Wicked Promise (31 page)

Nick stood frozen. Once before in his life he had heard those chilling words. He had tried to prepare himself, but in truth, he had never thought to hear them again. "I presume you have a good deal more evidence than you had when last we spoke."

Constable Evans moved farther into the entry, allowing the watchmen who had come with him to step inside as well. "It appears there is a gap of several hours in the time sequence you gave us, my lord." He lifted a busy eyebrow. "Perhaps you wish to clarify that error now."

Nick took a steadying breath. He had known this was coming, known yet prayed it would not. "The hours you are missing occurred when a wheel broke on my carriage. It took my coachman several hours to repair it. He, of course, can vouch for my whereabouts during that time."

"Your coachman. By that you are referring to one Jackson 'Light-fingered Jack' Fremantle—a convicted thief who has also been arrested on several counts of assault. I'm sorry, my lord, but Fremantle is hardly a viable witness. Along with that, there is also the matter of the argument you had with your wife on a previous visit. You neglected to mention that as well, or the threats that you made at the time."

Nick's stomach tightened. He had forgotten about the fight they'd had. Damn, he had tried so bloody hard to hang on to his temper. "I was angry. I said things out of hand. I didn't—"

"I'm sorry. That is a matter for the courts to decide. Now if you will please come with me—"

"Dammit, she had already agreed to the divorce! I had no reason to kill her!" The constable merely stood there. Nick closed his eyes, fighting for control. He released a shaky breath. "I'll need a moment to collect my hat and gloves, leave word for my sister and my attorney." Get a message to Elizabeth. He would have to find someone to tell her. What could he possibly say?

"Sir Reginald has already been informed," the constable was saying. "He will meet you at the prison."

Nick's stomach rolled.
Prison.
The word weighed him down like a heavy stone, and a chill sank into his bones. He had spent weeks in a cold cell in Newgate before he had been transported. Now he would face those dank, unforgiving walls again.

And this time he might not leave.

It took all of his considerable will to return to the foyer when instinct told him to run—to get as far away from London as he possibly could. Under different circumstances, he might have.

Elizabeth's lovely face rose into his mind. Elizabeth laughing at something he had said. Elizabeth holding him as he lay sleeping, her fingers stroking gently through his hair. He had wanted a life with her, wanted the children she could give him.

"Are you ready, my lord?"

Nick simply nodded. The constable's carriage waited out in front. He climbed in and settled himself against the cracked leather seat, fighting not to think of the grim days ahead, of the trial and its possible outcome. Instead he focused his thoughts on Elizabeth, on the way she had come to him that night in his bedchamber, the refuge he had taken in her arms, in her body. She had given herself to him totally and completely, and with such tender sweetness that for a few short hours there was no room in his heart for the worry that consumed him.

She was everything he wanted in a woman, sensuality tempered with innocence, softness infused with an underlying strength.

Elizabeth!
he silently called out to her. She was safe for the moment, tucked away inside the walls of her town house. But she couldn't stay there forever.

Was Bascomb behind Rachael's murder? If he was, who among those Nick trusted had betrayed him? And if Bascomb had killed her, what grave danger might Elizabeth be facing?

He thought of Maggie, saw her battered face, her torn and bloody clothes. In his mind's eye he saw Oliver in Stephen's place, his black rages and destructive need for possession. God's blood, what might a man like that do to a woman he was so wildly obsessed with?

On the carriage seat, Nick's hands unconsciously fisted. The fear he felt for himself suddenly paled in the face of the terror he felt for Elizabeth.

With a shaky hand, Maggie accepted the glass of sherry Elizabeth handed her then sank down on the sofa. "Thank you." She had arrived at her friend's house in Maddox Street, the carriage streaking up in front, Maggie in tears as she climbed the front steps.

She took a sip of the sherry, hoping it would steady her nerves, somehow help to ease her fears. "I still can't make myself believe it."

Elizabeth sat down on the edge of a chair, her face as white as the lace on her navy blue gown. "Where ... where have they taken him?" Her voice sounded strained, the words thin and distant, as if they came from far away.

