Innocence Lost (7 page)

"His Grace has been quite worried about you, my dear. You are most fortunate to have such a concerned guardian,” he said. “I will continue to monitor your condition every day for the next couple of days. But it looks as though you will fully recover. Now, get some rest. And fear not, my lady, His Grace shan't allow any untoward thing to happen to you.” The large man rose and bade them a good day, then vacated the room.

She shifted her gaze back to Nicholas.

He sighed, then shuffled back to his seat. “What I have done to you is beyond any measure of forgiveness.” He paused and cleared his throat. “What happened between us...” He shook his head. “I know there is absolutely nothing I can do that would atone for my actions, but please...” He stopped and closed his eyes. “Oh, God, Meg, I am so very sorry.” He shot to his feet and fled the room.

Nicholas stayed away long enough to gulp down some gin. He hung his head as he headed back up the stairs. He felt the pulse at his neck begin to race as he entered the room. Dread filled him. She would probably insist that he be hung, drawn and quartered. He bloody well deserved it. “Can I... Do you need anything?” he asked.

When she looked at him, tears filled her eyes. “Find my parents,” she whispered.

His insides shook so badly, he thought everything within would break into a million pieces. She was actually asking him for help.
Him
. Humbled, he blinked his stinging eyes. He would find her parents. By God, he'd do whatever it took to regain her affection. “I promise you, Megan, they shall be found. I have already hired dozens of investigators."

Her eyes brightened. “What have you learned, Your Grace?"

"Wentworth has confirmed that your parents were in residence for only one night, then departed at dawn the following morning. Unfortunately, he has no idea where they've gone."

She picked at the lace on her sleeve. “Wentworth said he heard Father tell Mother that Sims would deliver a note explaining everything to me. That's why the carriage had been returning to the estate."

He nodded. “And then they hired a hack and departed one way, Sims, the other."

"That's right. Have you learned anything else, Your Grace?"

Your Grace. For the first time in his life, he detested the title. “You know my name. Please, call me that."

She smoothed a wrinkle from the bedspread. “I would prefer not to, Your Grace."

That stung. He wanted to make amends. Hell, he wanted more than that.

"Your Grace?” Her amethyst gaze lifted, and he felt a kick square in the gut. God, how he wanted her. More than simple lust. He wanted to protect her. A fine mess he'd made of that. Not only had he propositioned Kenbrook's only daughter to becoming his mistress, he had taken her maidenhead.

"Your Grace?"

He shook his head. “What did you say?"

"Have you learned anything else?"

He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the matter at hand. “Some of the men I've hired are searching for the missing coachman, Sims, while the rest are combing the city for your parents.” He leaned a bit closer. “Megan, they shall be found."

The silence stretched out. One minute became two, then three. Every second seemed to pull them farther apart. “Meg, about what happened—"

"Don't, Your Grace,” she interrupted. “I don't ever want to think of it, much less discuss it.” She closed her eyes as if speaking had exhausted her. “If her mother has recovered, I would like my maid, Lucy, to be brought from the estate. Would you send a coach and driver?"

"Yes, of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She opened her eyes and looked straight into his. “Yes. Go home and get some sleep, Your Grace. You look like hell."

He ground his teeth. Things hadn't gone as planned. Megan should have been in his possession by now. He knew exactly what had gone wrong. She was brought to London instead of Claremont. Damn it! He twisted the ring on his little finger. The plan would have to be reworked. Just a setback.

With a sigh, he sat down at the secretary and began scribbling a note. Perhaps having Megan in London could work to his advantage. He pursed his lips. He scratched out some words, growing more satisfied that the altered plan might work out even better. After sealing the note, he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

Megan tossed and turned. She knew that she would never rest the two hours each day that the good doctor insisted. Groaning in frustration, she bounced from the bed and began to restore some order to the tangled mass of her hair. Then she rang the pull for Lucy to help her dress.

"Here, my lady, let me,” the maid said, seeing her struggle with her hair.

