Ravished

by Virginia Henley

  Lord Staines tapped on Lady Longford’s chamber door and entered discreetly. “It is as we feared, my dearest. The accident was fatal. Henry was shot through the heart. I’ve just signed the death certificate.”

  “Well, it’s a wonder he wasn’t shot years ago. Who shot him? Was it Annabelle’s husband?” she asked bluntly.

  “Dottie, my dearest, I shall never get used to the outrageous things you say.” He took her hand as if to soften the news. “Hatton was accidentally killed by his own son.”

  Her hand went to her throat. “Not Christopher?”

  “No, it wasn’t his heir; it was Nicholas. It is best that I go to the courthouse and file this death certificate immediately. I want everything tidy, with no loose ends; it’s the least I can do for the Hattons. Rupert is coming to take you home; I do apologize for not escorting you, my dearest.”

  “Tush, Neville, it is only the next estate after all. I am perfectly capable of managing.”

  When he had gone, Dottie sat down heavily in a padded boudoir chair and stared into space. I am perfectly capable of managing … capable of managing … managing … She had been managing for as long as she could remember. She had laid her plans so carefully, so cunningly. At long last she had secured her beloved Alexandra’s future by manipulating Henry Hatton into agreeing to the betrothal between his heir and her granddaughter. Now, only hours before it became a fait accompli, it had all been swept away. Fate was a hideous bitch!

  It was all a charade … the great wealth, the investments, her insistence that Alexandra have a Season. Even her eccentricity was an invention to explain away the oddities and disparities of appearing to be rich as Croesus, when not a groat remained in her bank account at Barclays. So long as she was able to keep up the facade, Society would fawn upon her, but Dottie knew time was running out, and she was almost at her wit’s end.

  Oh, it had all been true once upon a time. She had married the wealthiest lord in Bucks County, Viscount Longford. Her husband had then proceeded to squander his fortune on the gaming tables and notorious women. Fortunately, Russell had drunk himself to death before all the money ran out, leaving Dottie with magnificent Longford Manor.

  She clenched her fists with outrage at the thought of Johnny Sheffield, her untitled lout of a son-in-law who had gone through her daughter’s dowry like a dose of salts. No wonder Margaret had left him, but she had also left two penniless children behind in the wake of her shipwrecked marriage. It was my fault. I should have taken a firmer hand with Margaret and insisted she marry a man of wealth and title! She vowed again that she would not let the same fate overtake Alexandra.

  Her sharp mind rapidly went over her alternatives. One thing was certain: There would be no betrothal announced tonight. Still, she clung to her hopes doggedly, refusing to allow them to be snuffed out like a guttering candle. Perhaps, after a short period of mourning, a quiet wedding could be arranged. She straightened her wig with an impatient tug, and resolved to discuss the matter with Christopher before she left. As she packed she looked on the bright side—perhaps the Thomas Lawrence paintings had sold.

  Alexandra opened Dottie’s chamber door, breathless from rushing up three flights of stairs. “Have you heard about the terrible accident?” She did not wait for her grandmother’s answer, but rushed on, “I cannot find Nicholas … I’ve looked everywhere. I must go to him! He’ll need to talk with someone.”

  “Alexandra, come and sit down for a moment. Lord Staines has gone to the courthouse to file the death certificate. He certified it as an accidental death, so there will be no legal complications for Nicholas. Go and pack your things, darling. Rupert is taking us home.”

  Alexandra decided that it was best not to argue with her grandmother, but her resolve hardened. She had no intention of leaving until she had spoken with Nicholas.

  “Mr. Burke, I shall be forever grateful to you for stepping in and directing the servants in our family’s hour of misfortune.” Nicholas knew the words sounded stilted, but he meant them with all his heart. He thanked Meg Riley for her ministrations to his father’s body. Cleaning up the wound, and bathing the corpse, must have been no easy task for the aging nursemaid. The valet too had played his part, selecting the clothes in which Lord Hatton was now laid out and disposing of his hunting attire.

