The Lady Confesses

After all, he had earlier attempted to steal a kiss from this young woman for his own enjoyment. And the fact that Nathaniel had received his injuries from paid thugs as he’d left a gambling club owned by yet another of his disreputable friends was not in the least flattering to his own reputation …

He viewed Betsy Thompson through narrowed lids. ‘You have not been a paid employee for very long, have you?’

A delicate blush coloured those ivory cheeks. ‘What makes you say that, my lord?’

The mere fact that she was daring to question him like this, an earl and the nephew of her employer, was reason enough! ‘You do not appear to know your place.’

Those blue eyes sparkled with what he knew without doubt to be a fierce temper. ‘My place, my lord?’

Had he ever had another conversation like this one? Nathaniel mused ruefully. Somehow he doubted it. ‘I believe it is the usual practice to show a little more … respect, when addressing one’s elders and betters,’ he drawled with deliberate provocation; after all, the blue of this young lady’s eyes did look particularly fine when she was in a temper!

Considering Nathaniel Thorne was a mere eight, or possibly nine years, her senior, Elizabeth did not consider him in the least ‘her elder’. And as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the daughter of an earl, neither was he ‘her better’.

Except she was not Lady Elizabeth Copeland at this moment in time, was she? And she had no idea when she would become so again. Or, indeed, if she ever would …

Leaving her home had been a purely impulsive act on her part, a response to Caroline’s identical response to Lord Faulkner’s proposal two days earlier. Those two days had been spent in a fruitless search of the local area for the missing Caroline and had resulted in the other two sisters assuming that she had likely fled all the way to London.

London …

All three of the Copeland girls had always wished for, and repeatedly been denied by their father, so much as a single visit to England’s capital, let alone the Season that might have secured a marriage for any or all of them, on the basis, no doubt, that Marcus Copeland had considered the temptations to be found there to be responsible for his wife’s abandonment of her family.

Whatever his rationale for the decision, Caroline and Elizabeth especially had longed to experience some of those ‘temptations’ for themselves; Diana, the eldest sister at one and twenty, had always been the more reserved of the three, taking her responsibilities as mistress of Shoreley Park and surrogate mother to her two younger sisters very seriously indeed.

And so first Caroline, and then Elizabeth, had left the only home they had ever known for the excitement that London represented. Elizabeth could not speak for Caroline, of course, having had neither sight nor word of her sister’s whereabouts since reaching the city, but she had quickly realised that the excitements of town only applied to the wealthy and titled members of London society, and that the paid companion she had been forced by circumstances to become was merely a lowly employee at the mercy of the whims and fancies of her employer, with very few glimpses of the world she had so longed to inhabit.

Elizabeth had also had plenty of time in which to realise how much she missed her sisters, how alone she felt without the two of them to laugh and gossip with. To realise how, being the youngest sister, Caroline and Diana had been her companions for all of her nineteen years.

Indeed, Elizabeth had missed them so much that, on the day she had effected the recapture of Hector after he had made his escape from Mrs Wilson in the park, she had briefly, foolishly, thought she had seen Caroline seated as a passenger of the most fashionable coach travelling in the park that day.

It was nonsense, of course, a ridiculous notion only confirmed by Elizabeth’s glimpse of the gentleman easily controlling the pair of perfect but highly strung greys in front of that gleaming carriage. An aristocratic gentleman whose arrogant good looks were made to look dangerous by the scar that ran down the left side of his face. The rakish sort of gentleman none of the Copeland sisters had ever, or would ever, be acquainted with.

Nevertheless, that brief encounter had served to emphasise how deeply she wished to be with her sisters again. Unfortunately, Elizabeth—and no doubt Caroline, too—had realised since arriving in London that, when she’d left Hampshire so suddenly she had given no consideration as to how she was ever to learn when or if Lord Faulkner had quit Shoreley Park, thereby making it safe for her to return to her home.

Until a remedy to that situation occurred to her, it was very necessary that she retain her current position in Mrs Wilson’s household—something she would not be able to do if she ran foul of that lady’s much-loved nephew. ‘I apologise again, my lord, for any—any misunderstandings,’ she said stiff ly, ‘but I am sure that your aunt will be pleased to hear how much better you are feeling this afternoon.’

‘Indeed?’ Nathaniel eyed her closely. ‘And what else do you intend telling my dear aunt about this afternoon?’

She looked pained at the accusation in his tone. ‘Why, nothing else, my lord.’

‘You do not consider I owe you an apology for my own behaviour just now?’ He looked across at her shrewdly.

Delicate colour warmed her cheeks as she avoided meeting his gaze. ‘I would much rather forget the incident ever happened, my lord.’ She looked slightly flustered. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Hector will be waiting for his walk.’ She swept him a polite curtsy.

Nathaniel watched beneath hooded lids as Betsy left his bedchamber, knowing a slight disappointment in her response to his deliberate challenge; instead of a return of that temper he had been expecting—hoping for—the light of battle had seemed to fade from those clear blue eyes as she once again assumed the mantle of the young and demure companion of his aunt’s dog.

