“Exactly,” he said with such consummate arrogance she dearly wished to slap him. “You’ve proven my point. You think you are better than Miss Dunworthy simply because she hasn’t a pedigree that compares to yours.”
“Kindly set me down here, my lord.” Elizabeth emphasized the ‘my lord’ and pointed emphatically at the ground below them.
Rather than complying, he tightened his hold around her middle.
Insolent man. “I should prefer to walk.”
“I think not.”
She simmered for a moment before thinking of the perfect rejoinder. “Pray, tell me this, Lord St. Evert. When your son is born, will you despise him because he is a nobleman?”
* * *
Valen stiffened. A son? The image of an infant, his son, shot into his mind, nearly knocking him off his horse. He tried to shake it away. She ought not speak of babes when he had his hand on her abdomen and a very informative view of her breasts every time he glanced down. All too easy to imagine her swollen with his child. The ache in his witless body mounted unbearably.
He must be one of those men Pater mentioned—as randy as his unprincipled stallion. He ought to do as she asked and set her down right here, right now, in the middle of this field, ride away and not look back. She was precisely the sort of female he wished to avoid.
“And I suppose lisping little Miss Devious Dunworthy will make the perfect mother for your children?”
Dear God, no. He nearly choked on the idea.
She shuddered in his arms. Apparently the thought appalled her as much as it did him.
He hadn’t thought about sons. His sons. How dare she make him think about such things? She was worse than Pater.
Still she prattled on at him. “...a perfectly respectful request. The least you could do, as a gentleman, is honor it and put me down this instant. I have no wish to travel further with you in the intimate confines of this horse—”
“Intimate confines?” he laughed. “We’re on horseback in the middle of the open countryside. There are any number of shepherds acting as chaperone. Not to mention Aunt Honore is probably in one of the upstairs windows this very minute with a spyglass trained on us. Hardly intimate.”
She glanced nervously in the direction of the manor. “Be that as it may, you have expressed such a strong aversion to my character that rather than annoy you with my presence, I would prefer you set me down.”
Oh, he’d like to give her a set down, all right. One she’d never forget.
She did annoy him, far more than she realized. And in ways she’d never suspect. “I have a better idea.” He gripped her tighter and wheeled Hercules. The sudden movement jarred Izzie. She nearly let go of the sack, hanging onto it with one hand and clutching his thigh in a frantic attempt to steady herself. He laughed again out of sheer orneriness, and let the stallion run.
“What in heaven’s name—” She gripped his leg tighter as they galloped toward the hill. When they jumped a low rock border, she yelped. His bothersome conscience chided him for frightening her. So he slowed the pace. They were climbing the hill anyway.
Once she caught her breath, she started in on him. “I demand you put me down!”
“You said you wished to see the old ruins. I am simply doing my duty as an obliging host.”
She tentatively let go of his leg, dusting it off on her skirt. “You might have mentioned. It is customary to give a person warning before—”
“Lady Elizabeth, do you ever cease scolding?”
She fell silent as they climbed the hill. One would think he would enjoy a reprieve from her tongue, but Valen found the silence irritating. He would much rather know what she was thinking—thorns and all.
* * *
Much of the stone from the old keep had been carted away to build the new manor, or tenant’s huts, sheep holds, or field borders. All that remained was a collapsing maze of walls, most of which were no taller than Valen’s shoulder. It was a maze he knew well. A place he had played as a boy, where he alone reigned king and banished evil men like the Sixth Lord of Ransley to the dungeon.
Valen left Hercules to graze amongst the scattered stones and led Elizabeth through the crumbling castle to the eastern curtain wall. He hoisted himself up onto the thick ledge and looked out over the vista. “Climb up. From here you can almost see the channel.”
She glanced skeptically at the worn stone ridge and muttered, “Ladies do not climb...”
He didn’t hear the rest. “Are you not the lass who spread her wings from the roof? Come. At the highest point, it is only five or six feet off the ground. Never mind, I’ll come and help you.”
