“Indeed?” Of course she had never been to any gaming establishments on her infrequent visits to Town. Ladies rarely endeavored beyond a drawing room game of whist.
“I spend most of my time at the Lucky Lady, my largest gaming operation.”
Meredith’s spoon clattered in her bowl. He owned the Lucky Lady? She and her aunt shared looks of incredulity. Even a provincial like her had heard of the Lucky Lady. Only gentlemen of the highest means patronized that establishment. It was purported to specialize in high stakes gaming only.
His inheritance could not amount to much when compared to the wealth he already possessed. She had assumed he possessed adequate means but not any true wealth. By his own confession, Nick and his mother endured poverty. How had he risen to such prosperity? She studied him with new respect. Not because of his wealth, but because of the obstacles he had overcome in reaching it.
Meredith suddenly felt buoyed. There was no need to feel guilt over cheating the man from an inheritance he did not need.
“You must be quite skilled at the cards, my lord,” Aunt Eleanor commented.
“I’m a fair hand.”
“Meredith is quite good herself. She beats all the neighbors. You two should play whist after dinner.”
Meredith glared at her aunt. “I’m sure Lord Brookshire does not play cards with amateurs. There would not be much fun in it for him, I fear.”
“I beg to differ,” Nick objected. “I’m sure cards after dinner would be vastly entertaining.”
Meredith eyed him closely but could read no mockery in his expression. She shrugged. “If you wish.” Perhaps it would be diverting. Her aunt refused to play with her anymore since she always won. Some competition would be nice.
After dinner, her aunt settled down with her needlework as Meredith removed the cards from a small lacquered box and set them on the center of a small marble-topped table.
The fire crackled in the hearth and its flames cast fascinating shadows across the clean-cut lines of Nick’s face as he seated himself across from her.
“You deal,” Meredith directed.
He waved an elegant hand at the cards. “I defer to you. It is your home.”
Meredith’s nails dug into the tender flesh of her palms at the unwelcome reminder. He was no mere guest. No matter how loath she was to admit it, he was lord and master at least for several more months.
Setting her chin at a stubborn angle, she pushed the cards toward him. She preferred no pretense. For the time being, she lived as a guest in her own home, a leech surviving off the whims of his will. For him to pretend ignorance of that fact only offended her intelligence.
“You deal, my lord.” She pasted a smile on her face. Let him enjoy the upper hand while he had it.
There were gentlewomen who frequented Nick’s establishments—widows and ladies with husbands less than rigid in overseeing their wives’ habits. Independent women of good family and fortune. Yet even these women seemed somehow soft and weak compared to the one sitting across from him. He could never picture them tending to the tenants of their country manors with the same zeal and dedication. Never could he see them assist in the messy delivery of a tenant’s baby, then suffer right alongside the family in the loss of the mother. Interestingly enough, he thought Meredith more aristocratic than those other ladies because of her unorthodox behavior. Not despite it.
How the vain brother of his childhood memories ended up with a wife of her mettle mystified him. He supposed marriage to an earl’s son was a fabulous match for a vicar’s daughter. Perhaps his brother had possessed the foresight to see that Meredith would make an excellent countess. Over the past week, he had learned that she was an outstanding landlord. Oak Run truly required nothing from him while in her care. The tenants praised her. The household staff respected her. She even saw to the crops. Her establishment of a school for the tenants’ children to attend when they were not needed at harvest spoke to the level of concern she held for the inhabitants of Oak Run.
He studied her closely, eyeing the hair neatly coiled atop her head. The firelight brightened her hair to a burnished brown, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Bess could never duplicate such color from one of her jars of dye. The thought of her smooth, water-speckled legs had tormented him all day. He especially wondered how they would feel sliding around his hips. Too bad his brother got to her first. Nick had dropped his guard yesterday, allowed her to see his desire for her. Such a breach would not happen again. This was one woman he could never have.
