by Cheryl Bolen
While he stood across the street in the shadows of a darkened doorway, his thoughts—as they perpetually did—turned to Fiona. He feared for her safety, even though he had extracted a promise from Hutchinson before he left to double his wife’s guard and to be ever alert to anything that might threaten her. He had also made Adam vow to stand at the ready to assist her during his absence.
Nick watched the silhouettes of men and women against the second-floor windows of Yvonne’s townhouse. And thought some more of Fiona. Nothing had ever affected him more profoundly than her potent need for him that last night he had spent in London. He was certain now that, even if she did love Warwick, she was no longer stealing away to meet him. Did that mean she wished to be a real wife to Nick? Her actions that last night were the actions of a real wife. His heart accelerated when he recalled that she’d actually acted jealous. Could he even allow himself to hope?
As he stood watching an elegantly dressed couple leave Yvonne’s and get in a fine coach and four, he vowed to make it up to his wife for leaving her, even if he had to get down on his knees and beg her to forgive him, beg her to give him a chance to win her love.
After that first couple left, one after another of Yvonne’s guests began to leave. He waited until all the lights were extinguished before he knocked on her door.
When he opened her door, the butler’s face crinkled into a broad grin. “Monsieur Birmingham!”
“Good evening, Pierre. Is mademoiselle in?”
There was no need for Pierre to call her. She was already hurrying down the stairs. “Nickee!”
He gazed up at her as she gracefully moved toward him, her blue eyes shimmering with warmth. She was as beautiful as ever. Though her blond hair and blue eyes matched Fiona’s coloring, the resemblance between the two women ended there. Yvonne was much larger than Fiona. And much more voluptuous. Unlike Fiona’s delicate, subdued beauty, Yvonne’s striking beauty and her flair for bold clothes—like tonight’s red lace—demanded attention. His lazy gaze traveled the length of her. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Yvonne.”
Her eyes narrowed and her luscious red lips effected a pout. “And you’re even more handsome, mon cheri.” She came to link her arm through his. “But I must get you away from the door. Do you not know how dangerous it is for you to be here? You might be recognized.”
“That’s why I waited until dark—and until your guests left.”
She took him to the drawing room, where Pierre had lighted a brace of candles, poured Nick cognac and came to sit on the arm of his chair. “What is the matter, Nickee?” She casually draped her arm around his shoulders.
That was one of the things he’d liked about Yvonne. Her perceptiveness. She could read him as if he were transparent. “My brother, William, is in grave danger, and I need your help.”
“I would do anything for you, Nickee. Tell me what you need.”
He drew in his breath. “It’s a lot to ask, and I’m willing to pay handsomely.”
“I do not wish your money.”
“But you haven’t heard what I’m asking for yet.”
The heavy scent of gardenias clung to her. “Then tell me.”
He first told her about William being held by King Bonaparte of Naples.
“I know Joseph well. He would not hold your brother unless he thought William was a danger to the empire.”
Nick pursed his lips. “There is one small problem in that area.”
Her perfectly arched brows hiked.
“My brother’s been buying up francs all over Europe.” Nick shrugged. “I suppose he’s betting on the French to win the war.”
She nodded. “Joseph would not like that. The Bonapartes, they want to control everything. If you would like, I shall travel to Naples at once and plead William’s case.”
“I’d like something even more.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I wish you to say you’re secretly married to Will. As the wife of a French citizen—a French citizen who has friends in high-level government positions—he would be protected from cruel punishment.”
“And when,” she asked skeptically, “did I supposedly marry your baby brother? When I was in England and he was, what sixteen?”
Nick chuckled. “My dear Yvonne, William’s almost the same age as you. If you’ll recall, you were but seventeen when you came to me from the Duke of Glenweil—even if you did lie and say you were one and twenty.”
“Ah, cheri, you weren’t much older,” she said in a faraway voice. “The years they have been kind to you.”
He pulled a document from his pocket. “I have a marriage license—forged, of course—that says you and William wed in Seven Oaks six years ago. I know this a lot to ask of you. It will brand you as a married woman. It will prohibit you from marrying anyone else—as long as you choose to live in France. Were you to leave Paris, however, we could own the truth because you would be free from reprisals.”
She shook her head. “I cannot leave again. I do not like Napoleon, but I must fly with the wind.”
He took her hand. “Will you help me?”
“I will do anything for you, but this is much to ask.”
“I’ll give you fifty-thousand francs.”
“I shall want pounds.”
He smiled. “So you’re not betting on Napoleon.”
“I bet on no one except Yvonne de Cuir. Besides, if the Birminghams are going to control the francs, I’d rather have pounds.”
“As you wish, mademoiselle—or should I say madame?” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin.
She stood and looked down at him. “I shall travel to Naples in the morning.” Her voice softened. “Have you a bed to sleep in, or would you like to share mine?”
He brushed his lips across her hand. “I’ll begin my journey back to England now. It’s best that I travel by night.”
She gave him a full-fledged pout. “You greatly offend me, Nickee. I do not appeal to you, no?”
