Aunt Honore smoothed out her purple traveling dress. “I preferred not to take the chance.”
Valen regarded his aunt’s haughty demeanor, knowing full well she was maneuvering him. “All the more reason why you ought to have remained at Alison Hall.”
“Nonsense. High time I saw my brother again. He will want a report on how you are coming along. Let me see…” She tapped her lips and glanced pointedly at Elizabeth and then back to him. “Whatever shall I tell him? How are you coming along with your promise, Valen, dear?”
Cunning ploy. She knew he had no wish to apprise Elizabeth of the matter. His aunt was, indeed, unscrupulous. “Very well, I will change places with you. Here. Take my seat. But, for pity’s sake, spare me any more of your jabber.”
Honore switched places with him and plopped down triumphantly, looking from Valen to Izzie. “Do try not to drool on my nephew, Lady Elizabeth. It is the first time in recent memory that he has worn something presentable.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Izzie inclined her head graciously, but he caught the hint of mirth in the set of her lips. She stoically sat upright, as if her back were still tied to a board from her youth.
But by the time they reached the outskirts of London, Elizabeth succumbed to the laudanum. She tipped sideways and flopped against the squibs.
Honore sighed lamentably and pointed at Izzie. “Only look at the poor gel, Valen, bumping her head against the side of the coach. It gives me the megrims just to watch. Can you not arrange for her to lean against something more comfortable? Your shoulder, perhaps?”
He fixed her with a level stare. “Usually your conspiracies are better disguised.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
He didn’t bother to answer, merely removed his coat and folded it into a bundle to use as a cushion for Elizabeth’s head.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t crumple up your coat.” Honore groaned. “I liked that one.”
But when Valen leaned over to prop it under Izzie’s head, she moved into his embrace, draping herself against his chest, nestling up to him like a kitten to a mother cat.
Honore grinned triumphantly. “Well done, Valen.”
“You are completely incorrigible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Valen surrendered to his predicament, dropped his coat on the seat, and rested his arm around Izzie. She fit neatly against his side, as if she’d been designed for the purpose. The gentle rhythm of her breathing tickled his chest, promising that he would not easily ignore her presence. To the contrary, he could not think of anything else but her body pressed up against his.
Peculiar, how tucking a woman up against a man makes him feel things he might otherwise avoid. Judging by his aunt’s smug expression, she had known precisely what effect it would have on him.
“Would it be so very terrible, Valen?” Honore asked as if reading his mind.
Devious woman. He refused to answer. Instead, Valen studied the landscape as it drifted past the window in peaceful, predictable formations, fields of sheep and grain, familiar hills, the same ancient villages that had stood there since the days of King Henry. He was going home to Ransley Keep. His heart softened with a vague eagerness. Home. And somehow it seemed far more pleasurable because Izzie lay next to him, snuggled up against his chest.
Toward the end of the journey, Elizabeth roused, groping to find her way out of a cloying deep, dark cavern. Slowly the air around her became more real. Awareness seeped in gradually. With a grimace, she realized her face was pressed up, rather indecorously, against Lord St. Evert’s broad chest. Elizabeth sat up abruptly, checking the condition of her hair, straightening her traveling dress, blinking at the dimming light. Evening approached already. “I must have dozed off.”
“To be sure.” Lady Alameda nodded.
Valen pinched the fabric of his shirt, pulling it away from his skin, and arched his brow at her. “It would seem, my lady, that you do indeed, drool.”
She stared at the embarrassingly large moisture stain trailing down from where her mouth had been pressed against him. What could she say? Nothing for it. She smiled nonchalantly. “You must send me the laundering bill.”
A short time later, their coach turned down a bumpy country lane and, at long last, rolled to a stop. St. Evert took Elizabeth’s hand, guiding her as she stepped down from the carriage and stared up at Ransley Keep.
A mammoth old manor set on a hill, it looked more like a fortress than a house. Dark stone walls lent it an impenetrable appearance. Flags waved from a small parapet. One could easily envision medieval archers lined up across the battlements at the top. In the waning light, Elizabeth felt transported back to the time when swords clanked together and arrows whistled through the air as lords fought to protect their families and lands.
She shook her head. Perhaps she was still experiencing the effects of the laudanum.
“Magical, isn’t it?” Lady Alameda stood beside her. “The original castle is a crumbling ruin on another hill. One of my ancestors built this, trying to be faithful in spirit to the old keep. “Come. You must meet my brother.”
Valen put a restraining hand on his aunt’s shoulder. “Lord Ransley will be resting. We should not intrude upon him until tomorrow morning.”
“Nonsense! He’ll be eager to see you and to meet Lady Elizabeth. If he’s sleeping, we’ll wake him.”
“I insist you do not excite him in regard to Lady Elizabeth. We must not alarm him concerning... recent events.”
“Don’t be silly.” Lady Alameda tossed her head imperiously. “I have no intention of alarming him on that account.”
“On any account.” Valen ordered.
Honore rolled her eyes and trudged through the heavy doors that a servant had creaked open.
15
The Flimsy Fabric of Prevarication
They oversaw the unpacking of their luggage and took time to wash away the travel dust before meeting Lord Ransley. Elizabeth marveled at the castle-like quality
