by Julia London
“How long will you and the others stay, then?” Maura asked.
“Oh, we’re off to Edinburra tomorrow if the roads are passable. We’re to perform there.” She tossed aside the green-and-white gown.
“You’re the lucky one, are you no’?” Maura said morosely as Miss Fabernet held up a pale pink gown.
“Aren’t you lucky, too? You’ll have this huge house all to yourself.”
“I donna want this huge house to myself.”
Miss Fabernet laughed as if that were preposterous. “What of your Mr. Bain?” She glanced up and smiled mischievously. “Aren’t you lucky there, as well?”
Maura swallowed down a lump of regret. “He is no’ my Mr. Bain. He escorted me here, that’s all. From here, he is to Wales.”
“Wales!” Miss Fabernet said, and clucked her tongue. “I’ll have you know there is nothing there.”
“Apparently there is a man with a problem that needs solving, aye?”
“Well, that’s a pity. He’s quite handsome. Never mind that, are you not to marry Mr. Cockburn? He told us all about it the night before you arrived. He’d said Mr. Bain had arranged his marriage.”
“Aye,” Maura admitted. “But I donna want to marry him.”
Miss Fabernet laughed gleefully. “Thank goodness you don’t! I thought you’d lost your mind, darling, for he is quite odd, isn’t he? If you don’t want to marry him, you ought to come with us.”
Maura laughed at the suggestion.
“I mean it with all sincerity!” Miss Fabernet insisted. “You’re a fine dancer. You can sing, can’t you?”
“What?” Maura laughed again. “No’ well at all.”
“No one said you need sing well,” Miss Fabernet said coyly. “Sing softly if you can’t carry a tune.” She winked at Maura and held the pink gown up a little higher. “Yes, I think the pink. It looks lovely with your skin and hair. It is my gift to you.”
“I couldna accept—”
“And I can’t bear to see you in a drab gown like this one more time. You will accept, and you’ll wear it now, won’t you?”
“Thank you,” Maura said, smiling. She began to unfasten her gown. “Where will you perform in Edinburra?” she asked curiously.
“Oh, I hardly know where. On a stage, of course, but Mr. Johnson is the one who arranges things.” She twirled Maura around to undo her skirt. “It’s paid work, you know. It’s how we earn our living.”
It sounded intriguing to Maura, to sing and dance and be paid a wage for it. “But where do you live?”
“We take rooms. Some of them are quite nice. Others, not as nice, but we make do. You should come.” She reached around Maura and held up the pink gown so that Maura could see it in the mirror. “See how rosy it makes your cheeks appear. You’re very pretty, Miss Darby. You’d be quite a draw.”
“A draw!” Maura laughed self-consciously. “No one would want to hear me sing.”
Miss Fabernet tucked her chin onto Maura’s shoulder and looked at her in the reflection of the glass. “Don’t be naïve, darling. The gentlemen don’t come to hear the ladies sing. That’s for Mr. Johnson to do. They come to gaze at us with lust and envy, that’s what. And besides, I’ll teach you to sing if you really want to know.”
Maura stared back at Miss Fabernet’s reflection. It was absurd. But so was everything else that had happened to her in the last month. What did she have to lose? She would much rather ramble about the country dancing and singing God only knew where than end up here, married to a milksop of a man with a mother who despised the very idea of having to share her son or her house.
“What do you think?” Miss Fabernet asked.
“I think aye,” Maura said.
Miss Fabernet squealed with delight and hopped back, clapping her hands. “Splendid! I’ll tell Mr. Johnson straightaway. You’ll not be sorry, Miss Darby. I’m Susan, by the way. Susan Fabernet.”
Maura smiled. “Maura. What happens after Edinburra, then?” she asked.
“After?” Susan shrugged. “We’ll return to London and craft an entirely new performance.”
