The Marquess Who Loved Me (12 page)

Her movement stopped the torment. “I’m sorry, Ellie my love,” Nick said. “But you must wake up.”

She opened her eyes. He knelt on the floor of the carriage — the smaller carriage she had taken to London, not the larger one she had returned in — bending over her with a look that was half worried and half furious, his knuckles still grazing her ribs.

The pain was already fading, but the memory wasn’t. “What did you do to me?”

“Chafed your breastbone. You aren’t the type to carry a vinaigrette, it seems. But for awakening someone, it’s more effective than rubbing your wrists.”

Where had he learned that? She shook her head, trying to focus. “What is the urgency? Are we still in danger?”

Nick’s lips were a grim line as he shook his head. “I doubt your attacker is still within five leagues of us. Marcus and I were only twenty minutes behind you, but we’ve no way of knowing where to look for him.”

She tried to sit up, but his hands held her down. “Wait a moment. You may be sick.”

“Where are Lucia and Marcus?” she asked.

“Lucia refused to ride, but we’re less than two miles from Folkestone via the footpaths that cut across the country. She and Marcus are walking back.”

“And you let them? Is that safe?”

Nick frowned. “From what Lucia told us, I expect so. I sent my batman with them — Trower was in the army for over a decade, and he can take care of them. But we must decide, before we reach Folkestone, what we plan to say to your guests. I could have decided without you, but…”

“What is there to decide?” she asked, cutting him off. “We must tell the proper authorities. They will want to know there’s a dangerous highwayman in the neighborhood.”

“What if he’s not a highwayman?”

She remembered her own doubts — but how could Nick know of them? “Why would you guess that?”

“What did you see?”

“Before or after he murdered his lackey?”

Nick brushed a piece of hair away from her mouth. “Before. I’ll deal with the after.”

“He was too well-dressed for a highwayman. He spoke like a gentleman, although that could be an act. The dead one called him ‘sir.’ And he didn’t seem to want our property — he asked who was in the carriage, not what we had.”

“Did they say who they expected?”

Ellie shook her head. “They expected a man, though they didn’t mention a name. They told the driver he wasn’t the man they wanted to kill.”

Nick’s thumb had been caressing her temple, but he stopped at those words. “You are sure they said they intended to kill someone?”

“I believe so. It was all so fast, but I’m nearly positive of that. Perhaps the driver remembers.”

“He is following with your coach. I will question him when we return. Better to do it now, before the details turn hazy.”

Ellie tried again to sit up. This time he let her, but he didn’t reclaim his seat.

She looked down into his eyes, suddenly curious. “What do you know of investigations?” she asked. “Isn’t this a job for the magistrate?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t look away — his gaze was as unwavering as ever. But there was darkness there she’d never seen before.

Finally, he said, “I know this was not a random act, if what you remember is true. What I don’t know is who is behind it. And that means I don’t know whether we can trust the local authorities to investigate properly without making a hash of things.”

“Why? The local magistrate is capable enough to bring the man to justice if he can be found. He should hang for what he’s done, even if killing his partner might have been good for humanity.”

“He didn’t kill his partner. A bullet went straight through the man’s heart before he was shot in the head. The leader would likely hang anyway, but I care less about him and more about who he’s working for.”

“My driver killed the highwayman? I didn’t think he was such a good shot.”

“No doubt he would like to claim responsibility, since he seemed useless as a protector,” Nick said, acid lacing through his voice. “But the honors go to your maid.”

Ellie gasped. “Lucia killed him? How is she feeling?”

“She’s no less calm than you are. She owned up to it like she shoots highwaymen every day, then calmly walked off toward Folkestone without looking back. I’d rather take either of you into battle than the driver, if it comes to that.”

His tone sounded like he was joking, but she saw the intensity still lurking in his eyes. “Is this a battle, then?” she asked. “You seem to believe they were trying to kill you, but hardly anyone knows you’ve returned.”

