Innocence Lost (18 page)

He hated to take Megan by force, but he had no choice. His back was against a wall. Both her father and her new husband would pay a king's ransom to get her back. He rubbed his hands together. Yes, a king's ransom would do nicely.

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Nicholas rubbed his pounding temples and resisted the urge to pour a gin. Not a wise thing to do in the bloody morning. He sighed and looked down at the stack of papers before him. His attorney thought him mad and damn near refused his request. Imagine an attorney refusing a duke? He glanced over at the gin decanter.

A knock drew his attention. “Enter."

Megan stepped into the room. Dear God, her beauty could still amaze him. He shot to his feet and rounded the desk. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her long and hard. He kissed her deep. They had just made love a couple of hours ago and he wanted more. He always wanted more of Megan.

"Goodness, Nicholas,” she said with a laugh when they broke free. “Have you missed me that much?"

He was breathless and out of sorts. “Sorry,” he replied and took a step back, ashamed for his brutish behavior.

"What is it?” She came forward with worry in her eyes.

"Nothing at all.” He turned to the table where Carson had placed the invitations he'd delivered earlier. “Which of these would you like to attend?"

"Nicholas, what is this about?"

The erotic image of taking his wife on the sofa ceased when Nicholas turned and found Megan reading the papers on his desk. Sighing, he plucked the documents from her hands, then placed them face down on the wood with a thud. “This is nothing for you to concern yourself with,” he said.

"But my dowry—"

"I do not need your money, nor will I take it."

"That's absurd, Nicholas” she said. “Every husband spends his wife's dowry."

"Not this husband,” he said.

"Why not?"

"I will not have it believed that I married you for your dowry."

Her brows snapped together. “Who would think such a...” She stopped as understanding sprang into her eyes. Then anger. Julian, of course.

Grasping for a diversion, he remembered the reason he'd summoned her. “Do you ride sidesaddle?"

She blinked rapidly. The anger in her eyes subsided.

"A little,” she answered.

An hour later, they were astride a pair of his finest horses, taking a stroll through Hyde Park. Nicholas lifted his face to the sun and inhaled. Birds took flight as they approached the Serpentine. He slid his gaze to his wife and grinned. Even sidesaddle, she commanded the spirited mare with magnificent ease. A little, indeed. He led Megan into the woods a short distance outside London and stopped at a grassy area under a canopy of trees. As she unpacked the basket, he tethered the horses.

"Tell me, what else are you ‘a little’ good at?” he asked, then took a bite of his cold chicken. Birds chirped overhead and two grey squirrels raced each other up and down a tree trunk.

Nibbling on a plump strawberry, his wife arched an eyebrow. “Guess,” she said. A slow smile spread over her lips.

He returned the smile, liking this playful side of her. “Let me see.” He paused and looked at the small patch of sky visible through the trees. “Ah, yes, you can sew a fancy ball gown in one hour's time with your eyes shut."

Megan shook her head. “I couldn't sew two straight stitches with both eyes wide open, even if I had all the time in the world. It drives my mother to distraction. Try again."

"All right, with your lovely voice, you can sing like a sparrow."

She poured him more wine. “Perhaps if the sparrow were being drowned while it sang,” she said.

"Oh, I've got it. You are an expert on the pianoforte."

She placed a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Her shoulders shook. “G-Goodness no,” she gasped. “Poor Mr. Whittle would turn a sickly shade of green every time I placed my fingers on the keys."

Nicholas felt his lips twitch. “I give up,” he said. “What else are you good at?"

Her smile turned into a seductive leer. Saucy and sensual. Nicholas tensed, his blood flowing south. She raised a finger and traced his lips. “Chess,” she said.

The thought of her pulling off her clothes and having her way with him came to a sudden halt. “You can play chess?"

"Do you?"

"Actually, it's one of my best games,” he said. “I'll show you a few of my techniques if you would like.” A vision entered his mind of other “techniques.” His body quickened with desire. When Megan spoke, he had to concentrate to understand her words. “That is all I'm going to impart for now. You'll have to learn the rest of my talents on your own."

