by Brenda Joyce
Nicole was up just after the sun had risen, unable to break her age-old habit and eager to see her sister, whom she had not seen in months. Whereas yesterday life had seemed filled with gloom, today the birds were singing outside her window and Nicole felt positively jubilant. For the first time in years, she was delighted to be in the city and looking forward to whatever festivities the day would bring.
She also could not help wondering if she would see him.
She took an early morning ride, accompanied by a groom for propriety’s sake. Regents Park was deserted at this hour, which was considered ungodly by the fashionable set, most of whom had just gotten into their beds. By eight that morning she could restrain herself no longer, and she flung open the door to her sister’s bedroom. Regina lay huddled in a ball beneath the covers, sound asleep. Grinning, Nicole tiptoed over, then yanked the covers from her.
Regina groaned in protest, flinging one hand over her eyes.
“Wake up, sleepy-head,” Nicole cried, dragging Regina’s pillow out from under her tawny-haired head and tossing it at her.
“Nicole?”
Nicole sat on the bed. “It’s me.”
Regina threw the pillow on the floor, wide awake now and incredulous. Then she gave a cry of gladness and hugged her sister soundly. “What are you doing here? I can’t believe it!”
“I was bored,” Nicole said, grinning. “You look awful. What time did you get in last night?”
Regina scowled, which did absolutely nothing to detract from her classic beauty. And in truth, the eighteen-year-old never looked awful. “At dawn. The Barrington’s gave a rousing good ball. Everyone who was anyone was there! Oh, you should have come sooner!”
Nicole froze, then, to hide her expression, she retrieved the pillow from the floor. “Everyone was there? Who is everyone?”
“Do you want me to name names?” Regina was incredulous. “Tonight there’s a crush at the Willoughbys’. You are coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nicole quipped.
Fully awake now, Regina sat up, regarding her sister probingly. “Nicole, you seem different. What is going on? You hate London. Are you really going to come out and get into the rush of things?”
Nicole hesitated, wanting so much to confide in her sister, but afraid to. After all, what was there to confide? That the Duke of Clayborough had harbored immoral intentions towards her? That she, the fool, had enjoyed his kisses? That she knew he was in London, and that maybe, just maybe, that was why Dragmore was suddenly so boring? That she was wondering if she would see him tonight? “I am tired of having nothing but sheep and cows for company,” she finally said, hating to lie to Regina, whom she loved dearly.
“Well, I don’t blame you!” Regina cried emphatically. From the time she could walk, Regina had always preferred lace and dolls to horses and climbing trees, no two sisters being less alike. “I am so glad you are here!” Impulsively, she hugged her sister, hard. “You just stay with me,” she told Nicole seriously. “And I will introduce you to everyone and you will have a rousing good time!”
The grand salon at the Willoughbys’ was already full when Nicole arrived with Regina and their mother that night. Smaller than a ballroom, the grand salon could accommodate a hundred people with ease, yet now it was crowded and warm. Guests were milling everywhere, sipping champagne and other drinks, while servants offered an exotic array of hors d’oeuvres. A trio was playing on a platform built for the occasion, but the strains of the piano, harp and violin were drowned out by the animated conversation of the glittering throng.
The salon was crowded, but not so crowded that Nicole wasn’t immediately noticed and remarked upon. As she, Regina and Jane entered the room, she was aware of those standing closest to the arched entry turning to smile at her sister and mother—then gaping at her. And already her heart was in her throat.
While dressing for the evening, she had been stricken with a case of nerves. With a bit of probing, Nicole had surmised that the most upper of London’s upper crust would be at this crush, for Lord Willoughby was not just the Marquess of Hunt but a confidante of the Prime Minister as well. Although Nicole had learned from Martha in their conversation at Dragmore that the Duke of Clayborough was apparently not fond of social gatherings, because of Willoughby’s power and connections she thought that there was a good chance that he just might be there tonight. And even if he were not, she had not a doubt that his betrothed, Elizabeth Martindale, would be, not just because she was his fiancée, which in itself gave her tremendous status, but because she was a member of the de Warenne family, and its patriarch, the Earl of Northumberland, was one of the most powerful men in the realm.
Knowing she would see either or both of them had been enough to make her tense and nervous as she donned her turquoise moire ballgown. Yet still she avoided too close an inspection of her motivation in coming to London and attending this party. By the time she had left the house on Tavistock Square, her jitters had taken a turn for the worse. Although it was over a year since she had been to London, she had not been to an affair in the city since the scandal. The last real fête she had attended had been the Adderlys’ masque, and that would have been a disaster if the Duke had not approved of her. Tonight, even if he were here, she was on her own. Nicole was very close to regretting that she had come.
A large group standing not far from the doorway all turned to look at her. “I say, isn’t that Dragmore’s eldest gel?” one fop asked, his voice carrying.
“It is,” a matron answered, quickly removing her gaze from Nicole. “Did you hear about the costume she wore to the Adderlys’?” Abruptly, the matron lowered her voice, turning her back to Nicole and her family.
“They are all witches!” Regina cried loudly. She glared at the group furiously, her usually genteel step becoming hard and long.
