Scandalous Love (15 page)

"Have you seen
Robert?" Elizabeth asked worriedly. "There are only a few lunches
left, and I have not seen him."

The Duke was tense.
"He probably tied one on last night and has forgotten all about his merry
promise to you." It would not be unlike Robert, and in a way the Duke
would be glad if the handsome bachelor never showed up to buy Nicole's lunch.

"Stacy!"
Elizabeth called, seeing her cousin passing through the throng with her suitor,
who had just bought her brightly decorated basket lunch.

Stacy came over,
greeting her cousins. "This is Lord Harrington," she said, giving him
a coy look. "He bought my lunch for thirty-five pounds!"

"How nice,"
Elizabeth said, pausing to greet him properly despite her distress. Then she
took her cousin's hand and led her aside. "Stacy, where is your brother?
Where is Robert?"

"Oh, I forgot to
give you a message," Stacy said, smiling. "It slipped his mind that
he has another engagement today, in Brighton, that he absolutely could not
miss. He is very sorry."

Elizabeth paled.

Stacy laughed.
"Don't worry, he told me about your scheme, and he didn't quite leave you
in the lurch. He asked a friend of his to come to take his place."

"Who?"
Elizabeth asked.

Stacy pointed. "See
that redhead in the white linen suit? Standing next to the one in the plaid?
His name is Chester something, and he will buy Nicole's lunch." She
chuckled again.

Elizabeth stared at the
disheveled young gentleman and his friend. Both of them were clearly foxed.
"I will kill Robert," she said.

Stacy laughed. "I
have to go, Elizabeth. Enjoy yourself!" She ran off with Lord Harrington
so that they could watch the end of the auction.

Elizabeth returned to
the Duke, stricken with anxiety, and told him what had happened.

Her lunch basket was put
up for sale. Nicole's heart was in her throat and she wanted to die as the
auctioneer held up the straw basket that was hers. She had known she should
decorate it as Regina had done with hers, but she had tried, and the attempts
had been dismal failures. Bows and ribbons had looked silly, as had lace and
doilies. Flowers had seemed even worse, and finally, in disgust, Nicole had
painted the basket a bright red. Everyone else had chosen to paint their
baskets white or pastel colors, trimming them with ribbons and bows and other
feminine fripperies. Nicole knew her basket was a terrible eyesore.

When the auctioneer held
it up, his eyes widening, a chuckle escaped from the crowd. "Now what do
we have here? Hmmm?" he murmured. "Whatever is in this unusual
basket, it smells terribly good! Who's to open the bidding?"

Silence greeted him and
Nicole's face burned. She tried not to look anywhere but straight ahead and at
the plump auctioneer holding up her awfully colored basket.

"Come on, gents,
let's start the bidding!" he called. "Who will start? Do I hear five
pounds? Five pounds, gents..."

"Whose is it?"
a man called out.

The identity of the
girls who had made the baskets was no secret, but usually there was no need to
ask which basket was whose, for the suitors made certain to find out
beforehand. A few snickers rose at this question, the first of its kind that
day. When the auctioneer looked at the small tag on the table and read her name
out, Nicole truly wanted to die.

Silence greeted this
announcement, and hundreds of eyes turned to focus upon her. Then someone said,
"Ten pence!"

Laughter greeted the
outrageously low bid.

Nicole was frozen. This
could not be happening. They would make a joke out of her now!

"Ten pence,"
the auctioneer said, relieved to finally get a bid. "Do I have a pound? Do
I hear a pound?"

"One pound,"
someone said, quite thickly.

Nicole's eyes, beginning
to swim with tears, sought out this new bidder. He wore a white linen sack
jacket and straw boater, and he was terribly drunk. Without realizing what she
was doing, she cast an agonized glance at the Duke and saw that he was furious,
regarding the man in white as if he would dearly love to kill him. Then he
turned to look at her.

The compassion she saw
softening his face was too much to bear. It was the last thing she would have
expected from him, and it threatened to be her undoing. Nicole took a deep
breath, staring at the ground, using all of her willpower not to give in to
tears. Suddenly someone took her hand. It was Regina. The bidding appeared to
be stopping at a pound, which was as humiliating as if no one had bid at all.

"I hate them,"
Regina said. "We will go home."

Nicole could not answer.

"One pound,"
the auctioneer boomed. "Going... going..."

And then a deep, strong
voice, one she knew so well, rang out, effectively hushing everything and
everyone. "Five hundred pounds," the Duke of Clayborough said.

There was a stunned
silence. Then the auctioneer beamed, slamming down his gavel. "Five
hundred pounds!" he roared. "Do I hear five fifty? I have five
hundred pounds ... going... going ... do I hear five fifty? And gone! Sold to
the Duke of Clayborough for five hundred pounds!"

Elizabeth broke the
astounded silence surrounding them. "Hadrian," she cried, "look
at what you have done!"