He shuffled the cards with ease. They flew through the air like so many moths. A soft gasp escaped her, her lips parting in awe over his expertise. He chuckled, strangely pleased to have impressed her. She possessed a pleasant mouth. Wide, lush, and inviting. Frowning at his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was carrying another man’s child. Edmund’s child. That alone should cool his ardor and put her in the untouchable category right above nuns.
He dealt and studied his hand before returning his attention to her. She was an easy read—biting her lip when she disliked her hand. Grinning when she did.
He beat her the first game and quickly discovered that Lady Brookshire was a poor loser.
“How delightful!” her aunt crowed, looking up from her needlework. “No one has beaten Meredith before.”
Nick’s lips quirked in amusement as a becoming flush stole over Meredith’s cheeks. It appeared the noble lady suffered from excess pride.
Her aunt stood and rested her needlework on the settee. “As pleasant as the evening has been, I’m wearied. I believe I shall retire.” She looked to her niece expectantly.
Meredith’s eyes locked with his, glittering with determination. Fine eyes too. A lovely green, dark like a shady glen. The desire to best him sparkled in their depths. Lovely hair, shapely legs, and fine eyes would carry a woman far, he decided. Not to mention such kissable lips.
“Another game, my lord?” Challenge rang in her voice.
“How can I refuse?”
Her aunt yawned behind her hand. “Then I am off to bed. I suppose the night is for the young.”
If Meredith felt uncomfortable at being left alone with him, she did not show it. She focused on her cards, silent and engrossed. Plenty of time for him to consider her. The rusty tones of her hair, the way she worked her mouth in concentration. It all attracted his notice. Again he recalled her pretty legs, the delicate arch of her foot. Triumphant laughter broke his musings. She displayed her winning hand with a flourish.
He frowned, then spoke evenly, deliberately, knowing intuitively what words would irritate her most. “I guess we’re tied then.”
Her eyes flared brightly, emeralds caught in sunlight. “One more game,” she countered.
This time Nick wasn’t taking any chances. He did something he hadn’t done in years. He slipped a card up the inside of his sleeve. Yet when he won, she appeared so deflated, like a child with a broken toy. He could not resist showing her the card. It was only a game after all. The one thing he had learned from a lifetime of playing the game was that one should never take it seriously. Apparently she did not see the humor. Lurching from her chair, her green eyes darkened with fury.
“You sir, are no gentleman!”
A smile played about his lips. She hovered above him, glowering like an avenging angel. Her breasts rose and fell with the intake of each breath, filling the modest neckline of her black dress to capacity. He tossed the cards back and forth between his hands and tipped back in his chair, admiring the view. “True. I was not raised one.”
She blinked at this reply, but her anger ran unabated. “Is this how you earn your living? If I were to walk into one of your establishments should I expect to be cheated?”
His smile deepened. “I expect not. I reserve that for drawing room diversions such as this.”
“Perhaps you find it of no import to trick a woman. If I were a man, I doubt you would have dared.”
He stood. Even with the table between t
hem he towered over her. He let his gaze crawl over her with deliberate slowness. “If you were a man, I would not have lost the second game to begin with.”
“Indeed,” she scoffed. “Why is that?”
Nick circled the table, closing in on her. “Because I would not have been distracted. Because I would have watched the cards and not you.”
Her eyes widened and she looked around her, taking in the empty room. Biting her lip, she shuffled backward, fleeing his predatory advance.
He suddenly saw himself taking that lip between his own teeth and licking the bruised flesh. “Nothing to say, Meredith? You never seem at a loss for words.”
Her back collided with the wall, rattling several framed paintings. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her, caging her in.
“H-How do I distract you?”
Nick had anticipated the question. He knew women well enough to understand they had to know the meaning and reason behind everything. His meaning would be clear to a man. He wanted her. In his arms. In his bed.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth. Something hot erupted low in his gut. No stranger to desire, Nick recognized it when it thrummed to life in his blood. Never before had he withheld himself from any woman he desired, not when the opportunity presented itself. He had made his success by grabbing opportunities when they arose, and she was an opportunity even he could not deny. So for a brief moment he allowed himself to forget her identity and that she carried Edmund’s child.
