Wicked Promise (27 page)

A
wave of heat settled in, thick and sticky, the air so heavy it was difficult to breathe. Even with the high molded ceilings and the windows open, it was warm in the study. Oliver peeled off his blue broadcloth jacket and hung it over the wooden valet behind his desk, pulled the bow on his wide white stock and let it hang loose around his neck. His meeting with Wendel Cheek was hardly a formal occasion.

The little man appeared a few minutes later, dressed in a frayed brown tailcoat, his hair slicked back from a sloping forehead. Oliver motioned him toward the desk where he was seated, but made no indication that Cheek should sit down.

"Your message said you had uncovered some new information."

"Right ya are, gov'nor, I surely did."

Oliver leaned back in his chair. "What sort of information?"

"A very interesting sort."

"Go on."

"Just like you said, I set a man to watchin' the lady's house, keepin' an eye on her durin' the day and stayin' outta sight near the town house till after she had gone to bed. A few nights back, she went to the opera with Ravenworth's sister and that big bloke, the Duke of Beldon. My man followed her home, but he fell asleep before she went to bed, didn't wake up till nearly dawn."

"I hope you didn't pay the bloody fool."

He laughed, an odd, crowing sound. "Thing of it is, when he did wake up, he seen a man comin' outta her town house."

The hackles went up on the back of Oliver's neck. He leaned forward in his chair. "What man?" he asked softly.

"That's just it. Man was walkin'. He slipped between some buìldin's and got away."

"You are telling me a man spent the night in Elizabeth Woolcot's room?" he scoffed. "I don't believe it."

"Weren't just any man, as it turned out. The next night I decided to have a look meself. When Miss Woolcot come home, I didn't leave, just waited there in the shadows. A little after midnight, a man showed up, tall he was, with hair as black as the devil's own. Climbed the back stairs quiet as you please—didn't come out till dawn the next mornin'." Cheek grinned. "Plain truth is, it's Ravenworth what's been paying the lady visits. Midnight visits . . . if you see what I mean. He's bein' real careful about it, walkin' sometimes, sometimes travelin' in a plain rented carriage. Don't go home till just before sunup."

On the top of his desk, Oliver's hand fisted around the pouch of coins that was the man's pay. Red seemed to swirl before his eyes. The walls of the room pressed in, forcing the anger down his throat.

"If you're wrong about this, I will personally kill you."

Cheek's olive skin turned an ashen shade of gray. "I ain't wrong, gov'nor. You got me word on it."

Oliver tossed the bag of coins so hard Cheek caught it with an audible grunt. "Get out," he said, leaning over the desk. "Get back to doing your job and don't come here again until I send for you."

"Right ya are, gov'nor. It's gone, I am. Have a pleasant day."

Oliver made no reply. The haze of anger was nearly blinding. All the time he had been worrying about Elizabeth's suitors, Ravenworth had been in her bed. Nicholas Warring had stolen the prize of her innocence that should have been his, and there was no way to replace it.

Rage seared through him, so hot it made him dizzy. Images of Nicholas Warring rose up, naked and buried between Elizabeth's lovely pale thighs. His fist slammed down on the desk, once, twice, thrice. The earl would pay. Elizabeth would pay.

As much as it galled him to take Ravenworth's leavings, Oliver still intended to have her. He wouldn't marry her—not now—not if she was the last woman on earth. He would simply do as his predecessor had done and make Elizabeth his whore.

 But first there was the earl to dispense with—one way or another—and long overdue.

Oliver intended that justice would be done.

Nick paced the floor of his study, waiting for the hours to pass, waiting for darkness to descend so that he could return to Elizabeth. He was sick unto death of this hiding, this skulking around in the night, as if they were committing some heinous crime.

To make matters worse, he had learned today where Elizabeth had been spending her afternoons—in prayer at St. Mary's Church—begging God to forgive her, he presumed, for sins that were his, not hers.

Heartache, guilt, grief—all of them suffered simply because his beloved wife wished to continue her life of unhindered pleasures.

Nick slammed his fist against the wall, welcoming the blunt edge of pain. Dammit, Rachael was the key to this whole bloody affair. If she would only give him a divorce as he had begged her to do, he could marry Elizabeth. Society might frown on them, but Elizabeth could walk with her head held high, content in the knowledge that she was the Countess of Ravenworth. She would be free of Bascomb, safe beyond the earl's reach.

And Nick could have a family, legitimate sons to carry on the Warring name.

If Rachael would only agree.

Nick sighed, turned and leaned against the wall, his head falling back, his eyes sliding closed against the obstacles that seemed so insurmountable. When he opened them again, his gaze came to rest on a picture of Rachael that hung above the mantel.

He rarely noticed it anymore, had meant to see it removed, but so far simply hadn't got round to it. At the moment, he was glad he hadn't. Staring at the painting, he saw something he hadn't thought of before, something unutterably important. He studied the picture, feeling his hopes rise for the first time in weeks, assessing the exquisitely beautiful raven-haired woman gowned in ruby-red silk. But it wasn't her features that drew him, nor the ripe swell of her breasts. It was the long, slender column of her throat, pale and gracefully arched.

And nestled at the base sat the shimmering Ravenworth rubies.

Nick's heart picked up its pace, making the blood pound at his temple. He had offered his wife a fortune for his freedom, offered her everything he could think of to induce her—everything but the single thing she wanted most in the world: the priceless, exquisite Ravenworth rubies.

In truth, they were a goodly portion of the reason she had married him, a lure a woman like Rachael could scarcely resist. A necklace of huge bloodred rubies, each intricately ringed by a cluster of perfectly matched, brilliantly faceted diamonds. Except for England's Crown Jewels, the necklace and matching earrings were, the most extravagant pieces of jewelry in the realm.

