The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  “George is playing a very deep game, Elly. He is trying to make me look guilty, but I assure you I am not.”

  “I won’t listen to another word. Good evening, Mr. Purbeck.”

  Elsbeth returned to the crowded ballroom where she was drawn into a circle of gossipy women. Yet, even though she had extracted herself from Charlie, his warning repeated itself in her head and she had trouble paying attention to the ladies around her.

  Charlie had sounded truly worried.

  And if Dionysus wasn’t Charlie…and he wasn’t George Waver, who in the devil was he? She needed to find out before the night was over. Nigel’s life could very well depend on her uncovering Dionysus’s identity. She couldn’t wait a moment longer.

  She glanced over and saw that Nigel was surrounded by an even tighter group of men than before. Even though she longed to hear the truth from his ears, she suspected that there was another in the house who would be just as able to help her.

  Elsbeth excused herself from the bevy of women who were engaged in a heated discussion on whether ladies should indulge in reading novels. “Rots the brain,” a lady declared as Elsbeth went in search for the man from whom she was determined to wrench the truth. She spotted him lurking beside a potted palm just outside the drawing room.

  “My lady?” Gainsford inquired as she approached. She directed him into a private alcove near the top of the stairs.

  “Gainsford,” she said, jamming a finger against his chest. “You are the most inquisitive butler I have ever known. So tell me the truth. Who is Dionysus?”

  “I-I cannot tell—”

  “Gainsford! We are talking about the Marquess’s life! I must know the answer now. Who is Dionysus?”

  The poor man dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. “We are running low on wine. Perhaps you could select a few bottles to serve with dinner?”

  “You are changing the subject, Gainsford. Besides, shouldn’t you handle—?”

  “Oh no, my lady, his lordship never entertains. I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Gainsford pulled a large key from his pocket and pressed it into her hand before she could object. “At the back of the house. The door just past the kitchens leads down to the cellar, my lady.” He gave her a pressing look. “I daresay you will find everything you are looking for in the cellar.”

  “The cellar?”

  Gainsford shook his head vigorously. “Yes, my lady. The cellar.”

  “Very well,” she said. Her fingers were quaking by the time she hurried through the doors to the busy kitchens. She didn’t spare the startled servants a passing glance as she marched toward her destination. The hallway past the kitchens was eerily silent.

  She pulled a candle down from a sconce on the unadorned brick wall and held it above the rusty keyhole. The key turned easily in the lock, but the door held firm in the jam. She kicked it several times with her slippered foot before it opened.

  Her answer was only steps away. She swung the door wide and rushed into the dark depths, stopping on the last step as she raised the candle higher.

  A neat row of paintbrushes sat on a large wooden table just to the right of her. An easel with a medium sized canvas stood barely three feet away.

  And suddenly she knew.

  She stepped gingerly around the easel and gazed upon the unfinished painting. The broad brushwork was even more hectic and filled with more wild energy than any of his other works. That wildness that had once thrilled her now frightened her to her very soul. She was the subject of this latest work.

  How could she not have known?

  Everything Nigel did, his very scent made her think she’d just stepped into one of Dionysus’s paintings. Of course the two men were one and the same.

  The figure in the painting, which looked startlingly like her, was collapsed beside a pond. A painting, ripped into shreds, floated in the water just out of reach of her fingertips. The leafy vegetation in the forefront drooped, wilting, dying from the burden of her pain.

  He should have told her. He should have insisted she listen to the truth. He should have insisted she understood exactly what he’d done to her. Like the woman in the painting, she felt like weeping. He should have told her.

  Nigel was Dionysus. He was the one who’d trapped her in that horrid marriage with Lord Mercer. He was the one who’d painted that scandalously nude painting of her. And he was the one who had left her with an aching heart for all these years, a heart that suddenly felt like breaking.

  Why? Why? Why did he do those things to her?

  And why did he tell her that he loved her?

  She reached up to the locket hanging like a burden around her neck and snapped the chain.

