One Golden Ring (26 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Bolen

BOOK: One Golden Ring
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Once her decision was made, she went to Nick's bedchamber and waited for him in a satin-covered chair before the fire, the warmth of being in his room after so long an absence seeping to her very soul.
Dozens of times over the next few hours she practiced what she would say to him. With every recitation she became more acutely aware that no matter what she said or how she said it, nothing could disguise the fact that she was trading her pride for a chance of securing his love.
The prospect of feeling herself in his arms again was worth the risk of fleeting humiliation.
She did not know when she had fallen asleep. Sometime after two, she was sure. When she awoke, it was seven. Her glance flicked to the huge silk-draped bed where she had known such splendor. The bed had not been slept in.
Nick had spent the night with his lover. Fiona was almost overcome by her own despair. Tears filling her eyes, she got up to return to her room. While half of her was thankful she had been spared humiliation, the other half of her cried out for his touch.
As she neared the adjoining dressing room she heard muffled voices. No doubt Nick's valet was helping him out of his evening clothes. She could not face the humiliation of him finding her now in his private chambers. She turned away from the dressing room door with the intention of quietly returning to her own chambers through the main hallway.
But Nick must have heard the soft muffle of her slippers for he threw open the door. “Fiona!”
She whirled away from him and, her vision blurred by tears, stumbled toward the door.
 
 
Nick quickly dismissed his valet and raced after her, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her around to face him. “What's the matter? You're crying!”
“Leave me alone!” She lifted her chin with defiance and spoke icily. “If you please, allow me to return to my chambers.”
“I damn well
don't
please.” His eyes softened as he studied her anguished face. Good Lord, had he done this to her? If it took the rest of his life, he would make it up to her for causing her such grief. “Forgive me. I perceive that I had the misfortune of not being here when you had the courage to take that first step toward forgiveness.”
She stiffened. “Don't flatter yourself! I merely wished to satisfy my curiosity.”
“And you obviously weren't satisfied.” He thumbed away a tear from her cheek.
“What woman would be satisfied that her husband prefers being in another woman's bed?”
He gripped both her shoulders. “You really believe there's another woman?”
She drew a deep breath to stema sob. “What business dealings could keep you away all night?”
“How little you know of my business,” he said bitterly. “I give you my word I was not with another woman last night.” If his absence hadn't wounded her so thoroughly, he would have rejoiced that she cared enough about him to be jealous. But he could take no pleasure in her pain.
If only he had come home when he left Adam's house last night. He might have been able to reignite what he had started with his wife earlier in the evening. Instead, he had chosen to go to Hackney, to awaken the French forger and wait all night while the man forged the documents.
Now it would tear Nick's heart to leave his wife like this.
But he had no choice.
“Then . . .” Her anger wavered. “Where did you go?”
“I told you. It was business.”
“And I'm never to discuss your precious business,” she snapped, trying to jerk away from him.
“Fiona, please believe me.” God, but he didn't want to tell her he was leaving. “A grave problem has arisen, and I'm the only one who can address it. In fact . . .” his pulse pounded, “I will have to go away for a few days.”
Those woeful blue eyes of hers widened. “When?”
“I leave within the hour.”
“Where to?”
He did not want to lie, but he could not tell her—or anyone save Adam—the truth. “I'm the leading stockholder of a factory in Essex.” That much was true. “I must go there to resolve an urgent labor dispute.”
“I see,” she said coolly. “Have a good journey.”
This time he let her walk away.
The memory of her anguished face crushed him with inextinguishable sorrow.
Chapter 26
The first few weeks he was at Windmere Abbey, Randolph was smugly satisfied with himself. Since he was already paying for the upkeep and the many loyal servants at Windmere Abbey, he thought it a most practical decision to return there. Leaving his lodgings in London had saved him a modest sum, too. And by being at Windmere Abbey he could more closely examine the expenses with an eye to trimming waste.
He had quickly put a stop to the practice of keeping fires in the drawing room. Not planning on having callers, he could conduct all his business from the library and never have to use the drawing room.
Another economy was his decision to sell off his sister's horse. No doubt her rich husband had by now presented her with a much finer beast. Birmingham was noted for his grand stables, though Randolph could not understand when the Cit ever found the time to visit them. Nor could Randolph understand why Birmingham even bothered keeping a country estate when he seldom left London and The Exchange where he'd amassed his bulging fortune.
Randolph fleetingly regretted his decision not to accept his brother-in-law's financial help. Had he accepted it, he could have offered for his lovely woman in the red riding habit. But Randolph was obsessed with the idea of single-handedly rescuing the family fortunes.
The pity of it was that it would take years.
And by then
she
would have married another. For all he knew she could be betrothed to someone else by now. She was far too pretty not to attract a throng of admirers. His pulse sped up when he remembered that she was also an heiress. More's the pity. With her beauty
and
a fortune, her days as an unmarried woman were dwindling.
On this night as he sat in his library, soothed by the smell and warmth of a rich peat fire, Randolph realized Christmas was just a few weeks away. Stephen had accepted Fiona's invitation to spend Christmas with her at Camden Hall. Which left Randolph bereft of family.
Which left him exceedingly morose.
Like layers from an onion, his contentment began to peel away. How could he have had the audacity to be so smug when his own foolish pride had cost him so dearly? Why had he not embraced Birmingham when it was so painfully obvious that Fiona truly cared for her husband?
Because of his damned pride, Randolph had lost his only sister.
And if he hadn't been so bullish proud, he would have offered for his mystery woman instead of allowing her to get away. But he'd been hell-bent on waiting until he had something to offer her beside a pile of debts. Even knowing she was an heiress had not swayed him. If anything, he became more determined
not
to touch her money.
Because of his damned pride, she would now likely marry another.
He gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. What exactly had his pride gotten him? He had lost those he loved best.
If anyone deserved a lonely, joyless Christmas, it was he.
 
