by Sandra Heath
“Just leave it, Oliver. Anna has made it abundantly clear that she strongly disapproves of me at the moment, so it’s best all around if you know nothing of my, er, private life.”
“Nick, it’s also best if you know that Anna intends to apprise Miss Windsor with the details of your activities with the admiral’s widow.”
Nicholas’s smile faded. “What activities?”
“Don’t beat around the bush, Nick. We passed the manor house as we were leaving, and we saw the, er, scene.”
“The late Admiral Villiers is well out of it, believe me, for his widow is quite mad,” Nicholas replied with feeling.
“I wouldn’t know, but I do know what Anna thinks. She may even tell Miss Windsor about that other business with ... Well, with you-know-who.”
“I sometimes wish your dear wife in perdition,” Nicholas murmured with feeling.
“Unfortunately for you, she’s only in Park Lane, and her fellow feminine loyalties are somewhat rampant at the moment, so be warned.”
Nicholas groaned. “Heaven preserve me from crusading women.”
“Have a care, Nick, for it’s my wife you speak of.”
Nicholas gave him a rueful smile. “I know, and in spite of the way she feels about me, I still have a great affection for her. Please impress upon her that I’m innocent of all charges, for as God is my witness, I’ve done nothing for which to reproach myself.”
“Except when it comes to your dealings with Miss Windsor,” Oliver said quietly. “Nick, please leave her alone, for unless you’re serious about her—”
“Maybe I am,” Nicholas interrupted.
Oliver searched his eyes. “And maybe you’re not.”
“I must see her again, Oliver. These past two months have been purgatory, and I can wait no longer.”
“Far be it from me to preach, but is a London theater the wisest place to conduct such a pursuit? There’ll still be a lot of people there, even if it is Almack’s tonight.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
Oliver shrugged. “I give up, for you’re clearly beyond reason. I’ll see you again soon, and in the meantime I sincerely hope you’ll behave with some semblance of decorum.”
“Good night, Oliver,” Nicholas said wryly.
With a sigh, Oliver retrieved his things from the table and then left.
Nicholas went back upstairs. He knew he was still behaving reprehensibly where Verity was concerned, but he simply couldn’t get her out of his head. He hadn’t lied when he described the last two months as purgatory, for without her, that’s exactly what they’d been.
* * *
The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, was one of London’s most prestigious theaters, rivalled only by the Italian Opera House in the Haymarket. It had recently been rebuilt after a fire, and was a rather severe building from the outside, but inside it was very sumptuous.
There was quite a crush of carriages as Verity and her uncle arrived in Lady Sichester’s town carriage. They entered the foyer, which was decorated in the Chinese style, with little alcoves where oriental lanterns cast a delicate light. The babble of conversation was considerable, and in the background was the sound of music from the orchestra in the auditorium.
Verity was in a great state of nerves because of Nicholas, and she kept adjusting the folds of the lovely lavender satin gown she had selected for the occasion. It was cut very low over the bosom, with a jeweled belt that was matched by the comb in her hair, and it was the dainty gathers beneath the belt buckle that preoccupied her, for it seemed they simply wouldn’t hang properly. A white feather boa rested over her arms, and a reticule and fan were looped around her white-gloved wrist. The snake-stone nestled inside the reticule, with her handkerchief and vial of scent.
Beside her, Joshua was very impressive in the sort of full-skirted indigo brocade coat that was much favored by gentlemen of his generation. He wore a powdered wig, a tricorn hat was tucked beneath his plump arm, and the buckles on his shoes had been so highly polished it was possible to see one’s face in them.
He glanced a little irritably at Verity as she fiddled with her gown again. “What is the matter with you? You’ve been doing that ever since we left the house!”
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’m just nervous.”
His face softened. “Forgive me. Of course you’re nervous, for this is your first visit to a London theater. You’ll enjoy it, I promise you.”