Removing one hand from the wall, he caressed her face, letting her creamy cheek fill his palm. He dug his fingers into the silky hair behind her ear and tilted her head back.
His thumb brushed her mouth, tracing its shape, memorizing its smooth texture. Her lids drifted shut. He brought his mouth closer, only his thumb barring her lips from his. She parted her lips and he tasted the honey sweetness of her breath. He watched, transfixed, as the pink tip of her tongue darted out to lick the rough pad of his thumb.
His manhood hardened instantly, craving more, craving all. He sank his hips against her soft curves, pressing her into the wall, grinding himself against her welcoming heat. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded with desire.
Then, as her gleaming eyes watched him, she took his thumb into her mouth. White-hot desire spiked through him as she sucked. Gentle at first, then harder. Good God, her hot tongue laved his thumb like a piece of sugar candy.
A groan of pure hunger tore from his throat, and he caught himself from offering his mouth in place of his thumb. Startled by the force of his arousal, he pushed himself away. Apparently he wasn’t quite the opportunist he thought.
She looked up at him, eyes dazed and filled with longing, breasts heaving with rapid breaths. He staggered back, aching from lack of fulfillment, yet mortified at the mounting desire between them.
“My apologies.” He looked away and ran his hand through his hair, disgusted that he would act in a carnal fashion toward Edmund’s widow. “It won’t happen again.”
He swung about and left the room, forcing himself not to look back. His hands clenched open and shut at his sides, empty appendages that ached for the feel of her. God, how he wanted her. Hell. In truth, he could not remember wanting another woman more. Tomorrow would not be soon enough to leave this place and whatever Lady Meredith stirred within him.
He took the steps two at a time, wondering how he would have behaved if she had not been Edmund’s wife, if she wasn’t carrying his brother’s child.
Nick gave a harsh, derisive laugh. What was to wonder? He would have stripped her naked and satisfied both of them right there against the drawing room wall.
A gloomy dawn lit the sky when Meredith heard the jingle of a halter followed by a horse’s whinny. Sleep eluded her. Images of Nick skittered through her mind like flashes of lightning in a dark night. Shame that she had allowed him to touch her, that she had been so bold as to take his thumb in her mouth—and regret that he had not done more—battled in her head.
She had lied to herself all these years, actually believing she was above such a base emotion as lust. If he had not stopped, she would surely have allowed him further liberties.
Meredith swung her legs off the bed and dropped to the floor. Her bare feet padded silently across the carpet. She pushed the damask drapes back and wiped the fogged windowpane, her fingers squeaking against the cold glass as she viewed the emerging day. Nick descended the stone steps to where his horse was held in wait by a sleepy-eyed groom. There was an anxious energy to his movements as he launched his tall frame into the saddle and took the reins.
At the last moment—as if he felt her stare—he raised his head. Their eyes met. In the muted light of dawn she could read nothing in his gaze. Did he feel even a fraction of the turmoil that surged through her? Giving her a brief nod, he spun his horse about and galloped down the drive.
She pressed her fingers against her mouth, unable to stifle her strangled sob. For days she had prayed for him to leave. She watched until he was out of sight before releasing the drapes. They fluttered back, a whisper on the air.
In the back of her mind a desperate voice asserted itself, making itself known. Don’t go.
Chapter 10
Meredith packed the earth tightly around newly planted foxglove, pausing to wipe a hand across her brow. Leaning back on her heels, she squinted up at the sun. The day was unusually warm, and the extra padding across her midsection that Maree had fashioned added to her warmth. The padding—packed tight with horse’s hair—attached to her corset and lent her the appearance of a woman not too far along in her pregnancy, but a woman definitely bearing the signs of pregnancy no less. At first she had wrinkled her nose at using horse’s hair in the padding. But then Maree explained horse’s hair was used to stuff furniture cushions and would make the padding firmer should someone be so bold as to touch her belly.
