Silver Splendor (47 page)

He looked alarmed. She looked delighted. To Nicholas’s immense relief, both were fully clothed.

She jumped up as Charles raced to her side. His hands gripped her shoulders, touched her cheeks. “Are you all right, darling?”

Her face glowed. “Oh, Charles, you came —”

“What did he do to you?” Pivoting, he charged Drew. “You bloody bounder!”

He yanked Drew from the sofa. His fist cracked against the young duke’s jaw. The force of the blow sent Drew stumbling backward against the table. The lamp teetered and crashed, spreading the scent of spilled oil. Drew stood his ground as Charles lunged again. The smack of another blow rent the air. Drew went sprawling against the sofa, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth.

“Stop it!” Cicely screamed.

Fists swinging, Charles dove at Drew, who made no move to defend himself. A right handed punch caught him in the belly. He doubled over, the air whooshing from his lungs.

Nicholas grabbed Charles and jerked him back. “For God’s sake, leave off.”

“He dishonored Cicely!” Charles paused to catch a breath. “I won’t let the scoundrel get away with hurting her.”

Tension knotted his arm, a tension echoed in Nicholas’s own body. Yet he kept his emotions under iron control. “My sister isn’t hurt. But she bloody well will be if there’s a scandal over your killing Rockborough.”

Charles glared first at Drew, who sat nursing his reddened jaw, then at Cicely, whose blue eyes were wide with shock. His gaze gentled and his muscles relaxed enough that Nicholas felt justified in releasing Charles.

“My thanks, Hawkesford,” Drew said sardonically, dabbing a white handkerchief at his bloodied lip.

“Don’t get overconfident,” Charles snapped. “I’m not done with you. I’ll find another way to make you pay.”

“But nothing happened,” Cicely squeaked. “Drew kissed me, that’s all.”

Charles gathered her hands in his. “Thank God! We got here in time, then.”

“Oh, pooh.” She pulled away. “You don’t understand. You see, I’d changed my mind. Drew was going to take me back to Swanmere.”

“No doubt he was trying to lull your suspicions. England’s most notorious rake doesn’t give up after a single kiss.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “It’s the truth. Ask Drew.”

Charles glowered. “Rockborough wouldn’t know the truth if it kicked him in the face.”

Nicholas glanced sharply from the duke to his sister. He looked disgruntled. She looked disillusioned. The door to the adjoining room stood ajar, the bed within neatly made. Perhaps…

“Well?” Nicholas prompted coldly.

Drew arched an elegant eyebrow. “Oh, do I get a chance at self defense? I thought you’d already tried and sentenced me.”

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Nicholas said.

Straightening, Drew narrowed his dark eyes. “For what it’s worth, then, I was intending to return Cicely home.”

“You would say that.” Charles slipped a possessive arm around Cicely’s waist. “You’d say anything to weasel out of paying the piper.”

Nicholas held up a restraining hand. “Let him speak. Go on, Rockborough.”

Drew’s eyes slid away, then returned, steady and bitter. “I knew Cicely saw running away as a lark, just another means of defying you, Hawkesford. I thought to use that to my advantage, to get her alone and…”

“Make certain you secured a claim to her marriage portion,” Nicholas stated.

Drew shrugged defensively. “It’s as easy to marry rich as poor. And she’s a pretty girl. I wouldn’t have minded–” Glancing at Charles’s thunderous expression, Drew cleared his throat. “However, matters didn’t progress the way I’d intended. When I brought Cicely here, she… ah… changed her mind. Despite what people say about me, I’ve never forced a woman.”

“You see?” Cicely said, tilting her pert face to Charles. “Drew was honorable enough to respect my wishes. You ought to thank him instead of thrash him.”

“The queen will dance naked in Trafalgar Square before I thank that bastard,” Charles growled.

She stepped away from him. “You’re as pigheaded as my brother. As a matter of fact, you’re worse. Nick at least listened to Drew.”

“I’ve done enough listening. It’s your turn to pay attention now. Come to think of it, you’re the one who deserves a thrashing. For the worry you put Nicholas and me through today, as well as for that stunt you pulled at the regatta.”

Alarm entered her eyes, yet she held her chin high. “You’ve no right to speak to me that way, Charles Garforth.”

“I’ve every right,” he said, advancing on her. “It’s long past time I spoke my mind to you, Cicely Ware.”

She retreated. “Don’t you dare touch me.” Her backside met the armchair. “Oh, pooh! Nick! Oh, Nick, help!”

