Innocence Lost (3 page)
Authors: Tiffany Green
Nicholas halted his horse before the red brick townhouse in Bond Street, London, and sighed in resignation. He prayed that after calling here on his mistress Angela, he'd forget the mystery woman's stunning violet eyes.
At least he knew of a certainty she wasn't a horse thief. On his way back to Claremont, he'd found his missing stallion munching on some winter grass. He felt like such an ass. If he could just find her and apologize...
The searing kiss they shared forced its way into his mind. He could still feel her breasts pressed against his chest, could still taste her honeyed lips as his mouth settled over hers. He groaned and mopped a hand down his face. Why was it so difficult to forget the bloody little chit? And why couldn't he find her?
Shaking his head, he marched up the steps. The housekeeper greeted him at the door and informed him that Angela was in the garden having tea. He walked through the elegant house and spotted the voluptuous redhead sipping out of a dainty teacup.
She beamed when she noticed him. Her green eyes lit up. “Nicky! You're finally back. How was the country? Dreadfully boring, I'm sure,” she replied before giving him the opportunity to answer.
"Hello, Angela.” Nicholas sank into the chair opposite her. Angela didn't affect him like she usually did. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with two fingers. That beauty sitting upon a tuft of brown grass, shivering and looking entirely too tempting filled his mind. He remembered how her eyes had grown soft and dazed when he kissed her, and how silky her skin felt against his fingertips. Damn! Why couldn't he get the nymph out of his mind? And why did he feel so desperate to see her again?
A loud crash sounded. He jolted upright and focused on fiery green eyes, set in a beet-red face with pinched lips that dipped down at the corners. Angela's teacup, saucer and teapot lay in a thousand shards of milky glass at his feet. “Are you finally back, Your Grace, or are you still up in the clouds with the birds?” she screeched at him.
With a long glare, Nicholas conveyed a silent reminder that he did not put up with such impertinence. “What were you saying?” he asked.
She swallowed and looked down. “I-I'm sorry, Nicky. Would you like some tea?"
He stared at the smashed pot and shook his head. “I think not.” Watching her sullen expression for a few moments, he groaned inwardly. He would require Angela to achieve a much better mood in order to drive the chit from his mind. “You look lovely. Is that a new gown?"
She brightened. “Why yes, it is,” she purred, pushing her bosom further out from her gown's low-cut bust line. She stood and sauntered to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let's go upstairs, Nicky, and I'll show you the other goodies you purchased for me. Then I'll thoroughly thank you for each and every one,” she added, rubbing her bottom over his groin.
Closing his eyes, not at all surprised when that violet-eyed nymph appeared, he nearly growled in frustration as he scooped his mistress into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, he brought his lips down onto Angela's. All thoughts of that razor-tongued temptress had to be exorcised from his mind. But the longer he kept his eyes closed, the stronger his memory of her became. Blurred details sharpened into vivid splendor and fantasy became reality. It wasn't Angela's soft lips he devoured, but
hers
. “Tell me your name,” he whispered and opened his eyes. Seeing Angela, he frowned, his body going soft.
Fury sprang into her eyes, and he knew she had felt his response. He rolled off the bed and began to straighten his clothes. He really had been bewitched. What in hell would he do now?
"Who is she?” Angela demanded. “The one you thought you were with?"
"That's none of your concern,” he snarled, turning to the door.
"Have it your way, Nicholas. I'm leaving."
He nodded without breaking his stride and left.
A few days later, Megan flew into the house, knowing she had little time to change out of her riding habit. Her parents expected her for tea at precisely four o'clock. She turned to the gigantic clock in the hall and made a face. Six blasted minutes!
Spinning toward the stairs, she prepared to bolt up to her bedchamber when she noticed the dowager Duchess of Claremont exiting the drawing room. Something in the lady's expression halted Megan. Worry. Had something happened to her son?
The thought made Megan's heart lurch. Nicholas! She pressed a hand to her chest and began in the lady's direction. “Has something happened, Your Grace?"
"Come, dear,” she insisted, linking arms with Megan, “we have something to discuss."
