Читать книгу Marrying Mischief - Lyn Stone - Страница 12

Nick slipped the ring onto Emily’s finger. It was not originally intended as a wedding band, but there could hardly be a ceremony without a ring of some sort. He’d been surprised to find that this and the other jewelry had survived. If his father had discovered it, it would surely have been sold. The dainty gold filigree surrounding the sky-blue stones looked perfect on Emily’s graceful hand, fitting in every way, he thought.

“By the power vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the vicar proclaimed in the loud, sonorous voice he usually reserved for the pulpit.

Nicholas closed his eyes for a brief moment. Emily was his now. He had convinced himself it was never fated to happen, that it had never been meant to take place, that she would be long wed with several children by the time he returned to England.

In those first letters to her after he’d reached India, he had poured out his heart to her, vowing undying love like the half-witted fool he was at the time. He now knew that love as described by the poets did not and never had existed. But he had liked Emily so much, felt wildly protective of her and had actually lusted after her with all his might that last year they had been friends. He had wanted her desperately then and, much to his chagrin, found that he still did.

In his letters he had explained in minute detail about his forced departure, assuring her that he had not only her own future in mind, but also that of her family.

She’d not only withheld her forgiveness, but had never offered any response whatsoever. She had intended to cut him from her life permanently.

Her unbending attitude had made him furious with her. Though the worst of his anger had passed long ago, he did admit now that a residue of it remained. It had literally doubled the instant she’d demanded a marriage in name only.

She looked up at him now, obviously steeling herself for the kiss that would seal their union. He wished he could kiss her witless, show her just how alive and well her desire for him truly was.

Emily might no longer trust him, and she might resent having to marry him, but her response each time he touched her was evident. Beneath his thumbs he could detect her rapid pulse. Her breathing grew unsteady as he drew nearer. Heat reddened her cheeks. Her lips trembled.

God only knew how much he wanted to take that impudent mouth and make it his, but he did not. Firmly reining in the impulse, he lowered his closed lips to her forehead and rested them there for an instant.

Did he imagine that hum of disappointment she made deep in her throat? Or had that been his own? He stepped away, still holding her hands.

“There,” he said simply as the hesitant applause and good wishes of his men rent the stillness of the cold morning air around them.

“Thank you, sir,” he called out to the vicar. “We will invite you back as soon as is possible.”

Emily tugged one of her hands from his and waved at her father as the old fellow smiled at them and turned to leave.

Nicholas stood with her as she watched the vicar climb into his trap and ride off down the lane.

From the road through the wood in the opposite direction, he heard hoofbeats approaching. “Wait over there out of sight,” he ordered Emily and nodded his approval when she obeyed. He could see no point in having to explain a wedding in the middle of his courtyard in the misting rain.

The rider halted in confusion when he noticed the closed gates. It was Carrick, his first cousin. The brat had been the bane of Nick’s existence and seven years without his company was not nearly long enough.

“Hallo, Nick! Welcome home,” the man said, doffing his hat and nodding in lieu of a formal bow. “Are you refusing me entrance?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Nick answered with little regret. “You must ride on, Carrick. If you wish a reunion, it must wait.”

The outright rudeness seemed to shock even Carrick, who issued a small laugh of disbelief. “Are you going to tell me why you cannot speak with me now?”

“No, I am not,” Nick declared with no room for argument. “Do as I say, Carrick, and leave me in peace for the remainder of this month.”

“Something’s amiss here. I feel it.” Carrick paused, obviously expecting Nick to relent. Then he warned Nick, “I shall discover what it is.”

Nick said nothing, simply stared him down.

After a long moment of tense silence Carrick nodded. “As you wish.” He slowly reversed his mount and galloped away toward the village. No one moved until the distance had swallowed up horse and man.

It ill became an earl to speak so to any of his family or to deliberately slight his own heir, but Nick knew that—even at his worst today—he had been far more patient than his father would have been in like circumstances. He promised himself he would be more civil to Carrick when next they met.

For the time being, however, he would dismiss that small problem from his mind. It was his wedding day and he had other, far more important things to consider. Not the least of which was how he might go about regaining Emily’s good opinion.

Nicholas then gestured to her. “Come, we must go in now,” he told her as he glanced up at the threatening storm clouds.

He heard her sniff, but she had lowered her head and he could not tell whether she wept or was merely offering a wordless sound of indignation.

In many ways Emily had changed from that sunny girl he had known and believed he loved. He had altered even more than she, he supposed. Only time would tell whether they had grown too far apart in their maturity to reconcile somehow. One thing he did know: they never would find out if they attempted to live together as she intended.

For the duration of their seclusion here, her edict of celibacy made sense. Nicholas would have insisted on it had she not done so first, but their reasons were in no way the same. She expected it to be a permanent arrangement. As it was, the mere fortnight required by his reason would sorely test his resolve.

