The Lady Confesses. Carole Mortimer

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?’

      She gave an inelegant snort. ‘Of course I do not.’

      ‘Then why object to my calling you Elizabeth?’

      ‘Because you did not ask, my lord, you told.’ There was the heat of anger in her voice.

      ‘Very well.’ Nathaniel gave a slight inclination of his head. ‘May I address you as Elizabeth when we are alone?’

      ‘No!’ she obviously took great delight in denying him.

      ‘Now you are just being deliberately difficult,’ he rasped impatiently. ‘Is all this indignation because I told Tennant that you are employed by my aunt?’

      Elizabeth stiffened. ‘Why should I be in the least concerned at your having stated the truth?’

      ‘I have no idea, I only know that—damn it to hell!’ Nathaniel had turned to take a firm grasp of Elizabeth’s arms, only to then draw his breath in sharply as the agony in his chest caused him to abruptly release her and fight back the urge to double over with the pain.

      ‘My lord?’ Elizabeth was full of concern as she turned to him in the darkness.

      ‘I apologise for my language,’ Nathaniel grated through clenched teeth as he slowly straightened.

      ‘Never mind that now.’ She gave an agitated shake of her head, dark curls bouncing beneath her bonnet. ‘You have hurt yourself again—’

      ‘I have merely exacerbated the original injury,’ he corrected, jaw tightly clamped to ward off the pain. ‘Owing, no doubt, to the fact that I had to step in and save you from your own recklessness!’

      Her indignation returned. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I expected at any moment to see you trampled to death beneath the horse’s hooves.’ Nathaniel glared down at her accusingly. ‘What on earth did you think you were about, leaping into the fray in that way?’

      ‘I assure you I knew exactly what I was doing.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Nathaniel scorned.

      ‘I was put upon my first horse at the age of—’ She broke off abruptly, lips closing firmly together as she realised she had said too much.

      Or not enough, Nathaniel thought with considerable frustration. If it should turn out that Elizabeth Thompson was the daughter of some minor and impoverished gentleman, as he