He could think of nothing to say. He had sense enough to refrain from blurting out Stay. Even though the thought ricocheted inside his head. She had to return to her world. Where she belonged. Just as he belonged in his.
With one hand on the door latch, she looked back over her shoulder at him. “Good night.”
Before he could reconsider, Nick grabbed her arm to stop her from getting out of the hack and hauled her against him, kissing her with all the thoroughness and skill he possessed. He splayed a hand behind her head, anchoring her for his ravaging mouth as he buried his fingers into the mass of her unbound hair, luxuriating in the silken tresses against his roughened palm. Those familiar mewling sounds rose from her throat, firing his blood. Hard and aching again, his hand dove beneath her skirts, his fingers searching out her heat again.
The driver called out something, his uncultured accents loud and abrasive on the air. Like a frightened bird, Meredith tore her mouth from his, her words spilling forth in a rush, “He’ll wake the neighborhood. You have to let me go.”
His first impulse was to reply that he didn’t have to do anything. That the driver could bloody well wake the entire city for all he cared.
Then common sense returned and he nodded. Sliding his hand from beneath her skirts, he pulled back.
With one last unreadable look, Meredith was gone, out the door like a wisp of smoke, leaving him to dwell over all the things he would like to do to her given the proper amount of time.
And a proper bed.
He had the presence of mind to bark out his destination to the driver as he settled back against the seat, determining that he would heed her words and indeed let her go. This time for good.
Nick wrenched his shoulders and arms free of his jacket and flung it on his bed before he realized the large four-poster was occupied. Bess lounged on the damask coverlet, stretched out like an elegant cat, her cheek resting in her palm with an idleness that belied the steady intent of her gaze. Straightening, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“So, Nick.” She spoke his name slowly, toying with the beaded threads fringing her low bodice, an expert ploy to attract his attention to her generous breasts, and one that he had seen her use countless times—on him and others. “That’s her?” At his stony silence, she elaborated. “The one you left me for?”
Stifling a sigh, he sat down on a chair and tugged off his boots. Might as well get comfortable if he was to endure an inquisition. “I told you already. I did not leave you for anyone.”
“Liar.”
He looked up as he yanked his other boot free, one brow raised in warning. “It’s late, Bess. We’re not doing this now.”
“I suppose it’s only natural for you to want a proper lady now that you’re a fine lord.” She sat up on her knees and inched nearer. “She looked like a lady, all ice in her veins, but is that what you want? Some frigid piece of muslin and lace?”
He shook his head, fighting back the recent image of Meredith hot and writhing beneath him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She slithered off the bed and approached him with a decisive sway to her hips. “You’ll never be some Society bloke, Nicky, even if you marry a proper lady. You might blend in with their kind, attend their parties and ape their manners, but that will never change who you really are.”
Her words were a douse of cold water, effectively eliminating the calming sense of repletion lingering from his physical union with Meredith. She only spoke the truth. The orphaned urchin would always live inside him. Yet he knew he could no longer deny the other part of him. The earl’s son existed too. He was a hybrid, torn between two worlds. Tonight’s incident with Fairbanks made it abundantly clear that he could never shake off his past. It would forever be there. A gently bred woman like Meredith had no place in his life.
“You’re from the streets.” Bess stopped before him and cupped his face to murmur, “Like me. We’re a pair, Nicky. Nothing proper about either of us. I can do things to you no fine lady ever would.” She pressed her open mouth against his, but Nick shrugged past her.
“It’s over, Bess. Accept it or consider moving on.” He pulled open the door to his bedchamber, indicating it was time for her to leave.
“It’s her.” Bess’s lips thinned, nearly disappearing into her face. “You’re half in love with her already.”
He carefully schooled his expression into one of boredom, masking the jolt her words elicited. “Don’t be foolish.”
“You’re the fool.”
He winced at her shrill tone, recalling why he avoided relationships. Always unpleasant to end.
She stormed past him, pausing in the threshold. “You’re lying to yourself.” Shaking her head, she laughed without mirth. “I hope she breaks your heart.”
He shut the door after her and leaned against its hard length for a moment. She was wrong. He was not in love with Meredith. His mother had taught him well what love could do to a person. He would never be that weak. And if he ever did succumb to that weak emotion, Meredith was the last woman upon whom he would lavish such sentiment. To love her would be begging for trouble. He would be damned if he fell prey to love’s debilitating thrall.
The sooner Havernautt proposed, the better. His control and good sense would return once Meredith was wed and firmly off limits. Nick gave his head a sure, swift shake. As long as she didn’t botch things with Havernautt. A scowl marred his face at the thought. He could be stuck with Meredith indefinitely if that happened, and that was unacceptable.
She needed marriage to some decent, boring nob and exile to the country where the sight of her would never tempt him again. He pushed off the door with a deep sigh. No getting around it. He would have to personally see that it happened.
Meredith hadn’t the heart for fox hunting. Or, upon deeper consideration, husband hunting either. Neither of which seemed to matter since she had obliged Portia and joined the hunting party of the very man she had decided met her criteria for a husband.
