His Wicked Wish (33 page)

Maddy was trying to decide whether to wait here for Nathan or to go look for him when the door latch rattled and he strode into the bedchamber. He spied her standing near the dressing room and stopped dead in his tracks.

For a long moment, they stared at one another. Her heart leaped with untimely yearning. From their very first meeting, she had admired his broad shoulders in his tailored coat, the unfashionably long hair drawn back at his nape, the strength and confidence that he exuded. She'd loved his green eyes with the flecks of gold and the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled.

He wasn't smiling now.

He shut the door, then strode to the bedside table and set down a small, rectangular wooden box. The care with which he handled the box caught her attention. She'd hadn't even noticed him holding it.

“What is in that box?” she asked.

“A few odds and ends, things I intend to take with me.” He turned to face her, his expression cool and remote. “I'm leaving, Madelyn. I'm going back to the Far East. I went to the docks today and made the arrangements. My ship sails at dawn.”

His announcement stabbed into her heart. For a moment she couldn't breathe for the pain. Did he truly care so little about her that he could walk away from their marriage—just like that?

She folded her arms and sought refuge in sarcasm. “Yes, I noticed your trunk in the dressing room. Were you intending to tell me if I hadn't come in here? Or would you have just disappeared?”

“Of course I intended to tell you. You were gone this afternoon, visiting your grandfather.” His face hardened. “Have you made up with Houghton, then? Has he accepted you into the family fold?”

“Never mind the duke.” Her momentary show of pluck drained away and she mourned the lack of warmth in his expression. She knew the situation was her own fault, at least in part. “Oh, Nathan, I'm so very sorry for what happened last night. I truly regret deceiving you. Can't you at least stay until the end of the season as you promised?”

He prowled back and forth, his narrowed gaze on her. “May I remind you, Madelyn,
you
broke our agreement. You lied to me. You led me to believe that you were common. Had I known the truth, I wouldn't have married you.”

His words hurt. But he had concealed his own explosive secret. He had not told her
why
it was so important that his wife be a scandalous actress, purchased at auction. So how could she have guessed that the earl had cruelly scorned Nathan all his life for being fathered by a footman?

Yet pointing that out now only seemed futile. He was too caught up in the poison of vengeance.

Nevertheless, Maddy couldn't just let him walk away. The prospect of never seeing him again was too dreadful to contemplate. She needed him in her life—and he needed her, too. They were two halves of a whole, though his hatred for the earl had blinded him to that fact.

She went to him, stopping in his path and forcing him to cease pacing. “I understand why revenge has ruled your life for so long, Nathan. But it isn't good for you. I do think you ought to try to make peace with Gilmore instead of running away again.”

“Don't be ridiculous!”

Determined, she reached up and cupped his jaw in her hands. “If you won't do that, then at least stay in England. We could move out of this house, you and I. We could make our own home somewhere else. You needn't ever see him again—and we could be together. I love you—enough for both of us.”

Something flickered in his eyes as he stared down at her. Something hot and hungry. Then abruptly, he took hold of her arms and put her aside. “No. It's over, Madelyn. I'm sorry.”

He stepped away to the window and gazed out, his broad back turned to her. His manner could not have been colder or more hostile.

Tears blurred her eyes. So much for opening her heart to him. Half of her wanted to sink into a weeping puddle at his feet. The other half wanted to rail at him, to pound her fists on his chest and demand that he see reason.

Turning, she walked out of his bedchamber. She couldn't forget that brief flash of need in his eyes. It gave her a tiny crumb of hope. And an idea for one last desperate campaign to change his mind.

*   *   *

A short while later, after Maddy had dried her tears, she went down to the library to seek out the Earl of Gilmore. She paused in the doorway and spied him at his desk by one of the windows.

He didn't notice her at first. He was concentrating on the notebook that lay open before him. He had a quill in his hand, and as she watched, he dipped the nib into a silver inkwell and made several notations on one of the pages.