He would never risk her health to assuage desire. But when the quarantine was over, he feared they would have set the pattern for their life together. That would never do.

His goal at the moment should be to reestablish trust between them and renew their friendship. Then later, the path would be cleared so that he could coax her into his bed. Not much of a plan, but it would have to suffice.

“Our wedding breakfast will be ready by now if you are hungry,” he told her, forcing himself to speak amiably. “Even if you are not inclined to eat, we should both make a show. The men will expect it.”

“Of course,” she replied stiffly. “We would not wish to disappoint. What of the quarantine? How are we to gather for this when you have said there is to be no close interaction by the crew members?”

Nicholas led her up the front steps. “You and I shall take our meal in the dining room. The others usually help themselves from a buffet set up in the kitchens and wander where they will to eat. The only difference for the men today will be in the special dishes I ordered prepared to celebrate our marriage.”

“What sort of special dishes?” she asked.

Nicholas almost laughed at her attempt to sound nonchalant. “Leek soup. Fowl stuffed with rice and truffles. Asparagus and the usual peas.”

“We have all that?”

He nodded. “Certainly. The larders here were quite full when we arrived. There also will be the obligatory bridal cake with the bean, of course.” He stifled a smile as he added, “And lemon ice for everyone if Cook did not find the icehouse empty.”

Her hopeful gaze jerked to his. “Lemon ice? You…you remembered?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Hard to forget. You once made yourself ill you ate so much.”

To his great surprise, she laughed merrily. “So I did! I cannot credit you recall that incident. I was only eight. Such a little glutton!” she admitted, shaking her head. “Your fault, you know, for stealing it.”

He frowned. “You wound me! That was no theft. It was made for my birthday, after all. Shouldn’t I have had the choice to share it with whom I pleased?”

As they chatted on about their misbehavior, Emily took his arm and lengthened her steps to match his, exactly as she used to do when they were friends. It was an unconscious habit she reverted to, but Nicholas took immense pleasure from it while it lasted.

If she could assume this small intimacy again without thinking, there might be hope that she would one day make another, more profound slip in her determination to keep their marriage chaste. He devoutly hoped so, because even this casual sort of closeness threatened his control.

Did she know that? Was this a subtle form of torment she had devised to make him pay for past deeds? He suspected it was just that. Yet undeserved as it was, he would not wish her to cease plying it.

He spied Seaman Lofton waiting at the far end of the foyer and gave him the signal to get the feast under way. Then Nicholas escorted his bride to the formal dining room.

At every step, he cursed the circumstances that kept him from ushering her on up to the master chamber. And he wished he did not know how stubborn Emily could be once she had made up her mind about something. Sometimes the very things he liked most about her proved to be the most exasperating.

Happy is the bride the sun shines on. Emily grimaced at the rain now driving against the windows of the dining room. Wishing it away, she trained her attention on the food before her. She tried to ignore Nicholas as best she could, but he made that impossible.

She was heartily sick of small talk. It was difficult to respond to it when the realization that she was a wife now had just hit like a wall falling on her. She felt trapped by it, unable to wriggle this way or that. This could not be undone. It was forever, better or worse. She feared worse. She stared at the ring on her finger.

“I’ll buy you another when I go to London,” Nick said, obviously following her gaze. “Something grander if you like.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t. I like the design of this one. It will do nicely, thank you.”

Fisting her hand in her lap, she glanced out the window again to avoid looking at him. In the distance, through the rain, she could see the spire of Father’s church above the treetops.

“I wish we could have married in the church,” Nick said as if he read her thoughts. “We should have had the entire county there to wish us happy.”

“You dreamer,” she replied and almost snorted. “They would have attended out of curiosity to see whether you had lost your mind. I noticed you neglected to break the news to your cousin.”

“Carrick? I always have as little to say to him as possible. I admit I was tempted to tell him about the cholera. He’s always had an unholy fear of any sickness, morbid or otherwise. We’d never have seen him again.” He grinned. “But of course, he would have promptly reported me for making landfall with an infectious disease and had me arrested.”

He changed the subject. “Tell me, how is Miss Jocularity doing these days?” He popped the bite of meat into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

Emily watched, spellbound by the workings of his smooth-shaven jaw. Realizing what she was doing, she jerked her gaze away and trained it on her plate.

But he would expect an answer. “Miss Tate? Still worthy of the appellation we assigned her. She frowns through Papa’s sermons, castigates every child within hearing distance, and prims up whenever I pass by.”

Nick swallowed and pointed at her with his fork. “Surely not. She always liked you best of all.”

Emily put down her own eating utensil, sat back in her chair and glanced again at the rivulets of rain. “Not anymore.”

