"Not yet." At the moment, Drew had no intention of announcing his presence in town. He handed the man his coat. "I've been on the road since dawn. A bath and a tray in my room are in order. Is there no butler?"
"Mr. James is expected back from the wine merchant's soon. When he returns, I will inform him of your presence. Does your valet follow?"
"No."
As Drew walked to the stairs, he compared the house to Denmere. Though clean, the furnishings were as sparse and shabby as those at the manor had been before the arrival of his wife.
He grimaced. Thoughts of Nicola brought anger and a need to know the identity of the man she had called for in her passion. Drew hadn't believed he could feel jealousy. Until Nicola had entered his life, he had kept his emotions on ice.
Who? As he strode up the steps, he chanted names. Sarad. Impossible. The boy was Nicola's friend, nothing more. Devonley had been at the Rasher's during the time Drew had lingered in London, but Nicola thought the Viscount amusing.
Yogi Yakshi, Nicola's teacher. The man who had taught her how to seek enlightenment.
"There is meditation, ansanas and Kama."
He pushed the door of the master bedroom open. A short time later, a footman arrived with water for a bath. Drew stripped and stepped into the tub. The hot water soothed his aching muscles but nothing could ease his throbbing thoughts.
As he ate dinner, he considered leaving the house and finding an escape from his haunted thoughts. Tristan would be in town. His friend seldom visited his Cornwall estates and when he did, he never lingered.
Drew yawned. Tomorrow or the next day would be soon enough to visit his friend. He didn't have the energy to plunge into the social scene and dash from one entertainment to another. He left the tray on the table and lay on the bed.
Sleep eluded him. The same question that had worried him since he'd discovered his wife had been with another man remained like a piece of granite that would not be dug up.
Memories from his childhood stormed the barriers he had built. Had his father held the same obsession for his wife as Drew felt for Nicola? Had his father continued to crave his wife even after she'd betrayed him?
Slowly, the barriers crumbled and Drew hurtled into scenes that wouldn't stop. Laughter turned to screams. Kisses to punches. Words of love had become bitter. Hurting phrases he'd forgotten. "I wish I'd never met you. I wish you'd never been born. I don't want you but she'll never have you."
He rolled on his side. How could he have taken his wife's virginity and not remembered? When the fever had broken, he'd been too weak to feed himself. He beat the mattress with his fists. As he fell into sleep, an odd thought arose. Why did he remember hearing Nicola's voice and the touch of her soft skin?
* * * *
Two days later, Drew rose from the chair in Mr. Grey's office. "Do you think they'll find him?"
"If he is still in the country but I don't think it will be today or tomorrow. Fergus always had a talent for slyness."
Drew shook the older man's hand. "Thank you for hiring servants for the townhouse. Notify me immediately when you hear from Bow Street."
"Of course. Give my best to your bride."
Without responding, Drew stepped outside and glanced at the sky. He hadn't realized how long he'd been with Mr. Grey and the pair of Bow Street Runners the older man had recommended. Hiring the men had been a logical choice. He had no intention of allowing Crawford near Nicola. Though Drew didn't believe he could ever trust her, she belonged to him. When he returned to Denmere, he would lay his terms before her.
There would be no London Season for his wife, even after she presented him with an heir. Once he had his son, he would see his wife settled in the remote and isolated Yorkshire estate. He would never allow her the opportunity to flee from him the way his mother had.
For a long time, he stood outside the office and pondered his next move. He wasn't ready to return to Denmere and face his bride. He flipped a coin to the lad who had watched his gray while he'd met with the solicitor. After mounting, he headed for Tristan's townhouse. The quite proper butler showed him to the library.
Tristan lounged before the fire. "Drew, I didn't expect to see you in town so soon after the nuptials."
"I had some problems to solve."
When Drew filled a glass with brandy and took a healthy swig, Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Serious enough to make you abandon your bride. Enlighten me."
