Dangerous Desires

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Dangerous Desires Page 17

by Louise Clark


  Nicholas looked at his aunt, but all he said was, "I had thought that Stephanie would enjoy seeing the little place where Silver Brook widens into a pool." He turned to Stephanie. "It is a favorite spot with me, for it is where my father taught me how to fish." He did not add that it was quiet and secluded, the perfect place to share thoughts that were only for two.

  "It sounds lovely, Milord. Tante Madeleine, are you sure you will not come?"

  "Quite sure, dear Stephanie." Laughter warmed Madeleine's voice. "Quite sure indeed."

  * * *

  "Oh, but it is enchanting!" Stephanie kicked her foot free of the stirrup and slid down from atop the raking chestnut she rode. The spot where the brook became a pond was shaded on the north side, sloping down toward the manor house to the south and providing a marvelous view of the lush green countryside. The place was still private, however, for the trees that shaded the brook also protected those sitting beneath them from prying eyes.

  Nicholas, a bit ahead of Stephanie, turned and smiled at her exclamation. He caught the reins from her hands. "There is a handy post and rail a few yards away, built by an earnest young fellow to tie his horse. I'll be back in a minute or two."

  Stephanie laughed and wandered closer to the stream. She found she liked the idea of a young Nicholas building the tying rail, testing himself, doing what he could to become part of the land. She also liked the idea that he was independent enough to not care what society thought of an aristocrat working with his hands, and confident enough to be willing to admit what he had created.

  She reached the pool and crouched down at its edge. The water was cold when she dipped her fingertips, but clear and barely rippled by a current. She peered intently past the image of a woman dressed in a fashionable riding habit that followed the male style of coat and waistcoat, and after a time she could see the silver streak of a trout slicing through the depths of the pond. A small, reflective smile curled her mouth as she imagined an older man, much like Nicholas, but less clearly defined in her mind, instructing a handsome young boy in the best way to cast a line, then how to pull in the hard-fighting trout once it was hooked. The scene was strangely haunting, for as Stephanie's engrossed, gaze watched the darting fish, the images in her mind gradually changed form, until the older man was Nicholas and the earnest boy a younger image of him. A boy, however, whose eyes were a warm, dark brown, smoldering with the same intensity as his father's lighter ones.

  Pulling her hand free of the water, Stephanie thoughtfully shook it. Droplets and ripples dispelled the images. When Nicholas returned from tying the horses she was able to smile quite naturally and point out the spot where she thought the picnic should be laid out.

  The cook, assuming that his master and the Mademoiselle would be starving after a ride in the woods, had sent a veritable feast of cold foods. To enhance the opulent meal, a fine French wine had been decanted into a silver flask. The cutlery was monogrammed silver, the plates the finest Dresden and the wine goblets chased gold. Dining al fresco on Wroxton lands was as elegant as any meal served in the impressive dining room.

  Achingly aware that her time with Nicholas was desperately short, Stephanie only nibbled at the vast selection of food. Instead, she concentrated on coaxing from him tidbits about his childhood and life. She knew the information would be much more satisfying than mere food could ever be.

  "Silverbrooke is a lovely manor, but you told me it was not the ancestral home of the Earls of Wroxton, n'est-ce pas?"

  Nicholas, who was cracking a lobster shell with thoughtful concentration, looked up at her and smiled. "Wroxton Hall is the family seat. Silverbrooke was my mother's dower property. That's why I grew up here."

  Stephanie smiled mischievously. "And learned how to fish at your Papa's knee."

  He laughed. "That's right. My father and mother were never close in the sense of having emotional ties beyond their children, but my father respected the land and used it well. He brought me up to care for Silverbrooke as much as my mother's family did."

  Stephanie shifted uneasily, not liking the images his words provoked. There was a cool note in his voice when he spoke of his parents that had not been there when he talked of his father, and of the land. She probed a little deeper. "Your Mama felt strongly about the estate she brought to her marriage?"

