by Carrie Brock
The narrow shoulders straightened into a dignified pose. “Excuse my interruption, Lady Nicole, I am searching for your brother.”
“Simms? Whatever has happened to you?” Nicki took a bite of muffin to keep her mouth busy, as the butler did not appear in the mood to be laughed at.
“I opened the drawer to remove the silver for breakfast when a torrent of . . . of . . . fruit fell on me from the upper shelf. Upon closer examination, I discovered the drawer had been booby trapped.”
Good heavens, Shelby's invention. “Are you injured?”
He raised an already soiled handkerchief to dab at his face, but the preserves had dried quickly and the linen made little headway. “I am uninjured, and would therefore prefer discussing this with Master Shelby rather than His Lordship.”
“I certainly understand the seriousness of the situation. You might have been badly hurt. But I think it would be best if you get cleaned up right away. You would not want the stuff to set to the point that you must wear it off. It might alarm the guests if you go about with a purple face.”
Simms inclined his head stiffly. “You are absolutely right, my lady. I shall go at once.”
“Do you think perhaps it would be appropriate for me to speak with Shelby on your behalf? Papa has so much on his mind.”
“Of course. I would not burden your father with such a trifling matter. I have several maids cleaning the silver and the contraption has been removed to the kitchen. If Master Shelby attempts to retrieve it, Emma has strict instructions not to release it to him. I hope that was not too presumptuous of me.”
Nicki raised the linen napkin to her lips. “Not at all. Your restraint is quite admirable. Thank you, Simms.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
As the man departed Nicki rushed to ease the door closed. “Shelby Langley, how could you?”
He stood reluctantly and shuffled his feet. “It was Em who said I should use her plum sauce.”
Nicki's laughter burst forth like a surging river held too long by a fragile dam. “You should be ashamed, Shelby. I fear Simms will be quite an oddity for a few days while the color wears off.”
A hesitant smile spread over his lips. “I have to make some adjustments to the contraption. The alarm didn't go off.”
“And thank goodness it did not! I truly do not think Simms would have appreciated the guests running downstairs to investigate the ruckus only to find him and the silver covered in plum sauce.”
“You won't tell Papa?”
Nicki shook her head. “He may be curious at Simms' . . . new skin tone. If you are going to try out your inventions on people, I suggest you ask their permission first. And perhaps at the end of the day when Simms has had time to calm down, you should give him a handsome apology.”
Shelby skipped around the end of the table to stand next to Nicki. “I will. Do you think Em will help me figure out what went wrong?”
“I thought she was to keep you away from the contraption.”
“When Simms was giving orders, Em peeked ‘round the corner and winked at me.”
Nicki tousled Shelby's hair as he opened the door with caution and peeked out. “We shall all be lost if Em takes up with your shenanigans!”
Shelby cast Nicki a quick grin and bolted into the hall, offering a breathless greeting to their father as he dodged around him.
Shaking his head in exasperation, her father continued into the room. “I sometimes fear I'm being made a fool of by my children and I'll not learn of it until I am on my death bed.”
“Good morning, Papa. Do not worry, we are all the angels you believe us to be.”
He smiled briefly, his usual vigor missing. “I'm surprised to see you here, Nick. You've been scarce the last few days.”
“I know. I thought I should make myself more accessible to the guests. Poor Angelica must be running out of excuses for me.”
Her father nodded absently. While he retrieved a plate and filled it to overflowing, Nicki sat down at her abandoned breakfast. She watched with concern as he took a seat across from her and stabbed his fork into the ham without another word.
“Is something troubling you, Papa?”
He looked up and focused on her as though he had forgotten her presence. “No. Nothing's the matter.”
“It is unlike you to be so distracted.”
Her father set his fork down and reached inside his jacket to remove a folded piece of stationary. “This was delivered to me just now and I can't say as I know quite how to take it.”
A shiver tiptoed over her skin. Had Blake come through? “Perhaps I can help.”
“I'm sure you can, since I'm assuming it must've been your doing that brought this about.”
“Brought what about, Papa?”
He set the paper down beside his plate without offering it to her. “Dylan has promised me four of his prized Arabians to replace the horses we lost. They're stabled at his home in London and he's notified the prospective owners by messenger that the horses are available upon their request.”
Nicki did not have to feign surprise. “Blake has horses?”
“It seems he has a large horse ranch in America and brought ten of his finest to London to market them. It was damned generous of him to give some of them over to me.”
“Very generous.”
Confusion and uncertainty entered his expression. “He demands repayment, of course, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Two horses out of our births next year, then two the following year. Very fair.”
Nicki nodded. The inside of her mouth seemed filled with cotton, and she tipped up her teacup and took a drink. “Papa, I have something I must tell you.”
“Do you know what this means, Nick? It proves he wasn't the one who had our horses poisoned. I thought him guilty, but you were right about him. I've misjudged the man.”
