The St Nicholas' Day Wager (6 page)

He withdrew his hand slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of Gabriella’s face. Her cheeks burned red and her own grasp on his hair loosened. She pulled her hand down to her lap before looking up at him, biting her lip in a most seductive way.

“Goodnight, Nick,” she said quietly.

“Goodnight, Gabby,” he replied, standing to face his mother, his hands clasped in front of his groin just in case she could see any final remnants of his arousal.

Her eyes glinted and she obviously was struggling not to laugh. “Brook Street awaits you, son,” the countess said as he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“Not for long,” he replied, throwing one last look over his shoulder at the woman he couldn’t wait to marry. He trotted down the steps of the townhouse a whistle on his lips. Gabriella was a wonderful woman and she was so clever and quick. Not every woman would have understood what was happening at the theatre, but she had. She’d proved herself faithful and able to control herself in every situation. She’s sneaked further into his heart this evening. Damn her. He may very well be falling for her.

Chapter Eight

Gabriella placed her gloved fingers on her lips and sighed. Why had she asked such a stupid question? She knew it was not well done of her to ask her betrothed about former lovers, and Nick was too honest for his own good.

Of course, that was exactly the reason she had not told him in the theatre that she had realised immediately her brother had set him up. He would have given the game away and she could not help feeling the more Joseph thought her match was a poor one, the less trouble he would cause. She knew he could not afford to lose the wager so he would do all in his power to prevent the match. He also knew she was strong-willed and would rather remain a spinster than marry someone who would be unfaithful.

“I think it is time for bed, my dear,” said the countess from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes, of course.” Did Nick’s mother think her a light-skirt that she had been willing to kiss her son, at night, in the drawing room? But the older woman smiled at her and placed an arm around her shoulder as she led her to the stairs.

“I think we should have a talk in the morning,” said Lady Chetfern. Gabriella shot a worried gaze at her and the countess chuckled.

“Oh my dear, I am not angry, nor do I think any less of you for kissing Nick. I stole a few kisses from his father before we wed. I think I need to have the mother-daughter talk with you. No offence to Lady Thornwich but I assume she has not discussed the wedding night with you.”

Heat rose in Gabriella’s cheeks but she forced herself to look at the older woman as she shook her head.

“No. And although I have the general idea, it would be nice to have a few things…clarified.”

“I thought so. I am not easily shocked, Gabriella, so tomorrow feel free to ask me anything you wish. I would have appreciated some candid advice before I married the earl. Now sleep well and I shall see you at breakfast. I think another trip to the shops will be in order, followed by an ice at Gunther’s.”

Gabriella smiled. It didn’t matter how old she got, a trip to Gunther’s for an ice was always the highlight of a visit to the town. And considering how hot she was after Nick had kissed her, something cool and refreshing would not go amiss.

****

A loud rattle on the front door made Gabriella jump. Who knew sound could travel so far in a big townhouse like that owned by the Chetferns? But then her bedchamber was directly above the front door too. Molly, her maid, had just finished brushing out her hair and was in the process of braiding it before she slipped under the welcome covers of her bed. She was tired from this evening’s events.

“What the devil is going on?” came the grumbling tones of the earl.

“Lord Eastden.” It was the butler’s voice. “What happened?”

Gabriella did not wait to hear any more. She shoved her arms into her dressing gown and was heading out the door of her bedchamber before she had even finished tying it. The butler’s voice had been full of concern.

“I found him, just around the corner.” She leaned over the bannister and saw a well-dressed gentleman in a greatcoat and top hat, his arm around Nick’s waist, helping him down the hall. She followed the earl downstairs. In the pale candlelight she could see the top of Nick’s head shining with liquid. Despite his dark hair masking what the liquid was, Gabriella knew it was blood.

But she had no time to be squeamish. The earl had reached Nick.

“I think he was attacked. Footpads most likely,” said the young man helping Nick. “I was walking home from White’s…that’s how I know him, and he was slumped against a railing. I nearly walked by, thinking he was a drunk servant till I spotted his cane. I knew it was a fine cane, not something a ruffian or a servant would own. I bent down and I saw it was Eastden. I just brought him here hoping someone would be home.”

