The Lady Confesses. Carole Mortimer

you, no doubt, are apt to distrust them until proven otherwise?’ she shot back.

      His jaw tightened. ‘Perhaps.’

      There was no ‘perhaps’ about it in Elizabeth’s eyes; Nathaniel Thorne had shown only too clearly these past twelve hours or so that the easy charm he chose to present to society—that Elizabeth had also believed to be the nature of the man—was, in fact, nothing but a front for his intelligence and shrewdness of mind. A shrewdness, now that he was back on his feet and out of bed, that was obviously causing him to question her motives for taking employment with his aunt.

      She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘I will keep your concern for your aunt in mind. Now, if you will excuse me …? I have been gone so long Sir Rufus will think that I have changed my mind about taking our walk together.’

      The earl gave a wry smile. ‘A word of warning with regard to Sir Rufus …’

      ‘Another one?’ Elizabeth raised irritated brows.

      That smile widened. ‘It would seem to be my day for them.’

      She sighed. ‘And what do you now wish to tell me about him?’

      Nathaniel considered what he knew of the older man’s history. How Nathaniel, and most of society, had believed that the suicide of Tennant’s younger brother several years ago, and the tragic nature of that death, might have temporarily unhinged the older man. Certainly Tennant’s withdrawal from all society since then had been cause for speculation.

      A withdrawal from female company, at least, which was now at an end, if the older man’s reason for riding along the cliff path late the previous night was to be believed, along with the interest he had shown in Elizabeth Thompson by calling upon her today.

      And if that interest should prove to be serious, to the point that Tennant actually made an offer for Elizabeth, surely it was then Tennant’s prerogative to relate the tragic history of his own family to the young woman he intended to make his wife? What right had Nathaniel to interfere, after all, when any relationship between himself and his aunt’s companion could go nowhere and was, in fact, highly inappropriate?

      ‘It is of no import.’ Nathaniel straightened dismissively. ‘Enjoy your walk in the bluebell wood.’

      Elizabeth remained on the stairs, looking down at the earl as he moved lithely down to the hallway below before disappearing in the direction of the library. Which was when she began to breathe again.

      She had believed Lord Thorne’s personal interest in her to be inappropriate, but the interest he was now taking in her past could only be considered dangerous.

      ‘Whereabouts in Hampshire do you hail from, Miss Thompson?’

      Elizabeth looked at the man who strolled along beside her in the bluebell wood that backed onto Hepworth Manor and then glanced behind them. It had been decided by Mrs Wilson, whilst Elizabeth was upstairs collecting her bonnet, that it was not altogether proper for Elizabeth to go walking alone with a single gentleman and that Letitia should go with them. Although much good that did when the other woman had become so distracted collecting up the fragrant blooms the moment they entered the wood that she now lagged far behind them.

      Sir Rufus had chosen to lead his horse by the reins, a fact that Hector, released from his leash so that he might roam free, was taking much delight in. Sir Rufus was less than impressed, judging by the irritated glances he shot the little dog.

      Elizabeth smiled. ‘I believe I told you I am originally from Herefordshire, Sir Rufus.’

      ‘Ah, yes, so you did.’ He nodded, the bright sunlight not in the least kind to the narrowness of his features, but instead emphasising the lines beside his mouth and those pale blue eyes. ‘Whereabouts in Herefordshire?’

      ‘Leominster.’ Elizabeth named the only town in Herefordshire she’d ever heard of. ‘And have you lived all of your life in Devonshire?’ she enquired politely.

      He smiled briefly, that smile lightening the harshness of his features somewhat and, in doing so, lending him a mild attraction. ‘I find very little to interest me in London society.’

      As one who had never been into London society, for obvious reasons Elizabeth found this statement intensely irritating. ‘Not even the shops and entertainments?’

      Sir Rufus gave a delicate shudder. ‘Taunton is not too far a ride if I should need to shop. As for the entertainments, no, I do not miss them in the slightest,’ he said brusquely.

      No, this man did not in the least set out to charm, she acknowledged ruefully. But perhaps his frankness was to be admired? Considered a trait to be appreciated rather than a fault? Certainly her own father had shared Sir Rufus’s opinion of the entertainments London had to offer …

      ‘In that case, I am surprised Mrs Wilson was able to persuade you into accepting her dinner invitation for Saturday evening,’ she remarked bluntly.

      His expression softened somewhat as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘That particular invitation held another … attraction for me.’

      She was not sure she was altogether comfortable with the almost flirtatious note she detected in his tone, especially as it seemed to sit so uncomfortably upon the stiffness of his otherwise tense demeanour. ‘Mrs Wilson does have a particularly fine chef.’

      ‘I was not referring to her chef—’

      ‘No, Hector!’ Elizabeth deliberately chose that moment in which to turn and chastise the little dog for harassing the long-suffering Starlight. ‘I am afraid he is rather mischievous,’ she excused as she went down on her haunches to re-attach the dog’s lead.

      Sir Rufus’s features were once again austere. ‘Mrs Wilson is somewhat … relaxed in her discipline of him.’

      Elizabeth did not in the least care for the obvious criticism; Mrs Wilson might be over-indulgent with the little dog, but for the main part Hector did not take advantage of that indulgence. He was just naturally mischievous—and as such, totally lovable—by nature.