Louis broke off and sat down again, revolted with himself for such a display of emotion. Nic was looking at him with such… ugh. Not that. Not pity. He retreated behind his mask, cool and in control, indifferent. This was not about him. He needed to remember that. Nic was hurt and unhappy. That was what needed putting right.
“Never mind,” he said. “But I would like to know what Eliza has to say about your plans.”
“Louis,” Nic began, but Louis cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
“No. Answer the question. As you said, I am a big boy, I have more friends than any man could ever want. We are a grand success, just as you and Father planned. All is well, but what of Eliza?”
Nic sighed, knowing better than to return to the subject when Louis was in this mood.
“She does not know.”
“So, you’re going to run away and break her heart. How delightful. I suppose under those circumstances she might fall into my arms and we could console each other in our devastation.”
That had been cruel and unworthy, but the words escaped him before he could stop them.
Nic stared at him, his jaw tight.
“What?” Louis said, mocking now. “You think she’ll die an old maid? Would that please you better? If it’s not me, it will be someone else. Perhaps not for a while, but one day. It will be someone she doesn’t love as she loves you… and she does love you, Nic. But loneliness is hard to bear, and eventually she’ll accept a proposal just so that she can escape it. Meanwhile, you are alone and wretched on the other side of the channel. Yes, that sounds a marvellous plan for everyone involved.”
“What would you have me do, Louis?” Nic demanded, surging to his feet. “I’m not good enough for her. Something her maid, her bloody maid, was good enough to take me aside and point out in no uncertain terms. And thank God she did, before… before things went too far.”
“You bloody fool! You let a lady’s maid chase you off?” Louis glared at his brother in outrage.
“No,” Nic said through gritted teeth. “I let the truth chase me off. What do you think would happen if I married her, and then someone recognised me from Franconi’s? Do you think the world would be kind to a duke’s daughter who’d married a bloody circus act? I might as well be one of the Raree show for all the respect they would give her, the fat man or the bearded lady… perhaps the two-headed goat!”
“Christ, Nic. You’ve a high opinion of yourself if you think anyone could recognise you from all those years ago under layers of greasepaint and forty foot off the bloody ground!”
“They wouldn’t even need to recognise me,” Nic snapped. “The truth gets out, Louis. It always does. Something will come out, sooner or later, which is why you need to get yourself bloody well married before it does. I need to go, not just for Eliza’s sake but for yours. All the time I’m here, our risks are doubled. I ought never have let you persuade me to come.”
“You promised me, Nic. You promised we would do this together, and if marriage can offer me security from scandal and scorn, it can you too,” Louis countered, even though he knew it was futile.
Nic gave a bark of laughter without the slightest trace of humour in it. “Me, perhaps, but what of Eliza? How will she endure the sniggers and the comments, the contempt from those who aren’t fit to kiss her bloody feet? How will I endure her humiliation, knowing it was my fault, my selfishness that brought her so low?”
He was shouting now, his heart too exposed, his agony too visible for Louis to remain unmoved. It would hurt his brother to cause Eliza the least harm, he knew that. Nic had only ever wanted to protect those he cared for, to look after them, to keep them safe and see them happy. He knew that. Of all people, he knew that.
“So you’ll leave her,” Louis said, finding his own voice unsteady now. He did not know what Nic felt, but he understood his own loss if his brother left him in this foreign place alone. He understood that Eliza would be heartbroken too, that she would not understand why Nic had gone. Louis knew something else, too. Eliza loved Nic, and Nic was worth any sacrifice. He was a man worthy of Eliza’s love and devotion, no matter what he thought of himself. Nic would never let her down, he would stand by her through thick and thin, he would love her until his dying breath, and that was worth any amount of scorn from the rest of the world. Louis had sworn to help Eliza, to be her friend, and he wanted his brother to be happy.
“I’ll go tomorrow,” Nic said, that defeated look more than Louis could bear. It was the look he’d worn when their father had berated him, treating his own son with contempt for a sin which was not Nic’s but his.
“And now?”
