The ice around Leonore’s heart threatened to crack. “Nonsense!” she said.
Susan let out an impatient breath. “For goodness sake! Can you deny how generous he is to you—to us, your family—when I know he needn’t be? I don’t know how many times I have seen him watch you when you were not looking. Or how he must like to touch you, for I have seen him almost reach for you but stop when he recollects he is in company. He takes every excuse to be near you. How can you not think he loves you?”
“But the gossip— Lady Lazlo—”
“Heavens, Leo! I am surprised you listen to such things.”
Leonore felt a reluctant laugh bubble up inside of her—how their roles had reversed! Susan sounded so very grown up. She shook her head, however.
“Susie … you will not let this go further, of course—” Leonore began. Her sister gave her a disgusted look, which caused Leonore to laugh. “Stupid of me. Of course you would not.” She hesitated and wet her lips. “I saw, many months ago, him kissing her. And they talked as if they were considering a … a liaison.” Susan’s brow furrowed in thought.
“Perhaps that has some significance,” Susan said slowly, and Leonore smiled at how grown-up her sister sounded. “But I cannot think it has much, for it seems gentlemen are very fond of kissing.” A light blush appeared in Susan’s cheeks, and she hurried on. “But still, I cannot think Nicholas is in love with Lady Lazlo, for I believe he quite hates her.”
Leonore gave a short, bitter laugh. “How you can say that? I have seen with my own eyes how he dances a little too closely to her for propriety, and how he has disappeared with her from time to time. If he hates her, he would not have kissed her.”
Susan shook her head. “I don’t know why he kissed Lady Lazlo, but he doesn’t like her. He looks angrily at her whenever she looks away from him, and his hands close into fists when she approaches. It is only for a moment, but I have seen it each time. I think if he were like Father, he would probably hit her.” Susan sighed. “I’ve learned it is not right for gentlemen to do that, and I am certain Nicholas is a gentleman.”
Her sister had grown up, indeed. Leonore did not know why she thought her protection had kept Susan from understanding what their parents were. It brought a bitter taste to her tongue. She had done Susan a disservice, thinking she could not see what was in front of her, or could be protected from ugliness. What arrogance! She had not protected her from much, it seemed.
“I don’t know what to think, Susan, truly I do not. I have tried to broach the subject, but he grows cold and does not wish to speak of it.”
Susan patted her hand. “I am certain he loves you, truly.”
Leonore’s smile was ironic. “Are you, Susie? How can you be certain when you have never been in love yourself?”
“I have so!” cried Susan indignantly. She stopped and blushed a beetroot color.
“Oh, my dear, I did not mean to tease!” Leonore took her sister’s hands and squeezed them. “Perhaps you can tell me?”
“It … it is Jeremy Fordham, Lord Eldon’s younger brother.” Susan gazed at Leonore, her face alight. “He is so handsome and so kind to me, Leo! He makes me laugh, for he says the most comical things. And I am sure he loves me, too, for he has told me so, and he looks at me as I have seen Nicholas look at you.”
“Oh, Susie! How happy I am for you!” Leonore hugged her tightly. Mr. Fordham did not have the title and wealth she had hoped for her sister, but she knew he was as kind as his brother, and would inherit a sizable legacy from an elderly uncle. Mr. Fordham had appeared at Susan’s side nearly every ball or rout. Leonore remembered Susan’s earlier words and almost smiled.
“I suppose he kissed you as well?” she said and made her voice somber. She reflected on the quality of her mother’s chaperonage—it’d been easy to be alone with Nicholas before they had married. No doubt Mr. Fordham would have had ample opportunity to kiss Susan.
