Innocence Lost

by Tiffany Green

  "As a matter of fact, I do,” she replied as she engaged the pull to signal for refreshments. She explained what Julian had told her the previous evening.

  "I daresay, I am grateful to know they shall return soon."

  The tea arrived and she poured a cup for each of them, aching to inquire about Nicholas. But she found the strength to withhold the words. Why did he always have to weave into her thoughts? She did not wish to love him.

  Her hand hovered over her teacup. Love him?

  "How are you, my dear?"

  A tremor went through her and she took a sip of tea to hide her reaction. “I am doing very well, thank you,” she said as her gaze lowered to the string of pearls around the duchess’ neck.

  "I am truly glad to hear that. Megan, I've also come to extend an invitation. Nicholas and I would like you and Julian to dine with us tonight."

  Oh, how Megan wanted to say yes. But Julian would never agree. She signed. “I apologize, Your Grace, but I must decline. Julian and I are having dinner out after we attend the theater this evening."

  Disappointment flitted into the dowager's eyes. “Perhaps another time?"

  "Of course."

  Megan watched the dowager leave, her heart heavy. She and Nicholas would never be together. Not only were he and Julian enemies, Megan would never be elegant and stylish. She was not at all what a duchess should be. She liked to ride horses, not serve cucumber sandwiches in the drawing room. She turned from the window, swiping the tears from her cheeks. She had no future with him.

  He gulped down his drink. Megan's brother shouldn't have arrived so soon! He slammed his glass on the table. This destroyed his plan. Closing his eyes, he wondered how he would keep the creditors away this week. They were banging on his door at all hours.

  With a sigh, he poured another drink and settled in the chair before his desk. He glared at the stack of unpaid bills and took out some paper. One more time, the plan had to be altered. He wouldn't be able to take Megan with her brother so near. He drained his glass. He was running short of time. Kenbrook would be back soon.

  That evening, Nicholas sat in his plush, red velvet theater seat, cursing his foul luck. He should not have halted at Jeremy's house earlier. An enormous mistake, that. Jeremy's sister was there and had invited herself when she learned that he was attending the theater alone. Phyllis Longwell Granger was an attractive widow, two years younger than he and a diligent flirt. Not even her brief marriage had stopped her from pursuing him. But Nicholas never felt any interest in her. Especially since he'd discovered Megan. And he would have no one else.

  He anxiously waited for Megan's appearance, but the chattering magpie seated next to him kept interrupting. He gnashed his teeth when she spoke again.

  "I adore Shakespeare. It was good of you to invite me,” Phyllis cooed as she touched his leg for the third time in as many minutes.

  "Yes, well, I'm glad you were available to come on such short notice.” He doubted she would pick up on the sarcasm.

  She didn't. “Actually, Nicky,” she whispered loudly, “I cancelled Lord Bradbury's invitation for this evening in order to attend with you.” She smiled up at him in bald suggestion. He sighed inwardly, wishing he'd never brought the chit along.

  Phyllis opened her mouth to speak yet again, but stopped on a gasp. Similar noises sounded from others within the theater. After several seconds of total silence, loud chattering broke out. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and his stomach tumbled over. Most of the audience was focused on the Kenbrook box with eyes raised and mouths agape. When he found Megan standing there, his heart stopped in his chest. He couldn't breathe. Although he had glimpsed her beauty many times before, he never saw her like this. Dressed in a shimmering silver and amethyst evening gown, she was more than exquisite. Even from this distance he could see her pearly skin unmarred by a single flaw. Her shining, raven-black hair had been arranged in several barrel curls at the back of her head. His eyes shifted to her lips and he felt a jolt of lust so poignant it hurt. How he wished to kiss those full, cherry lips until he no longer craved the sweetness of her taste. Until he no longer wanted to feel her silky skin or hear the sound of her voice in his ear. Until he closed his eyes and wasn't haunted by visions of her.

  "Isn't that Marquess of Amersleigh, Lord Julian Westland? But who is the girl?"

