Christmas with the Duchess (20 page)

Nicholas had finished dancing with Octavia. Emma nearly collided with him as he made his way to the refreshments.

Nicholas frowned down at her. “Good evening, your grace. You are not dancing?”

Emma stared mutely into his blue eyes, her heart pounding. Even if she suggested an assignation now, she was not at all certain he would accept. She did not care to be rejected face to face. Her courage deserted her. She felt like a clumsy schoolgirl at her first dance.

“Are you looking for Mr. Palafox?” he suggested woodenly. “I know he has been looking for you.”

“Yes,” she said, seizing on the suggestion with absurd gratitude. “I was indeed looking for Mr. Palafox. Have you seen him?”

Nicholas knew perfectly well that Captain Palafox was currently performing the Boulangere with Miss Cornelia Fitzroy as his partner. “No,” he said stonily. “I haven’t seen him. But, then, these army officers all look alike to me.”

“Oh,” said Emma. “Thank you, my lord. He must be in the card room.”

“Very likely,” Nicholas said, moving on.

Feeling quite like an idiot, Emma ran to her room to find pen and paper. She wrote quickly, before her courage deserted her again, hardly knowing what she wrote.

Folding the page over, she sealed it with a wafer, gave it to Carstairs, the butler, the only servant in whom she had perfect trust, and instructed him to place it in Lord Camford’s hand personally.

Nicholas was all astonishment when he read it. Why, he wondered, would she send him a
note
when they had been face-to-face not five minutes before? She had been looking for that scoundrel Palafox, with a rather desperate look in her eyes. This must be a mistake, he thought grimly. And the rascal’s first name was Charles—with a C.

Of course, he thought grimly. The invitation was for Charles Palafox.

Did Emma have so many lovers that even the servants could not keep them straight?

“Are you quite sure this note is for me?” Nicholas asked, detaining the butler.

“Certainly, my lord. Would your lordship care to reply?”

Nicholas opened his mouth to argue the point, but then thought better of it. It would not be such a bad thing, after all, if Charles Palafox never got the duchess’s note.

“No,” Nicholas said. “No reply. Thank you, Carstairs.”

“Very good, my lord.”

But before Carstairs could withdraw, Nicholas had changed his mind. It would be uncivil to keep Emma waiting for a man who would never come. Worse yet, what if Palafox decided to go back to his room for some other reason?

“Wait! No! There
is
a reply, Carstairs. Please tell the lady that the gentleman cannot do as she requests.”

Carstairs bowed. “Very good, my lord.”

“No, wait,” Nicholas said, detaining him again. “If you’re quite sure this is for
me,
perhaps I
should
go.” He could always tell the surprised Emma that Carstairs had given him her note by mistake. After all, it was the truth.

Before Carstairs could speak, Nicholas reversed himself again. “No, I can’t. Tell her I’m sorry, but I can’t. Tell her that. On the other hand,” he went on, almost in the same breath, “it
is
my room, and I have every right to go there if I want. She can’t keep me out of my own room.”

There is a limit to everything, including Carstairs’s patience. “My lord, if you please!”

“Cousin Nicholas?”

Octavia’s voice preceded her into the hallway.

Nicholas jumped. “No reply, Carstairs,” he said quickly. “No reply at all.”

“Is that your final answer, my lord?” Carstairs drawled.

“Yes, of course,” said Nicholas.

He hurried to meet Octavia. “I’m so sorry, Cousin Octavia. This is our dance, is it?”

“Yes, Cousin Nicholas, the supper dance. What did Carstairs want?”

“Nothing,” Nicholas lied. “A slight wobble in the Christmas tree, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“It would serve her right,” Octavia sniffed, “if the whole ridiculous thing fell over.”

“But I put it up,” Nicholas reminded her as they returned to the ballroom.

She looked at him blankly. “Yes? And?”

Nicholas had a sudden, repellent vision of his future: a lifetime of Octavia’s blank stares, her cold voice, her handsome but masklike face. There would be children, too, little children with blank stares and cold voices. He wanted to run away to the nearest port and take the first ship bound for anywhere. Instead, he was going to have to keep his word and marry Octavia.

