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  Edward nestled his round head between his thick shoulders as he harrumphed sharply. “Aye, I saw the two o’ ye laughin’ an’ chortlin’ like ye were sharin’ some vile tale.”

  Elise’s delicate brows lifted in wonder as she observed her uncle’s jeering disdain. He had a crude way of twisting his lips to display his contempt that reminded her of her own escalating exasperation with the man. The occasions were becoming more and more frequent when she found herself abhorring his manners. Of late, she had felt much relief that her own mother had been of no actual kin to Edward, but had been left as a babe in the chapel on his family’s small farm. That fact alone freed her from any loyalty required by the association of blood kin, yet when she had to struggle with such contrary feelings of her own, she was beginning to feel hampered in her duties when she had to chide others for their lack of respect.

  “Ye should be ashamed the way ye carry on with ‘at rascal,” Edward berated.

  He flung a hand to indicate the man, meaning to condemn his niece further, but paused abruptly when he realized the handsome rake was now standing beside his own daughter. From all appearances, Quentin was sharing some amusing comment with the bride, for they were both laughing.

  Edward puffed up like an enraged rooster and blustered, “Look at him! A body would think the man never had a care in the world the way he’s makin’ his rounds wit’ the ladies.”

  “Has the Queen declared a period of mourning that we should bridle our gaiety and good humor?” Elise inquired in a guise of worry.

  Somewhat befuddled by her question, Edward frowned at his niece until the realization struck that she was making light of what he had said, then his bushy brows came sharply together. “I’ll thank ye, girl, ta keep a civil tongue in yer head an’ stop yer foolery! Ye’d do well ta pay more attention ta yer duties so’s I wouldn’t have ta remind ye what they are.”

  His arrogance pricked Elise’s pride, and though she made an effort to retain her good manners, she reminded him, “I pay rents for the east wing, Uncle, and they are more than adequate. Above that, I yield you whatever help and service I can offer. I am happy I can be of assistance, but I do not have to earn my keep, for my father left monies enough for me in my own accounts with his bankers. Nor do I have to stay here if I choose to leave. If you are uncomfortable with the arrangement, give me leave and I shall find shelter elsewhere.”

  A hot retort came quickly to the tip of Edward’s tongue, but he was wise enough not to unleash his anger upon the girl. There was more at stake here than the rents, though those were high enough to warrant his good behavior. Yet he had little tolerance for anyone challenging his dictates, especially one from his own household or the fairer gender. His wife had meekly obeyed his will throughout their married life, taking refuge in her bedchamber when he had raged and salving her hurt feelings in bottles of port until her death. Arabella had never dared give him argument, but had submitted to his authority as if she had no desires of her own. Elise, however, had already proven herself to be of a different mold entirely.

  If Edward had learned anything about his niece since her arrival at Bradbury, surely it was a realization that she had a mind and a will of her own. Her firm resolve to find her father had led her into dangers to which he would have abandoned her had he not coveted her wealth so much. He had glimpsed evidence of her strong determination when she had donned the rags of a penniless urchin, secured a ride to London on the back of a cart, and slipped beyond the invisible barrier of Fleet Street in an effort to obtain what information she could from the miscreants who had taken refuge in the lawless territory of Alsatia. When the incessant reminder of a hidden treasure finally prodded Edward to take action, he had sent a servant to find and fetch her home. Other disastrous events occurred shortly after her return, not the least of which had been a shocking confrontation with Reland. That single event had done much to convince him that Elise Radborne had a most incredible talent for brewing trouble.

  Order had barely been restored to his household when she slipped away again, this time to the Stilliards, a place her father had purportedly gone to exchange some of his possessions for coffers of gold. If he had thought himself afraid of the lawless breed in Alsatia, Edward had concluded after much fretting, then he was absolutely terrified of those dreaded foreigners in the Hanseatic League. They possessed the power and wealth to influence kings and princes, and though Queen Elizabeth had proven of sterner mettle, many of her subjects had fallen prey to the Hansa. He had despaired of ever seeing his niece again and was much amazed when she came back politely escorted by one of the Hansa youth and dressed in the garb of one of the same. “Breeches on a girl!” he had railed in shock when he saw her. “ ‘Tis not fit!”