The Duke winced. His
gaze drifted past the top of Elizabeth's head and met Nicole's. She was
wide-eyed, absolutely incredulous. During the bidding for her basket, his anger
had flared at the mockery inflicted upon her by his peers. Grimly he had
watched her trying to hide the anguish he could read behind her frozen, proud
expression. He had wanted to throttle Robert's friend for his utterly
ridiculous bid of one pound. And when he had realized that there would be no
counter-offer, that Nicole's lunch would actually sell for such an embarrassing
amount, he had come to the rescue with his staggering bid of five hundred
pounds.

Nothing could have
prevented him from rescuing her from the humiliation she was suffering, but he
chose to think that he would have rescued anyone in a similar predicament. He
would not inspect his motivations further than that. But would Elizabeth
understand?

The Duke tore his gaze
from Nicole, wondering just how long they had been staring at each other.
"Elizabeth," he began awkwardly.

She clapped her hands.
"How heroic you are!"

His eyes widened.

She clung to his arm,
beaming. "How clever you are! Now everyone will know you have taken her
under your protection, and no one will ever dare to make such fun of her
again!"

"Do you not have a
mean bone in your body?" he asked softly.

Confusion clouded her
eyes.

He could at least reveal
some of the truth. "It angered me to see her mocked so. I have always
disliked any kind of abuse." He recalled, in a flashing instant, how his
father had mocked his mother just as cruelly. And how Francis had mocked his
own son, belittling the small boy at every turn, ridiculing every endeavor that
child should have been proud of. That child ... himself.

"I know, and that
is why I lo ... why I am so fond of you," she said, squeezing his arm.
"People are waiting, Hadrian, you must go and get her basket." The
auctioneer had begun the bidding on one of the last two lunches.

Even as he said the
words, he felt a foolish disappointment. "I only bought her basket to save
her from embarrassment, Elizabeth, not to share a picnic with her."

"Hadrian, you must!
If you do not share her lunch, people will think I disapprove and am jealous.
It will be a scandal, and you will have undone all the good you have just done.
You must."

He was appalled. His own
fiancee was sending him into the arms of another woman, one he coveted still
despite his better intentions. Of course, Elizabeth could have no idea of how
Nicole haunted his thoughts. "We will all dine together," he said
firmly, even though he found this solution even more appalling than sharing
lunch with Nicole alone.

"No, no,"
Elizabeth said just as firmly. "I am too tired. I have been here since
early this morning preparing this event with your mother. If you intend for me
to dine with you tonight, Hadrian, then I had better retire for the
afternoon."

"I will take you
home, then."

"And leave Nicole
here, all by herself, to be a laughingstock? Don't be silly! I'll send your
coach back." She gave him another warm smile, then turned to wave at the
flustered Nicole.

The Duke made one last
effort. "Elizabeth, if you leave now people will think you sorely put
out."

Elizabeth laughed gaily,
clearly in the best of spirits— as anyone could see. "To the contrary,
they will know how much I trust you, and I shall shortly make it clear to all
my friends how very pleased I am with how you have extended your protection to
Lady Shelton."

Her words, of course,
did nothing short of perturb him immensely.
How much I trust you.
How
wrong she was.

There had been many
women in his life. A gentleman was not expected to be faithful to a wife, much
less a fianc
é
e, and almost every
gentleman kept a mistress. These other women were not of quality, so it did not
matter. It was acceptable, even expected. And it was well known that
gentlewomen were pleased that their husbands found comfort elsewhere, for
ladies were too genteel to have to bear a man's appetites other than for the
purpose of conceiving children. Yet dallying with Nicole Shelton was not
acceptable. It violated not just Elizabeth's trust in him, but the code of
honorable conduct all gentlemen lived by. Lady Nicole Shelton was another
matter entirely, for she was of the aristocracy.

Hadrian walked Elizabeth
through the throng, trying not to think at all. It wasn't easy. His heart was
thudding heavily and his mind was not on his fiancee, not the way it should be,
that is. He was too conscious of the tall, dark woman standing on the far side
of the clearing. "I will see you tonight, Hadrian," Elizabeth said
when they reached his coach.

The Duke nodded and
helped her within, giving orders to his coachman. He stepped back as the coach
moved off, and managed to smile as Elizabeth gave him a last wave of farewell.

Nicole watched them
leaving, still unable to assimilate what had happened. Why had he bought her
basket, and for such an incredible sum? How could he do something like that in
front of Elizabeth, and did it mean something, portend something? She tried to
warn herself not to be foolish, but her emotions were terribly raw, and the
warning seemed trivial compared to how monumentally he had saved the day.

Now he was leaving.
Nicole could not take her eyes from them, still standing beneath the thick,
tall oak tree where she had stood since the auction began. Of course he was
leaving, what did she expect? For him to come and claim her as all the other
eager young men had claimed their ladies? Did she still harbor silly romantic
fantasies about him? Did she still dare to be so foolish?

Regina gripped her arm,
reminding Nicole that she still stood beside her. "I don't believe
it," she whispered excitedly. "The Duke of Clayborough bought your
lunch, oh, Nicole! This is a terrific sign! He has signaled everyone that you
are not to be trifled with!"

