Scandalous Love (12 page)

Although Elizabeth was
eager to run upstairs and fix her toilette, she protested sincerely. "You
have just arrived! You can not go so soon, and really, I have time enough
before he comes."

Isobel smiled and kissed
her cheek. "I am leaving, dear, so run to your rooms and change your gown,
as I know you wish to do."

Elizabeth smiled. Her
own gentle mother had died when she was a young girl, and she loved the Dowager
Duchess dearly. "I am so glad, at long last, that you are really to become
a mother to me."

"And you have
always been the daughter I have never had," Isobel said softly, hugging
her once. And it was true, for Isobel had always been especially fond of
Elizabeth.

Elizabeth beamed,
hugging the card to her small breasts. She was a petite, slender girl, with an
ivory complexion and fine, blonde hair. People said she was pretty, but
Elizabeth knew that in truth she was rather plain, being much too pale and too
thin, her hair too fine. She also had a sprinkling of freckles on her nose,
which she covered with a fine dusting of white powder. Yet Elizabeth could not
know that to many she was beautiful, and it had nothing to do with her actual
physical appearance, but it had everything to do with her warmth.

So excited that she was
short of breath, Elizabeth hurried up to her suite, calling for her maid. An
hour later she had changed into a pastel green gown, her hair newly coiffed and
coiled atop her head. Around her neck she wore a triple strand of exquisite
pearls with a diamond clasp, a gift from Hadrian when she had turned eighteen
two months ago. She had just finished dressing when the butler informed her
that the Duke of Clayborough had arrived and was downstairs. Breathless,
Elizabeth flew from the room.

The Duke rose the instant
she entered the salon, smiling at her smile, taking her hand and kissing it.
She had known him ever since she could remember. He had bounced her on his knee
until she had gotten too big for him to do so, and then she had tested his
endurance all through her childhood, tagging along behind him from the time she
could toddle when he was a strapping and handsome, god-like twelve year old,
until she suddenly became aware of her femininity when puberty pushed her into
adolescence. He had even saved her life when she had slipped and fallen into a
pond at the age of eight. He had been fishing there with his golden retriever,
and, as usual, Elizabeth had been following him. She had not been afraid when
the icy water claimed her, for he was her hero—she knew he would save her.
Elizabeth could not recall a time when she had not loved him.

"I am so glad you
are back," she said simply, after they had exchanged greetings.

Sitting beside her on
the sofa, he apologized. "I am sorry I have been away so long."

"Do not apologize!
I understand, I really do,"

The Duke studied her.
She seemed out of breath, but she did not look ill, for her eyes were sparkling
with happiness and her cheeks were flushed. Yet she was thinner; it was all too
noticeable now that his mother had mentioned it. "Mother says you have not
been well."

Elizabeth's smile faded.
"I am fine, really. It is true I have been tired, but Hadrian, I go to
party after party and sometimes I do not get home until dawn. You know how the
season is! Is it any wonder I am tired?"

She was right, and his
mother was being foolish, although if there was one thing Isobel was not, it
was foolish. "Then you must come home earlier if you tire so easily."

"I promise,"
she said, and he knew she meant it, just as he knew she would do anything he
asked of her.

Nicole and Jane did not
arrive in London until well after midnight, for they had not left Dragmore
until that afternoon. Regina was still out with Lady Henderson. According to
the housekeeper, one long-faced Mrs. Doyle, she had gone to the Barrington's
ball. Both Nicole and Jane retired for the evening.

Nicole was up just after
the sun had risen, unable to break her age-old habit and eager to see her
sister, whom she had not seen in months. Whereas yesterday life had seemed filled
with gloom, today the birds were singing outside her window and Nicole felt
positively jubilant. For the first time in years, she was delighted to be in
the city and looking forward to whatever festivities the day would bring.

She also could not help
wondering if she would see him.

She took an early
morning ride, accompanied by a groom for propriety's sake. Regents Park was
deserted at this hour, which was considered ungodly by the fashionable set,
most of whom had just gotten into their beds. By eight that morning she could
restrain herself no longer, and she flung open the door to her sister's
bedroom. Regina lay huddled in a ball beneath the covers, sound asleep.
Grinning, Nicole tiptoed over, then yanked the covers from her.

