Lovers Forever (12 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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She looked at Nicolas and, noting the grim expression on his face, she asked timidly, “What is it? Do you know that man?”
“Yes, I know him,” he said tightly. “That was Avery Mandeville . . . or I should say
Baron
Mandeville—a more despicable fellow you are unlikely to meet! As for the rest of that wretched family, they are no improvement!” He scowled. “I should tell you that many years ago they were the cause of great pain and scandal in my family. The locals claim that because of those cursed Mandevilles, there is no love at Sherbourne Court—that it disappeared with my grandfather.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Now that I am looking for a bride, everyone is waiting to see if love returns, but since I don't imagine mine will be a love-match, it appears that they shall have to continue to wait.” He jerked his head in the direction in which the other man had driven. “That damned family has always been bad luck for mine—it was the previous baron who killed my brother, and that fellow who just passed us is probably the worst of the lot! Believe me, you'll not hear any of my family speaking kindly of a Mandeville!”
Chapter Eight
T
here was such hatred and contempt in his voice when he hurled out those words that Tess was very glad that
she
wasn't a Mandeville! At least, she amended thoughtfully, she
hoped
she wasn't a Mandeville. The earl of Sherbourne would make a bad enemy, and the notion of being a Mandeville and totally within his power made her shiver.
Tess was even more subdued after the earl's outburst, and for several miles she stared out blindly at the passing countryside, her mind on her reaction to the sight of Baron Mandeville. She had been frightened, but she didn't know why—was it because he was the source of the instinctive need to run, or was there some other reason? The Mandeville name struck some chord deep within her, but she didn't know whether it was because the name was simply familiar to her or because it had some personal significance.
Tess let out a big sigh. It was difficult not knowing even your own name, and she wondered miserably if she'd ever remember who she was and where she had come from. Was there someone, somewhere, who loved her? Missed her? Was someone even now searching desperately for her?
Nicolas had heard her sigh. He slanted a covert glance at her, and the expression on her face caused a knife blade of pain in his chest and lacerated an already guilty conscience. He was aware that he had forcibly abducted her—he was even appalled by his own actions—but he'd had no control over the insane impulse that had driven him to take her with him. Only by repeatedly reminding himself that he meant her no harm, that he
would
keep her safe and treat her far better than whoever had put her in this situation in the first place, was he able to soothe his guilt pangs. But the unhappy look on her face didn't help him come to grips with what he had done.
He'd never done anything so outrageous and incomprehensible in his life, and he shook his head at his own folly. I must have been mad, he decided sourly. There can be no other explanation for my actions. Yet he knew that wasn't true. Some other emotion had been goading him, and while he could admit that he had acted wrongly and even suffer a painful conscience over it, he was bitterly aware that it changed nothing—that he would do the same thing all over again if it meant keeping this beguiling little creature by his side.
Aloud he said quietly, “It won't be so very bad, you know. I
am
a generous man, and I swear that I shall not mistreat you.” He smiled winningly at her. “I know it is not what you planned, but would it be so awful to be my mistress?” A husky note entered his deep voice. “To share a bed with me?”
Tess's eyes met his, and as their gazes locked she was conscious of a powerful yearning to throw caution to the winds and freely admit that sharing a bed with him wasn't such a terrible fate. In some strange way he was so familiar, so dear to her, as if she had seen that smile before, felt those lips on hers before, known the heady magic of his embrace previously. It would be so easy to agree with him, so easy just to let events happen, but something held her back, something deep inside her warned that it would be unwise, foolish in the extreme, to do so.
She broke away from the mesmerizing quality of his stare and said in a small voice, “I'm certain that you think you're being kind, but until I know who I am and what my situation is, I cannot commit myself to such an arrangement. It would be wrong and unfair to whatever family or friends I have—I could even have a fiancée ... and if he exists, I have already wronged him enough.”
Nicolas's lips thinned. “I see. We are still going to play that little game, are we?”
“It is
not
a game!”
“Isn't it, my dear, sweet Dolly? Isn't it a very clever little game to convince me of the truth of what you claim? A game in which to arouse my sympathy and concern for you?”
Her eyes flashed. “Don't call me Dolly! I told you that was the name of a farmer's nag!”
“You'll forgive me,” he said dryly, “if I doubt your word. And if you don't wish to be called ‘Dolly,' what other name would you prefer?”
“My own!”
“And that is?” he asked softly, one black brow cocked quizzically.
The palm of her hand itched to slap that mocking face, but suddenly she was tired of fighting with him, of knowing that he firmly believed she was a liar and that nothing she could say would convince him otherwise. She turned away and said wearily, “Never mind! Call me Dolly if you like—it doesn't matter.”
Silence fell again, and for the remainder of the journey there was no more conversation between them. Tess curled up on her side of the curricle and stared unhappily out at the countryside as they bowled on down the road, her thoughts most unpleasant and mournful.
It was almost two hours later when Nicolas finally turned the curricle off the more heavily traveled road they had been following and guided his horses down a series of small country lanes. Eventually he turned them onto a narrow path that was clearly seldom used but still quite passable. There were ruts and grooves in the road, and the occasional overhanging tree limb scraped against the sides of the curricle, but their careful progress was not further impeded.
They came finally to an ornate pair of rusty old gates, and Lovejoy jumped down from his seat at the rear of the curricle and threw them open. Only after Nicolas had driven the horses through the gates did Tess notice a wagon pulled by a team of horses stopped in front of a charming half-timbered dwelling of comfortable size, set back from the road.
There were signs that the weeds and grass in front of the building had been newly scythed, and the windows were thrown wide, the freshly washed square-leaded panes gleaming in the sunshine. Off to the right and behind the main house could be seen a small barn and stables, and at the side of the house were the remnants of what once must have been a pleasant rose garden.