“Now,” Nic said bitterly, heading for the door. “Now, I am going to get very, very drunk.”
Louis heard his footsteps move away, and a moment later the slam of the front door as Nic went out. He stared at the fire for a long time, torn as to what to do, how to proceed. He knew Eliza well enough to believe she would do anything to keep Nic here, even sacrifice her own reputation to do so. If that happened, Nic would never forgive him, but he might have the woman he loved at his side.
Finally, Louis rose and poured himself a drink, downing it in two large swallows. He poured another and drank that down too, breathing through the fire that coursed inside him, warming his blood and strengthening his resolve.
Then he went to get paper and ink, and sat to write a letter.
Chapter 11
Lady Elizabeth,
If there is a God, I ought to pray he will forgive me for writing this letter, for I fear my brother will not.
I write in haste to tell you he is leaving for France tomorrow. Your maid has done a thorough job reminding him of all the reasons he is unfit to court you and so he is removing himself from temptation. Eliza, my friend, I cannot see Nic in such pain and do nothing, say nothing. He loves you with all his heart and leaving you will destroy him. If he were the Comte de Villen in my place – as I have often wished he was – he would have offered for you by now. It is only his situation that holds him back. He loves you enough to put your wellbeing before his own happiness, as he will always do. Nicolas is the most honourable, the best and worthiest man I know, and his illegitimacy cannot change that fact. I believe you know this too.
He fears our past will come back to haunt us, that if the truth comes out you will be humiliated, and he cannot bear to be the cause of that. I must tell you it is a risk and one you must be prepared to face if you choose him, if you choose us. Our pasts are not respectable by any means and you do not yet know all. I believe you would face it all and not regret it. I believe that behind that pretty, fragile exterior lies a will of iron. You came back from the dead, stronger, and braver, and I believe you will make each other happy.
I know what I am asking of you and that I should feel sick with shame for it, but I know too that if you love him, you must do something to keep him at your side. If I have misjudged your feelings, I pray you will forgive me my audacity, but I have left a key to our rooms beneath the mat and you may rest assured I will not return this night. I have also given the servants the day off. They will not return until midday tomorrow. What you do with this information I leave to you. He is out at present and I do not expect him to return until late. His intention was to get drunk, to drown his sorrows. If you needed any explanation, his heart is breaking, Eliza, at the thought of leaving you, and he cannot bear the pain.
I regret this is all I can tell you or offer in the way of help for now, but I remain at your disposal. I shall be at Hunter’s if you wish to get a message to me. The boy who brings this note will deal with it.
Forgive me for putting you in this untenable situation, but Nic deserves to be happy, and I would do anything, even risk his good opinion of me and your reputation, if I can but achieve this for him. I hope to see you my sister yet, but I remain, as ever.
Your friend.
―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen, to Lady Elizabeth Adolphus (Dau
ghter of the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).
3rd April 1839, Beverwyck.
“Wait in the garden, beneath the awning,” Eliza told the boy. “I shall return shortly with a reply.”
The lad nodded and scurried away as Eliza tucked the letter into her pocket and hurried to her room. With trembling hands, she sat at the dressing table under the light of the Argand lamp and broke the seal which she recognised as Louis César’s. The writing was not as elegant as before, the note obviously written quickly, perhaps before Louis could change his mind. As Eliza read the dreadful words, she could well understand his indecision, but she could only send up a prayer of thanks to the man for having chosen as he had.
“Oh, Nic,” she said, sadness and frustration rising in her chest.
Damn Martha for interfering. Oh, the wretched woman. Yet she could not bring herself to hate her maid for what she had done, knowing it had been out of love for Eliza, and the misguided belief that she knew what was best for her. There was no time to think about that tangle of emotions, though. Nic was leaving tomorrow, and Eliza must stop him.