“Good idea. You’re the younger son of Swain, are you not?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Thank you for bringing him home. I shall help him up to his room. Please excuse my manners, I would offer you a drink but…”

“No! Please, my lord, I need no thanks. I was just glad I was passing.” The young man made a quick bow and turned to leave.

The butler and the earl took an arm each and began to help Nick up the stairs. He was muttering incoherently. But it was at least a good thing that he was somewhat conscious. Gabriella hurried up the stairs ahead of the men, encouraging a distraught Lady Chetfern up with her so she would not hamper the men’s progress.

“Which room?” Gabriella asked. Lady Chetfern pointed to one across the hall from Gabriella’s. She hurried in and was glad to see that Molly had beaten her to it and had already pulled down the sheets and counterpane. The men laid Nick down on the bed and backed away to look at the damage.

Apart from the blood running down his cheek from the head wound and a red mark on his jaw which would likely be a bruise within a few hours, she could see no real signs of damage. Though that was not to say he had not been hurt. She pulled back his greatcoat and coat, relieved to see no signs of a stab wound.

“Nick, where does it hurt?”

“Head and knee,“ he groaned.

“Which knee?” She placed a hand on his left knee and he howled in pain.

“I’ll take that as an answer,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else. She raised herself onto tiptoes to look down at his head wound. The blood was congealed, which meant the wound had likely stopped bleeding and was therefore not particularly bad, especially since head wounds tended to bleed like the very devil.

She turned to the earl and the butler. “I think his head wound is small. I suspect it only needs cleaned up. I need to inspect his knee but for the sake of propriety I should get dressed. I can take care of him, but you need to check his body for any other injuries. Check his back, his chest and stomach and his thighs. Remove his clothes down to just his breeches and shirt. His stockings need to go too. Molly, bring up water and cloths. Lady Chetfern, I know it is not the done thing but can you help me into my gown while Molly goes down for the water?”

“Yes, of course dear,” said the countess, shaking her head as if coming out of a trance. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hands shook. Gabriella guided her out of the room and across the hall. Within minutes, Gabriella was looking respectable in a yellow day dress. And she had managed it largely without the help of Lady Chetfern who had sat on the bed, wringing her hands and gazing worriedly at the door despite Gabriella’s assurances that Nick would be fine.

Her stays were far from tight enough, but she did not have time to wait for her maid. She grabbed a fischu from a drawer, tucked it into her not so well-covered décolletage and walked out the door.

She arrived back in the room and her heart almost stopped. Nick was propped up in bed, his shirt open, showing part of his chest with a smattering of springy black hair. His legs were bare to the knee too and her belly seemed to go warm suddenly. What was happening to her?

“He has a few nasty red marks on his torso which I imagine will turn into bruises but nothing seems broken. His knee is pretty swollen and I suspect you are right about the head wound,” declared the earl. “Do you think this is proper for you to tend him?”

Gabriella shrugged. “If it is inappropriate, feel free to force us to marry on Christmas Eve.” The earl barked out a laugh. “I have helped our housekeeper tend the wounds of many men who work the estate. I married none of them. Stay if you feel it appropriate, but I have Molly. Besides, he looks in no state to ravish me. Would you not agree? He is pretty battered but he shall be fine. I have no doubt about it.”

The earl smiled at this. “I shall go and force my countess to drink some brandy for her nerves. I’ll send up some laudanum for my son.”

“No laudanum,” came a loud grunt from the bed. Both Gabriella and the earl turned to Nick. His eyes seemed to blaze with fire for a moment. “Please. No laudanum.” Gabriella swallowed hard and nodded.

“All right. We will not give you laudanum unless you ask for it.”

“Good.”

“It’s odd,” said the earl gazing at his son, his mouth twisting. The older man then pointed at a money purse sitting on the bedside table. “The footpads never robbed him.”

“Not footpads,” declared Nick scowling. “They were gentlemen.”

“Joseph?” asked Gabriella, her heart pounding.

“I didn’t see. The cowards hit me from behind.”

“How do you know they were gentlemen?”

Nick rubbed his side.