Regina groaned in
protest, flinging one hand over her eyes.

"Wake up,
sleepy-head," Nicole cried, dragging Regina's pillow out from under her
tawny-haired head and tossing it at her.

"Nicole?"

Nicole sat on the bed.
"It's me."

Regina threw the pillow
on the floor, wide awake now and incredulous. Then she gave a cry of gladness
and hugged her sister soundly. "What are you doing here? I can't believe
it!"

"I was bored,"
Nicole said, grinning. "You look awful. What time did you get in last
night?"

Regina scowled, which
did absolutely nothing to detract from her classic beauty. And in truth, the
eighteen-year-old never looked awful. "At dawn. The Barrington's gave a
rousing good ball. Everyone who was anyone was there! Oh, you should have come
sooner!"

Nicole froze, then, to
hide her expression, she retrieved the pillow from the floor. "Everyone
was there? Who is everyone?"

"Do you want me to
name names?" Regina was incredulous. "Tonight there's a crush at the
Willoughbys'. You are coming?"

"Wouldn't miss
it," Nicole quipped.

Fully awake now, Regina
sat up, regarding her sister probingly. "Nicole, you seem different. What
is going on? You hate London. Are you really going to come out and get into the
rush of things?"

Nicole hesitated,
wanting so much to confide in her sister, but afraid to. After all, what was
there to confide?

That the Duke of
Clayborough had harbored immoral intentions towards her? That she, the fool,
had enjoyed his kisses? That she knew he was in London, and that maybe, just
maybe, that was why Dragmore was suddenly so boring? That she was wondering if
she would see him tonight? "I am tired of having nothing but sheep and
cows for company," she finally said, hating to lie to Regina, whom she
loved dearly.

"Well, I don't
blame you!" Regina cried emphatically. From the time she could walk,
Regina had always preferred lace and dolls to horses and climbing trees, no two
sisters being less alike. "I am so glad you are here!" Impulsively,
she hugged her sister, hard. "You just stay with me," she told Nicole
seriously. "And I will introduce you to everyone and you will have a
rousing good time!"

The grand salon at the
Willoughbys' was already full when Nicole arrived with Regina and their mother
that night. Smaller than a ballroom, the grand salon could accommodate a
hundred people with ease, yet now it was crowded and warm. Guests were milling
everywhere, sipping champagne and other drinks, while servants offered an
exotic array of hors d'oeuvres. A trio was playing on a platform built for the
occasion, but the strains of the piano, harp and violin were drowned out by the
animated conversation of the glittering throng.

The salon was crowded,
but not so crowded that Nicole wasn't immediately noticed and remarked upon. As
she, Regina and Jane entered the room, she was aware of those standing closest
to the arched entry turning to smile at her sister and mother—then gaping at
her. And already her heart was in her throat.

While dressing for the
evening, she had been stricken with a case of nerves. With a bit of probing,
Nicole had surmised that the most upper of London's upper crust would be at
this crush, for Lord Willoughby was not just the Marquess of Hunt but a
confidante of the Prime Minister as well. Although Nicole had learned from
Martha in their conversation at Dragmore that the Duke of Clayborough was
apparently not fond of social gatherings, because of Willoughby's power and
connections she thought that there was a good chance that he just might be
there tonight. And even if he were not, she had not a doubt that his betrothed,
Elizabeth Martindale,
would be, not just because she was his fiancee, which
in itself gave her tremendous status, but because she was a member of the de
Warenne family, and its patriarch, the Earl of Northumberland, was one of the
most powerful men in the realm.

Knowing she would see
either or both of them had been enough to make her tense and nervous as she
donned her turquoise moire ballgown. Yet still she avoided too close an
inspection of her motivation in coming to London and attending this party. By
the time she had left the house on Tavistock Square, her jitters had taken a
turn for the worse. Although it was over a year since she had been to London,
she had not been to an affair in the city since the scandal. The last real fete
she had attended had been the Adderlys' masque, and that would have been a
disaster if the Duke had not approved of her. Tonight, even if he were here,
she was on her own. Nicole was very close to regretting that she had come.

A large group standing
not far from the doorway all turned to look at her. "I say, isn't that
Dragmore's eldest gel?" one fop asked, his voice carrying.

