Scandalous Love (17 page)

"Oh, Mother."
A lump had formed in Nicole's throat. She quickly averted her glance, studying
her clasped hands.

"You can confide in
me, darling."

"I can't."

"Nothing you will
say can possibly shock me, and besides, I am certain I already know what you
are feeling."

Nicole dared to look up
at her mother. Of course Jane would be shocked if she knew what had passed
between her daughter and the Duke. Nicole had no intention of telling her, but
the rest of her burden was just too great. "You probably felt this way
about Father," Nicole managed shakily. She was stunned when she had uttered
the words, stunned with what they revealed, not to her mother, but to herself.

Jane was equally
stricken, not having been certain until now just how strong her daughter's
emotions were for the Duke of Clayborough. "I ran away from your
father," she said, startling Nicole and causing her to spill some of her
sherry. "He had agreed to marry me, but I was certain he had done it only
because he had compromised me." She would not tell her daughter the truth,
that she had, in fact, seduced the Earl, climbing into his bed when he was
quite drunk. "I loved him so much I could not bear to be his wife unless
he loved me as well."

"I think I can
understand."

"Do you love him?
Because that is what I felt for your father from the moment I laid eyes on
him."

Nicole turned her face
away, staring into the fire. For a long time she did not speak, afraid to
answer, afraid of the answer. Finally, she said, "He does not love me. He
loves Elizabeth, who is kind and good. And I like her, although at first I
hated her. He merely ... desires me."

Jane grimaced.
"Love between two people is a rare and precious gift, Nicole. Rare and
precious. I believe that if he really loved Elizabeth, he would not want you.
But that is irrelevant. The Duke is a man of his word and he will never break
his engagement. I am glad you see the situation so clearly, that you understand
that. You are young and strong and I know you can forget him."

Nicole turned to face
her mother, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to shed. "I will
never
forget him, Mother,
never.
But that doesn't matter at all."

Jane stood and embraced
her daughter, comforting her as she had so many times when she was younger.
When Nicole was calm, she sat again. "How I wish I could help you through
this."

"I am fine."

"It all will work
out for the best, Nicole. Trust me. After what he did Saturday at the picnic,
everyone now knows that the Duke has accepted you, and others among the set
must do so as well. I know that right now you are hurting, but leaving London
would be a vast mistake."

"That's what Martha
said."

"I want you to
stay," Jane said, gripping her hands. "This is your chance to regain
acceptance into society, and to find someone who will love you as much as you
love him. Don't shake your head! You will get over the Duke! You can either be
a popular and much sought after lady here, or a lonely spinster at Dragmore. I
had given up, and it has hurt me terribly to see you spending the best years of
your life alone in the country, just as it has your father. We are both begging
you to stay, Nicole, and take advantage of what the Duke has done."

Her parents rarely asked
her for anything, and Nicole could not refuse them. Truthfully, she did not
want to refuse them. The part of her that refused to forget the Duke did not
want to leave London because of his presence here, did not want to return to
Dragmore, where she would, if she were honest with herself, merely pine for
him.

"Do you really
think that I might gain acceptance and become popular?" She tried to
envision the kind of future her mother wanted for her, a future where she held
court among the bachelors until one of them, her Prince Charming, claimed her,
but she failed. If she could forget him and have a life she had never before
wanted, if she could be happy again, with such a life, then she must hope for
such an advent, but she did not think for a minute that it was possible.

"I am
certain," Jane said.

"I will stay."

A delighted smile
crossed Jane's face. Then she hesitated. "If you are staying, I must tell
you about an invitation I have accepted for us. It is for a hunting
weekend."

"I love to
hunt," Nicole said, momentarily brightening at the thought of such a
weekend.

"The Dowager
Duchess of Clayborough is hostessing it."

"Mother, I
can't." Yet even as she said the words, Nicole's mind raced with the
possibilities: She could hunt; the Duke would be there; and Elizabeth certainly
could not hunt.

