No Greater Love (33 page)

“It wasn’t too difficult to work out. Was that the room you and Jacqueline used? Is that why you put the cat in Georgia’s bed?”

He nodded miserably. “And to m-make her s-sorry for b-being m-mean to m-me. And then the shipwreck h-happened, and I s-saw how she h-helped all those p-people, and I f-felt ashamed. And then there was P-Pascal, and I helped him to l-live, and it changed everything. I c-can’t explain it. But everything s-seemed d-different after the shipwreck. And when I l-looked at you, and you were so b-broken and ill, it was hard to h-hate you. Jacqueline had m-made me b-believe it was all t-true about you, and I was s-so angry that y-you had gone away and l-left me, that you were n-not the p-person I had l-loved. There was no one l-left after that.”

“I know, Cyril, and I’m sorry too. I wish I had been here to protect you from her.”

He raised tear-filled eyes. “I was a f-fool. I d-didn’t s-send her away. I was shocked at f-first, and f-frightened, b-but then I w-wanted it. God help m-me, I w-wanted it. I felt so g-guilty, b-but then the next t-time I would w-want it just as m-much. I would d-do anything for it. I thought she loved m-me. I s-swear to you, Nicholas, I thought she d-did. And no one else c-cared.”

“Not even your father?”

“He ignored me in f-favor of her. M-maybe I reminded h-him of you too. I d-don’t know.” The tears fell over and ran down his cheeks. “I feel so wicked, s-so s-stupid. The last few w-weeks, for the f-first time I felt important, as if what I d-did counted for s-something.”

“It did, Cyril. Believe me, it did.”

“I felt as if I m-mattered to someone. I suppose n-now that you know, you’ll c-cast me off. I’d d-deserve it.” He put his head on his arm and started to cry brokenly.

Nicholas placed his hand on the top of Cyril’s head, the hair so uncannily the dark shade of his own, the curl at the nape exactly the same.

“No. I would never cast you off. I told you that I would help you, and I will.”

“B-but how? How? She is v-very p-powerful.”

“Not for much longer. Listen to me, Cyril. I plan to go to London. Jacqueline is stirring up all the old stories and adding some new ones, and now they involve Georgia. I’m going to put a stop to this. I’m certainly going to put a stop to what she’s been doing to you. You’re not helpless anymore, Cyril, nor powerless. You have me, and you have Georgia. We love you, you must believe that.”

“I have t-treated you v-very b-badly.”

“Never mind, that’s all over now. And let us not forget Pascal, who thinks you are very wonderful.”

“He thinks you m-more w-wonderful than m-me,” Cyril said, wiping his eyes. “It s-seems everyone c-compares m-me to you, for g-good or b-bad.”

“I imagine it’s been very difficult for you. I am sure I wouldn’t like it myself. But I don’t think Pascal compares us at all. He treats you like an adored elder brother and me like a doddering old man who has to be humored along.”

“Oh, n-no. You d-did not see him when you were ill, Nicholas. He has g-great admiration for you, g-great respect. He only treats you g-gently b-because he wants to be certain of your r-recovery. You will see. When he s-sees you are c-completely well, he will be j-jumping all over you.”

“Ah,” said Nicholas. “How reassuring.”

“B-but what is Pascal to d-do while you are gone?” Cyril asked. “Shall I have him at R-Ravenswalk?”

“There’s no need. We’ll take him with us. You are more than welcome to come along if you like. However, you might want to think about it. I would not damage your own name by linking it with mine, and there is no guarantee that I will be able to recover my reputation. It is your decision.”

“I will c-come.”

“All right, then. But can you face seeing Jacqueline, now that you know the truth about her?”

“I think s-so. G-God, I hate her, N-Nicholas.”

“That’s not surprising. I’m none too fond of her myself, and Georgia is ready to take a knife to her throat.”

Cyril managed a small smile. “Georgia has a t-temper on her. But I d-don’t think she could hurt a f-fly.”

“Georgia? No. She could blister its ears, though, if she thought it would move it along.”

“You I-love her, d-don’t you?”

“Yes, Cyril, I do. I love her very much. I’m a damnably lucky man, and I hope one day you’ll be as lucky yourself.”

Cyril only shrugged. Then he said, “We shall s-see. For n-now, we go to L-London.”