Susan blushed again. “It … it is not a bad thing, is it? I have not let anyone else kiss me, for I didn’t think it proper, but somehow it seemed different with Jerem— Mr. Fordham. He told me he wishes to speak with Father, that he wishes to marry me. And, oh, when he kissed me I … I wanted it to go on forever, but he stopped and said we mustn’t go any further until we were wed.” She looked miserably down at her slippers. “Cassie Brighthelm looked at me in such a way when we came back inside from the gardens. It made me think I should not have, that I was …”
Leonore winced at her sister’s innocently revealing words, thankful that Mr. Fordham was at least that much of a gentleman. Perhaps all men were easily lured into kissing a pretty woman, although Mr. Fordham meant honorably by Susan. “Never mind, Susie, it is not a terrible thing for him to kiss you. In fact, Nicholas and I— Well, some things are allowed between betrothed couples. Has he spoken with Father yet?”
“He said he would do so today and let me know immediately,” Susan said, her expression relieved. She looked curiously at Leonore. “You and Nicholas kissed—”
“Yes, we did,” said Leonore hastily, and it was her turn to blush. Heavens, she hoped Susan would not ask questions about what went on between Nicholas and herself before they married.
“And did you—”
A knock on the door interrupted Susan, and Leonore breathed a thankful sigh as the maid Annie opened it.
“It’s Mr. Fordham, my lady, Miss Susan.”
Leonore smiled. “Please show him in.” She glanced at Susan’s anxious face. “Don’t worry, Susie. I am sure Father must have consented.” She hoped Mr. Fordham had offered a large marriage settlement to her father, or else she was not at all sure that he would consent.
A tall young man strode through the door, running his hand through his blond hair and destroying what probably had been a windswept style. He spied Susan and took her hands in his.
“Susan, he said—”
Leonore cleared her throat, and he turned, startled, to her.
“Ah! Lady St. Vire. You must excuse me, I have been remiss. I take it you are well?” he said and bowed.
“Very well, thank you. I see you are looking quite happy.” She glanced at Susan, who was anxiously shifting from one foot to another. “I daresay you have something to say to my sister?”
Mr. Fordham grinned. “Yes, I do.” He turned to Susan and kissed her hand. “Miss Farleigh, will you marry me?”
“Oh … oh, Jeremy! Has he—” Susan’s voice trembled, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Leonore could feel her own eyes become misty. “Oh, has Father consented?”
“Yes, sweet, silly girl.” Mr. Fordham chucked Susan under the chin and looked very much as if he would like to kiss her. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you now.”
“Yes! Oh, yes, Jeremy!” Susan exclaimed and flung herself into his arms in a fierce embrace.
It would not hurt, thought Leonore, to leave the two alone for they were betrothed now. Mr. Fordham, certainly, was not at all like Nicholas, who had gone out of his way to tell—even show—her that he was a “bad man” as he himself put it. She smiled at the pair, knowing they would not notice that she had left, and left the room, with the door of the drawing room slightly ajar.
She took a hackney back to her house, and once seated, gave a large sigh. Her sister had indeed grown up and would not need her anymore, for Mr. Fordham was fully capable of protecting her now. It would be his duty as Susan’s husband.
The thought struck a chord in her. Leonore stared down at her hands in her lap, concentrating so as to bring forth the idea that had been roused in her mind. It seemed an important one, but she could not quite grasp it. She shook her head. Whatever it was, it would come to her in time.
It was an hour and a half to sunset by the time she arrived home. Nicholas would be up soon. She used to step into his room sometimes during the day to watch him sleep; she had not done that since Lady Lazlo had come to London. A strong urge to do so seized her, and she walked quickly up the stairs to her room. If she hu
rried, she would be able to watch him for a while and leave before he woke. Once in her chamber, she looked for the lamp she used when she went into his room. She could not find it—perhaps it had been taken away to be cleaned. She lit a candle and opened the connecting door to Nicholas’s room.
As usual, it was dark, for the curtains were drawn against the light. She drew aside the bed curtains and gazed at her husband. He slept deeply, as he always did, barely breathing. One arm was flung up over his head, which was turned to the side, the lines of his profile like a bas-relief upon his pillow.
A warm, painful ache flowed into her heart, and she knew she would always love him. Perhaps Susan was right. Perhaps he did not like Lady Lazlo at all and had some other reason for kissing her. But that made no sense. A man did not pay large amounts of attention to a lady he did not like, she was certain of that.