  “Damn him,” she cursed, feeling her bones ache from the years of repressed anger. “Damn him to hell and back! Why would he do this to me?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Nigel glanced around the room. He’d last seen Elsbeth talking with Charlie, but now she had slipped away. As hostess she had many demands on her time, he knew that. But still, he felt uneasy.

  “George would have been killed by that boulder. He’s not trying to kill me, Charlie.” Nigel said, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the conversation. Where the devil was Elsbeth?

  Every damned man at the party had come up with a list of names for Nigel to consider. Some, such as suggesting Beau Brummell was jealous of Nigel’s connections with the Regent, were laughable.

  “How about Dionysus? Artists tend to have a nasty streak,” Charlie said.

  Uncle Charles harrumphed. Severin chuckled.

  “How can you think this is funny, Severin? Someone tried to kill Nige and my father.”

  Nigel merely shrugged and kept his gaze focused on the crush in his drawing room. There was barely enough room to dance, though the guests made do. Many were dancing with quite a lively gait, in fact.

  “I heard Lord Baneshire has rejected your bid for Lady Lauretta’s hand, Severin,” Nigel said absently. “It appears your rakish ways are catching up to you.”

  “Damned nuisance, this lack of money. It has turned me into a man I despise.” Severin pulled Nigel away from the crowd of men and lowered his voice. “Surely, Lady Edgeware has told you what I witnessed several years ago at Mercer’s estate. I apologize for not doing more. That one time I’d stepped in, she gave me such a blistering set-down I never attempted to assist her again.”

  At that, Nigel quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

  “She is a strong lady. You are lucky to have found her.” Severin frowned as he watched Charlie saunter away. Severin then swallowed a healthy dose of his drink, a strong whiskey. “If I were in her place, I wouldn’t be able to abide to be in the same room as Charlie, much less speak civilly with him.”

  “Charlie?” Nigel asked. “He’s harmless.”

  “Harmless?” Severin snorted and nearly choked. “Charlie encouraged that brute Mercer whenever he started to make sport of Elsbeth. I was there to witness one dreadful evening. Charlie and Mercer were deep in their cups and vicious. Thought I would die from shame, knowing what they were doing to a lady. I had to step in even though I’d probably only made things worse for Elsbeth, the poor thing. Men like that don’t stop. They never stop.”

  “Mercer and Charlie raped her?” Nigel asked, quite unable to believe it.

  “Charlie didn’t. At least not that night. I made damn sure he wouldn’t be in a position to touch a woman for several days, in fact. As for that bastard Mercer, I don’t know. I didn’t stay long enough to find out. I am sorry, Edgeware. I ended my friendship with them the very next day, but I now wish I had done more. At least with you she has a chance to heal and perhaps find some happiness.”

  Nigel was quaking with impotent rage. She should have told him. He would have kept Charlie away from her, protected her from his constant taunts. Thank God Severin had finally confessed what he knew.

  “I’ll have a word with Lord Baneshire this evening on your behalf, Severin. You’re still a rakish
young man, but I believe you will turn out well in the end.”

  “Thank you, Edgeware. You-you don’t know what that means to me.” Severin pumped Nigel’s hand.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to handle it? Marriage, I mean?” Nigel asked. “I believe Lady Lauretta will expect a faithful husband.”

  “And she’ll have one. My current lifestyle has long lost its luster. I’m looking forward to quiet evenings by the fire. And children. Lots of children.”

  Nigel had to admit he’d never seen Severin look so happy. He hoped he’d be able to convince Baneshire to change his mind regarding Severin’s motives for wanting to marry Lady Lauretta. Perhaps if Nigel provided Severin with a healthy sum of money—in appreciation for keeping Dionysus’s secret—Baneshire might see the reformed rake in an entirely different light. Yes, that would be the right thing to do.

