Lovers Forever (30 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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Fear obvious in both pairs of eyes, the women nodded. “Yes,” Hetty said painfully. “After we had drugged Avery we hurried to her rooms. We argued briefly about her leaving—she didn't like abandoning us, but we insisted. We watched her run down the hallway toward the gallery, and that was the last we saw of her. Oh,
where
can she be?”
In the kitchen, the object of the conversation gave up all pretense of trying to sleep. Tess had heard the arrival of Nicolas and the others, and with a combination of anticipation and dread, she had acknowledged the possibility that her aunts might very well be warming themselves by the fire just a few rooms away. Several minutes had passed as she had tossed and turned, envisioning the appalling scene that was likely to take place if she was correct about the identity of Nicolas's guests. Frazzled by the battle within herself, she finally decided that before much more time passed, she was going to have to find out for herself if her worst fears had been realized.
After getting quietly out of bed, she slipped on the blue wool wrapper and silently left the kitchen. With great reluctance she approached the sound of the voices, and as their words and tones became clearer, her heart sank. In the darkness, just beyond the doorway of the room where the others were discussing her fate, Tess stood rooted to the floor, unable to deny the terrible knowledge: it
was
her aunts in the other room! Worse, while she hadn't heard them speak, she was positive that her uncles were also present. She closed her eyes in anguish.
Dear God in heaven, what was she going to do? Run away again? In the midst of a storm, in her nightclothes? Hardly! Wait and try to tell Nick the truth privately? She shuddered. Dared she wait? What if her identity were discovered before she had a chance to explain everything to him? It would make things so much worse—if that were possible, she thought with a wry twist of her lips.
So what was she going to do? She couldn't seem to bring herself to go forward or backward, yet she couldn't simply stand here like some poor dumb animal waiting for the final blow....
Something, someone, brushed against her in the darkness, and with her nerves already stretched unbearably by the events of the day, she screamed. As did the other poor, equally startled soul, young Jenny.
“Oh, miss!” Jenny exclaimed in relieved tones. “What a fright you gave me! I saw you leave the kitchen and didn't think you should be wandering about by yourself, so I followed you, but I didn't realize that you had stopped and were standing here.”
Nicolas had heard the screams, and under the astonished gazes of the others, he had snatched up a nearby candle and rushed away. His first thought had been that Dolly's attacker had returned, but seeing her and Jenny standing there together unharmed in the adjoining room, he realized immediately that nothing so serious as another attempt on Dolly's life was in the offing. A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “What is it?” he asked teasingly. “Ghosts? Or mice?”
Tess heard the startled exclamations of her aunts and uncles in the main salon and knew with paralyzing certainty that in seconds they would no doubt be following close on Nick's heels. Her heart wept; time had run out for her.... She opened her mouth, frantic, hasty explanations hovering on her lips, but no sound came forth. She could only stare beseechingly at his beloved face, painfully aware of the coming denouement but unable to avert or stop it.
Nicolas sensed her distress and stepped nearer, asking softly, “What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong?”
The candlelight fell full on Tess's tense features, and as he stared into those unforgettable violet-hued eyes, the truth, the truth that he had been avoiding all evening, the truth he had been eluding and denying since he had first noticed the color of Hetty Mandeville's eyes, exploded through his brain. He sucked in his breath, the concerned expression in his black eyes cooling and freezing into icy implacability.
“It's not what you think,” Tess said desperately. “My memory just returned a few hours ago.”
“I believe I've said before,” Nicolas snarled softly, “that you seem to have a
very
convenient memory.”
“Who's got a convenient memory?” asked Rockwell as he came from the other room. Catching sight of the slim figure in the blue wrapper, the candlelight turning her hair to flame, he stopped. And confirming Nick's worst fears, he said in tones of greatest astonishment, “Good God!
Tess!
What in blazes are you doing here?”
Chapter Seventeen
A
s her uncle stood staring at her in open astonishment, Tess considered and rejected a dozen wild fabrications to explain her presence, garbed as she was, in Nicolas's house at this hour of the night. In the end she realized there was only one answer to her uncle's question: the truth.
With a wan smile on her face, she brushed back a lock of hair that had persisted in falling across her brow and said, “It is a long story.”
“One,” Nicolas said with silky menace, “which I await to hear with bated breath.”
Rockwell glanced at him, a frown marring his handsome features. “Seems to me,” he said slowly, “that you've got some explaining of your own to do.”
Nicolas smiled sourly. “Indeed I do. But I believe,” he added with a sardonic glance in Tess's direction, “in all politeness, that we should allow the lady to tell her tale first, don't you?”
Alexander, followed closely by the aunts, came through the doorway just then. At the sight of Tess, they all stopped abruptly to stare at her in disbelief. After that, chaos ruled for several seconds as, amid cries and exclamations of surprise and relief, Tess was kissed and hugged and swept from one thankful embrace to another.
