Innocence Lost

by Tiffany Green

Her brother rose from his seat and walked around Father's empty chair. He knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. “Don't fret, little one. They will be home soon, I assure you.” He kissed her forehead and brought her to her feet. She squelched a groan when he informed her that they would depart in a quarter of an hour. She would rather clean the privy every day for a year than get fitted for clothes she didn't want in order to attend a Season she didn't want. How would she get through this?

  The journey to Madam Devereux's House of Fashion in Berkeley Square took an eternity as carriages, coaches and wagons crowded the street. But Megan didn't mind that half as much as being pinched, poked, and prodded by a dozen French women fitting her for what seemed a hundred gowns of varying styles and fabrics.

  Julian paid a blasted fortune to have her dressed to the nines by the start of the season. Indeed, Madame Devereux was already aghast at having to fit another few gowns into her busy schedule when her brother withdrew that exorbitant block of notes from his pocket and insisted on an entire trousseau. Seeing this, though, the French woman plastered a smile across her painted lips and accepted.

  As another pin found its mark in her flesh, she grimaced and vowed to get even with her dear brother. If he disliked balls and galas before, he'd certainly loathe them by the end of the Season.

  That thought almost made her chuckle.

  Finally, after four hours of torture, Julian assisted her back into the carriage. The return to the townhouse would be slower, she noted with a sigh, seeing even more wagons and people in the street than when they'd set out this morning.

  She hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she roused when the carriage halted. Between the hectic day and lack of sleep the night before, exhaustion found her. The restorative tonic wasn't so restorative either. A footman assisted her from the tall vehicle.

  As she reached the front door, she heard her name. Spinning around, she noticed Nicholas leading his horse toward them. “I would like to speak to you,” he stated.

  Recalling the conversation with Julian last evening, she tamped back her burst of joy and lifted her chin. “There is nothing you have to say, Your Grace, that I wish to hear."

  His eyes widened a fraction. “Meg?"

  "Don't you dare call me that,” she said as the impact of his betrayal rushed back into her tattered heart.

  He shook his head. “Why are you acting this way? Yesterday—"

  "I learned the truth behind your intentions, Your Grace."

  "I told you to stay away, Claremont,” Julian said from behind her. “Megan, go into the house."

  Nicholas lifted his gaze to her brother. A look of comprehension, then cold disdain slid onto his face. “I have news of your parents,” he said.

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  CHAPTER 7

  Megan clapped a hand over her mouth. If she learned her parents had died, she would be sick.

  Her brother glared murderously at Nicholas. “If this is one of your pathetic attempts—"

  "Shut up, Julian, and mark me well,” Nicholas interrupted. “I know where they are, and why they left."

  Her brother marched forward, stabbing a finger at Nicholas. “How is it that the infantry I have working on this haven't found a trace of their whereabouts, yet you have solved the entire matter?"

  "They probably aren't searching hard enough, or in the right direction. Quit being a stubborn ass, and allow me to explain."

  Megan slid her arm through her brother's bent elbow and tugged. “Julian, please,” she implored. “If he does have information about Mother and Father, we must listen."

  A muscle leaped in Julian's jaw. “By God, Claremont, if I find this doesn't signify, I'll flog you until the fires of Hades nip at your heels.” Julian spun her around and led her into the house. “Go upstairs, dear sister, and lie down. We've had a busy day, and I know how tired you are."

  She shook her head, all traces of her earlier exhaustion vanished. “I will hear what is said about Mother and Father."

  "I'll not have you near that, that—"

  "Julian,” she interrupted, “I want to hear what he has to say.” Gripping her hands together, she glanced at Nicholas. Her heart raced. She turned away, lest Julian got suspicious, and closed her eyes. Her brother could never know how deeply she felt for Nicholas. No one could ever know.

  After several seconds, Julian heaved a sigh. He turned to Nicholas, standing in the doorway beside Wentworth. “Follow me, Claremont."

