Читать книгу Regency Silk & Scandal eBook Bundle Volumes 1-4 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 24

He loves me? Nell closed her lips against the demand of Marcus’s mouth and twisted her head away, trying to look into his face. She had dreamed of him saying those words to her and now that he had, she was frightened, confused and angry. He cannot mean it, so why is he saying it?

‘No!’ She pushed at his chest and he let her go, his face as dark as it had been when he threw bitter accusations at her. ‘You want me, you have brought me into the family home and now you have to convince yourself your motives were something other than desire,’ she said, holding up one hand to ward him off.

‘It has to be love to excuse your misjudgement, doesn’t it? How strange you never thought to mention it before—in the folly, for example.’ She could not afford, not for a moment, the weakness of believing him. Her heart would break.

‘I didn’t realize then, I only knew that I couldn’t let you go, however much I mistrusted you.’ He made no move to touch her again. ‘I realized what it was when I saw you with Hal.’

‘Two cock pheasants strutting their plumes in front of the female?’ she jibed. ‘That isn’t love, Marcus. That is simple male possessiveness.’

‘Damn it, do you think I want to fall in love with a milliner?’ He took an angry pace away and stared at an old portrait hanging against the linen fold panelling as though he could not bear to look at her. ‘Or the daughter of an attaindered earl, for that matter? I am a Carlow, damn it.’

‘And I am a Wardale, and proud of it,’ she flung back. ‘You think I could love you, you arrogant, suspicious autocrat? You cannot even tell me you love me and look happy about it. Do you know what I want? What I need?‘ Marcus turned slowly to look at her and shook his head. ‘I need love and laughter and tenderness and humour and trust. I do not need breeding or money or status. I do not need a man who has experience in bed, I just want one who cares about me.’

Nell was out of the door before he could stop her. She slammed it back in his face, spun round and ran straight into Lord Narborough, Hal and Diana Price.

There was no disguising the tears on her cheeks, no hiding the fact that her hair was half down and her face, she could feel, was as white as a sheet. The earl caught her as she stumbled to a halt and stared down into her face.

‘Catherine?’

‘Catherine Wardale was my mother,’ Nell said, seeing the colour drain out of his face until it was waxy.

‘What?’ The sharp exclamation was Miss Price’s, even as she hurried to take Lord Narborough’s arm.

‘Father.’ Hal caught him as he swayed, supporting him to the nearest chair. Nell dragged at the bell pull then ran to help them. Behind her the door opened. ‘What’s happened? What have you done?’

‘Resembled my mother,’ Nell said bitterly, not looking at Marcus. ‘Not, I believe, a crime. Give Lord Narborough some air. I have rung for help—he needs his drops.’

‘I am all right.’ George Carlow shrugged off Hal’s arm and pulled himself upright in the big carved chair as the butler came in. ‘My drops, Watson, in the study. And a tea tray for there and for the drawing room. Come.’ He looked at the four clustered round his chair. ‘The study and some explanations, I think.’

Marcus went to Nell’s side as they settled around the hearth in the study. She turned her head away and stared into the fire, giving him her shoulder. He could hardly blame her. How could a declaration of love go so hideously wrong? How could he have told her then, on the heels of berating her about her secrets?

‘Little Helena.’ His father was shaking his head as he looked at her. ‘You must have been four when I last saw you. The resemblance has been haunting me and then I saw it just now. It was Catherine’s face when they took Will away.’

‘She is dead now,’ Nell said without turning. ‘A congestion of the lungs four years ago. It seems a broken heart can take a long time to kill.’

‘Oh, my dear. And Nathan and Rosalind?’

‘Rosalind took a post as a companion to a lady—under a false name. We were never to write, or contact her, in case of discovery. She would always write to us.’

‘And your brother?’ demanded Miss Price.

‘Nathan vanished, suddenly, as though he had been snatched out of thin air.’ Nell’s voice was flat, as if she were recounting some dull and trivial piece of gossip. Knowing her now, sensing every nuance in her voice, Marcus could read her pain and the effort such control was costing her. He wanted to hold her, make this all go away.

