A Dangerous Game

by Julia Templeton

  So he could share it with her…

  “You’ve ink on your fingers,” she said, as though reading his mind.

  He looked at where their fingers were entwined, and he squeezed her hand. “I was inspired this morning.”

  Her gaze flew to his, and her eyes searched his face. He smiled softly, then motioned to the awaiting horses. “Shall we?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicolette wanted to scratch Charlotte’s eyes out.

  From the moment the other woman had mounted her gray mare, she had been no more than a few feet from Salvatore. And it appeared Salvatore enjoyed the blonde’s company for even now his laughter rang out about their small group.

  Mr. and Mrs. Stromme brought up the back of their small party, while Viscount Athenry and his cousin rode ahead. Darian stayed close to Nicolette’s side, and every time she looked up, it seemed he was watching her.

  She yearned to increase the horse’s tempo, to catch up to Salvatore and Charlotte, but she did not want to look jealous, and she didn’t need Darian questioning her further. He already knew Simon was her father. It would take nothing for Darian to learn the truth about Salvatore, especially since it was common knowledge Darian’s father had been close friends with her father.

  It was with vast relief that they came upon a small village market, and they could dismount. Darian paid a group of young boys to look after their mounts, and Nicolette breathed deeply of the fragrant breads in a nearby stand.

  Charlotte took Salvatore’s arm and led him off in the opposite direction. The viscount and his cousin went straight for the pub, and Mr. and Mrs. Stromme seemed intent on the baked goods stand, leaving Nicolette alone with Darian once more.

  “Stay right there,” he said, his eyes warm, his smile genuine. She did as he said, trying hard not to notice Salvatore and Charlotte looking at jewelry. Charlotte put a ring on Salvatore’s finger and grinned coyly. The woman was breathtaking, and it seemed everyone in the marketplace watched her. Salvatore shook his head, and took the ring off and handed it back to the cheerful widow.

  Charlotte picked up a necklace, handed it to Salvatore, then presented her back to him, obviously wanting him to help her with it.

  While Nicolette watched Salvatore’s graceful fingers manage the necklace, his hands on the woman’s neck, his long hair brushing against Charlotte’s bare shoulders, she felt a rush of anger.

  “For you,” Darian said, and she turned to find him holding a rose out to her. “I would fill your bedchamber with them if I could, but I fear that would draw undue attention to us, which we do not need.”

  Nicolette had no right to be jealous of Charlotte. After all, Charlotte had been nothing but kind to her. She had seen the look of disbelief on the widow’s face when she had entered the stall to find Nicolette in Darian’s arms. She had been confused before about Nicolette’s intentions towards Darian. No doubt she thought the worst of her now.

  Taking the rose, she brought it to her nose and deeply inhaled the scent. Roses had been her mother’s favorite flower, and she would always associate the scent with her. “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. Come, what do you want to look at?”

  “How about jewelry?”

  Charlotte smiled as they approached. “Look at what Salvatore has bought for me,” she said, smiling prettily as she displayed the necklace. “What did you buy?”

  Salvatore, who had been paying the merchant, grinned. “Yes, well there is no denying a woman when she has her mind made up.”

  Charlotte swatted at his hand. “Come, I offered to buy you a ring.”

  “He does not like rings,” Nicolette blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Do you not?” Charlotte asked, wrapping her arm around Salvatore’s so tightly, her breast brushed against his arm. Nicolette took a step closer to Darian, and fought the urge to do the same.

  The difference was that she was boiling over with jealousy, while Salvatore seemed not at all affected.

  She lifted her chin a fraction. If he could remain indifferent, then so could she. “Darian bought me a rose,” Nicolette said, holding the flower to her nose.

  Salvatore smiled. “How kind of him.”

  “Buy me a rose?” Charlotte pleaded, looking up at Salvatore with her gorgeous blue eyes, which Nicolette yearned to scratch out.

