The Inheritance

by Joan Johnston

  Nicholas tore his mouth from Daisy’s and stared down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. She was a witch. She had ensorceled him. That was the only explanation for the way his heart pounded, for the way his body ached. For the inexplicable need he felt.

  He had learned never to want anything too much. It was too hard to live with his wishes unfulfilled. He was determined not to fall under Daisy’s spell. He could and would resist her siren’s call. He forced himself to step back from her. It took an amazing effort to let her go. He was glad when they finally stood a foot apart. He was safe now. She had no more power over him.

  “Don’t cross me, Daisy,” he said in a harsh voice. “You won’t like the consequences.”

  Slowly, and with great contempt, Daisy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, removing all traces of the duke and his kisses. “I may have to endure your animal urges when we’re husband and wife, but until then, I’ll thank you to leave me alone, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas’s lip curled in a mocking smile. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it, Daisy. I won’t believe you.”

  She flushed, conceding the truth of his allegation. “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  “If you can’t see it for yourself, it won’t do me any good to point it out to you,” she said in a weary voice.

  “Try me.”

  She searched his face to see whether he was serious. She clasped her hands together in front of her to hide the fact they were trembling and said, “Just now, when you kissed me, you weren’t thinking of how I felt, you were thinking only of yourself. And it wasn’t pleasure you sought. You were punishing me for daring to contradict you.”

  This time Nicholas flushed. But he didn’t apologize or explain. “You shouldn’t have provoked me.”

  Daisy sighed in exasperation. “Is that how you treat every woman who provokes you?”

  Nicholas grinned. “No. Only the pretty ones.”

  “You deserve every horrible thing that’s ever happened to you!” Daisy hissed, enraged by his levity.

  The grin faded from Nicholas’s face. His features tightened, his lips flattened into a thin line, and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

  Daisy was too angry herself to realize she had crossed a line and lit the fuse on a keg of gunpowder. One minute she was opening her mouth to castigate the duke, the next he had her by the arms and was shaking her within an inch of her life. She was so dizzy she would have fallen if he hadn’t had a bruising grip on her arms. Her heart pounded with fear when she glimpsed the coldblooded violence in his eyes.

  “You know nothing about my life,” he raged through gritted teeth. “You know nothing about me. How dare you say I deserved to see my mother take up whoring so we could live! How dare you say I deserved to watch her die on the floor of a wooden shack when I was only thirteen years old!”

  He shoved her away from him with both hands, and she stumbled backward several steps. “Get away from me. Stay away from me. Before I do something to you I’ll regret.”

  Daisy’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She felt the sobs welling in her chest, felt his pain as though it were her own. Dear God! Lady Philip had become a whore? Nicholas had watched her die?

  “I’m … I’m so sorry … I had no idea …” she choked out.

  Nicholas shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes and sighed raggedly as he tried to bring his tortured breathing under control. “Go home, Daisy. Get out of here and leave me alone.”

  “Is there anything—”

  “You’ve done enough,” he grated out. “Get the hell out of here!”

  Daisy looked around with dazed eyes and found her horse grazing not far away. She walked over to him and led him to a stump, which she used to mount. She didn’t look back as she headed toward Severn Manor.

  What had she done? Daisy wondered. How could she have been so cruel? But how was she supposed to have known how ghastly Nicholas’s childhood in America had been? No one had even hinted of the disaster that had befallen Lady Philip. She would never have said a word about Nicholas’s past if she had known the truth.

  No wonder he was a savage. No wonder he had no respect for the rules of civilized society. Look how that society had treated a helpless, defenseless child. Now that Daisy knew how sensitive Nicholas was about his past, how much pain it held for him, she vowed never to confront him with it again. But how was she going to undo the damage she had done?

  She didn’t think an apology was going to help. But there had to be some way she could make it up to Nicholas. She would just have to figure something out.

  Meanwhile, Nicholas was berating himself for having lost control with Daisy. He of all people knew the importance of always being in control. Somehow, Daisy had touched a wound that was more green and tender than he had ever imagined. Her jabs had awakened all the pain of his youth as though it had happened yesterday. And he had taken out the frustration of years on a woman who was not in the least at fault.

  He was going to have to apologize to her. Although he wasn’t sure she would be willing to accept his apology. He wondered if she would call off the wedding. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. First he had mauled her like a bear, then insulted her, then terrified her. What woman would want a man like that for her husband?

  He would promise to keep his distance. He would take back his demand that they have a real marriage. He would keep his hands off her.

  No, he couldn’t do any of those things. He couldn’t leave her alone. He wanted her more now than he ever had. He would have to find some other way to assuage her fears. He couldn’t give her up. She had known what he was when she agreed to marry him. Hadn’t she named him barbarian more than once? He would find a way to make things right. Then he would sate his need for her body. Once he had satisfied himself with her, the need would ease. Then, when spring came, he would leave her as he had planned.

