Suzanne Robinson (22 page)

She was blessed. Blessed in finding a young man who wasn’t threatened by her rank, in whose eyes she was beautiful, and whom she could admire for his character and his beauty. But all the same, she was worried. Despite his defiance of Society, he was having a difficult time making a declaration. She had seen this in the drawing room. He was brave, but anyone’s composure would be disturbed by the prospect of asking a duke’s daughter for her hand. Several of her former suitors had been, according to her father.

It was up to her to ease the way for him. She could begin by leading the conversation to the topic of scandals. There had always been scandals about girls running off with men who were beneath them—penniless younger sons, guardsmen, grooms, footmen. She would point out that Catherine of Valois, widow of Henry V, had married her clerk of the wardrobe,
Owen Tudor. And look what happened to the Tudors; they became kings and queens of England.

Then she might even say how she was lucky not to be in the position of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. The queen had been obliged to propose to Prince Albert because of the difference in their ranks, her being a queen regnant. Nick knew Georgiana wasn’t so exalted. Such comments would put him at ease and smooth his way. That was all he needed. And if all else failed, she would make her own declaration. She could always jolt him out of his uncharacteristic diffidence by going down on one knee and asking for his hand. They would laugh at her reversal of their parts, and all would be settled.

Then they could get on to the serious business of investigating the circumstances of poor Threshfield’s death. The earl had been a friend to her—a peevish and irritating friend, but a friend. He’d been willing to help her when she needed it most. If someone had killed him, she wouldn’t let his murderer go unpunished.

She had reached the small ravine in the woods where the earl had built the grotto. A tiny rivulet meandered through the trees to dance over the lip of an overhang and fall to a man-made stream below. Thick ferns clung to the overhang and cascaded down to partially conceal a cave in which had been placed a white marble statue of a reclining Venus. Below the waterfall the narrow stream had been directed to the right and left, and Bacchus cavorted on a pedestal in the middle of the right branch. Other statues of Greek and Roman gods and goddesses had been placed around the clearing bordered by the two branches. A
copy of the Apollo Belvedere stood in a nest of ferns. Cupid lurked in a nest of ivy.

Georgiana tethered her horse and descended stone stairs set in the embankment of the ravine. On her way down she passed figures of Ariadne and Mercury. Once on the floor of the ravine, she looked up at a canopy of trees bearing leaves of gold, bronze, and sunset-orange. She sat on a bench beside a fountain. In its center cavorted three satyrs. Overhead, gray-and-purple clouds streamed by while the wind whipped up leaves and made them dance. After watching them for a while Georgiana grew restless and went to examine the grotto.

She was tossing pebbles into the stream when she heard the crackle of dead leaves. Lifting her gaze, she scanned the top of the ravine but could see nothing but trees. A gust loosened a few leaves and sailed them down into the grotto. A sound made her turn in time to see Nick coming down the stairs. His boots scraped on the stones, and he gave her a tense smile as she came to meet him.

She walked into his arms, stood on her toes, and kissed him before he could say anything. At first he went rigid, his lips stiff. Then, as she concentrated on his mouth, he responded, wrapping his arms around her and deepening the kiss so that she soon wanted to bite his lips. Then, abruptly, he tore his mouth free.

“Wait,” he said hoarsely. “We can’t.”

She smiled and squeezed him so that their hips collided. Nick was already breathing hard. She heard his teeth grinding even as he drew her down onto the cushion of leaves. On their knees they faced each other. Nick pulled her to him roughly and kissed her hard. Georgiana responded by sinking her fingers into
his thick hair and pressing him closer. Nick pulled his mouth away from hers again, this time to gaze at her in desperation.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “We got to talk first, love.”

“Nick.”

He jumped up and backed away from her, his hand thrust out to keep her from following. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re up to your tricks again. I won’t listen.”

“Nicholas,” she breathed.

He put his hands over his ears and started humming.

Georgiana laughed and got to her feet. “Very well. I’ll refrain. For now.”

Nick lowered his hands.

“What did you say?”

“I promise to behave for the moment.”