It was only when the hubbub began to die down that Nicolas took charge. Recalling the presence of Jenny, who had watched the entire affair with wide eyes, he looked at her and said, “I think that will be all for now.”
Reminded of her position, Jenny dropped a quick curtsy and vanished into the kitchen. Smoothly Nicolas herded everyone else back into the main salon.
The first amazement and deep relief at Tess's presence in Nicolas's house had faded, and uncomfortable questions were beginning to raise themselves in the minds of her aunts and uncles. No one looked very happy.
Tess was curled on a chair by the fire, her feet tucked demurely under the blue wool wrapper, her expression hard to define—a curious mixture of regret, wariness, despair, and relief. Nicolas stood a short distance beyond her, one arm resting along the top of the mantel, his face hard and set. The others were spread out around them, and a silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
The silence seemed deafening to Tess, and just when she thought she would scream if someone didn't say something, Rockwell cleared his throat and asked bluntly, “Well, Nick, what is going on here? How comes it that I find my niece, unchaperoned, garbed in her nightclothes in your house?”
“Why don't you ask the young lady?” Nicolas replied grimly. “She's the one with all the answers.”
Tess suddenly found herself the cynosure of all eyes. Despite her best efforts not to, she found herself wiggling nervously on the chair, her mind scrabbling around, trying to find the right words with which to begin her story. Beseechingly her gaze met Hetty's.
An encouraging little smile on her lips, Hetty leaned forward and patted Tess's cold hand, saying softly, “Tell us, Tess. What happened after you left Mandeville Manor Tuesday night?”
“Yes, brat, we'd all like to know,” chimed in Alexander, his eyes kind despite his tense expression.
Tess took a shaky breath, and keeping her eyes on her fingers as she unceasingly creased and folded and smoothed the hem of her wrapper, she began her story.
Flatly she told the events of that night: her escape from the manor itself, the fury of the storm, the frantic race along the narrow lanes and hedgerows in the menacing darkness, and the unexpected meeting with the smugglers. Her gaze lifted then, and looking directly at Nicolas, she said clearly, “When I woke that next afternoon, I had no memory. I didn't know my name, nor where I had come from, nor where I was going. Nothing.”
Nicolas remained silent, merely shrugging his broad shoulders and taking a sip of his brandy, almost, but not quite, ignoring her. Tess could have slapped him.
“Oh, my poor Tess!” exclaimed Hetty. “You must have been terrified!”
Tess brought her gaze back to her aunt and smiled faintly. “Very,” she admitted. “But I had to go on—I couldn't just lie there. I wanted to be recognized, and yet I was aware that I was frightened that someone, I realize now it was Avery,
would
recognize me.” Quietly she continued the story, telling of her convoluted journey, of passing the farmer with the nag named Dolly, of finding the Black Pig and passing herself off as the expected wench of the owner's brother. She spared herself nothing, and it was only when she got to the part where Nicolas arrived at the tavern that she stumbled and floundered to a halt.
A flush stained her cheeks, and in spite of the fact that she could feel her family's warm reassurance flowing toward her, she couldn't bring herself to tell what had happened next. It was too embarrassing. Too humiliating. And too dangerous. During the telling of her story, an ugly thought had taken shape in her mind: What if her uncles felt compelled to defend her honor by challenging Nicolas to a duel? Her eyes closed. Could she bear it if Nick were killed by Rockwell? Or equally tragic, what if Nicolas killed either of her uncles? She'd already lost one beloved uncle to a duel ... how could she live with herself, knowing that because of her, another one had died? She bit her lip, trying to think of a way to safely cross the treacherous ground that lay before her. A way, slim and chancy though it was, suddenly occurred to her.
Throwing truth to the winds, she said in a rush, “T-t-there was a moment when the e-e-earl and I were alone, and he seemed so k-k-kind that I took a risk and told him my story. He b-b-believed me and took pity on me.” She swallowed with difficulty. “He could tell from my speech and m-m-mannerisms that working at the Black Pig wasn't my usual pastime, and since we had no idea of my real identity and I was deathly afraid of being discovered by the
wrong
person, he brought me here on Thursday morning. He has been discreetly trying to discover who I am ever since.”
Hetty and Meg threw the hero of this tale glowing looks of gratitude. “We are indeed indebted to you, Lord Sherbourne,” breathed Hetty, her eyes full of admiration.
“You have proven to be a savior to all of us,” agreed Meg, her face warm with approval. “Who knows what awful fate might have befallen our dear niece except for your gallant and timely intervention.”
The aunts may have swallowed the story, but while the Rockwells were not considered men of high intellect, they were men of the world, and Tess's tale didn't quite satisfy them. Besides, they knew Nick....
His brows beetling, Rockwell demanded, “Is that the truth? Is that what happened, Sherbourne?”
