Regency Mischief (40 page)

‘Yes, I am certain you are right.’ He hesitated, then, ‘Dare I hope—have you forgiven me, Lottie?’

Lottie wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘I am sorry that Sam Blake was killed, but you were not present and the law was on your keeper’s side. I have offered to set Lily Blake up in her own establishment in Northampton. There is no way I can make up for what she has lost, but I hope that in time she will be able to move on and begin a new life.’

‘I did not mean…’ Nicolas shook his head. ‘Then you
do not hate me?’ he asked, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘You said it the last time we spoke.’

‘I must apologise for the things I said to you, Nicolas. I was angry but—I could never truly hate you,’ Lottie said. ‘I know that I have broken the terms of our agreement by coming here—but perhaps you will not mind too much just for a little while?’

‘I find that I do not mind at all,’ Nicolas said. ‘Do you have enough money? If not, you must send the bills to me. I would wish my wife to appear in society in a manner befitting the Countess Rothsay.’

‘Thank you, I shall try not to let you down, Nicolas.’

‘How could you do that?’ he said. ‘I have an appointment to play cards with a party of friends this evening and ought not to cancel it—perhaps tomorrow evening we could go somewhere together?’

‘Henrietta says we are invited to a soirée tomorrow evening, Nicolas. If you care to accompany us that will be perfectly acceptable—if not, then perhaps another time. You must not think that you are obliged to dance attendance on me. I am perfectly able to entertain myself—at least with Henrietta’s help I shall be.’

‘Very well, I shall not interfere with your plans.’

‘Or I with yours,’ Lottie said. ‘It is not unknown for a husband and wife to attend separate affairs, I believe.’

There, she was being the perfect convenient wife.

‘It is often the case. We should hold a dinner ourselves—if that is agreeable to you?’

‘Perfectly. We may attend some of the same affairs, of course,’ Lottie said. ‘It must be just as you wish, Nicolas.’

‘So we are back to that…’ Nicolas nodded thoughtfully. ‘Very well, my love. I see we shall go on just as before.’

‘I hope that we may be friends again,’ Lottie said. ‘Have you forgiven me, Nicolas?’

‘There was nothing to forgive,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I thought—but perhaps I was mistaken… I find I cannot read you as well as I imagined, Lottie.’

‘Perhaps as time goes on you will know me better,’ she said. ‘Pray do not let me keep you from your appointment, Nicolas.’

He stared at her uncertainly, inclined his head and went back through to his own room, shutting the door with a little snap.

Lottie stared at the door and wondered. Had she noticed signs of frustration in Nicolas? Could it be that he had missed her just a little?

Nicolas’s thoughts were in turmoil as he left Lottie to change for a quiet evening at home. He found himself wishing that he might stay with her and talk about the future for them—but his pride refused to let him speak too openly of his feelings. She seemed to have forgiven him for that night or at least to have put their quarrel to one side. In Lottie’s estimation, it seemed, the only thing needful of forgiveness was what had happened to Sam Blake—and it appeared that she had accepted he could not have prevented it.

Nicolas was still having Larkin watched. As yet nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be happening. The man went about his work in an exemplary way—but did he know he was being watched?

Damn it! He could not worry about such things when Lottie was suddenly here and in the next room. Her manner was no different than it had ever been—it was almost as if they had never quarrelled. He could not be certain whether she was indifferent or merely making things easy for him.

Now all he had to deal with was his hunger for the woman who would be sleeping in the room next to him for the next week or two.

Would Lottie be prepared to go back to the way it had been on their honeymoon?

Nicolas’s pulses raced at the thought. He badly wanted to go back now and kiss her senseless, to take her to bed and make love to her until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Now he was being a damned fool! Lottie might permit his lovemaking, but she did not love him. She had told him she would never love him, even if he obliged her to do her duty. Why did that matter so much? Nicolas dismissed the notion that he might be in love with her. He wanted her, liked her, and appreciated her good qualities—but love? If he felt the kind of love for her that his father had felt for Nicolas’s mother, it would lead to nothing but heartbreak.

