Gemstones

by

Janet Lane Walters

© copyright February 2004, Janet Lane Walters
Cover art by Eliza Black
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter 1

Calcutta, July 1810

"Miss Nicola. Miss Nicola."

The whisper woke Nicola Gordon. Like wasps around ripe fruit, tales of native uprisings swarmed in her thoughts. She groped beneath the pillow for the knife she kept there.

The girls. She had to protect her sisters.

"Miss Nicola, wake up."

"Who?" She tried to keep fear from clogging her voice.

"Sarad."

"What are you doing here? Where’s Papa?" Just two days ago, she had seen her father and his young native assistant off on a buying trip. Fear gripped her spine. The knife fell from her fingers.

"Your father. You must come."

"I can’t leave my sisters. What if they wake and find me gone?"

"They will be safe. Your papa needs you. We were set upon by thugs and he was hurt. I found a safe place for him to stay until I am sure we were not followed."

Nicola pushed aside the netting that enclosed the bed. She found her shoes and grabbed a dark cloak. Her heart thudded in her chest. Though she and Sarad had engaged in mischief years ago, her childhood friend had become sober and responsible. So had she.

"Where is he?"

"The place is not far." He slid open the door to the verandah. Nicola followed him to the gate in the compound wall. The aroma of wet earth rose from the garden, but outside the gates, the recent rains had failed to mask the scent of exotic flower and spices of the odor of garbage. The absence of the moon created an ominous darkness. She hurried through alleys and along streets beside her silent guide. Her thoughts conjured a thousand tragedies.

She stumbled. A groan escaped.

Sarad gripped her arm. "Be silent as the tiger stalking prey."

His warning chilled her. Who knew what would happen to an Englishwoman caught in the streets at night.

Ahead, she saw the looming shadow cast by one of the city’s many temples built to honor one of India’s multitude of gods. Why had they come here?

Sarad pulled her into a dark passageway that led into the temple. Their passing stirred the dust of the ages, musty and dank. Finally, they emerged in a torch-lit room. She followed her friend to a recessed alcove.

"Papa!" The blood-stained bandages around his chest and head alarmed her. "Papa, oh, Papa." She knelt on the stone floor beside him.

His dark eyes were unfocused. His skin felt hot.

"The eye. Siva. The eye."

"I don’t understand."

"Nicola. Must warn. Must tell."

"She is here, Sahib Gordon."

Nicola gripped her father’s hand. The flickering torchlight revealed his pain-filled features. "Papa, I will take you home and see to your wounds."

He took a shuddering breath. "Must leave Calcutta."

"Where will we go?" She couldn’t think of leaving. Calcutta was home.

"To England. Ian Grey will send an escort." He gasped a breath. "Your grandmother and Denmere. Old Earl dead. Marry the new. Distant cousin."

His words shocked her nearly as much as her memories. "My grandmother did not protect Mama. I don’t want to marry and live with strangers." Why was he saying this? He would get better and until then, she could care for her sisters. For ten years, since her mother’s death, this had been the case.

His fingers tightened around hers. "You must. Danger for you. For sisters." He struggled to sit up. "Your knowledge. Gems."

Fresh blood seeped through the dried stains on the bandages. "Rest, Papa." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I cannot leave you."

"Protect sisters."

She chewed her lower lip. "I will keep them safe."

He sank back. "Promise. Marry Denmere."

She couldn’t say the words. "Papa."

He pressed a velvet pouch into her hand. "For you and sisters. Not Fergus. Now go."

Though she thought about disobeying, she kissed his cheek. As she and Sarad left the alcove, tears cascaded down her cheeks and blurred her sight. She stopped to wipe her eyes and stifled a gasp.

Torchlight illuminated statues and wall carvings of men and women engaged in activities she had read of in the Sanskrit manuscripts her teacher had given her. Her eyes widened in astonishment. She hadn’t believed the human body could assume such convoluted positions.

Sarad grasped her arm. "We must go."

His whisper broke the spell. She tore her gaze from the figures that fascinated and repelled. Her cheeks burned as though she stood beneath the mid-day sun. She followed Sarad into the dark passageway.

* * * *

Drew Barlow, Earl of Denmere, slouched on the brocade sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. His highly polished Hessians gleamed in the light from the fire. He stared at the flames that danced and sent sparks flying up the chimney.

"What does an impoverished earl do?" He addressed his question to the portrait above the chimney piece. To restore the estates pillaged by his predecessor, marriage to an heiress with a considerable fortune and probably a father in trade, was essential. While some members of the ton would look askance at his choice, his family had created enough scandals to make the taint of trade a mere blemish.

He groaned. His mother’s passionate nature, his father’s drunken behavior, the late earl’s obsession with gaming. All played a part in his need to wed and his antipathy toward marriage.

A log fell and sent a rain of sparks flying. The Dowager Countess of Denmere was the only woman he respected. His need to marry money was as much for her as for the estates and to pay the debts left by his distant cousin.

Aldora had rescued him from a drunk and abusive father. She had seen to his education, and thought nor related to him other than by marriage, had treated him like a son. She deserved the comforts he couldn’t afford to give her.

The library door opened to reveal his host. Drew’s London house had been rented, and for the past two weeks, he’d been a guest in his friend’s Mayfair townhouse.

