Captain's Bride (36 page)

They moved up the stairs together, Nicholas still
gripping her arm, Kristen and Arthur close behind. When she tried
to stop in front of her room, Nicholas tugged her firmly toward his
own room instead.

“Not a chance,” he whispered beneath his breath. “I
want them to be damned sure you’re sleeping with me.” She started
to protest, but he covered her mouth with a kiss, pinning her
against the wall until Kristen and Arthur rounded the comer and
entered the opposite wing. He released her so abruptly she almost
lost her balance. Nicholas had to steady her to keep her upright.
Temper high, gray eyes dark, he guided her into his room.

“I thought you understood. From now on, you’re
sleeping in here.”

“But what about my things?”

“I didn’t have them moved today because I didn’t want
the Pedigrus to know we’d been sleeping apart. After they leave,
we’ll move your things.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to sleep with you when
your . . . your paramour is sleeping down the hall!”

“And surely you know me well enough to know that’s
exactly what I expect. Kristen Pedigru is no longer my paramour,
but you, my sweet, are my wife.”

“Well, I won’t do it, that’s all. I’ll sleep on the
sofa.” With that she flounced across the room and, gown and all,
stretched out on the plush velvet couch.

“You, madam,” came the deep rumble she knew so well,
“have a very short memory.” He strode across the room, heels
ringing against the polished wood floor, scooped her into his arms,
and unceremoniously tossed her on the bed.

“Since I bought that gown,” he said, “I can do with
it as I wish. Right now I wish to see it hanging in the wardrobe.
But as you well know, I’ll be just as happy to shred it into a pile
at my feet.”

Glowering down at her as he shrugged off his coat, he
shed his gray woolen waistcoat and wide white stock, then
unbuttoned and removed his shirt. “I’m sick and tired of pleading
with you, Glory. From now on you’ll do as I say.”

Bare-chested, he towered in front of her, eyes storm
gray. He looked sinister and furious—and devilishly handsome. And
Glory had never wanted him more. Against her will, she raised her
arms to him, encouraging his touch, the feel of his arms around
her. When he bent over her, she slipped her fingers through his
hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. Nicholas groaned and kissed
her with all the passion she could have asked.

When he broke away and began hurriedly to unfasten
the buttons at the back of her gown, she watched him over her
shoulder. “Why is it,” she whispered, “I cannot deny you?”

“Why is it that you, madam, can make me forget my
anger and think only of making love to you?”

She smiled pleased at his words. He helped her remove
her garments, then finished undressing himself. The bed creaked
beneath his weight as he settled beside her.

“You are the most infuriating, most desirable woman
I’ve ever known.”

His lips smothered her retort, which settled into a
soft, contented sigh. In seconds the sounds became those of
passion.

When they had finished, Glory nestled in the curve of
Nicholas’s arm, the heat of her body cooled by a fine sheen of
perspiration. She could feel his even breathing, but sensed he
wasn’t asleep.

The heavy draperies shadowed his face in darkness.
“Tell me you love me,” he whispered, his voice soft and low.

Glory felt a tightening in her chest, the sudden
pulsing of her heart. When she didn’t answer, the muscles of his
arm tightened ever so slightly.

“Give me a little more time,” she whispered at
last.

He made no response. It was a long time before the
muscles in his arm relaxed.

In the morning Glory awoke to find Nicholas gone.
The sun shone high in the sky, a bright yellow orb that promised a
brilliant March day. Glory hurried with her ablutions; Betsy
brought a pale yellow cashmere day dress and helped Glory coif her
hair into ringlets below each ear. Wandering through the house, she
encountered Arthur in the breakfast room, but saw no sign of
Nicholas or Kristen.

Next she tried the stable. He wasn’t in any of the
stalls or out at the paddock, but one of the grooms said he’d seen
Nicholas just a few minutes earlier. Glory wandered back through
the bam, enjoying the pungent odor of the animals mixed with the
sweet smell of hay. Deciding to check the tack room, she pulled
open the narrow door just in time to see Kristen Pedigru wrapped in
her husband’s strong arms. Cursing beneath his breath, Nicholas
broke away the instant he saw Glory.

