One Golden Ring (25 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Bolen

BOOK: One Golden Ring
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“You don't have to tell me, Nick. Your coolness speaks louder than any words. I pledged to be an affectionate wife, but you want no part of my affections.”
“There, my dear, you're wrong. My desire for you gives me a great deal of pain.”
She left her chair and moved to him, her gaze fixing on his bulging crotch. Then she did a startling thing. She placed her hand on his throbbing erection and whispered, “Let me give you release, Nick.”
A torrent of powerful emotions swamped him. He hauled her onto his lap and crushed his lips into hers. His hands raked over her body as their kiss caught him up in a swirl of molten heat. He had never been more hungry for her, never before so exalted in the feel of her, the smell of her. From her hungry response he knew she wanted him with the same scorching need that consumed him. His greedy hands raked over her heated flesh, too flooded with his own need for gentleness. She was so utterly soft, so achingly desirable he was powerless not to take what she offered. Yanking at the skimpy bodice of her dress, he bared her breasts and bent to take one into his mouth, glorying in the shudders that vibrated throughout her body.
When her hand coiled around his shaft, every thought was obliterated, save one: He would make love to her here in the library. And she would allow it. With his inner wrist he began to press against the lowest bone in her torso. She rocked against the movement of his hand, making those little whimpering sounds he had so longed to once again hear. Dear God, he couldn't last another moment without spilling his seed. “I can't wait,” he groaned, flicking her hand away.
“Take me here,” she whispered in a breathless voice as she cradled his face into her breasts.
He lifted his head away from her soft bosom and watched her smoldering eyes. She had never been more beautiful. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked throatily.
Searing hunger flashed in her eyes when she nodded.
Just as his hand dipped beneath her skirts, there was a knock on his library door. He groaned as a sigh swished from his lungs at the same instant Fiona sighed. Then he growled, “What is it?”
“An urgent message from your couriers,” Biddles said.
Nick jerked up.
Something's happened to William!
His hands groped at Fiona's breasts as he tugged on the dress bodice to cover them. Then he stood, taking her with him, before he plopped her back in the chair. Still standing behind the desk, he said, “You may come in.”
But it wasn't Biddles who entered the room. It was one of the couriers wearing the blue and yellow Birmingham livery. Nick's heart, so recently violently pumping, skidded. The man's glance flicked to Fiona before he handed Nick the sealed letter.
Nick tore open the seal and with his pulse pounding began to read. The letter was written by William's highest ranking guard.
My dear Mr. Nicholas Birmingham, It greeves me to inform you that your brother William has been placed under arrest. Joseph Bonaparte, the King of Naples, allows no one to visit or speak to Mr. William Birmingham, and he is forbidden even the courtesy to write letters to his family. Fortunately, our men have been able to protect the carriage bearing the francs at a point northeast of Naples where the French have no power.
I shall await your forthcoming instructions. Our couriers know where to find me.
Cursing, Nick fisted the letter in his hands and hurled it into the fire, then dismissed the courier.
Thank God William was still alive. He must act with haste to ensure he stayed alive.
“What is it, dearest?” Fiona asked, rushing to him.
He turned to face her, his face grave. “Something urgent's come up. I must leave at once.”
It tore at his heart to see the wounded look on her lovely face. “It cannot wait?” she asked in a thin voice.
Settling his hands on her slender shoulders, he spoke softly. “It cannot.”
She stiffened, “If you leave now, I'll know you've made a decision about our marriage.”
“ This urgent matter has nothing to do with our marriage,” he snapped. He went to take her hand, but she twisted away.
“All your
private
matters are more important to you than me.”
“No one is more important to me than you.”
“If you mean that, you'll stay.”
“Fiona,” he said, stepping toward her.
“Don't touch me! I have no power against your touch, and well you know it.”
At any other time her words would have been an aphrodisiac. But not now. His brother was in grave danger. “I have to go,” he said solemnly.
“Then your decision's made,” she said, her voice hitching with emotion as she fled the room.
Chapter 25
With a shaking hand Nick scribbled the note to Warwick, twice crossing out the wrong word. His inability to concentrate was understandable. Every cell in his body wrenched from the painful parting with Fiona. Every shred of his willpower had been put to the test when he did not allow himself to go after her. A wasted moment—even to assuage the doubts of the person who mattered most to him—could cost his brother's life.
He vowed he would make it up to Fiona once this crisis was settled—if it could be settled.
After he sealed the letter he stormed from Menger House and walked around to the mews for his horse.
A block away from Warwick's house on Curzon Street Nick paid a street urchin a crown to deliver his note to the earl. Even though the need for haste was great, Nick could not risk being seen at Warwick House. William's life would be snuffed if anyone learned of the Birmingham connection to the British foreign secretary.
