Margaret Moore (25 page)

“Then I thank heaven the king provides plenty of wine.”

He chuckled softly and allowed his hand to squeeze hers a little tighter, telling himself that liberty was not too much to take, considering he had just saved her honor.

The scent of the river was strong now, and he could hear the wavelets striking the stone stairs. He was almost sorry they had reached
the river, and now must leave the dark confines of the walk, but being alone with her was less important than getting her home to his father’s house, where she would be safe.

And forever out of his reach.

As he had predicted, there was a boat waiting. It was powered by one man and illuminated by lamps in the bow and stern. There was a wide, cushioned seat in the bow, covered with a canopy, so that it was like a small tent.

The seat was as big as a bed, Neville realized, his rancor returning as he thought of what Buckingham might have done to Arabella there. The lone oarsman would never have dared to interfere.

“Ho, there, boatman!” he called out, leading her down the slick and slippery stairs and onto the boat.

The short, scruffy man in the stern of the small vessel scrutinized him. “Ye’re not the duke.”

“No. He has sent me on ahead with the lady.” Before the boatman could say more, Neville handed him his last florin and gave him directions to the stairs closest to the earl’s townhouse.

As the boatman unshipped his oars, Neville ducked beneath the tentlike canvas where Arabella waited.

“May I?” he asked before sitting beside her.

She nodded her assent, but when he went to
do so, the boat bumped into the steps, sending him tumbling into her lap. She gasped and shoved him away.

“I assure you, Arabella, I am not attempting to copy the duke,” he said contritely as he moved, making the boat rock a little. He decided it might be wise to keep as much distance between them as possible.

“I know. I … I was startled.”

“Still, you seem to have recovered quickly,” he noted as the boat went out onto the river.

“Perhaps.” She wrapped her arms about herself. “I wonder what your father will say?”

Neville wished he dared to take her into his embrace—only because he wanted to offer her warmth and comfort. “You intend to tell him?”

“Of course! Why not?”

“He will likely never let you leave the house again.”

“I want to go home to Grantham anyway.”

She sounded very determined, as if returning to Grantham were the dearest wish of her heart. He told himself he should be glad of that. “What of Cheddersby?”

“I’m sure he will recover from his infatuation.”

“You think his feelings only infatuation?” A hope he should not have felt began to grow, as the embers of a blacksmith’s forge glowed brighter from the bellows. He moved a little
closer and caught the scent of her light perfume.

Roses. She smelled of roses. From now on, whenever he smelled roses, he would always think of her.

“Don’t you?”

He smiled. “Yes. And I should warn you, Lady Arabella, that you are not the first to capture his heart.”

“I thought not,” she replied evenly.

“You do not sound particularly devastated. I thought you considered him a fine prospect.”

“He is better than most,” she replied, suddenly regarding him steadily with her disconcerting eyes. “What did the duke mean when he spoke of your father’s plans?”

Neville considered what he should tell her.

If she went back to Grantham, this could well be the last time he would ever see her.

Why not tell her the truth?
his heart prompted.
Allow yourself this one thing: that she knows how you saved your father from his own extravagant ways.

For once, Neville listened to his heart. “When you marry, he is going to bequeath the bulk of his estate to you and your husband, whoever he may be.”

She inched closer to him, her gaze anxiously searching his face. “That cannot be!”

He tried to ignore her tempting proximity. “I assure you, it is.”

“He … he cannot. He would not.”

“He ought not, but he can and he would, for he thinks I am going to waste it on gambling and drinking and women.”

“Would you?”

“No,” he replied with quiet gravity. “Not when I created it.”

“You
created it?”

