While Nicholas would not trust these men with all of his secrets, he trusted them with most. They knew what he was truly about and about his information gathering activities for the Crown. If both men were in his study at this ungodly hour, then they had information for him. Something they both obviously felt was vitally important.
"Ah, there is The Bloody Duke." That came from Frost who was smirking behind Rayne's shoulder. "Good to see that you are still just as nasty as ever."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow in response.
Now it was Rayne's turn to laugh again. "There was an assumption around Town as of late that you were losing your touch. Something about a woman having you close to the parson's noose? Taking away your edge and all of that nonsense. Happy to see that it's not true."
With a growl, Nicholas stalked across the room, snatched the glass from Frost's hand and tossed back the contents with one swallow. The brandy his friend had been drinking did not blend well with the scotch of a few moments ago, but Nicholas refused to allow the other two men see his distaste. That would not do.
"No. It is not true. Not in the least. Since when has bedding a chit ever made me soft? Or weak for that matter?" Nicholas cocked his head and then pointed a finger at Rayne. "And do not mention the deceased Lady Berkshire unless you truly wish to lose your tongue. I am not to be tested this morn." He earlier euphoria over his tumble with Eliza was quickly vanishing.
At that, his friend sobered. "I was not about to, Nicholas. Gads, man, what that heartless bitch put you through? No, I should never taunt you with that, not even in jest."
Nicholas's eyes became hooded. "See that you don't." He knew he was being cool, almost cold, to his friends, but he did not much care at the moment. They had roused him from his bed. Away from Eliza. Not that she would have remained much longer anyway, but it was the idea that galled him more than anything else. "Now. What have you come to tell me?"
"There are rumors that Lord Underhill passed through The Suck Pig two nights before he appeared at the Framingham's door." Frost was now serious as well. "He chatted up a bar maid there." The viscount glanced at Rayne. "We paid the establishment a visit last evening, hoping to spare you." He bit his lip. "After all, you've been a bit...busy."
Nicholas allowed him that. For it was the truth. "Go on."
"Neither the innkeeper nor the bar maid would speak to us," Rayne put in, rising now to start pacing himself. "They were more than willing to take our coin for drink, but when we made inquiries, we were turned aside." He crossed his arms in front of him. "They were not fearful of us." Then he looked Nicholas up and down. "But you? You they would fear, I am certain."
The duke mulled that information over for a moment. He had put off his planned trip to The Stuck Pig long enough. It was far enough outside of Town that the trip would require him to stay overnight, perhaps even at Fairhaven, the early spring home of Adam St. Vincent, the Duke of Enwright. His old school chum would offer Nicholas shelter there, if necessary, he was certain.
However, he had been delaying that trip because it meant not only leaving Eliza, but leaving Underhill unobserved. Not that Nicholas was doing such a bang-up job of observing the man anyway. At least not as of late. Instead, Nicholas had been more interested in figuring out how to get under Eliza's skirts.
He could put it off no longer, especially not with Underhill's hair growing in at a very rapid rate. The wheat-blonde color was becoming bloody obvious to anyone who looked. That, along with the eyes, left little doubt as to the man's identity. And Eliza had asked her parents to delay the official announcement until they could be certain. That day was rapidly approaching. If he did not venture to the outlying inn along the Great North Road, it would likely be too late.
"Point taken," Nicholas grumbled sourly. But not as sourly as he had felt earlier. "And thank you. I shall see to the matter immediately." Then he lowered his brows so that they were little more than angry slashes over his eyes. "Gentlemen, is there anything else?" His gaze flicked between the two. "Or may I begin preparations for my journey?"
Rayne looked at Frost and the other man shrugged. "Not as such," the earl offered casually. "Just want you to be careful is all."
"Indeed?" Nicholas once more allowed the mask of The Bloody Duke to slam down over his features.
"Be careful, man." Frost's eyes had cleared and his expression was now one of serious consideration. "I saw you at Gentleman Jackson's the other week. You were in knots. At the time, I thought it was because of Underhill. Now? I'm thinking it might be the Deaver chit. And that's not good. Not for a man like you. You need your edge."
A man like him. Yes, Nicholas knew exactly what his friend meant, but he preferred not to think of it overly much. A man who was rumored to be ruthless and cold. Who was feared by the innocents and lusted after by the whores and widows alike.
Then again, he was not looking to wed Eliza. He would if it became necessary, but given her age, he rather doubted that it would be. He had no true emotional entanglement with her to dull his wits. She did not affect him thus. He merely enjoyed bedding her. Last night had proven that.
But instead of saying that, of betraying his arrangement with Eliza, Nicholas merely smiled. It was the same ruthless smile that had long made far stronger men than these two tremble where they sat. "Then it is a good thing that I am not looking to wed her. Merely bed her. Isn't it?" He had decided not to say that, yet he did anyway, and he cursed himself for it.
"Perhaps." That came from Rayne. "Or perhaps you might have finally met your match. A chit that isn't terrified of you. One that you can't charm into bed and then expect her to do precisely as you order." He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. "Might be good for you. Provided she does not murder you in your sleep for going to the coaching inn without her. She has every right to be there, you know. It concerns her as much - if not more - than you. Or Prinny."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "The Stuck Pig is no place for a lady."
