Annorah squeezed his hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
He gave a hoarse laugh. ‘You are absolutely wrong there. Do you want to know why the roof fell? Do you want to know why I wasn’t there?’ This was the worst part of the story. He could have accepted that tragic accidents happened. But this was more. This had been accident of his own making.
Annorah was looking at him expectantly. He forged on. ‘I was supposed to have been working on reinforcing the support beams that week. But I’d taken a self-appointed holiday that afternoon to meet a girl I’d become fond of.’ He could feel the tic in his cheek working. ‘I left the last beam unfinished, never dreaming there’d be a summer storm that very night. I spent the afternoon with her in an old woodcutter’s cottage on the property. I was still there with her when the storm came up.’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe if I’d been home I could have warned them the beam wasn’t steady. But I had a half-mile to run to reach them.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘You can’t say it wasn’t my fault. It was. My father died instantly. Stefan was caught under the beam. I pulled him out, but it wasn’t enough. He was paralysed. He still is. He’s trapped in a wheelchair because I wasn’t where I was supposed to be and they paid for it.’
* * *
He watched her jaw soften and she reached out an arm towards him. ‘It’s a terrible story, but you have to forgive yourself. I might not know exactly what you feel, but I do know what it’s like to feel guilt.’
She did, he realised. She was faced with the guilt of how her decisions would affect her remaining family. There was solace in that. Perhaps she of all people did understand a little of what he felt.
‘There is no question of going back to Hartshaven with you now. But I will still honour the engagement if you want me to,’ Nick said softly. He rose to go, but she held him fast with a hand about his wrist.
‘I want you to honour more than the engagement, Nick.’ Her eyes were full of unspoken words. She wanted him in her bed one more time and he could give her that, he could give himself that. Nicholas placed soft kisses over each of her eyes. They had a day and a night. Surely that would be enough time to store up the memories, to imprint the feel of her on his body, starting with this sweet, slick slide home as she closed around him and held him like she’d never let him go.
* * *
This was going well, was the one thought running through Bartholomew Redding’s mind. Others might disagree. To the outsider, he might appear to be the passed-over suitor, a most pathetic position to be sure. But he knew better.
Redding whistled to himself, rocking back on his heels as he looked up from the gardens, trying to discern which room was Annorah’s, not that it took a lot of thinking. At the middle window the light was out, the only room entirely in the dark. Other rooms on that side of the hall remained lit, mostly because everyone was still engaged in the drawing room or playing billiards. Georgina Timmerman’s staff made a practice of leaving a lamp lit in everyone’s rooms until they fell asleep.
He doubted there was much sleeping going on in that room. He’d been with the gentlemen when D’Arcy had pleaded a headache and left early and he’d been with the entire company when Annorah had quietly departed the evening games. It didn’t take much of an imagination, just a lurid one, to know what sort of nightcap she’d find waiting in her room. She’d been a bold piece of baggage at dinner, flirting the length of the table. He doubted D’Arcy was the only man who’d gone hard when she’d mouthed the strawberry.
Redding fingered the folded letter in his pocket. He’d give them this night of peace. He could afford to be generous when victory was close at hand. Besides, he wanted Annorah to get her money’s worth out of her investment.
Oh, yes, he knew it all now. His connections in London had known just where to look for the information he wanted. What amazed him was why he hadn’t guessed sooner. The story was a little too pat. A truly cynical mind would never believe Annorah, who’d managed to stay unengaged for ten years, would actually show up with a fiancé in tow after five years of those ten in virtual seclusion. To have that fiancé be dashing, handsome, well mannered and devoid of any backward socialisms was far too suspicious to go unremarked.
The Timmermans had seen the development as an obstacle. He’d seen it as a mystery and that made all the difference. They had not stopped to question the authenticity of her claim. But he had.
The next question was how to use the information and when? Because the news was going to come out and when it did, Miss Price-Ellis would be desperate for a proverbial port in the storm. In the attempt to recover some decency from the scandal, she’d be glad enough to marry any man who offered that protection, even him. And that was the plan, of course.
Redding drew out a cheroot and lit it, the flame of the match flaring in the darkness. He took a deep, satisfied puff. Coupled with what he knew now, her bit of boldness at the table came as no surprise. Shrinking violets didn’t hire petticoat-mongers. But Annorah had. It made a man wonder what other prizes she might have in store for him given the right inducement.
Chapter Nineteen
Nothing was going to ruin tonight! Annorah was nearly as giddy as a school girl at her first ball in an oyster gown of summer silk, the skirt with its embroidered hem of tangerine-and-turquoise flowers belling about her ankles as she swept down the staircase.
Nearly nothing, anyway. She couldn’t quite erase the reality that the last night with Nicholas was here. It was a moment that had been inevitable since she’d sent the letter, but one she’d refused to linger on in sadness today. There would be time enough for sadness afterwards. It was far more efficient to focus on the joy that existed in the time remaining.
