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He turned impatiently toward the earl. “Dinner at Bristol Manor this evening, then.” He made it an instruction rather than a request, unashamedly using his higher social status to coerce the other man into accepting.
“Of course.” The earl nodded graciously before shooting a sly glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “My son’s widow often finds herself…indisposed in the evenings, as she is still overwhelmed with grief. I hope you will not be too disappointed if this evening should prove to be one of those evenings and she is unable to join us?”
“On the contrary, I should be beyond disappointed if that should prove to be the case,” Sterling bit out. “To the extentthat if that should occur, I should prefer to reschedule the engagement to a night when Lady Elizabeth feels able to join us.”
Elizabeth had no idea what Bristol was about, singling her out in this noticeable way. But, to her dismay, he was succeeding in increasing the avarice in her father-in-law’s gaze to a disturbing level.
Without realizing it, Elizabeth felt sure, the politeness the duke was showing toward her—so at odds with the way the Earl of Whitlow habitually addressed her—was creating a speculation inside her father-in-law concerning the duke’s possibly having an interest in her.
A speculation which the duke had unwittingly added to by his comment of canceling them joining him for dinner this evening to another night if she was indisposed. It sounded very much as if he was saying the earl need not bother attending if she could not.
Elizabeth made sure to keep her lashes lowered as the duke assisted her into the carriage, and as they took their leave of that gentleman before the carriage moved on to drive them back to Whitlow Grange.
“Well, well, well,” Whitlow drawled from the seat opposite her, and in a voice that caused Elizabeth to think of a spider about to trap an unsuspecting fly in the stickiness of its web. “I have absolutely no idea why it should be, but it would seem you have found favor with the haughty Duke of Bristol, when everyone knows that very little succeeds in pleasing him.”
Elizabeth could well believe that, having witnessed firsthand the air of coldness the duke kept about him like a cloak.
Except when talking to or looking at her, it seemed. Then, those pale green eyes seemed to burn with the inner passion and fire she had suspected might be the case beneath that gentleman’s cold facade.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, she felt a similar awareness of the duke.
Indeed, her fingers still tingled from where Bristol had maintained a grip of her hand for far longer than could be considered polite. A tingling sensation which had traveled the length of her arm and caused a feeling of fullness in her breasts and a tightening and engorging of the buds at their tips.
It was…disturbing at best, and worrying at worst.
Not only because it was the first stirring of physical arousal she had felt since Thomas died, but because the despicable man who was her father-in-law seemed to find even those small signs of the duke’s partiality of her to be of infinite interest. She couldn’t even begin to guess as to why that was.
She turned away to look at the passing countryside. “I am sure the duke was only being polite.”
Thin and bony fingers curled about her upper arm, digging painfully into her flesh. Elizabeth knew from past experience that bruises would appear on her skin later today. Ones that would require she hide those bruises by wearing a long-sleeved gown when they joined the duke for dinner the evening. Not that it would be a hardship; the weather really was unseasonably cold.
“Bristol ain’t the sort of man to bepoliteto anyone unless he wishes to be,” the earl crowed as he sat forward on his seat. “As it was, the man couldn’t take his eyes off the titties so blatantly displayed above the neckline of your gown and pelisse,” he added with satisfaction.
Elizabeth glanced down at the two garments, both styled in such a way that the tops of her breasts were barely visible.
“Not that you have much there to show,” the earl added scathingly. “I don’t know what Thomas was about marrying a woman with the curves of a broom stick.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue to prevent herself from asking him to make up his mind: either she was too fat or she was too thin, but she could not be both. But she knew better than to arouse her father-in-law’s ire unnecessarily.
“Make sure you wear a gown with a very low neckline this evening,” the earl added in a hard voice.
Elizabeth winced. “I do not believe any of my mourning gowns are designed in that style.”
“Then send for a seamstress and have her do the appropriate alternations. Or have your maid do it,” the earl dismissed. “Just make sure the gown is tight enough and low enough this evening for your titties to look as if they might burst over the top of it and your nipples be in danger of becoming visible too. I wish the duke to be able to ogle your titties, if he feels so inclined.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned at being spoken to in such a blatantly crude manner.
Nor did she have any idea what scheme the earl was currently formulating in his devious mind, but whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.
As she had wanted no part ofhimsince the moment Thomas had brought her to live in his father’s home, following their elopement. The earl had wasted no time in raining down vicious and derogatory comments about Elizabeth’s unsuitability as his son’s wife, in regard to both her and her family. Even Christopher’s birth, a year later, made no difference to his animosity toward her. He had continued to use every opportunity, usually out of Thomas’s hearing, to repeat those insults. No doubt, if Christopher had not looked so much like his sire, having inherited Thomas’s features along with his darkhair, the earl might even have questioned whether or not he was Thomas’s child at all.
Since Thomas’s death, she’d had no choice but to tolerate the bitter old man for Christopher’s sake. She consoled herself daily that, even then, it would only be until such time as her son was fully grown and the earl could no longer use him as blackmail to force her into doing as he wished.
But that compliance most certainly did not include dressing herself up like a whore this evening, as the earl was so obviously requesting she do.
CHAPTER THREE
If Whitlow had thought Sterling unaware of the older man’s speculation toward the warmth he had shown to the man’s daughter-in-law this morning, then he was mistaken.
