by Brenda Joyce
“Madam, last night you chose not to dress.”
She blinked. Suddenly they both smiled. He came towards her. Even in his paisley smoking jacket, the Duke was the epitome of a virile male. His strides were long, restless. A highly charged sexual energy seemed to ripple visibly over his body. He handed her a sherry. “Perhaps we should discuss this,” he said. His tone was not casual. It was low and suggestive.
Nicole wet her lips. She would never again be immune to his nearness, his heat, his intent. “What would you like me to do?”
“Ahh, need you ask now?”
She flushed, recalling the things he had guided her into doing last night, their second night of ecstasy—things no decent woman should ever even suspect were possible between lovers.
He came to her rescue, one forefinger touching her cheek. “Forgive me. You distract me, Madam Wife.”
Nicole was faint with pleasure.
“Would you like me to go upstairs and change into more formal attire?” he asked, serious now.
She shook her head. “I much prefer you like this.”
He smiled, she smiled. They had their first understanding.
They dined each night in the formal dining room. It was a conversationless affair. The table seated eighty. Nicole had counted the chairs the very first time she had taken a meal there. Separated from her husband by such a vast space, she could not even hope to carry on a conversation with him. The most she could do was steal discreet—and not so discreet—glances at him, or be the recipient of his stares, which became increasingly heated as the meal progressed. By the end of the week Nicole decided it was time to insist they adjourn to a smaller room for their supper. Hadrian was surprised at her request, but he also seemed, she thought, pleased by it. Thereafter they dined in one of the smaller salons on the first floor. And although conversation was now more than possible, there was little of it. There was just too much tension between them.
For they both knew what awaited them after dinner. A night of heated passion, of decadent indulgence.
Towards the end of the first week, Nicole was thrilled to have her mother, Regina and Martha come calling. Jane had sent a note asking Nicole if it would be all right to do so, and Nicole had quickly reassured her that a visit would not be an unwelcome intrusion. Martha’s presence with her sister and mother was a wonderful surprise. Nicole refrained from greeting them herself at the front door as she would have liked to do. She was too aware of her changed status now, and too concerned with being proper. Woodward escorted the trio into the airy music room, and moments later Nicole made her entrance.
She was dressed in what was casual attire considering her status, but the gold gown was the most expensive moire with a lavishly scrolled contemporary motif, and it was in the latest silhouette, which was quite straight and altogether daring. She also wore the gift which Hadrian had given her the night before, a stunning ensemble of diamond-encrusted topazes, and her hair was piled high in a very elegant fashion. Her three guests gaped at her, speechless.
Nicole swept forward, beaming and ecstatic to see everyone. “Mother! Regina! And Martha! How glad I am that you have come!”
They exchanged hugs. Martha recovered first, her gaze moving slowly over Nicole, and then the furnishings. “My, my,” she said, smiling. “Being a duchess becomes you.”
Nicole flushed with pleasure. “I suspect that I must maintain appearances.” She gestured at her gown. “So far, there has been no one to see my efforts, though, except for the staff.”
“And your husband,” Martha said.
“He rises with the sun and is gone shortly after. He returns sometime in the afternoon and locks himself in his study until he must change for supper.” But it was not a complaint—she was smiling as she spoke.
Jane suddenly smiled. “Have you had a change of heart, Nicole?”
“What a fool I have been!” Nicole cried passionately. “How could I have been so stupid to resist this marriage!”
“You are happy, then?”
Nicole bit her lip. “I have no pride left. I will admit the truth. I am more than happy, I am ecstatic!”
Martha rose and rushed to embrace her. “I am so glad!”
“Dear, I am so happy for you!” Jane cried excitedly, also hugging her daughter.
Regina waited, wide-eyed.
Nicole sombered.
“I am happy for you too,” Regina said, tears welling up in her beautiful golden eyes.
“Oh Rie!” Nicole cried. “I hated fighting with you, I did!”
“I was being selfish, not you,” Regina said quaveringly. “It was not your fault that Father was making me wait to marry.”
