by Cheryl Bolen
From Curzon Street Nick went directly to the public house in Soho where he had directed Warwick to meet him. There was no time to travel to an out-of-the way location tonight. Nick’s blood ran cold just thinking of the fate that had fallen other Bonaparte enemies. He couldn’t endanger his younger brother more than he already had. Damn Warwick. Damn Napoleon. Damn this never-ending war.
Nick had selected the Bear & Boar because, unlike other taverns in Soho, this one was large enough to afford a scattering of tables and chairs. He settled at a table in the establishment’s darkest corner and awaited Warwick. Another reason the Bear & Boar was an excellent choice for a clandestine meeting was that no one could possibly hear their private conversation over the steady drone of men’s voices that filled the room.
As the minutes ticked away and Warwick did not come, Nick grew nervous. What if Warwick was away from home and unable to receive the note? It could be early in the morning before the note fell into his hands, and by then the public house would be closed. While Nick was pondering this glitch, Lord Warwick sped into the pub, divesting himself of his greatcoat as his glance circled the dark room. His eyes brightened with recognition when he saw Nick, then he came to sit beside him. “What’s so damn urgent?” he asked.
“My brother’s in grave danger.”
Warwick hiked a brow.
“Joseph Bonaparte’s had him arrested.”
The earl sat there staring at him. Nick watched the candlelight’s reflection in Warwick’s dark eyes and wondered if something had rendered the foreign secretary deaf. Had he not heard him? Finally, the earl said, “I’m very disappointed to hear that.”
“I don’t give a damn about your disappointment. I want your help. I’ll not have the damned French murder my brother.”
“I would do anything humanly possible to avert such misfortune, but I’m powerless to help you in this. We have no contacts in Naples. None whatsoever. Your brother should never have gone there. Were he in, say, Seville, I could detail a unit to rescue him.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed, his voice turned menacing. “You bloody well knew he was going to Naples!”
“I told you it was risky, but you assured me your brother was skilled at crossing the right palms with silver.”
“A practice he’s an expert at. The only thing that would negate his ‘generosity’ would be an accusation that he was helping you. You swore to me no one knew of this operation except for you and my brothers and me.” Anger flashing in his eyes, Nick leaned toward the earl and spoke with contempt. “Who else have you told?”
Warwick’s mouth thinned with displeasure. “I’ve told no one. I’ve learned the costly lesson that even one’s most trusted colleagues can betray confidences. This mission was too important. Besides . . . I could never jeopardize Lady Fiona’s safety. If the French ever got wind that you and your brothers were aiding me, they could use her as leverage to recapture the vanished francs.”
God but Nick hated the foreign secretary! Warwick didn’t even try to disguise his love for Nick’s wife. But because of Warwick’s love for Fiona, Nick believed him. He had not told another soul. “I’m sorry I ever let you talk me into this scheme,” Nick spat out.
Warwick’s gaze flicked to the nearby table where a trio of loud, ill-dressed men had just sat down, then he lowered his voice. “I didn’t talk you into it, Birmingham. Your own patriotism forced you to use your vast resources for crown and country.”
“Those resources, by God, better restore my brother to me,” Nick snapped, getting to his feet. He could see he would get no help from the Foreign Office.
Now it was up to Nick to save William.
He stalked from the tavern.
Adam’s eyes came open, and he glared at the candle Nick had slammed onto his bedside table. “What in the hell are you doing here? What time is it?”
“Get up!” Nick ordered. “It’s not yet midnight. We have a crisis to discuss.”
Adam jerked up. “Something’s happened to William!”
“He’s being held in a Naples prison,” Nick said in a grave voice before plopping down in a chair near his brother’s fire.
“Good God! How did you learn this?” Adam asked.
Nick related the events of the evening and concluded by asking, “Have you ever mentioned our brother’s mission to anyone?”
“Of course not!” Adam glared at him. “You think I wish Will dead?”
Nick frowned. “I thought as much. It’s just that I can’t understand the Frenchies arresting him. I know he’s bribed all the proper authorities. The only reason I can see for them to arrest him is that they found out he was aiding the Foreign Office.”
“Are you certain Warwick hasn’t told anyone?”
“Amazingly, I am.”
“Then the French can’t possibly know anything. More likely, they wish to secure a hefty ransom from us.”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said with a perplexed frown. “One of us would have heard something by now.”
“I need to go to Naples,” Adam said, moving from the tousled bed.
“Why not me?”
“Because your business would be ruined if you left the Exchange for several weeks. I, on the other hand, employ competent managers who can run our bank when I’m not there.”
“Point well taken. But how can you be assured your bribes are any better than those already offered by Will?”
“Will wasn’t bribing jailers. I will.”
“You mean to take him from the prison?”
“Can you think of anything else?”
“I can think of a hundred ways you’d be foiled, and I don’t wish to have two dead brothers.”
Adam effected a look of mock outrage. “How would I be foiled?”
