No Other Love (8 page)

“Don’t you want me?” she had whispered.

“Sweet heaven, girl, you’re killing me” had been his husky answer, and he had reached out and cupped one breast, his thumb brushing her nipple and making it harden eagerly. “Don’t you know I want ye more than life itself?”

His dark eyes were lit with an inner flame. He moved his hand across her chest, pausing to touch the ring that lay nestled between her breasts. “To see you…to see my ring there, warmed by your flesh—knowing that ye are mine and I’m yours…”

“Then take me,” Nicola had said boldly, covering his hand with hers, her eyes glowing up at him. “Make love to me. I want to feel you, to know—”

“No! I won’t be plantin’ my seed in ye and ye not bearin’ my name. It’s what happened to my mother, and I will not put that shame on ye. Or on my child.”

He had bent and lightly touched his lips to her pink nipple. “Now cover up, girl, before ye drive me to distraction.”

“And if I won’t?” Nicola had asked saucily, leaning back on her elbows, her eyes filled with challenge.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to make ye, won’t I?” He had reached for her.

At that moment a roar had split the air, sounding even over the rush of the water, and Nicola and Gil had whirled around to see the Earl of Exmoor standing only a few feet away from them, his face thunderous.

Gil scrambled to his feet, but Richard reached him before he was completely upright and swung his fist, connectedly solidly with Gil’s jaw and sending him tumbling backward. He turned toward Nicola, and his eyes dropped down to her open bodice, and he stopped as if struck. “What is that? A ring?”

“Yes. Gil gave it to me,” Nicola told him, rising and pulling the sides of her bodice together to hide her breasts. “I am going to marry him.”

“Marry? Marry a groom?” Before she realized what he was doing, Richard reached out and grabbed the ring, snapping the thin chain that held it. He held the ring up, looking at it for a long moment, then murmured, “I’ll be damned….”

“Give that back!” Nicola cried. “That’s mine! How dare you interfere?”

With a great roar of rage, Richard hurled the ring toward the Falls. “You’ll never marry him!”

Nicola shrieked and ran after the ring, stopping helplessly at the edge. Behind her, Gil got up and rushed at Richard, crashing into him, and the two men fell to the ground. Nicola stared down at the tumbling water, spilling down the side of the cliff to crash into the gorge below and rush onward.
Gil’s ring was gone.
She could never hope to find it again. She whirled, angry words on her lips, then stopped at the sight of the two men locked in a silent, furious struggle.

She’d seen two men fight before. Once, when she was young, two of the grooms had squared off in the yard, and one of them had knocked the other down before Nicola’s governess hustled her back inside. But that angry exchange scarcely resembled this intense battle. The two men rolled across the ground, punching and grappling, silent except for an occasional grunt or atavistic growl.

“Stop it! Gil! Exmoor!” Nicola realized that she might as well have been speaking to herself for all the good it did.

The men inched perilously close to the edge of the Falls, so close that the mist from the spewing water enveloped them. Nicola started toward them, shouting of the danger. At that instant, the edge of the cliff beside the Falls began to crumble. Nicola froze, a shriek tearing out of her lungs, watching in horror as the men’s feet were suddenly dangling in air. Realizing what was happening, Gil and Exmoor crawled toward safety. But the ground gave way beneath Gil’s legs, the rocks and earth flowing from beneath him almost like a river, and he slid backward, his hands scrabbling for purchase.

“Gil!”

Richard, who had reached stable ground, turned around as Gil slid slowly over the lip of the cliff, the spray from the Falls beside him rising around him like a cloud. Richard crawled over to the edge and peered over it.

“Hold on, I’ll help you!” he shouted, reaching one arm over the side.

Nicola prayed frantically as she watched. The muscles in the earl’s back bunched, and she could see his shoulder move. Then there was a brief cry, and Richard went limp, his arm still dangling over the side.

