Which made no sense at all. How could he lose her when he’d barely become acquainted with her again? Furthermore, he’d not had her to begin with.
“Not even close.”
She squeezed his arm tightly and ducked her head when a flurry of snow swirled in front of them. “Nor have I, but you need to change out of these wet clothes. You need to warm up.”
The back of the inn came into view, and he could just barely make out the servants’ entrance.
The chamber he’d rented was warm and comfortable and had a rather larger hearth across from the bed.
The two of them would not be interrupted there.
“Come inside with me.” He changed their direction so they could enter through the back door. But she had released his arm, stepped away, and was shaking her head.
“I cannot.”
He exhaled. “If you won’t join me in room number three, I’ll settle for sharing tea with you in one of the private dining rooms.”
She hugged her arms in front of herself.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll send a missive of your whereabouts round to your mother.”
Her lips trembled, and she furrowed her brows. “You are heartless, do you know that? Not even the worst sort of monster would say something like that!” She spun around and before Nick could utter a word of protest, took off running again.
Twice in the course of an hour.
He scratched behind his ear and scowled. What had he done now?
Chapter 3
Nick stomped into the common room just as Jack was finishing off what looked to have been a healthy portion of Eve’s pie. He eyed what remained in the dish, a little over half, and then claimed the seat he’d spent in various states of inebriation most of the night before.
In Nick’s absence, the innkeeper had brought in several heaping plates loaded with bacon and ham, eggs, toasted rolls, marmalade, and an assortment of other savory offerings. Nick reached past all of those and claimed the pie.
“Delicious. You should try some.” Jack spoke around a mouth full with an annoying grin.
“I intend to.” Nick swiped one of the forks from a small basket, carved out a bite, and…
The buttery crust melted in his mouth at the same time his taste buds burst into song. “Oh, hell.”
“What was all that about?” Jack loaded half the bacon onto his now-cleaned plate and flicked his eyes to the open door. “The girl.”
Nick exhaled. “We failed to… thank her.” He wanted to grouse about the inconvenience of being stuck in this godforsaken village but was finding it impossible to remain ill-tempered while consuming such a heavenly concoction. For most of his life, Nick had made it a point to enjoy all the sensual delights to be had; women, wine, and food. He winced at the thought. He’d settled for two out of three for the past nineteen months—something he’d hoped to rectify before the new year.
He savored the sweet flavors on his tongue.
None of those French pastries had come even close to tasting as good as Eve’s pie.
“Odd that.” Jack leaned back and raised a brow. “In all the years I’ve known you, not once have you chased after a wench.” He laughed and then bit into a thick piece of bacon. “Speaking of deliveries. This missive caught up with you.”
Nick stared down at the envelope. It would have arrived by messenger, of course.
His parents were relentless.
They’d met Eve on a few occasions when he had first courted her. They’d liked her. Hell, they’d loved her. Then again, it was possible they would have loved any woman who managed to convince him to marry and set up a nursery.
When he’d first courted Eve, she’d been suspicious of his debaucherous ways and doubted his honorable intentions. It hadn’t helped that her mother disapproved of him.
In the end, he hadn’t settled down after all.
His parents had practiced no restraint in expressing their disappointment in his hasty departure from London. After reading a few of their letters, filled with nothing but criticism, he’d ceased opening his mail altogether.
“Another one for your treasure chest?” Jack took a long draw of ale.
Nick would eventually open the trunk and address the correspondence sent to him over the past year and a half. In fact, he’d resolved to do just that the very day he returned from the house party. Or perhaps the day after. Mustn’t be too zealous, after all.
A few weeks spent at a soiree thrown by the notorious widow would surely leave him feeling content and satiated and perhaps just guilty enough to take up his responsibilities.
He pushed the envelope aside and shoveled in another bite of pie.
Chewing thoughtfully, he stared out the window where snow continued to pile up. “We never should have stopped. We should have risked our damnable lives and persisted the twenty or so miles it would have taken to make it to the party.”
Jack kept right on eating.
“What kind of men are we? That we couldn’t endure a few flakes of snow?” Nick could have completely avoided reopening the wound where his heart had only recently seemed to be healed over.
“Where’s Dash, anyway?” Nick grumbled.
“Sleeping, I imagine. Before he attends high tea.” Jack’s lip curled. “At the request of a Lady Tannenbaum. One of the locals.”
Nick squashed the flicker of jealousy that threatened upon hearing such news. Dash would have an invitation to her aunt’s home whereas Eve had run from him-- twice now—three if he counted last spring. Disgusted, he stared out the window at the swirling flakes of snow.
How else could a London gentleman entertain himself in such a small hamlet other than drinking, eating, and sleeping? The envelope from his parents caught his attention.
Blast and botheration, he could begin the odious task of sorting through his correspondence. A dull task to be certain, but it was better than watching the snow fall.
And wondering why he’d upset her.
Or what she was thinking.
Or reliving the taste of her kiss.
Nick pushed the chair back so fast that it tipped over. If he didn’t find something to do quickly, he’d start writing sonnets.