“Yes.” He was set on the path to the truth now; he would not turn back. “When I first arrived in London, I was immediately visited by my father’s bankers. They brought me proof he had been overspending his income for some time and was deeply in debt. Whenever they wrote to him, he replied that they had to be mistaken. He said it was not possible that his funds could be so limited, or if it was, it was their fault and he would have them arrested. They wanted me to urge him to take out a mortgage on the estate before his creditors compelled them to declare him insolvent. I knew they must be speaking the truth about my father’s reaction to their pleas.” Neville’s voice grew bitter. “He is the most stubborn man in England, and he would never believe his estate could be taken from him by bankers or creditors, seeing that he had held on to it during the Interregnum.”

“He always said he was so respected that even Cromwell would not touch him,” Arabella said.

Neville laughed sardonically as he watched other boats, lantern-lit, on the river. “That wasn’t what kept him safe. Cromwell didn’t know whether he was friend or foe. My father is very adept at grumbling and complaining in private, then being smooth as honey to a man’s face. Did you not wonder why the king didn’t look more annoyed when my father confronted him at the tennis court?”

Arabella stared at him in amazement.

“Nevertheless, I was still relieved he was not removed to the Tower, for there was no telling what he might actually say.”

“So what did you say to the bankers?” she prompted.

“Something had to be done, or my father would be bankrupt. And I, too, of course,” he added. “Therefore, I suggested to the bankers that they should loan me a sum of money. Fortunately, they agreed.”

Arabella envisioned Neville attempting to persuade a group of middle-aged men to loan him money, his only collateral his own attributes. It was not so difficult to believe they would.

“Taking that capital, I … invested it.”

“In what?”

His smile grew rueful. “Cards and dice, and some on a ship bound for the New World. Fortunately, all three ventures prospered, enough to stave off the creditors and pay some off completely.
Then I invested in two more ships and a third that is still at sea. So you see, that part of my reputation—that I gamble—is not unearned.”

“What of the other parts?”

“Lady Arabella, you astonish me. Would you know all my secrets?”

“I knew your bad reputation was undeserved!”

His low chuckle seemed to mock her. “That depends upon what one means by ‘bad.’”

“Why did you not tell your father this?”

“Because he would have interfered, and that would have been disastrous for both of us. In the meantime, my father was secretly put on an allowance, and I was held accountable for the lack of forthcoming money.”

He reclined upon the cushions and stared at the canvas covering. “I knew he would blame me and not question the bankers or his steward further.”

“That is a great pity, Neville,” she said softly. “You should have told him what you have done for him when he revealed his plans regarding his will to you.”

“He most certainly would not have believed me. He would have claimed I was lying to protect my own interests.”

“Perhaps he will listen to the bankers.”

“Probably he would not believe them, either. He would still hate me. Yet he is no more of a
saint than I, Arabella, and very much a hypocrite. For all his criticism of me, did he ever tell you of his mistresses? As strange as it may seem, Lady Lippet was one of them.”

“She denies it.”

“She is a liar.”

Arabella found that easy to believe, too. “She thought I was a fool to refuse the king.”

“So would most people.”

Neville raised himself on his elbows to regard her, and she was surprised by the resolve in his face. “You will say nothing of what I have told you to anyone.”

“But Neville—!”

He sat up and shifted his body close beside her. Reaching out, he placed his finger against her lips. “Not a single word. To anybody.”

He did not move away immediately. Instead, he traced her parted lips with his fingertip, his own so very, very close. Instinctively, she sucked his finger into her mouth.

With a low exhalation, he slowly withdrew it.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed and unsure what had prompted her to do that.

“There is no need to apologize,” he muttered, moving away from her. “It is merely that this time, Lady Arabella,
you
have surprised
me.
”

The boat brushed up against a set of wide
stone steps going up from the river. “Here we are, then, sir,” the boatman declared.

Arabella gasped. “We never sent word to your father or Lady Lippet that I was leaving!”

“They may not have missed you yet,” Neville replied placatingly. “I will tell them where you are when I return to Whitehall.”

She nodded her head in agreement.

Neville helped her onto the steps, then held her hand to lead her. He would rather have put his arm around her slender waist, but he was not sure he would have been able to prevent himself from kissing her if he had done that.