He remembered the golden days when his mother had been the heart of their home and it had seemed that his father was always there, always good mannered, smiling and loving towards his son. How suddenly those days had vanished!

His mother’s death and the sudden withdrawal of his father’s affection had devastated Nicolas. He had not understood as a child that the silent stern man who
went away for long periods and hardly noticed his son when he returned was sunk in a terrible grief that had hastened his death. Only later, after an unhappy love affair with a woman who had thought him an object of amusement, had Nicolas begun to understand his father’s loss. He thought that he had not truly understood it until recently.

Surely he was not caught in the trap he had meant to avoid by arranging a marriage of convenience? Love was too painful when it ended. He had not wanted to feel that pain again. Yet he could not regret that Lottie had come into his life.

She was beautiful, but there was so much more to her—so much more to discover.

He would be a fool to allow himself to care, Nicolas reflected as he changed for the evening. If there were a chance that Lottie cared, perhaps—but her manner was so unemotional. He could not think that she cared for him in any meaningful way. She was prepared to be the mother of his children, because she had given her promise—and he knew now that she would keep it.

Why could he not just accept that and be content to live his own life, as he had intended?

Nicolas groaned as he suspected that he was caught in a trap of his own making. Yet he would not admit to it, because if he did…

Shaking his head, he took the evening cloak his valet offered and went out of his room and down the stairs. This evening he would take care not to drink more than a single glass of wine. Otherwise, he might find it too tempting to go through that connecting door.

Lottie heard Nicolas come in. She was surprised he was so early. It was scarcely much past eleven, which for a man who had reportedly been burning the candles at both ends was unprecedented.

She lay for a while, wondering if he might come to her, but the door between their rooms remained firmly closed. She wished she had the courage to open that door and go through to him, but was afraid of his rejection. If he wanted to lie with her he would surely come to her?

Nicolas had accepted her, even telling her to stay as long as she wished, and to send her bills to him if she had not enough money. Why was he so generous and yet so removed from her in every other way?

The frustration grew as she thought of him lying so close. A little moan of need issued from her. She wanted so much to lie in his arms and feel his lips on her—but she must hide her need and wait until Nicolas came to her. He would surely do so in time, because he needed an heir.

Lottie faced the fact that she was in love with her husband. She had sworn she would not love him, but she did. He was indifferent to her, though at times he had a need for marital relations. Was he still seeing his mistress? She supposed he must be—might even have visited her that evening.

The thought was so painful that she dismissed it instantly—yet it would not go away completely.

What did this woman have that Lottie did not? How could she make him want her rather than this unknown woman who haunted his dreams?

If only there was a way to make him jealous! Lottie
could not think of one, however hard she tried. She knew she was not unattractive, but it needed more than that to arouse a man’s passions. Perhaps if he thought that other men were interested… Lottie’s thoughts went round and round in her head. How could she convince her husband that other men thought her interesting or desirable?

She sighed as sleep claimed her at the last. It just was not going to happen…

‘C
ountess Rothsay.’ The young buck smiled at Lottie winningly. ‘I know I am late—but dare I hope there is one dance left on your card?’

‘I think…’ Lottie consulted and then inclined her head. ‘Just the dance before supper—if you would care to write your name?’

‘May I also take you into supper?’ Mr Bellingham asked hopefully.

‘I have already been asked several times,’ Lottie replied. ‘If you would care to join us all, I should be happy to see you, sir.’

‘Then I shall certainly do so, Countess. May I say that we all perfectly understand why Rothsay tried to keep you hidden in the country. Were you my wife, I should not wish to share you either.’

‘Oh, it was nothing of the kind,’ Lottie said with a laugh. ‘My aunt was unwell and I stayed until she felt much recovered. I assure you there was no such intention on Rothsay’s part.’

