The Wicked One (13 page)

Everyone, that is, who wasn't lining up for a dance with the mysterious Eva de la Mouriére.

So this was the woman who had stolen the aphrodisiac, sent Lucien into a black rage, had turned her brother's life upside down.  Nerissa eyed her closely.  The American was beautiful, confident, aloof.  And every man in the ballroom, with the exception of her brothers and especially of Charles, watched her like dogs with heatstroke, eyes glazed with fascination — and lust.  Eva de la Mouriére appeared to be in her element, expertly handling the excessive flattery, flirtation, and dogfights between her slavering swains — but Nerissa, unlike the smitten men, could see that it was all an act.  The other woman was merely enduring the attention; her comments bordered on cruel, on taunting, and it was obvious that she just didn't like men.

Obvious that she, like Nerissa, wanted to be anywhere but here.

Obvious that a certain spark had gone out of her the instant Lucien had left.

And now she looked tired as well as irritated — and painfully alone.  Maybe even vulnerable.  The men continued to swarm around her.  Nerissa was not surprised when Eva finally excused herself and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

It was at that moment that Lord Islington, smelling strongly of spirits, approached, bowed, and asked Nerissa for a dance.  She didn't want to dance, of course; she didn't have the heart to make merry, but perhaps if she closed her eyes she could pretend . . . pretend that this short, rotund man was someone else.  Someone who was a good head taller than she was, someone with cool gray eyes, someone with bright gold hair and a suave, inborn elegance.  Nerissa's throat closed up.  Tears stung the back of her eyes and she bravely blinked them back.

Perry.  Oh, Perry . . .

Taking a deep breath, she allowed Islington to escort her out onto the floor.

"You are very beautiful tonight, my lady."

Nerissa heard herself making the obligatory sounds of acknowledgement, of gratitude.  Islington was either lying or blind.  She had seen herself in the mirror as her maid had dressed her hair.  The bluish shadows under her dulled, vacant eyes, the sad curve of her mouth, the lackluster tone to her once-shining mass of golden hair . . . looking in that mirror had been like looking into the face of a stranger.

". . . I was most aggrieved to hear about the
Sarah Rose
," Islington was saying.  "Please accept my condolences on the loss of Lord Brookhampton."

Nerissa looked away.  "He has not yet been declared dead," she snapped.  "He will be found.  Lucien will find him."

"I suppose that if anyone can, it is the duke.  Still, I feel as though it's all my fault.  Silly of me, perhaps, but if I hadn't sold that Spanish estate to His Grace, you'd be sweeping around this dance floor with the one you love, not a poor substitute —"

Nerissa stopped in her tracks; Islington nearly went sprawling over her stalled feet. 
But if I hadn't sold that Spanish estate to His Grace —

Her blood went cold.  "What Spanish estate?" she asked sharply.

"Dear me, I didn't realize the very mention of it would so distress you —"

"
What
estate?" Nerissa demanded once again, pure, hot color flooding back into her cheeks.  She was suddenly sweating.  People were staring at her, beginning to whisper.

Islington was a bright radish-red.  "My dear lady, I — I don't wish to upset you, but your brother bought an estate from me, a rather neglected one that I never paid much attention to, as it was so far away —" Islington began to flush and stammer, knowing he'd said too much, that his words were the cause of Nerissa's speechless horror.  "I couldn't understand why His Grace would want some Spanish estate when he has so many perfectly fine English ones, unless, of course, he was interested in it for the grapes — I beg your pardon, my lady, I fear I have upset you.  Please, let me get you some refreshment —"

Upset? 
Upset?
  Nerissa, shaking violently, was more than upset.  Suddenly everything was clear.  She remembered the conversation she'd had with Lucien the night before she and Perry had quarrelled.  She remembered Lucien promising to do something drastic if Perry didn't soon propose, remembered the way she had gone to him in tears when Perry had gone off to Spain to claim this
estate
, remembered how Lucien had been so brotherly and compassionate when word had come back that the
Sarah Rose
had gone down and Perry wasn't among the survivors.  Nerissa fought for breath.  Nausea rose in her gut, and for a moment she thought she was going to black out with the realization of what her brother had done.