"I do not know the
Dowager Duchess well, but I have spoken with her from time to time over the
years and I admire her greatly. I think she feels the same way about me. We
have always gotten on fabulously well. Only thirty families have been invited
to this fete, thirty of the most powerful families in the realm. There will
only be one or two eligible young men there, Nicole, but there are many
eligible bachelors among these families. I want them to see you. That the
Dowager Duchess has specifically included you in her invitation is a great act
of generosity. As the Duke did Saturday, she is extending her protection to you
as well. And Nicole, this is only the beginning."

It would hurt to go and
see the Duke there with Elizabeth, yet her heart soared at the thought of
seeing him again. At the same time, she understood exactly what it meant to
have been invited by the Dowager Duchess of Clayborough to her home for such a
weekend; it was an invitation that could not be refused. "Why has she done
this?" Nicole asked, dazed.

"Perhaps because,
like her son, she is a decent woman who cannot abide injustice," Jane said
simply. "I know this is an awkward position for you to be in, and while I
want you to go, if you are still too heartsore, I will respect your decision
and we will say you are ill."

"If she has invited
me directly, then I am going," Nicole stated. And she firmly told herself that
she was going to begin a new life, one that would soon gain her many new
suitors and great popularity, but her heart laughed back at her, and told her
it was a lie.

It wasn't until the
Monday afternoon following the charity picnic that Elizabeth was feeling
better. Although the Duke had taken her to the theatre the evening of the
picnic, they had had to leave the performance early so that Elizabeth could
retire. She had remained abed for two days. Although she ran no fever, she
seemed to be in growing pain and without the will to get up. The physician the
Duke had summoned had not been certain what might be afflicting her, finally
telling the Duke that she might possess a weak heart, in which case she must
rest as often as she needed to, and forever avoid exerting herself.

"But then why does
she now say that her body hurts her?" the Duke had demanded, irritated
with the doctor's inability to tell him exactly what was wrong and exactly how
to cure it.

"That I do not
know, but perhaps it is a touch of the flu as well. You said that this is the
first time she has been in any discomfort, have you not?" the physician
asked.

"That's
correct," the Duke replied. The doctor told him to give her some laudanum
for her discomfort.

By Monday afternoon
Elizabeth was sitting up and smiling and feeling much better. Tuesday she went
out with her maid to do a little shopping, and it seemed that the doctor had
been right, she had had a flu and her heart was weak, which explained why she
tired so easily. The Duke was relieved.

Elizabeth's worsening
condition had not just dismayed him, it had begun to frighten him. The Duke was
a man used to being in control. He was a man with a will of iron and a strict
self-discipline. Should business matters go awry, he worked ceaselessly to
correct them, for as long as necessary, doing what had to be done with the
utmost patience and perseverance. It had been many years now that he had run
the ducal empire, and he was used to an extraordinary amount of power. In this
instance, though, he was suddenly powerless. His fiancee's condition was beyond
his control, but fortunately she had become better as mysteriously as she had
taken a turn for the worse.

It seemed suddenly as if
his entire life were tilting in a precariously topsy-turvy manner. The normal
routine he was accustomed to, one predominantly devoted to hard work, no longer
existed. And it was not just Elizabeth's illness, which seemed to defy
explanation. There was also the matter of Nicole Shelton and his indefatigable
interest in her. That, also, defied explanation, and exercising control where
she was concerned seemed to be a losing battle. The Duke was not a man who had
lost very many battles.

Although the Duke had
many pressing matters with which to occupy his time in London, he made it a
point during this short interlude to visit the Stafford home twice daily to
check upon Elizabeth's progress. It would have been thoughtless and rude of him
not to. But what was even ruder were his own thoughts as he looked upon his
fiancee.

