Wicked Promise (35 page)

Pendergass, no doubt. The butler was the only member of the household still up at this hour of the night. Maggie sighed and leaned back in her chair. It was so empty in the house without Nick. So empty. And she felt so alone.

Maggie picked up the book she had been trying to read,
Fugitive of the Forest
, but the pages seemed to blur and she found herself rereading the words. Through the walls of the town house next door, the faint sound of music drifted in. A small soiree was in progress. Maggie, of course, had not been invited. She would never be invited into the world of the ton again.

She sighed again, fighting a painful swell pf emotion. She hadn't thought she would miss it—the crowds and the pretty clothes, the flattery and the attention—but she had been wrong. The laughter and the dancing, the music and gaiety, had nurtured something long closed up inside her. Being out in the world, she had begun to blossom, to experience life for the very first time.

And there was something more, something she had refused to admit. She had fallen in love with Andrew Sutton. He was handsome and he had been charming, but it was more than that. There was something about him, a solidness she could count on. An honesty she had thought that she could trust.

She had been wrong, of course. Andrew had disappeared from her life at the first sign of scandal, disappeared just like all her other fair-weather friends, and now that he was gone, she'd discovered how much their time together had meant. She had wanted to know more of him, to uncover the depth of her feelings, to explore the possibilities of a future together.

She would never have the chance. Not now. Andrew's feel¬ings had been as shallow as the others' and the fact made a soft ache throb in her heart.

A shadow appeared at the door to the drawing room. "My lady?" Pendergass stood in the opening. "I am sorry to bother you at this late hour, but there is a gentleman to see you. I told him it was entirely inappropriate at this time of night, but—"

"But I told him it was urgent," said the handsome man who appeared beside him. "I told him I would not leave until I saw you."

The blood drained from her cheeks. Andrew Sutton stood in the doorway. Andrew had come. Her heart strained, started beating with frantic emotion. It was ridiculous, insane, that one glimpse of him should make her feel this way.

She dragged in a breath, battled for composure, turned and started walking toward the fire.

"I am surprised to see you, my lord, considering the taint your reputation may suffer at these few moments in my pres¬ence. Why is it you have come?"

His footsteps were muffled as he approached her from be¬hind. She felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. The light touch made her tremble. She felt hurt and be¬trayed, yet her pulse raced at the sight of him.

"I know what you must think, what you must surely be¬lieve, but I have come to tell you it isn't the truth. I didn't know a thing about any of this—the murder—the scandal. The day before the countess was killed, I left the country. I didn't discover what had happened until my return this afternoon."

She looked up at him, into those arresting brown eyes. "My brother did not kill Rachael Warring. He is innocent. You probably don't believe that, but it is the truth."

"I am sorry for Nick. I pray that indeed he is innocent of the crime, but that is not why I am here."

She swallowed hard, tried to look away, but his gaze seemed to hold her immobile. "Why, then? Why did you come? What is it you want?"

His features softened. His eyes ran gently over her face. She remembered the night he had kissed her at Vauxhall Gardens.

"I came because of you. Lady Margaret. I've read the pa¬pers. I've heard the gossip, the insinuations. They've dredged up the past, and you as well as your brother are being made to suffer. I can only imagine what a nightmare you must be living."

She glanced away, a thick lump rising in her throat. "The scandal has not been pleasant, but I suppose I shall survive."

He lifted her chin with his fingers. "Will you, Margaret? Or will it break you, as it nearly did before?"

She didn't reply. She didn't know the answer. Instead her eyes filled with tears. His hand felt gentle as he brushed the wetness from her cheeks with the tip of a finger.

"I was a fool to leave you. I did it on purpose, you know. I had business on the Continent. I thought that a few weeks away would give me a chance to think things through, to see if what I felt for you was genuine. I didn't want to make a mistake."

Her heart squeezed. What was he saying? That he cared for her in some way? "You left because of me? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Such an innocent. I left because I was falling in love with you. The moment I saw you, I wanted you. Everywhere you went, I watched you. I heard you laugh and I wanted to kiss you. I saw you smile and I wanted that smile to belong only to me. I wanted to make love to you, but it was more than that. What I felt went deeper than desire, and it frightened me to death. I left to sort things out. I regret now that I did. If I had stayed, you wouldn't have had to suffer the way you have."

She was trying to comprehend, trying to listen to his words over the fierce pounding of her heart. "Your staying wouldn't have changed things. The countess would still be dead and the scandal would be the same."