  “Of course, my sweet,” Salvatore said, winking good-naturedly, playing along to the extreme, motioning to a young girl with a basketful of colorful wildflowers. He gave the girl a coin, a light pinch on the cheek and took the small bunch from her, handing it to Charlotte, who seemed to melt under Salvatore’s generosity. Wildflowers were Nicolette’s favorite...and well Salvatore knew it.

  The afternoon dragged on endlessly, and not once did Charlotte stray from Salvatore’s side for more than a second.

  When they left the market, they followed the river upstream, toward Kedgwick Manor. The day was warm, and seemed to grow hotter by the second.

  The small group ahead of them stopped along the river’s edge and Nicolette laughed when Mrs. Stromme, with Salvatore’s urging, stepped into the chill waters, her skirt up to her chubby knees. Mr. Stromme sat on the grassy bank, shaking his head, but smiling widely, obviously enjoying the sight of his wife in childlike mode.

  Salvatore held onto the woman’s hand, as they maneuvered the slick stones beneath their toes. If possible, Nicolette loved him even more for his kindness to the older woman who so openly adored him. Mrs. Stromme shrieked as she lost her footing, and Salvatore braced her with an arm, pulling her into his embrace.

  Mrs. Stromme, once she regained her footing, flashed a devilish smile at her husband. “I told you, Reggie, that one day a young man would knock me off my feet. I daresay, that day has arrived.”

  “And a man so handsome, I can scarcely compete,” Reginald said, winking at his bride of thirty-four years.

  Mr. Stromme was right. Salvatore was handsome. The shine of his long hair, looking a lighter shade of dark brown in the sunlight. His high cheekbones jutted out as he pursed his lips, concentrating on his footing. Memories of the night they spent together flashed before her, and a warmth spread throughout her body, heating her blood, reminding her of the soreness between her thighs, where she ached to have him once more.

  How she yearned to make love to him again...and again. Make her blood sing and her spirit soar.

  Darian stood nearby, tossing stones into the river with the viscount and his cousin. The three talked amongst themselves, ignoring the rest of them, though Nicolette could feel Darian’s gaze on her from time to time.

  Charlotte waded out to Salvatore, and Nicolette sat up straighter. The woman’s graceful beauty and fiery spirit was something Nicolette admired, especially when both women and men of the ton were so quick to judge.

  “Why do you not join them?” Mr. Stromme asked, his voice encouraging.

  Nicolette grinned. “I am enjoying watching.”

  “Fiddle-faddle,” the older man said, kicking off his boots. “We will not let them have all the fun.”

  Needing no more urging, Nicolette kicked off her shoes and rolled her stockings off. Reginald helped her to her feet, and she allowed the older gentleman to lead her out toward the others who were up past their knees now in the cold water.

  Mrs. Stromme shrieked again and Salvatore chuckled. Charlotte turned at Nicolette’s approach, her smile warmer than it had been earlier today. Nicolette felt horribly guilty for having been caught in Darian’s embrace, especially since she knew how much Charlotte wanted him. True, Charlotte had told her that they were only lovers, perhaps just friends, but Nicolette saw something else in her eyes—a warmth and desire she went to great lengths to hide.

  Charlotte took Reginald’s other arm. “We will show your wife that Salvatore is not the only charming one.�
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  Reginald grinned widely, clearing his throat loud enough for his wife to hear over the water.

  Mrs. Stromme turned, her brows lifted high. “You’ve come to help your wife who is in distress, I see. You are just in time, my prince. I daresay I can no longer feel my toes for the cold.” She leaned toward Salvatore and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for looking after me, dear boy, but I will leave you and these two lovely women to discover the depths of this damnably cold river alone. I fear my age is beginning to show.”

  Salvatore kissed her hand and released her to her husband.

  Nicolette lifted her skirts thigh-high, and ventured out further into the water.

  “Nicolette,” Salvatore said, his voice tinged with warning.

