So Worthy My Love (3 page)

“Quentin!” she gasped in relief. “What are you doing here?”

Smiling down at her, he brought her slender fingers in warm contact with his full and generous lips. “You look most enchanting this evening, Cousin. Certainly none the worse for having avoided the malice of the Radbornes.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward teasingly. “My mother may never forgive my brothers for letting you get away.”

“How can you jest so easily about your kin?” Elise asked in amazement. “They meant to do me ill, and ‘twas a miracle I escaped.”

“Poor Forsworth is still smarting from that blow you smote against his head. He swears you hit him with a club, and of course Mother laid more upon him for turning his back to you.” Quentin sighed in mock sympathy and slowly shook his head. “The lad will never be the same. You quite addled him, I'm sure.”

“Lord
Forsworth, or so he has dubbed himself, was addled ere I touched him,” Elise derided. “Truly, I am much bemused that you came from the
same stock. ‘Tis evident you have risen far above your siblings in both wit and wisdom, not to mention good manners.”

Pressing his hand to the rich cloth of his doublet, Quentin bent forward slightly to acknowledge her compliment. “My gratitude, fair damsel. There are certain advantages of being the eldest. As you know, Father left me the family's country estate and wealth apart from Mother's. Such comforts allow me to separate myself from the rivalries and conspiracies of my family.”

Elise lifted her slim nose, denying any excusal for the faults of his kin. The widow and younger sons of Bardolf Radborne belonged to a haughty class of aristocrats who wielded their power as impartially as they would a heavy broadsword on a field of battle, hacking down with destructive blows any who stood in their way. “Uncle Bardolf was just as generous with Cassandra, and there was more than enough wealth to provide for your mother and brothers for some time to come. If her reserves are dwindling now, then her own foolishness caused the waste. She covets what my father set aside for me and claims it belongs to her sons as part of the Radborne inheritance, but a pox on her and your three brothers if they believe the lies she conjures. You know well enough that as second son, my father had to acquire his own fortune, so there is naught of ours that belongs to your family. If not for the fact they took me prisoner and tried to force me to tell where my father had hidden the gold, I'd be inclined to
think they were responsible for his abduction.”

Quentin's brow furrowed in museful consideration as he folded his hands behind his back “I agree. It seems unlikely they'd attempt to force the information from you if they already had Uncle Ramsey in their possession.” He heaved a ponderous sigh. “I'm continually distressed by the games my mother and brothers play to gain riches.”

“They're more than games,” Elise corrected icily. “Cassandra and her brood of banal-headed dolts meant to do me harm.” She paused, realizing how her aspersions might offend this member of their family and felt some chagrin at her own insensitivity. “I'm sorry, Quentin. I wound you, and I don't mean to. You're so different from the rest of your family, sometimes I forget to curb my tongue when I'm with you. I cannot understand why you ever entertained your mother's wrath and took me away from them.”

An abortive laugh escaped his lips. “I fear my gallantry was shortsighted. I should have made my house secure against their trespassing. Then there'd have been no need for you to escape a second time.”

“Your brothers came while you were gone, creeping into your home like thieves in the night to drag me back to London. You cannot blame yourself, Quentin.”

His dark eyes probed the pools of deep blue. “I've been wondering . . .” His words were spoken hesitantly. “I would not ask, Elise, but I fear I must. What did my family do to you?”

Elise drew up her slender shoulders in a small, distressed shrug, not wishing to recall the cruelties of her aunt and cousins. Their abuses had extended
beyond verbal insults to heavy-handed interrogations and, when that had failed, the withholding of food and simple comforts. They turned her bedchamber into a place of torment, and now that she was free, she was keenly aware that her memory of those weeks was best put behind her for the sake of her own sense of peace and well-being. “When taking actual account, Quentin, they did me no lasting harm.”

Despite her charitable words, Elise realized she was still atremble over the nightmare of her imprisonment. Forcing a smile, she glanced up at her cousin. “You've not told me why you're here. I thought you had an aversion to Uncle Edward.”

“I cannot deny that fact,” he admitted with a chuckle, “but I would brave the vulture's nest to see the fairest gem.”

“You've come too late, Quentin,” Elise admonished in a lighter vein. “The nuptials have already been spoken, and Arabella is now married to yon Earl.”