  Nicholas froze when he heard a sound, like an animal in pain, in the underbrush. It was hard not to react with the instincts that had kept him alive as a man who hunted men. He reached for his revolver, only to realize it wasn’t there. He felt naked without his Colt, especially since he might be heading into trouble. He looked for another weapon and found a good-size stone that he could throw or use as a club.

  Then he went off to investigate the noise he had heard.

  Daisy was halfway back to the manor before she realized she had lost her hat somewhere and that her hair had fallen down. She stopped long enough to subdue the riot of auburn curls with the pins she had left and to brush off her skirt, which had picked up several blades of grass when she fell. She only hoped she could sneak into the house the back way so no one would see her dishabille and ask awkward questions.

  The groom’s eyes widened when he saw her, but he merely tugged his forelock and said, “I’ll be taking care of Sunset now, Your Grace.” He helped her down, and she realized there was more grass on her skirt where she had been sitting. She quickly brushed it off.

  “Did you take a fall, Your Grace?” the groom asked.

  “Uh … yes, Willie, I did.”

  “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

  “I’m fine, Willie. Take good care of Sunset.” Then she escaped into the house.

  Unfortunately, Lady Celeste intercepted her before she reached the stairs.

  “What happened to you?” Lady Celeste demanded. “Shall I call for the doctor?”

  “I’m fine, Celeste.” Daisy’s hand automatically rose to her hair. She caught a curl just as it fell and stuffed it back into the pinned-up mass. “Really, it was nothing. I took a fall. That’s all.” Daisy hated lying, but she didn’t dare tell Lady Celeste the truth without subjecting herself to a lecture.

  Lady Celeste’s eyes narrowed as she perused Daisy. “Where’s that scalawag nephew of mine?”

  “I don’t know. I presume he’s still out riding.”

  “You mean he left you alone?”

  “Actually, I left him,” Da
isy said. “I had some things to do this morning, and he wanted to ride awhile longer.”

  “The first thing you need to do is go upstairs and change. It looks like you’ve been rolling around in the grass.”

  “I’ll be glad to do so, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Daisy raced upstairs and rang for Jane, who fussed at her for her state of disarray.

  “Enough, Jane,” Daisy said at last. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  Since Daisy never raised more than her voice to her maid, Jane felt safe in making one more retort. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Your Grace, that man will be the death of you yet.”

  Daisy shivered at the maid’s words. Nicholas was a dangerous man, but it wasn’t death she feared at his hands, it was the way he made her feel more alive than she had in all the years she had been married to Tony.

  “Not another word,” Daisy said. “Or else.”

  “Hmmmph,” Jane said. It was quite enough to make her point.

  By the time Jane was finished, Daisy was elegantly gowned in a dress with a fitted bodice of blue velvet and a skirt of the same color in glossy satin, with at least a foot-long train dragging the ground behind her like a peacock’s tail. She had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door opened, and Thompson ushered the Reverend Mr. Golightly into the house.

  Daisy wasn’t sure whether to make good her escape back upstairs or stay and greet the reverend.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” the reverend said, spying her on the stairs.

  Daisy descended the stairs as though that had been her intention all along. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the reverend, but he tended to preach even when he wasn’t behind the pulpit, and since he was long-winded he seldom left after the prescribed period for a visit. She had worked out an arrangement with Thompson. The butler would arrive after a time and announce that Her Grace had some household matter that needed her attention. That way she could escape without the reverend being any the wiser.

  Daisy held out a hand to the reverend, who bowed solicitously over it. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?” She turned to Thompson and said, “Please inform Lady Celeste that the reverend has arrived. I know she’ll want to visit with him. And will you please have Mrs. Motherwell send us some tea and biscuits?” Daisy could always count on her housekeeper to provide refreshments quickly, an important consideration when she was dealing with the reverend, whose reluctance to leave was exceeded only by his appetite.

  Daisy settled herself in a chair beside the fire while the balding reverend, who was quite portly, settled himself on the end of the settee closest to her.

  “What brings you here today, Mr. Golightly?” Daisy inquired.

  “Actually, I came to discuss the wedding ceremony, Your Grace.”

  Daisy swallowed hard. There was a good chance there wasn’t going to be any wedding. Especially after the things she had said to the duke.

  “And to speak with Lady Celeste about a note I received this morning from the Earl of Rotherham,” he confided.

  “Note?” Daisy asked.

  “Note?” Lady Celeste echoed as she entered the room.

  The reverend rose—not without effort—and greeted Lady Celeste with another bow before helping her to a seat in the chair opposite Daisy before the fire.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, my lady. I was just telling Her Grace I received a most unusual letter from the Earl of Rotherham this morning. It seems he wants to know who was living in the parish twenty-seven years ago when the duke was banished, and who might have been visiting here from London.

  “The earl urged the utmost discretion in my investigation, but I knew he would want me to speak with you, Lady Celeste, since you would be the one most likely to know the information he is seeking about visitors to the parish.”

  “Why would he need to know something like that?” Lady Celeste asked, frowning.

  “He didn’t explain in his note,” the reverend said. “But I’m sure he will expound upon his thoughts when I present him with the information I have discovered.”

