Innocence Lost (19 page)

Lady Emily Wakefield

Nicholas cleared his throat. “I was wrong to have accused you of seducing her."

"What made you change your mind?"

Nicholas took a large gulp of his drink. “Megan insists on your innocence. You see, Julian,” he added, “until I met your sister, I wouldn't allow anyone to speak to me about any of this. I was too bloody stubborn to hear the truth, I'm afraid. But deep within me, I have always regretted what happened."

Nicholas watched Julian digest his words. They had been like brothers once. And it was his fault that their friendship had ended. “I know that repairing our friendship will be a difficult task, but I would like to give it one hell of a go.” He walked around the desk and stuck out his hand. “Friends?"

Finally, Julian rose and set his glass aside. Slowly, he extended his hand. Their palms met. “Friends,” he agreed.

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The soft sounds of the waltz began. Megan trembled as she slipped into Nicholas's arms. Her first dance with him. She prayed she wouldn't be a goose and miss a step or forget the steps all together. He held her close, much closer than he probably should have.

"I used to watch you dance,” he said.

She pulled back to look up at him. “When was that?"

He shrugged. “Huntington's masque, Camdon's fete, Hatfield's ball. And others."

"But how is that possible? You never attended those parties."

He brought her satin-clad hand up to his lips for a lingering kiss. His warm mouth made her insides liquefy. “I was there, love. Watching outside the windows. Watching the most beautiful woman in the world.” He pulled her close once again. “Wishing with all my heart I was the one dancing with you."

She closed her eyes and breathed him in.

He watched them through the window. The sight sickened him. He should have had Megan by now, definitely before she married. That complicated things. Fortunately, he had been able to alter his plans. Not to the seaman's likings, but the ruddy seaman could go hang.

Tossing back his drink, he poured himself another, damn glad he'd filched the decanter earlier. The night air had turned cold. His eyes followed Megan. Damn! Why couldn't he have been her choice? He had given her every opportunity, even proposed marriage. That incredible dowry would have solved all his problems. He wouldn't have had to go through with the plan.

Taking another gulp of his drink, his thoughts returned to what he had to do. Somehow, he had to get Megan back to Kenbrook. As soon as she returned there, the next phase of the plan would be complete.

Megan sighed as she watched her husband slip into the crowd to find her a glass of champagne. She grinned at her parents on the dance floor. They danced beautifully together. Her gaze skidded to her brother talking to Lord Fielding, and she frowned. She turned away, not wishing to look at that rogue.

"Hello, you must be Megan."

Hearing her name, Megan turned to the pretty blonde woman and smiled. “Why, yes I am,” she answered.

"I'm Lady Phyllis Granger, a friend of Nicky's,” the woman said.

Nicky. Hadn't that been the same voice she had heard outside the theater box? Megan kept her smile firmly in place, even though she wanted to rip that husky voice right out of the woman's throat. “Well, any friend of my husband's is a friend of mine,” she said lightly.

The woman lifted her chin and widened her smile. “Then you must be a friend of Angela Cooper's as well,” she said. “Nicky's paramour? She recently moved back into his townhouse in Bond Street.” Her smile turned malicious. “Surely you know about his
other
townhouse?"

Megan's heart pounded. Each beat felt like a whip cracking over her body. With a great effort, she kept her smile from slipping. “I am confident now that Nicholas and I are married,” she said, proud of the steadiness in her voice, “he will have no further need of his
other
townhouse."

Phyllis widened her eyes, bade her a clipped
adieu
and marched back across the room.

"I do believe, dear sister,” Julian said as he approached, “you took the wind right out of her sails.” His eyes danced.

Megan turned away from the woman's hateful glare and back to her brother. Just beyond him, she caught sight of her husband. Outfitted in his perfectly tailored evening black, Nicholas made her heart flutter. He held a couple of glasses of champagne and smiled as he approached. She would not, under any circumstances, judge and convict her husband based on the ramblings of a jealous woman.

"Here you are, my love,” he said as he handed her a drink. His smile melted away. “Darling, what's wrong?"

"Only a dose of Phyllis, Nick,” Julian responded before she could open her mouth.

