Wicked Promise (32 page)

What kind of a life would she have married to a man twice accused of murder? In truth, Elizabeth was lost to him now far more than she ever was before.

Rachael was probably laughing from the grave.

He glanced at his dismal surroundings and thought of the painful decision he had made. It was time to put his selfishness to an end, time to do what he should have done from the start. No matter how much it hurt to lose her, he was going to set her free and at the same time see her safe from Bascomb.

Nick dragged in a lungful of cold, musty air. He felt hollow inside, numb in a way he couldn't have imagined. Let her go, the voice inside him demanded as it had a dozen times.

This time he was determined to listen.

Elizabeth stood beneath a high brick wall of the garden at the rear of her town house. Unlike the flowers and shrubs at Ravenworth, these were slightly neglected, the gravel paths overgrown, the ivy gone wild and haphazardly climbing the worn red brick.

The place needed care, and since her arrival, she had begun its resurrection, trimming and replanting a little at a time, refusing to hire a gardener since the area was so small, more a high-walled cubicle that boxed her in than a place of escape, as the gardens were at Ravenworth Hall.

And yet it was the only refuge she had. With the papers full of Rachael's murder and the scandal of the earl and his mistress, she rarely left the house anymore. She saw only Maggie and Rand, her aunt, and the guards and servants who surrounded her.

Dear God, how she missed the freedom she had taken for granted, the happy days before Oliver Hampton, before her parents had died, when her life had truly been her own.

Elizabeth sighed and glanced around. Pulling on a pair of old leather gloves, she brushed dirt and leaves from a rusty iron bench that sat next to the garden wall, then wearily sank down. She hadn't slept in the past three nights, not since the morning Maggie arrived with news of Nicholas's arrest, and her body ached with fatigue and the endless hours of worrying about him. Her head throbbed dully and a slight buzzing filled her ears. She was tired to the bone yet she couldn't stand another moment indoors.

She gazed toward the garden wall, saw Theo discreetly standing guard, felt a mutinous shot of rebellion. She was a prisoner in her very own home, a prisoner...

The thought died away, doused by a wave of guilt. Nicholas was the one in prison. Nicholas. How could she complain when it was he who suffered, he who had been so terribly wronged? An image of filthy stone passages and the stench of urine and unwashed bodies arose, so powerful that bile rose into her throat.

She had gone to the prison each day since Nicholas's arrest, seen the filth and the neglect, smelled the foul odors of disease, seen men chained together like animals, their wrists and ankles crusty with old dried blood. He was there yet they wouldn't let her see him. He was there and he was alone.

Elizabeth's eyes suddenly burned, but no tears came. She hadn't cried. She wished she could. Instead, her tears had frozen like a block of ice trapped painfully inside her. She hadn't cried because tears would be useless and because it would mean that there was a chance that Nicholas would hang.

She didn't want to believe it, fought it with every ounce of her will, but the effort had drained the last of her strength and she felt strangely askew, and so brittle she thought she might break at any moment.

She stared at the walls of the garden, thought of the ugly stone walls of Newgate prison, thought of Nicholas, and purpose arose from the ashes of her strength. She had to see him, rules or no. She had to find a way to help him.

Turning toward the house, she pulled off her gloves and tossed them down on the rusty iron bench.

"Elias!" she called out, knowing he would be somewhere near, her legs weak from fatigue, but her steps surprisingly strong.

He appeared in the doorway like a tall dark shadow. "Yes, miss?"

"I'll need you and Theo. We're going back to the prison— and this time they are going to let us in."

"But I thought—"

"That was before." She smiled with grim determination. "Today is another day and we shall be stopping on our journey, inviting a friend to join us." She lifted her skirt, stepping over the threshold into the house. "We'll be making a call on His Grace, the Duke of Beldon."

He had forgotten the loneliness, the hours that seemed to have no end.

