To Love a Wicked Lord (22 page)

She whispered good night and watched him leave. She shook her head, wondering with despair how many times she'd belittle herself by offering what wasn't wanted.

“Never again,” she whispered to herself, “I vow it.” Then she slowly turned and went back up the stair.

 

“It's not the packet but it's not an old tub either, and there's room for all of us,” Maxwell said as they stood on the dock and watched Lady Carstairs being helped aboard a spanking white, freshly painted yacht. “It took a few days to arrange it, and I know you were anxious, but even so I consider us lucky.”

They stood on the dock, his coat of many capes being blown by the freshening wind. Pippa had tied her bonnet on, but the breeze flung her skirts around with abandon. Duncan stood apart from them, facing the wind, smiling as it tossed his auburn hair about.

“It's a neat sloop, and won't take more time than the packet would,” Maxwell said. “In fact, we'll get home faster. And it's a sturdy craft. But we go to Dover, not Folkestone. A carriage will be wait
ing for us when we land; we'll make haste to your home. I'll make my bows to your grandfather, and then see what life holds in store.” He smiled down at her.

Her heartbeat quickened but she refused to show it. He'd already refused her direct offers twice, she'd promised herself there would be no more embarrassing moments between them. But still he was hinting at something, she was sure of it. And even if he weren't, they would have hours to talk on the way home. The recent past might have been terrifying, but the future seemed cold and lonely. She took comfort in the fact that they'd be together for the journey across the channel and all the way home.

After that? He was right. She knew she needed time to know herself again and see if she really wanted him, or only a man who was strong and able in order to restore her sense of worth.

“Your grandmother already seems calmer,” he said, watching the servants leading the lady to the deck. “Leave your troubles behind you, as she's doing.”

He took her gloved hand and they walked to the ramp leading to the yacht.

“Ho! My lord Montrose!” a voice called.

They both turned to see a young, harried rider
galloping down the strand. He slipped down from his horse as soon as he reined it in, and ran to Maxwell. “Just in time, a message for you, my lord,” the lad panted, holding out a roll of oiled cloth.

Maxwell took it, opened it and unfurled a letter. He scanned it quickly. His smile turned to a frown, and then to a smile again.

He looked up. “Duncan!” he said excitedly as his brother strolled over to see what the fuss was about. “New information. I can't go home yet. I need you to see the ladies home safely.”

“You need me to help you,” Duncan said sternly.

“Not in this case,” Maxwell said. “Bostwick and Sir Charles will be meeting me. They've discovered a clear trail. Do you know any better fellows for the job? No, I didn't think so. I hope to get the matter done with quickly. You see Pippa and her grandmother safely home, brother, and I'll see you soon.”

He turned to Pippa. “I dislike leaving you to this churl, but he's good at what he does. I have business to attend to. I'll see you when I can.”

“But isn't France dangerous for you now?” she asked in confusion.

He grinned. “For m'lor' Montrose, perhaps, mademoiselle. Not for who will be traveling through
France. Farewell,” he said and with a jaunty wave, strode back to the shore with the messenger.

“He didn't seem very sorry,” Pippa said to the breeze.

“He is, and he isn't,” Duncan said. “When he's on a scent, the world fades away from him. Come,” he said, taking her arm. “I promised to protect you. Don't want you blown into the sea before I even get a chance.”

She went with him, but turned her head to see Maxwell striding away, wondering if he'd ever return, or if he did, if he'd ever return to her.

Y
our grandfather would like to see you in his study, Miss Phillipa,” the butler said as Pippa entered the house.

She nodded, took off her sunbonnet, and bought some time by using the looking glass in the hallway to smooth her hair. It was midday. They'd had visitors since she'd come home in May but none of them had concerned her. Now it was July, and though her hopes had dwindled, they weren't dead. There were two carriages in the drive that she'd never seen before.

She walked slowly, in trepidation, and tapped on her grandfather's study door.

“Enter,” her grandfather said.

She pushed open the door to see that the room seemed filled with men. There were three standing to one side, and two to another, but her eyes instantly arrowed to only one. Maxwell didn't look
very much like the man she'd last seen on the dock in France months ago. He wasn't dressed like an immaculate gent, but casually, like a country squire or a sportsman. His face had lost its gentleman's pallor and had been sun touched to golden hues. His hair was longer; he wore a scarf around his neck instead of an immaculate neckcloth. But it was Maxwell, however he dressed and whatever he looked like, and she couldn't look away from him.

She thought his face lit with sudden joy when he saw her, but now he stared at her with no expression. She took a step forward toward him, her eyes never leaving his.

“Phillipa,” her grandfather said. “These gentlemen have found your fiancé.”

She blinked. Her spirits plummeted. She was still a fool. He wasn't here for her; only to show her he had done his job. That was why he hadn't greeted her, why he didn't smile at her. Instead, he dragged his eyes away from hers and looked to his right. She followed his gaze.

“Phillipa,” a hesitant voice said. “It is I. Noel.”

