The Outrageous Debutante (37 page)

‘No.’ Nicholas stretched and yawned. ‘It could have been worse. Far worse, if Dyer had had his way. He has no personal quarrel with me, but in his eyes all landlords are tarred with the same brush.’ A shrug, a tightening of the lips, the only comment he would make on the man who had threatened his livelihood. And, far greater in consequence, the life of the woman who was everything to him. At the thought, without his knowledge, Nicholas’s fingers clenched around the cup to the imminent danger of the fragile porcelain. ‘The house is intact apart from one corner of the roof on the south side, which caught before we could get the flames under control. Thank God for the rain. Without it the whole house would have been a charred ruin by this morning.’ He rubbed his hands over his face as if to erase the memory of the hopeless battle against the fire. ‘The stables have gone, of course.’

‘But Thea said that the horses are safe.’

‘Yes.’ He shook his head to dislodge the tragic images of what might have happened. ‘Thank God also for sympathetic neighbours. William Hawkes has agreed to take the mares and foals for as long as need be—we’ll keep the stallions here. And Tom Clifford has offered to collect Dyer and take him off to Hereford Goal before the day is out.’ He pushed himself a little wearily to his feet, restless still. ‘At present he is locked in one of the storerooms with a guard watching his every move. I shall be relieved to have him away from here in case one of my people is tempted to take a bloody revenge. It was nasty work last night. Lives could have been lost.’

‘I hear he already has a black eye and a bloody nose.’ Sarah’s raised brows begged for enlightenment.

‘I know nothing of it.’ But Nicholas rubbed the skinned knuckles of his right hand absently.

‘No, of course not. I merely wondered if you were as talented with your right arm as your brother.’

‘He taught me well.’ The soft laugh acknowledged the accuracy of the prompting. ‘And Thea. I owe her so much.’ Now he looked back from where he stood by the window, face suddenly alight. ‘You should have seen her, Sarah. There she stood in a gown as rich as amber, firelight in her hair, her eyes ablaze …’ He stopped to savour the memory, his lips drawn back in a snarl as he recalled the pleasure of his personal dealing with Dyer. ‘You have a remarkable sister, Sarah.’

Sarah smiled at the dynamic picture. ‘Theodora benefited from an adventurous upbringing by Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla. Not by our mother, who could not bring herself to venture into the kitchen if the cook was so much as wringing the neck of a chicken. Lady Drusilla is made of much sterner stuff.’

‘I know.’ He came to sit again. ‘I was so wrong. Last night proved it beyond all argument, beyond all doubts. What it must have cost her to stand within the noise and chaos around her, the men and the horses jostling in fear and panic … She did not flinch. Had no thought for her own safety. She has all my admiration.’

‘And you are going to put it right with her, dear Nicholas.’ Although she did not understand his reference, Sarah rose to walk round the table and lay a hand on his shoulder.

‘Assuredly.’

She watched him with silent sympathy as he came to terms with his own doubts and faults and the enormity of what might have happened, emotions chasing each other across his face before he spoke again.

‘I have hated Edward Baxendale with every fibre of my body. I think it is within me to have killed him without compunction for his sins. I would have challenged him to a duel if Hal had not prevented it. He has been the enemy for nearly three years or more, but the passage of time has not lessened that hatred. I despise him today as much as I ever did.’

‘I know.’

‘And Thea?’ Nicholas continued, looking up into Sarah’s understanding
face. ‘Well, she too is a Baxendale. What hope would such a fragile emotion as love seem to have against such destructive power? Against such hatred and bad blood?’

Standing outside the door, Thea listened with mounting horror to the words of condemnation in Nicholas’s bleak confession to Sarah. She repeated them in her mind, again, and then again, as if she could not believe that she had heard them. But she had and must accept. Of course nothing had changed. His kiss, his embrace, his heated words of the previous night—she had completely misread them. They had only been in response to the immediacy of fear and shock of fire and violence. And gratitude for her role in the rescue of his precious horses! She was still Edward’s sister. That could never be altered. Any warmer feelings, any lessening of the disgust that Nicholas felt towards her, that was simply the result of the desperate circumstances.