“But I should have known how you felt,” Nicole protested. They gripped each other’s hands tightly.
“Are you in love?” Regina whispered.
“Yes,” Nicole whispered back. “Yes, I am!”
Smiles wreathed the two sisters’ faces, and they hugged enthusiastically.
More embraces were exchanged all around. When everyone had sat again, Nicole turned to Jane. “Mother, how is Father?”
“He is fine. And he shall be thrilled when I tell him how happy you are!”
“I am so sorry we fought. He was right—as he usually is—in making me wed Hadrian. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me!”
“Why don’t you tell him that?” Jane asked, pleased. “He misses you, darling. And he has been so worried that he did not do the right thing.”
“Before you leave, I shall write him a letter,” Nicole decided. “Please ask him to come visit me soon.”
The ladies began to talk excitedly about Nicole’s marriage and about the duties of a duchess. Nicole finally said, “I think, in time, he might truly come to care for me. And even if he doesn’t, I think we will at least be friends. He is kind and respectful. He is attentive. In fact, I think he is trying his best to please me.” She flushed again with pleasure.
“Just as you are trying to please him,” Martha pointed out, still unable to believe Nicole’s elegant appearance and subdued manner.
“Yes, I am,” Nicole said. This time her blush was brought on by graphic memories of how she attempted to please him in bed. There was no question that she had been successful in that endeavor. She was rapidly becoming as skillful as a courtesan, she decided. Last evening she had finally had the courage to do what she had wanted to do from the very first night—to worship his body with her hands and her mouth as he had worshipped hers. And afterwards Hadrian had held her very tightly for a very long time.
“I cannot wait until the two of you begin to go out,” Regina said with satisfaction. “I cannot wait until society sees you now! If I were you, I would cut dead everyone who has ever cut you!”
“It won’t be like the last time, will it?” Nicole said rather ruefully. She hated even thinking about her behavior on her wedding day and how she had humiliated Hadrian in front of all of his guests. It was amazing that he had not been angrier with her than he was; it was amazing that they had privately recovered from her reckless disregard for public appearances.
“I should hope not!” Martha exclaimed. “The poor Duke has been the butt of a few good laughs, but once people realize you have come around—more than come around—they will no longer be making jokes.”
“Jokes? What jokes?”
Martha blinked and quickly looked at Jane, who was curious and apparently ignorant of the ridicule, and Regina, who was not. “Oh dear, of course you do not know. It’s not important, Nicole, what is important is that you and he are getting on famously.”
“Tell me.” Her jaw was set stubbornly, grimly.
Martha was reluctant.
Regina was not. “She should know! If it were I, I would absolutely want to know!”
Martha sighed. “The week before your wedding he was the most charming and amiable of men! Everyone could not help but notice the change in him, for in the past he made no secret of his indifference, even boredom, with t
he social whirl. Remember how he promised to play the lovesick fool? Well, he did his job too well! It was all the talk—how madly in love the Duke was—and how you must have been responsible for such a dramatic change in his personality. While everyone agreed such haste to wed was scandalous, it was also the consensus that it must be love.”
“Oh, no,” Nicole said when Martha paused.
Martha sighed again. “Unfortunately, your anger with the Duke was all too obvious at your wedding. Afterwards, the consensus changed. They said it was true love all right—on the part of the Duke. Clearly you did not reciprocate his feelings. It was the height of conversation.”
Nicole was angry, angry at the gossips, and even more angry at herself for humiliating Hadrian in such a way. Their wedding could have been the worst scandal imaginable if the nasty rumors hadn’t been stopped. Yet he had done more than stop them, he had actually made their precipitous marriage acceptable, more than acceptable if Martha’s tone was any indication. He had protected her as he had promised—while she had undone all that he had done in one fell swoop, striking back at him brutally, if unintentionally. She silently vowed to rectify matters immediately. The next time they went out, she would make certain that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Duke’s bride was madly enamored of her husband.
“I did not mean to upset you,” Martha said.
