by Cheryl Bolen
As she passed him, he tipped his hat and nodded.
She tipped her head, a smile lifting the corners of her lovely mouth, and rode on.
The rest of the day Randolph was unable to dispel the lovely brunette from his mind and from his thoughts. There was something in her dark beauty that was vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was the coloring she shared with Countess Warwick, whom Randolph had worshiped. Of course, the countess was much more voluptuous than the elegantly slender lone rider he’d seen that morning.
He found himself eagerly awaiting his next ride through the park.
The following day he saw her again. As she drew near, his heart drummed when his eyes met hers and he tipped his hat. Once again, she almost indis-cernibly nodded to him and rode on.
Every day for three weeks he rode in the park, and every day he crossed the path of the woman in red and silently tipped his hat to her. His morning rides became the highlight of his days, the woman in red the substance of his nightly dreams.
He was becoming obsessed with her. Visions of her dark beauty were with him wherever he went. On every street he looked for her. In every theatre or rout or assembly he scanned the women in the hopes of finding her. His thirst to know her identity was so great he even considered following her from the park, but such an ungentlemanly action would only serve to alienate the beauty were she to discover him.
Surely their paths were fated to cross outside of Hyde Park. After all, they must belong to the same set, for he had no doubts as to her gentility. His only doubts concerned her marital state.
He hoped to God she wasn’t married.
Chapter 18
As Fiona and Maggie huddled over the escritoire drawing up guest lists for their sisters’ ball, the young honorees were on their way to becoming fast friends.
“My sister tells me you were as reluctant as I to have a come-out,” Verity said to Miss Peabody.
Rebecca Peabody shrugged. Verity thought she bore a remarkable resemblance to the beautiful countess who was her sister—except for the spectacles, which had a habit of slipping down her nose, and except for her absence of a bosom. “I confess that I’m much more enamored of books than I am of men. Of course if real live men were as noble as Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, that would be a horse of a different color.”
A smile tweaked at Verity’s mouth. “Indeed.”
“What persuaded you?”
“To agree to come out?” Verity asked.
“Yes.”
She thought about her answer for a moment before articulating it. “Two things, I think. First, my youngest brother said if I did not allow myself to be presented I would end up being a spinster aunt to my brothers’ children.” This she said with her voice lifting in laughter.
“I declare, you’re describing me!” Miss Peabody said with a morose laugh. “Pray, what was the other reason?”
“If I did not come out I’d never have the opportunity to meet a man who could be my soul mate.” It was the oddest thing, really, about soul mates. A month ago the very idea would have been alien to her, but for the past three weeks Verity had been haunted with the feeling the handsome blond man she saw riding in the park every morning was her soul mate. It wasn’t at all like her to be so silly over a man. For all she knew, the blond Adonis could be a happily married man. “You see, my chances of meeting an eligible man at our home in the country are nonexistent. My mother’s the most unsocial creature imaginable, so the only men I ever see are footmen and grooms.”
Miss Peabody was staring at her as if Verity was delusional. “Define for me, if you will, what precisely is a soul mate?”
When Verity had come to London, her wish was to meet a man who was her intellectual equal, but now she wanted so much more from that man. It took her a moment to analyze those feelings so she could impart them to Miss Peabody. “A man who enjoys the same things I enjoy, who wishes to spend his life with me because of all the women on earth I’m the one most suited for him, a man who’s my destiny.” She remembered Fiona telling her Nick was her destiny. “I believe Lady Fiona feels that my brother is her destiny—despite their divergent backgrounds.”
Miss Peabody sighed. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to learn that, for I’ve been most distraught over my sister’s shabby treatment of Lady Fiona last year.”
This was news to Verity. “I cannot believe Lady Warwick could ever have treated Fiona shabbily.”
“Then you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“My sister stole Lord Warwick away from Lady Fiona.”
