Nicholas

by Cheryl Holt

They didn’t storm off in a huff. It wasn’t allowed. The entire world was aware of this fact—except her.

  “Miss Wilson!” he bellowed, infuriated to find himself chasing after her, his drenched boots squishing with every step.

  She whirled around. “What now?”

  “I’m not finished speaking with you.”

  “Well, I am finished speaking with you.”

  “You may not depart until I give you permission.”

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Just go away!”

  She started off again, and he trailed after her like a spurned suitor. In a few strides, they were walking side by side.

  “Why doesn’t Mr. Mason let you fish?”

  “Why would you think?”

  “I haven’t any idea.”

  “He’s a cruel bully. I told you he was.”

  “You don’t like him, but that doesn’t mean he’s—”

  “People are hungry and crops have failed three years in a row, but we can’t hunt or fish in the park. Mr. Mason claims it was your decision.”

  “I never issued any such order.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “So…am I overrun with poachers?”

  “Yes, and I’ve tattled about it, so what will you do? Will you have everyone at Stafford arrested? Will you throw the last remaining families out on the road? Then you and your awful brother can have the place all to yourselves.”

  She’d hurled so many slurs that he couldn’t figure out where to begin with countering them. He didn’t care about poaching or Mason or any of the rest, and in answer to her accusations, he chose the only topic that interested him.

  “My brother isn’t awful.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me.”

  “He’s actually quite noble. If you had a chance to become better acquainted, you’d like him more than me.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. I’d like any man in the kingdom more than you. I’d like a criminal more than you. I’d like a heretic more than you. I’d like a…dog more than you.”

  She humored him beyond measure, and he laughed again, but his merriment left her even more aggrieved.

  “I hate you,” she seethed.

  “I have that effect on women.”

  “You’re a cur, an unrepentant, unremorseful cur.”

  “That’s the best denigration I’ve heard in ages.”

  She halted and spun to face him, an angry finger poking his chest. “This is a game to you, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “This estate and these people. You’ve strutted in here and tossed around your bags of seed. You’ve demonstrated that you can humiliate me in front of my neighbors. Job well done, Lord Stafford.”

  “It wasn’t difficult to humiliate you. Not when you act like such a fool.”

  “I assume you’ll be leaving shortly. What will happen then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not stupid,” she said. “Why are you behaving like this? Why are you pretending you can’t see the reality?” She studied him, her astute gaze digging deep. “You don’t care about anything, do you?”

  Her barb aggravated him. He cared about things—his brother, his regiment, his sudden infusion of cash so that he never had to worry about feeding himself.

  But he didn’t care about Stafford, and she couldn’t make him feel guilty.

  He loomed in, hoping to intimidate her, but she didn’t retreat. They were next to a tree, and he pushed her back against it.

  His torso was crushed to hers—breasts, bellies, thighs forged fast. At the contact, his body came alive. There was an energy flowing from him to her, and he was practically dizzy with elation, as if he’d arrived right where he’d always belonged.

  She sensed it, too, and her consternation was obvious. Dismayed, she shoved at his shoulders, but he wouldn’t move until he was good and ready.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” he charged.

  “I know enough.”

  “You waltz into my home and my life, and you fling allegations as if I’m a monster. I can’t save the world for you. I wouldn’t presume to try.”

  “You don’t have to save the whole world. You can just focus on this little corner of it.”

  She was so livid, so upset and so lovely. When she stared at him, she seemed to see someone else, the honorable fellow he might have been had circumstances carried him down a different, easier path.

  Oddly, he wished he could be the man she envisioned, that he could vanquish her demons and fix what was wrong, but he never would.

  He was an untrustworthy scapegrace. Early on, he’d learned that there was no benefit to standing on principle or seeking the high ground. He’d scrapped and fought to eke out a spot where he was safe, where he could survive and protect his brother. In the process, he’d discovered that he was capable of any notorious conduct.

  Words bubbled up inside him. He wanted to tell her how it had been when he was small. He wanted to describe the horrid forces that had shaped him into such a despicable lout, but he never talked about those dark days.

  Yet he couldn’t pull himself away. The strange power surging between them was like a magnet holding them together. Though he knew he shouldn’t, though it was mad and ridiculous, he couldn’t stop himself from bending down and kissing her.

  With his bold advance, he shocked her into submission. She inhaled a sharp breath and collapsed against him. He took advantage of her confusion to grasp her waist and draw her even closer. Her silly, floppy hat was in his way, and he pitched it off and slid his tongue into her mouth.

  She was soft and yielding, and very quickly, he was in over his head. He recognized that he was, but he couldn’t desist. He craved boons from her that she would never relinquish, that he could never have, and he might have tarried forever, but she was wiser than he, and she wiggled away.

  “Are you insane?” she hissed.

  She wiped a hand across her lips as if to rid herself of his taste. The rude gesture severed any fond feelings, and his haughty attitude returned with a vengeance.

  “You enjoyed it in London, and you enjoyed it now. Don’t deny it.”

  “I enjoyed it? You grope and maul me—against my will, I might add—and you think I’m happy about it?”