  As for Charlie, Nigel wasn’t sure what he planned to do. He watched as his cousin laughed boisterously with Sir Donald. With Nigel and Uncle Charles out of the way, Charlie would stand to inherit everything. He would have all the money he would ever need. Perhaps Elsbeth had been right all along. Perhaps—

  “Nigel.” A slender hand touched his sleeve. Nigel’s body reacted immediately to her touch. He smiled down on that hand.

  “I don’t deserve you, love.” He covered her hand with his.

  “No.” Elsbeth’s eyes were hard, her lips drawn to a thin line. “You don’t deserve me, you deceiving bounder.”

  Her voice wasn’t much above a whisper. Anyone around them couldn’t possibly suspect how her words wounded him.

  “Elsbeth? What is wrong?”

  She held out the locket, the chain broken.

  “You. You are what is wrong. You’ve lied to me from the start.” Her voice rose. A few heads turned toward them. “Did you think I would be grateful? You’ve played me no differently than an unruly child wrecking a toy. Trapping me into one painful scenario after another. The nude painting that was inspired. Everyone thought such nasty things about me after that. Where else was I to turn but into your waiting arms?”

  “Elsbeth,” Nigel scolded, too confused to do anything but chide her. She wasn’t making a whit of sense. A crowd began gathering around them and the scene they were making.

  “Edgeware has never wished to harm you.” George pushed his way through the throng to stand at Nigel’s side. “Surely you know that, my lady.”

  She glared at George for a moment before returning her killing gaze to Nigel.

  “Perhaps the Lord Edgeware you know is honorable, Mr. Waver. But I assure you, Dionysus lacks even a grain of decency.”

  “Dionysus?” a murmur rose in the growing crowd.

  “Boy!” Lord Purbeck stepped forward. “Put a stop to this.”

  But Nigel only held out his hands, helpless to do anything but allow her to unmask him in front of everyone. After all the pain she’d suffered because of him, she deserved to be the one to rip this façade away.

  “Lord Edgeware is Dionysus,” Elsbeth announced. “With his paintings he tricked me. He made me fall in love with a monster…twice.”

  The room fell silent. Someone had even told the orchestra to stop playing.

  “Is this true?” George demanded.

  “Yes.” Nigel wouldn’t deny what Elsbeth had said. He deserved the ton’s scorn, not her.

  The locket in Elsbeth’s hand clattered to the floor as the crowd pushed her out of their way and closed ranks around him.

  “I say, brilliant work,” a gentleman boasted.

  “This is all so exciting,” a lady twittered.

  “Bah!” Uncle Charles snorted.

  * * * *

  They were proud of him, laughing and patting him on the back. Oh, what a lark! He’d pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. He was ever so clever, was he not?

  The porcelain lovers staring lovingly at each other within the locket were crushed under the feet of excited guests. The sound of Nigel’s gift being destroyed burned in Elsbeth’s ears as she let herself be pushed away. She didn’t wish to cry in front of the entire population of the ton. She didn’t wish to cry at all, in fact.

  Hiding somewhere, curling up into a tight ball, and dying felt like a promising option. Nigel had betrayed her trust. He had lured her into feeling soft emotions, had lured her into opening her heart just so he could rip it to shreds.

  She loved Nigel as fiercely as she had loved Dionysus.

  Oh la, why had she not learned her lesson the first time?

  She stumbled blindly into a side table. A hand curled around her arm and gave her a tug. “Come with me.”

  * * * *

  “Elsbeth?” How could she disappear so quickly? The rest of the world could go hang themselves. She was the only one who mattered. Nigel pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the tugs on his sleeve and pats on the back.

  On the stair leading to the bedchambers, he finally found a moment’s peace. Surely she’d escaped to her own room. Where else other than her personal chamber could a lady go to hide?

  He raised his hand to knock on her door.

  “She’s not within,” Gainsford said as he emerged from the darkened chamber.

  “Where is she then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Well, he simply would have to find her.

  “Sir?” Gainsford shifted from one foot to the next, looking damned guilty. “There is something in there you should see.”

  “Are you snooping again?” The nasty habit had been a real problem when Gainsford had first taken employment with Nigel.

