Thunder and Roses (50 page)

Clare toyed with her tulip. “What did you think of her?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t say, but I will. It’s useful for a second wife to have some understanding of the woman who went before.” He thought a moment. “She was very beautiful, of course, and very aware of it. She had great vivacity as well, yet I never really liked her. There was an essential coldness in her nature that repelled me.” He gave Clare an amused glance. “That’s a minority opinion. Most men would have gladly thrown themselves down like carpets so she could walk on them, if that was what the Incomparable Caroline wanted.”

“I don’t think I would enjoy walking on a carpet of human bodies,” Clare said dryly. “Not at all comfortable.”

“Which is why you and Nicholas will probably deal very well together. Though he admired her considerable charms, he wasn’t good carpet material.”

Clare wondered if that was the source of the problems in the marriage. “He loved her enough to make her his wife.”

“That wasn’t love—it was an arranged marriage, you know.” Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Or perhaps you didn’t know. It was the old earl’s idea, of course—he wanted to see the succession secured before his death. Nicholas was doubtful, but he agreed to meet Lady Caroline, and was pleasantly surprised. He had been afraid that his grandfather had chosen some horse-faced female with good bloodlines and no conversation. But the old earl was clever enough to know that if the girl was unattractive, Nicholas would never cooperate. As it was, Nicholas agreed to the match readily enough.”

“Were there problems in the marriage from the first?”

“As arranged marriages went, it appeared more auspicious than most. Nicholas seemed satisfied with his bargain. But after a few months …” Lucien shrugged. “Something went wrong, I have no idea what. Nicholas sent Caroline to Aberdare and stayed in London alone.”

“And drowned himself in debauchery,” Clare said helpfully, since her companion didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

“I’m afraid so,” he agreed. “Not that I have anything against debauchery, but he didn’t seem to be enjoying it much. Though I saw him occasionally in London, he didn’t confide in me. Then came that dreadful business here at Aberdare, and he left the country. You probably know more about that than I.”

“T
hank
you for speaking so freely. I want to understand as much about Nicholas as I can.” She picked a white tulip to go with the scarlet. “Sometimes I feel as if he is a play, and I came in on the second act and must deduce what has gone before.”

Lucien smiled. “That is the nature of all human friendships, and what makes them interesting.”

“Speaking of friendships, did you know that Lord Michael is living in his house on the other side of the valley?”

Lucien’s head whipped around, and he regarded her with sharp concern. “I hadn’t heard that. Has there been trouble?”

Clare was vividly reminded that under his light manner, Lucien was a formidable man. Wanting to share her concern, she said, “The day after Lord Michael returned to Penreith, a rifle bullet almost struck Nicholas when we were riding. I was afraid that Michael had fired it, but Nicholas insisted that it must have been a poacher.”

“Have there been any similar incidents?”

“Not that I know of. Lord Michael has been busy.” Clare described the explosion at the mine and the steps his lordship was taking to improve conditions.

Lucien’s expression eased. When she was finished, he said, “It sounds as if Michael is recovering his natural equilibrium. Obviously he came here because of his business interests, not because of some ill-founded hostility toward Nicholas.”

“I hope so. I didn’t enjoy wondering if he was going to put a hole in Nicholas.” She bit her lower lip. “Since this seems to be my day for impertinent questions, I might as well ask what his good points are. He must have some, or he wouldn’t have such admirable friends.”
         

“Courage, intelligence, honesty,” Lucien said promptly. “One always knew where one stood with Michael. When in good spirits, which was usually, he was a witty, thoroughly enjoyable companion. He was also absolutely loyal to his friends.”

“He hasn’t been to Nicholas,” she pointed out.

“Yes, and I wish I knew why,” Lucien said. “Still, it sounds as if his state of mind is improving.”

“I hope so, since we seem destined to be neighbors. Will you call on him while you’re here in the valley?”

“I think I shall. With luck, he’ll have forgiven me for seconding Nicholas in that duel.” Lucien smiled. “Speaking of Nicholas, here he comes now.”

As the two men shook hands, Clare remembered how Lord Michael had appeared at the Duke of
Candover’s
ball. Though she wanted to believe he was no longer a threat, it was hard to believe that such hostility had completely vanished. She prayed that she was wrong.

That night it was very late when Nicholas came to Clare’s bed. Thinking that he and his friend would talk until dawn, she had fallen asleep, but she woke when the mattress sagged under his weight. Sleepily teasing, she murmured, “Who’s there?”

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. “Who the hell were you expecting?” Nicholas said in freezing accents.

She came fully awake in an instant. “That was a joke, Nicholas. Obviously a bad one.”

She leaned forward and put her arms around his rigid shoulders. Quietly she said, “It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Caroline was unfaithful to you. I suspect that was at the root of your own adultery. But I’m not like her, even if my sense of humor is sometimes inappropriate. To me, the idea that I could even think of making love with another man is ludicrous.” Feeling him soften, she added, “Considering what an amazingly difficult time you had getting me into your bed, what makes you think any other man would be successful?”
      

He put his hand over hers. “Only someone essentially innocent could offer such flawed reasoning, but having made my share of stupid jokes, I’m in no position to throw stones.” A hard edge came into his voice. “You guessed rightly—my noble first wife was a slut. It isn’t something I care to dwell on.”

