Had her death at the hands of Giles Tennant completely unhinged him?
Or was it something else, something much darker, something so much more terrible that was responsible for Sir Rufus’s present deranged state of mind?
Elizabeth moistened dry lips, very aware that his state of mind was so mercurial that he might turn violent again at any moment, most especially if she were to challenge his belief that she was Harriet. ‘I have to admit to welcoming the idea of partaking of a light supper myself.’ She would do or say anything in order to persuade him to go into the house and away from the complete isolation of this secluded hothouse.
He chuckled softly, giving her a brief glimpse of the younger man he must once have been. He was still not an especially handsome or dashing man, as his younger brother was reputed to have been, but he’d certainly had his own homely appeal. ‘You know that I have never been able to deny you anything.’
‘Then we may go into the house and eat supper?’ Much as she tried, Elizabeth could not keep the eagerness to escape being alone with him from her tone. ‘You might show me around the rest of the house then, too,’ she added encouragingly as he frowned slightly.
‘Of course; my beloved Harriet, you must be eager to view what is to become your new home.’ Sir Rufus gave one of her hands a reassuring squeeze.
‘Very eager.’ Elizabeth resisted a shudder at the mere thought of any woman having to live with him, let alone with those glassy-eyed hunting trophies that adorned the gloomy entrance hall of Gifford House; her mother had certainly been a woman who had surrounded herself with light and laughter and beautiful things.
‘Would you not like to see the rest of the roses first?’
‘Perhaps later.’ It took every effort of will on Elizabeth’s part to slip one of her gloved hands companionably into the crook of his arm as she smiled up at him. ‘Let us go to the house for a warming drink, at least.’ She gave a delicate shiver to accompany this statement.
In truth, she felt so inwardly cold it was as if ice ran in her veins, caused by her fear of this man—and the knife he still carried—rather than the temperature of the hothouse. But it was the lengths Sir Rufus might have gone to in order to ensure that Harriet Copeland became his own that Elizabeth feared knowing more than anything else.
‘You must have some idea where Sir Rufus is!’ Nathaniel glowered at the butler who had opened the door to Gifford House in answer to the remorseless pummelling of his fist.
‘I have told you, my lord, Sir Rufus is not at home,’ the elderly man repeated patiently.
Nathaniel looked about him wildly, wondering where the other man could have gone. Where he could have taken Elizabeth. If, indeed, she was with him at all…
The butler flinched slightly as he once again became the focus of Nathaniel’s steely-eyed gaze. ‘You might perhaps try the hothouse at the back of the house? Sir Rufus is there often and—’
Nathaniel did not linger to listen to any further explanations but ran down the steps and round to the back of the house to where the hothouse glinted in the late-evening sunlight.
Only to come to an abrupt halt beneath the shade of an oak tree as he saw Elizabeth and Sir Rufus just emerging from inside the glass hothouse, giving every appearance of taking an evening stroll together. Elizabeth’s arm was linked with that of Sir Rufus’s as she smiled up at him, chatting happily as they walked towards him.
Until Nathaniel saw her eyes…
Elizabeth had the most expressive eyes he had ever beheld, a startlingly clear and beautiful sky-blue, more often than not filled with either warmth or the light of battle that was so much a part of her feisty personality.
At the moment those lovely eyes showed neither warmth nor anger, but were instead dark and unnaturally wide, and filled with such an expression of fear and apprehension that Nathaniel felt a lurching jolt in his chest.
His concern deepened as he noticed other things about her appearance that did not sit well with her outward show of charming loveliness: her straw bonnet was gone completely, her dark curls in disarray, several ringlets falling onto the creaminess of her shoulders, and dusty smears upon her pale gown and gloves. As if she might have fallen—or been pulled along against her will?
Nathaniel deliberately stepped out from beneath the sheltering oak. ‘Good evening, Tennant.’
Elizabeth’s heart began to pound loudly at the first sound of Nathaniel’s voice, her relief immense as she turned to see him standing only feet away. Until, that is, she became as aware of the tension of the man at her side; Sir Rufus’s arm had become rigid beneath the soft touch of her gloved fingers, his whole body seemingly coiled as if he might spring forwards and attack the younger man at any moment.