  Clearly, if he had perceived to what extent his niece would disrupt his life, Edward knew he would have haggled for steeper rents. As it was, he was convinced the twit had made the better bargain. For every coin she gave him, he was put through twice as much torment. Still, he took care now to placate her and assumed a mien of injury as he gave the excuse, “I’m only concerned for yer reputation. Quentin is not one ta bring ye honor. I can only advise ye not ta lose anythin’ ta him.”

  “You needn’t fear, Uncle,” Elise promptly assured him. “I have no intention of being led astray by any man.” She delivered the pointed statement, knowing full well what the elder really desired and what he was afraid Quentin would get. He was not so wise at hiding his greed as he thought he was.

  Edward missed the thrust of her subtle gibe as he rushed on to criticize her position. After all, she had fled to his house in fear of her life. “Everyone knows yer father sold all an’ hid the gold ‘gainst yer day o’ need, mainly ta keep Cassandra an’ her get from sinkin’ their greedy claws into his wealth when he left this world. I can tell ye for sure, girl, whilst the treasure be hidden, ‘tis a fearful burden ye’ll bear. Every rake’ll be tryin’ ta ferret ye out. An’ dare I remind ye ‘tis the very reason ye’re here, so’s I can protect ye from yer father’s kin. An’ there stands one o’ ’em Radborne devils just awaitin’ ta get his hands on what is yers.”

  “Quentin has wealth of his own,” Elise reminded her uncle. “He has no need of mine.”

  “Humph! I ne’er seen a man what couldn’t use a little more gold in his coffers. I tell ye, Quentin would sport his manhood with ye whilst he lifted the purse from yer side. Aye! Ye mark’ me words, girl. Ye keep yerself from the likes o’ Quentin, an’ mayhap someday ye’ll get yerself a man like Reland or his cousin, Devlin.”

  Heaven take pity! Elise thought in abject repugnance, and muttered aloud in droll humor, “Debauchery may have its rewards after all.”

  “What’s ‘at ye say, girl?” Edward railed, taking offense at her offhandish jibe. His fists knotted as he struggled to subdue his bent toward belligerence. “Ye’ve lost yer wits for sure if ye think yer cousin is a better man ‘an Reland!”

  “Mayhap,” Elise responded with a noncommittal shrug, and moved away without assuring him that his judgment of Quentin was far outstripped by her own resolve to avoid any serious involvement with her cousin. She was too concerned about her father to countenance being courted by any man, least of all by the Huxford tribe.

  Chapter 2

  GREED WAS FOR MANY a curse, for it greatly diminished the enjoyment of most pleasures. Not even the smallest coin could be expended without regret at its loss or without an anxious hope that its departure would bring a larger reward and somehow prove worthy of the sacrifice. Such was the case of Edward Stamford, whose satisfaction over his daughter’s marriage dimmed to distressing degrees as he continued to witness the liberal glee and excesses of the revelers. His grudgingly given generosity had apparently delighted the inconsiderate masses who had come to satisfy their gluttony, but the festive strains of the musicians did little to ease his rapidly souring disposition. The laughing and cavorting guests enhanced his gnawing resentment, and he gained no greater comfort from those who were now dozing in a much-sat
ed stupor.

  “Look at ’em!” Edward muttered to himself in contempt. “They’ve stuffed their gullets so much on me wine an’ vittles, they’re wallowin’ in their cups. I could’ve saved meself a few good coin if I’d known they’d crumple so easily.”

  Edward’s glower ranged slowly about the room and came full around to mark the servant, Taylor, as that one paused at a nearby table. “You there! Stop dawdlin’ with ‘at flagon an’ fill me cup!”

  The fellow half turned in surprise, scrubbing the back of a hand across his mouth, but when Edward beckoned him to come, he sidled away as he mumbled, “I’ll go now an’ fetch ye a fresh pitcher o’ ale, Squire.”

  “Here now! Ne’er ye mind the ale.” Irate at being denied, Edward motioned the servant back “I’ll take a mug o’ whate’er ye’ve got.”