He got to his feet and placed firm hands on her shoulders as he peered into her sparkling blue eyes. “I have a wife.”
She stared at him. “Ah, Nickee, I believe you are in love with this wife of yours, no?”
“I am indeed in love with my wife.” That was the first time Nick had ever admitted his love for Fiona to another person.
After Biddles announced Trevor, Fiona put down the tiny cape she was sewing for Emmie’s doll as a Christmas present. Trevor burst into the room, went directly to the fire, removed his gloves, and made sweeping circles with his bare hands inches from the flames. He had not removed his greatcoat. “I daresay I’ve icicles growing from my ears,” he mumbled. “Beastly cold out there.”
“Then I’m flattered you’ve braved the weather to call on me.”
He turned and gave her a sly smile. “As much as I adore you, my dearest, I would not brave this damnable weather for you. As it happens, I was returning from my aunt’s in Hampshire and haven’t been home yet. Trust that when I do arrive at my abode I shall not leave it.” He came to sit by her on the sofa. “Ring for tea. I must have something hot to drink. I’m positively freezing.”
Fiona got up and rang, then returned to her seat.
“Feel my head,” Trevor said. “I daresay I’m coming down with a fever.”
She placed her hand to his forehead. “You feel fine.”
He sighed. “There’s nothing fine about me. I fear I’m taking a lung infection.”
Fiona suppressed a smile and spoke gravely. “I pray that you’re not.” For as many winters as she had known him, Trevor courted every possible ailment but had never contracted a single one—much to his displeasure. “I’m so happy you’ve come, Trev, for I’ve been so low since Miss Birmingham left yesterday. And Nick’s left, too,” she added solemnly.
“Then that was him I saw! Did he leave on Tuesday?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“’Pon my word, I saw him on the road to Portsmouth, t
raveling at some great haste.”
“That couldn’t have been Nick. He said—” Her chest tightened, her stomach dropped. Nick must have lied to her. He had told her he was going to Essex, which was in the total opposite direction from Portsmouth.
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “Where did he say he was going, darling?”
“To Essex.”
“Now that I think about it, the man couldn’t possibly have been your husband. The man I saw was . . . much shorter than Birmingham.”
Dear Trevor. Her eyes became suddenly watery. “Thank you, Trevor. You’re such a good friend, and I so desperately need one now.”
For once Trevor was at a loss for words. His gaze shifted from Fiona to the table where she had placed the doll cape, then he lifted the cape by its tiny ermine hood and held it up. “I know you’ve not been eating properly and are growing thinner each time I see you, but really, darling, this is much too small for you.”
She giggled through her tears. “You goose, I’m sewing it for Emmie’s doll. As a Christmas present.”
He turned suddenly somber. “There’s something else you could give the child—something less tangible but even more welcome than a fur-draped doll cape. . . .”
“Yes, I know,” she said solemnly. Now the tears spilled. “I want her to be mine. I was going to tell her to call me Mama, but she’s not mine. Were I to . . . leave Nick I could not take her with me.” She drew in a deep breath and whimpered a sob. “So I ca-a-a-n’t allow her to become attached to me because of the teetering state of my marriage.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “Surely you’re not thinking of returning to Windmere Abbey?”
“My thoughts have been far too jumbled to take clear form. I would like to go to Camden Hall for Christmas.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what Nick wants, though I daresay he would not mind being rid of me.”
“I think you misjudge your husband,” Trevor said in a grave voice.
“Your high regard for me influences your judgment.”
“I think not. Birmingham’s besotted.”
“Nicholas Birmingham has a mistress.”
Trevor’s eyes rounded. “I make it my business to know everybody’s business, and I’m sure you’re wrong there, my sweet. Where did you get your faulty information?”
She rubbed her gloved hand to her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. “Wife’s intuition.”
“What you need, my dear pea goose, is to sit down with that husband of yours as soon as he returns . . . from Essex and be honest about your feelings for him, about your doubts.”
She shook her head. “You know why he married me. I can’t pretend to own him. He should be free to . . . fall in love with another woman.”
Trevor took her hand and squeezed it. “Allow him to fall in love with you.”
“Oh, Trevor, if you only knew how I’ve humiliated myself for the pleasure of his touch.”
Trevor clapped his hands to his ears. “I beg that you say no more. You will put me to the blush.” When she made no response, he redirected their conversation. “So, what about your brothers? Will you see them at Christmas?”
“I’ve had no communication with Randy.” Then she brightened. “But Stephen’s coming. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen the scamp.”
“I daresay I’d hardly recognize him. The fellow gets bigger—and more decidedly muscled—every time I see him.”
“Then you must come with us to Camden Hall for Christmas and see for yourself how much Stephen’s grown.”
Biddles brought the tea, and Fiona quickly poured Trevor’s, adding extra sugar. “I’m sure a hot cup of very sweet tea is just what the doctor would order for you, Trev.”
“I tell you my very bones are icy.” He sighed. “I only hope I’m well enough to travel with you to Camden Hall, and I simply won’t go if it’s as cold as it is today.”
