The Lady Confesses. Carole Mortimer

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      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, unsurprised 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.’

      ‘Its cliff paths are perhaps not to be traversed at night, by either foot or horse,’ he drawled ruefully.

      ‘Perhaps not,’ Elizabeth conceded with a smile. ‘I trust the rest of your journey home was uneventful?’

      A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘I am sure I could find nothing in the least disturbing after our own … momentous meeting.’

      Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as she realised that Rufus Tennant was attempting to flirt with her. Not in the least practised or smoothly—as if it had been far too long since he had done such a thing—but nevertheless he was attempting to flatter her, at least. ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Sir Rufus.’

      He attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps—’

      ‘How good to see you again, Tennant,’ Nathaniel greeted briskly as he entered the room to stride over to where the older man stood beside Elizabeth.

      She had ample time, as the two men exchanged greetings, in which to note the contrasts between the two of them. Unfortunately to Sir Rufus’s detriment, she finally conceded grudgingly.

      Nathaniel Thorne was probably ten years younger than Sir Rufus and possessed a vitality and smouldering good looks the older man so obviously lacked. Sir Rufus was dark where Lord Thorne was golden, and the younger man’s hair was styled in the latest fashion. Lord Thorne’s superfine hair was blond, and of a much more fashionable cut and with the same richness of colour as his eyes, its tailoring perfectly complimentary to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the long length of his legs encased in tan pantaloons above brown Hessians polished to such a degree it was almost possible to see one’s face in them, rather than dusty and mud-splattered as the older man’s now were.

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