The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (92 page)

Not willing to take his cousin at his word—not for this—Nigel went skulking through George’s property. And like Charlie had said, he’d found crate after crate of smuggled goods in one of George’s storerooms. The discovery struck him more sharply than a mortal blow to the chest.

Could it be true? Could George, one of the few men he trusted with his life, be behind the smuggling operation…and the attempts on his life…and the attempt on Elsbeth’s life…and his butler’s murder? He’d sat up all night trying to figure out what he should do, how he should approach George. And still, he had no answers. Friend or not, the men responsible for those crimes would hang.

“This wind is ruining my cravat,” Charlie said as he joined them. He seemed to have no interest in the sky, the cliff, or the conversation. He found a stump and, after cleaning away the dirt and debris with a handkerchief, plopped down onto it and began poking at the soft ground with a twig.

Nigel wished Charlie and George would both just vanish for a while. Neither man was looking much like a hero this morning. Last night, after presenting Nigel with George’s smuggled bottle of wine, Charlie had once again resumed his begging for money. He’d claimed he needed close to thirty thousand pounds for a solid investment. An investment whose details he had refused to disclose.

Nigel dug his fingers into his palm. The last time he’d declined to pay Charlie a large sum to pay for some supposedly
solid
investment, the money had disappeared from his accounts all the same.

That Charlie, his harmless cousin, would stoop low enough to rob him to pay off what was more likely a reckless gambling debt than some thought-out investment—and was no doubt plotting to do so again—only pricked his already ravaged nerves.

I’m overrun by betrayals!

Tonight.

Tonight, according to Charlie, the villagers were saying that the smugglers were planning to land again with their booty. “You will see then, Nige, who your true friends are,” he’d said.

Nigel flexed his hand, his need for the relief only a paintbrush could provide him, growing urgent. Images of George being led to the gallows for murder—for brutally killing his butler, an innocent man who’d deserved better, he’d lead the bastard up the roughhewn stairs himself—and images of Charlie flirting shamelessly with Elsbeth while frittering away the Edgeware fortune joined the storm-whipped wind, echoing accusations in his ear.

“Enough!” he shouted.

George and Charlie, who’d been silent for quite some time, both jumped.

“Edgeware?”

“Are you quite cracked, Nige?”

Nigel turned to the two men he’d once trusted with his life and felt a strong urge to do murder. Whose? He couldn’t say.

Logic dictated he wait for tonight and catch the smugglers in the act. He needed proof. And, thanks to his uncle’s tutelage, Nigel was a ruthlessly logical man except when it came to his wife.

“Elsbeth,” he said and abruptly turned back toward the house. This was too much for him to handle on his own. Whether she welcomed his company or not, he needed her.

* * * *

After winning another heated argument with Molly, Elsbeth had risen from bed, and despite the pulling pain in her side, donned a light yellow morning gown and made her way to the breakfast room. A footman brought her a plate of toast and jams as she eased into a chair in the empty room. From where she sat at the small table, next to a series of large windows that looked out into the estate’s gardens, she could see the sham ruin dedicated to the goddess Athena where Lord Edgeware—no, he was to be Nigel to her now—where Nigel had first looked upon her with that wolfish gleam.

And kissed her.

It hadn’t been just a gentle brush of the lips, as he had promised. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips, remembering.

That kiss, and all the others that followed, demanded very little and had been like a series of silent pleas. Like his mouth was inviting her to return his passion with the same intensity—offering, instead of taking.

Gracious, she’d allowed her caution to be lulled by his subtle appeal. His seduction had appeared so seemingly harmless. In his study she’d given him her body and look what that had won her, an unwanted marriage with a man who was a bigger danger to her than her first husband.

It was true that Lord Mercer was a beast, but at least she’d realized early on in their marriage that he was not Dionysus—and not a man whom she could ever love. No matter how he had tormented her or tortured her—her heart had always been safe.

