A Dangerous Game (14 page)

She frowned. “No, not at all.”

He pursed his lips. “Ah, so I was right—you are lovers.”

When he said the words before, she had taken offense, but now she had no defense. Unashamed of her love for Salvatore, she smiled up at Darian. “Think what you will, my lord.”

“You will always keep me guessing, won’t you, my dear?”

She was saved from replying as they came upon the stables. Darian released her arm abruptly, and Nicolette immediately knew the reason. Simon Laurent had rounded the corner and came toward them, a pleasant smile on his face.

Somehow in all these years she’d built a wall, believing that he could never touch her. “I had best pick my mount before the others join us,” Nicolette said, and without waiting for a response, she turned and with a trembling hand, reached for the door to the stables, opening it with more force than necessary. A groom met her with a surprised smile, and as she passed him by, she knew she had to keep her emotions under control.

She went directly to the horse she’d ridden since her arrival at Kedgwick Hall, smiling as it nuzzled her hand. “How are you today, my beauty?”

The stable door opened and closed.

“Miss Nicolette, is that you?”

The marquess’s voice sent a shiver up her spine. This meeting had been inevitable since the moment she saw him at the base of the stage. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she turned and met her father face-to-face. They were alone, and there was no one else to hide behind.

“Indeed it is, my lord.”

He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment before saying, “You bear a striking resemblance to a woman I once knew. You have the same bone structure, the same beautiful color of hair.”

A door opened and Simon turned. Nicolette looked past his shoulder to see Henrietta, the marquess’s wife, walking toward them, her expression impossible to read. “There you are, my darling,” she said, her voice rather high and a bit forced.

Nicolette watched Henrietta closely, wondering again what the woman possessed that had won over Simon. Certainly it was not her looks. Though slightly attractive, she did not hold a candle to Nicolette’s mother’s beauty. It had to be money or social standing.

“Darling, this is Nicolette. Remember, the pianist who played last night?”

“Ah, yes indeed,” the marchioness said with a small nod. “You are incredibly talented.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he said, “Well, we have taken up more of your time than intended. We shall see you this evening.”

When the door closed behind them, Nicolette sank to the bale of hay. There was no question in her mind that he knew she was his daughter. What would be the best action to take? Perhaps she should try to find Salvatore and tell him what had happened.

The door opened and closed again, and Nicolette waited for her father to reappear.

“Who is he to you?” Darian asked, his voice on the edge of demanding.

He entered the stable and crossed his arms over his chest.

Nicolette didn’t respond to his question.

“The first time I met you, I realized that you reminded me of someone, but I could not place who this person was, but it has haunted me for days. I think I know what the marquess is to you.”

Nicolette swallowed hard.

“He is your father, isn’t he?”

She felt like a butterfly pinned to the wall, the way his dark eyes penetrated her, almost accusing.

He took a step closer, pulled her up against him. “Why are you here, Nicolette?”

She licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here at Kedgwick Hall? What are you about? One minute you flutter your eyelashes, devote songs to me, kiss me, tell me that you will be my lover, yet when it comes to the act, you find any excuse to deny me.” His fingers tightened around her arms. “So tell me, who are you really, and what do you want with me?”

Straightening her spine, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I think you are a very handsome man, and as you stated yourself—I go after what I want, with no thought of consequence. I saw you, and from that moment I knew I wanted you.”

His dark eyes searched hers, seeking the truth, and she did not dare bat an eyelash. Her gaze slid to his lips and she went up on her toes and kissed him.

The grip on her arms loosened, and then he crushed her to him, his lips hard, demanding, desperate.

Her arms encircled his neck, and she forced herself to relax, to do what she must in order to gain his trust and put from his mind any suspicion.

She pulled away slightly, looking up at his dark, wild eyes. “Tonight. No more excuses. No more waiting.”

The triumphant smile disappeared as he claimed her lips once more, his hands pulling her against him. “See what you do to me?” He took one of her hands and guided it to his thick erection.

Her hand trembled, and her stomach curled to her throat. How could she be intimate with this man? How could she touch him like she had Salvatore?

