by Anne Herries
Deborah blushed as she heard the suppressed fury in his voice. She could not see his face clearly in the shadows of the stable yard, but she knew that he was very angry with her.
‘You were following me!’ she accused. ‘I heard something earlier but thought it imagination. Why did you not make yourself known sooner?’
‘I thought to see what you intended, Mistress Stirling,’ he said coldly. ‘I had believed your word fairly given, but it seems that I may not trust it.’
‘It was given under duress,’ Deborah replied, her cheeks hot for shame as she lied. ‘You had no right to ask for my promise. I am your prisoner in this place and it is my right to escape if I can.’
‘Shall I make you my prisoner, mistress?’ Nicholas moved even closer, making her jump with fright as she sensed the menace in him. He was angry and she knew she had deserved his anger. ‘Shall I show you what it is like to truly be at the mercy of your captor?’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ she cried. ‘Oh, I know I meant to break my promise—but my situation is intolerable. I feel so…ashamed.’
‘You have no need to feel shame.’ Nicholas stared down at her, his expression softening a little. ‘I have not shamed you, Deborah, nor shall I. Let others think as they will. We know the truth and in time it will be made plain to all. I give you my word that I shall restore to you all that you have lost. Give me a little time and you shall have no need to repine over what has happened to you.’
‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘How can you restore my reputation? It is not in your giving.’
‘I can give you position and rank,’ he replied. ‘In my home you would have the respect and deference shown to my lady—believe me, many would accord the Marquise de Vere as much homage as the Queen of France.’
‘The Marquise…’ Deborah felt as though she could scarcely breathe. Her heart was beating so fast, setting her senses spinning in such a whirl that she hardly knew what she was asking. ‘Are you saying that you would take me for your wife?’
‘It is the only resolution to the situation in which I have placed you, Mistress Stirling. I brought you here and I accept that any damage to your honour is of my making. What I did was wrong and careless, and I beg your pardon for it.’ Nicholas inclined his head. ‘I have sworn never to marry until Isabella is avenged, therefore I cannot wed you until I return from my appointment with Don Miguel. However, I shall have my notary draw up the papers so that you will be provided for should my plans go awry.’
‘I do not wish to wed you,’ Deborah said, knowing that she lied. ‘Let me go home to my father now and I shall forget you.’
‘I think not,’ he replied. ‘You are a stubborn wench, Deborah, and contrary, but in time I shall make you more reasonable. You were right when you said my actions had ruined your chances of a good marriage, therefore, I shall behave honourably and put right the wrong I have done you.’
‘I do not wish to be married so that you feel your honour has been vindicated,’ Deborah said, tears starting to her eyes. She blinked them away angrily. ‘I am not your possession to do with as you will.’
‘Are you not?’ he asked softly and his voice sent tremors down her spine. ‘I have you captive, Deborah. I can do exactly as I will with you.’ He moved towards her, sweeping her into his arms, holding her crushed against him so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. ‘Shall I show you the delights of that seduction you fear, sweet wench? Shall I show you that to be mine in every way can give nothing but pleasure to us both?’
‘Oh, you wretched man! I hate you.’
‘I think you lie,’ he said and chuckled softly. Then he bent his head and kissed her, his mouth possessing hers so that she was indeed his captive, swept away on the tide of passion that was set loose between them. One leg went round her, freeing a hand to move down her body, pulling at the gown that hid her from his eyes. He bent his head lower, his tongue flicking delicately at the hollow between her breasts, then lower still until his mouth found the rose-pink tips and took them in, each in turn, sucking and teasing at her until she moaned with pleasure. ‘Shall I take you to my bed, sweet Deborah?’ he murmured throatily. ‘Shall I take all the rights of a sovereign lord? For I am your lord whether you would have it so or not.’
‘Oh, you wicked, wicked rogue. I do not want to lie in your bed,’ she lied desperately.
‘Then shall I take you here against the stable wall? Shall I put my mark on you so that you can never leave me?’ His voice was murmuring against her ear, soft but husky with passion so that she felt her whole resistance leave her and longed for him to do all he promised.
‘I hate you, I hate you,’ she whispered, but she was melting into him, her mouth opening to receive his tongue as it explored the sweetness of her and sent her senses on a dizzy spiral once more.
‘I think you want me, my fiery wench,’ Nicholas breathed against her throat as his lips ventured further. ‘You may not love me yet, but you will one day. I vow I shall have you begging for my loving, sweet temptress. We shall explore the realms of heavenly delights together and sup at the wells of the goddess of love herself.’
‘No…no…’ She denied him with her words even as her body welcomed and invited him. ‘You are a devil and I shall never love you. You may take my body, but you cannot compel my heart.’
‘Then I shall make do with passion,’ Nicholas said. ‘And since I mean to have you, I may as well begin this night…’
Deborah pushed at his shoulders with her hands. ‘Please, I beg you, no,’ she cried desperately. ‘Do not make me your whore. If it is your true wish that we should marry I—I shall accept, but let me come to you as a virgin on our wedding night. I beg you, my lord. Do not shame me. I cannot say you nay, for you know well that I am weak and you are strong—but in all honour, that honour which you hold so dear, let there be nothing between us until I am your wife before God and man.’
