by Monica Burns
“Nicholas.” She whispered in a barely audible voice.
“Hush, my love. You need to rest.”
“He tried…to kill me.” There was a note of confusion in her voice that made him grimace.
“He failed, Victoria. You’re safe here with me.”
At his reassuring words, she snuggled into his side as a kitten might a blanket. Her fingers lightly trailed over his chest before her cheek pressed into the crook of his shoulder, and she breathed a soft sigh.
“I love you, Nicholas. I don’t ever want to leave you.”
The whisper shot a bolt of lightning through him. He bent his head toward her, only to see she was sound asleep. Nicholas closed his eyes. She loved him. The happiness drifting through him was an euphoria he’d never experienced before. The sensation ebbed away as he realized how close he’d come to losing her. His gaze focused on the ceiling as he remembered once more the sight of Victoria tumbling over the opera box railing. Then the memory of her pale features as he realized she’d fallen into another one of her fainting spells.
A sharp pain pushed its way up past his knee. For the first time since returning home, he realized how badly his leg ached. In all the chaos he’d completely suppressed the pain signals his leg been driving up to his brain. Gently, he released Victoria, and left the bed in search of liniment. He shrugged on the robe Roberts had thoughtfully draped over the end of the bed. A quiet knock on the door made him frown with irritation. He crossed the room to open the door where Roberts stood hold a container of fresh liniment, and Nicholas’ anger vanished.
“I saw how badly you were limping, my lord, and I knew you would need this.”
“Thank you, Roberts,” he said with a grateful smile as he accepted the small metal tin. “I just got up to look for some.”
“I hope her ladyship is all right, my lord.”
“She’s quite shaken, but I believe she’ll recover quickly.”
Nicholas frowned as he remembered the doctor’s warning that she might have nightmares in the future. The idea that she might have more bad dreams troubled him.
“The staff has been concerned for her ladyship, and they’ll be pleased to know she’s going to be all right.” Relief swept across Robert’s face as he met Nicholas’ gaze. “The police were here earlier asking for you. They needed to get your account of the incident. They made no mention of her ladyship’s disappearance. The inspector said he’d return at nine tomorrow.”
The valet’s words eased the tension holding Nicholas’ muscles rigid. At least Victoria would be spared an interrogation.
“Very well,” Nicholas said with a sharp nod. “Wake me at eight, and make sure Molly understands she needs to sit with Lady Guildford until I return from my visit to Sir Kenelm’s office.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good night, Roberts,” he paused and lifted the container of liniment. “And thank you again.”
“It is my pleasure as always, my lord.” The valet smiled then turned and walked away as Nicholas closed Victoria’s bedroom door. He glanced at Victoria to ensure she was sleeping comfortably before he limped his way to the chair in front of the fire.
It didn’t take long for the liniment to ease his pain, and Nicholas looked over his shoulder at Victoria. What had Vickie been involved in? Abigail had mentioned Darby’s insistence that Victoria return a book. What book? That question led to another one, and another one, until he had a long line of questions, all of which led him back to Reardon.
He was certain Reardon was the reason for Darby’s assault on Victoria. He just couldn’t prove it. The man was exceedingly clever, and it frustrated Nicholas. He turned his head to look at Victoria once again. Tonight illustrated just how much danger she was in. Even if Darby had been the one sending the threatening notes, Reardon still posed a threat. The instant Nicholas heard the quiet cry from the bed, he was on his feet.
Victoria was mumbling something, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. Shrugging off his robe, Nicholas slid into bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her. After several moments, her muttering ceased. Relief surged through him as he closed his eyes and held her close. Whatever the cost, he would keep her safe. Not Reardon, or any other person would take her from him.
§ § §
Sunshine filled the room as Victoria blinked and opened her eyes. Intense relief spread its warmth through her body as she realized she was still in the past. She’d been so worried when the doctor and Nicholas had insisted she take that God awful medicine. The idea of not waking up here, with Nicholas, had terrified her. Turning her head, she saw Nicholas was gone, but the pillow was dented where his head had been.
Suddenly, the image of Darby’s wild-eyed look filled her head, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Victoria shuddered as she remembered how slapping Darby had pushed him over the edge. On the heels of that memory came the raw sensation of plummeting backward over the railing of the opera box. The images flooding her head made bile rise in her throat.
With a guttural noise she scrambled out of bed and ran into the bathroom where she threw up in the toilet. When she’d finished, she sank down onto the floor. God, she’d never been sick like this before. Not even when her father had died had she been like this. Did she have the flu? She’d not felt this terrible in ages. A second wave of nausea rolled over her, and Victoria quickly moved toward the toilet as she threw up again. The medicine, she thought. What had the doctor said? Opium. The drug must have made her sick.
“Oh, my lady,” Molly exclaimed as she entered the bathroom. The young maid wet a hand cloth then gently pressed it against Victoria’s forehead and cheeks.
“I’m fine,” Victoria said as she realized it was the truth.
The nausea had eased a great deal, and she could only assume she’d purged the drug from her system. She got to her feet despite Molly’s protests and made her way back into the bedroom. Still feeling a bit queasy, she sat in front of the small fire burning in the hearth.