Her breath caught as she stepped inside the drawing room, which had been pressed into service as a ballroom for the night. It had been transformed for the evening into a midsummer night’s wonderland. The carpet had been taken up and all the furniture relocated to other rooms, hallways or simply lined against the wall for seating. Fresh flowers and candles were everywhere, the ceiling draped with billowing swathes of dark, glittery cloth adorned with brillantes to give the image of a summer night’s sky. On the far side of the room, the bays of French doors stood open so that guests might feel the illusion of not knowing where the outdoors began and indoors finished. It was masterfully done. Regardless of her feelings towards her aunt, Aunt Georgina knew how to give a party.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she breathed as Nicholas approached. It was a marvel to her how he knew the minute she was in a room and was unerringly at her side.
He swept her a bow. ‘A beautiful setting for a beautiful lady. You don’t deserve less. Tonight you will be my Titania and I will be your Oberon.’
Annorah laughed. ‘Don’t they quarrel? Aren’t they plagued by mischief?’
Nicholas shrugged and led her into the depths of the room. ‘That’s merely details. More importantly, they are the king and queen of midsummer in the forest.’
Sets were forming for the first dance, a traditional quadrille, and they joined a group close to the open doors, where a cooling breeze served to keep the room comfortable. ‘I like your version better,’ Annorah said as they took their places.
‘I do, too.’ Nicholas flashed her an impish grin more reminiscent of Puck than Oberon and the dance was underway. The quadrille was a long dance, full of coming together and parting patterns and he teased her with little bits of conversation designed to leave her wanting more.
On the first pass he said, ‘When I thought of midsummer, I never imagined myself in a place like this.’
‘Where did you imagine yourself?’ she asked, only to recognise there wasn’t enough time for him to answer as they moved on to new partners.
‘If I was in London, I’d be in Richmond at Lady Hyde’s midsummer masquerade.’ Again they parted, but with more anxiet
y on her part. Who would he have been with? What would he have been doing? She would have preferred he’d not shared that bit of information if it was going to lead to such disclosures. She didn’t want to picture him with another, laughing, smiling, talking.
The dance ended and a lively polka began immediately, taking away a chance for more talk in its whirlwind. Nicholas was superb at the country dance and Annorah felt like she was flying as he wove them about the floor, weaving in and out of other couples effortlessly. With another partner, she might have worried about an inelegant crash as the result of such careless passes, but with Nicholas the thought never crossed her mind, not when there were so many other things to think about: the graceful power of his body as he led them through the steps, the warm press of his hand at her back, the firm grip of his hand on hers, his blue eyes laughing down at her as they whirled. Whatever doubts his comments had raised were abandoned in the dance. He was having a good time.
They were both breathless afterwards and Nicholas led her through the opened doors into the garden. It was strung with paper lanterns and already peopled with couples taking advantage of the mild summer night.
‘I haven’t danced like that in ages!’ Nicholas said with breathless enthusiasm.
‘Don’t they dance like that in London?’
‘Not really. We have our waltzes and polkas, certainly, but it’s a slightly more sedate pace. Maybe we think we’re too sophisticated to indulge our passions so publicly.’
We. Our. She heard it in his vocabulary. It wasn’t meant maliciously, but he was moving away from her a little bit at a time. Maybe that was what tonight was about, too, a weaning of sorts. He was remembering his other life, his real life. Why shouldn’t he? She had already planned how she was going to spend the first hours away from him. Her mind had raced ahead, making lists of things to do at Hartshaven when she returned. It was a defence mechanism against wandering the halls and missing him. Perhaps he was doing the same.
‘Do you miss London so very much, then? I know you’ve been gone longer than you anticipated. I do appreciate it, though.’ She thought of the letter he’d received at Hartshaven. He never had disclosed the contents, but it had been from London. She thought, too, of the newspapers he’d read regularly with breakfast. He’d seemed hungry for news. He’d read methodically as if searching for something. It all spoke of a strong connection with the city. His life was there, his social ties were there.
They halted their walk near a rose arbour covered in tiny pink buds. Nicholas reached out his free hand to pluck a pink bloom. ‘That’s a harder question to answer than you might think, Annorah.’ He checked the rose carefully for thorns and tucked it behind her ear. ‘When I think of London, I think of all the things I’d like to show you there. It’s a fabulous city if you give it a chance.’ He made a slashing gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t mean the usual, like Astley’s Amphitheatre or the Tower. I want to show you my London.’
Annorah smiled. ‘Like your Norwegian fisherman and his lutefisk.’
‘You remembered.’ The comment seemed to please him. Of course she remembered. Silly man, didn’t he know she remembered everything he’d ever said to her, ever did with her?
‘There are other places, too. I want to show you Soho. It’s like a little Europe full of immigrants who have made new lives for themselves in London. Soho is full of their restaurants and foods.’
Annorah could imagine it. Nicholas’s London would be like the man himself: vibrant and alive, claiming the joy of each moment. She wanted to see that London. ‘I think your London would be wonderful,’ was all she could manage. To say more would be awkward. There was no question of him showing her his London any more than there was a question of her going to London. The ruse did not extend that far.