  “Can you remember back that far, Celeste?” Daisy asked.

  Lady Celeste drew her shawl closer around her shoulders as though she were chilled. “I haven’t forgotten anything about those few days,” she said in a hoarse voice. “It was awful. Simply awful.”

  “I can provide a list of those living in the parish from the church records,” the reverend said, ignoring, or simply not perceiving, the anguish in Lady Celeste’s voice. “But I imagine there must have been a few of Lord Philip’s friends here for the hunting. I know the old duke, Lord Philip’s father, usually invited his sons and his sons’ friends to stay at Severn during the season. Can you recall anyone who might have been here at the time?”

  Daisy watched Lady Celeste’s face pale. The older woman opened her mouth and shut it again without speaking. “Celeste? Are you all right?”

  “I was just remembering,” Lady Celeste said. “There were a number of young men who came to the house.” She swallowed hard and added, “I suppose I can remember their names if I try.” She rose and headed for the door.

  Both Daisy and the reverend rose along with her.

  “Celeste? What’s wrong?” Daisy asked.

  “I need to be alone to think.” Lady Celeste paused before she left the room but didn’t turn around. “I’ll send the list to you when I have it made, Mr. Golightly.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Most unusual. Most odd,” the reverend muttered. “She seemed upset, didn’t she? I should have realized this would bring it all back for her.”

  Daisy turned to the reverend and said, “What does Lady Celeste have to do with all this?”

  “Lady Philip was her sister,” the reverend reminded her. “She must have lived through the whole awful episode with her. How thoughtless of me not to have realized what it would be like for her to exhume all those memories.”

  “Please make yourself comfortable again, Mr. Golightly. I’m sure Lady Celeste will be fine.”

  “I do hope you’re right,” the reverend said. “I’m ever so sorry for upsetting her, Your Grace.”

  Daisy welcomed the footman’s interruption with the tea service. “Thank you, Higgenbotham. Please tell Mrs. Motherwell that I’ll need to speak with her later about the menus for today. And thank Cook for the fresh biscuits.”

  Daisy watched the reverend help himself to a plateful of the butter biscuits that were Cook’s specialty. She poured tea for each of them and sat back to wait until the reverend had finished chewing so they could resume their talk.

  Not that she was eager to discuss wedding arrangements, but better to make it plain to the reverend now that they preferred a simple service before he got it into his head that they wanted something more elaborate.

  “The duke and I want a very small ceremony, with just the immediate family and a few friends present,” Daisy said.

  The reverend was poised to take another bite of biscuit, but pulled it away from his mouth to sputter, “But Your Grace, your neighbors, the tenants—”

  “Will all be invited to attend a reception here at Severn after the wedding,” Daisy intoned. “The wedding itself shall remain a private affair. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly, Your Grace.”

  “And now, Mr. Golightly, since we’ve concluded our business, I shall have to excuse myself.” Daisy rose, giving the hapless man no choice except to stand, as well. He was still holding the biscuit in his hand and seemed unsure whether to eat it or lay it back on the plate.

  “By all means, take the biscuit with you,” Daisy urged with a smile. “And as many more as you can carry. Cook will be pleased to know you enjoyed them.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” the reverend said, picking up several more of the biscuits and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. “You are generous as always.”

  He bowed once more before letting himself out.

  Daisy sank back in her cha
ir and stared into the fire.

  What on earth could the Earl of Rotherham want with information about visitors to Severn Manor so many years ago? It stood to reason that the earl’s inquiry had something to do with Nicholas’s return to England. But did the earl wish Nicholas good or ill?

  Daisy sat down with pen in hand to write a note to Priss. She would know what this was all about.

  Daisy had finished her note and sealed it when she heard a commotion in the hall. She rose and opened the door to the drawing room.

  The duke had returned at last. But he wasn’t alone.

  8

  Nicholas had approached the thicket as stealthily as he knew how after ten years of hunting a quarry that could just as easily kill him. He wasn’t sure what he would find. A wounded animal perhaps, or a wounded felon. It was hard to tell from the sound whether it was man or beast.

  What he found made his face contort in disgust.

  It was a boy. Caught in a trap made for an animal. His ankle was broken and bleeding, shorn nearly in two by the metal jaws of the trap. He had sandy hair and equally sandy freckles that covered his arms and gaunt, blunt-featured face.

  It took a moment for the young man—he was a year or two younger than Colin, Nicholas guessed—to realize he was no longer alone. Nicholas had the stone in his hand, but it wasn’t much defense against the shotgun the boy held.

  “Stay away or I’ll shoot,” the boy warned. His voice wasn’t frantic, but his forehead was bathed in sweat, and it was obvious he had been trying without success to free his right leg from the trap.

  “You look like you could use some help,” Nicholas said.

  “You’re not from around here. Who are you?”

  “Does it matter? I’m offering to help free you from that trap. It appears your ankle is broken and that you’ve lost a great deal of blood. We need to get you to a doctor.”

  The boy swallowed hard, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You look like the Quality,” he said. “Why would you want to help me? You must know what I was doin’ here.”