Nicola’s stomach fell to her feet, and she sat down hard, her knees suddenly too watery to support her. She could not speak. Slowly Richard edged back from the cliff and rose to his feet, turning around.

“I am sorry,” he told her. “He couldn’t hold on. I tried, but he slipped out of my grasp. He is gone.”

N
ICOLA TURNED AWAY FROM THE
F
ALLS
,
her eyes blinded with tears. The memory of that day ten years ago was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. She could still remember the sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sat there, staring numbly at the cliff’s edge. Shock and disbelief had swamped her. Her heart was already stricken with grief, but her mind could not yet grasp the facts.
Gil couldn’t be dead!

Then a new thought had entered her mind, and she had jumped to her feet, shaky but filled with hope. “Maybe he didn’t die! Maybe he’s down at the bottom of the gorge—hurt!”

“Impossible. He could not have survived the fall. You know the rocks around there.”

“But there is water, too! He could have fallen into the water.”

“No. You must not go down there. It would be too horrible a sight.”

But she had ignored Richard, running to her horse and clambering onto it to ride down and around to the entrance of the gorge. Once she reached the mouth of the gorge, she rode back up its length to Lady Falls. It was the only way to get to the area below them; the walls of the gorge were too precipitate beside the Falls. But it took an inordinately long time, and by the time she reached the spot below the cliff where Gil had fallen, it was late afternoon, and the high walls of the gorge cast deep shadows all around the pool where the waterfall emptied.

There was no body on the rocks or ground, though she and Richard, who had insisted on accompanying her, had searched all over, clambering over rocks. Nor could she see Gil’s body in the pool, dug deep by years of erosion.

“Nicola…let me take you home. This is fruitless. Surely you can see that. His body is either at the bottom of the pool or it was swept downriver. In either case, the boy is long since dead. If the fall didn’t kill him, he surely drowned. Please…”

“He’s not dead!” she had shrieked. “He’s not! I know it! I would feel it if he were. He’s alive! He fell into the water and must have been swept down the river, but he could still be alive. He just got out farther downriver.”

They rode back through the gorge at a much slower pace than they had taken coming in, searching the narrow river and its banks for sign of a man. There was no sign of him. It was almost dark by the time they reached the mouth of the gorge, and Nicola had allowed Richard to escort her home. “I am sorry,” he had said as he helped her down from her horse at Buckminster. “I was angry, yes, but you must know that I never meant him to die.”

Nicola had nodded numbly.

“I tried to save him. You saw that. But our hands were wet, and we couldn’t hold on. He slipped out of my grasp.” When Nicola said nothing, he went on. “I will send for the magistrate and tell him what happened. Don’t worry. I will make sure that your reputation isn’t harmed by it. We cannot let anyone know that you were out there with a groom.”

“I don’t care about my reputation!” Nicola had snapped. “And he’s not dead! I know it.”

“Of course.”

He had spoken quietly to her mother, who later insisted that Nicola drink some nasty tonic that a doctor had given her. Nicola had then gone to her bedroom, certain that she would never be able to sleep, but wanting some blessed solitude while she waited out the long, dark night. She had been surprised to find that she went to sleep almost immediately, and the next day, when she woke up, it was almost noon. She realized then that her mother must have given her some of her laudanum, doubtless on the Earl’s suggestion.

Shaking off her grogginess, Nicola had ridden back to the gorge and searched it from one end to the other in the daylight. But there was no sign of Gil. She went back home, hoping that there had been some word from Gil that he was all right, but there had been no message for her. She refused her mother’s tonic that evening and as a consequence spent a long, restless night, remembering each detail of Gil’s plunge off the cliff and repeating to herself all the reasons why Gil might still be alive.
He was young and healthy, and obviously he had fallen into the water instead of onto the hard rocks. The pool was deep, so he would not have hit the bottom. And he had told her that he was a strong swimmer. He had to have survived. He had to.