Lucy was an angel, she thought with an inward smile. She used to detest all of the attention the maid showered on her. But after dressing herself for a short time, she felt grateful to have the attentive lady's maid with her. And in the two weeks since Lucy's arrival in London, she was actually glad to have her maid care for her instead of the duke. Indeed, she refused the remorse bubbling within, reminding her how he had wiped her forehead with cool water and fed her spoonfuls of broth.

After Lucy had arranged her hair, Megan went downstairs.

"My lady, the Duke of Claremont requests a meeting with you,” Wentworth announced. “He's waiting in the parlor."

A groan slipped from her lips. She knew a confrontation would eventually occur. The stubborn man had returned with luggage and his valet a short time after she'd told him to leave. Although she would never admit it, she ached to know what was happening with the investigation. True to his word, the Duke was working feverishly with the investigators to locate her parents.

She frowned, not wanting to feel pleased with the man. The door to the parlor opened and the duke stepped out. He looked exceptionally fine in a crisp white shirt with a grey waistcoat, charcoal pantaloons, and polished black Hessians. A large pear-shaped diamond sparkled brilliantly in the center of his snowy cravat. Her gaze moved up to his freshly shaven face. Goodness, the man could still take her breath away. Her frown deepened.

She watched his eyes skitter over her before he cleared his throat. “May I have a word with you please, my lady?” he asked in a gentle voice.

She thought of her parents and nodded. Her acquiescence most certainly had nothing at all to do with wanting to be near him.

She clasped her hands together and followed the duke into the parlor. “What have you learned of my parents, Your Grace?"

His shoulders drooped. “Will you not call me Nicholas?"

"No."

"Stubborn girl,” she heard him grumble as he went to the sideboard and poured some amber liquid into a tumbler.

"My parents, if you please."

"The investigators are still looking for them.” He tossed back the contents.

"Then why did you wish to see me?"

His eyes fused with hers, rooting her to the spot. He took a step in her direction, then stopped and shook his head. “Can you not guess, Megan?"

Her body tensed. “Guess what, Your Grace?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then must have thought better of it. Instead, he turned back to the liquor tray. “Why did you not tell me who you were when we first met?” He finished pouring his drink and turned.

Caught off guard, she examined the cream silk shawl tossed over her arms. “A lady doesn't dress as a stable lad,” she said, then lifted her head. “I was afraid you'd ruin me if you learned my identity."

His brows shot up. “Why would I do that?"

She hesitated, wondering how he would react to her answer. “Because Julian is my brother."

The glass halted midway to his lips. His eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. After a moment, he sipped his drink, the anger receding. “Why were you dressed as a stable lad?"

Her cheeks warmed. How many daughters of a duke would ride a horse dressed as a stable lad? She tossed her head back and squared her shoulders. “In order to gain maximum speed, one must ride astride. As you are aware, Your Grace, unmentionables happen to be the best garments for the job."

"I see.” He lowered his eyes and she knew he was remembering her in those tight, wet garments. Her entire body went warm. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Have you any more questions, or may I be excused?"

He nodded. “I do have another question, my lady. When I recalled that Joseph had a daughter, I thought that she—that you were named after your mother."

"I am. Megan is my familiar name."

He lowered the empty tumbler on the nearest table and approached her. “Call me Nicholas."

Standing so close, feeling the heat of his body, inhaling his unique scent of sandalwood, she could hardly think. “You know I cannot call you that. ‘Tis not proper."

"Yes, it is."

She shook her head, unable to speak, as a thought dawned. She was partially responsible for what had happened. Indeed, if she hadn't kept her identity from the duke at the stream, none of it would have come to pass. “So, you didn't know who I was the night we...” She swallowed hard, unable to finish.

His gaze roved over her face, settling on her lips. “No."

"Then h-how did you finally learn my identity?” she asked, needing a distraction.

"Carson gave me this.” He extracted a folded note from his pocket. “It must have fallen from my coat and slipped under the bed that night.” His eyes darkened, and she knew he recalled what had happened between them. “If I had just read it before...” He stopped talking.

