Wicked Promise (17 page)
Now as she stood in the entry, studying the tension etched into her brother's handsome face, she realized she wasn't the only one with problems. Poor Nick had done penance as well.
"Nick?" He had suffered for seven long years. She had thought those days were behind him, but the expression on his face said that he was suffering again.
He turned at the sound of her voice, and suddenly his scowl slid away. "Maggie! For God's sake, what the devil are you doing here?" Before she could answer, he had scooped her into his arms and was whirling her around the entry beneath the crystal chandelier. "Damn, but it's good to see you."
"It's wonderful to see you, too, Nick." Dear Lord, was it ever. She had missed him so very much. "I hope you'll still be glad to see me when you find out I've come home for good."
His expression changed to one of concern, then a radiant smile cracked across his face. "You don't mean you're leaving the convent?"
"Yes, I am. I've decided to give the world another chance."
He hugged her, hard. "Thank God." They stood there grinning at each other as if they were ten years old again, then Nick suddenly stopped and turned. "Sweet Jesu, I almost forgot. Lady Margaret, may I present to you my ward, Miss Elizabeth Woolcot."
Elizabeth dropped into a curtsy. "Lady Margaret, it is a pleasure to meet you." She glanced down at her wrinkled brown skirt and simple white blouse and color swept into her cheeks. "Please forgive my appearance, I—"
"I understand completely. Your aunt has given me a rough idea of what's been going on, Mercy Brown has filled me in on the details."
Elizabeth smiled but Nick frowned. "Bascomb has been giving her fits. He's determined to force her into marriage. Now that you are home, you can help us find her a suitable husband."
Maggie smiled, but Elizabeth's smile slid away. "If the two of you don't mind," she said, "I should like to go upstairs and change. As you might imagine, the journey has been a long one." She was taller than Maggie, with dark auburn hair instead of Maggie's bright golden blond. And her eyes were green instead of a light china-blue.
"Of course you may go. I should have suggested it myself. And please—won't you call me Maggie? I am hoping that we shall be friends."
Elizabeth did smile then. "I would like that very much . . . if you will call me Elizabeth."
Maggie smiled and watched her walk away, noting that whatever was wrong with Nick was also affecting his ward. Her attention swung to her brother. "They didn't hurt her? You were able to get to her in time?"
A muscle worked in Nick's jaw. "Bascomb's men didn't touch her, if that is what you are asking."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that." Her brother made no comment, but a harshness crept into his features that renewed her former concern. She reached out and stroked his cheek, felt the tension thrumming beneath his skin. "Are you all right, Nick? You don't seem quite yourself."
He blew out a heavy breath of air. "I'm fine. I'm just tired, is all. Let me change my clothes and I'll meet you in the study." He smiled but it looked a little forced. "You can tell me all the reasons you've decided to rejoin the living."
Elizabeth let Mercy fuss over her. She was tired to her bones, but more than that, her heart ached unbearably. All the way home from the inn, Nicholas had ignored her. He'd been polite but distant, as if the night they had shared had never happened. And because he was, it seemed as though it never had.
"Come on now, luv, into the tub with ye." Mercy prodded her gently in that direction, pulling the light silk wrapper she wore off her shoulders. "Ye look limp as day-old puddin'."
Elizabeth climbed into the sudsy water and the unwelcome thought arose—last night a bath had been the prelude to hours of making love.
"Now then, ain't that better?"
Elizabeth sank down beneath layers of rose-scented bubbles. She nodded, the best she could muster. "Thank you, Mercy." The water soothed her aching body, but her heart still hurt. She wished she could let herself cry. "Lady Margaret's 'ere—did ye know?" "Yes, we met briefly before I came upstairs." " 'Is lordship'll be 'appy to know she's 'ome for good. Cook says they was two peas in a pod when they was litt'l. Says the earl was always crazy about 'is baby sister."
Elizabeth thought of Stephen Hampton, dead at Nicholas's hand. "So I gathered."
Mercy's eyes fell to the bruise on Elizabeth's jaw. "That bleedin', no-good Bascomb. Those men of 'is—they did that to ye?"
"They were trying to keep me quiet. Other than that they acquitted themselves quite well, considering the circumstances."
"Good thing they did. The earl would 'ave give 'em the same what 'e gave to that blighter who 'urt his sister."
Elizabeth's eyes went round. "Sweet God, you know about Lady Margaret?" Mercy laughed. "I know just about everything that's 'appened in this place—even if I weren't 'ere when it 'appened."