With Nigel, that layer of safety was slipping away. He was as different from the late Lord Mercer as day was from night. When angered, he might not throw her to the mercy of his friends like a master would toss a piece of meat to his hounds. It was worse. When she gazed into Nigel’s expressive eyes she could almost feel his soul and a deep sense of loneliness. She could almost hear in his clipped voice the grieving, confused boy who’d lost his mother at birth and his father at the tender age of three or four.

This was a man who could rival Dionysus in his depths of feeling. This was a man who could tempt her heart. Such a man had the power to destroy her, for like Dionysus, she felt herself tumbling into love.

“Elsbeth!” Nigel’s sharp voice carried down the halls shattering her thoughts. “Elsbeth!” She turned toward the door in time to see the servants fleeing the room.

“Lord Edge—Nigel,” she said. Her heart raced at the sight of him. “What urgency has you shouting my name through the halls of your estate like a madman, or is this how you plan to call for your wife…my lord?”

He eased the door closed behind him and started toward her. With each step the coiled tension in him appeared to melt away. His hunched shoulders began to relax.

“Elsbeth,” he said her name without heat this time. “Things are—I need—uh, we need to talk.”

She set the toast she was holding back on the plate in front of her. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

He settled into a chair next to hers and took his time drawing off his gloves. With a sigh, he reached out to touch her hand. “Dionysus,” he said and paused. “There is something I need to confess.”

He was going to reveal Dionysus’s identity at last. But she wasn’t ready to hear it, not when she was nearly convinced Dionysus was Charlie. Her heart wasn’t ready to face that sad truth, not this morning when her injuries had left her feeling weak and her feelings muddled. “I don’t want to hear his name. Please, not now. He’s a bounder who has threatened your life and coldly murdered your butler. As long as you recognize him for the villain that he is, that is all I need to know.”

“But—”

“No,” she said and sandwiched his hand between her own. “I will not give him the power to hurt me again. From now on, I will decide my own future…and with whom I intend to spend it. Edgewa—Nigel, you have been kind to me.”

“Kind?” he sounded hurt by the charge.

“You have given me a great gift. You make me feel almost loveable. But, still, I do not know what kind of wife I will make you.”

“Do not worry about the future, dove. I will make everything right, I promise I will. And I will make you happy.” He sounded so confoundingly sure of himself. “You will love me. And after tonight, everything will be—”

“No, it won’t,” she said not letting him finish. She didn’t want to love him. It would be safer not to love him, not to open her heart up for rejection or pain. It would be safer to give him no hope for the future. Perhaps then he would release her from this spell he was weaving around her.

“Please, Elsbeth, let me explain what’s—”

“Lord Mercer was a difficult man,” she said, looking away. That much was true. And the lie that followed came easily to her lips. “I don’t know if my heart survived the encounter. I don’t know if I am able to feel the feelings I should feel toward a husband. It simply doesn’t seem possible.” She drew an unsteady breath. “I beg you reconsider our marriage.”

“No.” He stood with a rush, almost knocking his chair over backwards. Pain flashed in his eyes, but he quickly concealed it. His voice hardened. “My marriage to you, though shabbily executed, is a decision I will never regret. If it takes a lifetime, I will make you understand that.”

There was something about his determination that set her heart throbbing again. And it frightened her.

“Please,” her voice cracked with emotion. “Please, I beg you. Leave me alone.”

He lowered his head and turned away. He had the door open and was nearly in the hallway by the time she found her voice again.

“The bullet the other day,” she asked. “Are you certain it was meant for you?” She no longer was. It was becoming more and more clear that Charlie viewed her relationship with Nigel as a roadblock to his riches.

“The danger will soon be gone.” His voice was hard, clipped. “I have a plan to trap the villain.”

“And Charlie?” she pressed. “You still trust him?”

Nigel waved his hand angrily as he retreated down the hall. “Charlie’s harmless.”

No, blast it!
She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from shouting.
Charlie has never been harmless!