Hiding his amusement, Nicholas crossed his arms and shrugged. “This isn’t my argument. Besides, I don’t want to cross Sedgemoor — he has quite the powerful right hook.”

Charles stopped scant inches from her. “Don’t think that once we’re married you’ll go running off to your brother for help. I intend to teach you to behave.”

“You’ll not teach me —” Cicely began scornfully. Her mouth dropped open. “Married? Whatever are you raving about? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man —”

“I love you.”

She stared.

Nicholas grinned. For once in her life his sister was speechless. And Charles had snapped out of his shyness at last. He pulled her into his arms and whispered something in her ear… something that made her blush and smile.

Nicholas turned to Drew, who sat morosely cradling his jaw. “Well, Rockborough, all’s well that ends well.”

“Pardon me if I fail to share your good humor.”

Feeling charitable, Nicholas advised, “When you return, you should have Marsh take a look at that jaw.”

“That quack? No, thank you.”

A sliver of suspicion pierced Nicholas’s satisfaction. “Why are you always scornful of the doctor?”

“He’s just an odd sort, that’s all. Keeps to himself.”

“How so?”

Drew shrugged. “Oh, lots of ways… while we were in London he was forever trotting off on little private errands.”

Nicholas’s stomach clenched. “What sort of errands?”

“He claimed to be observing new techniques at a hospital, but he never once learned anything to aid my uncle. Just handed out sleeping potions, same as always.”

“Do you have any idea where he really went?”

“Probably to an assignation with a woman…” Drew paused, his puffy lips curving into a cynical smile. “Or come to think of it, maybe he gets his jollies with other men.”

“I see.”

With feigned nonchalance, Nicholas turned away. He tried to thaw the ice invading his veins, but the chill of doubt remained. Was Marsh the murderer? Had he been stealing away in London to watch Elizabeth? To meet with the man in the porkpie hat?

Remembering the doctor’s secretive manner, Nicholas suddenly pictured Marsh skulking about, hiding in a tangle of yews and shooting at Elizabeth. Fear strangled him. Elizabeth was at the house with only Owen to protect her. Owen would never suspect the doctor; Owen was convinced the duke was the culprit. Marsh might visit her on a pretext, draw a gun and
fire.

Stepping swiftly to the door, Nicholas addressed Charles, “I’m returning to Swanmere. I trust you’ll see to Cicely’s safety.”

“Of course, but —”

Nicholas didn’t wait to hear the reply. Half running, he leapt down the stairs and out to the stables to fetch his horse. He rode through the congested back streets of York, heading toward the city gates and the rolling countryside beyond.

Dear God, if he were to lose Elizabeth .

Pain wrenched his gut; guilt badgered his heart. During the long ride back, regrets pounded his mind in rhythm with the swift pace of the horse’s hooves. He’d been dead wrong to refuse Buckstone and then delude her about the commission for so many weeks.

You never ask,
she’d said.
If something doesn’t suit you, you simply take matters into your own hands.

He had acted too bloody arrogant from the start. He’d expected her to change her life to suit his expectations. She wanted their marriage to be a partnership, yet he’d bulled ahead and made a decision that rightfully belonged to her alone.

How many more times will you manipulate me for your own purposes?

Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He’d swallow his pride and make amends. He’d ask Buckstone to give her back the commission. He’d rearrange his business and political schedule. He’d find the time to accompany her to Ireland.

I’ve been a fool to think you would ever stop dictating my life.

In his mind he saw her tear misted eyes glittering with accusation and pain. Elizabeth had every right to resent him. God, what if she decided their marriage had no future? What if she made up her mind to leave him?

What if she died?
What if he never again held her in his arms, whispered love words in her ear?

Cold sweat bathed his palms. He kicked the gray, urging the horse to a swifter pace. Moorland stretched in all directions, a vast treeless expanse as desolate as his heart. Yet like his heart the land pulsed with life. The wind carried the sweetness of warm grass. A few shaggy sheep trundled over the rocky hillsides. Puddles from yesterday’s storm dotted the landscape. His horse startled a red grouse that flew out of the bracken alongside the rutted road.

If only he could so easily flush out Elizabeth’s assailant. His mind veered back to Marsh. What connection might have existed between the youthful Marsh and Lucy Templeton? Was the doctor the madman?