But as the days passed and no word had come from Gil, the knowledge that he must be dead had weighed more and more heavily upon her. If he were alive, she knew that he would have contacted her somehow. She had managed to think of reasons why he might have delayed contacting her—he was delirious, perhaps, or lying unconscious somewhere, or had broken his arm so that he could not write. But as time went by, even those gloomy hopes faded.

Day after day she had waited, and no message had ever come. Nicola knew then that Gil was indeed dead. She had sunk into depression, not eating, not sleeping, refusing some days even to get out of bed.

The magistrate had come and asked her a few gentle questions, and she had told him that yes, the Earl had reached down to grab Gil, but he had slipped out of Richard’s grasp, that yes, it had been an accident. She had realized after a time that the magistrate believed that Nicola and Richard had been out for a ride together, with Gil along to take care of the horses. She had started to protest, but then she realized that it didn’t really matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.

One day, two weeks later, her aunt had come for a visit and swept Nicola back to London with her. At first Nicola had not wanted to go, still clinging to a faint, desperate hope that one day Gil would get in touch with her. But her aunt had refused to take no for an answer, and Nicola had realized finally that she could not continue to stay here, soaking in her misery, surrounded by all the places and things that reminded her of Gil and their brief love.

She had taken one last ride up to Lady Falls to say her farewell to Gil. She had stood for a long time at the edge of the Falls, looking out over the green gorge, then down, following the silver spray of water to where it splashed into the gorge below. Finally, she turned away, and as she did so, a flash of gold just below the rim of the gorge caught her eye. She looked again, her eyes focusing on the small, thorny bush that grew out of the cliffside less than a foot below the edge. She spotted the wink of gold again, and she dropped down onto her knees at the edge of the cliff, her heart beginning to pound. There, caught in the thorny foliage, was the ring Gil had given her. When Richard had torn it from her neck and tossed it away, it must have fallen into this bush and caught. It had been here for all these weeks, just waiting for her!

Almost sick at the thought that she had almost missed the ring, Nicola lay down flat on the ground and inched forward, reaching down over the edge of the cliff until she could reach the little bush. Her fingers closed around the ring, and she wriggled backward, clutching it in her hand. This much, at least, she had of Gil; she would always have it.

She had pocketed the ring, her heart less heavy than before, and had ridden back to Buckminster. The next day she had gone to London with her aunt.

N
ICOLA TURNED AND WALKED AWAY
from the Falls, her hand going unconsciously to her pocket, where the ring lay. It had been her habit through the years to wear the ring hidden from the eyes of others on a long chain underneath her dress, except when she wore a dress, as she did today, that would have revealed the ring. At first it had served as a kind of talisman, a reminder of Gil that comforted and strengthened her, helped her through the worst days of sorrow and pain. Now she had worn it so long that it had become almost second nature, something she rarely thought about.

Leading her horse to a rock, she mounted and rode away from the Falls. She turned toward the village, riding cross-country until she reached the country lane that led to the village from the south. She stopped at the vicarage first, politely calling on the vicar’s wife. But she kept her visit short, know that the amiable, gentle vicar’s wife would have no answers to any of the questions she was filled with.

As she was leaving, the housekeeper came around the side of the house to intercept her. It seemed that the cook had come down with catarrh, and the scullery maid had a bad case of chilblains. Nicola went around to the side door and gave the cook a tonic containing hyssop and elder flowers, and the maid a small tin of arnica cream.

“Yer a sweet girl, Miss Falcourt, and that’s the God’s truth,” the housekeeper said, smiling broadly. “Me sister Em told me how you cured the itchin’ on her feet for her last month, and I told Cook as soon as I saw ye this afternoon that ye’d do the same for her.”

“Your sister Em?” Nicola asked. “Are you Mrs. Potson’s sister?”

Nicola wouldn’t have thought it possible that the woman’s smile could broaden any more, but it did. “That’s right! Ain’t you the downy one?”

“How is your sister?”