Louis had left the key to their rooms and told her in no uncertain terms that he would not return. He had a very clear idea of how to keep Nic here, and so did Eliza. What that would mean for her, though? Her heart skittered about like a newborn lamb. She would ruin herself, and Nic would have to marry her. Could she really do that? Could she force his hand? Yet it was what he wanted. She had not needed Louis’s words to confirm that, though she was glad of them all the same. This afternoon, Nic had opened his heart to her, for she had heard every word he’d said, heard his sincerity, and known he had meant it. My Eliza, he had called her, and told her he loved her, would love her forever. My love, my star.
She had never expected to hear such words from him, though she had known a far gentler man dwelt beneath that gruff exterior, but they had been a gift. Eliza suspected he had not meant to speak so, but he had been as caught up in the storm of emotion and desire as she had been. He loved her, but he would leave her rather than risk damaging her reputation. Well, her pristine reputation, the thing she had clung to and hidden behind for so many years, was not so terribly valuable as everyone seemed to believe. It was certainly not worth losing the man she loved over, so… she would lose her reputation instead, and keep Nic.
Despite her skittering heart, she smiled, her hand moving to the dare in her pocket, the one that had terrified her so much when she’d first read it. Now, it seemed perfect, as if destiny had known this would be her choice from the start.
Take something that does not belong to you.
Well, Nic might not belong to her yet, but if all went as she hoped, by morning she would have him for her own. The only thing she did not dare consider was… if he would ever forgive her for it.
Nic glared at the lock and tried again, concentrating fiercely on trying to insert the blasted key. Not that it mattered. He wanted his bed, and to sink into oblivion, but he cared little if oblivion took him here and now and he passed out on the floor of the corridor that led to their suite of rooms. Except that would embarrass Louis and, if she heard about it, Eliza would be distressed, and that could not happen. Nothing must ever distress Eliza.
Going away would distress her, warned a voice in his head, but he silenced it. Yes, she would grieve for a time, but she was young and beautiful, and she would recover. She was strong, his Eliza. For all she looked as frail and delicate as a rose petal, she had a strong heart, and thorns too, for those that displeased her. He smiled at the knowledge and finally the key slid home and he almost fell into the room. He staggered, weaving as the room pitched around him. Good God, but he was going to have the devil of a headache in the morning. Just as well, he supposed. It was the only thing that might distract him from the pain in his heart.
Don’t think of it. Don’t think of her.
Nic shut the door and lurched unsteadily towards his room, cursing as he walked into a low table, cracking his shin.
“Fils de pute,” he muttered wrathfully.
He staggered on, pushing open his bedroom door and wincing as he accidentally slammed it shut.
“Sorry,” he slurred, and then wondered who the hell he was talking to.
Sinking down on the edge of the mattress, he struggled to pull off his boots, wrestled out of his coat and spent far too long trying to undo his waistcoat buttons. With a surge of impatience, he solved the problem by tugging hard. The buttons gave, skittering about the room as they hit the floor.
His shirt was easier at least and he cast that to the floor, before pushing down his trousers and small clothes and kicking them off. With a sigh, he groped about in the dark for the covers and flung them aside, crawling in between the sheets with a sigh of relief. Finally, oblivion. Nic closed his eyes, waiting for the pull of sleep. It didn’t take long. He’d drunk enough to fell an elephant and soon his mind was hazy and pliant, all the misery and regret still there, but cloaked in a fog so thick it would allow him to sleep. It was all he’d hoped for. He turned on his side, allowing dreams to come to him.
The scent of Eliza tickled his nose as he remembered that afternoon and the little sounds of pleasure she had made when he’d touched her. Oh, God. Desire rose through the fog, urgent and strong enough to fight through the blur of alcohol. In his mind she was close, in his arms, her body soft and warm and willing. Nic groaned, wrapping himself around her, burying his face in her neck and breathing in the dizzying perfume of summer roses.
“Eliza, Eliza,” he murmured, though he knew it was only a drunken illusion. “I love you. I will always love you. Je’taime, pour toujours.”
