“Well,” Elizabeth burst out in defense of her actions with the gun, “you were extremely disagreeable!”
“I am still disagreeable,” he pointed out shortly, ignoring Elizabeth’s raised brows. “I haven’t changed. I am not the one who’s suddenly oozing goodwill this morning.”
Elizabeth turned her head to the lane, trying desperately to think of an explanation that wouldn’t reveal to him her humiliating circumstances.
“The silence is deafening, Lady Cameron, and somewhat surprising. As I recall, the last time we met you could scarcely contain all the edifying information you were trying to impart to me.” Elizabeth knew he was referring to her monologue on the history of hyacinths in the greenhouse. “I just don’t know where to begin,” she admitted.
“Let’s stick to the salient points. What are you doing here?”
“That’s a little awkward to explain,” Elizabeth said. So off balance from his reference to the hyacinths was she that her mind went blank, and she said disjointedly, “My uncle is acting as my guardian now. He is childless, so everything he has will go to my child. I can’t have any until I’m married, and he wants the matter settled with the least possible exp—lime, “she amended hastily. “He’s an impatient man, and he thinks I’ve taken too long to—well, settle down. He doesn’t completely understand that you can’t just pick out a few people and force someone—me—to make a choice from them.”
“May I ask why the hell he would think I have any desire to marry you?”
Elizabeth wished she could sink into the ground and disappear. “I think,” she said, choosing her words with great care in hope of preserving what little was left of her pride, “it was because of the duel. He heard about it and misunderstood what precipitated it. I tried to convince him it was merely a—a weekend flirtation, which of course it was— but he would not listen. He’s rather stubborn and—well, old,” she finished lamely. “In any case, when your message arrived inviting Lucinda and me to join you, he made me come here.”
“It’s a shame you wasted a trip, but it’s hardly a tragedy. You can turn around and go right back.”
She bent down, feigning absorption in picking up a twig and inspecting it. “I was rather hoping that, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Lucinda and I could stay here for the agreed-upon time.”
“It’s out of the question,” he said curtly, and Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Besides, I seem to recall you were already betrothed the night we met—to a peer of the realm, no less.”
Angry, frightened, and mortified, Elizabeth nevertheless managed to lift her chin and meet his speculative gaze. “He—we decided we didn’t suit.”
“I’m sure you’re better off without him,” he mocked. “Husbands can be very disagreeable to wives who indulge in ‘weekend flirtations’ with clandestine visits to secluded cottages and dark greenhouses.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists, her eyes shooting green fire. “I did not invite you to meet me in that greenhouse, and you know it!”
He stared at her in bored disgust. “All right, let’s play this farce out to its revolting conclusion. If you didn’t send me a note, suppose you tell me what you were doing there.”
“I told you, I received a note, which I thought was from my friend, Valerie, and I went to the greenhouse to discover why she wanted to see me. I didn’t send you a note to meet me there, I received a note. Good God!” she exploded, almost stamping her foot in frustration when he continued to regard her with visible disbelief. “I was terrified of you that night!”
A poignant memory, as fresh as the moment it happened, came back to Ian . . . a bewitchingly lovely girl thrusting flowerpots into his hands to keep him from kissing her . . . and then, moments later, melting in his arms.
“Now do you believe me?”
Try as he might, Ian could not completely blame or acquit her. His instincts told him she was lying about something, keeping something back. Moreover, there was something very odd and entirely out of character in the way she seemed so eager to stay here. On the other hand, he knew desperation when he saw it, and for some incomprehensible reason Elizabeth Cameron seemed on the verge of desperation. “What I believe doesn’t matter.” He broke off as the smell of smoke drifted into the yard from an open window and reached them both at the same time. “What the—” he began, already heading toward the house, with Elizabeth walking quickly beside him.
Ian opened the front door just as Jake came hurrying in from the back of the cottage.