“Good girl. Now I got to say something, love. You see—you’re a clever girl—young lady. Practical, sensible.”

“It’s no good,” she said.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad you realize how unsuitable the thing is.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m satisfied about the circumstances surrounding Threshfield’s death.” Georgiana rushed on when Nick tried to interrupt. “It’s no use. I’m going to look into things myself. No one else will, and I owe it to Threshfield. He may have been a mean old conniver, but he helped me when I needed it desperately, and he would have married me as I asked, if he’d lived. It’s a matter of honor and friendship.”

Nick had been staring at her, a series of furrows
between his brows. He looked like a brooding figure in some dark drama with the wind whipping his coat around his body, his expression as black as the clouds that skimmed by overhead.

“You ain’t going to leave?”

She put a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, which were dark indigo in the sunless ravine. “Please, Nick.”

He wasn’t listening and murmured to himself, “If I made you go, it would create a scandal. The whole kingdom would know I made off with you, and your reputation would be ruined. No help there.”

“Don’t worry about my reputation. Help me find out what really happened to Threshfield. You’re right. That doctor is a fool. He’s so used to treating gout and vapors, he wouldn’t recognize poison even if it was fed to him.”

“Look, young George. Someone fed that old skeleton belladonna.”

“You’re sure.”

“ Course I’m sure. You don’t live in St. Giles and not know belladonna, opium, other drugs. The whor—never mind.”

“But Threshfield didn’t take belladonna. No one in the house does. I don’t even think the housekeeper has any.”

He rubbed his chin and studied her with a severe expression. “You’re determined to do this?”

“Yes, and don’t try to frighten me out of it. Now that Threshfield is gone, there’s no reason for anyone to try to get rid of me. Even if someone believed I was to bear his child, it’s obvious any issue would be illegitimate. I’ve got to do this, Nick.”

“Then we got to find out where the belladonna
carne from. Is there any nightshade around? That’s what it comes from.”

“I suppose there’s plenty in the wood.” Georgiana thought for a moment. “You know, I remember something from my childhood. The gamekeeper on one of my father’s estates once got sick from eating rabbit. He said the creatures sometimes graze on nightshade, and then anyone who eats them gets the poison too.”

“And old Threshfield had rabbit last night.”

“We should search the game larder,” Georgiana said. “Tonight after everyone has gone to bed. Someone could have put belladonna in the rabbits just slaughtered. There might be some tainted ones left.”

“Or the dish could have been poisoned after the rabbit was stewed.”

Georgiana snapped her fingers. “You’re a thief.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” Nick snapped.

“No, I mean that you could search everyone’s rooms. To see if there’s any belladonna.”

“I suppose I could.”

“And I’ll help.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I’ll look for any leftover stew in the kitchen, but I don’t think there’s any, or some of the staff would have gotten sick from eating it.”

“You get that maid of yours to ask questions in the kitchen,” Nick said. “If you set foot belowstairs, you’ll cause an uproar.”

“Very well. I’ll take care of the kitchen and search the rabbit cages. They’re near the stables. Then we can meet at the game larder. I should go now and talk to my maid.”

He caught her arm. “Not yet. I still got something to say.”

She waited, but he didn’t go on. Covering his hand with hers, she began for him.

“You know,” she said brightly, “I was thinking this morning about all the scandals I’ve heard about girls running off with footmen and grooms. It happens quite often. And did you know that Catherine of Valois, who was Henry V’s widow, married her clerk of the—”

“Stow it!”

Her eyes grew round as he thrust her away from him and ran his hand through his hair in agitation.

“Quit gabbing and let me finish. Bloody hell, woman, can’t you see this is hard for me?”

“What’s wrong, Nick?”

He was standing in front of her, glowering. “Us. We’re wrong. I was wrong. I never should have touched you.”

He went on, but she didn’t hear him. She only heard that he didn’t want her. He had no intention of asking for her hand. Most likely, he never had. Her body went rigid with shock. Blood rushed to her face, then drained, leaving her feeling weak and cold. Nick was still talking. His voice seemed far away and mercifully indistinct. If she tried to concentrate on his excuses, she would burst into tears and humiliate herself even more than she had been already.

