She looked at her gown, which had seemed too ornate when Eliza had helped choose it. She was dressed more plainly than most of the other guests, although the material of her gown was as fine as any in the room. Only the servants in their livery were drabber than she was. She was not concerned, for she had no desire to mimic the outrageous clothes.
From her early years, when times were most lean, she had been taught that the changing fancies of style were only for those who had no sense of self-worth. She did not know if that was true, but she had learned that the personage of Lady Foxbridge commanded enough respect that she would not be censured for not following the dictates of the haute monde.
With the orchestra playing again, some of the guests were dancing, but most were talking. What they spoke of, she had no knowledge. The well-established parameters of polite conversation remained a mystery to her. She did not understand the rules of what was flirting and what was cause for her husband to call out her admirer. Eliza had tried to teach her some of the rules, but she found them incomprehensible.
“My dear Lady Foxbridge!”
She frowned as she saw her host approaching her haven. It added further to her discomfort that by marrying Nicholas she had assumed a rank above most of these people. In a country where title was secondary only to wealth, she had wed a husband who possessed both and had gained the same level of prestige instantly. Struggling for something to say to this man reputed to be a lecher, she smiled. “This is a lovely party, Sir Alec.”
“Far more lovely because of your ladyships’s presence,” he replied smoothly, as he bent over her fingers. His lips lingered in an obvious question on her hand.
She blushed before she pulled her hand away. “Thank you, sir, for your kindness.” Disappointment shone in his eyes as he accepted that she was not intrigued by his invitation for a dalliance.
Carrollton had not expected Lady Foxbridge would be interested in him when she had her dashing husband who clearly was devoted to her. There had been no stories of the reemergence of the love affair between him and Clarisse Beckwith. If Lord Foxbridge was keeping a mistress, it was a secret. As he gazed at the loveliness of the lord’s wife, he doubted if Foxbridge would desire anyone else.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man clearing his throat, and he recalled the promise he had been forced to make. As he stepped to one side, another man entered the small room. “Allow me to introduce my friend Baron Halsey Royce. Royce, Lady Foxbridge, Rebecca Wythe.”
Rebecca gasped as she saw the man who had dared to caress her in the midst of the minuet. Her gaze flew past him, but Nicholas was nowhere in sight. She could not know that he was being delayed seemingly innocently by one of the baron’s friends at the far side of the ballroom.
Royce lifted her fingers to his lips. She raised her eyes as he did not release her hand. He was not a handsome man, for his face was pitted with scars from the pox. Like all the men at the ball, he wore his hair powdered so she had no idea of its color, but his eyes were a lighter blue than hers.
“How do you do, Baron Royce?” she asked coldly.
“Very well, my lady. I’m sorry your accident kept us from completing our portion of the dance.” He smiled as she drew her gloved fingers away in obvious disgust that he would dare to remind her of his boldness. “I have been anxious to meet you since your arrival with Lord Foxbridge. I had no idea that his lordship had decided to take a bride so suddenly.”
Her eyebrows arched in derision. She did not like this oily and falsely submissive man. “Our wedding wasn’t sudden, sir. We will be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary next month.”
“Excuse me,” said their host, suddenly. Refusing to meet Rebecca’s shocked eyes as she heard the urgency in his voice, he added, “I fear duty calls. I trust I will see you later, my lady.” He bowed again before he left her alone with the despicable man.
Royce did not seem in a hurry to leave. “Five years, Lady Foxbridge? I swear his lordship must have robbed the cradle to find a bride of such tender years.”
“That, sir, is none of your business,” she declared stoutly. Deciding he would not be brushed off by coldness, she rose. “If you will excuse me, Baron.”
“No, I don’t think so, my lady,” he said in a totally different tone of voice. All courtesy vanished, to be replaced by a threatening stance.
“Excuse me?” she asked, astonished by the sudden change.
He grasped her arm and twirled her through a door at the back of the room. It led to the gardens which had been left purposely dark for those who wished a rendezvous far from the eyes of the gossiping gentry and suspicious spouses. She cried out for him to release her, but he did not pause until he reached an arbor deep in the gardens. He was not worried that anyone would hear her, for the music from the orchestra and conversation would drown out her terrified calls for help.
Putting his fingers on her cheeks, he turned her face from side to side so he could view it in the moonlight. She tried to pull his hands away, but he paid her flailing hands no attention. Quietly, he said, “So you are the souvenir Nicholas brought back from America. They told me how beautiful you are, but I didn’t believe them. I admit I was wrong.”
“Will you let me go, sir? I don’t understand why you have dragged me out here, and I shan’t stay to listen to your apology!”
Royce chuckled with ill humor. “You are very much the backwoods provincial, aren’t you, my lady? Why do you think I brought you here? Don’t you Americans, as you call yourselves now, deal in flirtations?”
“I don’t want any kind of flirtation with you, Baron Royce.” She looked past him, hoping to see a shadowed form moving through the thick shrubs. No one came into sight. Her voice trembled as she asked, “Do you forget I am a married woman?”
