It was a monologue that Nathaniel again listened to with only half an ear as he instead observed both the refinement of Betsy’s table manners and the way in which she graciously engaged the less-than-vivacious Letitia in conversation as the two women sat facing each other across the dinner table. Letitia was, of course, the perfect companion for his Aunt Gertrude, being of too agreeable and insubstantial a disposition to ever oppose her more forceful cousin. But being neither of those things, it was to Betsy’s credit that she troubled herself to engage the older woman in conversation.
Nathaniel was so entertained by her efforts to avoid so much as a glance in his direction—and, of course, by the excellence of the dinner provided by his aunt’s cook—that he even managed to forget the discomfort of his broken ribs for several hours.
‘I believe it is time for Hector’s last walk before bedtime, Betsy,’ his aunt finally announced with an affectionate glance across the room to the fireplace beside which that much-loved pet lay in his basket in both warmth and resplendent comfort.
The ladies were about to go to the drawing room in order to drink tea together before retiring for the night, leaving Nathaniel at the table to enjoy the after-dinner cigar and brandy that had been denied him this past week and a half, his aunt having an aversion to anyone smoking cigars in her bedchambers. Reason enough, indeed, for Nathaniel to hasten his recovery!
He had risen politely to his feet as the ladies stood up to leave, but now gave a frowning glance out of the dining-room window. ‘Is that altogether safe for Miss Thompson, Aunt Gertrude?’ The moonlit darkness on the other side of that window testified as to the lateness of the hour.
‘I have never been afraid of venturing out into the dark, my lord,’ Elizabeth assured him sharply.
He ignored her protest to continue his conversation with his aunt. ‘Perhaps it would be better if one of the footmen attended to Hector’s needs last thing at night, Aunt?’
Mrs Wilson looked momentarily disconcerted. ‘Betsy has not complained …’
Deep brown eyes swept fleetingly over Elizabeth before Nathaniel Thorne’s addressed his aunt a third time. ‘Miss Thompson does not appear to me to be the type of young lady to make complaints, my dear aunt,’ he pointed out with a wicked little smile.
Elizabeth felt the warmth of the blush that coloured her cheeks at his obvious reference to the fact that she had so far kept her word to make no complaint to his aunt concerning his own forward behaviour earlier today. Nor did she have any intention of breaking that word; given the lowliness of her position in Mrs Wilson’s household, the older woman was as likely to blame Elizabeth for the earl’s forwardness as she was her much-loved nephew!
‘Miss Thompson might encounter any number of … dangerous individuals, roaming about the Devonshire countryside at this time of the night,’ the earl added drily.
As far as Elizabeth was concerned the only ‘dangerous individual’ she might encounter here at night—or any other time—was standing in this very room with her! Nor did she appreciate the earl’s interference in a matter that was none of his business; Elizabeth had so far enjoyed the solitude of her late-night walks with Hector, both in London and here. Moreover, she resented any implication from Lord Thorne that she was some lily-livered miss too afraid to go out into the dark of the night.
‘This is Devonshire, Osbourne, not London.’ Mrs Wilson obviously shared her scepticism.
‘Even so …’
‘I am sure I shall be perfectly safe, Lord Thorne.’ Elizabeth managed to keep her tone suitably demure—at the same time glaring her displeasure at him from beneath lowered lashes.
A glare he met by raising one mocking brow. ‘Perhaps I should stroll outside with Miss Thompson, Aunt?’ he suggested mildly. ‘I can as easily smoke my cigar out there as in here.’
‘I could always accompany Betsy,’ Letitia offered with obvious nervousness.
‘I fear that would only place you both in danger, dear Letitia,’ the earl dismissed kindly.
Mrs Wilson frowned her concern. ‘You seriously think there is danger in Betsy going outside alone at night here?’
Lord Thorne shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I doubt the smuggling in the area is any less rife now than it has been for several years past.’
Elizabeth had been rendered uncharacteristically dumbstruck by the earl’s suggestion that he accompany her on her walk outside, but now she gaped at him. ‘Smuggling?’
Deep brown eyes regarded her with mocking amusement as he gave an inclination of his head. ‘Still a very lucrative, though totally illegal trade in Devonshire, I believe. One that I am sure the gentlemen involved would prefer not to be interrupted by a young woman walking her dog.’
‘I had not thought of that.’ Mrs Wilson nodded briskly. ‘Perhaps you should accompany Betsy, Osbourne …’
‘Betsy’ could have screamed with the frustration of being discussed as if she had no will or mind of her own. Which, of course, as Betsy Thompson, companion to Mrs Wilson’s pampered and much-loved dog, she did not …
‘Unless Betsy believes it improper to venture outside alone with me?’ the earl asked huskily.
Elizabeth’s mouth tightened as she looked up into his rakishly handsome face, knowing that he was certainly not above mocking her now that his appetite for his dinner had been satisfied. ‘You—’
‘That is as ridiculous as the suggestion that the maid should not tidy your bedchamber, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson dismissed impatiently.
Placing Elizabeth firmly in the position of lowly servant, a role she was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain when in the company of the rapidly recovering Nathaniel Thorne …
‘How long has it been since you acquired the name of Betsy?’
The young lady striding determinedly at Nathaniel’s side on the moonlit pathway that ran along the cliff-top now stumbled slightly at the unexpectedness of his question.
That she was furious at his intervention earlier was obvious, considering the frosty silence with which she had treated him since her return from collecting her black-velvet pelisse from her bedchamber. She had taken Hector’s leash from the waiting footman and stalked outside without so much as a glance in Nathaniel’s direction.
He had followed at a more leisurely pace, enjoying his cigar at least as he did so, his much longer strides enabling him to reach her side within seconds. From her continued silence, and the subsequent glance down at her resolutely averted features as they walked along side by side, he realised she had no intention of even acknowledging his presence unless provoked into doing so.
Which, unless Nathaniel was mistaken, he had effectively just done …
She looked up at him sharply in the moonlight. ‘What do you mean?’
It was a clear spring evening, warm enough that Nathaniel had no need of an outer coat, with not a cloud to mask the brightness of the stars shining in the velvet-black sky overhead. Probably not the ideal night for smugglers to be abroad; Nathaniel believed they usually preferred a few clouds to cover the light of the moon and so mask their movements.
In which case, it should have been pleasant to walk in the moonlight with a young and desirable woman and the happy little white dog trotting ahead of them. Instead it had so far been a silent battle of wills between them.
He sighed. ‘I have noticed that you seem to flinch whenever my aunt—or indeed, anyone else—addresses you as such.’
‘You are mistaken, my lord—’
‘I think not,’ he interrupted firmly; his patience with this young woman was not limitless.
Elizabeth glanced up at him warily, knowing that she had seriously underestimated