“My fairest Elise, I came not to see Arabella,” he declared with fervor. “But you!”

“And you, Cousin, most surely tease,” she accused with unfeigned skepticism. “You'd have better odds convincing me of your sincerity if you told me you came to see Uncle Edward. Arabella is a beauty no man can deny, and I'm sure many a rejected suitor came here tonight to bid her a fond adieu.”

Quentin's grin was somewhat representative of a leer as he bent near her to whisper warmly, “Has no gallant troubadour ever sung sonnets praising your
beauty, sweet Elise? Or were they too smitten by your perfection?” He sighed in exaggerated agony as Elise gave him a chidingly dubious stare. “Sweet maid, I do not lie! Your eyes are like gems, the most costly of sapphires. They sparkle from their fringes of black. Your brows are winged birds taking to flight, and your hair has the rich warm hue of cherrywood and a fragrance that makes me heady with delight. Your skin gleams with the soft luster of pearls . . . and promises to be most tasty.”

Elise continued to eye him in amused disbelief, unmoved by his ardent declarations. “The wine has most surely addled your wits if you think I will believe that nonsense.”

“I have not had a drop to drink!” he avowed passionately.

Disregarding his interruption, she pressed on. “I've heard many tales about you, Quentin. So many I daresay your prattle is frayed from much use. Surely many a maid has had like praises plied to her.”

“Forsooth, sweet maid!” Quentin laid a hand to his breast as he feigned a mournful protest. “You do me grave injustice.”

“And you, sir, beat your doublet in vain. We both know I accuse you rightly,” she challenged with a teasing smile. “You're a rake worthy of the first merit. Why, ‘twas only a fortnight ago I heard similar prose expressed to Arabella . . . and from your own lips!”

“Can you be jealous, fair Elise?” Quentin asked in hopeful glee.

Ignoring his quick riposte, she continued undisturbed. “I trust Arabella, being duly betrothed to
Reland, had the good sense to ask you to leave. As your cousin, I should hope to spare you.”

“Oh, sweetling,” he lamented dramatically. “You ply your tongue with the skill and zeal of an ill-tempered shrew, and I am left bereft of joy.”

“I doubt that.” Elise spoke past the laughter in her voice. As a woman, she could readily acknowledge the dark-eyed, dark-haired Quentin Radborne had both the good looks and charm to lure innumerable feminine admirers, but she was every bit as convinced that more than a few maids had been led to a sullied doom by his cajoling words and ardent attentions. Though she enjoyed his company, she was not of a mind to let her name be linked more than it was to his.

Elise paused, hearing her name called from across the crowded hall, and glanced about until she saw her uncle beckoning impatiently to her. His sharp frown clearly betrayed his displeasure, and there was no need for her to search for a reason. To say that he was even remotely tolerant of Quentin would have been stretching the truth to the extent of farfetched. His tone sharpened with the directive, “Come, girl! An' be quick 'bout it!”

“Alas, your gatekeeper calls,” Quentin remarked disparagingly.

Elise raised a querying brow at her cousin's dark humor. “My gatekeeper?”

A wry grin spread across the full lips. “If Edward could, he'd lock you up in a tower and throw away the key, just to prevent me from getting too near. He's afraid you'll either lose the treasure he has his eye on or the one called chastity.”

“Then his worries are unfounded.” Elise smiled and lightly tapped Quentin's doublet. “Not that you wouldn't try to claim one or the other, mind you. I'm willing neither to be divested of my purse nor added to the long list of your conquests.”

Throwing back his head, Quentin gave vent to a torrent of uproarious guffaws. He could not help but admire this saucy wench for speaking her mind. She was destined to be a challenge to any man and a prize well worth the seeking.

Elise cringed inwardly, knowing how deftly his glee would enflame her uncle's temper. It was not that she was afraid of Edward, for she held in reserve the prerogative to move out of the manor if ever he became too harsh or demanding. Nevertheless there were times when she was wont to keep the peace as much as she was able, and since it was Arabella's wedding night, the occasion warranted such considerations.

Dipping into a quick curtsey, she excused herself “ ‘Tis my regret that I must leave your good company, dear Cousin, but as you say, my gatekeeper summons me.