"If I had stayed, they wouldn't have dared to malign you as they have. I could have offered you my protection, Mar¬garet, as I have come to do. I am asking you to marry me."

Maggie bit down on her bottom lip. The world seemed to tilt crazily. Stumbling away from him, she sank down on the sofa, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her. Andrew knelt in front of her, reached up and took her hand.

"I know you were not expecting this. If there were time, I would court you as I should. But there isn't time, Maggie. I can only hope that the days we've been apart have allowed you to examine your own feelings. If you care for me half as  much as I care for you, I pray you will accept my offer of marriage."

Maggie wet her trembling lips. It was all so confusing, so unexpected. She blinked back a fresh film of tears. "I thought you felt nothing at all for me. I thought that the gossip had driven you away."

"The gossip—I don't give a damn what the scandalmongers say. I'm in love with you, Maggie. I want you to be my wife."

Her heart squeezed inside her. She looked into his strong, handsome face, and the uncertainty began to melt away. She was in love with him. She had known it for some time, perhaps since the moment he had asked her to dance at the costume ball. She had tried to deny it, to tell herself it wasn't so, but the truth was there in her heart She loved him, deeply and sincerely, and far more than she had allowed herself to believe.

And because she did, she would have to refuse him.

Fresh tears burned. Her throat closed up, ached so badly it was hard to speak. "I can't marry you, Andrew. Forgive me, but I simply cannot."

Andrew stiffened, coming to his feet the muscles in his shoulders rigid beneath his perfectly tailored dark brown coat. "Then I was wrong. I thought you had feelings for me. I thought..."

Maggie watched the set of his jaw and wildly shook her head, more miserable than she had ever been before. She stood up from the sofa. "No, my lord, you don't understand. I love you, Andrew. I realized that in the days you were gone. But I am not the woman you believe me to be and I love you too much to ever deceive you."

He scowled, paced away from her, then returned. With his thick brown hair and intense brown eyes, his hard, sculpted jaw, and patrician nose, he was incredibly handsome. There was power in each of his movements, purpose and determi¬nation. He was, in every way, the Marquess of Trent.

"Now it is I who do not understand."

"I can't marry you. The scandal in my past makes marriage to you or anyone else impossible for me now."

He made a rude sound in his throat. "I know all about 'the scandal in your past' and I don't give a fig about it."

Her chin went up but inside her heart was breaking. "You know? What exactly, my lord, do you think you know?"

"I know that you were young and innocent. I know your brother killed Stephen Hampton because he was a married man who attempted to seduce you. If you had been my sister, I might have done the same thing myself."

"My brother killed Lord Stephen in self-defense. Oliver Hampton covered up the truth. But Nicholas didn't kill him because he tried to seduce me. Stephen managed very well to accomplish the task. Even that was not the cause of his death. Nick killed him because when I went to Stephen about the child I carried, he beat me so badly I lost the babe."

The color drained from Andrew's face, and in that moment she wished with all her heart that she had already returned to the convent. She watched the way his hands shook, then fisted, the way his mouth went thin and a muscle jerked in his cheek, and knew in that moment that she would go back. Without Andrew Sutton, there was nothing left for her in the world outside.

Now that she had discovered what it was she really wanted, she had also learned she could not have it.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the door. "Thank you for com¬ing, my lord. Your kindness is appreciated and will not be forgotten." She fought not to cry, but a tear rolled down her cheek. "Good-bye... Andrew." She had to say his name one last time, to feel the warmth of it on her tongue. She vowed she wouldn't allow herself to say it ever again.

His gaze found hers and did not move away. "I am glad your brother killed him. If Hampton were still living, I would kill him myself."

Maggie said nothing. There was nothing left to say. She stared at him, memorizing each of his features, her heart ach¬ing, tearing itself in two. She thought he would turn and walk away, that she would never see his handsome face again. In¬stead he reached out to her, cupped her cheek in his hand.

"Do you think so little of me, Maggie? Do you believe I would value the maidenhead of your youth above the woman that you have become?" He bent and brushed her mouth with a feather-soft kiss. "I don't give a damn what happened nine years ago. I love you, Margaret Warring, and if you will have me, there is nothing I want more in this world than to make you my wife."

Tears spilled over, traced a path down her cheeks. "An¬drew. . ." She didn't recall the moment she went into his arms, only found herself pressed against him, clinging to his neck and absorbing his strength. She was shaking all over. A faint tremor ran through Andrew's solid frame as well.