  “Lady Edgeware had asked me to put something away for her. It wasn’t my fault the latch fell open.”

  “I don’t have time for games. I must find Elsbeth.”

  Gainsford grabbed Nigel’s arm. “You must see this first, my lord.”

  Not wanting to waste time arguing, he followed Gainsford into Elsbeth’s bedchamber. It was empty and cold as if she had never really inhabited the room.

  Gainsford went straight to her jewelry box and produced the original golden locket. “She stopped wearing this the day the Earl of Baneshire came to take her home, my lord.” Gainsford fiddled with the latch. “She told her uncle she was choosing to stay with you of her own free will.”

  When the locket sprang open, Gainsford handed over the necklace. “I believe Lady Edgeware kept the memory of the man she loved close to her heart. But she was willing to set that love aside. She set that love aside for you.”

  Nigel ground his jaw as he stared at the small scrap of canvas tucked inside the locket. He recognized it immediately. Of course he recognized it.

  Tears pricked the back of his throat. The tiny canvas had been lovingly cut from one of Dionysus’s paintings—one of his paintings. His brush had flowed over this particular canvas only a few days after he had first seen Elsbeth, the lithe schoolgirl. Her image had already seeped deep into his soul.

  Unlike many of his other paintings, he had added his image to this one, a tiny figure hardly visible. He stood off to the side, separate from the action in the scene.

  Alone, completely alone.

  But Elsbeth had seen him. Not only that, she had reached out to him by plucking him from his faraway position in the landscape and had placed him in the honored spot next to her heart.

  What had he done?

  She had always loved him, just as he had always loved her.

  What had he done?

  That devil, Hubert had taken that painting along with the others. He’d given them one by one to Elsbeth. He’d convinced Elsbeth that it was his passion that had created the paintings. Lord Mercer had tricked her into believing that it was his heart she loved.

  But she had always loved Nigel, just as he had always loved her.

  Yet his carelessness had destroyed that love.

  He had destroyed the most important love of his life.

  “Nige.”

  Nigel blinked back the threatening tears to find that he was al
one in the room. Gainsworth had left but now Charlie stood in the doorway, a crooked grin on his lips.

  “Leave me,” he growled.

  “Nige.” Charlie took a step into the darkened room. “Return to the celebration. Elly’s outburst is just her way of rebelling against you. She tried to do the same thing time and again with Mercer. I tried to warn you. I—”

  Nigel slammed his fist into Charlie’s square jaw. His cousin dropped like a stone. “That’s just a taste of what I plan to do to you for what you and that bastard Mercer did to Elsbeth,” he said, and rubbed his sore knuckles.

  He stepped over his cousin and rushed off to find Elsbeth. He needed to tell her what he should have confessed to her all those years ago.

  * * * *

  “Edgeware and Dionysus are one and the same?” Mr. Waver asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Incredible.”

  Elsbeth didn’t say a word. She was grateful for the company, though. Mr. Waver had pulled her from the drawing room and had led her belowstairs and back to the locked doorway to Dionysus’s workshop. Or had she led Mr. Waver here?

  “I should have known.” He shook his head. “I should have guessed it. His creative streak, something that quite obsessed him, disappeared one summer. I’d thought his uncle had finally beaten it out of him. It should have been obvious the desire had gone underground instead.”

  She listened to Mr. Waver with only half an ear. Her head still buzzed from the shock. She had loved Nigel…

  The key turned easily in the lock. The door opened without hesitation this time.

  “So, this is where he goes to create?” Mr. Waver asked, poking his head into the darkened cellar. “Is this how you found out?”

  She nodded. She hadn’t cried. She’d probably never cry over this. The hurt ran too deep.

  “Show me.” Mr. Waver took her hand and led her down into the cellar. “Show me how his paintings have intruded on your love for him.”

  She forced herself to descend the stairs and once again study the unfinished painting set up on the easel. Mr. Waver stood a step behind her, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He held his silence.