A Kiss to Remember (17 page)

He was reading again. One of her father’s leather-bound atlases of the Holy Land lay open in his lap. His study was hampered only by the yellow kitten, who insisted upon bouncing from the floor to his lap every time he turned the page, determined to banish the interloper who had usurped its throne. Lottie watched as he scooped up the kitten for the third time and gently set it back on the rug.

Fearful of losing her resolve, Lottie marched into the room, bearing the miniature bride cake on a silver tray as if it were a ceremonial offering.

Nicholas glanced up from his book with a mock shudder of dread. “Oh, no. Please tell me it’s not another crumpet. Every time I open my mouth, Cookie pops another one in. Then while I’m trying to choke it down, she pinches my cheek, and says, ‘I made a fresh batch just for you, Mr. Nick. I know how you fancy them and I feared the last dozen weren’t enough to fill you up.’”

A reluctant smile curved Lottie’s lips. “No crumpets, I fear. Cookie went off to the market so I thought I’d try my own hand at making a bride cake.”

Nicholas accepted the tray she held out to him, eyeing the lopsided pastry with a dubious eye. “You know, it might be safer for all of us if you’d just go back to writing poetry.”

“For once, Mr. Radcliffe,” Lottie replied, her smile fading, “you may just be right.”

She left him with her offering, turning away a moment too soon to see the kitten go bouncing back into his lap.

Lottie lingered in the kitchen with George for as long as she could stand the suspense, then went creeping back to the drawing room. She briefly closed her eyes before peeping around the doorframe, trying to prepare herself for what she might find.

Nicholas still sat in the chair, his cheek propped on his hand as he flipped to the next page in the atlas. Lottie searched his face for any trace of distress. His eyes were crisp and alert. His skin had lost none of its golden hue.

Perhaps he hadn’t yet eaten the cake, she thought, perplexed by his robust good health. But then she spotted the empty tray resting on the floor beside his chair.

And the furry little body draped across the hearth.

Lottie cupped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late to stifle her cry.

Nicholas’s head flew up. As tears flooded her eyes, he tossed the book aside and came to his feet. “Lottie, what is it? What in heaven’s name is wrong?”

She pointed behind him, her hand trembling. “The cat. You didn’t give the cake to the cat, did you?”

“No,” came a small voice from the window seat. “He gave it to me.”

The kitten lifted its head from its nap just as Laura rose from the window seat, swaying like a willow in the wind. All the color had drained from her face, making her freckles stand out. Nicholas crossed the room in three long strides, catching her in his arms before she could fall to the floor.

Cookie returned from
the market a short while later to find the manor in total chaos. Lottie was curled up on the stairs sobbing her little heart out while the upper floor of the house resounded with masculine shouting.

“What the devil? …” Cookie muttered, dropping her basket on the floor. She shrugged out of her damp cape and untied her bonnet. “What is it, child? Why on earth is everyone carryin’ on so?”

Lottie lifted her tear-splotched face from the crook of her arm. “I didn’t mean to do it, I swear I didn’t! It’s all his fault! I was only trying to protect her from him!” Wracked by another sob, she lurched past Cookie, threw open the front door, and went flying from the house, disappearing into the rain-drenched yard.

More alarmed than ever, Cookie grabbed the banister and started up the stairs, moving at a pace she hadn’t employed in over twenty years.

She found Nicholas and George standing just outside
the open door of Lady Eleanor’s chamber. Nicholas had the boy by the shoulders. “You have to tell me the truth,” he was shouting. “What did Lottie put in that cake? I know you’re trying to protect your little sister, but if you don’t tell me, Laura could die!”

George shook his head. Although his lower lip was trembling, he shouted back at Nicholas with equal vigor. “Lottie would never do anything to hurt Laura! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

That was when Cookie saw her young mistress, stretched out on the bed behind them, as pale and still as death.

“What’s happened to her?” Cookie demanded, hurrying over to the bed and resting her hand on Laura’s clammy forehead. “What’s happened to my lamb?”

Nicholas and George followed, their expressions grim. “I’m not entirely certain,” Nicholas said, shooting George a dark look. “I suspect she may have been the victim of a malicious prank intended for me.”

Remembering Lottie’s tearful words, Cookie wheeled on George and snapped, “Run downstairs to the kitchen, lad, and fetch me a kettle of boilin’ water and some dried black root from my herb basket. And be quick about it.”

His relief painfully obvious, the boy made his escape.

While Cookie rushed about the chamber, gathering a washbasin and clean rags, Nicholas sank down on the edge of the bed. He took Laura’s limp hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving her pallid face. “I can’t get her to wake up. Shouldn’t we send to London for a doctor?”

“Don’t you fret, Mr. Nick,” Cookie said. “There’s no need to fetch some fancy sawbones who’ll do nothin’
but slap some leeches on Miss Laura’s pretty arms. Why, I’ve been tendin’ to her since she was a mere slip of a girl. Nursed her through a nasty bout of scarlet fever, I did, just after her parents died.” Bathing Laura’s brow with a damp rag, Cookie shook her head. “Even as a young thing, the girl never did give a care for herself. She was too busy worryin’ about that brother and sister of hers.” She began to loosen the ribbons at the bodice of Laura’s gown, then hesitated, giving Nicholas a pointed look. “Most men aren’t of any use in the sickroom. If you’d like, you can wait downstairs.”

“No,” he said, meeting her steady gaze with a helpless one of his own. “I can’t.”

Cookie had good reason to be thankful he stayed. When Laura’s stomach began to rebel against the purgative tea being spooned down her throat, he was the one who insisted on steadying her head over the washbasin. When she collapsed against the sheets, shivering and spent, he was the one who smoothed the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face and tucked the chintz coverlet around her. And when she awoke from her exhausted stupor long after dark had fallen, he was the one stretched out in the chair next to the bed.