When he said nothing to that, she looked back at him. “I forfeited her good graces. Nothing I have done since has restored me in her eyes. And she is not alone in her opinion.”

He regarded her steadily. “Because of the kiss,” he guessed.

“Yes, because of that.”

“You know who bears the blame for my leaving, Emily. That public display of ours was foolish and irresponsible. The results inevitable. You must know how deeply I regret it.”

“Why should you feel regret? You had what you wanted with none to think the worse of you. Even if you had remained here, my father would never have required you to answer for it.”

“I had no choice but to leave.”

Nick had mentioned blame. Was he saying she should assume it? Emily had to admit she had welcomed his kiss the way a dying woman would greet an extra hour of life. Had she, in her fervor, misread his desire? Maybe he had merely done what he thought she expected at the time. Her kiss must have disappointed him and he worried she would demand that he salvage her good name regardless of that. Why else would he feel forced to leave so suddenly? He said she should know where the blame lay. Where else but with her? His father had said it was so. Nick must think so, too.

“Very well, I believe I understand now,” she said, lowering her gaze again.

“Do you?” he asked, offering no reassurances. Not that he owed her any if he was right and it had been all her fault. He had certainly known she would expect marriage, even if her father would not have insisted. Of course he’d felt he had to leave.

“Would you please excuse me?” Emily pushed her chair away from the table and rose, tears perilously close to falling.

“Certainly,” he replied, standing immediately.

Before she reached the doorway, he approached and touched her arm. “Emily, wait. You look very pale. You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

She shook her head without looking at him. “No. I did not sleep well.”

“Go and rest, then.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Come down to the library when you awaken. Or I shall bring a tray and join you for supper if you like.”

Replying with a curt nod, she escaped, hurried up the stairs to the far end of the third floor hallway and shut herself in the countess’s room. Tears of humiliation and despair had overtaken her halfway there and she gave way to them in full once the door was closed behind her.

She threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in a pillow. All these years she had blamed him for abandoning her to the scorn of their small village when in truth, it was she who had caused him to leave his home. Going away then had saved him from having to marry her, a woman he could not love, only to find himself trapped by that very fate because of her most recent folly. He must hate her now. Despite that, he still acted nobly toward her.

“Because he is noble,” she cried into her pillow, “as I shall never be. It will never work. Never!”

Rarely did she allow herself to weep over anything, but now she could not seem to stop. Rain beat against the windows as if the very skies wept for her. Years worth of pent-up misery spilled forth and she cried until she felt decidedly ill. Her eyes grew swollen and her head ached abominably. Exhausted beyond bearing and steeped in anguish, she finally fell asleep.

Nicholas balanced the tray of tea and cakes on one hand and knocked gently on her door with the other. It was four in the afternoon and he’d not seen Emily since breakfast. Her pallor and near silence had worried him. Angry or happy, she was rarely as quiet as she had been earlier.

When she did not answer, he knocked more firmly. “Emily? I’ve brought tea.”

Still no response. Nicholas tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He pushed it open a few inches and saw her lying facedown on the bed, still fully dressed. “Oh, God!” He flung the door open and rushed in. With a clatter of dishes, he shoved the tray onto the nearest flat surface and ran to her. “Em?”

She mumbled something but refused to move. Nick rolled her over onto her back and cupped her forehead with his palm. Hot. Burning with fever.

He grasped the bellpull and yanked it furiously, then ran to the doorway and shouted for the doctor. Immediately he dashed back to her, loosening her clothing, his hands trembling with fear for her.

“Nick? What…what are you doing?” she croaked in a weak voice as she batted ineffectually at his hands.

“You’re sick, Em. Be still! This corset is—curse the damned thing!” He untied and pulled free the laces that held it together below her breasts. At last he parted it, tugged it from beneath her body and threw it aside. He ripped the gown from her and tossed it, as well.

She stared up at him, muddled, speechless and obviously shocked by what he was doing.

“The doctor will be here in a moment,” he assured her while he drew the covers up to her neck. The brief glimpse of her clothed in only her chemise barely registered. He was too concerned she would die.

The doctor hurried in carrying his black case of instruments which he deposited on the bed beside Emily. Nicholas had moved out of his way, but quickly rounded the bed so that he could observe. “She has fever,” he announced, “and look at her face.”

A frightened Emily raised one hand to touch her cheek, but Nicholas grasped it in his and held it. “Be still, my sweet. Just be still for a moment. All will be well.” His voice shook, almost broke. He exchanged a look with the doctor who was frowning.

“My lord, I must ask you to leave for a short while.”

“No.”

“I must examine your wife.”

