Emily Hendrickson (14 page)

“I suspect you had best keep your distance.”

“Little fool, you could get hurt. All you have to do is say no. And mean it.”

“No,
and I mean it.”

“I am wounded . . . again.”

“I do not believe a kiss will make it all better.”

“My mother told me that, however. She was a great believer.” He offered a cautious hand to draw her away.

“I daresay she was, if you say so,” Elizabeth said with a composure she didn’t actually feel. He was fast, she decided, and the tattlemongers of London had the right of it.

The creaking increased, and Elizabeth wondered aloud, “Is that something to be worried about, that funny sort of noise?”

When he looked down, a comically dismayed look was quickly replaced by one of concern. “I would have sworn the ice to be more solid here.” He took her hand, tugging her to follow him.

But it was far too late for departure. The cracks rapidly spread, and in seconds Elizabeth first, then David, plunged through the surface into the icy water.

She clutched at the pieces of ice, trying to obtain purchase so she might pull herself from the water. Fortunately, the pond seemed shallow at this end, for as she went under the water, she found her toes just touched the bottom. Or something solid.

Heavy clothing and rapidly numbing fingers prevented success, however. David dragged her up, then instructed her, “Hang onto me if you can. I shall get us out.”

She had flung her muff across the ice as she fell, and now she longed for its warmth. “I do not see how,” she confessed.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he muttered, attempting to pull himself from the pond, then deliberately breaking the ice some more in order to reach a branch that poked up through the ice.

This proved an effective means of leverage, and in short order he crawled from the icy water, inching his way across the cracked ice to firm ground, leaving Elizabeth to cling to the ice. Here, he soon located a stout limb, then extended this to her, pulling her free with a great effort.

She stood with her arms tightly about her, shivering in the slight breeze. “I do believe I prefer a fire at the moment, my lord.”

“For once, I cannot help but agree.”

She bent over to pick up her muff, then thrust her hands inside, hoping for warmth.

They skirted the edge of the pond, clumping through the snow in their skates even though it meant a longer route. Eventually they made their way up the hill to the house.

A horrified Sidthorp ushered them in, while Lord Leighton barked out orders one after another. “Hot baths for us both, and a posset to warm our insides. The brandy one I think best. Send Hadlow to me, and Rose to Miss Elizabeth. Immediately.” He pulled off his boots, then fumbled with the straps that held Elizabeth’s skates on her half-boots.

He was seized by a fit of shivering, and Elizabeth realized that the cold plunge augured far worse for him than for her.

She had always been a healthy sort, not prone to colds and megrims. But Lord Leighton was still recovering from that bullet she had shot him with and could be in grave danger.

* * * *

After a very hot soaking bath, Elizabeth dried her hair by the fire wrapped in a black velvet robe. Her long curls hung down in a chestnut fan of waving silk as she brushed.

A knock at the door gave warning, but barely. She hastily composed herself, withdrawing bare toes beneath the wealth of velvet just in time. As she suspected, Leighton entered, barging in without an apology.

“I sent Hadlow out to inspect the pond. He and one of the stable lads found what we missed. Elizabeth, that was no accident! Someone wished us ill. He hoped we would fall into the frigid water. The ice on the deep end of the pond was thin, so a sign had been posted. That warning sign was found hidden behind a bush.”

Chapter Eight

“How terrible, to endanger your life like that!” Elizabeth cried, rising to commiserate with David as best she could. “How is your arm? Have you had the bandage changed? I hope you do not develop an inflammation of the lungs, or some dreadful infection of your wound.” She studied his face for signs of incipient debility. “Oh,
who
could have done such a horrid deed?’’

“Your concern is welcome,” he said hesitantly. “We must consider that you were with me, and that you were as much the intended victim as I, however.” He stuffed the hand of his wounded arm into the pocket of his velvet banyan that he had donned over a blessedly dry cambric shirt, buff pantaloons, and shoes.