"Newgate, I suppose. Marshalsea and King's Bench are debtor's prisons. They took him to Newgate before." Maggie took another sip of sherry, holding on to its fortifying warmth, brushing the tears from her cheeks. Crying wouldn't help Nick. She wasn't certain what would.

"When did they come for him?"

"Early this morning. I wasn't yet out of bed. He was gone by the time I dressed and arrived downstairs."

Elizabeth stared off toward the window. "We have to go to him. We have to make certain that he is all right."

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her pale peach morning gown, dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. "Sir Reginald was to meet him. He'll pay the garnish, see that Nick is given a cell on the master's side of the prison."

Elizabeth's eyes swung to hers. Maggie noticed how hollow they looked, yet deep inside, the light of determination seemed to burn. "I'm going to see him. Then I'm going to find a way to prove that he is innocent."

"How? What can you possibly do that my brother and Rand aren't already doing?"

"I'm not sure but there has to be something."

Maggie shook her head. "I don't know, Elizabeth ... I just feel so useless. I'm terribly worried about him. And the gossip ... it's been so awful. I don't. . . I'm not certain how much more I can stand."

The green of Elizabeth's eyes seemed to sharpen as they focused on Maggie's face. "You're not saying what I think you are? You're not thinking of returning to the convent?"

Maggie glanced away. Andrew Sutton's image appeared in her mind. It faded away as he had faded from her life and a sharp ache rose in its place. "I'm not certain what I am thinking. My thoughts are so muddled, I hardly know what day it is."

Elizabeth strode toward her, reached out and gripped her shoulders. "You listen to me, Margaret Warring. I don't believe for a moment you belong locked away in a convent. You have too much to offer, too much to give. Nicholas said you wanted children. You can still have them, Maggie. The right man won't care about the scandal. The right man will care only for you." Gently, she shook her. "And you have your brother to think of. Nicholas needs you. You can't just abandon him."

Maggie shivered as a tremor ran through her, accompanied by a flicker of shame. "I know. It's just that sometimes ..."

"Sometimes it just seems so hard."

She nodded. "Yes. Sometimes it just seems so hard."

"You can't run away, Maggie. You can't give up your dreams a second time."

Maggie stared out the window, caught a glimpse of blue sky, heard the call of a newsboy hawking the morning paper, the laughter of children playing on the porch next door. Elizabeth was right. Maggie had run from her troubles before but the cost had been higher than she could have imagined! This time she would stay and fight for a life in the world outside, even if it meant living that life alone.

Setting the glass of sherry down on a marble-topped table, she rose slowly from the sofa. "My carriage is still out in front. I shall inform Elias and Theo that we are in need of their escort to the prison."

Some of the tension eased from Elizabeth's slim shoulders. "I won't be a moment. I'll get my wrap and meet you in the foyer."

Maggie watched her leave and wearily turned to the door. For weeks she had reveled in her newfound freedom, so caught up in the excitement of the social whirl she had missed as a girl she hadn't understood her own heart and what it was she really wanted. A home of her own. A husband and family to love. Now that she had lost the chance for those things, she realized just how important they were.

It was too late for that, but as Elizabeth said, there was her brother to think of. Nicholas needed her as he never had before. Maggie straightened her shoulders and started to the door. No matter the cost, this time she would stay and face the dragon.

Nick leaned back against the rough gray walls of his cell in Newgate prison. Outside the sun was shining, yet it was icy fold inside the damp, thick-walled chamber. He was quartered in the master's side of the prison—being an earl and a man of considerable wealth did, after all, have its advantages.

But the threadbare rug did little to warm the cold stone floor. The battered wooden chairs and scarred oak table hardly equaled the comforts of home. The lumpy corn-husk mattress on its woven hemp frame had provided little solace against his restless slumber of the night before.

" 'Tis good to see ye, Nick, me boy." The men shook hands, Elias trying to be cheerful. "I was 'ere yesterday, but they wouldn't let me in. I brung yer lady and yer sister. They said we couldn't see ye until ye were settled in."

Guilt clawed its way into his chest. "Elizabeth and Maggie were here?" God's breath, that was the last thing he wanted.