A gift from his great-grandfather, the first Earl of Ravenworth, to his beloved wife, Sarah, they were protected by a covenant that gave each successive earl full control. They were the one thing that belonged to Nick that Rachael could not have, a legacy so dear to the Warring family she knew he would never give them up—and she coveted them with every ounce of her villainous soul.

Nick strode to the door and jerked it open, strode out and went down the stairs.

"Pendergass!" He headed straight for his study, the tall, gaunt butler hot on his heels.

"Yes, my lord?"

"I've a note I wish you to carry. It's imperative it reach Sydney Birdsall today." Seating himself behind his desk, he plucked a quill pen out of the inkwell, lifted a sheet of foolscap, and began to inscribe on the page. When he had finished, he signed it simply "Ravenworth," waited for the ink to dry, then folded it and handed it to the butler.

"Tell him I need the items I've requested as soon as I can get them. Ask Jackson to drive you. You'll make better time."

"Yes, my lord." Edward accepted the note, made a stiff bow, and left the study.

Nicholas breathed a heavy sigh and sank down in a deep leather chair. His heart was still pounding, his hopes even higher than they were before. He wasn't simply going to offer the jewels.

He was going to take them to her.

He could imagine the look of rapture on Rachael's face when he spread them out on the table, a brilliant array of deep red fire more irresistible than the devil's own words. She would take them. He could feel it deep in his bones.

Once he had made her the offer, there was no way in hell she could simply stand by and watch him carry them away.

Rachael Warring stared down at the glittering array of jewels spread before her on top of the gilt-edged table. The Ravenworth rubies. She could remember every time she had ever worn them, each occasion sweeter for the sharp looks of envy from the women, the appreciative glances from the men.

She studied them now, each bloodred stone perfectly faceted, each diamond flawless, clusters of clear white fire that formed the perfect setting. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch them, aching to feel their coolness against the heat of her skin.

Across the way, Nick said nothing, his expression carefully controlled, but she knew he had guessed how badly she wanted them. Oh, yes, he knew!

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. "Divorce is a high price to pay for a mere set of baubles, my darling."

Nick rose languidly to his feet. "I am sorry you feel that way. I had hoped . . . considering the balance of my offer was far beyond generous . . . that the rubies might sway you." He released a sigh. "But perhaps it is just as well. The Ravenworth rubies have been in the Warring family for generations. Perhaps it is too much to sacrifice for the sake of bedding a woman." He started toward the jewels, leaned down to gather them up, but Rachael gripped his arm before he could reach them.

"Perhaps I am being selfish. After all, you do need a legitimate heir and it is unfair of me to stand in the way of your getting one. The jewels would be small consolation for the scandal of a divorce, but if it would make you happy, Nicky dear, I suppose I shall be forced to agree."

She caught a brief flash of triumph, but he quickly subdued it, schooling his features behind a mask of control.

"Well, then, I suppose, since I have already made the offer, 'tis too late to entertain second thoughts. The rubies are yours. I shall leave them in your care and have Sydney draw up the ownership papers with the documents of divorce. I'm sure it will take a while, but with your agreement, eventually, it shall be done."

He left the rubies lying on the table, wickedly seductive, astoundingly beautiful. He wasn't afraid she would sell them or try in some way to steal them. She wanted to wear them, he knew, and to do that, she would have to own them. He was leaving them because the divorce would take time and he didn't want her to change her mind.

He knew her well, knew that every time she looked at the rubies, every minute they were in her possession, would make it harder for her to give them back. In truth, it was already impossible.

Rachael forced herself to smile. "Well, beloved, it appears that in the end you have won."

Nick actually smiled. "I believe in time you will see that both of us have won."

She arched a brow. Perhaps there would be some interesting ramifications to the fact that she would be back in the marriage market again. One never knew what rewards a clever woman might reap. She watched her tall, handsome husband walking toward the door and felt an unexpected pang of longing.

"You must love her very much."

His brows pulled into a frown. "Love? Love is a fantasy. You of all people ought to know that."

Rachael didn't answer, just watched as he turned and walked out the door. She looked back down at the jewels, mesmerized by the glittering sight. Behind her, the doors at the rear of the drawing room slid open and Greville Townsend walked in, his handsome face brightened by a smile of satisfaction.

"You've done it, my sweet. I can scarcely believe it. You'll have your freedom again."

"True. I was a bit hasty, perhaps, but the deed is done and I do not wish it undone."

He drew her to her feet, swept her into his arms. "No, indeed. Why should you? You'll be free of Ravenworth and as soon as the divorce is final we can be married. I'm a wealthy man in my own right and you'll be my wife, the Viscountess Kendall. In time, the scandal will die down and we'll be accepted back into the fold."

Rachael shoved at his chest, carefully extricating herself and pushing him away. "I thought I made myself clear, Grey. I do not wish to marry you. I do not wish to marry anyone."

"Nonsense. Of course we will marry. 'Tis the only sensible thing to do."

"Sensible for you, perhaps, but not for me. I have no wish to be tied down to a husband—not you or anyone else."

Grey's face turned a mottled shade of red. "I warned you, Rachael. I told you before—you're mine. You belong to me and I keep what is mine."

"And I told you, I belong to no one but myself!"

The viscount gripped her shoulders. "Dammit, Rachael—"

"Stop it, Grey. I grow weary of your high-handedness, your constant demands for attention. Even your prowess in bed is beginning to bore me. I think it is time for you to leave."

"Leave? What the devil are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you it's over, Grey." She flicked a glance at the jewels. They seemed to be calling her name. She couldn't wait to put them on and wear them. "I'm telling you we are finished. Our affair is ended, Grey. Over and done."