“I, a victim?” she said in amazement. Then she smiled at the absurdity of that idea. “Nonsense.” She paused a moment, then admitted, “Now, if I truly intended to marry you, there might be an heir who wished me out of the way. Tell me, who is next in line in the event that you fail to marry and produce the required heir to the title?”

Elizabeth drew closer to the fire, still a trifle chilled from their wetting. She played with the hair brush in her hands, while studying the flames that danced, such a contrast to the frozen cold beyond the window.

“Augustus.” David watched her, the black velvet clinging to her slender form, so enchanting, so desirable. Her beautiful hair curled delicately about her face, a veil of finest silk. It was unthinkable that someone wish her ill, but he didn’t trust anyone at this point, and however silly it might seem, it must be considered.

“I want you to be careful when you go about here,” he insisted. “Remember, the others believe our betrothal is genuine. You could be wished out of the way.”

“Oh, pooh, what a poor honey you must think me. I refuse to jump at every shadow. Although,” she admitted, “there is the problem of your father’s condition. I still say that whatever ill will abounds is directed toward him, for some obscure reason.”

Rose entered with a tray of posset for them. She gave her mistress a bland look as she offered her a steaming cup of the brew, then his lordship.

“Now we shall be warmed on the inside as well as the outer being.” David sipped the herbal potion mixed with his favorite brandy. He smiled as Elizabeth took a taste, then made a face at him.

 ‘I hope I am not required to drink this often. I fancy this is an excellent way to keep one well, if for no other reason than to avoid drinking it.” She grimaced, then sipped some more.

Rose hovered in the background. David turned abruptly to her. “You may leave us.”

When the maid had scurried from the room without a backward glance, Elizabeth gave him a look of reproof. “That was not well done of you, sir.”

“I do not like to think of her tittle-tattling to others about our private conversation. Not even accidentally. However good she might be, what she does not hear she cannot repeat. We have much to discuss.” He crossed to firmly close the door after first checking the hall to see that no one lingered along the corridor. He was alone with Elizabeth in her room—in the entire wing, for that matter.

He drew up a chair to the fireplace for her, then found one for himself. “These may not appear comfortable, but I have found them tolerable.’’ He gestured to the fashionable chairs with their graceful arms curving under and curved legs. “As to the maid, we are past caring about what she thinks.

She sank down, looking suddenly uncomfortable, as though she had just realized that she entertained him in her private quarters dressed in her velvet robe and with bare feet. An adorable expression of confusion that warred with annoyance sat on her lovely face. He longed to caress her, but knew he must be wary in his dealings with the attractive Elizabeth Dancy.

“I must return to Aunt Bel’s as soon as the weather permits,” she announced abruptly. Then, meeting his eyes, she added, “It is not because of the ridiculous assumption you have made. Not for a moment do I believe that someone wishes me ill. But,” she continued, “your father seems much improved. You have no further need of me.”

He cradled his cup of posset in his hand, staring at the flames much as she had done earlier. He needed to find an excuse for her to remain. He said suddenly, “But I need you here. You see, I can trust no one, other than my father, and I would not burden him with all my suspicions. I need a fellow confederate, as it were. Someone I can discuss my problems with and confide in and feel comfortable with, if you follow my thoughts. Also, if you leave, he might take a turn for the worse,” he concluded, throwing himself on her mercy and relying on her sense of duty to do as he wished.

“I ... I do not know quite what to say. I admit I am flattered that you feel able to confide in me, trust me to such a degree. But what about the others? Do you not worry about what they will say? This is a highly irregular plan, you must agree.”

She took what he felt to be a resolute sip of the posset, and he prayed she would suffer no ill effects from the wetting she’d had in that freezing water. A cousin of his had died under similar circumstances, succumbing to an inflammation of the lungs.

“I have no regard for what others say,” he said. “They have been gossiping over me for years, ever since I went to London to acquire that patina of Town Bronze so desperately wanted by all young sprouts.” He watched the play of emotions over her expressive face, but could not figure out what went on in her mind.

“I see. You are a sad rattle, I fear,” she replied with a flash of amusement.

