Scandalous Love (21 page)

He was stricken, he was
aghast. And all he could do was hold her and soothe her as if she were a child.
Now he could understand why the poor Marquess had been so red-eyed. It hadn't
been from lack of sleep, but from weeping.

"You must
sleep," he said, frightened by her increasing pallor. "I will come
back later tonight, but if you are asleep I will only look in on you—I won't
wake you."

Her eyes had drifted
closed, but she was clinging to him with a surprisingly strong grip. The Duke
gently disengaged his hand from hers and stood, trembling. He had exactly one
thought—he must get a physician here immediately. He turned to go. Then he
hesitated.

He returned and bent
over her. She appeared to be sleeping. He touched her forehead, it was cool and
dry. "Elizabeth," he murmured. "You mean so much to me."
And he brushed her lips slowly with his.

And this time, when he
looked back across the room before leaving at the door, he saw that she was
smiling.

It was Regina who was
the bearer of bad tidings.

Nicole had returned to
Tavistock Square Sunday evening with her parents and sister, emotionally
exhausted from the weekend and all too eager to leave Maddington. She had not
laid eyes upon Hadrian since the fox hunt, or rather, since that uncomfortable
incident in the foyer with the Dowager Duchess and her parents when they had
returned bedraggled and wet from the stream. She had not known what to expect
after Jane had shepherded her upstairs. She hadn't precisely expected Hadrian
to leave Maddington immediately, but he had. For not minutes after she had
changed out of her wet clothes, she had heard a commotion outside her window in
the courtyard. With sudden intuition she had run to the window to see him
entering the black lacquer Clayborough coach. The dozen liveried outriders
awaited the vehicle, paired up in a motionless line like soldiers behind it.
Just before climbing in, the Duke had paused and suddenly glanced behind him—as
if feeling her watching him. But he hadn't seen her, and moments later he and
his magnificent entourage were gone.

Since Nicole had arrived
in London she had tried very hard not to think about the Duke and their last
encounter, but it was impossible. She was no longer as angry as she was
humiliated. His actions spoke for themselves—obviously he did not consider her
a lady. Every time they met she wound up in his arms, eagerly. His intentions
had not been honorable from the first,
but why should they be? If she dared to be painfully
honest with herself, she would admit that he was right in his assessment of
her. A lady did not go to masques unescorted in scandalous gypsy costumes, a
lady did not jilt her fiance" at the last moment, a lady did not ride about
in breeches. And certainly a lady did not let any man, even her husband, touch
her the way that she had let Hadrian touch her. If she were a lady like
Elizabeth he would have never behaved toward her in such a scandalous manner.

Nicole was ashamed, too,
that during the hunt she had completely forgotten Elizabeth's existence. When
she was with Hadrian—and she wished she could stop thinking about him with such
an intimate form of address— when she was with
the Duke
it was easy to
forget everything. Nicole wished that Elizabeth were a horrible, mean person
like her cousin Stacy, for then she would have no remorse or guilt for what she
had done with Hadrian. But she wasn't like Stacy, she was kind and good, and
one of the few people in this town who had gone out of her way to make Nicole
feel accepted. Nicole did not want to betray Elizabeth, and was just as sorry
for doing so as for failing to be a real lady herself.

And then Regina brought
her news which made Nicole feel even worse.

"What has
happened?" Nicole asked when her sister came running breathlessly into her
room.

"It is Elizabeth
Martindale," Regina gasped. "This past weekend she took a turn for
the worse! She is so ill she cannot even get up out of bed, and the doctors say
that she is failing."

Nicole stared, the color
draining from her face. "Failing?"

Regina nodded, eyes
huge, her complexion ghostly white.

"What do you mean,
failing?"

"I don't
know!" her sister cried. "The doctors say she is "failing"!
I think that means she is dying!"

Nicole sat down hard on
a chair, utterly shocked.
"Dying?"

