Innocence Lost (5 page)

Gradually, her vision sharpened. She gazed around the lovely peach room and threw back the bed covers. Cool air met bare skin. Shocked, she remained still for several seconds, then glanced down. Her eyes widened in disbelieving horror. She wore not a stitch of clothing and the area between her legs throbbed . Then she sighted the smear of blood on the pristine sheet beneath her. Nausea churned within her stomach. Dear God, what had happened to her?

Images flickered in her mind, dreamlike. She watched the duke settle over her, his heavy body pressing hers into the bed, filling her...

In a desperate attempt to force the pictures from her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut. Clutching the sheet to her chest she groaned, humiliation spreading over her. With sickening dread, she knew what had transpired.

Then she remembered some of his words. She opened her eyes. He had told her she belonged to him and that he wanted her with him. Always.

Her panic diminished. Her fingers loosened from the sheet. Truly, those words could only mean one thing. She would become his wife.

How many times had she dreamed of this? How many times had she stood before his portrait in the Claremont gallery and imagined him professing his undying love, then asking for her hand in marriage?

She had always wanted that. Hadn't she? She bit her lip, feeling a spurt of disloyalty toward Julian. How would her brother react? She blanched, not at all liking the images that question evoked.

Glancing at the delicate mantle clock across the room, she noticed the time and pulled a face. How in the devil did it get so late? Moving to the edge of the bed, she noticed a slip of paper on the pillow beside her. Her heart skipped a beat. It had to be from Nicholas. A love letter, perhaps? Eager to read his honeyed words, she snatched up the note.

My darling,

I cannot thank you enough for the wonderful gift you have given me, as well as for accepting my offer.

Please forgive my need for this hasty letter, but I must leave instructions for you to follow. I promise all will be explained later.

First, do not be frightened, I will be with you soon. Gather any possessions you have, along with the coin I left on the bureau, and hire a hackney to No. 17 Bond Street.

I will come to you as quickly as I can.

Once you arrive, Mae will see to your every need.

Forever,

Nicholas

She wrinkled her brows. That didn't sound like any limerick of love. But the reason for the letter soon dawned. Since they were to be married, Nicholas might not be her guardian. Perhaps it was now improper for her to remain in his house without a chaperone. Some of Society's rules were ridiculous, but her parents would wish her to adhere to them. With a gusty sigh, she exited the bed and placed the note within her drawstring purse. She used the water in the bowl beside the bed for a quick wash, then retrieved her clothing and dressed, choosing a simple gown that buttoned up the front. She usually dressed herself, having sneaked to and from the estate on many occasions for an early morning ride, and had many gowns made to get on and off with ease.

Her hair, she found a few minutes later, was another matter. Her maid had been called away just as they were about to depart for London. But Lucy's mother had become very ill and needed assistance much more than Megan did.

After stepping into the rose-colored slippers that matched her gown, she left the room and walked down the stairs. The butler, identified by his black attire instead of Claremont's usual livery of burgundy and gold, passed and halted when he noticed her. She had spoken briefly to him when she arrived, she recalled.

"Can I be of some assistance, my lady?” he asked as his eyes darted to her valise.

"Yes. It seems I am in need of a hackney. Would you hail one for me?"

"Yes, of course, my lady,” he answered, unable to mask the confusion from his features.

In the hack, Megan clutched her wrist bag, Nicholas's note crinkling within. She chewed her lower lip, wishing she'd had the chance to discuss her parents with him before leaving. Her stomach grumbled. She'd eaten little since her parents’ disappearance, but now that she would have Nicholas's help finding them, the burden lightened.

As she rapped on the white painted door, she guessed that he had sent her to the mother of one of his friends. A duenna. She hoped he would arrive soon because she wished him to begin the search for her parents immediately.

The door opened. “Can I help you?” the silver-haired housekeeper asked.

Megan nodded. “I have arrived at the request of His Grace, the Duke of Claremont. He and I are—"

"Please, do come inside,” the woman interrupted kindly, excitement dancing within her dark eyes.

