13
The moonlight seeped through the curtains as Elsbeth entered the back door of her manor, her footsteps muffled against the stone floor. Her mind raced as she ascended the servants’ stairs, eager to reach her bedchamber without anyone noticing her late return. However, the moment she opened the door, she froze.
Charles.
He was sitting on her bed, his expression thunderous. His penetrating gaze bore into her, and his voice was sharp. “Where have you been?”
Elsbeth closed the door behind her, her hand lingering on the handle as she prepared herself. “I can explain.”
“Can you?” he asked, his tone dry. “I’m all ears.”
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, trying to maintain composure. “I went to the village to see who Alfred was meeting with?—”
Charles threw his hands up. “Not this again! This obsession of yours is becoming more than troublesome.” His voice rose with each word. “You can’t just go to the village alone at night...” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Youwerealone, weren’t you?”
Elsbeth hesitated, knowing her answer would only fuel his anger. “I was with Lord Westcott.”
Charles’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Are you mad?” he barked. “Traipsing around in the dead of night with Lord Westcott? Have you lost all sense of propriety? You must think of your reputation!”
“My reputation is already in tatters,” she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. “Why should it matter?”
His gaze softened momentarily, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t truly believe that, do you?” He stood, pacing the room. “You still have a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds?—”
She cut him off. “And who would want me? A fortune hunter?”
Charles stopped pacing and turned to face her. “You don’t know what the future holds,” he said. “But you must stop actively ruining your prospects.”
“I am doing no such thing,” she argued. “My stepfather is not who he claims to be. He was meeting with Mr. Strother at the coaching inn.”
Charles’s brows knitted together. “That’s impossible. Mr. Strother returned to Town a few days ago.”
“I know what I saw,” Elsbeth said. “Why would Alfred meet with Mr. Strother in secrecy?”
Charles crossed his arms. “It was hardly secret if they were meeting at the coaching inn in plain view of anyone who cared to look.”
“Yes, but?—”
“This has to stop!” Charles shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet room. “I think it’s best if I take you away from here for a while. We’ll leave for my country estate tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “No, I can’t go. Not now.”
“And why is that?” he demanded. “And don’t say it’s because of Alfred.”
The thought of leaving Niles tightened her chest, but shecouldn’t admit that. Instead, she scrambled for another excuse. “What about my mother’s soiree? We can’t leave before then.”
Charles sighed heavily, clearly displeased. “Fine. But we’ll depart at first light the next morning.” He strode to the door. “This is for your own good.”
Elsbeth’s temper flared. “My own good?” she repeated. “You claim to be protecting my reputation, yet here you stand—in my bedchamber. Alone.”
He barely spared her a glance as he reached for the doorknob. “We are cousins.”
She scoffed, folding her arms. “Did you not propose marriage to me only a few days ago?” Her sharp tone halted him mid-motion. “Furthermore, what will thetonthink when I take up residence with you in Town? Do you honestly believe they will accept such an arrangement without question?”
“My mother resides with me. That should be enough to appease the gossips.”
Elsbeth frowned, her mind racing. He was being infuriatingly pragmatic, as always. But she wasn’t done yet. “Don’t you want to know what secrets my stepfather is keeping?” she asked, her voice laced with challenge.
Charles turned, his expression both weary and exasperated. “Alfred is a good man, and you’d see that if you took two seconds to get to know him.”