“I got some milk—” Jake began, then he stopped abruptly as the stench hit him. His gaze snapped from Ian and Elizabeth, who were just rushing inside, to Lucinda, who was sitting exactly where she had been, serenely indifferent to the smell of burning bacon and incinerated eggs as she fanned herself with a black silk fan. “I took the liberty of removing the utensil from the stove,” she informed them. “However, I was not in time to save its contents, which I sincerely doubt were worth saving in any case.”
“Couldn’t you have moved ’em before they burned?” Jake burst out.
“I cannot cook, sir.”
“Can you smell?” Ian demanded.
“Ian, there’s nothing for it—I’ll have to ride to the village and hire a pair o’ wenches to come up here and get this place in order for us or we’ll starve.”
“My thoughts exactly!” Lucinda seconded promptly, already standing up. “I shall accompany you.”
“Whaat?” Elizabeth burst out.
“What? Why?” Jake echoed, looking balky.
“Because selecting good female servants is best done by a woman. How far must we go?”
If Elizabeth weren’t so appalled, she’d have laughed at Jake Wiley’s expression. “We can be back late this afternoon, assumin’ there’s anyone in the village to do the work. But I—”
“Then we’d best be about it.” Lucinda paused and turned to Ian, passing a look of calculating consideration over him; then she glanced at Elizabeth. Giving her a look that clearly said “Trust me and do not argue,” she said, “Elizabeth, if you would be so good as to excuse us, I’d like a word alone with Mr. Thornton.” With no choice but to do as bidden, Elizabeth went out the front door and stared in utter confusion at the trees, wondering what bizarre scheme Lucinda might have hatched to solve their problems.
In the cottage Ian watched through narrowed eyes as the gray-haired harpy fixed him with her basilisk stare. “Mr. Thornton,” she said finally, “I have decided you are a gentleman.”
She made that pronouncement as if she were a queen bestowing knighthood on a lowly, possibly undeserving serf. Fascinated and irritated at the same time, Ian leaned his hip against the table, waiting to discover what game she was playing by leaving Elizabeth alone here, unchaperoned. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said coolly. “What have I done to earn your good opinion?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said without hesitation. “I’m basing my decision on my own excellent intuitive powers and on the fact that you were born a gentleman.”
“What gave you that idea?” he inquired in a bored tone.
“I am not a fool. I’m acquainted with your grandsire, the Duke of Stanhope. I was a member of his niece’s household when news of your parents’ unsanctioned marriage caused a furor. Other, less informed persons may need to conjecture on your ancestry, but I do not. It’s apparent in your face, your height, your voice, even your mannerisms. You are his grandson.”
Ian was accustomed to having the English study his features circumspectly and, on rare occasions, to ask a probing question or two; he knew they wondered and debated and whispered among themselves, but it was the first time anyone had ever had the effrontery to tell him who he was. Reining in his mounting anger, he replied in a voice that implied she was deluding herself, “If you say so, it must be true.”
“That is exactly the sort of patronizing tone your grandfather would use,” she informed him on a note of pleased triumph. “However, that is not to the point.”
/> “May I inquire what is the point?” he snapped impatiently.
“Indeed you may,” Lucinda said, thinking madly for some way to prod him into remembering his long-ago desire for Elizabeth and to prick his conscience. “The point is that I am well apprised of all that transpired between Elizabeth and yourself when you were last together. I, however,” she decreed grandly, “am inclined to place the blame for your behavior not on a lack of character, but rather a lack of judgment.” He raised his brows but said nothing. Taking his silence as assent, she reiterated meaningfully, “A lack of judgment on both your parts.”
“Really?” he drawled.
“Of course,” she said, reaching out and brushing the dust from the back of a chair, then rubbing her fingers together and grimacing with disapproval. “What else except lack of judgment could have caused a seventeen-year-old girl to rush to the defense of a notorious gambler and bring down censure upon herself for doing it?”
“What indeed?” he asked with growing impatience.