“Be ready to leave in two hours,” Nicholas said, “for this isn’t going to wait.”

Cyril nodded, then walked out of the room without another word.

Nicholas stood there for a long moment, unmoving. And then he grabbed up a candlestick from the table and threw it against the wall with all of his strength, bringing down a shower of plaster dust. “You will pay for your sins, Jacqueline,” he said through gritted teeth. “This I swear on my life.” He picked the candlestick up off the floor and looked at it, then carefully set it back on die table. “Oh, yes,” he said softly. “You will pay.”

Nicholas strode into the kitchen like a man bent on a mission. “Georgia!” he shouted. “Where in blazes are you?”

Binkley poked his head out of the pantry. “Mrs. Daventry is with Lady Clarke off the buttery, sir. Young Pascal is with them. He has informed me, sir, in a most energetic fashion, that we are to repair to London in two weeks’ time. Is he correct, or is his imagination also energetic?”

“Neither, Binkley. We go to London, but we leave as soon as you can organize it. Right now would do nicely.”

“I see, sir. Would it be correct to assume that Mrs. Daventry has been enlightened?”

“Mrs. Daventry,” Nicholas replied shortly, “has been enlightened as to a great many things. As have I. Hence our immediate departure: there is no time to waste. The house will be open and staffed?”

“It will be open, sir, although the staff is at a minimum. That will pose no trouble, as I will be able to raise a full complement with alacrity. May I ask the reason for our haste, sir?”

“I plan to trounce Jacqueline de Give, Binkley, in no short order.’’

“Very good, sir. It is a most reassuring thought and an act long past due.”

“You have no idea how true that is.”

“If I may say so, sir, it is bad enough to poison minds and reputations, but poisoning one’s husband does seem a bit extreme.”

“You are as remarkably well-informed as ever, Binkley.”

“I could not help but hearing as I passed through the buttery, sir,” Binkley replied equitably.

“Yes. Well, you have heard nothing yet.”

“Indeed. I will begin preparations immediately, sir. Shall we leave tonight?”

“It would be preferable. We can put up at one of the inns on the way. I should like to reach London by tomorrow evening.”

“Very good, sir. I shall pack a picnic to avoid stopping for luncheon tomorrow. And will Lily be accompanying Mrs. Daventry?”

“No. We’ll need Lily and Martin to oversee the Close. We’ll have to find someone in London to attend to Georgia, someone who is properly trained. However, Pascal and Cyril will be coming along with us.”

“Very good, sir.” Binkley began to bustle about, and Nicholas, his insides still churning with suppressed fury, went to find Georgia and inform her of the change of plan.

Georgia shook out her dress, deeply preoccupied, for Nicholas had been like a silent, self-contained bomb ever since he had told her they were leaving. She hadn’t had time to think, rushed into a whirlwind of activity, seeing to packing for herself and Pascal, not that there was much to trouble with. Marguerite had taken the herbs for Lord Raven and departed, saying she would look forward to seeing them in London as soon as they were settled. They’d had a late supper at the inn, and Nicholas had been quiet throughout. Cyril, too, had been silent, and it had been left to Pascal and herself to provide the conversation.

“Come to bed, sweetheart,” Nicholas said, pulling the covers back and sliding under them. “We have a long day ahead tomorrow.” He rested his head on his arm, his back turned away from her.

“Nicholas,” she said, climbing in next to him, “this is no good at all. I can feel your upset, your anger. I think you should tell me what is bothering you, for it is not good to hold things inside yourself. You’ve only just come out of your illness, and I worry.”

“I’m quite sane,” he said shortly. “You needn’t worry in the least.”

Georgia sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. “This has to do with Cyril, hasn’t it? You had that long talk in the library, and then you decided we had to go up to London immediately, and this when you had been so reluctant to go at all only an hour before. What happened?”

“I’d really rather not say.”

She reached out and touched him, running her hand over his hair. “It must have been very upsetting.”

“It was. Georgia, please. Let’s go to sleep. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“I don’t think you’re going to sleep, not when you’re this upset. I know I won’t, worrying about it. Why don’t you talk it through? I do not think you can have fought with each other, for Cyril didn’t seem the least bit hostile toward you, just quiet—and upset himself.”

He rolled onto his back and put his arm around her waist, pulling her down to him. “I don’t mean to exclude you, sweetheart, but I think this is a thing best left untouched. I don’t want you upset any more than you already have been.”