 
Nick watched the rows of lighted windows on Yvonne's Avenue Foch house. He would wait until the last guest was gone, the last light extinguished before he dared to knock at the door. It would not do for him to be recognized by a French official—especially since he was traveling under forged French documents.
While he stood across the street in the shadows of a darkened doorway, his thoughts—as they perpetually did—turned to Fiona. He feared for her safety, even though he had extracted a promise from Hutchinson before he left to double his wife's guard and to be ever alert to anything that might threaten her. He had also made Adam vow to stand at the ready to assist her during his absence.
Nick watched the silhouettes of men and women against the second-floor windows of Yvonne's townhouse. And thought some more of Fiona. Nothing had ever affected him more profoundly than her potent need for him that last night he had spent in London. He was certain now that, even if she did love Warwick, she was no longer stealing away to meet him. Did that mean she wished to be a real wife to Nick? Her actions that last night were the actions of a real wife. His heart accelerated when he recalled that she'd actually acted jealous. Could he even allow himself to hope?
As he stood watching an elegantly dressed couple leave Yvonne's and get in a fine coach and four, he vowed to make it up to his wife for leaving her, even if he had to get down on his knees and beg her to forgive him, beg her to give him a chance to win her love.
After that first couple left, one after another of Yvonne's guests began to leave. He waited until all the lights were extinguished before he knocked on her door.
When he opened her door, the butler's face crinkled into a broad grin. “Monsieur Birmingham!”
“Good evening, Pierre. Is
mademoiselle
in?”
There was no need for Pierre to call her. She was already hurrying down the stairs. “Nickee!”
He gazed up at her as she gracefully moved toward him, her blue eyes shimmering with warmth. She was as beautiful as ever. Though her blond hair and blue eyes matched Fiona's coloring, the resemblance between the two women ended there. Yvonne was much larger than Fiona. And much more voluptuous. Unlike Fiona's delicate, subdued beauty, Yvonne's striking beauty and her flair for bold clothes—like tonight's red lace—demanded attention. His lazy gaze traveled the length of her. “You're as beautiful as ever, Yvonne.”
Her eyes narrowed and her luscious red lips effected a pout. “And you're even more handsome,
mon cheri
.” She came to link her arm through his. “But I must get you away from the door. Do you not know how dangerous it is for you to be here? You might be recognized.”
“That's why I waited until dark—and until your guests left.”
She took him to the drawing room, where Pierre had lighted a brace of candles, poured Nick cognac and came to sit on the arm of his chair. “What is the matter, Nickee?” She casually draped her arm around his shoulders.
That was one of the things he'd liked about Yvonne. Her perceptiveness. She could read him as if he were transparent. “My brother, William, is in grave danger, and I need your help.”
“I would do anything for you, Nickee. Tell me what you need.”
He drew in his breath. “It's a lot to ask, and I'm willing to pay handsomely.”
“I do not wish your money.”
“But you haven't heard what I'm asking for yet.”
The heavy scent of gardenias clung to her. “Then tell me.”
He first told her about William being held by King Bonaparte of Naples.
“I know Joseph well. He would not hold your brother unless he thought William was a danger to the empire.”
Nick pursed his lips. “There is one small problem in that area.”
Her perfectly arched brows hiked.
“My brother's been buying up francs all over Europe.” Nick shrugged. “I suppose he's betting on the French to win the war.”
She nodded. “Joseph would not like that. The Bonapartes, they want to control everything. If you would like, I shall travel to Naples at once and plead William's case.”
“I'd like something even more.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I wish you to say you're secretly married to Will. As the wife of a French citizen—a French citizen who has friends in high-level government positions—he would be protected from cruel punishment.”
“And when,” she asked skeptically, “did I supposedly marry your baby brother? When I was in England and he was, what sixteen?”
Nick chuckled. “My dear Yvonne, William's almost the same age as you. If you'll recall, you were but seventeen when you came to me from the Duke of Glenweil—even if you did lie and say you were one and twenty.”
“Ah,
cheri
, you weren't much older,” she said in a faraway voice. “The years they have been kind to you.”
He pulled a document from his pocket. “I have a marriage license—forged, of course—that says you and William wed in Seven Oaks six years ago. I know this a lot to ask of you. It will brand you as a married woman. It will prohibit you from marrying anyone else—as long as you choose to live in France. Were you to leave Paris, however, we could own the truth because you would be free from reprisals.”
She shook her head. “I cannot leave again. I do not like Napoleon, but I must fly with the wind.”
He took her hand. “Will you help me?”
“I will do anything for you, but this is much to ask.”
“I'll give you fifty-thousand francs.”
“I shall want pounds.”
He smiled. “So you're not betting on Napoleon.”
“I bet on no one except Yvonne de Cuir. Besides, if the Birminghams are going to control the francs, I'd rather have pounds.”
“As you wish, mademoiselle—or should I say madame?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin.
She stood and looked down at him. “I shall travel to Naples in the morning.” Her voice softened. “Have you a bed to sleep in, or would you like to share mine?”
He brushed his lips across her hand. “I'll begin my journey back to England now. It's best that I travel by night.”
She gave him a full-fledged pout. “You greatly offend me, Nickee. I do not appeal to you, no?”
He got to his feet and placed firm hands on her shoulders as he peered into her sparkling blue eyes. “I have a wife.”
She stared at him. “Ah, Nickee, I believe you are in love with this wife of yours, no?”
“I am indeed in love with my wife.” That was the first time Nick had ever admitted his love for Fiona to another person.
 
