by Maggie Dove
* * * *
Two hours into the ball, Angelique was beginning to worry as she looked about the ballroom. Nicholas was nowhere to be found. What could be keeping him this long? To her consternation, she noticed that Lord Bladen was making his way toward her, one more time. Mon Dieu, but he was determined! The man was bent on taking revenge for the way she had treated him at the Canonbury ball. He had thrown insults at her all evening, and by the mocking curve of his lips and the resolute set of his jaw, she could see that he was not yet through with her.
Despite her rising irritation, she had managed to ignore Bladen’s taunts until an eager young man who had requested a dance had rescued her. Now the long day of undiluted tension had begun to take a toll on her nerves. Rather than cause a scene by giving Lord Bladen a much-deserved slap on the face, or humiliating him further with the latest gossip regarding his promiscuous aunt, Belinda, and her amorous gardener, Angelique quickly ducked into the powder room.
She sought refuge in an obscure corner of the room behind an oriental screen where she thought she could remain unnoticed while she regained her composure. She sat on the tapestry sofa and closed her eyes for a moment. Angelique was about to get up when she heard two women enter and decided to remain in her hiding place instead.
Lady Wilhelmina Albrithe-Smith gave Lady Brittany Perkins a sly, knowing smirk and placed her finger over her lips, bobbing her head toward the screen where Angelique’s egg-shell rose slippers peeked from underneath. They had waited all evening for an opportunity such as this, and just when they had given up hope, their patience had been rewarded. This was perfect! Now it was time to put their much-rehearsed plan into action. They stood before the gilded mirror and gingerly began to powder their noses.
Wilhelmina smiled cagily. “Isn’t it magical, Brit? All of Europe’s elite is here to pay homage to our king. Poor Clary—being Nicky’s mistress has its disadvantages—imagine having to miss the coronation ball. I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Indeed, it’s a shame,” Brittany agreed as she applied a bit of rouge to her cheeks. “Nonetheless, I’m sure Nicholas is making it up to her at this very moment. Clary is mad about that devilish rogue.”
“My dear, this is the social event of the century. Court society at its very best. Do you possibly think he prefers Clarissa’s company to the most glorious night of the season? I seriously doubt he chose to be with her instead of coming here tonight.”
“Where else can Nicholas be? Ever since he put Clary up in that townhouse, he practically lives there,” Brittany stated dryly. “I haven’t been able to visit her much … he is there most afternoons. Really Wila, the way Nicky monopolizes her time in London, I feel we would have seen more of her if she really had gone to live with Chauncy in the country.”
Wilhelmina giggled wickedly. “Poor Nicholas! He must have his hands full—satisfying his mistress, while trying to keep his wife in the dark. Clarissa insists Angelique must not know about the affair. This marriage is very important to him,” she paused, “… for financial reasons.”
“Poor Nicholas—you say? There is nothing poor about him, my dear,” Brittany intimated. “Believe me I know from experience … he is satisfying both of them just fine.”
“Brittany Perkins—you naughty girl—you never told! Does Clarissa know?”
“Of course not, she’d never speak to me again.”
“You wicked, wicked hussy! Come, tell all,” Wilhelmina begged, her voice ringing with excitement. “How is he between the sheets?”
“Mere words cannot describe him, my dear Wila,” Brittany replied, sighing.
Dissolving into giggles, the ladies made their exits.
Seconds later, blinded by anger and disbelief, Angelique bolted out of the powder room and into the night in search of a coach—a coach that would deliver her to the address Edgar Mason had provided earlier.
Chapter Eleven
Parked in the shadows across the tree-lined cobblestone street, Angelique’s coach was virtually undetectable as she waited outside the elegant townhouse. From her vantage point, she could clearly see the steps leading up to the burnished ebony door which opened to the townhouse.
She glanced at her diamond watch. Two in the morning. For over an hour she had sat inside the coach, allowing her emotions to rip her apart. No more. Convincing herself that what she had overheard in the powder room was merely a vicious lie, she began to order the coachman home.
Then she saw him.
The ebony door was closing behind him as his tall frame descended the steps. Her heart stopped. Dumbfounded, she sat back, her eyes refusing to register the unbearable sight.
Nicholas—no—Dieu—no! A sob escaped her as the terrible realization finally sank in, and her entire world came crashing down upon her. It was true, it was all true—the awful things she had heard in the powder room were all true! Nicholas had used her, pretended to love her, all the while keeping Clarissa as his mistress.
Her eyes widened in horror as she recalled the words Edgar Mason had spoken earlier. Believe me, Madame … your husband is the boy’s father. He purposely destroyed his own brother, practically forcing him to commit suicide. He will banish the boy to India or worse.
Devastated, Angelique realized she was now in the same predicament she had found herself after she had lost her virginity on the ship. It sickened her to think that she had no other alternative but to remain Nicholas’s wife and stay the year in order to receive her inheritance. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. Now there was Colin.
