“Go the bloody hell away.” At least that is what Nick thought he said. It did come out quite garbled.
The sound of a key inserted into the door had him cursing more. “Get out.”
Ernest, his second in command at the club threw the door open. “It smells like a rotting pig sty in here.”
“I don’t remember asking you.” Nick lifted his head from the desk and tried to bring Ernest in focus. It didn’t work. There was still three of him. “I told you to get out.”
Ernest placed his hands on his hips. “Look at the shape you’re in. You haven’t eaten, slept, or” he sniffed the air, “bathed, in over a week.”
“Ah, more advice I didn’t ask for.” Nick picked up the bottle of whiskey and shook it. “Empty. Get me another one.”
“Like hell, and absolutely not. I’m dragging your arse down to the bathing room and dumping you in the tub of water I just had filled for you. Then you’re getting a shave, a haircut, and a hot meal.”
“Go away. I don’t need you mothering me.” Nick waved his hand and laid his very painful head back on the desk. The coolness of the wood soothed his warm face.
“Do you know how long you’ve been hiding in this office?”
Nick sighed. There was that annoying voice again. “Eleven days, six hours and probably about twenty minutes.”
“Not that you’re counting,” Ernest said.
“Once more. Go away.”
“All right. You leave me no choice.” Ernest walked over to Nick, pulled his head up by his hair and socked him on the jaw. He then lifted his slumped body over his shoulder and walked off.
“Are you trying to drown me?” Nick came up sputtering from the tub of water ready to kill someone.
Ernest threw a linen and small jar of soap at him. “Clean yourself up. I have someone coming up to shave you and cut your hair. After a decent meal, you’re going to dress as a gentleman and go downstairs and take care of your business.”
Nick cupped his jaw and rotated his head. Damn, Ernest could have broken his jaw.
Forty minutes later Nick was dry, dressed, fed, and somewhat sober. He stared in the mirror as he fixed his ascot. He’d lost weight, his eyes were red and his skin pale as new snow.
The club, however, was doing well—no thanks to him. Ernest had reported to him every night after closing, but he had little interest in it. It was difficult to care about something when he didn’t give a damn about anything. He’d been miserable since he’d returned from London.
Watching Pamela’s eyes fill with tears at his harsh words and then later climb into his carriage to leave for her brother’s house almost killed him. Like the coward he was, he hid behind the curtain in the drawing room and watched her go.
It felt like hell to be noble.
He’d been drunk ever since.
Ernest strolled up to him as he reached the bottom step of the staircase to the club floor. “You still look like shite.”
“It is truly amazing how many opinions you can offer that I don’t give a damn about.” He walked to the north wall and watched a game of poker.
The infuriating man followed him and then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, surveying the room. “If you ask me, you’re an arse for not going back for the woman.”
“Didn’t ask you.” Nick looked back at the bar contemplating another drink but since he wasn’t much of a drinker before this binge, his ornery stomach would most likely reward him with a deposit on his shoes if he tried another drink after eating.
“Of course, you didn’t ask me, because you know what a damn fool you were to listen to that addlepated brother of hers who is led around by his nose by that witch of a wife of his.”
Nick looked over at him. “And how is it you know so much about these people?”
Ernest grinned. “Because when you were crying into your endless bottle of whiskey you told me the whole sordid tale.”
Nick didn’t answer but continued to ignore the man. He hated when he made sense. But his decision had been made and that was the end of it. Mulgrave had been correct. He was not good enough for Pamela and she deserved to live in the world she’d been born into.
Now if he would repeat that to himself everyday for the rest of his life, he might begin to believe it shortly before he took his last breath.
He pushed himself away from the wall and strolled the club. If only he could work up some enthusiasm for all the money he was making. His finances were much closer to reaching his dream of selling the club and investing in something respectable. Railroads, stocks and bonds, a hotel, a fine restaurant. But all the enthusiasm he’d had for such projects died when Lady Pamela Manning walked away from him.
Nay. She didn’t walk away from him. He pushed her. Hell, he stomped all over her first. If he ever met her on the street in London, she would probably pull her skirts close to her body so as not to touch him.
He rubbed his hands over his face and walked to the bar. “Whiskey.”
“You sure, boss?” Toby asked.
“Yeah. I’m sure.” He took the glass and returned to his office. Ernest must have sent someone in to clean the place up while he was bathing and eating dinner.
He sat at his desk and placed the whiskey glass in front of him. He stared at it for several minutes, then picked it up and hurled the glass and its contents against the wall. Glass exploded into a hundred pieces and a stream of brown liquid trickled down the wall, pooling on the floor.
“Bloody, bloody hell!”
“Just don’t try to make conversation. A man doesn’t want a wife who chatters all the time anyway.” Corinne pulled on her gloves as she turned to allow the butler to place her cape onto her shoulders.
Pamela glanced over at her brother. In the time she’d been in residence she’d come to realize her brother had developed a hearing problem. He rarely, if ever, reacted to, or commented on Corinne’s constant stream of criticism and advice. And not just to Pamela, but to her husband, their staff, her friends.
