Their Wicked Ways (19 page)

“You don’t mean that!”

Bronte smiled at her mother
almost pityingly.  “Yes, I do.  I’m sorry it distresses you, Mother.”

She pushed past her mother
then and made her way down the stairs.  She waited outside for the carriage to
be brought round, fearful that Nick or Darcy or both would catch up to her
before she could leave.  Finally, the carriage drew to a halt before the steps
and she climbed in.  Lady Millford, who’d followed, climbed in behind her.

“You were doing so well,”
Lady Millford said mournfully.  “Why?”

Bronte swallowed with an
effort.  She wanted to be alone.  She didn’t want to have to try to behave like
a civilized, dutiful, respectful daughter.  She wanted to release some of the
pain that felt like it was going to tear her apart.

She managed a wavering
smile.  “It seems you were right, after all.  It was nothing but a silly
wager.”

Lady Millford stared at her
uncomprehendingly.  “What wager?”

Bronte rubbed her temples. 
“They didn’t mean it.  Neither of them meant it.  It was only a wager to see
which of them could seduce me … to prove--I’ve no idea what it was supposed to
prove, actually.”

“Who?  Who didn’t mean what?”

“Darcy--Nick,” Bronte managed
to say in a suffocated voice.  “I always was a fool about them, wasn’t I?  They
never cared for me … never.”

Lady Millford stared at her,
obviously torn.  “The scoundrels!” she muttered finally.  “I might have known
they would get you into some sort of scrape!  They were always doing so when
you were a child. Heaven knows I tried to keep you from trailing after them.”

Bronte rubbed her pounding
temples.  Merely breathing was an effort, for it felt as if a giant hand were
squeezing her chest in a tight fist.  “I know, Mother.  And you were right.  I
just … I couldn’t help it.”

Lady Millford looked as if
she might burst into tears.  “I have never seen a harder case of hero worship. 
You adored those two young hellions.”

“Yes.”

“They adored you, too.  That
was what made it so difficult.”

Bronte emerged from her self
absorption at that, drawing a shuddering breath.  “What?”

Lady Millford’s face crumpled. 
“We were wrong to arrange a marriage between you and Isaac, weren’t we?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does.  He was cruel
to you, wasn’t he?  That’s why you never came back while your father was
alive.  That’s why you decided to move half way around the world from us.”

Bronte covered her face.  “I
don’t want to talk about this, Mother.  Not now.  Not ever.”

“They came to your wedding. 
At least, they tried.”

Bronte lifted her head.  “Who
came?”

“Nick and Darcy.  Your father
sent them away.  Nick was in a terrible rage.  Darcy, too, for that matter …
but neither of them was at all suitable, Bronte--penniless younger sons who had
no choice except to make a career of the military.  Who would’ve thought they would
ever amount to anything, let alone make their fortunes?  We could not in good
conscience settle our only child on a man with nothing, however much they
seemed to care for you.”

The urge to cry grew
stronger, almost unbearable.  “They spoke to father?”

Lady Millford sniffed.  “Nick
asked for you.  Darcy would have, I think.  He asked to speak to your father,
but I sent him away.  Your father was … so ….  he was furious that Nick even
dared to think he was good enough for you.  He was … not civil.  He threatened
to have him horsewhipped if he came near you again.  When Darcy showed up
almost on his heels, I didn’t know what your father might do.  I told him you
loved Isaac and that he was your choice.  It seemed to have the desired
effect.  He left without trying to speak with your father.”

Tears filled Bronte’s eyes
and ran down her cheeks.  A sob tore its way from her painfully tight chest. 
She covered her mouth with one hand, knowing if she lost control she might
never stop.  “You might at least have told me, Mother.  You could have given me
that.  I hated them for abandoning me.  My whole life they’d protected me from
hurt, from Isaac’s cruel pranks, and then, when I needed them the most, they
weren’t there.”

Lady Millford pulled her
handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes.  “I know you blame me, but … I thought
it was only a little girl’s infatuation with older boys and you would outgrow
it.  And … well I suspected Isaac had a cruel streak, but so many young boys do
and they grow out of it … mostly.”

Bronte uttered a sound that
was half wry laugh, half sob.  “It is a very good thing that he did, mostly.”

Chapter Nineteen

Bronte was finishing her
packing when Lady Millford knocked at her door.  She hesitated and finally went
to open it.

Lady Millford glanced beyond
her at the trunks piled near the foot of the bed and the color left her face. 
“You’re leaving?”

Bronte looked away.  Turning,
she left her mother standing in the threshold and returned to pack the last of
her things.  “Not just yet.  I’m … I’m off to visit with some old friends
before I leave England.”