She couldn’t very well confront Nicholas or inform Lord Edmund and Lady Marguerite of their grandson, not after she truly believed Nicholas capable of hurting the boy in order to deny fathering a child with his brother’s wife. Unfortunately, Angelique concluded she had no other recourse but to keep Nicholas’s awful secret.
Once the year was over, she would convince Nicholas to allow her to adopt Colin in return for her silence. She would take Colin with her to live in France. Until then, she would make certain Colin was treated well by the Masons. Poor little Colin—eight more months of having to live in that awful poorhouse! If only there was another way.
Feeling lost, Angelique could hardly breathe, the hurt was so deep. “Drive on,” she instructed the driver, her voice breaking. As the vehicle began to move, she clamped her hand to her mouth and began to sob uncontrollably, turning her head away from the tall, masculine figure she had so loved, yet which had caused her so much pain.
Hardly noticing the coach that sped by him, Nicholas took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill with the cool night air. Disturbed with what had taken place inside the townhouse, he turned the corner to where his coach was parked. What had motivated Clarissa to do such a thing? he thought angrily.
He needed to be alone, to gather his wits. Dismissing the coachman, Nicholas decided to walk home. He was in no hurry to face his wife. For a moment he thought of telling Angelique the truth, but quickly rejected the idea.
The air was humid from the early morning mist as he walked several dusky blocks lined with townhouses, and cut through Kensington Gardens to reach yet another foggy street.
Noticing a sidewalk bench, Nicholas decided to sit and stretch his legs. He couldn’t remember a more frustrating day. What the bloody hell had been so urgent to cause Angelique to miss the coronation ceremony? Her note had been vague, scribbled in haste. He had not known where to look for her, until he was apprised by his father’s messenger that she had returned to the townhouse and would be attending the ball.
She had grown up a product of an indulgent father, who had allowed her to come and go without having to report her whereabouts to anyone. From now on, he would demand that his wife let him know exactly where she was at all times. He would make certain she never disappeared like that again.
Damn, the bloody embargo, he cursed inwardly, closing his weary eyes and raking his hair with the tips of his fingers. As though his wife’s disappearance and Clarissa
’s desperate scheme had not been enough to rattle his brain, there had been the fiasco at the shipping yard. Now he would have to leave tomorrow for the port of Calais and meet with his distributors in France as soon as possible. Damn, the untimely trip!
Within two days, the family would leave for Windword Hall. He would be in France and would miss Angelique’s initial reaction to the place he called home. He wanted to be the one who showed her his family estate, where he had spent his childhood years and where they would live the rest of their lives together.
His slow, deliberate strides carried him past a few more blocks until he stood directly outside the family townhouse. Looking up to his bedroom, he saw there was no light coming from the window. Angelique had not waited up for him.
Entering the townhouse, he went directly to the drawing room and poured himself a brandy. An hour later, he entered their bedroom, trying not to make a sound for fear of waking Angelique. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness as his gaze went immediately to the bed in search of her sleeping form. To his surprise, she was not there. Moonlight filtered through the shutters, enabling him to see the bed had not been slept in. The soft down covers remained creaseless and undisturbed. Where the devil was she? He strode past the connecting dressing area separating their suites and turned the doorknob to enter his wife’s room.
A becalming wave swept over him as he found her sleeping peacefully in her own bed. He smiled to himself, thinking how irrational he could be whenever Angelique was concerned. She lay snug, curled up like a kitten with her luscious hair spread over the pillow in golden disarray. Never underestimating the power this woman held over him, Nicholas sat beside her and stared silently, his fingers gently twirling a yellow curl from her face. Her gown was gathered wantonly up her silky thighs.
A sleepy moan escaped her as she suddenly turned on her stomach and buried her head deeper into the pillow. His eyes swept over the enticing curve of her bottom, and he smiled. Angelique had been sharing his bed for weeks now, and she had not slept in this room since the night of the Canonbury ball. He wanted to wake her; to make love to her; to find out why she had not attended the coronation ceremony, and most importantly, why she was not in his bed. But he would not wake her tonight. He knew once they had made love, she would have her own questions for him, and he was not ready to answer any of them. What explanation could he give her for missing the coronation ball?
Placing a kiss on her forehead, Nicholas returned to his room.
* * * *
The soft wind whispered her name. Laughing with abandonment, she ran barefoot through a field of yellow daffodils. Her agile fingers quickly untied the white ribbons from her neck and tossed her straw hat to the sky. Fascinated, she watched as it became one with the whirling movement of the air and danced in half circles floating kite-like up to the clouds. She raised her face and hands toward the heavens and twirled her body round and round as the sun’s rays caressed her skin and filled her with warmth. The young boy challenged her to a race. His blond hair reflected the shimmering sun, his topaz brown eyes looked at her with adoration. Giggling madly, she collected her long, flowing skirts and ran toward the hill. Faster and faster she ran, but the trumpet-shaped petals of the daffodils in the field became taller and taller, enfolding her in their softness and trapping her within their golden walls.
