Finding a charming stone bench that overlooked one of several lake-size bodies of water scattered throughout the enormous gardens, she sat down and considered the situation. The solution to one of the problems that lay between them was simple: ask him about the knife. Have him tell her how it had been so handy and how it was that he handled it with such ease. A pistol or a sword she could understand, but a knife…a knife wasn’t the usual or normal weapon for a gentleman. In her opinion, knives were for the use of villains who skulked in dark, noxious alleys or monsters that inhabited nightmares. She shook off the disturbing thoughts.
Asking about Catherine was not so straightforward, she thought darkly. She’d already tried that and gotten her nose snapped off. No, she wouldn’t be asking about Catherine anytime soon. But what was she going to do about the coolness that currently existed between them? Most of it, she reminded herself, of your own making, although the fact that Julian had not been falling over himself to mend matters between them had not escaped her attention. Perhaps, this was the way their life would be henceforth? Did Julian intend that they share the same house, occasionally the same bed, but that their paths would seldom cross, for the most part each one living a separate life? Depressed and feeling a little lost, she stared blankly out at the stretch of water.
The sound of footsteps broke into her thoughts and she glanced over to see Julian walking toward her. Ignoring the way her heart romped in her chest at the sight of his tall form clad in breeches and boots, she smiled and said, “Hello, my lord. Did you finish your business?”
Julian smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, I told Farley that it was too fine an afternoon to spend inside going over dusty estate books.” Seating himself beside her, he took her hand and said, “Much too fine when I could be doing something much more to my liking…such as sitting beside my bride and enjoying the lovely view.”
His gaze was on her face, those jade green eyes skimming over her in a way that made her cheeks bloom with roses. “You’re not looking at the view,” she said.
“Ah, but I am—and it is most delightful indeed.”
Nell giggled. “Are you flirting with me, my lord?”
“With my wife? Why, yes, I do believe that I am. Do you mind?”
Her eyes met his. “No, not at all,” she replied. Her fingers tightened on his and she added impulsively, “I’ve missed you, my lord. You have been very busy of late.”
Hiding the pleasure her words gave him, he murmured, “And you also.”
Looking at the placid extent of water before them, Nell said, “Perhaps, we won’t be so busy anymore?”
Lifting her hand, Julian kissed it. “No, we won’t be so busy anymore.”
A silence fell between them, both of them uncertain what to say next. But unwilling to allow the moment to pass without making a push to right things between them, Julian said, “I’d like to explain about the other night.”
“About the knife?”
Relieved that she did not mention Catherine, and knowing that he was a coward for being so, Julian seized the subject. “Yes. It must have frightened you, coming so soon after your nightmare. I’m sorry for it.”
Her eyes fixed on his, she asked, “Do you always have a knife so handy?”
He made a face and releasing her hand, reached down and pulled forth a blade hidden in his boot. “Yes, I’m afraid that I do.”
She recoiled a little at the sight of the knife. “Um, is there any particular reason for this? I don’t think that most gentlemen go about armed thus. I know that my father and brothers do not—and two of them are in the military.”
Replacing the knife, he said, “No, I’m sure that most gentlemen do not hide knives in their boots. But you have nothing to fear—it is simply a habit…an old one.”
“And carrying a concealed knife in your boot became a habit because…?”
“Because of a wretched, meddling old man by the name of Roxbury who thinks that it is very clever of him to send young, adventurous noblemen, in the guise of spies, to the continent to ferret out information for him,” Julian admitted bluntly. “And the devil of it is—he’s right. I know that I’ve brought him back a tidbit or two that have helped thwart Napoleon’s efforts to swallow up the known world.”
“You’re a spy?” Nell asked, astonished.
“Not exactly and not anymore. But there was a time and not too long ago, that I did slip across the channel to discover what I could of Napoleon’s plans.”
Nell clapped her hands together. “Oh! How exciting!”
