She fought to catch her breath. He’d asked a fair question. Why hadn’t she let him pay her debt when he’d offered? Was it really all about her pride, or was it something more? Taking a few steps backward, she said, “Because you’d done so much for us already. Because Mr. Wetherby won
me,
not a sum of money, and it was me he wanted.” A dark look crossed Buchanan’s face. Scared, she hastily added, “He hates my father. I guess taking me seemed to be the best way to punish him. There’s nothing between us. I swear. Why would I even want a man who’d do that?”
She’d wondered about that herself, actually.
He regarded her warily, his eyes roaming over her form. Looking for evidence of some sin. “I don’t know. But I’m warning you, if you come to me without your maidenhead, you will regret it. You still have it, do you not?”
Cheeks burning, her hand came of up its own volition and she slapped him. Hard. Instantly regretting her actions, she still set her teeth and refused to apologize. Damn the man.
How dare he ask such a question of her?
“Swear it!” he demanded, grabbing both of her arms in a tight grasp and shaking her so hard her teeth clacked together and she tasted copper in her mouth.
She cried out, and he shook her again, her head snapping back. “I swear! Please! You’re hurting me!”
His grip only tightened. He crowded her body with his, forcing her hoop and bustle up, and wedged a knee between her thighs. His hands found her breast, clutching to the point of pain. “I should take it here.”
“No, no, please,” she whimpered, turning her face away. But her fear and her anger only seemed to excite him, and he ground his body against hers. She put her hand between them to create some distance, but failed.
He wrapped his arms around her, then kissed her on the mouth, bruising her lips. “This is your fault,” he whispered in a voice full of menace. “You dress like a whore and you’re going to get what you deserve. I just want to make sure I’m the one who takes it.” He kissed her again, harder. “You’re mine, remember? I’m the one who paid for you, not that pretty boy dandy or his friend. I don’t need to remind you of our bargain, do I?”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I remember. I assure you, Mr. Buchanan, there is nothing between Nicholas and I.” Coldly polite every other time they’d met, she wasn’t acquainted with this vile side of his personality.
A cold and loveless marriage she could handle. One marred by violence and jealousy? Not so much.
“Nicholas, huh?” he said, baring his teeth like a wolf. “Is that how you refer to him? Nicholas? A bit informal for an employee-employer relationship, don’t you think?”
Alarmed she had slipped, she cried, “There is no relationship, I swear! He asked me to come here, and I did. That’s all! I’d not have someone like him! You have no cause to be upset.”
“No? You dress like that and you think I won’t be upset? Every man in this place was staring at you, and there you are, on display like a common whore,” he ground out, his hand tightening on her breast. She didn’t even know how to make him let her go, and she swallowed against the bile rising at the back of her throat. “You decline my offer to buy out your debt, and then you come
here
with Wetherby? You dance with Campbell? If you’re going to play the part of a doxy, I’ll remind you,
I’m
the one who paid for you.”
She shook her head. “I only just met Mr. Campbell tonight. I know what I owe you. I swear there is nothing between Mr. Campbell and myself or between Mr. Wetherby and I. I swear.”
He thrust his hand up under her dress to cup her buttocks. Pulling her in to a painful kiss, he shoved his tongue in her mouth. She tried to wrench away, but his grasp on her was too tight. Gagging, desperate, unable to think of anything but escape, Lexie did the one thing she had left to her. She bit him.
He reeled from her, roaring. He raised his hand to strike her, but Lexie had lived with her father long enough to become accustomed to dodging blows, and she scampered out of his grasp. Her lips curling into a sneer as she tugged her gown back into place, she hissed, “Come toward me again, and I’ll scream. I’m sure my new friend the governor wouldn’t take kindly to you flogging me, regardless of our relationship.”
“I’ll tell them what you are to me,” he sneered.
“And I’ll tell them how it is that I came to be your fiancé. What do you think that will do to your political aspirations? You
bought
a wife. So go ahead, Mr. Buchanan, tell them,” she dared. Rage glittered in his eyes, but he remained tight-lipped and silent. Encouraged, Lexie leveled her voice and said, “If, however, you leave now, I’ll keep my silence and my virginity, and you can have both when we wed.”
