The Wicked One (11 page)

But that was before the robbery.

Eva doubted Celsie idolized her now.  She doubted she even
liked
her.

"Come, then.  Let us take tea in the parlor."

There, the younger woman quickly poured hot, steaming brew for them both.  Eva lifted her cup, her stomach roiling as Celsie offered her a plate of cheese biscuits.  She shook her head and, paling, bit back a shudder of nausea.

"Eva, forgive me for prying, but are you in some sort of trouble?"

Eva gave a sharp bark of laughter.  It was a brittle sound, even to her own ears.  She set down her cup in its saucer before she could spill it.  "Me?  Trouble?"  She was in more trouble than she knew what to do with.  "Oh, no, Celsie.  I am here to make some for the man who has all but ruined my life."

"Lucien?  He all but ruins everyone's lives, but I can assure you, everything usually works out in the end."

"I cannot see how my being tricked, humiliated, and banished from the French court, let alone Paris, can be 'worked out' in the end.  But never mind.  I will have my revenge."

"Oh, good."

"
Good?
"  Eva eyed her as though she'd lost her mind.  "We're speaking about your brother-in-law here."

"I know."  Celsie smiled and sipped her tea.  "So what has he done?"

Eva had not intended to confide in her cousin, but there was something so genuine in Celsie's silvery-green gaze, something so compassionate and forgiving in her manner, that Eva succumbed to temptation.  Sparing only the details that would sabotage her own pride, namely, that she'd bedded the notorious Duke of Blackheath and had the very best lovemaking of her life, Eva told all.  She explained why she'd held up the de Montforte coach and stolen the supposed aphrodisiac.  She told how she'd broken into Lucien's bedchamber and stolen the real potion upon discovering the first was a substitute.  She related how Lucien had come to France seeking her help in locating Lord Brookhampton, and how she had left him tied up and helpless in her room, only to find him — and the aphrodisiac — gone upon her return.

"Tied up and
helpless
?" Celsie cried, choking on her tea.  "
Lucien
?"

"It is not such a difficult thing, if one knows the proper methods," Eva admitted with a little smile.

At that, Celsie began to laugh so hard that she had to set down her teacup so as not to spill the hot beverage all over herself.

Eva said wryly, "I take it the Duke of Blackheath has made his own enemies, even within his own family."

"I'm not sure
enemies
is the right word, but let me just say this — he had it coming to him.  He thrives on control.  It is all that matters to him.  It is good to see him taken down a peg or two.  I just wish I had been there to see it."

Eva smiled, rather glad that Celsie had not.

"But you need my help, don't you?" Celsie asked, sobering.  She touched Eva's hand, showing more kindness than Eva, given her recent behavior, felt she deserved.  "What can I do for you, Eva?"

Eva gave a rueful smile.  "I'm not sure there is anything you can do for me, Celsie.  But I do need a place to stay, at least until things settle down in Paris."  She looked away, trying to retain her pride, her dignity.  "I hesitate to ask, knowing the trouble I've caused you and your new husband, but would you put me up for a short time, Celsie?"

"
No.
"

Both women looked up.  Lord Andrew stood in the doorway, eyeing Eva with flat dislike.

"But Andrew —"

"No, Celsie.  I will not have this woman under my roof."

"Andrew, you don't understand.  She stole the aphrodisiac for a reason that was very important to her.  A — a patriotic one."

"She threatened to shoot me, knocked Charles senseless, and would have had no qualms about killing any of us, yourself included."

"Oh, no, I would never harm a woman," Eva said, smiling.  "Celsie and Lady Charles were really quite safe."

Andrew stalked into the room, six feet of angry male fire.  He came right up to Eva and glared down at her.   "What is your big complaint against men, then?"

Eva eyed him calmly.  "The way they treat women."

Getting to her feet, Celsie laid a hand on her husband's arm.

"Andrew, my cousin needs refuge for a few days.  I'm sure that once the two of you get to know each other, you might even learn to be civil to one another.  Besides, she came here for a reason that even you will approve of."  Celsie, grinning, stood on tiptoe to loudly whisper into her husband's ear.  "To take Lucien down a peg or two."

