Lovers Forever (10 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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Drawing herself up, she said stiffly, “I'm sure that you're right about Mrs. Darley, but that still doesn't change the fact that she is my employer and she doesn't employ me to loll about in the beds of the guests of the tavern!”
“Oh, really?” Nicolas drawled sarcastically, getting out of bed and reaching for his breeches. “That wasn't the impression I got from
Mr.
Darley last night. In fact, I was left with the distinct feeling that, er, lolling about in bed was
precisely
what you had been hired to do!”
A humiliating blush spread across Tess's face. Biting her lip, she looked away from him. How could she explain? About her own lack of identity and that she had let the Darleys think she was someone else—someone else who
had
been hired to provide the services he was alluding to?
She took a deep breath. She would just have to tell him the truth. Not telling the truth seemed to be getting her deeper and deeper in trouble; perhaps once he knew the real situation, he would help her and this nightmare would end.
Her shoulders squared, she was trying to find the right words to begin her tale when Nicolas said slowly, “Actually, I want to talk to you about those services....”
Diverted, Tess stared at him. “services,” she said breathlessly. “What about them?”
Nicolas didn't answer right away. Despite the hour, he poured himself a small snifter of brandy; after tossing it off, he looked across at her and said bluntly, “I don't want your services being offered to all and sundry.... I intend to take you away from here and set you up in a tidy little place I own . . . as my mistress.”
As Tess stared at him in dumbstruck horror, he walked over to her. Capturing her chin in his fingers, he brushed a brandy-scented kiss across her mouth. “I want,” he said huskily, “all those sweet services of yours, for myself and myself alone....”
Chapter Seven
I
t was instinctual on her part, Tess didn't even think about her actions; the words had barely left his mouth before her hand shot out and she slapped him soundly across the face. Bosom heaving, her eyes flashing purple fire, she spat, “How
dare
you! Just who do you think you are to insult me in this fashion?”
To say which one of them was more astonished by her violent reaction would have been anybody's guess. There was a stunned silence as they stared at each other, the imprint of her hand burning scarlet on his lean cheek.
Tess recovered first. Smothering a gasp of horror, her gown still clutched to her chest, she bolted toward the door, her destination unclear even to herself. One thing was apparent, however—it was imperative that she put as much distance between herself and the very angry man she had just struck.
“Oh, no, you don't,” Nicolas growled as he reached out and captured one of her arms. Effortlessly he jerked her around to face him. “And as for insulting you, my fine little madame, there are several women of far better breeding than yours who would be
honored
to become my mistress!” His eyes glittering with fury, he snapped, “More to the point—I would have thought having to please only one man would be preferable to being at the beck and call of any stranger who wandered in and felt the need to avail himself of all that sweet passion you possess—or perhaps, now that I have removed your virginity, you actually
want
to become a common whore!”
Tess struggled in his powerful grip, so enraged by his words that waves of crimson flashed before her eyes. Since it seemed obvious that she wasn't going to get another chance to hit him and also rather obvious that she wasn't going anywhere until he was good and ready to let her, she ceased her attempts after a few moments. The violence of her reaction to his suggestion that she become his mistress had shocked her, raising more questions within her, and the need to escape from his disturbing presence battled with an equal desire to explain her actions. She might have lost her identity, but she was aware that most women would have been flattered to become the object of his attention—certainly a little nobody working in a tavern like the Black Pig would not have thrown his offer back in his face the way she had! Which led her to wonder what her station in life had been before she had lost her memory....
With sickening clarity, Tess suddenly realized that she had no one but herself to blame for this predicament. She should have spoken the truth the instant she had laid eyes on Mrs. Darley—if she had, she certainly wouldn't have lost her virginity to a man she had met less than twelve hours ago, and she wouldn't have been forced to listen to his offer to become his mistress. Whatever her instincts may have told her at the time, it was painfully apparent that they had failed her.
Drawing herself up, Tess said stiffly, “I apologize for slapping you, but I don't apologize for being insulted by your offer to make me your mistress. And before this situation goes any farther, there are a few things I think you should know about me—things I should have told you last night.”
