Thunder and Roses (59 page)

Clare made a soft exclamation. “Those were the duplicate documents I discovered in the family Bible—the ones you burned.”

He glanced at her. “You understand now why I was angry?” Turning to Michael again, he went on, “But he didn’t manage to impregnate Emily, so he had to find another way to cut me out. He had always been a lusty old bull, though he was discreet about his affairs—he didn’t want to jeopardize his reputation for piety. Since Caroline was already his mistress, he came up with the notion of marrying her to me. She probably agreed because the sheer decadence of the arrangement titillated her. Bloody hell, she might have suggested it herself.

“The reason my grandfather was so willing to explain all this to me was because Caroline had just told him she was pregnant. He was triumphant, absolutely convinced that it was his child and male, so my Gypsy blood would disappear from the Davies line. Though he couldn’t stop me from inheriting, when I died I would be succeeded by my grandfather’s son. Charming little scheme, wasn’t it?” Nicholas’s voice became sardonic. “He went on to say how clever Caroline was, and how she had taken precautions to insure that she would not become pregnant by me. My guess is that since he failed with Emily, the child was probably yours, not that it matters.

“If ever I was to commit murder, it would have been that night. But I didn’t lay a hand on either of them. Instead, I said that I was going to take Emily to London. Then she and I would institute the two ugliest divorce suits in British history so that my grandfather and Caroline would be revealed for what they were. I had inherited money from my grandmother, so I was in a financial position to do it.”

His hands clenched. “Perhaps I could be accused of causing my grandfather’s death. Adultery, betrayal, and incest didn’t bother him, but apparently the threat of exposure triggered a heart seizure almost as soon as I left the room to go to Emily. He died in his own bedchamber. I think Caroline helped him there to conceal their misconduct. Then she took her jewels and abandoned her lover and went tearing off into the storm to you, as you were clearly the best choice left.

“Even in death, her luck held. When my grandfather’s valet came to inform Emily that her husband was dying, he found us together, Emily in her nightgown. So she and I got the accusation of adultery, and Caroline died with the reputation of the saintly, injured wife.”

“You’re lying,” Michael said again, his face ashen. “You’re making this up to conceal your own crimes.”

Clare spoke up, her voice soft. “Lord Michael, I am Nicholas’s wife now. Our courtship was a difficult one, and many men might have been driven to violence. But not Nicholas. I, who know him better than anyone, swear that he could never abuse a woman the way Caroline claimed.”

As Michael wavered, Nicholas began walking toward him, one step at a time. “In all the years we’ve known each other, did I ever lie to you?” He stopped moving and held his breath when wildness flared in the green eyes again.

“Not that I know of,” Michael said hoarsely, “but I saw you lie to others. You would spin outrageous tales about being an Indian prince, or a Turkish warrior, or God knows what else. Later we would laugh about how convincing you were. You were so persuasive that one of the most avaricious courtesans in London bedded you for free because she thought you were royalty. Why should I believe you now?”

“Those were innocent games. I don’t lie to friends.” Nicholas began moving slowly forward again. “Christ, if I were lying, do you think I would make up a tale so utterly humiliating? To be cuckolded by my own grandfather! Not only is the very idea obscene, it makes me look like a weak fool. I preferred to be thought a monster whose wicked selfishness had destroyed his own family.”

A last step brought him face to face with the other man. “When I left Britain, I didn’t think I would ever come back. But running away didn’t take away my pain, any more than returning to the army took away yours. Murder won’t help, either.” He held out his hand. “Give me the pistol.”

Michael took a step back and the gun sagged toward the ground. His face was a deathly gray and he was shaking, like a man being torn apart from within.

Quietly Nicholas took the weapon from the other man’s unresisting hand. After unloading it, he tossed it aside.

Michael crumpled in on himself, folding to the ground and burying his face in his hands. “I knew that what I was doing was utterly wrong,” he said with anguish. “Yet I couldn’t keep away from her, even though it meant betraying everything I believed.”

Clare crossed the grass and knelt beside him. “To love and be loved is the most powerful of human needs,” she said with deep compassion. “The fact that Caroline was unworthy of your love was tragedy, not a crime.” Gently she took his hands in hers. “It was a terrible thing to be caught between two loyalties, but that’s over now. Don’t torture yourself any longer.”

“What I did was unforgivable,” he said dully.

“Nothing is unforgivable if there is true repentance.”

She spoke with a power that reminded Nicholas of her father. Her kindness and warm certainty were balm to the soul, and he felt his own bitterness begin to dissolve. What was done, was done; he must not let anger poison his life with Clare.

For Michael it was harder. He raised his head, tears marking his gaunt cheeks.
 
“In London I called you a whore, and I came within a hair’s breadth of killing your husband. Can you forgive that? I can’t.”

“But you didn’t do it.” Clare brushed his hair back as if he were one of her schoolchildren. “Deeds are what matter. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force yourself to commit that ultimate betrayal of your friendship.” She cast an appealing glance up at Nicholas, silently asking him to help.

Nicholas’s fists tightened. It hurt, badly, to know that one of his closest friends had been Caroline’s lover. It had been easier to accept madness than betrayal. Yet as he studied Michael’s tormented face, he felt unexpected pity. Though Caroline had put Nicholas through hell, he had never had to suffer the bitter self-reproach that was shattering Michael.

