Lady Vixen (66 page)

With
black fury in his heart, Christopher continued to read of the terrible havoc
wreaked on the American capital by the invading British troops, and any remorse
he might have felt died.

Sick
with impotent fury, Christopher slammed the paper on the table, snarling,
"By God, they'll regret this infamous act!" With barely leashed
violence he promised softly, "Let them come to New Orleans—we'll teach
them that no one attacks our capital with impunity!"

Christopher
and Higgins left London early the next morning and arrived at Brighton shortly after
lunch. Simon was delighted to see his grandson and made no attempt to hide it.

"By
heavens, boy, but it is good to see you!" he thundered as Christopher
entered the library where Simon had been sitting, idly leafing through the
latest racing magazines.

"The
same to you, sir! I can see that the married life must be most agreeable. You
look like a happy, contented man and Lady Saxon is positively blooming!"

Simon
looked inordinately pleased. "She is, isn't she?" he replied with
simple pleasure. "We did enjoy ourselves in Beddington's Corner. We've
decided to go back there the first of October. Gina can show Nicole the sights
here in town if the chit don't want to bury herself in the country this early
in the year."

Christopher
smiled noncommittally and wondered if he should take advantage of this
unexpected private moment to tell his grandfather that tomorrow night he would
be leaving. He sought vainly for the words, but they stuck firmly in his
throat. He could not, within moments of arriving, spring it on the older man
that he was leaving for an indefinite period of time. Deliberately he pushed
the distasteful task from him and instead sat back and savored those precious
minutes alone with his grandfather.

Simon,
too, had been struggling for words—but of a far different nature. He longed to
tell Christopher that he knew the full story of what had happened all those
years before, but somehow he couldn't quite make himself bring the subject up.
Christopher had obviously not wanted him to know, and Simon was quite sure his
grandson would not be pleased that the sordid story had come to him through the
women of the family. For a second Simon frowned, suddenly realizing how the
past could very well be an insurmountable obstacle between

Nicole
and Christopher, and his heart hardened further against his son. Not only had
Robert nearly been the death of Christopher, but it appeared that even now his
wickedness could destroy any hope that Christopher and Nicole had of happiness.
Ah, damn! Why did it have to be that way, he thought with sad vexation.

"Something
wrong, sir?" Christopher asked, his eyes watchful on Simon's face.

"Eh?"
Simon grunted, hastily pulling himself together. "No, I was just lost in a
daydream." Smiling with apparent sheepishness, he added, "I find
myself going off at the oddest times. Must be that my age is catching up with
me. Next year, I shall probably be absolutely senile!"

"Hardly!"
Christopher snorted, not entirely satisfied with Simon's excuse, but he let it
be. If it were something important, he would discover it soon enough.

Nicole
hadn't known Christopher had arrived until she joined the guests Regina had
invited for tea. Seeing him unexpectedly, she felt her heart lurch, but she
forced herself to smile politely when he approached.

"Well,
brat," Christopher taunted lightly, his assessing gaze taking in the
charming gown she wore and the brilliance of her eyes. "You're looking
very beautiful. Brighton must agree with you."

With
a dazzling smile she said sweetly, "Brighton? Oh, I put it down to being
away from you!"

His
eyes darkened and for one wary second she thought he would retaliate. Instead
he shrugged his powerful shoulders. "Still the vixen's tongue, Nick,"
he commented dryly. Without further conversation he sauntered away.

Edward
came strolling up just then, and Nicole lost sight of Christopher as she tried
politely to ignore her cousin.

***

Edward
Markham was becoming truly desperate, and later pacing his room, he reviewed
his staggering debts and again came to the realization that he was totally
without financial resources. As he pondered his situation again and again, only
one thing became clear—he must marry an heiress. And the one he wished to marry
had spurned his suit. "Damn, Nicole," he hissed. He had been so sure before
that incident at the pavilion that winning Nicole's hand would be an easy
trick, but now it was quite obvious that he had misjudged her.

