by Lady Vixen
"Oh, no, my dear, I owe you something for that little display of bad manners a moment ago." A thread of amusement in his voice, he stared down at her furious face.
Nicole froze, but angled her chin at him defiantly. "Go ahead then, strike me! There is obviously little difference between you and my uncle!" she sneered.
"Oh, but there is, my little vixen," he promised softly. "A great deal of difference." And jerking her against him, his hard mouth caught hers in a punishing kiss.
Nicole frantically sought to suppress the wild surge of pleasure that coursed through her veins at the tormenting pressure of his mouth, but even knowing he was kissing her to chastise, to hurt, she melted into the warm strength of his body, her lips parting under the demanding assault of her senses. Christopher's body responded instantly to the soft crush of hers, and with something like triumph, she felt his desire leap and grow as their locked bodies strained closer together. His hand moved tantalizingly down her back, urging her nearer, caressing her hips. The dull ache of passion in her loins became almost unbearable as his tongue explored and probed the sweet wine of her mouth, and she knew if he wanted her, she wouldn't stop him.
He raised his head slowly, and from the desire-blurred look in his eyes Nicole knew he was experiencing much the same wild senseless emotion. Somewhere in the back of Christopher's brain a warning was hammering, a warning that discovery could happen at any moment, but he was beyond the point of being able to draw back, and with a groan he pulled Nicole to him, suddenly not caring if the king himself were to find them. His mouth found hers with a frightening urgency, and lost to coherent thought they slowly sank down beside the quiet fishpond.
In the tight grip of aching desire, Nicole made only a soft murmur of resistance when Christopher lifted her gown and pushed aside the lacy chemise, his hand warm and compelling as he sought the softness between her thighs. Blindly he found the delicate triangle, and at his touch, as he stroked and fondled, probing deep within her, the last remnant of sanity fled them both, leaving only the need to join with the other.
He took her swiftly, the swelling pressure of his manhood as he drove compulsively into her welcoming softness, flooding Nicole with pleasure and filling her urgent desire. Their bodies came together in a sensual tempo, each rushing to meet the thrust and lunge of the other, oblivious to anything but the heedless flame of passion that engulfed them. There were both exquisite pleasure and bitter anguish in this mindless driven desire that burned within them; neither was willing to admit that it had its roots in something deeper, finer, and more lasting than animal lust.
At this moment Christopher was only conscious of the smooth, sinuous, twisting body beneath his, and Nicole of the hard muscled force that was buried within her. The first swirling mists of fulfillment were already dimming Nicole's brain, and as the aching pleasure washed over and flooded her body, her moan of intense ecstasy was muffled by Christopher's hungry mouth. Replete, she lay there, unable to move, feeling with a stab of queer tenderness Christopher's own eruption of desire. For many moments they stayed there locked together, their mouths gently mingling and tasting.
Eventually Christopher moved slightly and lifted his body away from hers, and for a timeless second he stared down into her face. A troubled, uncertain expression coming and going on his features, he said, "Nicole, I . . ." But then as if aware of their situation, he jerked up abruptly. Standing, after quickly rearranging his clothing, he reached down and absently pulled her crushed gown into place. Helping her to her feet, he still said nothing, his face once again a mask.
Passion gone now, Nicole was suddenly ashamed and furious with herself for what had just happened. And in this moment she hated herself and Christopher more than she had at any other time in the past. With a hand that shook with pain and embarrassment she finished straightening her dress, unable even to look at Christopher, fearful his features would be bearing their usual sardonic expression. And when at last she braced herself to glance at him, what she saw filled her with anger and despair.
His face was empty and cold, the gold eyes bleak and remote. Even his voice when he spoke was lifeless, as if he had fought a terrible battle and lost. "I apologize for what happened. You needn't fear it will happen again, I can promise you that it won't."
His words did nothing to soothe the confusion of shame and anger that rioted through Nicole. She wanted something more from him than a mere apology that sounded as if it meant nothing to him, as if it were mere form. Her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she spat, "I won't accept that! You seem to believe that you can do as you will and then a few words will undo everything! Well, it won't!" Her emotions were so raw she had no thought for his, never realizing that he was as ashamed and angry with himself for what had transpired as she was.