Lucinda dusted off her hands, avoiding his gaze. “Who can possibly know except you and she? No doubt it was the same thing that prompted her to remain in the woodcutter’s cottage rather than leaving it the instant she discovered your presence.” Satisfied that she’d done the best she was able to on that score, she became brusque again—an attitude that was more normal and, therefore, far more convincing. “In any case, that is all water under the bridge. She has paid dearly for her lack of judgment, which is only right, and even though she is now in the most dire straits because of it, that, too, is justice.”
She smiled to herself when his eyes narrowed with what she hoped was guilt, or at least concern. His next words disabused her of that hope: “Madam, I do not have all day to waste in aimless conversation. If you have something to say, say it and be done!”
“Very well,” Lucinda said, gritting her teeth to stop herself from losing control of her temper. “My point is that it is my duty, my obligation to see to Lady Cameron’s physical well-being as well as to chaperon her. In this case, given the condition of your dwelling, the former obligation seems more pressing than the latter, particularly since it is obvious to me that the two of you are not in the least need of a chaperon to keep you from behaving with impropriety. You may need a referee to keep you from murdering each other, but a chaperon is entirely superfluous. Therefore, I feel duty-bound to now ensure that adequate servants are brought here at once. In keeping with that, I would like your word as a gentleman not to abuse her verbally or physically while I am gone. She has already been ill-used by her uncle. I will not permit anyone else to make this terrible time in her life more difficult than it already is.”
“Exactly what,” Ian asked in spite of himself, “do you mean by a ‘terrible time’?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss that, of course,” she said, fighting to keep her triumph from her voice. “I am merely concerned that you behave as a gentleman. Will you give me your word?”
Since Ian had no intention of laying a finger on her, or even spending time with her, he didn’t hesitate to nod. “She’s perfectly safe from me.”
“That is exactly what I hoped to hear,” Lucinda lied ruthlessly.
A few minutes later Elizabeth watched Lucinda emerge from the cottage with Ian, but there was no way to guess from their closed expressions what they’d discussed.
In fact, the only person betraying any emotion at all was Jake Wiley as he led two horses into the yard. And his face, Elizabeth noted with confusion—which had been stormy when he went off to saddle the horses—was now wreathed in a smile of unrestrained glee. With a sweep of his arm and a bow he gestured toward a swaybacked black horse with an old sidesaddle upon its back. “Here’s your mount, ma’am,” he told Lucinda, grinning. “His name’s Attila.”
Lucinda cast a disdainful eye over the beast as she transferred her umbrella to her right hand and pulled on her black gloves. “Have you nothing better?”
“No, ma’am. Ian’s horse has a hurt foot.”
“Oh, very well,” said Lucinda, walking briskly forward, but as she came within reach the black suddenly bared his teeth and lunged. Lucinda struck him between the ears with her umbrella without so much as a pause in her step. “Cease!” she commanded, and, ignoring the animal’s startled grunt of pain, she continued around to his other side to mount. “You brought it on yourself,” she told the horse as Jake held Attila’s head, and Ian Thornton helped her into the sidesaddle. The whites of Attila’s eyes showed as he warily watched her land in his saddle and settle herself. The moment Jake handed Lucinda the reins Attila began to leap sideways and twist around in restless annoyance. “I do not countenance ill-tempered animals,” she warned the horse in her severest tone, and when he refused to heed her and continued his threatening antics she hauled up sharply on his reins and simultaneously gave him a sharp jab in the flank with her umbrella. Attila let out a yelping complaint, broke into a quick, animated trot, and headed obediently down the drive.
“If that don’t beat all!” Jake said furiously, glowering after the pair, and then at Ian. “That animal doesn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty!” Without waiting for a reply Jake swung into his saddle and cantered down the lane after them.
Absolutely baffled over everyone’s behavior this morning, Elizabeth cast a puzzled, sideways glance at the silent man beside her, then gaped at him in amazement. The unpredictable man was staring after Lucinda, his hands shoved into his pockets, a cigar clamped between his white teeth, his face transformed by a sweeping grin. Drawing the obvious conclusion that these odd reactions from the men were somehow related to Lucinda’s skillful handling of an obstinate horse, Elizabeth commented, “Lucinda’s uncle raised horses, I believe.”