Nicole grasped her gloved arm at the elbow. “It’s all right, Rie. I expected some unpleasantness.”
“I know exactly who is in that group, and I shall cut them sorely the next time my path crosses with any of theirs,” Regina stated, amber eyes flashing. Then she looked suspiciously at her sister. “What kind of costume did you wear to the Adderlys’? And when was this?”
Before Nicole could answer, she was saved by her mother’s interruption. “Are you all right, darling?”
“Truly, Mother, I am.” Nicole managed a reassuring smile, although she was not exactly all right. She was also horrified because she was actually sweating. She would have loved to yank off her elbow-length white gloves, but did not dare.
Jane promptly maneuvered them to another group, this one full of personal friends of hers. While they expressed surprise over Nicole’s presence, it was in a genuine way, without any rancor. Nicole was relieved, and for a few moments, she paused to chat with the Howards and the Bentons.
“Martha’s here,” Regina whispered, edging away from the group of older folk and taking Nicole with her. “Look.” Regina waved.
Nicole smiled, thrilled that her best friend had returned to London. Martha hurried over, hugging both girls. “What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, her gaze penetrating.
Nicole shrugged, knowing Martha probably guessed the truth.
“Dragmore suddenly bores her,” Regina answered, giving Nicole a shrewd glance. “What do you know, Martha?”
“Why, what do you mean?” Martha turned back to Nicole. “It is wonderful that you are here!” She gave Nicole a long look full of meaning which Nicole could not decipher.
“Lord Hortense is here,” Regina suddenly whispered, excited. “Nicole, quick, look!”
Nicole followed her sister’s gaze and found a dark handsome man in his thirties staring at them. She grew uneasy, suddenly wondering if Lord Hortense was staring at her or at her sister. Regina tugged her hand. “Isn’t he handsome? He is rich, too, and his reputation and manners spotless! He has called on me twice! Nicole—I think he is courting me—I think he will ask Father for my hand!”
Nicole st
ole another glance at the handsome lord, and flamed at the bold look he sent her. This time there was no doubt of it and she quickly turned away. “You are still young, Regina. Surely he is not your only suitor?”
“Of course not,” Regina said, yet Nicole’s heart sank at the shining look in her sister’s eyes. “But…I am in love with him, Nicole!”
Nicole bit her lip, exchanging a worried glance with Martha. She detested Lord Hortense with every instinct she possessed.
“I am going to mingle,” Regina said breathlessly, and both girls watched her flit off into the crowd, moving, of course, in the direction of Hortense.
Nicole saw that he was giving her another long stare, and she quickly turned her back on him, furious. “He will break her heart.”
“He is certainly giving you the eye,” Martha said. “Normally I would not worry, for Regina is very popular and every week she is in love with someone else. But I think this thing with Lord Hortense is much more serious, Nicole. For two months now she has spoken about no one other than him.”
“Oh,” Nicole breathed. “Somehow I must warn her away from him.”
“You must. Nicole, he is here.”
Nicole froze. “The Duke?” she asked very softly, while her heart leapt wildly.
“Yes.” Martha scanned the crowd. “I saw him some time ago, he must have just returned to London.” She looked back at her friend. “Nicole, what are you doing?”
“Oh, Martha,” Nicole cried, knowing exactly what she meant, “if only I knew! I just could not stay at Dragmore, I could not!”
Martha gripped her arm. “I see him.”
Swallowing, Nicole followed Martha’s stare. Her body tensed at the sight of him.
He looked utterly magnificent in his midnight black tailcoat and trousers. He towered a head above the crowd, splendidly handsome and utterly male. All the men around him seemed silly in comparison, their faces lily white in contrast to his bold golden coloring, their forms almost ridiculously slender next to his powerful build. His hair was still too long. It more than brushed his collar. Nicole smiled, thinking that he still disdained to visit his barber. Only a man like the Duke could get away with such an unfashionable inclination.
Of course, he was bored and restless, as he had been at the Adderlys’, barely attending the words of some matron, his glance shifting about as he cocked his head towards the elderly woman. Finally he straightened to his full height, smiling somewhat painfully and nodding in agreement with whatever she’d said. And at that precise moment his restless gaze found hers.
He froze, his expression stunned and incredulous. Their gazes locked. Nicole could not turn her eyes away. There was quite some distance between them, but not enough to prevent Nicole from reading his every expression. The incredulity turned to flushed anger. A moment later his glance moved over her quickly, down to her toes and then back up again. It was not a polite perusal, it was not the look of a gentleman.
“He is furious,” Martha gasped. Nicole had forgotten she was standing there, indeed, she had forgotten everything and everyone in those few moments, except for him.
“He despises me as much as I despise him,” Nicole said unsteadily. She lifted her chin proudly, trying to appear careless, as if the meeting of their glances had been accidental. She was hurt by his anger, yet she shouldn’t be. Instantly he turned away from her.
Nicole went very still. A small blonde woman had taken his arm, pressing it against her side. The Duke bent over her to listen to what she was saying, and she was smiling, laughing. When he straightened, he was smiling, too.