“I brought you the hot cocoa you like, my lady,” Molly said with a worried note in her voice. “And Mrs. Babcocke made you some breakfast.”
Molly pointed to the tray she’d set on the small table beside the chair. Perhaps eating something would make her feel better. Victoria lifted the lid of the covered dish, and the smell of freshly scrambled eggs and bacon wafted up under her nose. In a split second, the nausea returned. Bile threatened to clog her throat, and she sprang up from her chair to race toward the bathroom again. Molly hovered over her in concern, and as the wave of nausea passed, Victoria leaned back against the cool rim of the porcelain bathtub. The young maid shook her head in a sympathetic manner.
“Don’t worry, my lady. I’m sure this will pass in a couple of weeks. At least that’s what my mum says. I should have realized the food would cause you to feel bad. Toast and cocoa will settle your stomach best I think.”
“What?” Victoria stared up at Molly in bewilderment.
“Why the baby, my lady. My mum says the morning sickness goes away for most women fairly soon.”
“Baby?”
She closed her eyes and counted backward. Oh God, she was pregnant. An overwhelming wave of joy rolled over her. She was carrying Nicholas’ child. In the next instant, fear snagged at her. What was it he’d said? The risk of siring a child with the same difficulties as my brother is too great. Nicholas had made it clear he didn’t want children. It was why he insisted on a condom every time they made love. With a soft cry, she drew her legs up to her chest and buried her face against her knees. What was she going to do? What would he say?
“Oh my lady, there’s no need to cry.” Molly bent over her and helped Victoria to her feet then back into the bedroom.
As she sank down into her chair by the fire, she told the maid to take the food tray away. The young woman had protested, eventually convincing Victoria to have toast with her cocoa. Just before she left the room, Molly released a sound of annoyance.
“Lord love me
, I forgot to give you the note his lordship left for you.” The maid pulled out an envelope from her pocket and handed it to her. As the maid turned away, Victoria caught her arm.
“You’re not to say a word about this to anyone, Molly. Not even Lord Guildford. Do you understand?”
“Of course, my lady.” The maid’s expression was one of confused disappointment. “I’d never betray your confidence like that.”
Victoria nodded then released her grip on the maid’s arm and nodded for her to leave. When the bedroom door closed behind Molly, Victoria opened the letter, the parchment rustling softly as she unfolded the letter.
Victoria,
The police have ruled last night’s incident as attempted murder on Darby’s part, but as the man is dead, there will be no further investigation. Since they have already reached that conclusion, I stated that it was unnecessary to question you in the matter, and they agreed.
I have an appointment with Sir Kenelm this morning, and some other business to attend to, but I shall return sometime this afternoon. We shall talk then.
Your husband, Nicholas
Relieved she wouldn’t have to rehash the horror of last night, she closed her eyes. She knew last night’s events had shaken her more than she cared to admit, and she had no wish to relive those last moments before she toppled over the railing. It wasn’t the memory of the fall that frightened her so much as it was the familiar mist she’d entered. Nicholas’ image had been the last thing she’d seen before it had swallowed her.
The white fog had terrified her because she was certain she was either dead or that when she woke she’d be back in the present. When she’d opened her eyes to see Nicholas’ face, she’d clung to him, terrified that he wasn’t real. It was why she’d not wanted to take the drug to sleep, but she’d been too tired and overwhelmed to argue. But it hadn’t stopped the fear that she might wake up far away from Nicholas.
She closed her eyes. She’d known weeks ago how devastating returning to the past would be to her heart, but now there was the baby. One more very important reason never to leave the past. Her hand pressed against her stomach as she imagined holding Nicholas’ baby in her arms. Victoria’s heart sank. The most difficult question wasn’t how to tell him, but how would he react?
The thought made her stiffen in her chair. Nicholas had referred to her as my love several times last night. Until now it hadn’t really registered. Was it possible he loved her? If he did, would that make a difference where the baby was concerned? Question after question flitted through her mind until she felt as if she was drowning in conflict. But every question revolved back to the question of how Nicholas would act. It was a question she was terrified to have answered, and she didn’t have a clue as to how she would tell him the truth.
Chapter 30
Despite Molly’s protests, Victoria dressed and went downstairs. Edmund was in the library playing with some toy soldiers, and he greeted her with restrained enthusiasm.
“Nicholas said you had another spell. He said you might not be well for Christmas.” A look of concern furrowed his brow, and Victoria squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek affectionately.
“Nicholas is a worrywart. I’ll be fine,” she said with a smile. Satisfied with her response, the gentle man grinned. “So we can still go shopping for Christmas presents tomorrow like you said?”
“Yes, I’m only a little tired today. So tomorrow, we’re going to have a terrific time.” She nodded toward the soldiers on the carpet. “Why don’t you go back to playing with your soldiers? I’m going to read for a little while.”
Edmund grinned and returned to his seat on the floor in front of his miniature soldiers, while Victoria browsed the book collection in the library. She pulled a book called The Woman In White off the shelf. The book gave her no indication of what the story might be like, but the title intrigued her. The sound of someone at the front door made her set the book down, and she walked into the foyer. The sight of the Duchess du Chatelaine made Victoria grimace. What did the woman want? Victoria vaguely noted the man beside her as her gaze met Eleanor’s.
