Amanda Scott (39 page)

“By heaven, you are a woman truly worthy of me,” he said with a sigh. “I can see now that I was very much mistaken to allow Vexford to win you.”

A sudden clatter of footsteps in the stairwell ended with a loud pounding at Yarborne’s door. “Yarborne, open up! I know you’re in there. I must talk to you. Open this door at once, damn you!”

Frozen in place by the sound of her husband’s furious voice, Melissa stared at the vibrating door, expecting it to burst open. Only when the doorknob rattled ineffectively did she realize Yarborne had locked the door behind her. She turned to him and saw that he looked as dismayed as she was.

“Please, sir,” she said urgently, “do not give me away. He will murder the pair of us if he finds me here.”

“I am well aware of that,” he muttered. “This is most unfair, I must say. To have him threatening mayhem, as I make no doubt he will, only because I have been generous enough to assist you—”

“Don’t talk fustian! Where can I hide?” The pounding on the door had not ceased, and she knew it would be only seconds before Nicholas broke down the door.

Yarborne clearly shared that opinion. “In there,” he said, indicating a door right behind her. “Hurry, for God’s sake, and take that damned bracelet with you.”

“Here’s your money,” she said, thrusting it at him.

“I don’t want it, “he snapped. “Go! Hurry!”

But when she threw down the money in place of the bracelet, he snatched it up, thrusting it hastily inside his coat as he hurried to the door. “Silence, Vexford, I’m coming as fast as I can. Good Lord, man, can’t you let a chap get his coat on?”

“You’d better have a damned good reason to have taken it off,” Nicholas shouted through the door.

Hearing him, her heart pounding in her throat, Melissa slipped into the room Yarborne had indicated, shut the door, and pressed her ear hard against it.

N
ICK SHIFTED IMPATIENTLY FROM
foot to foot. He had heard nothing from inside the flat except Yarborne’s voice, and only the sound of firm footsteps approaching the door had kept him from battering the door down. All the way from Clara’s house, he had been imagining what he might discover. One moment he imagined Melissa helplessly struggling in the villain’s clutches, the next writhing in his embrace. Fuming by the time he reached Jermyn Street, he had not been able to think what might draw her to Yarborne’s flat, but he was certain the attraction was nothing good.

His hands had managed the reins by reflex while his mind flashed images ranging from Yarborne’s having tricked her into meeting him, to an idiotic one of Melissa deciding she would have done better to have married Yarborne. No single idea followed logically upon another. Disjointed half-thoughts tumbled through his mind, replacing sensible reflection with dazed emotion. Drawing up before Yarborne’s building, he had tossed the ribbons to Artemus and leapt down, urged on by an increasing fear of greater magnitude than any he had experienced before.

Only as he raced up the stairs to Yarborne’s flat had he realized that he ought to have demanded a more detailed explanation from Clara. He had been foolish to leave without learning more, and it occurred to him that despite his saying she could not have her bracelet, she had made no effort to call him back. What had possessed him, he wondered as the sound reached his ears of a hand on the latch, to believe so easily the outrageous charge she had laid against Melissa?

The door opened, and Yarborne stood before him. In that instant, Nick knew that Clara had spoken the truth, for despite the note of heartiness in the words shouted through the door, the man did not look at all pleased to see him. That single look was enough to make Nick shove the door wide and brush past Yarborne into the room.

The words,
“Where is she?”
leapt to his lips, but he managed to quell them. Looking quickly around, he noted a tea tray laid with two cups and a plate of biscuits, and said grimly, “I trust I have not interrupted a tête-à-tête.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Yarborne said bluffly. “My man merely set out refreshment for me before taking himself off for the afternoon. Meeting his sister or some such thing, I daresay. Don’t precisely recall just what his plans were.”

“No, nor would you have cared a jot had they not marched with your own,” Nick snapped. “You begin to sound like someone else I know, offering detailed explanation before I have requested any.”

“Did you not request one? Dear me, I thought you had. But won’t you sit down?” He made a sweeping gesture toward a chair near the window embrasure, and as he did, a crumpled bank note slipped from beneath his coat to the floor.