Under any other circumstances Elizabeth knew that Nathaniel, ten years younger and having been a soldier, was more than capable of besting the other man, but at this moment Sir Rufus was filled with a strength and purpose fuelled by insanity—and he was still carrying that pruning knife in his other hand!
All things which Nathaniel must be made aware of if he were to fully understand the danger of the situation. ‘How lovely, Rufus; Lord Thorne has come to join us for dinner.’ She ignored Nathaniel’s start of surprise in favour of turning to smile warmly up into Sir Rufus’s demented features.
For several tension-filled seconds she feared he had not even heard her, so intense was his expression of dislike as he glared his fury at Nathaniel’s intrusion into this time with his ‘beloved Harriet’.
But he finally appeared to become aware of the encouraging warmth of Elizabeth’s smile, the tension easing slightly in his arm, his expression softening as he turned to look down at her. ‘I had thought we might spend our first evening here together alone, my dear.’
Elizabeth forced herself to continue to smile up into those wild pale blue eyes. ‘We must not be selfish, Rufus. We must be prepared to share our good fortune and happiness with our friends and neighbours.’
‘Of course.’ He returned her smile approvingly. ‘You are gracious as always, my dear Harriet.’
Elizabeth did not see Nathaniel’s start of surprise this time, but she felt it in his sudden tension and saw it in the dark scowl that marred his brow when she turned to look across at him with pleading eyes. ‘I trust you are free to join us for dinner, Lord Thorne?’
Nathaniel’s initial anger at finding Elizabeth in company with Sir Rufus had first turned to puzzlement, quickly followed by utter confusion. It now turned to uneasy concern—after Tennant referred to Elizabeth as Harriet. Harriet Copeland? Giles’s lover?
Elizabeth, hoping and praying that Nathaniel would at last understand Sir Rufus’s state of derangement, instead became aware of the surprised widening of his eyes as he looked at her searchingly. As if he were seeing her for the first time…
Which perhaps he was?
Nathaniel would have been a very young man when Lady Harriet Copeland had run off with Giles Tennant, but not so young he would not have at least seen the notorious countess. Now the final piece of the puzzle had been put in place by Sir Rufus, did Nathaniel finally see Elizabeth’s physical resemblance to that lady?
The same resemblance which had, no doubt, instigated Sir Rufus Tennant’s present madness…
Elizabeth’s throat was so dry that she had difficulty swallowing before she said again, ‘Oh, please do say that you can stay for dinner, Lord Thorne.’
There was no chance Nathaniel was not totally aware of the slight edge of hysteria to Elizabeth’s urging, or of the silent pleading in those troubled blue eyes that looked at him so intently.
Or, indeed, the air of barely leashed madness that surrounded Sir Rufus Tennant!
‘Yes,’ Nathaniel answered calmly. ‘Yes, of course I would be happy to join the two of you. If Sir Rufus is sure I will not be intruding?’ He turned to look enquiringly at the older man, eyes narrowing as he took note of the slightly unfocused wildness of Tennant’s eyes, the unnatural flush to his cheeks. The knife that h
e held in his left hand, of which he did not even seem to be aware…
Had he used it to threaten Elizabeth with? God, this madman had mistaken Elizabeth for Harriet Copeland!
There was a surface resemblance, of course. The same dark curls. The same delicacy of features. Admittedly Lady Copeland had been much older than Elizabeth when she died, and her eyes had been green rather than blue, but the slender elegance of her figure was the same. Could Elizabeth actually be in some way related to the beautiful Countess of Westbourne?
Tennant mistaking Elizabeth for Lady Copeland was all too much of a coincidence in view of the letter Nathaniel had finally received from Gabriel Faulkner earlier today. His friend had announced his betrothal to Lady Diana Copeland—a love match, apparently, rather than the businesslike affair the other man had originally intended it should be—the eldest sister of the three. He had also written that their other best friend Dominic Vaughn was to marry Lady Diana’s younger sister, Caroline.
Both those weddings would take place as soon as they had found and returned the youngest Copeland sister, Lady Elizabeth, to her sisters’ anxiously awaiting arms.