In his dream, she wore only a thin shift, the warmth of her body tantalisingly close. Nic sought the hem, tugging it up and sliding his hand beneath. He heard her gasp, her breath quickening as his hand slid over her thigh, over the soft swell of her belly to the fuller mound of her breast. It more than filled his palm, and he gave a grunt of pleasure as he squeezed, kneading the soft flesh and toying with the nipple. God, he wanted her, wanted to make love to her, to lose himself inside her. He wanted to make her his own. Yes. Yes, that was what he wanted… more than anything.
Eliza watched daylight creeping around the bedroom curtains. The rain that had closed in last night was falling still, one of those incessantly grey English days that seemed to blend one into the other without end. She didn’t care. For once, she had taken matters into her own hands. Instead of letting things happen to her, she had made her choice and acted on it. How Nic would take it she was not certain, but she knew the day ahead would be fraught and emotional for a great many reasons. He had every right to be enraged by her actions. She had manipulated the situation for her own ends and guilt was a weight in the pit of her belly, yet she could not bring herself to regret it. So she enjoyed the peace of the morning, broken only by Nic’s soft snoring. Eliza smiled, trailing her hand through his dark hair where it rested on the pillow beside her. He was draped over her, one hand still possessively grasping her breast, and a heavy thigh between her legs, pinning her down. It was delicious to be this close to him, if somewhat tormenting, but she lay quietly, waiting for him to wake and for the storm to break over her. She was ready.
He made a sound, low and pained, and her heart picked up, knowing he was waking. The poor man was going to have the headache from hell. Eliza had seen her brother Jules in such a state often enough to realise Nic had drunk far more than was good for him and would not be feeling his best this morning, to put it mildly. He groaned and snuggled into her, avoiding wakefulness for as long as he could. The hand on her breast squeezed, and he gave a heartfelt sigh of pleasure. Then he woke. She knew because of the sudden tension singing through him. Eliza turned her head as his dark lashes fluttered and he peeled his eyes open. It took a moment or two for him to focus on her, then his eyes grew wide with horror.
“Putain!” he exclaimed, scrambling up and away from her. Kneeling on the bed, he clutched at his head with a cry of pain. �
�Mère de Dieu. Non. Non, non ce n’est pas possible!”
“Good morning, my love,” Eliza said softly, wincing at his obvious pain. “I’m afraid you must have a dreadful headache.”
“This isn’t happening,” he said, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m hallucinating. It’s a dream. You’re not really here.”
The cold lump of guilt in her belly coalesced into something like dread as the magnitude of her actions became apparent. She had behaved terribly, had abused his trust, and now he would marry her because he was too honourable to do anything else. He wanted to marry her; she reminded herself, though she still felt sick to her stomach.
“I’m sorry, Nic. Truly, I am. I know it was wicked of me, but I’m afraid I could not let you go. You will be very angry I know, and with good reason, but I have trapped you and now you have no choice but to stay and marry me. My parents will realise I’m not in my bed soon and Martha will guess where I am here with you. I am furious with her, I must say, but anyway. I suspect we have an hour at most before my father arrives.”
Eliza watched him anxiously. He was a ghastly shade, somewhere between white and green and he was breathing very hard.
“You little fool,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn you, Eliza. Why…?”
“Because I love you, Nic.”
He stared at her then, incredulous. “You’ve ruined yourself. For me.”
She nodded, hardly daring to breathe. He had every right to be furious with her. Even if he wanted to marry her, no man liked their hand to be forced. Nic put his head in his hands and muttered some words in French she did not recognise, but they sounded hard and angry enough to take a guess. Deciding retreat might be the better part of valour, she slid from the bed and out of the room to give him a few moments’ peace. She had done a quick circuit of their suite last night when investigating which bedroom belonged to Nic and had discovered a small kitchen.
Once, when Jules had been in such a state, he’d thrust a piece of paper containing a recipe at her. He’d got it from Montagu’s son, Philip, who in turn had been given it by their old cook, Pippin. Jules swore it was the only thing that eased his aching head and so Eliza set about investigating the kitchen, finding all the necessary ingredients. Though she had never made it herself before, she remembered what was in it and it was by no means complicated, only disgusting.
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 13