He cocked a brow. “Is that so? Well, I know something else that you're very good at,” he purred. He leaned over and whispered, “You play very well at bed sport,” into her ear. She flushed a deep, enticing red.

He smiled wickedly and began raining kisses over her jaw and neck. Then he traced the tip of his tongue along the outside of her ear. She shuddered, and when she turned her mouth to his, he eagerly complied. When Megan began to pull him down, Nicholas groaned in complete surrender and followed her. His tongue swept every ridge and curve inside her berry-tasting mouth before he slid it against hers in a sensual rhythm. He kissed her deep and hot, and the bulge within his riding breeches swelled painfully. He closed his hand over her well-formed breast. Through the fabric, her nipple distended, and he longed to lave the sweet pebble with his tongue. But that was just the start of what he would do to her....

The wind rustled through the trees overhead. Megan popped her eyes open. She broke contact with her husband's mouth and sucked in a few deep breaths. When he reached for her, she pushed at his shoulders. “Nicholas, we must not."

"Oh, but we must, my love,” he said, then nibbled at her neck.

"But someone might see...Nicholas,” she said when he released one of her breasts. As his lips closed over her bare nipple, waves of longing pooled between her thighs. She closed her eyes to find the strength to call a halt to the marvelous sensations engulfing her entire being.

Placing her trembling hands on either side of his smooth face, she lifted his head. His blue eyes were dark and full of hunger. She licked her lips and forced the necessary words from her mouth. “We must stop.” She hoped that he would heed her because she wouldn't have the strength to halt him again.

He laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. His chest heaved. Poor Nicholas, she thought as he opened his eyes and used unsteady hands to repair her disheveled gown. She would just have to make this up to him later.

He assisted her to her feet. “You, my dear, are an expert temptress of the highest order,” he chided as they packed away their picnic basket.

She placed a hand on her chest and gave him what she hoped was an innocent look. “Me?"

His eyes roved over her, a wicked gleam in their blue depths.

She took a step back, laughing. “Nicholas."

With a sigh, he picked up the blanket and secured it to his horse.

Megan gripped her hands together as she watched him work. “Nicholas, about my dowry—"

"I have told you already, I will not take it.” He finished tightening the straps and turned to face her, his jaw set in a stubborn fashion. “You need not worry about this any longer."

She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I still do not understand why—"

"Let it go, love.” He stepped before her and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I will not change my mind."

She placed her hand over his, now regretting the missive she had sent earlier to her father. Her message had asked for help in convincing Nicholas to receive her dowry. Oh, dear. How would her father react to a direct refusal?

"I've been meaning to discuss where you would like to go for our honeymoon. We can leave as soon... What?"

"Oh, Nicholas.” She shook her head with sorrow. “My parents haven't been back long. Can't we postpone our trip?"

His shoulders slumped. “Of course."

A church bell chimed in the distance. Oh, no. Her parents! “Nicholas, what is the time?"

With a frown, he glanced at his gold watch. “Almost four."

"Come, we must hurry.” She mounted her horse and raced away.

As they arrived, she noticed the Kenbrook carriage already in the drive. She squelched a groan as she handed the footman her reins. Sliding a glance to Nicholas, she noticed his frown at the vehicle as they walked by. She knew he had wanted to spend the rest of the day alone with her, but this was important.

They entered the drawing room. Megan stopped short when she saw her parents and Julian. What on earth was her brother doing here? She looked to Nicholas to gauge his reaction and almost groaned. His rust-colored short coat was mussed, with only one of the four gold buttons fastened and on the wrong hole. The left lapel gaped open. His snug, cream breeches sported a couple of grass stains, and his hair looked suspiciously as if someone had raked her hands through it in a moment of passion.

She brought her hands up to her hair, hoping she looked somewhat better, and grimaced when she found some stray strands of grass poking out of her hastily repaired twist. “Mother, Father, I'm sorry that we were not here to greet you. Nicholas and I went on a picnic and the time got away from us,” she said, unable to meet her parents’ eyes.

"Come, have some tea,” her mother said.

