The Nude (full-length historical romance) (37 page)

No hope, no joy, nothing of beauty had been created by pushing those paints around that canvas.

“You loved Dionysus,” he said at long last.

“Yes,” she said.

“I see.” He saw only too well what was occurring in her troubled mind. He should tell her the truth or set her free. He had no right to keep her close when she deserved peace.

Why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he tell her the truth? About Dionysus? Why was he so afraid of her reaction?

“Come to my bed tonight.”

She blushed deeply. “I-I—” Her hands fluttered before landing squarely on his chest.

“Come to my bed, Elsbeth, not as a thief would sneak into a room but as my wife. Come to my bed when we retire.”

Her sapphire eyes sparkled with a heat that curled his toes. Perhaps she was remembering last night. Remembering that he’d been a little extra daring while they’d made love. Elsbeth had arched her graceful back and purred like a kitten in response. And then as they cuddled within the cocoon of the sheets she’d kissed him with such tenderness that his heart had nearly burst.

If he kissed her now she would no doubt melt into his embrace and they would be repeating the events of that wondrous night in his study at his country estate here and now in this stogy London study. But he didn’t want to take her that way. Nor did he wish her to continue to be a silent phantom sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night while a chilly wall remained between them in the light of day. She deserved to be wooed.

And damn it, he swore he would simply have to learn how.

“Please Elsbeth,” he said, feeling like a beggar. “Come to my bed tonight. Be my wife.” He swept up her hand and kissed her knuckle while seductive images flooded his body. The arch of a bare toe, the curve of an elegant neck, the shimmer of her golden tresses . . . an evening that was far too many hours away. “Let me prove to you that I can be the husband you deserve.”

* * * * *

Not long afterwards, Nigel left the house on foot. With a jaunty stride he made his way toward Oxford Street.

“Where is the Marquess going?” Elsbeth asked Gainsford as he moved to close the door. She’d nearly convinced herself that Mademoiselle Dukard had been lying about Nigel. How could he turn her knees to jelly with one heated look and not be totally devoted to her? It was impossible. He may have had a mistress in the past, but no more. She refused to believe it.

Gainsford moved slowly, latching the lock before turning around to answer her. “I cannot say, my lady.”

The butler’s eyes danced a nervous jig.

No, it couldn’t be true. Certainly Nigel wouldn’t seek out his mistress shortly after imploring Elsbeth to make their marriage real. Certainly he wouldn’t do that to her . . . would he?

“Fetch my pelisse.” If she hurried she would be able to catch up with him. Confront him.

“And where will you be going, my lady?” Gainsford asked, his nervous eyes still dancing.

“I believe I will join Edgeware in his walk.”

“Oh dear.” Gainsford slumped against the door.

“Gainsford!” Her voice rose to make his name a command. She was determined to see this other woman with her own eyes.

“I will fetch your pelisse, my lady.” He scurried away.

Catching up to Nigel was no easy task. He kept a brisk pace and only spared acquaintances he met on the street the courtesy of a tip of his shiny beaver hat.

She trailed several yards behind, hiding her face in the shadow of her straw bonnet. All the while, she kept a keen eye out for attackers. On such a crowded street anyone could stroll up to Nigel and stick him with the sharp end of a knife. It didn’t appear that he was being the least bit cautious, either. He should have a footman with him or perhaps a friend watching his back. Well, even though he didn’t realize it, he had her. And she’d fight for him.

At Oxford Street Nigel turned toward Hyde Park. Several blocks later he darted down a small alleyway. She waited, wringing her hands before following.

She was a ninny, the worst sort of ninny, too. Why, Nigel could be visiting a friend, going to a gaming hell, or attending to any manner of pressing business a man of his position must surely be plagued. She should have never followed him.

And now she couldn’t turn back. Not without first seeing that he arrived safely at his destination.

Thankfully, the alleyway was not the frightening den of filth she’d feared it would be. The apartments were tidy, albeit a bit cramped, and the street swept clean.

Nigel had stopped in front of an ancient two-story cottage tucked between the apartments near the end of the alley. Vegetables were growing in a miniature garden on either side of the short path that led up to the front door. Without hesitation he knocked.

Elsbeth’s heart stopped when the door swung open. A voluptuous woman with the most glorious head of amber curls stepped out. She gave Nigel an easy smile and, swinging the door wide, welcomed him into her home. Of course the woman would welcome him with a smile. He, no doubt, paid the rent.

But his affairs didn’t matter, did they? Elsbeth did not—could not—love Nigel. True, she had confessed her love for him while he was sleeping. But surely she’d been lying to herself. Surely, she’d known better than to fall into such a honeyed trap again.

A peel of laughter rose from the house.

She was fond of him, true.

The laughter grew louder.

She had believed him honorable. Perhaps her heart did hurt just a bit. She stepped closer to peer shamelessly into a window. The room, a small parlor, was filled with furniture that was quite old but well cared for. Nigel was seated in a wooden chair near the fireplace. A small boy, no more than five years old, squirmed and giggled on his lap.

The lad’s eyes were dark like midnight . . . just like Nigel’s. His aristocratic nose and strong chin were delicate copies of the man holding him. The boy gave Nigel’s ear a tug.