After he finished his tea, Trevor stood and gazed down at her. “I must go. My bed beckons.” He rolled his eyes and spoke in a martyred voice. “I pray my valet doesn’t discover my lifeless body tomorrow morning.” Then he wrapped his muffler several times around his neck and halfway up his face, donned his gloves, and left.
As soon as he was gone Fiona called for her coach to be brought around, then she donned her own pelisse and cape and scurried to the conveyance, making a mental apology to Trevor. It was beastly cold. She directed the coachman to take her to the Birmingham’s bank.
Through bleary eyes she watched out the window as they sped toward The City. It was so utterly gray today, a perfect match to her gloomy mood. Only the raggedly dressed children with cheeks rosy from the cold seemed oblivious to the frigid weather as they frolicked on the pavement, a few of them pausing to gather around the chestnut roaster.
When she arrived at the bank, she stuffed her hands into her muff, leaped from the coach, and hurried into the lobby, then went directly to Adam’s tastefully decorated office.
He stood when she entered. He looked so much like his brother it made her heart ache. “My dear lady, Nick would not at all like your being out on such a wretched day, and I promised him before he left that I would look after you. Please take a seat.” He indicated a throne-style chair that was swathed in a pumpkin-colored silk.
“I’m not staying. I merely wished to ask you a question.”
One dark brow arched in the exact manner as Nick’s.
“Where has my husband gone?”
He did not answer for a moment. “To Essex,” he finally said.
She didn’t believe him. “To interview the new foreman?”
“Yes. I expect he’s already on his way back to London by now.”
“You’ve told me what I wanted to know.” No, not what I wanted. She turned to leave, tears clouding her vision.
“My lady!” He started after her.
But she did not stop.
She wept all the way back to Menger House. Nick had lied to her when he said he was going to Essex to resolve a labor dispute. How careless of him not to apprise his brother of his lies. Now he was found out.
But no matter. She would not be at home when he returned. He would be free of her. Free to cavort with his mistress in any way he wanted.
She was such an utter failure at everything, from the estrangement with her brother, to her unfulfilled promises to Verity, to her inability to win her husband’s affection.
As the coach glided to a stop in front of Menger House, Fiona took a long look at the classically styled mansion that had always filled her with pride. This wasn’t her home after all. Windmere Abbey was her home. How she longed to go there, to have Randy and Stephen and Mama and Papa all together again. To be surrounded by her own family. But, of course, that was impossible. Mama and Papa were dead. Randy did not desire her company. Besides, even if Windmere Abbey was her home, she was married to Nicholas Birmingham. She was his property. If she must leave London—and she must—then she would have to go to Camden Hall.
How she had looked forward to going to Camden Hall for Christmas, to taking Emmie with her to gather the holly and berries and mistletoe. Now she would go alone. As much as she wished to take Emmie with her, she couldn’t. Nick would never give up the child.
Inside the house, she ordered Prudence to pack her things for Camden Hall, then she trudged up the terrazzo stairway to find Emmie.
The child was playing in the nursery with her favorite doll—one Fiona had given her—when she looked up and saw Fiona. “My Lady,” she exclaimed, running to Fiona and throwing her little arms around her.
Fiona held her close. Such a precious little being. “Oh, my little pet, I’m going to miss you so much.”
Emmie’s face clouded as she looked up into Fiona’s equally clouded face. “Where are you going?”
“I have to go to Camden Hall. I must ensure that all our cottagers and the loyal servants receive their Christmas packages. I do hope you and your papa will join me for Christmas.”
“I want to go with you!”
/> “Oh, pet, I wish you could, but your papa will be lonely when he returns, and he’ll want his little girl here.”
“Then I must stay, but I’ll beg him to take me to you.”
“That would make me very happy, love.”
Losing Nick was the worst pain she’d ever experienced, and now added to that was the sting of leaving a piece of her heart here in the Menger House nursery.
Chapter 27
His thirst to see Fiona was so great he had not stopped to sleep, or to change his clothes, or even to shave. The aching anticipation of seeing her helped to dull his constant fear for William’s safe return. Nick repeatedly consoled himself that by having enlisted Yvonne’s help, he had stacked the deck in William’s favor. If anyone could secure William’s release, it was Yvonne.
But the situation was grave.
His dusk arrival at Menger House—bone weary but exhilarated—could not have been timed better. Fiona would surely be home. No evening engagement would have started this early. “Where is Mrs. Birmingham?” Nick casually asked Biddles as he divested himself of his greatcoat and heaped it on the butler’s proffered arm.
Biddles’s face was inscrutable. “The lady has gone to Camden Hall.”
Profound disappointment slammed into Nick. Though Fiona had mentioned her desire to spend Christmas at Camden Hall, he had allowed himself to believe she would be waiting for him at Menger House, as anxious to see him as he had been to see her. Her passionate response to him that last night had fooled him into believing that she cared for him. But, of course, if she cared for him, she would be here now.
He disguised his disappointment. “She took my daughter?”
“She went alone.”
How strange. Fiona had shared with him her plans to include Emmie in all the holiday preparations.
Then suddenly, as quick and painful as the strike of a cannonball, he realized his wife had left in anger.