“Go ahead. And hurry,” Nick added. “I will stay.” The doctor shrugged and turned his full attention to Emily. “Have you…evacuated in the past few hours?” he asked. “Either way?”

Her eyes rounded. She sucked in an unsteady breath, looked from Nick to the doctor and gasped, “No.”

“Good sign,” he commented. “You do have a bit of fever. How do you feel?”

She paused to think, Nick supposed, for she did not reply for what seemed an eternity.

Finally she spoke. “My head. It aches. And I feel quite tired.”

The doctor patted her hand. “This might be nothing at all, you know. A touch of the ague or merely the excitement of the day. We shall get some fluids into you as quickly as we may, in the event it is the cholera.”

He glanced meaningfully at Nick who hurried to the door where Lofton was waiting and ordered up everything liquid he could think to list.

“For now, you’ll need this.” The doctor pulled a stoppered bottle and spoon from his case and poured a measure of the milky brown liquid for her. Nicholas recognized the smell. Laudanum.

His heart sank. Doc must believe she had cholera. The treatment he had given the others consisted of copious liquids and enough of this opium derivative to calm the stomach and digestive tract. He had said he thought that rapid loss of fluids was what killed the patients who died of the disease.

Nick watched with bated breath as Emily obediently swallowed the medicine and closed her eyes. Doc inclined his head toward the doorway, then stepped back from the bedside and headed for the hallway. Nick followed, knowing what he would hear and dreading it with all his heart. “Is it cholera?”

Doc sighed and leaned against the wall outside the bedroom, massaging his forehead with his hand. “I shan’t lie to you. Your wife most likely is in the early stages. Some do not develop the worst symptoms until after four or five days. Yet some sicken and die within hours. I just do not know at this point.”

“She cannot die,” Nick argued, grabbing the doctor’s arm in a vise grip. “You saved the others. Now you save her!”

“My lord, you know very well I will do everything within my power, but I am not God.”

Nick released a breath of impatience and started to reenter the room.

“My lord, you should go below and wait. At least until we know for certain.”

“If she succumbs, she will not do so alone or with people she does not know,” Nick replied. “I’ll not leave this room until I know she is recovering, or…” His voice failed him. He could not say the word in conjunction with Emily. Instead he met the doctor’s rheumy gaze with one of steadfast determination.

“So be it, but this will not be pleasant, my lord. You were witness to little of what the men suffered with this. Cholera is an ugly disease. Humiliating for the patient and noisome for the caretaker. I hope you have a strong constitution.”

Nick vowed he would have. He’d do whatever it took, bear whatever he must, to help make her well again.

When he reentered, Emily had pushed herself to a sitting position. She was carefully lowering her legs off the side of the bed. Nick grabbed her just in time to keep her from pitching forward on her head. “Where do you think you’re going?” he snapped.

She winced at his tone and he was immediately sorry he’d spoken so sharply to her. “What is it, Em? What do you need?”

“I would as soon not say,” she whispered. “Could you leave me alone for a moment, please?”

“Nonsense! You need the chamber pot, then say so. I will carry you.”

“No!” she answered, very forcefully he thought, for someone who might be dying. “Please leave this room immediately and do not return unless I call for you!”

For a moment he simply stared at her. Her color was high and her anger apparent. “Let me help you behind the screen. Then I’ll wait outside. Will that do? Look how shaky you are. You’ll fall if I leave you to walk that far.”

“It’s the laudanum,” she explained as if speaking to a thick-headed child. “It made me dizzy. I hate the stuff.”

He walked her over to the privacy screen that hid the facility. It was a chair made of oak with a seat that lifted. At least she would have something to brace her upright. With much trepidation, he did leave her there as soon as she was near enough to reach it. She glared at him meaningfully until he turned away and left her alone.

A scant few moments later she reappeared, grasping the edge of the heavy wooden screen with both hands. “Nick?”

He rushed to her from the doorway where he’d been waiting. “Yes, dearest? Could you not manage alone?”

She tried unsuccessfully to focus on his face. “I see two of the bed. Help me to it?”

Gladly he scooped her up and put her back where she belonged, reminding himself to order Lofton to bring a bedpan. Less than a quarter hour into this sickroom business and Nick admitted he was already a sorry wreck.

Doc checked Emily’s pulse, pinched the skin on her arm, then urged her to drink a full cup of the broth Lofton had fetched. He waved Nick to the chair beside the fireplace. “You might as well get some rest while you can. This looks to be a long night ahead.”

Nick settled in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, leaning his forehead upon them.

Alternately he prayed, cursed, promised and threatened all manner of things. He both vehemently beseeched and ordered the Almighty to allow her to survive, knowing all the while that what would be, would be.

Nicholas had been in dire straits more times than he could count, but never in his entire life had he ever felt so helpless as he did now.