His thoughts came
unbidden and unwanted. They consisted of an unseemly and surreptitious
comparison. Elizabeth was unwell, so small and so fragile. Nicole Shelton's
image formed in his mind. She was neither unwell, small nor fragile, but
precisely the opposite. She was vibrantly healthy and vitally alive. On one
particular visit, during which Elizabeth had fallen asleep as he sat beside
her, it occured to him that he felt not the slightest bit of desire for her and
that he never had. In fact, he had never even kissed her, except once on her
eighteenth birthday, and then only because he knew she expected it. And it had
been a chaste kiss.

He had done more than
kiss Nicole Shelton. He had touched her intimately, with his mouth, his hands
and his own loins.

Elizabeth was going to
become his wife and he knew she would be an exemplary one. He was not sure how
he would perform with her in bed, indeed, he had never thought about it until
now, a highly inappropriate time to speculate upon such an event, but he
assumed that when the moment came he would manage.

As he stood there
looking down upon her as she slept upon the chaise in her sitting room, her
face young and innocent, a niggling doubt arose. For the first time in his
life, he questioned having been betrothed to his cousin while she was an infant
and he a child. And it was because of Nicole Shelton.

Her intrusion into his
life and his mind had become dangerous.

If he was a man
obsessed—and it seemed that he was—his obsession had become worse.

He was sorry he had gone
to the picnic the other day, sorry that he had rescued her. He wished like hell
it could have been some other man. In the same breath, he knew he was lying to
himself.

If only ...

Shocked at where his
thoughts were about to wander to, the Duke cut them off. Life was concrete.
Circumstance begat circumstance, reality led to reality. Fantasizing about what
might be was for the weak, the foolish and the romantic—not for someone like
him.

He was glad she had left
London, he told himself, glad and relieved. Her presence seemed to precipitate
passions in him which he was not able to control, and he had been in complete
control of himself since he was a very small child—he prided himself on his
self-discipline. Now it would not be put to any further tests.

On Tuesday evening
Elizabeth was well enough to join him at an at-home at the Earl of
Ravensford's. It was a small intimate gathering. The Duke could not but be
slightly dismayed when he saw that two of the guests were the Earl of Dragmore
and his wife. They were two of the last people he wished to converse with, but
to avoid them would be the height of rudeness. With some determination, he
sought them out before supper.

He introduced Elizabeth
and chatted with the Earl and Countess amiably. As he did so, he was aware that
the Countess of Dragmore was studying Elizabeth discreetly. He had an uneasy
feeling that she might know more than was appropriate about his relationship
with her daughter, but he shook the feeling off as a foolish one, or, perhaps,
a guilty one.

By the time supper was
over, Elizabeth was looking pale. Quietly, before the men adjourned separately
to their port and cigars, Hadrian took her aside. "Are you all right,
Elizabeth?"

She gave him her
fetching smile, the one that made her almost beautiful. "You worry too
much, Hadrian, like some old fuddy duddy."

He had to smile.
"Do you wish to go home? You look tired."

She hesitated. "I
don't wish to appear rude and I do not want to interrupt such a pleasant
evening."

"I will explain
everything to our host," the Duke stated. While he did so, Elizabeth
excused herself to attend to matters in the powder room. The Duke was in the
hall awaiting her, alone except for a servant who held Elizabeth's fur-lined
mantle. He was momentarily startled to see the Countess of Dragmore slip into
the hallway.

And she was heading
directly for him.

"Your Grace,"
she said, gliding towards him, "I know this is unusual, but might we have
a word?"

It was more than
unusual, but the Duke nodded. He wondered what she wanted, and wondered even
more at her daring and disregard for convention. She was only ten years or so
his elder, and still strikingly beautiful. Servants loved to talk, and the one
holding Elizabeth's cape, pretending not to see them, would soon be spreading
rumours about the Duke of Clayborough and the Countess of Dragmore. However, if
she didn't care what might be said, then neither did he. It occurred to him
that Nicole's disregard for convention might have come from her mother, who, he
knew, had once been a stage actress. The Duke leveled his regard upon the
butler. "Kindly leave us a moment."