As the servants brought the cart forward, she motioned for Nicholas to fix his clothes and took her seat. Goodness, what must her mother think?

Once all the cups were filled, her father spoke. “Nicholas, my little girl tells me that you won't receive her dowry,” he said, sounding as if Nicholas had robbed some poor orphan and widow fund.

She dared a quick look at her husband. Nicholas swallowed his tea with a gulp and cut his gaze to her. She smiled an apology, but he'd already turned back to her father.

"That's right, Joseph."

"And why not? When you inherited your father's titles and fortune, did you refuse it?” he asked as he lifted his cup to his lips.

"Of course not,” Nicholas said.

"All right, Nicholas, I can't force you to take it. But I shall have my solicitor place the hundred thousand pounds into a trust under Megan's name and in her complete control."

"Yes, a trust would be acceptable—” Nicholas blinked and lifted his eyebrows. “How much?"

"One hundred thousand pounds,” her father repeated.

"My God, that's a bloody fortune,” Nicholas said. He turned to her. “You must have had marriage proposals from every eligible man in Europe.” He lowered his head and pressed a brief kiss to her lips.

Turning to her parents, she said, “I am ever so grateful to have you back. Tell me about your journey to America. I want to know every detail."

Her father chuckled. “As soon as we learned that the
Sweet Siren
had left America and that Julian hadn't sustained any injuries there, we began the journey back to England immediately. En route, Master Taylor hailed us with the news that Julian was, indeed, safe."

"So the letter you received was made in error?” she asked.

Her father's eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “We think it was a forgery. Mr. Williams couldn't have written the letter because he was with Julian aboard the ship."

Megan turned to Julian, concerned for the man who had saved her from being attacked in the alley. “What happened to Mr. Williams?"

"I'm sure Stuart simply missed them along the way,” Julian said.

"Why would someone pen a false message and scare us so?” she asked, raising her teacup.

"People do such things for different reasons,” Julian said from his chair, then looked at her husband. “But it's almost always for self-gain."

She choked on her tea and dared a glance at Nicholas. He shook his head and smiled, which amazed her. She thought he would have thrown Julian out. “So, my motive for marrying your sister has gone from revenge to greed?” Nicholas asked.

The fibers that held her patience together begin to wear thin. “Julian, that's ludicrous. Nicholas has just given up my bridal gift,” she said.

"And I'll wager that he is sick with regret now that he knows its worth."

"Julian.” Mother's voice rang out in the silence. “Have you already forgotten how it feels to be falsely accused?” she asked, then leveled him with a need-I-say-more look.

Nicholas watched Julian closely. He noticed the stiff spine, the clenched fingers about to break his teacup, but most of all, he noticed his eyes, and the pain there. At that moment, he knew. Julian was innocent.

He closed his eyes, wishing every rotten word said to Julian could be taken back in an instant. Regret filled his heart. “Julian, may I have a private word with you?” he asked.

After a brief pause, Julian nodded. “Please excuse us,” Nicholas said as he stood and walked to his study. He poured two tumblers of whiskey and nodded toward the chairs before his desk as Julian entered the room. “Have a seat."

"When I returned home after our fight nine years ago,” Nicholas began, pressing the glass into Julian's hand, “I was already regretting the way I had treated you. I felt that neither you nor Emily would have lied, but it was obvious that one of you had. Therefore, the next day I set out to find Emily and to hear what had happened from her own lips."

He paused, recalling the events vividly even after all these years. “I was stunned to learn she had married Arthur Wakefield. And after traveling to his cottage, Emily refused to see me. Instead, she gave me a written message. It was those words that made me sure you had lied to me."

"What did the message say?” Julian asked.

Nicholas opened a small drawer in his desk and retrieved a folded parchment, then slid it across the wooden surface.

Lifting the note, Julian unfolded it carefully. The paper was discolored and tattered from age. The feminine handwriting had been scribbled in great haste, but the tear stains drew his attention. And so did the words.

Lord Hamilton,

You dare come here after what Julian Westland, Lord Amersleigh, has done to me? Go away and don't ever return. Any friend of his is an enemy of mine.