Tristan Atwell, Duke of Cairnton, strode into the room. Only a white shirt relieved the stark black of his riding clothes. He held a crop in one hand and leaned against the Adam’s mantelpiece to study Drew. "Town is a bit thin of company these days."

Drew nodded. "I should have come in March but I had a dozen problems to untangle."

"I have the acquaintance of a wealthy widow who would favor an earl as a second husband. Would you like me to arrange an introduction?"

Drew shook his head. "A widow is used to controlling her own fortune and bestows her favors where she will."

Tristan lifted a crystal decanter and filled a glass with port. "A loan? My pockets are deep."

Drew considered the essential purchases needed to put the estates in working order and shook his head. "They’re not bottomless. I didn’t come to town to drag you into my financial problems."

"Let me have your cattle. A team of grays might lighten my reputation."

"And ruin your image." Drew chuckled. "Why not one of whites?"

Tristan shrugged, "You make being a friend difficult."

Drew looked up. Would Tristan, who always had blunt to spare, understand the need to pull himself from the River Tick? With an infusion of a goodly sum, the farms and herds would bring a profit. "Tattersall’s will do the honors. Having me as your guest is enough."

Tristan shook his head. "Anyone who contemplates marriage is either a fool or desperate."

"I plead guilty to both conditions." Tristan’s raised eyebrow and sardonic expression made Drew laugh. "I do what I must. What do you hear from Michael and Niall?"

"From Niall, nothing."

"I’m sure he’s in the thick of action. He was always one to love a fight. And Michael?"

Tristan’s stance relaxed. "He’s awaiting the birth of his heir or heiress. Never thought he’d be the first caught in the parson’s mousetrap." He turned from the window. "What say you join me for an evening at Eugenie’s? Her charming cousin, the fair Janine, frequently asks about you."

"Another time." Drew followed his friend to the door.

While women looked on him with favor, he seldom accepted their invitations to dally. To surrender was to flirt with the loss of control, something he couldn’t afford. Too often, he’d seen what happened to a man who gave in to his passions.

A footman approached. "Your Grace, a message for the Earl has arrived. His man’s in the kitchen and awaits an answer."

Drew accepted the note. As he read the contents, he frowned.

"Bad news?"

"She wants me to come home. She has received a letter concerning something I must attend to at once."

"Another demand for money from some tradesman?"

Drew’s casual shrug belied a deep sense of frustration that threatened to drag him to the depths. In the year since his distant cousin’s death, there had been many such demands. "The note is vague and so unlike her. I fear the news has overset her. I’ll leave at once."

* * * *

The tapping at her bedroom door roused Aldora, Dowager Countess of Denmere, from a reverie. For a moment, she felt the strange blend of sorrow and joy she’d felt when she’d read the letter from Ian Grey. She reached for a woolen wrapper. Moonlight shimmered around the edges to the partially open draperies and sent a path of light to the door. She turned the knob.

Greene, the elderly butler, stood in the hall. "My lady, the Earl has arrived. He’s supping in the library."

"Thank you."

"Do you wish me to wait and go down with you?"

She shook her head. With too few servants remaining at the manor house, the stoop-shouldered man did more than his share of work. "There’s no need. Go to your bed."

After he left, she lit a taper and picked up the letter. Before leaving the room, she read the words again. This time, she held her tears inside. If Drew saw she’d been weeping, he would find a way to blame himself. A habit she believed stemmed from the way his father had heaped the coals of his own failures on Drew’s head.

Holding the candlestick high, she descended the broad and curving staircase. The study door was closed. She tapped lightly.

Drew stood behind a battered desk and held his hands toward the flames in the fireplace. Light from candles on the mantelpiece made his hair appear as black as lacquered ware from the Orient. His gray jacket molded the muscles grown firm from his labor on the estates these past two years.

She crossed the room. He turned. His eyes, the color of fine Persian turquoise, showed concern. "Aunt Aldora, are you all right?"

The unofficial title he’d bestowed on her years ago brought a rush of warmth and love. She placed the candle on the desk. "I never meant to give you fright, but I received a letter --"

"Demanding payment of yet another debt we have no way to prove is false." His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Damn him for leaving you in such a state."

Aldora stepped away. "The letter concerns another matter."

"And that is?"

"Sorrow and hope."

He slumped on a chair behind the battered desk he’d brought from the estate manager’s office. For years until it had been sold, a magnificent oak piece had graced the room. "Whatever do you mean?"

She opened the letter. "This is from Duncan Gordon of India. He rescued Alice and married her. Drew, I have three granddaughters." Joy radiated from her eyes and filled her voice.

"How do you know this isn’t a trick to foist some merchant’s chits on you so they can be presented to the ton. News of your daughter’s flight were wide-spread."

She shook her head. "He mentions things only Alice knew. And he sent me this." She held a locket. "I gave it to her on her twelfth birthday. She always wore it."

"And now this merchant sends his daughters so you can bear the expense of them. How, when we can barely feed and clothe ourselves." He scowled.

"Why are you so cynical? My son-in-law wants his daughters away from India. He suggests you marry the eldest girl and become guardian of the younger ones. They stand to have substantial fortunes."