A fatal mistake.
Valen leapt down, lifted her up onto a lower section, and then jumped up onto the wall beside her. Holding Elizabeth’s hand, he tread carefully across the precipice. She hesitated before every step, testing each stone for stability, her arm, stiff and tense, shook as she climbed higher.
“You’re trembling.” It surprised him that she of all people should she find this difficult.
Her gaze flitted briefly from the ground to his face. “Ever since that day...”
“Ah.” He nodded, contemplating the fact that although she’d dared to fly she’d also fallen. “Then I won’t press you to go any farther.” He steadied her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “If you can, look out at the horizon. There.” He pointed east in the direction of the sea.
The land sloped in series of swells and tables until, miles away, it met the water. He loved this place. When he was young he’d stared for hours at that distant sea, dreaming of the day he would sail away to the exotic places, places far away from the suffering of his parents.
“Perhaps if we sit, you will stop quaking.”
“I am not quaking.” Her relentless pride in the face of the obvious was a marvel.
“Of course not. Begging your pardon, I am the one nearly shaking the wall apart.”
“Very well, then. For your sake, I will sit.” She cautiously eased down onto the wall and seemed to breathe easier once she situated herself.
They dangled their legs over the precipice, gazing out over the lands below. She relaxed enough that he even saw her foot bounce contently.
“I must go back tomorrow.” He didn’t know why he brought it up now. But he wanted to make sure she knew he would be leaving her soon.
She bowed her head, studying the ground beneath them again. The little bounce in her foot stilled. “I thought you might.”
He had the ridiculous urge to gather her in his arms and reassure her. Naturally he didn’t succumb. “You will be safe here with my father. Perhaps you might do him some good.”
“It is my hope. Your aunt supplied me with some herbs that might help.”
He disliked hearing the bravado in her voice, the stalwart, chin-up tone he had come to recognize in her. He ignored it. “He will do well with your company.”
She left off searching the horizon and turned to him, suddenly earnest. “Promise you will be cautious hunting Merót? She placed her hand on the stone beside his, her fingers resting on his thumb. “Promise.”
He couldn’t ignore the pleading in her expression. The randy stallion inside him sniffed the air. God help him, she had some sort of bewitching power over him. One minuscule touch, one caring glance...
He tried to make light of her concern. “I am always cautious.”
A bold-faced lie. Rash came more readily to mind. After all, if he were the cautious sort, he wouldn’t be sitting here atop an old ruin alone with a woman who made his blood pound like war drums through his veins.
The stallion in him pawed at the ground, straining at the bit. What harm would there be if he kissed her?
What harm, indeed? He could think of a hundred reasons why it would be a reckless, foolhardy, and altogether stupid thing to do. Still, he would leave tomorrow and wouldn’t see her for who knew how long.
He growled low in his throat. Valen had no patience for long internal debates
. He thrust the question into her hands. “I wish to kiss you.”
She put a hand to her breast and shook her head. “You are asking? How very out of character.”
What sort of reply was that? A challenge? A diversion? An evasive tactic? She would not escape so easily.
“And you, Elizabeth?” He didn’t touch her. Didn’t lean toward her mouth, but he did slowly peruse her lips. “Do you wish it?”
“I confess. I do not understand you, my lord.” She drew back, flustered, bristling. “One minute, you tell me that I am the antithesis of all you hold dear. And you declared it with considerable heat, I might add. And now? Now, you ask me if I wish to...” She stopped abruptly and stared at his mouth. Contemplating, he judged. “It is most confusing.”
“Hmm. Yes. It’s the wretched heat.” He allowed one side of his mouth to curl up in a sardonic grin. “Well, do you?”
“Do I what?” She cringed.
“You know perfectly well. Do you wish to kiss me?”
“The question itself is preposterous. After all your jibes, the insults, and lectures on the ignobility of my nobility—”
“Answer the question, Lady Elizabeth? Do you want me to, or not?”
“I don’t see that it matters.”
“Answer.”
