Innocence Lost (20 page)

"I should have known you were summoning me to an inquest."

"Julian,” she prodded.

He sighed. “We know you received a missive that upset you. Then you disappeared for almost four hours. What happened?"

Megan started to turn away, but Julian brought her head back around with insistent fingers. “What happened?” he repeated.

She bit her lip. “Promise not to say a word to Mother and Father."

"You have my word."

Somehow she managed to explain about the letter she'd received from Phyllis Granger. She added that she had set out to prove that jealous twit wrong, but had confirmed Angela Cooper's existence. She could not manage to tell Julian how she didn't measure up to Nicholas's expectations.

God, it still made her sick to think about that.

Julian scratched at the stubble shadowing his chin. “You're certain about this?"

She closed her eyes, seeing Angela Cooper in her mind. “I'm certain."

Julian smiled. “Did it ever occur to you that Nick hasn't yet had the opportunity to dismiss the woman?"

Megan knew better. The little house had been empty when she first arrived in London. And that could mean only one thing. Nicholas had moved the woman in while he was supposedly finding a way for them to wed. Had it all been a farce?

Examining the rosy glow of the room, she released a sigh. “I think I would like to go home now."

"Good. Nick will be very happy to hear that,” Julian said.

She frowned. “I meant to Kenbrook."

His eyes filled with sorrow. “Give him a chance to explain before you do anything rash. Promise me you will."

She bit her bottom lip with indecision. “I don't know, Jules.” Tears blurred her vision. “What should I do if the woman returns and Nicholas allows her to stay?"

"He won't, dear heart."

"How can you know that for certain?"

"I'll make sure of it."

Nicholas looked up when the door opened and focused his bleary vision on Julian. Noticing the grave expression, he sprang from his chair. “How is she?"

"Madder than hell,” Julian replied as he splashed an ample sum of whisky into a glass. “She has discovered Angela Cooper living in your townhouse."

"Dear God.” Nicholas downed the remainder of his gin. He closed his eyes and felt the muscles at the back of his neck tense.

"I should really like to hear about this mistress of yours, Nick,” Julian said after he'd refilled their drinks.

Taking the offered glass, Nicholas nodded. He sensed Julian's anger, but was damn glad the man wanted to hear an explanation.

Fortifying himself with a large dose of gin, he closed his eyes and told of finding Angela years ago after she had escaped her abusive father.

Julian leaned back in his chair. “Then why didn't you terminate your association?"

"As soon as I returned to London after meeting your sister, I did."

"Don't tell me you asked Angela Cooper back?” Julian sounded amazed and a little angry.

He shook his head. “I didn't want her back. But she called on me a little over a month ago with no where else to go. She couldn't return to her father when her funds were depleted. God, Julian, I felt so bloody torn apart. I couldn't send her back to that monster, and I couldn't explain it to Megan because of our agreement.” He downed the remaining contents of his glass, then looked Julian straight in the eye. “But I vow, since meeting your sister, she has been the only one in my bed. The only one I have wanted in my bed. The only one."

Julian nodded. “In the morning, I'll explain it all to Megan. Don't worry, Nick, things will be set right before you know it."

Nicholas lifted the glass to his lips, praying it would be that simple. Something told him nothing would ever be that simple concerning Megan.

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Megan woke before dawn the following morning and dressed quickly. She had remained awake most of the night and concluded that she would not stay another night in London. None of the servants were awake as she padded to the master bedchambers and opened the door. She placed her candle on the table beside the enormous bed and tied back the curtain on one side. With a deep breath, she reached out her trembling hand and shook her father's shoulder. “Papa."

He woke instantly. “What is it, darling?"

"Please, come with me into the sitting room,” she whispered.

He followed her out a moment later, tying his robe. “What is this about?"

"I wish to go to Kenbrook."

He smiled indulgently. “Of course. Your marriage hasn't made Kenbrook off limits to you."

She closed her eyes and expelled a breath. “Could you be ready in ten minutes?"

Her father stared down at her for two heartbeats. “What did he do?” he demanded with dangerous undertones.