He turned back again, heading toward the tiny barred win¬dow, his boot heels thudding on the rough plank floors, thud¬ding, thudding, a hollow, empty sound that mirrored the way he felt inside. So far only Elias, Sir Reginald, Rand, and Syd¬ney had been allowed inside his cell. It was Sydney's return he awaited.

The guards were bringing him up now. Nick could hear footsteps and several men's voices, echoing in the thick-walled corridor outside. A key grated in the rusty lock and the door swung open.

White hair neatly groomed, Sydney walked in, his features carefully schooled against whatever it was he was thinking.

"I've done as you asked," he said without preamble. "I like it no better now than I did then." His face looked grim as he removed his cloak, tossed it over the back of a rickety wooden chair.

"I take it you've been to see Tricklewood."

Sydney's thick white brows pulled together. He sank down on the hard wooden chair. "I saw him."

"Did you mention Elizabeth's dowry? Did you tell him it would be doubled should they wed? That is quite a sizable amount of money. Enough to keep him in style for a good many years."

His features tightened. "I mentioned it, but there was no need. The boy is in love with her. He has been eaten up with worry since the murder. He has read the papers, of course. He is appalled at the terrible things being written about her. If Elizabeth will agree, he'll marry her by special license as soon as it can be arranged."

Something sharp knifed into his chest. Jealousy, he knew, the thought of Elizabeth in David En-dicott's bed. "He's a good man," he said gruffly. "He'll make her a very fine hus¬band."

Sydney said nothing for the longest time. "I don't like this, Nicholas, not one bit. There is yet the chance you may be acquitted. The two of you could marry as you once planned."

"The odds of my acquittal are slender at best and you know it. Besides, even should I be released, the doubt would still remain. What kind of a life would Elizabeth have married to a convicted killer with the taint of a second murder hanging over his head?"

Sydney fell silent; Nick's words were heavy with the ring of truth. Shoving back his chair, he rose from the table and walked to the window. "How will you convince her to marry him?"

The pain in Nick's chest stabbed deeper. She would marry the viscount. He would see to it. He would do whatever it took to convince her. "Have no doubt, Sydney. Elizabeth will marry him—and soon."

"But surely—"

A knock at the door interrupted them. Swearing at the in¬trusion, Nick crossed to the heavy wooden door, heard the jangle of keys and the sound of the lock grating open. Rushing past Rand Clayton and a slightly overweight guard, Elizabeth entered the cell and flew straight into his arms.

"Nicholas—thank God." Unconsciously his arms tightened around her, pressing her close against his chest. She looked pale and shaken. Purple smudges darkened the skin beneath her eyes. A pang of guilt speared through him, and the ragged ache of regret.

''I've missed you," she whispered. "I've been so worried— and I've missed you so much." She closed her eyes, but tears squeezed past her lashes. She turned her face into his shoulder and held on to him with all of her strength.

Nick smoothed a hand over her dark auburn hair. He real¬ized it was shaking. "It's all right, love. Please don't cry."

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with moisture. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks. "I haven't cried once. I told myself I wouldn't cry here."

He breathed in the scent of her hair, the soft rose of her perfume. "Sometimes it's good to cry." He forced himself to smile, used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a drop of wetness.

Elizabeth sniffed again, accepted the handkerchief he of¬fered. "Are you all right?"

He wasn't all right. He felt as though the heavy gray walls were closing in, crushing him with their weight, squeezing the air from his lungs. Loneliness ate at him like a living, breathing thing. His heart was battered by thoughts of Eliza¬beth, of what he must do, his mind tormented with grief at losing her.

He forced another smile. "I'm fine. This may not be as grand as Ravenworth Hall, but it's really not so bad. Those poor devils below—now they have something to complain about." He glanced over her head to Rand, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"She needed to come," his friend said. "She was beside herself with worry. She wasn't eating. She hasn't been able to sleep. I thought it would be better if she saw for herself that you were all right."

