Lady Vixen (44 page)

"My
God, I don't believe it! Nicole has to be dead! That must be an imposter that
Baron Saxon writes of!" Edward Markham had exclaimed angrily when he had
been informed by his parents that evening of Simon's disturbing news.
"What is she doing in London, if it
is
Nicole? She would have
presented herself here at her home! It must be a sham! I don't believe
it!"

Simon's
missive to the Markhams had been couched in the politest terms possible, but,
like the note to his son, he had written little beyond the barest facts. Miss
Nicole Ashford, their niece, was at present visiting at Cavendish Square. She
had returned to England a fortnight or so ago from America. Perhaps, if it were
convenient, the Markhams would care to call?

"Visiting?"
Edward shouted wrathfully. "Visiting is she? Well, she will be leaving
Cavendish Square the instant I get my hands on the little slut! Who does Lord
Saxon think he is? You are her guardian, not he!"

Edward
had grown used to believing that Nicole was dead and it was only a matter of
time until all her wealth and lands became his. The entire Markham family had
grown quite complacent over the years, certain that Nicole must have been the
victim of some foul play.

The
entire family was greatly shocked to learn of her whereabouts, shocked,
chagrined, and slightly apprehensive. William, her uncle, had over the years
funneled a large amount of rents and moneys due to Nicole's estates into his
own properties, and he was not looking forward to an accounting of his
guardianship. Edward, thinking that everything would be his—his without a
bothersome wife tied round his neck—was furious. And Agatha disliked intensely
the thought of having to share her role of Mistress of Ashland with Annabelle's
detested child. None of them, though, had any doubt that their original plan
for Nicole and Edward to marry wouldn't now be carried out. Edward would marry
Nicole, and there would never be any awkward questions of how and where moneys
had been spent during the time of her minority. And so, much in the manner of a
pack dog determined to retrieve a particularly fat and juicy bone, they began
to prepare to leave for London at the earliest moment.

Simon
had penned both notes with malicious glee and was waiting with lively
anticipation for the results of his work. He had toyed with the idea of warning
the visitors at Cavendish Square of the probable invasions by Robert and the
Markhams but had discarded it, thinking it much more diverting to let everyone
be taken by surprise.

Robert
arrived in London the following morning and went to his rooms on Stratton
Street to snatch a few hours' sleep after driving through the night. Upon
waking in the afternoon, he dressed with his usual careless style for the call
at his father's home.

At
forty-three Robert Saxon was still a fine figure. Despite his air of
dissipation, the deep sardonic grooves in his face, he had great appeal to the
feminine sex. Standing just over six feet, his body was as muscled and lean as
it had been twenty years ago. The black hair was highlighted by two handsome
wings of silver at the temples, and like Christopher, his complexion was as
swarthy as a gypsy's. His eyes were an odd shade of color—neither green nor
gold; his mouth was thin and tight, the very opposite of Christopher's with its
sensuous curve, yet Robert was a deeply sensual man.

As
Robert dressed for his visit, all of the inhabitants of Cavendish Square were
at home for tea. They were gathered in the main salon, a handsome room that
featured an Adam fireplace of Italian marble and pale gray silk-hung walls. As
hostess, Lady Darby was pouring from a heavy silver tea urn, while Nicole, in a
willow-green gown of jaconet, was sitting next to Mrs. Eggleston on a
Chippendale double-chair sofa upholstered in rose brocade.

Simon
was seated somewhat to Lady Darby's left with Christopher standing beside his
chair. The two men were conversing amiably when Robert was announced.

The
three ladies looked up, only faintly surprised, although Regina wondered with
exasperation what Robert wanted from Simon this time and crossed her fingers
that he wasn't going to create an unpleasant scene. She surmised that he might
be disappointed at Christopher's presence, after having thought himself Simon's
heir for years, but hoped he would behave as a gentleman for once in his life.

Robert
had himself well in hand, his first surge of insane rage having passed. He was
far too crafty to show his displeasure. But then something happened that drove
all thought of Christopher from his mind.

Regina's
appearance behind the tea table was not notable, for she often stayed with
Simon. But Simon had made no mention in his note to Robert of Mrs. Eggleston's
and Nicole's presence, and Robert was totally unprepared for Annabelle's
daughter.

He
would have known her anywhere. It was true, he thought as his gaze roved
hungrily over Nicole sitting so demurely by Mrs. Eggleston, that her hair
lacked the fiery red of Annabelle's, but the dark auburn glow of the sable
locks was an unmistakable reminder of her mother. The similarity was in the
petal texture of the warm apricot skin, the teasing tilt to the slender dark
brows, the tantalizing curve of her lips, the straight, al- most arrogant nose,
and the slim full-bosomed body. In the color of the eyes lay the greatest
difference. They were not Annabelle's deep pools of emerald, yet the shape was
the same, and Robert suddenly found himself lost in their great topaz depths.

With
an effort he tore his gaze away and focused blindly on Mrs. Eggleston. Vaguely
he remembered her, and during Regina's introduction he was able to bring
himself under control.

A
cool smile on his lips, he remarked, "What a pleasant surprise to see you again,
Mrs. Eggleston. I hope you will enjoy your stay here in London."

Mrs.
Eggleston stammered some reply, for Robert had always tended to fluster her.
Having acknowledged Mrs. Eggleston, he was now able once again to feast his
eyes on Annabelle's daughter. Unable to help himself and further infuriating
Christopher, who was watching them closely, Robert held Nicole's hand longer
than was strictly necessary, kissing her slender fingers.

Under
Robert's intent stare Nicole couldn't subdue the faint wave of color in her
cheeks, but with an uncertain smile she openly met his look. Robert was
bewitched, and in that moment the passion he had felt for Annabelle was
transferred to Nicole. He forgot everything but the girl before him, and it was
only Simon's curt voice that called him to order.

