The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (91 page)

He was a man, a man with her future nestled in the palm of his hands, after all. She shouldn’t be spending her time wishing for his return. But blast it, for the life of her she couldn’t seem to think of much else.

Much to Elsbeth’s relief, Lauretta helped to take her mind off the tempting Lord Edgeware. Her cousin spent most of the evening sharing her opinion of the house’s décor—too dark and gloomy for her tastes—imparting gossip, and detailing the excitements of the day. Some of the guests had apparently decided to stay until the end of the week. A few had even confessed to harboring morbid hopes being part of the dangerous drama that was unfolding. Most of the gentlemen had spent the day hunting, while the ladies played cards in the parlor. Lady Dashborough had caused somewhat of a stir after Olivia had accused the lady of cheating. Despite everything, Lady Waver was still an unflappable hostess. Elsbeth was grateful to hear it. She didn’t think she was up to taking responsibility for the household or its guests so quickly.

But the topic soon returned to Edgeware. Anger sharpened Lauretta’s tongue when she recounted how the dark lord had punched Lord Ames in the face shortly after he’d been discovered alone with Lauretta in the portrait gallery. “Honestly, Elsbeth, Lord Ames was a perfect gentleman. And yet, your Lord Edgeware attacked him. The man is a brute, a monster. Papa will surely assist you in gaining an annulment. Imagine, trapping you into marriage like he did. He is a scoundrel, naught more than a common scoundrel.”

Her cousin’s venom should have fed Elsbeth’s dark feelings toward the man who had forced her into a marriage she would have never agreed to, but it didn’t. All she could think of was the honest, open way he had pursued her, how he’d asked to hold her hand, how he’d asked to be granted that first kiss, how he’d even warned her that he’d planned to seduce her.

He was different from any man she had ever met. For one thing, he was careful around her. He acted as if he cherished her feelings. At least that was until they were married yesterday.

Oh bugger, not that she cared, but after his brief morning visit, he hadn’t given her the consideration of his company. He’d not even asked after her welfare. So much like Lord Mercer, he’d snagged the prize, and now it appeared he was quickly losing interest.

“Perhaps an annulment would be possible,” Elsbeth said, but saying it aloud only made her feel all the more miserable.

Edgeware was a villain, a rake, a cad, a scoundrel…a man. What woman in her right mind would wish to be saddled to such a combination of ill manners? She
was not
lonely for him. She
did not
miss his company. Truly, she didn’t. Damn the demon to hell. Damn him. Damn him. Damn—

“
Lauretta?
What did you say?”

“This afternoon, after Lord Ames frightened off the fiend who’d hit Lord Edgeware from behind with a sack of rocks,” Lauretta repeated. “I said, Mr. Waver had the audacity to accuse Lord Ames of plotting to stick Edgeware’s spoon in the wall.”

“Someone attacked Edgeware this afternoon?” Guilt. Pure, uncomfortable guilt buzzed in Elsbeth’s head. What had she done? She’d cursed a man whose life was in mortal peril. What kind of woman had she become?

Damn him for turning her into a shrew. No, no, forget that prayer. Protect him from harm, instead. Curses, how could she continue protecting her heart from him when his life was in constant danger?

“Indeed,” Lauretta said, “it happened right outside the manor’s front entranceway. Knocked over the head with a sack of rocks and would have been done in if Lord Ames hadn’t happened upon the villain, too! And the Marquess’s butler—” Lauretta shook her head slowly. “They found him dead in the stables. Strangled, I heard someone say. I shiver at the thought.”

Strangled?

Poor Edgeware. He must be devastated over the death of his butler. Unlike Lord Mercer, Edgeware seemed to truly care about his servant’s welfare.

Dionysus must have gone mad. For who else could be behind this plot against Lord Edgeware? And where did Charlie fit in all this? Did she still believe he was Dionysus?

Her heart said no. But if not Charlie, who?