Bending swiftly to pick it up, Nick said, “Rather careless with your money, Yarborne. Never would have thought that of you.” As he straightened, he saw that Yarborne’s eyes had widened with alarm. The man turned away quickly, as though he realized his expression had been too revealing, and Nick, catching a slight but familiar scent, lifted the bank note to his nose, sniffing delicately. “Lavender, Yarborne? Do you perfume your money, sir?”

Something in his tone must have warned Yarborne, for he went very still. He did not turn, nor did he reply.

“Look at me, you scoundrel.”

Visibly drawing a deep breath, Yarborne turned. Though his face showed none of his thoughts, he was not wholly intimidated, for his eyes narrowed slightly and he said in a stern tone, “You forget yourself, Vexford.”

“Where is she, damn you?”

Yarborne’s eyebrows rose. “My dear boy, do you accuse me of employing this flat for romantic assignations?”

“By God, Yarborne, if you won’t answer me, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? I have heard much about your temper, young man, but I cannot believe that any gentleman raised and schooled as you were would lift a hand to one old enough to be his father. Do I misjudge you, sir?”

“Will you allow me to search this flat?”

“I will not.”

“Then you do indeed underestimate me, for if what I believe is true, and I find the one I expect to find here, no man in England would judge me guilty of assault, or even of murder, by God.” He reached for Yarborne, who stepped quickly back, saying warily, “Now, Nicholas, I must protest. Really, my lord. Nick, no!”

“Nicholas, no!”

The feminine cry joined Yarborne’s as Nick grabbed him by the throat, and Nick saw that a door had opened across the room.

His wife stood framed in the doorway, her face white with shock. Her voice was perfectly calm, however, when she said, “Let him go at once, Nicholas.”

Seeing cold fury leap to her husband’s eyes, Melissa realized with a shiver of fear that although she had thought him angry enough to commit murder, his emotions where Yarborne was concerned paled by comparison to what he felt when his gaze met hers. A brief, tense pause followed. She was not certain Nicholas even remembered that he held Yarborne by the throat in what was doubtless a painful grip. She dared not speak again, however, until he spoke.

“Is that this villain’s bedchamber?” he demanded.

“I-I don’t know.” She did not have any notion what room it was, for she had not taken even a moment to look, nor did she want to look now. Her full attention was riveted upon her husband, just as it had been from the moment he arrived at the flat.

A gurgling sound from Yarborne apparently reminded Nicholas that he still held the man, for although his eyes remained fixed on her, he abruptly released Yarborne.

Rubbing his throat, Yarborne said hoarsely, “That is the dining room, Vexford. I am not a fool. Even in my haste to aid the lady, I was not so lost to my senses as to send her into the bedchamber.”

“Not so heedless of your safety is what I’d call it,” Nicholas said.

“If you prefer to describe it that way, certainly.”

“What I prefer seems to have had no influence whatsoever on this little farce. What the devil goes on here, Yarborne?”

Straightening his cravat, Yarborne glanced at Melissa.

Unsure of just what he would choose to tell Nicholas, she said quickly, “Say what you will. I mean to tell him the truth.”

“Then, pray, madam, take him away from here before you do. I have had a surfeit of his temper for one day, and since I doubt that I can rely on you to put the matter in the kindly light that my patience and generosity deserve, and since a gentleman must hesitate to contradict a lady, even when his safety is at stake—”

“Shut your damned mouth, Yarborne,” Nicholas snapped. “If I learn that you have harmed her, there won’t be anything you can say to save yourself.”

“Then I must most urgently implore her to speak the truth, for in point of fact, the only one threatened here today—”

“You need say no more, Lord Yarborne,” Melissa interjected hastily “I promise you, I shall tell him the truth.” Forcing herself to meet her husband’s stern gaze, she said, “I am ready to go home now, sir, if you please.”

“Are you, indeed?”

His voice was gentle, so she was not sure what there was in the tone to send shivers shooting up her spine again, but so it was. She had all she could do to keep her voice steady long enough to say, “Yes, Nicholas.”