Almost reluctantly, Ian transferred his admiring gaze from Lucinda’s rigid back to Elizabeth. His brows rose. “An amazing woman,” he stated. “Is there any situation of which she can’t take charge?”
“None that I’ve ever seen,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle; then she felt self-conscious because his smile faded abruptly, and his manner became detached and cool.
Drawing a long breath, Elizabeth clasped her shaking hands behind her back and decided to try for a truce. “Mr. Thornton,” she began quietly, “must there be enmity between us? I realize my coming here is an . . . an inconvenience, but it was your fault . . . your mistake,” she corrected cautiously, “that brought us here. And you must surely see that we have been even more inconvenienced than you.” Encouraged by his lack of argument, she continued. “Therefore, the obvious solution is that we should both try to make the best of things.”
“The obvious solution,” he countered, “is that I should apologize for ‘inconveniencing’ you, and then you should leave as soon as I can get you to a carriage or a wagon.”
“I can’t!” she cried, fighting to recover her calm.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because—well—my uncle is a harsh man who won’t like having his instructions countermanded. I was supposed to stay a full sennight.”
“I’ll write him a letter and explain.”
“No!” Elizabeth burst out, imagining her uncle’s reaction if the third man also sent her packing straightaway. He was no fool. He’d suspect. “He’ll blame me, you see.”
Despite Ian’s resolution not to give a damn what her problems were, he was a little unnerved by her visible fright and by her description of her uncle as “harsh.” Based on her behavior two years ago, he had no doubt Elizabeth Cameron had done much to earn a well-deserved beating from her unfortunate guardian. Even so, Ian had no wish to be the cause of the old man laying a strap to that smooth white skin of hers. What had happened between them was folly on his part, but it had been over long ago. He was about to wed a beautiful, sensual woman who wanted him and who suited him perfectly. Why should he treat Elizabeth as if he harbored any feelings for her, including anger?
Elizabeth sensed that he was wavering a little, and she pressed
home her advantage, using calm reason: “Surely nothing that happened between us should make us behave badly to each other now. I mean, when you think on it, it was nothing to us but a harmless weekend flirtation, wasn’t it?”
“Obviously.”
“Neither of us was hurt, were we?”
“No.”
“Well then, there’s no reason why we should not be cordial to each other now, is there?” she demanded with a bright, beguiling smile. “Good heavens, if every flirtation ended in enmity, no one in the ton would be speaking to anyone else!”
She had neatly managed to put him in the position of either agreeing with her or else, by disagreeing, admitting that she had been something more to him than a flirtation, and Ian realized it. He’d guessed where her calm arguments were leading, but even so, he was reluctantly impressed with how skillfully she was maneuvering him into having to agree with her. “Flirtations,” he reminded her smoothly, “don’t normally end in duels.”
“I know, and I am sorry my brother shot you.”
Ian was simply not proof against the appeal in those huge green eyes of hers. “Forget it,” he said with an irritated sigh, capitulating to all she was asking. “Stay the seven days.”
Suppressing the urge to twirl around with relief, she smiled into his eyes. “Then could we have a truce for the time I’m here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
His brows lifted in mocking challenge. “On whether or not you can make a decent breakfast.”
“Let’s go in the house and see what we have.”
With Ian standing beside her Elizabeth surveyed the eggs and cheese and bread, and then the stove. “I shall fix something right up,” she promised with a smile that concealed her uncertainty.
“Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?” Ian asked, but she seemed so eager, and her smile was so disarming, that he almost believed she knew how to cook.
“I shall prevail, you’ll see,” she told him brightly, reaching for a wide cloth and tying it around her narrow waist.
Her glance was so jaunty that Ian turned around to keep himself from grinning at her. She was obviously determined to attack the project with vigor and determination, and he was equally determined not to discourage her efforts. “You do that,” he said, and he left her alone at the stove.