Trembling, Nicole
managed a weak smile. Is that what it meant? Or... could it mean something
more? Hope leapt in her breast, although she tried to quell it. Regina did not
know how many times she had been in his arms, and how nearly she had come to
giving herself to him, fiancee or no. Maybe, just maybe.... "Lord Hortense
is waiting for you. Go on, I'll go home and send the coach back for you."
Nicole dared not complete her thoughts.

"Are you
sure?" Regina asked, then she gripped Nicole's arm excitedly.
"Nicole! Look!"

Nicole followed her
sister's gaze and was startled. The Duke towered over everyone as he threaded
his way back through the crowd, not approaching her, but the platform. Her eyes
darted ahead of him. The auctioneer had long since stepped down and the only
thing on the platform other than the cheerful white and green bunting and the
array of hothouse roses was her vividly red basket. The Duke did not pause,
heading unerringly for it. He picked it up. Then he turned, his gaze finding
hers, and he began striding toward her.

Both girls were silent,
each stunned for her own reasons. Regina broke the silence first. "I think
... I think he intends to have lunch with you."

"I don't think
so," Nicole said unsteadily, but her heart was fluttering like a
hummingbird's wings.

The Duke approached.
"Ladies," he said formally.

Regina came to her
senses first, dropping into a beautifully executed curtsy. "Your Grace.
I..." She looked from one to the other, fascinated by the intensity of
their stares. "Lord Hortense is waiting for me," she managed
breathlessly, then she turned and fled.

A silence fell between
them, thick with a tension generated by the past and compounded by the present.
Nicole broke it, wetting her lips nervously. "Everyone is staring. What
are you doing?"

"Let them
stare." He held out his arm. His expression was extremely grim. He had yet
to smile or show any expression at all. "Shall we?"

Nicole blinked at his
arm. "I—I don't understand."

His jaw tightened.
"We are dining together, Lady Shelton, as I have bought your basket."

She lifted her tremulous
gaze to his. "But ... Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth approves
heartily, and had she not been so fatigued, she would join us as well."

A terrible
disappointment which Nicole had no right to experience swarmed over her.
"I see." She turned, but did not take his arm, having no intention of
doing so. Her lips pursed tightly together as the secret bubble within her
burst. Her fantasy balloon, filled with dreams, popped. What had she secretly
hoped? That he had broken off with Elizabeth, here and now, so publicly? Broken
it off to be with her? She was nothing more than a case of charity, for both of
them, although the Duke's motives could certainly be more suspect.

Realizing Nicole would
not take it, he dropped his arm, his eyes darkening. Together they strode
across the clearing until they came to a spot shaded by three flaming red maple
trees. Nicole glanced around as the Duke set the basket down. They were in full
sight of everyone, but that was to be expected, as was the curiosity they aroused.

"Did you bring a
blanket?"

"What?"

Roughly he repeated his
question.

Nicole shook her head.
The Duke shed his hunter green hacking coat, spreading it out for her. Nicole
could not thank him, and instead of settling down upon it, she stared at it.

"I assure you, I do
not have lice."

She whipped her gaze to
his. "This is ridiculous. You really expect us to sit here and dine
together civilly?"

"I don't just
expect it," he said, eyes glaring, "I demand it."

Anger blazed in her eyes
and she squared off against him. "I do not need your charity!"

"To the
contrary," he said smoothly, "you certainly do."

"I did not ask you
to buy my basket!"

"No, you did
not."

"So why did
you?" she cried, shaking.

He stared, the vein in
his neck throbbing visibly. "Because it appeared that you had no other
rescuers," he finally said.

"How gallant you
are!" Nicole exclaimed, stung to tears. "I did not need rescuing, and
certainly not by you."

"Perhaps you should
let go of your pride for one moment, Nicole. How many times has it caused you
to act rashly? How often has it created more problems than it has solved?"

"That is not your
concern!"

"I suggest you sit
down," he said, his own face flushed with anger. "Before we make a
spectacle of ourselves and undo all that has been done."

"I do not need your
protection," she said bitterly. "Go protect sweet Elizabeth."

"She
does not need my
protection, and fool that I am, I appear to have extended it to you, as
ungrateful as you are. Now sit." Abruptly he pushed her down to her knees,
and Nicole had no choice but to sit rather quickly upon his coat.

He dropped down on the
grass beside her, and when Nicole was about to bounce up, he gripped her hand,
keeping her anchored where she was. "We are still the focus of much
attention and a fight will fuel the gossips. Haven't you had enough of gossip,
Nicole?"

She closed her eyes
briefly. "Yes."

He released her hand.

When she opened her
eyes, she found him staring at her face intently. Nicole lifted her chin,
blinking back the hot tears behind her lids. She could fight it all she wanted,
deny it all she wanted, but she had needed his charity, she had needed him to
rescue her, and now, if she were brutally honest with herself, she wanted even
more.

There was no mistaking
his strength. It emanated from him in a charisma no one could deny. If he were
hers, she would go into his arms and weep for the past, which she could not
change, and cry for a future she wished so desperately to have. He would be a
haven, an inviolable refuge she so desperately needed, an invincible shield
between herself and the rest of the world. But he was not hers, he belonged to
Elizabeth; and this situation was nothing short of impossible.