He
cursed Nicole again, but more he cursed the folly that had led him to that
ill-fated card game on the previous night. He had been certain that luck was
with him at last, and that he would be able to recoup enough money to keep the
duns at bay. Instead when he rose from the gaming table in the early hours of
the morning he was several thousand pounds in debt.

It
was impossible to think of reneging. He would be ruined if he did not pay that
debt—within the week.

It
had actually occurred to him to murder Nicole, so great was his resentment of
her, but as he assessed his situation he realized that it would be easier to
marry her —to force her to marry him.

Once
his decision was made, he set about perfecting a hasty plan. The hiring of a
coach and four would take the last of his ready money, but that he was willing
to risk, considering the fortune at stake.

How
to get Nicole into the carriage? He could hardly kidnap her off the street in
broad daylight! She wouldn't meet him anywhere feasible, but what about meeting
someone else? But whom? And why a secret meeting? Desperately he racked his
brains, but as the hours passed he came to no solution. Nicole would not meet
just anyone, and certainly even fewer people in clandestine circumstances. Yet
he had to have her in some private place. He could think of dozens of places
that would suit his purposes, but the prickly question remained— how the hell
to get Nicole there, and alone.

Eventually
he hit upon a rather haphazard scheme. Nicole, he knew, was in the habit of
walking every afternoon in the park, usually with one of the maids from Lord
Saxon's establishment accompanying her. All he would have to do was meet Nicole
as she started home, race up to her with the frantic message that Lord Saxon
had suffered a fatal stroke, and then before she had time to think, whisk her
around to his waiting coach—-without the attendant maid. By the time Nicole
questioned his ability to have at his disposal a coach and four and realized
that they were not traveling toward Kings Road, it would be too late. He was
rather pleased with his final strategy. The only real flaw he could see was the
uncertainty of Nicole being alone with the mail. He would have to leave it to
chance—that and the unthinkable prospect that for some unknown reason Nicole
would not take her usual walk tomorrow afternoon in Brighton Park. But he knew
she would. Fate could not continue to be so unkind to him.

Christopher
faced his last day in England with mingled excitement and dread. Most of all he
dreaded having to tell Simon that he was leaving, and the thought of that
farewell was unbearable. He had no idea how he would explain that sometime
between the hours of dark and midnight he would be sailing back to America.

Already,
the older man was expounding on the delightful and merry Christmas they would
have this year at Beddington's Corner. He had even made sly hints that perhaps
the town house in London could be totally turned over to Christopher since he
and Letitia preferred the quiet of Beddington's Corner.

Morosely
Christopher wandered about the Brighton house. Once he laughed out loud at
himself. To think that he, just like an erring schoolboy, dreaded the coming,
and come it must, interview with his grandfather. England, he thought
derisively, had certainly changed him. He felt that he was overcivilized—and
somehow less of a man. Why else this occasional conscience that pricked him and
this dislike of leaving, this actual dismay at telling his grandfather
good-bye? As for Nicole...

Nicole
at the moment was reading in the library, but as was common recently, anytime
she was left alone her thoughts were on Christopher. With a sigh she closed her
book. What was the use of thinking of him? Of torturing herself over someone
she couldn't change?

Suddenly
she could not bear to be alone and strode determinedly toward the door. She had
almost reached it when the door swung open, just missing her.

"My
God, Nicole, you might have given me some warning that you were in here! I
could have hurt you badly when I opened the door," Christopher snapped
exasperatedly as he halted his progress into the room.

Her
ready temper rising, Nicole shot back hotly, "And how was I to know you
were about to come barging in like a bull with a wasp in his ear?" she
snapped.

Warily
they regarded each other. Christopher gave her a crooked grin, and then
laughed. "Pax, little vixen! Pull in your sharp teeth."

