Читать книгу Pride in Regency Society - Sarah Mallory - Страница 17

‘Either the world has gone mad or I have lost my wits!’ Eve put her hands to her cheeks. ‘Confess you are joking me.’

‘It is no joke, Eve,’ Nick said quietly. ‘When you wrote to tell me of Sir Benjamin’s death, I knew Shawcross would go to Makerham. When your note reached me I was too weak to leave my bed or I promise you I would have found some way to get to you. Instead I had to send Richard to protect you.’ With a sudden, impulsive move he slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor before her, taking her hands and looking up earnestly into her face. ‘I never meant to cause you such pain, Evelina; we had known each other less than a month, only one night married—I did not think you could care for me so very much.’

‘Well, you were wrong,’ she muttered, pulling her hands away. She rose and walked about the room, trying to make sense of all he had told her.

Nick sat back down on the sofa, watching her. At last he said, ‘You are looking very pale, love. Are you hungry? When did you last eat?’

She stopped her pacing, frowning as if she did not understand his words. ‘At breakfast.’

‘Then we must dine.’ He jumped up. ‘But first, my little termagant, we need to call your maid.’

Martha was quickly summoned and came into the room, dipping a slight curtsey towards Nick as she did so.

‘I am very pleased to see you looking so well, Captain Wylder.’

‘Thank you, Martha,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘Would you be good enough to bring up some fresh glasses? We had a—er—little accident with the others. But mind, not a word to anyone that I am here.’

She nodded solemnly. ‘No sir, I’ll keep mum, my word on it.’

Nick smiled at her and Eve noted with a stab of irritation how her usually stern-faced maidservant softened under the force of his charm.

‘And I’ll fetch a brush to clear up the glass in the corner, too, Cap’n.’

When she had gone Nick shrugged off his coat and tossed it aside. ‘I hope you do not object to me dining in my shirtsleeves, sweetheart, but this is a very rough, workaday garment, not at all suitable for sitting down to dinner with a lady.’

He was not wearing a waistcoat, and the linen shirt fell softly over his powerful shoulders. Eve observed the contrast between the billowing white shirt and tightfitting buckskins that hugged his narrow hips and powerful thighs. Memories of that strong, athletic body pressed against hers made her tremble and she resolutely pushed them aside. As Nick came to the table she realised that he was not walking with his usual grace.

‘Your wound,’ she said. ‘Is it very painful?’

‘Only if I move too quickly.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘Or if I have to fight off an angry lady.’

She ignored that. ‘May I see it?’

‘There is little to see,’ he said, pulling his shirt away from the waistband of his buckskins. ‘It is almost healed.’

‘Then why is it still bandaged?’

‘Protection,’ he told her. ‘The wound still bleeds occasionally.’ He lifted his shirt away and Eve gazed down at the white linen strips that were bound around his body. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘do you want me to remove the bandages, so that you may see I am telling the truth?’

Eve flushed. ‘I believe you.’ She waved her hand at him. ‘Pray, tuck in your shirt.’

He unbuttoned the waistband of his buckskins and she could not resist the temptation to look at the exposed skin on his stomach and abdomen, smooth and taut with a shadow of crisp black hairs, a shadow that continued on down towards—

Eve dragged her eyes away. She must not think of such things because it made the excitement stir deep inside and her knees grew weak. She sat down abruptly at the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap while he finished tidying his clothes. Nick Wylder was a scoundrel. She must not think of him as anything else.

Martha bustled back into the room and while she busied herself sweeping up the broken glass, Eve tried to concentrate upon Nick’s story, and not upon his body. The mere thought of dining together made her mouth dry; the little table was so small their knees would almost be touching beneath it. She watched Nick follow the maid to the door and lock it after her. She was not sure if that made her feel more or less safe; might as well be locked in with a tiger, she thought as he prowled back towards her.

‘I cannot believe Bernard is involved in smuggling.’ Nerves made her voice sharper than she intended. ‘He is an odious little toad, but I cannot think so ill of him.’

Nick poured wine into her glass. ‘Can you not? It is a very lucrative trade.’

Eve was silent. After a moment she said slowly, ‘I think I told you that at one time he was always calling upon Grandpapa, asking him for money, coming to Makerham to hide from his creditors.’

‘But not recently?’

‘No. You saw him at the wedding; a modish new coat and his own carriage.’ She paused while he carved a slice of ham and put it on her plate. ‘He asked Mr Didcot about Monkhurst. He thought it was part of Grandpapa’s estate.’ She clasped her hands together, her fingers tightening until the knuckles showed white. ‘He began to—to hint that I should marry him, now that you were—that I was…’

‘Now that you were a widow.’

‘Yes.’ She did not look at him. ‘That was why I left Makerham. I feared he might…compromise me.’

‘For that alone I would thrash him,’ he muttered savagely.