"If that is so, then you also know his lordship shot Lord Stephen in self-defense."
" 'Course I do. . . not that it matters a whit. Our Nick would 'ave kilt the whoreson anyway for what 'e did." Mercy said it with pride, as if killing Stephen Hampton was a godsend instead of a crime. Elizabeth thought of Oliver and wondered if perhaps she was right.
"I hope you won't say anything. I'm sure Lady Margaret would be hurt very badly if she knew her past was the subject of gossip."
Mercy's lips flattened out. "I'm not the kind to do that. Besides, it's nothin' but old news by now."
"Yes, it is, and I'm sure his lordship would like to keep it that way." Mercy said nothing more. She left a few minutes later, leaving Elizabeth to enjoy her bath alone. She might have, except that every time she looked down at her body, she saw an image of Nicholas's dark hands skimming over her flesh. She remembered the way he had kissed her, the way his hardness had felt inside her.
In some strange way, she belonged to him now, and the fact that he had so coldly rejected her sent a sharp sting of pain to her heart. Their strained journey home had been a nightmare. Nicholas had said almost nothing, and the taut silence kept Elizabeth's nerves on edge. She had known there would be consequences to pay for her night of wicked abandon, but the earl's brooding silence hadn't been among them.
She wondered at the cause. Perhaps a night in his bed had satisfied his desire for her. Perhaps he was repulsed by her brazenness. Perhaps he simply felt guilty.
Elizabeth did not know.
And she was afraid to find out.
"So, big brother, you are not upset that I have barged into your life unannounced?"
Nick smiled at the young woman who perched on the sofa, her back perfectly straight, her head held high. Before she had left home she would have sat with her legs curled up beneath. She was the proper convent miss, now, and it saddened him to think of the years of her youth she had missed.
"A few months back, I might have hoped for a bit more notice, but even then I would have been grateful to have you home."
"A few months back," Maggie repeated. "You mean before the arrival of your ward?"
"Actually, I've only begun to reform my wicked ways in the past several weeks, but yes, in a manner of speaking, I suppose Elizabeth was the cause." He lifted his glass of brandy and took a slow, burning drink. "Having her here made me realize just how jaded I had become."
"She's a beautiful girl." Maggie watched him from beneath her fine gold lashes, studying him in that way she had always had of seeing past his defenses. He strengthened them by forcing himself to relax.
"Elizabeth is lovely and intelligent," he said, trying not to remember how beautiful she had looked lying naked in his bed. "Sydney Birdsall is working to find her a husband. Once she is married, Bascomb will have to resign himself." He said the words without the slightest indication that the notion brought a bitter taste to his mouth. "He'll have no choice but to leave her alone."
Maggie leaned over the marble-topped table in front of the sofa, picked up her gold-rimmed teacup and took a delicate sip. "How is Rachael?" she asked in a swift change of subject, gleaning more of his thoughts, perhaps, than he had imagined.
"I wouldn't know. I've seen her only once since my return to England and that was to work out an arrangement for her to continue her residence at Castle Colomb."
Maggie sighed. She was as pretty as ever, he thought, with her heart-shaped face and wavy gold-blond hair, cut short now that she had been living in the convent. Nick couldn't help wondering how he could have been such a fool not to see the tempting lure she posed to Stephen Bascomb.
"I don't suppose your wife would consider returning home. The least she could do is give you an heir."
The words still held the power to hurt him. His sister was one of the few people on earth who knew how badly he had wanted a son. "That time is past, I feel nothing for Rachael and she feels less than nothing for me."
"It isn't fair, Nicky. You wanted a family so much. I think about it often. So much of what has happened is my fault. If only I hadn't let Stephen—"
"Stop it. None of this was your fault. Not a bit of it? Stephen was a grown man and you were a child. Besides, it is all in the past."
Maggie shook her head. "Perhaps it is, but there is still poor Elizabeth. I pray to God Bascomb doesn't find a way to hurt her the way his brother hurt me."
Nick said nothing, but his stomach knotted painfully. Bascomb hadn't stolen Elizabeth's innocence—Nick had. It never once occurred to him he would ever think of himself in the same low terms he thought of Stephen Hampton.
