Marcus stared at him, comprehension dawning. “Er, you don’t think that he might have said something to that effect to Lady Diana, do you?”
“Probably,” Julian replied carelessly. “I’m sure he spun her a tale of my undying love for Catherine. Why?”
“Because I believe your lady thinks just that,” Marcus said slowly.
Julian’s brows snapped together. “Don’t talk fustian! I doubt that beyond a brief tour that my wife has been to the gallery or even knows where Catherine’s portrait hangs. And as for the other—don’t be ridiculous!”
“Oh, you’re wrong there,” Marcus said. “Your wife knows exactly where this portrait hangs. I’ve seen her studying it, more than once.”
“Why the devil would she do that?”
“Oh, I could imagine that Lady Diana and Elizabeth probably showed her the gallery one day…and that they stopped to admire the portrait and lamented Lady Catherine’s tragic death…”
Julian paled. In hollow accents, he said slowly, “And Lady Diana, no doubt, repeated the fairy tale that my father had told her…” He swallowed convulsively and his fist clenched. “The flowers, the bloody flowers would give the story credence.”
“Come along,” Marcus ordered gently. “Let us return to the library and I shall tell you what I have observed. You may make of it what you will.”
Nell was lying in bed looking at some new fashion plates that had arrived from her modiste in London when the door to her room was flung open so violently that it banged like a thunderclap against the wall. She sat upright as Julian, pale and shaken, charged into the room. Striding across the room, he grabbed both her arms and jerked her against him.
“You silly little fool,” he muttered, “you cannot believe that I am still in love with Catherine—not when just the sound of your voice leaves me breathless with delight!” He shook her. “Don’t you understand? Until you came into my world, I thought that my life was complete, that I was content, but oh, God, I was wrong, so very wrong.” His lips brushed her brow. “Nell, darling, I love you. You are everything to me!”
Nell stared stunned up into his dark, beloved face. “You don’t love Catherine?” she asked urgently, her fingers tightening on the lapels of his mulberry jacket. “Everyone says so.”
He smiled tenderly at her. “I don’t know who everyone is, but believe me, my darling, everyone is wrong. I do not love Catherine. I never loved Catherine.”
“But the flowers—a fresh, beautiful bouquet every day!”
“A miscommunication. There will never be another vase of flowers delivered to the gallery again.”
Nell couldn’t quite take it all in, but stars began to peep into her lovely eyes. “You love me?”
“I adore you! I do not remember the exact moment I fell in love with you, but you have been in my heart almost from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He shook her again, not gently. “How could you possibly think that I still loved Catherine? Didn’t my lovemaking, my pleasure in your company tell you anything?”
She rested her forehead against his chest. “I thought that you were merely making the best of our marriage and that you were only being kind…”
Sinking down onto the bed beside her, Julian pulled her close. “Making the best of—! What a little goose you have been! You are the best thing, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me and when I am with you kindness is the last thought on my mind.”
“But that could just be lust,” she argued, a little smile curving her mouth, dizzy joy spiraling through her as belief in his words took root. He loved her! And not, she thought happily, Catherine!
“I do have lust aplenty for you, Madame wife, oh, but Nell, I do adore you!” He pulled her to his chest and cupping the back of her head, brought their mouths together. He kissed her, holding nothing back, hiding nothing, letting his kiss reveal the depth of his emotions.
When he released her, Nell was thoroughly dazzled. His gaze traveled over her features and a teasing gleam entered his eyes. “And have you nothing to say to me? I have just lain my heart at your feet—I hope you do not intend to trample it.”
Nell gave an enchanting gurgle of laughter and, raining soft kisses over his face, she said, “I love you! I love you! I love you! I have been sick with love for you for months.”
What could he do after that but kiss her again?
For a long time they lay together cocooned from the world, speaking of those things that only lovers know. It was magical, in between sweet kisses, all the anxieties, the doubts, the fears and the uncertainties that had plagued them explained and swept aside.
