by Cheryl Bolen
“I beg to disagree,” Verity said with a teasing smile. “There are thousands left in the city—just not the beau monde.”
“Oh dear, you make me feel the complete snob.”
“Never that! In fact, I’m happy to say you’re not at all snobbish—as I’d expected peers to be.”
“Are you sure I’m not arrogant?” There had to be some reason for Nick’s coolness toward her, surely something besides his attraction to the duchess.
“Quite.”
Fiona sighed. “I was hoping there was something in my personality that was correctable. I’m willing to do anything to get back in my husband’s good graces.”
Verity stiffened and went dead silent for a moment. “I’ll own my brother has not been as affectionate toward you as he was when I arrived in London,” she finally said, “but I truly believe he’s in love with you.”
After that night in his arms when he’d said, “Oh, my love, my Fiona,” Fiona had allowed herself to hope that Nick did love her, but his subsequent coolness only reinforced her belief that his achingly welcome words were merely the result of his passion that moment. For weeks now the memory of those words sustained her. Not a day passed that she did not torture herself remembering them. Not a day passed that she did not regret that she had withheld her own declaration that night. Perhaps if she had let him know how much she loved him, the rift between them might have been avoided.
“He cares for you as he’s never cared for another woman,” Verity continued.
Nick never professed to be in love with her, a fact Fiona would not divulge to the sister she had grown so close to. So she must change the topic of conversation. “Have you noticed the man on the horse behind us?”
When Verity went to whirl around, Fiona grabbed her arm. “I beg that you not be so conspicuous! Allow me to turn onto the next path, then steal a glance.”
Fiona steered her phaeton onto the next intersecting path, and Verity moved her head ever so slightly. “The man’s following us,” she finally declared.
“Indeed he is. And this isn’t the first time. For the past several weeks I’ve noticed him following me.”
“Now that you mention it, I realize he does look familiar—not that I’ve noticed him before, but I have a remarkably observant eye for horses, and I’ve seen that chestnut many times.”
“I’ll vow you have!”
“When did you first become aware of him?”
“I noticed him in front of Albany—you know Lady Melbourne’s former house that’s just down a few doors from our house. I thought nothing of it the first time, except for thinking he dressed too drably to reside at Albany. When I noticed him the next day I became even more puzzled. Just by chance a few days later I discovered that he rode behind Trevor and I when we went to pay a call on the Duchess of Glastonbury. Ever since then I’ve been watchful.”
Verity’s brows lowered. “And he follows you everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
“It must be Nicky!”
“What must be Nicky?”
“Nicky’s hired men to guard you.”
“Why would my husband wish to have me guarded?”
Verity shrugged. “Perhaps he fears cutthroats will harm you for your jewels.”
“In broad daylight?” Though, Fiona owned silently, calling today’s murky gray skies daylight stretched credibility.
“It’s not inconceivable.”
“But I never leave Mayfair!”
“Mayfair, my dear sister, is where the best jewels can be found.”
Fiona shrugged. “I suppose that’s why Nick frowns on me going off without a groom.”
“Papa had me guarded once,” Verity said. “Enemies from his business dealings made threats, and dear Papa feared for my safety. I’ll vow that’s why Nicky’s having guards watch you.”
Fiona wished she could be that important to Nick. More likely, he’d be happy to be rid of her. But, of course, she could not express such doubts to dear Verity. “Perhaps I’ll ask Nick—if I ever get alone with him,” she said lightly. Though he accompanied her most evenings, they were always with other people. Never alone. It had been almost four months now since they had shared a bed, four months since she had felt the stroke of his hand on her bare flesh.
Verity cleared her throat. “I need to return to Great Acres.”
Fiona’s hand holding the ribbons went still. Verity was right to wish to return to her widowed mother, but Fiona was loathe to lose her. She would miss Verity horribly, as horribly as she missed Randy. And Verity’s leaving London without having made a match would solidify Fiona’s many failures: her failure to find Verity a husband, her failure to mend the rift with Randy, and her failure to gain her own husband’s affection. “I feel so wretched. I lured you to London with promises of matching you with a compatible husband, and now you’ll return to the tediousness of Great Acres, still a spinster.”
“It’s no more your fault that I failed to make a match than it’s your fault Miss Peabody came away from the Marriage Mart empty handed.”
“But Miss Peabody deliberately sabotaged her chances of attracting a husband.”
Verity peered at Fiona. “How did you know that?”
“Because she persisted in wearing those spectacles.”
“The poor lady cannot see without them!”
Fiona lifted her chin. “She did not wear them to the come-out ball.”
“Because the countess made her, but Miss Peabody confessed to me that she was unable to clearly see the faces of any man she danced with.”
“Oh dear, then I suppose she really must wear them. One must know what her future husband looks like.”
“My friend is disinterested in love.”
“Perhaps next year she will be.”
“Perhaps,” Verity said with a shrug. “I’m grateful to you for doing everything in your power to link me to a man who’d be a good match. I daresay a dozen of the men I’ve met would have—” She stopped abruptly.