The brandy burned his tongue and sent a path of heat to Drew's stomach. He sat across from his friend and related the story of Crawford's arrival and the kidnapping of Nicola. "Had to hire Runners to find the man." He finished the brandy and poured a second glass.
Tristan leaned forward. "Couldn't you have sent word to them? Why did you leave your countess in danger? Seems there is more to this tale than you're telling."
"Perhaps." Drew swallowed more brandy. "Do you have plans for this evening?"
"Supper here followed by a visit to Eugenie's. I'm bored with the mamas and my aunt pushing chits in my path."
"Perhaps I'll join you." Drew wondered if any of the women could remove the aching need he felt for his wife.
Tristan rose and reached for the decanter. "Are you telling me the honeymoon is over? I would know more."
Drew held his glass for a refill. "I've no wish to speak of her unfaithfulness."
"You just did." Tristan put his glass on the table beside his chair. "Was she ravished by Crawford?"
"No."
"Then who?"
Drew shook his head. "Before...India."
"I can't believe that. If there ever was an innocent, it is your bride. How did you reach this conclusion?"
Drew tossed down the last of the brandy. "She insists I took her when I was fevered. Impossible."
Tristan chuckled. "A mere fever doesn't stop a man from performing. Ramsey told a delightful story of pleasuring three women when he developed a fever after a wound. Why would you think your wife invented such a tale?"
"She shouted for Siva."
Tristan's laughter made Drew's head pound. Several minutes passed before his friend spoke. "I would be atop the houses if a woman named me as a god."
"God?"
"Siva is a lusty god of India known for his prowess."
Drew tried to stand. A memory flashed in vivid color. Nicola lay beneath him. "Oh, lord, what have I done? I must go and see if I can repair what I've ruined." The furniture in the room swayed. He fell back into the chair.
"Not tonight," Tristan said. "I doubt you could stay on your horse."
"You are absolutely correct." Drew found moving his tongue difficult. "Mush sleep. Tomorrow..."
* * * *
Nicola eased her bedroom door open and crept into the hall. With one hand, she clutched the opening of her dark cloak. In the other, she held the pouch of gemstones and the box her father had given her. As she made her way along the dark hall to the West Wing stairs, she fought the urge to enter her sisters' rooms and look on them once more before she vanished from their lives.
"A husband holds all rights to his children."
When she'd asked her grandmother why Drew's mother had abandoned him, those words had been the answer. Nicola chewed on her lower lip. Why should Drew have custody of a child he would deny? Though she'd planned to send for her sisters as soon as she found a hiding place, those words told her she couldn't. Would they understand and accept the reasons she had written in her letter to them?
"He doesn't believe I came to him untouched. He will deny the child is his. He won't love me the way I love him. He might even give me to Cousin Fergus. All Drew cares about is the money I brought him and he can have that. Don't be angry with me. If I can find a way for you to be with me, I will send for you."
Tears stained the paper, but the time for crying had ended. She crept down the stairs and through the dark hall to the entrance to the rear courtyard. The noise caused by the door made her heard pound. She slipped outside.
With h
urried steps, she ran down the lane to the road and hid behind the wall bordering the grounds. Just as dawn lightened the sky, she heard the rumble of a coach.
Sarad. Please let it be him. Yesterday, he'd left for Oxford stating he had business for the Earl. He had taken two portmanteaus and two valises containing her dresses from India and some things she couldn't bear to leave behind. Sarad borrowed without Prabha's knowledge had completed her packing.
The carriage stopped. Sarad jumped down. "Are you sure this is what you must do?"
Nicola nodded and accepted his help to enter the coach. What alternative did she have? When the door closed and she was alone, she cried for the hopes that lay shredded. Finally, she wiped her eyes and refined her stories. The first, a widow's tale and the second about the Maharajah and Maharani of Calcutta.
*****
Three days later, an exhausted Nicola stood in the bedroom of her suite at Pulteny's Hotel in Piccadilly. During the trip, tears and nausea had claimed her. Last night, she'd remained at an inn outside London while Sarad had gone to the docks.