It was but a short distance from the Thames to the earl’s townhouse, and neither spoke as they hurried through the dark, quiet streets.

When they reached the house, the door swung open to reveal Jarvis. When he spied Neville on the threshold, he stared with obvious surprise. “My lord!”

Neville stepped inside, followed by Arabella, and he closed the door. “I have brought Lady Arabella home. She was most anxious to leave Whitehall. Unfortunately, we could not find my father or Lady Lippet, so they may not yet be aware that she is safely home.” He hesitated for a moment. “Go to the Banqueting House, Jarvis, find them and tell them she is here.”

Arabella opened her mouth to protest. It would be wrong of Neville to stay. And yet she did not speak.

“What, my lord, now?” Jarvis asked.

“At once,” Neville replied firmly.

“Who’ll let them in if they’ve come away already?”

“I will man the door,” Neville answered. “The earl is probably playing piquet in one of the rooms. Give him Lady Arabella’s apologies and say she will explain in the morning. If you see Lady Lippet, tell her the same thing.”

Although he made no attempt to hide his reluctance to leave or his surprise at Neville’s presence, Jarvis obeyed.

“Won’t you come into the withdrawing room?” Arabella asked when Jarvis had gone.

“Since it will be a little while yet before my father can arrive, I see no harm in it,” Neville replied.

Only a little while, and then he would likely be parted from her forever.

A few moments more. That was all he wanted.

Once in the withdrawing room, Arabella lit a candle. The pool of golden light spread out around her and illuminated the room, which looked very different.

It took but a moment for him to realize why.

It was clean. From the hearth to the corners of the ceiling, everything had been dusted and polished and scrubbed until it was as if he was in another house.

“Someone has been busy,” he remarked, trying
to lessen the tension that seemed to suffuse the room like the candlelight. “I detect a Puritan’s influence.”

Ignoring his comment, she clasped her hands and regarded him steadily, agony in her eyes. “Neville, did you
ever
love me?”

She had not intended to ask that. She had not planned to say anything at all of feelings. Of emotions. Of love.

Yet she knew, as she stood there, that this might be the last time she would be with him, and she had to know if he had ever cared for her the way she had for him. The way she still did.

She waited for what seemed an eternity, trying to see his downcast face.

When he still did not answer, she told herself she had her answer and began to leave.

If he let her go now without a word, he would rue it for the rest of his life. “Arabella!” he whispered in a strangled voice as he raised his head to regard her with burning anguish. “I love you. I have loved you since that day in the garden. You have always had a special place in my heart, walled up and kept secret, but always, always there.”

“Truly?” she asked, hope and joy dawning in her lovely eyes as she went slowly toward him.

It was as if he had been long absent from home and suddenly, in one great and glorious
instant, had been transported there again, to find it eternal and permanent in a constantly changing world. “Truly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “Because I do not deserve your love.”

She halted before him. “Why not?”

“Because perhaps I am disgraceful blackguard, a sinful wretch, a wastrel—”

She shook her head. “A disgraceful blackguard or sinful wretch would not have left me that night when he could have so easily made love with me. A wastrel would not save his father’s fortune in secret.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up into his doubtful, questioning face. “I see a man who is good and honorable. Who is worthy in every way of a woman’s love. I see the man I love and will always love.” She smiled gloriously. “No matter how much he tries to dissuade me.

“Arabella,” he whispered doubtfully, as if he still could not quite believe her.

“I love you, Neville. I promise I will never stop loving you.”

For so long he had told himself that love was a lie or a jest of God, if it existed at all.

But that was wrong. He loved Arabella, and she loved him. Now it no longer mattered what anyone else in the world thought of him, not even his father.

Complete at last, he drew her into his arms and kissed her.

Yearning for his touch, Arabella reveled in his burning, blatant desire, which set her own heart beating wildly.