throat. "I hope ye can convince yerself."
Nick gave him a brief sidelong glance, stepped out in the hall, and closed the door behind him. Elias was right. As bad as he felt about taking advantage of Elizabeth the other night, he still wanted her. Now more than ever. Dammit to hell, if only he could send her away, get her out of his life, out of his blood. But he couldn't do that, at least not yet. Thank God the Season was fast approaching. Sydney Birdsall would already be compiling a list of eligible bachelors, suitable choices from which Elizabeth could find a husband.
In the meantime, he would simply stay away from her, do what he had been doing for the past nine years.
Soothe his appetites somewhere else.
The conservatory was humid and warm, a tall glass- enclosed structure sitting off at one end of the house. It wasn't a place he frequented, since he preferred the out-of-doors, but his mother had always enjoyed it. The last time he had been there, it was badly overgrown. He had meant to order the dead foliage stripped away and something green planted in its stead. He had never quite got round to it.
Now, as he pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Barnaby Engles, his chief gardener, furiously pulling weeds, tossing them into a growing pile at his feet. Elizabeth worked a few yards away, carefully scraping the dead leaves from the soil at the base of a row of miniature orange trees.
Nick watched her a moment then made his way in that direction, stopping directly in front of her. When she still didn't see him, he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, nervous all of a sudden.
"I can see that you are busy. I'm sorry to intrude, but I was hoping I might have a word with you."
She brushed the dirt from the front of her simple blue gown, her face flushed with a hint of embarrassment that he had found her working on her hands and knees. "Of course, my lord."
He waited while she washed in a rusted bucket of water and dried her hands on a scrap of linen, then allowed her to walk in front of him out of the conservatory and back inside the house. He motioned her into a small salon he called the Quiet Room and softly closed the door.
Elizabeth waited for his direction, then took a seat in an overstuffed dark green velvet chair. Nick sat down in a carved wooden chair across from her.
He drew in a steadying breath. "This isn't easy for me, Elizabeth. I'm not a man used to making apologies, but the fact is, as much as I hate to admit it, I owe you one."
Her head came up. Color seeped into her cheeks. "That is the reason you brought me here?"
"Yes. I was out of line the other night. I was completely in the wrong and I am sorry. My only excuse is the fear I experienced when I saw what those men were trying to do. I was angry at myself for letting it happen and angry at you for putting yourself in danger."
She kept her eyes trained on his face, but her hands were clenched tightly together. "We were both of us upset. I was frightened; you were angry. It was really no one's fault."
Nick shook his head. "I took advantage. What happened between us should never have occurred. I'm your guardian. I am older, and obviously I should be—"
"You are not all that much older, my lord. And if you think I see you as some sort of father figure, you are quite mistaken."
For a long time he said nothing, but he couldn't help wondering just how Elizabeth Woolcot did see him.
"Your rescue was most timely. You were quite brave and I have been meaning to thank you."
"Thank me? Make no mistake, Elizabeth. You owe me no thanks. All I ask is that you forget what happened between us."
She glanced down, studied the smattering of freckles on the backs of her hands. Slender hands, long-fingered and graceful. "No one has ever kissed me that way," she said. "I doubt I shall ever forget it."
Nick felt a surge of heat at the back of his neck. It traveled through his limbs and settled low in his groin. He doubted he
Nick gave him a brief sidelong glance, stepped out in the hall, and closed the door behind him. Elias was right. As bad as he felt about taking advantage of Elizabeth the other night, he still wanted her. Now more than ever. Dammit to hell, if only he could send her away, get her out of his life, out of his blood. But he couldn't do that, at least not yet. Thank God the Season was fast approaching. Sydney Birdsall would already be compiling a list of eligible bachelors, suitable choices from which Elizabeth could find a husband.
In the meantime, he would simply stay away from her, do what he had been doing for the past nine years.
Soothe his appetites somewhere else.
The conservatory was humid and warm, a tall glass- enclosed structure sitting off at one end of the house. It wasn't a place he frequented, since he preferred the out-of-doors, but his mother had always enjoyed it. The last time he had been there, it was badly overgrown. He had meant to order the dead foliage stripped away and something green planted in its stead. He had never quite got round to it.
Now, as he pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Barnaby Engles, his chief gardener, furiously pulling weeds, tossing them into a growing pile at his feet. Elizabeth worked a few yards away, carefully scraping the dead leaves from the soil at the base of a row of miniature orange trees.
Nick watched her a moment then made his way in that direction, stopping directly in front of her. When she still didn't see him, he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, nervous all of a sudden.
"I can see that you are busy. I'm sorry to intrude, but I was hoping I might have a word with you."
She brushed the dirt from the front of her simple blue gown, her face flushed with a hint of embarrassment that he had found her working on her hands and knees. "Of course, my lord."
He waited while she washed in a rusted bucket of water and dried her hands on a scrap of linen, then allowed her to walk in front of him out of the conservatory and back inside the house. He motioned her into a small salon he called the Quiet Room and softly closed the door.
Elizabeth waited for his direction, then took a seat in an overstuffed dark green velvet chair. Nick sat down in a carved wooden chair across from her.
He drew in a steadying breath. "This isn't easy for me, Elizabeth. I'm not a man used to making apologies, but the fact is, as much as I hate to admit it, I owe you one."
Her head came up. Color seeped into her cheeks. "That is the reason you brought me here?"
"Yes. I was out of line the other night. I was completely in the wrong and I am sorry. My only excuse is the fear I experienced when I saw what those men were trying to do. I was angry at myself for letting it happen and angry at you for putting yourself in danger."
She kept her eyes trained on his face, but her hands were clenched tightly together. "We were both of us upset. I was frightened; you were angry. It was really no one's fault."
Nick shook his head. "I took advantage. What happened between us should never have occurred. I'm your guardian. I am older, and obviously I should be—"
"You are not all that much older, my lord. And if you think I see you as some sort of father figure, you are quite mistaken."
For a long time he said nothing, but he couldn't help wondering just how Elizabeth Woolcot did see him.
"Your rescue was most timely. You were quite brave and I have been meaning to thank you."
"Thank me? Make no mistake, Elizabeth. You owe me no thanks. All I ask is that you forget what happened between us."
She glanced down, studied the smattering of freckles on the backs of her hands. Slender hands, long-fingered and graceful. "No one has ever kissed me that way," she said. "I doubt I shall ever forget it."
Nick felt a surge of heat at the back of his neck. It traveled through his limbs and settled low in his groin. He doubted he
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