“You bastard! Was that all this was about?” She swiped at the tear.
Mr. McWilliams, who only stood a few feet away, set his shovel into the ground and, looking uncomfortable, walked toward the potting shed.
“No. Of course, not, I—”
“All those things you said to me about how we chose each other. They were all lies, weren’t they? It was all about my dowry. What an easy mark you must have thought me. Did you laugh at me behind my back at how easily you broke down my defenses and positioned yourself not only in my life but between my legs?”
“Nina, I love you. What we have is not a lie.”
Her laugh was sharp, humorless. “I thought you were different than Avalon, but you are worse.”
Elliot hated the pain he saw in her eyes. He reached for her hand.
She swatted at it. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”
“Nina—”
“Just tell me one thing. How long ago did you plan to win my dowry? The day of my family’s ball? Before that? Was even your offer to help me get the Duke of Fernbridge to notice me all part of your scheme? Of course, it was. Offer the naive woman lessons. Tempt her with kisses. Tell her how she deserves better than a cold fish like Fernbridge.” With trembling hands, she wiped away the tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Darling, let me explain.”
“Explain? With more lies?”
“No. With the truth.”
“And what truth would that be? The one that I’m mistaken? Or the one that you love me?”
“Nina, I do love you.”
“What’s going on?” Meg asked, moving down the garden path toward them. “What’s happened?”
His sister looked almost as upset as Nina. He knew why. She’d thought herself finally part of a caring family. That this home would be filled with love and laughter. Something they’d never had growing up, and she sensed, as he did, that their rickety house of cards was tumbling down.
“Ask your brother. He’ll tell you all about it.” Nina took two steps, then spun around. “Does Meg know?”
“Know what? Would someone please tell me what is going on?” Meg’s eyes had turned as watery as Nina’s.
“Of course, she doesn’t.” Elliot drew a deep breath into his lungs. “Meg, can you give Nina and me a moment?”
“No need,” Nina said. “I don’t wish to talk to you. Not now. Not ever.” She pivoted and walked away.
“Please, let me explain.” Elliot dashed after her.
“Go to the devil,” she said and continued up the path.
He let her walk away. He realized Nina needed a few minutes, then maybe she would listen to him.
“What have you done?” Meg asked.
“She needs to realize I love her.”
Meg’s fingers bit into his upper arm. “I know you do, but something has happened. Tell me what?”
“It might not have started out that way. You know I needed money.” Elliot raked his fingers through his hair.
“Elliot, do not tell me that is why you picked her.”
“Initially, yes. No. That’s not completely true. In fact, I don’t think it is true at all. I’ve always had a soft spot for Nina. Last season, I found my gaze straying to her repeatedly during balls. I loved her smile and her passion for life. When Talbot suggested her because of her brother’s wealth and the dowry that would be offered, I readily agreed.” He fisted a hand over his heart. “I ended up wanting her more than her dowry. I’ve not touched it.”
“You need to tell her that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll prove my love to her if it is the last thing I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Over the next few days, minutes seemed to move at a turtle’s pace. Elliot had tried to talk to Nina, but every time he stepped into a room, she walked out, except during meals.
Meg had said to give Nina more time, but he hated to see the hurt on Nina’s face and know he was the cause. He realized loving someone made their pain as acute as your own.
He stared at the door that connected this bedchamber to the one Nina and he had shared. She’d said she didn’t want him in her bed, so he’d moved into the adjacent room. He strode to the door and tried the handle. She’d locked it, and it remained locked. But every night he tried it, and every night he spoke to her through it, but he feared his words fell on deaf ears.
Zeb, lying on his bed in the corner of the room, made a whining noise. The bloodhound’s mood, which had improved since Nina had come into their lives, seemed morose again. He had also been giving Elliot the same disgusted look his sister had favored him with over the last two days.
Elliot set his palm on the connecting door. “Nina?”
She never answered, but he knew she was there.
“I admit my need for funds prompted me to decide to marry, but it was your spirit, your smile, everything about you that made me want you. I have thought you a special person for quite a long time. Last year, I watched you dancing with Avalon and other men, and I wished I were one of them. But I will not lie about this. I didn’t want to marry. My parents’ tumultuous marriage left a bitterness in my soul. The constant bickering. The fighting over everything. That was my idea of marriage, but once I fell in love with you, I realized a couple can love each other. And a marriage does not have to be that way.”
He paused and waited. But she said nothing. He kneaded the stiff muscles in the back of his neck. Avalon had damaged her trust, and Elliot realized he’d snapped it in two. He hoped the break was repairable.
“Nina, please don’t let what we have slip away.” Elliot prayed he’d hear the snick of the lock unfastening. He didn’t, but somehow, he knew Nina stood on the other side of the door. He could sense her closeness just like he could feel the limbs connected to his own body.
* * *
The following morning, as Elliot tucked his white cotton shirt into his rough woolen trousers, he stared at the door connecting this bedchamber to the one Nina slept in. He hoped during the night she’d thought about what he had said.
Perhaps today Nina would speak to him, and he could get her to believe how much he loved her.