An image of her mother and the women from the brothel came to mind. Those women had no choice. Her mother had had no choice. She had given her body because she had needed to, and Nicolette would do the same. She would simply do the act, go through the motions, and tell herself that it had been duty, that her love for Salvatore had made her do just that.

*****

Salvatore did not like the silence.

Charlotte’s hand tightened on his arm. Inside the stable she nodded toward the closed stall. From his height, he could see Darian and Nicolette. The two were kissing, Darian’s mouth hard on Nicolette’s...and she clung to him, her arms entwined about his brother’s neck, her eyes closed, her soft sighs telling him in an instant that either she was a remarkable actress, or she enjoyed what his brother was doing to her.

“Tonight. No more excuses. No more waiting.” It was Nicolette’s voice. An instant later a growl escaped Darian and the two were kissing once more.

“See what you do to me?” Darian said in a gruff voice.

Salvatore did not have to guess what Darian spoke about. His heart missed a beat, imagining Nicolette touching the other man intimately.

Charlotte frowned at the stall door, then before Salvatore could stop her, she pushed it open, pulling Salvatore along with her. Darian and Nicolette jumped apart.

“Oh, you startled me,” Charlotte said, putting hand to heart, and looking back over her shoulder at Salvatore, imploring him to play along. “Salvatore and I were just looking for—”

“A quiet place to talk,” Salvatore finished for her, noting the guilty look on Nicolette’s face.

“It appears the two of you had the same thing in mind.” Charlotte turned her attention back to Darian, brow lifted high.

Nicolette stepped toward Salvatore, and took his hand. “Come, help me mount up.”

“You have never needed my assistance before,” he replied, surprised to hear the jealousy in his voice.

How lovely she was today, her color high, her cheeks flushed...just as they had been last night when he had made love to her. Still he could taste the sweetness of her lips, hear the sound of her sighs as he thrust within her, the heat of her tight sheath squeezing him, milking him of every ounce of seed. How foolish they had been, especially not to take precautions, but he had not been able to withdraw. Even now she could be carrying his child.

Their child. For a moment he allowed himself the fantasy. Believing that he could bring a child up in the world—perhaps a girl with red curls and green eyes like her mother. He smiled inwardly at the thought, and when Nicolette glanced up at him, his heart gave a jolt.

Had last night been about tutoring? Had she wanted to seem accomplished for Darian, or had there been more to it? They both learned from an early age that the act of making love had little to do with the emotion of love. His own mother had spent the last fifteen years of her life on her back, servicing men from all walks of life. Her soft cries had filled his young ears, leaving him with a sense of loathing that had followed him into adulthood.

It had been a young whore at the brothel, a friend of his mother’s, who had taken his virginity. He had been only thirteen, young and furious with the hand life had dealt him.

While he played the piano one night the whore had slid on top of the scratched Bechstein, her small breasts hanging out of her top, her eyes hot with wanting.

He had seen the look on other woman’s eyes, but ignored it. His looks had always drawn attention—not the type of attention he cared for.

That night he had become a man, and the whore would go on to teach him every way to make love, how to please a woman, where to touch her, what to say.

However, after a time he grew weary of the whore and he turned his passion to music, yet from time to time he would wander into a woman’s room and take her up on her offer, just to sate his urges.

But now he knew that it could be different. Making love did involve the heart and held limitless possibilities.

This morning he had woke with Nicolette at his side, and a million notes had come in rapid succession. He had not wanted to leave her soft body, but he had the urge to write down the notes, to put his thoughts on paper, so he could share it with the world.

So he could share it with her…

“You’ve ink on your fingers,” she said, as though reading his mind.

He looked at where their fingers were entwined, and he squeezed her hand. “I was inspired this morning.”

Her gaze flew to his, and her eyes searched his face. He smiled softly, then motioned to the awaiting horses. “Shall we?”

Chapter Twelve

Nicolette wanted to scratch Charlotte’s eyes out.

From the moment the other woman had mounted her gray mare, she had been no more than a few feet from Salvatore. And it appeared Salvatore enjoyed the blonde’s company for even now his laughter rang out about their small group.