She smiled slightly. ‘Thank you. But you cannot blame him; he believes you are dead. Is that not what you wanted, to catch the villains unawares?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t only that; I thought it would protect you. Once Chelston knew I was on to him, I feared that he might try to get to me through you. Making Chelston think I was out of the way removed that threat. However, when Sir Benjamin died I knew your cousin would be swift to claim his inheritance and if he suspected news of my death was a ruse then you would be in even greater danger. That is why I asked Richard to take you to my family in the north. I could be sure you would be safe there.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not know then what a stubborn little minx I had married.’

‘If Mr Granby had told me the truth—’

‘Poor Richard was merely following my orders.’ Nick hesitated. ‘I did not know—I did not know if I could trust you.’

She shrugged, the core of misery hardening in her heart. She had thought as much. ‘And now?’ She looked up. His eyes were midnight blue in the candle-glow. Inscrutable.

‘Now I have no choice.’ He reached across the table for her hand. ‘I cannot be sorry that you know the truth, Eve, but this is a dangerous game; you would be advised to let Granby escort you to Yorkshire, to the protection of my family. I will join you there when I have finished my work here.’

‘But you could still be killed.’

He laughed. ‘Faith, sweetheart. I have faced greater dangers than Chelston and his cronies!’

Nick was holding her hand, his grasp warm and comforting and he was smiling at her in that reckless, devilmay-care fashion that invited her to enjoy the adventure. She swallowed.

‘Let me stay.’ She heard the words come out of her own mouth. ‘Let me stay and play my part in this.’ Suddenly she felt reckless, no longer afraid of the world. She put up her chin. ‘If you are going to get yourself killed, I want to be on hand to know of it!’

He was staring at her intently. ‘Are you sure, Evelina?’

She met his gaze steadily. The weeks since he had left Makerham had been the most miserable of her life; Grandpapa was at peace, there was nothing more to be done for him, but the idea of being more than two hundred miles away from Nick was not to be borne. Not, of course, that she cared a fig for him now, but he was her husband and she knew her duty.

‘Yes, I am sure,’ she said at last. ‘I will live at Monkhurst and be your eyes and ears there.’

His chair scraped back. He stepped around the table and pulled her up into his arms. She put her hands against his chest, holding him off, but all the while her heart was beating a rapid, heavy tattoo against her ribs, leaving her breathless. He looked down at her, his mouth tantalizingly close.

‘It could be dangerous,’ he murmured.

‘Being your wife is dangerous, Nick Wylder!’

With a laugh he bent to kiss her and it took all her willpower to turn her head away.

‘No,’ she gasped, closing her eyes as his lips feathered kisses down the line of her neck, causing her traitorous body to shiver with delight.

‘You cannot deny you want me,’ he murmured. His warm breath on her skin made her tremble, weakening her resolve.

‘No, but I—do not—trust—you.’

The butterfly kisses stopped. He raised his head. ‘Ah.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart, it is my fault.’ He cupped her chin and tilted her face up towards him. ‘And I am to blame, too, for these dark circles under your eyes.’ He ran his thumb gently across her cheekbone. ‘What a villain I am to embroil you in this.’

Angrily she knocked his hand away. ‘Yes, you are, and I shall never forgive you.’

‘Never is a long time, sweetheart.’ He grinned at her. ‘I must try to make you change your mind.’

She hunched one shoulder and turned away from him. ‘It will not work. I am wise to your charming ways now, Captain Wylder.’

He laughed softly. ‘We shall see. But for now, we must feed you.’

‘I do not think I could eat anything.’

He pushed her gently back on to her chair. ‘Oh, I think you can.’ He pulled a little piece of flesh from the chicken carcase with his fingers and held it out to her. ‘Try this. The most succulent pieces are near the bone.’

Patiently he coaxed and cajoled her, offering her tasty slivers of cheese and the most succulent pieces of meat until she put up her hands, protesting that she was full. Only then did he look to his own needs. While he dined, Eve leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine.

‘Nick? Why did you come to the Mermaid?’

‘I was meeting a sea-captain, one with more information on the black-sailed lugger.’

‘Did you see him? And did he help you?’

‘Yes, and yes. He knows the lugger; she’s called the Merle and sails out of Boulogne.’

‘Is that not where you said Chelston has his warehouse?’

‘It is. All I need now is evidence of where the smouch is being made and we can make our move.’ He looked up at her. ‘A few weeks more, my love, and all this will be over.’

Eve did not reply, but she watched him while he finished his meal. Light from the candles and the fire cast a warm golden glow over his face, enhancing the lean cheeks and strong jaw line, glinting off his ravendark hair when he moved his head. A stab of longing shot through her and she clamped her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent a sigh. She must be careful or her wayward body would betray her. At last he pushed his plate away and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

‘Our host knows how to please his guests, excellent food washed down by the finest French wines.’ He refilled their glasses.

‘And has the duty been paid on the wine?’

He grinned at her. ‘I doubt it, but I am not going to ask. Now, one more thing to finish our meal.’ He picked up an orange.

‘No, really, I have had sufficient—’

‘We will share it, then, but you will have some; it will do you good.’ His lean fingers deftly removed the peel and broke the orange into segments. He leaned forwards, holding a piece out for her. ‘Eat it,’ he said. ‘No, don’t touch it; you will get juice on your hands.’