London! That was exciting to Maura. Granted, a theatrical life was certainly not what Maura’s father would have wanted for her, or one she would ever have envisioned. But she liked to think that neither would her father have saddled her with Mr. Cockburn for the rest of her life.
Nichol had said she had no other choice. Well, now she had one.
She turned around to Susan and began to shrug out of her day gown. “I’m coming,” she said firmly. “I’ll see if the pink fits, aye?”
“You’ve made me very happy!” Susan exclaimed. “You’ll not regret it, Maura, on my word,” she vowed.
* * *
LATER, WHEN MAURA had dressed in the pink gown with the same white petticoat with little red hearts, she and Susan went downstairs to join what was now a very disorderly affair. There was some dancing, although it wasn’t as good as the night before, seeing as how most of them could scarcely stand, given all they’d drunk. More food had appeared, and plates were passed around. There was no civility to it—they ate with their fingers, with forks scavenged from the kitchen. Mrs. Cockburn, whose ruddy face flagged her inebriation, cackled with great glee at the attempts to dance and sing.
There was no sign of Mr. Cockburn, but Nichol stood off to one side, subdued, his expression shuttered. He noticed Maura the moment she entered the room, and she felt the yearning from him, could see it in the way he looked at her. She wanted to go to him, but she wouldn’t do it—the remaining tatters of her pride forbade it. He had made his decision, and she would not beg.
When the dancing was done, a game of Whist was suggested, and several of them sat at tables to play. Nichol remained where he was, his eyes fixed on Maura. Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his gaze on her body. She refused the offer of wine, and after a hand or two, she bowed out of the game and let Susan take her place.
At the other table, the game had turned very competitive, and others were gathering around to wager on the hands being played. Maura had never understood gambling. She couldn’t imagine why someone would want to risk the money they’d earned or inherited on chance, which, by very definition, was a mere chance. She found the process of betting tedious, and walked around the room, looking at things, examining them. A porcelain figure of a frog on a toadstool. A small brass sculpture of the Madonna.
She felt someone come near and glanced over her shoulder.
Nichol smiled softly. “How is it possible you are more ravishing every day, then?”
He was the ravishing one. He was wearing pantaloons, a creamy gold waistcoat and a black coat. She wanted to touch the sleeve of his coat, but said coolly, “Good evening.”
“Aha, at last, the first words you have spoken to me since this morning.”
She bent over to look at a small portrait of a young woman and realized it was Mrs. Cockburn. “I thought there was nothing left to say.”
“Maura,” he said, his voice low and silken.
“Am I wrong?” she asked, and straightened, turning around to face him. She wanted to see his face when he answered. Was there more to say? Would he say it?
“Might we walk?” he asked.
“It’s freezing outside.”
“There are miles of hallways, are there no’? We can walk there. In silence,” he added, glancing back when Mrs. Cockburn suddenly shrieked with delight at something.
“Verra well,” Maura agreed, and walked with him out the door.
In the hallway, the voices of the others began to fade. So did the acrid smell of smoke from hearths at full blaze all day. A full moon lighted their path through the windows of a long hallway, helped by an occasional candle in a wall sconce. The two of them walked in silence, him with his hands at his back, hers with her hands clasped before her. She was acutely, painfully
aware of him beside her, of his physical presence, of his height, his strength. She wanted to hate him, but it was impossible. She longed for him.
She loved him.
That’s what made this so very painful, so very awkward. She wanted him to say all the things to her that she wanted to say to him.
He paused at a window and looked up at the full moon. “I find it curious that Dunnan had no’ come down this evening.”
Maura stepped up beside him to look at the same moon. “I hope he’s racking his mind for a proper way to cry off, I do,” she suggested.
The corners of Nichol’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “If he were a wise man, he’d be looking for a way to wed you and never lose you, aye?”
The sentiment surprised her mildly, and she looked at him. “Are you no’ cross with me, then?”
