Lords of Desire (25 page)

He was going to go bloody, raving mad.

Ian strode across Motton’s well-manicured lawns. If he didn’t get out of that damn bedchamber—that damnbed —he was going to start foaming at the mouth. Bedlam would not be large enough to contain his insanity.

Last night had been pure hell. He’d slept hardly at all. Every time he’d start to drop off, Nell would make some small noise. She’d tossed and turned constantly. He almost suspected her of purposely trying to torment him. She hadn’t been such a restless sleeper when they’d been young.

He glared at an innocent squirrel that had had the audacity to dart across his path. Any closer and he’d have stepped on the brainless rodent.

When they were young, if she’d been restless, he’d had a very efficient—a very pleasant—way of calming her. A thorough bout of lovemaking had always made them both wonderfully relaxed. But obviously that solution had not been available to him last night, damn it all to hell.

The bloody poker was not the only hard object in that bed.

He reached a large oak tree and turned back toward the house. This was ridiculous. He’d already taken his horse out for an hour ride, yet he was still as…tense as hell.

His horse was not what—whom—he wished to be riding.

Should he try the inn? Surely he could find a woman to cure his problem there—

No, damn it. He didn’t want a whore, he wanted Nell. Zeus, did he want her. But she didn’t want him.

It was a damnable coil. Seeing her again—smelling her, hearing her, touching her—had brought all the old longing back. That was why he hadn’t visited Pentforth again. He’d known the only way he could live without her was to try to forget she existed. He’d never been completely successful, even after all these years, but he’d been able to keep the need to a manageable level of discontent.

Now it was a damn, raging fever. He might not survive this blasted house party.

He had to divorce her. It was the uncertainty of the situation—yes, thehope —that was the problem. Once he took steps to end their marriage…well, it would be final. Like death.

If he didn’t get his own room today, hewould die.

He approached the house. Hmm. There was a traveling carriage on the drive. How was Miss Smyth going to handle this? She would have to rearrange sleeping accommodations now or magically find an empty room. He smiled slightly. This should be interesting.

A knot of people clogged the entry hall—Dawson, Lady Grace, Miss Smyth, Motton…Nell. His eyes were drawn to her like iron to a magnet. Damn. He forced himself to study the scene instead. There was a good bit of brangling going on.

The Earl of Standen had arrived to drag his daughter home. Why he was doing so remained a bit of a mystery and, frankly, Ian didn’t care what the man’s reasons were. If Lady Grace departed, her room was suddenly free for him, though he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Miss Smyth concocted some asinine reason why he couldn’t take it. Well, he was not going to be hoodwinked again. He would insist, most strenuously.

“But the house party isn’t over yet,” Motton was saying. He smiled at Standen. “Why don’t you join us? I’m sure we can find you a room.”

Find Standen a room? Bloody hell!

“Ah, so thereare extra rooms?”

Ian was finally going to get his own room. She was delighted, of course. It had been exceedingly awkward and uncomfortable sharing such a small space—such a small bed—with the man. She had hardly got a moment’s sleep since she arrived. She—

She didn’t feel delighted. She felt tired and depressed.

Nell closed her eyes and leaned back slightly on the garden bench, turning her face up to the sun. Bees buzzed nearby; the jumbled scents of flowers hung in the air. The day was full of life…

Life that was passing her by. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. This was the end.

She could feel it. When Ian left this house party, he was going to begin divorce proceedings. She tried to swallow the large lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

Stupid! This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? It wasgood Ian would finally be taking steps to end their sham of a marriage. It was time she finally got on with her life.

A life that extended, gray and solitary, year after year, for as long as she could imagine—

“Are you all right, Lady Kilgorn?”

“Wha—?” Nell jerked open her eyes. Lady Oxbury stood before her, a look of concern on her face.

“Are you quite all right? I don’t mean to pry, but, well, I see you’ve been crying.”

“Crying?” Nell put her hands to her face. Her cheekswere damp. “Oh, no. I am just…overly warm. It’s a sunny day, after all, and I’ve been sitting here….”

“Lady Kilgorn…” Lady Oxbury sighed and shook her head slightly as if shedding reservations about whatever she was going to say. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Nell did mind, of course. She was not eager to be gifted with some unsolicited advice, but she couldn’t find the tact—or energy—to politely decline Lady Oxbury’s company.

