Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Lovers Forever (24 page)
The ghostly figures faded, and a loud pop from the fireplace brought her out of the strange mood. She blinked, and when she looked at the bed again there was nothing there. It was just an empty bed with scattered blankets.
Glancing back at the fire, she shook her head as if to clear it. Was she going mad? Seeing visions and things that weren't really there? Again her eyes wandered around the room, a frown forming on her forehead. What was it about this room? This cottage? It felt so familiar, and yet she was certain she had never been here before.
Inexplicably, the fire on the hearth suddenly flared up, cracking and snapping noisily, the flames soaring upward as if blown by a wind, jerking her gaze to the fireplace. As she stared, the flames slowly died down to the cheerful little blaze that had been there only a moment ago, but she did not look away again. Instead her gaze traveled slowly over the rock face of the fireplace itself.
Drawn by something stronger than herself, she stood and walked nearer the fireplace. Without volition, her hand reached out and her fingers unknowingly caressed the rough surface of the stone, lingering, moving irresistibly toward the jagged-shapped stone she had noticed earlier. As if guided by some inner knowledge, her fingers curved around the uneven edges, tugging and pulling, twisting, and her heart leaped when, without warning, the stone moved imperceptibly and gave way.
The queer trancelike state that had been over her the past several minutes vanished, and all her attention was focused on freeing the stone. With growing excitement Tess struggled to break the stone loose from its moorings. When it finally came loose, she gave a soft crow of triumph.
Eyes shining, she stared at the dark recess revealed behind the stone. Then, after carefully putting down the heavy stone, she reached for a candle and brought it closer.
The flickering light revealed an old-fashioned, small steel box resting in the hidden recess. Her heartbeat quickening, she touched it gingerly. Her fingers tingled, and almost reverently, she brought out the small box from the place it had lain concealed for who knew how longâperhaps decades, centuries....
She put down the candle on a nearby table, the box clutched tightly in her grasp, and sank onto a chair next to the fire. Heart pounding, she stared for a long time at the box she held in her lap.
She was excited, scared; eager and reluctant at the same time to open the seemingly innocent box. There was no telling what lay inside.
Tess took a deep breath and, in one quick motion, opened the box. To her disappointment, it was empty except for a small leather-bound volume. As her initial disappointment faded, she became curious about the contents of that small volume. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to keep it concealed from prying eyes. What was so vital that its owner would feel impelled to place it in such a secret hiding place?
Her interest renewed, Tess picked it up and began to examine the old volume. Strong black strokes crossing the pages, it appeared to be a diary. Her eye fell to the date of the page she had opened toâOctober 5, 1742:
She came to me again last nightâ
despite all our vows not to meet
anymore. These furtive, hasty
couplings are destroying both of
us and yet, dear God! I cannot,
even if I condemn my very soul to
hellfire, give her up! I love her
beyond reasonâshe is the other
half of meâto never see her again,
her smile, her sweet face, to never hold
her, to never again kiss her
or feel her body moving beneath mine
would be like ripping the still beating
heart from my body! And yet it becomes too
dangerousâher husband, damn his soul,
suspects....
despite all our vows not to meet
anymore. These furtive, hasty
couplings are destroying both of
us and yet, dear God! I cannot,
even if I condemn my very soul to
hellfire, give her up! I love her
beyond reasonâshe is the other
half of meâto never see her again,
her smile, her sweet face, to never hold
her, to never again kiss her
or feel her body moving beneath mine
would be like ripping the still beating
heart from my body! And yet it becomes too
dangerousâher husband, damn his soul,
suspects....
Chapter Fourteen
W
ith trembling fingers, Tess slowly closed the small leather-bound volume. She could read no farther. There was something so intensely personal about the words, the emotions that came across so vividly, that she felt embarrassedâas if she were spying on a stranger's most intimate, most private feelings. Yet ... there was something ... something nagged at her.... She glanced at the date, October 5, 1742.
ith trembling fingers, Tess slowly closed the small leather-bound volume. She could read no farther. There was something so intensely personal about the words, the emotions that came across so vividly, that she felt embarrassedâas if she were spying on a stranger's most intimate, most private feelings. Yet ... there was something ... something nagged at her.... She glanced at the date, October 5, 1742.
Now what significance could that year have for her? A date of nearly seventy years ago? She could guess the writer's identityâthe script and content were that of an educated man, certainly not a gatekeeper. And hadn't Nicolas mentioned that one of his relatives had built the cottage to house a mistress? The writer had to be one of Nicolas's ancestors. But which one? His grandfather? A great-grandfather? Or even farther back? And the woman? Who was she?
A huge yawn escaped her, and Tess suddenly became aware that her eyes were scratchy and ached from lack of sleep. Another yawn took her. She blinked. She really was very tired.
For a few seconds longer she stared at the diary in her hands, wanting to read farther, wanting to know more about the writer. Yet she was oddly unwilling to pry. She yawned again. Sleep. That's what she needed now.