She blinked in surprise. It had to be a miracle that she'd come in at this particular moment, for his actions jarred a memory in her mind of watching Nathan signing papers at his warehouse.

Was it possible—

She weaved a hasty path through the tapestry of tables and chairs. All the while, her mind turned the half-formed notion over and over. She had to find out the truth. And if she was wrong, then she'd do as she'd originally intended; she would somehow convince Gilmore to make the first move toward reconciliation.

He looked up at her approach. A slight smile easing his stern features, he waved at a chair with his quill. “Ah, Madelyn. Do sit down. You've returned from your tea with the duke. How did it go? Is His Grace still intent on welcoming you into his family?”

“Yes, Papa,” Maddy said, seating herself. “But that isn't why I came here. I apologize for my abruptness, but I thought you should know. Nathan has decided to leave England tomorrow morning.”

The earl's face paled. He threw down his quill without a care for placing it neatly in its holder. “What? That can't be. I passed him in the corridor early this morning, and he never spoke a word of it.”

“Nevertheless, it's true. His trunk is being packed. He has arranged for passage at dawn.” Her fingers clutched at the fabric of her skirt. “I realize this is my fault for lying to him about my background. But I need your help to stop him.”

Gilmore pursed his lips. “I'm afraid it has been quite a long time since I was able to prevent Nathan from doing as he wished.”

“Please, you have to try. He's your heir.” She lowered her voice. “Even if he isn't of your blood.”

His nostrils flared. She was afraid she'd overstepped her bounds. Especially when he scowled at her with flinty brown eyes. Under his breath, he bit out, “What exactly did he tell you?”

She kept her tone as hushed as his. “That on his twenty-first birthday, you were angry about having to pay off his gaming debts. That you attributed his depravity to his bad blood. And you revealed that … he'd been sired by a footman.”

Closing his eyes, Gilmore pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Half a minute ticked past. When he looked at her again, his expression was bleak. “Good God. I hope you haven't repeated that to anyone.”

“No! Of course not. I would never tell a living soul.”

He gave her a measuring look. “I suppose you
have
proven your ability to keep a secret. It would behoove you to continue to do so. If word were to slip out, it would harm this family—and Emily's chance of making a good marriage.”

“Yes. I believe that's why Nathan has never told anyone, either. He does love his sister.” She swallowed, then added, “My lord, forgive me for asking, but … is there any possibility that you might be wrong about Nathan's parentage? That you might indeed be his father?”

His expression turned thunderous. “That is most impertinent.”

She would not let herself be intimidated. There was too much at stake. “I only ask because when I came in here just now, I noticed you were writing with your left hand. Nathan is left-handed, as well. Is that not an inherited trait? I believe it's rather rare, and to have two of you in one family … well, it does make me wonder.”

He stared at her. Then he turned his gaze downward, picked up the quill, and stared at it as if lost in thought. Maddy tensely watched him, wondering what he was thinking, if he was at least considering the possibility. It would change everything. If she could soften his rigid convictions about Nathan, there might be a chance …

“He looks nothing like me,” he growled as if to himself. Then he looked up at her. “It can't be true.”

“Does he resemble his mother, then? Or … this footman?”

“From birth, Nathan was the image of Camellia, the black hair, the green eyes. Behaved like her, too, cheeky and insolent—” He broke off abruptly. “Why am I telling you this? You have no right to interfere.”

“Yes I do. Nathan is my husband. I love him, and I don't want him to leave England. Surely you don't, either.”

“As I've already said, I cannot stop him.”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the hard surface of the desk. “Will you give up so easily, then? Nathan is still hurting from events that happened in the past. This estrangement between the two of you goes back to his childhood. From what little he's told me, you treated him with a coldness and cruelty that you never showed his elder brother.”

Pausing, she braced herself for a rebuke. But when he merely stared at her, she went on, “Besides, even if Nathan is
not
your son by blood, the circumstances of his birth were never his fault. You should have been a loving father to him regardless. He was just a child. He did not deserve to feel the brunt of your hatred.”