  She hesitated as she entered the study. Nicholas stood beside one of the leather wingback chairs before the desk, waiting for her. His brow cocked, and his eyes dared her to take the seat beside him. She bit her lip, torn between wanting to fly into his arms and wanting to box his ears. Sit beside him, indeed! She pressed her lips together and marched toward the sofa beyond, ignoring the spurt of hurt in his eyes.

  "Well, what of your news?” Julian asked from behind Father's massive oak desk.

  Nicholas sat. “Your parents left aboard the Wind Song the day after they arrived here, heading to America."

  She froze stiff as a walking stick. America? She felt faint. Her gazed snapped to her brother to gauge his reaction.

  Julian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Why would they do that? And pray, how did you learn of it?"

  "I concluded that the duke and duchess would not have left Megan behind unless they felt you were in severe distress.” He shrugged. “I went to Kenbrook Shipping and learned from the attendant, Benny Wells, that Joseph had requested your schedule and the swiftest clipper available. He and your mother set sail immediately."

  Relief struck her a precipitous blow and Megan took a deep breath. The vise around her heart lessened. She glanced at her brother, grateful to see his white-knuckled grip around the razor-sharp letter opener had loosened.

  Julian leaned forward. “My schedule would have indicated that I was to arrive soon. Why didn't they wait?"

  "Mr. Wells said he pointed out that very fact, but Joseph acknowledged the possession of a message to the contrary."

  "Does Benny know who penned the message?"

  Nicholas shook his head. “Your father didn't say."

  Julian remained silent for several seconds, then his expression cleared. “It must have been the missive they received before leaving Kenbrook. Obviously made in error."

  "Julian,” Megan asked, relieved beyond measure that her parents had been located, “wouldn't you have encountered the Wind Song on your return from America?"

  He glanced up and nodded. “Perhaps, but we altered our course. My first mate wished to make a stop at a port in the Caribbean.” Julian turned back to Nicholas, his face tightening in displeasure. “Anything else, Claremont?"

  Nicholas cleared his throat. “Not regarding your parents, no."

  A knock sounded just as Julian started to speak. “Enter,” he snapped.

  "Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but the Duchess of Claremont and Earl of Stenwick have arrived and are waiting in the gold salon,” Wentworth announced.

  Megan's heart pounded as she left the study. She walked beside her brother but felt Nicholas's eyes on her. She could feel the heat of his body, could smell his spicy scent. She closed her eyes and breathed him in. Flashes of their entwined bodies filled her head, his lips on hers, his hand over her bare breast. She pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping and prayed her face wasn't as red as a cherry. Oh, God, what had she done?

  Two footmen opened the doors as they approached. The dowager duchess started when she saw them approach. Nicholas's young uncle, Charles, sat frozen with two fingers buried in his ornate snuffbox, gaping at them. Not every day Nicholas and Julian stood together.

  "Mother, Charles, I am surprised by your arrival,” Nicholas confessed. He embraced his mother, then shook his uncle's hand.

  "Carson informed us where to find you. And—” She glanced at Julian, “—saints be praised, you and Julian are in the same room.” Her voice rang with pleasure.
“Julian, I'm so pleased to see you! When did you arrive?"

  "I have been back for two days, Your Grace,” her brother responded with a bow.

  Megan turned to the tall, blond man beside the dowager. His blue eyes resembled his nephew's, but his hair was lighter and his frame much less powerful. “Are you feeling better, my lord?"

  Lord Stenwick nodded. “Indeed, my lady, I feel much more the thing."

  "I have some news,” the dowager announced. “The missing coachman, Sims, has been located. It seems that vagabonds burned the carriage, then knocked the poor man unconscious. Sims woke five days later in a peasant couple's home, confused and disoriented. Only yesterday was he able to recall his mission and make the journey to Kenbrook. And here—” The dowager handed Julian a slip of paper, “—is the note written from Joseph requesting my assistance in Megan's debut."

  "May I?” Megan asked, reaching for the note. “The letter says nothing,” she said after examining the brief missive. “We learned more from your son."

  "What does Megan mean?” the dowager asked.