He dabbed at his lip where she had bitten him. The door to the balcony opened, and someone stepped through, but Lexie didn’t take her eyes off Buchanan. Glancing in that direction, he turned back to her and kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t much care about your mouth, but you keep that virginity of yours. Or there will be hell to pay,” he whispered. She glared up at him, her lips pursed, but she held her tongue.
The smile he gave her was cold and reptilian, little more than the baring of teeth. He knew she’d say nothing. What could she say, anyway? That he attacked her? What would that do to her future? She didn’t exactly have the means to back out of their agreement, and her father had no way of procuring such funds. Abandoning her father to his fate in the poor house didn’t sit well either, no matter what he’d done to her. She’d already done that once.
Ashamed, she turned her face away and stared out into the dark.
“Good night, Miss Markland,” he said, his tone modulated into a polite, false formality.
“Mr. Buchanan.”
She waited until his footfalls sounded far away before finally turning her eyes to the men who had come onto the balcony. Nicholas held a drink in his hand and glared at Buchanan, and James stood behind him. James searched her face with his intelligent, thoughtful brown eyes, and Lexie had to cast her gaze to the ground for fear he would learn too much.
“What was that about?” Nicholas asked, glaring at Buchanan’s back.
Lexie smiled at Nicholas weakly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears standing in her eyes, and shook her head, trying to convince him nothing had transpired between Buchanan and herself. She failed miserably. At her smile, Nicholas’s expression turned positively dark, and she suspected if she gave Nicholas any indication Buchanan had acted in a manner unbecoming, he would turn and challenge the man right here. James and Nicholas exchanged a glance. Something passed in the space between them, but Lexie had no idea what it was.
The one thing she knew for certain? Both men were well aware that something unpleasant had happened on the balcony tonight.
James turned his brandy-colored eyes to her and regarded her seriously, his eyes fixed on her face. “I’m not altogether convinced that was something so easily dismissed, Miss Markland.”
Nicholas put the drink down on the railing, touched her cheek, and tucked a curl back behind her ear. He held her at arm’s length for a moment, his eyes glittering with rage as he looked her over for...something. Evidence of a lurid encounter, maybe. She wasn’t entirely certain what he searched for as he studied the way her gown settled on her hips, the way it draped over her shoulders. He gave her dress a gentle tug, settling her bustle back into place, but a slightly askew bustle was easily explained away.
Cupping her face in his hands, his voice shaking with barely suppressed anger, Nicholas said, “If something happened, you can talk to me.”
So he hadn’t found whatever he’d been looking for. She wasn’t certain if she should be relieved or disappointed.
The lump formed in her throat as she looked up at his handsome, concerned face. He knew it wasn’t “nothing,” and she couldn’t tell him what had happened, no matter how much she wanted to. Too much depended on her silence. She would never tell him what had passed between Buchanan and her. What would he think of her if she told him about her engagement now? How little would he think of her, how diminished she would be in his estimation? She hated the thought of losing Nicholas’s esteem almost as much as she hated the thought of marrying Buchanan.
Turning her eyes to James, she asked, “Is this just punch or does it have a little something extra?”
James’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do believe it’s got a little kick, yes.”
“Perfect,” she said, draining the glass and handing it back to James. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Campbell, I’d like another.”
James laughed. Glancing at Nicholas, he said pointedly, “I’ll see to her drink, if you’ll see to her person.”
“Indeed,” Nicholas replied. James regarded Nicholas for another moment, and again, something passed between the two men. Inclining his head, James turned and left.
See to her person. Now that’s a thought
, Lexie thought wildly. She already felt a little foggy from all the wine and the punch from earlier. The idea of Nicholas seeing to her person should have galled her, but instead, it filled her with such anticipation her skin tingled and her stomach did a delighted little flop.