Eve barely had enough time to change out of her soaked gown before being summoned downstairs for tea. It seemed, apparently, that Noelle’s drunken gentleman, who’d very nearly ended up an actual snowman, would be gracing them with his presence once again.
“I thought you were wearing your sage muslin?” Noelle frowned as she examined Eve’s gown. She was already pacing back and forth in the drawing room awaiting the man, which ought to have given Eve cause for concern.
If she didn’t have troubles of her own, that was. “I… It had a tear.”
“Sit here.” Noelle grasped her by the arm and led her to a rather ancient, if not somewhat comfortable, settee.
Eve had brought her embroidery downstairs and immediately set to finishing a cluster of marigolds she’d been stitching onto one of her summer gowns.
But as she began making her stitches, she had to fight to keep her hands from shaking. He’d kissed her, and she’d not stopped him. Dear Lord, she’d melted at his touch, the same as she’d done before. It had been Nick who put a halt to the kiss. She touched her mouth in wonder and then ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip.
His teeth had ground into hers. She’d tasted blood in her mouth afterward. Her heart fluttered. She’d kissed him back as though he could help her find herself again. The very thought was a dangerous one.
Because he was part of the reason she’d lost herself in the first place.
Holly entered the drawing room, along with Aunt Winifred, and Noelle nervously chattered on and on about this Blitzencreek fellow.
“Why is he coming for tea, exactly?” Holly asked.
“Because it is the gentlemanly thing to do,” Eve answered in the manner she imagined her mother would have, almost out of habit.
Eve never cried and yet she’d burst
into tears when she’d delivered the pie. And having turned into a watering pot, she had wanted to be alone.
Why else would she go sprinting through the trees like that? Eve brushed impatiently at her hair and released a trembling breath.
She’d felt an unlikely sense of relief when she realized he’d followed her.
He’d tried to make a joke of it. He’d never taken anything too seriously before, while courting her, and she’d adored the trait in him. But he’d never once been cruel like that. His joke about her mother had been unforgivable. Eve jabbed the needle through the cotton fabric and hissed when it poked her finger.
He did realize her mother had died, didn’t he? She’d told him as much in her letters.
“You’re ruining it.” Noelle pointed out a cluster of unruly knots on the back of the cloth.
“You’d ruin it too if everyone expected you to be perfect all the time,” Eve snapped and immediately felt sorry for it.
“No one expects you to be perfect.” Eve felt Noelle’s curious gaze but couldn’t bring herself to apologize. Why had Nicholas said those things?
As the weeks turned to months, and the months to a year, she’d assumed he’d simply not cared enough to wait for her—or to write back, even—and yet he’d accused her of leaving him without letting him know. “If you didn’t want to marry, why didn’t you just tell me? I’d have been more than happy to take care of your needs without the shackle.”
It was almost as though he hadn’t read even one of her letters. But she’d sent them to both his London lodgings and then to his parents’ estate.
Her musings were interrupted when Lord Blitzencreek was ushered inside. As the only place for him to sit was the empty space on the settee beside her, Eve didn’t have much choice but to make a valiant attempt at observing the niceties. She only required a few seconds to notice, however, that the man only had eyes for Noelle. She remembered that look all too well on another gentleman’s face.
Eve stared down at her needle and thread.
She had even written to his mother, for goodness sake, asking after his health. His mother’s response had left her feeling humiliated. The duchess had written back expressing her most sincere condolences upon the news of Eve’s mother’s death. She’d added that they had enjoyed meeting her entire family and…
Nothing more.
His mother had not specified who, exactly, she’d been speaking for, but Eve could only assume herself and her husband and their son. Eve remembered how she’d prepared herself for the possibility that something had happened to Nicholas. Why else would he stay away? Why else would he not even respond?
A familiar sickening sensation returned whenever she recalled how low the letter had made her feel. She’d chosen to disregard the rumors she’d heard about him when they’d first met, to ignore his roguish reputation.
She’d stubbornly believed that he’d loved her. His betrayal was almost worse than if he had sickened and died.
Whereby she immediately rebuked herself. She did not mean it! She was glad he was alive. The world would not be the same place if something had happened to him.
“Lady Eve would be delighted to show you some of her drawings. She is also a most excellent musician.”
What on earth was Noelle up to? Eve flicked her gaze around the room, wondering what she had missed.
“I haven’t played in ages.” She grimaced.
The baron remained focused on Noelle despite her sister’s ungainly attempts to turn his attention in Eve’s direction. Although the conversation grew somewhat livelier, Eve couldn’t stop thinking about Nicholas and his odd comments earlier. She mindlessly served tea and then sipped at her own cup.
She had been tempted to sit down for tea with him instead of return to her aunt’s house right away. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll send a missive of your whereabouts around to your mother.”
What if he hadn’t been making a joke? It hadn’t even been close to funny.
Of course, he had not! Did that mean he’d not received her letters? It was the only explanation for him saying something so mean.