Nicholas swore. He was far gone in his need and denial now was agony to him, but she had somehow reached through the mist of desire that had almost carried him beyond the point of no return. Yet her words halted him, making him aware that if he continued with this he would break his promise to her, and even though she had been about to break her word to him that did not release him from his own vow.
‘Your pardon, lady,’ he muttered as he released her from the hold which had her fast bound to him. ‘Indeed, I would be the devil you named me if I pleasured you here like a tavern wench. You deserve more than that, and so do I. Give me your solemn word that you will not try to leave me again, and I shall wait until we are wed.’
‘I swear it.’ Deborah gazed up at him, her face pale but determined. ‘I was wrong to try and leave in the dark of night like a thief. I give you my word I shall not leave without your permission. Will that content you?’
‘If I could believe it.’
‘I swear it on my mother’s memory. I shall not run away from you—but we shall talk of whether we should marry another time, when we are both in control of our senses.’
‘You shall marry me, lady,’ Nicholas said. ‘But until then you shall remain as chaste as you were when I took you.’
‘I thank you for your restraint, sir. What happened here shall be forgot.’
‘As you wish, my lady.’ Nicholas’s eyes gleamed like black coals. ‘But I shall have the papers drawn up for our wedding—and you shall sign them before I leave.’
‘Leave?’ She stared at him, her heart jerking with sudden fright. ‘When do you leave?’
‘My rendezvous with Don Miguel is in six days from now,’ Nicholas said. ‘I must leave in three days to meet him at the appointed place and time. Until then, we shall feast and make merry—and you shall wear my betrothal ring and all my friends will say that they always knew I meant to wed you.’
Deborah could not answer him. He had countered all her complaints. By wedding her, he restored reputation and respect, for few would wish to spurn the hospitality of the Marquis de V
ere. Her father might be angry at first, but he would see the advantages in time and come to accept what was done, though he might never forgive.
So she merely took the arm Nicholas offered and allowed him to lead her back to the house. After all, what else could she do?
Chapter Nine
Deborah spent a restless night, sleeping only fitfully and waking late as tired and listless as if she had never slept at all. She groaned as Louise came into the room bearing a dish of ripe fruit, soft rolls and honey.
‘It is such a lovely morning,’ the girl announced, her excitement so obviously bursting out of her that Deborah eyed her warily. ‘The seamstress has sent a new gown, mademoiselle, and my master ’as said ’e as something important to announce today.’
‘Something important?’ Deborah pushed herself up against the pillows. ‘What do you mean, Louise?’
‘It is to be a special day. The marquis ’as asked for a feast to be prepared and served outside in the gardens. Everyone is to share in the ’appiness. It is good, no?’
Deborah nodded but made no answer, nibbling cautiously at a slice of fresh, juicy melon. She was remembering what had happened in the stable courtyard the previous night, the way Nicholas had come close to ravishing her against the wall. Only her appeal to his sense of honour had saved her. It was that same sense of honour that had made him decide they should marry.
As she ate a few mouthfuls of the delicious food Louise had prepared for her, Deborah considered whether or not she wished to be wed for the sake of honour—hers or Nicholas’s. It would not be the marriage she had dreamed of, for she had hoped to be loved in the same way her mother had been by Sir Edward, but it would not be so very different from the match her father had meant to make for her when he took her to Court.
The marquis was both handsome and charming. She knew him to be generous and imagined he would be kind to those under his protection—but what of her own feelings and desires? She had come to feel so much more than respect or liking for this man. Would she be able to conceal her own needs and longings from his penetrating gaze? She thought it might be painful to love too well if that love could never be returned.
Nicholas was still in love with Isabella. He might marry for the sake of honour—and yes, he was a man and needed the comfort of a woman in his bed. She had felt the throb of his passion as he held her clamped against him in the stable yard, and the memory of the heat that entered her from him set her flushing all over now. Deborah knew that he desired her, and also that it would give her pleasure to lie with him—but would it also cause her pain?
What a foolish child she was to cling to romantic dreams of love! The marquis had offered her a way of restoring all she had lost and it was the only solution. She must accept his betrothal ring, and she must sign the papers that would bind them almost as surely as the vows they would later take in church.
Deborah settled the matter in her mind. She would behave as though the previous night had never happened, and pretend that there had been no abduction, no broken promises. Her manner must seem to indicate that the betrothal had always been planned, that she had always been Nicholas’s intended bride and never his hostage. After all, she was a gentlewoman and her years of discipline and proper behaviour must stand her in good stead now.
Nicholas came to her chamber just as Louise had finished dressing her in a gown of sea-green silk, her glorious hair left to spill over her shoulders in a riot of wild chestnut brown curls.
‘You may go, Louise,’ he said. ‘I would speak with my lady in private.’
Louise giggled, shot a glance at Deborah and ran away, but not before Deborah had seen the satisfaction in her eyes.
She stood facing Nicholas in silence as he reached for her left hand. He slid a heavy gold ring set with a large blood-red ruby on to her third finger. It fitted loosely and felt heavy.