Drew walked to the window that looked into the rear courtyard of the H-shaped house. He pulled aside the musty draperies and stared at the night sky. What else could he be but cynical? He had land he couldn’t sell, houses he couldn’t repair, people dependent on him he couldn’t help.

Had Duncan Gordon married Aldora’s daughter? How could he be sure the girls were what they said?

"Perhaps he recently learned Alice is the daughter of an earl and wishes to use your position to see her daughters marry well."

"I don’t believe that’s the reason. With the dowries mentioned in the letters, the girls can marry for love."

"Love is a dream." The words emerged clipped and cold. He’d never understood how such a vague emotion could turn a man or a woman into a fool. He remembered the many times he’d heard his mother cry about her love for his father. Then her love for another man had caused her to abandon her family.

He heard the rustle of Aldora’s skirts and inhaled the sweet smell of lavender. "He heard of Edgar’s death. He knows about the mountain of debts and how hard you have worked to discharge them."

Drew turned. "Then why hasn’t he written before?"

"Before Alice died, he promised he would protect her daughters from their grandfather’s greed. That need has passed."

The tears that glistened in her brown eyes brought an ache of sadness to Drew’s chest. His questions about these girls didn’t matter. To see Aldora smile and for her to have the comforts she deserved, he had been willing to marry an heiress. Why not this one?

He patted Aldora’s shoulder. "Would this marriage please you?"

"You know it would."

He nodded. "I need an heiress, and if the marriage will bring you joy --" He couldn’t say the words yet.

She brushed her hand over brown hair that was liberally sprinkled with white. "The directions for my son-in-law’s solicitor and business partner are in the letter. You must write him at once."

He felt trapped by her enthusiasm. "I’ll return to London tomorrow and seek him out. Would you like to come with me? I’m sure Tristan would be delighted to have your company."

She laughed. "La, Drew, I doubt that rascal would want an old woman meddling in his affairs." She patted his cheek. "There is much to do." Her radiant smile warmed him. "Three granddaughters. Nicola, Elizabeth and Margaret. This is more than I dreamed."

For an instant, her smile faltered. He knew she thought of her four daughters, each lost in some tragic way.

"And you have me." His need to have her confirm his importance to her startled him. He had neither right nor reason to feel threatened by these unknown chits.

The brilliance returned to her smile. "And you have brought me much joy." She lifted the candlestick. "I’ll see you at breakfast. Oh, Drew, I must make ready for my girls."

He felt a touch of regret that he hadn’t been the one to bring laughter to her voice. "There is time. The voyage from India is long."

"I know I must wait, but ‘twill be hard." She closed the door.

He picked up the letter and read the contents. Marriage to an heiress was the only way to restore the estates depleted by the late earl’s gambling. Drew groaned. He had all but agreed to the union.

He crumpled the letter. Marriage to one of the coming Season’s heiresses would never bring the weight he felt pressing on his chest. He had intended his marriage to be one of convenience, providing a title for his wife and money and a heir for himself. How could he have that kind of marriage with Nicola Gordon when she was Aldora’s granddaughter?

The crumpled paper fell on the desk. Aldora would expect him to love her granddaughter. Love was an illusion. He could never love any woman, even Nicola Gordon. He would never allow her to have that power over him. Never!

* * * *

Calcutta, September 1810

"Never!" Nicola held back her tears. She glared at the dark-haired man who stood on the other side of the table her father had used as a desk. Fergus Crawford always made her think of a snake. His dark and hooded eyes gleamed with the hypnotic power of a cobra. She swallowed the lump fear had formed in her throat. "My sisters and I will stay here. This house is ours."

His lips curled into a sneer. "Calcutta is no place for three lassies ta live with na male protection. Your pa and me were partners and cousins. He’s sure ta name my guardian."

Nicola drew a deep breath. He didn’t know about the arrangements her papa had made for them. "We will not leave our home."

"Then I will come here. ‘Tis a finer house than mine." His smile chilled her. "Time has come for me ta take a wife. Your canny eye for gemstones had made a fortune for your pa and me. I ain’t about to lose your skills."

Nicola swallowed a rush of bitter fluid. She needed time. If the escort didn’t arrive soon, she would have to take her sisters and flee.

He leaned across the table. "I think you’ll do nicely. You’ve a fortnight to make ready for the wedding. I’ll be away. Your pa lost something of great value. You sure there was na goodly sized sapphire in the last lot you sorted?"

She shook her head. She refused to tell him about the pouch her father had given her and the gems she hadn’t examined yet. "You saw all the gems there were."

"Search again. I want that sapphire." He clamped his hat on his head. "Twa weeks, lassie."

Once he’d vanished, the tears she’d held inside burst free with the same force as the monsoon rains now lashing the house. She sank to her knees on the carpet and pressed her forehead against her father’s chair. For a short time, she allowed grief and fear to dominate. Then, she wiped her face on the skirt of her black silk afternoon dress.

When would the escort arrive? Her insides churned at the thought of being forced into a marriage with Fergus Crawford. If he claimed guardianship of her sisters, who in Calcutta would protest? Why hadn’t her parents said more about their families? Papa had been an orphan and Mama had only spoken of a cruel father and a timid mother. She’d never mentioned where in England they lived or said their name.

