Lady Vixen (45 page)

Christopher
had expected an argument, but Simon surprised him by saying carelessly,
"Do what you wish. You're too old now for me to order about." Eyeing
Christopher's slightly startled face from under heavy brows, he inquired dryly,
"You will call occasionally, I trust?"

"Of
that you can be assured! I take it then you have no objections if I consult my
agent about suitable lodgings for myself?" Christopher asked politely,
both of them knowing the question was mere form.

"Oh,
I've objections aplenty, but I doubt you'd heed them. I'm only thankful you're
not determined to wrest young Nicole and Letty from me!" A fond smile on
his lips, he confessed, "In the past week I've grown quite attached to
that child. Thank God she is nothing like her mother! Nicole is a pleasure just
to watch and a sweet, nice young thing to boot." Aware of the suddenly
indifferent expression on Christopher's face, he hastily switched the subject.
"Of course, Regina will have us all in a fret with this ball of hers, and
you're wise to seek the safety of a different residence! Don't blame you a bit!
Do it myself, if this wasn't my home!"

Laughing
with real enjoyment at the almost regretful tone in his grandfather's voice, he
tempted, "Join me?"

But
Simon only laughed and said, "No, I'll not run from Regina." Though
Christopher smiled, he felt a pang as he regarded Simon. The signs of his past
ill health were more obvious than Christopher had first noticed— he used a cane
now and then, and his tall frame was somehow frail. The skin of his face seemed
worn and thin, stretched tight across the prominent cheekbones. Suddenly
Christopher hated the deception and lies and half-truths he was embroiled in
and wished with all his heart the tale he told were true. But there was no
going back, so he said lightly, "Well, if it becomes too much for you, you
know my door will be open."

Simon
only snorted. "Ha! I'll wager fifty pounds you'll take bloody well care
that I
don't
move in with you!"

The
dancing amber-gold eyes at variance with the mournful expression, Christopher
cried reproachfully, "Grandfather! To think me capable of such a thing!"

Staring
hard at the handsome face, Simon said abruptly, "I think you're capable of
many things. Things I'd rather not know of." And deciding that he might as
well be taken for a wolf as a lamb, he added deliberately. "You're like
Robert in that manner."

Instantly
the laughter fled Christopher's eyes, and in a flat voice he attacked,
"You're capable of quite a few things yourself! Didn't you think I would
be interested to know that you had written to him?"

Simon
had the grace to look embarrassed, but he blustered,
"I
knew I had,
and I'm the only one that needed to know, you young jackanapes!"

There
was no comment from Christopher, seated on the corner of his grandfather's
desk, one long leg swinging negligently as he appeared to be examining the few
black hairs that grew on the back of his hand. The moments passed, and still
saying nothing, he leisurely straightened the white cuffs of his shirt. Not
looking at Simon, he asked carelessly, "Is there anyone else you may have
written to that you don't feel it is necessary to tell me about?" And
swiftly flicking his gaze to Simon's face, he caught the slightly guilty expression
that crossed it.

"The
Markhams, perhaps?" he purred in a silky tone.

Defiantly
Simon retorted, nettled by the cat-and-mouse game, "As a matter of fact,
yes! Yes, I have!"

"And
you didn't think I'd be interested? That I wouldn't want to be prepared?"
Christopher snapped, his eyes blazing with exasperation.

"I'm
prepared!"
Simon growled. "And I'm the only one who needs to be!" As Christopher
continued to regard him without pleasure, Simon said in a more conciliatory
tone of voice, "There is no reason to upset the ladies. They'll only fret
and worry and will be unable to do anything in the end anyway. When Markham and
that cub of his arrives, I'll take care of them. You see if I don't!"

Christopher
contemplated the glitter of excitement in Simon's eyes, and enlightenment
dawned. "You're enjoying this!" Christopher accused, sudden laughter
not far from his voice.