"Stop
exercising your undoubted charm on my guests and come say hello to your
nephew!" Simon demanded testily.

The
purpose for his being in Cavendish Square came flooding back to Robert, but he
skillfully disguised his rage, and with a sardonic smile curving his thin lips,
he pivoted to face them. Calmly he said, "Forgive me! But it is so seldom
you have visitors of such a delightful nature that I forgot myself. Hello,
Christopher."

The
antagonism between the two men was instant and tangible. Resembling two
powerful beasts of prey, their gazes met and clashed like jagged lightning in a
black sky, as the air nearly crackled with the force of dark emotions tightly
leashed.

Christopher
had frozen the moment Twickham announced Robert, but now, his face deliberately
shuttered, his eyes bright and challenging, he bowed with studied grace,
murmuring dryly, "Uncle. How satisfying to see you again after so many
years." Robert's brow quirked. "Satisfying?"

Smiling
mockingly, Christopher replied, "Yes! You have no idea how ardently I have
looked forward to meeting you—again."

His
eyes narrowing at the double meaning, Robert shrugged and said with apparent
lightness, "How gratifying! I shall see that you are not
disappointed!"

"I'm
sure you will! I look forward to . . . ah . . . accommodating you!"
Christopher promised with polite menace.

Robert
tensed, but before he could answer, Simon, feeling this peculiar conversation
had gone far enough, interrupted.

"Harrumph!
Well, m'boy, you're looking fit. Hadn't expected, though, to see you before
next week."

"Now
that I rather doubt!" Robert retorted with a grim smile. "You must
have known curiosity about Christopher's arrival would bring me posthaste.
After all, it isn't often that one risen from the dead, so to say, returns to
the ancestral mansion."

Of
all the occupants of the room, only Christopher caught the underlying animosity
in Robert's words. But Christopher had decided on his course of action, and he
let the remark pass. A moment later the conversation was general, and he
allowed himself a sigh of relief, almost glad that the first difficult meeting
with Robert was behind him. His mouth tightened, though, and he shot Simon a dark
look. That old rascal is going to have some explaining to do, he thought.

Later
in the evening Christopher sought to have a private word with his grandfather,
but Simon, whether by design or accident, quickly disappeared to his club and
Christopher was thereby forced to postpone his interrogation.

Lying
in his bed that night, he went over and over the conversation with Robert,
knowing that Robert still hated him and was infuriated by his return to
England. For a long time, he lay there in the darkness, knowing that his
presence in Cavendish Square was anathema to Robert. And all the ugliness and
hatred he had thought conquered, now engulfed him. Thrashing and tormented, not
only by old memories but by the scene of Nicole smiling up at Robert, he
twisted in his bed, unable to separate Nicole from Annabelle. Seeing Robert and
Nicole together this afternoon had been too reminiscent of those old scenes.

Ah,
Jesus Christ! I'm mad, he thought sickly. Mad to let the past destroy me, and
mad to entangle myself with such ancient history at a time like this.

Christopher
was not the only one tossing that night. Simon had been most disquieted by the
confrontation between Robert and Christopher, aware that, for all their polite
words, there was something dangerous and ominous between the two men.

Simon
had hoped the unexpected meeting with Robert would shake Christopher into some
revealing action. But, he reflected glumly, his grandson knew to a nicety how
to hide his emotions, and beyond a slight stiffening of his body and the
shuttered expression on his face, Christopher had betrayed nothing.

What
did you expect? Simon asked himself. What did you want? Christopher to fall on
Robert's neck with affection? Bah! Just because you suspect Robert may have had
more to do with Christopher's sudden desire for the sea is no excuse to look
for proof of what doesn't exist. And what will it gain you, he thought, to have
your suspicion confirmed? To know that your son is an even greater blackguard
than you already know? Would that make you happy?

Because
no father wishes to believe evil of his own offspring, Simon would think no
further on the subject. Christopher was returned to him and that was all that
mattered.

The
next morning immediately after breakfast, Christopher requested a word in
private with his grandfather. Expecting such a request after Robert's
appearance, Simon readily agreed and led Christopher to his study. Shutting the
door behind them, Simon, never precisely his best first thing in the morning,
demanded crossly, "What is it? What's biting you so badly I can't even be
allowed to eat my breakfast in peace?"

Knowing
that Simon had been finished eating a good half hour before he approached him,
Christopher ignored the complaint. Waiting until his grandfather was seated
behind his desk, Christopher said seriously, "It is nothing of great
importance, but I suspect that you will not like what I have to say."

Simon
stiffened, fearing that at last he would hear the truth of what he already
suspected. And so braced was he for the abhorrent words he was certain must
come, that for a second after Christopher ceased speaking he only stared. Then
as the simple words sunk in, he repeated slowly, "You wish to move out? To
have your own set of rooms?"

That
was exactly what Christopher had in mind. In all his twisting and turning last
night one decision had come to him. Staying with Simon was out of the question.
In the coming weeks, more than likely, he would be doing a few things and
seeing some people that he wished no one to know about. If he were to
accomplish anything, he needed freedom of movement, freedom to come and go as
he pleased at odd hours and times with no one to comment or wonder what he did
or why.

Spies,
he had decided somberly in the early hours of the morning, worked best in the
shadows. But there was another reason he longed for his own lodgings. He had no
wish to view again Robert bending solicitously over Nicole's hand. It was too
vivid a reminder of Robert and Annabelle. Nicole, herself, haunted his dreams
against his will, and her nearness could still bring about an instant physical
longing that he despised as weakness. He was not adept at fighting temptation,
and he thought it best to remove himself from his own personal temptress. He
had done what he had intended in returning her to England. She was no longer
his responsibility. Whatever had been between them was finished.
Dead.