And so, she realized, it was. He hadn't changed. He looked wearier and subdued, but it was Noel Nicholson. He didn't look half as well as she remembered, though. He was stockier than she'd thought he was. His eyes were dark brown, but
there was no lively sparkle in them, and she realized there never had been. His hair was slicked back, and black, not brown; his face was amiable, but not thrilling. In all he was just a young gentleman with nothing to dislike in him but nothing particularly memorable about him either. She stood in shock. Whatever he was, he was here now.

“I've returned,” he said.

“Under duress,” one of the other gentlemen growled. “We tracked him across England and off across the Continent, but here he is.”

“I was going to come here,” Noel told Pippa, his eyes pleading, never leaving hers. “As soon as I'd cleared up matters of business, as I said in my last note to you. It took longer than I'd thought, Phillipa, and I was too harried to write to you again. But I was never going to abandon you.”

The man next to him opened his mouth to speak again, but Maxwell held up a hand, and he fell silent.

Pippa stared, but said nothing.

“Phillipa,” Noel pleaded, “say you forgive me. Say something, please.”

She held her silence for another moment. “Why did you go? Why did you come back?” she finally asked.

His eyes darted from side to side. “If only I were
alone with you,” Noel said desperately. “You'll hear many stories. But you know me. What I need to know first, for the sake of my soul, is if you still love me and wish to be with me, Phillipa. Will you still marry me?”

The men in the room looked incredulous, some made sounds of protest. But Maxwell help up his hand again and stared intently at Pippa, awaiting her answer.

She didn't look back at him. Instead she kept staring at Noel. At last, she shook herself as though she was coming out of a deep sleep. She grounded herself by setting her feet apart and placed her hands on her hips like a battling washerwoman.

“I never loved you, Noel,” she said angrily. “No more than I now believe you loved me. I came to see that. I'm glad you left when you did and gladder still that you stayed away because if you hadn't we'd have been wed, and what a fiasco that would have been for me. I was lonely, you were clean and educated and civil, and I thought my liking for you was love. Now I know it wasn't.

“I wouldn't marry you if you'd spent the past year in a pirate's cave hunting for treasure and came to me with your pockets full of jewels. I wouldn't marry you if…” she paused. “I wouldn't
marry you for anything. And to think I was fool enough to believe you were dead or in distress,” she marveled, “and so went tearing after you to find out what happened, ruining what was left of my reputation in the process. You behaved like a cad, Noel. But I was a plain fool. Now, go away.”

“I shouldn't ever have let you go,” her grandfather said sadly.

“What?” she asked. “And have me stay home, pacing and worrying and dwindling in my soul? Never. I went looking and though I didn't find Noel, I do think I found myself. Don't have regrets, Grandfather, for I don't.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Noel again. “But why has he got such an escort? Is he under arrest? Is he a spy?”

“Perhaps,” Maxwell said smoothly. “That's possible too. But more to the point, he's a bigamist.”

Pippa blinked. Noel shrank.

“He was going to marry you, Miss Phillipa,” Maxwell said formally. “But first he had to be sure his other wife was unaware. She lives in a village outside of London, and is known as Mrs. Nelson, as he is Mr. Nelson when he's there.”

Phillipa goggled at Noel, who seemed to be shrinking in size before her eyes.

“And then,” Maxwell said, “he had to make certain things were stable with his wife Elise, in France, and his wife Francesca in Spain, and the former widow Mrs. Sabatini, now Mrs. Noel Norwood, in Italy. He has four wives, though it's hard to credit that.”

“But it was you I loved, Phillipa!” Noel cried.

“And all of them wealthy,” Maxwell continued blandly. “He also loves money and we suspect he was also a courier when it was asked of him, but not for us.”

“One thing's certain,” one of the other gentlemen said, “Mr. Nicholson won't trouble you again, Miss Phillipa. If we don't deal with him promptly, his wives certainly will. Some of them, along with their papas and brothers, are already en route, on their way to meet with him here.”

Noel's eyes widened.

“Please escort the gentleman back to the carriage, and then to London,” Maxwell told the two men holding up the now-collapsed Noel. “That is, if neither Lord Carstairs or his granddaughter have anything more to say to him.”

“Not I,” Lord Carstairs said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I do,” Phillipa said.

The men in the room waited breathlessly.

“Good riddance!” she shouted at Noel, and then stormed from the room.

 

Maxwell found her walking in the gardens an hour later. Her head was bowed; she was obviously deep in thought. She didn't look up when she heard him coming, although the pebbles on the path under their feet announced him long before he caught up with her.

“Who would have thought it?” she asked in wonder after he'd paced by her side awhile. “A bigamist! He's not that handsome, or rich. He's not a seducer. How does he do it?”

“You gave him your hand,” Maxwell said. “How did he get you to do that?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. Except that he seemed to know my loneliness as well as all the right things to say. I feel like a fool.”

“Don't,” he said simply. “Just consider yourself lucky. How is your grandmother?” he asked as they walked farther into the gardens.

“Better,” Pippa said. “Not exactly herself again, actually, that may or may not come to pass. Grandfather blames himself for neglecting her in favor of his studies for so long, as well he should. Now they pass every evening together. He reads to her or talks to her and it appears to help them both.
But you must have known that, you were with my grandfather awhile before you came out here, weren't you?”