It was not love that had coloured his words and actions. Gratitude, perhaps. Obligation. But not love. How could she have allowed herself to so foolishly be mislead? How could
he
have so carelessly, thoughtlessly, allowed her to believe that there was any deeper emotion on his side other than obligation!

Fury surged through Thea, heat replacing the winter cold in her veins. How could he! Before she could change her mind, she pushed open the parlour door, to step over the threshold, to face him.

‘Theodora …’ Nicholas would have risen to his feet with a smile of welcome and outstretched hand, but was instantly aware that the lady was in no mood for pleasantries or platitudes. Waves of temper shimmered round her. Ice over fire.

‘How could you have misled me? How could you have held me in your arms and kissed me? I thought you loved me, Nicholas. And that all could be right between us.’ Her voice was low, controlled even, but could barely disguise the flood of anger and despair.

‘Thea … No …’ Sarah’s attempted intervention merely stoked the flames. The flash of Thea’s eyes silenced her.

‘And now I hear from your own lips that nothing has changed.’
Thea continued to face the man who had captured her heart, toyed with it, and then shattered it. ‘Nothing! How could you be so callous—so cruel! You despise me as much as ever—’

‘It is not so, Theodora—’

‘Do you dare deny it? I heard you tell Sarah … What was it—the fragility of love against—?’

‘No … Enough, Thea!’ The firm note of authority now crackled in his voice, bringing Thea to a breathless halt. Lord Nicholas compressed his lips, brows drawn into a straight and forbidding line. He stalked to the door and opened it. ‘Sarah. I need a conversation with your sister. An urgent, private conversation.’ He stifled a sigh at the prospect of explaining to a lady who gave every appearance of being beyond reason. ‘If you would be so kind …’

Sarah diplomatically made her exit. This was no place for her. Nicholas closed the door behind her, leaned against it to watch the love of his life clench her hands into admirable fists.

‘Say what you have to say, my lord.’ She deliberately turned her back against him, to focus on the pink showers of roses that bloomed around the terrace windows. And to hide the tumbling emotions that she feared might slip from her control. She could sense his presence behind her. And she trembled. Why was love so very painful?

Nicholas said nothing, but let his gaze travel over her, her straight shoulders and upright spine. So, she would resist his explanation. He would allow her that self-indulgence for a little time. But not for long, by God! Moving past her to the sideboard, without bothering to ask her preference, he poured two glasses of claret, then walked to her side to hand her one of them. Without a word, she took it with fingers that clenched around the fragile stem. He watched her with, for Nicholas, infinite patience. Her face was stormy. Beautiful. Magnificent in its determination to freeze him to the marrow. Or to fry him in the fires of hell.

Not in a million years!

But he also, to his surprise, saw fear. She was afraid of what he would say, of what she had overheard and what might be settled for ever here in this quiet room. So that made two of them!
His mouth was suddenly dry, as dry as the cinder and ash in the remnants of his stableyard, at the realisation that the outcome here meant as much to her as it did to him.

He glanced at the glass still clasped so forcefully. ‘You may throw it at the wall if you wish.’

Thea glared at him before quickly looking away, then putting the glass down out of temptation, because she was sorely tempted. She raised her chin a little. ‘I am not so far beyond control and good manners, my lord.’ There was no thaw in her expression. Thea was far too busy concentrating on the erratic behaviour of her heart, which thudded hard against her ribs.

Lord Nicholas, with applaudable cunning, tried for a minor distraction. ‘I have some property of yours, Thea.’

Theodora raised one brow in polite and glacial enquiry.

Lord Nicholas removed from his coat pocket a small object, which he had carried like a talisman. It lay on the palm of his hand, glittering ice-white and fiery blue in the strong light.

Thea made no move. ‘And will you return it?’

Nicholas thought of pinning the little brooch to the bodice of her gown where lace met ivory flesh … No. That was not his plan.

‘Not yet.’ He placed it on the table amidst the breakfast cups where it continued to sparkle.

Then simply stepped to stand before her. It was time to settle matters between them, with no opportunity for misunderstanding. When she would have automatically taken a pace back, he reached out to frame her face, with his hands so that she could not retreat. Lowered his head and kissed her. Brief and hard, allowing her no escape. Looking down into her face he noted with satisfaction the shocked surprise in the deepening wash of rose, in her widening eyes and parted lips. So he kissed her again, a forceful demand with lips that allowed for no compromise. And again until he felt her mouth quiver, her lips part against his.