  Nicholas said decisively, “We’ll leave him lie here in his bedchamber until the coffin I’ve ordered arrives, then we will move him to the library for the customary viewing. I’ve sent word to the church; let me know when Reverend Doyle arrives, so we can make the burial arrangements.”

  Mr. Burke nodded his understanding and departed with the valet. Meg Riley placed her hand on Nicholas’s sleeve to comfort him, but her eyes welled up with tears over the disaster that had befallen the young man she loved most in all the world, and she could find no words. Nicholas covered her worn hand with his and squeezed firmly, infusing her with his strength. “It will be all right, Meg. Go and get some rest.”

  As Nick stood looking down at his father, he expected to feel only numbness, but to his own amazement he realized that he was in mourning. He mourned the lifetime of rejection his father had shown him. He mourned the love and acceptance for which he had strived so hard but never achieved. And he mourned the fact that matters could never be set right between them, for their time had all run out.

  As Nicholas descended the great curving staircase that led down to the vaulted foyer, he saw that it was crowded with guests who were awaiting their carriages. They were leaving en masse, and apparently couldn’t get away fast enough. The Duchess of Rutland’s voice carried clearly up to him. “Devilish queer! It staggers the senses to think that he not only caused his mother’s death but twenty-one years to the very day, he has killed his father!”

  A cynical smile tugged at the corner of Nick’s mouth. Surely he had not expected compassion from these people? He squared his shoulders and descended into the vipers’ nest, bracing himself for their artificial condolences. Yet it was suddenly brought home to him that he still deeply mourned the mother he had never known, who had died giving him life.

  After the guests departed, Nick ran upstairs to check on his brother before the minister arrived. What he found did not completely surprise him. The room was in disarray, with clothes strewn everywhere. The whiskey decanter as well as the one that had held the brandy lay empty upon the carpet. Kit lay sprawled across his bed in a drunken stupor. Nick decided there was no earthly point in trying to revive him. It was probably best to let him sleep it off.

  As he quietly closed the chamber door, he looked up and saw Dottie Longford coming down the hall.

  “Christopher, my dearest boy, please know that my heart is with you on this sad day. If there is anything we can do for you and Nicholas, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Nick realized that she had mistaken him for Kit, but surprised himself by not correcting her. He took her arm and gently led her away from Kit’s door. “That is extremely kind of you, Lady Longford. My brother and I appreciate your friendship.”

  “I am devastated that the circumstances make it necessary to postpone the betrothal, but I want to assure you that nothing has changed. After your mourning period …”

  Nicholas realized that here was his chance to give Alex the year of freedom she longed for. “My heart aches that a whole year of mourning must be observed before I may betroth Alexandra.”

  Dottie’s shoulders sagged. “A year is a devilish long period, Christopher. Well, now is not the time to speak of it … Another day soon, my dearest boy.”

  Alexandra went to her bedchamber and changed from her riding habit into a soft day dress. Once more she rolled back the rug and looked down into the chamber below. It seemed to be empty; she saw no movement and no sign that Nick had even been there. She got up from her knees and went over to the window. When she drew back the lace curtain, she saw him walking with the minister in the direction of the church, which was on Hatton land. She was sure it was Nick because he w
as still wearing his green riding jacket.

  She dropped the curtain quickly as a sharp tap came on the door and she heard Rupert call her name. “Alex, we’re ready to leave.” She held her breath and remained perfectly still. Rupert’s voice came again. “Alex, are you in there?” A moment of silence passed, then she heard the sound of his retreating footsteps. Alexandra let out a relieved sigh. Until she had spoken to Nicholas, she knew there was no way on earth she could bring herself to leave Hatton Hall.

  Nicholas made all the arrangements for the funeral and then went into the churchyard with Doyle to approve the burial site. He knelt at his mother’s Celtic cross and spoke to her silently, as he always did. With reverence he traced his fingertips over the name carved upon the cross: KATHLEEN FLYNN HATTON. Then he got to his feet, nodded to the grave digger who had been standing patiently waiting with his shovel, and quickly departed.