“Why? So that you may chide me? Tell me what a poor example of virtue I am?”
“No. So that I may kiss you.”
“Do you mean to say you won’t if I say nay?”
“I make no promises.”
The breeze carried fine black strands of her hair and wrapped them around her cheek. Valen tucked them back behind her ear, gliding his fingertips across the smooth crest of her cheek. “Do you?” he whispered. Now he needed the answer as much as he needed to breathe. She had to want him. Had to! He couldn’t be the only one.
When she met his gaze, he had his answer. Clear blue eyes had never looked so hungry.
Nor so sweet.
Nor so innocent.
Or perplexed.
He groaned. Devil take it! He couldn’t make her answer now. He would hate himself for putting her to the test. Aside from that, the heat he had known before now seemed insignificant. That one small glance from her had jolted through him like a static charge, igniting fires he hadn’t known existed.
“You need not answer.” Valen swore under his breath. Reckless. Now he was the one confused. “It was a foolish question. I will take you back to the manor now.”
He jumped down from the wall and held out his arms to her. Elizabeth slid trustingly from the wall into his embrace. She didn’t leave her hands on his shoulders. Instead, she entwined them around his neck, resting her body against his and whispered huskily in his ear, “Yes.”
Then, she sought his lips, and he thought perhaps heaven had descended upon him, so sweet was her kiss.
He had no defence. The power of it all overwhelmed him. Never in his life had he wanted anything, or anyone, so much as he wanted her in that moment. At the same time, never had he been so willing to deny himself.
What was happening to him? Perhaps he had fallen ill and this was all a feverish delirium.
If she didn’t stop kissing him soon, it would be too late. The flimsy inkling of restraint he had left would dissolve.
Wild, untamed thoughts galloped through his head. Dizzy, breathing as if he’d just run down the hill and back again, Valen took her face in his hands. “Izzie, my sweet, there is not another woman in heaven or earth I would rather kiss. But if we do not leave now, well, then I cannot account for my lusty stallion.”
She blinked, failing to grasp his inanity. He grimaced, praying he wouldn’t have to explain.
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned in her pure blue eyes. “You’re worried about your horse running off.”
He tried not to let the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yes. That’s it.”
Her innocent disappointment tweaked his conscience, but he decided they would both fare better if he left the matter unexplained.
He lifted her onto Hercules’s back and held the reins, walking alongside them back to Ransley Keep. He couldn’t ride behind her, holding her as he had. Her scent alone would drive him to madness. So, for the sake of his sanity and her virtue, they had a long quiet stroll back to the manor. During which time Valen pondered the complexity of a God who would create such an ironic paradox as to make him fall in love with a woman he could scarcely tolerate but did not want to live without.
18
Whatsoever Ye Sew, So Shall Ye Wear
“Remarkable.”
The butler stood very stiff and correct in the entry hall. “Yes, m’lord. The first time since Christmas, I believe.”
“You’re right.” Valen rubbed his chin. “Are you certain he’s well enough?”
“It isn’t for me to say, m’lord. He wishes it.” The butler inclined his head and backed away.
Elizabeth and Valen had been greeted with the news that Lord Ransley intended to take his evening meal with all of them in the dining room and that he had even arranged for entertainment afterwards.
As they had journeyed back to the keep, Elizabeth had grown steadily more and more vexed. She brooded about the fact that her kisses had so little effect on Lord St. Evert that he preferred to attend to the welfare of his horse—a humiliating revelation. One which made Elizabeth question whether she had any power over men at all.
“And shall we dress?” she asked peevishly. “Or will you be appearing in your shirtsleeves?”
“I suppose that depends on whether the servants have been able to scrub your slobber out from my dress shirt.”
Callous of him to remind her of that, but, oh so very typical. Well, he needn’t have bothered. She refused to allow him to discomfit her any further. “I’m certain you must have others.”
“I might. But I liked that one.”
Relentless goad. She elevated her chin and shrugged. “You may wear whatever you choose. It makes absolutely no difference to me.”