Fortunately, their arrival in London had coincided with the docking of a ship from India. If no one thought to check the passenger list, her masquerade should hold for the short time she remained in town.
She hung the last of the borrowed saris in the wardrobe and walked to the sitting room where Sarad waited. "You have the direction of the land agent and you know what I'm looking for."
He nodded. "I think you are making the wrong choice." Sarad had changed from the turban and richly embroidered coat chosen for their entrance into the hotel to the clothes he usually wore. "I will return with the listings."
"Tomorrow we'll visit the first of the jewelers. The one on Sackville Street where Mr. Grey sent us."
"Don't you fear the man will remember you?"
Nicola laughed. "Dressed in a sari and veil? If I must speak 'twill be in Hindi. You will be my voice."
Sarad walked to the door. "Since you cannot be moved from your choice, I will see this finished as soon as I can."
"Please order luncheon and tea for me. The less I'm seen the better 'twill be."
"Especially if the cobra is settled here."
Nicola sighed. Mr. Grey would know if Cousin Fergus had returned to India, but she couldn't seek her father's friend. When Sarad closed the door, she retreated to the bedroom.
The dinner hour drew near and still Sarad hadn't returned. Nicola's worry grew as the minutes passed. At the instant her fear became panic, he arrived with a packet of property descriptions and directions. He also brought a book of maps. After dinner, Nicola studied the material and selected the one perfect for her needs.
* * * *
Nicola stood beside Sarad and watched the jeweler study the six emeralds that gleamed on the black cloth. Once again, Sarad wore a turban and the garb of a wealthy Indian. To enhance his image, she had fastened a large ruby to the turban. The jeweler made an offer. Nicola shook her head.
"Your offer is an insult for such magnificent stones," Sarad said.
The door of the shop opened. An elegantly dressed woman stepped into the shop. An older woman wearing drab colors followed.
"Mr. Pembrooke, have you repaired the clasp on my diamonds? I must have them for the ball Saturday. My husband will be most upset if I don't wear them."
"Countess Truesdale, dear lady, of course they are ready. Wait here while I fetch them." He left the counter and entered the door at the rear of the shop.
Countess Truesdale moved toward the display case. She eyed Sarad with the same avidity as the jeweler had examined the emeralds. She ran her tongue across her lower lip. Then she glanced at Nicola.
"Who have we here? I've never seen your like before. From what exotic land have you come?"
Sarad bowed. "From India, my lady."
"And what do you do there?"
The jeweler emerged from the back. "My dear Countess Truesdale, may I present the Maharajah and Maharani of Calcutta. They have come from India with a king's fortune in gems. I believe they are some kind of nobility in their land."
"How wonderful." She moved closer to Sarad. "I would so love to hear more about your country. Perhaps you will pay me a call."
Nicola kicked Sarad's foot. He smiled at the Countess. "Unfortunately, our stay in London is limited and our days are full."
"I won't give up. Where are you staying?"
"At the Pulteny."
The jeweler opened the box he held. "Your diamonds, Countess."
She glanced at the necklace. "Send the bill to my husband." The older woman took the box and walked to the door. The Countess put her hand on Sarad's arm. "I'll send an invitation to my ball to your hotel. Do stay and attend. I'll be the envy of everyone if you do."
When the door closed behind her, Sarad returned to the bargaining. Nicola held in the first laughter she had felt for weeks. Soon afterwards, she and Sarad left the shop. As he helped her into the carriage, she thought she saw Cousin Fergus. 'Tis only my imagination. Still, her stomach threatened to rebel.
Chapter 19
Drew reached Denmere not long before the dinner hour. His departure from London had been delayed by a pounding head and reports from Bow Street. Crawford had been spotted in London, but the man had deftly evaded his pursuers. At least the man hadn't lingered in the vicinity of Denmere. Drew regretted his hasty departure and his lack of concern for his wife and her sisters. He wondered if he would ever climb over the mountain of guilt.
Jem met him at the stable doors. "Ye be back, my lord. Is a good thing." The stable master studied the gray. "Near spent your mount."
