by Cheryl Holt
Nell was holding a glass of wine, and she took a long, slow swallow so she didn’t sputter with amusement. “Yes, I can be quite out of control.”
Florence noted the sarcasm in Nell’s tone, and she bristled. “Don’t be impertinent. You’ve stirred plenty of trouble. You’re lucky Mr. Middleton was willing to get you out of it.”
“Yes, I am lucky.”
Early on in Nell’s life with Florence, she’d learned to concur with Florence’s assessments. It was easier than quarreling, and it occurred to her—after she moved into her own home—she wouldn’t have to grovel to Florence ever again.
“Four days to go,” Florence said.
“Until what?” Nell was so distracted she couldn’t focus on any topic.
“Until your wedding, silly! We’re almost there.”
Florence seemed to be counting the hours as if she was worried a calamity might arise so it fell apart. Well, if calamity materialized, it wouldn’t be Nell’s fault. She was fully ready to march to the altar.
“Have you heard from Susan?” Nell asked, just to niggle at Florence a bit.
“Gad, no. The insolent child wouldn’t dare write to me. She wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“I thought she’d contact me though. I’m very surprised she hasn’t attempted to correspond. You don’t suppose the butler has been receiving mail for me, but tossing it out?”
Florence blandly sipped her own glass of wine. “Why would he do that? He has no reason to hide your mail. Besides, why would I care if you communicate with the disrespectful strumpet?”
“Will you ever forgive her?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous.”
Then you will have a very lonely old age! Nell reflected to herself.
Suddenly, a kerfuffle erupted out in the grand foyer. A tray of glasses was smashed on the marble floor, and it sounded as if there was some pushing and shoving.
“Pardon me,” a footman frantically stated, “but I don’t believe you have an invitation.”
“We don’t need an invitation,” a woman replied.
Nell frowned. Was that Susan? Had Susan come to her party?
The notion was exhausting and embarrassing. What with Nell’s delicate condition and the strain it had placed on all of them, an altercation was the last thing she could abide.
She didn’t want any bickering, didn’t want a Middleton family spat to erupt. What would Mr. Fenwick think? He might be so annoyed that he’d cry off. Then where would she be? She doubted Albert would be inclined to find another husband for her.
“What the devil…?” Florence mumbled.
They spun toward the door as Susan and Trevor sauntered in, bold as brass, but it was the man behind them that had Nell seeing red.
Lord Selby! How could he imperil her future like this? She’d found a safe spot with Mr. Fenwick, and she would not let him wreck it for her!
Apparently, the butler couldn’t deduce how to handle the situation, so he announced them—as if all was fine.
“May I present Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Blake, and my lord Selby, Nathan Blake?”
Albert’s friends had recognized Susan, but the introduction of Trevor sent a swirl of murmurs wafting by at a dizzying speed. The guests froze and gaped at them.
The disgraced pair was definitely a sight, flaunting themselves as if they were rich and entitled. Susan had donned the blue silk gown that had been sewn for her wedding ball, back when it had been assumed she would marry Percy.
It was a magnificent creation, cut low in the bodice, with reams of lace, and a silvery sheen to the fabric that shimmered when she moved. She was dripping with diamonds and sapphires, a betrothal gift from Albert when she’d still been proceeding with Percy. The gems set off the blond of her hair and the blue of her eyes.
Trevor was wearing a suit that seemed to have been sewn from the same expensive material, giving the distinct impression that they were a couple, that they’d specifically attired themselves in similar clothes.
His fingers sported heavy, brilliant rings, as if he’d emptied the Blake family vault in order to display their best jewels. He and Susan looked wealthy and dynamic and a thousand miles above the paltry peons hovered in the room.
Lord Selby was the most stunning. He was dressed in black velvet, his coat, trousers, and boots perfectly matching his black hair. His shirt was snowy white, with yards of Belgian lace that had been tied into an intricate knot at his throat. He too was wearing jewelry, mostly diamonds, on his cuffs, lapels, and fingers.