Nicola had believed her life would continue in the pattern set after her mother’s death. She would run the house, supervise and teach her sisters and evaluate gemstones for her father. The trade in jewels provided monies for household expenses and to be sent to London to be invested.

She rose from the floor and entered the parlor where her sisters sat. Margaret jumped up. "Did he hurt you?"

"He wouldn’t dare." At least not yet. Nicola shuddered.

"But I heard you crying."

"He says I must marry him." She gulped a breath. "He can’t stay here. We must be gone before he returns to the city."

"Where will we go?" Elizabeth asked.

"Papa wrote to Mr. Grey months ago and asked for someone to escort us to London." Nicola grasped the back of a chair. "We will go to our mother’s family." She would see her sisters safe in London. Then she would return for she couldn’t imagine living elsewhere."

Margaret ran to the amah. The plump woman held the ten year old against her chest. Prabha’s ebony eyes filled with tears. The amah had been with the family since Nicola’s birth. She was the only mother Margaret knew."

Margaret stamped her foot. "I want to stay with Prabha." Her voice rose to a wail.

To forestall more tears, Nicola made a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. "She will come with us. Sarad, too. You must pack your things and be ready to leave."

Once her sisters and the amah left the room, Nicola slumped on a chair. The fear she had hidden from them leaped into her thoughts like a tiger pouncing on a victim.

A short time later, she stepped onto the verandah and strode toward the rear of the house. The heavy rains had lightened, but the day remained gloomy.

She hadn’t told her sisters that their father had arranged a marriage for her. She thought of her parents and the closeness they had shared. She wanted to find the same kind of live, but how could she with a stranger?

"Papa," she cried. "Why did you leave us?"

"Young Seeker."

Nicola whirled. "Namtase, Yogi Yakshi. I didn’t expect you today."

"There is much I must tell you before you leave this land." He put a hand on her arm to still her cries of protest. "You must listen."

She bowed her head. "I will hear."

"There is a gem, the Third Eye of Siva. The one who has the gem as a gift will receive all he deserves."

She frowned. Papa had mentioned Siva and the Third Eye. Cousin Fergus had demanded a large sapphire. Were they the same?

"I don’t understand."

"This is not the time for understanding. It is the time of flight from danger."

"Why did Papa leave us?"

The elderly man took her hand. "My child, each of us remains on this plain for an allotted time. Your father has completed his cycle and now embraces a new existence."

"How can you be sure?"

He smiled. "This is the way of things."

Nicola knew he would say no more on the matter. She leaned against the railing.

"In the distant past, wise men cast horoscopes for those born in the future. I have seen yours. You have tasks to perform. In a far land, you will meet one who needs your loving spirit to release him from the bonds he has tied around his heart and soul."

What did he mean? The yogi’s teachings were often oblique and filled with mystical meanings. "I don’t want to leave my home."

"To stay is to court danger." Dark eyes filled with wisdom captured her gaze. "Once you look into the Third Eye of Siva, all will be clear."

She swallowed. "I don’t understand."

"You must leave this land and fulfill your destiny. Forget not my teachings and choose your path to maksha carefully. The way of liberation from the cycles is difficult, yet each time you make the journey brings you closer to perfection."

Sadness wove a dark pattern in her thoughts. "I will return. I can’t live forever in a strange land."

"Love will bind you to the place of your people. The path to kama is strewn with boulders, but in the end, you will find all the love you seek. My blessing goes with you."

Nicola bowed to him. "May your days be filled with enlightenment."

"And yours with learning. We have met before and our lives will be joined again."

"I pray you are right."

"Miss Nicola," Sarad called. "A man has come."

Nicola watched the yogi until he reached the garden gate. She wanted to call him back and ask him to change the words he’d said and to give her hope of a return. After he vanished into the mist, she followed Sarad into the house.

A slender, foppish man with graying hair paced from one side of the parlor to the other. At Nicola’s entrance, he paused. "Miss Gordon."

"Who are you?"

"Isaac Timmons, at your service. Mr. Grey sent me to escort you and your sisters to London."

Relief flooded Nicola. "When do we leave?"

"The ship sails in a week. I trust you will be ready."

She nodded. They would be safely away before Cousin Fergus returned to Calcutta. "We’ll be ready. We’ve already begun to pack."

"Very good." he smiled. "By the time we reach London, the Earl of Denmere will have signed the marriage contracts."

She wished to forget that part of her father’s plans. She turned away. Why must she wed a stranger?

After Mr. Timmons was settled in the guest room, Nicola went to her bedroom. She lifted the pouch of gems her father had pushed into her hand the night he died. In England, her sisters would be safe. She tucked the pouch in her trunk. The gemstones would provide a means for her return.

Chapter 2

"Six bells!" The cry woke Nicola. The rocking motion and the creaking of the wooden ship failed to lull her back to sleep. She dressed and left the cabin. She stood at the ship’s rail and tried to find features of the land hidden by the fog. As her thoughts focused on what lay at the end of the journey, her emotions bounced from curiosity to excitement and from anticipation to dread.

Marriage to a stranger. An unknown grandmother. Though her father had tried to protect his daughters from his cousin, she wished there had been another way. Tears for the life she’d left behind nearly spilled over and added to the moisture on her cheeks left by the fog.