“Nicholas, you’re protecting me again. If you expect me to deal with the situation, then I should know everything.”

“Not this, you shouldn’t. Not this.”

Georgia thought. “It’s not about the cat he put in my bed, is it?”

Nicholas looked at her in considerable surprise. “How did you know Cyril was responsible?”

“Simple deduction, once I’d had a chance to think it through. I remembered that Cyril has a strange fascination for blood.”

“What do you mean?” Nicholas asked, for the first time his attention truly on her.

“Oh, the first time I met him, it was in the woods and he was intently tearing up a piece of cloth. It was badly bloodstained. He shoved it away as soon as he saw me, as if I’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. Later that afternoon I found a rabbit shoved beneath a bush. It had been gutted, and at the time I thought it must have been poachers, although I couldn’t understand what purpose they would have. And then another time he cut his hand, and he kept squeezing the bandage and looking at the stain. It was rather strange—there were all sorts of little things he did and said that made me wonder about him. So the way in which he killed the poor cat made perfect sense.”

“Yes … I see what you mean. That’s interesting.” Nicholas sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees. “And he confessed to it today. He said he’d been angry. But wouldn’t you agree that it would have to have been extreme anger that would drive him to kill, and in such a violent fashion?”

“Yes, I would think so.”

“I suppose it does make sense. If Cyril is as angry as I think he is, and has felt as helpless as I believe he has, then all of that helplessness and anger has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? I know what I did with my own. I kept it buried so deeply inside that it nearly ended up destroying me. But Cyril, he’s been going about slashing cats’ throats and gutting rabbits and God only knows what else.”

“But he’s been so much better of late, almost happy, calmer.”

“Perhaps, and he did indicate that he felt better about things since the shipwreck.”

“He saw a great many shocking things that night, Nicholas. I think it gave him a new respect for life, which caring for Pascal has only encouraged.”

“And that’s a blessing, because Cyril had very little to live for before that point. No father to speak of, a vilely wicked stepmother, a debauched cousin, and precious little else but an enormous house to rattle around in.”

“But now he has you back, and Pascal, and the Close to come to. It’s what you wanted for him when you first brought him here.”

“Yes, but look at him—he’s still such a mess of nerves he can barely get a sentence out without stumbling all over his words. He’s an entirely different boy from the one I left. I still love him, Georgia, I do, although I hardly know him anymore. He’s been badly injured, and I don’t have the faintest idea of how to go about repairing him, save to remove Jacqueline from his life.”

“What happened, Nicholas? What happened this afternoon?”

Nicholas pushed both hands through his hair. “What happened? I suppose I learned the world was an uglier place than I had ever imagined and that Jacqueline is one of the most corrupt people on the face of the earth. That is what happened.”

“I see,” Georgia said quite calmly. “It sounds to me as if Jacqueline has done something very terrible to Cyril.”

“Yes … yes, she has.” His eyes had gone distant, and he appeared lost in thought.

Georgia chewed on her bottom lip. What could Nicholas be so reluctant to tell her? It drew her mind back to their earlier conversation regarding himself and Jacqueline and his reluctance to speak of what had happened. She could well understand why, and it more than explained his violent dislike for Jacqueline. It was the sort of thing that would be burned on one’s soul for all time. He must have felt not only betrayed but also horribly violated. How corrupt could a person be? And as Nicholas had feared, because of the resemblance, she had obviously been taking out her malice on Cyril.

Georgia sat up very straight, her blood suddenly running cold. “Oh, Nicholas … Dear heaven. She didn’t. Did she? Not that. Of all things, not that.”

Nicholas gave her an incisive look, and then, seeing that she had grasped the truth of the matter, he sighed in resignation. “Your brain is unfortunately quick. I hope to God the rest of the world never makes the connection.”

“Oh, how dreadful! Poor, poor Cyril—no wonder you’re so upset! She ought to be shot!”

He looked over at her. “Tried, sentenced, and hanged by the neck until dead, if I had my way. But as her crime can never—never—be allowed to become public, I will have to find another way.”

Georgia wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t begin to imagine how this has affected him.”

“I think you’ve seen,” Nicholas said bitterly. “I should have fought her. I should have stayed to protect him. But never, never did I ever imagine that she would go so far. Never.”