He stepped into the corridor, made his way down the stairs, and outside to help Mr. McWilliams lop several thick tree branches. The early morning sun cast its first rays on the dew-covered plants in the garden, and the scent of flowers and soil drifted to his nose. A year ago, he wouldn’t have taken any pleasure in the sight of a garden blooming or comfort in the earthy scent of soil; now, he realized the work it took to bring such splendor to the human eye.
Not seeing Mr. McWilliams in the gardens beyond the terrace, he headed toward the less manicured area of the parkland and the tool shed. Most likely, the gardener was sharpening and oiling his tools.
As he approached the old stone structure, Mr. McWilliams came into view. The gardener was scratching the back of his head as if perplexed.
“Is something wrong?” Elliot asked.
“Aye, I would have sworn I closed the door to the shed last night, but I found it open this morning.”
Mr. McWilliams was getting old, and Elliot noticed the man’s forgetfulness. He clamped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Perhaps the wind blew it open.”
“Aye, the wind,” the man said, giving Elliot a sideways look, since they both knew there had been no wind.
They opened the wooden shutters on the exterior of the shed that covered the mullioned glass, sending light into the dark interior of the building.
Inside, Mr. McWilliams removed several hand saws from their hooks. “I sharpened them on the grinding wheel yesterday.” He pointed to a long wooden ladder, hanging sideways on the rear wall. “Can you get that, m’lord?”
Elliot lifted it down and they headed toward the first tree that needed its dead growth removed.
* * *
After a restless night, Nina stepped into the morning room to find it empty, except for the maid who was setting the chafing dishes on th
e sideboard. She forced a smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning, m’lady.” The maid strode out of the room.
Before her fight with Elliot, Nina and he had always arrived after Meg for breakfast, since Elliot and she had enjoyed each other’s company in the morning, whether they simply snuggled or made love. Now she always arrived before Meg. Nina’s cold, empty bed held little appeal.
Though she got up early, Nina was not the first one up. Elliot rose before the sun was barely over the horizon and went to work in the garden with Mr. McWilliams.
Nina strode to the bank of windows and glanced out. She told herself it was because she wanted to admire the bright burst of colors in the flowerbeds, but deep down she admitted the truth—she wanted to see Elliot. Her gaze traveled through the gardens until she found him. He stood on a tall wooden ladder cutting a branch.
The sinew in his arms flexed as he drew the saw back and forth. He leaned to the right, and the ladder tipped precariously.
Her stomach fluttered and jumped within itself.
One of his large hands reached out to wrap about a branch, and he steadied the wobbling ladder.
With her hand grasping her skirts, she let out a relieved sigh.
Meg entered the room and stepped next to her at the window. “It is obvious you love him, and no matter what he did, he fell in love with you. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive him?”
“I just need a bit more time.”
Meg nodded and moved to the chafing dishes to fill her plate.
Elliot climbed down from the ladder. He handed Mr. McWilliams the saw, said a few words to the groundskeeper, then moved toward the house.
Not wanting him to notice her staring, she strode to the sideboard, set a single egg on her plate, and sat across from Meg.
Her sister-in-law looked at her dish and frowned. “That’s all you intend to eat?”
“I’m not very hungry.”
Elliot strode into the room, rolling down the sleeves of his cotton shirt and fastening the button at the cuffs. “Morning.”
“Morning, Elliot,” Meg replied.
His gaze met hers. “Hello, Nina?”
She normally ignored him, but this morning, she nodded.
As he filled his dish with food, she stared at his broad-shouldered back and the way his body tapered at his waist. When he turned, she jerked her gaze away and stared at the few remaining pieces of egg in her plate.
Elliot sat at the head of the table next to her and Meg, his dish laden with eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit. She could smell Elliot’s skin—a mixture of soap and sweat. If she set her tongue to his neck, it would taste salty. Wanting to distract herself, she placed a piece of egg in her mouth.
Like his sister, Elliot frowned at her dish. He reached for a piece of toast from the rack and put marmalade on it, then set it on her plate.
She glanced up at him. “Thank you.”
A hopeful smile touched his lips.
“What were you and Mr. McWilliams working on this morning?” Meg asked.
Elliot explained how they were pruning overgrown trees and would soon till the soil in several of the beds and add flower seeds.
When Elliot talked about the gardens, she could hear the excitement in this voice, and whether she wished to admit it or not, she got her own sense of pleasure from his enthusiasm.
* * *
By late afternoon, Meg and Nina finished cataloging and filling the shelves in the library with the books from London. The task complete, Nina gathered her sketchpad and box of charcoals and set out for the garden. She sat on a stone bench across the path from a small birdhouse where two birds fluttered their wings in the water.
Halfway through sketching the birdhouse, she examined her work. Was it truly good enough for the London Reformer, or had Caroline only given her the job because she was her sister-in-law? That thought caused an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sadly, the only person she wanted to share her doubts with was Elliot.
She released a heavy sigh. Each hour, she missed him more. She thought of the concerned look in his eyes when he’d set the toast on her plate. Having him act like he cared made staying angry at him even harder. She wondered if tonight he would talk to her through the door that connected their bedchambers, as he had every night since they’d slept apart.