“It sounds like a damned Banbury story to me!” growled Alexander, his eyes fixed intently on Nick's dark face.
An enigmatic expression in his gaze, Nicolas stared at Tess's downbent head. “You heard the young lady,” he said slowly. “Do you doubt the veracity of her tale?”
“It ain't
that
!” burst out Rockwell. He threw an agonized glance at Hetty and Meg and mumbled, “Need to talk privately.”
“No. We don't,” Nicolas said firmly. “If you have anything to say, say it now.”
A bit less constrained than his brother by the presence of the ladies, Alexander said, “Thing is, Nick, we
know
you—I've been wenching with you, and after finding a tempting little morsel like Tess at the Black Pig, you ain't likely to have passed up, uh, a sample.”
The room fell deathly silent, everyone aware instantly of where this could lead. Her heart beating in thick, painful strokes, Tess stared miserably at the increasingly taut faces of the three men. She had known it was a gamble when she had concocted her silly little tale, but she had so hoped that fate might finally be kind to her. Apparently not! But she had to say something, do something, to intervene before the fatal words were spoken, words that would place her uncles at one end of the dueling field and Nicolas at the other.
Nicolas's black, brooding gaze pinned Alexander to the spot. “Are you, by any chance,” he asked softly, “accusing me of having
seduced
your niece?”
Alexander blanched. Recalling Nicolas's expertise with the pistol
and
the sword, he cast an uneasy, harassed glance at his brother. Rockwell took a long swallow of his brandy and put it down carefully on a nearby table. He straightened his shoulders and, boldly meeting Nicolas's stare, asked coolly, “Did you?”
Tess dared not wait. Jumping to her feet, her hands curled into fists at her sides, she glared at her uncles. “Stop it! Stop it at once!” she cried fiercely. “I told you the truth! You have no right to badger him this way! He
saved
me, can't you understand that? He found me at the Black Pig and he brought me here, and that's
all
that happened! And to think that all the thanks he gets for acting a perfect gentleman is to be accused of seducing me!” Her voice rose. “It's ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!”
Her uncles seemed taken aback by her vehement attack and glanced at each other uncertainly. They were in an untenable situation. They had known Nick since they were all boys together, and neither looked forward to meeting him on the dueling field—his expertise aside, dash it, they were fond of Nick! But their niece's reputation was at stake here. They were honor-bound to defend it. Even if what the earl said was true, there was no denying that Tess
had
been alone with him for several days. Whether he had taken advantage of her or not, she was effectively ruined.
Tess's passionate defense of Nicolas had given them all a few minutes' respite—and time for tempers to cool. Since a duel wouldn't accomplish anything, a different solution would have to be found.
Looking thoughtful, Rockwell finally said, “Rum situation, Nick. What are we going to do?”
Nick had known it would come to this the instant Tess's identity had been revealed. And while he'd had to admire her valiant attempt to avert just this sort of thing from happening, he had known all along that her efforts would prove futile. Anger at the trick fate had played him and resignation about the final outcome had been warring in his breast since the truth had come out. Anger and resignation aside, he had also been torn between a strong desire to strangle Dol
—Tess
and an equally strong, but definitely odd, sensation of satisfaction. He couldn't explain it, nor could he understand it, but marriage to Tess just felt
right
—as if it had been meant to be.... He'd been looking for a damned bride, hadn't he? So why the hell shouldn't he marry the little witch? Except for the family enmity, and that was a large hurdle, she was eminently suitable. He could attest to the fact that she had been a virgin when she had first lain in his arms, and there was no denying that she aroused him and pleased him in a way that he had never experienced with any woman before in his life. Nor could he pretend that he didn't want her in his bed. He did, desperately. It was unfortunate that she had turned out to be a young lady of quality, well born and well connected, but it didn't change anything. He had a strong aversion to being backed into a corner, however, and his baiting of the Rockwells had been a halfhearted attempt to escape his fate. That it
had
been halfhearted surprised him. There was no way in hell that he would have allowed himself, no matter how scandalous the circumstances, to be coerced into marriage with a woman he didn't want. Which raised an unsettling question within him—he didn't
really
want to marry the Mandeville minx, did he?”
Aware of the waiting silence, Nicolas tossed off the remainder of his brandy. Staring at the empty snifter, he said quietly, “What we are going to do is very simple. At first light, I shall leave for London to obtain a special license. You and the ladies shall remain here. When I return, I shall marry your niece with all due speed, with all of you as witnesses to the ceremony, including my grandmother and sister. An announcement that our nuptials have taken place will be placed in the
Times
immediately afterward.” Nick rubbed a hand wearily across his forehead. “The unexpectedness of it all,” he admitted candidly, “will cause a nine days' wonder of gossip, but that will be the end of it.” He slanted a crooked smile at Rockwell. “It seems that you will have your wish and have me married to your niece after all.”

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