Wicked Promise (9 page)

Elizabeth shrugged. "Marriages are often arranged for such reasons. That is simply the nature of things."

"True. I am merely pointing out that there is always a motive for one's behavior. I don't know what you are interested in, but if you think—"

Elizabeth slashed a hand upward through the air, anger making the movement jerky. "I want nothing from Nicholas Warring but his protection. He has been kind enough to grant it. If you are concerned that I shall somehow interfere in your ... friendship ... with the earl, you have nothing at all to fear. As I told you, I am in no position to approve or disapprove of the people Lord Ravenworth chooses for friends."

Lady Dandridge seemed to mull that over. "Perhaps I was mistaken." Her gaze traveled over Elizabeth's simple muslin gown, noting the traces of dirt on the hem, the grass stains on the underskirt. "You are quite different than I imagined. Now that we have met, I shall make no more presumptions." Which meant the viscountess had decided Elizabeth posed no threat to a woman of her far greater beauty and sophistication. "I hope you understand I was only concerned for Nicky's welfare."

Lady Dandridge smiled her stilted, self-serving smile. "It might be better, however, if you didn't mention our conversation. We did discuss the earl's wife, after all, and I am certain his lordship wouldn't approve."'

"No," Elizabeth agreed, "I'm sure he wouldn't." Neither discussions of his wife nor conversations with his mistress would be something the earl would approve.

"I shall leave you, then. Enjoy your birds, Miss Woolcot. I'm sure Lord Ravenworth will find them a stimulating topic of conversation." She laughed then, a clear, smug, satisfied sound matched by a confident stroll back up the path that left Elizabeth feeling oddly deflated.

It was nonsense, of course. Utterly ridiculous. What did she care if the Earl of Ravenworth had a mistress? What did it matter if he had a dozen?

But Elizabeth did care. And watching the exquisitely lovely Miriam Beechcroft enter the house as if it were her domain made her feel slightly sick to her stomach.

Charlie Barker looked over at Nathan Peel, each of them hidden behind a tall green cypress at the far end of the garden. It was late in the afternoon, blustery but not really cold, the sun streaming down between fat white intermittent clouds.

"Did ya see her? She comes here just this time every afternoon. We could nab her easy enough right here in the garden."

"Too bloody risky," Charlie argued. "His bleedin' lordship's guards might see us."

"They're posted farther out along the forest. He don't think we'd be smart enough to get past 'em."

"He doesn't think we'd be dumb enough to come in this close."

"But we are dumb enough, ain't we?"

Charlie looked at him and his mouth flattened out beneath his thick red beard. "Yeah, only we ain't gonna be stupid enough to get caught. We don't take her in the daytime, we wait until dark. The girl comes out here after supper. We nab her then. Be easier to get away."

"Yeah, but we don't know which night she'll come. We might have everything ready, the horses waitin', and that night she don't show up. Better to do it during the day."

Charlie scratched his beard. "I ain't chancin' it. I say we wait a little longer, watch how things shake out, then grab her out here when its dark."

Nathan started to argue, but Charlie pinned him with a glare. "You want an earth bath, you idiot? You wanna dance the bloody hangman's jig?"

Nathan's ugly face went pale. "No, a' course not."

"Then dammit, man, use your head. We wait a while, watch a little longer. When the time is right we take her—catch her alone one night out here."

Nathan nodded with surprising vigor, the image of his thin body limp and swinging in a London breeze all too clear. "All right then, we'll wait. But you just remember, even if ol' Jack Ketch don't hang us—we don't get the girl and that cold- hearted sod we work for'll still see we cock up our toes."

Nick found Elizabeth curled in a window seat in the library. He was still wearing his riding boots, which were dusty and scuffed. He'd untied his cravat and slung his jacket over one shoulder. He tossed them across a chair as he strode through the house and opened the library door.

She was reading when he walked in, her hair bound into a thick auburn braid that hung down her back, a few wispy strands hanging loose beside her ears. Her eyes swung to his, and it occurred to him that he had missed her in the days since their journey into the village. The knowledge, and the sudden tightening in his groin at the sight of her, was not a pleasant discovery.

