Innocence Lost (4 page)

Jeremy took the seat beside him and nodded for his usual whiskey. “I have a few things to discuss with you, Nick, but you look quite dull in the eye. Perhaps I should wait."

He welcomed anything that would take his mind from
that girl
. “I am not so fuddled.” He swiveled his head and focused on Jeremy. “What is it?"

His friend sipped from his glass, then set it aside. “I was at Brooks's last week while you were at Claremont and watched Stenwick lose a wager."

He hiked his brow. “I presume that means something."

"That wager lightened his purse by two thousand pounds."

Nicholas whistled through his teeth. “Surely that gave him the blue devils for a time."

"Nick, I saw the books. He hasn't paid a single debt in over four months.” Jeremy paused and lowered his voice. “I believe your uncle may be in a quandary."

He snorted doubtfully. “It's more likely his daft secretary misplaced the duns as he does Charles's invitations. The man is a complete imbecile.” He took a gulp of his drink. “Moreover, if Charles were in need of blunt, he'd speak to me of it."

"You are probably right. I've seen his secretary."

As Nicholas raised his drink to his lips, he felt Jeremy's gaze on him. He turned and found his friend watching him in careful contemplation. “What. Have I a bit of muck on my nose?"

"I just realized that you've been imbibing gin."

"Meaning...?"

Jeremy grinned. “You guzzle the ghastly stuff only when you're troubled, Nick.” His grin widened. “Perhaps you need to initiate in a bit of amorous congress to help ease your disquietude,” he said and wagged his brows.

"Good Lord, Jeremy.” He glared at his friend. “The lack of copulation is not my difficulty."

"I daresay, Nick, you've been at sixes and sevens since you and that barracuda, Angela, parted company. What else am I to believe? Not to worry, old man, I know the perfect replacement,” he boasted. “Which happens to be the other thing I wished to discuss with you."

Sighing, Nicholas lifted his gaze to heaven, beseeching God for patience with his friend. “I am done with mistresses. By God, they're more trouble than wives.” He drained his glass, then lifted his hand and requested another.

"And you being such an expert on wives,” his friend replied dryly. “Aren't you even the least bit curious about the, um, lady?"

"No."

"She's very beautiful. And young."

Nicholas glared at his so-called friend. “Then you take her."

"I already have three mistresses and cannot afford another.” Jeremy blew out a sigh. “But I am tempted. This one is quite the go. So what say you?"

"I am not interested."

Jeremy looked stunned. “Surely, you don't actually miss that jealous, red-headed twit."

"Absolutely not,” he snorted. “In fact, I should have rid myself of Angela much sooner."

"Then what is plaguing you, old friend?"

He hesitated, reluctant to divulge any information about the brazen beauty he'd met. But he had to confide in someone. Her memory ate away at his soul. “When I went to Claremont, I met someone,” he said quietly into his glass. His friend listened. “I cannot banish her from my mind, no matter how hard I try.” He gulped down the remainder of his gin and nodded for a refill.

Jeremy's softly spoken question broke the thick silence. “What happened?"

He lifted the fresh drink to his lips. “We conversed for a while and then she disappeared.” He took a generous gulp.

"Where did you meet? On your estate?"

Feeling sufficiently numbed, he turned and studied his bemused friend for a moment before he answered. “We met by a small stream on the property's border. She's the most beautiful lady I've ever met. She was young, probably under twenty. She is absolutely stunning, Jeremy."

"Who is she?"

He grimaced. “I don't know. She left before I could even get a first name."

"Why don't you describe her in detail? Maybe I can help identify her for you."

He shook his head. “You haven't met her."

"How can you be certain?"

Releasing a long sigh, he wished he'd never started the conversation. “Because she's a commoner."

Jeremy choked on his drink. “Be damned, she's one of your tenants?"

"No."

"Then a tenant of Kenbrook's?"

"Perhaps.” He frowned. “I just wish I knew how to find her."

"And, my friend, what would you do if you did find her?"

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed it with a click of his teeth. “Bloody hell. You're supposed to be helping."

"I am trying, Nick, but you're making things rather difficult."