Verity’s heart thudded. Fiona had loved Warwick? Did that mean Fiona had grabbed Nick on the rebound? The knowledge disturbed her, especially since Nick was so completely in love with his wife. “They were engaged?”
Miss Peabody pursed her lips. “Unofficially.”
“I suppose things happen for the best,” Verity said with resignation. “I’m sure Lord and Lady Warwick are most happy with each other—just as Fiona and Nicky are.”
“I think your brother’s more handsome than Warwick, though I’ve only seen his portrait.” Miss Peabody’s demeanor brightened. “I’m told you have another brother who could be his twin.”
Verity gave an amused laugh. “It’s hard for me to think of my brothers as handsome, but I must say girls have always adored Nicky; later, women did.”
“And the other brother?”
“Adam? He’s quite different from Nicky—though they do look a great deal alike.” Sensing that Miss Peabody was mildly interested in Adam, she added, “I shall introduce you to him at our come-out. I’m sure he would be delighted to stand up with you.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to marry,” Rebecca said a moment later. “Being void of any need for a soul mate, I shall probably end up a doting spinster aunt.”
“You’re much too pretty,” Verity said. A pity Miss Peabody always had to wear those spectacles.
“Yes, she is,” Fiona agreed, walking up and sitting beside Verity. “I have fears of men coming to fisticuffs over the both of you at the come-out.”
“I do, too,” Maggie said as she sank onto the settee across from them.
“They might even come to fisticuffs tonight at Almack’s,” Fiona said.
“You’ve received vouchers?” the countess asked.
Fiona nodded. “Yes, the Duchess of Glastonbury, one of my oldest friends, insisted on procuring them for us even though I told her the Countess Cowper and I are on the best of terms.”
“I still shake in my slippers each time I see Lady Cowper,” Maggie said with a laugh.
Fiona’s gaze swung to Verity. “Don’t be frightened by Lady Warwick’s fears. Lady Cowper is all that’s amiable, and I’m sure she’ll adore you.” Then smiling at Maggie, Fiona added, “I daresay your colonial background has rendered you a bit wary of English stiltedness.”
Verity was no colonial, but she most assuredly was wary of English stiltedness.
The door to the saloon slammed open and Emmie flew into the room. Her warm brown hair trailed down the back of her butter yellow dress, and her hands were stuffed into the ermine muff. “My Lady! Miss Beckham says I can wear my new muff to the park today. I wanted to show you.”
The governess being mentioned scurried into the chamber, an embarrassed look upon her face. “Miss Birmingham!” she shouted, “You’re not ever to disturb your stepmother when she’s entertaining callers.” She flicked an apologetic glance to Fiona. “Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. This is, after all, Miss Emmie’s house, too,” Fiona said. Directing her attention to the little girl, she said, “Come closer, love, and show us how lovely you look.” Fiona proceeded to introduce Emmie to the countess and Miss Peabody. “This is Nick’s daughter, Emmie, my lady, Miss Peabody. Is she not a pretty little thing?”
The ladies exclaimed over her—and her beautiful muff.
Before she left, Emmie curtsied, then came to kiss her aunt and stepmother.
She was seated at her dressing table watching her maid fasten small diamonds in her hair when Nick tapped at their adjoining door and stepped in, his gaze seductively whisking over her.
“Thank you, Prudence,” Fiona said. “That will be all.”
Once her maid departed the room, Fiona watched Nick through her looking glass as he moved to her, then bent to nibble at her neck. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmured, one hand possessively cupping her breast. “I’m partial to that dress. It matches your incredible eyes.”
She gazed into the mirror. She did not recall having worn the pale blue gown in front of him before.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a velvet case. “You wore this gown at the theatre that night you sat in the box across from mine, before we were married.”
She was touched that he remembered the dress, even more touched that he had noticed her. “You remembered me that night?”
“A man doesn’t forget the most beautiful woman he’s ever met.”
Her gladness flowed to every cell in her body. Nick had praised her beauty before but never with such superlatives. “So you really did notice me that night at the theatre?”
