by Cheryl Holt
He pondered, then said, “I believe it was that bounder, Nicholas Swift.”
“He drank it with her.”
“Are they madly in love?”
“Yes, the poor babes, but it’s completely impossible for them.”
“Would you like an antidote?”
“Absolutely not. You’re aware that I’m a romantic. I’m hoping it will all work out in the end. Maybe your magic will push them over the edge. I wouldn’t want to dilute it.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Can I give you a remedy before I go?”
“No, but where will you be? If I’d like to contact you, may I write you in care of your sister? Is she still in Scotland?”
“Yes, you can write to me there, and I’ll be in Bath next June for the festival.”
“If the local citizens don’t meet you at the town gate with tar and feathers.”
He laughed. “They’d have to catch me first.”
“Will you follow the circuit of fairs for the rest of the summer?”
“Yes, and then I’ll track the harvest fairs through the autumn.”
“Where will you winter?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You know you can stay in my guest cottage during the coldest months.”
“I’ll consider it. Or I might sail to Paris and spend the winter chasing beautiful women and drinking fine wine.”
“I would expect nothing less from you. Wasn’t your mother French?”
There was a twinkle in his gaze. “It’s the story I tell about myself when I think it will impress someone.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. While I’m away, be on the lookout for that son of yours.”
“I always am.”
He laid a thumb on the center of her forehead, and they both froze. In many ways, he was a charlatan, but at odd times he seemed positively uncanny. He placed a very clear picture of Nicholas in her mind.
“When was your son’s birthday?” he asked.
“Yesterday. He would have been thirty.”
“Here is my parting gift to you, cherié. Mr. Swift’s birthday was yesterday. He turned thirty, and he’s searching for a person he can’t locate. Perhaps you should have a talk with him about his past and his history. Have you noticed his blue eyes are exactly like yours? Stare into them for me so you can find what’s lurking there.”
The comment left her breathless. “I will, Dubois. I definitely will.”
He drew away, and the image of Nicholas faded. Then he stepped to the wagon and retrieved a tiny bottle.
“This is for Miss Sarah,” he said. “It’s one of my sister’s strongest potions. It will keep him with her forever.”
“If you assume a potion could deliver that much of a change in Nicholas Swift, you’re mad.”
“I just might be.” He gave a jaunty salute. “Goodbye, my dear.”
“Goodbye, Dubois. Don’t let the magistrates arrest you.”
He huffed with derision. “I have a tonic that renders me invisible.”
He continued on, his belongings jangling against the wood of the cart. She watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore, then she strolled inside, the vision of Nicholas Swift still lingering.
She didn’t believe in coincidence, which was why she liked Dubois to read the tarot—so she’d know what was destined to occur. Nicholas had forced himself in her path for a reason. What would it turn out to be?
* * * *
“I hate this paltry little town.”
“Sit down, would you, Desdemona? You’re distracting me from my cards. And for pity’s sake, quit complaining. It’s all you’ve done since we arrived.”
As Clayton Farnsworth scolded Lady Middlebury, Nicholas bit down a smirk. For the prior hour, he’d wanted to offer a similar admonishment.
He glanced around the dining room of the house Farnsworth had rented for two weeks. He hadn’t made reservations in advance, and the poor condition was why it had been available.
It was dilapidated, the furniture worn, the rugs unraveling. Moths had eaten away at the drapes, and there was a general odor of mold and decay. Nicholas had been invited to stay, but he hadn’t been asked to chip in on the rent so he couldn’t be too persnickety.
Summer was a busy season in Bath, and tourists flocked to it from all over the kingdom, but he had to agree with Lady Middlebury. He’d much rather be in the city because he’d like to put as much distance as possible between himself and Sarah.
He was rattled by her being nearby. She was like a magnet, and he was metal, and he could feel her luring him back to her. He was struggling to ignore her ardent pull, but the more he told himself to knock it off, the more potent his contemplation became.
Why was he here with Clayton Farnsworth and Desdemona Henley when he could be at Mildred’s with Sarah? He understood that he was prone to bad choices, but this was the stupidest one ever.
Mildred had sent an invitation to supper, and it was burning a hole in his pocket. He’d penned a curt reply to decline, telling himself that he ought to be able to avoid Sarah for a single evening, but separation was torture.
He was so fixated on her that he couldn’t concentrate on his cards so he’d consistently lost. Ultimately, he’d declared himself finished, and he was standing in the corner, observing the proceedings.
Lord Pendergast hadn’t shown up so the pots of money weren’t as large as Nicholas had anticipated. Farnsworth and Lady Middlebury were chronically short of funds as the landlord would discover when he attempted to collect the rent from them later on.
Desdemona knew people everywhere so she’d scrounged up a motley crew the previous night at the fair. The house was full of hangers-on, mostly lower gentlemen from town who had sneaked away with their mistresses.
Nicholas couldn’t stomach any of them and was hoping no one would sidle over to chat. Michael Fenwick was running the current game on the dining room table, and Nicholas was certain he was cheating, but he couldn’t figure out how. Nicholas thought he’d developed all the best tricks and swindles, but apparently he was a rank amateur when it came to real fraud.