Nicolas growled something low in his throat that Tess was just as glad she didn't understand, but to her relief he released her and indicated that she sit on one of the chairs before the hearth. The fire had long since died down, but it took only an instant for him to stir up the coals and throw on a few pieces of wood that had been stacked neatly off to the side.
Once the fire was burning brightly again, he glanced at her and said coldly, “If you don't mind, I'd like to finish dressing, and I would suggest that you do the same.”
Ignoring her, he walked over to the door to their room and opened it, bellowing, “Lovejoy, where the hell are you? Get me some hot water and some coffee—
now
!” Slamming the door, he stalked back to stand in front of the fire. His back to the fire, he eyed the torn chemise and crumpled gown she still clutched in her hands distastefully and with frigid politeness he said, “You'll probably want other clothes—I'll have my man bring you something else from your room.”
Tess swallowed, wishing she had the nerve to say that she'd prefer to go to her room herself and get her own clothes. But something in his expression told her that she wasn't going to have that option. “That would be very nice,” she replied weakly, “but I'm afraid I don't have anything else, except my riding habit and cloak. In fact, this gown is borrowed from Mrs. Darley—it was her daughter's.”
His brows snapped together in a frown, but before he could utter the question hovering on his lips, the door opened and Lovejoy, his long face carefully blank, entered the room. After setting down the heavy tray he had brought in with him, he carried a china bowl and large pitcher to the small washstand in the corner of the room. “Ah, but it's a fine morning, m'lord!” he said lightly as he returned and began to unload the other items from the tray. “The sun is shining and no sign of last night's storm but a few clouds. Now that's some nice hot water over there for your use, and Mrs. Darley has sent up a pot of coffee, some sliced ham, and buns still warm from the oven. Butter and jam, too.”
Nicolas muttered something and, walking over to his servant, said levelly, “A word with you, outside.” Looking back at Tess, he added, “You may wash while I give Lovejoy his orders for the day.”
Only when the door shut behind the pair of men did Tess get up and walk over to the washstand. She longed for a luxurious bath but resigned herself to a quick wash. The water was warm, and Mrs. Darley had included a small scrap of soap, which Tess used diligently. It was amazing how much better she felt afterward, even if it had been only a hasty flick of a wet rag here and there.
Despite the ruined state of her chemise, she kept it on and swiftly donned the pink gown. There were no mirrors in the room, and she knew that her hair was a mass of tangled curls, but beyond brushing it with her fingers and hands, there was nothing she could do about it.
She was just starting to get restless and was seriously thinking of trying to slip away when the door reopened and Nicolas came back inside. He glanced at her and said, “Help yourself to the food and coffee—I'll be dressed in a moment.”
Tess didn't argue with him; she was hungry, and who knew when she'd have her next meal? The buns were wonderful, warm and meltingly tender, and the coffee was strong and hot. Just what I need, she told herself bracingly, not looking forward to the next several minutes. Eating her third bun slathered with strawberry jam, and sipping her coffee, she studiously ignored the sound of the earl's swift ablutions. She did such a good job of it that she wasn't aware he had finished until his voice just behind her caused her to jump and look around.
He was simply garbed as he stood there regarding her closely, arms akimbo, wearing a clean white linen shirt open at the throat, buff breeches, and gleaming high-topped black boots. It was obvious from the set of his hard jaw and the look in his eyes that the delay hadn't lessened his anger or distracted him. Just as if no time had elapsed between her earlier statement and now, he poured himself a cup of coffee, spread jam on a bun, and asked harshly, “What do you mean that you have no clothing other than your riding habit?”
Tess took a deep breath, praying that she wasn't making another terrible blunder. “Simply that this has all been a ghastly mistake. I am not a tavern wench—at least, I don't believe that I am. I have absolutely no idea
who
I am—I don't even know my own name, nor how I came to be in this vicinity.” She grimaced. “Dolly is just the name of a farmer's nag that I passed on my way to the Black Pig. When a name was needed, it popped into my mind.”