Glowering
at his grandson, Simon loftily made no reply, but after a second his lips
twitched into a grin. "Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly. Then his
face the picture of hypocritical piety, he said somberly, "There are so
few pleasures left a man of my age, and you would deny them to me."

Laughter
bubbling in his throat, Christopher shook his black head. "Oh, no,
grandfather! You have my blessing to amuse yourself however you see
fit—especially when it is the discomfiture of the Markhams that pleases
you!"

Unaware
they would be viewed with amusement, the Markhams were prepared to descend upon
Cavendish Square. Astonishingly though, after their arrival in London on
Thursday, Edward suddenly reversed himself and declined to accompany his
parents to Lord Saxon's. More astute than either William or Agatha, he surmised
correctly that Lord Saxon had no intention of tamely releasing Nicole into
their hands. He could also picture the confrontation that would result—Lord
Saxon arrogantly adamant and his father raging and blustering while his mother
proceeded to have hysterics. No, he thought with a shudder, he would
not
accompany
them.

He
would instead let his parents do all the threatening and abusing, and he,
appearing with all cousinly candor, embarrassment at their actions barely
hidden, would proceed to woo Nicole on his own. There was, Edward decided with
self-satisfaction, no reason to put all of one's eggs in a single basket. If
his parents failed to gain custody of Nicole one way, he would do it another.
He had no wish to be part of an uncomfortable scene that Nicole would no doubt
remember with distaste.

William
and Agatha were not unnaturally disturbed by his about-face. It was especially
provoking in view of how angry and furious he had been at first. Now he seemed
indifferent, and they could think of no reason for it, Edward having declined
to tell them of his own personal plans.

Consequently
on Friday morning, the morning after Christopher's meeting with Simon, it was
only William and Agatha who came to call at the elegant house in Cavendish
Square. They were met by an extremely supercilious Twickham. Simon had
instructed him to be as high-stomached as he pleased, so he looked them up and
down disparagingly and murmured with disdain. "If you will wait, I shall
see if the master is receiving this morning."

He
left them standing in the hall and with stately movements disappeared down the
hallway. Finding Simon alone in the breakfast room, a conspiratorial gleam in
his eyes, Twickham, in a voice hushed with anticipation, said, "They have
arrived, sir! I have left them waiting in the hall."

"Ha!"
Simon snorted with satisfaction, the light of battle leaping in his eyes.
Thoughtfully he regarded Twickham. "Think we should keep them waiting more
than thirty minutes?"

Reflecting
with pleasure that his master had not been so lively for some time, Twickham
allowed his punctilious features to lapse into the semblance of a smile and
said calmly, "Yes, sir, I believe around thirty minutes would be
sufficient. The gentleman was already somewhat impatient. He should be nicely
browned by then!"

Almost
rubbing his hands together in glee, Simon remarked, "You know, Twickham,
I'm going to enjoy this! Damn, but it's a good thing my grandson has come home!
Haven't had as much sport in years!"

While
the Markhams waited in the hall with growing choler, Simon settled back to
savor the coming meeting. Twickham busied himself about the study, thinking
with fondness and satisfaction how fortunate it was that the young master had
come home.

Upstairs
in her dressing room, ignorant of the pending encounter, Regina was thinking
much the same. Christopher's return had done a world of good for her brother
and for that she was thankful. She was especially thankful that Christopher had
so opportunely met with Letitia Eggleston.

Regina
preferred the single state herself, but could not bear to lay eyes on an
unmarried man without instantly devising schemes to change his way of life. A
bachelor was somehow a personal affront to her honor, and she felt it was her
duty quickly and efficiently to rectify such a deplorable state.

She
had for years nagged Simon to remarry and had gone to great lengths to
introduce him to suitable widows and spinsters. To her mortification Simon
would have none of them. When Colonel Eggleston had died she had, after a tiny
pious thought for his departed soul, been almost indecently overjoyed. She had
been sure that, after a proper period of mourning, Letitia would marry Simon as
they should have done years before. When she learned of Mrs. Eggleston's abrupt
and unexpected departure, she could have bitten off her tongue in vexation. But
now all would be well. She would see to it!