Elias shrugged. "There's no holdin' the two of 'em back, once their minds is set. Mad as hornets they were, but the guards said no women, leastwise not yet. Even money couldn't sway 'em. Just bein' obstinate, I suspect, throwin' their weight around."

"I'm glad they were turned away. I don't want them here." Especially not Elizabeth. Not yet. Not until he was ready.

"They'll come. There'll be no stoppin' em."

"I'll stop them, I'll tell the guards not to let them in. I'll—"

Elias gripped his shoulder. "They need to see ye, lad. 'Specially yer lady. She loves ye. She won't rest till she knows yer safe."

Nick's insides clenched.
She loves you
. Each time he heard the words, something tightened inside him. He didn't want her to love him—not now—not when the cost was so dear.

"I suppose you're right. Once they're reassured, I'll forbid them to come." Elias looked askance at that, but Nicholas ignored him. "I presume Elizabeth is somewhere safe?"

"Took 'em both to 'Is Grace's. Man's got an army of footmen, if 'e needed 'em—which, like as not, 'e wouldn't."

Nick felt the pull of a smile. The women were safe with Rand—that was certain. He was strong as an ox, a champion boxer at Oxford, and stubborn enough not to quit, even when he was down.

"In the past several days, I've had time to do some thinking. Elizabeth believes Oliver Hampton may be behind Rachael's murder. There is a chance she may be right."

Elias just nodded. " 'Twould make an odd sort of sense."

"If it's true, then there must be a spy and it is one of the people I trusted, one of those who accompanied us to London: Edward Pendergass, Theo Swann, Mercy Brown, or Jackson Fremantle."

"It could be me, ye know."

Nick just smiled. "But we both know it isn't."

"Nay, lad, 'tisn't me. You're like a brother to me, Nick. Ye stood by me in prison, took a floggin' for me when I was too sick with the fever to survive it. A man don't forget a friend like that. I'd sooner cut me 'eart out than do aught to 'urt ye."

"What about the others? I consider all of them friends. It's hard to believe any of them would betray me."

" 'Tis Jackson, I'm thinkin'. 'E were a friend of Theo's, come to ye lookin' for work, but 'e ain't really one of us. And 'e's got a weakness for the coin in a man's purse."

Nick nodded, having thought that same thing. "Jackson drove me to Rachael's. He knew I was going to see her again the following day. He could have told Bascomb. As a matter of fact, he could have done something to the wheel on the carriage. Perhaps the reason he pulled so far off the road was so that no one could verify my story."

" 'Tis Jackson," Elias said coldly. "The bloody bastard's turned traitor. When I get me bleedin' 'ands on 'im, I'm gonna pound the life from 'is worthless 'ide."

Nick squeezed his friend's shoulder. "No, Elias—if we're right about this, the last thing we want is for Bascomb to know we're on to him."

Elias's mouth thinned in grudging agreement. "All right, we'll leave 'im be—for now. And don't ye worry about yer lady. Ye can trust she'll be safe with me."

"I know she will." Nick gripped his friend's hand a final time. Elias left the cell and the door slammed shut with a hollow ring. It was the echo of the years ahead, he thought, the echo of scandal and whispered accusation—even if he were lucky enough to escape the hangman.

Another day passed. Nick sank down on the hard wooden chair, ignoring the cold in the cell. Sir Reginald had sent a number of books, but his mind was not on reading. Instead, he stared up at the small barred window, yearning to feel the sunlight, missing Elizabeth, knowing he would miss her for as long as he lived.

In the last few solitary days of his confinement, he had faced a painful truth. The dream he'd had of marriage to Elizabeth was exactly that—a fantasy that could never be real

Rachael's murder had destroyed whatever slim chance they'd had of being together. Ironic, he thought. By dying. she had freed him and at the same time shattered any chance he'd had of making a life with Elizabeth.

At least not the sort of life she deserved.

Nick rose and began to pace the cell, thinking about her. knowing that even if he were acquitted, the scandal would remain. His conscience said he was destroying her life for his own selfish purpose. He wanted her. Needed her, he admitted. But now he was suspected of murder. He could no longer think of himself. He had to do what was best for Elizabeth.