Lady Elizabeth Copeland.
Elizabeth.
Could it possibly be the very same woman whom Nathaniel had found so irresistible this past few days? The same Elizabeth he had made love to so passionately? It was rather a large assumption for him to make, and yet the similarity between Harriet Copeland and Elizabeth was obvious, as were several other clues if one knew of them.
Elizabeth’s sudden appearance in his aunt’s London home almost three weeks ago after the two had met at the park… Gabriel had stated in his letter that Lady Elizabeth Copeland had been missing for almost four weeks now. Elizabeth’s assurance of manner during Mrs Wilson’s dinner party on Saturday and her innate elegance and refinement—all indications she had been brought up as a lady of quality rather than a subservient companion.
Nathaniel had believed Elizabeth was perhaps a young lady from an impoverished if genteel family, but they could all just as easily be attributed to the fact that she was, in fact, Lady Elizabeth Copeland, an earl’s daughter.
Tennant seemed convinced of the fact that Elizabeth’s second name, at least, was indeed Copeland!
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth had absolutely no idea as to Nathaniel’s thoughts during these past few minutes of silence, but the look that glittered in the darkness of his eyes as he spotted the knife in Sir Rufus’s hand indicated that he was at least aware of the other man’s instability of temperament, as well as the precariousness of Elizabeth’s position as she stood beside him.
‘Rufus?’ she turned to prompt lightly.
He smiled down at her. ‘Of course Osbourne must stay to dinner, if that is what you wish, Harriet.’
Elizabeth swallowed down the nausea she felt each time this man called her by her mother’s name instead of her own. She couldn’t help shuddering inwardly when she contemplated what events could have led to his decline into madness.
Of course, it could simply be that Giles Tennant, having killed first Harriet and then himself, had initiated Sir Rufus’s mental decline, in that he had lost in one day both his younger brother and the woman he himself had so obviously loved. Yet Elizabeth was inclined to think there was more to it than that, especially as Mrs Wilson had revealed earlier today that Sir Rufus had not cared for his brother as much as people had believed that he did, and that he’d been jealous of him from the moment of his birth.
How deep would that jealousy have been towards his much more handsome brother for having captivated the woman that he himself loved? Enough, perhaps, for Sir Rufus to have wished to destroy them both?
Elizabeth felt another cold shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine even as she suggested, ‘Then shall we all go into the house?’
‘An excellent idea.’ Nathaniel stepped forwards to offer Elizabeth his arm, his gaze compelling on the paleness of her face until she had come to his side. He was instantly able to feel the trembling of her hand she placed it on his sleeve. ‘Perhaps you should return that knife to the hothouse first, Tennant?’ Nathaniel prompted.
‘What? Oh.’ Sir Rufus looked down at the knife in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Of course,’ he said and turned back into the hothouse.
It was exactly the opening that Nathaniel needed and he wasted no time in placing Elizabeth firmly to one side before stepping forwards to pull the door tightly closed behind Rufus Tennant and holding it there. ‘Go, Elizabeth,’ he instructed fiercely. ‘Go now!’ He wanted her in a place of safety before he opened the door and dealt with Tennant.
‘But—’
‘I am unsure how long I will be able to contain him!’ Even now the older man had realised Nathaniel’s intent and was trying to force the door open from the inside and the nine-glass windows that made up the top of the door would not withstand the force of a fist should Sir Rufus decide to use that method of escape.
‘I will get help—’
‘I do not care what you do—as long as you leave here immediately!’ Even now Tennant had increased his efforts to free himself, tugging on the door with all the strength of his derangement, the knife still in his hand.
Tears flooded those beautiful blue eyes as Elizabeth seemed unable to move. ‘Oh Nathaniel, he—he—’
‘I know.’ He winced as he imagined her terror during these past few minutes of being completely alone with a madman. And the danger was not yet over. ‘We can talk of this later!’ he said as the window beside the door handle was smashed outwards, quickly followed by Tennant’s hand reaching through the jagged remains of glass to grasp Nathaniel’s arm in a clawlike grip. ‘Go, Elizabeth!’ Nathaniel grated as he managed to keep the door closed.
