Rich Radiant Love

by Valerie Sherwood

  “Indeed it must be!” Like his other stories, she doubted this one, but she listened with delight as he brought to her a far-flung world of glamour and danger, of languorous South American nights spent with a variety of beautiful women—he skimmed over those, telling her just enough to tantalize her. “My hands could span her waist, he would say. “And she had a delicious habit of nibbling on my ear whenever her husband was not about!” Or “Her father never guessed that she spent those hours in my arms.” Or “She was a passionate wench—I beg your pardon, Georgiana, but she is one of my favorite memories!”

  Georgiana was kept laughing and gasping by his revelations. Had he really seduced the Spanish grandee’s daughter? she asked herself. Had the unlikely combination of an enamored chambermaid and a housekeeper who had been duped into believing him her long-dead son, really joined forces to help him escape the dungeons?

  It was another magical evening.

  Chapter 12

  When they had finished their after-dinner wine, they went into the drawing room. Nicolas sat down at the small rectangular virginal and ran his fingers lightly, expertly, across the keys and sang to her in his throaty masculine voice the love songs of half a dozen nations. Georgiana leaned on a peachbloom satin arm with gold lace spilling over the polished rosewood of the virginal and asked herself dreamily if Verhulst van Rappard had only been like his Cousin Nicolas, what might life at Wey Gat have been like? Certainly Imogene would have sung for joy in the mornings, and instead of steadfastly refusing to learn to play this delicate virginal that Verhulst had gone to so much trouble to import for her—this she knew from Imogene’s journal—she would have dazzled the night with the tinkling keys and sung love songs without end.

  “You should be wearing jewels, Georgiana.” Nicolas had stopped playing. Now he sounded one last plaintive chord as he gazed pointedly at the white column of her neck. “A necklace at the least.”

  “Oh, I—” Georgiana had almost said “Bernice took them all” but she remembered in time and said, “I brought no jewelry with me from Bermuda.”

  If that seemed strange to him, he did not remark on it. Instead he frowned. “Has Danforth given you no jewels?”

  He had given her the gold and sapphire ring that she now wore on her finger, but she could not tell Nicolas that, having already claimed she had had it from the packet Elise left for her.

  “He will,” she said. “In time. Of course, I have this ring.” She flashed it deliberately for him to see, hoping that if he did know its origin he would speak now.

  “Yes, you showed that to me yesterday.” He was still frowning. “You are like a peach in that gown, Georgiana, a beautiful ripe peach, but any lovely peach deserves a frosting of dew and you deserve a frosting of diamonds.”

  Georgiana’s laughter pealed. “ ’Tis plain you made your way well at court, Nicolas.” She had fallen into the habit of calling him Nicolas just as he now called her Georgiana. “In whatever country you found yourself!”

  “Ah, but I am serious, Georgiana. Your gown needs but that one last touch to make you ravishing!”

  “Then I shall have to go unravished,” she told him, amused. “For I have no ‘frosting of diamonds’ to wear!”

  “I hope you will not think me overbold,” he murmured, and rose, reaching into his pocket. “But I cannot let such a luscious peach be brought into so public a view without at least a small frosting of dew.”

  He brought out a delicate necklace of intricately wrought gold that flashed in shiny points like the tiny golden ornaments in her hair—and from the necklace was suspended a pendant, a small teardrop of a diamond.

  “The drop of dew I spoke of,” he said softly, and reached out to clasp the necklace around her throat.

  So stunned was she by this unexpected gift that he had closed the clasp before she found voice to protest, “But I cannot accept such a gift from you, Nicolas!” She sounded shocked.

  “Why not? It is but a trifle.”

  “It is valuable and you know it!”

  Nicolas shrugged. “Value is a relative thing. About your delicate throat it does appear to have great value. On my sinewy neck it would fade into insignificance.”

  “Not your neck, Nicolas,” she laughed. “Your lady’s!”

  “But I have no lady to wear it! Perhaps if I lent it to you just for the evening?” He gave her a wistful look.