"It is," a
matron answered, quickly removing her gaze from Nicole. "Did you hear
about the costume she wore to the Adderlys'?" Abruptly, the matron lowered
her voice, turning her back to Nicole and her family.

"They are all
witches!" Regina cried loudly. She glared at the group furiously, her
usually genteel step becoming hard and long.

Nicole grasped her
gloved arm at the elbow. "It's all right, Rie. I expected some
unpleasantness."

"I know exactly who
is in that group, and I shall cut them sorely the next time my path crosses
with any of theirs," Regina stated, amber eyes flashing. Then she looked
suspiciously at her sister. "What kind of costume did you wear to the
Adderlys'? And when was this?"

Before Nicole could
answer, she was saved by her mother's interruption. "Are you all right,
darling?"

"Truly, Mother, I
am." Nicole managed a reassuring smile, although she was not exactly all
right. She was also horrified because she was actually sweating. She would have
loved to yank off her elbow-length white gloves, but did not dare.

Jane promptly maneuvered
them to another group, this one full of personal friends of hers. While they
expressed surprise over Nicole's presence, it was in a genuine way, without any
rancor. Nicole was relieved, and for a few moments, she paused to chat with the
Howards and the Bentons.

"Martha's
here," Regina whispered, edging away from the group of older folk and
taking Nicole with her. "Look." Regina waved.

Nicole smiled, thrilled
that her best friend had returned to London. Martha hurried over, hugging both
girls. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, her gaze
penetrating.

Nicole shrugged, knowing
Martha probably guessed the truth.

"Dragmore suddenly
bores her," Regina answered, giving Nicole a shrewd glance. "What do
you know, Martha?"

"Why, what do you
mean?" Martha turned back to Nicole. "It is wonderful that you are
here!" She gave Nicole a long look full of meaning which Nicole could not
decipher.

"Lord Hortense is
here," Regina suddenly whispered, excited. "Nicole, quick,
look!"

Nicole followed her
sister's gaze and found a dark handsome man in his thirties staring at them.
She grew uneasy, suddenly wondering if Lord Hortense was staring at her or at
her sister. Regina tugged her hand. "Isn't he handsome? He is rich, too,
and his reputation and manners spotless! He has called on me twice! Nicole— I
think he is courting me—I think he will ask Father for my hand!"

Nicole stole another
glance at the handsome lord, and flamed at the bold look he sent her. This time
there was no doubt of it and she quickly turned away. "You are still
young, Regina. Surely he is not your only suitor?"

"Of course
not," Regina said, yet Nicole's heart sank at the shining look in her
sister's eyes. "But... I am in love with him, Nicole!"

Nicole bit her lip,
exchanging a worried glance with Martha. She detested Lord Hortense with every
instinct she possessed.

"I am going to
mingle," Regina said breathlessly, and both girls watched her flit off
into the crowd, moving, of course, in the direction of Hortense.

Nicole saw that he was
giving her another long stare, and she quickly turned her back on him, furious.
"He will break her heart."

"He is certainly
giving you the eye," Martha said. "Normally I would not worry, for
Regina is very popular and every week she is in love with someone else. But I
think this thing with Lord Hortense is much more serious, Nicole. For two
months now she has spoken about no one other than him."

"Oh," Nicole
breathed. "Somehow I must warn her away from him."

"You must. Nicole,
he is here."

Nicole froze. "The
Duke?" she asked very softly, while her heart leapt wildly.

"Yes." Martha
scanned the crowd. "I saw him some time ago, he must have just returned to
London." She looked back at her friend. "Nicole, what are you
doing?"

"Oh, Martha,"
Nicole cried, knowing exactly what she meant, "if only I knew! I just
could not stay at Dragmore, I could not!"

Martha gripped her arm.
"I see him."

Swallowing, Nicole
followed Martha's stare. Her body tensed at the sight of him.

He looked utterly
magnificent in his midnight black tailcoat and trousers. He towered a head
above the crowd, splendidly handsome and utterly male. All the men around him
seemed silly in comparison, their faces lily white in contrast to his bold
golden coloring, their forms almost ridiculously slender next to his powerful
build. His hair was still too long. It more than brushed his collar. Nicole
smiled, thinking that he still disdained to visit his barber. Only a man like
the Duke could get away with such an unfashionable inclination.

