The Lady Confesses

What had she—?

‘Hector …?’ Too late Elizabeth realised she must have let loose the little dog’s lead as they kissed, and that Hector, barking somewhere far in the distance, had not only wandered off, but already been swallowed up into the darkness.

Chapter Three

‘You are to blame for this!’ she gasped furiously.

‘I was not the one so taken up with our kisses that I allowed my charge to wander off,’ Nathaniel reminded her grimly as the two of them hurried along the darkened cliff path in pursuit of the mischievous little dog. Or, at least, Elizabeth hurried; Nathaniel’s normal strides were still more than a match for hers.

‘I was not—Hector! Hector!—so taken up with them, either!’ She glared up at him accusingly as she continued to call for her charge. ‘If you had not—Hector! Hector!—taken liberties—Hector!—’

‘A word of caution, Elizabeth—’ Nathaniel de cided to interrupt what appeared to be warming up to a tirade worthy of his aunt when she had worked herself into an indignant lather ‘—the smugglers in this area are very real. And if some of them should be abroad at this time …’

‘I believe you are merely trying to frighten me, my lord.’

‘And why on earth should I wish to do that?’ he enquired mildly.

‘No doubt because you take some sort of dubious pleasure in doing so,’ Elizabeth retorted, having had more than enough of this man’s nonsense for one evening, of one type or another … ‘And I have no intention of being frightened by myth and legend—’ She broke off abruptly as she once again heard Hector barking in the distance.

A bark that was accompanied by a sharp command closely followed by the snorting and whinnying of an obviously disturbed and unsettled horse!

‘Hector!’ Elizabeth gasped before running forwards into the darkness.

Nathaniel hurried after her, his heart seeming to stop beating in his chest as he saw Elizabeth hurtling headlong towards where Hector could be seen barking up at a huge and ghostly pale horse that snorted and showed the whites of its eyes as it danced precariously close to the edge of the cliff, resisting all of its rider’s efforts to regain control as it reared up on its back legs.

‘Quiet, Hector!’ Nathaniel rasped at the same time as Elizabeth grasped hold of the horse’s reins, talking soothingly as it came down on all four dancing—and lethally dangerous—hooves in front of her, eyes wild, nostrils flaring as it continued to snort and prance despite the dog having now been rendered silent. ‘Get control, man!’ Nathaniel instructed the black-clad rider harshly, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he stepped forwards to take a firm grasp of the horse’s bridle.

Held captive on both sides, the grey finally began to calm. ‘There’s a good lad,’ Elizabeth crooned soothingly as she stroked and petted the horse’s silky neck. ‘Good boy. Good lad,’ she continued admiringly as the hose became calmer by the second. ‘There’s a fine fellow.’

Nathaniel decided he would deal with Miss Elizabeth Thompson’s recklessness in approaching a rearing horse later, instead concentrating his not inconsiderable wrath upon the rider of the horse as the man slid smoothly down from the saddle to stand beside him on the pathway. ‘What did you think you were doing, man?’ he demanded forcefully as he maintained a hold upon the bridle of the still-skittish horse.

‘What did I—?’ That gentleman seemed momentarily at a loss for words. ‘If you had not allowed your wretched dog loose to startle Starlight, then none of this would have happened!’

Elizabeth was very aware—the slight upon Hector aside—that the gentleman’s accusation was a merited one. ‘I am afraid that was my fault, sir.’ The pale oval of the man’s face turned sharply in her direction. ‘I inadvertently allowed Hector’s leash to slip through my fingers, and in doing so obviously caused—’

‘Who are you?’ the man demanded sharply, his black cloak billowing gently about him in the darkness, his tall hat having also somehow remained secure upon his head. Elizabeth was startled by the intensity of the question. ‘I am Eliza—Betsy Thompson, sir. And I sincerely apologise if I have caused you and your horse any distress. I am afraid I was momentarily—distracted, and allowed Hector to escape.’ She scowled at the reason for that distraction.

