Forever After (The Forever Series #3)

by Cheryl Holt

  With Michael Fenwick and Lord Pendergast sitting there, he wasn’t about to endanger Sarah. The two men were even more debauched than Nicholas, and either of them might have jumped at the chance.

  Sarah was a Henley, and he was curious about what might occur with her. Even though she was no longer in the earl’s direct line, there was always a benefit from such a stellar association. He simply had to ensure—after their liaison was concluded—she would be glad they’d met.

  As to Mildred, he wasn’t certain what he was trying to achieve. He would watch and listen. Who could guess where it might lead?

  Suddenly, someone hurried down the hall, and he spun as Sarah slid into the doorway. When he’d initially arrived, a housemaid had greeted him, and he’d been disappointed that Sarah hadn’t been waiting with bated breath for him to bang the knocker. It served him right to be put in his place.

  “I heard you were here,” she said. “I’d intended to answer the door myself, and the minute I wasn’t paying attention you snuck in.”

  “You crushed my ego. I had convinced myself that you would be aquiver over my imminent appearance.”

  “If you weren’t already much too set on yourself, I’d admit to being on pins and needles.”

  She strolled in as if it was a normal act. She was a maiden who could have no idea of the salacious images that entered his head just from her sauntering past his bed. He had to remember she wasn’t a tart like Libby Markham, the girl who’d chased him in London until he’d finally left town to avoid her.

  If Sarah reflected on their friendship at all, she would be plotting a way to marry him and live happily ever after. There wasn’t a route to matrimony for them, but he wouldn’t dim her beautiful smile by mentioning it.

  She came over to the window where he was standing and looked down into the garden.

  “You have a bit of a view,” she said, “and you’ll be able to open the window at night. A breeze will blow in.”

  She turned toward him, and she was much too near, the bed next to them. He laid a hand on her waist and delivered a quick, desperate kiss, then he stepped away and pointed to the door.

  “You haul your pretty backside out of this room. Now—for if you don’t, there’s no predicting what might transpire.”

  “You say that like a threat, as if you might hurt me.”

  “I might.”

  She laughed. “You would not hurt me. Don’t pretend to be horrid.”

  “All right, I won’t pretend. But you can’t be in here. Ever.”

  “You shouldn’t have agreed to stay with us.”

  “Probably not, but Mildred is very clever about getting what she wants. When she invited me, I couldn’t refuse.”

  “She is very sly. You should watch yourself around her.”

  “I figured that out on my own.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You must be starving so I should feed you. Isn’t that the path to a man’s heart?”

  “It’s supposed to be, but I’ve found there is other conduct that works a lot better.”

  “What conduct?” She paused, then realized he’d skated out on the edge of a risqué comment. She shook a scolding finger at him. “Don’t be naughty. We have to behave ourselves. Otherwise, I can’t guess how we’ll muddle through this.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “So…let’s go downstairs, and you can eat. Then we will make plans for the week. I have to keep myself busy or my thoughts will run in a wicked direction.”

  “I like wicked directions.”

  “You would.”

  She led him away, and once they were in the hall he breathed a sigh of relief. Yet he was speculating as to where her bedchamber was located and how difficult it would be to tiptoe in some night when Mildred wasn’t listening.

  Would there ever be a moment when Mildred wasn’t listening?

  Ever since he’d swallowed that stupid love potion, raucous visions were pummeling him, which was disturbing. He always calculated the odds and assessed the angles. He never, ever, never leapt off a cliff with a woman, but suddenly he was wondering if it might not be so bad to risk all.

  He’d sent a note to Dubois seeking to have his palm read. Perhaps while he was there, he’d buy an antidote to the potion. Was there an antidote? And anyway, why would he require an antidote for a concoction he didn’t believe was real in the first place?

  They went to the dining room, and the food was still on the sideboard. Sarah waved him to a chair.

  “I’ll practice my feminine skills by waiting on you hand and foot,” she said.

  “Are you sure you should? I might get used to it and expect it all the time.”

  “I’ll let you know if you start to annoy me with your orders and commands.”

  “I’ll try to control myself.”

  “We have scrambled eggs, ham, and slices of bread. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  She dished the plate and set it in front of him, then she pointed to the table. “There’s jam in the jar, and I assume you’d like some tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He sat while she filled his cup. Then she sat too, but she didn’t prepare a plate for herself.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked.

  “I already have. I’ve been up for hours.” She blushed that fetching shade of pink that drove him wild. “I barely slept a wink. I was so excited that you were coming.”

  “I was a tad excited too.”

  “It seems as if you belong with us.”

  “I was just thinking the same.”

  She was correct that it was entirely too comfortable. He felt as if he’d had breakfast with her on a thousand occasions in the past. He felt as if they’d always tarried in the small dining room and exchanged flirtatious banter. For a man who had never belonged anywhere and who never bonded with others, it was frightening and distressing.