"Oh? And how are you helping?"

A smile spread across Jeremy's face in slow degrees. “I've already explained, old chap. There is a young, beautiful damsel eager to expunge all of your unhappiness. Take my word for it, you shan't be disappointed."

"I don't want her,” he grated out. He couldn't just come right out and tell Jeremy what had happened with Angela. How his body had refused to respond. What if this was a permanent condition? He gulped down more of his drink.

Leaning back in his chair, Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest. “But you wouldn't hesitate to bed that gorgeous country girl."

He didn't bother to deny it. His body only responded when he thought of her. Blast it all to hell. He drained his drink and rose unsteadily. “I'm leaving now."

"Take care, Nick,” his friend said as he brought his glass to his lips.

With a curt nod, Nicholas left the gentleman's club, choosing to ignore the chuckle behind him.

After maneuvering his befuddled body into his carriage, he leaned his head back to ride the rest of the short journey in a blessed drunken haze. As the vehicle lumbered down the vacant, cobbled street, he did not allow sleep to pull him under. It would be near impossible to heave him from the carriage, and he didn't relish the idea of slumbering within the cold, cramped interior.

He felt the turn, then the smooth halt a few seconds later. The door swung out and he pried his eyes open. Exiting the high vehicle proved more difficult than entering. He stumbled as he stepped to the ground, then caught himself before swearing out loud. He shook his head when the footman offered assistance, then straightened his spine and walked carefully up the front steps. “Damned gin,” he mumbled.

One of the twin oak doors opened, and his impeccably dressed butler stood to the side, waiting for him to enter. “Good evening, Your Grace,” the man said with a bow.

"Carson.” He hurried past, in no mood to palaver.

"Your Grace,” Carson called to his retreating back.

He sighed heavily but continued his unsteady trek toward the stairs. “Whatever it is can wait until morning."

"But this note, Your Grace, is of utmost importance,” the man insisted as he followed. “And your ward—"

Nicholas spun around so fast, Carson nearly ran into him. “My
what
?"

The butler held out an envelope, unfazed by the outburst. “The lady said this note will explain—"

"Lady?” he interrupted, lowering his gaze to the envelope. “Tell me, Carson, is the lady young and beautiful?"

"Oh, indeed, Your Grace."

Swearing inwardly, he vowed to get even with Jeremy. His friend should know better than to bring a girl like that into his family's home. He shuddered to think what his mother would say if she were to learn of this.

He swiveled around. “Worry not, Carson, I know what is going on."

"What about this note, Your Grace?"

Undoubtedly a ruse to gain entrance, he guessed as he took the envelope and dismissed Carson for the night.

Espying the thin strip of light glowing beneath one of the guestroom doors, he slowed his steps. “Wait until I see you next, Jeremy,” he hissed, shoving the envelope into his coat pocket. Turning the silver knob, he slipped soundlessly into the room. The lamp's rosy glow spilled over the bed and he saw thick, raven hair lying in slight disarray over the snowy pillow slip. He sucked in a breath, his thoughts turning to another with the same color hair. But it couldn't be.

He pushed away from the closed door and shuffled forward. He caught the faint scent of jasmine and his heart leapt. It couldn't be. But his body refused to listen to his mind as need swelled within him.

She moaned and turned over. Nicholas halted, his eyes riveted to her face. It was her! But when...how...? He shook his head. It didn't matter, he decided, stripping the cravat from his neck.

His mind spun with images of their entwined bodies, and his shaft swelled at the thought. He moved to the bed, wondering why she had traveled all this distance for him. His doubt eased when he recalled those hideous garments she'd been wearing the day they met. Certainly, she had come for one reason alone. To be his mistress.

"Your Grace."

With a jolt, his gaze flew from her breast outlined in the thin white material to her face.

She stared up at him.

As the gin's numbing effects began to diminish, he felt his doubt return. What if he was wrong about the reason she'd come?

"I'm glad you're here,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

Slumping in relief, for a lady glad to see him in her bedroom meant only one thing, he moved to the edge of the bed and sat. “And why, nymph, are you glad I'm here?” He had to hear the words.