His eyes were like chips of steel, his mouth drawn into a hard straight line with lips pressed together tightly, as if he did not trust himself to speak. She dreaded what he would say to her when he was able to control his tongue again, but she hoped he would restrain himself at least until they reached the street. The thought of having her character shredded before Yarborne was almost more than she could bear. She did not look away, but neither did she attempt to speak again, lest an unintended word turn the ice in his expression to fire, and set him off like one of the skyrockets at Vauxhall.

The silence grew heavy, almost tactile. At a point somewhere beneath the heavy cloud of her husband’s anger, she sensed that Yarborne’s wariness was as strong as her own, but he, too, seemed to recognize the wisdom of not speaking. At last Nicholas stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “After you, my dear.”

The shivery sensation increased to a prickling when she passed him, as if the very hairs on her body stood up in awareness of his wrath. She could hear his breath rasping in his throat, and could feel the tension emanating from him.

Yarborne moved, as if he had been released from a spell, stepping hastily past her to the door. He opened it for her, then stood beside it, looking for all the world like a gentleman seeing afternoon callers on their way. Not for a single moment, however, did Melissa consider bidding him farewell.

She swept past him, conscious only of the large man behind her, whose presence loomed over her all the way down the twisting flights of steps to the ground floor. Not waiting for him to open the outer door, she pulled it open herself and stepped to the pavement, looking for the carriage.

“My tilbury is yonder,” he said curtly.

She saw it then, and saw too that Artemus stood beside it. For a moment she was grateful, certain that Nicholas would not scold her with his groom perched up behind them. When they reached the carriage, however, he caught her by the waist and tossed her onto the front seat, taking the reins from Artemus and saying grimly, “You may walk home from here. I’ll leave the rig with a lad at the door.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Melissa swallowed hard when Nicholas swung up onto the seat beside her, but he did not speak other than to give his horses the office to start. There being little traffic, he set them trotting as soon as he turned the corner into York Street, and in less than five minutes, without having spoken a single word to her, he drew up before Barrington House. Jumping to the ground, be handed the reins to the boy who ran up the areaway steps to meet them. “Artemus will be along shortly to collect them,” he snapped over his shoulder as he reached to help Melissa down.

His hands, warm at her waist, belied the chill in his eyes, and she almost hoped something else would intervene to prevent the scene she knew was coming. Telling herself she was being foolish beyond permission to think of putting it off, since his wrath was likely only to increase if he were denied the relief of venting it, she went silently beside him into the house.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Preston said, approaching from the stairway. His kindly gaze shifted to Melissa, and reading surprise in his expression, she held her breath. He said, “Good afternoon, my lady. I was not aware that you had gone out.”

“Were you not, Preston?” she said.

“No, madam. Nor did Silas or the porter know that you had left the house.”

Unable to think of a thing to say that would not make matters worse, she held her tongue.

Nicholas said quietly, “Thank you, Preston. We require nothing further.”

“Yes, my lord, though you might perhaps find a glass of wine refreshing, if I might be so bold as to suggest it.”

“Not now. I’ll ring if I want you.”

“Yes, my lord.” And with a sympathetic glance at Melissa, the butler turned on his heel and returned to the nether regions.

Melissa hesitated, but when Nick’s firm hand on her elbow urged her toward the library, she went without a word, remaining silent even when he shut the door behind them and moved past her to lean against the huge desk, facing her. No fire had yet been lighted in the room, but the chilly air was not what made her shiver again.

After another moment’s silence, he said, “Now you may tell me the truth. Don’t leave out a single word of it.”

She did not know where to begin, but she knew his patience would not long endure silence, so she said in a rush, “I made a foolish wager at the ladies’ supper that I could not make good, and Yarborne lent me money to cover my losses. Later he said he would collect what I owed from you if I did not repay him. I know I ought never to have accepted his money, Nicholas, but at the time, I could think of no other recourse. You were not there, and I did not think to borrow from anyone else because he just told the groom-porter to pay everyone off. He seemed so kind and thoughtful, so …” His glare stopped the words in her throat. After another long pause during which he seemed to be measuring the truth of her tale, she said, “I suppose you think me a fool.”