“Hello, Eleanor. What can I do for you?” she asked politely.
“Oh ma petite, Monsieur Reardon and I came to console you over the loss of your poor Monsieur Darby.” Something in the woman’s voice, made Victoria narrow her gaze at the other woman.
“I’m sorry, Eleanor, but I’m not sure why you’d say he was mine. I’d never met the man until last night,” Victoria said with irritation.
“The duchess is correct, my dear Vickie. We’ve been worried about you since hearing about Darby’s…accident last night,” the man called Reardon said in a quietly accusatory tone.
The way he said the word accident suggested he was questioning what had happened. Worse, the man had called her Vickie, and she had the urge to deck the guy. Annoyed she narrowed her gaze at him. The man seemed well aware of her irritation, and a cold smile curled his thin mouth. It was a look that sent a streak of fear skimming down her back. There was something vicious and calculating in the man’s dark-eyed gaze. Instinctively, she knew the man was more than an acquaintance of Vickie’s. She smiled slightly and gestured toward the salon.
“Would you like to sit down?”
Eleanor sniffed her answer and eyed her with contempt. Irritated that she’d even bothered to invite them deeper into the house, Victoria clenched her teeth. She never had liked women who thought the world revolved around them. The duchess preceded her into the salon, and as Victoria followed the other woman, Reardon touched her elbow to escort her in.
The moment his hand cupped her elbow, dark images flooded her mind. The sound of a shovel against dirt echoed in her ears, and she could almost feel the dirt landing on her face. With a sharp breath, she jerked away from him. Without looking at him, she walked into the salon to see Eleanor taking a seat on one of the two sofas. Victoria had no intention of sitting. She was going to make their visit as short as possible without causing a scene. She tipped her head slightly and met Reardon’s shrewd gaze.
“Somehow, I don’t think you’ve come to pay your condolences. I think you’re here for another reason.”
“As perceptive as always, my dear Vickie.”
“If you call me Vickie one more damn time, you’re going to regret it.” Her vicious response caught him off guard for a moment, but he recovered almost immediately.
“Interesting. I don’t believe the countess, I knew, would ever uttered such a vulgarity.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
In the back of her mind, a siren went off in her head. The man thought she was an imposter. No, he knew she was an imposter because Vickie was dead. Suddenly the connection between the man and her visions made her stomach lurch. She and Anna had been right. Vickie was dead, and this man had killed her.
“Really, my dear,” Reardon murmured quietly as cold amusement settled on his face. “There’s no need for deception among friends.”
“Since I don’t know you, I’d hardly call us friends,” she said coolly. The man moved as fast as a striking snake and closed the distance between them to catch her chin in his hand.
“Perhaps lovers would be a better word, my dear…Victoria.”
The deliberate hesitation before her name made her certain he knew she wasn’t Vickie. Panic raced through her. Where the hell was Nicholas? No, she needed to deal with this on her own. Nicholas had suffered enough embarrassment with Vickie and Darby’s affair. She wasn’t about to add to his humiliation. She also wasn’t sure how she could tell him Vickie was dead, and that Reardon had killed the countess. If he knew any of that, it would make it more difficult to deny he’d not murdered Vickie if the police ever questioned him. Victoria jerked free of his uncomfortable grasp and stepped backward.
“First you suggest Lord Darby was special to me, then you’re saying you and I are lovers. Which is it? And don’t say the two of us, because I’d find it hard to believe that I was stupid enough to f
ind you remotely attractive.”
“Trust me, my dear, Vickie. We were quite intimate,” the man bit angrily.
Satisfaction swept through Victoria as his response indicated she’d pricked his ego good. Her triumph died quickly at the way Reardon’s eyes glittered with fury. Steeling herself not to flinch in the face of his outrage, Victoria shook her head.
“What is it you really want, Reardon?” A cold chill crept over Victoria’s skin as she struggled to keep her features from revealing any emotion at all.
“I think you know the answer to that, my lady.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked the question,” she said in a tight voice. She glanced at Eleanor who was looking at Reardon with a distinct look of fear. Why was the woman so afraid of the man?
“You possess something that belongs to me, and I want it back.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She frowned in puzzlement. Last night Darby had been raving about some book he’d given her, and now Reardon was asking for something too. What the hell had Vickie been involved in?
“You are an excellent actress, Victoria, but we both know you’re courting disaster with this pretense.” A soft laugh escaped Reardon’s thin lips. It was a cruel sound.
“Are you suggesting I’m not the Countess of Guildford?” She forced a smile to her lips, hoping she looked as confident as she sounded, because she was feeling far from it.
“I think it highly unlikely.”
“I see. Then why don’t you tell me where the real countess is.” At her response, an expression of misgiving crossed the man’s features before he quickly recovered his confident manner.
“I think we both know the answer to that, my dear, Victoria.”
“Then that means in order to discredit me you’d have to implicate yourself,” she snapped. “Not to mention that I’ll just tell the police that it’s a plot of yours to blackmail me and Lord Guildford.”