She marveled at the woman's manner until she realized that His Grace must have forwarded a message.

The housekeeper led her into an attractive pale green salon. She eased onto the green silk sofa, tamping down a surge of disquiet. How would the dowager duchess react to her son's sudden betrothal?

"Would you care for a spot of chocolate, miss?"

Ignoring the improper address as her stomach rumbled, she gave a weak smile. “Yes, that would be grand."

A few minutes later, the housekeeper placed a large tray of delicious-looking sweet rolls and a steamy cup of chocolate before her, then quit the room humming a cheery tune. She ate two of the tasty rolls and wondered about her hostess. Probably still abed, she concluded when she recalled what her mother had told her of the strange hours of the season. She wrinkled her nose, unable to imagine everyone socializing until dawn and then sleeping until noon. She rose with the sun no matter what hour she retired. Her nanny had once called it a curse.

The housekeeper returned as she was finishing the last of her chocolate. “That was delicious. Thank you..."

"Please, call me Mae,” the housekeeper supplied.

She smiled her appreciation. “Thank you, Mae.” Then she remembered the name from the note the duke had left. Odd that he would mention the housekeeper instead of her employer. “When will your mistress be rising? I would very much like to meet her."

Mae drew her brows. “His Grace, the Duke of Claremont, is my employer."

Her smile slipped. “I beg your pardon?"

"The Duke of Claremont is my employer,” the lady repeated. “You did mention him at your arrival.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you any proof he sent you?"

Feeling dazed, she retrieved the note from her purse, hoping the woman wouldn't guess ‘the gift’ she'd given. She watched Mae's skepticism melt away almost at once. “This is His Grace's signature. You had me alarmed, dearie.” But before the cloud of confusion lifted, the woman continued. “Do forgive me, but I must be careful. I refuse to serve another spoiled brim like His Grace's last paramour. I am ever so glad to be rid of that one.” She lifted the sterling server and walked to the door.

Megan stared at the housekeeper for several seconds. Paramour? She closed her eyes and tried to recall the meaning of the word. She stood, grabbed her valise, and hurried after the housekeeper. “What is a paramour?"

Mae's face remained blank for several seconds. “Oh, dear,” she whispered, her hand flitting to her bosom. “Well...it's...that is...uh... It's when a man gives a woman a comfortable means to live in exchange for..."

Her heart sank. Nothing good was going to come from Mae's next words. Megan's dreams were about to be dashed into a million little pieces. The palms of her hands grew wet and a sick knot of dread churned low in her belly. “In exchange for what?” she prodded, her mouth dry.

"Bedding her,” Mae answered softly.

She felt the color drain from her face. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. You see, I'm positive His Grace has asked me here and not as his—his paramour,” she babbled, nearly choking on the last word.

The older woman shook her head. “I'm sorry miss, but there can be no other reason you're here. This house, you see, is used for that purpose alone."

Her stomach rolled over. Nicholas—her Nicholas—couldn't have meant for her to become his—his...

"Are you all right, miss?” Mae hovered near.

Megan clamped a hand over her mouth and ran from the house. She had to get out or be sick all over Mae. Dear God. She stumbled through the front door and took slow, deep breaths. Walk. Just walk. Sounds buzzed in her ears. She looked down at the valise she held in her white-knuckled grip. She quickened her pace. Get away. Coming to the end of the street, she looked around. Nothing looked familiar. A hack. Just call a hack and get away. She forced her hand up.

"Where to, m'lady?"

"Just get me away from here."

Megan settled back in the seat and closed her eyes. She tried to reason that Mae was wrong. But the more she pondered the duke's instructions, the more she began to realize
she
was wrong. Since their engagement had not been announced, she should have been allowed to stay in Nicholas's family home. Indeed, the simplest arrangement would have been to keep the engagement a secret until his mother's arrival.

Anger ignited somewhere deep within her and mounted with each turn of the hack wheel. She popped her eyes open. Before she could change her mind, she called out to the jarvey an address. She needed some answers.

The hack stopped. Fury raged through her veins, heating her blood to the point of boiling, but she'd not unleash it yet. Not until she heard the revolting omission spill from the duke's own lips.