The man disappeared.

"Thank you."
Jane smiled softly. "My husband and I both wish to thank you for what you
did the other day at the picnic."

The Duke was
expressionless.

"You not only saved
our daughter from a terrible embarrassment, you have made it possible for her
to regain acceptance in society. We cannot thank you enough."

"Elizabeth is very
fond of her. I could do no less." But as the Duke said the words, he
wondered just how Nicole Shelton would regain acceptance in society if she had
departed London.

"Nicole is fond of
her, too. And I am glad she is better." There were no secrets in London.

"Thank you."
Hadrian's expression did not change, but he was certain that Nicole Shelton was
not fond of his fiancee. He would be stunned if she actually were.

Elizabeth appeared and
greeted the Countess. "I couldn't help overhearing," she added.
"I do admire your daughter terribly, Lady Shelton. Please, send her my
regards and tell her I will call on her as soon as I am able."

"I shall."
Jane smiled.

The Duke could not
refrain from frowning. Nicole had left London, hadn't she? "Are you
returning to the country, Countess?" he asked politely.

"Not immediately.
Nicholas will be returning to Dragmore in a few days. But I must stay. After
all, it is rare that I have both of my daughters in town, so I must take
advantage of the situation, and of course, chaperone them properly."

"I see," the
Duke said.
She had not left the city after all.

He should be angry. Just
a few days ago, her presence in London had infuriated him. But where was his
anger now? It eluded him.

He wondered if she had
deliberately lied to him, but instinctively knew that she hadn't. He had
avoided thinking about the day of the picnic, but now he could do nothing but
remember it. Something had flared up between them, something he was afraid to
inspect too closely, something that was more than just passion. And it was
because of that something that she had said that she would leave London
immediately. It was because of that something that he had been relieved that
she was going. Yet she had not gone.

Elizabeth noticed his
change of mood instantly, and commented upon it in the imposing Clayborough
coach as he took her home. "Are you upset, Hadrian? Have I done something
to displease you? Did you wish to stay at the Langleys'?"

He found it hard to
focus on his fiancee when his mind was spinning. "Of course you have not
displeased me."

"I am glad,"
Elizabeth said with a smile. "As soon as I feel better I shall call upon
Lady Shelton."

He was silent. The
feelings rushing in upon him were overwhelming and turbulent, chaotic and
nameless, impossible to escape. He did not want to identify them. He would not
even try to. For just a moment he had the strangest sensation of being tossed
about in the ocean by a rough wave, tumbling him every which way and making it
briefly impossible for his feet to find the ground. And then the moment passed.

His senses sharpened and
two potent, powerful images came to his mind. He saw Nicole at the Adderlys'
masque, so inappropriately and daringly costumed as a gypsy. He had rescued her
then, although at the time he had not dwelled upon it or his motives, yet any
fool would have been aware of the undercurrents swelling in the crowd as they
prepared to trounce her for her boldness. Instantly he had approved of her so
no one would dare but do the same.

And he saw her as she
had been at the charity picnic, frozen with humiliation and trying to hide it,
so damned proud.

He did not want his
fiancee calling upon Nicole Shelton. Yet he could not, would not, take away the
chance he had given Nicole to be accepted by his peers. "That is very
thoughtful of you, Elizabeth," he said.

Elizabeth smiled
happily. The Duke did not.

The Sheltons arrived at
Maddington, the home of the Dowager Duchess of Clayborough, Friday afternoon.
Maddington had belonged to the Clayboroughs for more than five hundred years,
and once it had been a vast estate that had been the cornerstone of the
family's possessions in Derbyshire. Over the years the land had been sold off,
and now it was a small estate of some hundred park-like acres. The manor still
contained the original keep built in late Norman times, but so many additions,
in so many different fashions, had been made to the original edifice that one
had to be an architectural expert to discern when each part of the sprawling,
turreted and domed structure had been built.