Quentin nodded with a leering grin. “You may have been saved for the moment from this hoary wolf, fair damsel, but there shall come another time, I assure you.”

Elise made her way through the press and joined her uncle, who cast a contemptuous sneer toward the younger man who was now making his own way through the hallful of guests. Edward bent a baleful glare upon her. “Did I not tell ye ta keep yerself ta yer duties?” he growled in low, angry tones. “I gave
ye no leave ta be cavortin' with ‘at Quentin fellow. Have ye no shame?”

“For what offense should I feel ashamed?” Elise rejoined softly, causing her uncle to glower in sharp displeasure. In earnest she explained, “I merely passed a word or two with my cousin in the presence of your guests. I see no fault in that.”

Edward nestled his round head between his thick shoulders as he harrumphed sharply. “Aye, I saw the two o' ye laughin' an' chortlin' like ye were sharin' some vile tale.”

Elise's delicate brows lifted in wonder as she observed her uncle's jeering disdain. He had a crude way of twisting his lips to display his contempt that reminded her of her own escalating exasperation with the man. The occasions were becoming more and more frequent when she found herself abhorring his manners. Of late, she had felt much relief that her own mother had been of no actual kin to Edward, but had been left as a babe in the chapel on his family's small farm. That fact alone freed her from any loyalty required by the association of blood kin, yet when she had to struggle with such contrary feelings of her own, she was beginning to feel hampered in her duties when she had to chide others for their lack of respect.

“Ye should be ashamed the way ye carry on with ‘at rascal,” Edward berated.

He flung a hand to indicate the man, meaning to condemn his niece further, but paused abruptly when he realized the handsome rake was now standing beside his own daughter. From all appearances, Quentin was sharing some amusing comment with the bride, for they were both laughing.

Edward puffed up like an enraged rooster and blustered, “Look at him! A body would think the man never had a care in the world the way he's makin' his rounds wit' the ladies.”

“Has the Queen declared a period of mourning that we should bridle our gaiety and good humor?” Elise inquired in a guise of worry.

Somewhat befuddled by her question, Edward frowned at his niece until the realization struck that she was making light of what he had said, then his bushy brows came sharply together. “I'll thank ye, girl, ta keep a civil tongue in yer head an' stop yer foolery! Ye'd do well ta pay more attention ta yer duties so's I wouldn't have ta remind ye what they are.”

His arrogance pricked Elise's pride, and though she made an effort to retain her good manners, she reminded him, “I pay rents for the east wing, Uncle, and they are more than adequate. Above that, I yield you whatever help and service I can offer. I am happy I can be of assistance, but I do not have to earn my keep, for my father left monies enough for me in my own accounts with his bankers. Nor do I have to stay here if I choose to leave. If you are uncomfortable with the arrangement, give me leave and I shall find shelter elsewhere.”

A hot retort came quickly to the tip of Edward's tongue, but he was wise enough not to unleash his anger upon the girl. There was more at stake here than the rents, though those were high enough to warrant his good behavior. Yet he had little tolerance for anyone challenging his dictates, especially one from his own household or the fairer gender.
His wife had meekly obeyed his will throughout their married life, taking refuge in her bedchamber when he had raged and salving her hurt feelings in bottles of port until her death. Arabella had never dared give him argument, but had submitted to his authority as if she had no desires of her own. Elise, however, had already proven herself to be of a different mold entirely.

If Edward had learned anything about his niece since her arrival at Bradbury, surely it was a realization that she had a mind and a will of her own. Her firm resolve to find her father had led her into dangers to which he would have abandoned her had he not coveted her wealth so much. He had glimpsed evidence of her strong determination when she had donned the rags of a penniless urchin, secured a ride to London on the back of a cart, and slipped beyond the invisible barrier of Fleet Street in an effort to obtain what information she could from the miscreants who had taken refuge in the lawless territory of Alsatia. When the incessant reminder of a hidden treasure finally prodded Edward to take action, he had sent a servant to find and fetch her home. Other disastrous events occurred shortly after her return, not the least of which had been a shocking confrontation with Reland. That single event had done much to convince him that Elise Radborne had a most incredible talent for brewing trouble.