“They have all gone,” she said from the doorway. “I was watching from the window upstairs.”
Nick turned. She still wore Guy’s clothes.
She blushed and looked to one side, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I,” Nick said. “Come here.”
He met her halfway and put his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. “I thank you. And I love you,” he said sincerely. “But you look damned provocative in those trousers.”
She snuggled even closer. “Then I shall steal them and wear them always.”
Nick chuckled as he kissed the top of her head and leaned back so he could see her face. “Oh, no, you won’t! And I would have your promise that you will never do anything so rash again as to attack anyone for any reason.”
“Even you?” she teased.
“Other than me,” he qualified with a laugh, then grew serious again. “Do you promise?”
“I do. Unless, of course—”
He pressed a kiss on her lips to silence her. “At no time.”
“Oh, very well.” She kissed him back, a long, slow mating of mouths that had him randy and more than ready to borrow Guy’s bed again.
He shifted his lower body against her. “Shall we go upstairs?”
“I’ve just come from there,” she answered, her voice whispery and urgent against his mouth. “It is such a long, long trip.”
He backed to the divan and sat down, pulling her across his lap. “Then we should rest here and fortify ourselves until we’re able to travel that far,” he assured her between kisses.
She nipped lightly at his lower lip and ran her fingers over the buttons of his waistcoat. “Is this fortification you speak of anything at all like settling matters?”
“Synonymous,” he declared with a breathless chuckle. “Absolutely synonymous.”
Nick had just pushed the shirt off Emily’s shoulders when he heard a noise in the foyer. “Blast him, Guy’s returned,” he whispered.
They laughed like naughty children as she scrambled off his lap and began doing up her buttons. Nick hurried to secure his own, then raked his hands through his hair and assumed a dignified air.
Emily sucked in a deep breath to hold back her laughter and tucked her stray curls behind her ears. Together they faced the doorway.
“Well, well. Look at the little countess! What a lovely cartoon for the dailies this would make.”
Nick stepped in front of Emily. “What the hell are you doing here, Carrick?” But the pistol trained on his heart made the answer fairly evident. He would never have thought Carrick had it in him.
The smile was almost familial. “I’m here to claim the title, of course. Uncle Ambrose wanted me to have it, you know. Only he died before you did, the old curmudgeon. I must admit that was my fault.”
“You killed him,” Nick guessed.
“No. Actually, I was waiting to hear of your fate before putting that plan into motion. Illness waits for no man, however, and he kicked up his toes before I was ready. I only meant that I should have been more careful who I hired to get rid of you in India. You truly are a hardy devil, Nick. You managed to squeeze by with your hide intact and make it home again. Since I paid in advance, that cost me dearly, I’ll have you know.” He shrugged. “But you’ll pay for it.”
“So you hired that done.” Nick took a step, moving closer.
Carrick nodded. “Stay where you are. Or don’t. It matters very little to me when I shoot you. And your chum, Duquesne, will take the blame for it, poor sod. I suppose we should get on with this before he returns.”
He rubbed his thumb suggestively over the hammer of the cocked weapon. He was relishing this, Nick thought. Not only was the man greedy, he would actually enjoy killing. And Nick’s wasn’t the only life he would take. Emily, who might be carrying an heir, also stood between Carrick and what he was determined to have.
“How did you find us?” Nick inquired, playing for time. He had to figure out some way to disarm Carrick or they were done for.
“Simple. Hammersley and I had a congenial chat while I was sketching him for his portrait early this morning. He spoke so fondly of you and how you had maintained your life-long friendships with him and with Duquesne. I thought you might have flown to Hammersley’s last evening after my little bonfire.”
Nick wanted to strangle him then and there. “How the hell did you get into Kendale House?”
“My old friend Upton, of course. After my visit with Hammersley, I concluded you must have come here. Everyone knows Duquesne’s all but impoverished and keeps only that ancient butler on staff. I watched the house, waiting for you to exit. Imagine my delight when everyone in residence left but you two! This almost seems fated, doesn’t it?” He waved the gun casually.
The distance between them was about six feet. Nick reckoned even a bad shot could hardly miss at that distance.
“A pity you won’t live long to enjoy the title,” Emily commented wryly, sounding surprisingly unaffected by the thought of dying. “You’ll be doing us a favor actually. A quick death might be a blessing.” She stepped around Nick.
He wanted to shove her back behind him, but was afraid to make any sudden moves. Carrick could shoot them at any time and get off several shots in rapid succession. He was wielding a revolver that held five or six shots.
“Remember your promise to me, Em,” he said in a low voice, hoping to remind her that she had promised him she would never try another foolhardy risk such as she had taken with Munford. “A promise is sacred.”