Nicolas scowled. “I don't like games,” he said slowly, “and I particularly dislike games when the object is to make a fool of me. You would be wise to remember that.”
He didn't believe her! Tess swallowed. She had feared that reaction in the beginning, but after what had occurred last night and this morning, facing ridicule had seemed the lesser of two evils. Cursing herself for not having spoken sooner, she said vehemently, “It's not a game—and it certainly wasn't a game last night when I lost my virginity! That, I can tell you, was as big a shock to me as it was to you!”
“Oh, I'm sure it was,” he replied dryly. “But tell me, is this the moment that you suddenly remember who you are and your anxious relatives come banging on my door?”
Tess frowned. “What do you mean? I've just told you that
I don't know who I am!
And if any anxious relatives were to come banging on your door, I would be elated!”
“I'm sure you would,” he answered, something in his tone and the expression on his face making Tess distinctly uneasy.
“But I'm telling you the truth!” she exclaimed desperately. “I woke up late yesterday afternoon some miles from here, lying under an oak tree. From the state of my clothes, I suspect that I may have lain out there all night. And that's all I know!”
“Hmm. Not quite all you know. You knew enough to come to the Black Pig, and you knew enough to insinuate yourself into my bed.” Ignoring her look of outrage, he seated himself before the fire and sipped his coffee. Eyeing her over the cup, he said coolly, “Shall I tell you what I think?” At Tess's curt nod, he went on blandly, “I think that you're a clever little liar, and that you or your family saw an opportunity to snare a rich husband, and that, with a great deal of luck and some coincidence, you managed to put yourself in my path . . . and bed.”
“Are you mad?” Tess burst out furiously. “Or so arrogant that you think every woman who lays eyes on you becomes so enamored that she is willing to go to ridiculous lengths to get your attention?”
Nicolas had the grace to blush, a spot of red burning high on his cheeks, but he wasn't backing down. The certainty that she was part of a plot to force an offer of marriage from him had returned and would not go away. Not after the most interesting conversation he'd had with Lovejoy in the hall....
Grimly he said, “No. I'm not
that
arrogant, but I'd like you to explain to me precisely how you, an apparently gently born young woman showed up here, after dark, in the midst of a raging storm, with no companions, no sign of transportation, and proceeded to convince Mrs. Darley that you were her brother-in-law's whore from London!” Tess opened her mouth to speak, frantic, angry words boiling up in her throat, but Nicolas forestalled her by holding up a long-fingered hand and saying, “You'll have your turn, but hear me out . . . you might decide to tell the truth for a change.”
Tess gasped with outrage, but he went on calmly, “My man, Lovejoy, has had a very illuminating conversation with the Darleys this morning—they both confirm the time and manner of your arrival, and they both confirm that you claimed to be the woman mentioned in a letter to them from Darley's brother, Tom. I think you'll understand their confusion when at first light a young woman more in the style they were expecting showed up and insisted rather vociferously that
she
was Tom's doxy, Lucy Jones, and that she has a tattoo on a rather, er, private part of her anatomy to prove it! She also knows a great deal about the family—some things only Tom's woman would know. According to Lovejoy, it's very clear she is who she says she is . . . and that you aren't! I must say, again according to Lovejoy, that the Darleys are not best pleased with you—they are, in fact, quite angry at the trick you played on them. Now, don't you think it's time you told me the truth?”
“I told you,” Tess got out between gritted teeth, her eyes glittering dangerously, “I don't know
who
I am!”
“Perhaps . . . but it's rather convenient for you, don't you think? Especially considering what passed between us last night.” His mouth twisted derisively. “Your family must be in desperate straits indeed to sink to this sort of tawdry strategy....” His gaze raked up and down her body. “You really didn't have to go to such lengths to catch my attention, sweetheart—I assure you, had we met under more conventional means, I would have noticed you, and there is every probability that I would have pursued you—you're a very fetching little minx. Unfortunately, I don't like my hand being forced and dislike even more being made a fool of! Now, for the last time, who are you and when may I expect to meet the rest of your charming family?”

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