She stared at the swirling mists. The odor of brine rode the wind. How could she believe this shrouded England would be a better place then the land she’d left behind? The Englishwomen in Calcutta had often spoken of their dreams of returning home. They hated the sun, the heat, the driving winds and rains of the monsoons. Nicola pulled her cashmere shawl closer and sighed for the bright chaotic land of her birth.

Though January was part of the cool season in Calcutta, there were no winds like the ones that now whipped her skirts around her legs. She listened to the flapping sounds made by the sails. A cold chill made her shiver. Before they left London for Denmere, she would have to be sure her sisters and the servants had clothing appropriate for the weather.

Would the London markets offer the wealth and variety found in Calcutta? She smiled. During the days before the ship had sailed, she and her sisters had made forays into the markets. Margaret had selected spices and herbs for cooking and perfumes. Elizabeth had chosen cloth, silks and cottons, enough to keep them in dresses for years. Nicola had discovered a number of gemstones and purchased several pieces of carved jade.

As the mist thinned, she leaned against the rail. The wood felt rough beneath her hands. What had Cousin Fergus done when he returned to find them gone? Her hands tightened on the rail. When she imagined his rage over his thwarted plans, gooseflesh rose on her arms. She dreaded the thought of wedding a stranger, but she had no other choice. Papa, why? She blinked tears from her eyes.

"Nica, Nica, land."

When had Margaret left the cabin? Nicola gasped. Her youngest sister had climbed the rail. Margaret leaned into the wind. Brown hair streaked with russet tones had escaped her braid and flew around her face. Nicola grabbed the child and pulled her to the deck. During the voyage, Margaret had found a dozen ways to endanger herself, from climbing into the rigging to exploring the dark holds.

"You will be breakfast for the fishes if you don’t have a care." Nicola fought to keep fear from her voice.

"I want to see home." Margaret spun around. "Prabha made me wear three dresses lest I feel the cold. She has wrapped all the blankets around her. I like the cold air. Are you excited about coming home?"

Nicola shook her head. "Home is months behind us. I feel little liking for a fog-shrouded land." She captured her sister’s hand.

Margaret tugged free. "But Papa and Mama lived here. How can you not be excited?"

A sigh escaped Nicola’s lips. She didn’t believe she could explain her fears and her dreams, especially to a child.

Elizabeth strolled across the deck. Even after months of travel, she looked as though a dozen servants attended her. "Nica fears to meet the man she must wed. I think she has a dream she knows will go unfulfilled."

What did Elizabeth know of dreams? With her face and fortune, she would have no worries.

"I don’t fear him." Not much, Nicola thought. She only feared the things he might make her feel. What if the Earl was a cruel or evil man like the one her mother had escaped? "I must admit to curiosity. Mr. Timmons has said little about him?"

"I pray he’s like Papa." Margaret skipped away.

"If you had a choice, what kind of man would you marry?" Elizabeth asked.

Nicola stared at the coastline and the river the skin moved toward. What kind of man? If she could choose, she’d have a hero like the gods of Hindu myth. "A tall, muscular man with skin bronzed by the sun and hair as black as polished jet. A man like Siva."

Elizabeth laughed. "A myth is not a man. I would find a man who has wealth enough to buy me silks and jewels and give me a castle."

Nicola shook her head. "What if you didn’t love this rich man?"

"Then I would take a handsome lover like some of the company wives do."

Nicola gasped. "Elizabeth, how can you think such a thing?" She studied her sister. At nearly fifteen, Elizabeth showed the promise of great beauty. The mourning clothes enhanced her beauty instead of making her skin look muddy the way they did Nicola’s. Elizabeth had as natural qualities more of the sixty-four arts of the Kama Shastra than Nicola ever hoped to attain.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I heard one of them say it was easier to love rich than poor. I wouldn’t want to eat only rice and wear rags. That’s not my dream."

Nicola turned away. Until this voyage, she’d been too busy to dream. At home, her days had been full. Most nights, she’d been too tired to build fantasies. For eight years, responsibility for her sisters, their father and their home had been hers. What would happen when the weight belonged to another?

Part of her felt glad, yet another part resisted. How could she turn the care of her sisters over to a stranger? She knew the girls and the things that made them happy or sad. She understood Elizabeth’s need to be admired and Margaret’s daring deeds seemed from the loss of their father. Would a stranger know this?

Tears welled in her eyes. Since her father’s death, she had nearly cried so many times but she had to remain strong for her sisters. If not for Cousin Fergus’ threat, she could have made a life for them. According to Mr. Timmons, there had been no other choice. Few women were deemed capable of controlling their own lives and money.

Margaret skipped past. Nicola grabbed her sister’s arm and motioned to Elizabeth. Once they reached the cabin, they ate the meal the cabin boy brought them. Then they set about packing the remainder of their belongings.

Prabha sat on the edge of the lower bunk. The blankets hid all but her round face. "Ai, ai, where is the sun?"

Nicola hugged the amah. "The fog has lifted."

"I pray your husband is not as cold as the air."

Nicola reached for a nightgown hanging on a hook beside the door. Though she had offered Prabha and Sarad enough money to purchase a house and land in India, Margaret’s tears and tantrums had swayed the amah. Sarad had looked on the journey as an adventure.