“My lady?” Nels called, coming down the garden’s pebbled path. Meredith shaded her eyes with a hand to look up.
“Good morning, Nels. What do you think?” She waved a hand to indicate the tall stalks of lavender foxglove.
He nodded, sparing only a quick, distracted glance at the flowers. “Lovely, my lady. Donald just informed me there’s a gent here.”
Her heart raced and her mind immediately leapt to the image of a certain darkly handsome gentleman.
“Donald saw the fop scuttling about the place, almost as if he were up to no good. He has not approached the house or made his presence properly known.”
Disappointment stabbed her. It couldn’t be Nick. Frowning, she slapped her hands together, shaking loose the dirt from her gardening gloves. “How curious. Where is the gentleman, then?”
“Donald last saw him heading toward the family cemetery.”
She rose to her feet and pulled off her gloves. “I shall find out who he is forthwith.”
“I’ll accompany you, my lady—”
“That is not necessary, Nels.” Meredith gave his arm a pat, hoping to relieve his worry.
Nels crossed beefy arms over his muscular chest, bringing to mind a very devoted bulldog. Meredith’s lips twitched. “Oh, very well, Nels. Just try not to frighten the man.”
They exited through the garden’s rear gate, which led to the back lawn. From there the lawn began to slope gently upward. They made their way up the hill to the small fenced-off cemetery that was the resting place for generations of Brookshires. Edmund’s grave, freshly mounded over with rich, dark soil only beginning to seed with grass, was easy to locate. It was there she found him.
A quick inspection revealed that he was not from these parts. His attire consisted of a dove gray jacket, silver brocade waistcoat, and black trousers. No gentlemen in these parts dressed so extravagantly, not even when attending an assembly. She blinked at the bright violet of his impeccably arranged cravat, certain she had never seen such a splendid color.
“Good day, sir. Might I help you?” Meredith asked in pleasant tones, mindful of N
els hovering next to her like a titan.
He looked up from Edmund’s grave, his blue eyes moist. “Pardon my trespass, I simply wished to pay my respects to the late Lord Brookshire. We were quite good friends.” He doffed his head. “Adam Tremble at your service, ma’am.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Tremble, but I do not recall meeting you at the funeral. How is it you were acquainted with my husband?”
“You are Edmund’s wife?”
She nodded as Tremble’s gaze swept over her, stopping to rest on her swelling belly. His eyes flew back to her face with sudden intensity. “You are increasing with Edmund’s child?”
Taken aback by his impertinence, she did not immediately react. But Nels did. Stepping forth, he grabbed the gentleman by his bright cravat and gave him a shake hearty enough to rattle his teeth out. “You’ll watch your tongue, young fop, if you want to keep your pretty face, eh?”
Adam Tremble sputtered, clawing at Nels’s fist.
She placed a hand on Nels’s shoulder. “Nels, release him. I’m sure he meant no offense.”
He dropped Tremble, who quickly attempted to set his cravat to rights. He glared at Meredith and Nels belligerently, the brightness of his face competing with that of his cravat.
“Few people are aware of my condition, Mr. Tremble. Even I did not know at the time of Edmund’s funeral that I carried his child. Understandably, the news may come as some surprise to you,” she allowed, hiding her anxiety behind a gracious smile.
Surely this man did not know Edmund well enough to know the exact nature of their marriage—or rather the nonexistent nature. That would hardly be the thing two gentlemen would discuss, would it? And even if he did suspect, he could not disprove her. She was his legal wife. It would take more than one man’s suspicions.
“I am sure you are overjoyed, my lady.” The words were said kindly, but his eyes glittered with an unidentifiable emotion. “You must be greatly consoled.” His voice was scathing, heavy with implication, and Meredith knew that he did not believe her. Lifting her chin, she met his stare, daring him to openly contradict her. Despite her shaking hands, she knew he could prove nothing.
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