The Nude (full-length historical romance) (23 page)

“What a practical gown,” he said as they strolled out into the estate’s vast gardens. “The color isn’t quite right for your fair complexion, but the fabric must be soft and sturdy.” His gaze was still trained on the path before them. “Such a gown would be useful to a marchioness. The running of an efficient household, as you must know, involves much more than ordering servants about from a chaise in the parlor.”

She gave a curt nod. Though she agreed with him on the involvement required of the lady of an estate, she wasn’t at all comfortable with how he believed her becoming
his
marchioness was such a certainty.

“Pray tell me, my lord,” she asked after they had walked quite a distance, passing neatly manicured beds that flowed into a more natural pasture of elegant flowers, and worked their way through a rather nasty patch of flowering brambles. “Where are you taking me?”

The dark home wood loomed just ahead. The shadowed forest promised to be too ominous for her nerves. She would never tempt her fate by agreeing to accompany a man into such a secluded location. Even with a man she felt as safe with as Edgeware.

“Why, my lady,” he said, matching her formal tone, “you wished to seek out privacy. As you must already know, one must travel far and sacrifice much in order to find such an illusive treasure.”

He skipped over a root that had pushed up onto the path.

“This is quite far enough. I don’t wish to go into the woods with you, sir. I will not.”

“And you needn’t venture into the dangerous wilderness, my lady. Come, we are nearly there.” He took her hand and led her off the slate path and through a field of tall grasses. The ground sloped down. Soon, she heard the melodic tinkling of water.

At the edge of the tall grass stood a grand oak tree, its branches so massive the lower limbs hovered mere inches above the ground. A pebbly brook meandered around the base of the oak’s great trunk. Light streamed through the oak branches, making Elsbeth feel as if she were being showered by sunbeams.

Edgeware pulled out a handkerchief and gave the cloth an elaborate shake before he carefully placed it on one of the tree’s low-slung branches. “Please, do sit,” he said.

The branch gently rocked under her weight. The height was no different than a bench and just as comfortable, which made her uneasy. She hadn’t accompanied Edgeware deep into his garden for pleasure, and comfort was the last thing she desired.

“Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?” He had stepped back to the edge of the grass and stood there watching her. That strange look still making his eyes glitter. “I have never before brought another soul to this place . . . my place. I daresay no one else knows of its existence.”

The clearing, the small area beneath the large oak, was indeed an Eden. A cricket chirped and several toads answered. It felt almost as if she’d stepped into one of Dionysus’s landscapes.

Oh, how that painter, that monster, had damaged her heart. If only Edgeware was willing to point the way to the mysterious bastard. She might even be willing to marry the dark lord in exchange for Dionysus’s name.

Blinking away the mist in her eyes, she steeled herself to the task she had set before herself. “My lord—”

“Nigel,” he interrupted. “I believe, under the circumstances, you should call me Nigel.”

Of course she couldn’t bring herself to do so. “Yes,” she drawled. She stood. “I cannot marry you.” Before he could protest, she raised her hand. “I cannot marry you or anyone else for that matter. Even if I wished it, marriage to me would not be fair to you.”

“Not fair? What do you mean?” He paled—frighteningly—several shades.

“Please, sir, I beg you hear me out.”

“Nothing you can say will convince me to withdraw my proposal. And do not forget, your reputation—”

“Please, my lord,” she said sharply. Her cheeks flamed. Admitting the truth aloud was proving harder than she initially imagined.

“Nothing you can tell me will change my—”

“I was married for nearly six years,” she said more loudly than she intended. Edgeware was startled into silence. “Six long years, I was married to the Earl of Mercer.” She swallowed hard. “There were no children, my lord. In six years, there were no children born.”

“I don’t see—”

“He wasn’t a monk—”

A sharp pop ricocheted through the dark woods. Edgeware leapt toward her.

“My God. Someone is shooting at us.”
He took her hand in his and tugged her arm. “We aren’t safe. Not even here.”

Elsbeth, too shocked to move, held her place. She could barely think. She looked down to where she’d instinctively covered the harsh stinging in her side and peeled her hand away.

Blood. Bright, warm blood stained her palm.

“Jenkins!” Nigel called for his butler, quite surprised he had any air left in his lungs. Every breath strained from the exertion it had taken to run with Elsbeth cradled in his arms all the way back to Purbeck Manor.

Damn it, he should have never taken her to such a secluded place. He should have never led her so far away from the main house, not when someone was plotting to kill him.

She was going to die
.

“Jenkins!” he shouted again.

She’d fainted in his arms when he began the mad dash across the fields and through the flowered gardens, taking the most direct path and not minding the delicate blooms crushed under his boot as he charged back to the house. She still hadn’t stirred. Her delicate features were drawn and ashen . . . almost lifeless.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he continued to call for his mysteriously absent butler.

“What is the matter, Edgeware?” Severin dashed up the stairs from out of nowhere and easily matched Nigel’s stride.

“Shot,” he managed.

“Zounds! Many of the men are out hunting. Must have been a stray bullet. Poor Lady Mercer. Has a doctor been fetched?”

“No.” Nigel kicked open the door to Elsbeth’s bedchamber. “Jenkins!” he shouted again. “My damned butler has gone missing.”

Elsbeth moaned when he lowered her onto the bed. The pained sound twisted inside him, tightening like a vise around his throbbing heart.