"What be this England like?" Prabha asked. "How grows the rice without the sun? Ai, ai, we will starve. We will turn to ice. Better for me and Sarad to stay in Calcutta."

"And face Cousin Fergus’ wrath," Elizabeth said. "He would have punished you because we were gone."

"Say not his name. He be a demon. Do not speak of the bhujang and draw him here."

The cobra. Nicola shuddered. She’d heard tales of how Cousin Fergus beat the natives he employed. Whispers had spread of the houses where he kept young girls. Nicola pulled Margaret onto the bunk between the amah and herself.

What seemed like hours later, the motion of the ship ceased. Nicola heard shouts and the thud of booted feet. Margaret opened the door. Nicola dashed after her youngest sister. Mr. Timmons and Sarad stood beside the gangplank. Nicola dragged Margaret to join them. A brackish odor rose from the dark waters and caused Nicola to cough. She dropped Margaret’s hand and pressed a handkerchief to her face. Men moved about the wooden deck. With a thud, the gangplank was lowered.

Mr. Timmons turned. "A message has been dispatched to my employer. ‘Twould be best if you wait in the cabin until his carriage arrives. Young and Sarad and I will see to your belongings and arrange for them to be carted to Denmere."

Nicola swallowed. To arrive in a strange land was difficult, but to enter a stranger’s house seemed worse. "Will you come with us?"

"I have business matters to attend so I can’t. Mr. Grey will await you at his house. He was your father’s friend and I’m sure he is eager to have you."

"Why must we stay in London? Could we go with the carts to Denmere?"

Mr. Timmons clucked his tongue. "That is not the proper mode of transportation for a lady. Soon you will be a countess. Since the Earl must come to London to discuss business matters with Mr. Grey, it is only proper that he escort you and your sisters to your new home." He strode down the gangplank.

Though there were a dozen questions she wanted to ask, Mr. Timmons moved too fast to give her time to frame them. She stared at the scene on the dock. Men dressed in rough clothes carried boxes and bales to long carts. Great nets filled with all manner of things were lifted from the holds and dropped to the wooden dock. A gray haze blurred the sun.

"Margaret!" Sarad shouted.

Nicola turned. Sarad pulled Margaret away from the gaping opening of one of the holds. Nicola muffled a cry with her hand. What mischief would her youngest sister find next? Noxious odors blended until no single smell could be identified. Nicola herded her party to the cabin.

By the time Mr. Timmons returned, she could have gladly slapped her sisters. Elizabeth complained about the stuffy cabin and about the stench when the porthole was open. Margaret cried to be free of confinement. She climbed to the top bunk and jumped to the floor as dozen times. Prabha moaned and bewailed their probable fate in this cold land. Sarad left the cabin and finally returned with the older man.

"Thank heavens you’ve come." Nicola rubbed her temples.

Sarad grabbed a pair of portmanteaus. Two burly men pushed into he cabin and lifted the trunks to their shoulders. Nicola grabbed Margaret’s hand and half-dragged the child down the gangplank and across the wooden dock to the road where the carriage waited. Nicola, Prabha and the two girls climbed inside. Sarad rode with the driver.

The carriage swayed. Margaret squealed and pointed to the sights. Nicola leaned against the squabs. What would she do if she didn’t like the Earl? She grasped the pouch of gemstones. The means to escape an unwanted marriage was here, but first, she had to be sure Cousin Fergus had no way to gain control of her sisters and their fortunes.

The carriage stopped. Nicola had no idea how long they’d been riding. When the door opened, she saw a row of houses build against a narrow walkway with no space between one house and the next. She longed for the bungalow with the wide verandah and the wall that enclosed the entire property. A lump of sadness settled in her throat.

A man wearing a gray suit and a vivid blue waistcoat strode toward the carriage. In her haste to escape, Margaret trod on Nicola’s foot and nearly knocked the man over. Nicola followed too late to catch her sister.

"Margaret, come back."

The gentleman chuckled. "Miss Gordon, welcome to England. Ian Grey at your service."

Though she wanted to pursue her sister before the child found some new mischief, she paused and looked at the man. "Mr. Grey, how good of you to take us into your home. We appreciate the courtesy."

"My pleasure." His thinning sandy hair showed hints of silver. "Your father and I were friends as well as business associates. Though I have just a bachelor’s home to offer, your stay will be a delight."

"Surely we could have stayed at an inn." Margaret raced back. Nicola signaled Sarad to capture her. "As you can see, my youngest sister has much energy."

"Can you imagine the child cooped up in rooms at a hotel or an inn? She has the look of your father." Mr. Grey stepped forward to assist Elizabeth from the carriage. "And you, my dear, will take the ton by storm when you take your bows."

Elizabeth smiled smugly. Nicola shook her head. Her sister had no need to hear words of flummery.

"Come, let us go inside," Mr. Grey said. "I am so sorry your father is gone. I shall miss his letters."

Nicola swallowed. Tightness in her chest made breathing hard. Seek calmness, she thought, and slowly inhaled the way Yogi Yakshi had taught.

Though the official mourning period for her father had ended, she knew no day would pass when she didn’t miss him.