Julian made a face. “Believe me it was mostly dull work. Sometimes I did nothing more than carry messages to our allies in France, other times I merely sniffed around discovering what I could. But there was always the possibility of danger—part of the appeal of doing Roxbury’s work, I might add—and because of that, a weapon, one easily hidden, but quickly reached, became a necessity.” He flashed a twisted smile. “It is as simple as that—because of what I did for Roxbury, I grew used to having a knife always convenient and though I doubt I would ever have use of it now, it is, uh, comforting to know it is nearby.” He looked at her. “And that, my lady, is the only reason that I came into your room armed with a knife—besides wanting to protect you.” Taking her hand in his and kissing it once more he asked, “Am I forgiven for frightening you?”
“If you will forgive me for being a silly ninnyhammer and reacting badly,” Nell said.
Pulling her into his arms, his mouth hovering inches above hers, he muttered, “Oh, I think that can be arranged with absolutely no difficulty at all.”
Nell met his descending mouth and returned his kiss with equal fervor, her arms winding around his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest. Desire flooded Julian…Nell’s generous response, the memory of that last night together, making him wild with need. Hungrily his hand closed over one breast and her soft gasp of pleasure incited an urgent passion. With her so willing and receptive in his embrace, it took all the willpower he possessed not to push up her gown and tumble her right there in the garden. Only the thought that a servant might come upon them stopped him.
His eyes glittering with desire, he set her from him. “It is,” he said huskily, “a very good thing that we are married—otherwise, I am afraid that I would dishonor both of us.”
“Is it a good thing, my lord? Our marriage?” she asked quietly.
He smiled. Running a caressing finger over her damp mouth, he murmured, “Ask me in twenty years.”
It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer, but Nell was happy enough to accept it for the present. The breech between them seemed to be mended and if questions about his first wife lingered like a small canker in the heart of a rose, she reminded herself that they had been married only for a few weeks. She had a lifetime to find out about Catherine…and her husband’s feelings for a dead woman. I am the one who is married to him now, she told herself grimly, not Catherine.
And when Julian came to her that night, she welcomed him into her bed and her body, determined to drive the specter of the other woman from his mind. She did better than she knew because the last thing on Julian’s mind when Nell was in his arms was the memory of the woman who had caused him such pain and anguish.
Delighted with her husband’s lovemaking and the reestablishment of friendly relations between them, Nell decided that marriage, especially to such a handsome and exciting man as her husband, wasn’t a terrible thing. His nightly visits to her room became a ritual that she looked forward to with far more anticipation than even she thought seemly. I am, she admitted dreamily one night after a particularly satisfying bout of lovemaking, becoming quite, quite partial to this side of marriage.
Though she was still learning about the manor and adjusting to marriage, by the time November gave way to December and winter made itself felt with icy rain and blustery winds, she’d begun to think of the manor as her home. Recently, she’d met several of the notables from the neighborhood, and Marcus, accompanied by his mother, ha
d called several times. She liked both and soon felt comfortable with them, treating Marcus like one of her brothers and Mrs. Barbara Sherbrook like a favorite aunt—if she’d ever had an aunt. She was learning her way around the district, but in many respects, Nell was aware that she was still a stranger. When she considered the events surrounding her marriage, she was surprised at how smoothly she had stepped into her new role as Countess Wyndham. She had a husband whose very smile made her spirits lift and whose touch she had grown to crave. Only to herself would she admit, and then only reluctantly, that she was halfway in love with him. His deepest feelings remained a mystery to her, but she knew he enjoyed her company and his many trips to her bed made it clear he did not find making love to her a chore. And if the shadow of Julian’s first wife sometimes cast a gloom over her growing happiness, she fiercely pushed it aside. She was alive. Lady Catherine was not.
For all that, Nell was a little homesick. She missed her family, but every week the arrival of a missive from either her father or one of her brothers made them seem not so far away. Drew and Henry had remained in London and their letters were full of war news and their fervent hopes of getting in a few licks at Boney. Her father and Robert had left London shortly after the wedding and were back at Meadowlea, Robert taking over more and more of the running of the estate, leaving Sir Edward time to putter around in the small conservatory that had been built a few years ago. He was, Sir Edward, informed her in one letter, developing quite the green thumb.