“I know, dear,” she assured him. “We swore not to say anything to anyone in London about the sickness, but I want to tell him anyway if he’s going to shoot us. Let him dread an ugly death as we have done. Unless he has the courage to shoot himself.”
Carrick looked confused. “What the devil are you prating on about? If you’re planning some sort of trick, it won’t work.”
“Trick?” Emily said, shaking her head slowly as she released a huff. “I only wish it were. Abrasia Rosa is deadly, a most contagious plague. I swear I never thought to see such as I witnessed at Bournesea in the weeks past. And now…” She sniffled loudly. “Even Lord Duquesne rushed out of here when we told him. Brave as he is, the man was terrified. He’s probably gone for his physician.”
“At Bournesea you had this?” Carrick demanded.
Nick could see the fright take hold. His cousin had always dreaded sickness of any kind and took on any symptoms displayed by those around him who were afflicted.
Emily was aware of it. Nick recalled telling her of it at Bournesea. Whatever she had in mind now was purchasing them time if nothing else.
“How is it I’ve never heard of this disease?” Carrick asked.
Nick improvised. “Because the discovery of it is so recent, and was peculiar to the inner provinces of India. But I’m afraid that isn’t true any longer.” He had Carrick’s full attention now, so he continued. “When I realized several of the men were down with it on the voyage, we tried to contain it, you see. That’s why I couldn’t let you inside the gates at Bournesea. We were quarantined.”
Emily shook her head despairingly. “We were too optimistic in lifting it, I’m sad to say. However, I’m not sorry you are afflicted, as well, since you mean us harm. Strange, they say Abrasia rarely takes hold so soon! You only had contact with me, really, and that just two days ago. And yet…” She pointed to him and shrugged.
Carrick laughed aloud, but it sounded forced. His voice was unnaturally loud when he spoke. “Good effort, I’ll grant you that. You had me on there for a moment. But you see, I know our noble Nick here would never risk spreading a contagion. If you weren’t completely well of whatever it was, he would never have unlocked those gates, much less come to town.”
“True, but after a fortnight in seclusion, we thought surely we’d been spared. However,” she said as she reached up to her collar and pulled it down to expose her neck and upper chest. “See this? We only noticed late last night as I was bathing after the fire. The initial sign. You have it creeping up your own neck, though yours doesn’t look quite as red as mine. Earlier stage, I expect.”
“What?” He ran a finger beneath his collar and felt around the inside of it.
Emily nodded. “Itchy, isn’t it? Wait until you experience the rapid heartbeats that follow, the mounting confusion, and finally…well, one simply comes undone and…it’s all over. At least I needn’t dread that now.” She lifted her shoulders, held out her hands in a futile gesture and looked at Nick with a perfectly straight face. Then she continued. “It is a hard thing to watch happen.” She shuddered violently.
Carrick had blanched and was squinting at her neck and chest, which she had left exposed. A very prominent red rash splotched the creaminess of her skin.
Nick touched his now clean-shaven chin, knowing exactly what had caused her so-called plague.
With his free hand Carrick yanked off his neckcloth and undid his collar. “Clasp your hands over your head and come here,” he ordered, his voice shaking as he motioned with the weapon. “See if it’s the same.”
“No!” Nick almost shouted the word, but it was too late. Emily had already danced out of his reach and Carrick held the cocked pistol aimed straight at Nick’s midsection.
Arms stretched upward, hands locked together, Emily peered closely at Carrick’s collar, the pistol only inches from her head, though still pointed directly at Nick.
She was going to try something. But what could she do? Get herself shot, that was what. Nick debated whether to charge Carrick now and take a bullet himself, on the chance Emily could get away. But Carrick was not limited to one shot. And Emily would never run out of here and leave him, especially if he’d been wounded or killed. Nick held steady, watching for his chance. If Carrick would only lower the gun.
“Oh, dear,” Emily moaned dramatically. “Oh, Nick, look at this!”
Carrick’s gun hand trembled dangerously. “W-what?” His wide-eyed gaze flew to Emily, then straight back to Nick. “You stay where you are!”
Emily darted Nick a meaningful look and mouthed the word “Duck.”
Nick’s heart almost stopped. “Wait!” He held up his hands in a calming motion. “Easy, Carrick. Look I know this disease can make you do things you ordinarily wouldn’t consider. If you surrender the pistol, we can try to get help for you. Once you’re well—”
“No!” Carrick cried, shaking, his voice hoarse with fear. One hand rubbed frantically at his throat.
Suddenly, Emily brought her clasped hands down on Carrick’s gun arm, forcing it downward. His shot went wild as she raised one knee. Carrick screamed and Nick lunged simultaneously.
