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.
All of which only succeeded in arousing Elizabeth’s sympathy for Sir Rufus’s more homely looks …
Nathaniel could almost pick the thoughts out of Elizabeth’s beautiful head as she looked at the two men from beneath the fan of her long, dark lashes. He sensed that she had compared the two of them, found Tennant wanting, but still preferred that gentleman’s company to Nathaniel’s own. Not surprising after the two of them had parted so at odds with each other the previous night!
He had given in to the temptation to kiss her once again—a kiss that should never have happened, he knew, but which had nevertheless kept him tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed for far longer than it should have done.
Admittedly it had been three weeks or more since Nathaniel had bedded a woman whilst visiting Gabriel at his palazzo in Venice, but even so merely kissing Elizabeth Thompson should not have affected him so deeply that he had been unable to dampen his arousal. Taking himself in hand to alleviate that arousal had not been in the least appealing, either, which was why Nathaniel did not feel in the best of humours this morning.
His temper had not been improved in the slightest upon entering his aunt’s drawing room a few minutes ago to find Tennant at the back of the room in private conversation with Elizabeth.
The fact that he had felt that way at all had only succeeded in increasing his irritation concerning this completely inappropriate attraction towards Elizabeth Thompson. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin my aunt, Tennant, and leave Miss Thompson to her needlework?’ he suggested coolly as Sewell entered with the tea tray.
The other man looked at him with the pale, cold blue eyes of a fish. ‘I—’
‘Yes, do come and join Letitia and me,’ his Aunt Gertrude invited lightly. ‘I can then extend an invitation to Sir Rufus for the dinner party we are to have on Saturday evening,’ she added warmly.
Tennant, although obviously displeased by the interruption, had no choice but to give a brief nod in Elizabeth’s direction before strolling over to sit with the two older women.
Leaving Nathaniel alone with a quietly displeased Elizabeth …
Chapter Four
‘Do you take some cruel delight in humiliating me?’ she breathed accusingly.
‘I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself by flirting with one of my aunt’s guests,’ Nathaniel came back coldly.
Elizabeth gasped at the insult, tears of humiliation glistening in her deep blue eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Sir Rufus was the one to seek out my company, not the other way about.’ Her voice was shaky with emotion.
Nathaniel glanced across at the older man as he attempted to converse politely with Mrs Wilson and Letitia Grant. Tennant was obviously ill at ease in female company; the occasional glowering glance he sent in Elizabeth’s direction seeming to indicate that she was the only reason he was putting himself through such discomfort today.
Nathaniel’s mouth twisted derisively as he turned back to Elizabeth. ‘No doubt he would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion.’
She gave a pained frown, not altogether sure what she had done to incur the earl’s displeasure this time, only aware that she had. Sir Rufus Tennant might indeed be ‘a catch’ for a paid lady’s companion—the same could not be said with regard to Lady Elizabeth Copeland.
‘No doubt.’ She kept her expression deliberately bland.
‘Perhaps—’
‘Are you not coming to join me in my endeavours to persuade Sir Rufus into joining our dinner party on Saturday evening, Osbourne?’ Mrs Wilson looked slightly disapproving at her nephew’s continued conversation with her employee.
‘I will join you in a moment, Aunt,’ he answered his elderly relative, once again lowering his voice as he spoke to Elizabeth. ‘Of course, Tennant may be a little old for you …’
She raised dark brows. ‘I doubt that a lady’s companion has the luxury of worrying about such things as the age of one’s husband, my lord.’ She glanced across at Sir Rufus. ‘His looks and manner seem pleasant enough. And he appears to be a moderately wealthy man, too.’
‘And is that important to you?’ Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her.
Elizabeth’s lashes were lowered. ‘I am sure it would be important to most prospective brides, my lord.’
‘As a bride’s dowry is invariably of import to the groom,’ he drawled pointedly.
Reminding Elizabeth that a dowry was something neither she nor her sisters possessed …
Their father had been the dearest of men, loving and kind, but always somewhat vague after his wife had left, resulting in him becoming slightly removed from his family and society to such a degree that he had not given his daughters’ future after his demise the consideration that it deserved.
His death had been unexpected, so perhaps their father had believed Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth would all be safely married before that occurred. Although how that should have come about, when none of them were ever allowed to meet eligible gentlemen, Elizabeth was unsure.
Whatever his reasoning, the reading of Marcus Copeland’s will had revealed that he had made no provision for dowries for his three daughters, that lack of foresight instead leaving them to the guardianship and mercy of his distant cousin and heir, Lord Gabriel Faulkner.
Elizabeth smiled tightly. ‘Then let us hope, for your sake, that the two Miss Millers and Miss Rutledge are all possessed of a large fortune.’
Nathaniel frowned darkly, not at all pleased with the way she had turned this conversation towards his aunt’s less-than-subtle matrimonial intentions towards himself.
His two closest friends might have recently succumbed to the idea of marriage, Dominic intending to marry the masked beauty Caro Morton, and Gabriel, more sensibly, planning to offer for one of the three young ladies who had become his wards on his inheriting the title of Earl of Westbourne. But this didn’t make Nathaniel feel any more kindly disposed towards the parson’s mousetrap for himself. Indeed, he considered it his duty to uphold the very idea of bachelorhood for those others of his peers who had also so far managed to escape such a fate.
Elizabeth barely restrained her smile at the look of disgust that had come over Nathaniel’s face at the mere mention of matrimony in regard to himself, revealing to her, at least, that Mrs Wilson’s hopes in that direction were likely to come to nought. ‘You really should join your aunt and her guest, my lord.’ She looked up at the earl challengingly, feeling that she had emerged the victor in that particular exchange.
Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am used to doing as I please, not as others might wish me to do.’
She smiled briefly. ‘One would never have guessed!’
Brown eyes narrowed at her obvious sarcasm. ‘You—’