  “What?” she said, casting him a daring glance.

  Charlotte hovered behind them, seeming content to stay in the calf-high water.

  Nicolette took another step, her foot hitting a slippery stone this time. The next thing she knew, she saw sky and the tops of the trees, and then was pulled down into the cold water.

  She heard Salvatore yell, then nothing but the rushing water as she was pushed along the rocks, further downstream. The river got deeper, her skirts heavier, pulling her beneath the swirling water.

  Seconds seemed like minutes as she fought to keep her head above water, and soon she could not. She swore she felt a hand grab her, only to let go. Salvatore did not jump in after her, had he?

  The river was relentless, pulling her further downstream, and further beneath the water.

  Her lungs were on fire, and she fought for the surface, but to no avail. Black swirled about her and her head struck something hard...and finally a calm came over her, and she stopped fighting altogether.

  *****

  Salvatore dove into the water right as Nicolette slipped, and every time he had her within reach, the river would take her ever further.

  The current carried them downstream so fast, all he could do was pray that Nicolette would grab for a rock, a branch, anything! But her skirts must have grown too heavy, weighing her down, to the point she disappeared beneath the water’s surface. Time and again she fought to the surface, only to plunge below.

  His heart had ceased to beat when she did not come up and panic ensued. He dove beneath the waters, searching for her, and by some miracle of fate, the river had wedged her against a rock cropping.

  She did not move, and as he pulled her from the water to the river’s edge, there were no signs of life in her limp body.

  Though exhausted himself from fighting the current, he straddled Nicolette, placing his hands over her breastbone, pumping, pushing down, his mind racing. He recalled reading the story of a soldier who had valiantly tried to save his friend who had very nearly drowned.

  Salvatore leaned over her, listening for a heartbeat.

  Nothing.

  Panic paralyzed him for a moment, and he stared helplessly at his beloved. Her face was stark white, her mouth open, her lips blue.

  “Is she alive?” Darian asked, racing down the embankment and falling on his knees beside them. The viscount and his cousin were fast on his heels.

  Salvatore pushed down hard on Nicolette’s chest once more.

  Nothing.

  “Breathe, damn it!” he screamed, sending birds overhead flying from their nests.

  The others raced toward them, their cries of disbelief confirming his worst fears.

  Salvatore took a shaky breath, blocking out everything around him, focusing everything on his efforts to revive her. Her body jerked beneath his ministrations.

  “I believe she is dead.” Darian’s somber voice penetrated Salvatore’s brain, and he looked up into his brother’s eyes, which mirrored his pain.

  Salvatore grabbed Darian by the shirtfront. “No, she is not!” He pushed him so hard, Darian fell back, but caught himself.

  Charlotte reached out to him, tears rolling down her face. “Salvatore, she is gone.”

  “No!” He brushed Charlotte’s hand away, refocusing his efforts on Nicolette. He took a steadying breath and tried again to revive his friend—the woman he loved and adored—the woman whose innocence he had taken last night, a night that would burn in his memory for all eternity.

  Still straddling her, he went up on his knees, using the palms of his hands as he pushed hard on her chest. Time and again he went through the motions, stopping every few seconds to put his cheek to her mouth, with the hopes he would feel her sweet breath against his skin.

  Nothing.

  Silence filled his ears, and he knew the others watched in horrified stillness. He was a man possessed, but he did not care what they thought. He would not give up as they had. He would not lose his Nicolette. He continued with his efforts, stopping only to put his cheek to her mouth in the hopes to hear or feel any sign of life.

  Still nothing. Tears burned his eyes, but he blinked them away.

  “Sweet Jesus, I cannot bear it!” Mrs. Stromme cried, before she fainted, her husband catching her before she hit the ground.

  Dear God in Heaven, help me! Salvatore silently screamed, breathing into her mouth, hoping to coax her back to life.

  Nothing. A fear he had never before known ripped through him.