She returned the small volume to the steel box and carefully slid it back into the hiding place. The stone was a little harder to position, but after some shoving and tilting she managed to lock it into place.
It was amazing, she thought as she stepped back from the fireplace, but if one didn't know that there was a secret compartment, it wouldn't be found. The pivotal stone blended in magically with its neighbors, and there was nothing to indicate a hidden niche at all. Which made it even more peculiar that she'd noticed it....
Yawning widely, she walked to the bed. Laying aside her wrapper, she crawled gratefully between the covers. She lay there a minute, thinking about the diary. She'd have to tell Nicolas about it when she saw him ... and that was her last coherent thought. Despite the faint hint of dawn's light at her shuttered window and the excitement of the night, not two minutes after her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.
Sleep had not been tardy coming to Nicolas, either. He had hurried back to Sherbourne Court and managed to enter his rooms without incident. After hastily shedding his damp, filthy clothing, he wrapped himself in a wildly embroidered robe of deep ruby silk and helped himself to a generous snifter of brandy. Sipping his brandy, he sat before the crackling fire in his room and contemplated the events of the night.
It had certainly not been boring, he thought with a faint smile. Even his grandmother's dinner party had proven to be most interesting. Gingerly he touched the aching spot on his temple. And he supposed that getting knocked in the head by a smuggler would certainly not be characterized as boring! Although, he decided with a grimace, it was a bit of excitement that he could have done very well without.
The fact that there was another entrance into the cellars of the gatekeeper's cottage was a serious matterâas was the unfortunate fact that the smugglers had found him spying on them. He frowned. They were going to be twice as wary, and it was unlikely that they'd be bold enough to continue to use the cellars now that they knew the place was occupied and that he had been snooping around.
He sighed for the lost opportunity and, after finishing his brandy, sought out his bed.
Nicolas had planned to rise at midmorning, but it was nearly noon before he awakened. Guessing that Dolly had slept in as well, he saw no reason to hurry to her side. There would be time enough this afternoon to start their explorations.
Along with his coffee, Lovejoy brought him some welcome news: his missive to Roxbury had left hours ago, and his grandmother and Athena had gone shopping and to visit friends in Romney and wouldn't be back until early evening.
Reminded of his letter to Roxbury, Nicolas made a face. Another was certainly in order. He wrote it immediately, bringing Roxbury up-to-date. Handing it to Lovejoy a few minutes later, Nick grinned. “I'm afraid that I have need of another one of my grandmother's staff for a speedy journey to London. Her own trip couldn't have come at a more opportune timeâotherwise, she would badger me with all sorts of questions about her disappearing servants!”
The propitious trip had been prompted by his grandmother's wish for a particular shade of thread she needed to finish some embroidery work she had started and a long-standing invitation to visit with her dearest friend, Lady Throckmorton. If the weather turned bad, Lovejoy had reported, there was the possibility they might stay the night, so they had packed accordingly. The information that for perhaps the next twenty-four hours he need satisfy only his own wants pleased Nicolasâat least for a while it put off some embarrassing questions.
When he had chosen the gatekeeper's cottage as a perfect place to set up a household for his mistress, he hadn't realized the amount of subterfuge that would be entailed for him to slip away to see her. Pallas already knew he had opened the gatekeeper's cottage, and he was resigned to her eventually discovering the reason. He winced. Call him cowardly, but he would have preferred that his grandmother
not
learn he had brazenly installed his mistress on the family estate. I should have thought out the situation a bit more thoroughly, he admitted wryly. Now, when it was too late, he knew that he should have put Dolly in a snug little house either in Hythe or Romneyâcertainly not at his grandmother's very back door. But the damage was done, and he was cynically aware that it wasn't the fact that he had a mistress that would displease Pallas, but
where
he had placed her. Women, he thought again as he lowered himself into a big brass tub, were indeed the very devil!
not
learn he had brazenly installed his mistress on the family estate. I should have thought out the situation a bit more thoroughly, he admitted wryly. Now, when it was too late, he knew that he should have put Dolly in a snug little house either in Hythe or Romneyâcertainly not at his grandmother's very back door. But the damage was done, and he was cynically aware that it wasn't the fact that he had a mistress that would displease Pallas, but
where
he had placed her. Women, he thought again as he lowered himself into a big brass tub, were indeed the very devil!
It was just a few minutes after one o'clock in the afternoon when he seated himself in the morning room and began to eat with relish the tasty breakfast Cook had freshly prepared for him. His stomach rumbling in anticipation, he had piled his plate high with crisp bacon, fresh kidneys, rare roast beef, piping hot scrambled eggs, and sweet buns still warm from the oven.
When his meal was finished, Nicolas poured himself another cup of coffee and pushed back his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Refreshed, his belly full, he was feeling very satisfied with himself at the moment, and the only thing that would have made the day more perfect would have been the sight of Dolly's lovely little face at the other end of his table.
It occurred to him that, unlike his other mistresses, Dolly would fit in very well at Sherbourne Court. There was an air about her.... He frowned. God knew what her people had been thinking when they had placed her at the Black Pig.
