by Jo Goodman
"It's as Davinia says, Ashley, you weren't in any danger."
"You can't know. You weren't there," she protested, visibly shuddering. She recalled Lord Bosworth's gnarled and liver-spotted hands on her shoulders, his sour breath at her ear and at her throat. His mouth was slack and there was a drop of spittle at the corner of his wet lips. He had come into her room, thinking it his own, and in his drunken state Ashley had not been able to make him understand his mistake. He had whipped the covers off her bed and crawled in beside her. The bacchanalian revelry downstairs kept Ashley's screams from being heard by the duke or his friends, and it was Stephens, Linfield's head of staff, who finally responded.
Stephens had merely guided the drunken lord from Ashley's chamber, bid her to lock her door, and reported the incident to the duke. Until this interview, there had been no mention of what had happened that evening. Nigel had not inquired if she was unharmed, and no one had been sent to comfort her while she scrubbed herself clean of Bosworth's foul scent or mended her torn nightgown.
"I couldn't make him see it was a mistake to be in my room." With her head bent momentarily, she missed the conspiratorial exchange between Nigel and Davinia. "He was so terribly strong, for all that he was drunk."
Nigel sighed wearily. "I believe I asked that there be no theatrics. There was never any question that you would be harmed. Bosworth was clearly foxed and even sober he is no threat to your maidenly virtues. The man's quite impotent." He tossed off this fact casually, as if it could be of no real importance.
"How could you know such a thing?" she managed to gasp, appalled. Thoroughly bewildered by Nigel's motives at wishing her to marry a man she could never learn to love, nor feel the least desire for, she came out of her chair.
"Now you've done it," Davinia told Nigel. "Mentioned drama and the chit's going to enact every scene in front of us. Have you no imagination, child? Bosworth's mistress says the old coot has done nothing but fondle and grope for years. Keeps Harriet quite up to her throat in lovely baubles for the pleasure of it, too. Now he's taken a fancy to your, dare I say—nubile charms—and wants to make it a legal liaison. Count yourself fortunate, m'dear. Not many men would put aside the fact that you were born on the wrong side of the blanket and want to marry you. It's one thing to be a by-blow, quite another to not even know whose bastard you are."
"Shut up, Davinia," Nigel said, not unkindly. "Ashley, you will be seated."
The duke's soft hypnotic voice reached Ashley, and she found herself going through the motions of sitting almost in a trance. Gravely she faced Nigel, her trembling hands folded on her lap. "Please, Your Grace, tell me that you don't mean to marry me off to Lord Bosworth."
"But that's precisely what I intend."
"I couldn't possibly marry him."
"Why?"
Ashley was aware of a terrible silence as Nigel and Davinia waited for her answer, and she responded quietly, hoping she could avoid angering her guardian beyond all reason. "I hold him in disgust. I could never marry such a man. It would not be a marriage as I have ever envisioned it." Ashley's eyes lowered to her lap to hide the sheen of tears from the duke. "Please. You can't expect me to marry him. What would it serve?"
Nigel rose from his chair and made a pretense of poking at the fire. "Once you consider it I believe you will find it serves all of us quite well. Your illegitimacy does cause some distress among the peerage. Oh, everyone knows you are a Lynne, else I wouldn't have taken you in when the servants found you wailing on the kitchen stoop. Your birthmark proves you're a Lynne."
"What birthmark?" Davinia asked, frowning. Here was something she didn't know, and it disturbed her that Nigel had not shared this small bit. She had been his mistress, confidant, and ally for nearly eight years, even before her husband had been given a military post in the Colonies. She thought she knew everything about the duke and his peculiar young ward, and it piqued her to be left in the dark.
Her mind's eye revealed every detail of Nigel's smoothly muscled body, searching for a birthmark, yet she could envision none. Perhaps a thorough exploration was in order once they were alone. The thought caused her to flush and her nipples to harden. No man had ever been able to excite her as easily as the Duke of Linfield. She glanced at Nigel to see if he had noticed the direction of her thoughts and hid her agitation when she saw he had not. Too often of late she noted his attention wandered in Ashley's direction. Davinia wished she could name what she saw in Nigel's eyes when he looked at his ward. At times Davinia thought she surprised a glance that could only be described as devouring. Yet, there were those moments when his dark gaze settled on Ashley that he seemed to be repulsed by her very presence.