She had to tell him about the library last night, but such strides had been made toward bridging the gulf. “Papa, there is something you should—”
“I don't care why he did what he did.” Her father reached across the table and covered her hand. “It proves that he isn't the monster we all thought him to be. He cares for you, girl.”
An almost physical pain sliced through her. Why must matters insist on being so complicated? “I truly hope so, Papa. But . . . ”
Over her father's head Nicki caught sight of Blake and Teddy approaching the doorway. She thought she could have been watching a porcupine and a pig attempting to walk in harness together. Neither spoke nor looked at the other, as though mortal harm might ensue such an event. She wondered how they would manage the door.
“What is it you're trying to say, girl?” her father prompted.
At the last possible moment, Blake stepped aside and allowed Teddy to enter the breakfast room before him. Inspiration struck Nicki.
“Well . . . I . . . I just wanted to tell you to ignore the paper work I provided you for this year's breeding schedule.”
Teddy grinned at Nicki in mock amazement as he approached the table. “The two of you talk of nothing but horses.”
Nicki offered him a bright smile before shifting her gaze to Blake. The coldness of his expression dimmed her joy at his arrival.
“Good morning, Nicole. Langley.”
Her father stood hastily, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Dylan.” He offered his hand to Blake. “Good to see you. Please—serve yourself up some breakfast and join us.”
It was all Nicki could do not to wince at her father's blatant attempt at friendliness. Blake offered her a questioning glance before retiring to the sideboard. Teddy surveyed the group curiously before he turned to follow Blake.
Her father returned to his seat and reached for his fork. “Why would you want to change your plans, Nick? Your ideas were sound, as usual.”
Nicki modulated her voice so that all in the room might hear her easily. “I overheard several gentlemen speaking of horses they intended to breed for racing. I joined the discussion and
they had some very interesting ideas. I want to rethink my plans and I shall have a new report to you by the end of the week.”
“But you'll be busy with wedding plans. Angelica told me your dress was ready to be fitted and she wanted to talk with you about decorations for the church—and then there's Mina's dress.”
Blake took a seat next to Nicki, his shoulder brushing hers as he casually draped his napkin over his lap. “The seamstresses are coming along nicely then?”
Her father nodded. He swallowed his food in one painful looking gulp. “Angelica's grateful to you for sending them. It would've been next to impossible to find the fabrics and furbelows locally.”
Looking from one to the other, Nicki could scarcely fathom that she was hearing her father and fiancé discuss women's clothing as though . . . as though they were interested. “About the rep—”
“Though all haste was necessary to plan the wedding, I wanted it to be a memorable event for Nicole,” Blake interrupted.
“Exactly so,” her father agreed emphatically.
Teddy placed his plate on the table and sat down next to her father. “Oh, I don't think any of us ever had a doubt that this would be a wedding for the history books. I know I certainly didn't.”
. . .
The gardens always appeared bleakest in the brief period before spring could take hold and transform its desolation into a paradise. Nicki touched the brown-tipped leaf of an evergreen, then moved her finger to a bud just peeking through. Not even the garden could distract her from the man behind her.
“You have been very quiet, Nicole. You say nothing is the matter, but your actions tell me differently.”
“Would you think me silly,” she did not turn, “if I told you I am experiencing a strong case of nerves over our pending nuptials?”
“I might have once. But having come to know you, I would not believe your fears silly at all. I would know what they are that I might put them to rest.”
Nicki squeezed her eyes tightly closed. A small object dropped into her hand. When she looked down she saw she had snapped the tiny bud from the stem. Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she dare not give up the game. She forced a bright smile and turned.
Blake stood so close she could smell the fresh male scent so uniquely his, could see the dusky color the cold had painted on his strong cheekbones. Beneath the slashes of his dark brows his silver eyes delved into her mind like probing fingers. She braced herself to fight their power.
“I have already taken steps, Blake. If I cannot help myself, you shall be the first to know. I promise.”
For the briefest instant he almost appeared disappointed or perhaps rejected, but the mask snapped swiftly into place with just a lingering flinch of a muscle along his square jaw. “Then I wish you success in the little time you have left.”
“Thank you.”
She closed her eyes as Blake reached out to tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “Have I told you what an exquisite creature you are?”
Her cheek turned to his touch with a will of its own. “You have been exceedingly miserly with your compliments, my lord.”
Blake leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “My sweet wild rose.”
The warmth of his mouth scorched through her, but the soft breath following his words sent cool wind in the path of the heat. An aching sadness vibrated in his voice. It took all the power of will she possessed to pull away.
She sidestepped him and moved to stand before a stone maiden bearing a basket of delicately chiseled flowers. “My father is very grateful to you for providing the horses. I did not have to pretend my surprise. Why did you not tell me you, too, raised horses?”
“You did not ask.”
She stiffened at the remark, then laughed bitterly. “I have found that you do not react well to questions about your past—or present, for that matter. I, on the other hand, seem to blurt out anything and everything you could possibly want to know—or not. It seems strange that two people so different should live in the same house together, share a life, does it not?”
“Perhaps one complements the other.”