And the woman had already settled herself on the bench next to her.

“I wouldn’t normally…I don’t usually…oh, fiddle!” Lady Oxbury looked Nell straight in the eye.

Nell dropped her gaze like a frightened rabbit to stare at her hands clasped in her lap.

This wasmost uncomfortable.

“You must know everyone—even Miss Smyth, I dare say—is aware of your unconventional—yourunfortunate —situation.”

“I’m not certain what you me—”

“Of course you know what I mean. You have lived apart from your husband for a decade.”

“That is not so unusual. Many couples of the ton live apart, don’t they?”

“Yes, but not many of those couples married so young—and for love.”

“Er…” She really, really did not wish to discuss this, especially with a virtual stranger.

“Wewere very young, too young to—”

Lady Oxbury made a disparaging sound. “And you were very much in love, were you not?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes. But as you say, we were young, too young to know better. Too young to sustain—”

Lady Oxbury actually snorted her disgust this time. “Balderdash! You are still in love.”

Nell gaped at the older woman. Was she to be allowed no pride? “How can you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s true.” Lady Oxbury pinned her with a gaze that brooked no nonsense.

“Don’t bother to dissemble. I’ve seen the way you look at your husband. Your feelings are not a secret—except, apparently, from him.”

“Ohh.” She closed her eyes. She was going to expire from embarrassment.

“And he loves you.”

“What?” Nell’s eyes flew back open—truthfully, they almost started from her head.

“You must be—you are—mistaken.”

“No, I am not.” Lady Oxbury leaned forward. Nell thought for a moment she would grab her shoulders and shake her. The woman’s gloved hands did rise from her skirts briefly.

What did one say to such a statement? “Oh?” A weak response but the only one Nell could manage.

“Indeed.” Lady Oxbury shook her head decisively. “But, like most men, he will probably refuse to acknowledge his feelings unless forced to do so.”

“Oh?” She felt as mindless as Miss Smyth’s parrot. More mindless. At least Theo was always definite in his pronouncements.

“Yes.” Lady Oxbury rested her hands on Nell’s. “Please understand, Lady Kilgorn, I am not normally so bold, but this time I feel I must speak plainly. I cannot let you make the same mistake I did.”

“Mistake? I don’t—”

“Of course you don’t know what I am talking about. You are too young, and the…situation never rose to the level of a scandal.” She frowned. “If I had been braver—

if I’d had the courage to follow my heart…”

Did Lady Oxbury actually regret not causing a scandal? That was hard to fathom. “I really don’t—”

The older woman tightened her grip. “Twenty-three years ago I met and fell in love with Mr. Wilton.”

“Mr. Wilton? But you married…”

“Exactly. I married Lord Oxbury. The whys and wherefores aren’t important. Whatis important is that I loved Alex and I didn’t fight for that love. I let circumstances sweep me along, and I have regretted that—I’ve regretted my cowardice—every moment of every year we’ve been apart.” She sighed and looked down at her hands where they still rested on Nell’s. “Not that I wasn’t…fond of my husband, but…” She met Nell’s eyes. “I will just say regret colored every happiness.”

“I see.” Regret. Yes, that was all too familiar an emotion.

Lady Oxbury smiled. “Fortunately, I am getting a second chance. We are finally marrying as soon as may be.”

“Ah. My sincere felicitations.” Nell tried to repress a pang of jealousy.

Lady Oxbury waved aside her good wishes. “Thank you, but the important issue here is you. Do not make the same mistake I did. Be brave. Be resolute. If you love Lord Kilgorn, fight for him. You may not be as lucky as I—this may be your last chance.

Don’t let it slip through your fingers.”

Lady Oxbury was very impassioned, but she didn’t know the details of their separation.

“I do appreciate your concern, Lady Oxbury, but I really believe you are laboring under a misapprehension. Ian doesn’t love me.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Of course not!” Lady Oxbury wasn’t impassioned; she was mad—utterly and completely mad.

“And more to the point—and the question youcan answer—do you love him?”

“I-I…there is no possible way I could—”

“Be brave, Lady Kilgorn. What have you got to lose? And isn’t it better to know for certain how Lord Kilgorn feels than spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you’d had more courage?”

Lady Oxbury glanced away—and suddenly smiled so broadly her face almost glowed.