She could not breathe. Only a kiss could free her! The golden boy was running away—no—do not go—kiss me—save me!
“Kiss me, Henri—kiss me,” she moaned.
“What the …” Nicholas muttered, releasing her from his grasp. His body went numb for a moment, before he stood from the bed. Rendered powerless by the words he had just been privy to, his gaze lingeringly traveled from her head to her toes. Her sheer nightgown did little to cover her all-too-luscious body. Staring down at her, he was almost able to convince himself he had heard wrong. But Angelique stirred slightly and again voiced the hated name, this time begging Bertrand to save her and take her away—far, far away.
Earlier, amused by her deep sleep, he had pulled open the shades and had placed a soft kiss on her forehead, all the while trying to wake her gently, but now he was no longer amused. “Get up, Angelique,” he ordered brusquely.
Angelique opened her eyes with a start and, for a moment, was at a loss for time and place. Squinting against the bright sunshine that poured in from the window, she uttered drowsily, “Nicholas?”
He laughed shortly, without humor. “Whom were you expecting?”
Yawning, she slowly pulled herself up and propped her back against a pillow. “I was having a nightmare,” she replied, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her fists. “Henri and I were playing in the valley as children, and I got tangled up in a field of daffodils. I wanted him to kiss me … his kiss would set me free. It sounds silly … I’m glad you woke me.”
Annoyed with himself for his sudden spurt of jealousy, Nicholas softened his tone, “What happened yesterday, minx? You had me racking my brains wondering where you were. And if that were not enough … I missed you in my bed this morning.”
Angelique drew in her breath. His words brought it all back to her. It was as though he had splashed cold water on her face. The ball, Edgar Mason, Colin, the proof of his affair with Clarissa Blake! The abrupt realization of Nicholas’s true character drew bile to her throat. Suddenly feeling quite naked under his stare, she drew the blankets up to her neck.
“Never mind me. Where were you?” she fired back at him, her anger taking him by surprise.
Nicholas’s eyes widened. “I was with Rhourk most of the afternoon and half the night, trying to work out the difficulties with my cargo ships in France. You know that,” he replied in a taut voice. “There’s an embargo … or haven’t you heard? We can lose our shirts. I’m leaving for Calais right away.”
Angelique listened with half an ear, not forgetting for a single moment where she had seen him the night before. “Embargo, indeed!” she scoffed. “I, too, had an interesting afternoon. Yesterday while I dressed for the ceremony, I received an urgent message from Henri. I rushed to him, to be by his side. This is why I was nowhere to be found.”
Nicholas’s stunned, penetrating gaze unnerved her as he towered over the bed. “Humor me, sweetheart. I haven’t a clue. Have you gone mad?”
“I’ve never been clearer.” She stared back at him with loathing in her heart. “Not even the King’s coronation could have kept me from Henri.”
“Such determination, my love,” Nicholas replied, coldly. “I suppose you had a wonderful reunion.”
Angelique got up and quickly donned a robe. “Stop mocking me. You know perfectly well that Henri is abroad on business.” Her agitated fingers fidgeted with the ribbons at her neck and bodice, as she tied the edges of the robe together. “I misread his message. I am to see him when he returns.”
Without warning, Nicholas grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. “The hell you will,” he whispered against her brow. “You can’t be this upset over a lousy ball. What’s wrong, Angelique?”
Angelique felt her face flush with fury. The hypocrite! He actually sounded sincere. It was an act, only a performance, she reminded herself. Hadn’t she, last night, seen proof of the cheating liar he really was? This man held no feelings for her. The two-story townhouse on that tree-lined, cobblestone street was proof enough for her.
“Let go of me!” she demanded, trying to free herself from his strong grasp.
“Stop the hysterics, Angelique. I had a good excuse for not showing up.”
“And what excuse is that, monsieur? Never mind—I don’t care that you neglected to attend the ball,” Angelique insisted stubbornly, lifting her chin in defiance. “It makes no difference to me what you do with your nights. While you are in Calais, mull this over and choke on it.” She gave out a short, bitter laugh. “I only pretended to love you, monsieur.”
“Liar,” Nicholas said hoarsely.
She raised her brows. “How does it feel to be taken for a
fool, monsieur? When I am in your bed, I think of Henri. I long for him to take me in his …”
“Enough!” Nicholas’s jaw tightened, his hands dropped from her shoulders as his blue eyes flashed with something close to rage. “I won’t play this game with you—not this time. When you’re ready to speak the truth, I’ll listen.”
His face white with fury, he quickly turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him with brutal force.
Once he had gone, Angelique willed herself not to cry. She could not allow herself to fall apart. Not when urgent matters needed attending. Her main concern was Colin. Edgar Mason would insist on funds in order to keep the little boy safe, and she would have to borrow money, lots of money. She sat at her desk and began to pen a letter to her stepbrothers.
My dear brothers, she wrote, I have decided to sponsor an orphanage. I am soliciting funds. Please help make my charity a success.