‘Then he is a fool,’ Mr Bellingham replied. ‘I shall return for my dance later.’

Lottie nodded and turned to her next partner. This was her first dance since coming to town, for she had needed several gowns made before she could think of attending a society ball of this size. The large rooms were overflowing and very warm, but as yet Lottie had not been tempted outside, though more than one gentleman had asked if she would like to take the air.

She had been hoping that Nicolas would approach and ask her for at least one dance, but thus far he had kept his distance. It was for his sake that she had kept the supper dance until the last, but since he was clearly not interested, she had given it away to Mr Bellingham.

Her popularity at every event she attended had made no impression on Nicolas. He had escorted her and Henrietta to a couple of card evenings and spent most of them in the room set up for cards, leaving Lottie alone to make her own friends and enjoy herself as she would.

So much for her hopes that he would be just a little jealous. He seemed not to have noticed that she was being lionised by most and that the gentlemen flocked to her side every time she stood and watched the dancing for a moment.

She smiled as her next partner presented himself, bowing to her reverently. ‘My dance, I think, Countess?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Lottie’s heart thudded. Mr Gerard Hunter was Lady Fisher’s nephew. Sir Bertie had introduced them and therefore Lottie had felt obliged to accept his name on her card, but she was a little nervous of him. Of all the gentlemen she had so far met in London, Mr
Hunter was the most particular. His eyes seemed to convey a message and when he held her, there was a certain possessiveness about him—as though he was trying to draw her into a more intimate relationship. Lottie was not sure whether or not she trusted this particular gentleman. ‘I believe it is…’

The dance was a waltz. As the young man put his hand at her waist, she realised that she had been unwise to allow him a waltz. His manner was altogether too intimate, his eyes seeming to burn into her as he looked down at her.

She was relieved when the dance came to an end and she could thank him and move away.

Running upstairs to the chamber set aside for the ladies to refresh themselves, she bathed her face in cool water and tucked a stray lock of hair into place behind her ear, before leaving to go downstairs. At the head of the stairs she saw Nicolas and realised that he must have been waiting for her.

‘Was Hunter annoying you, Lottie?’

‘Just a little,’ she said. ‘He seems almost too attentive at times—but he is not the only gentleman to pay me foolish compliments.’

Nicolas’s gaze went over her slowly, his eyes dark and thoughtful. ‘You certainly look very beautiful this evening, Lottie. That gown becomes you, though perhaps the neckline is a little revealing.’ His eyes dwelled on her birthmark. ‘It is unlike you to let that show?’

‘I asked
madame
to make certain the neckline would cover it, but she assured me it was attractive and said the fashion was lower this year. Henrietta said I should
be guided by
madame
—but perhaps a little lace at the neck would make it more modest?’

‘Why should you hide your charms when every other lady in the room is revealing theirs? A gentleman must learn when his attentions are not wanted. Shall I have a word with Mr Hunter, Lottie?’

‘I think it would make a statement if you were to dance with me,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps your indifference gives other men the wrong impression?’

‘Yes, perhaps it does. Do you have a free dance on your card?’

‘No. I gave the last to Mr Bellingham.’

‘Harry will not mind if I cut in,’ Nicolas said. ‘I shall have to make it plain that you are my property.’

‘Shall you, Nicolas?’ Lottie replied and hid her smile. ‘How very boring for you.’

‘I do not think I shall find it boring to dance with you,’ he replied, but his eyes were stormy and she sensed his anger.

Something told her that Nicolas did not care to see other men flirting with his wife too openly.

Nicolas cut in after Lottie had taken half-a-dozen turns around the room with Mr Bellingham, who held her in a perfectly polite manner and did not give her smouldering glances.

‘Damn you, Rothsay,’ the young man said, but gave way with good grace. ‘You should have reserved your own dance—but I suppose I must allow you to claim her. You are a damned lucky devil and always have been.’