As the low rumble of his voice rolled over her, Georgiana realized that for once she was grateful for her upbringing. Dukes’ daughters did not cry in front of anyone, much less the men who had seduced and jilted them. Even if the duke’s daughter did wish to die rather than face a man who didn’t want her. She’d
endured this before and survived; she would survive again. Forcing back her tears, Georgiana made her expression blank. She clasped her hands to keep them from trembling.

Nick was pacing back and forth. “I betrayed—”

“Forgive me,” she said lightly. Surely he wouldn’t notice the tiny tremor in her voice. “I’m afraid my attention wandered, but I caught your meaning. I’m so grateful to you for understanding my situation.”

Nick stopped pacing and stared at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Georgiana said, smiling with stiff lips. “As I was trying to tell you, many upper-class girls fall in love with men beneath them and ally themselves with these men only to find out that the attachment fades once disgrace ruins them. Neither of us wants that, do we?”

Nick wet his lips and shook his head.

Georgiana went on smoothly. “Excellent. Then I shall continue with my plans. There were several other aged men on my list. I’ll make arrangements with one of them.”

The wretch. He’d satisfied his base urges and now was regretting it. No doubt he’d wanted to see if a duke’s daughter was as satisfying as the—the hussies he usually bedded. Dear heaven, had he compared her to those dashing, sophisticated women who pursued him, and found her inadequate?

Her mind reeling with hurt and shame, Georgiana summoned her most regal bearing, nodded like the queen reviewing the Household Cavalry, and said, “I’m glad we understand each other.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the stairs.

“Bleeding hell, we do not!”

Nick strode after her and snatched her arm. “You didn’t understand what I said.”

“I did, sir, and it’s of no consequence,” Georgiana said as she tried to pull free.

“You listen to me, young George.”

Hearing that familiar name, Georgiana almost lost her nerve. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into tears. She stopped trying to free herself and stared coldly at the hand that gripped her arm. Nick cursed and released her. She had to make him leave her alone. She had to get out of this place before she lost all dignity and pride.

“I think it’s best if you leave,” she said. Her voice almost broke, but she managed to smile and shrug her shoulders. “However, you should be proud of yourself. Last night made me understand why married women take lovers. I shall be sure to avail myself of the convenience once I’ve taken my vows.”

His eyes widened, revealing blue-gray and sapphire against tanned skin. A jolt of pain stabbed through her chest just from looking at him. Nick shook his head wordlessly, as if unable to believe what he’d heard. They stared at each other in silence. She didn’t know whether to be gratified or not that she’d silenced his facile tongue. Back straight, chin elevated, Georgiana lifted her skirt and marched up the stairs. She was almost at the top when she heard him swear.

“You’re a right cold-blooded bitch, Georgiana Marshal.”

Whirling around, she glared at him. “Better a bitch than a lying seducer, a low, craven coward, a scheming, ignoble wretch. You’re true to your breeding, Mr. Ross. St. Giles right down to your soul.”

He uttered an exclamation and started up the
stairs. Georgiana saw his black expression and bolted for her horse. She was mounted by the time he reached the top of the stairs. Kicking the mare into action, she wheeled away from him as he rushed toward her. She didn’t dare look back until the horse had reached a gallop. A glance over her shoulder took in Nick’s tall figure leaning over the neck of a white stallion. He was gaining on her. She plunged into the wood.

Lowering her body, Georgiana slapped the mare’s flanks with her reins. She darted between trees, making perilously sharp turns, and managed to stay ahead of him until they broke out of the woods. Kicking the mare, she made a run for the stables with Nick closing fast. Her horse kicked up pebbles as she slowed on the gravel path, and a stall door opened. Careening to a stop, she jumped off the mare, breathless, and threw the reins to the groom who had emerged from the stall.

To her horror Nick’s stallion didn’t slow as he reached the stable. As the animal plunged on, he swung a leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. The horse kept going, and Nick hurded toward her. She cried out, grabbed her skirts, and sprang into a run. Hands clamped down on her waist and shoulders. Her feet left the ground as he yanked her backward against his chest.