"Neither is skulking about behind potted plants with a notorious duke at a musicale, but I dare say she's done that as well." Then the earl smiled and in his friend's moss green eyes, Nicholas thought he saw something like displeasure flare. "Nor is bedding the lady without wedding her. No matter that she is a spinster with few or no prospects."
Nicholas did not like the implication. Not one bit. "That is my business. Not yours."
"It is her family's," Rayne reasoned evenly, his posture in the chair relaxed, even if his words were not. "And hers. Especially if you get her with child." Then he paused and he ran his tongue back and forth between his teeth. "Should that happen, I would hope you have enough of Nicholas left inside of you to wed her. It would be a pity if all that is left of my old friend is The Bloody Duke."
Deep inside, Nicholas felt the same way. He just wasn't about to admit it.
Eliza was certain that someone would pounce upon her the moment she walked into the foyer of the family's town home. No one did. After all, she had been gone all night. True, they believed she had been by Sophia's side, but now it was nearly half three in the afternoon. Far longer than was proper to visit, even for a dear friend in desperate need.
Yet other than Tibbs, there was no one about to greet her. Instead, the butler merely took her evening cloak, one that was in obviously desperate need of pressing, before handing it off to a waiting footman and then gestured to the grand staircase. "Lord Underhill is in the old study."
"My parents?" She knew Tibbs would tell her the truth. Even if no one else in this mausoleum of a house would.
"Abovestairs as well, my lady." He offered her a small bow and she wondered for a moment how long the old butler could continue to serve them. She had no idea of the man's exact age, but suspected he must be in his seventh decade by now. And each and every day for the past six years, he had been there waiting for her. He had been the only one.
Before Nicholas, Eliza had never truly felt loved or even wanted. But last night? He had shown her a magnificent ne
w world, one she wished she could cling to forever. There was even a part of her that longed to carry his child. For even if he could never love her, he did desire her. He did care for her in some fashion as well. And that was a feeling she had never truly known.
Impulsively, Eliza reached out and squeezed the butler's arm gently. "Thank you, Tibbs. And thank you for waiting up for me."
It might have been the middle of the afternoon, but the old man seemed to take her meaning. And he smiled back warmly. "It was my pleasure, miss. Always." Then he shooed her towards the stairs. "Now go. I am certain you will wish to rest and refresh before tonight's dinner party at the Waverly's." He raised an eyebrow. "And to learn of the plans for the grand ball that your parents are planning in your, ahem, brother's honor in a scant few days."
So. It was decided then. In truth, she had expected this. Her parents, most likely her father, had decided not to wait for Nicholas' official approval of Stephen's identity. Not that she was surprised really. Her brother's hair was growing in quickly. The truth of his birth could no longer be denied. The man was Stephen Deaver, even if in her deepest heart, Eliza still did not truly believe.
"Thank you, Tibbs," she said again, grasping her skirts as she prepared to climb the stairs. "Could you please have Theresa tell the maids to prepare some hot water? I do think I'd like a bath." She gave him a bland smile, hating that she had to lie to him above all people. "Sitting with Lady Sophia all night has worn me out, as you might have guessed."
"Right away, miss." Tibbs bowed again and walked down the corridor. She listened to his footsteps die away, her earlier elation over spending the night in Nicholas' bed quickly evaporating. This sort of deception was more heart-wrenching than she had imagined.
A scant few hours ago, the most handsome man Eliza had ever seen was making slow, delicious love to her, worshiping her body and making her feel as if she was a lady to be treasured. But this was reality. Nicholas was her fantasy. Her family had little use for her. Especially not now that Stephen had returned. They never had, and they never would.
She imagined that, had her friends been out all night, even supposedly attending to a heartbroken friend, someone other than the butler - most likely their mothers - would be waiting either by the door or in a drawing room, ready to deliver a tongue-lashing of the highest order. Not her family. Not her parents.
They were not bad people. Merely broken ones. In some ways, Eliza believed they had both been broken long before she had even arrived in this world, though she could not say why. And though she might be their flesh and blood, she was not the child they had desired. They cared about her in their own way, but she would never be the apple of their eye. Not like Stephen.
No, only in Nicholas' arms had she found that feeling of true belonging. She had found peace there as well. And if she was being honest with herself, she had found love. Not his love, for he was not capable of it, and she would not ask it of him. That would be wrong. But as the unmarked black carriage had carried her through the streets of London not so long ago, Eliza had come to the conclusion that somewhere along the way, through this entire misadventure, she had fallen in love with The Bloody Duke. Nicholas.
A part of her had probably always loved him, at least in some fashion. After all, he had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. But this odd, pinching emotion that she felt tugging at her insides? That was new. And it made her feel both hurt and elation. That, she supposed, was love.
She didn't like it. She didn't want it. She wanted to give it back to whatever cruel force of the universe had decided it should be her fate. But she could not. So it was one more burden for her to carry. And she would. Because she loved Nicholas too much to hurt him. To tell him how she truly felt. But it didn't matter. She was strong enough. She always had been.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she turned left to go to her chambers, but a voice stopped her.