Her words stung him, though, and with a savage gleam in his eyes he snarled, "And what about you, my dear? I didn't notice that you fought so very hard! Goddamnit, Nick, I'm only a man! I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. And you can rest assured that I regret it more bitterly than you can ever know. I made a vow I wouldn't ever touch you again, and I broke it. How do you think that makes me feel?" Bitterly he added, "You're the last woman I want to become entangled with!"
They faced one another angrily, not thinking of what they were saying or even of what they were doing. Hurt and stunned by the knowledge that he hated her so much, Nicole struck him in a sudden painful fury across the cheek.
Christopher made no retaliation, but his jaw tightened and his eyes went icy. "That, I think, will be enough! I'll admit you had provocation, but don't push your luck too far!" he said softly.
Horrified by the ugliness of what she was doing, Nicole spun away from him. Her back held ramrod-straight, staring blindly in another direction, she said tightly, "Leave me, Christopher. We don't seem to be able to act like normal people when we are alone together. We either fight or"—a hysterical little gurgle of laughter escaping —"we do something that resembles making love." She turned back to look at him and said sadly, "But we don't, do we? We make hate."
His face bleak, Christopher made no attempt to deny her words. He merely nodded, whether in agreement or good-bye she couldn't discern. Then he left her, striding with catlike grace from the conservatory.
But what had happened between them, he didn't leave behind. He took it with him, and there was no relief from the grotesque war that raged within his breast. She was like Annabelle. She was. She was her daughter. Like mother, like daughter, the thought thundered in his brain. And in the fashion of two powerful serpents, the emotions of love and hate were locked, writhing and twisting together in a battle within him. So entwined were they that Christopher was blind to reality, unable to distinguish one emotion from the other, love from hate, the present from the past.
CHAPTER 25
The Cavendish Square house seemed deserted as Christopher walked from the conservatory. Twickham replied to his careless inquiry that his grandfather had left to visit a Judge White in Russell Square and the elder ladies had gone to see Mrs. Bell, Regina's dressmaker. Christopher hesitated a moment and thought of joining his grandfather, but then deciding he would gain more satisfaction and release from his pent-up fury by facing Markham, he nodded curtly to Twickham and sprinted up the stairs.
Higgins was waiting for him. "The Markhams are staying at a hotel in Piccadilly. I have the address here," Higgins said, handing Christopher a scrap of paper.
Christopher barely glanced at it. "Thanks." Then suddenly remembering the appointment with his agent, he groaned, "Higgins, go see this fellow Jenkins. I should have met with him almost an hour ago! Apologize for me. Think of something and look at the lodgings he has to offer. I'll leave it to your judgment. But for God's sake, find me somewhere else to stay before I go mad!"
Startled, Higgins stared at his usually imperturbable master. "That bad, eh?"
Christopher threw him a wry grin. "Worse! I am in danger of losing whatever sense I was born with, and retreat is not o
nly necessary, but desperately desired!" With that he flung from the room, leaving the bewildered Higgins to stare after him.
Christopher found William Markham with no trouble. Nor was William surprised when Christopher was announced. He had been prepared for some additional communication from the Saxons, but he was not prepared for Christopher's intimidating presence, nor had he expected him so soon.
William had figured that it would take the Saxons a day or two to decide on their future action. He had expected their decision to take the form of a written acknowledgment of his rights from Lord Saxon's lawyer. Consequently when Christopher, a dangerous glitter in his eyes, was shown in, William suffered a definite shock and a feeling of unease.
There was something so menacing in the way this tall broad-shouldered young man stalked into his room, that William was assailed by a momentary qualm and found himself wishing apprehensively that Edward had not gone to Long Acre to buy a tilbury this particular afternoon.
Christopher halted just inside the room, making no attempt to hide his contempt for William. In a peremptory tone he inquired, "You paid a call to my grandfather's home this morning?"