“Believe me, I know a well-made pair of hessians when they are kicking me in the ribs.”

“Oh!”

“Plus, they had refined accents. They were no street urchins.”

“I see. Well, let us put you to rights, my lord. Perhaps we can worry about who did this once you are not staining the pillows with the blood on your head.”

Nick grimaced.

“I believe you are correct, Gabriella, and you are properly chaperoned if your maid is here. Carry on.” The earl guided his wife out of the bedchamber and presumably to the nearest brandy decanter.

****

“Gah!” Nick roared as Gabriella lifted his knee gently, holding it until her maid placed a pillow under it and then let it down slowly. The pain was so intense it made him want to cast up his accounts there and then. But he would not show himself up in front of her.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, “but it does need to be elevated.” She placed cold, wet cloths over the knee he was sure was twice the size it was supposed to be.

“Shall I take the dirty water down to the kitchen, my lady?” asked the maid, scowling into the large bowl of water he assumed to be somewhat bloody given the state of his head.

“Yes please, Molly. I shall use the bowl on the side there but please bring up some more cold water.”

“Yes, my lady.” Molly bobbed a curtsey as Gabriella placed a hand on either side of his face and pushed his face into her bosom so she could inspect the wound at the crown of his head. His body reacted instantly. The poor girl was clearly not thinking about the situation she was currently in as she ran a damp cloth over the head wound.

He sucked in a breath at a sharp sting and placed his hands on her waist. It wasn’t that the head wound itself was sore, but he was already nauseated from the pain in his knee.

Damn, she had luscious breasts. Every part of his being, and one part in particular, wanted him to stick out his tongue and lick the skin just under his lips. Thank heavens for the fischu. It seemed to taunt him and remind him of his need to be honourable at this moment. Meanwhile the throbbing in his knee reminded him he could hardly tumble the girl even if he wanted to. And the new ache in his groin told him he desperately wanted to.

“It has nearly stopped bleeding,” she remarked as another sting made him suck in a breath, filled with her scent of lavender. Involuntarily his hands moved higher. His manhood was straining at the fall of his breeches and she still had no idea what kind of predicament she was in.

He brushed the knuckles of his thumbs along the underside of her breast and she gasped. Was it a gasp of pleasure or one of outrage, he was not sure. He moved his thumbs again.

“My lord,” her voice was husky.

More desire than protest then.

He smiled against her décolletage and pursed his lips, dropping a kiss to the one bit of spare skin her fischu did not cover. She stepped away, biting her lip. “My lord, that is wholly inappropriate,” she said, the censure in her voice somewhat lacking.

“Did you like it though, Gabby?” he asked.

Her throat worked as she swallowed and looked anywhere but at him. “My lord, we are not yet married.”

“No, we are not. But I asked if you liked it. Did you?”

Her cheeks were crimson, almost hiding the strawberry birthmark. She nodded slowly.

“Me too.” He grinned.

“My lord!” she chastised.

“Oh don’t ‘my lord’ me, Gabby. You were the one who stuck my face in your bosom. I just…took advantage of it.”

“I did and I am sorry.”

“I am not sorry. It took my mind off the pain in this blasted knee.”

“Well I am afraid my bosom will no longer be acting as a distraction for you, Nicholas.”

“Oh my darling Gabby, even from here it is a delightful distraction.”

****

Gabriella knew she should go to bed. He could easily ring for a servant if he needed anything. He may be in pain but he was in no danger. But somehow she could not bring herself to leave his side. Molly snorted as she made herself more comfortable on the leather seat next to the hearth and her gentle snoring continued.

She looked around the masculine bedchamber, decorated in dark blue and gold. Her gaze fell on the small desk, clear of everything but a pot of ink and a quill in its holder, then she gazed at the landscape above the fireplace. It looked like Chetfern estate but the building was ancient. She presumed it was the old abbey. Her attention then turned to rows upon rows of tin soldiers sitting on a table top, placed as if they were about to wage war on each other. How long had they been here? How long had he kept them? She could see some of them were very old-fashioned in their garments. A few reminded her of pictures she had seen from the time of Henry VIII or Queen Elizabeth.