Silver Splendor (30 page)

“All I scorn,” he said in a low voice, “is your free spirited brand of love.”

Pivoting on his heel, Nicholas strode away. Perplexed by his tormented words and provoked by his icy manner, Elizabeth sat still long enough to watch his magnificent naked back vanish through a doorway. Then she scrambled from the chair to follow him. She found herself in his dressing room, a vast masculine domain lined with elegant wardrobes and tidy rows of footwear, a marble fireplace and mahogany side chairs. The masculine smells of leather and clean linen tinged the air. In front of an opened cabinet, Nicholas was thrusting his leg into a pair of trousers.

Unthinkingly she blurted, “Don’t you wear underdrawers?”

Yanking the pants over his lean buttocks, he shot her a dark look. “Why should you care? You don’t concern yourself with clothing, only with the flesh that lies beneath.”

The ribbon of pain in his voice wrapped around her soul. Understanding shimmered inside her. “Nicholas?” she asked cautiously. “You aren’t still thinking I see you only as a pleasing face, are you?”

Ignoring her, he applied himself to buttoning his fly.

“You do think that.” Elizabeth hurried to his side and took hold of his arm. “Nicholas, I scarcely knew you when I said that. Everything’s changed since then —”

“Nothing’s changed. You’re obsessed with your art, with physical appearances, just as you’ve always been.’’

Snatching a white shirt from a wardrobe, he brushed past her and marched stiffly back into the bedroom. Elizabeth rushed after him, the dressing gown flapping around her ankles. Frustration strangled her as she watched him plunge his arms into the starched shirt.

“Will you kindly stand still long enough to let me speak?”

Nicholas set his hands on his hips, the shirt parted to expose his broad, bare chest. His arctic eyes traveled up and down the length of her. “Go on.”

In lieu of a comforting lump of clay, her nervous fingers twisted the fringed sash. “I know we’ve had our differences, Nicholas, but I’ve always admired your character. You’re a man of honor, a man who truly cares about others.” Her voice dropped to a whisper; her eyes searched his. “The more I’ve come to know you, the deeper I’ve fallen in love with you. I don’t mean just your body or how you made me feel last night. I love you for the man you are.”

He held himself rigid, though his expression gentled a little. “Then why are you satisfied with being my mistress?”

She swallowed to ease the treacherous tightening in her throat. “What else
can
I be? You can hardly offer to marry me. I understand that… and I accept it.”

The frost melted from his face. His eyes gleaming with tenderness, he took a step closer. “Elizabeth, you’re mistaken about what I can and cannot do. I —”

The door vibrated with furious knocking. Nicholas swore under his breath. “Go into the dressing room. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”

“I don’t care if anyone sees me here.”

“Do as I say. Now.”

Seeing the futility of another protest, she moved to obey. She was halfway inside when the hall door burst open. Owen surged into the bedroom, his whiskered face gray with alarm, his hazel eyes focused on Nicholas.

“Pardon, your lordship,” he said in a rush. “Libby’s missing! Her bed hasn’t been slept in. God forgive me, she must have run off! And with someone out there trying to kill her —”

“I’m right here.” Elizabeth stepped back into the bedroom.

Owen’s head whipped toward her. His eves widened with shock. He stared at the oversized dressing gown she wore, then glanced at the rumpled bed. Guilt gripped her, but she held her chin high. Her love for Nicholas was no cause for shame.

“Bless my soul —” Owen sputtered. Wheeling toward Nicholas, he spat, “You bloody lecher! What have you done to my Libby?”

Fists brandished, he sprang at the earl. Nicholas made no move to prevent the attack. Owen’s fist met the earl’s jaw in a sickening crunch. The force of the blow sent Nicholas staggering backward against the bedpost.

Gasping, Elizabeth darted across the room to seize Owen’s arm. “Papa, stop! You’ve no right to hurt him.”

“The scoundrel deserves to have his bloody teeth crammed down his lying throat! I was a fool to believe his noble claptrap. He’s no different than that lecherous duke.”

