The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,77
the canal had flooded? Was it because any fortune I make unhooks one of your claws from the back of my neck?”
Her fingers dug into Oliver’s swaddling. Goodness. She checked Mrs. Dalton again. Still sleeping. Thank heavens.
She forcibly relaxed her grip on her son. “It simply slipped my mind. I promise, I meant no malice.”
He held her gaze. She did her best to look honest.
“Are you sure?” he asked at length.
She nodded. He wanted so badly to trust her. It was there in his glimmer of hope that he’d misunderstood the situation. Her heart expanded. No one had ever believed in her. Not even Celeste. She almost wished he hadn’t put the thought in her head that she might manage his loyalty with her pocketbook.
Would such a thing even work? For how long?
Ten years?
She was careful to keep her expression neutral, but Con must be learning her tricks. His scowl returned. He shook his head slightly and resumed his watch out of the window. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?”
Her heart sank to the floor. In one moment of weakness, she’d taught him not to trust her.
They didn’t speak again. There was no opportunity. Mrs. Dalton awoke and claimed to be famished, Oliver began to wail, the road turned rutted and Lord Constantine began to look green. Elizabeth was too busy handing out hard biscuits and seeing to Oliver’s feeding and changing to worry much about her protector. Even when her son suffered a bout of carriage sickness after taking his milk and toast, she didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it. But when they finally stopped for the night and Lord Constantine returned to the carriage with two keys and a look of abject relief, she realized she still had the entire night alone with him to look forward to.
Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?
As she preceded him into the inn, she could only think that neither of them had any idea what they were doing.
She stood by as he gave instructions for a private dining room to be set. She watched him cajole the innkeeper into procuring a cradle from the inn across the way, and felt a tender moment when he asked twice if the milk served would be fresh. All while frowning in his usual, handsome way. As if each request was the most important task he could imagine.
It was odd how quickly they’d become comfortable with each other, dependent, even and yet…
Elizabeth, Elizabeth. What have I got myself into with you?
“They’re not married,” a voice boomed behind them, “and if you buy that they are, well, I’ve got a stud horse to show you.”
Papa. Ice ran through Elizabeth’s veins. She whipped toward the unmistakable sound of his voice. Her cheeks turned hot. How could he mortify her like this? And in front of Lord Constantine?
She felt like a fourteen-year-old child again. “Papa! You’ve no right!”
He marched up to her, arms swinging and side-whiskers quivering. His oblong belly protruded before him. “I’ll talk to you any blasted way I want, girl. You made your bed and you can damn well lie in it, but you won’t do it here. I won’t have your mother humiliated. Get out.”
Her mother? What about what he was doing to her?
She was a bug squashed beneath her father’s shoe. If she’d been asked to surmise how he’d treat her should they encounter one another in public, she’d have laid money on his ignoring her. She never imagined him making a public scene, even if it was just with the innkeeper to hear, a person he no doubt felt was below his notice.
“My lord,” the distressed innkeeper said, unaware of his lowly status in her father’s eyes, “the gentleman says they are married. Is it possible it happened recently and you are unaware of it?”
Wyndham didn’t dignify the man with a glance. “No. These two are liars. If they aren’t removed in the next five minutes, Lady Wyndham and I will find a more respectable establishment. You have my word.”
Constantine took a daring step toward her father. “Another accusation like that and it will be pistols. I hope you’re a fair shot.”
“Oh, ho,” Wyndham replied with a short bark of laughter, “the city boy’s going to play target practice with me? I think not.” He regarded Constantine with repugnance.
The harried innkeeper looked from Elizabeth to Constantine. His beseeching expression left her in no doubt he wanted them to leave, before he lost