It took Laura a foggy moment to realize that she wasn’t in her own bed. She gazed up at the graceful half-tester, breathing deeply of the clean masculine musk that seemed to surround her, then slowly turned her head to find Nicholas napping in the chair.

Even with his hair hanging loose in his face and smudges of fatigue beneath his eyes, he still looked every inch the prince. If anything, he was more alluring
to her now than he had been the day she found him in the wood. Then he had been nothing more than a pretty stranger. Now it wasn’t just his fine looks she admired but his intelligence, his keen wit, and those tantalizing flashes of temper and tenderness.

As if sensing her thoughtful gaze, his eyes fluttered open.

“What happened to me?” she asked, surprised by the hoarseness of her voice.

He sat up and leaned over the bed, squeezing her hand. “Let’s just say that your sister’s culinary skills leave a little to be desired.”

“I could have warned you about that,” Laura croaked. “Did I ever tell you about the time she baked a dozen worms into a mud pie and served it to Reverend Tilsbury for tea?”

“No,” he replied with a crooked smile. “If you had, I might have declined the bride cake she made for me.”

Laura groaned as her memory came flooding back. “Oh, I wish
I
had.”

“So do I. The next time I catch you coveting my sweets, I’ll simply have to find the strength to deny you.” He stroked her tousled hair away from her face, his eyes sobering. “Although I have to confess that at the moment, I’m not sure I could deny you anything.”

Laura touched a hand to his cheek, wondering how his face could have become so dear to her in so short a time. He was offering her the world while she was denying him his most fundamental right—his own identity. She knew in that moment what she ought to do. She should tell him everything, even if that meant exposing her own deceit. But then he would never again look at her with that beguiling blend of bemusement
and tenderness. Never again draw her into his arms or lavish her mouth with his kisses.

Laura turned her face toward the pillow, hiding the tears she could feel welling in her eyes.

Mistaking her sorrow for exhaustion, Nicholas blew out the candle and pressed a tender kiss to her brow. “Sleep, darling. I’ll go tell the others you’re going to be fine.”

“I only wish I was,” Laura whispered to the darkness after he was gone.

When Nicholas first slipped into the barn, he thought it was empty. Then he heard a furtive movement from the loft above, as if a small, frightened animal was burrowing deeper into its nest.

He climbed the ladder to the loft and stood peering through the musty gloom, finally locating a glimmer of gold beneath the eaves. Lottie huddled in the hay, her arms wrapped around her knees, her hair hanging in sodden hanks around her face. She stared straight ahead without looking at him, dried tear tracks streaking her cheeks.

“Laura’s dead, isn’t she?” she said before he could speak. “That’s why you’ve come. To tell me she’s dead.”

Nicholas leaned against a splintery post. “I came to tell you that your sister is awake.”

Lottie’s incredulous gaze flew to his face.

He nodded. “She’s going to be just fine. She should be up and about by tomorrow morning.”

Fresh tears welled up in Lottie’s eyes, but before they could cleanse her face of its misery, she dashed them away. “How will I ever face her? She’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done. How could she?”

“She doesn’t know she has anything to forgive except a bout of bad cooking. I didn’t tell her.”

Lottie’s tears stopped as abruptly as they’d begun. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

He shrugged. “Although I can’t seem to remember it, I suspect I was ten once, too. But make no mistake,” he added, narrowing his eyes, “it was a nasty little bit of mischief you tried to play on me and I wouldn’t suggest you try it again.”

Lottie climbed to her feet with a sullen sniff. “The cake wouldn’t have done a big brute like you nearly as much harm.”

She moved to brush past him on her way to the ladder, but he caught her arm in a firm grip, drawing her around to face him. “I know you don’t care for me, Lottie, and I think I can guess why.”

He felt a faint tremor run through her small body. “You can?”

He nodded, softening both his voice and his grip. “No matter what you may believe, I have no intention of replacing you in your sister’s heart. As long as you desire it, there will always be a place for both you and George in our home.”

For a minute she looked torn, as if she would have liked nothing better than to throw her arms around his neck. But instead, she wrenched herself from his grasp and went scrambling down the ladder without another word.

Nicholas had to wander much farther afield to find George. By the time he reached the burned-out ruin at the edge of Arden’s property, the rain had stopped completely,
leaving a light mist hanging like smoke over the land. He ducked beneath a broken beam to find George exactly where Cookie had said he would—sitting on a collapsed chimney in what must have once been the parlor of the modest rectory. The boy sat gazing up at the sky through the gaping hole that had been the roof.

Nicholas didn’t wait for him to assume the worst. “Your sister is awake. She’s going to be fine.”

“I know that.” George spared him a cool, contemptuous glance. “I wouldn’t have left her alone with you if I didn’t.”

Nicholas drew nearer, narrowly avoiding plunging his foot through a rotting board. “This place is dangerous. I’m surprised it wasn’t torn down long ago.”

“Lady Eleanor and Laura wanted to tear it down, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Every time they brought it up, I would throw a tantrum that made Lottie look like a perfect angel.” George continued to search the sky, as if hoping to find a single star shining through the clouds. “I was the one who left the lamp burning that night, you know. In all these years, Laura’s never once reproached me for it.”

Nicholas frowned. “You were only a child. It was an accident. A terrible tragedy.”

George picked up a piece of charred rubble and tossed it into the air. “I remember them, you know. My parents.”

“Then you’re very fortunate,” Nicholas said softly, feeling an empty pang in his own chest.

George shook his head. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.” Dusting off his hands, he stood, his narrow shoulders slumped. “If you’ve come to fetch me for my beating, I’ll go quietly.”