"I love you," she whispered. "I didn't know exactly how much till I saw you walk through that door. I love you, and if you are sure that is what you want, I would be honored to be your wife."

His arms tightened around her. He buried his face in her hair. "We'll be married by special license as soon as I can arrange it. Once we are wed, you'll be safe from the gossip."

She looked up at him, her heart filled with love. "Andrew, are you certain?"

He bent his head and kissed her. "More certain every mo¬ment. It's what I want and I believe it is what your brother would want as well."

It was true. Nick had wanted her to wed and he would surely approve her choice of husband. Her brother would be grateful that her future was secure and she was protected. She tightened her hold around Andrew's neck, feeling safe as she hadn't since she had left the convent.

A pang of guilt slid through her. She was safe, but what of Nick and Elizabeth? She only wished her brother was safe as well.

Pulling her cloak more closely around her, Elizabeth walked silently beside Aunt Sophie, wearing a smile of reassurance she didn't really feel. She had to help Nicholas escape—of that she had no doubt. Yet her heart squeezed to think what he might say.

I care for you, but I'm not in love with you
. She forced the words away, forced away the pain that went with them. Clasp¬ing her aunt's pudgy hand, she crossed the high, walled court¬yard of the prison, Elias following in their wake.

They had bribed the guards to let them in, not a difficult task since visitors were often allowed and the earl's mistress, an aging fat woman, and Ravenworth's valet hardly posed a threat.

And there were other visitors in the prison. The hour wasn't late and any number of people milled about, the inmates' wives and children, vendors hawking their wares to the slight few with coin enough to buy them. Elizabeth was counting on the hustle and bustle around them to serve as a distraction.

She steeled herself as the small group entered a long stone wing of the prison, the master's side, where those with money enough could serve their term in some minor amount of com¬fort. In silence, they climbed two flights of stairs and passed down a dank, dimly lit passage toward the cell at the end that belonged to the Earl of Ravenworth.

Elizabeth shivered at the dampness that seeped through her clothes, pressed a handkerchief over her nose against the fetid smell that clung to the walls. Her heart ached to think of Nich¬olas locked up in here, cold and alone, and her determination grew to see him freed of his terrible surroundings. No matter what feelings he held for her, he didn't deserve to be locked up in here. He deserved to be free, and once he was, he'd be able to leave the country.

Emotion made a lump rise in her throat. Nicholas would leave and most likely she would not be going with him.

The guard urged them on. " 'Urry up, now—don't be daw- dlin'." The beefy man swaggered ahead of them, his sword clanking against his boots, the sound of his footsteps a harsh echo in the shadowy darkness.

He turned when he reached the heavy wooden door, set his lantern down on the filthy plank floor, and inserted the big metal key.

He leered at Elizabeth. "Are ye sure ye want these other two beggars in there with ye, gel? 'Tis certain his bloody lord¬ship would rather tup ye than talk to ye, whatever 'tis ye've got to say."

Elias stiffened beside her, but Elizabeth caught his arm. "Just let us in, please."

He gave her a long, lecherous perusal that sent a shiver running down her spine. "As ye wish." The key turned in the lock and a thin blade of light from inside the cell sliced into the passage. Through the widening crack in the door, she could see Nicholas approaching, his face drawn and haggard, and a fierce stab of pity knifed into her heart.

"Elizabeth! For God's sake, what are you doing here?"

She forced herself to smile, to appear as if things were com¬pletely normal. That he hadn't wanted her to marry someone else.

"I needed to see you, that is all. I convinced my aunt and Elias to accompany me. It's important. Please don't be an¬gry." She glanced toward the guard, who was smirking.

"Be back at half past," he said as he closed the door. "Ye want to stay longer, it'll cost ye more." He chuckled lewdly. "Ye don't have money, there's other ways ye can pay."

Nicholas's jaw went tight. He started to say something to the guard, but Elizabeth raised a finger to her lips and he fell silent. The beefy man's footsteps fell away down the passage, and she turned to look at Nicholas. For a moment his features looked taut. Then whatever displeasure he felt at her presence seemed to slowly drain away.

His eyes clung to hers, ran over her from head to foot, then returned to her face. There was something dark in their depths, something fierce and painfully disturbing.

He drew himself up, turned away. "What has happened? Why have you come?"