All three of them landed in a tangle. Carrick struggled, keening, one hand between his legs where Em’s knee had struck and the other flailing the useless pistol about. He’d never had the chance to cock the damn thing again, thank God. Nick pinned Carrick’s wrist to the floor and jerked the gun from his hand.
“Get off,” he ordered Emily. “I have him.”
Emily rolled to one side, well away from Carrick, and bounced lithely to her stockinged feet. She pranced over to the draperies and tore off one of the cords that held them back. “Here,” she said as she tossed it over. “You’ll have to tie him. My hands are still shaking and my wrist hurts like blue blazes.”
Nick trussed up Carrick with the drapery cord and tied his feet together with the man’s neckcloth. He hurriedly checked for hidden weapons, then left him lying where he was.
He approached Emily, who understandably looked rather shaken. “Let me see your hand.”
She nodded and presented the one she had injured.
After feeling the small bones and moving it gently, he cradled it in his palm. “Your wrist is intact, but something is broken. You broke your promise to me and threw yourself directly in harm’s way,” he said softly. “How old was that promise? Moments?”
“I had my fingers crossed,” she admitted, offering that little one-shouldered shrug she always employed when guilt plagued her. “Mischief just seems to follow me wherever I go.”
He laughed softly and tweaked her nose. “You are mischief! What a dull life I’ve led these past few years without you.”
“I’ll certainly try to be more circumspect in future,” she avowed, blue eyes twinkling.
“Of course you will.”
Emily worried that Nick might pardon his cousin’s perfidy in the interest of avoiding a scandal, but he promised he would ensure the man never troubled them again. He had locked Carrick, still bound, inside the empty pantry off Guy’s kitchen. Then they had saddled Nick’s mount and ridden the short distance back to Kendale House. There, he left her with a promise to return as soon as possible after concluding his business with the police.
She now languished in the room where Nick had spent part of his childhood. It was a large, airy chamber with a smaller and more modest version of the bed in the smoke-damaged master chamber.
Clad only in her shift after her bath, she tried to sit still while Rosie buzzed around her, fussing over the fact that a bit of Emily’s hair had been singed the night before and had to be cut. Scissors snipped here and there until Rosie seemed satisfied with the results. Obviously that was not all that troubled the maid. “Out with it, Rosie. You are bursting to ask me something, I can tell.”
“Do you want one of the old gowns to wear?”
“That is not what is on your mind,” Emily admonished.
“They was still packed in the trunk that come from the carriage wreck. I aired ’em out.”
“Rosie?”
“Ye’ll turn me off if I tell ye.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Mr. MacFarlin asked if I’ll walk out with him,” Rosie admitted with a worried look.
“I’ve no objection at all.”
Rosie huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. One foot tapped nervously. “He’s wantin’ to marry me, if ye must know. His lordship won’t like it.”
Emily bit her lips together. Rosie might be right. “I…I suppose I could speak to him, if you like,” she offered, not altogether certain she was up to broaching the subject with Nick. “Just because you and he were once intimate, I should hope he wouldn’t prevent—”
Rosie’s clapped her hands over her reddened cheeks. “Blimey, ye know about me and Percy? How in the world? We was so careful!”
“Not you and Wrecker. I meant you and Nick. His lordship.”
Rosie was already shaking her head, her eyes widened so the whites showed all around. “Me and Lord Nick? We never! Who told you such a wicked lie?”
Emily jumped to her feet and rounded on Rosie, shaking a finger under her nose. “You told me. You confessed it that first night!”
“No, no, no,” Rosie groaned. “Not him. Lord Ambrose, his da! The old sport never showed no good side unless he was naked, but he cut a right smart figger in bed, he did. He was the one!”
Emily whirled around, covering her mouth with one hand to keep from sobbing with relief. That would hardly be appropriate. When she thought she could speak calmly, she turned again and faced the maid. “Then why would you think my husband would not sanction your marriage to Mr. MacFarlin?”
Rosie blinked, then shrugged. “Why, most lords think staffers marrying in the same house causes all sorts a troubles. It ain’t usually allowed.”
“Not marrying might cause more trouble,” Emily guessed, voicing her thoughts. “I think he will agree.”
“Oh, thank ye, Lady Em! You’ll speak to him on our account, then?”
“Definitely. As soon as may be,” Emily said, holding out her hands to Rosie. “I wish you all happiness, Rosie. Do you love him?”
Green eyes brightened with tears. “Oh, Lady, my Percy’s a fine man, he is. Ain’t no bloke ever been so nice. He fetched me flowers from the garden out back. And he give me this,” she said excitedly, reaching in her pocket to withdraw a simple silver ring with two hearts engraved on it.