"You
started it!" she retorted defensively, angrily conscious of his masculine
presence. His face looked leaner to her, harder, and there was an air about him
that she couldn't quite place—an aura of recklessness that caused her to wonder
exactly what he was doing in Brighton. She managed to ask calmly, "How
long are you to stay with us?"

Christopher
hesitated a moment, but then he shrugged and replied easily, "I'm afraid I
won't be staying here at all." At her look of surprise he said slowly,
"Higgins and I will be staying at my cottage near Rottingdean
tonight." Flashing her a careless smile, he finished lightly, "As for
tomorrow who knows where we'll be." It was as close as he could come to
the truth.

But
Nicole knew him too well and a premonition chilled her, and with her eyes fixed
intently on his, she asked tightly, "You're leaving aren't you? You're
going back to Louisiana."

Christopher
drew in his breath as if struck a deadly blow, but his face remained impassive
as he replied. "Yes. Yes, we are, Nick." The admission shocked him.
He had not meant to tell Nicole at all, and certainly not before he had spoken
with his grandfather. Yet, when she had unerringly guessed, he could not lie to
her. I wonder if that's an improvement, he thought cynically, being unable to
lie is supposed to be a virtue.

Nicole
froze as a terrible sense of loss spread throughout her entire body. He was
leaving. No more Christopher to taunt her and drive her mad with passion and
fury. She should be glad, she told herself staunchly. Pride stiffened her
spine, and glibly she retorted, "Well, that's very nice!" The big
topaz eyes blank behind black spiky lashes, a set smile on her wide mouth,
Nicole continued on a determinedly cheerful note, "You must be delighted
to be rid of me at last. I have never thanked you for the many things you have
done for me, and I hope now that our ways are finally parting that you will
allow me—"

"Shut
up, Nick!" Christopher snapped tautly, a muscle jumping in his cheek.

Nicole
shook her head and the dark fiery curls danced on her shoulders as stubbornly
she went on, "No! You must let me! I must tell you—"

Christopher
stopped her in the only way he could; his hands roughly grasped her slender
arms, pulled her tightly against him as his mouth captured hers. He kissed her
a long time. A long, hungry, urgent assault that left her weak and trembling in
his crushing embrace. Then cradling her head against his shoulder, his mouth
moved with aching tenderness across the soft curls beneath his chin, and he
said thickly, "Don't say another word. Words don't mean much to you and
me. We say things we don't mean, and we let our tempers rule us too often.
Someday maybe we'll be able to talk like sensible human beings, but God forgive
me, for where you are concerned, I am not rational."

Astonished,
Nicole jerked her head up to stare up at him. She opened her mouth, but no
sound came out, and Christopher driven as much by the knowledge that tomorrow
he would be putting an ocean between them as by her yielding body, couldn't
control the urgent need to taste her mouth once again. Her lips parted sweetly,
and at the unexpected surrender a muffled imprecation broke from him. He
gathered her slim form nearer to him; his hands caressed her back and hips,
making Nicole forcibly aware that he wanted her. But then Christopher,
remembering against his wishes where he was, gently pushed her away and said
with a wry smile, "You're more potent than any wine, Nick. You make a man
lose his head and do things he regrets."

Nicole,
not unnaturally, misinterpreted what he was saying and stiffened, but
Christopher gave her no chance to reply; instead he compelled her to sit down.
After seating her in the center of an elegant fawn-velvet sofa, he lounged
negligently on one of the arms, one long leg swinging restlessly. Shooting
Nicole a queer look, a look of brooding regret and yet strong resolution, a
look of mockery and arrogance, he began slowly, "I haven't always treated
you as I should. I won't apologize for what I have done, though." Eyeing her
wickedly, he confessed brazenly, "Heaven help me, given the same set of
circumstances, I'd probably do the same thing again! I wanted you then, I want
you now, and I'll admit that no woman has ever quite had me so entangled and
confused as you have! Believe me, minx, I'll be glad to see the last of
you!"