Of course, he was bored
and restless, as he had been at the Adderlys', barely attending the words of
some matron, his glance shifting about as he cocked his head towards the
elderly woman. Finally he straightened to his full height, smiling somewhat
painfully and nodding in agreement with whatever she'd said. And at that
precise moment his restless gaze found hers.

He froze, his expression
stunned and incredulous. Their gazes locked. Nicole could not turn her eyes
away. There was quite some distance between them, but not enough to prevent
Nicole from reading his every expression. The incredulity turned to flushed
anger. A moment later his glance moved over her quickly, down to her toes and
then back up again. It was not a polite perusal, it was not the look of a
gentleman.

"He is
furious," Martha gasped. Nicole had forgotten she was standing there,
indeed, she had forgotten everything and everyone in those few moments, except
for him.

"He despises me as
much as I despise him," Nicole said unsteadily. She lifted her chin
proudly, trying to appear careless, as if the meeting of their glances had been
accidental. She was hurt by his anger, yet she shouldn't be. Instantly he
turned away from her.

Nicole went very still.
A small blonde woman had taken his arm, pressing it against her side. The Duke
bent over her to listen to what she was saying, and she was smiling, laughing.
When he straightened, he was smiling, too.

Nicole felt heartsick.
"It's her, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Nicole turned her back
to the couple. She hadn't gotten a good glimpse of Elizabeth, dwarfed as she
was by the Duke, but she had seen enough. She was petite and blonde and fair.
Never had Nicole felt so tall and dark and awkward. And the Duke was fond of
her, genuinely fond of her. It was so very obvious, Nicole realized, that tears
stung her eyes.

"Nicole, let's go
to the powder room," Martha said quickly, taking her hand.

Nicole's first reaction
was to protest, but she bit it back. Instead, she managed a crooked smile and
followed Martha from the salon.

By the time they had
returned, Nicole had recovered from the impact of finally seeing the Duke with
his fiancee. She mingled as Martha did, and was introduced to many people, all
of whom were polite, for Martha was discreet and knew whom to introduce her to.
And for the next two hours, Nicole always knew exactly where the Duke was.

Elizabeth rarely left
his side, while he ignored Nicole. Twice more their eyes had inadvertently met,
and he had quickly turned his back upon her, as if she did not exist, or as if
she were beneath him. Such rejection was deliberate. Nicole was certain that he
was as aware of her as she was of him, yet determined to avoid her at all
costs.

She was sorry that she
had no suitors of her own, for then she would hang on their arms the way
Elizabeth hung on his. It was embarrassing. She was twenty-three, almost
twenty-four, an old maid with no chance for marriage unless it was to some fat,
old man. Elizabeth was just eighteen, blonde and perfect, betrothed to the
Duke. Nicole disliked her, knowing it was uncharitable, but how could she not?
The little chit had everything; she had her prince; she had Nicole's short-lived
dream. It was impossible not to dislike her, just as it was impossible not to
despise him.

By the time the clocks
had tolled midnight, Nicole could stand the press no more. She slipped from the
salon, seeking some air, certain that the Duke had left as well in the past
hour with his precious betrothed, for she had not seen him in some time. She
found the doors to a patio and quietly stepped outside. The night was crisp and
cold, a welcoming contrast to the stuffy warmth of the salon. Clouds scudded
across the sky, a few stars twinkled, and occasionally the waning moon showed
itself. Nicole went to the brick wall and leaned against it, looking out at the
well-lit gardens beyond. She realized that she was utterly drained now that he
was gone, and that the evening had been nothing short of a disaster.

She should have never
come to London. She had come because of him, she could face that now, and she
was a fool. Somehow, her heart had broken again tonight.

She did not hear the
doors to the patio opening and closing. She did not hear his footsteps. His
voice, when he spoke, was low and angry. "What are you doing here?"

Nicole gasped, whirling
around to face the Duke of Clayborough. Although the patio was dimly lit, she
could see well enough to make out his expression, which revealed that she had
not mistaken his tone.

"I am taking some
air, not that it is any affair of yours."

"You know that's
not what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Don't play games
with me," he said ominously, taking a step toward her. "Why have you
followed me to London?"