“How could I not?” he asked with a devilish glint in his eyes. “You stared at me throughout the entire play!”
“You odious, conceited, arrogant man!”
“Can you deny it?”
She effected a pout. “No.” Though it had been just three months since that night, that night belonged to a different world, a different person. It seemed like three years ago rather than three months.
He opened the velvet case and took out a stunning sapphire necklace, which he placed around her slender throat. “I’ve bought you sapphires, to match your eyes,” he said, fastening the necklace.
Though the jewels were extravagantly expensive, it was the thoughtfulness of the gesture that touched her most deeply. Nick had taken time from his busy days to select it for her. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Quite the loveliest piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned.”
He bent to kiss her neck. “Such a lovely neck demands lovely jewels. Of course,” he said in a husky voice, “I prefer you wearing nothing at all.”
“I beg that you don’t speak of such, for I shall want to climb into bed with you, and we’d never make it to Almack’s.”
He straightened up, a frown on his pensive face.
“What’s the matter, dearest?” she asked.
“I’m sorry to say I won’t be able to accompany you to Almack’s tonight.”
She whirled around to face him, her brows lowered. “Why?”
“Business.”
Her heart pounded. “But the Exchange isn’t open at night! What kind of business claims your nights?” She was possessed of the most horrid feeling that he was lying to her. Could it be he feared rejection tonight at the hands of her aristocratic friends?
“A very important man whose financial affairs I see to has asked that I meet with him tonight. He’ll only be in London for one day, and this is the only time we can meet.”
Anger, disappointment, and the most dreadful feeling that he was lying collided within her. Why had he not named the important man? Her shoulders sagged. In her dressing table mirror she saw him standing behind her, watching her with sultry eyes. “I cannot tell you how very disappointed I am,” she said. “If you aren’t going to Almack’s, then I’m not either.”
He scowled. “I’m honored that you seek my company, but I beg that you go to the assembly rooms. For Verity’s sake.”
Of course she was being exceedingly selfish. It would not be fair to Verity to miss Almack’s because Fiona was in a pout.
“I give you my word I’ll go to Almack’s next week,” he said. “I daresay there will be many more opportunities for me to be scrutinized by your friends.”
She looked up at him. “You cannot deny that you lack enthusiasm for the social event I was so looking forward to.”
He shrugged. “While my enthusiasm is not as great as yours, you can be assured that for the sake of my wife and sister I’m willing to be paraded about on your arm. Just not tonight.”
Turning a cold shoulder to her husband, Fiona went to the assembly rooms with Verity. Her friend, the Duchess of Glastonbury, had been the first to rush up to her. A luscious redhead dressed in a sparkling rust gown, the duchess had come out the same year as Fiona and like Fiona had attracted a throng of well-connected suitors. Unlike Fiona, Hortense was happy to marry an elderly peer for the sake of an exalted title.
“Where is that husband of yours?” the duchess asked. “I was so looking forward to seeing him.”
Fiona stiffened. “You will have to wait until next week. He had an out-of-town visitor tonight.”
It wasn’t until midway through the evening that a chilling thought slammed into her like a tidal wave. Nick’s with Diane Foley! That would explain why he was so vague about the “important” client, why his “meeting” had to take place tonight.
Fiona began to tremble, and she felt so hot she was afraid she would faint. She could not even make conversation with Trevor, who was dancing with her.
“What’s wrong?” Trevor asked, backing away from her in order to gaze into her suddenly blanched face. “Are you ill?”
She was too upset to formulate a thought. Blurring accusations and wrenching grief whirled through her. Her eyes filled with tears. She could not even see Trevor.
“My lady! What is it? Can I get you a drink?”
All she could do was nod.
He led her to a chair where other peeresses sat and commanded her to sit. Trembling, she dropped onto the chair. The pain she had felt when Warwick married another was a mere trifle compared to this paralyzing agony, her love for Warwick barely a trickle of that which she now lavished on her husband.