* * * *

The message Drew both dreaded and desired arrived from London along with two carts of furniture, carpets and trunks. He and Jem assisted the carters in carrying the items to a room in the unused west wing of the house. When his future wife arrived, they could discuss where to place the furniture. He clenched his fists. In little more than a month, he’d be a married man.

As he walked to the library, he considered the upcoming ceremony and his unknown bride. He paused at the bookshelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling. Gaps in the rows showed where volumes had been removed by the former Earl and sold. Cases, paintings, furniture, anything of the slightest value had been wagered on the turn of a card or the roll of dice.

Drew walked to the window. Nicola Gordon was in London awaiting his arrival. What kind of woman would she be? He couldn’t believe she would fit easily into London society. Her father, though distantly related to some Scottish earl, had been a merchant. In defiance, her mother had run away rather than marry the man chosen by her father. His bride- to-be had been raised in a heathen land. How could her nature have failed to be colored by the land of her birth?

He wouldn’t countenance a wife who looked at other men with flirtatious glances. He recalled the day he’d slipped into his mother’s room and seen her writhing beneath the naked body of a stranger. Years had passed before he’d understood what the pair had been doing. As a child, he’d been frightened and as a young man sickened.

At least there would be no fashionable London wedding with the ton in attendance to peer through their quizzing glasses and examine every move his bride made. Aldora wanted the wedding to follow Denmere tradition and take place in the village church. This decision had pleased him. Before the ton met his bride, he and Aldora would drill her in the proper manner of behavior to make sure she created no scandals.

He clutched the note from Mr. Grey, walked upstairs and rapped on the door of the Dowager’s sitting room. Bertha, her aging abigail, opened the door. A smile lightened her usual grim features.

"My lady has sent for tea. Should I add a cup for you, my lord?"

"Not this morning." He stepped inside to allow her to leave the room. "How fares she today?" For the past week, Aldora had kept to her rooms. Though he’d visited her every day and noticed no sign of illness, he felt concerned.

Bertha shrugged. "She’s dreadfully worried about her granddaughters and fears they have been lost at sea. If she continues the way she has, she will become ill."

"Then my news will cheer her." Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Aldora lounged on a sofa in front of the fireplace. A lavender shawl covered her legs. The shabbiness of the room troubled him. The carpet had bare patches the furniture failed to hide. Mended draperies hung at the windows. Though he’d wanted to spend some of the money the solicitor had advanced on the house, she had refused.

"Take care of the land and the land will take care of us," she had told him. The only purchase she had not protested was the new carriage.

"I hope Bertha hasn’t alarmed you with her doom-saying, Drew. I have been tired these past few days from all the arranging we’ve been doing, nothing more."

Her smile warmed him. "Your granddaughters are in London with Mr. Grey."

She pressed her hand to her chest. "Oh, la, we must leave at once." Tears trickled down her cheeks. "I never thought to see --" Her voice broke.

He knelt beside the sofa. "Aunt Aldora, don’t cry."

"For joy. These are happy tears."

He didn’t understand. The only tears he’d ever shed had been ones of anger and anguish on the day he’d learned his mother would never return. There had been no tears when his father had died.

She kissed his cheek. "When do we leave?"

"In the morning."

"Why wait? I’ll summon Bertha to ready my things. We can leave immediately after luncheon. Oh, Drew, they have come." She leaped to her feet.

All color drained from her face. She crumpled. He caught her before she hit the floor. "Aunt Aldora."

Her skin felt feverish. Her pulse bounded against his fingers. He lifted her to the sofa. The door opened. Bertha backed into the room. She turned and set the tea tray on a table. "What happened, my lord?"

"When she heard the news of her granddaughter’s arrival, she jumped up. Without warning, she collapsed."

The abigail reached for the small vial on the table near the sofa. "She has overset herself with excitement."

"Her skin is hot. I believe she’s ill."

Bertha waved the vinaigrette under the Dowager’s nose. "Perhaps she caught a chill when we aired the rooms she chose for the girls."

"Send Jem for Dr. Rodgers."

Aldora moaned. Her eyelids fluttered open. "Drew," she whispered.

He reached for her hand. "Don’t worry. I’m sending for Dr. Rodgers. Then Jem will go to London and direct Mr. Grey to bring them here."

She tried to sit up. "’Twill not do. They are in a strange land. They are alone. You must go."

"I won’t leave until I’m sure you’re well."

"Please go for them." She closed her eyes. "If you refuse, I will rise from my bed and go myself."

Drew kissed her cheek. "We’ll discuss this after Dr. Rodgers has been here. What if this is the start of some illness? You wouldn’t want your granddaughters to take the sickness."

She nodded. "You are right, but I want so much to see them."

"And you will." He rose and strode to the door. No matter how much she pleaded, he wouldn’t leave until he knew the severity of her illness. Though her granddaughters were important to her, they could wait. What would it be like if he could believe he mattered as much to someone?

* * * *

Nicola sat on the edge of the bed and once again counted the money she and Sarad had received for the two rubies sold to a jeweler Mr. Grey had recommended. She had asked him for the name of someone who could repair her mother’s pin as a present for her newly found grandmother. Though Mr. Grey had been generous about providing them with clothes and books during the fortnight they’d been at his house, she wanted money to tuck away for an emergency. The rubies had brought more money than she’d expected. With a smile, she put the money in the sandalwood box her father had given her.