She looked at Nicholas, who looked more boyish in repose than he did when he was awake. His lips looked soft in his slumber, and she wanted to kiss them. He was deep asleep; it was not yet dark, and he would not wake just yet. She had not initiated any kisses since Lady Lazlo had entered their lives. If she did it now, she could leave with Nicholas none the wiser.
Leonore leaned over and pressed her lips against Nicholas’s. She could feel the slight breath that came from his mouth, soft and lax with sleep, and moved her own lips across his gently. Even in sleep he moved her, causing her to shiver.
She gasped, for hot wax poured from the candle onto her hand. She had forgotten she was carrying an uncovered candle instead of a lamp. Her hand shook from the pain, and more wax spattered from the candle. Another gasp, not her own, made her jerk her head to its source, and a strong hand grasped her wrist.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Cold green eyes stared into her own.
Leonore said nothing, at once frightened and embarrassed, merely staring back at Nicholas. He shifted himself until he sat up, and the bedclothes slid down around his hips. He wore no nightshirt as usual, only his underclothes.
“I hope you were not trying to burn me in my bed, my dear,” he said, taking the candle from her hand. “That would be a foolish thing to do, for it would take the house down with me, and then what would you do?”
Anger flared within Leonore. “I … I was not trying to burn you at all!”
“No? And what is this?” He peeled a large piece of wax from his shoulder. Beneath it a red welt was forming, and Leonore blushed guiltily.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to do it. I forgot I was holding a candle, and my hand shook and spilled the wax. I spilled some on myself as well,” she said and extended her hand.
“I wish you were more careful. It was a stupid thing to do, Leonore. You could have burned the curtains.” His words were harsh, yet he took her hand in his. Nicholas peeled the wax quickly away, and she clenched her teeth against the pain. She, too, had red welts upon her hand. He whispered something under his breath as he worked, clearly irritated. Finally, he was done and grasped her hand tightly so that she could not escape.
“Now, tell me. What were you doing in my room?”
“I am your wife, Nicholas. I suppose I can enter your room as I see fit. You are ill with the condition you have, and I believe my duty is to see if you are well.” She felt embarrassed that he had caught her here, but she had meant no harm, and he had no cause to question her. The thought brought a spurt of anger to her, which she suppressed.
He looked away from her. “Oh, really? Or was it to cause me more pain? You pushed the curtains away. I told you the sunlight makes me ill.” He did not sneer, but his voice came close to it.
“How dare you! How dare you accuse me of wanting to hurt you, when it is you—yes, you—who has hurt me!” Leonore gritted her teeth together hard, for angry tears threatened to rise in her, and she would not allow it.
“I? How have I done that? Have I ever lifted my hand to you? Have I not given you every luxury you might want?”
This time it was Leonore who sneered. “And what is that to me? I have had a man’s hand lifted against me most of my life—should I lick your boots and be grateful that you refrain? The jewels and the dresses you have given me you can take away, for they are yours by law, not mine.”
Her hands clenched into fists, and she tore herself away from Nicholas’s grasp. Her mind was afire with rage and humiliation, and she could not stop herself, though she knew her anger twisted her perceptions, whipping her into a rage. The image of Nicholas kissing Lady Lazlo rose in her mind again, and all her suppressed emotions flared into high heat. Her words tasted acid on her tongue, and she spat them out.
“No, Nicholas, it is you who has hurt me, for it is you who has betrayed our marriage.”
He tossed the bedclothes from him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Leonore moved away from him, but in less than a breath he pulled her into his arms. He pushed up her chin so that she was forced to look at him. His eyes were amused.
“Jealous little cat! You know nothing about it.”
She struggled and pushed at him, but he was too strong and she could not move.
“Do not patronize me!” Leonore cried. “I know what I see! And don’t you think I hear the whispers about you and Lady Lazlo? No, not even whispers—I’ve been pitied and, yes, commiserated with on your new interest!” Her own words humiliated her, for she knew she was losing control, and this humiliated her further. The heat of her rage had melted the ice around her heart, and the pain of it made her want to cry out. She wanted to hurt him, as she had been hurt, and she would push and push at him until she did. If Lady Lazlo was his mistress, she wanted to cut her feelings from him quickly. Their marriage would be one of true convenience, with not even love on her part.
