Free The Lady Confesses by Carole Mortimer Page A

these past two days that she could be extremely evasive when she chose to be. Not that he had deliberately sought out her company during that time—he had decided it was becoming too much of a habit to kiss her whenever they happened to find themselves alone together. But still, it was impossible not to notice that she avoided his company as if he were possessed of the plague.
    He gave every appearance now of considering the three young ladies who stood together across the room, although inwardly he found the style of their gowns over-fussy, and the constant giggling and surreptitious glances levelled in his direction extremely irritating. ‘Perhaps Miss Rutledge is the most sensible of the three,’ he finally allowed drily.
    Elizabeth looked faintly surprised. ‘And is sensibility a quality you require in a wife?’
    Nathaniel knew he had been the one to introduce the subject this evening, but even so he found it strangely distasteful to discuss the merits, or otherwise, of any future wife he might choose with a young woman he had kissed with passion on more than one occasion.
    Luckily he was saved discussing that subject further as his gaze narrowed on the man now striding purposefully across the room. ‘I see Tennant has arrived at last and is even now making his way determinedly to your side,’ he drawled derisively, the older man’s progress not as straightforward as he would have wished, as neighbours who had not seen him at a social occasion of this type for years insisted on engaging him in conversation.
    Elizabeth, having also noted Sir Rufus’s arrival, had been madly occupied in thinking of ways in which she might avoid him. But with Lord Thorne’s mockery so evident she had a complete reversal of feelings and instead bestowed the warmest of smiles upon the other man as he finally reached her side—not looking anywhere near as resplendent at the earl, of course, but tolerably attractive, none the less, in his black tailored evening clothes and snowy-white, if less fashionable, shirt and necktie.
    ‘How lovely to see you again, Sir Rufus.’ She gave an elegant curtsy as he turned to her after bowing abruptly to Lord Thorne. ‘And I must thank you once again for the beautiful roses you sent me yesterday.’ Elizabeth did not need to actually look at the earl to be aware of his start of surprise. Obviously the arrival of yesterday’s roses had escaped his attention. ‘I have them up in my room in the hopes they will last all the longer,’ she added with deliberate sweetness.
    ‘I grew them myself in my hothouse at Gifford House,’ Sir Rufus informed her huskily, obviously pleased at her comments.
    Nathaniel did not care if the man had given birth to the blooms himself—sending roses to a young woman he had only known a matter of days was surely unacceptable? Unless, of course, Tennant’s intentions towards Elizabeth really were serious…
    ‘Such perfect white buds,’ Elizabeth continued.
    White roses? Tennant had sent Elizabeth white roses? As a sign of the purity with which he regarded her, perhaps? Good God, whoever would have guessed that Tennant was a romantic?
    Nathaniel could not even remember the last time he had sent a woman flowers. Or, indeed, if he ever had; women tended to take things like that completely out of context, to read emotions into such gestures that simply did not exist.
    That Elizabeth had taken those blooms up to the privacy of her bedchamber would seem to indicate that she was not immune to such a gesture, either, even if that gesture had been made by an old stick-in-the-mud like Tennant.
    ‘I believe your aunt is signalling that it is time for you to escort her in to dinner, Osbourne,’ that stick-in-the-mud informed him loftily at the same time as he offered Elizabeth his own arm.
    Leaving Nathaniel with no other choice but to respond to his aunt’s tacit request that he do the same for her. But not quite yet… ‘My aunt tells me there is to be dancing after