Silver Splendor by Olivia Drake Page B

his true feelings.
    The recital ended and Marianne demurely accepted her compliments. Elizabeth managed to maintain a civil smile even as Lord Nicholas kissed the girl’s hand. When at last they stood in the marble foyer after saying good night to the Meltons, Elizabeth took a deep breath to ease her trepidation. His false presentation of her background still rankled. She would confront the earl now, before this charade got out of hand.
    Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Lord Hawkesford, I wonder if you would be so kind as to show me where I’ll be working?”
    “Don’t bother the earl with trivialities,” Lady Beatrice said. “A servant can direct you in the morning. Come along now, Miss Hastings.”
    “No.” Lord Nicholas’s quiet voice echoed through the huge room. “You and Cicely go on upstairs. I believe Miss Hastings has something she’d like to discuss with me.”
    Lady Beatrice had no choice but to obey. Pursing her lips in disapproval, she started up the curving staircase. Cicely, looking mystified and curious, trailed her aunt.
    Elizabeth watched until they disappeared through the opulent doorway at the head of the stairs. Her heart surged as she turned to see the earl gazing at her. Something gleamed in his eyes, something warm and intriguing that she could not quite identify… something that made a delicious shiver scuttle over her skin.
    “Shall we?” he said.
    He offered her his arm. Forcing a smile, she clasped his hard muscles. Lord Nicholas led her through a dizzying maze of hallways until at last they arrived at a room shrouded in shadows. As he struck a match to light the lamps, Elizabeth breathed in the musky damp scents of earth and plants. That curious combination of alarm and excitement rippled through her again.
    They were alone.
     

Chapter 7
    He had her all to himself. Lighting the gas jets, Nicholas felt an unexpected rush of elation. Though the muffled chime of the library clock tolled the hour of one, he felt vital and invigorated. The evening had been interminable, the company of his aunt’s friends tedious. Weary of acting the gentleman, weary of trying to find something interesting about the giggly Marianne, he’d spent the time comparing her dull personality to Elizabeth’s sparkling wit.
    With a flick of his wrist Nicholas doused the match and dropped it into an empty clay pot. Turning, he saw Elizabeth gazing intently at him. His blood surged in response to her frank stare. There was nothing coy about her, nothing artificial. Even in that high necked evening dress, with her black curls tamed into a ladylike chignon, she had a luster of life about her, an irresistible newness that reached out to him.
    Seeing the determined look in her eyes, he knew she meant to start another argument. “So, what do you think?” he asked, to delay her.
    She blinked. “About what?”
    Nicholas made a sweeping gesture. “Does the room meet with your approval?”
    “My approval?” Elizabeth looked startled, as if she’d never expected him to seek her opinion.
    She twirled to examine the conservatory. Wonderment crept over her face, making her eyes shine and her lips part. Nicholas experienced the curious sensation of seeing the room through the freshness of her gaze: the steep pitched roof of darkened glass panes, the fanlight windows and Doric columns, the deep shadowy niches overgrown with greenery, the silent fountain topped by a stone satyr.
    She clasped a hand to her bosom, drawing his eyes to the fine shape of her breasts. “It’s magnificent. Like a Grecian temple.”
    He felt ridiculously pleased. “My father had the conservatory built for my mother. She raised camellias here.”
    Elizabeth bent to touch a glossy green leaf. “Does no one care for them anymore?
    “When my mother died not long after Cicely’s birth, my father ordered the room closed. The servants keep the plants watered, but…” How could he explain the tender devotion the cold and reserved Justin Ware