“For one thing, William’s possessed of coloring markedly different from the Italians. Unlike you with your dark complexion, Will could never pass as an Italian when fleeing from the Naples prison.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.” Adam came to sit in another chair near the fire, then he settled his chin into his hands, eyes narrowed, while he continued to think of a way to save his brother. “Pity he’s not married to a French chit.”
Nick bolted up and began to pace the creaking wood floor. “You’re brilliant!”
“I am?”
“Indeed.” Nick pivoted on his boot heel and faced his brother. “Now if you can just direct me to someone who can forge documents.”
Adam looked offended. “I’m an upstanding businessman.”
“I know that! Actually, I was thinking of Will. Doesn’t he have a chap who forges papers for his continental jaunts?”
“By Jove, he does! Fellow in Hackney. And we’re in luck. The fellow’s French!” His brows dipped with suspicion as he peered at Nick. “But what good would false documents do?”
“Yvonne.”
“What, pray tell, do documents have to do with your former mistress?”
“Yvonne is most indebted to me. Through my generosity she’s been able to establish herself in Parisian society. The Bonapartes, Murat, and even Tallyrand are among her admirers.”
Adam’s eyes glittered. “I begin to see. You’re going to ask her to say she married Will.”
“Exactly.”
“Allow me to say you are brilliant.”
“If I were brilliant, I’d not have allowed my brother to risk his life in such a manner.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Remember how excited Will was about the challenge before he left?”
“Will’s a callow youth! I’m two and thirty. I should have known better.”
“Were you a Benthamite, you’d be willing to risk Will ‘for the greater good.’”
“Damn good thing I’m not a bloody Benthamite!”
Adam squinted up at his brother. “How do you know Yvonne will comply?”
“She will.”
“I don’t doubt that she would were she to see you face to face. Women seem unable to deny you anything. But how ca
n you persuade her when you can’t go to Paris?”
Nick turned sharply. “Why can’t I go to Paris?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war on. Englishmen are prohibited from stepping on French soil.”
“Not Englishmen with very deep pockets, Englishmen who speak French like a native.”
But, bloody hell, how would he explain his absence to Fiona?
For a few precious moments that night the heavy curtain of gloom had been lifted from her heart. Nick had told her he desired her. He’d even said no one was more important to him than she. And most blissful of all, he had kissed her with more passion than he ever had before. He did want her.
Until that wretched note was delivered. At first she had thought the letter must be from his lover, but after reflecting on it, she realized it was delivered by a servant wearing the Birmingham livery, one of Nick’s own couriers. The urgent matter that had stolen him from her must relate to his business. No matter what he’d told her, his business did come before her. It seemed that everything was more important to Nick than saving their marriage.
She had fled to her room, and there she had paced the floor, torturing herself by remembering every word he had said. No one is more important than you. If only it were true. She would close her eyes and imagine his urgent hands stroking her, vividly remember the blistering kisses they had shared. He had wanted her.
Was there enough left of his former affection to resurrect their floundering marriage? Dare she cast aside her own pride and forget her demand that he choose between her and his urgent business? Was she willing to forgive his abandonment in order to keep alive the flame that had burned through him that night?
She rang for Prudence to dress her for bed in a fine lawn nightshift, and when her maid was finished, Fiona sat before her dressing table mirror while Prudence combed out her hair. With only the dim candlelight to illuminate the looking glass, Fiona peered at her own reflection. To Nick’s eyes, would she be as pretty as Hortense? Hortense’s mouth was more full than Fiona’s, but Fiona’s blue eyes were wider than the duchess’s green ones. Were Fiona an impartial observer—which she realized was impossible—their faces were equally pretty. Then her gaze dipped to the two modest humps beneath her nightshift. The duchess certainly had the advantage over Fiona there. Fiona wondered if Nick would have been more well pleased with her if she were buxom. The memory of his hands touching her breasts, kneading them, his mouth suckling at them, made her breasts feel heavy, made liquid heat gush to her core.
After Prudence left, Fiona scattered drops of light perfume at her wrists and neck. She would cast aside her pride and beg him to forgive her shrewish ultimatum. She would tell him she understood that he would not have left were the matter which drew him away not important. She would vow to not be a meddling wife.
Once her decision was made, she went to Nick’s bedchamber and waited for him in a satin-covered chair before the fire, the warmth of being in his room after so long an absence seeping to her very soul.
Dozens of times over the next few hours she practiced what she would say to him. With every recitation she became more acutely aware that no matter what she said or how she said it, nothing could disguise the fact that she was trading her pride for a chance of securing his love.
The prospect of feeling herself in his arms again was worth the risk of fleeting humiliation.
She did not know when she had fallen asleep. Sometime after two, she was sure. When she awoke, it was seven. Her glance flicked to the huge silk-draped bed where she had known such splendor. The bed had not been slept in.
Nick had spent the night with his lover. Fiona was almost overcome by her own despair. Tears filling her eyes, she got up to return to her room. While half of her was thankful she had been spared humiliation, the other half of her cried out for his touch.
As she neared the adjoining dressing room she heard muffled voices. No doubt Nick’s valet was helping him out of his evening clothes. She could not face the humiliation of him finding her now in his private chambers. She turned away from the dressing room door with the intention of quietly returning to her own chambers through the main hallway.