Fiona, her mouth gaping open, whirled to Verity. “There is someone! You have fallen in love, have you not?”
Verity did not respond for a moment. Then she nodded.
“I’ve been so stupid!” Fiona said. “Now I realize why you would never encourage so many worthy men. Did you know your lover before you came to us?”
“No,” Verity said with a shake of her head. “I came to London to find a husband. And I lost my heart to an unsuitable man.”
“But either Miss Peabody or I have been with you whenever you’ve gone out. How, pray tell, could you have had the opportunity to fall in love with an unsuitable man?”
“During my morning rides,” Verity admitted in a somber voice. “I’ve hardly spoken to him, yet no other man will ever do.”
They might have spoken very little, but for Verity to have so strong an attraction, Fiona was certain Verity and her lover had exchanged something more than a few words. “Has he kissed you?”
Tears came to Verity’s eyes, and she nodded.
“If you feel that way about him he cannot be unsuitable. Your judgment is too good for you to be attracted to an unworthy man.”
Verity harrumphed. “Oh, he’s a most suitable man. Just not for me.”
Fiona reined in the horse. The phaeton came to a stop, and she turned to Verity. “Why not for you?”
“Because he’s a peer.”
Anger flashed in Fiona’s water blue eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say! Of course you can marry a peer! You were without a doubt the best prize of this year’s Marriage Mart.”
“I cannot marry a peer. Besides, I care too much for him to allow him to ruin his life for his fleeting attraction to me.”
Fiona’s brows lowered. “Then he’s declared himself to you?”
“He . . .” Verity dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “He told me he loved me.”
“If he loves you, why hasn’t he come to ask Nick for your hand?”
/> “He doesn’t know who I am. And . . . I don’t know who he is.”
“Forgive me if I sound befuddled, but how can you know he’s a peer if you don’t know his identity?”
“I saw his signet ring.”
“You obstinate goose! That’s why you discontinued your morning rides! I perceive that as soon as you realized he was a peer, you quit going to Hyde Park at dawn.”
Verity nodded. “I thought in time I would forget him.”
“So the poor man’s likely been waiting for you every morning for the past few months.”
“Not anymore. And especially not since that night at Vauxhall.”
Now Fiona was truly perplexed. “I was at Vauxhall with you, and I have no memory of any peer beside Warwick being in our party.”
“He wasn’t. He did, however, save me from ruination at the hands of that detestable Sir Reginald.”
“How romantic!”
Verity burst into tears. “It was u-u-u-tterly romantic! He begged to know my name, begged to call on me.” Between more sobs, she managed, “He kissed me most intimately and told me he loved me.”
“And you sent him away?”
A deep sob rose up from Verity’s chest to become a wrenching cry. “I begged him if . . . ” Sniff. Sniff. “If he cared for me, he not follow me.”
Fiona folded her arms across her chest and glared at her sister. “That is the most stupid thing you’ve ever done!”
“I . . . I also told him I was the daughter of a Cit. Now that he knows how ineligible I am, he’ll forget me.”
“I’m living proof that he will not,” Fiona said in a morose voice.
He had thought that when the balls and routs and musicales wound down at the close of the Season he would get more sleep, would be more alert at the ’Change, but even though he’d gone to bed early the past two nights, he still had not slept. How could he, knowing Fiona lay in bed in the next room? He knew that if he came to her she would do her wifely duty. But that wasn’t enough for Nick. He wanted her to want him with as searing a need as he wanted her.
And he wanted her love.
As long as Warwick drew breath, Nick could never have that.
Perhaps he was getting used to the lack of sleep. A pity he could not become inured to the perpetual pain.
Even now as he tried to concentrate on his ledgers he heard her lovely voice raised in song as she and Verity played the pianoforte in the drawing room. How he longed to watch her, to drink in her perfection. Instead, he gazed at the closed door to his library and at the neglected ledgers in front of him. He was like a man lured by opium. Only Fiona was his opium.
The singing stopped, and a minute later the door to his library opened. His wife stood silhouetted against the door frame, elegant in a graceful ivory gown that barely covered the smooth mounds of her breasts. That solemn look that seemed to have become part of her these days was on her face as she shut the door and moved to his desk.
He closed the ledgers and met her somber gaze.
“Why are you having me followed?” she asked, sinking into a chair across from him.
Whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. He watched her with hardened eyes, then spoke icily. “Perhaps I wish all the lurid details of your meetings with your lover.”
“Then I daresay you’ve been vastly disappointed,” she said.
He hadn’t the stomach to ask her guards if she had been meeting with Warwick. Could it be she hadn’t? His thoughts flitted to that day when he had told her he would not tolerate her taking a lover. Had she adhered to his wishes? “Forgive me, then,” he said. “Actually, I’ve made enemies, enemies I fear would do you harm to hurt me.”
She began to laugh. A laugh without glee.
His brows nudged down. “Why are you laughing?”
“I daresay you’d reward the man who took me off your hands.”
Anger flared within him. “You think I wish something to happen you?”