During most of the period she’d been acquainted with him, he’d paraded about in casual garments, almost as if he were a laborer. She had to blink and blink to decide it was really him. He appeared that splendid.
Everyone knew his name. He was the famous explorer! He was companion to the beloved Sir Sidney Sinclair! He was the fellow who’d been presumed deceased, but who—against all odds—had returned to England! He was a national sensation! He was being talked about in every pub in the land! My goodness, would they personally meet him?
The excitement was palpable and nauseating.
Nell rolled her eyes with disgust, as Florence leapt at them and bellowed, “Get out! You’re not welcome at this event! Get out! Get out!”
She motioned with her hand, trying to shoo them away as if they were a pack of milling dogs, but they ignored her.
Susan and Trevor stepped apart, Lord Selby walking forward and coming directly over to Florence. He dipped his head, acknowledging her in an imperious manner that managed to be both courteous and condescending.
“I have arrived on important business,” he declared to the assembled crowd. “Which of you is Fenwick?”
There was a shuffling of feet, and Mr. Fenwick crossed over to Lord Selby.
“I am Fenwick,” he said.
It was almost humorous to see them studying each other. Lord Selby was youthful and tall, handsome and dashing, while Mr. Fenwick was short and rotund, elderly and ordinary. He had on a very respectable gray suit and looked like the elevated clerk he was by profession.
Nell had no idea what Lord Selby intended, but she wouldn’t stand for any mischief. She wedged herself between them. “Lord Selby, I can’t guess why you’re here, but you’re creating a scene, and I insist you stop.”
“Hello, Nell.” He brazenly greeted her as he grinned his devil’s grin.
“Mrs. Middleton has been very clear with you,” she said. “Your presence is neither wanted nor necessary. I demand you leave immediately.”
He pretended to mull her request, then he glanced at Susan. “What is your opinion, Susan? Should we depart?”
Susan scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
Florence was about to explode. “I don’t have to tolerate this sort of insolence in my own parlor.” She whipped around and shouted, “Mr. Middleton! Come at once! Make them go!”
Albert stayed where he was, and Susan tsked with exasperation, snottily saying, “Put a sock in it, Mother. Nell and I are so tired of listening to you.”
Florence puffed herself up, as if she’d unleash a tirade, but Lord Selby muzzled her with a glare. He was such a commanding figure, and Florence was instantly cowed.
“Mrs. Middleton,” he said to her, “I heard the strangest story about you.”
“What story?” Florence asked. “As you and I are scarcely acquainted, I can’t imagine what it might be.”
“It seems you told Nell that I’m engaged to be married.”
“I only repeated what I’ve read in the newspapers.”
“I am very much alive,” he said, “after those same newspapers reported me dead, so I think we can both agree that they occasionally give incorrect accounts of my situation.”
“Are you claiming you’re not promised to Sir Sidney’s daughter?” Florence sneered.
“Yes, I’m claiming exactly that.”
Nell gasped and staggered back. The comment hit her like a hard blow. He wasn’t engaged? What? What?
She’d been r
endered speechless, and before she could muster a coherent remark, he spun to Mr. Fenwick.
“Fenwick,” he said, “are you aware that Nell is in the family way? Have they informed you? Or have they tricked you into this?”
Nell was so embarrassed that she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. She leaned toward him and hissed, “Would you be silent?”
“Sorry, Nell, but I can’t be.” He turned to Mr. Fenwick again. “What is your reply, Fenwick? Have you been apprised of her disgrace?”
Mr. Fenwick, bless his heart, was quite gallant. “I won’t dignify your accusation with a response.”
“It’s all right.” Lord Selby smirked. “You don’t have to admit it. I’m happy to tell everyone what’s happening. I don’t mind.”
“What are you doing?” she frantically asked, but he didn’t enlighten her.
Instead, his amused gaze swept the crowd, then he shamelessly announced, “She’s completely ruined, and I am the cad who ruined her.”
