Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,43

latter. But why? Well, Larchside’s restoration was nicely underway. It was time to turn her attentions elsewhere, and seeking the answers to this riddle was as good a direction as any.

Since the cold was beginning to numb her feet, she’d returned to the manor and the questions that lay there.

Atheridge rapped on the library door breaking her train of thought. “Mr. Tunning is here, my lady.”

“Show him in,” said Elizabeth, a calm, neutral expression possessing her features. It was time for a confrontation with the slimy toad, on her terms.

Tunning scurried into the room, rubbing his cold-reddened hands before him. “Ah, my lady, ready and waiting are you to begin?”

“As you see.”

He laughed heartily. “That’s what I like about you, my lady, always straining at the bit, and a sweet goer you are to be sure.” He winked broadly at her and laughed again at his witticism, then his lips curled into a leer. “To be sure, it is a real mystery why the Viscount would take his leave so sudden with a woman like you to warm his bed. Perhaps he doesn’t appreciate you properly.”

Elizabeth seethed, though the only outward manifestation of her emotional state was the white knuckles of her clenched hands. She had considered Tunning coarse, but never in all her dealings with the man had she imagined he could so far forget himself as to speak to her in such a manner. Could he actually have the effrontery to believe she might turn to him as a substitution for her absent husband? The idea was mind-boggling and left her momentarily bereft of speech.

“Oh, now I’ve gone and embarrassed you.” He swaggered toward the desk, a ridiculous lugubrious expression on his face. “Don’t you fret, my lady, old Tom Tunning's not one to be a gabble-box, but should you ever need a shoulder to cry on, mine are right broad.” He reached out to touch her shoulder.

Elizabeth shied out of his way, her jerky action toppling her chair.

“Now, my lady, no need being shy,” Tunning said, mistaking her action for coquetry. He extended a hand to help her up, a self-satisfied smile plastered across his face.

“Don’t you dare touch me you slimy toad!” she cried, giving voice to her image of him. She scrambled to her feet, placing the width of the desk between them. “How dare you infer, let alone think, I should be interested in you. Your insolence knows no bounds. Get your fat, sweaty person out of my sight!”

Tunning's face darkened. “Don’t you go getting high-and-mighty. From what I heard tell, you’re just run goods. You best remember who holds the purse strings around here and sweeten your tongue a bit. That fancy husband of yours left fast enough no doubt for more sprightly game.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, gold flame shooting out through her dark lashes. “You may hold the purse strings,” she said icily, “but you don’t control me. You would best be advised to rethink your attitude before I have you thrown off this property.”

Tunning laughed in her face, though something about her expression gave him pause.

“Tunning, Larchside is mine!” she spat. “It was part of my marriage settlement. Didn’t St. Ryne tell you? How remiss of him. So you see, ultimately, I am your employer. This time I am inclined to give you mercy, indeed, I fear your ignorance warrants it. Now get your carcass and those sorry excuses for servants you’ve brought here out of this house.”

Tunning's mouth opened and closed like a toad catching flies. The his beady eyes narrowed even more as his face took on a choleric hue. “You’ll rue the day you jibed at Tom Tunning!’’

Elizabeth, struggling to hide her trembling, merely lifted her hand and pointed to the door.

Tunning stalked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Elizabeth’s breath came out in a rush, her limbs suddenly as weak as a rag. She stumbled to one of the wing chairs and sank into it. Raising her hands to her face, she let out long, shuddering sobs. It galled her to know she truly had no power over Tunning; it was all a farce. For all her bravado, St. Ryne could easily negate her words. She had no idea if he would even believe her if she were to relate the tale. She cringed even to contemplate Tunning's next actions if he were to divine the hollowness of her words. He could make life akin to Dante’s Inferno.

She slowly lowered her hands from her face, balling them into