  “ ‘Tain’t fit, Squire.” Taylor’s voice was muffled as he tugged the cowl closer about his face. “Why, ‘tis naught but the last, foul dregs o’ the keg I’ve gots here. I’ll fetch ye a good, stout ale, ‘at I will, Squire,” he offered, continuing his retreat. “ ‘Twill take me no more’n a twinkling’ o’ an eye.” Before further protest could be made, he slid past several drunken lords and slipped out of sight.

  Grinding his teeth in vexation, Edward mangled several expletives as he slammed the leather-bound tankard down upon the table. He snatched up his plumed toque and, plopping it upon his graying head, rose to his feet, ready to storm after the wayward fellow. In the next instant he was struck with a horrible fear that the full weight of the terrestrial globe had abruptly descended upon his head, for the sudden throbbing pressure within his skull nearly buckled him to his knees. He waited in cautious stillness until the first assault of pain began to ebb, then gingerly avoided any sudden movement as he scanned the hall for the impertinent servant, unwilling to let him go without a serious dressing-down.

  “I’ll see his foul carcass picked clean by the crows,” Edward swore through snarling lips.

  In his careful search for the servant, however, Edward’s gaze touched upon Elise again, and the sharp spur of anger goaded him anew, for it seemed she was on the verge of creating more trouble. The young swain, Devlin Huxford, had been obvious about his interest in her during the course of the festivities and was now asserting himself in a most insistent manner by trying to pull Elise out with the other dancers. As close kin to Reland, the roué was not to be offended without expecting some dire recompense to be exacted by the Huxford clan. Yet the girl was most assuredly pressing toward that mark. One could gauge by the rigid set of her jaw that an insult was forthcoming, and it would be fortunate indeed if the young man escaped unscathed from the little minx.

  The furrows between Edward’s brows deepened, and he forgot the pounding in his head as he elbowed his way through the guests. He had to reach Elise before she wreaked havoc upon the evening, which he had learned by grievous experience that she was quite capable of doing.

  “Do you not ken, sir? I’ve no knowledge of the steps,” he heard his niece explain. Her statement, curt and sharp as it was, failed to gain her release from the zealous Devlin. In some exasperation Elise snatched her slender wrist free in a quick, twisting movement and fixed an aloof stare upon her persistent admirer as she straightened the white pleated cuffs of her sleeve. “And presently, sir, I have no wish to learn.”

  Chortling in feigned merriment, Edward crushed a padded sleeve as he laid an arm around his niece’s shoulder and cajoled, “Come now, girl. Would ye have this good fellow think ye ta be a stiff-necked ol’ spinster without a proper upbringin’? Why, this be young Devlin Huxford.” He dropped his arm away and waited for Elise to digest this information before he added meaningfully, “Cousin ta Reland.”

  Elise’s softening smile was sweetly apologetic, and Devlin almost preened in anticipation. He made bold to copy her uncle’s manner and slipped an arm confidently about her waist. “Forgive me, Uncle,” she replied, trying to delicately extricate herself from the suffocating nearness forced upon her by Devlin. “Even if he were the Queen’s own son, I’d tell him to go fish in another stream.” Gritting out the last words, she jabbed an elbow into the ribs of the eager swain and added rather tartly, “I’m tired of his hooks pricking me.”

  Edward could hardly restrain himself as the thrust of her reply pierced him. His eyes first flared with expanding rage, then darkened to a steely hardness. He glanced briefly at the reddening Devlin, who had cautiously retreated a step. The young man waited expectantly for some show of pressure that would force the maid to submit, but Edward was well-acquainted with the folly of such an act. Simply, the girl would not stand for it, and he would be left without any hope of finding the hidden treasure.

  Barely controlling his ire, Edward pressed near the pertly capped head, engulfing his niece in the foul vapors of his ale-sodden breath. “Would ye bring the Huxfords down upon us, girl?” he gritted out in a rasping whisper. “Reland still stews over yer last encounter, an’ ye’ve now set yerself ‘gainst another Huxford. I’ll warrant ye’ll not fare well with Reland takin’ up quarters in the west wing.”