Her fingers rested lightly on his chest. Her touch seemed to burn straight into his heart.

"I can't stand it," she said, looking up at him. "I can't stand to think of you locked up in here. It isn't right that you should suffer like this again."

He caught a loose curl of fiery dark hair, tucked it gently behind an ear. Perhaps it was better it happened like this, with Rand and Sydney to take care of her. "I won't be here long. Soon all of this will be over and I'll be returning to Raven¬worth Hall."

There was something in the way he said it, something Eliz¬abeth picked up on, as he had known she would. "You? Do you not mean
we
?"

His false smile slid away. "No, Elizabeth. I mean
me
. Since I've been locked away in here, I've had time to do some think¬ing."

"Thinking?" A note of alarm rose into her voice. "What ... what sort of thinking?"

Nick studied her face, saw the fatigue she fought to hide, and his heart squeezed hard inside him. He turned her a bit, allowing her to see the white-haired man who had come to his feet the moment she entered the cell.

"Sydney is here. We were just talking about you."

She mustered a smile, but it looked faint and grave. Blotting the last of her tears, she went over and kissed Sydney's cheek. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've been so worried. Is he really all right?"

"As good as can be expected, under the circumstances."

Nick walked toward them. "Sydney was just telling me that he has recently spoken to a friend of yours—David Endicott. Apparently Lord Tricklewood has been worried about you."

"The viscount has always been kind to me. I hope you will tell him, Sydney, how much I appreciate his concern."

Nick moved closer. "Lord Tricklewood wishes to marry you."

Her eyes swung to his face. She bit down on her bottom lip. He noticed it had started to tremble. "I am betrothed to another—or perhaps, my lord, you have forgotten."

It was suddenly hard to breathe.
How could he possibly forget?
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but a marriage between us is no longer possible."

"What... what are you talking about?"

"I am talking about being in prison. I am talking about a trial, about the fact that I may hang."

"But you are innocent. You said yourself all of this would soon be behind you."

Tension moved through his body. His features turned hard. He reached out and gripped her shoulders. "Don't you see? Even if I am acquitted, there will always be speculation. What kind of life would you have? What kind of life would your children have with a father twice accused of murder?"

Her eyes welled once more with tears. "They'll find the man who did it! They'll know it wasn't you!"

He shook her. Hard. "Listen to me, dammit. Think of your¬self for once. I care for you, Elizabeth—you know how much I care. I asked you to marry me. I wanted a family. I wanted you to give me sons. But I am not in love with you. I'm not the kind of man for that. I don't even know what love is."

Elizabeth stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She glanced at Rand, whose jaw was clamped, then to Sydney. Something flickered in the older man's eyes, concern, or per¬haps it was pity. Nick's own eyes betrayed nothing of what he was feeling inside. He felt as if he were dying.

"Perhaps his lordship is right," Sydney said gently. "There comes a time when a person must look after his own well- being. Young Endicott is very much in love with you. He can protect you from Bascomb and he will make you a very fine husband. He'll be a good father for the children you will have."

Her eyes swung back to Nick's face. They were filled with so much anguish, so much pain, his insides twisted up inside him. He wanted to take back the words that had hurt her so badly. He knew that he could not.

"Is that. . . is that what you want, Nicholas? For me to marry David Endicott?"

Regret clawed its way into his chest. It was the very last thing he wanted. It Was painful just to breathe. "Under the circumstances, yes—that is exactly what I want. I believe it would the best thing for both of us."

Her eyes held his for long, agonizing moments, then she looked away. "I will... 1 will consider what you have said, but at present—"

Nick gripped her shoulders, turned her to face him. "You have to marry him, Bess. Has it never occurred to you that even now you might be carrying my babe? What will you do if you discover that you are with child?"

Elizabeth swallowed hard. She looked suddenly pale and achingly vulnerable. His chest rose harshly. He hated himself for what he was doing, yet he knew he had no choice.