From Curzon Street Nick went directly to the public house in Soho where he had directed Warwick to meet him. There was no time to travel to an out-of-the way location tonight. Nick's blood ran cold just thinking of the fate that had fallen other Bonaparte enemies. He couldn't endanger his younger brother more than he already had. Damn Warwick. Damn Napoleon. Damn this never-ending war.
Nick had selected the Bear & Boar because, unlike other taverns in Soho, this one was large enough to afford a scattering of tables and chairs. He settled at a table in the establishment's darkest corner and awaited Warwick. Another reason the Bear & Boar was an excellent choice for a clandestine meeting was that no one could possibly hear their private conversation over the steady drone of men's voices that filled the room.
As the minutes ticked away and Warwick did not come, Nick grew nervous. What if Warwick was away from home and unable to receive the note? It could be early in the morning before the note fell into his hands, and by then the public house would be closed. While Nick was pondering this glitch, Lord Warwick sped into the pub, divesting himself of his greatcoat as his glance circled the dark room. His eyes brightened with recognition when he saw Nick, then he came to sit beside him. “What's so damn urgent?” he asked.
“My brother's in grave danger.”
Warwick hiked a brow.
“Joseph Bonaparte's had him arrested.”
The earl sat there staring at him. Nick watched the candlelight's reflection in Warwick's dark eyes and wondered if something had rendered the foreign secretary deaf. Had he not heard him? Finally, the earl said, “I'm very disappointed to hear that.”
“I don't give a damn about your disappointment. I want your help. I'll not have the damned French murder my brother.”
“I would do anything humanly possible to avert such misfortune, but I'm powerless to help you in this. We have no contacts in Naples. None whatsoever. Your brother should never have gone there. Were he in, say, Seville, I could detail a unit to rescue him.”
Nick's eyes narrowed, his voice turned menacing. “You bloody well knew he was going to Naples!”
“I told you it was risky, but you assured me your brother was skilled at crossing the right palms with silver.”
“A practice he's an expert at. The only thing that would negate his ‘generosity' would be an accusation that he was helping
you
. You swore to me no one knew of this operation except for you and my brothers and me.” Anger flashing in his eyes, Nick leaned toward the earl and spoke with contempt. “Who else have you told?”
Warwick's mouth thinned with displeasure. “I've told no one. I've learned the costly lesson that even one's most trusted colleagues can betray confidences. This mission was too important. Besides . . . I could never jeopardize Lady Fiona's safety. If the French ever got wind that you and your brothers were aiding me, they could use her as leverage to recapture the vanished francs.”
God but Nick hated the foreign secretary! Warwick didn't even try to disguise his love for Nick's wife. But because of Warwick's love for Fiona, Nick believed him. He had not told another soul. “I'm sorry I ever let you talk me into this scheme,” Nick spat out.
Warwick's gaze flicked to the nearby table where a trio of loud, ill-dressed men had just sat down, then he lowered his voice. “I didn't talk you into it, Birmingham. Your own patriotism forced you to use your vast resources for crown and country.”
“Those resources, by God, better restore my brother to me,” Nick snapped, getting to his feet. He could see he would get no help from the Foreign Office.
Now it was up to Nick to save William.
He stalked from the tavern.
 
 
Adam's eyes came open, and he glared at the candle Nick had slammed onto his bedside table. “What in the hell are you doing here? What time is it?”
“Get up!” Nick ordered. “It's not yet midnight. We have a crisis to discuss.”
Adam jerked up. “Something's happened to William!”
“He's being held in a Naples prison,” Nick said in a grave voice before plopping down in a chair near his brother's fire.
“Good God! How did you learn this?” Adam asked.
Nick related the events of the evening and concluded by asking, “Have you ever mentioned our brother's mission to anyone?”
“Of course not!” Adam glared at him. “You think I wish Will dead?”
Nick frowned. “I thought as much. It's just that I can't understand the Frenchies arresting him. I know he's bribed all the proper authorities. The only reason I can see for them to arrest him is that they found out he was aiding the Foreign Office.”
“Are you certain Warwick hasn't told anyone?”
“Amazingly, I am.”
“Then the French can't possibly know anything. More likely, they wish to secure a hefty ransom from us.”
“I don't think so,” Nick said with a perplexed frown. “One of us would have heard something by now.”
“I need to go to Naples,” Adam said, moving from the tousled bed.
“Why not me?”
“Because your business would be ruined if you left the Exchange for several weeks. I, on the other hand, employ competent managers who can run our bank when I'm not there.”