“What about you? I place you in an unpardonable position with my request. Your aunt is of the opinion that we will wed, and so it may not be reprehensible to her if you at least spend your days assisting me. My father’s condition provides the excuse, if you will.”

“My aunt is inclined to be rather silly, but she is nonetheless a formidable lady. Should she take the notion that we must wed immediately, I fear you would find yourself waiting at the altar for a bride you do not wish. I feel you must be warned of the danger you face.”

Her face wore a speculative expression, but her voice reflected serious concern. He would be ill advised to ignore her warning. He reflected on her words, then shook his head. “My need of you, your assistance, is greater than my fear of your aunt.”

Elizabeth rose from her chair before the fire, and walked across the thick carpet to look out the window. “The sun is out, however weak it might appear. The roads ought to be passable before long.”

“Another day, I beg you. Then I shall return you to your Aunt Bel.”

“Could we send a groom to her with a message? Not but what she knows the weather forbids my return just yet.”

He marveled that she should fall in with his wishes so easily, then reminded himself that he must not trespass on her kind nature with the sort of attention he would like to bestow on her, those inviting lips. It was the first time he had ever placed his scruples ahead of his desires for a woman who responded as she did to his advances. Not one of his London acquaintances would believe it possible. His friends knew differently.

“Certainly.” He had risen when she did, and now followed her to the window. “I want to know who was out there. Everyone knew we planned to skate today after you invited them to join us.”

“I scarcely wished it to be a secret. Now, that
would
have looked odd.” She picked up a drapery cord, playing with it in seeming nervousness.

“Nevertheless.”

“I expect I ought to make myself respectable, then meet you downstairs.” She smoothed a hand over her dressing gown. It covered her from neck to toe and concealed her in an enticing manner.

“I am sorry for the ruin of your lovely pelisse. That aquamarine color well becomes you.” He decided she had the most attractive blush he had ever seen, a delicate bloom that suffused her cheeks like a lovely peach rose.

“It can be replaced, thank you. I have a great many items of that color in my wardrobe. Vanity, I imagine.”

Her rueful laugh pleased him. ‘Not vanity in the least,” he refuted, “merely common sense—to wear what is becoming.”

She strolled to the door, drawing him along with her. “I shall join you below before long. My hair is nearly dry, and I feel much more the thing.” She held the nearly empty cup of posset up for him to see.

Unable to stop himself, he pulled his hand from the pocket, reaching out to run his fingers through that fall of silken hair. “You look startled. You must know that your hair is a lovely feature.”

“Sir, you make me feel the temptress. I protest.”

Her blush had deepened and he cursed himself for a fool. “Later, then.”

She closed the door behind his rapidly disappearing figure, and wondered if she had completely lost her mind. Swallowing the last of the posset, she allowed it to heat her insides while returning to the window again.

Curious how she was so terribly willing to fall in with Lord Leighton’s plans. Of course, she knew why in the innermost part of her mind. But she refused to accept that reason, for it was utter folly. No, she had best lay it to her quite reasonable desire to see the solution to this puzzle.

Cup in hand, she paced back to the fireplace, ruefully recalling the state of her feet as she felt the lush thickness of the carpet. How unspeakably foolish to permit his lordship to enter her room, make himself at ease, then listen to him tell her that he needed her! Utter stupidity,

With that thought she briskly rang for Rose, then strode to her dressing room, undoing the velvet robe as she went. In short order, her hair was properly dressed, as was the rest of her.

* * * *

The corridor appeared deserted as she peeped from her room. Not surprising, she supposed. But one never knew. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she peered into each room as she proceeded along the hall. Since no one occupied this wing save herself, she felt quite safe in doing so.

The earl, or whoever had assisted him in the decoration of the house, had excellent taste. A lovely sleigh bed graced one room, a four-poster from an earlier time another. That every room was tastefully arranged, with no thought spared for economy, brought home to her precisely the temptation that might exist for a man who wanted all this, plus the remainder of the estate. If this was merely a small residence, what must the others be like?