  Hearing the jealousy in Phyllis's voice, he wrenched his gaze away and cleared his throat. “Yes, that's Amersleigh, and he's escorting his sister, Lady Megan."

  "Oh, that's right. I had heard that she was to be launched this season, but I must say, I hadn't realized she was so..."

  "Absolutely exquisite,” he finished, unable to prevent the words from slipping past his lips.

  She turned to him, fury sparking in her hazel eyes. “I just saw Marian Billingsly.” A blatant lie, he knew. “Since there is time before curtain rise, I must say hello. I'll return shortly."

  "Phyllis...” Nicholas wanted to apologize for being rude, but she was already gone.

  Megan could not keep from trembling. Everyone was staring at her. She fumbled with her fan, not at all certain what to do with the blasted thing. Oh, how she wished she had paid more attention to instruction. Her mind had no doubt been filled with sneaking from the house to ride Aramis. She gave up trying to open the fan and smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress. She chanced a peek at the audience. Thousands of eyes still on her. How she wished she were in breeches riding one of her horses rather than wearing a mountain of silk and having everyone gawk at her so.

  "If I didn't know any better, Moppet,” Julian said from his seat beside her, “I would think you were the one appearing on stage tonight. Why the nerves, love?"

  "Everyone is staring at me, Julian,” she whispered.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, sweetling, do you not realize how beautiful you are?"

  "Fair, perhaps, but not beautiful.” Julian started to laugh, and she demanded, “What's so amusing?"

  He wiped his eyes. “I find it difficult to believe that you look into a mirror every day, yet miss your own reflection. Dear sister, you are by far the loveliest lady here. Probably anywhere. And these poor souls are seeing that for themselves."

  "Oh, Jules, you're biased.” She dismissed his compliment with a wave of her hand.

  A knock sounded, and the doorman announced a visitor.

  She rose as an attractive man about Julian's age, with dark hair and eyes, entered the small chamber. He wore a wide smile.

  "Julian, it's been a while, how are you?” His twinkling eyes slid to her. “And who is your beautiful companion?"

  "Hello, Michael. I was just thinking that you or Jeremy would be the first to dash up here,” Julian said as he shook his friend's hand.

  Michael laughed. “Jeremy isn't here. But I daresay, he will be regretting that decision on the morrow."

  Julian made the introduction. “This lovely lady is my dear sister, Lady Megan Westland. Megan, this is an old friend of mine, Lord Michael Farrell, the Earl of Bentwood."

  "Sister?” the earl asked in surprise. “It is indeed a pleasure, my lady.” He scooped up her hand and settled a kiss on her satin-clad knuckles.

  His hand was warm in hers. Megan watched him place a kiss on her glove, expecting to feel something. No, nothing. Would Nicholas be the only one to ever evoke her feelings? “As it is for me, my lord."

  Another knock sounded, and soon people filled the tiny box. Megan was pressed against the wall, finding it difficult to draw in air. The noise was unbearable. Strange men grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. The room grew stifling hot. She had to escape. “Julian. I feel a few pins coming loose,” she lied, her voice soft so the others couldn't hear. “I must visit the ladies’ retiring room. I'll return in a few minutes."

  "Give me another moment, and I'll escort you,” he replied.

  "It's just down the hall. I shan't be overlong, really,” she insisted.

  He glanced around, then turned back to her. “As y
ou will, Megan, but hurry back."

  "I will."

  She slipped from the box with a sigh of relief and began to walk down the empty corridor. After several steps, someone grabbed her from behind and hauled her into the adjacent box. She spun around to face her abductor—about to release a tirade sure to leave mortal wounds—but stopped short when she saw—

  "Nicholas,” she rasped in surprise.

  "Hello, Meg. By God, you look lovely."

  His husky voice weakened her knees. She stumbled back a step. “Release me at once, Your Grace,” she demanded, seeing that he was leaning against the only door out.

  "I shall in another moment. Just let me look at you."

  She glanced about the vacant box, noticing all but one lamp extinguished and the front curtain lowered. At least no one would see them alone together. Alone. Together. She swallowed hard. “Is this your box?"