Inconsistencies marked much of Nigel's dealings with the chit, Davinia thought. As a child he had had no time for her when she invaded his study, looking for writing paper or a book, but he wouldn't consider Davinia's suggestion that she be sent to boarding school. Instead he had hired a series of governesses and tutors, and when the last one was gone some four years ago, he simply allowed Ashley to study on her own. He laughed at Davinia's warning that Ashley was becoming a bluestocking and he would never see her married. Still, for all that he kept Ashley around, he took little notice of her. He could afford to dress her like a princess, yet he rarely spent a farthing on her clothes. Ashley's present wardrobe was nearly three years old. It was as if Nigel refused to believe the chit was growing up.
But she was. Davinia noticed, even if she made no mention of it. None of the inconsistencies had ever concerned her until she saw Ashley as a possible rival for the duke's affection. At first it seemed absurd that Nigel might actually feel something for the bastard brat that had been underfoot for years, but the more Davinia considered it, the more eager she was to have Ashley away from Linfield House altogether. As Davinia approached thirty, she refused to be compared to an innocent miss and be found wanting.
"What birthmark?" she repeated petulantly.
"It doesn't concern you, Davinia. Ashley knows what I mean."
"You know I do," Ashley replied tightly.
"And I'm certain you can appreciate that, although you are a Lynne, you are still someone's peccadillo," he said patronizingly. "You can't expect to be afforded all the courtesies of someone of legitimate birth. Bosworth's offer is a good one. It will bring you a measure of status that you could not enjoy, even as my ward. It will relieve Davinia of all her petty jealousies." He smiled pleasantly at his mistress, otherwise ignoring her startled gasp. "And as for me, Bosworth's promised to give over a prime piece of blood, thoroughbred stock, for my stud farm. I do want that animal, Ashley. I've been after Bosworth for nearly a year for the bay. It's fortunate that he thinks you're worth it."
"I cannot," she said faintly. "You cannot want me to marry that old man so you can have some—some damned animal."
Nigel lifted the poker, idly examining its heated tip. It seemed an action without purpose, but Ashley knew differently, and she could not help recoiling in her chair, protecting her left side almost instinctively. Nigel's smile was taunting. "I think you should consider your word choices more carefully, Ashley. Your marriage to Bosworth is exactly what I want. And precisely what I shall have."
Ashley could only shake her head. A tear slipped from one eye and fell to her folded hands.
"Now it's the waterworks," Davinia said, maintaining a tone of complete boredom. "Perhaps the girl fears Bosworth may actually succeed in consummating the marriage. I shouldn't fret about it. Harriet swears he can't manage the thing."
Ashley was mortified. She could only continue to stare at her lap and hope lightning would strike her.
"It will be a marriage of convenience, Ashley," the duke clarified for her.
She found the temerity to respond. "Your convenience. What am I to have? A marriage with neither mutual regard nor love. What of my needs, Your Grace?"
"And what needs do you have? Are you saying it is his impotence that offends you? Do you crave carnal knowledge of the old so
t?"
Ashley bit her lip at the duke's crudity. "You know I do not. But I have a desire to be more to my future husband than the object of his drunken fondling."
His Grace nearly rolled his eyes in disgust. "Spare me your schoolgirl rhetoric, Ashley. It is my understanding one does not miss what one has not experienced. My mind is quite made up. You knew you would have to marry one day. You can't have expected me to care for you forever. You are making far more of this than is wise."