Both father and son laughed.

This was worse than Elsbeth could have ever imaged. Far worse. She backed away from the window heedless of the vegetables she crushed under her kid boots. How could she hope to compete when this woman had already given Nigel a gift she could never give?

Here, in this little cottage on a dingy back alleyway, lay Nigel’s heart.

“Lady Edgeware?” Much to her horror, Nigel’s mistress appeared at the door with a shawl over her shoulders and a woven basket on her arm. After a quick glance back inside, the woman stepped closed the door behind her. “Please, take my handkerchief.”

Elsbeth dabbed at the tears she hadn’t realized she’d let fall.

“You are very beautiful, Lady Edgeware.” Nigel’s mistress smiled just as warmly at Elsbeth as she had with Nigel. “It torments him, you know. He doesn’t quite know what to do with you. Come.” She stepped into the alleyway. “Walk with me.”

“What about Nigel? Will he not miss you?”

The mistress laughed. “No, this is his time with Michael. My time with Edgeware ended years ago.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I am Bess, my lady. Please, do not worry overmuch, I will not tell him that you followed him.”

Bess accompanied Elsbeth back to Oxford Street. The two women walked in silence past the small shops and residences lining the road.

“Have you truly no questions?” Bess asked after they had stopped to peer into an upholsterer’s shop window. Elsbeth shook her head, unable to think.

Bess put her hand on Elsbeth’s sleeve and they began walking again. “I have a question then, my lady.”

Elsbeth steeled her nerves. Clearly, this woman was in love with Nigel and had every right to be sorely jealous.

“Are you the one?” Bess asked and laughed before Elsbeth had a chance to be puzzled by the question. “Of course you are. It’s foolish of me to ask, isn’t it? He wouldn’t have married you otherwise. He’s loved you for nearly a decade, hasn’t he?”

“We have only just met,” Elsbeth countered.

Bess shook her head. The hand on Elsbeth’s sleeve tightened. “
You
may have only met him, my lady. But I daresay
he
has known you for many years.”

Dionysus
. Nigel was his keeper. And Dionysus had plagued her for nearly a decade. What Bess claimed could be true.

“And now Nigel’s life is in danger,” Bess said. “I worry for him, though he’s laughed off my concern.”

“I fear his cousin is after his fortune and title. I’m doing all I can to stop him.”

“Yes, I have heard that you’ve been making inquiries,” Bess said. “Do not look so shocked. Living as I do gives me access to all manner of information.
All
manner.” She lifted her brows. “Charlie Purbeck is a blackguard. I wouldn’t trust him for even a moment. But, I believe you are looking in the wrong direction with that one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my lady, Charlie does not have enough of a backbone to be a killer.”

“But if not Charlie . . . who would want my husband dead?”

* * * * *

Evening came with Gainsford fidgeting even more than usual and Elsbeth more rigid. If only she would smile when Nigel entered a room.

The dinner table was set for two with Nigel’s best china. The servants were obviously trying to make a favorable impression on their new mistress. That was good. The more comfortable she felt in his home, the less she would feel the need to run back to her uncle.

Elsbeth, dressed in a plain gray gown that appeared to be a size too large, stood behind her place setting. Her hands curled about the back of her chair when he entered.

“You look lovely this evening,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. He pulled out her chair and helped her to sit.

Her hand fiercely gripped his arm as she sank to the seat.

“You are in pain.” Alarm shot through him. Infection. The doctor told them they had to watch out for infection.

“I am fine,” she protested.

“I will have a physician come round tomorrow.”

“Really, my lord, that isn’t necessary.”

“So, we are back to ‘my lord’ again.”

Gainsford entered with a footman and a maid each carrying trays of food. The cook had outdone herself once again. The fare was better than anything he could remember tasting. Perhaps it was the company that made the food so sweet since, truly, he would not have been able to describe even one dish served that evening.

They ate in silence. Elsbeth kept glancing up at him, her eyes filled with questions, but she held her tongue. Nigel kept his peace as well until the last plate was removed and Gainsford had left the room.

“We are hosting a ball this Friday.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “In celebration of our wedding. You should meet with Gainsford in the morning to discuss the details.”

She nodded and drew several agitated breaths.

“I pray you will be available to attend?” Had he been too imperial in his manner? Had he presumed too much by deciding to hold the ball without discussing it first with her? With Elsbeth so careful to keep her anger in check, he found it difficult to tell. Sometimes he dearly wished she would simply shout at him so he could know what was on her mind. Lord Mercer had taught her to hold her tongue too well, damn his black soul.

She carefully folded her linen napkin and placed it on the table to smooth out the edges. “Tell me about Bess and Michael,” she said at last.

The hard edges of the chair’s wooded back bit into his spine. “What-what do you wish to know?”

“Bess, she is lovely.” Her chin was stiffly held, her gaze, naturally, unreadable. “And so is your son.”

A glimmer of pain darkened her sapphire glare.

“Michael will be six years old this June. I plan to send him to Eton when he is old enough.” Had he betrayed Elsbeth by lying with Bess six years ago? Oh hell, even if what he’d done was wrong, he wasn’t going to apologize for the birth of his son. “I won’t deny his existence to anyone.”