"Reading again, I see. I thought I might find you in here."

She straightened, unfolded her legs and stood up. "You were looking for me, my lord?"

"As a matter of fact, I was. I was told I had a visitor earlier in the afternoon." Elias had told him of Miriam's visit. His staff was loyal to a fault. They kept him well informed of what went on at Ravenworth Hall. "Since you spoke to her in my stead, I was curious what she might have had to say."

Elizabeth's posture grew more erect. Her lips went a little bit thin. "Lady Dandridge appeared in the garden, as apparently you have heard. She was looking for you, of course. We spoke only briefly. I imagine she was hoping for her usual afternoon's diversion."

His mouth curved faintly. "Was she, indeed? And what would you know of such diversions, Miss Woolcot?"

She closed the book but kept a finger between the pages to mark her place. William Blake, he saw, Songs of Experience, one of his favorites.

"I am no fool, my lord. I know what goes on between you and the viscountess when she is a visitor here."

His brow arched up. "Do you?" Somehow he didn't think so. She might have a good idea, but he didn't believe she knew for sure, and he didn't imagine she had guessed he would far rather be diverted by her. "I take it you don't approve."

She pulled her long thick braid over one shoulder and casually twisted the end. "As I told Lady Dandridge, it is not my place to approve or disapprove of what you do or with whom you do it."

"But if it were your place," he pressed, "you wouldn't approve of Lady Dandridge."

Elizabeth glanced away, her expression suddenly unreadable. "She is beautiful in the extreme."

"True enough." He wandered in her direction, paused beside a small rosewood table a few feet in front of her, toyed with a white beeswax candle in the candlestick on the top. "She is also selfish and spoiled."

Elizabeth didn't argue. Her look said she was surprised he had noticed. "What else did her ladyship have to say?"

Elizabeth twisted her braid. She was dressed in a sprigged green silk gown several shades lighter than her eyes. It made her look young and at the same time womanly and not young at all.

"I believe, upon making my acquaintance, her mind was put at ease. It was obvious to both of us I pose no threat to her position."

Surprise filtered through him. She really didn't know what a man saw when he looked at her? That one glance from those bold green eyes could make the most jaded rake grow hard with desire for her, make him want to know the secrets of her body. Then again, perhaps it was better she didn't suspect.

"Lady Dandridge has no position," he said. "As a matter of fact, lately I find I've grown quite bored with her."

He tossed the leather riding gloves he still carried on top of the table. "Odds are, in future, her visits to Ravenworth—if they should occur at all—will be few and far between."

Elizabeth said nothing, just studied him in her usual straightforward manner. "You are angry that she approached me. You're upset because your mistress conversed with your ward. Lady Dandridge said you would be."

"Lady Dandridge's astuteness is amazing. However, that is not the reason I intend to end our relationship."

"If it is because I am in residence—"

"Your presence here has nothing to do with it. I told you I would not alter the way I live."

"Then why—"

"As I said, Miriam Beechcroft is selfish and spoiled. I simply grow weary of her childish behavior."

She cocked her head as if she pondered his words. "I suppose you have someone else in mind, someone who has piqued your interest. A man of your reputation must have any number of women he wishes to seduce."

Bloody hell, she was naive—and thank God for it. If she suspected for a moment the lust he had begun to feel every time he looked at her, fear of Bascomb or not, she would run like a scalded rabbit back to her house in West Clandon. The plain truth was, she needn't worry. His desire for her made not the least bit of difference. He had given his word and he did not mean to break it.

He gave her the answer she expected. "A man has needs, Elizabeth. My wife and I are estranged these past nine years."

"I know about your wife." Something softened in her features. "I am sorry, my lord."

Dammit, he didn't want her pity. Embarrassment made his jaw go hard. "Don't be. My life is my own and for that I am grateful." He turned before she could speak, before she could read the lie in his eyes, the fact that the freedom he had so bitterly paid for only meant he had nothing left to lose.

He started walking. "Enjoy your book, Miss Woolcot." And then he was safely out the door.