Eve set her cup and saucer on the table and rose in as dignified a manner as possible. She couldn’t sit here a moment longer without knowing the truth. Even if it was the height of rudeness to excuse herself while their guest remained.
“If you’ll be so kind as to accept my regrets,” Eve muttered. Lord Blitzencreek seemed almost as relieved as she was to not be forced into conversation with her. “It’s been a tiring day and I have some letters to write.”
She didn’t wait to hear any protests but edged around the room until she could slip out the door.
Mr. Clark, thank goodness, was nowhere to be seen so she didn’t have to make any explanations. She seized the damp coat she’d worn earlier from where it hung drying on the coat tree and only grimaced slightly at the cold and wet.
An almost desperate sense of urgency pushed her to hasten outside and across the square for the third time that day. Absent the protection of her boots, the cold wet snow soaked all the way through her slippers. She was quite single-minded, however, and didn’t pause until she’d marched through the entrance of the Crowing Cock. Only when the heavy door closed behind her did her inappropriate behavior collide with her conscience. Not even a full day in the same town as the Marquess of Merriweather and already she was risking her reputation.
A door slammed from somewhere above and she jumped. She peeked into the taproom and although embers glowed in the hearth, the chairs around the long table were unoccupied. The empty dish in which she’d carefully baked the pie earlier sat abandoned, as did a few picked-over platters and half-empty tankards of ale.
What if he and the man he’d been with earlier had already left Maybridge Falls despite the inclement weather? What if she never saw him again?
Infinitely more cautious now but unwilling to abandon her quest, Eve climbed the stairs and located the room he’d indicated; number three.
She knocked twice. When the floorboards on the other side creaked ominously, she straightened her shoulders
“Eve?” He didn’t hold the door wide but simply stared at her, his hair and clothing rumpled. His thundery gaze narrowed warily, as though he feared anything she had to say to him.
“You weren’t making a joke, were you?”
He tilted his head sideways.
“About my mother,” she added.
“Why would I joke about your mother?” He furrowed his brows, but more blue showed in his gaze now than a moment ago.
Eve glanced to her right and left, reluctant to be caught standing at the open door of a single gentleman’s chamber unchaperoned. “Can I come in?”
He sighed heavily, looking for all the world as though he was going to send her away.
Eve twisted her mouth into a half-smile. “Please?”
Finally, he stepped back and opened the door for her to pass. He wore only his stockings, breeches, and a long linen shirt, untucked. She flicked her gaze to the hearth, where his boots sat nearby drying and his waistcoat hung over the back of a chair. She couldn’t stay long.
She moved toward the fire and held her hands out for warmth.
Nicholas had crossed to the window where he turned, half sat against the sill, and folded his arms across his chest. Before he could spew any of his cynical nonsense from earlier, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“Your hair is longer.”
Chapter 4
Nick grimaced. “I haven’t had it cut properly since my return to England.” He tilted his head. “Why are you here, Eve?”
“I changed my mind.”
He’d removed his cravat, unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, and looked even more handsome than he did in full evening wear. Staring at the sinewy tendons along his neck and then the tiny hairs at the top of his chest seemed inordinately intimate.
“You changed your mind?” he prompted her.
Ignoring the large bed
in the middle of the room, she glanced at the table where a tray, steaming pot, cup, and saucer provided the perfect answer.
“About tea.” She inhaled sharply and then removed her coat and draped it on the bed. She was finding it difficult to think straight in his presence—in his bedchamber. “And talking.”
“But I’m heartless, remember?” He scrubbed one hand down his face and crossed to a desk near the hearth. A chest sat opened on the floor with a few papers scattered on the floor beside it.
The trunk was nearly filled with unopened envelopes.
She drifted closer, and her heart stuttered.
“I’m behind on my correspondence.” Shedding his defensiveness for the moment, he gestured at the pile sheepishly.
Eve’s gaze was caught and then fixed on one familiar-looking envelope. “It’s an awful lot of correspondence.” He hasn’t read it. He hadn’t even opened it. Was it possible he’d not read any of them?
She twisted her hands in front of her, unsure of what this meant. It would explain his assertion that she’d abandoned him. He couldn’t have known of her mother’s illness and death.
But anger bubbled inside her too. He hadn’t cared enough to open her letters? Every day for months, without fail, she’d checked the post for word from him. She’d hoped and waited and inevitably been disappointed when nothing arrived. If he’d cared for her at all, wouldn’t he have done the same? Isn’t that what people did?
“When I realized you’d left, I went ahead with the journey I’d planned.” Nick handed her the single cup and then sat in the opposite chair, stared toward the floor, and then frowned. “The journey I’d planned before we met.”
“So you went to France after all.” Why did that hurt? That he’d carried on as though nothing of magnitude had happened.
It had been one of the reasons she’d resisted his suit when he had first approached her. How could she give her heart to a man who’d be leaving the country for several months? After barely knowing her, though, he’d called the journey off. Why would he travel to France, he’d effused, when the one thing he’d ever wanted was in London?
My Merry Marquess (Wallflowers Christmas Wish Book 3) Page 3