Albert finally bestirred himself. He huffed over and stopped next to Mr. Fenwick. “Now see here, Selby, I don’t like you, and I won’t permit these kinds of theatrics. You will apologize to Nell for publically humiliating her, then you will depart my home.”
“I can’t oblige you.” Lord Selby shook his head, then said, “So, Fenwick, she’s carrying my child—the child that might conceivably be the next Earl of Selby—and considering that circumstance, I can’t let you have her.”
“You impudent pup!” Mr. Fenwick seethed. “How dare you bluster in like this? How dare you interrupt our party!”
“Nell can vouch for the fact that I’m about half-deranged, and I have no manners, so I have no excuse—except to explain that I never act appropriately.”
The guests were hanging on his every word. Susan and Trevor were grinning like fools, while Lord Selby coolly, mockingly assessed her. Did he understand what he was doing? Did he understand—if he insulted Mr. Fenwick to the point that he stormed out—Nell would be left in dire straits?
She scoffed with derision. Of course he understood. He understood, and he simply didn’t care!
“Lord Selby,” she tightly said, “you and I need to talk. Come with me, and don’t try to refuse.”
“I’ve never been able to refuse you, Nell. It’s why you’re in the predicament you’re in.”
Jaws dropped, titters swirled, whispers buzzed. She grabbed his arm and marched out, dragging him with her, as she glanced over her shoulder, her tone beseeching. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Fenwick. Please don’t leave!”
Mr. Fenwick glared at her, and she was fairly certain he wouldn’t tarry. What man would? But if he abandoned her, what would transpire?
Because of her condition, she was an emotional watering pot. With the slightest provocation—or no provocation at all—she’d fly into a mood. She’d rage or weep or mope. She couldn’t deal with this mortification! She couldn’t deal with Lord Selby being a pompous ass! How could he treat her this way?
She hurried into the foyer, then down a deserted hall to an empty parlor. Footsteps sounded, and she peeked behind her to find Susan and Trevor following them.
“Ignore us,” Susan told her. “You and Nathan have a few issues to discuss. Take your time. We’ll guard the door so you’re not disturbed.”
She pushed them inside and pulled the door closed, sealing them in the small room. The silence was deafening.
Nell was still clutching his arm, and she yanked away and strutted over to the hearth. There was a fire burning in the grate, so there was plenty of light to see him smiling at her like a predatory wolf. He looked marvelous and arrogant and incredibly proud of the catastrophe he’d engineered for her.
“Have you any idea of what you’ve done?” she demanded as her initial salvo.
“Yes, I’ve wrecked your scheme to wed Mr. Fenwick. In fact, I’m positive he’ll have called for his coat and hat. Even as we speak, he’s probably stomping out.”
She stared longingly toward the foyer, as if she had powerful, magical eyes that could hold him in place. Wait! Don’t go! I can explain!
Yet how could he, in good conscience, wait for her? He’d asked her to never reveal the identity of her child’s father. Three days had passed since she’d promised she never would, but Lord Selby had barged in and proved her a liar.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” she said.
“No, I don’t actually. I think it’s very, very serious.”
“You’ve destroyed my future!”
“Dear Nell, that is where you’re gravely mistaken. I’m here to fix what’s wrong.”
“Really? And how will you do that?”
“I’ll marry you myself.”
“How will you accomplish it? I haven’t heard a proposal from you.”
“No, you haven’t, so here’s one. Will you marry me?”
“No, and don’t you dare refer to me as your dear Nell. I’m nothing of the sort.”
He frowned. “You don’t feel I’m fond of you? Why?”
“I know about your incessant philandering.” He might have protested the allegation, and she rushed to say, “Don’t deny it! You seduce girls like me for sport.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Middleton.”
“Would that be the same Mrs. Middleton who told you I’m bound elsewhere?”
“Yes, and I’m sure she was telling me the truth. Don’t imagine you can stroll in, spew a few tall tales, and make me believe you.”
“Nell, I’m not engaged to Sir Sidney’s daughter. I never have been.”
“A likely story,” she muttered.
He went to the door and jerked it open. “Trevor, am I engaged now or have I ever been in the past?”