‘There was no money, our landlord was…violent, and Mama was sick. I had to move us away. We lost contact with both of them. I tell myself Nathan is not dead and that Rosalind is safe.’ Her composure cracked, and with it her voice. ‘I cannot always believe it.’

Marcus put his hand on her arm and she froze. After a moment, he lifted it away and heard her sigh. ‘Helena—’

‘Nell,’ she murmured.

‘Nell says she did not know that the Earl of Narborough, to whom she was to deliver a parcel with unknown contents, was George Carlow,’ he said to the others, determined to present the facts fairly in the midst of the emotion threatening to swap them all. ‘All she knew about the scandal was that her mother hated the name Carlow.’

‘Nell?’ Hal asked.

‘Mama never spoke of what had happened to Papa. I knew virtually nothing until I read her letters and diaries over the past two weeks. And I could not bring myself to do that until I came here and realized that I had to find out.’

Watson came in with the tea tray and placed it before Diana, but she got to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I must help Lady Narborough. I will not say anything of this, of course.’ The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the four of them in silence.

Without a word, Nell shifted in her seat so she could reach the tray. She passed the drops and a glass of water to Marcus’s father, then began to pour tea with a steady hand as though this were a normal social tea party. Marcus watched, unable to believe she could appear so unaffected. Then, as she turned to hand him his cup, he saw her eyes, filled with a miserable anger and realized that she was holding on to her control with fierce determination.

‘I give you my word I did not know who you were,’ she said to Lord Narborough, the quiver of passion under the calm words more convincing than any display of extravagant emotion would have been. ‘Once I knew, then I was afraid, both for you and for myself. I do not understand who is doing this, or why. But I knew that Marcus would not believe me if I told him that.’

That hurt, an unexpected thrust of pain in his chest, made worse because it was true—he had not let himself trust her.

‘Perhaps his loyalties were divided,’ his father said, surprising him. He looked sharply at the older man. There was a faint smile on his lips. He knows. He knows I love her.

‘No,’ Nell said. She stared into her cooling tea. ‘Marcus knows where his loyalties lie. And that is right, after all. It would be wrong to place…desires before the safety of one’s family, one’s sense of honour.’ She lifted her head and looked directly at Marcus, the tear tracks plain on her cheeks. He wanted to hold her, wipe them away, kiss away the memory of them. ‘It is how I feel, after all.’

‘Nell,’ the earl said gently, ‘it is possible, you know, that the people one loves may yet do things that are very wrong. Your father was involved with someone.’

‘Amanda Hebden, Lady Framlingham, I know.’ She nodded. ‘It is in the letters. And Lord Framlingham was not treating her well. But why would they not duel? Why murder?’

‘Because Kit Hebden was about to unmask your father as the spy—that is the only reason, the only possible way to explain it. Believe me, Nell, I tried to find another explanation, and in all these years I have failed.’

‘I believe you tried,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘And I am sorry I did not tell you before who I was. That man, whoever he is, might have shot someone this morning.’

‘But knowing who you are takes us no further forward,’ Hal interjected.

‘It does,’ Marcus said, thinking aloud. ‘It tells us that this is not some campaign against the Carlows alone. This is someone with a connection to that affair who, for some reason, is attacking both the child of the man who was executed and the family of the only survivor of the three friends.’

‘You are right.’ The earl sat up, alert. ‘Hebden’s family has all gone except his daughter—she lives with her mother’s family. So, who does that leave?’

‘The real traitor? The man who murdered Lord Framlingham?’ Nell asked, defiance in her voice.

‘Oh, my dear.’ The earl shook his head. ‘For your sake, I wish that were true.’

‘I want to go home,’ Nell said flatly. ‘I should not be here.’

‘But the danger,’ the earl protested.

‘You mean the man who shot Marcus who might know where I live? That man never existed. I shot him.’

‘I know,’ the earl confessed, and Marcus almost smiled at the gasp of surprise from Nell.

‘It was an accident,’ Marcus said, clarifying it for Hal. ‘I was following her, frightened her. And then I used that as a weapon to make her come here.’

‘So—’ the earl frowned ‘—Nell is stalked by our mysterious enemy, who must have exerted some time and trouble to trace her. She is sent with the silken rope, thus making her appear to be part of the conspiracy, then hounded by you and blackmailed into coming here. Do I have that correctly?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Marcus held the grey eyes. ‘I thought her in danger—and a danger to us. And you will both have to forgive me, but I put our family’s safety first.’