Lottie went into her husband’s arms. Immediately, she was aware of a feeling of pleasure as Nicolas swept
her about the room. How wonderful it felt to waltz with Nicolas. She wished that their dance would go on and on for ever, but all too soon it came to an end.

‘Now I shall take you into supper and that should be enough,’ Nicolas said. ‘Forgive me for neglecting my duties, Lottie. It never occurred to me that Hunter would decide that you were available.’

‘No, I am sure it did not,’ Lottie replied. ‘He was mistaken. I am not available, Nicolas. I am your wife and even though you may not particularly want me—I shall not conduct a clandestine affair behind your back.’

‘Shall you not? I am relieved to hear that, my dear.’ He offered her his arm, but frowned as if deep in thought. ‘What may I fetch you for supper?’

‘Oh, just a syllabub, I think, Nicolas. I am not very hungry.’

‘You must not neglect yourself, Lottie. I do not wish you to become too thin—you were perfect as you were when I married you.’

‘Indeed?’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Now that is a compliment, sir. I have received several this evening—but what can top perfection?’

‘Nothing.’ His brow furrowed. ‘You must know that you are one of—if not the—most beautiful women in this room?’

‘How kind of you to say so, Nicolas, but you really have no need to flatter me.’

‘I was not aware that I was flattering you. I imagined you knew me well enough to know that I speak as I find.’

‘The shame is, Nicolas, that I hardly know you at all.’

Lottie went to sit down at an empty table while Nicolas departed to fetch some champagne and a syllabub. When he returned, he discovered that at least four young gentlemen were vying with each other to fetch Lottie some supper. She seemed to have recovered her appetite, because she was nibbling delicately at a tiny almond pastry someone had brought for her.

Nicolas joined the group about her, noticing the way her eyes lit when she responded to their teasing, and the softness of her lips as she licked a crumb from them. He was conscious of a strong desire to lean forwards and lick the crumb from her lips himself, but would not do something so revealing in company.

It was hardly surprising that half the men in the supper room were observing Lottie with barely disguised lust. Even those who were not dancing attendance on her were staring at her with admiration and at him with envy. He was torn between irritation and pleasure that his wife should arouse so much attention.

Yet the frustration he had felt the first night she came up to town was building. He hardly knew how to control himself, because if he simply walked through that adjoining door he could have what every other man in the room wanted.

He wondered when Lottie had become so very desirable—or had she always been and he just had not seen it? Was he a fool to hold back when he might have spent several nights in her arms?

Just what did he want from her?

‘Nicolas, how lovely to see you.’

Nicolas turned his head as he felt the touch on his
shoulder. He saw Elizabeth’s beautiful face and bowed over her hand, lifting it to his lips.

‘Lady Madison, how are you?’

‘Oh, well enough, I suppose,’ Elizabeth said and sighed. ‘My marriage is not all I imagined it would be, Nicolas. I think I made a mistake when I refused you. The years have given you a presence you did not have when we were younger.’

‘It is merely age. The years have been kind to you, Elizabeth. I think you are more beautiful than ever.’

‘I have been invited to visit Lord Hartwell’s country house next month. My husband does not accompany me. It would be pleasant if you were there.’

Nicolas hesitated. Her meaning was clear enough. She was not the first lady bored with her marriage to hint that she would be happy to indulge in an affair.

‘Forgive me, Lady Madison,’ Nicolas said. ‘I believe I shall be in the country with my wife.’

Glancing across the room, Lottie saw Nicolas kiss a lady’s hand. She was an exceptionally lovely woman with hair the colour of jet. Turning to Mr Bellingham, she smiled and enquired the name of the beauty.

‘Oh…you mean Lady Elizabeth Madison,’ Bellingham said and looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘She is beautiful, though before her marriage she was an Incomparable. We all wanted her, though she seemed to prefer—’ He broke off, embarrassed. ‘All in the past and long forgotten.’

