Master Of Paradise (4 page)

Though he did not know it, she was a bitch in heat and had been in that unbearable condition for some time. As his turquoise eyes traveled over her, they touched a quickness deep inside her, so that she was forced to avert her eyes from his blatant masculinity.

No other man had set her limbs trembling, ever, nor brought that sticky wetness between her legs, which Nicholas could do with a word or a glance. The thought of his lovemaking made her mouth go dry, while her breasts ached for the caress of that strong brown hand. Her loins hungered and clamored for his manhood to fill her with his heat. She seethed with hatred at the feelings he could so easily arouse in her. All her unrequited desires and fantasies were channeled into an icy core of pure, crystal venom, because he had never once looked at her except with the eyes of a stepson. She had not wanted to mother him; she had wanted to mate him!

"You cannot do this," Nicholas said firmly. "I shall await my father's solicitor, Mr. Chetwynd, and we shall hear what he has to say."

Lady Pamela moved toward the drawing room door and called softly, "Peter."

The solicitor came into the room and stood behind her, but he had his hand firmly upon her waist in a gesture of ownership. "Mr. Chetwynd is already here."

"I see," said Nicholas, and he really did see clearly for the first time in years. "I suppose the young maid who acted as witness has already been sent packing?"

She smiled at his grasp of the situation.

Nicholas gave her a mocking bow, and as his eyes swept her from head to foot they almost seared her skin. "I shall be off the place within the hour. You fancy you have won the game, madam, but I feel sporting enough to warn you that you have only won the first hand."

Nick threw some personal belongings into a portmanteau along with some clean shirts and underclothes. He rapidly assessed his situation. He had about 750 guineas from his winnings, plus the clothes he stood up in. He was twenty-one years old and he had his whole life ahead of him. He'd go to London. One chapter of his life was closed, even though part of his heart would go to the grave with his father and remain at Peacock Hall forever.

He left by the kitchen entrance to avoid further contamination. The rain was falling in steady, cold sheets, so he kept close to the building until he rounded the west wing, then pulling his cloak more closely about him, cut across to the stables. This brought to mind his father's words about Higgins, so he skirted the building and sought out the old man's cottage. He had to knock three times before he heard someone stir within and come to open the door. An old man who looked to be about ninety leaned on a walking stick and peered out at him.

"May I come in?" Nick asked, shaking the rain from his cloak.

The old man looked at him blankly and said, "Wipe yer feet."

Nicholas did as he was bidden and when the old man didn't offer him a chair, he hid an amused smile at the lack of hospitality. "I'm sorry to bring bad news, but his lordship died yesterday." A silence stretched out. He wondered if the old gaffer was stone deaf, but after a moment he replied.

The irony wasn't lost on Nick. He smiled and bit his lip. "Look here, my father wanted you to have some money, but you're making it bloody difficult for me."

Without further ado the old man held out his hand.

Nicholas took out his wallet and counted two hundred pounds into the old codger's hand. Then on a generous impulse he added another fifty. The silence stretched out again until Nick bade him goodbye and donned his cloak against the downpour.

As he closed the cottage door, a corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "Well, Harry, I did what you asked, but got neither thanks nor bugger you!"

Inside the stables, he walked down past the familiar row of stalls and lifted a horse blanket from the wall. He saddled up a fresh mount, taking care not to pick one of his favorite horses in case he decided to sell it, later.

Philip, who had been hiding in a stall, crept out, his face a study in misery. "Nicko, I'm sorry. I tried to tell you my mother was a bitch, but you would never hear a wrong word about her."

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"You can't go empty-handed, Nicko. I want you to have these." He held out two ornamental peacocks of Oriental design. They were solid gold.

Nick stiffened, offended to be offered his father's treasures.

"If you don't take them, it will be like spitting in my face," Philip said passionately.

"In that case, I shall take them. You chose a most apt symbol, Philip." He hugged the boy to him. "I shall leave Tess in your loving care," he said lightly.

"What would she want with me?" Philip scoffed.

"Believe me," he assured him with a wink, "she'll be delighted to belong to young Lord Peacock."

He turned up the collar of his cloak and urged the animal out into the downpour. The low-hanging clouds mad him realize the weather had set in for the day, and already the afternoon light was deserting. Nicholas lifted his dark head to gaze one last time upon the home he had always loved. The carved granite faces that adorned the main portals were awash with rivulets of water, making even the gargoyles appear to be weeping at his dismissal.

Chapter Two

In London, Nicholas found lodging at an inn in an unfashionable part of the city. He could have stayed with any of a dozen friends or even at his father's club, but deep down inside he knew that anytime anyone gave you free
anything
, a piece of your pride was eaten away. Though his plans were vague and unformed, he was sure of one thing: From now on he would have to stand on his own feet.

He rode about the city, thinking, forming a plan, and deciding his future. As November's cold dampness seeped into his bones, he remembered his tailor on Bond Street was fashioning a new greatcoat for him. He entered the establishment known as Henley's and as usual the obsequious owner came forward to do his bidding.

"Your lordship, please accept our heartfelt condolences at the loss of your father. We hope that your new title won't prevent you from still doing business with our humble establishment."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid it's my brother who is now Lord Peacock, not I. I came to see if my greatcoat was ready, the one with the shoulder capes? Oh, and I wonder if you could affix a black mourning band to the coat I'm wearing? I could wait."