"Am I truly?" she cried boldly. "Are you so anxious to be rid of me that you can completely ignore my feelings in this matter? Why have you done this so suddenly and given me no choice in the matter? I refuse to participate in this sham of a marriage. If you force the alliance I will have it annulled. Bosworth will not thank you for the public ridicule he will endure." Ashley's hands trembled, and her voice shook with the force of her anger. She had never dared to speak so bluntly to her guardian before, and he would not thank her that she had done it in front of his mistress. Yet pride drove her on. "You are as spiteful as I have always thought you to be and selfish of your own pleasure. Do you know that every day I give thanks I am only the poor relation? The thought that I could be your bastard fills me with loathing."
There was a tense silence. Even Davinia knew enough to be quiet, though she sat a little straighter, alert to the drama unfolding.
"You forget yourself," the duke responded softly. Ashley's unnatural stillness told him she was hearing the carefully couched fury. "You will apologize."
Ashley felt the silence close about her as the duke awaited her reply. "No. I cannot. I spoke the truth."
Nigel stepped in front of Ashley and gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "For now I find this show of resistance intriguing, but be warned that I grow bored easily. You should have no trouble understanding why you'll be confined to your room until you decide in favor of the marriage."
"No. Please, don't do that." Ashley could not help but show her horror. "Please don't lock me in. I'm not a child to be punished in that manner."
Nigel released her chin, smiling, as if her small show of fear had been his goal. "I have been giving some thought to the question of annulment. Perhaps it would be better for all parties concerned if the matter was disposed of before your marriage to Bosworth. He really has no use for a virgin bride." He smiled maliciously at his ward, and Ashley prepared herself for the duke's manner of revenge, knowing she was powerless and hating it. "I promise you, Ashley, before you wed Bosworth you'll have an opportunity to experience something more than drunken fondling, as you so aptly described it. I swear to you the first male guest at Linfield who is willing to have you, shall have you." Nigel noted Ashley's pale face with perverse delight. "Think about it every morning when you would normally be taking your ride on Kingdom. Think about the fact that it is you who will be next ridden."
Ashley's hands flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. She stared at Nigel and saw in his implacable gaze that he would not be moved. She would be a prisoner in her home until she agreed to the marriage, and all the while he would be arranging her rape. She fled the room for the questionable sanctuary of her own, closing her mind to Davinia Grant's satisfied laughter.
Chapter 2
"It's hard to credit," Nigel said thoughtfully, watching Davinia tuck into her breakfast with obvious pleasure. "Who would have thought the chit would hold out on me?"
Davinia didn't let conversation spoil her enjoyment of the tasty spread Mrs. Timms had prepared. She savored her sampling of eggs and kidneys before she responded. "You're not used to being thwarted, Nigel, that's your problem. You thought locking the girl in her room would be just the thing to bring her up to scratch. It's been two weeks and not only has Ashley refused your proposal, she's gone on a hunger strike. I admit I'm not all that pleased about the prospect of her starving herself to death. What are you going to do?"
"I will not allow her to ruin my plans, you can be certain of that."
"Oh, no. Never say you are going to force feed her again. Really, Nigel, that was so—so messy. And she only tossed it all after we left the room." Davinia pushed her plate away and made a face. "I think I've ruined my appetite. Do we have to discuss this now?"
"It has to be settled." He buttered a hot scone and savored his first bite. "I want Ashley to understand she is subject to my will."
"Why is that so important to you?" Davinia asked earnestly.
Nigel sighed, his normally shrewd glance softened indulgently as he looked at his lover. "Because it is. Once I have set a course I will not be turned. I don't believe Ashley has thought out her future. Bosworth is an old man. It's likely she'll be a widow before long. She's free to return to Linfield after that." He paused, his eyes softening. "Where she belongs."
The faraway look in the duke's eyes disturbed Davinia. It seemed he had no intention of removing Ashley from his life permanently. Seeking reassurance, Davinia placed her hand on the duke's forearm. The delicate white lace of her sleeve brushed the deep maroon of Nigel Lynne's velvet coat. "Until you have need of her again."
Nigel leaned back in his chair. It was a casual movement, but it had the effect of releasing his arm from Davinia's hold. He ignored the look of hurt that crossed her pale face. "Something like that." One eyebrow lifted in amused speculation. "Jealous, m'dear?"