This particular cool, gray morning in early December, both Nell and Julian had received letters. Recognizing her father’s scrawl on the envelope Nell had opened it and was soon happily lost in the mundane affairs at Meadowlea. Julian had also recognized the writing on his letter, but the sight of that dainty script had filled him with foreboding. Reading the contents, he knew his foreboding was justified.
His stifled curse caught Nell’s attention and from the other end of the table, she glanced up. “Did you receive bad news, my lord?”
“That depends,” he said carefully, “on how well you will like having your stepmother-in-law and her daughter taking up residence with us within weeks and remaining here until the Dower House can be refurbished to Diana’s liking—an undertaking which is likely to last for months.”
“I thought that Lady Diana was remaining in London for the winter,” Nell said, her pleasure in the morning dimming. That Lady Diana did not like her had not escaped Nell’s notice. The dowager countess had not said or done anything directly, but there had been a decidedly chilly note and a reserved manner about her whenever she’d been in Nell’s company that had made it clear that Lady Diana was not overjoyed with the match. Nell didn’t think she’d have any trouble with Elizabeth—Elizabeth had seemed a lively, good-natured young woman—and Nell was confident that without interference from Lady Diana, she and Elizabeth would be on good terms in no time at all. Lady Diana was the rub.
“That was my understanding also. But it seems she’s changed her mind and is eager to return to Wyndham Manor.”
Nell forced a smile. “Well, it is her home, my lord.”
He cast her a brooding look down the length of the table, Marcus’s words about domestic wars coming back to haunt him. Nell had settled into the routine of Wyndham Manor without difficulty. She had a firm but kindly hand with the servants and while no one would have dared to express themselves one way or another to him, it was obvious that the staff was very happy with their new mistress. But there was no use pretending that the advent of his stepmother’s unexpected arrival wasn’t going to cause some disruptions. Not only could Diana’s fits and starts be a problem but he also feared the feminine squabbles that might break out. If Diana began to lord it over Nell…The hideous image of himself torn asunder between two raging women rose in his mind.
“Isn’t it, my lord?” Nell persisted when he remained silent. “Her home?”
Julian shrugged. “Not exactly,” he answered. “It was her home and I would never want her to feel unwelcome. But it is our home now—you are mistress of Wyndham Manor, not my stepmother. She and Elizabeth will be our guests.”
Several hours later Julian was still dwelling on Lady Diana’s unexpected desire to return to the country, when Dibble announced Marcus. Always glad to see his cousin, but especially when Marcus’s presence took his mind off of his problems, Julian smiled as Marcus was shown into his study.
Julian’s study was a large, masculine room, filled with books and mostly leather furniture. A Turkish rug in jewel tones of blue, gold and burgundy lay upon the gleaming wooden floor and midnight blue velvet drapes hung at the tall windows. The day had turned wet, drizzle had been falling since noon, and a welcome fire danced on the hearth, the faint scent of apple wood perfuming the air.
Greetings were exchanged and the two men chose a pair of large, overstuffed chairs covered in black leather near the fire in which to settle. Dibble served them tankards of hot whiskey punch and left the silver bowl full of the steaming potent drink behind when he departed.
Sprawled in the big chair, his booted feet resting near the fire, Julian said, “A nasty day for you to be out and about, isn’t it?”
Marcus took a sip of the punch, the smell of lemons, cinnamon and cloves mingling with the whiskey rising to his nostrils. “Yes, it is, but this punch of Dibble’s is almost reward enough for venturing out.” Frowning, Marcus said, “I thought about waiting, and it probably isn’t important…But I didn’t want you to be blindsided as I was.” He made a face. “Raoul, sly jackanapes that he is, would probably think it a great jest if you were, and Charles can be so…Well, Charles might just invite himself and the bounder to dinner here—if he was feeling particularly bold…and stupid.”
“The, er, bounder? Obviously someone I’d not want to see.”