“Nothing, Cousin Octavia,” he said quickly, and they went to rejoin the dancers.

It was just then a little after eleven o’clock. As Nicholas danced with his cousin, it became crystal clear what he must do. Or, rather, what he must
not
do. Emma Fitzroy was the first woman, the only woman, with whom he had ever been intimate. She still excited him physically, and the desire to see her again was very strong. But, sadly, she was a loose-moraled woman, and, besides, he was spoken for, engaged to Octavia. It would be wrong to meet in secret with another woman. He would not go.

And, up until the very moment the clock began to strike twelve, he was perfectly at peace with his virtuous decision. He had just escorted Octavia down the steps into the dining room, and was on his way to the banquet hall to prepare a plate for her, when he saw Charles Palafox, with a look of urgency on his face, leaving the ballroom. And the handsome officer was not going in the direction of the dining room.

Emma was nowhere in sight. All thoughts of right and wrong vanished from Nicholas’s mind. So! He had been right, after all. Carstairs had gotten it wrong; Emma’s letter obviously had been meant for Palafox. The assignation Emma had been attempting to make in her note must have been made by some other method, probably face-to-face.

It should be me,
Nicholas thought furiously.
If she’s going to rendezvous with anyone, it should be me.
I
saved her.
I
got her letter back. And this is how she thanks me?

He could have used that letter to make her his mistress. Now he regretted letting that power out of his hands.
She should be mine,
he thought, almost blind with rage.

Suddenly, he forgot that he was engaged to Octavia, and that, at this very moment, she was waiting patiently for him to return to her with a plate of lobster patties and caviar. Forgetting everything but his own fury, he started after Palafox, moving across the ballroom, going against the flow of traffic.

Naked as the day she was born, Emma lay shivering in Nicholas’s bed, thinking over and over:
this isn’t going to work, this isn’t going to work.
Octavia could discover Nicholas in bed with a dozen women, and she would still not release her fiancé from the engagement, Emma was sure. She did not have much faith in Colin’s plan, whatever it was, but she clung to hope.

She heard the clock strike midnight. Nicholas was late, and she began to fear that he was not coming.
He does not want me, after all,
she thought, wounded, but not really surprised. She felt ridiculous lying there naked, waiting for a man who obviously did not want her. Not even the memory of his egregious attempt at lovemaking could soothe her injured pride.

She dreaded having to get out of bed and get dressed, but she was on the verge of doing just that when the door opened, flinging a rectangle of light across the bedroom of Westphalia. The light disappeared as the door closed. Swiftly, Nicholas crossed the room and went into his dressing closet. After a moment, she heard the unmistakable sound of a man answering the call of nature.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she said as he emerged from the closet.

“Who’s there?” His voice was sharp with surprise.

“Who do you think?” she whispered, sitting up. “It is I, Emma. Hurry! Take off all your clothes and get into bed.”

Charles Palafox held up the candle and grinned at her. “Duchess! Does this mean you have forgiven me?”

Shocked, Emma pulled the eiderdown quilt up to her chin so hard that her feet were exposed. “You!” she shrieked. “What are
you
doing in Lord Camford’s room?”

Palafox was taken aback. “Camford? No, this is
my
room.”

“I don’t think so, Captain Palafox,” Emma said coldly. Now she had her knees tucked under her chin, her body completely covered by the quilt. “I’m quite sure this is his lordship’s room. It’s Westphalia, isn’t it?” She looked around desperately. It was a long way to the door, and Charles was between her and her clothes.

Palafox was enjoying himself. “If you’re looking for Camford’s room, my dear duchess, it’s across the hall,” he said. “We switched.”

“Switched?”

“We exchanged rooms,” he clarified. “I preferred the view from this chamber, and his lordship didn’t care, so…we switched. I must say, the view keeps getting better!”

“I see,” Emma said primly. “It would seem that I have made a mistake. I apologize for intruding on your privacy, sir.”