As he sat there staring out the window at the fine fall afternoon unfolding before his gaze, he wondered, not for the first time, when her family was going to make their presence felt. They must have realized by now that he had no intention of marrying her. It was strange that they had not come forth and demanded some sort of recompenseâafter all, it had been money that had prompted their actions. He was more than willing to give them a sizable sum for their efforts, and of course, when he was through with Dolly, he would see to it that she was well taken care of. He moved restlessly, not liking to think, even idly, about the day she would depart from his life. It would be, he admitted testily, a damn long time from now!
Bellingham's entrance into the morning room disturbed his thoughts, and Nicolas glanced at his butler.
Bellingham bowed majestically, his outward bearing as stiff and unbending as usual. As if displaying a fine ruby before Nicolas, he placed on the table a silver salver upon which rested two cards. “Sir,” he began in his deep, melodious voice, “you have visitors.”
“Well, of course he has visitors!” came an irascible voice from the doorway. Without further ado, two tall, impeccably dressed gentlemen surged into the room. “And we'd have been here sooner if you hadn't been so stiff rumped, Belly! You know Nick's going to see us, so you needn't have tried to fob us off with that nonsense about inquiring if he was receiving visitors. Besides, we ain't
exactly
visitors.”
exactly
visitors.”
Bellingham closed his eyes as if in anguish. “Sir, as you can see, Baron Rockwell and his brother have come to call.”
Nicolas grinned. “Yes, I can see. Thank you, Bellingham. Oh, and ask Cook if she would mind sending in some more food. My friends will no doubt be hungry.”
“Indeed we are,” replied Alexander Rockwell, the baron's brother, as he carelessly tossed his greatcoat and gloves at Bellingham and seated himself confidently at the table near Nicolas. “It's been a damn long time since that meager breakfast we ate on the road this morning. I swear, I could eat a horse! Oh, and Nick, we'll be staying awhileâgot a problem. Tom can tell you all about it.”
Nicolas sent his butler a smiling look. “Would you see to it that rooms are readied for the baron and his brother? Oh, and any servants they may have brought with them?”
“Of course,” Bellingham replied in spectral tones. His arms laden with the outer garments from both the Rockwell brothers, he marched sedately from the room.
His black eyes twinkling, Nicolas regarded his two friends as they settled themselves more comfortably. Both were garbed stylishly in dark blue jackets, buff pantaloons, and gleaming black boots, their cravats as white and starched and tastefully arranged as even that demanding arbiter of taste, Brummell, could have wished.
Lord Rockwell was a strikingly handsome man with corn fair hair and brilliant blue eyes, and with his great fortune and estates, it was amazing that he had reached the advanced age of forty and had not yet married. While not quite the catch his brother was, Alexander Rockwell was not to be overlooked. He didn't have a title, but his fortune was nearly as large and he had the same tall, slender physique. Though his curly locks were merely an attractive brown and his eyes didn't possess the startling clarity of the baron's, he had caused many a maiden to wish longingly for his attentions. To the dismay of several matchmaking mamas, Alexander had turned thirty-six in March and, like his brother, still showed no signs of abandoning his rakish ways and finding a wife.
Nicolas had known both men for almost as long as he could remember. Baron Rockwell had actually been Randal's friend, but being of a far warmer nature than the previous earl, Tom Rockwell had always had a kind word or a quick wink for young Nick. In fact, much to Randal's irritation, it had been Tom who had seen to it that Nicolas had gone to his first prizefight and had even guided Nicolas's and Alexander's eager, uncertain steps into less respectable pastimes....
Nicolas and Alexander had been boon companions practically from the first moment they had met at the Cornwall estate of the Rockwell family; their parents had been friends, and for a while Nick had known there had been great hopes between the families that Tom's fancy would alight upon Athena. Fortunately, Nicolas thought with a grin, that terrible fate hadn't befallen the baron.
The two younger boys had gone to school together and served briefly together in the army. Alexander had eventually grown bored with a military career, and since there was no need for him to earn a living, unlike Nick in those days, he had sold out his captaincy some years previously. The Rockwell brothers had been among the first to exuberantly welcome Nick back to England.
Despite not being known for their discretion, for the next several moments the Rockwells contented themselves with polite conversation as food and drink were placed before them. It was only after the servants had finally departed that Alexander said, “Didn't think those fellows were ever going to leave us alone!” Glancing at the vast array of mouthwatering offerings scattered up and down the long table, he added hastily, “Not that I ain't glad your staff is so well trainedâthing is, we've got a problem and can't talk in front of servants!”
Nicolas, sipping another cup of coffee, raised a quizzical brow. “A problem? What sort?”
“Not the sort that can be bandied about,” Lord Rockwell said testily. “It's that damned Avery! I wish to hell that Boney's troops had blown him to the very devil!”
“My sentiments precisely,” Nicolas returned dryly. “But how is Avery a problem for you?”
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