She managed a guilty smile, for if he knew what was really behind her fidgeting, he would never forgive her.
They were conducted to Lady Sichester’s private box, and Verity looked over into the vast auditorium, where jewels and military decorations flashed, and plumes waved. The heat was oppressive, and she opened her fan as she studied the faces in the other boxes, hoping to see Nicholas. But there was no sign of him. It was nearly time to raise the curtain, and as the patent lamps were dimmed, she began to relax. Maybe he wasn’t coming after all.
The performance began, and she tried to concentrate on the stage. She didn’t know what to think of Edmund Kean. He was much smaller than she had expected, and his eyes seemed to blaze from his pointed little face. She didn’t doubt he was a genius, the greatest actor of the age, but she wished he were less intense. Everything he said seemed to be torn from his lips, and it wasn’t long before she began to feel quite drained.
It was during the second act that she became aware of Nicholas entering a box opposite. She glanced across just as he took his seat, and her heart seemed to stop beating, for nothing could have been more devastating than the smile he gave her as he looked across directly into her eyes. Suddenly it was as if they were entirely alone in the theater.
She felt the relentless advance of folly, but common sense simply could not prevail where he was concerned. She wished it were otherwise, that she could look at him and then glance away again without feeling anything, but that was not so. When she looked at him, common sense flew out with the four winds.
The play became of no interest. She toyed with her fan and glanced constantly across the auditorium from beneath lowered lashes. At last the intermission came, and some of her uncle’s old acquaintances joined them for a while, but their faces and conversation passed in a blur to her as she kept looking across at the box opposite.
The bell rang, and the performance resumed. Nicholas’s eyes met hers, and he nodded slightly toward the curtain at the rear of the box, then he got up and left his seat.
She knew he wished her to do the same, and she also knew she should remain in her seat, but what she should do and what she did do where two different things. She leaned across to whisper to her uncle. “I—I have a slight headache and wish to go out into the passage for a while.”
“Would you like me to accompany you, my dear?” Joshua asked concernedly.
“No, of course not. You stay and watch the play.”
Nicholas was waiting outside. He didn’t say anything, but just held out his hand, and she ran to him. He crushed her close, and their hearts beat together for a moment before he led her to a deserted anteroom nearby. As the door closed behind them, he pulled her into his arms again and tilted her willing lips to meet his.
The kiss was long, tender, and honey sweet with yearning. Her skin warmed, and her body melted against his. Wonderful feelings spread wantonly through her, flushing her with desire and consigning the remnants of common sense to the abyss. She felt weak and helpless, but at the same time so certain of her heart that she was strong. Nothing as good as this could be wrong, or so she told herself as her lips parted beneath his and her breasts became taut with arousal.
He held her to him, savoring the pressure of her body against his urgent manhood. Need flooded through him, and his kiss became more imperative, his lips hungry just for the taste of her. He felt close to the edge of control, swept along by sensations so forceful they almost commanded obedience. His hands roamed longingly over her, and the bewitching perfume of summer herbs filled his nostrils with heady d
elight.
He was beguiled by everything about her, and drawing back from the kiss was the last thing on his mind, but there was a burst of applause from the auditorium, and they both drew guiltily apart.
Alarm widened her eyes as she suddenly feared being caught in such a compromising situation. “I—I should return to the box ...” she began.
He put a finger gently to her lips. “Please don’t go yet,” he whispered.
“But if we should be discovered …”
He knew she was right. “Say you’ll meet me again soon,” he urged, moving his fingers luxuriously over her neck and resting his thumb against the pulse at her throat.
She closed her eyes as the enervating desires began to return, and for a few moments she entirely forgot that the following day she and her uncle were leaving for Kent. She circled his waist with her arms, then raised her lips to meet his once more. They kissed slowly, their bodies caressing, and their need for each other rose to a tumult of irresistible pleasure.
He drew his head back and gazed adoringly down into her enchanting green eyes. “Meet me tomorrow,” he urged. “Perhaps a casual encounter while out walking?”