He turned to face her, leaning against the sill. “I was proud of you, lass.” His gaze moved to her mouth. “So verra proud of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you stood up for yourself. That requires courage and a leap of faith that most donna have. Dunnan didna have it, aye? He should have tossed you out on your arse,” he said with a chuckle.
“Diah, but I wish he had,” she muttered.
Nichol touched her collarbone. Maura didn’t push his hand away, as much as she would like to have done. She craved his touch at the same time she cursed it. “You should no’ say such things, leannan. He is your salvation,” he murmured.
Maura snorted her opinion of that. “He is no’. I’ll no’ marry him, Nichol.”
“No?” he asked calmly, almost as if he’d been waiting for her to say it.
“Are you no’ surprised, then?”
He laughed softly. “Should I be surprised at something you’ve said at every turn, then? After the way he received you, I would no’ have been surprised to hear that you’d fled.”
She folded her arms. “I intend to flee.”
“Oh? And where will you go, then?” he asked.
He was entirely too casual. He didn’t believe her, she realized. He thought she was being petulant. “You think you’re the only one who can fix things, do you? Well, you’re no’. I’m joining the troupe.”
That certainly caught his attention. He lifted his gaze from her décolletage. “I beg your pardon?”
“Aye,” she said, nodding. “I intend to join the troupe. I leave with them on the morrow for Edinburra.” She cocked a brow and silently challenged him to tell her she could not.
He obliged her. “Maura, you canna do that. Are you mad?”
“Why no’, I ask you? You said I have no choice, but now I do.”
“Because the living is hard. Women from the stage generally donna have easy lives. They are entirely too dependent on men in this world who donna care for them.”
“Just like I am here,” she pointed out.
He shook his head and put his palm against her neck. “Leannan, listen to me, aye? You’d no’ have an easy life—”
“Is that what you think I want?” she asked, and pushed his hand away from her neck. “An easy life?”
He frowned with confusion. “Why would you no’ want an easy life?”
“Why would I? Can you imagine anything more lifeless than an easy life? You, of all people, know how dreadfully tedious it would be to have an easy life here. What would I do, then? Needlework unto my death?”
He put his hand on her arm to soothe her, but Maura shook it off. “Donna touch me, Mr. Bain, I beg of you,” she said, surprised by how much emotion came tumbling out with her words. “Donna be tender, donna smile at me. You must know—you must know—what my feelings are for you. You must know how impossible it is to know you will leave me here. It is too much to be borne. It is beyond my ability to endure, seeing you walk out that door, and me to remain here with...with them, knowing that I love you, just as you guessed, knowing that I long for you and no other, and I...” She broke off, felt herself sagging. She caught herself on the windowsill. Nichol pulled her into his embrace.
“Mi Diah,” he breathed. “It is just as difficult for me, Maura, you know that it is. My feelings for you are the same—”
“They’re no’. If they were the same, you would never ask this of me. You would never let me go. Do you love me?”
He lifted her face in his hands. “Aye,” he said solemnly. “I love you, Maura Darby. I love you above all others.”
“Then donna leave me here,” she said tearfully.
Nichol responded by kissing her. He put his soft mouth to hers, his breath warm, and nipped at her bottom lip.
Maura was overwhelmed with emotion, the intoxicating mix of love and adoration and desire. She felt as if she were breathing underwater, trying to kick to a surface where her thoughts weren’t so muddled by the tug of her heart. She rose up on her toes, her arms finding his neck. A million little thoughts danced rapidly through her mind as her tongue tangled with his. She was sinking, dragged below the surface again, wrapped in the sensations only he could give her. She felt almost feverish, worried that she would never have this moment again, that she was grasping desperately for happiness that would, in the end, elude her.
She grabbed onto the lapels of his coat to anchor herself. Nichol moaned with his own want, and with one hand he held her tight, as he caressed her neck, her face, with the other. She could feel his arousal, could feel the beat of his heart as she pressed against him. He did love her. He did.