The man seemed suddenly in a dilemma. He took the well-cut blue broadcloth from Nicholas and brought the greatcoat that fit to perfection, but all the while Nick noticed he cast furtive little glances and made funny, nervous noises in his throat. The man left Nicholas to admire himself in a three-way mirror and retreated to a high desk in the rear of the shop.

Nick watched the man from the tail of his eye. He could scarcely credit it when he saw him open a large ledger that looked suspiciously like an accounts book. Nicholas, who had always had an open, somewhat trusting personality without being naive, was rapidly becoming cynical at the way the world and its inhabitants had begun to treat him.
It's unbelievable that after all the business this smarmy gentleman's outfitters has received from Lord Peacock and myself, I am actually going to be asked to settle my account because I have not been named heir.

One side of Nick's mouth went up with ironic amusement. He hailed the man with a smooth request. "Would you be kind enough to make up my bill? I'd like to settle it today."

The man bustled forward with the bill actually in his hand, but tried to hide it behind his back as he began to have second thoughts. After all, if he were willing and able to pay, where was the necessity? "Ah, Peacock, no need for haste."

The smile left Nick's face. "My bill sir, if you please."

It was for three hundred guineas and Nicholas peeled off the notes as if he had an unending supply.

As he mounted his horse, glad to have the greatcoat over top of his broadcloth jacket, he laughed at himself for a fool. A few nights back his pockets had boasted a thousand guineas, and now he was down to less than two hundred. His bill at the inn for food and lodging would swallow the rest. Of course, he could always go to one of the clubs and get into a friendly game. Lady Luck had ever smiled upon him, but somehow he could not bring himself to disport in heavy gambling while he was in mourning for his father.
Bad enough I wasn't allowed to attend the funeral. Sometimes having pride is a handicap, and at other times it is a downright burden, but it allows me to thumb my nose at the world and tell it to go to hell.

Nick rode along the London docks, delighting in the sights and smells. He wandered from St. Katherine's Docks to London Docks, Commercial Docks, and on to India and Victoria Docks. Some were black with coal or white with flour. Others were stained purple with wine, or blue with indigo, or brown from tobacco. A thought stirred as he watched cured tobacco leaves being unloaded off a merchant vessel from the Carolinas.

On impulse he boarded her and spoke to the captain. He learned that the passage would cost him a hundred pounds, or he could work his way across the Atlantic. Before he walked back down the gangplank, Nick had secured a berth as second mate on her return voyage to Charleston in the United States of America.

He had his greatcoat, but he would need a sea chest, a hammock, and some blankets for the voyage that embarked in three day's time.

At the chandler's store the first thing he bought was a can of dull black paint. He carefully painted the pair of gold peacocks so they looked as if they were wrought from iron. Their heavy weight lent believability, and when the paint was dry he carefully wrapped them in a shirt and stowed them in the sea chest with the rest of his belongings.

He decided to take his supper in the inn's common room, and enjoy the busy scene that unfolded on a Friday night in a London public house. He was served a copious helping of steak and kidney pie and washed it down with several pints of bitter. The large, low-ceilinged room filled with men was being worked, table by table, by half-a-dozen prostitutes.

Nicholas had his eyes on a trim little barmaid, who by one means or another, evaded the men's hands as they reached unerringly for her more privy parts. She had a mop of bright orange curls and a pert little nose. Her asides to the men were so saucy and amusing, they laughed rather than growled when she denied them.

She paid special attention to Nick's wants, not only because she could see he was well-heeled and would give her a nice tip, but because he was the handsomest bloke she'd ever seen in these parts."Another pint, darlin'?" she asked with a wink.

His eyes gave her an amused look that took in the round high breasts, very prominent and tempting. "If I wanted a whore, I'd buy one. I fancy you, Nell. Will you come? I'm in room number five."

She dimpled and pocketed the half-crown. "I'll come, but not because I'm a whore, mind! Truth to tell, I fancy you too. It'll make a change to have a gent with a bit o' class."

The candle's glow showed Nell's eyes to be round with wonder as she curled against the strong body in the bed beside her. She whispered, "I never experienced noffink like that in me' 'ole life."

Nicholas lifted his arms behind his head and smiled into the wench's face as she gazed down at him. "Well, that's most flattering Nell, but aren't you overstating it just a little?"

"Oh no, Nick. All men want the same thing from you, but you were different. It was like gettin' a present. A rare treat. Will you kiss me again?" she asked, almost shyly.

He pulled her down and complied.

She sighed. "Most men don't have time fer the preliminaries. It's on with the main event, then shovin' you out o' bed to sleep on the floor. I liked bein' talked to, as well. I didn't understand everything you said, but that didn't matter. You treated me like I was equal to you-- like another human bein'."

He chuckled at her words. "All men and women are created equal, but somehow in this country some are more equal than others. I'm sailing to America in a couple of days."

The next day as he paid for his room for one more night, Nell spied him and was beside him in a trice. "You won't leave wivout sayin' goodbye, will you Nick?"

At Tattersalls, Nicholas told them his name and the particulars of the horse he wished to sell. A knowledgeable groom looked over the points of the horse and agreed that the animal was as sound as Nicholas claimed. Then the tattooed number in its ear was checked against Tattersall's registration and Neck was given a ticket and assured the horse would be put in the sale ring this very day.