Action. That was what was needed. She needed to act. She needed to stop Dionysus from further endangering either of them. She was struggling to get out of the chaise again when the parlor’s pocket door slid open.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Lauretta. I need to have a word in private with my wife.”

Careful of her wound, Elsbeth twisted toward the door until her gaze met Edgeware’s. Shadows haunted his onyx eyes.

She was surprised to see him. It was late. The sun had set hours ago. He was still dressed for dinner and entertaining guests, in a fine black coat and contrasting snowy-white cravat. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, giving her cause to curse that tender organ for being so easily won over.

He lingered at the door, waiting for her permission to enter even though this was his home, not hers.

Lauretta stood. “Please, do excuse me,” she said sharply and made a quick retreat, passing by Edgeware without even a nod of recognition.

With a look of amusement, Lord Edgeware watched Lauretta flounce down the hall with a bouncing, angry stride. He shrugged and stepped into the room. “May I join you?”

Elsbeth stared at him, standing so straight and noble just a step inside the door. He seemed colder, more distant. More like she expected a husband to act. But not at all how she wished
him
to act.

“Of course, my lord. This is your home,” she said with a sigh. “However, I pray you have not come expecting to claim your marital rights,” she added, feeling her irritation surge.

A brow rose at that. “Ah…is that what you believe?” He tilted his head slightly as he studied her. His intense gaze lapped at her body like flames from a fire. “And how are your injuries faring today, my lady wife?”

Did he care, or had he come to her truly expecting to consummate the marriage tonight?

She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to lie with Edgeware in his bed. Surely, the enjoyment she felt from their passionate encounter in his study was nothing more than an aberration, a fantastic deviation from reality. She still couldn’t convince herself that what she’d felt at his hands was nothing more than a heated dream. She knew she shouldn’t hope that she would ever forget herself so completely again. She wasn’t comfortable with her body. According to Lord Mercer, her hips were too thin and her breasts too small. And she was impossibly cold. Hers wasn’t a body that could give pleasure to a man.

“I believe I will live, my lord,” she said sharply. “However, I do not believe I am up to any strenuous exertions to my person.”

“I see.”

She closed her eyes and tried to slow her erratic breathing. Prickly nerves were leading her into dangerous territory. She needed to calm down. But she was finding it nearly impossible to do so while a war was waging within her heart. She wanted him to touch her, to caress her, to
love
her. She wanted everything he could possibly give her. She wanted to feel him move over her and press her deep into his thick mattress.

But no…

She didn’t think she was strong enough to endure the look of disappointment she’d find in his eyes after bedding her. Her frigid body would inevitably disappoint him. And that disappointment would eventually lead to loathing and resentment.

The situation was impossible! Why had he married her? He barely even knew her.

“Lauretta told me about your butler. I am truly sorry,” she said carefully, hoping to turn the subject to a more pressing—and safer—topic.

Edgeware ground his jaw, clearly upset. “His death will be avenged.” She felt the danger in his voice. It made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Her husband would make a formidable enemy.

“She also told me that you were attacked today. I pray you are well.”

“Well enough.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he took a half step toward her. They were still yards apart, not quite having to yell across a great expanse, but close. When he spoke, his voice was icy. “There is no reason for you to worry. I have the situation well in hand. In fact, I will be posting a footman at your chamber door.”

“To keep me in or others out, my lord?”

Her sharp tone seemed to break through his icy demeanor. He heaved a long, audible sigh and took another step toward her chair by the fire. “Could you perhaps use my given name when you wish to curse me to the devil?”

“I cannot possibly know what you mean,
my lord
.”

He took another step toward her. Her heart rate quickened.

“I mean: the tone you use with me would be more palatable if you softened the blow by using my given name. It is Nigel, need I remind you? Not a terrible chore to trip up the tongue.” He took yet another step toward her. He was standing nearly on top of her now. “I will not insist, though.”

“Thank you—” she hesitated, unsure “—Lord Edgeware.”