“Perhaps you don’t wish me harm,” she said coolly. “You just wish you’d never married me.”
Now he laughed. How much pain he could have been spared had he not married her. A thousand times he’d wished she had never come to him with her bizarre proposal, never tempted him with her compelling offer, never captured his heart with her compliant body. But the past could not be undone. “I don’t recall ever having lamented that I married you.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Nick. Your coolness speaks louder than any words. I pledged to be an affectionate wife, but you want no part of my affections.”
“There, my dear, you’re wrong. My desire for you gives me a great deal of pain.”
She left her chair and moved to him, her gaze fixing on his bulging crotch. Then she did a startling thing. She placed her hand on his throbbing erection and whispered, “Let me give you release, Nick.”
A torrent of powerful emotions swamped him. He hauled her onto his lap and crushed his lips into hers. His hands raked over her body as their kiss caught him up in a swirl of molten heat. He had never been more hungry for her, never before so exalted in the feel of her, the smell of her. From her hungry response he knew she wanted him with the same scorching need that consumed him. His greedy hands raked over her heated flesh, too flooded with his own need for gentleness. She was so utterly soft, so achingly desirable he was powerless not to take what she offered. Yanking at the skimpy bodice of her dress, he bared her breasts and bent to take one into his mouth, glorying in the shudders that vibrated throughout her body.
When her hand coiled around his shaft, every thought was obliterated, save one: He would make love to her here in the library. And she would allow it. With his inner wrist he began to press against the lowest bone in her torso. She rocked against the movement of his hand, making those little whimpering sounds he had so longed to once again hear. Dear God, he couldn’t last another moment without spilling his seed. “I can’t wait,” he groaned, flicking her hand away.
“Take me here,” she whispered in a breathless voice as she cradled his face into her breasts.
He lifted his head away from her soft bosom and watched her smoldering eyes. She had never been more beautiful. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked throatily.
Searing hunger flashed in her eyes when she nodded.
Just as his hand dipped beneath her skirts, there was a knock on his library door. He groaned as a sigh swished from his lungs at the same instant Fiona sighed. Then he growled, “What is it?”
“An urgent message from your couriers,” Biddles said.
Nick jerked up. Something’s happened to William! His hands groped at Fiona’s breasts as he tugged on the dress bodice to cover them. Then he stood, taking her with him, before he plopped her back in the chair. Still standing behind the desk, he said, “You may come in.”
But it wasn’t Biddles who entered the room. It was one of the couriers wearing the blue and yellow Birmingham livery. Nick’s heart, so recently violently pumping, skidded. The man’s glance flicked to Fiona before he handed Nick the sealed letter.
Nick tore open the seal and with his pulse pounding began to read. The letter was written by William’s highest ranking guard.
My dear Mr. Nicholas Birmingham, It greeves me to inform you that your brother William has been placed under arrest. Joseph Bonaparte, the King of Naples, allows no one to visit or speak to Mr. William Birmingham, and he is forbidden even the courtesy to write letters to his family. Fortunately, our men have been able to protect the carriage bearing the francs at a point northeast of Naples where the French have no power.
I shall await your forthcoming instructions. Our couriers know where to find me.
Cursing, Nick fisted the letter in his hands and hurled it into the fire, then dismissed the courier.
Thank God William was still alive. He must act with haste to ensure he stayed alive.
“What is it, dearest?” Fiona asked, rushing to him.
He turned to face her, his face
grave. “Something urgent’s come up. I must leave at once.”
It tore at his heart to see the wounded look on her lovely face. “It cannot wait?” she asked in a thin voice.
Settling his hands on her slender shoulders, he spoke softly. “It cannot.”
She stiffened, “If you leave now, I’ll know you’ve made a decision about our marriage.”
“ This urgent matter has nothing to do with our marriage,” he snapped. He went to take her hand, but she twisted away.
“All your private matters are more important to you than me.”
“No one is more important to me than you.”
“If you mean that, you’ll stay.”
“Fiona,” he said, stepping toward her.
“Don’t touch me! I have no power against your touch, and well you know it.”
At any other time her words would have been an aphrodisiac. But not now. His brother was in grave danger. “I have to go,” he said solemnly.
“Then your decision’s made,” she said, her voice hitching with emotion as she fled the room.
Chapter 25
With a shaking hand Nick scribbled the note to Warwick, twice crossing out the wrong word. His inability to concentrate was understandable. Every cell in his body wrenched from the painful parting with Fiona. Every shred of his willpower had been put to the test when he did not allow himself to go after her. A wasted moment—even to assuage the doubts of the person who mattered most to him—could cost his brother’s life.
He vowed he would make it up to Fiona once this crisis was settled—if it could be settled.
After he sealed the letter he stormed from Menger House and walked around to the mews for his horse.
A block away from Warwick’s house on Curzon Street Nick paid a street urchin a crown to deliver his note to the earl. Even though the need for haste was great, Nick could not risk being seen at Warwick House. William’s life would be snuffed if anyone learned of the Birmingham connection to the British foreign secretary.