What seemed like hours later, Julian said, “I still find it astonishing that you believed that I was still in love with Catherine.”
“What else could I think?” Nell argued. “Every time I mentioned her name, you became cold and refused to talk about her. And Lady Diana told me how much you loved her and how your heart was buried in Catherine’s grave.”
Julian snorted, making it clear what he thought of Lady Diana’s opinion. Nell pinched him. “And what about the flowers? Seeing that new bouquet every day—anyone would have thought so!”
He turned his head and smiled lazily at her. “Only a little goose like you—anyone with any sense would have known that I was mad about you.”
Nell’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you really?” she asked shyly.
“Completely besotted,” he murmured against her mouth. “Utterly and completely captivated by you.” He kissed her. “I will be in love with you until the day I die—and beyond.” He kissed her again. “Never doubt it, Nell, never.”
That something momentous had happened overnight was obvious to the entire household. While there was no overt change between Nell and Julian, there was a difference, something in the air around them, a lightness of spirit, a quiet joy that accompanied them and filled the house like the perfume of lilacs on a spring day.
Marcus commented on it that evening. The ladies were in the drawing room and he and Julian were once again enjoying a glass of port before joining them.
Grinning across at his cousin, he said, “The smell of April and May has been overpowering today. I take it that all is well with you and your lady?”
Julian smiled at him, a soft inward smile that Marcus had never seen before. “You could say that.” He glanced at Marcus. “She loves me,” he said simply. “As I love her.”
“And that, my friend, definitely calls for a toast.” Raising his glass, Marcus said, “To your happiness.”
The gray, rainy weather continued nearly unabated for the entire month of March. There were never more than two days in a row that it did not rain. The sun did manage to show its great golden face a few days but they were few and far between.
Locked inside as they were and unable to do much but speculate about the Shadow Man and watch the rain, Marcus seriously considered returning to his own home. “I might as well,” he said to Julian one night. “I can do nothing here.”
“You would leave me to the mercies of a household of women?” Julian demanded.
“Who adore you and have given you the mistaken impression that the world revolves around you!”
“Precisely why you should stay—think how insufferable I shall become without you to remind me that I am only a mere human.”
Marcus had laughed and there was no more talk of his leaving.
As April, with her promise of spring, rolled around everyone became hopeful that winter was over. Eventually the skies did clear and with exception of the occasional small shower, the days that followed were filled with bright sunshine. At the end of the second week of April, when it did indeed seem that winter had departed for good, like birds released from gilded cages, the inhabitants scattered in all directions. Lady Diana and Elizabeth immediately set out for the Dower House and Julian and Marcus decided that they would eliminate the old monastery from their list of prospects. Feeling there was no harm in it, Julian invited Nell to accompany them.
An invitation she promptly accepted, giving him no time to have second thoughts. The day was fine, and though an exploration of the remains of the monastery revealed no dungeons, it proved enjoyable.
Returning to the house, Nell discovered that Mrs. Weston had sent over an invitation to dine at Stonegate the following week. While things were better between Julian and the Westons, Tynedale’s continued presence as their guest created problems.
Going in search of Julian, she found him in his library reading a note, the contents of which had brought a frown to his face. Seeing Nell, his expression instantly cleared, a warm light leaping to his eyes.
Waving the invitation at him, she said, “Mrs. Weston is having a party and she has invited us. The whole neighborhood is invited it seems and I hate to decline, but if Tynedale is there…”
“And he is,” Julian replied, pointing to his own note. “Charles wrote me, warning me of that fact.”
“Now why would he do that? Do you think that Charles knows what part Tynedale played in our marriage?”
“No, it is because of Tynedale’s part in Daniel’s death that he warns me—he knows how I feel about him.”
“Doesn’t he hold him in abhorrence also?” Nell asked, curiosity in her face. “Wasn’t he fond of Daniel?”