"Because I need your help,” she answered softly, opening her eyes to reveal a glimpse of desperation.

He nodded. “You have it."

"Thank you,” she whispered, lifting her hand to his face. “I was afraid you wouldn't."

As her petal-soft fingertips grazed his cheek, he groaned. Then, unable to stand another second without tasting her, he lowered his head. “I am your servant."

She murmured something incoherent just before their lips met and he could swear lightning exploded within him.

It took only moments to shed his shirt and waistcoat. He refused to break contact, afraid the magic would end. He kicked his boots away, then worked the buttons at the front of his pantaloons. Dear God in heaven, she was to be his.

She groaned and he knew he could wait no longer. He moved one of his hands down her side and gripped a fistful of her night rail, then raised it up to her waist.

Her hands fluttered to his shoulders as he settled over her and he could taste the tanginess of her arousal on his tongue.

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The dream had returned. Nearly every night since sharing that searing kiss by the stream, Megan had dreamed of the duke. His lips on hers, his hands holding her tenderly. A difference weaved its way into her mind. Tonight, Nicholas kissed her in a way she never before experienced. These kisses held power and magic. These kisses possessed her. And his hands...she gasped as a hand closed around her breast. He halted, and she opened her eyes. That face. That incredibly handsome face that had been branded into her memory since childhood. She reached up and touched his cheek.

"Am I moving too fast?” he whispered, his brows puckered.

"Your Grace—"

"Nicholas. You must call me Nicholas."

"Nicholas,” she breathed, saying his Christian name out loud. That one little word brought such a rush of joy. She had imagined saying his name many times, even practiced in the mirror. But saying his name to his face brought her to the brink of tears.

He lowered his head and nuzzled her neck. “And what shall I call you?"

"You know my name is Megan.” She slid her eyes shut as tiny sparks of excitement skittered down to her toes.

"Megan.” He kissed just behind her ear, sliding his mouth over to her cheek. “Megan,” he said again, his lips finding hers.

A longing gripped her. It mounted and surged, swelled and bloomed. She had no power to fight whatever it was. From somewhere deep within her, her core was aflame and throbbing with desperate need. She had never before felt this way. And with each second, it grew worse.

His tongue moved over the seam of her lips and her thoughts scattered. She opened her mouth and allowed the delicious exploration. She couldn't think. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back with all the feelings she had for him. All the years she yearned for him, all the hopes and dreams she had for a future with him. Nothing else mattered but Nicholas. Her Nicholas.

Nicholas nearly exploded. Megan drove him mad with need. Megan. Her fingers combed the back of his hair and he groaned. Another few seconds of this and he wouldn't be able to control himself.

"Megan,” he lifted his head, “are you ready, love?"

Her eyes swept up, dazed. Filled with passion. He swallowed. “Are you ready?” he repeated.

"Please.” She wiggled beneath him. “I need..."

"I know.” He kissed her deeply. Hungrily. He could wait no longer. He slid into her taut heat, not at all expecting to pierce the thin barrier of her maidenhead. But when he felt the breach and heard her gasp, he knew exactly what he had done.

Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. His chest pinched when he saw the pain in her eyes. “Oh, God, are you all right? Why didn't you tell me?"

She blinked several times, the pain receding from her eyes. “What?” she whispered in a strangled gargle.

Possessiveness welled up within him and his confusion vanished. No one had ever touched her. And no one would. He held her face between his palms, his gaze delving into hers. “You are mine, Megan. Mine alone.” He traced the tip of his right forefinger down her smooth cheek. “And I don't think I could ever let you go. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Her brows puckered and she shook her head slowly.

He closed his eyes, fighting for control, fighting the fierce need to keep her safe. “I want you to stay with me. Always,” he insisted, opening his eyes.

She looked strangely at him, her features softening. He swallowed. His heart pounded in his chest. He could hold her forever.

Megan stirred and opened her eyes. Her head felt like it was full of wool as she tried focusing on the fuzzy images dancing before her. She frowned. Laudanum caused these uncomfortable effects and she'd take no more of the horrid stuff. The throb from the lump above her temple was hardly noticeable anyway.