Obediently she leaned forwards and allowed him to put the segment in her mouth. She nodded, smiling slightly. ‘It is good.’

He held out another piece and this time his fingers touched her lips; she yearned to take them in her mouth, to lick the sharp-sweet juice from his skin. It took all her willpower to pull away. Nick’s eyes were on her face, reading her thoughts, piercing her very soul. In turmoil, Eve tried desperately to think of something to say. Anything, to break the dangerous mood that had settled around them.

‘We should build a hot-house at Monkhurst. Fruit would do very well there. The gardens are sadly neglected but I have set Nathaniel and Sam to clearing the ground—’

‘Eve.’

‘We will need to employ a gardener, but Silas may know someone…’

Nick’s chair scraped back. ‘My love, you may employ as many gardeners as you wish, but we will not talk of it now.’ He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. She kept her head down and braced herself. Her instinct was to give in, to lean against him and yield to his embrace, but she would not. She could not, for she knew only too well the heartbreak he would cause her. He cupped her chin with his hand and forced her to look up at him. When she saw his eyes darken with desire, felt his aroused body pressing hard against hers, she panicked.

‘Of course as my husband you are entitled to take your pleasure of me, but I pray you will take it speedily. I am quite worn out with travelling.’

His brows snapped together. ‘What is this? Do you think I am a monster, that I would force myself upon you?’

His hold slackened and she stepped back, turning away from him while she gathered her defences, dredged up every feeling of anger and resentment to protect herself from the attraction she felt for him.

‘You are no monster, sir, but you must understand that I have suffered a severe shock. I set out this morning thinking myself a widow, only to discover that I have been deceived.’

‘And I have explained to you why it was necessary!’

Eve spun around. ‘Oh, so that is sufficient to make everything well again! You think that you only have to smile and say you are sorry and you will be forgiven.’

‘No, of course not—’

She began to catalogue his offences, counting them off on her fingers. ‘First, you married me because you suspected my family of being involved in smuggling. The day after our wedding you disappear, then you send your man to tell me you are d-drowned. I have told you, I shall never forgive you!’ She put her hands over her face, fighting back the tears that were choking her. She longed to feel Nick’s arms around her, to hear him utter some words of comfort, but there was only silence and it seemed to stretch on forever.

‘You are quite right,’ he said at last. ‘I have behaved abominably towards you.’

She looked up. He was putting on his coat.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I must leave. I have no wish to force my attentions upon you, nor my company, if you find me so repulsive. Forgive me, Evelina.’

‘Go, then!’

No, don’t leave me! The words echoed in her head but Eve could not voice them. Nick buttoned up the old frock-coat.

‘Richard will escort you back to Monkhurst tomorrow. If you are happy to remain there it will be a comfort to me to have you so close, but it could be dangerous. You need only say the word at any time and Richard shall take you to my brother.’

‘Monkhurst is my home now. I shall stay there. What do you want me to do?’

‘Watch and wait. But you must be careful, and tell Martha she must watch her tongue, because no one else at Monkhurst knows I am alive. Send a message with Richard if you want to contact me.’

‘I will.’

Eve’s heart leapt as he took a step towards her, but he stopped just out of arm’s reach and gave her a wry, apologetic smile.

‘Do not turn me into a monster while I am away from you, sweetheart. I shall give you no cause to distrust me ever again, I swear, but I need time to prove it to you.’

‘Wait!’ She gazed at him. Phrases such as ‘do not go’ and ‘stay with me’ rattled in her head, but instead she heard herself say, ‘Should I not go on to Hastings? Granby will have told you it was my intention to visit the spot where you…died. It might look suspicious if I do not continue.’

‘As you wish.’ He smiled at her and the sight of that wickedly attractive dimple made the breath catch in her throat. ‘Aye, go to Hastings. Let the world know that someone mourns my passing!’

Nick kissed his fingers to her, turned on his heel and disappeared through the door in the panelling. Eve watched the door close behind him, felt the stillness of the room envelope her again. Then, as if released from a trap, she dashed across the room and ran her fingers over the wood, trying to find a handle or lever to open the door. There was nothing. She pressed her ear to the panel. Straining, she thought she heard his boots on the wooden stairs and the dull thud of the outer door closing behind him.

He was gone.

There was a scratching on the servants’ door and she went across to unlock it. Martha peeped in.

‘Shall I clear away now, mistress? It’s growing late and I don’t want to be traipsing through these passages once they have snuffed out the candles.’ She looked over Eve’s shoulder. ‘Where’s the master?’

‘He’s gone.’ Eve took a long breath, but she could not stop the tears spilling over. Martha put her arms about her and guided her to the bed.

‘There, there, Miss Eve. You come and sit here and tell Martha all about it.’

‘Th-there’s nothing to tell,’ sobbed Eve. ‘I—we…had a disagreement and…he l-left.’

Eve subsided into tears and Martha clucked over her like a mother hen.

‘Good heavens, Miss Eve, never say he forced himself upon you!’

‘No,’ cried Eve in a fresh flood of tears. ‘No, of course he did not, I told him to g-go and…and he d-did! Stupid, stupid man!’