  Nicholas laughed. "My mother was passionate about her land and the people who lived and worked on it." He cracked a claw, exposing the white meat. Contemplating it, he added, "I think that was one of the largest misunderstandings between them. My father was a Prescott, born and brought up to wield power and to influence the direction of the country, while the Bremertons, my mother's family, were country bred, interested in their herds and horses and crops. They had dabbled in politics during the Civil War, but all they received for their losses was that imposing picture of King Charles II. That was enough to persuade them that service to the crown was better left to those with more adventurous tastes."

  Stephanie's nose wrinkled. "Adventurous? En bien, I do not understand."

  Nicholas shot her a quick glance. "The Civil War was to my country what the present revolution is to yours, Stephanie. Many people lost their lands; not a few went into exile in Europe. After King Charles was restored to his throne in 1660, those people who had suffered for his cause expected recompense. Not all got it. The Bremertons decided that serving the king was a risky business they wanted no part of. But they were not without the desire for advancement. To marry their daughter to the second son of an Earl seemed ideal. On the Prescott side, my father acquired lands of his own. On the surface, the match was perfect, a merging of the best in the English aristocracy. All that was really achieved was the union of two people who found each other boring and spent a lifetime of unhappiness."

  He bit into the lobster flesh, tearing it from the translucent cartilage. Stephanie shifted position so that she moved a little closer to him without appearing to do so. She reached over to touch his thigh in a fleeting gesture of comfort. "They had a very fine family, your parents. Four healthy children, I think Tante Madeleine told me. That is not to be sneered at."

  Her remark succeeded in drawing some of the brooding pain from Nicholas's eyes. "Yes," he said, knowing that she was speaking from her own family history, "I suppose the emptiness of their marriage was tempered by the joy they felt in their offspring. None of us suffered from an absence of parental affection, for separately and together they gave their love freely to us. But we knew, all of us, that there was something missing in their lives."

  "Three brothers and sisters," Stephanie marveled, sipping her wine. "It must have been wonderful to have so many playmates who were your family, as well as your friends."

  Nicholas cracked the second claw, but this time he laughed as he dug into the meat. "It's easy to see that you were an only child, sweet Stephanie. When you're the eldest of a big brood—and ours often included Cousin Tony once he'd arrived into the family—you're responsible for the younger ones. You become their protector, their leader, their confidant. My father died when I was eighteen. I had my Uncle Augustus, the Earl, to go to for advice, but the responsibility for my mother, my brother and sisters, and for Silverbrooke was mine." He paused, shot her a glance, then said lightly, "It was rather daunting."

  Wanting to offer further comfort, Stephanie touched him again, rubbing his thigh in what she thought was a soothing way. "But you succeeded."

  Rather jerkily, Nicholas tossed the remains of the lobster onto his plate. He caught Stephanie's hand in his, held it briefly, then with a quick squeeze returned it to her lap. Her eyes widened as she realized how her caress had affected him. Abruptly, she blushed.

  "In a way, I suppose I did." Tactfully, Nicholas continued the conversation as if the little incident had never happened. "I have two sisters. Both married well. Honoria, you know. She makes no secret of the passion she feels for her husband, Gideon. My older sister, Sophia, is more reserved." He laughed softly, mischief darkening his eyes. "Sophia's hus
band is a deadly dull Yorkshireman by the name of Sir Talbott Braynard. Honoria swears that he and Sophia are a perfect match. Two stuffed shirts prosing on and on at each other. They have, to Honoria's chagrin, two healthy children, neither of whom shows the Prescott propensity for adventure."

  "And your brother?" Stephanie asked, forgetting her embarrassment as she listened.

  "Timothy is the youngest of the brood. He's a newly made Lieutenant in the Navy and devilish proud of himself. He convinced me to allow him to go to sea three years ago," Nicholas frowned, reliving that time in his memory. "He was only fourteen years old. I didn't want to agree, but I knew... Timmy has a large share of the family daring. If it hadn't been the sea, it would have been something else. At least at sea he would be able to build a life for himself. Unlike Tony Baxter, who has been thwarted at every turn by a father who doesn't understand that his son needs to be part of the land, or else be allowed to run free."

  "Vraiment, Monsieur Baxter is a perfectly charming gentleman," Stephanie protested.