“Who would have? It is not your fault. It is not your fault, Nicholas. He was what—only seven when you left? You had no way of knowing that he would grow up to resemble you so strongly, or that the situation would be so twisted, or Jacqueline so corrupt. How can it be your fault?”

“No … the honors go to Jacqueline, I suppose. It’s been going on for two years. Two
years,
Georgia. He was only just fifteen. Fifteen years old, and she was having him. Her stepson. How the hell am I supposed to find a way to accept that? How the hell is Cyril ever supposed to come to terms with it, once he fully realizes what she has done to him? And he must hate his father for not having prevented it, and now, of course, for being helpless to stop it. How else is the boy supposed to feel but angry and betrayed and abandoned?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I really don’t know. It’s quite terrible.”

“He knows he wasn’t her only lover. He knows he was just in the background, used at her convenience. And yet she was all he had, or so he thought. She pulled him in, Georgia, somehow she pulled him in and convinced him it was all perfectly acceptable. Damn her!”

Georgia drew Nicholas to her. “You can take Jacqueline on this time. You can see to it that she doesn’t hurt again—or at least not anyone in your family.”

“I’ll most certainly do my best. And now you know what a viper you have to face.”

“Knowing what she’s done to Cyril makes it even easier to face her, Nicholas. I am so furious that I will not let myself be cowed.”

Nicholas managed to smile. “I’ve never once seen you cowed. I find it impossible to imagine.”

“But I was very easily cowed until you came along and showed me there was no need to be. Look at what I let Mrs. Provost do, and Jacqueline. They ran roughshod all over me. And in between there were Madame La-Salle, who was a proper tyrant, and Lady Herton, although she was not so bad, only stupid. And—”

“Enough,” said Nicholas, laughing and silencing her with a kiss. “I believe you. But you were helpless to protest, weren’t you? And now you’re not. Now you can protest as long and loudly as you like. You may take on all of London if you wish.”

“But I am still an imposter, Nicholas,” she said quietly, “and everyone will know it, even if I am now your wife. I know enough about your world to know that one can have fine clothes and fine jewels, but a servant is always a servant, and people don’t forget. I am happy to stand at your side, but do not expect anything more than for people to see I am not a gutter-bred harlot with stringy hair and blackened teeth.”

Nicholas grinned, wrapping one soft golden curl around his finger. “God, I would love to hire one just like that for the evening and walk into Almack’s with her on my arm, just for the reaction I would get. Actually, I would think the picture Jacqueline has tried to create is more one of a brittle, overpainted woman of low moral standards and crass manners. But soon enough all of society will see what a brilliant choice of wife I have made. Now, come here, wife, and do wifely things.”

He kissed her, and kissed her again, and then, suddenly aroused, he slipped her nightdress up over her hips, running his hands over her skin and cupping her breasts, bending his mouth to them. He felt the sweet stirring of her response, her nipples hardening, her arms coming around him, her head arching back to accept his caresses. He impatiently pulled her nightdress over her head and bent his head to pleasuring her. The sheets tangled around them and a pillow fell to the floor as Georgia answered him, her body moving more urgently, her excitement growing, her caresses becoming more needy. And when he pushed against her hot, swollen, ready flesh and felt her give, felt her take him into her and enfold him, heard her breathless little cries of pleasure, saw her eyes close and her brow furrow, he knew that there really might be hope after all.

He lost himself in her, in her heat, her softness, her passionate response to his thrusts. He pushed her knees up and plunged more deeply, and she gave a low moan of pleasure. He hungrily pulled at her breasts, suckling them as his hands pressed and shaped her buttocks, tilting her hips even further up against him. Georgia responded by wrapping her legs around him, her excitement building to a fevered pitch. He caught his breath as he felt his entire gut gathering toward an explosive climax.

“Nicholas!” she cried, her body suddenly tightening, and he drove harder, then stayed as she convulsed around him. It was more than he could bear. He groaned as his body emptied itself into hers, her tight muscles fiercely milking him with her pleasure until he gasped with surprise and drove into her again, wondering if he was going to survive a second climax. Georgia’s survival was just as much in question, for she was sobbing with renewed pleasure, her response as violent as his own. It seemed to go on forever—there was no time, there was nothing at all but the joining of their bodies, the heat of their flesh, the pounding of their hearts, and the love that bound them and made sense of it all.