Assumed, because Nathaniel had serious doubts that Miss Betsy Thompson had ever been born to such a subservient role …

Chapter Two

‘I have decided, as you are obviously feeling so much better—’ Mrs Wilson bestowed a warm smile of approval upon her nephew as he stood somewhat stiffly beside the fireplace in the drawing room prior to dinner ‘—to arrange a small dinner party. For … three days hence, I believe,’ she announced with satisfaction.

‘Aunt—’

‘As I said, it will be but a small group. Only twenty or so of my closest neighbours,’ she added persuasively.

Elizabeth, having entered the drawing room in time to hear this announcement, looked at Nathaniel beneath lowered lashes as she curtsied before moving to the back of the room to sit demurely on the chaise beside Letitia Grant, feeling slightly breathless at how handsome the earl looked in his black evening clothes and snowy white linen, the candlelight casting a golden sheen over his fashionably styled hair and lightly tanned features.

She had instantly seen how his warm mahogany eyes had briefly flared with alarm at his aunt’s announcement, before that emotion was as quickly masked by a look of cool uninterest. Elizabeth easily guessed the reason for that mask!

Mrs Wilson, a widowed and still attractive lady in her early-forties, had made it clear she had no interest in remarrying herself, instead preferring to turn her considerable attention to finding her nephew a countess. Indeed, she had already been full of the news, when she’d returned in her carriage earlier, that there were at least three young and attractive ladies in the neighbourhood who were up to the task and might meet her nephew’s critical approval.

She considered, she had stated firmly, that at the age of eight and twenty it was past time that her nephew gave up his bachelor life and produced an heir; as he had no mother to guide him, it was her duty to see the woman he chose as his countess and mother of his children was entirely suitable for that role, whether or not the earl had any inclinations in that direction himself.

Nathaniel Thorne’s now guarded expression would seem to indicate that he most certainly did not!

After their earlier altercation, Elizabeth could not help but feel a little inward pleasure at the earl’s obvious discomfort; Mrs Wilson, once set on a course of action, was rarely, if ever, thwarted. Elizabeth’s own presence here was proof of that!

Having secured Hector in the park that day, it had been a simple enough task for Elizabeth to then locate his mistress; she had so obviously been the lady remonstrating most passionately with one of her coachmen as she strode determinedly across the park towards where Elizabeth held the runaway dog in her arms.

The reunion between dog and mistress had brought an emotional tear to Elizabeth’s eyes—for a completely different reason than that of the poor coachman, who stood beside his mistress rubbing his ringing ears!

Once reassured of her ‘darling Hector’s’ well-being, Mrs Wilson had turned her narrow-eyed attention to his rescuer, insisting that Elizabeth must return home in her carriage with her and receive more thanks over a cup of tea. Once inside the opulence of that comfortable house, Mrs Wilson had demanded to know what a young lady such as Elizabeth had been doing walking alone in the park at all. Upon hearing that she was merely crossing the park to cheer herself after failing to secure a position in a haberdashery, that lady had insisted that she must come and work for her, that her ‘darling Hector’ had obviously taken such a liking to her there could be no other course of action.

Before Elizabeth had been able to draw a breath, it seemed, she had found herself, and the few belongings she had brought to London with her, moved into Mrs Wilson’s home and herself charged with the care of the mischievous and totally lovable Hector.

If Mrs Wilson had now decided to turn that considerable attention to finding her nephew a suitable wife, then she had no doubts that lady would succeed—whether the Earl of Osbourne wished it or not!

‘—it is fortuitous that the Millers have not gone up to town for the Season this year, as they are still in mourning following Lord Miller’s demise,’ Elizabeth heard Mrs Wilson state with satisfaction as her attention returned to that lady’s conversation with her nephew.

‘I doubt that Lord Miller sees it as being in the least fortuitous!’ the earl drawled drily.

Elizabeth repressed another smile, only for the humour on her face to fade completely as she looked up and found herself the focus of Lord Thorne’s intent gaze.

She looked quickly away again to engage the elderly Letitia Grant in conversation, all the time aware that the rakishly handsome earl continued to observe her broodingly …

Nathaniel was only half listening to the twittering of his aunt as she continued to list the guests she proposed inviting to her dinner party on Saturday evening, having absolutely no interest in any of his aunt’s guests, least of all the two Miss Millers and their mother, or Miss Penelope Rutledge, the equally eligible daughter of the local magistrate, Viscount Rutledge.

His aunt would no doubt be outraged to learn the only female that in the least piqued Nathaniel’s interest at this moment in time was now seated on the chaise at the back of the drawing room and engaged in muted conversation with Letitia Grant—and that his intentions towards Betsy earlier this afternoon had been entirely dishonourable!