She tried a smile, but it wouldn't stay. “Now, Father, I-I have been away from my horses much too long. I miss them dreadfully."

He hesitated. “Give me a few minutes to dress. I'm sure Nicholas won't object and shall be along as well."

As she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “I cannot legally keep your husband from you, child, unless he has done something in order to warrant it.” His expression turned murderous. “Has he?"

She shook her head, wishing that keeping a mistress were that sort of offense.

With gentle fingers, her father raised her chin. “Megan, all newly married couples have a difficult time adjusting. But I think it is a good idea that you visit Kenbrook. Ask Wentworth to have our horses ready. I'll be but a few moments."

She left the room as silently as she entered. If she had to suffer Nicholas's presence, it would help to do so at Kenbrook.

She couldn't wait to be in breeches and astride one of her horses again.

Upon arriving at Kenbrook, Megan visited the stables. All of her beloved horses nickered a greeting. She acknowledged every one with a special treat and promised to saddle each of them on the morrow for a long ride.

She sighed and straightened her shoulders as she neared the house. She had to keep her distance from Nicholas, even eat her meals in her room if necessary. And after a few days, she thought with a bitter smile, her husband would surely tire of her neglect, if he even bothered coming to Kenbrook at all.

By mid-morning the next day, Megan had given each horse a brisk run. She hadn't been able to race across the meadow as she usually did. She had no idea where her maid had placed the new breeches she'd purchased and her riding habit did not allow such freedom. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun's warmth on her skin, then took in the familiar surroundings. A line of fir trees stood on her right, the stream a little way beyond.

Hearing the approach of a rider, she turned and groaned. Nicholas galloped toward her on another of her horses. Blast. She had managed to avoid him yesterday and thought she had sneaked from the house unnoticed.

"He's magnificent,” Nicholas praised as he rubbed the thoroughbred's silky brown neck.

"Yes, d'Artagnan is splendid."

He grinned at her. Enchanted with his smile, she berated herself that it took just a trivial thing to yearn for his touch. Oh, God, how long could she continue to resist him?

"Who trained them?” he asked as he moved alongside her.

She sighed. Her gaze skidded across the grassy field before she answered. “I did.” The admission made her painfully aware of how unacceptable she was for Nicholas.

"Alone?"

She turned from the familiar landscape and looked at her husband. “Why is that so difficult to believe?"

His surprise melted into a cool glare. “You're right, Megan. We do seem to have difficulty believing one another. It must stop. Follow me.” Then he flanked d'Artagnan and began to race away.

She swore and commanded her mount to move. Even riding sidesaddle, she kept close behind. When she neared Nicholas, she called out to his horse. “Halt, d'Artagnan, and stay."

The horse came to a skidding stop. Nicholas lurched in the saddle, narrowly avoiding a nasty tumble. Megan hid a smile behind her gloved hand.

Nicholas bade the horse to move, but all four hooves stayed rooted to the ground. Nothing worked, as she knew it wouldn't. He tried stern commands, but after several minutes he gave up and coaxed softly. And still the horse remained stationary.

Megan closed her eyes. His silky baritone voice slid over her body. She turned away and moved beyond the trees toward a familiar meadow. She approached the azure belt of water that spilled into a deep pool. The grass had turned a deep green, dotted with buttercups, red clover, and creeping thistle. She slid from her horse, paying little attention to the lovely surroundings. What she saw was Nicholas Bradshaw, the Duke of Claremont, tenderly kissing a wet, bedraggled young girl wearing breeches. Unshed tears stung the backs of her eyes. Why would he allow that woman back into his townhouse? Megan shook her head in bitter resentment. Did he love her?

Strong arms closed around her and eased her back against a solid chest. “My love, I know why you're upset with me,” Nicholas said quietly. “But darling, I promise you are mistaken."

She dried her eyes at once. How dared he tell her that she was wrong? She'd seen Angela Cooper with her own eyes.

When she tried to draw away, his arms tightened around her. “Don't, Meg. Please, just listen,” he implored.

She turned in the circle of his arms and forced her gaze to his. Gritting her teeth to keep from reacting to the pain she saw in his eyes, she pushed away from him. She would never be able to say what had to be said within the circle of his embrace. She forced the words from her mouth. “I would like to speak first, and then I shall listen to you."