"I must have some fresh air, sir.  If you'll please excuse me . . ."

She hurried away before he could offer to escort her outside.  The reality of the situation was growing more horrific with every moment.  Lucien had sent Perry away in an attempt to engineer a fast union between them.  What was it he had said to try to calm her that night she'd received Perry's letter?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Oh, Lord help her!  Through a blinding haze of tears, Nerissa ran through the crowd, through the great doors, and outside.  How could her brother, who claimed to love her, have done this to her?  To Perry?  Not only had he separated them, he'd been responsible for the probable death of an innocent man!

Outside, the damp winter air hit her with a shocking chill, but by now the tears were flowing, and flowing hard.  Nerissa ran through the garden.  Rosebushes tore at her ankles.  Mud soaked her slippers, shrubbery ripped at her gown.  Sobbing so hard she could barely see, she kept running, wanting only to escape the rising agony that obliterated everything else —

And collided hard with someone heading back toward the house.

Nerissa reeled backward, aware of only a mysteriously exotic perfume before her feet went out from under her and she landed hard on her bottom.  Gulping back sobs, she looked up into the face of Eva de la Mouriére.

The other woman reached down to help her up.  "Let me guess," she said wryly, steadying Nerissa when she would have slipped in the mud and gone down once more.  "It was a man, wasn't it?  But of course it was, it always is.  Trust me, sweetie, they're not worth it."

The simple words tore open the floodgate of Nerissa's anguish.

"It's all his fault Perry's dead!" she howled, her hair tumbling from its pins and falling about eyes gone wild with pain and rage.  "He sent Perry away!  There was never any estate in Spain, never any reason for Perry to go, he just made that all up so he could get us separated and make Perry miss me enough to want to marry me when he got back!  He planned it all, and now Perry's dead and it's all his fault!  I will never forgive him for this! 
I swear, I will never forgive him for what he has done!
"

Eva tried to fold the younger woman against her and offer what comfort she could, but Nerissa pushed away, too distraught to allow another to console her.  Protectiveness — and a cold anger — rose in Eva's breast.  Men.  They were always the cause of a woman's pain, weren't they?

Awkwardly, she draped her own shawl around the thin, shaking shoulders.  "Cheer up, sweetie," she said, reverting to the flippant sarcasm she always sought when her own heart needed protecting.  As she moved silently away, she muttered, "At least
you're
not carrying some man's bastard child."

~~~~

For a moment, Nerissa wasn't sure she'd heard the softly spoken words.

At least
you're
not carrying some man's bastard child.

Nerissa lifted her head and watched the other woman, as haughty and dignified as a goddess, make her way back toward the house.  Had she heard her correctly?  Was Eva just telling her her situation could be worse, or was she telling her her
own
situation was worse?

Nerissa was just about to go after her when Celsie came hurrying out, her face grave with concern.

"Nerissa!  Whatever is the matter?  Did Islington say something to upset you?"  Her eyes widened as she took in Nerissa's mud-stained gown, her red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks.  She squeezed her sister-in-law's hands.  "Tell me what happened!"

Nerissa took a deep breath and met Celsie's alarmed eyes.  "Lucien.  He — he killed Perry."

Celsie reeled back.  And as she stared at her in horror, Nerissa told her what Lucien had done.  She told her how he had bought a Spanish estate.  How he had apparently sent Perry off on a false mission just to engineer yet another de Montforte union.  How it was
his
fault Perry was probably dead.  Her voice broke, and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing down her face.

Celsie pulled her into her arms.

"And to make this night even more wretched, Eva just said the strangest thing to me.  I don't think I was meant to hear it, but I could swear I heard her say, 'at least
you're
not carrying some man's bastard child.'"  Nerissa looked up.  "Here I am, so wrapped up in my own misery that I failed to notice someone else's.  She's . . . she's not in the family way, is she, Celsie?"

But Celsie was staring at her.  "Oh my God."

"What is it?"

"That explains it, then.  Good heavens, why didn't I
see
?  No wonder she's so pale . . . no wonder she's been complaining of a stomach disorder . . . no wonder she came here to me, and
no wonder she's so determined to get her revenge on your brother for ruining her life!
"  She grabbed Nerissa's shoulders.  "Dear God, Nerissa, do you know what this means?"

Nerissa just gazed in confusion at her sister-in-law, whose face was glowing with barely-constrained excitement.

"I'd bet everything I own that Eva is carrying Lucien's child!"

Chapter 11

Celsie hurried into the ballroom and, not seeing Eva amongst the crowd, dashed up to her apartments.

"Eva?"

She knocked, then pushed open the door.  Her cousin stood at the window, her hair glowing like wine in the light of the candle just behind her.

"Good evening, Celsie.  I trust your ball was a success," she murmured, without turning around.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The other woman remained staring out into the night.  "Because I can barely acknowledge the fact even to myself."

"But — it's a baby!"

"It is Blackheath's baby."

"Does he know?"

"Of course not.  No one does — except you, now."

"And Nerissa."

"Yes . . .  That poor child.  She has been cruelly used, I think.  I ran into her — literally — out in the garden, sobbing her heart out."  Eva turned around then, her eyes flat and hard.  "Over a man, of course."

"She was sobbing because she'd just learned her own
brother
was the one to send Perry away, and under false pretenses, too!  Damn him!  Damn him, Eva!  It is bad enough that he manipulates people for what he thinks is their own
good
, but the fact that he takes such a malicious delight in doing so makes it utterly unconscionable, totally unforgivable."

Eva raised a brow.  "Blackheath did this?"

"Yes, and this time he has gone too far!"  Celsie stamped her foot in rage.  "Mark me, this is not the end of this.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  I swear, Eva, this is the last  — the
last
— time he'll ever go interfering in anyone's life, ever again!"