  He shook his head. “It belongs to Jeremy Longwell, the Marquess of Fielding. And worry not, he isn't to attend tonight. Forgive me, love, but I had to see you again."

  She crossed her arms to expel the sensations his nearness caused. Indeed, she did not like desiring a kiss from the very man she was trying not to love. “You have two minutes, Your Grace."

  He pursed his lips. “My name is Nicholas."

  "One minute, fifty seconds.” She paused. “Your Grace."

  He sighed. “I am truly sorry for the despicable things I said and did to you. My actions were beyond horrid.” He paused and closed his eyes briefly. “Sweet Meg, I truly wished I had known you were Kenbrook's daughter."

  She had to grit her teeth to keep from reaching out to him. “I am finding it difficult to believe that you didn't recognize me, Your Grace,” she admonished. “I know you saw me as a child."

  "Truly, I'd forgotten Julian had a sister,” he answered without hesitation.

  Megan snorted in disbelief and looked away.

  He took a step forward and nudged her chin to face him. “It's true. I've spent years trying to forget anything and everything about Julian Westland. And that included a shy little sister who refused to stay in the room long enough for me to get a proper look.” His finger traced her brow, then moved over her cheek and stopped when he reached her lips.

  She shivered, afraid he would kiss her, afraid he wouldn't. The air charged between them. All she had to do was move forward. His eyes begged for the kiss.

  She took a hasty step back and his hand fell away. She couldn't think when he touched her. “Are you denying that you used me to get even with Julian for what you believe he did to Emily Wakefield?” She tried desperately to hold on to the anger seeping away.

  His breath caught. “Is that what Julian has made you to believe? My God, Megan, no wonder you're so bloody upset."

  "Are you denying it?"

  "Of course, I deny it. That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard,” he spat out.

  Megan bit her lip. Could she have been wrong? “It's not so absurd when you think about it,” she said quietly.

  "Meg, I am telling you the truth.” He looked steadily into her eyes. Then, without warning, he pulled her into his arms and dropped his mouth down over hers.

  Surprise kept her still for a second, then she began to struggle. She continued to resist until his sliding lips melted her. Her willpower evaporated. Nothing mattered but the taste of him and the feel of his velvety tongue gliding against hers. She had to respond or die of longing.

  She released the handfuls of his black coat and wound her arms around his neck. She melted against him and returned his scorching kisses. Her breasts pressed against his solid chest. She ached for him to touch her bare skin. For him to pull off the blasted gown she wore and have his way with her.

  He lifted his head, his eyes intense. “Meg, you are everything to me, and I could never use you as Julian has suggested. If that were true, why do I still want you so desperately? Why haven't I discarded you? Why can't I remove you from my mind? My heart?” He lowered his head to capture her mouth again, but an impatient knock sounded behind them.

  "Nicky, are you in there? The play is about to begin."

  He cursed under his breath.

  "Nicky?” Megan mouthed as anger bloomed within her chest. If she was all he thought about, then why was a woman outside that door waiting for him? And calling him Nicky?

  "Nicky, darling, where are you?” After several seconds, the woman stomped away.

  "You filthy swine! I cannot believe I almost trusted you,” she hissed.

  As she moved toward the door, he grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I have never lied to you, Megan. Phyllis is a friend who invited herself along tonight. That is all."

  "Let me go."

  "Never,” he replied before kissing her again.

  Incensed, Megan drew back and slapped him. She jerked away from the duke and yanked open the door. She flew from the room and didn't stop until she reached her family's box.

  "There you are, Moppet. I was about to come looking for you,” her brother said. His brows crashed together. “Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I'm fine.” She paused, trying to catch her breath. “I had to hurry because I didn't wish to miss the opening."

  He studied her a moment, then said, “I hope you don't mind, but Michael will be joining us tonight."

  She widened her smile when she noticed the earl. Everyone else had departed. “Of course I don't mind.” Taking her seat between the two men, she tried hard to squelch Nicholas and his searing kiss from her mind. As the curtain on stage rose, the actors drew her attention in their colorful and elaborate costumes. And soon, the fascinating dialogue of A Midsummer Night's Dream enthralled her.