“How lovely,” Emily said, hugging Rosie on an impulse. She knew it wasn’t proper, but she couldn’t help recalling the cheery little red-haired girl who had once been simply her friend.
They were both in tears and laughing. Rosie finally stepped back and reached out to touch Emily’s face. “Lord Nick made it all right, didn’t he? Last night after the fire? You and him?”
Emily nodded.
“Good enough! Why, you’ll be rounding out with the next little lordship next thing we know!”
The thought had never entered Emily’s mind, but it was more than welcome now that Rosie put it there. She ran a hand over her stomach and imagined what it would be like, carrying Nick’s child, nurturing a son or daughter. Being a mother.
“You’d best get dressed,” Rosie advised.
“The blue day gown,” Emily said, looking forward to feeling the soft batiste envelop her like a mother’s embrace. She wished she could share her happiness and her hopes with her own mother and also with the Countess, who had surely watched over her like a guardian angel. Every single venture had proved successful.
Glancing down at her hand where the blue stones sparkled in the ring Nick had given her on their wedding day, she imagined them winking at her. And she smiled back.
Nick hurried to Kendale House as soon as he had seen to his cousin’s incarceration and Munford’s release. Carrick’s trial would not take place for a while. There would be a right to-do about it in the news when it did happen, but there was no help for it. Emily was safe now, that was all that counted.
Munford had been irate about his false arrest, but when Nick had returned the clipper ship, Madeline, for a mere fraction of its worth, the man had turned ecstatic. He couldn’t wait to reclaim her when she returned from her current voyage to the Indies.
Nick knew Emily would be waiting for him now. Guy had laughed at him for happily grinning throughout the proceedings at the station house, but Nick could not seem to think of much besides Emily and how she had taken down not one but two full-grown men in defense of him. He wanted to crow.
It was ridiculous to take pride in such wild antics, but he couldn’t help himself.
When he arrived at Kendale House, Jems, the under-butler, opened the door for him and advised him that Upton had gone, and had not been seen since the fire.
Good riddance, Nick thought as he bounded up the stairs.
When he opened the door to his old room, Emily greeted him with the sweetest smile. If he hadn’t known her so well, he might have taken it at face value. Emily was up to something. “Let’s have it. What have you done now?”
She wrinkled up her nose and laughed. “Not what I’ve done, but what I’m going to do.”
He took her hands in his and drew her to him for a kiss. “And what, dare I ask, will that be?”
She ducked her head shyly. “I’m going to have a baby. A fat, raven-haired, brown-eyed little boy with no musical talent and a title hanging over his head. What do you think of that?”
Nick laughed. “Good for you! Have two while you’re about it, the heir and the spare. Then you can start on the girls.” He kissed her again. “Tell me, do you plan to do this anytime soon?”
She leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. “I’ve already begun.”
“Silly widgeon, it’s too soon to know that.”
Even as he said it, she was shaking her head. “No, it isn’t! It’s a feeling I’ve had since I first realized it was possible.”
Nick frowned. “Emily, are you quite all right?”
“Well, you’ll think I’m not, but that’s as may be. Take off your clothes.”
“What?” he asked on a gust of laughter.
“Take off your clothes and get in bed. We have to make sure I’m not wrong about this,” she warned, frowning at him now. She set about unbuttoning her own gown, her arms at an unnatural angle trying to reach the buttons in back.
“Turn around,” he coaxed. “Allow me.” He undid her buttons and untied the laces on her corset, then watched with interest as she promptly shed her gown and stepped out of it and her petticoats. Clad only in a thin silk shift and her stockings, Emily looked incredibly enticing. She shot him the most daring grin. “Well? Go on.”
He wasted no time in stripping off his own clothes, then took her hand and walked with her to the bed. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows. Birds chirped in the cherry tree that towered up to their window. The room smelled of spring lilacs.
Though he was certainly aroused by her eagerness, Nick wanted to prolong the interlude. There was an innocence and sweetness about it somehow, as if they were offering one another all their secrets in the bright light of day. Pledging to share everything there was to share. He looked at her and saw the incredible love in her eyes that he had seen there before when she was seventeen. He knew she must see the same in his, for he felt it to the depth of his soul.
“I trust you,” she whispered.
“And I love you. Now I know what the poets mean when they speak of love,” he replied as he took her in his arms. “Now I know.”
He lowered her to the bed, their bodies fitting together so perfectly he felt it would destroy the moment if he began to move too soon.
“So, do you intend to pause and read me a sonnet?” she asked, shifting sinuously against him, a mischievous note in her softly spoken question.
He kissed her neck, touching his tongue to the rapidly fluttering pulse there. “Sorry to disappoint you, love. As soon as you’re too far gone with child to do this. Then I will read.”