Kristen spun to face her, a guilty flush staining her
pretty round cheeks. “It isn’t as it seems, I assure you. I simply
stumbled. Nicholas was kind enough to catch me as I fell.” The
smell of her lavender-scented perfume wafted across the tiny
room.

“How convenient,” Glory said, fingers clutching the
folds of her cashmere skirt.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some last-minute
packing.” Kristen brushed past Glory, who watched her retreating
figure all the way to the house.

Nicholas’s voice, bitter and low, spun her around.
“I’m sure you’re determined to believe the worst,” he said. “The
truth is she came up behind me and I thought it was you. There was
nothing more to it than that. I won’t spend the rest of my life
defending myself for things that didn’t happen.” His eyes, cool and
remote, held hers for a moment in a bit of a challenge; then he
straightened. “Now I suggest we return to the house and bid our
guests goodbye. Tomorrow we leave for the city.” He stalked past
her, his mouth a narrow hard line.

Glory watched his tall frame until he’d disappeared
from sight. For minutes she didn’t move. Then she smiled. She
couldn’t explain how it had happened, couldn’t begin to understand
why, but for the first time since they’d left the strand, Glory
knew without a measure of doubt Nicholas was telling the truth.

She saw little of him the rest of the day. They bade
the Pedigrus farewell, Nicholas cool and reserved, Glory wearing a
pasted-on smile; then Nicholas returned to the stables, his mood
dark and brooding. Glory left him alone. He joined her for supper,
but said little, retiring to his study as soon as they were through
with the meal.

Beginning to feel at home there, now that her
possessions had been moved, Glory waited for him in the huge master
suite with its dark wood paneling and heavy burgundy draperies. She
liked the feel of the room, liked the way the fire crackled in the
marble-manteled fireplace, the way the velvet curtains could be
lowered to enclose the huge tester bed.

The only thing missing from the room was
Nicholas.

As the hour grew late, she almost weakened, fighting
the urge to go to him. Instead, she dressed carefully in a snowy
white French lace negligee, propped herself up against thick down
pillows, and tried to concentrate on her book. Heavy footsteps in
the hall alerted her to his approach. Setting the book aside, she
lowered the wick of the lamp.

Nicholas opened the door without glancing toward the
bed. Turning his back to her, he slowly undressed and put away his
garments, taking longer than usual, it seemed to Glory. Enjoying
the play of firelight against muscle as he moved around the room,
Glory watched him from beneath her lashes. At last he turned and
walked in her direction, stopping the instant he reached the foot
of the bed. For a moment he didn’t move, just stared at her in
confusion. His gray eyes darkened as they traveled from her face to
the fullness of her breasts, the dark circles of her nipples
visible through the lacy swirls of the fabric.

Striding toward her with a quickness that had been
missing in his step earlier, he drew her into his arms and pressed
his cheek against hers.

“You believe me,” he whispered, his breath warm
against her ear.

“Yes.”

As he pulled away to look at her, gray eyes
sparkling, a smile softened his mouth. “I promise you won’t be
sorry.” Capturing her lips, he joined her on the bed and spent the
next few hours proving she’d made the right decision.

Morning passed in a flurry of activity as they
readied themselves for the trip to New York. A driver and groom
wearing red and black livery brought around the elegant black
brougham, crafted in England especially for Nicholas. He helped
Glory inside. She wore a rust and forest green traveling dress, and
he looked handsome in his dark gray split-tail coat with its black
velvet collar.

As the carriage rumbled and swayed along the
tree-lined lanes, Glory wished she could keep her thoughts on the
pleasures of the evening past instead of the uncertainties of the
next few days. Nicholas expected her to mingle with the very people
who had shunned her before. What would they say to her? How should
she respond? Would they dare to spurn her as they had before?

“What are you thinking?” Nicholas asked after they’d
traveled the first few miles in silence. “You look as though the
weight of the world rests on your shoulders.” He rode with one long
leg propped casually against the empty seat across from them. Glory
couldn’t help but admire the play of muscle beneath his snug black
breeches.

She smiled, distracted from her thoughts by his
nearness. “Nothing, really. I’m just enjoying the scenery.”