A noise to her right caused her to peer at the thick shrubs behind her. “Hello?”
She heard rustling again.
“Elliot? Mr. McWilliams?” She stood and parted several of the branches. “Is that you, Zeb?”
Except for the sound of birdsong, silence.
Well, if it had been the dog, the bloodhound had obviously walked away. Nina rubbed at the charcoal smears on her fingers, picked up her sketchpad, and strolled back into the house. As she stepped into her bedchamber, she heard someone in the attached bathing room. Not someone. Elliot. It contained the only tub long enough to accommodate him. She bit her lip while contemplating whether she should leave.
The bathing room door opened, and Elliot stepped out, wearing a navy damask robe with a velvet collar.
He didn’t appear to realize she stood in the room. His dark brown hair looked almost black when wet. As he strode toward the door that connected this bedchamber to the one he now slept in, his loosely tied robe exposed slivers of his masculine body beneath the material.
The sight made her own body warm. Before their fight, she would have walked up to him and untied the sash so her greedy hands could travel over the hard contours of his skin. She could almost feel what he would do in response. How he’d cup the back of her head, press his mouth to hers, and coax her lips open, while his palm would seductively skim over her body. The slide of his tongue against hers and his large hand caressing her would have her moaning against his lips.
Just the thought caused her nipples to pebble and wetness to grow between her legs.
As Elliot’s fingers curled over the handle to the connecting door, he stopped, and slowly turned as if she’d physically touched him.
His gaze locked with hers.
Before he could say anything, she opened the door and slipped from the room.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nina blinked awake as the door to her bedchamber squeaked and opened. A tall figure slipped into the room.
Elliot. As much as she wished to open her arms and ask him to join her in their bed, she closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep.
His feet shuffled across the rug, and she could hear his breaths as he stared down at her. In truth, she wanted him to stay more than she wanted him to go. She missed the way he held her while they lay in bed—as if she meant the world to him. As if he cherished her. Elliot was right. No matter how he’d set out to win her, he did love her, and she loved him. With every fiber of her being.
Damnation. She was tired of being angry. Tired of not talking to him. And tired of not having him lie next to her in bed. It was time to let go of her anger.
She opened her eyes and stared into the dark eyes of a stranger, holding a two-pronged weeding fork to her neck. The scream that worked its way up her throat was silenced as the man cupped his large hand roughly over her mouth, the tips of his fingers tight and bruising on her skin.
Her heart pounded so forcefully against her chest, she thought it might explode within her.
The man’s lips twisted into an unpleasant grin, and a calculating expression of malice lit his eyes.
“Get up,” he whispered in a gruff voice, pressing the points of the garden tool into the soft flesh of her neck, while his other hand still covered her mouth.
The strong scent of liquor wafted to her nostrils as she tossed off her bedding and scrambled to her feet.
“Is your husband sleeping in the next bedroom?” he asked.
She shook her head.
As if he knew she lied, a sneer spread across his face. But instead of moving toward the door to where Elliot slept, he prodded her spine with the sharp points of the tool
, and they stepped into the hall and down the stairs.
She contemplated trying to bite him, but the pressure of his hand on her mouth was so tight, she couldn’t even part her lips. Her mind raced with swirling thoughts. How to get away. What did he want? Who was he? Was he the same man who’d attacked Elliot outside their town house in London? Each thought bombarded her brain in rapid succession, making her head spin.
They entered the morning room. One of the French doors stood wide open, and he shoved her through it. The tips of his fingers continued their bruising pressure on the skin around her mouth. She was breathing so fast through her nostrils, she was starting to feel dizzy. She tried to calm herself—tried to center her mind on the single thought of how to escape.
The cool night air filtered through the soft cotton of her nightgown, adding to the shivers already coursing through her body, making her feel as if she’d plunged into a bank of snow.
He released her mouth, reached into his pocket, and removed a stone the size of an orange. He threw the stone at Elliot’s bedchamber window, shattering the glass.
* * *
A crashing noise caused Elliot to jackknife up in bed. Confused, he glanced around the dim room. His gaze narrowed on the window. Moonlight highlighted a sizable hole in the pane and the shards of glass scattered on the floor.
He scrambled out of bed, scooted his feet into his slippers, and dragged his robe over his shoulders. As he stepped up to the window, broken glass crunched under his soles. The sight of a stone lying on the rug made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
This was no accident.
Elliot peered outside. Under the gray light reflecting off the moon, he saw a man standing in the front courtyard and, next to him, Nina in her nightgown. The man’s arm was wrapped about Nina’s throat, forcing her to arch backward, while the blackguard held a two-pronged weeding tool against her side.
Elliot’s heart beat as fast as a racehorse’s during the last furlong at Epsom Downs.
The bastard dragged her backward toward the horse stable.
Fear as intense as when he’d shot Meg exploded within him, making him feel as if he’d walked into a nightmare. Elliot darted into the adjacent bedchamber’s dressing room and removed the mahogany box containing Uncle Phillip’s British Bull Dog revolver.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 26