He nodded. “I’ve been seen in London, but the bulk of people who know I’ve returned are at Folkestone.”

It took no time at all to guess his meaning. She scowled. “You think someone at Folkestone sent those men to murder you.”

He held up a placating hand. “I’ve no proof of that. But they must have been waiting for the Folkestone carriage. It’s possible someone in London sent them, but anyone following me in London would have seen that you had taken my coach. It’s more likely that someone knew I’d left this morning and seized the opportunity to waylay me.”

“And I thought I had no competition in my desire to murder you.”

Nick grinned. “I’m sure you were first, if that makes you feel better.”

She laughed, but the sound turned into a sigh. “I do hope you’re wrong. Both that someone wants to do you violence and that the danger lies on the estate.”

Nick glanced out the window, then turned back to Ellie. His frown returned. “We are nearing Folkestone. Do you want to tell everyone what happened? Or can we take a more measured approach?”

She looked down at her skirts. The blood had turned rusty, but it was still visible even in lamplight. “I look a fright. And I’m sure I bruised my head on the carriage.”

“It’s not visible through your hair. I checked the swelling while you were unconscious. I’ve already instructed the driver to take us around to the stables. We can avoid the guests, at least. But only if you’re comfortable with this.”

She could have still been unconscious if he hadn’t forced her awake — and then he could have decided for her. “Why do you care what I think?” she asked. “It’s your life at stake, if this threat is to be believed.”

“It’s my life, but I would spare you any further trauma.” He took her hands in his. She realized her gloves were missing, and the feel of his skin on hers warmed more than her fingers. “And it’s my estate, but you know the people there. If you think they must know, I’ll follow your lead.”

She tightened her fingers around his. “What happened to the Nick who forced me to become his mistress?”

His grin was mirthless, almost sad. “You will undoubtedly see him again. But this afternoon…”

He trailed off.

“I’m fine, Nick,” she said gently.

“You’re one woman in a thousand. But even though you can handle yourself doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing the aftermath and knowing I deserve the blame.”

“You don’t deserve the blame,” she said. When he started to protest, she overrode him. “You don’t, unless everything you’ve just said is a lie. The blame lies with the attackers — not you, not me, not whatever victim they sought. We still don’t know for sure that you are the one in danger. It could have been Marcus they were after, or one of the guests. Or even a different man altogether — perhaps they are only interested in stealing cravat pins and cuff links.”

Nick laughed, squeezing her hands. “That’s preposterous. But thank you.”

She resisted the temptation of that laugh. At least she could still pry one from him, even if she no longer knew what to do with it when she’d won it. Instead, she slipped her hands out of his grasp. “We can keep the highwayman a secret if you prefer. Lucia and the driver — or drivers, since I suppose your driver knows of this as well — won’t say a word if I ask them not to.”

When she let go of him, he moved to the seat across from hers. “Are you sure?”

His voice was calm, but utterly ruthless.

“Sure of them, or of your plan?” she asked.

“Both, although the plan won’t succeed if they fail.”

“My servants are discreet. They wouldn’t be employed here if they weren’t. As for the plan —
do
you have a plan beyond our initial silence?”

He didn’t acknowledge the question. “Why are your servants so discreet?”

“I’m a widow, Nick, not a nun. It’s best for everyone if my servants don’t spread tales.”

“And what tales would they spread?”

His jealousy was aroused, even though he had little cause for it. She frowned at how quickly he had changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your potential death than my past sins?”

“I’ve changed, Ellie my love.” His voice dropped, turning into a caress. “Sin interests me more than it used to.”

Ellie snorted, breaking the seduction that hovered over her like an executioner’s axe. “If you think to lure me into giving you a full confession, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

He leaned back into the cushions, stretching his legs so that one booted foot stroked her ankle. “I’ll find what I want to know in the end. You can depend upon it.”