Charlie was the one who had always found the liquor cabinet key whenever she would hide it from Lord Mercer. And he was the one who’d often provoked the worst of Lord Mercer’s violent rages, especially when he knew the drunken lord would take his frustrations out on her. Charlie seemed to enjoy watching her torment, seemed to enjoy watching the events unfold like a drama at the theater. And once he’d almost…No, she wasn’t going to think about that. He was a danger she needed to stop, for Nigel’s sake and her own. Which meant, she needed to go to him.

To confront him.

Her breakfast forgotten, she found a footman in the front hall where a confusion of activity was occurring. A group of guests, anxious to return to London to personally spread the news of Nigel’s surprise marriage, were leaving that morning. Several of the rooms in the sprawling house were soon going to be vacant. Elsbeth knew she shouldn’t be surprised. If she hadn’t been shot or entangled in marriage, she would have fled days ago.

She considered sending her cousins home. She had no right to keep them here with a murderous artist on the loose. But the thought of being alone with her husband was too much to bear. Much to her relief, not everyone was leaving Purbeck Manor. Lady Dashborough and her daughters, Mister George Waver, Lord Ames, and
Charlie
with his motley group of friends had all announced their intentions of staying until the end of the week, which was just two days away.

Gracious, there was so much that needed to be done.

“Can you tell me where Mister Charles Purbeck could be found?” she asked the startled footman.

He eyed her cautiously, seeming uncertain about how to approach the new marchioness. “In the library I believe, m’lady,” he drawled after a long pause. He bowed deeply before returning to his duties.

She was still watching the nervous footman when she turned and slammed into Sir Donald’s side. He’d been rushing toward the stairs and, like her, apparently had his mind on other matters. He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts as he turned his gaze toward her.

He was a handsome young man. His features had all the aristocratic angles that often caught the attention of the ladies in the London parlors. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him not dressed in the height of fashion. He was tall and muscular and very much in command of himself. But there was something about his all-too steady gaze this morning that made her shudder.

“Lady Edgeware.” He stomped his boot on the hardwood floor as he turned to regard her more closely. “You look exceedingly healthy considering the…um…circumstances.” He fingered that rather large watch fob he always wore. “Charlie has been most distressed over the shooting, you must know. He believes the mishap has pushed his cousin into a foolish decision. Many of us cannot help but agree. None of this would have happened, do you not think, if you and Edgeware had been standing out in the open?”

His question sounded chillingly like a threat. An icy dread tiptoed down her spine.

“I feel fairly confident that I understand Mr. Purbeck’s feelings and his intentions only too well, sir.” She raised her chin and stared down her nose at Sir Donald as if he were nothing more to her than an unschooled child in need of a healthy dose of discipline. “In the future, you should not feel obligated to keep me apprised of his moods. Good day.”

Without giving him a second thought, she started out in search of the manor’s library.

“You better watch yourself,” she heard him hiss. But she didn’t need or welcome his warning. She already knew the dangers facing her and Nigel.

Her side was burning furiously and her head felt rather light by the time she reached the library door. Molly had been right, of course; she should have spent another day abed.

She promised her various aches and pains that she would go straight up to her chamber after confronting Charlie. There was no possible way she would get a moment’s rest until she’d completed this task. Though she was as terrified as a cornered rabbit, and shaking in her slippers by the time she reached the library door, she steeled her courage and pressed forward.

Even if Charlie was Dionysus, this was something she needed to do.

When she pushed on the heavy door she heard Nigel growl, “She
is
my wife, damn it.”

“That, I intend to challenge!” Lord Charles Purbeck shouted. She saw the elder Purbeck clearly through the cracked door. He raised his fist and shook it. The footman had been mistaken. It was
Lord
Charles Purbeck, not Mister Charles Purbeck, who was in the library.

She backed away, not wishing to hear more.

“If you’re not careful, she will destroy you financially just as she destroyed Lord Mercer,” Charlie said as he passed by the library door, pushing it closed again.

What was Charlie up to
?

She had nothing to do with Lord Mercer’s missing fortune. Gambling had done away with Lord Mercer’s money and when the money was gone, it had created a pile of debts rivaling the highest of mountain peaks.