In truth, she had joined the hunting party so Portia would not be the solitary female in their ranks, and Meredith had not particularly relished staying behind at the house to work on embroidery or pen letters with the other ladies. The chance to ride was incentive enough to set aside her qualms of engaging in the bloodthirsty pursuit of a fox—or so she had told herself.
The racket of baying dogs and pounding hooves, however, prevented her from thoroughly embracing nature. She let her horse lag behind. Teddy, cheeks flushed red with the thrill of the chase, did not notice her falling behind and charged steadily after his hounds.
She pulled on her reins and surveyed the landscape, a small smile playing about her lips as the rest of the riders moved on without her. Her lungs took in great gulps of fresh air. Perhaps no one would notice if she slipped away.
“Come, Meredith.”
Apparently, someone had not forgotten her—nor missed her stealthy exit.
“You’re falling behind!” Portia shouted, pulling back to look over her shoulder at where Meredith had stopped.
“Go on without me. I only wish to ride.”
Portia dutifully trotted over to her, casting one last look of longing at the herd of riders stretching farther and farther away. The thrill of the hunt clearly hummed in her friend’s blood, and Meredith idly wondered if one had to be born to the aristocracy to appreciate the mercenary pursuit.
“Truly, Portia, you don’t have to accompany me.”
“You are certain?” The ring of hope in Portia’s voice was undeniable.
Meredith gestured to the party of hunters growing smaller in the distance. “You’re losing them. Go.”
Grinning, Portia flipped her riding crop across her horse’s flanks and charged off to rejoin the group.
With another cleansing breath, Meredith admired the countryside, briefly closing her eyes against a caressing breeze. She settled into the much needed peace and tranquility of her surroundings, letting it restore her as she prodded
her horse along. She turned in the direction of the house, preferring to ride south, where she would be unlikely to meet up with the hunting party. Of course, the fox could take whatever direction it chose, but she would have a better chance for solitude heading in the opposite direction. She passed the house and exited the front gates, thinking to pass through the village she had spied yesterday from their carriage window.
She heard the other rider before sighting him. Rounding the bend, she spotted him just before he pulled his snorting mount in front her.
Her flesh sprang to instant, singing life. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.” The sun glinted off Nick’s dark hair as he reined in his dancing stallion beside her.
Naturally, Teddy would have invited him. Teddy viewed Nick as part of her family. What she had not considered was that Nick would actually accept the invitation.
“And you came?” Meredith murmured. Contrary to the calm she presented, her heart hammered in her chest at the sight of him. She had not thought to see him again. At least not so soon. At least not before she was betrothed and well and fully unavailable for future trysts. One thing was clear: her heart was not ready to see him again.
“When it involves you, I find myself doing things typically out of character.” His mouth twisted in derision.
Heat flamed her cheeks as certain erotic memories of a carriage ride flooded her mind. Not that such memories ever strayed far.
“I’ve ceased to wonder why,” he added.
She nodded, unsure how to respond, and instead looked to the woods crowding the path around them. The swaying branches, the rustling leaves…anywhere but at him. Looking at Nick only brought to mind that night—an unsafe pastime, especially when alone with him like this. It took every ounce of willpower not to reach across the short distance and touch him.
The sound of the dogs could be heard faintly in the distance, serving to remind her of the others nearby. She wet her lips. “You realize you will be subject to Lady Derring’s matchmaking again.” A breeze whipped the feather of her hat across her face, tickling her nose. Her gloved hand brushed it back.
“I don’t mind. There are worse dinner companions than Portia. And how fares Lady Derring’s matchmaking with you? Has Havernautt proposed yet?”
He posed the question mildly, but a quick glance at his face revealed his knotted jaw and steely gaze.
“No. Not yet.” Looking away, she added, “If he will.”
“Oh, he will.” He uttered this with such conviction that Meredith risked another glance at him. He sat so tall and imposing on his horse, like an expert cavalryman. She could very well imagine him dashing in a uniform, riding off to battle.
“His mother does not like me,” she volunteered. “I do not think I am exactly what she had in mind for a daughter-in-law. And since I suspect my coming here was to garner her good favor, I don’t anticipate the posting of banns any time soon.”
A horn sounded in the distance, and the baying of dogs grew steadily closer. It appeared the fox was sending the hunters on a merry chase after all. As if sensing the approaching rabble, her horse whinnied and danced sideways, forcing her knee to brush Nick’s leg. Even such momentary contact caused butterflies to gather in her belly and liquid heat to pool between her thighs. Would her body forever betray her around him? Even years from now? Married to another man? Could she expect this flood of desire each time they met? Pain pierced her heart. How could she stand such torment?
“He will propose,” Nick reiterated with annoying surety.
“How do you know?”
“I have seen the way he looks at you.”
Meredith snorted, certain he did not know what he was talking about. “And how is that?”
“Like a child at Christmas, and you’re the present he can’t wait to unwrap.”