It took all of her will not to go to him, not to beg him to hold her again.
Tell me you still want me
, she silently pleaded. But she didn't say the words.

"They're going to hang you, Nicholas. You know it and so do I. We aren't going to let that happen." Turning, she pulled several tightly folded pillowcases from the deep pockets of her cloak and handed them to the man beside her. "Elias?"

"Right ye are, miss." Nicholas looked grim, but Elias merely drew out the long slender blade con-cealed in his boot and walked over to the corn-husk mattress in the corner.

"What the devil... ?" Nicholas watched him split open the mattress and begin to fill the pillowcases with the dry, rustling husks.

Elizabeth turned to the woman beside her. "Aunt Sophie?" But already her aunt was busily removing her cloak and drap¬ing it over a chair.

Nicholas glanced from one of them to the other. "Would someone mind telling me what exactly is going on?"

Elizabeth pasted on an airy smile. " 'Tis quite simple, my lord." She began unfastening the buttons at the back of Aunt Sophie's gown and Nicholas was forced to turn his back as she lifted the fabric carefully over her aunt's gray-haired head. "We're helping you escape."

"What!" He spun to face her, undaunted by the sight of Sophie Crabbe's bulky frame in a long cotton chemise and thin white stockings.

"There isn't time to protest." Elizabeth spun him back around. "We have a plan that will work if you will simply do as we say."

He turned to her once more. "Are you mad? Have you all gone completely insane? You can't possibly do this—if they catch you trying to help me escape, they'll throw the lot of you in here right along with me."

This time her smile was sincere. "Then you had better co¬operate so that doesn't happen." She accepted the frayed woolen blanket Elias had plucked from Nicholas's pallet and draped it around her aunt's thick shoulders.

Nicholas aimed his appeal in that direction. "Aunt Sophie— surely you have enough sense to see how dangerous this is. The whole idea is crazy."

"We haven't much time, my lord," her aunt simply said. " 'Twould be better for us all if you stopped talking and let Elias strap those sacks around your waist."

"But you can't possibly—" He whirled once more toward Elizabeth. "What about Maggie? If you do this—"

"Your sister has someone else to look after her. She is marrying the Marquess of Trent."

His black brows shot up. "Maggie is marrying Trent?"

"That is correct. Apparently, they are both very much in love."

Some of the fight went out of him. "Thank God."

"Nicholas, I don't mean to hurry you, but we have to get going. We don't have all that much time."

"She's right, lad. Ye better get movin' or we'll all be facin' the three-legged mare."

He stared at her, his silver-blue eyes intense. Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders. "You can't possibly do this, Eliz¬abeth. What about Tricklewood? He wants to marry you. He wants—"

"I'm not marrying David Endicott so you may as well for¬get it. I love you, Nicholas. Whatever you feel for me is not important. What's important is that we get you out of here."

Something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Hope? Longing? For a moment he just stood there. A shudder rippled through his tall frame, and then she was in his arms. He pressed her against him, holding on to her fiercely. "Ah, God, Elizabeth."

She clung to him with all of her strength. Wanting him. Needing him. Loving him. Praying he felt at least some of those things for her.

"I've missed you," he said, burying his face in her hair. "God, I've missed you so much."

She held him tighter, hope, love for him, and fierce deter¬mination throbbing in her breast. "I've missed you, Nicholas. I've missed you every minute, every second." She hugged him hard once more, then drew away. "But right now we have to leave."

His hand came up to her cheek. "Do you know what you are doing? Do you realize the consequences? If we cannot prove my innocence, you'll be a fugitive the same as I am. We'll have to leave the country. We'll have to—"

"We, Nicholas?"

A look of yearning swept over his features. "If we do this thing, there is no way I'll let you out of my sight again. You'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life."

Her eyes burned. A sweet flood of longing washed over her. "Don't you understand? As long as you are with me, I don't care where we have to live."

He hesitated only a heartbeat, gave her a last hard kiss and the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. "All right, then, let's do it. By God, I must be as crazy as the rest of you."

Elias chuckled. "Lift ye arms so I can tie these around ye." Pulling a length of rope from his pocket, he used it to secure the hastily fashioned pillows around Nicholas's narrow waist. Once the task was completed, Aunt Sophie's gown went over his head to hide his full-sleeved shirt and black breeches and the husk-filled sacks tied around his waist.