“I was,” he said simply. “I didn't know what else to say to you then. I still don't. You seem to be angry with me. But I couldn't write lest it was traced back to me. I'm much in demand by the French now, you see, and was traveling across the Continent and then trying to hurry home again. It's getting more difficult to do as Napoleon tightens his grip. Are you angry with me?” he asked, gazing at her downturned head.

She stopped beside a fountain where a marble nymph was coyly bathing. Pippa finally looked up at him. Her eyes were clear, her expression calm. “No,” she said. “I'm certainly not angry with you. It's just that I don't trust my judgment anymore. Don't let it bother you. You have better things to do.”

“And you?”

She shrugged. “I live my life. And it's not that dreary, after all. I help my grandparents. I read and dabble with paints; I ride and garden. And I have peace. The neighbors don't have much to do with me, but that's all my own doing. I cut a scandalous figure, didn't I? A jilted, vengeful female traipsing across England and France in the company of
a strange man, saying she was searching for the fiancé who had thrown her over? I wouldn't have had any respect for me if I'd been here, hearing about my scandalous exploits. And now it turns out he was a bigamist and maybe a spy? Ha! I doubt even the sheep will talk to me in future. But it will pass. I certainly don't want to go to London again. I'm not entirely alone. I can visit with grandfather's scholarly friends.”

She grinned at last, and looked up at him. “He makes sure that they're married and over fifty before they can meet with me. This is my home. I like it here, my lord, so for heaven's sake, don't pity me.”

“You didn't miss me?” he asked, his dark eyes searching her face.

She lowered her gaze. “And if I did? You told me your plans for the future, and they don't involve me.” She looked him full in the face again. “I'm no longer the daring young woman I was in France. I thank you for not taking advantage of me then.”

“You don't want me anymore?”

She stamped her foot. “Now what's the point of asking that?” she demanded.

“Only that I asked your grandfather if I could marry you and he said I could if you agreed. But he said that first he'd send the notice of your broken
engagement to the newspapers so you wouldn't be considered a kind of bigamist too. Then,” he said, “if you agreed, we could post our banns and get it over with. I think he's hurrying because he worries that I may turn out to be some sort of scoundrel too. But I'm not, so will you?”

She studied him. He was even more devastating to her senses now, but she was far more cautious than she'd ever been. “And as for your plans?” she asked. “Your distrust of marriage? Your hatred of virgins?”

He laughed and touched her chin with one finger. “I don't hate them. I'm just wary of them. I was, that is to say. I don't care if you were a nun or a tart, the truth is I missed you, Pippa,” he said sincerely, taking her by her slender shoulders and looking down into her face. “Almost from the moment I left you on the shore. I liked you, Pippa. And I wanted you. But when you were gone, I realized it was far more than that. I needed you. I do love you. I never said that to any woman. Be damned to my father's bad luck! I'm not my father. I'll chance anything in order to be with you for the rest of my life. I'll be faithful and honest and a dead bore, if you want. Will you have me?”

She didn't answer right away, though her eyes filled with tears.

“You grandfather will,” he added hopefully.

She laughed and threw herself into his arms, holding her face up to his.

“Oh no,” he said as his hands went to cup her face so she could look at nothing but him. “You have to say it.”

“I will,” she said, “I do. I do love you. You showed me what love is. Oh please, kiss me.”

“Of course,” he whispered against her lips.

They kissed and both sighed with relief and pleasure. But he quickly drew away as though her lips were really fire instead of just feeling like it against his own.

“Now let's not shock your grandfather, or my brother,” he said breathlessly. “They're both watching from the window. I don't want his invitation withdrawn. He's offered me and Duncan houseroom here until the wedding. Does that please you? Or do you think distance lends enchantment?”

“Oh, wonderful,” she said, “I am already enchanted.”

He tucked her arm in his and they began strolling back to the house. “Of course, we'll have my family here before the wedding. I wish everyone could come to my father's house, but it appears that the thought of any travel distresses your grandmother now. That may pass. I thought we'd post
the banns and marry here, if you like. Or at my father's home if you prefer. Which do you want?”

“You,” she said, smiling. “You.”

 

The house was quiet, the night deep and soft. September had come, but it still bore August on its scented breath. Maxwell couldn't sleep. His window was open so that moonlight bleached the room and the draperies puffed out with every breeze. That wasn't what was keeping him up. He liked the cool night air. But he slept less and less as the days and nights went on.

It was almost painful for him to be so near to Pippa, to see her every day and night, to remember more intimate moments and how her body had felt pressed against his; to laugh with her and walk with her, play cards and read with her, and when he could, kiss her. He wanted her more and with so much urgency it embarrassed him and denied him sleep. At least, he thought, turning in his wide bed again, it was only a month until they wed. If, he thought glumly, he lived that long.

He was thinking that no one died of desire anymore than they did of a broken heart, when he heard a slight sound in the velvet night. He sat up. His chamber door was opening. Duncan, he thought, unable to sleep and here to talk with him.
Only Duncan usually slept like a rock cast in the sea. He hoped nothing was the matter.