  “No, not even that. Brett would be furious!”

  “Ah, yes—Brett.” He made the name sound distasteful. “A patroon who gives his wife no jewels.”

  “Give him time, Nicolas—I am but a bride!”

  "My bride,” he said, his body seeming to move slightly toward her, “would have jewels on her wedding day. I would see to that!” His nearness was heady wine. He was a handsome male animal, a vigorous man in his prime, and he desired her. That much was plain.

  And he had come to Windgate carrying with him a diamond necklace. . . .

  “A man does not carry a diamond necklace with him on idle jaunts about the country,” she said breathlessly.

  “No, he does not.” He was inching closer, she could feel his strong masculine presence closing in on her.

  “You did not merely happen by and get caught in a drenching rain, Nicolas. Windgate was your destination!”

  “True,” he smiled. “Although the rain made me arrive late.”

  "You were the man who rode away from Jack Belter’s bouwerie day before yesterday,” she accused. Her eyes widened. “You knew Brett had gone upriver!”

  “He passed by me on the River Witch."

  “And yet the next day you came on to Windgate.”

  He nodded and his smile deepened.

  “To see me?” It was a whisper.

  “To see you, Georgiana. I had glimpsed you from the dock, and on board the River Witch you looked very enticing and very lovely. I could not wait for the ten Haers’ ball—I had to see you again.”

  She was startled.

  “Then the ten Haers know where you are?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And you told them to send a sloop for you if you were not back by Friday?”

  Again he nodded.

  She could hardly believe it. “But you surely could not have expected it to rain until then?”

  “I had hoped for a flood,” he said plaintively. “To be trapped here with you, surrounded by an impassable sea of mud.”

  Georgiana gasped, not sure whether to laugh or be angry with him. This was all going too fast for her. Last night’s inquisition, today’s right-about-face, and now this blatant admission that it had all been planned'. “I don’t know what you expected to gain by it,” she said, trying to move away from him.

  He caught her by the shoulders. His voice was low and intense. “Georgiana, can you not believe that a man can fall in love with a woman on first sight?”

  “No.” She shook her head to clear it. “No, you were not in love with me when you came here yesterday. Do not pretend that you were. You played a cat and mouse game with me then. What game is it you are playing with me now?”

  “I had to make certain that you were really Verhulst’s daughter,” he said with a frankness that startled her. “And not some light wench Danforth had hired for the occasion.”

  Her look of blank shock seemed to amuse him.

  “I see they preserve innocence in Bermuda,” he said whimsically. “It must be a delightful place!”

  “But”—she recoiled from him—“you couldn’t think that of Brett, that he would do such a thing!”

  His eloquent shrug spoke volumes. “In my less than sheltered life, I have seen worse done—and for far less. Be fair, now. In my place would you not have wished to make certain that the heiress to Wey Gat was truly who she claimed to be?”

  “Then all of those things you said yesterday—”

  “Were to test you. And you passed that test. Ah, Georgiana,” He shook his head and his heavy golden hair moved luxuriously on his broad velv
et shoulders and his face was wistful. His voice deepened, grew richer. “Believe me when I say this: I have roved the world and never anywhere have I met a woman so desirable as you. I did not come here to question your claim to Wey Gat—only to ascertain that you were in truth Verhulst van Rappard’s daughter. And you are—the ring proved it beyond doubt. For it fit your story—how else could you have come by it? Indeed, I hope that you will be mistress here forever!”

  Georgiana blinked. These revelations were coming too fast for her.

  “I only wish I had met you first—instead of Danforth,” he sighed. “Ah, Georgiana”—he reached out to caress her hair with light fingers—“you do not know what you do to me.”

  He did not know what he did to her either! she thought uneasily. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she jumped, and jerked her head away as his questing fingers touched her earlobe.

  “I would put jewels on those lovely ears,” he said softly. “I would encrust your neck and arms with sparkling gems. I would take you to Paris and London and Amsterdam.”