 
After Biddles announced Trevor, Fiona put down the tiny cape she was sewing for Emmie's doll as a Christmas present. Trevor burst into the room, went directly to the fire, removed his gloves, and made sweeping circles with his bare hands inches from the flames. He had not removed his greatcoat. “I daresay I've icicles growing from my ears,” he mumbled. “Beastly cold out there.”
“Then I'm flattered you've braved the weather to call on me.”
He turned and gave her a sly smile. “As much as I adore you, my dearest, I would not brave this damnable weather for you. As it happens, I was returning from my aunt's in Hampshire and haven't been home yet. Trust that when I do arrive at my abode I shall not leave it.” He came to sit by her on the sofa. “Ring for tea. I must have something hot to drink. I'm positively freezing.”
Fiona got up and rang, then returned to her seat.
“Feel my head,” Trevor said. “I daresay I'm coming down with a fever.”
She placed her hand to his forehead. “You feel fine.”
He sighed. “There's nothing fine about me. I fear I'm taking a lung infection.”
Fiona suppressed a smile and spoke gravely. “I pray that you're not.” For as many winters as she had known him, Trevor courted every possible ailment but had never contracted a single one—much to his displeasure. “I'm so happy you've come, Trev, for I've been so low since Miss Birmingham left yesterday. And Nick's left, too,” she added solemnly.
“Then that was him I saw! Did he leave on Tuesday?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“'Pon my word, I saw him on the road to Portsmouth, traveling at some great haste.”
“That couldn't have been Nick. He said—” Her chest tightened, her stomach dropped. Nick must have lied to her. He had told her he was going to Essex, which was in the total opposite direction from Portsmouth.
Trevor's eyes narrowed. “Where did he say he was going, darling?”
“To Essex.”
“Now that I think about it, the man couldn't possibly have been your husband. The man I saw was . . . much shorter than Birmingham.”
Dear Trevor.
Her eyes became suddenly watery. “Thank you, Trevor. You're such a good friend, and I so desperately need one now.”
For once Trevor was at a loss for words. His gaze shifted from Fiona to the table where she had placed the doll cape, then he lifted the cape by its tiny ermine hood and held it up. “I know you've not been eating properly and are growing thinner each time I see you, but really, darling, this is much too small for you.”
She giggled through her tears. “You goose, I'm sewing it for Emmie's doll. As a Christmas present.”
He turned suddenly somber. “There's something else you could give the child—something less tangible but even more welcome than a fur-draped doll cape. . . .”
“Yes, I know,” she said solemnly. Now the tears spilled. “I want her to be mine. I was going to tell her to call me Mama, but she's not mine. Were I to . . . leave Nick I could not take her with me.” She drew in a deep breath and whimpered a sob. “So I ca-a-a-n't allow her to become attached to me because of the teetering state of my marriage.”

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