A Visit From Sir Nicholas (34 page)

"I never suspected sainthood," he said with a slight smile. "Hence my surprise that you are not still angry with him."

"Life continues, and one must continue with it." She heaved a resigned sigh. "I was too shocked to do anything at first, and Charles was dead a scant two days later. I never had the opportunity to confront him. I very much regret that, so much between us remains unsaid and unsettled, but it may have been for the best."

"Why?"

"This woman might well have been the grand love of his life, his grand passion. I'm not sure if, at the time, I could have understood that, let alone accepted it. I know I was loved by him as well, if not in the same way, and I probably couldn't have accepted that either. The passage of time has allowed a certain amount of perspective. I think now I might well have been his dearest friend rather than his greatest love. Pity we did not realize the love we shared, the comfortable sort of undemanding love we had known since childhood, was not, in the end, enough."

His gaze met hers. "For either of you?"

She raised her chin slightly and realized that what she was about to say was an admission she could not take back. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps it is not too late." He drew a deep breath. "For a grand passion." Her heart thudded in her chest. "Or a grand madness."

"The best kind of madness." He stepped toward her. "I would be faithful to you, Elizabeth."

"Would you?"

"In this at least you can trust me." He paused. "In point of fact, I have been faithful to you. Always." The sincerity of his manner clashed with the absurdity of his apparel and his words.

"What?" She snorted in disbelief. "Oh, come now, Nicholas. Surely you cannot expect me to believe you have not been with another woman for ten years? You've admitted to other women in your life."

"But not in my heart," he said staunchly. "I have been faithful to you in my heart, in my soul." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's easy to be faithful in one's heart and soul when one's trousers are down around one's ankles."

"Nonetheless, I have never loved another woman the way I love you," he said staunchly. She stared. "You love me?"

"I always have."

Her heart leapt and it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself into his arms. Caution shoved the impulse firmly aside.

"Are you certain you are not confusing love with lust? The desire for another ship or a fruit tart?"

"Absolutely not." Indignation sounded in his voice. "I love you now and I loved you then and I am fairly certain I never stopped loving you. It's different, of course, as we are both different now than we were then, but it's love nonetheless."

Love had not entered into their relationship thus far, and she'd spent so long telling herself she hadn't loved him that his admission and her own reaction bore further scrutiny before she acted in any way at all.

"Really?" She narrowed her gaze. "Yet you allowed me—no, you made certain I would marry Charles."

"I thought it was for the best. I thought, as did everyone else, I might add, you and Charles were meant to be together. I thought he would make you happy."

"I was happy. I lived a pleasant, uncomplicated, comfortable life in which all of the decisions regarding that life were made for me. A perfect life in which happiness and, indeed, perfection itself was an illusion."

"When you describe it that way," he said uneasily.

She moved closer and stared up into his dark eyes. "And what would I have had with you?" Indecision flashed in his eyes, and he blew a long breath. "I don't know."

"And now?"

"Everything."

She shook her head. "I have become too independent and used to handling my life on my terms. You are too stubborn and too used to getting your own way. We would drive one another mad." He smiled slowly. "Ah, but what a grand madness it will be."

Her smile matched his. "Reopen my accounts and I will consider marriage." He shook his head. "I don't think that would be especially wise."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss today." She reached up and kissed him. "Rather a pity I think, I have truly missed you." He reached for her, but she danced away. "However, aside from your declaration of love, which I shall consider, by the way, I am intrigued by this whole question of trust. Can I indeed trust you?"

"Absolutely," he said staunchly.

"My mother and the rest of my family will be at my house tomorrow at half past four." She started toward the door. "As you have not seen fit to restore my accounts, I leave what they find entirely in your hands and
trust
that I will not be disappointed."

"What?" He stared in confusion.

"Consider it a test. Of trust and faith." She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "Possibly even of love."

"And if I pass?"

"The question, my dear Pirate King, isn't so much what the prize is if you pass but what you lose if you fail."

"I do not intend to lose."

"Your confidence is impressive."

He shrugged. "As well it should be."

Something in his voice caught at her, and she paused to study him carefully. Even as she asked the question she was afraid of the answer. "Why?"

"It's simple, my dear Elizabeth. It took a mere three years for you to forgive Charles for his transgressions. Even as enormous as they were it's apparent you are no longer angry with him."

"Yes?" she said cautiously, knowing almost before he said the words the truth of what he was about to say.