  “Nicolas,” she cried in bewilderment. “You are talking to me as if I were some young girl in need of a husband!”

  “And so you are.” He stated it flatly. “You are in need of a husband who will stay by your side and protect you from such as I! A husband who will marry you not for gold or land but for the turquoise depths of your eyes!”

  “You don’t seem to understand, Nicolas. Brett and I are legally married."

  “Yes.” Calmly. “Twice.”

  “Then you should consider me doubly wed!”

  “I consider you”—his hand left her hair and passed down her shoulder, down her arm, for he surged forward even as she tried to back away—“the most gorgeous, the most desirable woman in the world, Georgiana. If I thought you could love me, I would make you a widow with this sword!” With a sudden violent gesture he touched his sword hilt.

  She recoiled. “I don’t believe this! I hardly know you! You are a guest in my home and now suddenly you declare your love and threaten to kill my husband?”

  His face was very near, his concentration so intense that she felt dizzy. “I have gone too fast for you?” His voice was pleading. “Think on it, Georgiana. As you come to know me better, perhaps you will find some pity in your heart for my plight.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Nicolas that she would have little chance to know him better, for she would probably be snowbound here at Windgate during the long winter and he would be similarly snowbound at Haerwyck, but she was almost afraid to say anything for clever Nicolas had a way of twisting everything to his advantage. Nicolas van Rappard was more attractive than a man should be, he had a glib tongue, he was without principles or morals—and she would not listen to any more of this.

  “I thank you for the thought, Nicolas,” she said in as steady a voice as she could muster, “but would you please get this necklace off my neck?”

  “Its clasp was made in China,” he said, stepping back from her with a smile, and his bright blue eyes seemed suddenly hooded, as if his golden lashes had dropped a shutter over them. “It is a true Chinese puzzle making it come unfastened.”

  “Well, take all the time you need but be about it. I cannot accept your pretty bauble, Nicolas. Somehow you must get it off!”

  But although Nicolas worked diligently for at least ten minutes, the clasp refused to budge.

  “Perhaps I can pull it off over your head,” he offered, and tried that without success. “No, it will not go over your chin.” Regretfully.

  “Nicolas,” Georgiana wailed. “I cannot go through life in this necklace!”

  So intent were they on their task that neither of them noticed that a man had come through the front door and into the hall and now was standing squarely in the door of the drawing room with his booted legs spread wide apart, frowning as he surveyed the scene before him.

  “Perhaps you could hide it?” suggested Nicolas wickedly. “Under a ruffle of lace?”

  Georgiana stamped her satin slipper in frustration. “Get it off, Nicolas! What would Brett think?”

  “He is here to say what he thinks,” said a deep voice and they both whirled to see Brett standing there frowning at them.

  “Brett!” cried Georgiana in confusion. “I—I did not expect you home so early.”

  It was the wrong thing to have said. "That," he gave her a wintry smile, “at least is obvious.”

  Georgiana tried to get herself together. “We have a guest, Brett—Nicolas van Rappard.”

  “I am aware who the gentleman is. What I would like to have explained to me is what he is doing in my house trying to remove a necklace of price from my wife’s neck—a necklace that I did not give her!”

  “The necklace was offered only as an appreciation of beauty. ' drawled Nicolas, his hand dropping lazily to his sword hilt. “It was refused.”

  “And it won’t come off!” wailed Georgiana. “I was so startled when Nicolas put it around my neck that I let the clasp close before I thought to stop him—and now neither one of us can get it off!”

  “Really? Perhaps I can rectify that.” In four strides Brett had crossed the room. He would have run over Nicolas had not Nicolas stepped hastily back out of his way. Georgiana gasped as she was whirled around with such force that her peachbloom velvet skirts described a wide arc. She made a little ineffectual gesture of protest as Brett’s strong fingers twined themselves in the necklace and it burst apart, losing a link in the process. Silently Brett held the glittering necklace out to Nicolas van Rappard. “I find it breaks more readily than a wedding band,” he said evenly.