Nicholas jerked his head up. He scanned the crowded room and approached Phyllis.

Megan watched her husband lead Phyllis to one of the room's marble pillars. He smiled and nodded politely, but she wasn't fooled. His words had Phyllis pale and trembling.

Phyllis placed her hand on the nearby column for support while suffering the encounter. Then he spun around and marched back, his jerky movements revealing how furious he truly was.

Phyllis's eyes were full of tears as they watched Nicholas. Then they cut straight to her. Pure hatred washed over the woman's face before she turned and ran from the room.

Julian leaned down and whispered, “Watch your back, dear sister. That one is vindictive."

The next day, while waiting for Nicholas to return from Gentleman Jackson's, Megan sat reading a book in the colorful garden. The sweet scent of roses wafted on the gentle breeze and the sun warmed her face. Hearing someone approach, she glanced up. Carson bowed and held out a silver salver with an envelope on top. Curious, she took the message and broke the seal. Her good mood evaporated as she read the almost illegible script.

She gnashed her teeth together against the flood of anger that poured into her body and entered the house. A string of swear words bubbled up in her throat. She marched up the stairs and quickly changed into a riding habit. After proving Phyllis Granger wrong about Nicholas keeping a mistress, she was going to have a visit with the woman.

The visit would not be a pleasant one.

Thirty minutes later, Megan raised her fist and rapped on the painted wood.

The door opened. The housekeeper's eyes rounded in surprise. “Why, hello, Your Grace,” she said.

"Hello, Mae."

"Who is it, Mae?” demanded a female voice from behind the housekeeper.

Megan somehow kept the gasp within her parted lips and watched Mae's features turn dreadfully apprehensive. “Your Grace, now really is an unsuitable time. Could you come back in a few days?” Mae's hands wrung the little white apron tied around her generous waist.

"Tea, Mae,” the stern voice ordered.

Mae scuttled away.

The woman stepped forward. Megan surveyed the tall, voluptuous body, sparkling jade eyes, and glorious head of red hair. Angela Cooper was beautiful. But Nicholas would not have an ugly mistress. Megan forced her face to remain a blank mask. The woman froze. Her eyes went round and she released a small gasp. Snapping her mouth closed, Angela smiled without a hint of warmth. “Please, do come in,” she said with a sweep of her arm.

With her head high, Megan walked into the salon. She sat primly on the pale-green silk sofa. Her movements were graceful, her posture was perfect, and she kept her expression pleasant. She epitomized the very height of social decorum. Her mother would be stunned.

Moments later, the flustered housekeeper brought in the tea. Just as Mae started to pour the hot brew into the two dainty cups, Angela waved her away. “I would rather do it myself than to have you drizzle it everywhere,” she said. Mae scurried from the room. Megan took the offered cup. “I don't believe we have been properly introduced. I am Megan Westland Bradshaw, the Duchess of Claremont.” Angela looked up sharply. “And I know who you are,” Megan continued, stirring a bit of honey into her cup. “You are Angela Cooper.” She watched a cloud of uncertainty pass over the woman's green eyes.

Angela cleared her throat. “Then you know why I'm here?"

Raising an autocratic brow as she'd seen Julian do on many occasions, Megan answered, “Of course."

All politeness vanished from Angela's demeanor. “Then would you mind informing me as to why
you
are here?"

Sipping the last of her tea, Megan allowed Angela's temper to simmer before she continued. Her voice rang flat with boredom. “Miss Cooper, you know as well as I that your visit here is temporary. But I am prepared to expedite your departure by offering you this.” She reached into her reticule and retrieved a diamond brooch she'd taken from her jewelry case.

Angela's eyes widened. She gazed for several seconds at the jewel before looking up. “All right, we have an agreement."

Megan shook her head and moved the brooch out of Angela's reach. “You may have this once your bags are packed and you step outside that front door, never to return. Agreed?"

Angela's eyes flashed with malice. Slowly, she rose from the sofa, calling for Mae.