"Well, yes," William began defensively. "Yes, I did." His sense of injustice renewed, he said more forcefully, "And I'll tell you this, young man, I was treated most cavalierly! Miss Ashford is my ward, and your grandfather, even if he is a lord, had no right to interfere."
"Even when you strike her?" Christopher asked in a silky voice.
William swallowed somewhat nervously. "She was impudent, and as her guardian," he began to bluster, "as her legal guardian, I have every right to reprimand my ward! She was impertinent, sir!"
Almost caressingly, Christopher ran the riding crop he held through his hands, his gaze never leaving William's increasingly red face. "You are mistaken," he stated flatly. "Nicole Ashford is no longer any concern of yours —she hasn't been since she ran away from your tyranny five years ago."
William stiffened with anger, but Christopher ignored him. "I'll give you some free advice, Mr. Markham," Christopher said pleasantly. "If I were you, I'd forget about Nicole Ashford and return to my farm. She'll be well taken care of by my grandfather. And, of course, if you don't follow my advice," he paused, an unpleasant smile curling his lips, "I'm afraid that it will be our unfortunate duty to request an inquiry into the management of her moneys during your guardianship."
William nearly choked on his rage. "How dare you threaten me! I'll have you thrown from this hotel, young man, and when I see my lawyer, you'll discover that it is unwise to spout slander at an innocent man!"
"Innocent?" Christopher mocked. "I hardly think so. And I'm certain we'll be able to prove otherwise."
Knowing full well that he could not withstand any investigation, William protested, "Now, look here! Let us discuss this!"
Christopher murmured dryly, "But I thought we were."
"Yes. Yes." Attempting to save face, William said conciliatorily, "Just sit down and we will see if we can come to an agreement."
"Only one course is acceptable. You and your wife retire to your farm and forget about Nicole Ashford. You will also," Christopher went on in a hard voice, "turn control of her fortune to my grandfather. If you don't," he growled dangerously, "you will, I promise, regret it greatly."
Nearly gagging on the fury that shook him, his face darkening alarmingly, William agreed in a strangled tone. "I understand." It galled him, but he was at a standstill. He could not afford to have his accounts examined. It was far better to lose Nicole and her fortune and keep what he could than to gamble all on winning against the Saxons.
"Fine!" Christopher said with a snap. He pivoted on his heel, then, as if remembering something, swung slowly back to face William. "Ah, yes, one more thing." And deliberately he slashed William deeply on the cheek with the riding crop. His eyes mere slits of gold, he snarled softly, "Don't ever lay a hand on Nicole Ashford again. Next time, I'll kill you!"
Stunned, William stared speechless as Christopher bowed with exaggerated politeness and departed. Once he was alone in the room, his hands clenching into fists, he nearly howled aloud his chagrin and rage. But he stifled the emotions, suspecting that he was fortunate that young Saxon had not challenged him to a duel. And if he escaped a legal inquiry into his affairs, he was doubly lucky.
The stinging cut on his cheek was throbbing painfully as he barged into Agatha's chamber and ordered her to pack—they were leaving for the country as soon as Edward returned! He offered no explanation, and when Agatha timidly asked what they were to do about Nicole, he roared at her in such temper that she promptly went into a swoon.
Having thoroughly unnerved his wife, he stormed from the room and proceeded to drown his disappointment and humiliation in several glasses of dark, strong ale. And as the hours passed he became more resigned and viewed the future with a more reasonable mind. His rage had not abated, but he was able to see the advantages of leaving town and salvaging what he could from Nicole's fortune.
Edward, though, when informed of the change of plans, merely looked at his father in a bored fashion and said languidly, "Very well. You and mother retire to the country."
The cut on his face now a livid bruise, William growled, "And you?"
Edward smiled sweetly, and flicking a bit of imaginary fluff from his sleeve, he murmured, "Oh, I intend to try my hand at wedding the heiress."
William grunted. "Well, I wish you the joy of her. She's a regular little hellcat! She'll make a hot-tempered shrew of a wife, and I'll warn you, it might not be worth the fortune."