The game ended with groans and epithets, and he filled his glass with whiskey and went to the rear of the residence. There was a rickety porch that looked out over a weedy garden, and he sipped his drink and stared at nothing. It was gray and cloudy, sprinkles starting to fall, and it appeared rain would move in soon.
He hadn’t been outside for more than a few minutes when Lady Middlebury found him.
“There you are, darling,” she gushed as she bustled over.
“Hello, Countess.”
“It’s Desdemona, Nicholas. You must remember that. I’m eager for us to be on very familiar terms.”
At the innuendo, he tamped down a ripple of disgust. She assumed she was irresistible and that men salivated over her. In reality, she was very plump, and she wasn’t pretty. Her eyes especially were cold and hard, her mouth pinched in a tight line.
She reminded him of Priscilla Bolton, his friend Christopher’s fiancée in London. Priscilla’s father was very rich, and she had a dowry that was obscene. Because of it, she viewed herself as being very grand, but if she’d had no money she’d have been too awful to abide.
Fate had elevated Lady Middlebury over nearly everyone in the kingdom, but she wasn’t grateful for how fortune had shined on her. She wasn’t kind or generous because of it. She’d learned no humility. No, she was simply very vain and unpleasant.
Her misguided arrogance was infuriating, and he wished he was in London and having a whiskey with Christopher instead of wallowing in Bath with such despicable fiends and dullards. He wished he was anywhere but where he was, which brought his tormented rumination back to Sarah who was just blocks away. He was obsessing over her so vehemently that he felt quite mad.
Lady Middlebury leaned into him, her breast pressed to his arm, her body snuggled to
his all the way down. She used a cloying perfume that couldn’t completely mask the fact that she hadn’t bathed and definitely needed to. How could such a homely, bitter female be cousin to beautiful, lovely Sarah Henley? How could she have been raised up above Sarah? The world was a very unfair place indeed.
“Have you left Mildred Farnsworth for good?” she asked. “You won’t be slithering back, will you?”
He chuckled. “No, I won’t be slithering back.” The comment wasn’t entirely true. He still had to search Mildred’s desk, but it would be easy enough to watch the house for the moment she and Sarah were out.
“I’m so glad you joined us,” she said. “How did you stand the tedium over there?”
“It was all right.”
“They have no idea how to entertain a fellow like you.”
“They don’t gamble, that’s for sure. But they served excellent food at every meal.”
It was a slight dig at her. She’d arranged to have food delivered from a local hotel, and it was terrible.
“Pah!” she scoffed. “I’ll take liquor and fascinating company any day of the week over a measly, quiet supper.”
“It is much livelier here.”
She leaned even closer and rested a hand on his chest. “I’m sad to report that there’s no lake on this property. It would be a perfect night for a swim, wouldn’t it?”
She simpered, determined that he recall their reckless escapade. Would he ever live it down?
“It’s a little chilly for swimming,” he said, “and it’s starting to rain.”
“So it is.” She glanced out at the sky, then she turned to him. “I have my own bedchamber.”
“Lucky you. I’m sharing with Fenwick.”
“You could sneak in later.”
There it was—her invitation. She’d been waiting for him to make a move in her direction, but he’d constantly deflected it. She wouldn’t like to be spurned so he had to tread carefully.
“I wouldn’t dare sneak in,” he said. “Not when there are so many guests and the house is so small. There’s no telling who might overhear, and I can’t have gossip getting back to your husband.”
“Oh, him! Let’s not bring him into it. I refuse to let him ruin my fun.”
“Well, the Henley men have a hot head when amour is involved. I’d rather not have to ever fight him.”
Sarah’s brother, Hayden, had once dueled over a woman. He’d been wounded too and rumor had it that he’d barely survived. Lady Middlebury’s husband, Jasper, wasn’t Hayden by any stretch of the imagination. He was a buffoon, and Nicholas couldn’t envision him being angry over any issue—especially his wife—but Nicholas wasn’t about to risk it.
“Can we discuss our relationship again when we’re in London?” she asked. “I have many more opportunities for privacy there. I’m not trapped in a hell-hole like this.”
“Yes, certainly we can discuss it.” He decided, after he was home he would avoid her at all costs. Hopefully in a few months, she’d have set her sights on someone else.
“I can’t wait for us to be better acquainted.”
“Neither can I,” he lied.
“How is my cousin, Sarah?” she suddenly inquired. “You haven’t mentioned her. Was she devastated when you left?”
“No.”
She tsked. “She must have been. I saw how she looked at you when we were at Clayton’s. She was infatuated beyond all sense.”
“She’s a pretty girl.” It was much more information than he should have offered. Desdemona Henley would never like to have her cousin referred to as pretty.
As he could have predicted, her expression grew caustic. “You’re such a dashing rogue, Nicholas. You never did tell me why you couldn’t seduce her. I’m thrilled to have won our wager, but I can’t believe you were defeated so easily.”
“There’s no mystery to it. It was humorous to flirt with her, but it never went any farther than that. I told you I can’t abide virgins. I don’t have the patience to fuss with them.”