  With his hands in his pockets, Nick walked over the Hatton land that he loved so deeply. As twilight descended he headed for Hatton Grange. The sight of the mares with their foals in the grass paddock filled him with a sense of well-being. He had bred most of them himself and was proud that, due to his hard work and long hours, Hatton Grange horse farm had become a successful venture. It now brought in high profits from the contract he had negotiated to supply mounts for the Royal Horse Guards.

  Nicholas knocked on the grange-house door and went inside to give the horseman and his wife the news about the fatal accident. Tom and Bridget Calhoun were aghast at the dreadful tidings. Nick knew they were familiar with Lord Hatton’s famous temper and were glad that these days they worked for him rather than for his arrogant father, who was notoriously difficult and demanding. Nick assured them that there would be no changes at Hatton Grange, and he saw the relief on their faces as the Irish couple offered him words of comfort for his troubles.

  When he left the Grange, he made his way into Hatton Great Park, pausing as he looked across the lake toward the hall. Its beauty and permanence had made him feel secure since his earliest memories, and tonight it seemed to emanate strength. It had stood there for almost two centuries, sheltering the people who dwelled within its massive stone walls. He knew it would remain a bastion against the storms of life for future generations, and he hoped that a hundred years from now his great-great-grandchildren would love it with the same deep and abiding passion that he felt.

  The beauty of the rising moon reflected in the lake took his breath away, and he threw back his head to gaze up at the stars.

  He easily found the constellation of Leo the Lion; its star Regulus was one of the brightest in the sky. Tomorrow was his birthday. Twenty-one years ago on just such a night as this he had been born. The vastness of the universe helped him to view the day’s troubles somewhat in perspective, and he felt a small measure of calm descend. He had learned not to dwell on the past, and in that moment Nick made a conscious decision not to look back. Instead he vowed to look forward, to embrace the future.

  The warm, comforting silence of the house wrapped itself around him as he climbed the stairs to his chamber. The feel of the oak banister, so sturdy beneath his hand, seemed to lend him strength, and the familiar touch of his wolfhound as it brushed against his thigh in the darkness brought a smile to his lips. He lit only one candle, then he undressed and threw the casement wide. He braced his arms upon the windowsill, filled his lungs with air, and took one last look at the stars. As he sat down on the bed, Leo jumped up beside him, and a female scream rent the air.

  Chapter Six

  Alexandra’s eyes flew open to observe a naked man and a gigantic black animal looming above her. The scream escaped her throat before she could stop it.

  “Alex, what the hellfire are you doing in my bed?” His words, shot at her like steel arrows, reverberated with anger and outrage.

  She was suddenly filled with a dismay that was tinged with fear. Before dark it had seemed perfectly acceptable to await him in his chamber. Now she realized how compromising it was to awaken in his bed. “I—I must have fallen asleep while I was waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me for what? This is a whore’s trick! You have no more goddamn sense than a five-year-old!” Vivid memories of last night’s encounter in the stables filled his head. It had been hard enough to resist her in the hay; here in his bed it was almost impossible. Anger was his only possible defense against Alexandra’s potent allure.

  A whore’s trick? Alex was stricken. Would he teach her another lesson? She was breathless at the thought. Her intentions had been completely innocent. She had longed to comfort him, share his trouble, and show her compassion for his anguish. How could she have forgotten how dangerously male he was at close quarters? To cover her fear she allowed her temper to flare. “Well, you are the expert on whores! In my extreme ignorance I thought I was being a friend.”

  “A lady does not come to a man’s chamber, nor does she wait for him in his bed, Alex. She guards her reputation.”

  His words told her she was in for a lecture, not a lesson, and she experienced a moment of disappointment rather than relief. “If you are so worried about my reputation, why are you standing before me completely nude?” she challenged.