~~~~

Celsie called a family conference to be held in the dining room immediately after the ball.

It was late, and everyone was tired, but they were a family, and they were there.  Charles, still in his dress regimentals, looked coolly composed but concerned as he sat next to Amy.  Gareth came in with his arm around Juliet, his ever-present grin changing to a look of worry when he saw his sister already seated, a fire in her pale blue eyes that proclaimed banked rage.  Andrew was the last to arrive, rubbing at the bristle that remained of his singed eyebrows as he took a seat next to the tight-lipped Nerissa.  He cast a questioning glance at Celsie, apprehension clouding his face when he saw her look of bristling fury.  Savage glee.  That, coupled with the explosive expression on Nerissa's otherwise gentle face, boded ill.

Celsie waited for everyone to be seated.  Her foot tapped impatiently as footmen served port to the men and tea to the ladies.  She dismissed them, and began to speak.

"I know you're all wondering why Nerissa and I have called you together tonight, and at such a late hour besides, but what I have to say is of utmost importance.  I'd let Nerissa tell you what your brother has done
this
time, but as you can see, she's not exactly in any mood to talk."

"I can't even bear to mention that — that
bastard's
name," Nerissa burst out, her eyes flashing.

Charles nearly choked on his port.  Gareth's eyebrows shot up.  They were not used to hearing such coarse language from their sister.

Andrew leaned back in his chair.  "So what has he done this time?"

Her own voice sharpening with anger, Celsie told them what Nerissa had learned from Islington, and what she and her sister-in-law had puzzled together in the wake of such a damning revelation.  "Spanish estate!" she fumed.  "Obviously he was just trying to separate Perry from Nerissa so he'd miss her so much he'd come back and propose marriage!"

"Really, now," Charles began, shaking his head.  "I can't believe Lucien would go to such lengths."

"Well, believe it!  This time, his machinations have gone tragically awry," Celsie spat.  "This time, he has not only made another of his siblings miserable, he's ended up killing someone as well!"

Charles, always one to approach a situation from a variety of angles, was toying with his glass.  "Who's to say that Perry's death isn't a fabrication, too?"

"It's not," Gareth said.  "The son of one of my constituents was a crew member on the ship.  It
did
go down."

Nerissa held herself erect, her throat moving as she bravely held back fresh tears.