Christopher's
unmarried state did not interest her at the moment to the same degree that
Simon's did. But she did give it a passing scrutiny and decided judiciously
that once her brother was safely settled she would see to Christopher's
affairs. As she had grown very fond of Nicole, it was only logical to conclude
that a match between Christopher and Nicole was something to be greatly
desired.

Nicole,
sitting in her room, was staring blankly off into space, her spirits
unaccountably low. Earlier she had listlessly allowed Mauer to dress her, and
when Mrs. Eggleston had popped into her room to inquire if she wished to go to
Colburn's Lending Library, she had apathetically declined. Even the news that
Christopher would be escorting the two of them, if she cared to come, aroused
no response.

A
little worriedly, Mrs. Eggleston had acquainted Christopher with Nicole's
refusal, but Christopher had only shrugged his shoulders, and a moment later he
and Mrs. Eggleston had left the house on their way to the library.

Knowing
Mrs. Eggleston and Christopher were gone from the house, Nicole wandered around
her room in a sudden fit of restlessness, wishing that she had accompanied
them. Anything would have been better than her own company. Unable to bear her
own lonely society a second longer, she started down the stairs in search of
Regina, not realizing that Regina was still hovering over her morning toilet in
her dressing room.

Nicole,
concentrating hard on why she was so spiritless and malleable lately, was
halfway down the stairs leading to the main entrance hall when she became aware
of the man and woman standing there. She stopped in surprise, for it was unlike
Twickham to leave someone standing there, and as she looked at the waiting
couple with growing curiosity, recognition was instantaneous.

A
gasp of surprise and dismay escaped her, and at the sound William and Agatha,
who had been busy whispering angrily to one another, glanced up.

If
Nicole had recognized her aunt and uncle instantly, it took them a moment or
two longer to realize that the tall, lovely young woman in the stylish lavender
gown of French cambric was their niece. An intangible air of grace and elegance
about her gave them pause, and in those few measuring moments the inconsequential
thought crossed Nicole's mind that five years hadn't changed them very much.

Agatha
was fatter, her hair a brighter, more improbable shade of gold, her dress still
as indecently snug, this morning's choice being an unflattering puce silk. And
William, well, William, if possible, was redder in the face, his lank,
nondescript hair thinner, and his girth greater.

Staring
unblinkingly at the slim young woman on the stairs William felt a swift rush of
fury, suddenly aware that it might not be as simple as they had thought to crush
this objectionable creature into submission. She was obviously no longer a
child to be ordered at will, nor was she totally at their command—she had Lord
Saxon's protection. She could no longer be scolded and dismissed lightly, nor would
her money spill unquestioned into his hands. The thought of what an inquiry
into his guardianship would reveal increased his sense of ill-usage, and his
anger, kept barely below the boiling point, burst its bounds as with an oath he
vaulted up the stairs.

Grasping
a startled Nicole in a painful grip around her wrist, he attempted to drag her
down the stairs. Throwing Nicole a malevolent look, he commanded, "You'll
come with me, miss! And this instant! How like you to run away and embarrass us
so. After all we did for you, you ungrateful little snip. I can promise you,
you're going to regret that you ever shamed us so. Come along now, I say!"

Nicole,
after her first astonishment, was furious, and twisting her wrist in his hand,
she struggled violently to free herself. Promptly forgetting all the precepts
drilled into her brain by Mrs. Eggleston, she spat, "Let me go, you slimy
eel, or I'll darken both your daylights!"

Flabbergasted
at such unladylike language coming from a picture of refinement and elegance,
William's grip loosened, and Nicole immediately slapped him across the face
and, for good measure, gave him a crippling kick in the shins.

Howling
with rage and pain, William seized her arm and shook her brutally. "Why
you little slut! I'll—"