Since Nicholas was a good head taller than her aunt, Elias dropped to one knee and cut the thread that held up the false hem of the gown they had fashioned for exactly that purpose. It fell to its proper length, hiding his boots beneath it. Fighting a grin, Elias draped Sophie's cloak over the entire bizarre en¬semble, adjusted the hem in the same fashion, and drew up the hood, hiding Nicholas's face in the shadowy folds.

Elizabeth stifled a grin but it wasn't easy. Not when Nich¬olas looked like a walking, oversized tent and crackled every time he moved.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he grumbled.

" 'Twill be time soon." A smile curved Elias's lips. "Are ye ready ... Mrs. Crabbe?"

Nicholas scowled. "I don't think I'll ever be ready for this."

"Hunch down a bit when you walk," Elizabeth instructed. "Hopefully, they won't notice how tall Aunt Sophie has grown in the past few minutes." In the meantime, her aunt sat down in a chair while Elias carefully bound her hands behind her and placed a gag in her mouth.

"Are ye all right, Mrs. Crabbe?"

She nodded and Elizabeth didn't miss the sparkle of mer¬riment that flickered in her watery blue eyes. Aunt Sophie was actually enjoying herself. If she had ever doubted her aunt's kinship she didn't doubt it now.

"Guard's comin'," Elias' said softly. Silently, they took their places behind the door. The lock turned. The heavy plank door swung wide. The guard stared into the room, frowned at the silence, and stepped inside.

And Elias swung a neat, crushing blow to the side of the beefy man's head. With a soft grunt of pain, the guard sank to his knees, his eyes rolling up as he collapsed to the rough wooden floor.

"Let's go." Nicholas stepped through the door and out into the dimly lit passage, his wide girth swaying with each of his moves. "He won't be unconscious long. We had better be gone by the time he awakens."

They nodded in silent agreement. Moving stealthily, Nich¬olas stooping slightly forward, they made their way down the passage and descended the first flight of stairs. A guard stood watch at the bottom. Elias moved silently up behind him, dis¬patching him with the same skillful ease he had taken care of the man upstairs.

Another flight down and they entered the courtyard, passing several guards in conversation, slowing their pace to a leisurely stroll. It seemed to take forever to cross the distance to the front gates of the prison. Elizabeth's heart was slamming like a hammer and her palms were slick with sweat. She walked slightly in front of the men, reaching the guard an instant before the others, smiling into his ruddy face.

"Thank you for letting us see him. You've been very help¬ful."

He flicked her an assessing glance and she smiled again, hoping she could keep him from looking too closely at Nich¬olas.

"Be better, miss, if ye came in the daytime. Place like this can be dangerous at night."

"Thank you for the warning," she said sweetly. "Perhaps if I do come again, you could show me upstairs yourself."

His chest expanded. He gave her a hopeful smile. It wasn't lecherous, as the other guard's had been, but it was definitely male and decidedly interested. "Mayhap I could, miss. You and your aunt take care now." But he didn't even look in that direction—thank God.

 "Thank you, we will." With a last warm smile, she turned and walked away, her aunt's stooped, rotund figure swaying and crackling beside her.

She was trembling and weak in the knees by the time she reached the corner outside the prison. Theo was waiting, his body tense and alert, prepared in case they encountered any sort of trouble. He said not a word, just opened the carriage door and motioned them in, then climbed up on the driver's seat. A quick slap of the reins and the vehicle lurched into motion.

Nicholas settled himself beside her, his eyes a dark silver- blue and fixed on her face. "I still can't believe I am here. You are incredible." Leaning over, he kissed her, hard and thoroughly. Then, safe behind the closed carriage windows, he pulled the hood of Aunt Sophie's cloak back, untied it and tossed it away, and began to work on his bulky clothes.

Elizabeth smiled at him softly. "Mostly it was your friends. They've been wonderful, Nick."

He glanced at Elias. "Thank you, my friend."

" 'Twas only repayment fer what ye done fer me."

Nicholas only smiled. It took some effort in the tight con¬fines of the carriage, but with Elizabeth and Elias's help, they eventually had the oversized gown unfastened and removed, the sacks untied, and Nicholas free of his corn-husk burden.

"I don't believe I shall ever be fat," he grumbled, and Elizabeth grinned.

"No, my lord. I don't imagine you will."

He gazed at her and the harsh planes of his face softened into a look of incredible tenderness. "I meant what I said. I won't let you leave me again."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "Are you certain, Nicholas?"