Nicole did not answer. A new thought struck her, mesmerizing her. She had forgotten about the blood on her sheets the morning after her wedding night. She had not been able to think of any plausible reason for the bloodstain, except that Hadrian must have cut himself somehow. Now a stunning idea occurred to her. Had he been trying to protect her again? Had he contrived the bloodstain upon her sheets so that no one would know she was not a virgin on their wedding night? Servants gossiped terribly belowstairs. Had there been no stain, everyone at Clayborough would have known of it shortly thereafter. Soon a maid would tell another female servant who was employed elsewhere. Eventually it would reach the ears of her mistress. By then it would just be a distant rumor—but it would be all over town.
Nicole was certain that Hadrian had stained her sheets. To protect her. There was no way he could have cut himself while in bed with her. Her heart swelled impossibly with her love for him.
Nicole’s guests spent the night. Everyone passed a wonderful evening with much laughter and good humor, even the Duke, who could not help but enjoy the camaraderie the ladies shared. The Countess, Regina and Martha left early the following morning. After their departure, Nicole donned her breeches and boots and hurried from the house. By now, no one so much as blinked at her attire. On the first day that she had gone riding, however, not even giving her costume a thought, everyone she had passed had apparently been stunned. The maids had regarded her out of popping eyes, the doormen had gaped, Woodward had gone white and the stableboys had blinked and quickly looked away. Yes, she had been uncomfortable. But she had recovered—and so had everyone else.
She supposed, ruefully, that duchesses were expected to ride sidesaddle in fashionable riding habits. However, Hadrian had told her she could do as she pleased—and riding her blood red stallion astride was doing exactly that. After that first time, she did not give it another thought.
The stablemaster was waiting for her. Nicole waved as she approached, smiling. He smiled back. O’Henry too wore breeches and boots, but his were stained and well-worn, while his hunter-green hacking coat had definitely seen better days. “Good afternoon to ye, Yer Grace,” he said, leading out their mounts. “I thought ye might not be comin’ on this foin day.”
“Miss riding Zeus? Never!”
They mounted and set off. Nicole was in high spirits, for her world had become just about perfect. All it needed to be complete was her husband’s love, and she was growing more confident that that was, indeed, a real possibility.
An hour later they crossed a meadow and clattered onto a country road. No one was about, and Mr. O’Henry turned to her with a grin. “Ruffian here is wantin’ to run. Think ye can keep up, Yer Grace?”
Nicole laughed. Mr. O’Henry now knew she was a superlative rider, and he no longer worried over her as he had the first few minutes of their first ride together. “Can you keep up with me?” Nicole challenged, and leaning over her bay’s neck, they were off.
They leveled out into a hard gallop, the two stallions thundering side by side, stretched out for all they were worth and relishing it. They raced neck and neck for a mile or two, until both riders saw three men walking down the road towards them. Of one mind, Nicole and O’Henry reined in their mounts, not wanting to cause an accident or kick up dirt in the faces of the pedestrians.
They came closer and Nicole saw that the three men were young, shabbily dressed, and carrying rucksacks. “Out of work farmworkers,” she guessed. They were probably carrying everything they owned on their backs. She felt sorry for them. How could she not? Times were indeed hard on the lower classes these days.
“Out’n out riffraff if you ask me,” O’Henry snorted. “If’n a body wants t’ work he can always foind somethin’. Don’t ye be givin’ them no handouts, Yer Grace.”
But Nicole had no coins with her, although she would have gladly given the men a few pounds if she could have. Suddenly one of the men made eye contact with her. Nicole had been staring curiously, now she looked quickly away. The redhead’s gaze was bold and rude—too interested in her appearance for comfort.
The trio had suddenly fallen silent. Nicole did not look at them again, suddenly stricken with uneasiness, but she knew they stared at her and the stablemaster. “Ride roight around ’em,” O’Henry said in a low voice, moving his mount into a trot.
Nicole was about to do the same when the redhaired man grabbed her stallion’s bridle. Her eyes went wide in shock.
“G’ day, lass. Nice bit a’ horse ye got there.”