Nathaniel had been aware of that young woman’s presence the moment she slipped quietly into the room to curtsy politely before joining Letitia on the chaise, the simply styled cream gown she wore a perfect foil for those ebony curls that clustered at her crown and framed the ivory oval of her face, its high waist and low neckline leaving bare her throat and the tops of the breasts Nathaniel had so admired earlier this afternoon.

Miss Betsy Thompson, Nathaniel had decided after she’d left his bedchamber earlier, was a contradiction that warranted further investigation. Discreet enquiries from Letitia Grant earlier had revealed that as far as she was aware his aunt knew absolutely nothing about the young lady she had so recently employed, other than that Hector obviously adored her—which in Aunt Gertrude’s eyes appeared to be reference enough!

Nathaniel had a far different opinion—for all any of them knew Betsy could be a runaway wife avoiding detection by her aggrieved husband, or, worse, she might be a felon hiding from justice!

At least, those were the excuses Nathaniel had given himself for his lingering interest in that young lady …

‘—are you even listening to me, Osbourne?’ his aunt now snapped as she obviously became aware of his inattentiveness.

Nathaniel turned his lazy gaze onto his slightly irate aunt. ‘You were extolling the virtues of Miss Rutledge, I believe,’ he drawled uninterestedly. ‘How accomplished she is upon the piano. That you and others consider her needlework and painting to be of a particularly high standard. That she has acted as competent and gracious mistress of the Viscount’s home since her mother’s death three years ago. How—’

‘I trust you are not mocking me, Osbourne?’ His prettily plump, and totally well-meaning, aunt prompted severely.

‘I assure you, Aunt Gertrude, that a man as in need of his dinner as I rarely feels the inclination to mock.’ Nathaniel presented his arm to his aunt as the butler appeared in the doorway and announced that dinner was now ready to be served.

Elizabeth could not help but appreciate how smoothly the earl had extricated himself from the awkwardness of that conversation as she fell into step beside Letitia to follow Nathaniel Thorne and his aunt through to the small family dining room. Many fashionable young gentlemen—in need of their dinner or otherwise!—would have dealt most severely with Mrs Wilson for being so blatant in their matchmaking. It was a testament of the genuine affection in which Lord Thorne held his aunt that he had chosen not to do so.

Although this did not in any way excuse the set-down he had given Elizabeth earlier in regard to what she considered her perfectly justified outspokenness concerning the scandalous behaviour of his friend, Lord Faulkner.

Or the over-familiar behaviour she had suffered at his hands prior to that …

Which was perhaps not the memory Elizabeth should have been dwelling upon as the earl, having seen to the seating of his aunt and Letitia Grant, now loomed over her attentively as he stood behind her own chair.

‘Dare I hope that blush is on my behalf, Betsy?’ he murmured, the warmth of his breath caressing the dark curls at Elizabeth’s nape as he bent forwards to place her chair beneath her.

Elizabeth tensed brief ly before continuing to sit, presenting her stiffly disapproving back and shoulders to the earl as she did so. She couldn’t help feeling a little chagrined that he had been correct in his assumption as to the direction of her wayward thoughts! She had been too shocked earlier by the suddenness of this man’s advances to completely gauge her own reaction to being held in his arms as he had attempted to kiss her.

Unfortunately, that had not proved to be the case as Elizabeth had later walked Hector in the peace and quiet of the woods adjoining Hepworth Manor … Her thoughts had then returned again and again to the hard warmth of Nathaniel Thorne’s body as he’d held her against his muscled chest, the thrill of briefly feeling his lips against hers and the shiver of pleasure that had coursed through her as those same lips travelled the length of her throat. As to the lascivious way in which he had eyed the swell of her breasts, she tingled all over just thinking about it.

The life Elizabeth had led at Shoreley Park had been a sheltered one, with very few young men living in the area, and hardly any of those considered by Marcus Copeland to be suitable company for his three young daughters. The exception to that rule had been Malcolm Castle, the son of the local squire, but as he had always shown a preference for her sister Diana’s company from childhood, that particular avenue of flirtation had been closed to Elizabeth and Caroline.

Even if it had not, Nathaniel Thorne’s earlier familiarity could not possibly be called merely flirtatious! The liberties he had attempted to take had implied that he considered Elizabeth as being no more respectable than a—than a woman with whom he had paid to spend the night! No doubt her lowly position in his aunt’s household was responsible for that familiarity, but even so …

‘I would be as inclined to blush at thoughts of a viper as you, my lord.’ Elizabeth muttered back as she turned to smile up at him for the benefit of the watching Mrs Wilson and Letitia, as if she were thanking the earl for his attentiveness rather than insulting him.

Nathaniel’s own smile was one of wolfish appreciation for her spirited reply as he slowly straightened before taking his own seat at the head of the table, a tacit signal for the first course to be served and his aunt to begin another diatribe as to the virtues of the local gentry and their marriageable daughters who were to be invited to her forthcoming dinner party.

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?’