"Izzy."
"Stephen."
She swiveled around on her heels to see him resting against the wall, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, his cane resting on his arm. Just like Nicholas. Minus the cane, of course. She had seen them both adopt that same pose so many times when they had been younger and at the moment, it made her heart twist in her chest. It was so familiar to her that she found it hard to believe this man had ever left his family behind.
Too familiar.
It was time to stop fighting. This man was Stephen. Her brother. He might not remember her, but there was no one else he could possibly be. Everyone else believed, except for possibly Nicholas. It was time Eliza accepted the truth of the matter as well.
He titled his head towards the right, indicating the direction of the drawing room and her father's study. "They're busy planning a ball for me. In honor of my homecoming." He looked away, clearly uneasy. "I don't want it."
"I don't see how you can avoid it." She realized she must look a fright and then also realized that it didn't matter. This was her brother. In the future, he would likely see her looking much worse. "Mama and Papa are not easy to dissuade when they get an idea in their heads. If they wish for you to have a grand ball to reintroduce you to society, then you will have one." She smiled and for once, she felt the smile reach her eyes. This was her brother. Memories could be remade. Flesh and blood could not. "You cannot stop them, you know."
He laughed, a hollow and empty sound, as if he did not do it much. She doubted that he had found reason to in the past six years. "I am learning that." Then he sobered. "And I appreciate it. Still, they worry me at times."
Not nearly as much as they worry me, I am certain, Eliza thought to herself. Rather, she tried a different tactic. "They shall be fine. They weathered your death. They will be able to handle your return with ease."
To her surprise, Stephen shook his head. "No. I worry about how they view you, Izzy. You were out all night." He pushed away from the wall and came to stand a few inches from her, leaning heavily on his cane as if he was weary. Perhaps from being awake all night? She could almost feel the concern radiating from him as if it were a physical thing. "I saw the notes. They did as well. Yet it did not seem to bother them. Not even a little! You are a young, unwed lady, Izzy!" He was getting angry now, which puzzled Eliza. "Damn it, I don't even remember you and I sometimes think I care more about your welfare than they do!"
At his words, something inside of Eliza shifted. She felt the tension she had been holding deep within her loosen. And for the first time since this man had appeared in the drawing room, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
The gesture seemed to shock him as well, for his eyes flew to hers, down to where her hand rested on his body and then back to her eyes. The same unusual turquoise gaze looking back at her. Her eyes. Her blood. Her brother.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Stephen, for caring."
"That's the first time you have said my name, Izzy. Or at least said it and meant it." He looked almost in awe.
She shook her head. "I am certain that I must have done so before." Hadn't she? Surely she had. At least once or twice.
"No. Not like that," he insisted before he covered her hand with his. "But it no longer signifies. You have said it now. You have said my name as if you finally accept me for who I truly am. A part of this family. Thank you for that."
"You're welcome." Eliza meant that, too. She swallowed hard. "And thank you for caring." Her gaze strayed to the hallway and the drawing room beyond. "They care, Stephen. In their own way. I know that they do." Then she shook her head. "Even if you don't remember, you were always the favorite. It was never me. I have long since accepted that is the way of things. It always was. Even before."
His gaze darkened, almost like gathering storm clouds. "It should not be that way," he insisted. "You are worth more than that. Please promise me that even if Lady Sophia has need of you again, that you will not remain out all night. Please, Izzy. I need you to help me." Now it was Stephen's turn to look
down the hallway. "I need an ally in his house who understand that my memory may never come back. That I might not ever be the Stephen they remember again. Please."
For the second time in as many days, someone had said they needed her. That was truly a new experience for Eliza and her heart expanded just a little more. It was time to move on, she decided. For all of them. This man - her brother - needed her. She could not deny him. Just as she could not deny Nicholas her body.
Eliza wiped at her eyes, which were suddenly very teary. "Very well." She sniffed and then had to laugh when Stephen immediately produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket. "And thank you." She also managed a watery smile. "I shall be here if you need me, Stephen. I promise. And if I must attend to Sophia, I will be home by dawn. I promise."
Nicholas might not like that promise, but he would have to live with it. They had taken a risk last night, falling asleep together in his bed. It could not happen again. They were having an affair. They were lovers. They were not betrothed. There was a difference. If they were caught - even if there was no child - they would be forced to wed. And she was certain neither one of them wanted such a fate.
Well, at least Nicholas did not. But to be needed? To be wanted? Every day for the rest of her life? That was something that appealed to Eliza very much. But she would not tell Nicholas that. No, she would not and could not do that to him. He deserved better than to be tied to a bluestocking spinster like her for the rest of his life. And they both knew it.
Chapter Seventeen
As Eliza had expected, the Waverly's dinner party was an elegant affair, complete with dancing and a small string quartet to provide the music. She had been dancing all night actually, as the staff of the great house prepared to serve the meal in a few minutes time. Both Lord Chillton and Lord Raynecourt had once again claimed a dance on her card, though to be certain, they were looking at her through different eyes. As if they were assessing her and then, later, protecting her.
The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza Page 22