“Let go, please,” Nicole said calmly, not wanting to make an incident out of what, hopefully, would be nothing more than a request for alms.
“Got a pound or two?” he queried with a gap-toothed grin.
“Let her go,” O’Henry said. He had ridden past the group and now he turned his mount around and came back towards Nicole. He had to rein in abruptly when one man stepped in front of him to block his way.
“Please,” Nicole said. “I have no coin. As you can see, I don’t have my reticule with me.”
“She ain’t got her reticule, boyos,” the redhead laughed.
“I’m agoin’ to ride right over ye, lad,” O’Henry warned the man barring his path. “Let Her Grace go!”
“Her Grace?” Nicole’s assailant laughed. “If she’s Her Grace than I’m the Duke! Well if she ain’t got any coin, she sure does have a fine horse—and a fine set of legs of her own. Guess I got use for both.”
Nicole gasped. O’Henry rode forward, about to make good his threat to run down the man in his path. At the same time, Nicole urged her stallion on. The redhaired man holding her horse did not let go, in fact, with his other hand he grabbed her leg. The stallion halted, confused and growing distraught.
The redhead did not get any farther. O’Henry rode up to him from behind, forcing the one man to jump out of his path, and sent his riding crop slashing down on the redhead’s back. The man released Nicole and her horse with a yelp, turning on the stablemaster with a cry. At the same time, his two friends lunged for O’Henry, and in the next instant the stablemaster was being dragged from his horse.
Nicole screamed when she saw the three vagrants began to pummel him. She rode her stallion into the melee. Weilding her crop, she began slashing frantically at the men.
The gap-toothed redhead turned to her with vengeful intent gleaming in his eyes. Nicole tried to strike him across his ugly face, but he caught the crop and yanked it from her grasp, flinging it away. Her heart stopped. He grinned. In that split second she knew her fate was in his hands and that it would be worse than death could possibly be.
But her st
allion, already frenzied, now smelling human blood, screamed and reared. His hooves flailed wildly, striking Nicole’s attacker. The man screamed, going down under the animal’s front legs. Nicole wrenched her stallion backwards to avoid trampling the man.
He scrambled to his knees. Nicole glimpsed blood on his face and his torn clothes. He lurched to his feet and suddenly he and his two friends were running away.
For an instant Nicole sat staring after them, trying to bring her stallion under control, panting wildly. Then she turned her gaze on O’Henry, who was sitting up and reeling. His face was bloody and he spat out a tooth.
With a cry, she jumped from her saddle and ran to him. “Oh dear God! Are you all right?”
He looked at her, his face sporting several bloody bruises. “I’m right as can be, Yer Grace. They didn’t hurt ye, did they?”
And before Nicole could reply his smile faded, his eyes glazed, and he fell back to the earth, unconscious.
Isobel’s stomach churned.
She paused beside Woodward as the butler rapped twice on the door to Hadrian’s study. Her visit was not unexpected. Yesterday she had sent her son a note requesting an audience with him. The note had been uncharacteristically formal, and Isobel had tried to reword it twice, but had failed to achieve the casual intimacy that had once existed so naturally between her and her son. In the end, she had left it as it was.
She had not had a meaningful conversation with her son since she had revealed to him the truth about his birth, almost a month ago. In all the time that had elapsed since then she had barely seen him. In no small way, Isobel had been avoiding her own son.
She had volunteered to help the Countess of Dragmore with the wedding preparations. Jane had agreed with no small amount of relief. Isobel had known Lady Shelton for some years, but not intimately; now they became partners in deed—and in spirit. They got on fabulously. Isobel had always liked what she knew of Jane, and after these past weeks she liked her even more, and admired her, too. For, like Isobel, Jane was secretly a rebel at heart. She was intelligent, independent-minded, compassionate and wise. And like Isobel, she was a woman of experience—not a cloistered paragon of womanhood. Isobel was well aware that once upon a time the Countess had been the popular stage actress, Jane Barclay. She did not think it a demerit upon her character, to the contrary, Isobel’s admiration for her only grew.