Almost Heaven Read online

  “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.”