He had acquired a facial expression that said nothing. When David was with his wife—which wasn’t very often—he seemed to withdraw into himself and enjoy the life he’d created for himself there. She felt very sorry for him.
“And for heaven’s sake, Pamela, smile. You always look as though you tasted something sour.” Corinne turned and took David’s arm and they all started down the steps.
Pamela, Corinne and David were on their way to another infernal ball. In the eleven days—not that she had been counting—since she left Nick she’d been alternating between weeping, throwing things and being dragged from one social event to another.
Her sister-in-law had taken her under her wing with a promise to have her married within months. It didn’t matter that Pamela told her more than once she had no desire to marry.
Not unless it was Nick.
Nick.
The pain in her heart started up again. No matter how hard she tried she could not understand why he’d gone from the caring, loving, protective man she’d fallen in love with to the harsh, cold man who had easily dismissed her. Something about the entire matter didn’t seem right. Maybe it was her bruised heart that told her so, or maybe she was foolish to cling to any hope, no matter how small.
The Everson’s ball was identical to all the others. Same people, same music, same refreshments, same giggly, silly young girls looking for a husband. Pamela tried to hide herself in a corner, but Corinne was not allowing that.
The parade of young men began as soon as the first strands of music started up. Corinne dragging them all.
“Lord Weatherby, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of dancing with my sister-in-law.” Corinne smiled brightly at the poor man who ran his finger around the inside of his collar.
“No. I don’t believe so.” He bowed and reached out to take Pamela’s hand. “May I have the pleasure of dancing this quadrille with you, Lady Pamela?”
She nodded and accepted his hand as Cor
inne murmured, “Don’t talk.”
Pamela wanted to scream. She wanted to throttle her sister-in-law and shake some sense into her brother. Despite what she had learned about Mrs. O’Leary she almost wished she was back in her comfortable room at her boarding house.
Back before Mr. Nicholas Smith had come into her life, when she was, if not ecstatically happy, at least content. She had her friends, her students, and her freedom.
Now she felt like a pampered little doll given to a young girl to put on a shelf. Never to play with, but only to admire.
Since the dance didn’t require them to be together for long periods of time, she was able to avoid speaking and just nodding at the comments Lord Weatherby made.
As the dance came to a close, she made a decision. She would ask to have the carriage brought around and return home. She was bored, tired of the constant stress of not talking, and her head had begun to ache.
What appealed more than anything right now was a cup of tea, her soft comfortable nightgown, and the book she was currently reading. Since there was no point in appealing to Corinne, once the dance ended, he gave her a final bow, she made a quick curtsey and went on the prowl for her brother.
It was not good manners to abandon Lord Weatherby so quickly since she should have taken his arm and allowed him to offer refreshment before he went in search of his next partner.
But then, that might involve her actually speaking and she’d been forbidden to speak unless absolutely necessary. She had once asked Corinne if she did end up married to one of the gentlemen her sister-in-law dragged in her direction, wouldn’t he be surprised to hear her stutter.
Corinne just waved her off and asked her if she’d been working with the tutor they’d hired to help with her speaking.
Pamela found David near the refreshment table where he held a glass of liquid that did not look like the lemonade being offered. He was in conversation with another gentleman that Pamela had danced with at the last ball. Mr. Davidson, she believed.
David immediately looked in her direction. Pamela glanced briefly at Mr. Davidson who excused himself.
“What is it, Pamela?”
“I f-find I have a m-m-megrim that is growing worse b-by the m-m-minute. May I re-request that you have our c-carriage brought around so I m-may return home?”
“You cannot leave by yourself. I will see if Corinne is ready to depart.” He looked around the room. “I find a megrim starting myself.” He winked and gave her a smile that warmed her heart.
That was the David she remembered from her childhood. They had not been close since there was a discrepancy of seven years between them. By the time Pamela was only five years old, David had been sent off to school, with visits only in summer and holidays.
She had enjoyed those visits, though. He would take her on walks through the woods near their estate, and even had pretend tea parties with her and her dolls.
Pamela took his arm and they made their way to the group of ladies standing together and casting disparaging looks at some of the young ladies who had the nerve to be enjoying themselves. Of course, Corinne was part of the censorious group.
David bowed. “Good evening, ladies.”
The ladies all dipped a curtsy.
“My dear, I’m afraid Lady Pamela is feeling under the weather. I shall request our carriage be brought around. Do you wish to remain? If so, I can have the driver return for you.”
Corinne’s eyes grew wide, then she narrowed them and glared at Pamela. “Not feeling well?”
“N-n-no.” Heaven’s sake, the woman could make her shake in her shoes sometimes.
Corinne straightened her shoulders. “Since I am only here to encourage partners for Lady Pamela, I see no reason to remain.” With a swish of her skirts she took David’s other arm and the three of them proceeded to the front door.
The ride home was filled with tension. Corinne was obviously not happy with the request to leave early. But then Corinne was not happy about most things.
Pamela made her way to her bedchamber once they arrived home and Corinne and David headed to the drawing room. She rang for the maid who had been assigned to her, Corinne’s maid, Penelope, to help her out of her clothes. When she didn’t arrive after ten minutes, Pamela assumed she might be assisting Corinne.