But Nick must have heard the soft muffle of her slippers for he threw open the door. “Fiona!”
She whirled away from him and, her vision blurred by tears, stumbled toward the door.
Nick quickly dismissed his valet and raced after her, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her around to face him. “What’s the matter? You’re crying!”
“Leave me alone!” She lifted her chin with defiance and spoke icily. “If you please, allow me to return to my chambers.”
“I damn well don’t please.” His eyes softened as he studied her anguished face. Good Lord, had he done this to her? If it took the rest of his life, he would make it up to her for causing her such grief. “Forgive me. I perceive that I had the misfortune of not being here when you had the courage to take that first step toward forgiveness.”
She stiffened. “Don’t flatter yourself! I merely wished to satisfy my curiosity.”
“And you obviously weren’t satisfied.” He thumbed away a tear from her cheek.
“What woman would be satisfied that her husband prefers being in another woman’s bed?”
He gripped both her shoulders. “You really believe there’s another woman?”
She drew a deep breath to stema sob. “What business dealings could keep you away all night?”
“How little you know of my business,” he said bitterly. “I give you my word I was not with another woman last night.” If his absence hadn’t wounded her so thoroughly, he would have rejoiced that she cared enough about him to be jealous. But he could take no pleasure in her pain.
If only he had come home when he left Adam’s house last night. He might have been able to reignite what he had started with his wife earlier in the evening. Instead, he had chosen to go to Hackney, to awaken the French forger and wait all night while the man forged the documents.
Now it would tear Nick’s heart to leave his wife like this.
But he had no choice.
“Then . . .” Her anger wavered. “Where did you go?”
“I told you. It was business.”
“And I’m never to discuss your precious business,” she snapped, trying to jerk away from him.
“Fiona, please believe me.” God, but he didn’t want to tell her he was leaving. “A grave problem has arisen, and I’m the only one who can address it. In fact . . .” his pulse pounded, “I will have to go away for a few days.”
Those woeful blue eyes of hers widened. “When?”
“I leave within the hour.”
“Where to?”
He did not want to lie, but he could not tell her—or anyone save Adam—the truth. “I’m the leading stockholder of a factory in Essex.” That much was true. “I must go there to resolve an urgent labor dispute.”
“I see,” she said coolly. “Have a good journey.”
This time he let her walk away.
The memory of her anguished face crushed him with inextinguishable sorrow.
Chapter 26
The first few weeks he was at Windmere Abbey, Randolph was smugly satisfied with himself. Since he was already paying for the upkeep and the many loyal servants at Windmere Abbey, he thought it a most practical decision to return there. Leaving his lodgings in London had saved him a modest sum, too. And by being at Windmere Abbey he could more closely examine the expenses with an eye to trimming waste.
He had quickly put a stop to the practice of keeping fires in the drawing room. Not planning on having callers, he could conduct all his business from the library and never have to use the drawing room.
Another economy was his decision to sell off his sister’s horse. No doubt her rich husband had by now presented her with a much finer beast. Birmingham was noted for his grand stables, though Randolph could not understand when the Cit ever found the time to visit them. Nor could Rando
lph understand why Birmingham even bothered keeping a country estate when he seldom left London and The Exchange where he’d amassed his bulging fortune.
Randolph fleetingly regretted his decision not to accept his brother-in-law’s financial help. Had he accepted it, he could have offered for his lovely woman in the red riding habit. But Randolph was obsessed with the idea of single-handedly rescuing the family fortunes.
The pity of it was that it would take years.
And by then she would have married another. For all he knew she could be betrothed to someone else by now. She was far too pretty not to attract a throng of admirers. His pulse sped up when he remembered that she was also an heiress. More’s the pity. With her beauty and a fortune, her days as an unmarried woman were dwindling.
On this night as he sat in his library, soothed by the smell and warmth of a rich peat fire, Randolph realized Christmas was just a few weeks away. Stephen had accepted Fiona’s invitation to spend Christmas with her at Camden Hall. Which left Randolph bereft of family.
Which left him exceedingly morose.
Like layers from an onion, his contentment began to peel away. How could he have had the audacity to be so smug when his own foolish pride had cost him so dearly? Why had he not embraced Birmingham when it was so painfully obvious that Fiona truly cared for her husband?
Because of his damned pride, Randolph had lost his only sister.
And if he hadn’t been so bullish proud, he would have offered for his mystery woman instead of allowing her to get away. But he’d been hell-bent on waiting until he had something to offer her beside a pile of debts. Even knowing she was an heiress had not swayed him. If anything, he became more determined not to touch her money.
Because of his damned pride, she would now likely marry another.
He gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. What exactly had his pride gotten him? He had lost those he loved best.
If anyone deserved a lonely, joyless Christmas, it was he.
Nick watched the rows of lighted windows on Yvonne’s Avenue Foch house. He would wait until the last guest was gone, the last light extinguished before he dared to knock at the door. It would not do for him to be recognized by a French official—especially since he was traveling under forged French documents.