  Julian wanted to leave after the intermission, but she wouldn't hear of it. She wished to stay and experience every minute of her first theater. However, when the play ended and everyone crowded in the foyer, she realized the wisdom in her brother's desire to leave sooner. Many halted them for an introduction. The crowd swelled in her direction. She shuffled back a few steps. Nicholas could be in there somewhere.

  "You look tired, sweet. Shall we leave?” Julian asked after dozens of introductions.

  She halted mid-yawn. “I'm sorry."

  His eyes softened. “Don't apologize, Moppet. Michael, we must take our leave."

  The earl's face fell. “So soon?"

  "My sister is not used to keeping such late hours."

  "I understand. However, I have one request before you go. Could I be permitted the first dance at Huntington's masque?"

  "Why, Michael,” Julian joked, “I could not possibly accept. No doubt, you'd step all over my toes."

  She smothered a laugh.

  With a chuckle, her brother turned to her. “What do you think, Moppet? Do you want to dance with this old cad?"

  "It would be a pleasure, Lord Bentwood,” she answered, then smiled.

  His frown melted into a saucy grin. “Believe me, Lady Westland, the pleasure will be entirely mine,” he said, and bade them farewell.

  Thank goodness Julian had decided to return her home instead of having dinner at the opulent hotel. How did these people keep such late hours? Then she recalled that they usually didn't rise until after noon. She shook her head. Mornings were the best time of day.

  The horses trotted along the cobblestones in a soothing rhythm. She relaxed against the seat and closed her eyes. What a long day. The clip-clop and gentle sway of the carriage lulled her to sleep. Sounds fell away.

  The coachman shouted out. The horses whinnied in fright and surged forward in an uncontrolled frenzy through the streets.

  She screamed in alarm and fell against the back of the carriage. A loud buzz sounded in her ears. Julian helped her straighten, and she nodded when he asked if she were unharmed. The vehicle jostled dangerously, and her fear mounted. Julian tightened his grip on her with one hand, and grabbed the leather strap above the window with the other. She glanced out. The lit street lamps sped by, almost blurring together. Dear G
od, they were going to crash!

  Just as her brother released her and started to crawl out of the window, a lone rider pulled alongside the horses. The man leaned over and managed to grab the reins. He spoke soothingly to the animals until they slowed, then stopped.

  Julian opened the carriage door with a bang and flew out. “Are you all right, Megan?"

  She pressed a hand to her thundering heart and nodded.

  He helped her down. She followed her brother toward their savior as the man dismounted.

  "My most heartfelt thanks, sir. How may I repay you? Just name the price, and it is yours,” Julian said to the gentleman's back.

  The man turned slowly and said, “Permission to marry your sister will do quite nicely."

  "Nicholas,” she gasped, relieved beyond measure to see him standing there.

  He stepped forward, his brows drawn. “Are you all right, love?” he asked, cupping her cheek in the palm of his right hand.

  She wanted to crawl into his arms and stay there forever.

  "Take your bloody hands off of my sister, Claremont."

  Nicholas lifted his head, anger building in his eyes. She took a quick step back so his hand fell away.

  A groan sounded from the driver's seat of the carriage. Julian turned and scrambled up to the seat. “Perkins, are you all right? My God, you're bleeding, man."

  "Bleeding?” she repeated. “How bad is it, Julian?"

  "He's got a nasty wound on his head. Can you hear me, Perkins?"

  Nicholas climbed the other side. “Grab him carefully under the arms, Julian,” he directed, lifting Perkins by the legs. “Now let's get him down."

  They lowered the injured coachman to the ground, and she swallowed at the sight of so much blood covering the man's face.

  The poor fellow winced. “Just be still, you'll be all right,” Julian said.

  Julian removed his handkerchief and placed it over the man's injury, but blood quickly drenched the fabric. She gripped her hands together. As her brother reached into his pocket for another handkerchief, Nicholas held out a pristine piece of white linen. “Here, use this,” he said. “I'll fetch a doctor."