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 decided 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 ch
attering 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, uns
urprised 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.’
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