“You weren’t even planning to
say goodbye?” her mother asked mournfully.

Bronte glanced at her.  “It’s
not even daylight.  I thought you would be asleep.”

“But … you don’t need to leave
so early, surely?”

“I didn’t sleep, not much at
any rate.  But now that I’m done packing, I see no reason not to be on my way.”

Lady Millford’s chin wobbled
slightly.  “It’s about that silly wager, isn’t it?”

Bronte sent her a sharp look,
then looked away again.  “Perhaps.”

Lady Millford shook her
head.  “I cannot believe that they would be so crass as to wager on such a
thing, certainly not with you.”

Bronte sent her mother a
tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  “I’m not convinced that they did.  I
think it was proposed, but not by them.  Perhaps they couldn’t refuse the
challenge.  Perhaps they hated me enough to accept because they blamed me for
what father did, but I cannot believe it of them.

“On the other hand, it might
only be that I am making excuses for them again because I don’t want to believe
it.  I have never been able to quite trust my judgment when it came to Nick or
Darcy.

“I’m not sure it matters to
me either way.  The truth is that I have always loved them and I always will. 
Whatever they might do, I will always forgive them and love them anyway.”

“But ... if it’s not that,
why are you leaving?” Lady Millford asked, bewildered.

“Because it’s time.  I should
stay, I know, and try to quell the scandal for your sake, but you have never
seemed to care for society.  I can’t think that it will disturb you much if you
are to remain at the dower house.  And, in any case, it will die down
eventually.  Scandals tend to run out of steam when the object under discussion
is no longer around and I’m quite sure some other delicious scandal will erupt
soon enough to divert the ton.”

“You don’t mean to come back
to see me before you leave England?”

Bronte moved to her mother
and hugged her.  “I will make no promises.  It depends upon how long I stay
with my friends, for I have already sent to make arrangements for passage.  If
I have time, I will come to see you.  If not, I promise to write often.”

“If you are not concerned
about the scandal then
why
must you go back to that uncivilized place?”
Lady Millford asked tearfully.

Bronte kissed her cheek. 
“Because I belong there.  I have never felt as if I belonged here … and, I love
you, Mother, but it is too painful for me here.  There, at least I can find
contentment with my life.”

Dawn was only beginning to
lift the darkness from the streets when the last of Bronte’s trunks had been
stowed and the carriage pulled to the front.  Bronte hugged her mother one last
time.

“I will miss you dreadfully,”
Lady Millford said tearfully.

“You need not, you know.  You
are always welcome to come to America to live with me if you grow tired of
annoying cousin Wilford and decide to give up the dower house.”

Lady Millford sniffed, giving
her daughter a reproachful look.  “I do not stay only to annoy cousin Wilford. 
Your father left me a life interest in the dower house and it comforts me to
live near my old home, even if that wretched woman
is
mistress there
now.  In any event, you know very well that my constitution is far too delicate
to withstand a trip to the Americas.”

Bronte chuckled.  “I do not
believe I got my determination from father.  You could do it if you would only
make up your mind to do so.”

She left her mother glaring
at her indignantly.  When the servants had helped her into the carriage, she
handed him two notes.  “Please see to it that these are delivered for me
straight away.”

The servant bowed. 
“Certainly, my lady.  Should the man wait for a reply?”

Bronte shook her head and
settled back against the carriage seat.

* * * *

Nick was in the act of tying
his cravat when the pounding came on the front door.  His valet sent him a
startled glance.  “That will be Darcy.  Tell him to come up.”

There was a commotion in the
foyer and then the sound of booted feet pounding up the stairs.

“Never mind,” Nick said
dryly.

Darcy burst into the room as
if he’d been pitched in, slamming the door back against the wall.

Nick turned to appraise him,
lifting his dark brows.  “I despair that you will ever learn the proper way to
enter a room.”

Darcy raked a hand through
his already disheveled hair.  “Don’t start, Nick.  Did you get a note?”

Nick frowned, waving his
valet away.  When the man had closed the door behind him, Nick moved to the
cellaret and poured each of them a drink.  “I did.”

“Well?”

Nick’s gaze flickered over
Darcy’s face.  “I will certainly go.”

Darcy frowned.  “You don’t
think she did this just to throw us off, do you?”

Nick shrugged, settling in a
chair.  “No. But then, it doesn’t matter, does it?  I’m reasonably certain we
have covered every eventuality.  The ship is ready, is it not?”

Darcy relaxed fractionally,
downed his drink in one gulp, and flung himself at a chair.

Nick winced as the delicate chair
groaned beneath the bigger man’s weight.