"What?"

"Oh, yes, your brother has ruined my life," Eva said, picking up her teacup once more.  "I really couldn't leave Europe without coming back for a final round with him."

Andrew turned away, paced toward the door, turned, and came back.  Though his jaw was still set, the blazing coldness in his eyes was gone, to be replaced with something speculative . . . almost cunning.

Celsie took advantage of his momentary indecision, the lowering of his defenses.  "Andrew, in case you doubt Eva's ability to do exactly what she says, it was she who scaled the tower of Blackheath Castle, broke into Lucien's chambers, and stole the real aphrodisiac."

"
You
?"

Eva merely smiled and shrugged.

Andrew looked at Celsie.  Celsie returned the look with a scheming grin of her own.

"Very well, then," the young lord finally consented.  "But, you realize I'm only doing this for Celsie's sake.  If you cause me any grief whatsoever, you're out of here on your ear, do you understand?"

"Perfectly," said Eva.  "And thank you."  She rose to her feet, determined to show civility to her host even if he was too stubborn, and still too angry, to reciprocate.  He merely gave her a black look and turned to go.

But Eva couldn't resist.

"Do tell me one thing, my lord. . . ."

He turned and shot her a quelling glare.

"Whatever has happened to your eyebrows?"

Chapter 9

Lady Nerissa de Montforte had no desire to leave her bed.

She had no desire to leave Blackheath Castle.

And she had absolutely no desire to go to Celsie's New Year's Eve ball, but Lucien was insistent.

"My dear girl, I cannot bear to see you languishing in that bed another instant.  I suggest you get up, break your fast, and prepare yourself for travel."  He pulled open the drapes, a dark angel in immaculate burgundy velvet come to drag her from her refuge from pain.  "The preparations have already been made."

"I'm not going."

"You
are
going."  He yanked open another drape.  "I can think of no better way to restore you to proper health and spirits than spending some time with your family."

"Having Perry back is the only thing that will restore me to proper health and spirits."  She blinked back the tears that always lingered near the surface.  "I cannot go to Rosebriar, Lucien.  Do not ask me."

"I'm not asking, I'm ordering.  It will do you good."  He raised his voice and called, "Martha?  Prepare a bath for Her Ladyship, and lay out warm clothes suitable for travel.  We leave this afternoon for Rosebriar Park."

"
I-am-NOT-going
," Nerissa ground out, sitting up in bed.

"Really, my dear, you should know after all these years that it is pointless to argue with me.  I have decided that you need to get away from the castle for a while.  And since I must go to France to follow up on a lead about Perry, I don't want you here languishing all alone."

"France?" she asked anxiously.  "When are you departing?"

"Immediately after I make sure you attend tomorrow night's ball."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not."

"But Lucien —"

"I do believe I have made up my mind on the matter," he murmured, and bowing, left the room.

Damn him!  Nerissa lay there in bed, seething.  How could he be so heartless?  So insensitive?  She was fed up with his high-handedness!  She yanked the covers over her head, shut her eyes, and stared into the close darkness.

Lucien could go to hell.  He really could.

"I'm not going Rosebriar," she vowed.

But in the end, of course, she did go, because her brother always got his way — no matter what the expense to others.  Several hours later, Nerissa was bundled into the ducal coach and heading east toward Rosebriar Park, the duke astride Armageddon just outside.

She blinked back tears as they passed Perry's lands.  There was the house of mellow stone where he had lived.  Where they both would have lived.  Raised their children.  Grown old together.

Oh, God help me, this hurts so very, much. . . .

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to let the tears fall.  She didn't want to go to Rosebriar and pretend to be happy.  She didn't want to mix with others, paste a smile on her face, when all she wanted to do was cry, fend off the attentions of men who were not Perry, and try to fool her family into thinking she was coping just fine.  She wasn't coping just fine.  She wanted only to bury herself in a hole, go to sleep, and let the world go by without her.

And now the coach was carrying her farther and farther away from the Brookhampton lands.  Away from her memories.  Away from the home of the only beau she had ever loved.

