She raised a brow in mild curiosity. “And why is it that you keep your head covered and your face hidden? I’ve not detected a chill in the hall.”
His answer came quickly enough. “Nay, mistress, ‘ere be no chill. ‘Twas an accident o’ birth, ye see. Why, ‘ere be some what’d swoon at the merest glimpse o’ me poor face. I fear ‘twould be a dreadful sight for ‘ese foin folks ta bear.”
Elise refrained from further inquiries, having no wish to view the man’s deformities. She spoke a word of dismissal and watched him until assured he was applying himself well to his task. He moved around the trestle tables, refilling a goblet here or providing a new cup there as he alternated the use of the flagons, serving the ladies and elderly from one and replenishing the goblet of the stout-armed, able-bodied men with the other. Silently Elise gave her approval, admiring his foresight in serving a milder wine to give to the less stalwart.
Scanning the hall for more laggards, Elise almost relaxed as she saw that the servants were keeping busy. She let her eyes wander from table to table, assessing what further foods were needed, and failed to notice a guest stepping near until that one pressed close against her back The intruder slid a hand about her narrow waist and, before she could react, bent down to place a light kiss below her ear, just above the ruff.
“Elise . . . fragrant flower of the night . . .” a deep voice warmly crooned. “My soul doth yearn for your favors, sweet maid. Be kind to this poor fellow and let me taste the nectar from your lips.”
Elise’s temper exploded. She was not of a temperament to allow such fondling and would set this fellow back upon his heels! She came around with a hand drawn back, ready to strike this arrogant bumpkin who had so foolishly accosted her. Though her weight was slight, she had every bit of its force behind her and had every intention of landing a damaging blow to the fellow. She had visions of Reland’s conceited cousin, Devlin Huxford, nuzzling her neck, for she had noticed how he had ogled her for most of the evening. Her eyes flashed with indignant rage at the thought that he should be so bold, but as she faced the man, her wrist was seized and securely held against her attempts to withdraw. She lifted a smoldering-hot gaze to the dark, swarthy face above her own and met the deep brown eyes that fairly danced with laughter.
“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!”