It was obvious he didn’t believe her, though the
countryside was beginning to turn green and the few scattered
houses along the lane seemed cleaner and brighter than they had
just a few weeks before. Several farmers worked in the fields,
readying the soil for spring planting. An occasional mongrel rushed
the carriage, nipping at the wheels and bringing a round of muffled
obscenities from the driver.

“You’re worried about the ball,” Nicholas said a
little later.

“I can’t help it.” She wet her lips, which had
suddenly gone dry. “Must we go?”

“I want them to know once and for all that you’re my
wife. That I love you. That I will not allow another word against
you.”

Glory closed her eyes and leaned against the velvet
seat, pressing herself into the tufts as if she wished she could
disappear. “Couldn’t we just make a brief appearance and then
leave?” Her hand trembled as she remembered the dreadful weeks
she’d spent after her return from the strand, the ridicule she’d
suffered, the shame she had felt.

“No. I want no doubt left in anyone’s mind. We’ll
still their wagging tongues once and for all.”

Glory turned away, her eyes beginning to pool with
tears. “I’m not sure I have the courage to face them,” she said
softly.

Nicholas lifted her chin, turning her to look at him.
“I’ll be right there beside you every moment.”

A single tear slid down her cheek. Her voice came out
in a whisper. “They hated me, Nicholas. They said terrible things.
. . . They called me . . . ‘the captain’s tart.’ ”

Nicholas bristled, his expression turned stormy. “I
could buy and sell the lot of them. If they say one word against
you, I’ll either ruin them or shoot them!” He clenched his fist and
scowled as if he would take on the world. Shifting his position on
the seat, he moved closer, draping his arm protectively around her
shoulders.

Recalling his words and the protective note in his
voice, Glory smiled up at him through her tears. Never had she
loved him more.

They reached Nicholas’s town house late that
eve-ning, having taken their time and supped along the way. To
Nicholas’s surprise and delight, Bradford met them at the door.

“It’s about time you two got here.” Brad grinned
broadly, hazel eyes dancing with mirth. “I’ve been waiting all
evening.”

“And just what are you doing home?” Nicholas asked
with a lifted brow.

“School holiday. Mother told me you were coming.”

“I’m sure she was ecstatic.”

Bradford rolled his eyes. After giving Nicholas a
brief hug, he shifted his attention to Glory. “You look as lovely
as ever. No, that’s not quite true. You look even more beautiful
than you did when last we met. I take it you’re feeling
better.”

“Much better, Brad. Thank you.” Brad helped her from
the carriage; footmen scurried to unload the baggage while Nicholas
led Glory inside. Elizabeth St. John Blackwell stood just inside
the door dressed in a simple but expensive gray velvet gown, dark
hair parted in the middle and swept into fat curls beside her
ears.

“Hello, Nicholas,” she said, her tone stiffly formal.
She was a short, broad-faced woman of little humor.

“Ah, Mother dear. You’re looking well. City life must
agree with you.” The words were spoken with a touch of sarcasm
Glory hadn’t heard from Nicholas in some time.

“Agree with me? Why, I’ve never felt less healthy in
all my life.” She glanced down her wide nose at Glory. “And whom do
we have here, as if I couldn’t guess?”

“This is my wife, Glory. Glory, my stepmother,
Elizabeth St. John Blackwell.”

“Hello, Mrs. Blackwell.” Glory extended a slender
white-gloved hand.

Mrs. Blackwell eyed her from head to foot. “I can’t
say I’m pleased to meet you, young lady. Since the day my stepson
uprooted me to this house I’ve suffered nothing but scandal because
of you.”

Glory let her hand drop heavily to her side.

“That’s enough, Elizabeth,” Nicholas warned. “None of
that was Glory’s fault. As to the house. You’ve been after me for
years to move you into the city. I should think you’d be
pleased.”

“I’d forgotten how dismal the city was. How noisy and
dirty. Not at all what I’d expected. But then, I’m sure you’re not
concerned about my likes and dislikes.” Nicholas clenched his
fists.

“Why don’t you and Glory get settled?” Brad put in
smoothly. “Then come down and join us for a nightcap.”

“That sounds like a fine idea, Brad.” Taking Glory’s
elbow, Nicholas guided her upstairs to the suite of rooms at the
end of the long lamplit hall. Two black-clad servants brought up
their trunks a few moments later.