  Nicholas recounted his discussion with Mr. Wells, then Julian's conclusion that the missive had been made in error. Megan had to turn away when she realized how she stared. Dear Lord, at this rate, Julian would learn everything. Her feelings for Nicholas and what happened between them.

  The dowager looked relieved. “At least we know that they are all right."

  "Quite so. And someone was surely in a blunder regarding Julian. Probably a case of mistaken identity,” Lord Stenwick reasoned.

  "But what to do now?” the dowager asked. “My dearest friends are still at sea looking for Julian."

  "I'll send the Sweet Siren after them,” her brother answered. The tension in Megan's shoulders eased. Her parents would be home soon.

  "Thank goodness.” The dowager nodded. “When will you leave?"

  "I merely intend to send my ship, madam, not board it. I must stay with Megan."

  The lady smiled and shook her head. “You needn't worry about Megan. Nicholas and I will take excellent care of her."

  "Your son will have nothing to do with my sister, Your Grace,” he retorted in a low, acrimonious voice.

  Megan cringed, close to tears. Not see Nicholas? She pressed her lips together and willed the wetness gathering in her eyes away.

  The dowager looked startled. “Yes, of course. If that is your wish."

  Nicholas cursed the fates that had brought his mother so soon. He longed to stay with Megan, but he'd departed the Kenbrook house with his mother and uncle. Every step further away from her tore at him.

  "Please come in, Mother. Will you and Charles be staying the night?” he asked as Carson opened the front door.

  "I don't know, Nicholas. It shall depend on how long it takes you to explain what you've done.” With an I-know-you've-misbehaved expression, she took her brother's arm and entered the townhouse.

  Nicholas winced, then followed them inside. Of a sudden, he knew how King Louis felt as he walked to the guillotine.

  He sat beside his mother on the sofa as Charles took the seat opposite, and waited until Carson left the drawing room. He told them about his encounter with Megan at the stream and mistaking her for a commoner. Then he explained his shock at finding the same girl occupying one of his guestrooms over a sennight later, and his belief that she'd lied about being his ward.

  His mother gasped. “Oh, Nicholas, please tell me you didn't have Megan removed from your house?"

  "No, Mother. That's not quite what happened."

  "Then, darling, what did you do?"

  "I kissed her...and...well...it just happened,” he sputtered.

  Her smile slipped. “What just happened?"

  Charles coughed, and Nicholas was certain it wasn't because of his recent illness.

  He sighed, feeling as if he were still in short coats about to receive a good trimming from his mother. Only the lack of short coats had changed.

  His mother cleared her throat. A warning, that. It was time to finish his confession. “We, uh, that is... she..."

  Her hand flew to her throat and her eyes grew large and round. “Oh, Nicholas. Surely you didn't seduce that sweet, young girl?"

  "She didn't stop...” He trailed off at his mother's scathing glare.

  "Megan was taking laudanum to relieve the pain from a fall and to ease the distress of her parents’ sudden departure.” She sighed hard. “Dear Christ, Nicholas, I am certain the poor darling was sedated at the time."

  He bowed his head in humiliation. He was a cad, a rakehell. Worse than Jeremy, if such a thing existed. What kind of gentleman ruined a lady? Not just any lady. The Duke of Kenbrook's only daughter. God, he felt sick. “I had no idea,” he admitted to the tips of his polished Hessians. With a sigh, he straightened and fused his gaze with his mother's. “My brain was swimming in gin, madam,” he said with remorse. “And I truly thought she was a commoner."

  Her eyes flashed. “So that validated your behavior?"

  "No,” he answered, rubbing his sore neck. Be damned, he thought Megan had been fully aware of her actions. God, if only he had known.

  The clock rang out the hour, sounding more like a death knell in the strained silence. Nicholas shifted in his seat and waited. He waited for her to come to the only conclusion left to him.

  "Nicholas, you do realize that you must marry the girl."

  "It's not I who oppose marriage, Mother."

  "I understand why Megan would resist. I trust you need only to convince her that your proposal is genuine and not out of obligation."