Regina sat down too,
just as numbly. The two sisters stared at each other, speechless.

"I don't believe
it," Nicole finally said. "Elizabeth is young—younger than either one
of us! Young girls do not just suddenly die!"

Regina's mouth trembled
and tears filled her eyes. "I cannot believe it either," she said
huskily. "Perhaps it is not true."

"Of course it's not
true!" Nicole cried, relief flooding her. "It is an awful rumor—and
you know how the tiniest thing gets exaggerated by the time it's run the gossip
mill!"

"You're probably
right," Regina said, relaxing slightly. "She probably has the flu, a
bad case of it, and that is all."

Nicole nodded, but she
was still shaken to the core.

Nicole was still
distraught when, an hour later, the Dragmore coach pulled up in front of the
Stafford residence. Gossip was a terrible thing, true, but often where there
was smoke there was fire. Nicole prayed that was not the case, in fact, she
refused to believe it. Hoping that Elizabeth was merely sick, she wanted to pay
her condolences to the younger girl who had been so kind to her. A coachman
helped her from the carriage and a butler let her into the entry hall.

Nicole handed him her
calling card, explaining that she understood that Lady Elizabeth was ill and
she had come to express her best wishes, if possible. In one gloved hand she
held a prettily wrapped box of chocolates, which she had purchased on the way
over on Oxford Street.

The butler studied her
card, but before he could speak, a furious male voice ground out,
"Elizabeth is not receiving visitors!"

Nicole whirled around to
see the Duke of Clayborough striding toward her, his expression positively
black. He was only in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up; he was not even wearing
a waistcoat. His trousers, usually perfectly pressed, were creased and
wrinkled. His dark regard was blazing. There were gray circles of sleeplessness
and worry beneath his eyes. His hair, always too long, seemed longer and
unkempt. Without taking his angry gaze from Nicole, he addressed the butler.
"William, you may go."

William disappeared.

Nicole had not expected
to see him here and his rage also took her by surprise. Instinctively, she
backed up a step, but he kept coming. He grabbed her arm. "What the hell
are you doing here?"

"I have come to see
Elizabeth. I heard that—"

"You have come to
see Elizabeth? Why? To see her condition first-hand?"

She tried to draw away,
but he would not release her. "Let go of me! Please!"

He ignored her, shaking
her roughly, drawing her closer so that her face was near to his. "Do you
dare to think that if she dies, I will marry you?"

For one long moment,
Nicole was stunned speechless. Then she wrenched her arm free. "How can
you imagine I would think such a thing!" she cried.

"Then why did you
come!" he retorted. "Why in hell would you come here?"

She was as stunned by
his obvious distress as she was by the accusation he had just made.

"You are not
welcome here!"

She managed to stand her
ground and hold her chin high, but her eyes were glazing with tears. "You
despicable man! I came to say how sorry I am that she is ill!"

"Why would you be
sorry?" He laughed mirthlessly. "I imagine that you are the last
person in England who would be sorry!"

That he should continue
to slander her character so directly—that he obviously believed her capable of
such cold-blooded emotions—managed to set a spark to her temper in mere
self-defense. "She has never been anything but nice to me, when everyone
else in this town— present company included—has been nothing but rude and
insulting!"

"I find it very
hard to believe that you came here out of a charitable spirit."

"What you believe,
you have made more than clear." She stared at him, wanting to call him
every godawful name under the sun, wanting to tell him just what she thought of
him now, but she did not. But only because poor Elizabeth was obviously ill in
this very house, and the servant was undoubtedly lurking around a corner,
listening with fascination to their every word. Nicole was horrified to think
that any gossip about her and the Duke might reach Elizabeth. "I no longer
care what you think," she said stiffly, numbly. "If she is not
receiving visitors, then would you kindly take her this gift and tell her how
sorry I am?"