  “Do not take her from me!” he yelled his anguish to the heavens for all to hear, shaking with bone-deep fury. The tears that filled his eyes spilled over, and he stared helplessly at the woman beneath him. “God, don’t do this. I cannot live without her.”

  And God answered.

  It came in the way of a sputter. He held his breath, and a moment later Nicolette retched river water, her body so weak she could not turn her head, so he did it for her.

  Relief rushed through him at the sweet noise. He rolled her onto her side, holding back her hair as she vomited vast amounts of water, her body convulsing with each spasm.

  Charlotte began to sob with joy, the men amongst him shouted with delight, and Salvatore dared to close his eyes for an instant to thank God.

  When he opened his eyes, Nicolette stared up at him, her green eyes wide with fear—and a haunted look he would not forget for as long as he lived. She had seen death, he knew it...and he had just been to hell and back. A hell he had not thought possible.

  Her trembling hand reached up to touch his face, and he turned his head to kiss her palm, covering her freezing hand with his own. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and fell onto her cheeks. The sides of her mouth lifted the slightest bit, her once blue lips now regaining their rose color.

  He pulled her into his embrace, his weak arms finding strength, holding her to him, desperate for her touch. Her breath was warm against his neck, her pulse still slow, but steady as he rocked her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nicolette opened her eyes. Bright sunlight filled the room, and the open window allowed for a pleasant breeze.

  She smiled. Sitting by the window, gazing out, was Salvatore. He sat in a chair, his elbow on the armrest, a long finger moving over his lips—a nervous habit.

  Throughout the long night past she had suffered images of her near-drowning, of Salvatore over her, pushing her chest. She remembered giving up hope as the water had surrounded her and pulled her down, her lungs nearly exploding, the sweet calm that enveloped her, drawing her away from Earth and its pleasures.

  Her life had flashed before her, like a series of pictures, from her as a little girl, and it seemed each memory included Salvatore. Him as a child, taking her by the hand, sleeping beside her on the old cot in the brothel’s attic, looking after her, teaching her his beloved music, explaining to her the changes that had taken place in her body when she had gotten her first menses, teaching her to dance...and teaching her the wonders of making love. Nicolette had awoken from the dream with a start, to find Charlotte beside her, holdin
g her hand, reassuring her it was only a dream and to find sleep once more. But now Charlotte was gone, and it was just the two of them.

  “Come here,” she said, her voice gravelly.

  Salvatore started, turning to her, a relieved smile on his face as he stood and came toward her in long strides. Nicolette’s breath caught in her throat. He looked exhausted with dark circles beneath his eyes, making the gold irises more prominent.

  She took in everything about him, from the breadth of his shoulders, to the narrowness of his waist, down over his long legs. He had foregone his jacket and wore just a white linen shirt, and his favorite navy breeches tucked into polished Hessians.

  The bed dipped beneath his weight, and as he sat down, she opened her arms to him.

  His lips curved in a smile, and he embraced her, holding her tight.

  “You saved my life.”

  He didn’t say a word, just held her, his gentle hands stroking her hair.

  She dare not move—too thankful that God had given her another chance. Putting him at arm’s length, she frowned. “You are so quiet. What’s the matter?”

  “I am just tired, that is all.”

  “You look like you haven’t slept at all.”

  “I’ve managed a few hours here and there.”

  “Liar.”

  He laughed softly, fleetingly, and she knew there was more to his silence than lack of sleep.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, and Salvatore got up and walked across to answer it.

  “You are awake!” Charlotte said, grinning.

  “I will allow you ladies time to catch up,” Salvatore said, one hand on the doorknob. “I have matters to attend to.”

  “You are coming back, aren’t you?” Nicolette asked, sitting up against the headboard, wincing with the pain the slight movement caused. It seemed every muscle in her body ached.

  “You could not keep me away if you tried,” he said, then with a wink he left, shutting the door behind him.