  Nicolas accepted the necklace that was dropped into his hand and took two wary steps backward from his host, who seemed to have gained in stature and looked exceedingly formidable. He flashed a winning smile at Brett. “Faith, I hadn’t thought of that way of removing it,” he murmured. “Doubtless it would have come to me in time.”

  “Doubtless,” said Brett ironically.

  “Oh, you broke it,” wailed Georgiana. “How could you, Brett? It’s such a lovely thing.”

  “The necklace can be repaired,” Brett told her with a frown. He turned to Nicolas. “You may send the bill to me, van Rappard.”

  Nicolas’s golden brows elevated but his hand strayed away from his sword hilt. “A stylish offer!” he murmured.

  “We live a very stylish life here at Windgate—but not quite so stylish as you seem to believe. We have not yet adopted the manner or morals of the court!”

  Nicolas sighed. “I take it you are angry with me?” he said plaintively.

  Brett gave him a disbelieving look. “First you would seize my home, now my wife! Are you suggesting I should not be angry?”

  Georgiana stepped between them. “Oh, no, Brett, you misjudge Nicolas. He has given that up. He is not going to pursue the Windgate matter any further—are you, Nicolas?”

  Brett shot a look at Nicolas, whose smile never wavered.

  “I believe your wife to be all that she appears to be,” he said enigmatically.

  “There—you see?” Georgiana turned an appealing face to Brett. “Nicolas accepts my claim—he has told you so himself.”

  “So it’s Nicolas now, is it?” Brett’s face was grim.

  “Well, after all,” cried Georgiana, telling herself that surely one who had told such large lies would be forgiven a small one, “we are cousins. On the van Rappard side.”

  “And how long has Cousin Nicolas been here?”

  “I arrived yesterday—in the rain,” supplied the smiling blond Dutchman. “My horse was sinking to his fetlocks in the mud.”

  “As I recall, last time you arrived in the rain too,” said Brett grimly.

  “A coincidence only.” Nicolas’s engaging smile flashed.

  “May I suggest that the next time it rains you turn your horse’s head in some direction other than Windgate?”

  “I’ll do that." agreed Nicolas brightly.

 
Georgiana was frowning. This interchange was going on above her head. What other time were they talking about? There was a violent undercurrent here as if Brett might at any moment launch himself at Nicolas, and Nicolas’s stance—lazy but ready—showed he half expected it to happen.

  “Nicolas begged shelter for the night and I gave it to him,” she said hastily. “I could hardly send anyone away on such a night!”

  “And he is still here.” It was a statement, baldly made. “The rain has long since stopped but I take it he was not to be sent away tonight either?”

  The color deepened in Georgiana’s cheeks. A sense of panic washed over her. All of this was being terribly misunderstood. She turned to Nicolas for help.

  “It is my fault,” the Dutchman said softly. “I taught your lady to play chess and we kept at it longer than we realized. I will take my leave.”

  Brett stared at him and back to Georgiana, who was looking mutinous. He had no real belief that anything untoward had transpired here, but it was irritating to return home to find one’s wife trying to struggle out of a diamond necklace another man—and a damnably attractive one—had placed around her neck. Shafts of unwanted jealousy were coursing through him. Nicolas van Rappard was not only good-looking, he had the wild look of the adventurer about him—such a man as could turn a young girl’s head. And Georgiana, for all her beauty and charm, was after all a very young and inexperienced girl.

  It occurred to Brett Danforth that it would be very bad form to turn a guest out at this time of night. Not only might Huygens ten Haer—who so far had been neutral toward the “English patroon" —take exception to it, but it might make Nicolas assume an aura of importance in Georgiana’s eyes that he did not wish Nicolas to acquire.

  “I will not turn you out in the night, van Rappard,” he said curtly. “You are welcome to remain till morning as my guest.” He emphasized that word “my” and Nicolas hid a grin. Brett turned to Georgiana. “I haven’t supped.”