‘I forgive you,’ his father said dryly. ‘You will have to discuss absolution with Nell.’

‘We have nothing to discuss.’ She looked at him. ‘Nothing at all. I quite understand Marcus’s feelings.’ The look she directed at him said quite plainly that she placed no value on his declaration of love. He could hardly blame her. ‘Please, let me go home now.’

What would she do now, if he went down on one knee and proposed in front of his father and Hal? Would she believe him then? For a crazy moment Marcus considered it. But she was distressed and angry, and if she said ‘no’ now, he sensed it would be irrevocable.

‘I offered to buy a business in a good area, something Nell could run. It would be a partnership,’ he said instead, and felt her relax a trifle. Yes, she had been afraid he would make some kind of declaration.

‘Would you like that?’ his father asked her. ‘I wanted to help your mother, but she vanished before I could try. It has always been a grief to me.’

‘Thank you.’ From somewhere, Nell found enough polite enthusiasm to reply. ‘That would be wonderful.’ And it would be. Comfort, respectability, control of her own destiny. A few weeks ago, she could have hoped for nothing better. It was the answer to her prayers.

And beside her sat the answer to her dreams, and he had said he loved her. He had said it still half-suspecting her. He had said it as though it had been dragged out of him, as though he was ashamed of himself for loving the child of a traitor and a murderer, a woman fallen so far below her true station in life. Do you think I want to fall in love with a milliner? he had demanded. Which meant both that it could well be true and that it was an impossible basis for a relationship.

Marcus could not marry her, even if he really did love her. The scandal would be terrible. She had no understanding of polite Society, of how the mills of gossip worked, but she could imagine the impact such a match would make.

She could never ask it of him, even if this fog of mystery and danger was no longer hanging over them. And she would not be his mistress, even though she ached for him, because to live every moment waiting for him to marry another, as he must, would be hell, pure and simple.

The men were talking, their voices a distant hum in her head. There was so much to come to terms with, so much to try to understand since that shot had rung out and shattered the fragile peace.

‘Nell?’

She looked up and saw them all watching her. ‘I am sorry. I was not attending.’

‘Understandable,’ Marcus said. ‘We were agreeing that you cannot go back to London alone, not with this mystery still unsolved. Whoever is behind this does not bear you any goodwill, that is plain. At the very least, they do not care what happens to you.

‘Come back with us when we return and we will decide on what kind of shop you want, set it up, employ staff, find you a maid. That will all take some time.’

‘And if we never find who is behind all this?’

‘Then your establishment will include a bodyguard,’ Marcus said flatly. ‘For as long as necessary.’

I don’t want a bodyguard, I want you, she thought, folding her hands tightly together to stop herself touching him, clinging to his hand. ‘What will you tell the others? Lady Narborough may not want me here when she knows who I am.’

‘She played with you as a baby, she would not spurn you now,’ the earl said, smiling at her. ‘I will tell her, but not the girls. Just now I told them that someone from the past, when I was working for the government, has returned with a grudge against me. There is no need to rake up more of that old tragedy than we need. It is sufficient to put them on their guard.’

‘I see,’ Nell murmured. ‘Thank you.’ Their voices seemed to come from a long way away. She felt numb, cold, tired and knew that beneath the numbness lay deep sadness, like water rushing beneath thick ice. They got up, leaving her. She was aware of the movement, of the door opening and closing, but she stayed in her chair, watching the leaping flames in the gate.

‘Nell?’

‘Oh!’ She spun round, heart in her mouth. ‘I thought you had all gone.’

‘No.’ Marcus smiled a little and came to lean an elbow on the mantle, looking down at her. At least he isn’t frowning, she thought vaguely, wondering why he was still there. ‘I do not think that telling a lady that you love her in the midst of a blazing row is very…sensible.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘It is not. Do you believe me now? Do you trust me?’

‘Yes. I believe you and I trust you. And, Nell, I do love you.’ She had never seen him so serious without that endearing frown. Almost, she could let herself believe him.