‘What will you do when you get back?’ she asked quietly. They both knew he couldn’t stay at the inn near Hartshaven forever. It hurt to ask, but in the long run perhaps she’d be glad for the knowledge. It would give her a way to picture him, a way to keep him with her a little longer. Their façade did not require he be with her for the year. It was possible he’d go to London and never come back when he tired of Hartshaven. At least this way, she could look at the clock and say to herself, It’s six o’clock, Nicholas will be getting ready for the dinner party. It’s eight o’clock; Nicholas will be going on to the opera. ‘I don’t know.’ Nicholas’s answer made her feel more than a bit guilty. He’d be at loose ends in London because of his arrangement with her. He wouldn’t be working.
‘Well, whatever you do, I don’t think you’ll miss Westmore.’ Annorah laughed.
* * *
‘Westmore? It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s that he’s a hard man to know. His circumstances are a bit different than the rest of us.’
‘The rest of us.’ Annorah felt the statement should speak volumes about Nicholas and the agency, but she couldn’t unravel it, she didn’t know enough to understand the reference, a glaring reminder that Nicholas was not all he seemed, or was that more than what he seemed? He had another life. ‘Are you going to tell me what that means?’
‘I’ll tell you this much. Most of us have fallen from grace. Westmore is climbing up to it.’
‘Will you ever tell me about your fall, Nicholas?’ It was the one thing she wanted to know about him. Who was he and how had he arrived at this point? What drove him? There was more to it than the accident. She was sure all those questions could be answered if she knew the whole of his story.
‘I’d much rather kiss you.’ Nicholas tipped her chin up, catching it between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth claimed hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world and, as always, his kisses swept away any ability for cogent thought, all need to know his story replaced with an entirely different need.
‘There’s a bower just beyond the boxwoods,’ Nicholas whispered. ‘We’ll have privacy enough.’
One last time. It would be a wicked memory to treasure; she and Nicholas out of doors at a ball, with a risk of discovery. Not that anyone would care too much since they were ‘engaged’, but her aunt would care a little. All those elements combined made it all that more delicious.
They slipped stealthily from the path, sliding into the bower’s shadowy depths, where the lantern light didn’t reach. There was a bench and Nicholas had her on his lap with lightning speed, her skirts bunched about her thighs, the evening air on her silk stockinged legs. His hand worked the trouser fastenings at his flap. His member sprung free, hard and hot against her core while his hand fumbled in his coat pocket for a French letter.
‘Are you always this prepared?’ she teased, blowing lightly against his ear as he fitted the sheath over himself.
‘Not prepared so much as hopeful, Annorah,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘I hoped we’d have a chance to be together. I didn’t want that chance to go to waste.’
There was a rustle at the bower’s entrance. She felt the intrusion in the clenching of Nicholas’s arms about her, protective and defensive.
‘Sorry to ruin your fun, then,’ Westmore’s gravelly tones broke in. ‘But I think you’d better get back to the ballroom. Redding is about to make trouble. He may have already made it. It took me a while to find you.’ The last was said with a bit of accusation. ‘I can’t watch your back if I don’t know where it is.’
Nicholas helped her to her feet, standing in front of her to give her a moment’s decency to right herself, never mind that Westmore had probably already seen far too much. She had the feeling she’d become de trop. The conversation had turned from love words to guns. Westmore asked Nicholas if he’d brought his pistols.
‘I have mine, too, of course,’ Westmore said to Nicholas’s affirmative response. ‘You needn’t worry on that account.’
Nicholas had pistols with him? He’d been with her all this time and he’d come armed?
> ‘What do you suppose Redding knows?’ Nicholas was all efficient business as he tucked in his shirt tails and readjusted his trousers. Gone was the easy expression he usually wore, replaced by something far grimmer.
Annorah held her skirts in one hand and struggled to keep up with the men’s long-legged, urgent strides. She’d been conveniently forgotten just as she’d suspected. She might as well have stayed back at the bower and redone her hair for all the attention they paid her. Nicholas had said he wasn’t close with Westmore and now they were acting like bosom bows.
‘It can only be one of two things or both,’ Westmore supplied. ‘Either he knows about the agency or he knows about Lord Burroughs’s wife. I don’t have to tell you it would be better if it were Burroughs.’
She watched the back of Nicholas’s head nod in agreement. ‘Then the scandal could all fall on me without jeopardising the agency and everyone in it.’
Burroughs’s wife? What was this? Horror after horror raced through Annorah’s mind. She found a burst of speed, her slippers sliding on the wet grass of the lawn. The shorter route back meant forgoing the pathways. She pushed in between them. ‘Burroughs’s wife? Whatever do you mean? What’s going on?’ She shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew what he did and who he did it with. Yet, being so bluntly confronted with it was entirely different in practice than theory.
Westmore shot her a look of impatience reserved for dealing with idiots. ‘His last client’s husband got a bit jealous and the man has been tearing London apart looking for him ever since he crawled out of Burroughs’s town-house window. What did you think Nick was doing here?’
Secrets of a Gentleman Escort Page 18