“Feeling pretty well these days, though she gets down in her back sometimes, but that comes from lifting too much. I tell her, time and time again, to let that girl of hers do more of the work, but she lets that Sally twist her round her little finger, she does. Ah, well…” She shrugged expressively. “There’s no tellin’ her.”

Nicola smiled. She wouldn’t have thought anyone could twist the redoubtable Mrs. Potson around her finger. She certainly ran her large, quiet husband and the rest of the household, as far as Nicola could see.

Her first stop after the vicarage was the inn. It was owned by Jasper Hinton, a man as thin and small as his wife was tall and large. They were unalike in most every other way, as well, he being a nearly silent man with more liking for numbers than for people, and his wife Lydia a gregarious soul who would rather talk than eat—and it was obvious that she enjoyed her food a good deal. The inn and adjoining tavern were a natural location for local gossip and news, and Lydia’s consuming interest in people and everything they were doing made it even more of an information center.

It would also be a natural place to rest and drink something refreshing after her ride—and there was always a serving girl or ostler or scullery maid who was ill and in need of one of her remedies.

When she turned into the yard, Nicola was greeted with a great roar of delight from the head ostler, who hurried across the yard, shoving one of the boys out of his way so that he could help Nicola down himself. “Miss Falcourt! I heard you was up at Tidings these days, but I didn’t believe it. Not there, I says, never known her to go there, and she were here at Buckminster only a month ago.”

“I know. But I came back to visit my sister.”

“That’s good of ye. Here, Jem, come take the lady’s horse—and rub him down good, I’m tellin’ ye. I’ll be checkin’ to see how ye’ve done.” He handed the reins of Nicola’s horse over to the youngster he’d shoved aside and walked with Nicola toward the door of the inn. “How is your sister? She’s a good lady, though we don’t see her much.”

“No. I am afraid Deborah doesn’t get out a lot.” Nor had Deborah ever had the same interest in the common people that Nicola had had, though she was offhandedly kind and reasonable with the servants. “How is your eye, Malcolm?”

The older man looked immensely pleased. “Now, isn’t that just like ye to remember a little thing like that? It’s fine now, thanks to that salve you give me. Worked like a charm, it did.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“There’s no one with your touch with cures, miss—not now that Granny Rose is gone, God rest her soul.”

“I’m afraid I will never know as much as she did.”

The ostler nodded. “She were that good. Why, she could walk through the woods and name every flower and plant in it—and what you could use it for. Learned it from her mam, and her mam from hers before that, and so on. They were always healin’ women.”

They reached the front door, the end of the ostler’s domain, and he bade Nicola a cheerful goodbye, turning back to the yard and bellowing an order at one of his hapless charges. Nicola smiled and went into the inn. Lydia Hinton was already hurrying down the hall toward her, wiping her hands on her apron, her face wreathed in smiles.

“Miss Falcourt! Bless the day! I never thought to see you back so soon. When that chit Susan told me you were in the yard, I didn’t believe her. Come into the private parlor and rest.”

Mrs. Hinton believed in the proper order of things, and she would have been horrified to have sat down with Nicola in the kitchen for a good gossip. A young lady belonged in the private parlor, and she would never think of sitting down with Nicola until Nicola let her bring her food and drink—and then only if Nicola insisted on her doing so. So they went through their usual ritual, with Mrs. Hinton helping her off with her cloak, bringing her tea and cakes, and not making a move toward a chair at the table until Nicola asked her to join her and overrode her first refusal. Then, at last, as they had both known she would, Lydia settled down in the chair opposite Nicola for a cup of tea and a nice hour of gossip.

There were the usual amenities to be observed first—Nicola inquired about Mr. Hinton and their children, and the workers at the inn, listening with interest to the other bits of local gossip that Lydia found of particular importance—before Nicola could get down to the question that burned in her mind. But at last there was a pause in the conversation as Lydia sat back in her chair and took a sip of tea.

Nicola set down her own cup and asked casually, “And what of this highwayman, Mrs. Hinton?”