Nervous, Megan walked into the drawing room. She glanced around the empty chamber and frowned. “Where are my parents?"
The dowager patted her hand. “That is one of the things I wished to discuss with you, my dear.” She turned to the sofa. “Here, let us have a seat."
Her uneasiness grew, but she refrained from asking the thousand questions swirling around in her head until tea was served. She took the cup and sipped, not at all tasting the contents. “Where are my parents, Your Grace?” she asked again.
The cup in the dowager's hand trembled before she lowered it to the table. “I received a note just before they departed from the estate this morning."
"Departed? Where did they go? And why?"
The dowager duchess hesitated. “London, though I have no idea why."
"The note didn't say?"
The dowager moved her head from side to side, her perfectly arranged twist glistening silvery-gold in the nearby window's light. “No.” She pulled out a piece of ivory vellum from her drawstring purse and held it out. “I received this from your parents this morning."
Megan took the note and began to read.
Dearest Genny,
A most important matter has arisen and calls for our immediate attention. There is no time to explain now. Expect another note with more details once we arrive in London. While we are away, please take care of Megan. Knowing our daughter is in your care will ease our troubled hearts.
Respectfully,
Joseph and Margaret
The Duke and Duchess of Kenbrook
Lifting her head, Megan asked, “What important matter, Your Grace?"
"Mrs. Finch told me that your parents received an urgent missive just after the morning meal and departed soon after, though she had no idea what the missive stated. I hoped you knew."
Megan shook her head, regret for once again sneaking away to ride lying heavy in her bosom. “I'm afraid I have no knowledge of it, Your Grace.” She dropped her gaze back to the note in her hands. What terrible thing had occurred to make her parents rush off to London? Had something happened to one of their friends?
A knock sounded, pulling her from her thoughts, and she turned as the dowager invited the caller to enter.
The head housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, rushed inside. “My lady, Your Grace, pardon me, but there is a man to see Lady Megan. He says it's very important, something about a burned carriage,” she explained, wringing her hands together.
Megan gasped.
A moment's pause. “Send him in,” the dowager whispered, rising from the sofa.
With her legs turned to jelly, Megan struggled to her feet. That burned carriage was not a Kenbrook carriage. It was not. It was not.
An old man, garbed in soiled, threadbare clothing, shuffled into the room. His eyes darted around as he neared. “G'day, ladies, sorry ter be bargin’ in on ye. Name's Grover."
"Do you have important news about a carriage?” the dowager prompted, her voice a little stronger. Megan's throat clogged with fear.
He nodded. “Yes, well, I seen smoke ‘bout five miles back. An’ off the road, there be a carriage afire. But I got a real good look at the crest on the door."
"Are you saying the door held this emblem?” the dowager asked, pointing her collapsed fan to the spot above the room's fireplace.
Grover's rheumy eyes grew round as they focused on the solid gold shield of the Kenbrook crest. It contained thousands of precious stones that formed a large cross with a griffin on either side. He wouldn't stop staring at the priceless shield and the dowager had to clear her throat several times before the man looked back at her. She repeated the question twice more before he responded.
Panic tore a fiery path through Megan's insides. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She pressed them together and kept trying to convince herself that the burned carriage did not belong to her parents. But they were missing. She swallowed back a sob. Please. Please let her parents be all right.
"Yes'm, that be it,” he confirmed with a nod, then swung his stunned gaze back to the glittering buckler.
"Oh, no,” Megan gasped. She took a step but her foot caught on the Persian rug and she fell. She heard the crack of her head against the floor just as pain exploded in her skull. A loud roar filled her ears. Her limbs grew heavy. Then everything went black.
When Megan rose to consciousness, she had no idea how much time had passed. She focused on the painted ceiling and realized she lay on the bed in her chambers. The right side of her head pounded, so she let her eyes slide shut and remained motionless, waiting for the ache to pass. Then she heard the dowager duchess speak. The words sounded muffled, as though she had water in her ears.
"And you're absolutely certain, Dr. Benson, that Lady Megan will be all right?"