“Thank them for their interest, smile, and say you have nothing for which to be pitied,” he said flippantly.
He did not care. That was obvious. Leonore’s rage flared hot; she could barely think. “How I hate you!” she said, her voice low and shaking.
Nicholas released her, and instantly she regretted her words. It was not true—she loved him, and that was why she hurt so. She would not have cared otherwise. But she could not tell him, for he had turned his back to her—that and her own sudden fear that she had gone too far. He clutched a bedpost, and for one moment he leaned upon it. Finally, he turned to her, his face smooth and urbane.
“Go change your dress. We are to attend Lady Comstock’s masquerade ball and cannot cry off now. Or, if you have the headache, I can make your excuses.”
Leonore stared at him, unable to speak.
“Leave. Now,” Nicholas said, and anger appeared in his eyes at last.
She turned abruptly and slammed the door after her. She did not want to go to the ball. If anyone found Nicholas had gone without her, however, the ton would talk more than ever, especially if Lady Lazlo attended.
More than anything, she wanted to be alone. Leonore stared at the connecting door, imagining Nicholas intent on dressing for the evening, and a burning defiance made her leave her room. She would not dress right away, but would go to her sitting room.
It comforted her a little to be there. When she opened the door, the warmth from the fireplace and the room’s familiar comfort was a balm to the confusion of her thoughts and emotions. She sat in her favorite chair and pressed her hands to her eyes, pressing back the tears she could feel behind them.
God help me. She wanted to leave. She did not want to see Nicholas at that moment, not for the next day at least. But she must keep up appearances.
“I do not want to go, do not want to!” Leonore whispered. She stared out the window, not seeing the sunset above the rooftops of the city. She was tired of the facade she must put up, and never be her own self, her true self, or lose the loneliness the facade must always bring. She seldom discarded that protection around her heart. It happened only when she was caught in the wordless passion of the body, when she and Nicholas discarded their clothes and met flesh to flesh; or when
her emotions flared and made her discard words like a foolish gamester at cards.
She felt she did not belong to London society, for she did not know how to laugh lightly, as seemed to be required of all ladies. She wished she could flirt with anyone, not just when Nicholas teased her. She wished he had no effect on her at all.
But Lady St. Vire had an obligation to her station in life and to the name she had taken in church with the vows of her heart and soul. And the former Leonore Farleigh had an obligation to her sister, so that no breath of scandal touch Susan’s impending marriage.
Leonore closed her eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and stood up. She could take up the roles she must play now. It was necessary. She had vented her emotions in an improper way; she should never have done it and could not unsay the words. Now she must go forward as best she could, turning her eyes away from whatever Nicholas chose to do.
A sharp pang went through her heart at the thought, but she suppressed it. She needed to behave with dignity. She’d apologize to Nicholas for her outburst; she should not have done it, regardless of the truth. A niggling voice within her told her that she might be mistaken … well, that might be true. Susan had said something of the sort, and she was more perceptive than Leonore had thought.
As she went up the stairs again to her bedchamber, Leonore sighed. She was glad she had come down to her sitting room. It was hard to think around Nicholas, for he always managed to distract her somehow. She knew she had been foolish and had embarrassed herself. She had little excuse for her rage. True, she’d seen Nicholas kiss Lady Lazlo; true, he did spend a great deal of time with her. But it didn’t mean she needed to act like a jealous wife … though that was precisely what she was, Leonore admitted to herself. She should not have mentioned it at all.
She was glad she had not taken him up on his offer to bring Susan to live with them for a while. Perhaps she could go home. Father was mostly gone from the house, and her mother, with her megrims, hardly ventured forth from her bedroom. There would only be herself and Susan, with Mr. Fordham and other friends calling from time to time.
The Vampire Viscount Page 18