  "Charming, yes. Bored and wasting his time playing at being a dandy in London, certainly. Tony's got his share of the Prescott intensity, but his father, who is the son of a wealthy merchant, doesn't understand that Tony needs more than a social life to sustain him."

  Stephanie listened to the concern in Nicholas's voice and saw the shadows in his eyes. She liked him all the better for his protectiveness. "And so, you still worry for all of them," she said softly. "Even though they are all grown up now, your brother and sisters and handsome cousin."

  Nicholas relaxed and grinned. "I suppose it's in my blood. I always will. But I cannot allow you to think that my life has been nothing but duty toward my family. With my sisters married and my brother in the Navy, I left my mother to manage Silverbrooke, to her delight, and went on the Grand Tour not long before the revolution began. Shortly after I returned, my uncle died and I inherited the Wroxton title and estates."

  "You grew into your responsibilities," Stephanie said, shrugging with Gallic practicality. "It is natural."

  Nicholas's eyes gleamed with amusement. "You make it sound so simple."

  Her eyes widened innocently, but a dimple quivered in her cheek, betraying her. "Vraiment, to reduce it to the simplest terms makes it easier to comprehend. Did you always know you would one day be Earl?"

  Nicholas had stretched out on one side and was leaning on an elbow, cleaning his fingers carefully with a linen napkin. He drew in his breath, then released it slowly. "My uncle was never a very demonstrative man, but he always treated me a little differently than my brother and Tony Baxter. He made sure that I knew the Wroxton traditions and respected the Wroxton lands. By the time I was fifteen, Madeleine had given up hoping she would conceive and they openly acknowledged me as the future heir. No one expected my father to die so early, of course, and after his death Uncle Augustus often took a father's role. It was difficult for him, though, not having a son of his own. He knew Silverbrooke came first in my heart and it worried him." Looking beyond the brook, past the rolling fields to the house, he added slowly, half to himself, "He and Madeleine had what my parents did not—a loving marriage. But he had no heir of his body to succeed him, and in the end, that is what counts."

  "You do not think love is important in a marriage?" Stephanie asked in a low, strangled voice.

  "A man marries to provide himself with heirs," Nicholas replied moodily. "Isn't that the way the thing is done in France?"

  "For the most part," she said carefully, "it is. Affairs of the heart conducted outside the marriage are ignored as long as both parties are discreet and no one is harmed by the liaison."

  Nicholas was watching her intently, his blue eyes darkened by an inner fire. He sat up and reached for her. "And if both parties are willing..." He caught her hand in both of his and raised it. Instead of the polite caress Stephanie expected, he covered the pulse beating in her wrist with his lips. Gently, he touched the throbbing vein with his tongue.

  Stephanie's voice was husky. "When both parties are willing they can fulfill their romantic destiny. Everyone is satisfied. The social alliances sealed in the marriage bed remain strong, but the people trapped in those marriages can be free—"

  Nicholas tugged at her wrist. "Come here." He drew her gently into his arms, then promptly silenced her by covering her mouth with his.

  Stephanie held herself stiffly at first, very much aware that she and Nicholas were two of those people whose destinies were linked only in a romantic liaison. But then, as his mouth moved on hers and he gently teased her lips open with the tip of his probing tongue, she surrendered to the pleasure of his embrace. For these moments in time, they were bound together, responding to each other emotionally and intellectually, to create a physical awareness that could not be denied. She shifted closer so that her body would touch his.

  Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in his thick, strong hair. With her other hand, she reached inside his coat to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

  Nicholas made a sound deep in his throat that could only have been male satisfaction as her body rubbed teasingly against him. His arm wrapped around her waist and drew her even closer. Now she could feel the beating of his heart and even the force of his swollen desire. Sense was lost to insensibility as she surrendered completely to the feelings he so expertly controlled.

  As her body went limp in his arms, but at the same time tensed with a new demand, Nicholas gently lowered her to the ground. Still kissing her, he stroked her breast through the thick cloth of her riding habit. The effect was devastating. Stephanie gasped with pleasure and her hand that was tangled in his hair clenched.