EN
M
ercy Brown came bearing the news of Sydney Birdsall's arrival three days later. Elizabeth was summoned to Nicholas's study late in the afternoon. He was sitting behind his desk when she walked in, immaculately dressed in a burgundy tailcoat over a striped dove-gray waistcoat. A frilled shirt and lacy cravat stood out against his dark skin. He rose to his feet as the butler closed the door, and she didn't miss the tension that made his jaw look tight. It matched the unsteady pulse that was thrumming in her ears.
ercy Brown came bearing the news of Sydney Birdsall's arrival three days later. Elizabeth was summoned to Nicholas's study late in the afternoon. He was sitting behind his desk when she walked in, immaculately dressed in a burgundy tailcoat over a striped dove-gray waistcoat. A frilled shirt and lacy cravat stood out against his dark skin. He rose to his feet as the butler closed the door, and she didn't miss the tension that made his jaw look tight. It matched the unsteady pulse that was thrumming in her ears.
"Good afternoon, Elizabeth. I'm glad you were able to join us."
As if I had a choice
, she thought.
As if you were really glad I'm here.
He looked incredibly handsome, and so distant her heart twisted painfully inside her. She lifted her chin a notch. "Good afternoon, my lord."
, she thought.
As if you were really glad I'm here.
He looked incredibly handsome, and so distant her heart twisted painfully inside her. She lifted her chin a notch. "Good afternoon, my lord."
Sydney crossed the room to where she stood, reached out and clasped both of her hands. "Elizabeth, my dear, it's delightful to see you." He bent and kissed her cheek and she gave him a halfhearted smile.
"It's good to see you, too, Sydney." It was good. She had missed Sydney's comforting presence, particularly these past few days. A glance at Nicholas, whose stern features hadn't remotely softened, gave her the sudden urge to cry against Sydney's fatherly shoulder.
"I gather you have had quite an adventure," he said, his silver hair gleaming in the light of the whale-oil lantern on the desk.
"Yes, I suppose I did." Elizabeth thought her greatest adventure wasn't her abduction but the night she had spent making love. "Fortunately, Lord Ravenworth arrived before Bascomb's men were able to reach the earl's estate in West Clandon."
"So I heard. I knew you could count on Nicholas."
A slight flush rose beneath the dark skin over his cheeks.
"He was quite brave," Elizabeth said, her eyes pinning him where he stood just a few feet away. "I was grateful for his timely arrival."
Ravenworth cleared his throat. "Sydney is here because I sent him a letter. I told him what happened with Bascomb's men, and he came straightaway from London."
"Dreadful." Sydney gave a disgusted shake of his head. "The man is an outrage. But perhaps between the four of us— I gather Lady Margaret has also offered her services—we can manage to foil his efforts for good."
"What Sydney is trying to say," Nicholas put in, "is that the Season has begun and he believes it is time for you to begin your introduction into Society."
"That's right, my dear. I've already spoken to several very well-thought-of young men and they are eager to meet you. Once you have chosen your future husband and the two of you are wed, you will be safe from that scoundrel Bascomb."
Nausea clutched her stomach. She had known this time was coming but still she wasn't prepared. She tried not to look at Nicholas, but her glance strayed there of its own accord. His features were immobile, as stiff and unreadable as if he were made of wood. "I hadn't . . . I hadn't thought you would be ready so soon."
"Fortunately, I was prepared for something like this," Sydney said. "I imagined Bascomb might be breathing down our necks. He must have been trying to circumvent our endeavors, get to you before you reached the city."
She flicked a glance at Nicholas, but he simply looked away. "How . . . how long before we leave?"
"I thought perhaps you and Lord Ravenworth could be ready to travel by the end of the week."
Nicholas's head snapped up. "What did you say?"
"I said I hoped that you and Elizabeth—"
"Bloody hell, Sydney—you aren't suggesting I go with her?"
"But of course I am. Surely you understood? You can't simply send her away, Nick. You'll have to go with her. Elizabeth won't be safe for a moment until she is married. In the meantime, without you there to offer your support and protection, Bascomb is bound to find a way to compromise her virtue and force her into marriage."
Tension seemed to shimmer the length of Nicholas's tall frame. "That is ridiculous. I cannot possibly go. Surely it is apparent that my presence in London would ruin any chance of Elizabeth's success in Society."
Sydney shook his head. "That isn't necessarily true. You may be somewhat of an outcast, my friend, but you are still rich as Croesus and you wield a tremendous amount of power. Most of Society is afraid to incur your wrath, and shunning your ward would certainly do so."
Nicholas turned from Sydney to Elizabeth. His eyes met hers, saw the turbulence she worked so hard to hide, and for a moment his hard look softened.