  “Any woman in the kingdom would give her right arm to be kissed by me.”

  “Not this woman. You’re obnoxious, and I detest you.”

  “Consider yourself lucky that I took the time.”

  She scoffed with disgust. “Since I met you, I’ve suffered nothing but trouble. Go to London and leave me be. If I never see you again, it will be too soon!”

  She stamped off, and he hollered after her, “I’m sending you a basket of food.”

  She hollered back, “We don’t want your charity.”

  “I’m sending the basket anyway. Deal with it.”

  She continued on in one direction while he stormed away in the other. His horse was still grazing in the clearing at her cottage, but he’d have somebody from the stable come and fetch it.

  She was an ungrateful shrew, and he wouldn’t risk walking into her yard where she might appear and accost him anew.

  He kept on toward the manor, cursing his stupidity every step of the way.

  “We had services this morning.”

  “What for? It’s Wednesday.”

  Stephen Price gaped at the vicar, Oscar Blair, but couldn’t manage any cordiality. Blair was age forty, fat, pompous, and pious, and Stephen wondered why he’d been granted the living. The old countess had been extremely devout, so perhaps she’d had the temperament to put up with the arrogant buffoon, but Stephen certainly didn’t.

  “We have services every morning at nine,” the vicar intoned like a threat. “The earl didn’t attend.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have.”

  Nicholas hated Stafford and wouldn’t pay any social calls. Nor would he condescend to chat with someone he didn’t like. St
ephen at least tried to be affable and make the required overtures, but Nicholas didn’t possess the character trait that imbued tact and civility. He’d never waste his time on such a sanctimonious boor.

  “He’s not a churchgoer? Well!” The vicar huffed indignantly. “I’ll have to speak with him about his absence.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  “But he must set an example for the community.”

  “You shouldn’t count on it.”

  Stephen rose, indicating that their conversation was over.

  “Must you go?” Blair inquired. “I’d like to give you a tour of the church and grounds.”

  Stephen would rather be tortured on the rack. “Sorry. I have several other appointments.”

  “I understand.”

  Blair escorted him to the door, and as they entered the vestibule, a woman hurried in. She tugged off her cloak and hung it on a hook.

  She was twenty-five or so, thin and pretty, with big brown eyes and luxurious brunette hair that was pulled into a neat chignon. It was a cool, windy afternoon, and the cold temperature had reddened her cheeks with a healthy glow.

  As far as Stephen was aware, Blair was a bachelor, so who was she? He was an ass and didn’t deserve her company.

  “You’ve finally arrived,” Vicar Blair snapped with impatience.

  “I apologize, Oscar.” She smiled, but it was a tired smile. “I was delayed in the village. I couldn’t get away.

  “This is Mr. Price,” the vicar haughtily informed her, “the earl’s brother.”

  “Hello, Mr. Price.” She extended her hands in welcome. Stephen clasped them and bowed.

  “You were not here to greet him,” the vicar complained. “I had to entertain him myself. You are my hostess, but what good are you if you can’t perform simple tasks?”

  It was a horrid comment, and an awkward moment might have ensued, but she politely smoothed it over.

  “I heard that you and the earl were at the manor,” she said to Stephen. “It’s lovely that you were able to visit the estate. Everyone will be so pleased make your acquaintance.”

  “Mr. Price,” Blair said, “may I present my sister, Mrs. Josephine Merrick?”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Merrick?”

  “She’s a widow,” Blair continued. “For how many years now, Josephine?”

  “Almost three, Oscar.”

  “Her husband’s relatives sent her back to me after his death,” Blair started to explain, but Mrs. Merrick interrupted him.

  “It’s an old story, Oscar. I’m sure Mr. Price isn’t interested.”

  At her halting of Blair’s tale, Stephen was so grateful that he could scarcely keep from hugging her.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Merrick.” Stephen nodded at her brother. “Vicar Blair, I appreciate your courtesy.”

  He should have invited Mrs. Merrick to the manor for supper—it was the appropriate gesture—but he couldn’t have her as a guest without asking the vicar, too, so the invitation wasn’t tendered.

  There was an uncomfortable second where they realized they’d been snubbed. Then Mrs. Merrick smiled again and held the door so he could escape.

  He hastened to the lane as the vicar poked his nose out and called, “I’ll need to talk to the earl about his lack of piety.”

  Stephen couldn’t think of anything more pointless, and with the wind blowing, he motioned as if he couldn’t hear. He waved and plodded on.

  The vicarage was situated next to the church, the cemetery in between the two buildings. He entered through a gate and strolled the paths, reading the aged headstones. When he was positive the vicar couldn’t see him, he went into the church and sat in a rear pew.

  It was dim and quiet, and it smelled of polish and prayer. A single candle burned at the front, producing a magical glow.

  As a boy, he’d spent a lot of time in churches. The orphanage where he’d been raised was run by a religious organization, so he’d endured his share of services. After he and Nicholas had enlisted, he hadn’t had much occasion to visit one, and he liked having the chance to silently ponder.

  On Sunday mornings, the neighbors would fill the seats, dressed in their Sunday best, as they assembled to worship, chat, and socialize. He’d never experienced that sort of life.