“I can think of better things to dwell on,” she agreed. Her hand glided lightly down his torso until she found what she sought. “For example …”

He sucked his breath in. “You’re a remarkably quick learner. It’s time to skip to an advanced lesson.” With a flurry of cat-quick movements, he flipped her over and followed her down, doing things that astonished her.

There was a possessive fury to his lovemaking that night, as if he was seeking to brand her as his own. She accepted him gladly, eager to erase all memory of her unthinking remark. For a handful of moments, the distance she had sensed in him was burned away by the fires of passion and they were fully intimate, body and soul.

That sense faded later, but if it could happen once, it could happen again. Clare fell asleep in his arms, as happy as she had ever been in her life. But before sliding into slumber, she found herself hoping that the hell of fire and brimstone truly existed. And that Caroline Davies, duke’s daughter and faithless wife, was burning in it.

 
Michael Kenyon was working in his study when his manservant, acting as butler as well as valet, came to announce that the Earl of Strathmore was paying a call. Michael hesitated, struck by a sharp longing to see his old friend. More than that, he longed for life to be as simple as it once had been, when he and Luce and Rafe and Nicholas had breezed into each other’s lodgings with the casual ease of brothers. …

But life hadn’t been that simple in years, and in London, Lucien had aligned himself with Aberdare. “Tell Lord Strathmore that I’m not receiving.”

A hint of disapproval showed in the servant’s eyes, but he said only, “Very good, my lord,” and left the room.

Michael tried to return to work, but it was impossible to concentrate on his accounts. Irritated, he shoved the ledger aside and strode over to the window to stare broodingly out over the valley. When he saw Lucien riding away, his mouth tightened. Luce must have come for Aberdare’s wedding, news of which was all over the valley. Apparently Aberdare was marrying his mistress, the small female who had been with him in London. Michael recalled her as being reasonably attractive, and she had seemed sensible, apart from her willingness to bed Aberdare, but she was a far cry from her predecessor.

His stomach twisted and his gaze went to the mine, which was dimly visible in the distance. He’d come to Penreith with a purpose, and because of the disaster at the pit he was no closer to accomplishing it than the day he had arrived. Every waking moment had been filled with activity, first directing rescue work, then putting together plans to implement the improvements that should have been done years ago. It was bitterly galling to acknowledge that Aberdare had spoken the truth about the mine when they had met in London.

Probably Aberdare was also correct that Madoc had been embezzling, though Michael hadn’t yet found the proof. The figures in the account books added up, but they didn’t quite make sense. He was disinclined to pursue the matter at the moment; if Madoc had been greedy, it was Michael who had given him the opportunity. And the fellow was extremely useful.

Besides, Michael had far more important things on his mind; feverish activity was no excuse for cowardice. Soon he must resolve the horrifying dilemma that had brought him back to Penreith. And no matter how painful it proved to be, justice must be done.

          
28

 
Clare became the Countess of Aberdare with miraculous smoothness. She wore an elegantly simple cream-colored gown and carried a bouquet of bright spring flowers. Marged stood up with her and Owen gave her away, crutches and all.

She had also invited the other members of her class meeting, all of whom attended, brimming with good wishes and bright-eyed curiosity. Nicholas was at his most charming, and even Edith

Wickes seemed persuaded that he had renounced his evil ways in favor of the love of a good woman.

Clare sailed through the ceremony and the wedding breakfast with an amazing absence of nerves. Perhaps that was because she had felt married ever since her blood had flowed with that of Nicholas. Even the Methodists consumed champagne after Nicholas persuasively explained that it was no more intoxicating than common ale. As a result, good cheer abounded on all sides.

Needing to return to London, Lucien left immediately after the wedding breakfast, which lasted into the early afternoon. Clare gave him a heartfelt hug, glad that he had made the long trip to Wales. She suspected that much of the reason he had come was to show that Nicholas’s well-born friends supported a marriage that most of society would consider a sad misalliance.

After the rest of the guests left, singing with true Welsh
vigor
and tuneful Welsh voices, Nicholas took Clare’s hand and towed her playfully through the house. “I’ve something to show you. It was installed yesterday, when you were out.”

When he led her into the billiard room, her eyes widened. “The table has the new slate top?” She ran her palms over the green surface and found not a single bump or lump. “Smooth as a baize-covered mirror. This could start a new fashion.”

“I anticipate selling much slate for the purpose, all at a premium price.” He put his hands on the end of the table and gave it a hard shove, with absolutely no effect. “An advantage I hadn’t thought of is that it’s so heavy that it takes ten men and a boy to move it. No more accidental jostling that ruins shots. The carpenter had to reinforce the legs and the frame to support the weight of the slate.”

“Shall we test it with a game of wedding-day billiards?” She grinned. “You should be able to win. Since I’ve had two glasses of champagne, even my leather-tipped cue won’t make my strokes accurate.”

“Billiards has so many marvelous double-entendres—strokes, balls, pockets, even leather-tipped cues. …” He gave her a wicked smile. “I had a game in mind, but it wasn’t billiards.”

“Nicholas, it’s mid-afternoon!” Half-laughing and half-serious, she skipped around to the other side of the table. “What if someone comes in?”