‘And whatever you do about that—except ignore it—will cause a scandal,’ she observed dispassionately, fighting the need to throw herself into his arms. ‘You cannot marry me. That would be shocking, especially with two sisters on the Marriage Mart. And if you made me your mistress and anyone found out who I was, then that would be almost as bad. Your loyalty might be called into question—to the Crown and to your father.’

‘Anyone questioning my loyalty will find themselves looking down the barrel of a pistol at dawn.’ His right hand flexed as he said it, and Nell shivered.

‘Wonderful, you will be killed because of me,’ she said.

‘I am an excellent shot,’ he countered. ‘What I aim at, I hit.’

‘Oh well, that is all right then,’ she retorted. ‘Do I stay behind to explain to your family why you have had to flee abroad having killed your man?’

‘Has anyone told you how infuriating you can be?’ Marcus demanded, coming upright in a sudden burst of temper.

‘Yes, you,’ Nell said, trying not to dwell on how magnificent he looked, towering over her, dark eyes blazing. ‘And I am not being infuriating now, merely right. You, on the other hand, are unused to anyone gainsaying you and are not, I have to point out, taking it very well.’

‘Then tell me how you feel, Nell.’ Marcus dropped to one knee with a suddenness that startled her. ‘Tell me how you feel about me. About us.’ He caught her hands in his. In the strong grip, she could feel a pulse thudding. Hers or his, she could not tell.

I love you, I love you…She only had to say it and all her good resolutions would be for nothing. He would not let her go and the outcome—whatever it was—could not be happy. Not for them, not for his family.

‘I desire you,’ she said, making herself meet his eyes. ‘I find, when you touch me, that morals and proper behaviour seem to count as nothing. You kiss me and I go up in flames—and that is wrong and cannot last. And you make me weak.’ She laughed—shakily, it was true—but her amusement brought a flash of answering humour into his eyes.

‘Good,’ Marcus said, his voice husky, leaning in to her.

‘Not weak like that.’ Nell swayed back, away from his wicked, tempting mouth. ‘I am an independent woman. I must stand by myself, not come to lean on a man. You are too big,’ she complained, feeling suddenly tired and querulous. ‘I just want to sit back and let you fight my battles, and that will not do.’

‘Nell, you have agreed to let us help you,’ Marcus began. He was stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. Nell closed her eyes for a moment, imagining his mouth there.

‘And I am very grateful and fully intend it to be a business relationship,’ she said with as much firmness as she could manage. ‘I cannot be a dependent.’

‘I am not asking you to be a dependent, Nell, I am asking you to—’

‘No! No,’ she repeated, more gently. ‘Do not say anything that we will surely regret as soon as it is said. I will stay with your family until I can set up my business, and I am so grateful for that, I cannot properly express it.’

Marcus sat back on his heels and shook his head at her, frowning. ‘And then, every Quarter Day,’ she persisted, ‘I will meet with your man of business and we will discuss profit and loss. I hope to be able to return you a respectable sum for your investment. And when your friends lament the amount their mistresses cost them in millinery and haberdashery, you will tell them of an elegant establishment you know where, if not exactly dagger cheap, one may find a stylish bonnet at a keen price.’

‘And you will be content?’

‘Of course. I will be too busy for foolish daydreams about…passion. And so will you be.’

‘I see.’ Marcus got to his feet. ‘How very practical you are, Nell. You pour a positive bucketful of cold water over heated dreams.’

‘That is how it has to be.’ Nell managed a smile. ‘I cannot afford dreams.’

‘I would give them to you if I could,’ Marcus said, and for a moment the tenderness in his eyes was almost more than she could bear.

‘I know,’ she managed, the smile still intact.

He stooped and she did not try and avoid his mouth, or the gentle touch of his hand as he cradled the back of her head and held her for his kiss. It would be the last time, the last dream.

She would remember every detail, she told herself as his mouth moved over hers with possessive tenderness. The taste of him, the texture of his skin as she laid her palm against his cheek, the scent of him, the leashed power under her other hand where the muscles of his arm clenched with the effort he was making to hold back, the sweep of his eyelashes as she opened her own eyes to look into his face.

And then those thick dark lashes lifted and he broke the kiss.

‘Wise Nell,’ he murmured. And was gone.