“Madam, I forgive you,” he said warmly.

“Thank you,” she said tartly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving me,” she went on, with all the dignity she could conjure. “I seem to have…Oh, hell! I need to get dressed.”

He chuckled. “I can help you with that. I’m good with my hands.”

“No, thank you!” she snapped.

“Really, I’m very good at dressing ladies. That is, I’m very good at
un
dressing them. I’ll just do what I usually do, except in reverse, shall I?”

“Mr. Palafox!” she said sharply.

“You’re wasting your time with Camford, you know,” he told her irritably. “The
on-dit
is that he’s going to marry the eldest Miss Fitzroy. Personally, I’d sooner marry an eel, but there’s no accounting for taste, is there? You and I could have such fun together,” he went on. “I know I can please you, if you would just give me the chance.”

“Captain Palafox, I must ask you to recall that you are an English gentleman!”

“At least let me watch you get dressed,” he pleaded.

“Certainly not!”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Just let me see your breasts.”

“No,” she answered.

“Let me see your breasts, and I’ll go away directly and forget I ever saw you.”

“Oh, all right,” Emma said crossly, throwing off the quilt. “Anything to be rid of you!”

Staring at her naked torso, he gave a deep, contented sigh. “Glorious,” he murmured appreciatively. “But then I knew they would be. Are you
quite
sure you wouldn’t care for a tumble? I’ve got something very nice for you in my breeches. You will not be disappointed.”

“Get out!” she said, snatching up the book from the bedside table and throwing it at him. He knew better than to duck and Montaigne’s essays whizzed harmlessly past his head, hitting the floor with a thud.

Chuckling, Palafox went to the door. As he opened it, Nicholas, Lord Camford, fell into the room. The earl caught himself, regained his feet, and stood red faced with anger and embarrassment. “If I’d known we had an audience, I’d have projected more,” Palafox drawled. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, my lord, but this is
my
room. Yours is across the hall.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Nicholas said stiffly. He glanced at Emma, who was sitting up in Palafox’s bed, half hidden by the quilt. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said contemptuously. “Your note was delivered to me by mistake. I daresay Carstairs cannot keep up with all your lovers!”

He flung her crumpled note in her direction.

“Nicholas!” she cried, struggling to get out of bed with the quilt wrapped around her. “This is not what it looks like. Please, you must believe me!” She followed him into the hall.

“I may be an idiot,” said Nicholas, “but I am not an idiot!”

“I don’t think you are an idiot!” she said quickly. “Please, just listen to me! Charles and I are not lovers.”

“What are you, then? A pair of rutting beasts?” he shouted. “It’s bloody obvious what you’ve been about, madam! Do not imagine that I care,” he added unconvincingly. “If your note had not been delivered to me by mistake, I would not be here.”

“But it was
not
delivered to you by mistake,” she protested.

Nicholas recoiled as if she had struck. “You
meant
for me to find you like this? With this—this paltry excuse for a Casanova? If you were any sort of gentleman, sir,” he went on, eyeing Palafox with contempt, “you would at least propose marriage to this…this
lady.
And if
you
were any sort of a
lady,
you would accept,” he added scathingly, glaring at Emma. “But I fear you are no more a lady than he is a gentleman.”

“How dare you!” Emma gasped.

“Allow me to point out to you, sir,” Palafox said coldly, “that this is really none of your business. You are not her husband, after all.”

Nicholas laughed bitterly. “I am thankful for that, at least.”

Palafox laughed back at him. “Sour grapes, Camford?”

“Hardly!” Nicholas spat. “You are welcome to this—this
strumpet!
In fact, I’d say you were perfect for each other! You, madam, are a brazen hussy!”

Emma bristled at the insult. “How dare you speak to me like that? I wash my hands of you. If you’re foolish enough to marry Octavia, then you deserve every ounce of misery that’s coming your way!” She took a deep breath. “Come, Charles,” she said, taking a firm hold of Palafox’s arm. “Are we going to make love or not? We mustn’t let this ridiculous
boy
spoil our fun.”