  The movement was as effective as a bucket of cold water being dumped on top of Nicholas. He suddenly realized where he was and what he was about to do. Dragging his lips from Stephanie's, he leaned his forehead on hers briefly as he fought to regain control. Then he sat up.

  Stephanie remained where she was, her eyes clouded. "Nicholas?"

  He smiled crookedly. "You are more potent than a drug, sweet Stephanie. If I do not go soon, I will never get away." He rolled away in one lithe movement, then began to collect the remains of their picnic.

  "You must return to London?" she asked in a low voice, rising as he had. Unable to meet his eyes, she busied herself with carefully brushing the grass and leaves from the wool cloth of her habit.

  Nicholas stopped. Sliding his hand down her cheek in a slow caress, he said. "I will be back when I can."

  "Soon," Stephanie whispered.

  "Soon," he agreed.

  Chapter 10

  London never seemed to change, Nicholas mused as he leaned against a tall wooden column, shaped in the Ionic order and painted so that it appeared to be made of pink marble. It was one of a row of columns that held up a gallery overlooking the Duchess of Chelmsford's neo-classical ballroom. Nicholas could hear the orchestra on the gallery above as it played a lively country dance, but emanating from the chairs set behind him, the nasal sounds of a spiteful woman describing her unfortunate spouse penetrated more sharply than the music. Nicholas concentrated on the dancing, his features set in a mask of indifference, but his gaze sharp. Occasionally he allowed his eyes to wander about the assembled company in a bored way that disguised his interest in the activities of one man—the Vicomte de St. Luc. At the moment, the Frenchman was speaking to his hostess and thus was not likely to be up to any nefarious activities.

  Not for the first time since his return from Silverbrooke four days previously, Nicholas wished that he were free to deal with the Vicomte as he chose. Instead, he was hedged about by the restrictions he had agreed to when he accepted Gideon's request that he watch the man. Then, he had been unaware of how thoroughly he would come to despise St. Luc, or how closely the man would impinge on his own life through Stephanie's. If he had been free to act, he would have rid Stephanie of the Vicomte's dangerous presence the day the vile creature had insulted her on the Duchesse d'Arden's terrace. B
ut he was not free to act, and St. Luc was still at large.

  Thoughts of Stephanie brought a faintly reflective smile to Nicholas's mouth. It was easy to allow his memories of their time together at Silverbrooke to warm him once more. The days had been filled with a pleasure he had almost forgotten existed—the contentment of belonging to a place and the security of knowing that someone cared as much for him as he did for her.

  Being separated from Stephanie had created an empty spot in his life that had surprised him. For so long he had remained detached where women were concerned. But Stephanie, without even knowing that she was involved in a battle, had vanquished the shadowy woman of grays and browns that Nicholas had always assumed he would marry. Along with experience and a natural maturing, she had also chased the reckless need for adventure from his soul. He had come to realize that Stephanie's constant challenges would fulfill his need for change. In many ways, life with that lady would be an adventure in itself.

  The extent of her victory had been driven ruthlessly home to Nicholas on the day they had picnicked together. Then the mere touch of her hand on his thigh had sent fire burning through his veins, a fire that had almost been quenched there in the grassy grove beside the riverbank. He had only been able to draw back because he could not, and would not, sully their first time together by making love in the woods like a pair of rustic bumpkins.

  Stephanie had filled his thoughts throughout the drive back to London. How could she not have done so, when his greatest desire was to turn the carriage and return to her? He did not doubt that she was drawn to him, but he worried over her determination to return to France to claim her hereditary lands, even if it meant making a loveless marriage. And he remembered, too, her bleak description of the romantic liaisons which took the place of loving marriages among the aristocracy. She saw that future for herself, and it dismayed her.

  Sometime during that drive to London, Nicholas had realized that he could not allow Stephanie to fulfill the destiny she had envisioned for herself. He could not allow it because their destinies belonged together. Fate had seen to that, against all probability, by bringing them to London at the same moment. Convincing Stephanie that they belonged together would take some effort, but he looked forward to wooing her properly.

 

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