He sighed and knelt beside the other man. “Caroline was the most convincing liar I’ve ever met, and she made fools of all of us. I never loved her as you did, yet even so, she almost destroyed me. She did her best to wreck our friendship, too, because she knew how much it meant to me. Will you let her have that success beyond the grave?” Clare still held Michael’s hand, so Nicholas laid his own on top of both. “I’ve missed you, Michael. We’ve all missed you. It’s time to come home.”

Michael made a choked sound. Then his hand turned and grasped Nicholas’s with desperate strength.

The three sat like that for a long time. Nicholas sent his mind back, past violence and betrayal, to the best memories of his long friendship with Michael. As a foreign-looking schoolboy who didn’t fit into the smug world of Eton, Nicholas had needed his friends badly. Michael had been a rock—utterly loyal, and utterly reliable. As dusk enfolded them, the warmth of those memories dissolved Nicholas’s anger; he hoped that some of the warmth of that shared past was reaching the other man.

Finally Michael took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Nicholas, can you forgive what I’ve done?” he said with stark, painful humility. “If the positions were reversed and you had been involved with my wife, I don’t know if I could.”

“We’re different in many ways—that’s part of the point of friendship. Besides, though you considered killing me, you didn’t. Instead, you saved my life, and that of Clare. For that, I can forgive anything.” Nicholas held out his hand. “
Pax
?”

After a moment of hesitation, Michael shook it, his grip ferociously tight, as if he were grasping a lifeline that had dropped into hell. “
Pax
. And … t
hank
you, Nicholas. You’re a better man than I.”

“I doubt it, but I do know that it’s easier to forgive when one has a full heart.” His gaze touched Clare.

Movements stiff, Michael got to his feet. In a heartbreaking attempt at humor, he said, “What does one do after making a supreme fool of oneself?”

Nicholas stood and helped Clare up. “One gets on with life. Show me a man who has never made a fool of himself and I’ll show you someone who is supremely boring.”

“In that case, I should be the most interesting man in Britain,” Michael said wearily.

Since the evening was getting cool, Nicholas retrieved his coat and draped it around Clare’s shoulders. She accepted it gratefully, though she winced as the weight of the fabric brushed her injured arm. Glancing at Michael, she said, “Come to Aberdare tonight, so you don’t have to be alone.”

Michael hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “T
hank
you, Lady Aberdare, but I think I need some aloneness now.”

“Call me Clare, please—we’ve gone beyond formality.” Brows knit, she studied his face. “Will you dine with us tomorrow? I’d like to meet you under normal conditions instead of drenched in high melodrama.”

Seeing Michael’s uncertainty, Nicholas said, “Please come. It’s a happy house now.” He put a light hand on Clare’s shoulder.

“If you’re sure.” Michael rubbed his temple tiredly. “You two go home now. I’ll inform the authorities and take care of the bodies, since I’m experienced at cleaning up after battles.” His voice grew a little stronger at the prospect of useful activity. “I imagine the magistrate will want to talk to you, but not until tomorrow.”

“Will you take care of Clare’s horse? I want to carry her with me,” Nicholas said.

Michael nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Nicholas helped Clare onto his mount, then swung up behind her and turned home. He suspected that she might have found it easier to ride alone, but he had a primitive need to have her close, and she must have felt the same. The warm, yielding weight of her body helped dispel the terror he had felt when he had feared he would lose her.

They were almost home before he spoke. “Now you know the whole sordid story.”

Her head moved against his shoulder as she nodded. “It’s ironic. For all your grandfather’s pride in his exalted ancestry, you were wiser, more civilized, more generous. What a pity that he couldn’t see you for the extraordinary man you are.”

“I don’t know if I’m extraordinary, but it’s true that he never saw me. I was an unfortunate necessity, a compilation of the worst qualities of my wayward father and my impossible Gypsy mother. As I said once before, as an heir he considered me better than nothing—but only just.”

“How did you survive such hatred?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Once I realized that his contempt had nothing to do with me, I let it blow by like the wind. Most of the time I managed to be happy in spite of him.”

Her arms tightened. “Michael is easier to understand—he had to believe in Caroline. To betray a friend was despicable—to acknowledge that he had done so for a woman who was utterly unworthy would have been intolerable.”

“Though he would have scoffed at the idea, he needed love a great deal, and that made him vulnerable to Caroline’s wiles,” Nicholas said. “Poor devil. It’s amazing he survived her.”

“He’s a strong man,” Clare said, “and someday he’ll be happy again. But I can’t understand Caroline at all.” Her fingers caressed the small of his back. “How could a woman want other lovers when she had you!”

He laughed a little. “You’re wonderfully comforting.” He glanced down at the dark head nestled against his shoulder. “You’ve changed in the last fortnight. You seem more serene. I’d like to think it’s a result of my irresistible charm, but I suspect there’s more to it.”

“There is.” She hesitated. “It’s hard to explain, but when I admitted to myself that I loved you, it resolved my spiritual failings as well. I finally feel the sense of inner connection that I longed for, and love was the key.”

His arm tightened around her. “I’m so glad,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to hear more about that.”

But not yet, for they had reached Aberdare. Leaving his horse to a groom, Nicholas carried Clare into the house and right up to their room. She protested, “I’m not hurt that badly.”