“Obviously,” Marcus replied with deep feeling. “I was in Dawlish yesterday afternoon,” he said, “and who should walk up to me bold as brass on the street, but Charles and Raoul…accompanied by Lord Tynedale.” Marcus’s upper lip curled. “I’ll give Charles his due, he didn’t seem overjoyed to be in Tynedale’s company, but that blackguard Tynedale fairly gushed how enjoyable he found Stonegate and how very much he was looking forward to an extended stay with his friends. Raoul was his usual foppish self—going on and on about how he intended to learn Tynedale’s way with his cravat—as if Tynedale actually knew how to tie a cravat. It was nauseating. I tell you, Julian, I didn’t know whether to cast up my accounts right in their faces or mill the three of them down.” He looked thoughtful. “Should have milled them down.”
Since Julian had first laid eyes on Nell, Tynedale had been the last thing on his mind. Guilt knifed through him as the realization hit him that, lost in the delight of his marriage, he had pushed Daniel’s suicide and Tynedale’s part in his young relative’s ruin and needless death to the back of his mind. He hadn’t forgotten that he had the power to ruin Tynedale, and thinking of all those vowels he held, some of his guilt faded. Daniel would be avenged—that was a certainty—it was only a question of when. Yet Nell’s abduction by Tynedale complicated the situation. He didn’t believe that Tynedale would be so foolish as to hold himself up for public condemnation in order to besmirch the reputation of the newest Countess of Wyndham. Yet Tynedale was in desperate straits and there was no guessing what he might do. Julian, knowing the man as he did, wouldn’t put it past Tynedale to bring about his own ruination if in the process it harmed Nell, and through Nell, himself. Julian had no doubt that Tynedale was base enough to contemplate such an act.
And then there was Charles…Julian sighed. Charles may have introduced his nephew to Tynedale, but whatever other faults Charles had, and Lord knew he had plenty, Julian never doubted that his cousin had loved the boy and had never meant him any harm. His cousin was a rake, with all of a rake’s bad habits, but Julian would acquit him of wishing Daniel evil. Julian sighed again. Charles was a problem, if only because one never knew which way Charles would jump. If
Charles knew the truth of the marriage, he might be fiercely protective of the family name or he might wring whatever mischief he could from the circumstances of the unexpected marriage. With Charles one never knew.
Julian swore under his breath.
“My sentiments precisely,” Marcus said. “Short of murder, I don’t see how Tynedale can be removed from the castle. Of course, if you like, I’d be happy to run him through—I owe him for Daniel as much as you do.”
Julian scowled as another problem presented itself. Marcus didn’t know of Tynedale’s involvement in his marriage to Nell. How the hell was he going to keep that a secret? Not that he feared Marcus would babble the specifics, but the more people who knew the circumstances, the more likely it was that someone would slip and say something. There’d already been enough talk about the suddenness of it—all he needed for a full-blown scandal to erupt was for Tynedale’s part in the affaire to become public fodder.
“So what are you going to do?” Marcus asked. “You’re the head of the family, but I hardly think that Charles would pay you any heed if you ordered him to send Tynedale about his business.”
“It certainly is complicated—more than you know,” Julian admitted. He studied Marcus as his cousin lounged near the fire. He would trust him with his life, so why not trust him with the full story surrounding his marriage to Nell? Because, he conceded wryly, it wasn’t just his secret, it was Nell’s, too.
Acting on impulse he stood up and rang for Dibble. When Dibble walked into the room, Julian asked him, “Is her ladyship about?”
“Why, yes, your lordship. She is upstairs in her sitting room, answering letters, I believe.” Julian glanced back at Marcus, who was watching him with a small frown. “Indulge me, please,” he said. “I won’t be gone long.”
Leaving behind a mystified Marcus, Julian took the stairs two at a time. Reaching his wife’s apartments, he entered her sitting room. Nell was seated at a kneehole desk before a bank of windows, writing. Hearing the door open behind her, she turned and smiled when she saw that it was her husband who had disturbed her.
Scandal Becomes Her Page 13