Turning to her, he reached out to touch her face, gazing upon her with an expression of such gentleness she turned from him and rested her hands on the balcony. She looked out at the grounds for a time, fireflies dancing around her in time to the music, and it soothed the anger of her soul. She was to be married to that brute of a man, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She needed the money to settle her father’s debts, and Buchanan would never let her go.
Nicholas leaned on the balcony and looked out at the grounds with her. A glass of punch appeared next to her, but James came and went so surreptitiously she didn’t even notice the glass until she nearly knocked it off the railing. When Nicholas glanced at her, concerned, she winked at him and drained her glass, and then offered it to him, silently suggesting he get her another.
“I think you’ve had enough,” he answered. “I’ll only go get you more if you ask for it.”
She scowled at him and shook her head. He studied her for some time. Finally, he sighed and patted her on the hand. “As I suspected,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “You won’t speak to me even to get something you want.”
She shook her head, knowing she hurt him but unable to do anything else. She wanted to speak, but if she did, she would cry, and she wasn’t about to let Nicholas witness that. Turning, she gazed out into the manicured gardens behind the mansion. This night had been so beautiful—between the music, the men and women bedecked in all their finery, the magnificent food—and everything had all been ruined by an encounter with her fiancé. She didn’t need reminding of her of her obligation to him. It tainted every interaction she had with Nicholas. Not for the first time, she wished she had never made that blasted agreement.
Nicholas placed a gentle hand over hers and whispered, “If you ever need to talk about what happened, please, Lexie, talk to me.” She smiled faintly at the gentleness in his tone, the kindness of his words. Mrs. Ferguson was right about him: beneath the roguish exterior he had cultivated, Nicholas had a noble heart. When she turned to face him, he caressed her cheek. Holding out his hands to her, he asked, “Dance with me?”
She looked into the busy ballroom, but couldn’t bring herself to face all those people, didn’t want to go back where Buchanan might see her and become jealous all over again. Who knew what he’d do next time? She shook her head and motioned to the ballroom.
“We don’t have to go inside,” Nicholas said in a gentle voice, motioning for her to take his hands. “We can dance out here.”
The balcony seemed too small for such an action, but Lexie couldn’t resist the temptation. The music drifted out to them, but, out here, it was accompanied by the sound of chirping crickets. Rather than the brighter lights inside, they had the soft lighting of a few lanterns, the moon, and fireflies to guide them. And as she took his hands, and he pulled her into the warm circle of his arms, she knew, without a doubt, this was the most romantic moment of her entire life.
Nicholas held her close, and she felt safe and warm in his embrace. After a time, he gazed down at her, and he whispered, “Talk to me, Lexie. Please.”
She had to close her eyes against the force of his voice and what she heard there—passion, wanting, a longing intense and matching her own. It was such a simple thing he requested of her, but, given her encounter with Buchanan, so fraught with danger. She understood what he asked of her: tell him what Buchanan had done. But if she told him, he would confront Buchanan. Nicholas was the kind of man, who, though he lived by his own code, had an intact sense of honor. If he confronted her fiancé, given Buchanan’s temper, he would risk arrest or die for her. Neither was a viable option.
As his arms tightened around her, his intentions became clear. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to.
Lexie was just sober enough to realize that wasn’t a good idea. She put her hand against his chest to create distance, but he caught it in his and kissed the pads of her fingers through her satin gloves.
“Oh,” she breathed, her heart slamming against her ribs so powerfully she wondered vaguely if it might burst. Her skin, suddenly too tight, tingled where he touched her. She wanted to get closer to him, to feel the heat of his body against hers. She wanted to burn with the unique fire they created between them.
She’d be a fool to allow it.
She’d be a fool not to.
Desperate, torn between two conflicting desires, Lexie turned and fled.
Nicholas watched her go, her bright scarlet skirt swishing as she raced into the ballroom. She hadn’t spoken to him, but he hadn’t imagined the breathy, sexually-charged voice, the heaving of her bosom when he had kissed her fingers. He suspected she had run from him precisely because she wanted to relent, wanted to give into this thing brewing between them. He heard her passion in her voice, saw it in her actions, felt it in her touch. As for him, he was painfully aware of the effect that one simple sound had on him.