Elizabeth had no intention of leaving Nathaniel to deal with this situation alone, instead looking frantically about her for something to help him in his efforts to contain the other man. She finally spotted some small decorative rocks in the garden bed a few feet away, dashing over to wrench one of them from the soil before running back and bringing it down painfully on Sir Rufus’s clutching hand.
‘Harriet!’ Sir Rufus looked at her soulfully through the glass-topped door, but made no effort to release his hold on Nathaniel’s arm.
‘Elizabeth,’ she breathed raggedly, wincing as she brought the rock down on that grasping hand a second time. ‘My name is Elizabeth, not Harriet!’
‘That is a lie!’ Sir Rufus’s expression darkened furiously. ‘A nasty vicious lie! Did Osbourne put you up to this?’
Elizabeth blinked. ‘Nathaniel is but an innocent bystander—’
‘Not so innocent!’ Sir Rufus turned his vicious blue gaze on the younger man. ‘Was the death of your horse not enough of a warning to keep your filthy hands and thoughts off Harriet? Do you wish me to teach you another lesson in manners—?’
‘You killed Midnight?’ Elizabeth gasped in shock as she stumbled back a step.
Sir Rufus looked pleased with himself. ‘A little poison from one of the compounds I use for growing my roses mixed into his water bucket soon took care of him, yes.’
Not soon at all—Midnight’s death had been slow and agonising. And this man—this monster, was responsible for that death and Nathaniel’s pain.
‘And Hector?’ Elizabeth glared at him. ‘Did you have something to do with his disappearance?’ Remembering Hector’s recent growls every time this man came anywhere near him, and the unexplained abrasion on the dog’s front paw, Elizabeth was sure that he had.
Sir Rufus smiled. ‘He is such a trusting little animal that it was an easy thing to tie him up for an hour or so before then returning him to his grateful mistress.’
Elizabeth saw red at the pain and suffering this man had deliberately inflicted on innocent animals. ‘You—truly—are—a—monster!’ With each word Elizabeth brought her rock down on the back of the man’s hand, who refused to release his grip despite the skin now being broken an
d blood running freely. Elizabeth felt sick at the sight of all that blood. But she felt sicker still at the thought of Sir Rufus escaping the hothouse!
‘Harriet—’
‘I am not Harriet!’ Her voice rose angrily. ‘Do you understand?’ Her eyes flashed through the window at him. ‘You have mistaken me for someone else. Do you hear me? I am not Harriet!’
Nathaniel instantly felt concerned at the look of utter fury that possessed the other man’s face. ‘Elizabeth, do not incite him—’
‘He is mad, Nathaniel!’ Elizabeth cut angrily through his reasoning tone. ‘Completely and utterly mad. Worse than his treatment of Midnight and Hector, I believe he might actually be a—a murderer!’ she choked emotionally, the tears starting to fall hotly down her cheeks.
‘Harriet—’
‘Harriet is dead!’ Elizabeth turned fiercely on Sir Rufus. ‘Dead, do you hear? She has been dead these nine years or more!’
‘No!’ A look of horror washed over his face and Nathaniel felt the grip on his arm fall away as the other man staggered backwards, his face deathly pale, his gaze unfocused.
‘Did you kill her?’ Elizabeth stepped forwards to press against the broken hothouse window. ‘Did you kill both my mother and your brother?’ she demanded angrily.
If Nathaniel had needed any further confirmation as to Elizabeth’s real identity, then he now had it. For his callous treatment of Midnight and Hector alone, this man deserved to be horsewhipped, but if Sir Rufus had actually killed Harriet Copeland and Giles Tennant all those years ago, as Elizabeth suspected, then he must be captured and presented to the law to be dealt with accordingly.
‘Answer me!’ she demanded coldly as Tennant continued to stare at her blankly. ‘Did you kill my mother and your brother?’
Tennant blinked, a faint glimmer of awareness returning to those pale blue eyes. ‘I loved her. And she loved me. We had to be together. But Giles stood in the way. So I killed him. But then Harriet became hysterical, accusing me of terrible things, and so I—I had no choice but to kill her too. Do you not see—?’
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