“I have no doubt about Charles’s feeling for Daniel. He told me himself that he loved Daniel, and that he also blames himself for what happened,” Julian said. “And I asked Charles to explain why he tolerates Tynedale but he wouldn’t say.” He frowned. “One thing I do know: Charles has his own reasons for befriending Tynedale, but what they are, I cannot even guess.”
Nell made a face. “So what shall I do about the invitation?”
Julian came from around his desk and pulled her into his arms. Dropping soft kisses over her face, he murmured, “Do not fret over it. There will be other parties, ones without Tynedale to mar our enjoyment.”
Nell leaned her head against his shoulder. “What would you say if I accepted the invitation?”
Surprised, he looked down into her face. “Why?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “To show Tynedale that he has no power over us.” She kissed his chin. “In fact we owe the wretched man a debt of gratitude—without his wicked actions, we might never have met, or married…or fallen in love.”
“Or fallen in love,” Julian repeated huskily, his gaze warm on her face. “Do you know, I think we shall attend that party.” He kissed her. “And Tynedale be damned!”
Chapter 19
The weather continued mild and sunny and the night of Mrs. Weston’s party was a delightful spring evening. With great anticipation the ladies of Wyndham Manor had looked forward to the night and especially to mingling with friends and acquaintances. New gowns had been procured from a pair of local seamstresses in Exmouth and as the carriage pulled away from the manor, each lady knew that she looked her best.
Nell, wearing a confection of periwinkle and lace, had never appeared lovelier. Her sea green eyes sparkled and she fairly glowed, the soft color of the gown intensifying the natural beauty of her skin. A white silk cape cloaked her shoulders, white gloves were on her hands, and with her tawny hair piled high on her head and wearing a necklace of pearls and diamonds that matched the gleaming jewels at her ears, she looked every inch a countess. The rounded curve of her belly was not so pronounced as to detract from the elegant picture she made. In fact, Julian thought the signs of her advancing pregnancy only added to her beauty—but then, he admitted wryly, he was somewhat prejudiced when it came to his wife.
Mrs. Weston had invited nearly the entire neighborhood. Squire, his wife and eldest son, Lord Beckworth and Dr. Coleman were in attendance as were several other notables in the area including the magistrate and his wife, and one of the largest landowners in the area, Mr. Blakesley, along with his wife, his eldest son and only daughter. Mrs. Chadbourne had a niece visiting who was around Elizabeth’s age and, coupled with the vicar’s wife, his widowed youngest sister and his two eldest daughters, the numbers rounded out nicely.
Stonegate was aglow, every sconce, candelabrum and chandelier glittering brightly from the dancing flames of hundreds of candles. The party had turned into a small ball; there was music from hired musicians and dancing in the ballroom at the side of the house. Crystal punch bowls and trays laden with dainty finger food rested on long tables adorned with white linen and orchids and lilies grown in the estate’s greenhouses; servants in crisp livery moved silently and swiftly through the guests, offering even more variety of food and drink.
When it became too warm in the ballroom, French doors thrown wide beckoned the guests to wander outside; the garden paths were strewn with gaily colored paper lanterns that cast a soft glow over the area. After several dances, Julian escorted Nell for a brief walk through the gardens.
“Tynedale,” Julian said as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone else, “seems to be on his best behavior—or at least he’s keeping his distance from us. Perhaps we will get through this night without scandal…or bloodshed.”
Nell shot him an anxious glance. “You don’t think that he would be foolish enough to—”
Julian shrugged. “So far he seems to be behaving just as he ought. He has kept discreetly in the background and has made no move to interject himself into any group of which I am a part.” He looked down at her. “More importantly, he has not been foolish enough or brazen enough to solicit your hand for a dance.”
“Indeed not!” Nell exclaimed. “Once he came toward me and I thought he might dare, but then he seemed to think better of it and asked the vicar’s sister to dance instead.”