"We don't. . . we don't know if that has occurred. There is no reason to believe it is so."

He gave her a mocking half-smile. "No reason? What do you call what happened in my bed the last time we were to¬gether? If I remember correctly—"

"Nicholas! I beg you, please ... I can't... I don't—" Her Voice broke on the last. He fisted his hands to keep from reach¬ing out, from dragging her into his arms. There was too much at stake. She had suffered enough already.

"I am merely reminding you there is every reason to believe it could be so."

Her eyes locked with his, wounded eyes, dark with a soul- deep pain. "And if it were? You are saying you would want your child to be raised by another man?"

God, no. The thought made him sick to his stomach. "I would wish him to have a father. There is every chance that I will be dead."

"Don't say that!"

"I am only speaking the truth. Marry Tricklewood. Make a life for yourself that does not include me."

Her chin edged up, but the bleakness remained in her face. "If we ... if I should discover that I am ... that I carry your babe, there will still be time to decide what to do."

Nick turned away, pacing toward the tiny window, staring out but not really seeing. The pressure in his chest was excru¬ciating. He returned to the place in front of her. "You know the way I feel. I want you to think of yourself, do what is best for you."

Elizabeth's trembling hand reached out to cup his cheek. "I love you, Nicholas. Whatever happens, that won't change. If you no longer want me, there is nothing I can do about that." The hand fell away, leaving a chill in its wake. "As for the rest, I will govern my own life as I see fit. I have managed to survive thus far. I will do so in the future."

The tightness in his chest fanned out, an ache, raw and intense. He didn't know exactly how it happened, but suddenly she was there in his arms. "You must think of yourself," he whispered, pressing her tightly against him. "You must go on with your life."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Her arms slid around his neck and she pulled his mouth down to hers for a kiss. Her soft lips trembled and he could feel the wetness of her tears on his face. Nicholas kissed her back with every ounce of his soul, knowing it was the last time he would touch her. Know¬ing he had to let her go, that he had to send her away.

It was Elizabeth who ended the kiss. She swayed a bit un¬steadily and Rand caught her arm. "Take care of yourself, my lord."

He glanced off in the distance. "And you, Bess. You take care of yourself as well."

"Yes ..." she whispered. "I shall."

Several seconds passed. When he turned, he saw Elizabeth standing next to Sydney, her face turned into his shoulder. Together with Rand, they walked out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed, Nick sank down in the chair, his heart beating dully, a bitter ache throbbing beneath his breastbone. Something burned at the back of his eyes. It's over, he told himself. You've done what you had to do. Eliz¬abeth would marry Endicott and she would be safe. In a few years, the scandal would be forgotten. Her youthful indiscre¬tion with the Wicked Earl could be passed off as little more than gossip.

Whether he lived or died would not matter.

For once, you did the right thing
, he told himself. He just wished it didn't hurt so damned badly.

Elizabeth sat alone in the drawing room of her town house. Her hands were so cold. Her skin was cool and clammy and nothing could warm her.

Nicholas didn't love her. He wanted her to marry another man. Even if he won his freedom, he didn't want her with him. Her chest ached. Her lungs burned. She felt as if a hole had been gouged in her heart.

It was dark inside the drawing room. The curtains were pulled, not a hint of sunlight crept in. She didn't want to see the sun. She didn't understand how there could possibly be any warmth on such a terrible day.

Oh, God, Nicholas
. She thought of him, imagined his sin¬fully beautiful face, and wondered how she could have been' such a fool. In truth, she had no one to blame but herself. She had known what he was like from the moment she had met him. A heartless rogue with little regard for the women he took to his bed. That he had been kind to her, that he had so very often been tender, didn't change his nature. He didn't love her. She should have known he never would.

Pain throbbed in her chest. Over and over the voice in her head repeated the words he had spoken in his cell.
I care for you Elizabeth, but I don't love you.
It hurt more every time she heard them.
I care for you, but I don't love you.