Memory returned. “I—I can’t...”
“Then the day after.”
“I can’t then either. Nicholas, we’re going to Kent tomorrow, and will be away for several weeks.”
He gazed at her in dismay. “Kent?”
“Dartley Place.”
He nodded. “The Stratford wedding, I suppose.”
She nodded.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Well, no doubt it will do me good to wait a little longer before I’m able to spend some time with you.” He searched her eyes. “You will meet me on your return, won’t you?”
“I swear it.”
“Send word to me at Grosvenor Square as soon as you come back. When I receive your message, I’ll wait at the bottom of Hay Hill at eleven o’clock the next morning. We’ll walk together.”
She nodded. “I’ll count the hours until then,” she whispered.
“And so will I,” he breathed, drawing his fingertips yearningly across her breasts. Temptation began to close in again, and he released her. “Desire for you will prove too much unless you go now,” he murmured, then he kissed her a last time.
She gathered her skirts to hurry from the room. He waited only long enough for his desire to subside, then he followed.
The coming weeks suddenly seemed interminable.
Chapter Eighteen
Kent was very beautiful, a rolling landscape of orchards and villages, with the sea sparkling on the horizon, and Dartley Place was a very elegant house, but all Verity could think of was returning to London. She willed the days away, but as July slipped slowly into August, and the summer sun grew hotter than ever, it began to feel as if she would never see Nicholas again. His kisses burned on her lips each night as she lay in bed, and when she fell asleep, she dreamed of being in his arms again.
The occasion referred to as the Stratford wedding was splendid, and since a large portion of the beau monde attended the Canterbury cathedral ceremony, it was as if the Season had removed to the country for a week or so. Verity wasn’t acquainted with either the bride or groom, but her uncle was an old friend of the groom’s parents, whose property Dartley Place was.
As the end of the Kentish sojourn drew in sight, she was alarmed when at the last moment their hosts urged them to stay on a little longer, but to her relief her uncle politely declined, and on a misty morning that seemed to herald the oddly early onset of autumn, the traveling carriage set off down the drive, and on to the London road.
As soon as they reached Dover Street again, Verity sent a message to Grosvenor Square. If Nicholas remained true to his word, he’d be waiting at the foot of Hay Hill the following morning. How she slept that night she didn’t know, for she was in such an agony of nervous suspense that she tossed and turned restlessly until nearly dawn. But at last it was the next day, and she got up to dress.
Joshua made it quite easy for her to go out, for he fell asleep over his newspaper after breakfast. She dressed with care, choosing a buttermilk lawn walking gown, a gray velvet spencer, and a pert little gray jockey bonnet from the back of which a long matching net scarf trailed as far as her hem. Most of her hair was hidden beneath the bonnet, but Jeanne had teased a frame of little golden curls around her forehead, and as she studied herself in the mirror before leaving, she decided she looked every inch the London lady of fashion.
But as she left word with the butler that she would be back in time for luncheon, and then slipped across Dover Street and down into Hay Hill, her polished Mayfair exterior hid the nervous country girl within. Remorse touched her for a moment as she glanced back at the house. She was deceiving Uncle Joshua very badly indeed, and doing her reputation no good at all if any of this should be discovered, but she could no more help herself than she could have flown around St. Paul’s cathedral. She was captive to the overwhelming passion she felt toward Nicholas Montacute.
Suddenly he was in front of her, a tall, immaculate figure in a navy coat with silver buttons, white trousers, and gleaming boots. He carried a cane in one gloved hand and with the other moved his top hat to bow to her.
“Good morning, Miss Windsor,” he said softly, his glance taking in every beloved detail of her appearance.
“Good—good morning, Lord Montacute,” she replied, lowering her gaze quickly to the pavement. Her cheeks felt hot, and she was sure every curtain in the neighborhood was twitching with busybodies, although in her heart she knew that anyone who glanced out would only see what appeared to be a perfectly innocent encounter between acquaintances.