Megan forced her eyes from his to the paper he held. Agony sliced through her tattered heart at the reminder that her parents were still missing. She wrapped her shawl around her trembling body and turned away. Misery crashed down on her like the pounding surf on a stormy shore. Something terrible must have happened to them. They would never say away this long without contacting her. Pain swelled in her chest. Not unless they... She refused to finish the thought.

Light and cautious hands turned her around. She tipped her head back and found blazing eyes full of guilty pain. His hands trembled as they cupped her cheeks, then his thumbs gently swiped at tears she hadn't been aware of shedding.

"I promise you, Meg, your parents will be found,” he rasped. His voice held tenderness.

Her grief lessened. But as he started to move away, she knew a moment of panic. Their relationship had changed. The way he wiped all expression from his face proved it. He had pulled away from her, physically and emotionally. As soon as his mother arrived, she knew with utter certainty he would be out of her life forever.

He lowered his hands and took a step back. “Nicholas,” she groaned softly, torn at the thought of his leaving. She wet her dry lips, realizing he would not return to her. She would have to go to him. He was leaving the decision solely up to her. Expelling a shaky breath, she took a step forward. Hope sparked in his eyes. With a squeak, she flew into his arms. “Oh, Nicholas,” she sighed, feeling him shudder. Then she lifted her head. “Kiss me,” she insisted, raising her hands to thread her fingers through his cool, soft hair.

He closed his eyes and wagged his head from side to side, as though fighting some inward war. His jaw tightened, and Megan thought he might refuse her. Then he opened his eyes, eyes aflame with a fierce emotion she couldn't identify. And instead of pushing her away, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Her thoughts scattered and sharpened on one thing. She belonged to Nicholas. Even as a child she knew. She had always belonged to Nicholas.

"Get your bloody hands off of my sister,” said an irate voice from the doorway.

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Megan gasped and pulled away from Nicholas. “Julian!” She threw herself into his arms. Her brother was home. He would find her parents. “Oh, Jules, thank God you're here,” she sobbed against his chest.

"Just what in the hell have you done to my sister, Claremont?” her brother asked with venom dripping from each syllable.

She cringed and lifted her head. “Julian, please. Mother and Father are missing. That's why I sent you the urgent missive to come here.” She nodded to the letter he clutched in his fist.

He glanced down, his frown deepening. “What do you mean, they're missing?"

"They departed for London last month. I don't know why. Their carriage was found a few days later about five miles from the estate, empty and... Oh God, Julian, it was destroyed by fire. I came here to look for them."

His brows shot up. “You came alone?"

She nodded, stepping from his arms.

Julian scowled. “Megan, any one of a hundred terrible things could have befallen you. Young ladies of quality do not travel alone, nor do they permit a man,” he paused to glower at Nicholas, “to be alone with them."

She felt the sting from those words down to her toes, but she refused to show it. “Under normal circumstances, I agree. However, I had to find Mother and Father.” Then she realized that Julian hadn't remembered the terms of her guardianship. She would tell him later.

"Pray tell, how were you to conduct the search? And don't you dare inform me that you planned to do it alone."

She turned to Nicholas.

"Oh, no.” Her brother shook his head. “He is not involved in this. In fact, Claremont, you may leave now,” he ordered.

"I am already involved in this,” Nicholas said, crossing his arms.

Dread filled Megan as she watched fury leap into her brother's eyes.

"Absolutely not,” Julian snapped. “And never again shall you be allowed any contact with my sister."

Nicholas shook his head. “You don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand,” her brother interrupted, his voice rising. “Megan is my responsibility; she will have nothing to do with you."

Anger flared into Nicholas's eyes. “That's quite impossible now,” he shouted back, uncurling his arms. When he took a menacing step toward Julian, Megan gasped.

"You have absolutely no rights where my sister is concerned,” Julian roared.

"Yes, I do.” Nicholas balled his hands into fists.

"Julian. Nicholas. Please,” she implored.

Both men ignored her. They stood a hand span apart, eye-to-eye, equal in height and strength. Dear God, they would kill each other.