"Rest assured, Your Grace, she shall be fine. Just see that she consumes three drops of laudanum in water at bedtime each night for a sennight."
"Yes, I'll see to that."
"I also advise that Lady Megan be moved from the country as soon as possible. I've just been informed that five Kenbrook servants are infected with the influenza spreading through the countryside."
The dowager sighed. “Yes, I fear you are right. As you know, Claremont is infected as well. My brother Charles, who arrived three days ago, is now showing signs of fever. I could not possibly expose Megan to that.” There was a brief pause. “Would it be prudent to move her with such an injury, doctor?"
"Lady Megan should be well enough to travel tomorrow, Your Grace. In fact, I have a need to go to London at that time to purchase more medicine..."
Sleep tugged at Megan, lulling her into the darkness hovering at the edge of her consciousness. Then she thought of her parents. And the burned carriage. With a gasp, she opened her eyes. “Mother...Father...” she cried, struggling to rise from the bed.
The dowager rushed to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Shhh, dearest. The footmen I sent to the carriage informed me there was no one inside."
The vice around her heart loosened. “Oh, thank goodness.” She slid back down onto her pillows. Her head pounded something awful. She took several deep breaths, and the terrible ache eased enough to speak. “You're sending me away?” she asked with a fleeting glance at the doctor.
"Yes, dear, to keep you from contracting influenza."
"Where am I to go?"
The dowager perched on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, she removed a lock of hair that had fallen into Megan's face. “London."
"London?” she repeated, a funny tickle developing in the pit of her stomach. Then she recalled that her parents had gone there. “Yes. I could look for my par—"
Blue eyes turned stern. “No, dearest, Nicholas shall locate your parents."
Megan felt her jaw drop open. “Your son?"
"The very same. After I pen him a note explaining the situation, I am most confident he shall find your parents."
The memory of the duke's searing kiss exploded in her mind. Heat rushed over her cheeks. “I-I cannot possibly stay with your son, Your Grace,” she stammered, aghast at the very idea. Well...aghast and intrigued.
The dowager patted her hand. “Years ago, before my husband died, your father had certain guardianship documents prepared. The documents decreed that in the event your parents and brother were unable to care for you, the Duke of Claremont would become your guardian."
She didn't want to hear about guardians and documents. “Once Julian becomes aware that Mother and Father are missing, he is certain to make haste in his return."
"I have no doubt of that, dear, but your brother is currently at sea. It could take weeks for a message to reach him. Since Nicholas is now the Duke of Claremont, he is your legal guardian until your brother or parents return."
She cut her eyes back to the dowager. Of course, since his father's death years ago, his only son was the duke.
Fear surged at the thought of facing him again. But her parents needed to be found, even if it meant her ruination. Her parents could be out there somewhere, hurt. They needed to be found at whatever cost. She bit her lip. Would His Grace truly ruin her once he learned she was the Duke of Kenbrook's daughter? And Julian's sister, she thought, recalling the enmity between them. She dashed the wetness from her cheeks knowing she would take the risk. Any risk.
Before she could change her mind, Megan agreed to go to London.
To be in the care of the Duke of Claremont. Her brother's enemy.
The very man who had believed a lie instead of his one-time best friend.
Nicholas glanced about the dark-paneled room, trying to remember the damned clock's whereabouts. God's truth, he knew White's as well as his own townhouse. But his senses grew foggier by the moment. Since leaving the faro table some while ago, he'd been keeping company with the gin decanter.
He could no longer deny the truth. That violet-eyed wench had him twisted in knots.
A snuffbox in the shape of a woman's leg appeared beneath his nose. He grimaced as the strong odor of Macouba laced in brandy assailed him. He shook his head. “Curse your eyes, Jeremy. Are you trying to make me ill?"
His friend chuckled. “I'd rather be offering you a fine cigar. Unfortunately, snuff is the only form of tobacco allowed here. Try some, Nick, it's not half bad."
"Be damned, Jeremy, put that bloody thing away,” he insisted when his stomach flipped over.