He reached out to touch her, but halted and fisted his hand instead. “As you will."

"I have arrived at a decision,” she said in a rush.

He stiffened, but remained silent. She licked her dry lips and pressed on. “I-I would like you to return to London as soon as possible. Alone. I shall remain here at Kenbrook.” She put her hand up and shook her head when he opened his mouth. “I know what you're about to say and I have thought of that as well. However, since we have already caused enough of a scandal with our hasty marriage, I feel a divorce would be too much for our parents. Therefore, I have resigned myself to stay married to you. And since you are a duke, you will require an heir.” She paused, her next words stuck in her throat. With a deep breath, she pried them out. “Perhaps in a year or two...” her words trailed off as a traitorous tear ran down her cheek. She swiped it away. “Damn you, Nicholas.” She pounded her fists against his chest. “How could you do this to us?"

When he took her wrists in a firm but gentle grip, Megan fell silent. His eyes softened. He was going to kiss her. Tears glazed her eyes when she realized she wouldn't stop him. Nicholas had won. Oh, dear God, she was going to fall apart. Hysterical sobs rose up in her throat.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder and found that the stream blocked any retreat. When she turned back, her husband's lips came down on hers. She went rigid. Nicholas was easy to resist when he showed his anger. But the kind and charming man she married, the man tenderly kissing her, she couldn't resist. And she loved him with her heart and soul.

A few minutes later, Nicholas lifted his head. She opened her eyes and noticed the stubborn set to his jaw and the determination in his steady gaze. “I pray you mark me well, madam, because I shall say this only once. And, as God is my witness, it is the truth."

He explained circumstances in which he'd met Angela and the events that led to her dismissal and return to the townhouse. His voice never wavered. Megan felt numb. She glanced down at the kid gloves she'd twisted in her hands and grew sick with remorse. Dear Lord, instead of believing in her husband, in his love, she'd chosen to brand him an adulterer and flee. A tremor ran through her. This served to prove how unworthy she really was of him. Tears raced down her cheeks. “Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered, “what have I done?"

He gathered her into his arms. “Don't cry, love.” His voice grew raw and gravelly, making her cry even harder. She did not deserve him.

His arms tightened around her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Darling, you are forgiven."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to suppress the pain. He deserved someone better. Her sobs tore at her throat. She had to find a way to tell him now before she lost the courage.

Scrubbing at her eyes, she pulled back. For several moments, she couldn't get her voice to work. She looked up at him. His eyes held tenderness, his lips a loving smile. Fresh tears sprang forth. He swiped them away with gentle fingers.

She had to set him free. Now. Or she never would. “Nicholas, we can't—"

He kissed her, long and slow. She raised her hands and wove her fingers through his hair. Just one kiss, and then she would tell him. Then she would set him free.

Passion licked every inch of her body, searing her very soul. She opened up for his seeking tongue and drank all of him in. Every outside sound fell away. Her blood roared thick in her ears, rushing from all parts of her body toward her throbbing core. Nicholas opened the front of her dress and pressed a palm to her breast. She moaned and moved closer, aching for his touch.

He lowered them to the soft grass. Wasn't there something she needed to tell him? He worked open her dress and she couldn't think. She could only feel the pleasure coursing through her body. When he captured a nipple in his mouth, she gasped and lightning exploded within her. His hand slid up her thigh and Megan knew she was going to die from pleasure.

She moaned in ecstasy. Her body pulsated to the rhythmic lunges he set with his finger. He continued to suckle her breast, shooting sparks down to her core and back. She raced to the edge of blissful completion, the tremors seizing her womb.

Her eyes flew open. After a deep breath, she captured his stone-solid erection in the palm of her hand. Hot silk over a marble rod. Her lips curved up when she heard his groan. She moved her hand to the tip of his engorged member and he went completely still. Instinctively, she stroked him. He shuddered and a faint snarl escaped his lips. Megan marveled at the power she wielded over him, and with a tiny movement of her hand, she used that power to return the pleasure he poured onto her.