“I’m here of my own free will.”

His arm tensed beneath her fingers. He swung toward her, his face stark with pain. “You don’t mean that,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t make the same mistake Lucy did.”

Gathering her dignity, Elizabeth took a step back. “It isn’t a mistake. Nicholas and I love each other.”

“Love!” Owen shook his gray head. “He has you mesmerized, made you pretty promises, that’s all. Good God, Libby, don’t you see? He’s used you, ruined you —”

“I intend to marry Elizabeth.”

Her mouth dropped open. Her eyes veered to Nicholas, who stood massaging his reddened jaw. She tried to calm the wild beating of her heart. He couldn’t mean what he said; he must be trying to pacify Owen. An English nobleman might amuse himself with an artist and an oddity, but he would never wed her.

“An earl… marry my Libby?” Suspicion colored Owen’s voice. “Why would you do that?”

Nicholas gazed squarely at the older man. “I love her. The ceremony will take place as soon as arrangements can be made.”

A long, appraising look passed between the two men.

“I have your word on that?” Owen asked.

“Absolutely.”

“All right, then,” said Owen, nodding in satisfaction. “You have my consent — so long as you promise to give Libby the freedom to pursue her art. She must have a private allowance to use in her work, money she needn’t answer to you about. A thousand pounds a year.”

“I agree.”

As they deliberated over the terms of payment, Elizabeth’s agitated emotions converged into seething resentment. They were settling her life as if she had no opinion in the matter. Didn’t either of them — Nicholas, in particular — see fit to ask her if she
wanted
to marry him? Hurt rolled through her, engulfing her in a sea of bitterness. Though he claimed to love her, he’d made no marriage offer until he’d been caught with her in a compromising situation. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t marry for the wrong reasons.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Both men looked at her. Owen appeared pleased. Nicholas seemed… wary. As well he should be, she thought tartly.

“I won’t take your money, Nicholas.”

Owen patted the back of her hand. “Now don’t let pride get the best of you, Libby. Once you’ve had time to consider it, you’ll see the advantage of having funds at your disposal —”

She yanked her fingers away. “I make my own decisions. You forget… you haven’t the right to approve or disapprove the man I choose to marry.”

As if stung by a slap, Owen’s smile vanished. Elizabeth felt only a twinge of sympathy and regret; the emotional turmoil of the past twelve hours had left her too drained for more.

Looking at Nicholas, she said stiffly, ‘I’ll not marry for the sake of my reputation. Save your chivalrous arrangements for one of your society ladies.”

Before he could see the sparkle of tears in her eyes, she spun on her bare heel and stalked to the door.

“Elizabeth!”

She ignored the command in his voice. Her hand grasped the ornate handle, but his fingers closed over her wrist before she could open the door. Ready to do battle, she flung back her head. The torment twisting his handsome face arrested her.

“I’ve made a muddle of this,” he murmured. “Stay, won’t you? Let me have the chance to do things properly.”

She almost succumbed to his humble tone and imploring eyes. Almost. “You always do what’s proper,” she said bitterly. “That’s your problem.”

As she swung away, the gleam of silver on a side table caught her tear blurred eyes. Pushing past him, she snatched up the chain and ring; the sterling swan felt warm inside her icy palm. At least she had something to hold on to, something to fill the void inside her. She felt the burning desire to unravel the mysteries of her past, to escape her emotional turmoil here and seek out her future.

“Libby?” Owen said hesitantly. “I can’t blame you for despising me, but listen to the earl, please.”

Feeling pressured and bruised, Elizabeth clutched the ring to her breast. “I’ll listen to no one but myself. I intend to pay a visit to the Duke of Rockborough. Perhaps both of you have painted too dark a picture of him.”

Owen’s face paled with horror. “No!” he choked out. “You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous.”

“He won’t murder me in broad daylight.”

“Owen’s right,” Nicholas said. “You’ll not set foot outside this house without me at your side.”