Davinia stiffened slightly, then smiled charmingly. She did not want to reveal the extent of Nigel's hold over her. "Of Ashley? You mistake my feelings. I find the chit nothing more than a nuisance. I am surprised you tolerate her."
"I have my reasons."
"Mmm. I wonder—are you Ashley's father?"
Nigel's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You are overstepping. Davinia."
Davinia did not want to accept closing the subject. She sensed a mystery, and she wanted Nigel to reveal the matter as a measure of his trust. Of course, she admitted to herself, Nigel was right to be reticent. Davinia also wanted to have something to hold over the duke. "I don't believe that. We've known each other for years now. Isn't it time you share something of yourself with me?"
"Oh, Davinia, in so many ways you're more naive than Ashley. I find that I will have to deny you to protect you from yourself. You may know what I want you to know. Eight years in my bed does not make you privy to my every thought."
A shiver ran through Davinia at her lover's stern pronouncement.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?"
"No, of course not," Davinia lied quickly.
"That's unfortunate. I suppose in time it will come to you, as it will to Ashley. I will have my way."
"I never thought otherwise," Davinia drawled lightly, attempting to gain her composure.
"Good. And you can prove it to me by taking a trip into London."
"Certainly."
"And bringing back the lover I threatened Ashley with. I grow weary of waiting. When she understands how serious I am, I believe she will have a change of heart. Naturally you understand the man cannot be an acquaintance, nor anyone who is likely to spread rumors. You will have to assess his character carefully."
"I know exactly the sort of man you require. A Colonial ought to be just the thing."
"A Yankee?" Nigel's wheat-colored brows raised. The smile he gave Davinia was one of genuine enjoyment. "It's too perfect! I salute you! Yes, a Colonial is exactly what we need. He'll leave England after he's had the chit, and that will be the end of it. And if he should get other notions—well, there are ways, and what is one Colonial more or less?"
"Precisely my thought."
"Good. Then you'll leave immediately?"
"Do you suppose I might have another scone first?"
Nigel laughed. "Have a dozen! You have pleased me greatly." And while Davinia basked under his praise, the duke began to look forward to his next confrontation with Ashley.
* * *
"Of course I mean it," Nigel heard himself tell his ward some hours later. He stood to one side of Ashley's Tudor oak four-poster, where she la
y in near darkness, having drawn the blue and white crewelwork curtains. The open throat of her filmy lawn nightgown unwittingly displayed the clearly defined bones of her shoulders and the fragile stem of her neck. Seeing Nigel's look of disgust at the evidence of her hunger strike, she defiantly refused to pull the thick comforter around her throat.
"Davinia left this morning and she won't be back until she's found your lover. Although, looking at you now, it's difficult to say whether even a Yankee will go through with it. I don't know that the voyage here is sufficient deprivation to make anyone want to bed a bundle of bones."
Ashley weakly turned her head away from Nigel's sneering gaze. She found she did not have the strength to argue, even if it would have accomplished anything. She closed her eyes against the sight of the food Nigel had brought to tempt her. She could not close her nose to the fragrant aroma of shepherd's pie. She knew the duke had asked Mrs. Timms to prepare whatever she knew was Ashley's favorite in order to persuade her to eat again. Ashley could have saved Nigel the trouble. It was too late for that type of persuasion now. She had denied herself food for so long that even the thought of food nauseated her.
"You have what you came for," she whispered tiredly. "Please leave."
"I want your consent."
"You will not have that. Ever."
"You'd rather die?"
"Yes."
"I don't know why it surprises me. Your mother expressed much the same sentiment at one time."
Ashley instantly tried to sit up but the motion made her dizzy. She lay her head against the snowy coverlet of her pillow, ebony hair framing the pale, sharply etched features of her face. For a moment there was a spark of interest in the green eyes that had dulled so noticeably over the last two weeks. There were so many things she wanted to know, but she could only bring herself to ask, "And what did you do?"
