The Lady Confesses. Кэрол Мортимер
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foot or horse,’ he drawled ruefully.
‘Perhaps not,’ Elizabeth conceded with a smile. ‘I trust the rest of your journey home was uneventful?’
A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘I am sure I could find nothing in the least disturbing after our own … momentous meeting.’
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as she realised that Rufus Tennant was attempting to flirt with her. Not in the least practised or smoothly—as if it had been far too long since he had done such a thing—but nevertheless he was attempting to flatter her, at least. ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Sir Rufus.’
He attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps—’
‘How good to see you again, Tennant,’ Nathaniel greeted briskly as he entered the room to stride over to where the older man stood beside Elizabeth.
She had ample time, as the two men exchanged greetings, in which to note the contrasts between the two of them. Unfortunately to Sir Rufus’s detriment, she finally conceded grudgingly.
Nathaniel Thorne was probably ten years younger than Sir Rufus and possessed a vitality and smouldering good looks the older man so obviously lacked. Sir Rufus was dark where Lord Thorne was golden, and the younger man’s hair was styled in the latest fashion. Lord Thorne’s superfine hair was blond, and of a much more fashionable cut and with the same richness of colour as his eyes, its tailoring perfectly complimentary to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the long length of his legs encased in tan pantaloons above brown Hessians polished to such a degree it was almost possible to see one’s face in them, rather than dusty and mud-splattered as the older man’s now were.
All of which only succeeded in arousing Elizabeth’s sympathy for Sir Rufus’s more homely looks …
Nathaniel could almost pick the thoughts out of Elizabeth’s beautiful head as she looked at the two men from beneath the fan of her long, dark lashes. He sensed that she had compared the two of them, found Tennant wanting, but still preferred that gentleman’s company to Nathaniel’s own. Not surprising after the two of them had parted so at odds with each other the previous night!
He had given in to the temptation to kiss her once again—a kiss that should never have happened, he knew, but which had nevertheless kept him tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed for far longer than it should have done.
Admittedly it had been three weeks or more since Nathaniel had bedded a woman whilst visiting Gabriel at his palazzo in Venice, but even so merely kissing Elizabeth Thompson should not have affected him so deeply that he had been unable to dampen his arousal. Taking himself in hand to alleviate that arousal had not been in the least appealing, either, which was why Nathaniel did not feel in the best of humours this morning.
His temper had not been improved in the slightest upon entering his aunt’s drawing room a few minutes ago to find Tennant at the back of the room in private conversation with Elizabeth.
The fact that he had felt that way at all had only succeeded in increasing his irritation concerning this completely inappropriate attraction towards Elizabeth Thompson. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin my aunt, Tennant, and leave Miss Thompson to her needlework?’ he suggested coolly as Sewell entered with the tea tray.
The other man looked at him with the pale, cold blue eyes of a fish. ‘I—’
‘Yes, do come and join Letitia and me,’ his Aunt Gertrude invited lightly. ‘I can then extend an invitation to Sir Rufus for the dinner party we are to have on Saturday evening,’ she added warmly.
Tennant, although obviously displeased by the interruption, had no choice but to give a brief nod in Elizabeth’s direction before strolling over to sit with the two older women.
Leaving Nathaniel alone with a quietly displeased Elizabeth …
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