  He gave his head a small shake, wondering how the deuce his mother knew. He shouldn't be surprised. She could always guess what he was feeling. “Mother, it's not that simple. There is a tremendous factor opposing this union, not including Megan."

  "And what is that?"

  "Julian."

  She clanked her cup hard against the saucer. “Oh, dear."

  Megan stood before her sitting room windows viewing the decorative garden suffused in moonlight, thinking of Nicholas. Again. Would she ever get him out of her mind? A slight rap sounded and she turned, relieved to focus her attention elsewhere. “Enter."

  "Moppet, why haven't you retired? It's late. Another sleepless night will do you no good."

  She ignored Julian's question. “Where have you been? I didn't think you would be gone so long."

  "I wanted to have Stuart Williams depart after Mother and Father on the morrow."

  She closed her eyes in relief. “Oh, Jules, that's wonderful.” As soon as her parents returned, she'd convince them that she had no need to cut a dash amongst the ton—rather, she would like to remain at Kenbrook. She was certain she could persuade her father with ease. Her mother would be difficult. And Megan needed to keep what had happened with Nicholas a secret from her parents at all costs. She clenched her hands together. That would be the hardest feat of all. She desperately wanted to exorcise all feeling for Nicholas, but her feelings could not be plucked away like chicken feathers.

  "My clipper is under repair and cannot leave right now,” Julian said. “However, I have sent another ship after them. Mother and Father will return before long, my darling sister."

  "They must come home soon, Julian. They must,” she whispered. She couldn't stand the thought of having to stay in London to attend those ridiculous socials. And she'd never have the ability to respond indifferently in Nicholas's presence. She pressed a hand to her stomach. The mere thought made her sick.

  Julian gathered her in his arms and tucked her under his chin. “All things resolve as they should, Moppet."

  She heaved a sigh against his silk shirt. “Let us return to Kenbrook, Julian. Truly, I have no desire for a season."

  Her brother gave a short laugh. “Now, dearest, think of what Society would believe if we returned without you being betrothed. Everyone would be convinced you had bad teeth or somesuch,” he teased.

  Megan frowned. “I do not wish to marry."r />
  "Ever?"

  She pulled out of his embrace. “Ever,” she said.

  "Megan..."

  She backed away, clenching her hands into fists. “Don't you dare tell me that that is what a lady is supposed to do, Julian, or I swear I'll knock a few teeth out of your head."

  He grinned.

  "Damn it, Julian, I'm serious."

  "A lady ought not to swear."

  "Ohhh, go to Bath!"

  "I'm just trying to help you,” Julian said with laughter in his eyes.

  "If you really wanted to help me,” she said, “we would leave for Kenbrook at first light."

  He sighed and shook his head. “Mother and Father wish you here. Besides, I am certain you will have a grand time and make many friends."

  "I'd rather go home,” she grumbled.

  The teasing light dwindled from Julian's eyes and a frown came to his lips. “Has something happened?” he asked in a low, lethal tone.

  She smoothed her dress. “Of course not."

  Julian studied her for several seconds. She wanted to squirm. He must not find out. He must not. “Then we are agreed?"

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded. She had no choice. “Good, now get some rest.” Julian walked to the door. “I'm taking you to Drury Lane and then to dinner at Clarendon's tomorrow."

  As the door closed, she turned back to the windows. How was she going to attend all those...? Her thoughts halted as a large shape moved in the garden below. She squinted at the silvery tree trunks and the large bench below. Nothing moved. Had someone been out there?

  After a few more minutes of scanning the moonlit garden, she turned away. She must have imagined it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 8

  Megan's knees wobbled as she entered the drawing room. “Hello, Your Grace."

  "Hello, dear. I pray I'm not intruding?” the dowager asked.

  "Not at all,” she answered. “How is Lord Charles?"

  "Much better, indeed. The cough has completely left him now."

  "That is wonderful. Would you like some tea?"

  The dowager nodded. The honey-colored strands of her neat twist glimmered with the regal movement. Megan wished one day she'd be that elegant. “That would be most welcome. Have you any news of your parents?"