Edward stared blandly at his father and said softly, "That may be, but I doubt that my dear bride will survive her honeymoon!"
Gazing intently into his son's limpid blue eyes, William shivered. There was something about Edward that frightened him occasionally, and hastily he muttered, "You do as you see fit."
"I intend to."
Edward had grown up to be a very eligible and handsome young man. He was almost beautiful, with fair hair of gleaming silver curls and smoky blue eyes framed by silky lashes, an aquiline nose of classic proportions, and a passionate, full-lipped mouth, all complementing his fairness. He was taller than average, and his body was as muscled and sleek as the rest of him. Oh, yes, Edward was an astonishingly beautiful young man and could be most charming and engaging. He was the hope of many a mother with a marriageable daughter and the despair of those very eager young ladies. But Edward's polished surface concealed an evil nature; he was inordinately, poisonously selfish and cared for no one but himself.
William was aware of that unpalatable fact, and rising heavily from his chair a moment later, he repeated, "You do as you see fit. But remember, from now on the Saxons will be controlling her fortune. I dare not fight them on the issue. Your mother and I leave tomorrow for the farm."
His son waved him away with a negligent flick of his hand. "I'll bid you good-bye then."
Alone in his own chambers, Edward debated at length what his next step should be. More permanent lodgings, of course, but a servant could see to that. The most important thing at the moment was Nicole Ashford.
With a serpent's grace he glided through his apartment, torn between the necessity of presenting himself to Nicole's notice at once, and the prudent notion that it would be wise to wait until the unpleasantness of his parents' intrusion had faded.
But necessity won. It was vital that he make Nicole's acquaintance before she was presented—an heiress never wanted for admirers, and Edward was not blind to that fact.
He entirely discounted Christopher as a threat. To Edward's way of thinking, if young Saxon had designs on the heiress he would have compromised her and compelled her to marry him before returning her to England.
The attack on his father disturbed him not at all, nor did it arouse any desire for revenge. He was furious with William's stupid handling of the affair and cursed his parents' fumbling ineptness.
After several hours of careful plotting he decided h
e would, after all, call at once on his cousin, professing to be newly arrived in town. He would naturally be shocked and horrified when he learned what had happened. Composing his features into an expression of sorrow and horror, he stared into his mirror. Exactly. That looked excellent! It gave his profile that appearance of manly embarrassment so endearing to the ladies.
Intent upon creating a favorable impression on his cousin, Edward prepared himself with extreme care the next morning. He chose a coat of deep blue superfine; pantaloons of buff-colored duck; shining Hessians with long, silky gold tassels; a white cravat starched to perfection; and a tall curly-brimmed beaver hat and malacca walking stick. With pleasure he surveyed himself in the tall mirror in his room and then gracefully sauntered out to bid his parents good-bye.
Edward wafted a careless kiss to his mother's cheek, shook hands perfunctorily with his father, saw them to their coach, and watched dispassionately until it disappeared down the cobbled street; then he turned and stepped languidly into his own waiting vehicle—a tilbury purchased just the prior afternoon. As it was now some minutes after eleven o'clock, he drove directly to Cavendish Square; his confidence was such that it never crossed his mind that he might not be welcome at Lord Saxon's home.
Twickham read the proffered card with something like amazement, for there was no denying this young Adonis bore little resemblance to the older branch of the family. Fastidiously Twickham showed Edward into a small parlor just off the entrance hall.
Edward nodded pleasantly and spent the intervening moments assessing the worth of the furnishings in the room. He had just decided that Lord Saxon must be very warm in the pocket, judging by the plush carpet and velvet chairs, when Simon entered the room.
"Why do you want to see Miss Ashford?" he barked aggressively.
Edward allowed his features to take on their most winning expression. "Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir, but if it is not too very inconvenient I would like most awfully to see my cousin." Looking slightly embarrassed, he went on, "I must apologize for my parents' actions yesterday morning. I have just arrived in London this morning and regret that I was not here to prevent such an unfortunate scene from occurring. I hope most sincerely that my cousin does not blame me."