  The food smelled delicious, and he was starving so he dug in, while she fussed and teased and took care of him. It dawned on him that he’d never had a woman take care of him. Not his so-called mother who hadn’t been his mother at all. She’d had few maternal inclinations.

  After she’d died and he’d been an adult out on his own, he’d been surrounded by trollops, and they weren’t exactly the type to shower a fellow with attention. Sarah was everything a female should be: beautiful, smart, educated, interesting, kind, considerate. He could grow accustomed to such tender treatment, and he was feeling particularly disoriented.

  The strangest sensation swept over him, and he might have been gazing at her through a tunnel, as if Fate was letting him observe the future they could have. They were in a sunny parlor, and she was perched on his lap. They were older by several years, and there were children with them. His children?

  It was a happy home. Everyone was laughing and talking. Was this his life? Was this his place? Was he being told he could make it his own?

  Surely not. He wasn’t shrewd enough to latch onto such a perfect destiny.

  “Nicholas!”

  Her stern summons shook him out of his peculiar stupor. The image faded as if it had never been there.

  “Where were you?” she asked. “For a minute there, you might have floated off into the sky. Your body was present, but your mind was completely absent.”

  “I was thinking about you.”

  “Was it in a good way?”

  “It was in a very good way.”

  He leaned over and kissed her, just a quick brush of his mouth to hers, and when he pulled away she sighed.

  “If you’re going to stay in this house,” she said, “you can’t kiss me constantly.”

  “Why not?”

  “People will wonder if you’re sweet on me.”

  “I am sweet on you.”

  She rested her elbow on the table, her chin on her hand, and she studied him, her blu
e eyes digging deep. “Tell me all about yourself. I want to know every single detail.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You might as well spit it out. I’m incredibly persistent. I’ll hound you until I’ve learned all.”

  With how she was smiling at him, he suspected she could be relentless, but there was very little about his past that he would share.

  He was anxious that she view him as a better man than the one he actually was. If she kept looking at him like that, he’d spew all sorts of lies so she’d believe he was marvelous. He was adept at lying, and she was decent and respectable. It would never occur to her that he was a total fraud.

  “Where is Mildred this morning?” He changed the subject so he could focus on some topic besides Sarah and how she disconcerted him.

  “She had errands to run. We’re having a special supper on Saturday, and she went to order a roast from the butcher. Will you be here Saturday?”

  He hadn’t really thought about it. Saturday was his birthday, but he never celebrated it, and he certainly never mentioned it to others.

  “Yes, I’ll be here.”

  “And the Midsummer Festival is being held again tonight. Am I being too brazen if I ask you to attend with me? There will be dancing later in the evening.”

  “I would love to dance with you. Yes, we should definitely go. Will Mildred mind?”

  “I already discussed it with her, and she was delighted.”

  He snorted. “She would be.”

  “She’s determined we have an amour.”

  “She doesn’t have to push us into it though. We can stagger down this path without help from her.”

  She was still staring at him, and he stared back, feeling as if he was drowning. He’d planned to stay a week, then he had to ride to London where there was a high-stakes card game in which he was scheduled to play. He always won a substantial amount of money, and it paid his bills through the autumn and into the winter.

  But to his disgust, he was persuading himself he didn’t have to head to town. There was no law to prevent him from dawdling in Bath. He could flirt with Sarah until September.

  What was wrong with him? He must have been bewitched by that potion. It was the only explanation. How was he to counter it?

  “I just remembered something,” he murmured.

  “What is it?”

  “I left a few items at my rented room. I should fetch them.”

  “Would you like me to walk with you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He stood, and she scowled up at him. “You didn’t finish your breakfast.”

  “I’m stuffed. You have fed me well, woman.”

  She assessed him so thoroughly he could barely keep from fidgeting.

  “What happened?” she asked. “All of a sudden, you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “Swear that you’re not. I didn’t offend you somehow, did I?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m merely…overwhelmed by all of this.”

  She laughed. “You poor bachelor. I hadn’t considered how domestic this would seem to you.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour or two. We can stroll in the park or perhaps hire a carriage and take a drive in the country.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He bent down for a final kiss. He shouldn’t have, but he simply couldn’t resist. Then he turned and rushed away. There were a hundred maudlin comments begging to burst out. He wanted to tell her how enticed he was, how besotted. He wanted to tell her he’d never met anyone like her, that she stirred a need inside him that he’d never been able to fill.

  Yet there was no point to sentimental proclamations. A female always misconstrued, and once he composed himself he’d realize he hadn’t meant any of them anyway. She wouldn’t understand that though.

  He hurried out the door and down the street, figuring it was time to visit that charlatan, Dubois. Maybe Dubois would have a tonic that would calm Nicholas’s nerves. If not, there were many taverns to choose from. A few whiskeys would cure what ailed him, and he definitely had to be cured of some sort of malady.

  Exactly what it might be, he hadn’t a clue.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Hello, Dubois.”

  “Mr. Swift. Hello.”