Lottie knew at once that she must be
the
Elizabeth—the woman Nicolas cried for in his sleep.

‘She is very beautiful,’ she said. ‘I find I am a little
warm, sir. I should like to take the air on the veranda—if you would oblige me?’

‘Of course,’ he said and offered his arm. ‘Rothsay is a fool if he neglects you for her—she has the tongue of a fishwife.’

‘Oh, no.’ Lottie trilled with laughter and tapped him with her fan. ‘How wicked you are, sir.’

Her laughter had made Nicolas glance her way, but she was genuinely amused and did not see his frown.

Lottie was tired when they returned home that evening. The countess had gone earlier, complaining of a headache, but insisting that Lottie remain and ask for Nicolas’s escort to see her home.

‘It is time he did his duty by you, Lottie. Nicolas was always a provoking man—but this time he has gone too far. He is your husband. He should act in the proper manner towards you. I wash my hands of the foolish man.’

Lottie smiled and shook her head. Henrietta did not understand the bargain she had made. No matter how much it irked Lottie that her husband remained indifferent, she would not make demands on him. She was perfectly well able to enjoy herself in town without Nicolas running after her.

However, she had been glad of his interference that evening. Mr Hunter was too insistent and it would not do for Lottie to be thought to be fast. She was Nicolas’s wife and as such must remain above criticism—at least until his son was born. Yet how was she to give him a son if he did not come to her bed?

It was a problem; the longer things remained the
way they were, the more difficult it would be to resolve them.

How could she break down her husband’s reserve? What must she do to bring him back to her bed? She was not as beautiful as Lady Elizabeth Madison—but she was his wife. Surely he had cared for her a little when they spent such happy times together on their honeymoon. Could she make him forget his first love?

She hesitated when she said goodnight, hoping that he might speak, but he merely inclined his head. Lottie turned away and went up to her room, feeling the frustration mount. She undressed and sent her maid away, sitting to brush her long hair in front of the mirror. It was as she was about to go to bed that she noticed she was still wearing her pearls. She reached to unfasten them at the back and discovered that they had snagged on the lace of her night chemise and would not come free. She was reluctant to send for her maid and instead went to the adjoining door. She knocked and Nicolas’s voice invited her to enter. He had removed his breeches and long boots and was standing in just his shirt, which came down to his thighs. His face registered surprise as he saw her.

‘Yes, Lottie—what may I do for you? You are not unwell, I trust?’

‘Oh, no, I am quite well,’ she replied and suddenly her earlier tiredness had fled. ‘It is these bothersome pearls, Nicolas. The clasp has caught in the lace and I did not want to send for my maid at this hour.’

‘Let me see what I can do,’ he offered.

Lottie swept her hair up with one hand, turning so that her back was towards him and he could see the clasp.

‘I did not realise they were caught until I tried…’ She caught her breath as she felt his hand at her nape. The touch of his fingers sent delicious shivers down her spine and she could not speak. He had freed the lace and his hand caressed her throat as he removed the pearls. She turned slowly and looked at him, her lips parting as she saw something in his eyes. ‘Nicolas…’ she breathed and instinctively swayed towards him.

‘Lottie—damn it…’ he muttered hoarsely and caught her to him, his mouth seeking hers. She melted into his body; her lips parted to invite his seeking tongue, feeling the heat of desire begin to build low in her abdomen. ‘Will you…do you want me to continue? I have not dared to ask after that night…you said you hated me.’

‘Oh, Nicolas,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘I told you I did not mean it, my dearest. It was a foolish quarrel that I have regretted.’

‘Was that all? I thought…I might have given you a dislike of my character.’

‘No, nothing like that. I was angry, but I—admire you and like you, truly.’ She reached up to stroke his cheek with her fingertips, suddenly daring. ‘I have missed you, Nicolas. Would you sleep in my bed tonight?’