“Point well taken. But how can you be assured your bribes are any better than those already offered by Will?”
“Will wasn't bribing jailers. I will.”
“You mean to take him from the prison?”
“Can you think of anything else?”
“I can think of a hundred ways you'd be foiled, and I don't wish to have
two
dead brothers.”
Adam effected a look of mock outrage. “How would I be foiled?”
“For one thing, William's possessed of coloring markedly different from the Italians. Unlike you with your dark complexion, Will could never pass as an Italian when fleeing from the Naples prison.”
“Hadn't thought of that.” Adam came to sit in another chair near the fire, then he settled his chin into his hands, eyes narrowed, while he continued to think of a way to save his brother. “Pity he's not married to a French chit.”
Nick bolted up and began to pace the creaking wood floor. “You're brilliant!”
“I am?”
“Indeed.” Nick pivoted on his boot heel and faced his brother. “Now if you can just direct me to someone who can forge documents.”
Adam looked offended. “I'm an upstanding businessman.”
“I know that! Actually, I was thinking of Will. Doesn't he have a chap who forges papers for his continental jaunts?”
“By Jove, he does! Fellow in Hackney. And we're in luck. The fellow's French!” His brows dipped with suspicion as he peered at Nick. “But what good would false documents do?”
“Yvonne.”
“What, pray tell, do documents have to do with your former mistress?”
“Yvonne is most indebted to me. Through my generosity she's been able to establish herself in Parisian society. The Bonapartes, Murat, and even Tallyrand are among her admirers.”
Adam's eyes glittered. “I begin to see. You're going to ask her to say she married Will.”
“Exactly.”
“Allow me to say you are brilliant.”
“If I were brilliant, I'd not have allowed my brother to risk his life in such a manner.”
“Don't blame yourself. Remember how excited Will was about the challenge before he left?”
“Will's a callow youth! I'm two and thirty. I should have known better.”
“Were you a Benthamite, you'd be willing to risk Will ‘for the greater good.'”
“Damn good thing I'm not a bloody Benthamite!”
Adam squinted up at his brother. “How do you know Yvonne will comply?”
“She will.”
“I don't doubt that she would were she to see you face to face. Women seem unable to deny you anything. But how can you persuade her when you can't go to Paris?”
Nick turned sharply. “Why can't I go to Paris?”
“In case you haven't noticed, there's a war on. Englishmen are prohibited from stepping on French soil.”
“Not Englishmen with very deep pockets, Englishmen who speak French like a native.”
But, bloody hell, how would he explain his absence to Fiona?
For a few precious moments that night the heavy curtain of gloom had been lifted from her heart. Nick had told her he desired her. He'd even said no one was more important to him than she. And most blissful of all, he had kissed her with more passion than he ever had before. He
did
want her.
Until that wretched note was delivered. At first she had thought the letter must be from his lover, but after reflecting on it, she realized it was delivered by a servant wearing the Birmingham livery, one of Nick's own couriers. The urgent matter that had stolen him from her must relate to his business. No matter what he'd told her, his business
did
come before her. It seemed that everything was more important to Nick than saving their marriage.
She had fled to her room, and there she had paced the floor, torturing herself by remembering every word he had said.
No one is more important than you.
If only it were true. She would close her eyes and imagine his urgent hands stroking her, vividly remember the blistering kisses they had shared. He had wanted her.
Was there enough left of his former affection to resurrect their floundering marriage? Dare she cast aside her own pride and forget her demand that he choose between her and his urgent business? Was she willing to forgive his abandonment in order to keep alive the flame that had burned through him that night?
She rang for Prudence to dress her for bed in a fine lawn nightshift, and when her maid was finished, Fiona sat before her dressing table mirror while Prudence combed out her hair. With only the dim candlelight to illuminate the looking glass, Fiona peered at her own reflection. To Nick's eyes, would she be as pretty as Hortense? Hortense's mouth was more full than Fiona's, but Fiona's blue eyes were wider than the duchess's green ones. Were Fiona an impartial observer—which she realized was impossible—their faces were equally pretty. Then her gaze dipped to the two modest humps beneath her nightshift. The duchess certainly had the advantage over Fiona there. Fiona wondered if Nick would have been more well pleased with her if she were buxom. The memory of his hands touching her breasts, kneading them, his mouth suckling at them, made her breasts feel heavy, made liquid heat gush to her core.
After Prudence left, Fiona scattered drops of light perfume at her wrists and neck. She would cast aside her pride and beg him to forgive her shrewish ultimatum. She would tell him she understood that he would not have left were the matter which drew him away not important. She would vow to not be a meddling wife.

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