Drew nodded. "I needed to get back."
"Be ye staying?"
"I believe so." Drew headed to the house. If Nicola forgave him, and even if she didn't at first, he would remain to convince her he'd been a fool.
He opened the front door. "My lord, welcome back," a footman said.
"My lord, we did not expect you." Greene entered the Great Hall.
Drew handed his coat to the footman. "My business has been completed. It's good to be home and I plan to stay for a long time."
As Drew headed to the stairs, he wondered about the worried look on the butler's face. Did the servants think he hadn't planned to return? He was sure conversation at the servant's table centered on his treatment of Nicola. He halted mid-way up the stairs and considered staging a retreat. Being here and making amends seemed harder than he'd imagined. He reached his chamber and stepped inside.
Bevel sat in one of the chairs before the fire and polished a boot that hardly needed his services. "My lord, where have you been and why did you leave me behind? I can see you have sorely needed me." As soon as Drew sat on the edge of the bed, the valet pulled off Drew's riding boots. "Your wardrobe appears in as sorry a state as when you hired me."
Drew took off his jacket and then his shirt. "I've been on the road for two days."
Bevel reached for the bell pull. "I'll have water brought, my lord."
"There's no time for a bath. I've no wish for dinner to be delayed to accommodate me. Nor do I wish to arrive in the middle of a meal."
The valet wrinkled his nose. "As you wish, my lord."
Drew strode into the dressing room and poured water into a basin. Once he'd washed, he changed into the clothes Bevel had laid out.
Drew heard no sounds from his wife's room, but the absence didn't trouble him. He wasn't ready to face her. He sucked in a breath. She had called him a god and he had insulted her. During the ride, he'd remembered more about the days of his illness. A memory of stroking her face and calling her name just before he had plunged into her had added another yard of guilt. Though winning her forgiveness seemed impossible, he had to find a way to restore her hope and show her he trusted her.
"Would you like a drink before you go downstairs?" Bevel asked.
"Good lord, no." Even the thought of wine or brandy made his stomach churn.
Moments later, he stood outside the India
parlor and squared his shoulders. Not only must he face his wife, but Aldora and his wards. He felt sure the bevy of females would stand united against him.
Aldora sat on a sofa near the fire. She looked up. "My boy, how did you come so quickly? Surely the messenger couldn't have reached Yorkshire so soon."
"What messenger?"
"Nicola has vanished. How could you not love her?" She daubed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.
Since he'd left London, he knew he wanted Nicola as more than a bed-partner. He swallowed. He loved her, but he didn't wish to make his declaration to the Dowager. Nicola should be the first to hear the words. "What are you talking about? Where is my wife?"
The door opened. Margaret stomped toward him. The pig trailed behind her. "She has run away and we will never see her again. 'Tis your fault. I don't like you, my lord."
"Your uncaring attitude drove her away." Elizabeth faced him. "Once I thought to wed a man like you, but I've changed my mind. Why didn't you believe Nicola?"
Margaret stood with her hands on her hips. The Dowager rose from the sofa and stood between the girls. Lucinda snuffled Drew's boots. Questions and accusations bombarded him. He made no sense of the jumbled words.
"Silence," he shouted. "We'll discuss this matter and leave blame-placing for later. Aldora, begin."
"La Drew, you've been gone for so long and we didn't know where to reach you until Mr. Groves mentioned you had gone to Yorkshire. Until Nicola failed to join us for dinner, we didn't know she was gone. She has been feeling ill most mornings and often remained in her room for most of the day."
"What did the doctor say?" Drew interrupted Aldora's narrative.
"She would not see him."
Margaret shook her finger at him. "She's going to have a baby. Prabha says 'tis not unusual for a woman's body to protest and make her sick."
A child, he thought. For a moment, the wonder of the news thrilled him. "That doesn't explain where she's gone."
"I fear 'tis India," Elizabeth said. "She only came to England to see us safe. She stayed because she loved you. She wrote that in her letter."
Gemstones Page 23