The Duke made no move to
reach for the parcel she was holding out. Tears stung Nicole's eyes, and she
quickly set the box of candy down on a chair. Abruptly, before he might discern
how hurt she was, Nicole turned her back on him and strode to the door.

He stopped her. "I
want you to know," he said, his voice cutting, "as soon as Elizabeth
... recovers ... I am leaving London."

Nicole shrugged her
shoulder from his grasp, turning to face him. "Your schedule does not
interest me."

"And Elizabeth will
be coming with me. We are not going to wait until June to wed. We shall be
married immediately."

She lifted her chin,
meeting him stare for stare, when his words were more effective than any knife
in wounding her. How could this man be the same one who had held her so passionately
in the woods of Maddington— just two days ago? He acted as if he hated her.
Nicole could not contain a shiver. Had she done something to turn his desire
into hatred? Or did he blame
her
for what had happened at the hunt?

She might be hurt, but
she still had her pride. Somehow she managed to hide her feelings. "Then I
wish the both of you much happiness."

In that moment, while
they stared at each other like the worst of enemies, a rapid series of images
flashed through Nicole's mind, of them together, of her in his arms. She could
feel his touch as if he touched her now. When he held her, she had thought he
cared. But that had been her imagination running wild, for the man facing her
now did not care at all for her—not in the least. If anything, he despised her.

And the Duke did not
seem satisfied with her polite response, if anything, he seemed even angrier.
Abruptly Nicole turned to leave.

William materialized to
open the door for her, and Nicole again prayed no ugly gossip would reach
Elizabeth. She had yet to cross the threshold when the Duke slashed his verbal
sword one more time. "I meant it when I said that you are not welcome
here. Do not return."

She stiffened, flushing.
She had a hundred retorts, but not one of them was suitable for the butler's
ears and the consequent belowstairs gossip. Certainly they had just generated
enough of that. Then she decided that any reply she chose to make could not
possibly make much difference in the face of the magnitude of gossip which
would surely follow this exchange. "Contrary to what you think—and you
seem intent on thinking only the worst of me—Elizabeth is my friend. She
deserves happiness. No one I can think of deserves it more."

Nicole paused before
exiting the door, now held open for her by the butler. "But the one thing
she does not deserve is you. And
you
certainly do not deserve her."

The Duke was furious.

William, the butler,
gaped.

And Nicole decided it
was time to take her leave.

Elizabeth died that
night. Her father, the Marquess of Stafford, found her the following morning in
her bed. News of her death did not reach Nicole's ears until a few hours later,
and by noon all of London knew that the beautiful, kind young lady had passed
away.

Nicole was in shock.
Elizabeth Martindale, dead? Sweet, kind, pretty Elizabeth? Elizabeth whom
everyone liked? Elizabeth, who never saw the bad in anyone or anything? No one
had deserved to die less—it was the height of unfairness. Nicole immediately
retired to the privacy of her bedroom. She was in shock.

Now, perhaps, she could
understand Hadrian's inexplicable temper and rudeness yesterday. Elizabeth had
been dying, and although she herself hadn't known it, he certainly had. A man
facing the death of someone he cared for—or loved—could not be expected to be polite,
rational or pleasant. Nicole sank onto her bed, trembling. He must have loved
Elizabeth very much. She had never been certain of the extent of his love for
her, but his distress yesterday proved how deep it ran. Nicole's heart went out
to him as she imagined his grief.

Elizabeth was laid out
that night for three days. Nicole went to pay her last respects, accompanied by
her family, with the exception of Chad who was at Dragmore. Edward came from
Cambridge so he, too, could express his condolences. The huge Stafford
residence was eerily quiet although it was full of hundreds of guests. Everyone
moved about speaking in hushed tones, pausing to look at Elizabeth laid out in
her finery in a handsome mahogany coffin. The Marquess, having first lost his wife
and now his only child, was inconsolable. He could do no more than nod when the
mourners stopped to speak with him, for he was incapable of speech.