He ran a caressing finger down the side of her cheek. “A good thing, too—I would hate to call him out.” He stole a brief kiss. “Tynedale aside,” he said, “are you enjoying yourself?”
She smiled at him. “Most assuredly. Charles is a wonderful dancer and full of the most amazing tales. Did you really put a dead fish on the collection plate when you were nine?”
Julian laughed. “Guilty. Lord, I’d forgotten about that. Leave it to Charles to bring it up.”
“It is a good thing that the troubles between you have been resolved, is it not?”
Julian rubbed his chin. “I don’t know that they’ve been resolved, but we are certainly on a better footing than we have been in years—and that, my sweet, is indeed a good thing.”
Eventually the guests were escorted into the dining room and a lavish meal was served. Everyone was in high spirits and laughter filled the room. At the end of the meal, Mrs. Weston arose from the table and regally led the ladies into the front salon, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their liquor.
Nell was tired. Despite her enjoyment, the party was not without anxiety. Avoiding Tynedale without appearing to and keeping an eye out that he never edged too close to where Julian stood took their toll. She had no doubt that she could depress his pretensions should he dare to approach her, but Julian’s reaction to his close proximity worried her. She was enjoying the party, but not as she would have if Tynedale had not been present. Secure at last in Julian’s love she no longer worried about the possible scandal that Tynedale could cause by alluding to the real circumstances surrounding their marriage, but he was still a snake, albeit one with most of his poison spent. As she and Julian had discussed, without exposing himself as a bounder beyond the pale, Tynedale could not say much, although if he pretended that the kidnapping was really an elopement, it might prove awkward.
She smiled. She didn’t even worry about that anymore—together she and Julian could face down any gossip that could arise. Yet Tynedale still represented a possible threat to her future happiness and as the ladies left the dining room, she was apprehensive that he might goad Julian into unwise action. Knowing that Tynedale and Julian were in the dining room together, even amongst several other level-headed gentlemen, made her uneasy. That drink would be flowing freely added to her unease—gentlemen in their cups were known to act foolishly…
<
br /> Nell had reason to be uneasy. Tynedale had covered his true emotions all evening, hiding the resentment, hatred and jealousy that raged in his breast behind exquisite manners and a polite smile. Surreptitiously, he’d noted the interplay between Julian and Nell, the tender expression in Julian’s eyes when they rested on his wife’s lovely features, the glow on Nell’s face when Julian led her out to dance and the air of sweet intimacy that existed between them. Only a fool wouldn’t have recognized the fact that they were deeply in love. And Tynedale was no fool.
The sight of Nell’s expanding pregnancy added to his fury, knowing that except for a trick of fate, it could be his child growing there, his heir, not Wyndham’s. From under lowered lids, he’d glared at Wyndham, cursing him for not only being wealthy beyond compare, but for stealing the heiress that he’d chosen for himself. Nell’s fortune and child should have been his! Wyndham had stolen it all from him. Cheated him. Brought him to the brink of ruin—his estates were so encumbered that he doubted he’d ever tow them from the River Tick—and just as devastating: Wyndham could demand payment of all those vowels whenever the whim suited him.
Bitterly Tynedale admitted that if he’d not forced an invitation from Raoul to visit, he’d have been at a standstill. The situation was so bad, he dared not even show his face at his own estate—the bloodsuckers were probably even now clamoring at the gates, dunning him to the very steps of his ancestral abode. Marriage to Nell would have changed all that and when he considered the difference that marriage would have made, his malice and hatred of Wyndham grew. Damn Wyndham. Damn him!
After the ladies left the dining room, Tynedale continued to brood. His predicament was all Wyndham’s fault and he dwelt again on Wyndham’s crimes against him: Wyndham had stolen a fortune from him. Wyndham had married the woman who should have been his bride. And it was Wyndham who had scarred him for life. Unconsciously he fingered that puckered red mark.
Scandal Becomes Her Page 30