Nicole felt heartsick. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Nicole turned her back to the couple. She hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of Elizabeth, dwarfed as she was by the Duke, but she had seen enough. She was petite and blonde and fair. Never had Nicole felt so tall and dark and awkward. And the Duke was fond of her, genuinely fond of her. It was so very obvious, Nicole realized, that tears stung her eyes.
“Nicole, let’s go to the powder room,” Martha said quickly, taking her hand.
Nicole’s first reaction was to protest, but she bit it back. Instead, she managed a crooked smile and followed Martha from the salon.
By the time they had returned, Nicole had recovered from the impact of finally seeing the Duke with his fiancée. She mingled as Martha did, and was introduced to many people, all of whom were polite, for Martha was discreet and knew whom to introduce her to. And for the next two hours, Nicole always knew exactly where the Duke was.
Elizabeth rarely left his side, while he ignored Nicole. Twice more their eyes had inadvertently met, and he had quickly turned his back upon her, as if she did not exist, or as if she were beneath him. Such rejection was deliberate. Nicole was certain that he was as aware of her as she was of him, yet determined to avoid her at all costs.
She was sorry that she had no suitors of her own, for then she would hang on their arms the way Elizabeth hung on his. It was embarrassing. She was twenty-three, almost twenty-four, an old maid with no chance for marriage unless it was to some fat, old man. Elizabeth was just eighteen, blonde and perfect, betrothed to the Duke. Nicole disliked her, knowing it was uncharitable, but how could she not? The little chit had everything; she had her prince; she had Nicole’s short-lived dream. It was impossible not to dislike her, just as it was impossible not to despise him.
By the time the clocks had tolled midnight, Nicole could stand the press no more. She slipped from the salon, seeking some air, certain that the Duke had left as well in the past hour with his precious betrothed, for she had not seen him in some time. She found the doors to a patio and quietly stepped outside. The night was crisp and cold, a welcoming contrast to the stuffy warmth of the salon. Clouds scudded across the sky, a few stars twinkled, and occasionally the waning moon showed itself. Nicole went to the brick wall and leaned against it, looking out at the well-lit gardens beyond. She realized that she was utterly drained now that he was gone, and that the evening had been nothing short of a disaster.
She should have never come to London. She had come because of him, she could face that now, and she was a fool. Somehow, her heart had broken again tonight.
She did not hear the doors to the patio opening and closing. She did not hear his footsteps. His voice, when he spoke, was low and angry. “What are you doing here?”
Nicole gasped, whirling around to face the Duke of Clayborough. Although the patio was dimly lit, she could see well enough to make out his expression, which revealed that she had not mistaken his tone.
“I am taking some air, not that it is any affair of yours.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he said ominously, taking a step toward her. “Why have you followed me to London?”
She gasped, not at his query, but at the accuracy of his suspicions. “How conceited you are! I have not followed you to London!” she lied, for she could never, ever admit that she had been lured to London by him.
“I do not believe you.”
“That is your problem, not mine.”
“No,” he said slowly, “there you are wrong. It most definitely is our problem.”
Nicole stood very still. She did not understand his meaning, not until his gaze slipped to her low decolletage, and then she drew in her breath sharply. Dangerous desire swept through her. It was a long moment before he spoke, their gazes locked. “I know you never come to London, Nicole. I know you have come because of me.”
“You are arrogant, impossibly so,” she retorted.
“And you are a liar.”
“No!” she cried, trembling.
“Then why did you come to town when you never come—not since the scandal?”
Of course he would know about her fall from grace, just as everyone did, but that he should so openly allude to it distressed her. How sweet it had been to pretend that he had not known, or, even better, tha
t he had not cared.
“Well? Can’t you find a convenient excuse?”
Her cheeks flushed as she was reminded of the need to defend herself and lie to him. “I came to London last year—and that’s the truth! Regina always begs me to come, just as she begged me now.”
He took another step toward her. His smile was cold. “And to think that I thought you were an excellent actress.”
Nicole backed away. “I am not acting.”
“No? At this moment you are a terrible actress.” He had taken another step closer, and again Nicole had moved backwards. “What’s wrong, Nicole? Are you afraid of me?” he challenged.
Nicole instantly stood her ground. “Don’t delude yourself!”
His smile was grim. “I didn’t think so. You aren’t afraid of me, are you? I know your game, Nicole. I am not a fool.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
He laughed, the sound disparaging. “Now this is acting!”
Nicole dug in her heels, furious with his mockery. “Think what you will. But I have no idea what you are raving on about!”
“You are stalking me, are you not, darling?”
“You are seriously deluded,” she cried.
“Many women,” he told her harshly, “have tried what you are trying. And none have succeeded in enticing me from Elizabeth. Do you understand?”
His words were like a slap in the face. She drew herself up, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I do not seek to entice you away from your precious Elizabeth!” she hissed. “And I suggest you return to her before she comes looking for you and finds you so intimately alone with another!”
“Elizabeth is at home.”
“Warming your bed?” Nicole mocked.
He was stunned, but only for an instant. “The way you would like to?”
Nicole gasped. Her face flushed, but hopefully it was too dark for him to see. “That is the last place I would ever want to be.”