her chest, her bare feet poking out from beneath the hem of her dress, her head tilted to the side, and one arm hanging over the edge of the chair. Her hair flowed loosely about her shoulders—she had obviously taken the pins out after Aidan had left. Clearly, she preferred to have her tresses free. Aidan preferred them that way, too. A man could really tangle his hands into hair like that.
What the hell? He shook his head to clear it and was about to turn away, not wishing to disturb her, when her eyes fluttered open and locked with his. She blinked in confusion, and then realized she had fallen asleep in Aidan's library. She sat up with a start and a wince, and he held up his hand.
“Don’t get up. I just came to check on you.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't still be here.”
“It's quite all right. I trust you found everything to your liking?”
Elizabeth blushed. “Apparently so.”
“May we talk?”
“Of course,” she replied, eyeing him warily.
Aidan seated himself in the chair opposite her. “I ran into Peter Smythe on my way home from Mr. Mayfield's this morning. He seems to claim some acquaintance of you. Do you know him?” It was clear that she did from the way her face drained of the small amount of color she had at the mention of his name, but Aidan waited for her answer.
“Not...not well,” she admitted, her gaze flicking around the room. “I met him long ago. He had a certain...fondness for me that I did not return.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Aidan said wryly. “It seems Smythe has faced such difficulties most of his life.” He paused. “How did you meet?”
Elizabeth looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I was a server in a tavern when I was young. He used to frequent the place.”
Aidan regarded the woman in front of him and tried to picture her working in a tavern. He had been in many in his lifetime, and even the tamest were a bit dangerous. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought of her working in those that were further into the slums of London. It would explain why she looked at him with such mistrust. He could only imagine how she'd been treated. “He seemed to think I would have my hands full with you under my roof. Am I to understand that you are a bit of a hellcat?”
The laughter that burst forth from Elizabeth was music to his ears. She grabbed her sides and then turned worried eyes to his. “Have I given you that impression, my lord?”
“Hardly,” he returned. “But I have the distinct feeling that your true nature is being hidden from me at the moment.”
Elizabeth smiled hesitantly. “Just a precautionary measure, my lord.”
“I see.”
Elizabeth studied him. “You do not like the man, either. You have had past dealings with him?”
“I inherited his hatred. He and my father were good friends once.”
“What happened?”
“They both fell in love with the same woman. She could only choose one of them.”
“Your father.”
“Yes. Smythe never forgave him. My father always believed in the good of people, and either wasn't aware of his scorn, or chose not to see it. He hired Peter Smythe as his overseer…I suppose he thought it would help to make things better. Instead, Smythe put everything he had into learning about business and after a few years, began embezzling money from my father. Small amounts, at first, to see if he could get away with it. He did, for a very long time, working with the bookkeeper and allowing him to keep part of the money in exchange for his silence. He never expected his employer's son to be as mistrusting as his father was faithful. About a year before my father's death, I figured it out. I gathered all the evidence and confronted Smythe with it. I could have had him thrown in jail, but instead I chose to let him live out the rest of his life with my shadow falling across his path. My father finally saw him for what he was, and it ruined Smythe in society. He's been scrounging around ever since.”
“That's why he left without a fight that night,” Elizabeth mused. “He doesn't want to tangle with you.”
“That would be a good assumption.” Aidan eyed her. “Why was he so intent on having you come with him?”
“I don't know,” Elizabeth replied uneasily. “Perhaps he wanted to make me pay for shunning him all those years ago. He doesn't sound like the type to grant forgiveness.”
“That, he's not,” Aidan said, leaning back in the chair. “Miss Town—Elizabeth,” he corrected, enjoying the feel of her name on his tongue. “When you first arrived and Mrs. Bartlett was tending to you, she noticed the charm you wear about your ankle. It seems oddly familiar to me. What is it?”
Elizabeth's eyes grew huge in her face. She obviously didn't think he knew about it. She immediately tucked her feet beneath her skirts, a gesture which Aidan understood. Wearing the charm around her ankle was probably the only way to keep it safe, living as she had.
“It's a Celtic knot. The symbol of love.” Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears, and Aidan felt his heart twist.
Had she been in love? And if so, where was he now? She always answered his questions so vaguely. What was she hiding? He burned to know the secrets of her past, her childhood, and everything there was to know. He desperately wanted her to trust him enough to tell him those stories. And he had no idea why. “Where did you get it?”
“It was given to me by someone very dear to me,” she said softly, a faraway look coming into her eyes.
Clearly, that was all she was going to tell him. He didn't press her, because the unshed tears that stood in her eyes threatened to spill over, and he had no desire to make her cry. He glanced at the book in her lap. “Who are you reading?” he asked instead, changing the subject.
“Jane Austen.”
“Ah. Talented woman, that one. Or so my sister says.”
“You've never read her, have you?”
Aidan grinned guiltily. “Not my sort of literature.”
“You don't know what you're missing.” Elizabeth smiled. “If only I had such talent! To be able to create such vivid characters that you can't help but fall in love with them, and stories that capture you and pull you right in to their midst…to be able to write so well that the reader is sad when
the book ends…” Elizabeth trailed off, heaving a wistful sigh. “You should really read this sometime,” she said, holding up his sister's much beloved copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Unless, of course, you're not secure enough in your manhood to withstand a romantic story,” she teased.
Aidan raised his eyebrow and she paled. “I beg your pardon, my lord. That sounded disrespectful and it wasn't intended to be.”
A warm smile creased his face. “No insult taken. I rather like it when you tease me. I do have a sense of humor, you know. I'm not all ogre.”
“I never said you were an ogre!”
“You didn't have to. It's in your eyes.”
She immediately looked away and her face flamed with color. He was right, of course. He had been nothing but kind to her, yet she had continued to treat him with wariness and mistrust.
“Why are you so frightened of me, Elizabeth?” he asked softly.
She sighed. “It's not your fault, really. You can't help who you are.”
“An earl?”
“No. A man.”
Aidan’s brows drew together and he frowned. That did not bode well. “Surely there must be more to it than that.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I have a hard time trusting men. I've not had much luck with them, and I'm afraid it's influenced the way I live my life.”
Aidan was dismayed to learn the reason behind her wary eyes, but at least it was something he might be able to change. There was hope. “Just because I haven't read Jane Austen doesn't mean I've never read romance,” he blurted. What the hell had made him say that?
Elizabeth's mouth fell open in surprise. “I didn't mean—”
“That is to say, it depends on what you view as romantic,” he amended hastily. He stood up and strolled over to the bookshelf that sat between the floor to ceiling windows. “Here,” he said, gesturing to a row of books. “All poetry. I've read every one of them. Some of them more than once.” Aidan cringed inwardly. Had he just bragged about reading poetry? If Gavin were here he’d be howling with laughter. Why, why was he so desperate to connect with this woman?
All That I Am: A Victorian Historical Romance (The Hesitant Husbands Series Book 1) Page 7