“Perhaps,” she said, unable to keep uncertainty from sneaking into her voice.
He came to stand at her side. Nicki suddenly wished her hair were not pulled back into a braided coil at her neck so that she could hide behind its protective curtain. “So your father is appreciative of my gesture. I wondered at his odd behavior.”
“He was trying to be nice and you call him odd!”
Blake appeared taken aback by the fierceness of her speech. “When my enemy encourages me to join him in a meal in very jovial tones, I automatically wonder if I am being poisoned!”
Frustration ground through her. “He is not your enemy! My father does not have an unkind bone in his body. He was showing you his gratitude the only way he knows how.”
“Well, I hope he gets bored with it quickly. While you are with your dressmaker, he has invited me to take a turn about his estates. He has a small mill or some sort of object he would like me to take a look at. Your father is one man I never hoped to befriend.”
“Have you taken the time to think about our future, Blake? He will be your father-in-law. Do you plan on spending the rest of your life making his hell? Because if you do, I must tell you I will not allow it.” She sensed his retreat behind the safety of icy disdain.
“What can you do?”
Nicki shivered, longing to stop before she hurt him, for by causing him pain, she punished herself as well. Yet she knew the words must be said. “I can leave you.”
“Oh?” He reached out to strip leaves from a fragile stem. “And would you run home to papa, begging his protection?”
The sharpness of his words sliced into her, laying her heart open. “I would not bring more of your anger upon his head. I do not know where I would go—but it would be somewhere far from you. And you would never know what became of me. You would not deserve to know.”
Blake tensed, letting the leaves slip through his fingers. For the briefest instant Nicki saw an unholy fury flash in his eyes. His fists clenched. “Brave words coming from a country miss who has never left her home.”
“I hope I shall never have to act on them.” She lifted her chin. “But do not doubt that I will if I must.”
Silence stretched between them, filled with the hum of angry tension. Finally, Blake reached into his waistcoat and consulted his watch. “It is time for you to meet with the seamstress.”
She nodded, miserable. How could they be so cruel to one another? The easy friendship of the past weeks now seemed unreal and unattainable. “I mean what I say, Blake. I want us to be happy, if only you will allow it.”
He took her arm, but the gesture lacked gentleness. “Who knows what the future may hold, my dear. I certainly do not pretend to know.”
Chapter 18
. . .
The three seamstresses had turned the attic into a combination sewing room and sleeping quarters. Covered with fabrics the colors of the rainbow, mountains of lace, pearls, ribbon, bows, and flowers made of silk, the crowded storage room was transformed from dreary and grim to dazzling and brilliant.
And holding a place of honor amidst the magnificence was a gown fit for a princess. Seated on an old pillow on the floor, Nicki pulled her legs up close to her chest and rested her chin on her folded arms. She could not imagine herself in such a lovely creation: her wedding gown.
Across the room, Yolanda, the head seamstress, and her sisters, Isabella and Katarina, fussed over Cecilia, carefully taking tucks in one of the gowns Nicki had promised. Poor Cecilia. She resembled a crust of bread amidst three birds. A smile teased Nicki's mouth. A blue bird, a snow bird of white and brown, and a crow.
The stand bearing her wedding dress drew her gaze once again. She nibbled at her lip as she studied the graceful lines.
This fitting could very well be a waste of all their time. Her behavior in the garden had been childish and
argumentative. Somehow her words had struck a sensitive chord in Blake, causing him to react as badly as she. Did he sense her uncertainty? It would not be the first time he discerned her moods.
Nicki buried her face in her arms, forced to admit the truth to herself. If it were not for her family, she would take Blake at any cost. She had said she would leave him. But, dear heaven, after becoming his wife, could she ever bear to let him go? He lured her, enchanted her, like nothing she had ever known, and she needed his presence as a bud must have the sun or it would whither and drop from the stem. Nicki had never known such helplessness as she experienced in the face of this strong attraction.
But she could not afford to be helpless, dared not blindly follow her heart as she had in the past. Once, if her actions had brought about disaster, the punishment was hers. Now the future of her family depended upon Nicki maintaining self control.
It was a curious feeling, pausing to think before acting. She had never put much faith in careful planning, but the stakes were too high for her to gamble this time. If her heart and soul were all she risked, she would rush forward into Blake's arms without hesitation.
Her life would be much simpler if only the earl would release his hatred. Someday perhaps, when he came to love her, the enmity would leave him, but she could not open her family to the pain he might inflict in the meantime. No matter how much she loved Blake, she could not allow him to destroy her father. In stripping Jonathon Langley of every last shilling, he would steal Shelby's heritage and Mina's chance of making a good match. They would lose Langley Hall, the last of the holdings belonging to the Billingtons. Within the aged walls of the Hall existed the history of a strong, proud family. She could not bear to be the one responsible for its downfall.
With the acceptance of her fate, a darkness slipped into her heart to suffocate her, to taint the jubilation her love for Blake had brought. She lifted her tortured gaze to the gown of white satin covered in Nottingham lace.