I'm sorry
, his gaze seemed to say.
I can't do this.
Don't ask it of me.
Then the harshness returned and she thought that she must be wrong.
I'm sorry
, his gaze seemed to say.
I can't do this.
Don't ask it of me.
Then the harshness returned and she thought that she must be wrong.
"It's out of the question. There must be some other way."
"There is no other way," Sydney argued. "You must go to London. You must lend Elizabeth your support. Fortunately, once you arrive, we will have an ally in our camp."
"An ally? What do you mean?"
"The Duke of Beldon has agreed to sponsor Elizabeth." He eyed Nicholas with a lift of his snowy brow. "You may remember him," he said with sarcasm. "Before you went to prison, the two of you were friends."
Nicholas stared off toward the fire. "I haven't thought of Rand Clayton in years."
"Perhaps not, but your friend has never forgotten you. As I recall, he made a number of efforts to contact you upon your return, but you quite purposely ignored him."
Nicholas's eyes swung to Elizabeth. "Before the shooting, Rand Clayton was my best friend. He wasn't a duke back then, merely the Marquess of Glennon. By the time I returned to England, he had inherited the dukedom and I didn't want to embarrass him by forcing him to acknowledge a friendship with a man who had been convicted of murder."
"That was very noble," Sydney said, "but apparently the duke sees the matter in quite a different manner. He has offered us his support and, for Elizabeth's sake as well as your own, I am imploring you to accept it."
Nicholas said nothing for the longest time, but his eyes remained locked with hers. She wondered what thoughts were reflected in those silvery depths, but nothing in his bearing gave him away.
"And there is your sister to think of," Sydney pressed. "Now that she has left the convent, she will be facing an uncertain future, unless she is able to overcome the problems of the past. His Grace's help would be invaluable."
Nicholas worked a muscle in his jaw. Tension tightened the skin across his finely carved cheekbones. Then a sigh of resignation whispered past his lips. "All right, Sydney. Once again, you leave me no choice."
The older man seemed to sag with relief. "Capital. When shall I expect you?"
"There is the matter of the men involved in Elizabeth's abduction. I plan to leave for Dorking on the morrow. As soon as the situation is handled to my satisfaction, I shall return." He swung his gaze once more to Elizabeth. "You and your aunt should be prepared to leave three days hence."
"As you wish, my lord. We can be ready to travel whenever you say."
He nodded, then turned to Sydney. "As you so artfully pointed out, my sister will be coming as well. I believe if all goes as planned, you may look for us before the end of the week."
Sydney smiled and relaxed even more. "Very good. In the meanwhile, I shall order your town house opened and readied, inform His Grace of your pending arrival, and make whatever other arrangements are necessary for our plan to proceed."
"Thank you, Sydney." Nicholas turned a last cool look in Elizabeth's direction. It hurt to be on the receiving end of that expression when there was a time she had garnered such tender looks instead. "Inform your aunt of our plans and tell Mercy that she is to accompany you."
"Yes, my lord." She turned and smiled at Sydney, and hoped he couldn't see her pain. "Will you be staying for supper?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear. Too much to do." He reached for her hand, raised it to his lips. "I shall look forward to seeing you soon."
"And you, Sydney. You are the dearest of friends."
Nick watched Elizabeth leave and, once the door was soundly closed, found that he was again able to breathe.
Sydney continued to speak. "I know this is hard for you, Nicholas. These people have turned their backs on you for the past two years. They won't be kind, I'm sure, but in time they will be forced to accept you. I hope it helps to know you are doing the right thing."
He supposed it was. Sydney was right. Even with his notorious past and his rakehell reputation, he was still a powerful man. He might be an outcast, but with Beldon's support, they wouldn't shun him completely. His sister would have a chance to overcome her painful past and Elizabeth would be allowed sufficient movement within upper-class circles to insure she would find a suitable husband.
The thought sat heavy on his chest.
Nick said his farewells to Sydney, who left a few minutes later, and he was finally left alone. He poured himself a brandy and sat down in front of the fire, still seeing Elizabeth as she had looked standing there in his study, proud and defiant, and utterly enchanting. He had hurt her, he knew, yet there seemed no other choice. Their night of loving had been a terrible mistake. By ignoring her, he was making the fact more than clear.
Perhaps there was a better way to go about it. Perhaps he should simply tell her how sorry he was, but in truth he was afraid to.