  He was twenty-eight, and he’d never planted any roots. The decades had passed with him trailing after Nicholas, thwarting his worst schemes and keeping him out of trouble.

  Now that they were at Stafford, Stephen was so happy. Nicholas loathed his inheritance and had no idea what the words home and haven meant, but Stephen knew.

  He craved the ties that would bind him to Stafford, where he would settle down, marry, and have a family. He’d already sired a daughter, Annie, who was ten and growing up at a convent in Belgium. Her mother had been a camp follower who’d died in childbirth.

  Annie would be brought Stafford, sooner rather than later, which was the reason he’d sought out Vicar Blair. He’d gone to inquire if there was a kindly widow in the area who might have room for one small girl so that Annie could travel to England immediately. Of course, after his encounter with the vicar, he hadn’t asked.

  Still, Stephen was eagerly devising a plan of action.

  Eventually, he would muster out of the army, and he would join Annie at Stafford. He hadn’t worked up the courage to inform Nicholas, but he would.

  Nicholas couldn’t understand Stephen’s desire to belong. Nor could he understand Stephen’s affection for Annie, and Stephen couldn’t explain it to his brother. He’d given up trying.

  Off to the side of the altar, a door opened and Josephine Merrick came in, carrying two large vases of flowers. He was hidden in the shadows in the back and didn’t want to startle her.

  “Hello, Mrs. Merrick,” he said, announcing himself but startling her anyway.

  “Ah!” she shrieked.

  The flowers swayed, and he raced up the aisle to assist her before she dropped them.

  “Let me help you with those.”

  “Mr. Price, it’s you. You scared me.”

  He reached for the vases and put them on the floor as she laughed and patted a hand over her heart.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I was attempting to make my presence known, but I botched it.”

  “No need to apologize. I never expect anyone to be in here, but there often is, and when I find I’m not alone, I always jump like a frightened rabbit.” She leaned nearer and whispered, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  With her being so close, there was a pleasant intimacy surrounding them that he enjoyed. He felt as if they were old friends reunited after a lengthy separation.

  She, too, perceived a connection. Her gaze narrowed as if they might have met previously and she couldn’t recollect where or when. She moved away, grabbed the vases and took them to a table in the vestibule.

  He balanced his hips on the rail, watching until she returned. She sat in the front pew and peered up at him.

  “Were you praying?” she queried. “Have I interrupted you?”

  “I don’t ever pray.”

  “Really? How sad. What sustains you in times of despair?”

  “I don’t despair,” he blithely said, “so I’m never melancholy.”

  “How lucky for you.”

  “Yes, I have been lucky.”

  Not in his younger years, but definitely in his more recent ones. After all, how frequently did your only sibling inherit an earldom?

  “If you’re not overly religious,” she ventured, “I don’t imagine you’ll get on with Oscar.”

  “He’s a tad…pious for my tastes.”

  “He’s very devout.”

  “My brother and I aren’t.”

  “I’ve heard that Captain Price—I mean, Lord Stafford—is a bit of a heathen.”

  He snorted. “You’re too polite.”

  “I’ve been wondering how he and Oscar will fare.”


  “Badly, I can guarantee. Let’s make a secret pact to keep them apart.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she concurred. “I’ll shall keep Oscar silent and at home.”

  “And I shall keep Nicholas busy at the manor and far away from the vicarage.”

  They grinned a conspiratorial grin, and he was struck again by the impression of fond acquaintance.

  There was an unusual attraction between them, and it would be hard to ignore it. He’d quickly grow bored at Stafford and would crave female companionship. He was curious as to how she’d view a dalliance.

  She was widow. Was she missing her husband? Was she a teeming cauldron of unbridled passion that was begging to be assuaged? Or was she chaste as a nun? She was a prim, proper lady, and he’d had scant experience with her type. How did a man suggest an affair to someone like her without having his face slapped?

  It was probably impossible. The rules were different in a rural village than they were at an army camp. At Stafford, if he so much as danced with her twice at a neighborhood party, a marriage proposal would be due shortly after.

  Rudely, he inquired, “What happened with your husband’s family after he died? How is it that you ended up living with your brother?”

  “Why, Mr. Price, shame on you for posing such indelicate questions.”

  She didn’t look offended. She was still smiling, which he took as permission to continue.

  “Would you rather I gossiped about you behind your back? Should I learn of it from the servants?”

  “I’m sure you’d hear plenty.”

  “If I want to know something, I ask.”

  “How refreshingly annoying.” She declared, “It’s a very sordid tale.”

  “Will I be shocked?”

  “Yes. Your manly self might not be able to bear it.”

  “Try me. Let’s see how I hold up.”

  They both chuckled.

  “I was married for seven years, but I never had any children.” Her courage flagged, and she glanced away. “I oughtn’t to be embarrassed, but I guess I am. It’s still difficult to talk about it.”

  “You can tell me,” he coaxed. “I have my own squalid past, so I’m not in a position to judge.”

  “He’d filed for divorce, claiming I was barren.”

  “What a disloyal ass.”