She leaned her face against the squab and finally fell asleep, a single tear tracking down her pale cheek.

~~~~

Eva, her stomach heavy with nausea, was late for the evening meal.

Resplendent in an open sacque gown of shimmering copper satin trimmed in green, she entered a dining room aglow with candlelight.  Several of Celsie's dogs had already claimed spots beneath the table, forcing their mistress and Andrew to contort their legs in impossible positions in order to accommodate them.  As Eva took her seat, Andrew pointedly ignored her, refusing, even, to rise.  He was a surly creature, she decided, even though she knew she deserved his contempt.  Still, she was unable to forget his earlier words:  For his wife's sake, he would allow her to stay here at Rosebriar . . . and for that, she couldn't help but be just a little bit impressed.

Imagine, doing something for your wife's sake.

The concept was alien to her.

She cast a furtive glance at the young lord as he piled Celsie's plate high, attentive to her every need, his gaze softening whenever their eyes met.  Right, so maybe Lord Andrew was a cut above other men.  Maybe he, unlike the rest of his kind, actually considered and cared about a woman's feelings.  A rarity, that.  She didn't think men like that existed in real life, only fairy tales.

Eva shook her head and picked up her fork.  Well,
that
certainly wouldn't last long.

But as she turned her attention to her meal, the sight — and smell — of the fowl drenched in currant sauce brought on a sudden wave of nausea.  Cold sweat washed over her and she put down her napkin, trying to decide how to leave without appearing rude . . .

Or raising Celsie's suspicions.

But Celsie saw her starting to get up.  "Eva, Andrew was just telling me about his plans to revise his new explosive," she explained, mistaking Eva's tense expression for awkwardness about being excluded from their banter.  "He's going to try it out again on the morrow."

"Then I should dearly like to watch," Eva said faintly, thinking to make peace with the sullen young lord by showing an interest in his pursuits.

"No doubt because she hopes to see me blow myself up."

"Now, Andrew," Celsie chastised, shaking her head.  "Why don't you tell Eva about your explosive?"

Eva crunched her napkin in a damp fist. 
Dear Lord, I have to get out of here.

"Why should I?  A woman as dangerous to England as
she
is doesn't need to know about my new explosive."  He stabbed his fork into a potato and added sarcastically, "Next thing you know, she'll be trying to abduct
me
so she can get the formula and use it to help her beloved America."

Eva smiled through her worsening nausea.  "Oh, no.  I couldn't bear to separate you two lovebirds.  But really, that is the nature of men, isn't it, Celsie?  What women build, men want only to blow up."

"That isn't true of
all
men, Eva.  Why, Andrew is always building something — flying machines, double-compartmented coaches, automatic roasting machines . . .   He's
far
more interested in creating than destroying."

"Well, imagine that," Eva drawled, trying to maintain her air of polished cool.  "A man with brains.  Who would have thought?"

Andrew, glowering, slammed his napkin down.

And Eva, despite the fact she was growing perilously near to disgracing herself, turned all the charm of her smile on him.  "Do relax, my lord.  I just gave you a compliment, in case you didn't realize."  Her hands were beginning to tremble.  She was sweating fiercely.  "And now I fear I must excuse myself —"

"Eva, are you all right?" Celsie rose to her feet.  "You look quite pale —"

"I am fine.  Just" — she smiled at Andrew, hoping to fool him and Celsie into believing her excuse — "finding it difficult to share a table with an 'intelligent' man.  Such a singular prospect quite overwhelms me, I fear."

She rose and hurried from the room, leaving Andrew staring after her.

"What was that all about?"

"I don't know.  But she's behaving in a most peculiar manner, and I suspect there's more here than meets the eye."  Celsie put down her napkin.  "I'll be right back."

She ran out into the hall, but Eva, her hand pressed to her mouth, was already rushing up the stairs.  Celsie paused, frowning.  She was just debating whether or not to follow her when a servant approached, bowing.

"My lady.  Their Lordships Charles and Gareth have arrived with their families and await you in the parlor."

Celsie quickly took control.  "Show them in and see that additional places are set at the table."

Oh, God help her!  Charles and Eva under the same roof?

Sure enough, her worst fears were realized.