He was weak when it came to Elizabeth Woolcot. If he allowed her even a glimpse of that weakness, he was afraid she would see how much he still wanted her. If she made the slightest overture, sweet God, he wasn't sure he could resist.
He certainly hadn't been able to that night at the inn.
Nick slept little during the long hours of the night, his dreams haunted by Elizabeth Woolcot, filled with erotic images of her naked and arching beneath him. When he wasn't thinking of her, he was dreaming of his parents, of the happy days before his mother had died, of the close bond he had shared with his father until he was sent to prison. He dreamed of Elizabeth cradling a black-haired child in her arms, a boy who carried his image. He heard her laughing, telling the child to call him Papa.
He awoke to the night sounds, crickets grating, the eerie hoot of an owl. The dream had felt so real. Without its glowing warmth he felt desperately alone.
By the time he got out of bed, dressed and made ready to leave, he felt ill-tempered and out of sorts. Akbar was saddled and waiting when he reached the stable, as well as a tall bay hunter for Elias, who was traveling with him to Dorking. They were headed for the gaol in nearby Niber Castle and his meeting with the local justice of the peace.
"Constable Ragsdale agreed to take them there," he told his friend. "He said he would see the men were held until I could return to press charges." He smiled grimly. "A good long stretch in Newgate ought to teach them the folly of their ways."
Elias scoffed. "Newgate! The bastards will be lucky if they don't 'ang."
A muscle tightened in his cheek. If that was the sentence, so be it. They had threatened a woman he had sworn to protect. If the law didn't deal with them, Nick would.
Or at least that was his plan until he arrived at the castle at the outskirts of Dorking only to discover Cyrus Dunwitty, the justice of the peace, had turned them loose.
"You are telling me they are gone? That Bascomb simply strolled in here and demanded their re-lease?''
Dunwitty swallowed hard. "It wasn't exactly that way. But yes, the men are gone." The son of a wealthy squire, he was a pale-skinned man, dish-faced and grossly overweight with thinning mouse-brown hair. "Lord Bascomb said there had been a terrible mistake. He said the men were merely escorting his fiancée to his home for a visit, as they had been instructed to do. Since neither you nor the girl were here to naysay his claim, I was forced to release the men into his lordship's care."
Nick reached across the walnut desk and grabbed the man by the lapels of his expensive velvet-trimmed coat. "You simpering fool. You wanted to curry Bascomb's favor—that's why you released them. That was all you cared about."
Dunwitty strained against Nick's hold. "For God's sake— the man wants to marry the chit. He'll make her his bloody countess! The little baggage ought to be down on her knees giving thanks."
Nick jerked him up on his toes. "Listen to me, you odious little toad, and you had better listen good. That girl is my ward. She has refused Bascomb's suit. Those men took her from my home against her will." Nick dragged him higher. "The next time I tell you someone has broken the law, you had better believe it. If you don't, it won't be Bascomb you'll be answering to—it will be me!"
Dunwitty sputtered and nodded, his face turning a fierce, purply red. Ellas stood grinning as Nick lowered him back to his feet.
"Give your father my regards, Cyrus," Nick said dryly. Turning away, he and Elias walked out the door.
"Bloody bastard," Elias grumbled, pulling his horse's reins from the stable boy who stood out front and tossing the lad a coin.
"I should have known Bascomb would get wind of what happened. His estate is less than a day's ride away. Christ, he was probably here before nightfall."
Elias clapped him on the shoulder. "Not to worry, Nick me boy. Odds are, 'is bleedin' lordship will be headin' to London, soon as 'e finds out that's where Miss Woolcot's gone. Those boys will likely go with 'im. We'll get our chance at them yet."
Nick's hands unconsciously fisted. He wanted a chance to even the score all right. But he wanted a go at Oliver Hampton even more.
The night before their journey to London, Elizabeth went for a last walk in the garden. The violets were in bloom alongside bluebells. Clematis climbed trellises along the gravel paths. Earlier in the day, she had spotted a beautiful citrine wagtail, a rare sight with its canary-yellow head and jet-black collar, a sight she would carry with her all the way to London.
A sigh whispered into the darkness. She had grown to love it here at Ravenworth. Now she would be forced to leave it forever, to make a new home for herself in a place she had never been, with a man she did not know and did not love.
"Elizabeth?" His voice floated toward her across the hedgerows and her stomach instantly tightened.
"Over here, my lord."
He walked in that direction, his footfalls crunching on the gravel path, yet he moved with such grace there wasn't all that much sound. "My sister said I would find you out here."
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