‘Eliza Thompson, you say?’ that gentleman prompted tersely.

‘Elizabeth. But I am called Betsy,’ she said. ‘I trust you and Starlight have suffered no harm, sir?’

‘I cannot vouch for that until I have Starlight back in his stable and a lantern to see by,’ the man growled.

‘Is that you, Tennant?’ Nathaniel asked suddenly.

‘My name is Sir Rufus Tennant, yes.’ The other man eyed him down the length of his nose. ‘And you are …?’

‘Osbourne.’

That single name had the desired effect as some of the tension appeared to leave the other gentleman’s broad shoulders. ‘Nathaniel Thorne?’

‘Just so,’ the earl confirmed tersely.

‘You are staying at Hepworth Manor with your aunt?’

‘Obviously,’ Nathaniel said drily. ‘What on earth are you about riding the cliff-top in the dark, Tennant?’

‘A gentleman does not discuss his night-time pursuits in front of a lady, Osbourne.’ Sir Rufus Tennant sounded ruefully amused.

And so leaving Elizabeth, as she knelt on the ground stroking the heavily panting Hector, in some doubts as to whether he was involved in smuggling, after all, or was simply a gentlemen returning from a lovers’ tryst.

‘You surprise me, Tennant …’ Nathaniel murmured slowly, obviously believing it to be the latter.

‘Indeed?’ the other man came back coolly.

‘I believe it is time we were returning to Hepworth Manor, my lord.’ Elizabeth straightened, Hector’s leash once more safely secure in her hand.

‘Introduce the two of us, Osbourne,’ the other man instructed curtly.

‘Betsy Thompson. Sir Rufus Tennant.’ The earl’s terseness was evidence of his irritation at the other man’s high-handedness.

‘Miss Thompson.’ Sir Rufus Tennant sketched her a bow. ‘Do I have your permission to call upon you tomorrow?’

Elizabeth was rendered momentarily speechless for the second time in the past few minutes. That Sir Rufus believed her to be a guest at Mrs Wilson’s home was obvious. That she was not was made glaringly obvious to Elizabeth as Nathaniel answered the other man.

‘Miss Thompson is my aunt’s companion, and will no doubt be busy about her duties if you should decide to call tomorrow,’ he bit out harshly. ‘But I am sure Mrs Wilson will be only too pleased to receive you.’

Elizabeth, although aware that Sir Rufus’s searching gaze was still fixed firmly upon her, remained stoically and uncomfortably silent, having been reminded all too forcibly that companions to wealthy ladies did not receive visits from titled gentlemen.

‘Are you going to remain silent for the whole of our walk back to Hepworth Manor, too?’ Nathaniel snapped, his ribs now aching abominably from the force necessary to quieten Tennant’s mount, an ache not helped in the least by the quickness of the pace Elizabeth had set for the both of them. No doubt in her hurry to be free of his company!

‘I had thought you would prefer it, my lord,’ she responded. ‘I am sure that the tedious chattering of a mere lady’s companion would grate upon a gentleman’s nerves!’ she obviously could not resist adding waspishly.

Once again Nathaniel was alerted to the contradictions that surrounded this young woman. That Tennant had also believed her to be a lady of quality from the mere sound of her voice had been obvious from his request to call upon her tomorrow—a request Nathaniel had found not in the least pleasing! Any more than Elizabeth had obviously found the sharpness of his reply to Tennant to her liking.

‘I do not find the chattering of this particular lady’s companion in the least tedious,’ Nathaniel admitted.

Glittering blue eyes were turned to him in the darkness. ‘I find that very hard to believe, my lord!’

‘Why is that, Elizabeth?’

‘I have told you not to—’

‘And I have told you that when we are alone I have every intention of addressing you as Elizabeth.’

She gave him an exasperated glance. ‘And as I am employed by your aunt I am to have no say in the matter?’

He gave a shrug. ‘Do you prefer the name of Betsy?’