Nell was not surprised to see Mr. Wilton had stepped onto the terrace.

“If you’ll excuse me?” Lady Oxbury was two steps down the path to the house before she paused and turned back for a moment. “Do think about what I’ve said, Lady Kilgorn.

Believe me, regret is not a pleasant companion.”

Nell nodded politely and watched the woman hurry to reach Mr. Wilton.

“She’s completely correct, you know.”

“Ack!” Nell whirled around. Miss Smyth was standing in the shade just a few feet away.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long. I came up as Lady Oxbury was exhorting you to find some backbone—and I do hope you find it soon. Lord Kilgorn will be moving to his own bedchamber this afternoon. I couldn’t stall him any longer.”

“Oh.” So Lord Motton’s aunthad had ulterior motives in arranging the sleeping accommodations. She should be incensed.

She was just more depressed.

“Oh, indeed.” Miss Smyth snorted. “Here I thought you had some bottom. I gave you the perfect opportunity to smooth things over with your husband and, as far as I can tell, you’ve totally bungled it. Don’t you know how to seduce a man, Lady Kilgorn?”

“Uh…”

Miss Smyth rolled her eyes. “Well, I hope you figure it out quickly, because you’ve run out of time. It’s now or never. As Lady Oxbury said, regret is not a pleasant companion—and it’s a damn disagreeable bedmate.”

CHAPTER 8

What should she do?

Nell sat alone on the garden bench. Miss Smyth had gone inside, clearly washing her hands of such a cork-brained pudding-heart.

She sighed. She had come into the garden for peace. She’d spent many an afternoon in the calm of Pentforth’s gardens, enjoying the quiet, the solitude, the…loneliness.

Was that Lady Oxbury’s laughter she heard through the trees? And then the lower murmur of a male voice and sudden silence—

Damn it. She could imagine in painful detail exactly what Mr. Wilton and Lady Oxbury were doing in Viscount Motton’s bushes. She should be horrified. She was not. She was jealous, agonizingly jealous.

She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her forehead. She wanted—shecraved —

the sound of Ian’s voice, the touch of his hands, the taste of his—

Damn, damn,damn.

If she pushed any harder on her forehead, her skull would collapse. She was giving herself a blinding headache.

She clasped her hands together instead.

It was all Miss Smyth’s fault. Her life had been going along just fine until that woman had invited her to this dreadful gathering. Why did Lord Motton’s aunt feel the need to meddle in strangers’ lives? One would think she’d have the sense—the decorum—to limit her officiousness to her own relatives. The viscount was past his majority and unmarried. Shouldn’t Miss Smyth be busy selecting an appropriate wife for him?

Well, she couldn’t linger in the garden any longer. There was no peace to be had here now, not with Lady Oxbury and Mr. Wilton lurking in the shrubbery. Hearing them was bad enough—actually encountering them would be beyond embarrassing. She would just have to go inside.

And do what? Read a book? She did not feel like reading. Do some needlework? No.

She was far too agitated. She’d impale herself with the needle. If only she were back at Pentforth Hall…but then she’d be dodging the annoying attentions of persistent, pestilent Mr. Pennington.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? Her life most certainly hadnot been going along just fine before she’d got Miss Smyth’s missive. It had not been going along at all. She’d been as frozen as the loch in winter.

For the last ten years her days had been a monotonous procession of mindless duty. Not even duty. No one depended on her. No one would miss any of the small tasks she did to fill her time.

She had been given this last chance to choose a new path. She could continue to be fearful and live—exist—as she had. Or she could be brave and risk finding the happiness she’d once known.

Lady Oxbury and Miss Smyth were right. She had nothing to lose.

Ian looked around the small room. How the hell had he survived the last two days? More to the point, how the bloody hell had he survived the last twonights ? He eyed the narrow bed. It was a miracle he hadn’t gone mad. Every time Nell had stirred, he’d felt it; every time she’d made the slightest noise, he’d heard it. He’d wanted her so badly he’d ached.

He shifted position, adjusting his fall. He still ached, but it was time to get over it. Past time. He’d spent a decade in longing and regret, and those useless emotions had not brought him one iota closer to happiness. Or contentment. Or even resignation. He was done with wishing the past could be undone. It could not be. It was time to move on.