Nicholas frowned. ‘The ring is not right for you but will serve to show my intention. I have already let it be known that I shall announce something important at our feast, and the papers will be ready this evening. Although not blessed in church, our union will be legal—and therefore you need feel no shame for what has happened between us.’
Deborah could not meet his gaze. Something deep within her was urging her to throw off his ring and tell him that she would never marry without love, but her mind would not form the right words or her tongue speak them. She seemed to have lost the will to defy him. It was easier to smile coolly and lay her hand on the arm he offered, allowing him to lead her down to join his friends. Pride and breeding must carry her through.
From the moment the day of feasting and merriment began, it was clear that everyone was aware of the marquis’s intentions. Deborah could see pleasure in Madame Dubois’s eyes, a faint anxiety in Henri’s—and a burning hatred in Marie Trevern’s. She said nothing to Deborah and slipped away just before Nicholas made his announcement. Perhaps she could not bear to stay and hear that another woman had been given all that she had coveted.
Everyone else pressed forward to congratulate Nicholas and shower gifts and compliments on Deborah. She was overwhelmed by their kindness, brought close to tears by their expressions of good will.
Deborah wondered where all the gifts had come from. How had Nicholas’s guests known there was to be a betrothal? It had not been decided until the previous night in the stable yard. Only Henri seemed a little doubtful as he presented her with a cross of silver set with garnets and pearls.
‘You are content, mistress?’ he asked. ‘Nico must always have his way, but I would not have you forced to something against your will.’
‘No, I have not been forced,’ Deborah replied. ‘Or only by circumstance and honour. I was brought here against my will—but I stay because…because I wish it.’
Henri nodded, smiled and kissed her hand. ‘I am content,’ he said. ‘It is sometimes strange how good may come from evil. I was uneasy when we took you from your father, even though I could not stand by and see you given to a monster—but now I see much that was hidden before.’
‘You speak in riddles, sir. Pray tell me what you mean.’
Henri laughed and shook his head, turning away as the tumblers began to entertain the company. Music and laughter filled the air as Deborah strolled apart from the company to a scented rose arbour. She was glad of a few moments alone to calm her thoughts. Was any of this real? Sometimes she almost believed herself dreaming, expecting to wake up at any moment in her own bed at home.
‘So—you think yourself very clever,’ the sharp voice said behind her. ‘You wear his ring and have his promise to wed you—but you will live to regret it.’
Deborah swung round to face the bitter, angry words. Marie was staring at her with such all-consuming hatred that it made her shiver, an icy chill running down her spine.
‘What do you mean? Why should I regret being married to the marquis?’
‘I know how you came here,’ Marie went on heedless of the question. ‘You were meant to be the bride of that Spanish devil. That is why Nicholas snatched you and brought you here as a hostage. He is paying the Don in kind for what he did to Isabella. Do not imagine he cares for you—this is all a part of his revenge. He does not love you. He will use you, humiliate you and then discard you.’
‘How can you know that?’ Deborah looked at her scornfully. ‘You are jealous because he did not ask you to be his wife—because you want him for yourself.’
‘Yes, I want him,’ Marie said, her eyes glittering with malice. ‘I love Nicholas and he wants me. When he has finished with you, he will come back to me.’
‘You deceive yourself. If he loved you, he would not have asked me to marry him.’
‘You think not?’ Marie’s smile was chilling. ‘Un-wanted wives are easily disposed of, Mistress Stirling. When he has taken his revenge, you will simply not exist for him.’
‘You lie! Nicholas would never stoop to such a thing. He is too fine, too honourable.’
‘What he might
not care to do may be done by others,’ Marie said. Again her smile was so chilling that it made Deborah shiver. ‘Make the most of your time in the sun, Mistress Stirling—it will not last long.’
Deborah watched her walk away. For the moment the viciousness of her hatred seemed to linger after her, casting a shadow over the day. Surely she could not have meant to sound so threatening?
‘Why have you hidden yourself away?’ Nicholas spoke from behind her, making Deborah turn with a guilty start. ‘I hope you are not already regretting our bargain?’
He was frowning, his eyes narrowed and intense. Deborah could not answer him for a moment. To have complained of his cousin’s spite would seem petty on such a day, and besides, she did not believe one word Marie had said to her.
‘No, I am not regretting it, sir—though I regret the manner of its making.’ She meant that she wished they had been betrothed with the blessing of her father but she saw his frown deepen and realized he had mistaken her words. ‘I wish my father were here, that is all. I fear that he will be angry when he learns that I have given my promise without first asking his consent.’
‘Your father will forgive you,’ Nicholas said, his expression softening. ‘Write him a letter this evening and I shall see that it is sent to him.’
‘You are very good, my lord.’
‘Am I, Deborah?’ The shadows were in his face once more. ‘I believe I have treated you ill, but I shall do my best to make up for our unfortunate start in the future.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Come, my lady. We must return to our guests before they begin to wonder where we have gone and draw their own conclusions. We French are hot-blooded and our thoughts dwell overmuch on making love—but today you shall have the respect due to my lady.’