"Yet ten years have passed, and after all that time, you have just as obviously never forgiven me, nor has your anger with me eased significantly. It is most telling; whether you are as yet willing to admit it or not scarcely matters. Some things were very much meant to be, my dear Elizabeth." A smug, knowing smile spread across his face, and he did look very much like a Pirate King. An annoying and practically irresistible Pirate King.

"And you and I are one of them."

"In truth, I am torn." Elizabeth sipped her tea, her manner as casual as her tone. As if she were discussing nothing of any significance whatsoever.

"I'd be rather surprised if you weren't," Jules murmured.

The sisters stood side by side, surveying the ladies gathered in Elizabeth's parlor, all at the moment seated clustered in chairs or standing together in groups of threes or fours or more. All engaged in the sort of animated conversation, punctuated liberally with delighted laughter and the occasional gasp of disbelief or surprise, that occurs when women who truly like one another are kept apart too long. Sharing the latest news and, more importantly, hearing the latest gossip, both within the family and without, was an opportunity not to be missed. Everyone was here, of course: her mother and her mother's sisters, Aunts Emma, Jocelyn, and Rebecca. Her father's sister, Aunt Gillian, a great-aunt or two, and any number of cousins and second cousins. Between the aunts and the various and assorted other relations, it was an impressive showing of Effington females.

And while not a single lady present had failed to quirk a brow at the simple plates of fruited cakes and sugared biscuits Cook had frantically prepared since Elizabeth had discovered the state of her accounts yesterday afternoon, no one had actually commented aloud on the meager offering either, although she was fairly certain there were more than a few quiet observations and possibly some concern expressed as to her abilities as a hostess as well. The Effington ladies' Christmas tea was traditionally a lavish affair with a friendly rivalry between relations as to who could produce the most delightful—and impressive—

afternoon.

This year's tea was decidedly understated. At least, thus far.

"Do you really think he will come to your aid? Rescue you from social disaster?" Jules studied her sister.

"After all, it is already past five."

"Yes," Elizabeth said without hesitation and noted with a small measure of surprise she truly meant her words. "I presented it as something of a test. A challenge of sorts. Nicholas is a man who can never turn away from a challenge."
And he claims to love me. To have loved me always
.

"Still, he is merely a man. He might well think something like a ladies' tea," Jules nodded at the assembly,

"to be relatively insignificant and not worth his effort."

"Regardless, he wants the family to like him. Half of the family, indeed some might argue the half most difficult to please, is in this very room."

"As far as I can recall, the family has liked him since he first came to live with Lord Thornecroft. Most of us anyway, and I have certainly changed my opinion."

"Do lower your voice, Jules. I'd prefer not to have the details of my life as the primary topic of discussion among every female in the family."

"You may well be too late." Jules scoffed but lowered her voice nonetheless. "Every woman here is wondering why you have seen fit to offer nothing for tea but biscuits and cakes, and most are speculating on the reasons behind it. Some are certainly questioning the state of your finances, but Mother and her sisters suspect there is something far more interesting than mere money involved."

"They would, wouldn't they?" Elizabeth glanced at her mother. The duchess caught her gaze and smiled pleasantly, but there was an assessing look in her eye. As if she was trying to piece together an intriguing puzzle. Her mother always had liked puzzles.

Jules's gaze followed her sister's. "I daresay she wouldn't be overly pleased to know you have shared Collingsworth's bed, although, given Mother's unusual way of looking at the world and her penchant for romantic tales, I rather suspect she would not be terribly condemning."

"I should prefer not to find out, thank you."

"Still, Mother's curiosity, even her opinion, pales in comparison to the question of what you will do about Sir Nicholas. You cannot play this game with him forever." Jules paused thoughtfully. "Can you?"

"Of course not. Nor do I wish to." Precisely what she did wish had been on Elizabeth's mind constantly since yesterday's encounter with Nicholas.

His declaration of love, of course, was paramount in her thoughts. She wasn't entirely sure if it changed everything or nothing at all. Either way, it produced the most delightful feeling of something rather like joy within her. But it was his observation about her attitude toward Charles and himself that nagged at her. Why was it that she had forgiven Charles his infidelity after a scant three years when she still harbored a fair amount of anger with Nicholas for merely discarding her a decade ago? To Nicholas she'd dismissed it as insignificant, but the truth of his words had struck her deeply. After all, it was not as if he had made any promises to her. Not as if they had been betrothed.