As an answer, he captured her mouth with his. Although her fists pounded against his back, he ignored them as he pressed her backward toward the ground. His fingers pulled the pins from her hair so it fell into a white cloud. As she struggled to escape, the powder billowed out like pale smoke around them.
She screamed as she felt her dress rip, but the sound was muted by his mouth. When she slipped to the ground, she could feel the dampness of the evening dew seeping into the fine material. His hand was placed over her mouth as his lips moved to discover the planes of her face.
Royce looked down into her wide, blue eyes and laughed in honest delight. “I met many women on my sojourn in America, my so-called Lady Foxbridge. You are all good for only one occupation. It was interesting how many daughters of patriots were willing to play the harlot for their hated masters. Did you do it for money, or is it that your Yankee Doodle lovers make you crave for the touch of a real Englishman? You are no different. You just captured yourself a man with a title.”
She shrieked as she felt his fingers examining her body with leisurely interest. By this time, Nicholas should have returned to where she was supposed to be waiting. When she was missing, surely he would look for her. Her heart sank as she realized he would have no reason to search in the garden.
The man continued to taunt her. “How old were you when you married, Lady Foxbridge? You could have been no more than fourteen or fifteen, but whores learn very young how to market their wares, don’t they?”
In sudden rage, she clamped her teeth on one of his thick fingers. His cry filled the night. When he pulled back from the unexpected attack, she rolled from beneath him. Forgetting her slipper which had come off when he had pushed her to the ground, she ran back to the well-lighted house.
As she stepped into the ballroom, she heard a woman gasp and point at her. For a moment, she stared at the other guests. Then, from the depths of her tortured soul, she screamed, “Nicholas!”
Instantly the whole room hushed. Even the orchestra halted in the middle of a chord which blew away in disharmony. Everyone turned to see the disheveled remains of lovely Lady Foxbridge. From the edge of the crowd, Sir Alec waddled toward her. She backed away in fear from the man who h
ad introduced her to that beast Royce. She was sure they had contrived the attack together.
“Stay away from me!” she whispered. Scanning the room, she raised her voice over the murmurs and cried out once more, “Nicholas! Nicholas, where are you?”
The crowd parted reluctantly to let the dark-haired man through. Nicholas shoved aside those who did not move quickly enough, for from an upper landing he had heard the anguished sound of his wife’s voice and had come racing back to the ballroom. He had been on his way upstairs to look for her when she had not been waiting when he returned with two glasses of champagne. He paused in the middle of a step as he saw her. “Rebecca! What happened to you?”
She could not reply as she ran to him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close to his heart, which beat rapidly with his fear for her. Although dozens of questions were being fired from every direction, he did not listen. All he cared about was the woman who obviously had been attacked. Ignoring everyone, he led her to a bench and helped her sit. Her dress ripped again as it caught in the broken heel of her remaining slipper. He knelt beside her, so their eyes were on nearly the same level.
He asked a single question, “Who?”
Her voice was distorted by her heart-rending sobs. “It was—it was Baron—Baron Royce. He told me—” Anger returned to combat her fear. In a stronger voice, she said, “He told me that American women were only good as harlots, and that I had—” She paused as she recalled the guests eagerly hanging on every word.
“She lies as well as acting the whore!” came the terse comment from the wide doorway.
Rebecca’s eyes grew dark with antipathy as she saw Royce showcased against the star-strewn sky. She said nothing as she rose. Her hand slipped into her husband’s as they faced her tormentor together.
Nicholas glanced down at her damp face and smiled. Squeezing her hand, he released it to step forward to close the distance between him and the scurrilous Baron Royce. His voice was emotionless as he spoke. Only Rebecca knew how enraged her husband was to act so calm. “Royce, Lady Foxbridge is neither a whore nor a liar.”
“I did not say that, my lord.” He smiled broadly. “I did not say she was either. I said she was both. Look at her. She teased me into a seduction, then runs back to you.”
By the bench, Rebecca clenched her teeth and her fists to keep from throwing curses at him. If she said what she wished, it would label her as no better than what he accused her of being. She would have to let Nicholas handle this as he considered appropriate.
He was saying in a closely clipped voice, “My dear Baron Royce, I shall give you one more chance to retract your words and to apologize to her for your crass actions.”
“I need no more chances, Foxbridge. I don’t intend to apologize for your whorish wife.” Carelessly, he laughed. “It’s a shame that someone with your reputation as a lady’s man cannot keep such a woman satisfied. Perhaps, after all the years you chased Clarisse Beckwith’s skirts, you are tired of having to do the same with your wife.”
A gasp of disbelief rippled across the crowd. Such an insult could not go unanswered, although it seemed as if Lord Foxbridge had been willing to give the baron every chance to beg his forgiveness. No one believed that Lady Foxbridge had done as Royce accused. Everyone had been impressed by the genuine adoration she had for her intimidating husband.
“Very well,” said Nicholas stiffly. “You give me no choice but to demand satisfaction for your spurious allegations. Shall we say tomorrow at sunrise? Send your second to my house with the location and weapon of your choice.”
“As you wish, my lord. Sunrise it shall be.” His grin widened as he looked past the man to the pretty woman he had held in his arms so briefly.