“More of your orders, my lord?”

“I mean to protect you, Elizabeth. Believe it or not, I do care whether you live or die.”

Through the haze of her anger, she could see the concern shining within those steely gray eyes. So why did she feel so resentful and panicked, as if she’d been pushed into a corner?

“All right, then, come with me if you must,” she conceded, walking to the door. “I’m leaving as soon as I dress.”

“His Grace is unavailable, my lord,” intoned the butler, polite despite the unfashionably early hour.

Beside her on the doorstep, Elizabeth felt Nicholas shift impatiently. “We’ll await his return, then,” he said.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the butler said. “His Grace is no longer in residence. He and the family departed on the morning train to Yorkshire.”

“To Yorkshire?” Elizabeth exclaimed.

Her dismay must have shown on her face, for the butler’s formal manner unbent a bit. “Should you care to pen a note, ma’am, I will send it on to His Grace.”

What could she say in a letter?
My Lord Duke, I am your long lost daughter, the bastard you spurned some twenty years past.

“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said. “That won’t be necessary.”

Shoulders slumped, she started back down the massive marble steps. Over the past hour, her emotions had careened from curiosity to fear to determination. She wanted to discover who wished her dead. She wanted to see the face of the man who had fathered her. Most of all, she wanted to know why he had rejected her and her mother.

Nicholas’s fingers pressed gently into her arm as he handed her into the waiting brougham. He seated himself at her side, and the carriage started the rolling ride down the cobbled street.

After a moment, he said, “What will you do now?”

Staring down at her reticule, she fingered the signet ring through the brocaded fabric. “Go to Yorkshire, I suppose. As soon as I can gather up my things.”

“You’ll go only as my wife.”

She whipped her chin up. “I told you before,” she said in a voice more shaky than certain, “I won’t marry you.”

A shaft of morning sunlight warmed his resolute face. “You might be carrying my child, Elizabeth.”

Her insides curled with shock and pleasure as she pictured herself cuddling his baby. In all the upheaval of the past hours she had never considered pregnancy.

Nicholas took her hand in his. “There’ll be no counting of months when my heir is born,” he said firmly. “You’ll marry me now.”

The fear that he’d someday regret his decision gave Elizabeth the courage to argue against what she wanted most. “Child or not, a marriage between us wouldn’t work. Our lives are too different, Nicholas. What will society say about you marrying an American artist? You’re an earl, a nobleman, and I’m only a bastard —”

“Hush,” he said fiercely, his fingers clamping tighter on hers. “I won’t hear you denigrate yourself. What happened to the proud woman who swore she was my equal? The independent woman I’ve grown to love so much?”

His declaration weakened her; yet he must feel he owed her this proposal. “I wasn’t meant to be a countess. I’ve no interest in planning menus for dinner parties or interviewing prospective parlor maids.”

“Aunt Beatrice will be happy to continue those duties.”

Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. “But you don’t appreciate my art, Nicholas. For heaven’s sake, you even burned my anatomy book!”

“In a fit of anger for which I apologized. Thistlewood reimbursed you, didn’t he?”

“The cost isn’t the point. What is, is that you don’t understand my need to create, to spend long hours working at my art. You want me to be a lady, to waste my life fluttering a fan and flattering men.”

“I admit to feeling that way at first, only because I wanted people to accept you.” He kissed the back of her hand. “I’ve changed my mind. I no longer care what anyone else thinks. What really matters is that we love each other.”

Honesty rang in his voice. She wanted desperately to believe in him. “You feel obligated to marry me because of your principles. It isn’t necessary, Nicholas. I’d sooner be your mistress than live with the knowledge that I’d forced you into a commitment you didn’t want in your heart.”

He smiled tenderly. “My dearest Elizabeth, when Owen burst into my chambers, I was about to ask you to marry me.”

She stared. The rattle of carriage wheels and the clip clop of horse hooves filled the silence. “How can I know that for sure?” she whispered.