Maddy fell silent. She tried not to hope too much. The Earl of Gilmore was a proud man who did not suffer intrusions into his private life. He would not be amenable to heeding the frank opinions of an outspoken daughter-in-law. And he would be loath to admit his mistakes.

Yet, to her amazement, a sheen of tears glossed his eyes. He lowered his head into his hands and gave a sigh. He said heavily, “It is difficult for me to say this. But perhaps I
have
wronged him. And I
would
like to mend fences—if it isn't too late.”

Relief bathed her heart. She could scarcely believe he'd yielded to her pleading. “It's never too late. If you could speak to him, extend a hand of reconciliation, then perhaps he might be persuaded to—”

“What is this?” Nathan's caustic voice interrupted her from the doorway. “A conspiracy?”

Startled, Maddy turned in her chair to face her husband. He strode purposefully into the library, coming to a stop a short distance from her, his suspicious gaze shifting from her to the earl.

He went on, “I came here looking for Gilmore and who do I find but you, Madelyn, no doubt tattling about my departure. How quickly you've shifted your allegiance, now that you're one of the nobility.”

Frowning, the earl rose to his feet. “Don't speak to your wife with such disrespect.”

“I learned it from you,
Father
. I grew up hearing your contempt whenever you addressed my mother.”

Afraid the exchange would turn into a shouting match, Maddy jumped up from her chair. “Nathan, there's no need to quarrel. He's willing to make peace with you. If only you'll let him.”

“Peace on his terms? Absolutely not.”

“Please, if you'll just listen to him—”

“It would
please
me if this is the last time he and I ever come face-to-face.” A muscle worked in Nathan's jaw. “In fact, I came back to England only because I thought he was dead.”

The earl frowned. “Dead? What do you mean?”

“Lady Milford wrote to me that you lay on your deathbed from the smallpox. She sent a second letter a week later, but I never received it. So you see, I came back with the intent of visiting my brother and sister. Had I known you were still alive, I would never have returned.”

His coldness made Maddy shiver. It had been many weeks since she'd seen him display such viciousness toward Gilmore. Nathan's revelation appalled her, and she could only imagine its effect on the earl.

Gilmore's face had turned ashen. His breathing harsh and shallow, he stared at Nathan. His lips parted as if he intended to say something.

He suddenly clutched at his chest. While Maddy watched in horror, he uttered a low moan and swayed on his feet. Nathan took a quick step toward him. Too late.

The earl lost his balance. He struck his head with a thud on the edge of the desk and landed in a heap on the floor.

 

Chapter 23

The following morning, Maddy stepped into the drawing room to receive a visitor. Lady Milford stood by one of the tall windows, gazing out upon the square through the rain-spattered glass. Elegant in a lilac gown and crimped bonnet with ostrich feathers, she turned toward Maddy with a somber expression.

“My dear, I do hope you don't mind the intrusion so early,” she said, coming forward to greet Maddy. “I came as soon as I heard the news. How is Lord Gilmore?”

“He's still unresponsive, I'm afraid. He suffered an apoplexy and then hit his head as he fell. The doctor was with him all night. We won't know until the earl awakens if there is any permanent damage.”

If indeed he
did
awaken.

Maddy shuddered. She relived the awful nightmare of seeing her father-in-law collapse. She'd hurried for help, then Nathan and a footman had carried the earl upstairs to his bedchamber. The household had come running. The dowager had needed smelling salts, Emily had cried brokenly, and Lady Sophia had given Maddy an accusatory look as if
she
had triggered the attack.

Maddy drew a breath that ended in a choked sob. Her fingers dug into the blue velvet bag that she'd brought from her bedchamber. Perhaps she
was
guilty. Perhaps she shouldn't have troubled Lord Gilmore by stirring up the past. Perhaps if she'd never sought the earl's counsel, Nathan would never have said such cutting things to him …