Although the dwelling was obviously very old, it was like no gatekeeper's cottage that Tess had ever seen. It was far too elegant, with its wide double oak front doors and second-story gables. She frowned as that thought crossed her mind. How did she know it was far too elegant?
Her curiosity evident, she asked, “If this is where I am to stay, it's rather grand for a mere gatekeeper's cottage, isn't it?”
Pulling his horses to a stop, Nicolas appeared uncomfortable. “It, um, wasn't originally built for the gatekeeper.”
Tess sent him a long, thoughtful look. He fidgeted and muttered, “An ancestor built it for a, uh, favorite mistress in the late 1500s.” One of Tess's slender brows arched, and Nicolas added, “A few years later it was decided to make this the main entrance to the estate, and a gatekeeper and his family were installed—until a new road was constructed in the early 1700s, this was the main entrance to Sherbourne Court. After the new road began being used, the gatekeeper was moved to a new residence near it, and no one has lived here. At least not, um, regularly. There are family stories that some later ancestors put it to the same use as the earl who had the place built originally.” The expression on Tess's face made him add hastily, “However, those are just family stories . . . more gossip than anything, I'm sure.”
“How interesting,” Tess said dryly. “Your family obviously has the charming habit of housing their mistresses on their estates. Tell me, didn't their countesses object—having their husbands' mistresses practically on their doorstep?”
Nicolas's fine mouth tightened. “It's not a habit! I won't pretend that the men in my family haven't had their faults, especially where women were concerned, but we don't, as a rule, behave shabbily to our wives! And I'd like to remind you that I am
not
married, so my relationship with you isn't harming anyone.”
Suddenly enjoying herself, Tess replied airily, “Oh, really? Didn't you mention at the tavern that you were searching for a bride? I wonder how she'll feel, when you find her, of course, to know that you kept a mistress here while you courted her?”
“You have a sassy mouth,” Nicolas said silkily, the glint in his dark eyes giving Tess pause. “I think that I shall have to come up with a way to keep it occupied. A way that will be quite, quite pleasurable. . . .”
His intention clear, he leaned toward her, and Tess shrank back into the cushions of the curricle, her amethyst eyes wide and uncertain. “D-d-don't you touch me!” she said breathlessly. Spying Lovejoy and a man and woman who appeared in the doorway of the cottage, she added swiftly, “The servants are watching!”
Nicolas hesitated and then, with a wry twist of his lips, sat back. “You're right, this is not the place for what I want to do with you. But remember, sweetheart, that the servants are not going to be around all the time....”
To her intense humiliation, Tess wasn't as frightened or repulsed by that threat as she should have been. She straightened up and, haughtily wrapping the folds of his greatcoat closer around her, said, “Since you insist on keeping me prisoner, I suppose that I might as well view my prison.”
Laughing, Nicolas jumped down from the curricle. “Yes, I suppose you should—I just hope the, er, prison meets with m'lady's approval!”
Another couple had joined the original trio, and as she and Nicolas approached, Tess could discern a definite family resemblance among the three men and one of the women. The youngest gentleman turned out to be Nicolas's groom, John Laidlaw; the second man, standing by his side, was not very many years older and was his brother Thomas. Lovejoy, Tess wasn't surprised to learn, was their uncle, and the youngest of the two women, Jenny, with the same blue eyes as her brothers, was their youngest sister. The last woman, a shy, retiring creature with a gentle smile, was Tom's wife, Rose. Thomas, Rose, and Jenny, Nicolas informed her lightly, would constitute her staff, along with their mother, Sara, who was busy in the kitchen preparing some refreshments.
Tess was slightly overwhelmed, and she wondered nervously if she had ever supervised staff. Had she had servants of her own? Uncertainly she eyed the three younger Laidlaws, wondering how they would all manage together. The shy, reassuring smile that Rose sent her way and the twinkle in Tom's eyes suddenly made her feel more at ease with the situation. She only hoped that the mother, Sara, would be as kind and pleasant as her children and daughter-in-law appeared to be. But it didn't matter how nice these people were, she suddenly reminded herself, she wasn't staying here! Or was she?
It had been John whom Nicolas had sent ahead to make things ready for their arrival and who arranged for the others to be in residence. His young face earnest, John said nervously, “I didn't arrive too much before Your Lordship, so me and the others haven't gotten as much done as you may have wished. But we did get the place swept out, and Jen and Rose washed windows and helped Tom place some of the items you told me to get from the storeroom.” Proudly he added, “I took care of the outside.”
“And my grandmother, were you able to avoid her?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. Her Ladyship was still abed, but it was a near thing when we were loading up the wagon—Lady Athena almost discovered us.”
Nicolas grimaced and muttered, “Better my grandmother than Athena!”
Laidlaw grinned, and an answering smile twitched at the corner of Nicolas's mouth. “From the looks of things, considering the shortness of your time, you and your family are to be commended. Well done!”
A great deal had been accomplished in the relatively short time that Laidlaw and his family had been busy. If the dwelling had sat empty and unused, as Nicolas had stated, there was certainly no sign of neglect as Tess was guided through the doorway, across a large entry hall, and into the spacious main room.
The scent of lemon and beeswax met her nostrils, and with dawning delight she glanced around her. A huge stone fireplace took up a large portion of one wall, windows lined another, a Brussels tapestry adorned a farther wall, and the lovely arches of the timber roof gave the room grandeur and charm. An Oriental carpet in jeweled tones of sapphire and burgundy, the colors softened with time, had been laid on the polished wooden floor, and several pieces of furniture, elegant in rich woods and satin and silks, were scattered haphazardly about the room.

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