“Absolutely none?” He bowed. “Why, thank you, your majesty. Your forbearance is a marvel.”
Would that he thought her beauty was a marvel, but of course, he had proved immune to that sort of thing. He preferred to tease her and test her. Well, she’d had enough. “Kindly direct me to the kitchen.” She needed to put the herbs into storage.
“The kitchen?” He feigned shock. “Oh, but surely a great lady such as yourself ought not—”
“Very well.” She shoved the bag of garlic and various other pungent plants at her court jester. “You take them, and see that you put them away properly.”
He straightened and refused to take the bag from her, quirking up one side of his cheek. “Down the rear stairwell, turn left, and you will undoubtedly collide with several members of the kitchen staff—all anxious to do your bidding.”
“Thank you.” She spun on her heel and walked away from him, making certain she did not sway her hips. Such a thing would be wasted on him. Well... perhaps a little sway in one’s walk was perfectly natural, as long as one did it gracefully. She glanced back over her shoulder and was rewarded with his wickedly mocking grin.
* * *
Later, in the privacy of her room she sorted through her gowns and laid out three on her bed. Which one was most suitable for a viscount’s table? Which was her most attractive? It ought not be a difficult decision given the fact that there were only three suitable gowns, and one Valen had already seen. Indeed, he had a coat that matched it superbly. Well, perhaps ‘superb’ wasn’t an apt description. And, in actuality, he no longer had the coat. She did. Nevertheless, the point stood. That particular gown was out.
Servants entered, carrying a luxurious copper tub, and filled it with buckets of invitingly warm water. As soon as they left, Elizabeth disrobed and stepped in, gliding comfortably into the heavenly warmth, sinking up to her chin in it, rinsing off the grime of the past two days and lolling her head back to rest. As her muscles began to loosen, she glanced over t
o the bed and considered the gowns.
Glittering gold silk or the rather plain lavender? Don’t be silly. What does it matter? It’s a simple family dinner, not a London ball. Aside from that, who did she seek to impress? Certainly not him. Not Valen. Heavens no!
Not only was he a rascal bent on bedeviling her at every turn, but he probably hadn’t enough money to pay off her father’s old tailoring bill, much less set her younger sisters up for a season or have the roof mended. The farrier, some servants, and a few others had been compensated by the sale of their livestock. Even so, there remained a heavy stack of bills yet to meet, and she sincerely doubted Lord St. Insulting had a large enough allowance to cover it.
That settled the matter. She was a pauper. As such she would dress humbly in the pale purple silk. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub, commanding herself to relax. It felt delicious to bathe after such a tedious morning.
Tedious, yes, that was it. Tedious to have his arms around her. Tedious, to be kissed in such a manner. Except he hadn’t kissed her. She had kissed him. Elizabeth opened her eyes and frowned, unable to relax any longer.
“The wretch.” She slapped at the bath water sending a spray splashing out onto the stone floor.
* * *
They gathered in the great hall. Servants carried Lord Ransley down in an invalid’s chair and wheeled him into their midst. His brown wispy hair was coifed perfectly, and if one overlooked the white cast of his complexion, he looked quite elegant in a blue superfine coat.
Elizabeth curtseyed.
He waved her up. “And my son? I thought surely he would be down before me.”
“Better not have gone off riding again,” Lady Alameda warned the absent Valen with considerable irritation. “Or I’ll ring a bell over his head he won’t soon forget.”
“Peal,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Precisely. I’ll peel back his ears.” But before the countess could peel or pin anyone’s ears, Valen descended the stairs.
Elizabeth’s heart thumped up into her neck. His hair had been cut short. He wore a waistcoat made of a subtle gold brocade, and his black cutaway was tailored so exquisitely that every Corinthian in London would be envious. Elizabeth remembered to breathe at the same time she realized she’d selected the wrong dress. She would appear a dull country mouse, and he a sophisticated paragon.
Cut from the Same Cloth Page 13