Elizabeth sat across from Aunt Sophie in the dining room. A few of his lordship's friends had stopped by but they had all departed, and to her surprise, the earl had invited them both to sup with him tonight.

Seated with the others at one end of the mile-long table, Elizabeth smoothed her napkin over the skirt of her green silk gown and watched the earl in the light of the silver candelabra. He was dressed in a velvet-trimmed dark plum tailcoat over a silver brocade waistcoat, frilled lawn shirt and lacy cravat that looked remarkably white against his dark skin. Tight black breeches disappeared into shiny black shoes.

A footman served him a portion of roasted pheasant. He smiled his approval and Elizabeth found it difficult to look away from his face. Sweet God, surely it was a sin for a man to be so handsome. And yet he was not handsome in the usual sense. There was a harshness to his features, a darkness to his finely carved profile that made him seem unreachable, cold, perhaps even brutal.

She turned her attention to the gold-rimmed plate in front of her, saw the steam rising up and inhaled the mix of delicious aromas. The meal was sumptuous: oyster soup, turbot in lobster sauce, partridge and truffle pie, veal sweetbreads with sweet walnut stuffing, candied carrots, and cabbage drenched in butter. An apple pudding was among the confections promised for dessert.

The earl dug in with great gusto and Aunt Sophie followed suit.

"My goodness," the plump woman said between bites. "This is utterly delicious. Your cook has outdone herself tonight, my lord."

"Thank you. I shall tell him you said so."

"Him?" Aunt Sophie repeated. "Your cook is a man?"

"Yes."

"Is he also one of those you met while you were indentured?"

Elizabeth nearly choked on the bite of veal she had been eating. "Aunt Sophie, I doubt his lordship enjoys discussing his past. Undoubtedly it is painful for him."

Nicholas wiped his mouth with his napkin, and she found herself staring at his lips. Beautiful lips, she thought, and immediately wished she had been looking somewhere else.

"On the contrary." Ravenworth took a sip of his wine. "I spent seven years of my life in Jamaica. It seems rather ludicrous to pretend they never happened. But as for my chef, no, Valcour was not with me in Jamaica. He was here when my father was still alive. He and Edward Pendergass are among the few who remained with me after I returned from being transported."

Curiosity made her bold, a desire to know more about him. "What was it like, my lord? Was it as terrible as everyone says?"

He leaned back in his chair, stretched those long legs out in front of him. "At first it was. I couldn't believe I was actually there, that I was really a prisoner, at someone else's mercy for the next seven years."

He shook his head. "The transport ship was a nightmare and once we landed on the island it wasn't much better. We were treated like animals, and in truth a number of the men behaved that way. They were murderers and thieves, cutthroats, pickpockets, and sharpers. But a few of them were decent men who had simply made a mistake."

"Like Freddy Higgins," Elizabeth said.

"Like Freddy, and Theo, and Elias. Circumstances forced them down the road they traveled but they were determined the years they spent in servitude wouldn't be wasted. They swore that when they returned to England they would make a better life for themselves than the one they had left behind."

"And you helped them make that happen."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I did what I could. In one way or another, each of them has helped me."

"A fine notion, indeed," Aunt Sophie put in, "giving those less fortunate a second chance. Not very fashionable, I vow, but then, you are hardly a member of the fold at any rate."

Elizabeth flushed, but Nicholas merely grinned. "Hardly," he agreed.

"You said at first it was terrible," Elizabeth continued. "Did your situation somehow improve?"

He nodded, took another sip of his wine. As much as he strove for nonchalance, a fine thread of tension had crept into his features, making his face look hard.

"For the first few years I worked in the sugarcane fields. It was backbreaking labor, not to mention the bugs and the heat. Four years into my indenture, the plantation was sold and a new owner took over. His name was Raleigh Tatum. He was honest and hardworking, determined to make his business more profitable. When he learned I could read and write, he took me out of the fields and ordered me to work on his ledgers. In time we became friends of a sort. I helped him manage his business affairs and in return he made my circumstances more comfortable while I served my last few years."