Megan released her pent up breath and forced back the stabbing pain. Nicholas had a kept woman. After all they been through, he must not be content. Megan closed her eyes and resisted the tears threatening. She would never be good enough for him. He didn't want a girl who rode a horse in breeches and who didn't care anything about the latest fashions. He wanted a polished, sophisticated lady. Someone who painted and played the pianoforte. She opened her eyes and blinked back the tears. How could she face him after this?

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Nicholas stood at the windows, eyeing the dark clouds rolling in. Where in the deuce was his wife? She wasn't visiting friends or in any of the ladies’ shops. His heart kicked as he recalled the time she had been attacked at the dock. He pressed a hand to the window glass.
Please, let her be all right.

He watched Julian's carriage pull into the drive. “This had better be good, Nick,” Julian said as he walked through the door. “I was up two hundred pounds—"

"Do you know where Megan is? Carson said she received a missive while I was at Gentleman Jackson's, and left soon after."

"Well, then, she was probably invited to..."

Nicholas shook his head. “She's been gone three hours, Julian.” He sighed, mopping a hand down his face. “Carson said she was upset when she left."

"Have you contacted Mother and Father?"

He nodded. “They left for their townhouse a little while ago in case she shows up there."

"You don't have any idea what this is about?"

"No.” Nicholas glanced back to the window. “My mind keeps recalling what had happened to her at the dock. Julian, you don't think—” He couldn't finish the sentence. He could not put words to the terrible thoughts racing through his mind.

Julian cupped his shoulder. “She wouldn't go back there, Nick."

"Then where is she?"

The streets were almost vacant as Megan, numb with grief, maneuvered her horse through Mayfair. She had no idea how long she'd been riding through the park. Three, four hours? The sky had darkened. A cold wind, thick with the scent of rain, rose and fell, then stopped and changed direction. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The ominous surroundings were a mirror to her melancholy.

She handed the reins to the footman just as the heavens opened. Frigid drops descended from sooty clouds and pelted the ground. As she shuffled to the door of her family's townhouse, she wondered how many people knew about Nicholas's inamorata. How many of them snickered behind their hands as she strolled by? Oh, how they must have made a game of it. And even though the thought of people laughing behind her back sickened her, she could not stand the thought of her mother's reaction. And her father...she closed her eyes. What would he do to Nicholas if he learned of this?

Grief crashed down on Megan with the awareness that Nicholas needed more than she could give.

"Your Grace, do come inside before you are soaked to the bone. Your parents will be relieved to see you,” Wentworth said.

She had been in the process of peeling away her rain-soaked hat when the butler's tone caught her attention. “Why?"

"Come, they are in the lavender parlor."

Megan walked into the room and saw the somber faces of her mother, father and mother-in-law. When they noticed her, they stood and rushed forward. Her parents embraced her tightly.

"Father, what is this about?” she asked.

He hugged her once more. “We have been terribly worried about you, sweetheart,” he answered, then nodded to Wentworth to dispatch a message to Nicholas.

Megan groaned.

"What is it, darling?” her mother asked.

She shook her head. “I'm fatigued, Mother, and would like to go rest in my room. Will you please see to it that I'm not disturbed? By anyone.” She turned before her mother could detect the tears in her eyes. Each time she looked at Nicholas, she would know she wasn't good enough. And that she could not bear.

Megan woke with a start an hour later. She rubbed the salty remnants of tears from her swollen eyes and looked around. The lamp on the nearby table burned low. The warm fire blazing in the fireplace ate away the room's chill but could not warm the cold growing inside her. A movement in the shadows and the rustle of clothing alerted her that someone stood in her bedchamber. Lucy stepped into the light. “I do hope I didn't wake you, Your Grace. I was just checking the fire,” Lucy stammered.

"It's all right. Inform Julian that I would like a word with him, please."

"Yes, Your Grace.” The maid curtsied and left the room.

Within minutes, Julian appeared in her sitting room. He closed the door and walked to the sofa. “All right, Megan, what's wrong?"

"What makes you believe something is wrong?” She picked at a string on her gown, unable to look him in the eye.

"I know you,” he answered, then sat down beside her.

She traced the sofa's rose pattern with a finger. “Why was everyone so worried about me?"