A lady and gentleman were strolling down the hill behind her, and Nicholas quickly offered his arm, addressing her in a loud enough tone for the approaching couple to hear. “Please permit me to escort you, Miss Windsor, for Curzon Street is on my way, and, with my protection, it will be safe for you to take the shortcut through Lansdowne Passage.”
“You’re most kind, Lord Montacute,” she replied, feeling that her tone sounded so false that anyone with half an ear must realize it, but the lady and gentleman walked on by without giving them a second glance, so she rested her hand on his sleeve, and for a moment his gloved fingers brushed hers, then they began to walk down the hill toward Berkeley Street.
If they had looked back, they would have seen a tilbury conveying Anna Henderson drawing up at the house in Dover Street, but they didn’t look back. She happened to glance down Hay Hill, though, and recognized them in the few seconds before they vanished from view.
Dismay rushed over her. Several weeks earlier, when Oliver had returned to the house that night without having gone to White’s with Nicholas, she had wheedled the truth out of him. She had called at Dover Street the next day, only to learn that Verity and her uncle had gone to Kent, so she had waited until their return, and now called again.
Her purpose was to warn Verity about Nicholas’s connection with the admiral’s flame-haired widow in Wychavon, and maybe about other things as well, so right now nothing could have been more horrifying to her than to see Verity slipping with him toward Lansdowne Passage. With a gasp she immediately ordered the tilbury to drive down the hill after them.
Lansdowne Passage was a subterranean way that passed between the gardens of Lansdowne House and Devonshire House. There were bollards across the entrance because in the past it had too frequently been used as a means of escape by highwaymen and other robbers, but footpads were still known to occasionally haunt its shadows, so ladies never went there alone, even though it was by far the quickest way across this part of Mayfair.
Steps led down from the Berkeley Street pavement, and the morning sunlight dimmed behind them as they continued to stroll for a while. As they realized there was no one else around, they halted, and Nicholas turned her to face him.
“If you only knew how much I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
&nbs
p; “And I you.”
“Kent seemed as far away as the end of the earth.”
She smiled. “It felt like it.”
“You mean so much to me, Verity,” he whispered, putting his fingertips gently to her cheek in the darkness, and with his other hand drawing her closer.
They found each other’s lips in an adoring kiss, and the only sound they heard was the beating of their hearts, until the tap of light female footsteps made them pull apart in dismay.
Then Anna’s voice rang out accusingly as she spied them in the shadows. “Nicholas Montacute, how could you!”
He stared at the newcomer in disbelief. “Anna?”
She halted a few feet away, her cerise gown and pelisse almost colorless in the dim light. Her closed parasol tapped on the ground as she eyed them both, and then she looked at Verity in particular. “I can’t believe you’re being so foolhardy, you’ll have no character at all if this escapade should get out.”
Verity lowered her eyes guiltily.
Anna looked at Nicholas again. “As for you, sir, I begin to think I don’t know you at all. What has possessed you these past months? Have you no honor at all?”
He was angered. “Don’t accuse me of dishonor, Anna, for it’s a false accusation on every count except regarding Verity. As far as she is concerned, I admit my conduct is decidedly unbecoming to a gentleman.”
“It certainly is,” Anna replied tartly. Unwelcome revelations about him quivered on her lips, but before she could utter them, he turned to Verity and tilted her face toward his, and spoke. “I offer no excuse for my conduct, save that I love you,” he said quietly.
Verity met his eyes. “Oh, Nicholas ...”
“I love you, and I want you to marry me,” he said, hardly realizing the words were in his mind.
She stared at him, and so did Anna, who was so startled her parasol slipped to the ground with a loud clatter that echoed along the silent passage.
He took Verity’s hand and raised it to his lips, then he looked into her eyes again. “Say you’ll marry me, my darling,” he urged again.