Emily Hendrickson by Elizabeths Rake Page B

cooled my fevered brow last evening, I slept like an infant. I feel certain that your ministrations did more than that vile brew Purvis poured down my throat.” He behaved as though he had bested her again, with an odious grin on his face.
    Elizabeth firmed her mouth, thinking of the dire things she would like to do to his lordship—like boiling him in oil, or something equally lovely. Her mind flashed to the nasty little comment he made the night before, saying that he could do worse than to marry her. Ohhhh, that abominable male conceit of his. It was not enough that he had to be the most handsome man about, but he must tease her into a muddled heap of sensibilities.
    What a lowering reflection to be considered as nothing more than a passable connection. Well, she would just keep that lovely music box he gave her last evening. If she must end up on the shelf, the lovely tinkling music would serve to remind her how she got there. She surveyed the gentleman across from her coolly.
    “Forgive me for my concern. You seemed a bit pulled this morning, and I naturally believed you to be suffering from the effects of your wound. ‘Tis unlike you to look so weak and worried.” She bestowed a sugary smile on him, demurely folding her hands in her lap. It was as well, for she dearly wished to punch him on the jaw, as her brother had taught her years before.
    Leighton’s gaze narrowed, and that devilish smile disappeared. Uncertainty flared in his hazel eyes for a moment, much to her satisfaction. Oh, to strike a blow against all gentlemen who delighted in teasing poor defenseless girls! She quite forgot her lethal little gun that had wreaked such disaster on his lordship two nights ago.
    “I declare, sir,” she continued sweetly, “I hope you intend to go straight to your bed when we arrive at your home. It would be dreadful if you took a turn for the worse, what with being your father’s only heir and all.”
    He frowned at her, and Elizabeth repressed a smile.
    “I believe there are a number of hopefuls in the offing, in the event I go aloft without an heir of my own,” he replied in a repressive tone.
    It would serve him right if—after she gave him the mitten quite properly—he was unable to find a woman who’d accept him. For that matter, could he ever be serious long enough to make a suitable offer? Casting a doubtful look at him, she decided he would most likely tease his way into marriage, as he did other things. Providing, of course, that he ever got around to it. She’d wager that marriage was not high on his list of things to do.
    “Children,” began Lady Montmorcy in her most quelling manner, “I believe you had best cease this sparring. Lord Leighton, I should like to know more about this illness that has struck your father.”
    “Dashed odd thing,” Leighton replied. “My father has always been healthy, never sick a day. And then, little by little he became ill, and before long he was in bed, feeling wretched.”
    Elizabeth noted his apparently sincere worry, and reflected that there definitely seemed to be a serious side to Lord Leighton, or David, as he had insisted she call him. She was skeptical as to how deeply it ran.
    “I recall Crompton as being fit as a fiddle,” Aunt Bel commented as she stared off into space. “Always on the go with the goers, and never one to malinger.” She shook her head in dismay. “Puzzling.”
    “Quite so, Lady Montmorcy,” Leighton said in that persuasive manner he possessed in such abundance. “That is why I hoped to enlist Elizabeth’s help. There appears to be a mystery here. She performed noteworthy assistance to the government, and may still be engaged in helping their efforts, for all I know. At any rate, since we are betrothed, it would be acceptable for her to spend time at Penhurst Place assisting me, would it not?”
    Aunt Bel frowned slightly, then her brow cleared. “I believe it would be most proper. After all, she did you an injustice,