“Lady Fiona,” said Lady Jersey, who was seated at her left, “I was so hoping to meet your husband tonight.”
“You will meet him next week,” Fiona said, willing herself not to dissolve into tears. A lifetime of gentility prevailed. Her tears did not fall. “You have met Miss Birmingham?” Fiona asked the patroness.
Lady Jersey fanned herself. “A lovely girl.” “Thank you.” Fiona felt wretchedly hot. Drawing in a breath, she said, “All the Birminghams are blessed with good looks.” Especially Nick.
“So I’ve heard.”
His short legs scurrying like a frightened mouse, Trevor came up, put a glass of lemonade into Fiona’s trembling hand, and like a doting parent, watched her drink. Then he sank onto the chair beside her. “You must let me take you home.” Under his breath he cursed Nick for not being at his wife’s side when she had taken ill.
“I daresay it’s the heat,” Lady Jersey said, shooting Fiona a concerned glance and fanning herself even more vigorously. “Beastly hot in here tonight.”
“Lady Fiona’s never been so affected by hot rooms before.” Trevor scowled at Lady Jersey. “The lady’s obviously sick, and I’m taking her home.”
“Pray, not yet.” Fiona’s blurry gaze drifted to the dance floor. Verity had not sat out a single dance. Elegant looking in a simple white gown, she executed her dance steps flawlessly. “I shouldn’t wish to deprive Miss Birmingham’s dancing partners.”
Trevor watched his pupil. “One would never know Miss Birmingham hadn’t spent the last year in ball-rooms.”
“Because she had such a fine dancing master,” Fiona said, her voice a monotone. If only she could keep talking. Perhaps it would rid her mind of painful thoughts of Nick with Diane Foley. Was he lying beside her at this very moment? Would he put his mouth on Miss Foley’s breasts? The thought was like a saber to Fiona’s heart. She squeezed back the new tears that threatened.
“I
don’t care what you say,” Trevor said. “I’m taking you home as soon as this set is over. It won’t hurt Miss Birmingham to leave. She’ll have many more assemblies and balls.”
Dabbing at her eye with her gloved hand, Fiona nodded.
Even after he met with Warwick that night, Nick was not convinced the meeting had been necessary. After all, he had not even heard from William yet. Nick suspected Warwick’s insistence on meeting tonight was to keep from having to go to Almack’s. Deadly dull gatherings, he’d been told.
One thing about their meeting—besides its devilish location an hour’s drive from London—disturbed Nick. Warwick had repeatedly brought up Fiona. How did Lady Fiona find Menger House? You, Birmingham, are a most fortunate man to have wed Lady Fiona. When they discussed the come-out for Miss Peabody and Miss Birmingham, Warwick had said, “I’ll never forget Lady Fiona’s come-out. I thought her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” Was Warwick now sorry he’d wed another? Was he still in love with Fiona? With a sickening thud in his chest, Nick wondered if Fiona was still in love with Warwick. Nick was well aware of the lack of fidelity in ton marriages. Was Warwick hoping to have an affair with his wife?
When Nick had agreed to marry Fiona he had not bargained on the remarkable highs and incredible lows his love for her would bring him. No pain could ever be greater than finding his wife in another man’s bed. Warwick was entirely too virile looking. Damn but Nick hated the earl!
Later, as he approached Menger House, he was filled with the usual sense of well-being that mushroomed inside him at the prospect of seeing his wife. Then, remembering how out of charity she had been with him earlier in the evening, he had no right to expect her to come to his bed tonight.
His mood morose, he trudged up the stairs with only a single taper to light the way. Three months of very satisfying matrimony had given Nick a dislike for sleeping alone. Even if he did not have the pleasure of making love to Fiona, having her beside him was enough to fill him with joy. But, of course, not tonight. Her sulkiness would no doubt keep her in her own chamber.