"Please wait here. I shall not be long,” she instructed the jarvey. She climbed from the hired coach and marched to the structure in front of her. The door opened, but she spoke before she allowed the butler a word. “I insist upon seeing His Grace at once, it is urgent,” she ordered calmly, though her insides seethed with indignation.

"I am sorry, my lady, but His Grace has not left his chambers,” the man said with a hint of astonishment.

But she had already proceeded through the door and to the stairs before the butler finished speaking. The devil himself would not stop her now. No, she would not leave until she had answers. Then the Duke of Claremont could go hang. Certain which rooms belonged to the duke, she threw open the polished mahogany doors and marched forward. She rushed beyond the sitting room and into the dim bedroom, noting that the bed curtains had been tied back. Her steps faltered when she saw his nude form tangled in the white sheet and rumpled burgundy coverlet, but her anger propelled her on .

Straightening her spine, she turned to the butler, who had been sputtering behind her since she walked through the front door. “Leave us,” she ordered in the exact tone her father used when demanding obedience. He quickly bowed and left, closing the doors on his way out.

Nicholas started at the sound of that clipped command and pried open his eyes. Had sand been poured into them? An unpleasant tempo beat in his temples. He grimaced. Damned gin.

"What, exactly, is going on, Your Grace?"

The joy he felt at seeing his nymph standing there fled when he realized that she hadn't followed his instructions. “Didn't you receive my letter?” He sat gingerly up against the pillows.

Her eyes narrowed. “I went to that little house and met Mae, who informed me that I am to be your new paramour. Is that true?"

"Now, sweet—"

"Is that what you intended of me?” she interrupted. “Is that what you meant last night when you said that I would always remain with you?"

"Yes.” He sighed. Leaving her a note had been a bit tactless.

"I gave you my innocence,” she said, her voice turning ragged. “I thought—” She stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

He went still. “What? That I'd marry you?” She lowered her eyes, but not before he saw the answer in them. That was exactly what she'd thought. Rather, what she had hoped to gain. So, that was the game. She would rather be a duchess than a mistress.

He had been betrayed.

"Yes.” She lifted her head and speared him with a look of pure fire. “But that assumption was obviously made in error. Good day, Your Grace.” She spun around, heading for the door.

"Wait a minute. Where do you think you are going?"

She halted. “Worry not, Your Grace, I won't bother you again."

"Wait."

But she was already gone.

Disgusted, he rose from the bed and summoned his valet. When he was dressed, he lumbered down the stairs and called to Carson.

The man materialized at his side. “Yes, Your Grace?"

"Have my horse readied and brought around."

"Right away, Your Grace,” the man said with a bow.

"Wait, don't send for the horse just yet. I have some questions."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"The, uh, lady that was here. Did she give you her name last evening?"

Carson's brows rose. “Of course. She said her name is Lady Megan, and that she is your ward."

"And you believed her?"

"I had no reason not to, Your Grace. She had a note from your mother the duchess."

Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “You read this note?"

"Of course not, sir. The note was addressed to you.” Carson paused. “I did give the note to you."

Nicholas did recall something about shoving a note into his pocket. He nodded. “Come, Carson.” He went back up the stairs to his bedroom and summoned his valet. “Where is the coat I had on last night?"

"Here, Your Grace. I found it on the floor."

Nicholas checked each pocket twice. “It's not here. Carson, look on the floor. Maybe it fell out."

"I do not see it, Your Grace."

Handing the crumpled coat back to his valet, Nicholas turned to the doorway. The same door that
Lady
Megan had entered earlier. No doubt, she had come back for the note—an obvious ruse to gain entry into his home, hoping to dupe him. Damn! He wished he had read the letter when he had the chance. Perhaps then he would have seen through her scheme sooner, and last night would have never happened.

"Would you still like me to summon your horse, sir?"

Nicholas turned to his window. Did he still want to find her? No, not since he knew the truth. Not since he couldn't think straight in her presence. “No, Carson, I don't think I will need my horse after all."