Trevor peeked in. “No, Nell, he’s never been engaged, and Sir Sidney’s daughter can’t abide him. She was sweet on him when she was fifteen or so, but she’s grown up since then and come to her senses. She wouldn’t have him if he paid her a thousand pounds.”
“Thank you, Cousin.” Lord Selby shut the door and faced her again. “Well…?”
“Fine. You’re not engaged. Are we finished? May I return to my party so I can try to salvage some of it?”
“No. Didn’t we agree that Mr. Fenwick has left so your betrothal is over?”
“If you’ve ruined this for me, I will buy a pistol, hunt you down, and shoot you right between the eyes.”
At the threat, he laughed as if it was the funniest comment ever. “Susan threatened the very same conclusion after she learned about your situation, except I seem to recollect that she intended to aim for my cold, black heart.”
“Go ahead and jest about it. You’re never serious. Life is just a big joke to you. How could I expect you to understand the depth of the calamity you’ve perpetrated?”
“I understand perfectly.”
“And what is it you understand?”
“You are mine, and Mr. Fenwick can’t have you.”
His words fell like an anvil, and his amused expression vanished. His hot gaze swept over her in a possessive manner that made her shiver.
He started toward her, and he appeared so ferocious that she was a tad alarmed. What was he planning? She couldn’t guess, but she was determined he not come any closer. She’d never been able to resist him, and when he touched her, she couldn’t think straight.
There was a sofa separating them. He walked around one end, and she walked around the other, using it as a barrier to keep him at bay.
“Stay where you are!” she warned.
“No.”
“I mean it. If you take another step, I’m leaving.”
He sighed as if she were a heavy burden. “You act as if you’re afraid of me.”
“I am afraid of you.”
“Why?”
“You feel entitled to grab for whatever you want, and you suppose I ought to give it to you without complaint.”
“You’re correct about that. You should giv
e me what I want.”
“What is it then? Spit it out, then go away.”
“I can’t abandon you. I’ve run off Mr. Fenwick, and I’ve thrown Mrs. Middleton into a snit. She’ll be eager to kick you out merely to prove she can. I’m certain she’s upstairs, packing your bags.”
Nell peered to the foyer again, wishing she had some notion of what was occurring in the rest of the house. The hall outside was very quiet. There had been no shouting or jostling with Susan and Trevor from anyone who might have tried to intervene, and she couldn’t decide what it indicated.
Had the guests continued on with the party, not caring that Nell was no longer there? Or had they slinked out, not keen to be caught in the crossfire? Was there no consternation about her being trapped with Lord Selby? How about Albert? Why hadn’t he attempted to rescue her?
Clearly, she was on her own.
“If Mrs. Middleton kicks me out,” she fumed, “what will happen to me? Tell me that if you can.”
He studied her as if she was the strangest creature he’d ever encountered. “You’ll come to Selby with me. What would you imagine?”
“I’m not coming to Selby with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because…”
Suddenly, the fight went out of her. She was exhausted and forlorn, and with his unanticipated arrival, she was terrified too.
She wasn’t a brawler and never had been. She was kind, quirky Nell Drummond who was generally a merry, contented person, but since she’d met him, she’d turned into someone she didn’t know and didn’t like very much.
At Selby, she’d become a flirt and a wanton. After she was back in London, she’d become a morose, trembling wreck.
The past few weeks, after she’d discovered her condition, then waited for Albert to find her a husband, had been the most draining she’d ever endured. He’d presented a satisfactory candidate, one who wouldn’t have been her first choice, but a suitable candidate all the same.
She hadn’t wanted to accept Mr. Fenwick, but she’d convinced herself it was necessary. She’d lowered her standards, tamped down her reservations, and ordered herself to proceed. There had seemed no other option really.
But—to her great annoyance—here was Lord Selby, looking wonderful and fond and tempting her beyond measure, but she didn’t trust him. She vividly recalled that last day at Selby, where she’d been on pins and needles, certain he’d ask her to stay with him, but he hadn’t.