“Yes.  It has been for
weeks.  Assuming we can still round up the crew,” he said morosely.

“And the coachman and all the
footmen bribed.  I saw to it personally.”

Darcy frowned.  “It almost
seems too easy.  I don’t mind telling you it makes me very uneasy, especially
after the stunt that damned fool Moreland pulled.”

“It was hardly that,” Nick
said dryly.

“I still don’t like it.”

“You are laboring under the
illusion that I do?”

Darcy scrubbed his hands over
his face.  “I’m dead on my feet.  Didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

“You can sleep on the way.”

“I’d feel better if we knew
with absolute certainty that Bronte hadn’t hired a carriage to take her.”

“We’ll stop by and check
before we leave town,” Nick said soothingly.  “You can dash off a note to your
captain and instruct him to round up his crew and then we will be certain that
we have everything covered and may relax.”

“You don’t think Lady
Millford will be suspicious that we’re leaving town on Bronte’s heels?”

Nick shrugged.  “Perhaps, but
then again, I don’t particularly care.”

* * * *

Bronte could not recall ever
being quite so nervous, even on her wedding night.  Night had already begun to
set in by the time she had arrived at the hunting box.  The windows were dark,
unwelcoming, and her stomach had tied itself into a little tighter knot. 
Regardless, she’d felt a little relief, too, knowing that she’d arrived first. 
It would give her time alone to come to terms with what she’d planned.

When the servants had
unloaded her small trunk, set the tiny cabin to rights and built a fire, she
had sent them away again to stay at the inn on the outskirts of town.  If they
didn’t come, she would be stranded for nigh a week, unless she grew so tired of
her own company that she walked to town, but she didn’t want to think about
that now.  It only made her more anxious.

She had not been able to eat
more than a morsel of the food she’d brought, and wondered a little wryly if
she had overestimated her appeal as the minutes and hours ticked past.

They might not come tonight.

They might not come at all.

Banishing the thought, she
set about preparing a bath with the water the servants had hauled from the well
and set on the hearth to warm.  The warmth of the water and the rose scented
oils she’d stirred into it soothed her.  She was half drowsing when she heard
the sound of a carriage arriving.

She stiffened, fighting the
urge to leap from the tub and dash for the bedroom she’d chosen.  Already, it
seemed, her careful plans were unraveling, for she’d chosen a most seductive
gown to wear, had intended to comb her hair until it gleamed and leave it loose
down her back.

Instead, she was probably
pruned from lying so long in the water and her hair piled haphazardly atop her
head.

It couldn’t be helped.  She
heard the scrape of booted feet on the porch before her mind had even had time
to run down the list of things undone.

She sat up as the door
opened.

Nick stood on the threshold. 
He halted, filling most of the doorway.  “Set the trunks there,” he said to
someone behind him.

She held his gaze as she
listened to the thump of several trunks.  In a few moments, she heard the sound
of the carriage departing and Nick stepped inside.  Darcy followed him, closing
the door.

“I hadn’t expected you to
arrive so early,” she managed to say finally, and was pleased that her voice
hardly quavered at all.  Girding herself, she rose from the tub and reached for
the cloth she’d left warming to dry herself with.

When she’d nerved herself to
glance at Nick and Darcy again, she saw that they were still standing near the
door, as if frozen in place.  A sliver of confidence wafted through her.  “I’ll
only be a moment.  There’s a basket of food on the table if you’re hungry.”

She was shaking by the time
she reached the room and closed the door behind her, but very little of it was
due to the chill of damp skin.  After several moments of panicked indecision,
she decided to revert to her original plan.  It would give her time to steady
her nerves and give them time to settle and have a bite to eat.

She heard the splash of water
as she moved to the small fireplace the room boasted and pulled the pins from
her hair.  She bit her lip, wondering which of them would be reeking of rose oil.

Shaking her head, she combed
her fingers through her hair, loosening it to allow it to dry.  When it had
ceased to drip, she moved to the bed and donned the gown she’d chosen.  There
was no mirror in the room, but she didn’t need one.  She’d examined the gown
carefully before she decided on it.  The fabric was fine and sheer, revealing
far more than it concealed, she knew.

Unhurriedly, she moved to a
bench near the fire and began to comb her hair.  When she’d delayed as long as
she dared, she rose and moved to the door, took a deep, sustaining breath and
opened it.

Nick was standing by a
window, staring out at the night.  His hair was still damp, and hung loosely
about his shoulders.  He was wearing nothing more than his breeches and shirt
which, she saw when he turned, was loose to the waist.

Darcy, in a similar state of
half dress, his damp hair already beginning to curl, was sprawled on the couch,
idly shuffling the deck of cards in his hands.