  In a soft, questioning tone Elise reminded her kin of his earlier command. “Did you not instruct me to keep the servants busy, Uncle?” she prodded, sensing where he was most vulnerable. “Why, if not for me, the hirelings would drain your cellars dry and eat your cupboards bare. But if ‘tis your wont they be left to their own gluttony, then give me leave to enjoy the dancing.”

  Edward blustered in some embarrassment, then, without further preamble, he seized the younger man firmly by the arm and drew him away. “Come along, Devlin,” he cajoled pleasantly, “ere be a maid right o’er here whose talents are sure ta match yer own.”

  Elise folded her hands demurely as she witnessed the rather confused departure of the Huxford kin. Devlin had done much to strengthen her judgment that he was a crude, inconsiderate boor who boasted mightily of his own prowess, and in this, he had surely proven himself kin to Reland Huxford.

  Edward wasted no time in presenting Devlin to a young and comely widow before hastening back to his niece. It seemed prudent to find duties for her outside the hall before he had to pay dearly for her presence. “I’ll have ye escort Arabella ta her chambers now. Help her ta ready herself for Reland, an’ as soon as she’s done, ye come down an’ tell me. I’ll see ta it meself that Reland is escorted up, whether he’s able or nay. This feastin’ needs be stopped ere I’m stripped ta me bones.”

  Snatching a mug of ale from a passing servant, Edward gave her no further notice, but tipped the brim to his mouth for a long draught. He had need of a full keg to salve the turmoil now roiling in his belly.

  Elise felt unsure of herself in this new directive and stepped away from her uncle with some hesitancy. It was not that she was ignorant of the manner in which a bride should receive her groom, but it seemed to her that Arabella might have benefited more from the wise counsel of an older, married woman. What assurances could she give the bride when she was herself a virgin?

  Elise’s gaze ranged slowly about the room until it came to rest on the newly wedded couple. Arabella was as delicate as a fragile flower, tall and slender with silky brown hair and pale gray eyes that were haunted by a look of melancholy. Her temperament was pliable, much like the reed that is blown to and fro by the wind. Indeed, there were times when she appeared to have no mettle to stand firm against the dictates of others. In sharp contrast Reland was a dark-haired bear of a man whose wide, muscular chest tapered to narrow hips. Though handsome and well-tutored, he displayed a strong inclination to be both irascible and mulishly opinionated. In his boorish arrogance he enjoyed testing all whose paths he crossed and was known to guffaw in outlandish glee when his actions elicited a response of fear. In short, he was a swaggering hector until one yielded him the upper hand, then he might deign to put aside his threatening demeanor and once again act the gentleman.

  Elise’s mind ranged back to the time when she first encountered the Earl. She had
heard of his bumptious nature and overbearing tendencies well before her arrival, but she had dismissed most of the talk as poor-spirited hearsay. She had never even so much as seen the man from afar until that day he came riding into the courtyard on the late Marquess’s black Friesian stallion. The steed had come into Reland’s possession by way of a betrothal gift from Edward, and even from that initial viewing of the pair together, Elise was struck with a strong aversion for the pompous attitude of the one in the saddle. She had sensed that the man reveled in the fear and awe he inspired by the sight of him riding the animal, and fulfilling her image of a crude bully, he had chortled in uproarious mirth at the servants who scurried out of his path.

  Elise had paused beside the courtyard stairs to admire the beautiful, stately-gaited beast, and never considering that she might become an offense to the Earl because she did not flee in terror like the others, she had calmly stroked the cat she held. Her unruffled composure, however, had done much to squelch Reland’s booming laughter and thwart his good humor. Not content to frighten lackeys, maids, and scullions, the Earl had reined the stallion about and kicked him forward in her direction. Elise recalled how shocked and alarmed she had been when she realized she was being charged at, but her moment of panic had only seemed to encourage him. Reland’s laughter had risen to a deafening roar, serving to ignite her indignation. In stubborn defiance she had stood her ground, refusing to yield the man any further gratification as the monstrous horse thundered toward her. The sight of that horrendous beast advancing toward her had nearly stripped away her thin facade of bravado, but against an almost overpowering urge to flee, she had held her place and clutched the frightened, struggling cat until the brutish fellow hauled back on the reins and brought the steed to a skidding halt in front of her, then she tossed the hissing, spitting feline at the horse.