  “Must I call you Dubois?” Nicholas asked. “Or may we dispense with the charade that you’re French?”

  Dubois’s accent vanished in an instant. “You may call me Dudley if you prefer.”

  “I’d rather deal with an Englishman, and I don’t trust you nearly as much when you claim to be from Paris.”

  “You should never trust me—whether I seem to be English or French.”

  “I’m sure that’s the truest comment you’ve ever uttered.”

  Nicholas seated himself at the table and studied the curiosities in the tent. Phillip Dudley, who pretended to be Philippe Dubois, was a fascinating character. What would it be like to be him? To travel constantly, while dispensing wisdom to the naïve and superstitious? It probably wasn’t a bad life. He always appeared to be content.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages,” Dubois said. “How long has it been?”

  “I can’t remember. Two years? Three?”

  “How are you?”

  “I’ve been worse. Where is your sister?” Nicholas inquired. “Has she finally had enough of you and left you behind?”

  “She’s in Scotland and acting all respectable.”

  “How dreadfully…respectable.”

  Dubois snorted. “You’ve stated my opinion exactly.”

  Dubois had a pretty sister named Clarinda who mixed his medicines and engaged in other behaviors that Nicholas didn’t fully understand. He’d once considered seducing her, but two things had prevented him. She was too shrewd to fall for it. And Dubois was ferociously protective.

  Nicholas had hardly glanced at her before Dubois had told him to knock it off or he’d lose some teeth.

  “If she’s gone, how can a man buy a tonic?” Nicholas asked. “Isn’t she your apothecary?”

  “She taught me her recipes. Are you hankering for a remedy?”

  “No!” Nicholas shook his head. “I drank half of one last night. It was a love potion.”

  Dubois raised a brow. “The one I gave to Miss Henley?”

  “Yes. I don’t suppose you’d divulge what was in it?”

  “Why? Is it having an effect?”

  “No. I’m just confused about some odd issues.”

  “What issues?”

  Dubois gazed at him as if he were a priest awaiting a juicy confession, and Nicholas snorted with disgust. “I’m not here to pour my heart out.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Mildred Farnsworth visits you occasionally.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “She stopped by yesterday.”

  “Yes.”

  “If I slipped you a few coins, would you tell me what she wanted to know?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t? Really?” Nicholas was surprised. Dubois was a confidence artist, and he was as penniless as Nicholas. “I was positive I could bribe you.”

  “I can be bribed, but not about her.”

  “All right. Read my palm. Or maybe I’ll have you use the cards.”

  “Cards it is.”

  Dubois went to a trunk and pulled out the ancient tarot deck. He returned and placed them face down.

  “Lay your hand on them,” Dubois instructed, and Nicholas complied. “Close your eyes and ask your question.”

  “Out loud or to myself?”

  “To yourself.”

  Nicholas pondered forever. He’d learned enough about the occult to grasp that you had to pose the precise query you needed to have answered. If you worded it wrong, you would get a reply that made no sense.

  He opened his eyes and moved his hand.

  “Shuffle them,” Dubois advised,
“then pick out three that call to you.”

  Nicholas complied again, and he gave them to Dubois.

  Dubois thoroughly assessed them, then he smirked. “No, yes, and no.”

  “Don’t be a smart ass,” Nicholas groused. “What do you see?”

  “You’re searching for someone. No…for two people. You’ll find them.”

  “When?”

  Dubois traced a finger over the card. “It won’t be long now.”

  Nicholas was as gullible as a maiden who was anxious to hear that a certain boy was sweet on her. At Dubois’s response, he suffered a rush of excitement, but he tamped it down.

  This was all fun and games. It didn’t mean anything. Did it?

  “I asked the same question last time,” Nicholas said, “and you supplied the same answer. I’m hunting for two people, and you claim I’ll cross paths with them before too long, but they never arrive.”

  “Well, in the spirit world, the term long is relative. It could be today. It could be tomorrow. It could be next year—or even ten years.”

  “Spoken like the charlatan you are,” Nicholas scoffed.

  “If you think I’m a charlatan, why visit me and seek my guidance?”

  “I guess I’m desperate.” Nicholas sighed. “My birthday is Saturday.”

  Dubois studied him curiously. “Is it?”

  “Yes. Will it be happy?” It was maudlin to wonder, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had a happy birthday. I’m turning thirty. It would be nice to finally have a pleasant memory of the date.”

  “Pick another card.”

  Nicholas scrutinized the deck, then he selected one and tossed it to Dubois.

  “The day itself will be happy,” Dubois said, “but there will be sadness and drama afterward.”

  “What sort of sadness and drama?”

  Dubois shrugged. “Hard to predict, but it won’t be good. You’ll lose what you didn’t realize you were craving.”

  “I hate it when you spew riddles.”

  “Not every issue is clear to me.”

  “Give me a hint. What have I been craving without my being aware?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “You’re correct. I wouldn’t.”

  Dubois went to a trunk again, and he withdrew a small bottle.