Only than did he slide his hands slowly, gently, very much at odds with the masterful demands of his mouth, along the slim column of her throat to rest on her shoulders, thus to hold her
still. Only then, when he was certain that he had her attention, did he say what he had to say—needed to say.

‘Listen to me, Theodora. You misheard. If you had waited … This is what I need to lay before you—and you need to know. I was wrong—desperately wrong—when I accused you of deliberate deceit. I did not know the true facts—did not even stop to think about the distress that I would cause. And now, because of Sarah, I do know the truth. I should have trusted you, but I let the past with all its bitterness colour my judgement. My treatment of you was beneath contempt, utterly unworthy of a man of honour and integrity. I have no excuses. The blame is all mine. I need to ask your forgiveness. If you cannot give me that, then I must accept that there is nothing between us.’

‘Oh.’ She blinked. As before with Nicholas, Theodora found herself in unknown territory, lost for words. She had never expected this. That he should take the burden of guilt fully on to his shoulders, when she had accused him of wilful and vindictive hatred without cause, sufficient to destroy their love without evidence of her involvement in any deception. After all, her accusation had been equally as ill-founded as his.

‘Consider well, Thea. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I will get to my knees if it will help.’ His fingers tightened against the fragile bones of her shoulders as he waited to hear her verdict. A decision that could shatter his future. Without this lady, this glorious woman, he had discovered his life to be an empty existence, bringing nothing but loneliness and dissatisfaction. His hands clenched further, only loosening when he felt Thea wince under his fingers.

Thea watched him, searching the now familiar lines of his features, saw the lingering pain and uncertainty there. He had hurt her. But so too had she hurt him.

‘I could forgive you,’ she announced carefully, keeping her voice light.

Nicholas took a breath. And another against the hope that slammed into his belly.

‘Then there is more. You are wrong, Thea. I know what you overheard between myself and Sarah, but you are wrong.’ He still
held her, but more gently, despite the frustrations burning in every tense line of corded flesh and muscle. ‘If you had waited longer, you would have heard me tell Sarah what I truly feel. That love is not a fragile emotion. It is stronger than forged metal, certainly stronger than past hatreds and enmities. I love you. I care not whether your name is Wooton-Devereux or Baxendale. I love you. I find that I cannot live without you. I do not
want
to live without you. I can never envisage living without you.’

‘Oh.’
Could she find nothing other to say?

‘I once asked you to marry me and you accepted. Later you rescinded your agreement. I will not allow that. I intend to keep you to that promise. You will marry me—I shall speak to Sir Hector as soon as I can. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes.’
Of course she did
.

‘Since you have already lain in my arms, shared my bed, you are in no position to be maidenly.’

‘No.’ She blushed a little, for it was the truth.

‘You belong to me, Theodora. You are mine. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes.’
Was he always so masterful?

‘You will not marry the Earl of Moreton.’

‘No.’
So uncompromising?

A little shake punctuated every point.

‘There—I have said it all. Now, what do you have to say?’

What could she say? He had offered her the sun and moon and all the planets to hold in her hands, as rare and costly as a jewelled necklace.

‘Do I have any choice in the matter?’

He laughed softly at the unexpected reply. ‘No. None at all.’

Suddenly Theodora’s face was bright and shining, her eyes aglow as if from an inner flame. She could not hide it. Her lips curved in a smile of utter delight. Nicholas saw it and knew that the battle was won. The relief of it swept through him as a wind through summer trees. So knowing finally that she was his, he retreated a little, allowing her at least a little space.

‘You only have a choice, my dearest love, if you do not love me and cannot bear the thought of living at Aymestry as my wife.’

Again she studied him, head tilted, savouring the warmth that touched her skin and tinted her face with delicate colour. She supposed that she would have to put him out of his misery—although the smoothing of the lines of strain around his mouth suggested that he knew the victory was his. But it was
their
victory, as she well knew. Stepping forward, standing on her toes, she pressed her lips to his in the most tender of kisses.