Meredith frowned, determined to disagree. She knew Teddy liked her, but he never looked at her in any special way. Did he? It was an uneasy thought that he could desire her the way a man and woman could desire each other—the way she desired Nick. How would Teddy feel when he realized she did not return his ardor? She did not want to disappoint him. For all his insipid ways, he was kind.
“I have done some thinking since we last…spoke.”
She squirmed in her saddle at his reference to their last meeting. As she recalled, there had been very little talking. The heat in her cheeks rose several degrees. Dropping her gaze, she stared at the leather reins clutched in her gloved hands.
“Since that night I am further convinced of your need to marry—and in all haste. As such, I felt compelled to be here. To assist in whatever way to see you well and quickly wed.”
Her eyes cut to his incredulously. “And your presence is required for that?”
“Lady Derring seems to think I am a man of some influence—at least my title and money are.” He shrugged. “If my presence will serve in seeing you wed, then so be it.”
She felt a steady build of anger. It began in her chest and bloomed, spreading until she felt its burning affect reach the tips of her ears. “How solicitous of you to sacrifice yourself to the pleasures of Society for me.”
He pinned her with his gaze and spoke swiftly, ruthlessly. “Perhaps there is a good reason you have not won his mother’s favor. After all, you have never behaved properly.”
“I have so,” she insisted, hating how petulant and childlike she sounded.
“Indeed?” He tilted his head. The dangerous glint to his eyes warned Meredith the rest of his diatribe would not be to her liking. “Was it when you feigned a pregnancy and lied to the world in order to defraud me? Or when you hied across Town in the middle of the night without an escort and tangled in the entrance of the Lucky Lady with a renowned pimp? Or perhaps when you let me toss your skirts in the back of a hack?”
Hot embarrassment suffused her. The probing bite of each question manifested itself until she felt like she had been cut to ribbons by a lashing whip. That he would even refer to that night so coldly, as if it had all been her doing and something she had subjected him to, made her sick. “You’re a beast,” she hissed, blinking back the sting of tears. After a deep inhalation she warned, “Don’t ever mention that night to me again.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Regretting it?” Despite his cavalier tone, his expression turned guarded.
“No,” she whispered, and for a moment their gazes clashed. “I’ll never regret it.”
However, she feared she would learn to if he continued to debase the memory. And that she could not endure. She had arrived at several conclusions since that night. One of which was that she would do her duty, find a husband and be a good wife—even stomach the required intimacies of the marriage bed with a man other than Nick. What else could she do? He showed no indication of stopping her husband hunt.
And secondly, when life became too dull, or she felt especially lonely in her marriage of convenience, she would pull out the memory of their one night from the far recesses of her heart like an old trinket to be stroked and cherished. Her one night with Nick would be enough. It had to be.
The memory must remain untarnished. No small feat on her part. Especially when he did such an excellent job of being unpleasant. Her best chance lay in avoiding him.
“You might insist on remaining here as my watchdog, but we don’t have to keep company. Let’s agree to keep our distance, shall we?”
He shifted in his saddle, the leather creaking beneath his weight as he mulled over her suggestion. “It will do more harm than good to present the picture of estranged relations.”
She stared back in mutinous silence, her chin set at a stubborn angle even as she acknowledged the truth of his words. Blast him. The thought of Nick trailing her about the place sent a nervous tremor through her. How could she pretend to care for another with the one she truly wanted watching?
Her face must have revealed some of the shock her revelation yielded, because his brow creased in concern. “Meredith, what is it?
”
She stared at him dumbly, seeing nothing as her mind reeled. She wanted Nick. And not just in the carnal sense. She loved him. Since the night she had met him in the corridor outside the nursery and glimpsed the forsaken boy, her heart had longed for him, had wanted, irrationally, to erase all his hurts. When he had followed her into the fields after Sally Finney’s death and taken her into his arms, she had forgotten the dead woman’s blood staining her hands. Forgotten everything save him.
“Meredith.” He nudged his horse closer and grabbed hold of her wrist as if he expected her to swoon and fall from her mount. “Are you unwell?”
Yes, her mind screamed. Vastly unwell. She would never be well again. Not as long as she was in love with a man who insisted she marry someone else. A man who thought she was the greatest wretch to walk the earth.
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug of calculated indifference to belie the turmoil rolling inside her. “I’m fine,” she lied, voice faint.
With a twist of her wrist, she freed herself and wrapped her fingers tightly about her reins, adding in a firmer voice, “Shall we ride back to the house and announce your arrival? The ladies will be pleased. Most of the gentlemen are out hunting. Your presence will be appreciated.”
“Very well,” he agreed, his eyes studying her doubtfully. Clearly, he didn’t think her well. Only Meredith didn’t care. He could think whatever he liked as long as he never thought her in love with him.
Chapter 20
The ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner and took up their embroidery or correspondence discarded from earlier in the day. The gentlemen ventured to the library to smoke their cigars and do whatever it was that men did in the absence of women. Meredith busied herself with a letter to Maree at one of the small writing tables, pretending not to feel Lady Havernautt’s eyes drilling into her from across the room.
Once Upon a Wedding Night Page 20