Taking a deep breath to calm his violent heartbeat, Nicholas forced himself to consider the other suspects. What of the duchess? Gruff and aloof, she had ample reason to resent the lovechild of an affair between her husband and her cousin. Yet Adelaide seemed too straightforward to indulge in stealth. And Philippa? She might be vindictive, but would she fire a gun from the bushes? As for Drew… After today, Nicholas felt sure the new duke was honorable in his own indolent way, too honorable to commit murder.

He passed the gate house and started down the avenue of elms marking the winding drive to the manor house. Spurring the gray onward, he prayed Elizabeth had passed a quiet day in their bedroom. If anything happened to her…

His fingers tautened on the leather reins. Anxious and aching, he rode hard, paying little heed to the cool beauty of the woodland bordering the moors. At last he caught sight of the broad expanse of sheep cropped lawn leading to the stark stone mansion.

Cantering past the forecourt, he headed his lathered mount toward the stables. At the rear of the house, grooms and stable lads crowded the outer door to Marsh’s rooms.

Nicholas’s blood ran cold. Fear tumbled wildly through his mind. He swung from the saddle and ran across the yard.
Please, God…

“Let me through,” he commanded.

The men parted. Several snatched off their caps. Nicholas surged into the doctor’s office. Before the hearth a table lay overturned. Broken crockery strewed the flagstones. Pastries and spilled tea littered the floor.

Owen slouched, snoring, in a chintz covered chair. Sleeping?

Pivoting from the incongruous sight, Nicholas saw the mannish figure of the duchess bent over a woman seated in the other chair. A woman whose ebony hair cascaded over a gown of mourning silk. Her sleeve was ripped, exposing her milk white flesh.

His heart ceased beating. Sick with dread, he shoved aside the last few men.

“Elizabeth!”

Adelaide straightened.

Elizabeth tilted up her face, wan yet infinitely beautiful. “Nicholas, you’re here.”

The light in her eyes chased the chill from his veins. Falling to his knees, he caught her close, crushing his mouth to the silk of her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. Her body felt fragile and sweet, warm and alive.

“She’s fine, Hawkesford,” the duchess said. “Only dreadfully shaken.”

“What happened?” he demanded.

Elizabeth drew back. “It was Marsh,” she murmured, her voice desolate. “He’s responsible for everything. He put a sleeping draught in Papa’s tea. On, Nicholas, the doctor loved my mother… he thinks I
am
my mother. He came at me with a knife.” She glanced down and shuddered.

Following her gaze, he saw an antique Scottish dirk lying on the hearth. Her skirt bore a jagged slit, testimony to the blade’s razor edge. His mind reeled with horror and guilt. He’d come so close to losing her. So bloody close…

“Marsh killed Hugh,” Adelaide said furiously. “I had doubts about that chap, but never any evidence. The more I thought about Elizabeth coming here to visit the doctor, the more I realized I had to come check on her.” She shook her head in self disgust. “I was almost too late…”

Nicholas looked sharply at the duchess. “When did this happen?”

“Only a few minutes ago. As I rushed toward Elizabeth, Marsh got past me and into the house. Your men and some of mine went after him.”

Elizabeth grasped his wrists. “Kipp went, too,” she said in alarm. “I tried to stop him.”

Rage propelled Nicholas to his feet. “I’ll find Marsh.”

“I’m coming with you.”

When she started to rise, he pressed her firmly into the chair. “Absolutely not. You’ll stay with the duchess.”

She set her chin obstinately. “And what if Marsh comes back?”

Adelaide scooped up the dirk. “Let him. I’ll cut the scoundrel’s heart out.”

Her protectiveness warmed Nicholas’s soul; her conviction inspired his confidence. “My thanks, Adelaide.”

She shrugged, though her eyes settled with wistful fondness on Elizabeth. “She always was Lucy’s pride and joy.”

Nicholas caressed his wife’s cheek, soft as swan’s down. “And mine now, as well.” Pivoting, he drew his derringer and sprinted from the room.

Dread throbbed inside Elizabeth as she watched his broad back vanish. She surged up, swinging toward the duchess.

“I’m going after him.”

“Don’t be an ass. You shouldn’t get within a furlong of Marsh.”

“Would you sit by while someone you loved was in danger?”

The duchess stared, her brown eyes slitted, her sturdy hand grasping the dirk. Her nostrils flared like a horse’s as she sucked in a deep breath. “Hawkesford will flay me alive. Ah, well, at least promise you’ll stick to me like a burr.”