  Nick uttered a foul oath, strode to his wardrobe, and pulled on a bedrobe. He lit another candle and set it down on the bedside table so that he could see her face. “Alex, you must know that your betrothal to Kit was to be announced at the dinner tonight.”

  “I know no such thing!” She denied it, but she knew that was exactly what her grandmother and Henry Hatton had planned.

  He held his patience. “You cannot deny that Dottie and my father have always had an understanding that you would marry Christopher and become Lady Hatton.”

  “My grandmother’s wishes are common knowledge; how can I deny them? But you know I long for a year of freedom in London, before I bury myself in the country with a husband.”

  “The terrible accident today guarantees you a year of freedom. Kit cannot marry until a year of mourning has been observed. But you don’t seem to realize that your reckless behavior tonight could ruin your future. Christopher is now Lord Hatton. Do you think for one moment that if my twin discovered you in my chamber, in my bed, he would ever make you Lady Hatton?” Nick pulled on the riding breeches he had discarded. “I am taking you home, Alex.”

  “I can find my own way home!” she flared. “I don’t need a father, or a keeper; I am not a child!”

  “Then for Christ’s sake stop acting like one.” He threw off the bedrobe, donned his shirt and jacket, then pulled on his boots. “Keep your voice down,” he cautioned, as he picked up her bag and moved toward the door.

  “Any more orders?” she asked tartly.

  “Not another bloody word, Alex!” His forbidding tone told her clearly he was at the end of his patience.

  “Stay, Leo,” he commanded, then swept her through the doorway.

  Though she could feel the ironlike grip of his fingers bruising her arm, she obeyed his order to remain silent as he pulled her along the hallway and down the dark staircase. Outside, she suffered in silence as he half dragged her across Hatton Park in the direction of Longford Manor. When they reached a copse of trees that separated their properties, Alex finally rebelled and dug her heels into the soft earth. “I refuse to take another blasted step until we talk, Nicholas.”

  He towered above her, determined to get her safely home without anyone knowing they had been together until close on midnight. “Then you leave me no choice.” He picked her up, slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder, and strode forward.

  Alexandra’s eyes flooded with tears of frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she told herself fiercely. All she had wanted to do was comfort him in his hour of need and offer him a woman’s warmth and tenderness. All he wanted was to be rid of her as quickly as possible. His words and actions made it plain that she was just a nuisance. His outright rejection made her heart ache. It was obvious by the way he carried
her that he did not even think of her as a woman. It was also apparent that Nick Hatton didn’t need anyone, least of all her.

  As his long strides covered the distance between their homes, Nicholas knew his feelings for Alexandra were totally inappropriate. This fierce need to protect her at all costs came from the deep affection he had always felt toward her. Lately, his fondness had turned to desire, deny it how he may. He knew that shouldering the blame for the shooting accident that killed his father would not only protect Christopher but would keep it from touching Alex in any way. Nick was under no illusions. The Society matrons who had wooed him for their daughters yesterday, would now fall on him like ravening beasts. He suspected that he would be vilified, crucified, and then ostracized. He would be persona non grata. He knew that Society lived for scandal, thrived upon it in fact. He knew he would be fodder for the gossip mills for the next year at least. As his arm tightened on Alex possessively, he assured himself that he had done the right thing.

  Nick deposited Alex on her own doorstep without arousing anyone at Longford Manor. When she was safely inside, he sprinted back through the trees that separated their properties. When he passed by the library, where his father now lay in his oak coffin, Nicholas said a silent prayer, then slowly, quietly ascended the stairs that took him to the sanctuary of his own chamber.

  Leo greeted him with great affection and a thumping tail, and Nick rubbed his head fondly, grateful for the animal’s devotion, no matter what the rest of the world thought of him. Once more he undressed and climbed into bed; the great wolfhound contentedly stretched out on the rug beside him. As Nick lay with his arms folded behind his head, the day’s bizarre events replayed themselves. Though he doubted he would be able to sleep, gradually his body relaxed and he slipped into a dream.