Thinking a tisane might help her relax and sleep, she left her room and reached the bottom of the stairs to the sound of Corinne’s voice coming from the drawing room. Ordinarily Pamela would block out her tirade as David had learned to do but when she heard Nick’s name she came to an abrupt halt.
Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, but Pamela was not going to move from this spot.
“You went through all that trouble to get rid of that horrible gambler, Nick Smith, and now you refuse to demand that Pamela attend these affairs? Are we to be stuck with her for the rest of our lives?”
“Corinne, the girl is unhappy. Granted, I do not know my sister all that well, but anyone can see she’s been miserable since she arrived almost two weeks ago.”
“She will get over it. Find the Smith man again and offer him money this time to marry someone else. Once he is unavailable, she will forget him and understand you did what was best for her.”
“Did I? Did I do what was best for her, or for you and your obsession with the Mulgrave name?”
All the blood left Pamela’s head and she had to grasp the doorjamb to keep from falling to the floor. David had ‘gotten rid’ of Nick?
With stiff legs she moved the few steps to open the drawing room door. David and Corinne both turned. David’s shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose, but Corinne drew herself up. “Well, you might as well know it. Yes, your brother had the good sense to appeal to Mr. Smith’s sensible side and have him dismiss any silly notions you had about a future with a gambler.”
Ignoring Corinne, Pamela walked over to David. “Why w-w-would you d-do that?” Although she was screaming on the inside, the whispered words barely made it past her lips. “Why w-w-would you take fr-from me the one p-person in my whole l-life who made me h-happy? Who m-made me feel l-like there is nothing wrong with m-m-me even though I st-stutter? The one p-person who I know in my h-heart loved me t-truly and completely? Do you h-hate me so m-much?”
David’s head snapped up and he reached out for her, but she drew back. “No. I don’t hate you. I love you. I only wanted what was best for you.”
Her anger slowly began to rise, and her voice grew stronger. “You d-d-didn’t want to d-do what was best for m-me. You wanted to d-d-do what was best for C-Corinne. What was best for y-you so you d-d-didn’t have to listen to her be-bemoan the fact th-that the Mulgrave n-name was smeared by someone’s h-happiness.”
“Pamela, please. Just listen to me.”
Pamela slashed her hand down. “I am th-through listening to anyone b-but myself.” She turned and raced from the room.
“P-Penelope! Wherever y-you are, st-start packing m-my bags. I’m g-g-going to Bath!”
17
Nick sat at his desk, sipping coffee, his eyes focused on Ernest’s report from the night before. It was his first full day of sobriety since he returned to Bath. After a great deal of contemplation, he had decided to take the last train to London that evening.
He’d been an idiot to listen to Pamela’s brother. From what he’d learned from Marcus, this Lord Mulgrave had no backbone when it came to his spiteful wife. No doubt the ‘talk’ Mulgrave had bestowed upon him had been at the behest of his wife. The man needed to grow some--
His head whipped up as the door to the office flew open so hard it slammed against the wall. Then bounced twice.
Pamela stood there, hands fisted at her side, her chest heaving. He started to rise, but she put up her hand. “Don’t. You. Dare. Move.” She walked up to him and pulling her arm back threw a punch at his jaw.
She might be beautiful, and the woman he loved, and intending to wreak havoc on him, but a small child would have do
ne more damage to his jaw. Except he was still suffering the results of Ernest’s not-so-lightweight punch from the day before, so there was some pain.
“What…”
Like an avenging angel, she laid her palm on his chest and pushed. Surprise made it easy for him to fall against the back of the chair. Pamela placed her hands on either side of him, effectively boxing him in. “How dare you? How dare you listen to my addlepated, idiotic, moronic brother? Why do you think you know what’s best for me? Why do you think you can just push me aside because my brother said you should?”
Silence reigned as she stood back up, brushed off the sleeves of her dress and folded her arms under her lovely breasts. “Well? Have you nothing to say?”
He stared at her open-mouthed. “Yes. You aren’t stuttering.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at him. “No. I w-wasn’t.”
Her reached out and pulled her onto his lap. “You were so mad you didn’t stutter.”
Pamela poked him in his chest. “D-d-don’t think you c-can keep me from stuttering f-from now on by g-getting me angry.”
His eyes roamed her face, eating her up. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and her lips so very, very kissable. Her curly blonde hair had escaped whatever hairdo she had attempted before she’d left the house.
He grinned. Oh, how he loved her. Thinking he had a fight on his hands, with visions of him wrestling her brother to the ground to get her, he couldn’t believe his luck.
She was right. He had been an idiot to let her brother convince him leaving her was for her own good. From what he’d seen, noting her brother had done for her had ever been for her own good. “We almost missed each other; you know.”
“What d-do you m-mean?”
He began to fiddle with the escaped strands of hair resting on her shoulder. “I mean after days of wallowing in self pity and attempting to drink myself into a coma, I had decided to take the last train to London today and drag you back by your hair if you refused to come.”
Lady Pamela and the Gambler: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Three Page 14