“I thought it was every man’s dream to force himself on an innocent maiden.”
“It’s not mine.”
“She must have pushed you away somehow. Is that it? I’m dying to know.”
He sighed with aggravation. “There’s naught to it, Lady Middlebury. She was friendly, and I liked her. I couldn’t be cruel to her.”
She smirked. “Evidently, you made a bet, but you were too much of a coward to follow through. Perhaps I’ll ask one of the other gentlemen if they’d like to try. Fenwick would probably give it a go.”
“What is wrong with you?” he snapped without thinking. “She’s your cousin, and even if she was a stranger why would you want her harmed?”
“It amuses me, Nicholas. Why would you suppose? My life is so boring, and it’s difficult for me to be entertained.”
“It’s sick and twisted.”
Rage flashed in her eyes. “It’s a diversion, but a man of your low station could never understand the hobbies that interest a woman like me.”
“For pity’s sake, leave her alone. Isn’t it enough that you own everything that used to be hers? Can’t you be content with that?”
Her snide gaze slithered down his torso, and she laughed viciously. “You fancy her, don’t you? Don’t deny it. The truth is written all over your face. What happened? Did she refuse you? Did you press the issue and she fought you off? Please share the salacious details. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Would you excuse me? I have to rejoin the card game.”
“I don’t excuse you,” she said in her haughtiest countess voice.
“Well, then, I beg your pardon, but I am here to gamble, and I’ve hardly played.”
He whipped away and stomped inside. She had a temper, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she chased after him and started a quarrel. If she did, he couldn’t guess how he’d react.
He was desperate to reach the dining room, but Clayton Farnsworth was in the hall and blocking his way. He couldn’t step around the stupid oaf.
“Swift!” He was drunk and off balance, and he toasted Nicholas with his glass. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Hello, Farnsworth.”
“How are you enjoying my party?”
“It’s grand. Thank you for inviting me.”
“It’s a tad more fun than dawdling with my aunt, hm?”
“Yes, much more fun.”
“How did you occupy your time there? Were you twiddling your thumbs and counting blades of grass?” Farnsworth chortled as if he was the greatest wit ever.
“It was very quiet and tedious,” Nicholas fibbed, “which is why I was so eager to stay with you instead.”
“How is she?” Farnsworth asked.
“Your aunt? She’s fine.”
“She wasn’t spewing stories about the occult or having her fortune told, was she?”
“No, but if she had been, I’d have been intrigued. I have a similar fascination.”
“You’re fascinated? By gypsies? You’re hilarious, Swift.”
“I try to be.”
“My aunt is addled in the head.” Farnsworth leaned in as if they were confidantes. “All of her mysticism and potions and that rot. In my book, it’s clear she’s not lucid.”
“I find her to be extremely coherent.”
“She’s not, and a deranged woman shouldn’t be able to live on her own or handle her own money. It’s wrong, Swift. It’s wrong in a hundred different ways.”
“I’ll be sure to inform her when I next talk to her.”
“Let me know how she replies,” Farnsworth jovially stated. “She’ll have a scathing retort for you. She likes to cut a fellow to shreds with that sharp tongue of hers, and it’s another indication of her being unhinged. What female would deem it appropriate to insult a man?”
He was swaying and slurring his words, and Nicholas was simply anxious to escape him—and every
one in the house. He liked Mildred and could barely stop himself from pounding Clayton into the ground. But he’d already devised the perfect means to get over on poor, ridiculous Clayton Farnsworth. It would transpire so fast and so completely that the inebriated sot would never see it coming.
To his enormous relief, a guest bumbled down the hall. Farnsworth spun to converse with him, and Nicholas slipped by them and continued on. He’d planned to proceed to the card game, but suddenly he felt as if he was choking on all the bile and pretention in the dilapidated residence.
He dashed up the stairs to his bedchamber and grabbed his coat. Then he crept down, being delighted that the foyer was empty. He opened the front door and walked outside, and he kept on walking.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sarah had dozed off when a noise jolted her awake. The temperature was chilly, and she was snuggled under the blankets, dressed in her nightgown, wool socks warming her feet.
Her pulse racing, she steadied her breathing and rolled over to stare outside. The rain that had threatened all evening had grown to a downpour. For a moment, she closed her eyes and said a prayer for her sisters, that they were safe and employed by good families.
She hadn’t received a reply from them to the letters she’d delivered through Mrs. Ford, and she was concerned about the delay. She decided she’d write again in the morning, but directly to Mrs. Ford to ask if there was a problem.
She sent up a second prayer for Nicholas. They’d invited him to supper and had blithely assumed he’d join them. After his brusque note had arrived, apprising them that he was otherwise occupied, they’d been crushed.
She wondered where he was and hoped he was safe and warm too, that he was content with his choice because she certainly wasn’t content with hers. She missed him so much she felt physically ill. He was like a blazing comet that had careened across her personal sky. He’d lit up her world, and everything seemed so tepid and boring without him in it.
The noise sounded again, a ping on her window. Was the wind blowing extra hard? Had a branch struck the glass? When the sound occurred a third time, she slipped out of bed and went over to peek out.