She would have laughed, but seeing the blood on her skirts turned her sober again. “I will help you find the highwayman, no matter what you need of me. But that doesn’t change the past.”

He didn’t respond. He closed his eyes instead, looking like a great general dreaming of battle even though his foot still toyed with hers.

She looked away, staring mostly unseeing out the window until the carriage stopped in front of the Folkestone stables. When she turned from the window, she found Nick watching her again.

He helped her out of the conveyance without a word. When she was on her feet, he looked her over. “Can you walk to your room?” he asked. “You should rest until dinner — Marcus and Lucia won’t return in time to discuss everything before then, so we should reconvene tomorrow.”

She nodded. “My head hurts, but I can still walk. Are you sure we should wait? I thought you preferred to question people immediately.”

“You’ve been injured — resting will help you more than questions will.”

“I’m not an invalid, Nick.”

He nodded absently, but didn’t let go of her hand. There was a depth to his silence that had nothing to do with the mechanics of an investigation, and a fear in his eyes she had never seen.

Then he brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I meant it too, Ellie. When I said I missed you.”

He strode away, running his hands savagely through his hair like a man who’d narrowly escaped disaster. She sucked in a breath, wishing she knew her own heart, wishing she knew what was possible and what was not.

She hadn’t been brave enough at nineteen to explore possibilities. She had been a coward, and a fool, and so desperate for her father’s approval that she had believed the story he had told her about familial duty and social responsibilities.

But that past was over. If Ellie hadn’t been brave at nineteen, she would make up for it now. And while she had no intention of letting Nick back into her heart, she would make sure he survived his homecoming — whether he ever recognized her actions or not.

Dinner that night was not the glittering success Ellie was accustomed to hosting. For one, her head still ached, even though the bruise was smaller than she had expected. It seemed to throb in time with the grating titters of the ladies around her. They hung on Nick’s every word like he was a Hottentot curiosity whose kind they had never seen before. They wouldn’t snub him — only a fool would snub money
and
a title — but they wouldn’t stop examining him, either.

Which meant, of course, that none of them missed the way he watched her, or the way she ignored him. She should have flirted like he was any other male, but she was too raw for flirtation. She flirted with Norbury instead. He was amenable to it, but the concerned look in his eyes said he knew what she was doing.

So by the time Ellie could take refuge in her bed — perhaps her final night alone, if Nick held true to his plan — she was in no mood for sleep. Not a single word had been said about highwaymen at dinner, but she wasn’t ready to dream about them. Instead, she let another maid prepare her for bed, since she had ordered Lucia to rest after their ordeal. As soon as the woman was gone, Ellie threw a cloak over her delicate peignoir and nightgown and took the servants’ stairs up to the former nursery.

The rooms had once housed the scions of the Claiborne family, including Nick and Marcus’s father. But with no children in residence and no plans to produce any, she had taken over. The long windows lining the south wall would have provided ample light for childhood lessons, but they were even better for painting.

Not that she’d painted anything that had pleased her in an age. Nor could she paint tonight, not without lighting every lamp and candle in the house. But she also couldn’t sleep — not when she saw the highwayman’s ruined skull when she closed her eyes.

She carried a taper with her and lit the lamps that hung on the walls. There had been fires in the grates earlier in the day, as there always were to protect the paintings in the room. But now they were banked, and the snow that had begun to fall outside no longer melted on contact with the windowpanes. She was glad for her cloak now, even though she would inevitably cast it aside, unthinking, as she sketched.

The blank canvas on her easel taunted her. She turned away from it to stand at her work table. There were great sheets of foolscap there, places for her to test her inspirations before committing them to canvas. She chewed on the end of her pencil, considering.

Wasn’t she beyond Nick as a subject? After the last time, she’d vowed not to paint him again. But those vows had failed before, and the neat row of canvases leaning against the far wall mocked her. She’d last given in four months earlier — surely she could withstand the temptation.