Rebecca had been listening to the exchange in growing despair. “No, Nicholas, don’t be foolish! It isn’t that important! Don’t get yourself killed because of this.”
He looked at her, but his words were intended for his newest enemy. “I don’t intend to get myself killed.” He held out his hand. “Come, sweetheart. I will take you home where you don’t have to worry about other attacks by depraved, self-styled aristocrats.”
When she moved to place her fingers in his, she tripped on the broken heel of her slipper. Bending, she pulled it off. Nicholas held out his hand, and she placed the ruined shoe in it. Her confusion turned to a weak smile as he tossed it to land directly in front of Royce.
“There is your gauntlet, Baron.” He laughed darkly. “I will see you at dawn. Can you walk in your stockings, Rebecca?”
“I am fine,” she replied. She knew his teasing was to lighten her fears, but it was to no avail.
He led her through the crowd, which parted silently. Sir Alec met them as they were waiting for their evening capes to be brought by a maid from an upstairs cloak room. Profusely, he tried to apologize, but Nicholas waved his words aside as if they were unimportant. Rebecca did not hear them. All she could think of was that in just a few short hours her husband would be facing Baron Royce on the dueling green in a battle that could lead easily to one or both of their deaths. She knew how intensely he despised the perverted sport that had claimed his brother’s life.
The carriage was brought around quickly. Nicholas settled her cape around her shoulders, and her fingers rose automatically to tie it in the front. Whether she said farewell to their host or not she had no idea, as they went out the door into the summer night.
Inside the coach, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fought the trembles racing through her body. She longed to beg him not to go through with the duel, but knew he was bound by honor to continue or admit that she was the type of woman Royce accused her of being. That she did not care what that man said when Nicholas’s life was at stake made no difference.
Her fingers reached up and steered his head down so she could place her quivering lips next to his. His arms slipped beneath her cape to feel her warmth. When his fingers encountered the tears in her dress, he raised his head to gaze down into her terrified eyes.
“Did that bastard Royce hurt you, sweetheart?”
“No. I think he intentionally has done this to provoke you. He tried to scare me and insulted me, but let me go when I bit his hand.”
She was startled when he began to laugh uproariously. “You bit him?”
In a small voice, she explained, “Not very hard and only because he put his hand over my mouth to keep me from calling for help.”
“You are a true delight, my love!” Nicholas hugged her. “Put your head back against my shoulder. It’s a long ride back to the Cloister. I assume you will insist on coming along in the morning.”
“If you don’t mind, Nicholas.”
He put his mouth close to her ear. “I want you there, so I can’t forget why I am fighting. I just don’t want to force you to watch what might be very bloody.” He felt her shiver again. “No, darling, do not worry. It won’t be my blood staining the grass at dawn.”
Lifting her to sit on his knees, he leaned back against the thickness of the seat. She placed her head on his chest and cuddled close to him. Her tear-heavy eyes closed swiftly as she fell asleep, content in knowing that she was with the man she could not help loving.
As he felt her breaths slow to the dainty puffs of slumber, he brushed her hair away from her face. Very little of the powder remained among the dark strands. It was just as well. He preferred his fiery wife with her dark hair shining as brightly as her azure eyes. He felt no fear. He did not expect to die in the morning. One time he had been tempted to give in to the easy lures of death, but that had been before this woman showed him how much more wonderful life could be. When he held her in his arms, he wanted more than ever to live. Although Rebecca still did not sleep in his bed, he hoped soon she would come to him speaking of the love glowing on her guileless face.
If for no other reason than he had not yet tasted the sweetness of his wife’s love, he was determined that Royce would be the one to suffer. Forcing the thought of
that deadly meeting from his mind, he settled more comfortably into the seat. He rested his head against her soft curls and joined her in slumber with the ease of a man confident of his own ability to face death and triumph over it one more time.
As the carriage slowed, Nicholas woke. In his arms Rebecca stirred slightly, but remained wrapped in her dreams. When the driver opened the door, he slipped out awkwardly as he carried the sleeping woman in his arms. Sims ran ahead to make sure the door to the house would be open.
Brody was waiting in his nightshirt. The butler had heard the familiar sound of the family coach returning up the long driveway and had leapt from his bed on the third floor and rushed downstairs to meet his lord and lady. When he saw the disheveled, slumbering woman, his age-worn eyes rose to the dark ones of Lord Foxbridge. “My lord?” he asked in a shocked whisper.
“Brody, Baron Royce’s second should be calling within the hour. I would appreciate it if you would go to Mr. Langston’s room with the message that I want to see him in my study immediately. I will meet him there as soon as I take Rebecca upstairs.” His voice softened for a moment as he looked down at the worried expression on the butler’s face. “She’s unhurt, Brody.”
“I’m glad.”
Nicholas concurred. If Royce had hurt her, there would have been no duel. He would have killed the sadist himself, not caring that there would have been a hundred witnesses to view the slaying. Carefully he climbed the stairs. The butler opened the door of their suite and waited until they were inside. Then he closed it before going to deliver the message to Curtis. When Nicholas started toward the room where Rebecca slept each night, he paused. He wanted her in his room. Although he would not be there with her, he wanted to know she was safe in his bed.
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