It was as if he heard her thoughts, for his grip of her tightened, and his fingers splayed against the side of her head as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He twisted her about and put her back against the wall, pinning her there with his arms and legs, his hands sliding down her body, his thumb brushing across the hard peak of her breast through the fabric. Her womb fluttered, her breath left her. Tiny little waves of pleasure rolled through her, each of them bigger than the last. She wanted to remove her gown, wanted to feel his skin and the hardness of him against every bit of her. He tasted and shaped her lips as his hands explored her, and Maura thought she would come apart like a rag doll, her seams dissolving, and everything about her would flit away on some gust of cold wind.
He suddenly lifted his head. “Never doubt, Maura,” he said hoarsely. “Never doubt what you mean to me, aye?” He kept his gaze locked on hers as he slid down her body, then began to kiss the skin above her décolletage, one hand spanning her entire rib cage, the heel of the other pressing against her breast. “Let’s go upstairs, then,” he said against the swell of her breast.
The prurient sensations unfurling within her had made her incapable of speaking. Her hands tangled in his hair, fell to his shoulders and the muscles in his back.
“Upstairs, aye? To my room,” he said again with breathless anticipation. “I canna bear another moment in this hallway, no’ like this.”
Maura wanted it, too, she wanted it as desperately as anything she had ever wanted. But she caught his head between her hands and made him look at her. “No,” she said.
He stared at her. “No?”
“If you mean to leave me here, I’ll no’ allow you to hurt me any more than you have, Nichol.”
“You donna understand what I mean. I love you, Maura. I will never—”
He suddenly paused and lifted his head.
Maura heard it, too. A lot of shouting. Not the sort of shouting that came with drunken reverie. This was coarse.
Nichol dropped his hands from her and stepped away from the wall, listening.
“What is it, then?” Maura asked. “Are they fighting over cards?”
But Nichol shook his head. “Something has happened,” he said, and straightened his clothes, his hair. “Stay here, lass. I’ll go and see.” He started down the hall toward the shouting.
Maura stood there only a moment. I will never what? she wondered. What had
he meant to say?
The shattering sound of what could only be a gunshot made her jump. She pushed away from the wall and hurried after Nichol. She was not staying put.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NICHOL KNEW THE moment he entered the salon that Dunnan was responsible. His first, unbidden thought was that he’d been gambling again.
He took note of the three men with guns, all of them pointed at the group of actors, gathered like sheep in the corner of the room. He took note of the hole in the ceiling. And he took note of the man standing in back, casually studying a nail.
A million little thoughts raced too quickly through Nichol’s mind for him to catch. The agitation, the whispers, the recognition that the man in back, in the long dark green cloak, was who he’d seen speaking with Dunnan last night. He was not a guest, not a member of the troupe as Nichol had surmised, but a different sort of visitor. The tracks of horses he’d seen in the snow belonged to this man. Whatever Dunnan had said yesterday had not appeased him, apparently, for he’d come back today.
Which could only mean that Dunnan didn’t have the money he owed. Again.
The troupe was clinging to each other, their drunkenness pushed aside by their collective fear. Mrs. Cockburn had not left her seat at the gaming table and was looking wildly about, her aggravation clearly evident in her expression. Dunnan stood nervously between the men and the rest of them, his expression one of confusion and abject fear. Even from across the room—Nichol had entered at the far end of the salon—he could see the perspiration shining on Dunnan’s face.
He surveyed the scene and weighed the options. He heard the door behind him open—Maura nearly collided with him, catching herself on his arm.
“Diah, I told you to stay behind,” he muttered under his breath.
“What is it?” she asked, ignoring his admonishment. “What has happened?”
“Does the lass want to know what has happened?” asked the man in the green cloak. He sauntered forward. “I’ll tell you what has happened, that I will, lassie. We have come to call on Mr. Cockburn, but he did not care to give us entry, in spite of having given half of England entry,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the troupe. “But then again, he owes us a fair sum, he does, and he’s not yet thought how to pay it.”