Mr. and Mrs. Stromme brought up the back of their small party, while Viscount Athenry and his cousin rode ahead. Darian stayed close to Nicolette’s side, and every time she looked up, it seemed he was watching her.

She yearned to increase the horse’s tempo, to catch up to Salvatore and Charlotte, but she did not want to look jealous, and she didn’t need Darian questioning her further. He already knew Simon was her father. It would take nothing for Darian to learn the truth about Salvatore, especially since it was common knowledge Darian’s father had been close friends with her father.

It was with vast relief that they came upon a small village market, and they could dismount. Darian paid a group of young boys to look after their mounts, and Nicolette breathed deeply of the fragrant breads in a nearby stand.

Charlotte took Salvatore’s arm and led him off in the opposite direction. The viscount and his cousin went straight for the pub, and Mr. and Mrs. Stromme seemed intent on the baked goods stand, leaving Nicolette alone with Darian once more.

“Stay right there,” he said, his eyes warm, his smile genuine. She did as he said, trying hard not to notice Salvatore and Charlotte looking at jewelry. Charlotte put a ring on Salvatore’s finger and grinned coyly. The woman was breathtaking, and it seemed everyone in the marketplace watched her. Salvatore shook his head, and took the ring off and handed it back to the cheerful widow.

Charlotte picked up a necklace, handed it to Salvatore, then presented her back to him, obviously wanting him to help her with it.

While Nicolette watched Salvatore’s graceful fingers manage the necklace, his hands on the woman’s neck, his long hair brushing against Charlotte’s bare shoulders, she felt a rush of anger.

“For you,” Darian said, and she turned to find him holding a rose out to her. “I would fill your bedchamber with them if I could, but I fear that would draw undue attention to us, which we do not need.”

Nicolette had no right to be jealous of Charlotte. After all, Charlotte had been nothing but kind to her. She had seen the look of disbelief on the widow’s face when she had entered the stall to find Nicolette in Darian’s arms. She had been confused before about Nicolette’s intentions towards Darian. No doubt she thought the worst of her now.

Taking the rose, she brought it to her nose and deeply inhaled the scent. Roses had been her mother’s favorite flower, and she would always associate the scent with her. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. Come, what do you want to look at?”

“How about jewelry?”

Charlotte smiled as they approached. “Look at what Salvatore has bought for me,” she said, smiling prettily as she displayed the necklace. “What did you buy?”

Salvatore, who had been paying the merchant, grinned. “Yes, well there is no denying a woman when she has her mind made up.”

Charlotte swatted at his hand. “Come, I offered to buy you a ring.”

“He does not like rings,” Nicolette blurted before she could stop herself.

“Do you not?” Charlotte asked, wrapping her arm around Salvatore’s so tightly, her breast brushed against his arm. Nicolette took a step closer to Darian, and fought the urge to do the same.

The difference was that she was boiling over with jealousy, while Salvatore seemed not at all affected.

She lifted her chin a fraction. If he could remain indifferent, then so could she. “Darian bought me a rose,” Nicolette said, holding the flower to her nose.

Salvatore smiled. “How kind of him.”

“Buy me a rose?” Charlotte pleaded, looking up at Salvatore with her gorgeous blue eyes, which Nicolette yearned to scratch out.

“Of course, my sweet,” Salvatore said, winking good-naturedly, playing along to the extreme, motioning to a young girl with a basketful of colorful wildflowers. He gave the girl a coin, a light pinch on the cheek and took the small bunch from her, handing it to Charlotte, who seemed to melt under Salvatore’s generosity. Wildflowers were Nicolette’s favorite...and well Salvatore knew it.

The afternoon dragged on endlessly, and not once did Charlotte stray from Salvatore’s side for more than a second.

When they left the market, they followed the river upstream, toward Kedgwick Manor. The day was warm, and seemed to grow hotter by the second.

The small group ahead of them stopped along the river’s edge and Nicolette laughed when Mrs. Stromme, with Salvatore’s urging, stepped into the chill waters, her skirt up to her chubby knees. Mr. Stromme sat on the grassy bank, shaking his head, but smiling widely, obviously enjoying the sight of his wife in childlike mode.