“Go down to the stable and find Joshua. Tell him what has happened. Have him ride into town and fetch Doctor Pryor . . . and the vicar.”

Severin muttered a curse and was gone.

Nigel, too concerned after Elsbeth’s health to give a whit about proprietary, slipped a knife from his boot and sliced open her sturdy gown. That gray color was not good for her anyhow. Which was a silly thought, seeing how there was a chance she might not live to scold him for ruining her dress.

She would live. She would
have
to live. He simply couldn’t lose her now.

He peeled back the last layer of clothing, a thin chemise that had been white at one time but was now stained red. Blood oozed slowly from an ugly hole in her side. It was blood she couldn’t afford to lose.

He quickly searched the room and found a clean cloth neatly folded in the washbasin. He grabbed it and firmly pressed the cloth against the wound.

“Milord!” a woman screeched from the doorway. A short, stocky dark-haired maid stood frozen at the entrance to the bedchamber. Her face was as pale as Elsbeth’s.

“Come help me,” he ordered. “She is your mistress?”

The maid nodded but remained at the threshold like a terrified rabbit. Her behavior was beyond strange. He would have to instruct Elsbeth to scold her maid.

If she lived.

No, he mustn’t think like that. She would survive this. She would soon become his wife.

The cloth pressed against the bullet wound was quickly becoming saturated with Elsbeth’s blood. “Bring me some fresh linens,” he ordered.

“What have you done to her?” the maid shouted. She charged fully into the room when she saw the fresh blood. She wrapped her hands around Nigel’s neck and tried to pull him away from the bed. “What have you done to my ladyship?”

“Stop this foolishness,” he ordered, prying her sturdy fingers from his flesh. The tiny maid was much stronger than she looked. “Do as I say, woman, and find me some clean linens.”

“Lord Ames told me Elly’s been hurt,” Lady Olivia cried as she rushed through the doorway. She pushed the maid out of her way and made a hasty path to the bed.

“What has happened?” Lady Lauretta demanded as she followed in her sister’s path. “What did Lord Ames say?” She took one look at Elsbeth and stopped in the middle of the room. Her hands flew to her lips.

“Catch Lady Lauretta,” Nigel ordered of the maid.

The maid, thankfully, had regained enough of her wits to grab Lauretta’s arms just as Lauretta began to sink. Using brute strength, she heaved Lauretta into a small chair near the door.

“The linens,” he reminded the maid. Even he recognized the panic in his voice. “I’ll need a stack of them. And then fetch a kettle of hot water from the kitchen.”

“Yes, of course, milord,” she murmured. Lifting her skirts, she ran from the room.

“What has happened?” Lady Olivia whispered as she sat carefully on the edge of the bed and cradled Elsbeth’s hand in her own.

In the fewest number of words possible, Nigel explained the situation.

“Struck by a stray bullet just like my husband,” Elsbeth whispered. Her voice sounded rusty as she choked on a laugh. “Fitting.”

Nigel squeezed her hand. Her eyes had barely opened. “Elsbeth?”

She didn’t answer him.

Some time later, the maid returned and took a position beside Nigel. “She’s in pain,” she said quietly and pressed a small vial of laudanum into his palm.

He gave a nod and carefully measured a few drops of the drug into the glass of water the maid held in her other hand, took the glass, and guided it to Elsbeth’s lips.

“Am I to die?” Elsbeth asked after greedily drinking a goodly portion of the water. There was no emotion in the question. Am I to die?—she had asked as if inquiring whether the cook intended to serve peas or carrots for supper that evening.

He held her hand even more tightly. “No darling, I will not allow it. You are forbidden to do anything of the sort.”

Elsbeth chuckled, sounding weaker with each passing moment. “I don’t believe you can bully death into submission . . . Nigel. You are not so very terrifying.”

“Where is that damned doctor? Jenkins!” he shouted. Everyone in the room jumped.

Still, no butler appeared.

“I’m not afraid to die, mind you,” she said, scaring the very breath from his chest. “But my side hurts like the devil, and I’m afraid that it may never stop hurting.”

Damn and blast that Jenkins! The lazy sot will be out on his ear before the day’s end, he vowed. And Joshua, what in bloody hell was taking him so long to fetch Doctor Pryor? Were all his servants unfaithful sots?

He was about to go out of his head with worry when Doctor Pryor, an elderly gentleman with a pear-shaped figure, finally ambled into the room.

“Heard there’s been an accident,” he said and then hummed a tuneless note. “Let me have a look. Can’t be as bad as you think, my lord.” He unceremoniously pushed both the maid and Nigel out of his way and then started humming again.

“Lord Ames,” Lady Lauretta cried as Severin came rushing into the room. She rose from her swoon in the chair and was quickly at Severin’s side, petting the side of his face. “What happened to your eye? It’s nearly swollen shut.” She frowned in Nigel’s direction.

There was a purple shadow rimming the underside of Severin’s left eye, true. But considering her cousin suffered a much greater mishap than coming in contact with Nigel’s fist, her concern seemed woefully overdone.

Severin did nothing to discourage Lady Lauretta. He let the poor girl make a fool of herself as she caressed his face and ran her hands up and down his chest in a most inappropriate manner. Nigel was about to step in and separate the two—Elsbeth would want him to act on her behalf and protect her young cousin from disreputable rakes like Severin—but he was diverted by the arrival of George’s brother, Sirius.