Fire flashed behind his eyes. “Elsbeth—” he bit off and stopped to heave another deep sigh. “I had come to apprise you of the situation and to assure you that you are in no danger. However, I see Lady Lauretta has already done so. Apparently, there is no other purpose for this meeting, so I will wish you a good night.”

He turned. She’d thought he’d at least brush her cheek with a kiss. But he had not. Instead, he’d left her cold and more alone than before.

“My lord,” she called out before he reached the door.

He stopped. Her heart counted the number of beats it took before he turned to face her again. “Yes?”

How could this sham of a marriage have any hope of working? The promise of long, miserable days appeared before her. This was not the future she had dreamed of when praying for her first husband’s death, God forgive her.

But
this was
the future she was being offered.

Lord Edgeware was watching her. His dark expressive eyes mirrored her distress, her confusion. But there was also something else in that look he was giving her, something she wasn’t yet ready to recognize. Deep in her heart she longed to believe that illusive
something
she was seeing might mean that there could be a safe, comfortable future waiting for her. A future where she could be happy. But to try and reach for it would mean she’d have to risk a heart she’d long protected. And yet, she had to try.

She wanted him to kiss her.
To love her.
But she didn’t know how to ask for those things.

“
Nigel
,” she whispered.

She struggled to wrench the words she needed to say from deep within her heart, but they refused to come. She shook her head and waved him away. Her voice tightened again. “I am glad you came to talk with me. Good evening, my lord.”

He stared at her, his brows furrowed. He just stood there, refusing to leave.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She didn’t know him, didn’t understand his silent moods. Was he angry? Was he plotting to punish her? Or was his silence a kind of punishment?

Without a word of warning he stalked back over to where she was reclining. And before she could protest or pull away, he leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. His mouth tasted of brandy and spice. She sighed and leaned forward, seeking more, silently pleading for everything she couldn’t find the courage to ask of him. His was a flavor she craved.

He cupped his hand at the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss. When she parted her lips, their tongues touched. He made love to her mouth with such exquisite care tears sprang to her eyes. She reached around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting everything he was willing to offer. And still, she was unsure how to ask—no,
demand
—that he give up his heart to her.

She barely kept herself from crying out when he slowly peeled his lips away. His jaw tightened and he looked so serious as he reached under her and carefully scooped her up into his arms, lifting her from her comfortable spot on the chaise lounge.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Taking you to bed, my lady wife.”

Chapter Nineteen

Wind whipped up from the shore. Another storm was approaching, and this one promised to be worse than the one that had battered the coast only a few days earlier. Nigel stood for a moment at the edge of the cliff, watching the interplay of the billowy black clouds against the early morning sky.

“No smuggler will be foolish enough to brave the waters tonight. You can give your men a rest, Edgeware. All will be quiet,” George said, as he approached the cliff’s edge.

George, George
. A sharp pain ripped into Nigel’s chest.

Late last night he’d personally delivered Elsbeth to her bed, the narrow bed she’d been using all week. He’d been tempted to carry her away to his own chamber. But he doubted she would have allowed it. By the time he’d finished settling her beneath her bed’s quilted counterpane, his whole body had ached to stay with her, to make love to her. But she was injured and weak. She needed her rest. She needed time to grow accustomed to the thought of being married to him.

Even so, he’d lingered just inside the door, wanting to crawl into her bed and sleep at her side. To rest, knowing she was in the same room as him, knowing that she was safe and well. He’d waited longer than he knew he should, hoping she’d invite him to stay. She didn’t. Instead, she had called for her maid. With a heavy heart, he’d left.

And that was where Charlie had found him, just outside Elsbeth’s chamber. His cousin had taken one look at him and pushed a bottle of French wine into his hands.
Smuggled
French wine.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” Nigel had demanded right before he’d herded his cousin into his study before anyone could see them. “Do you know what this looks like?” he demanded once they were alone.

“Nige, the bottle doesn’t belong to me.” A black look had darkened Charlie’s normally jovial blue eyes. “I did a little poking around after Jenkins’s body was discovered. I found this bottle, along with several more crates of illegal goods on George’s estate.”