She stroked the smooth, scented wood. The box had a secret compartment. Her father had shown her how to open it but she’d forgotten the trick. One day, she would remember.

With a sigh, she set the box on the dresser and went to find Elizabeth and Margaret. Seeing they were occupied with their lessons, she went to the morning room.

She stood at the window that looked into the square. A fortnight and the Earl hadn’t come. What would she do if he never arrived? Her sisters’ safety depended on her marriage to him. She didn’t believe Cousin Fergus would forget his plans.

At breakfast, M. Grey had mentioned that two of the ships in which her father and his partner had shares were due from India. Her heart thudded. Would her father’s cousin be on one of them?

She sank on the carpet and twisted into a semi-lotus position. She wished for the shirt and dhoti she wore at home, but they were packed in one of the trunks sent to Denmere. After a series of calming breaths, she felt less on edge. She returned to the window.

I’m suck of the idles, she thought. She craved stimulating activity and new responsibilities. She would never be an English lady and sit with idle hands. But here, there was nothing. Mr. Grey’s housekeeper needed no instructions. The small garden behind the house waited for spring. A dressmaker had completed the wardrobe Mr. Grey had ordered.

A carriage halted across the street. A man climbed from the perch. Nicola’s breath caught in her throat. His greatcoat swirled as he turned and stared at the house. He reached the sidewalk. She caught a glimpse of sun-tanned skin. His hair gleamed like polished jet.

Siva! Dare she hope? She felt like Parvati must have the first time she had seen her consort. Nicola turned from the window. Elizabeth’s remark about her dreams arose. Just for a moment, she would allow herself a fantasy and the hope she would find the kind of love her parents had had for each other.

"Nica, Nica, I saw him. The Earl is here." Margaret dashed into he room.

"I thought you were at your lessons. What will the Earl think when he sees you acting like a romp?"

The child grinned. "I doubt he’ll be troubled. I’m not to be his bride."

Nicola swallowed a laugh. Trust Margaret to make her forget for a second what she faced. Nicola crossed to the sofa and sat with her hands in her lap. Her thoughts rattled like gemstones in a pouch. Should she stay or hurry to her room and wait to be summoned? Was her morning dress of pale yellow calico with a deep green embroidered band at the hem suitable for meeting an earl? She thought of the dozen day dresses in the wardrobe. Would one of them be better? She looked at the watch hanging at her waist and wished the meeting were over.

Margaret bounced on the sofa. "When will we meet him? He’s tall and not at all like I thought he would be."

"Sit still or I’ll send you upstairs."

"Aren’t you excited? Don’t you wonder what he’ll be like. We’ll see our grandmother soon. Do you think she came with him? Do you --"

Margaret’s chatter drove Nicola from the sofa. She had to distract her sister before the chatter produced a scream. Nicola attempted to calm her racing thoughts but this time the calming breaths had no results.

"He went into Mr. Grey’s study. You know, the place with all the books and where I spilled the ink. He looked most serious."

Nicola clasped her hands. What did it mean? She walked toward the door and then turned and walked back to the sofa. She sat beside Margaret and chewed on her lower lip.

Finally, the door opened. Mr. Grey entered. The man Nicola had seen outside the house followed him. She grabbed Margaret’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

"My lord," Mr. Grey said. "May I present Miss Gordon and her sister, Margaret."

Nicola curtsied. "I am pleased to meet you, my lord."

"Miss Gordon, Drew Barlow, Earl of Denmere." Mr. Grey completed the introduction.

The Earl bowed over her hand. "Welcome to England."

Nicola looked into eyes the same shade of blue green as her own, though his seemed hard as glass. Not knowing what to do or say, she stared. Her heart fluttered. Her thoughts churned. Seen at a distance, he had been an answer to her dreams, but up close, he made her feel giddy and light-headed.

Margaret darted into the space between Nicola and the Earl. "Are you really an earl? I thought you would be old. I saw an earl in Calcutta. He had white hair and walked with a stick. Where is my grandmother? Does she want to see us?"

"Your grandmother is most eager to see you, but she has been ill," the Earl said.

"I can not bear another death." Nicola didn’t realize how loud she’d spoken until she saw the Earl’s stare.

"She had a fever and a chill but she has recovered and awaits your arrival at Denmere." He flipped open a watch case. "I plan to leave in an hour so we can reach out first stop before dark."

Nicola places her hands on Margaret’s shoulders. "Tell Prabha and Elizabeth to finish the packing. I will send a footman to the mews for Sarad and ask Mr. Grey’s cook to pack a luncheon basket for us." She released her hold and turned to the Earl. "Will that suit you, my lord?"

He nodded. "First a word or two, Miss Gordon. Has Mr. Grey explained the terms of your father’s will? Do you understand what is expected of you?"

Nicola stared at the floor. Could she marry him? Did she have a choice? "I believe so, my lord."

"Then all will be well." He opened the door. "One hour, Miss Gordon."

"We’ll be ready, for we’re most eager to meet our grandmother."

The hardness vanished from his eyes. "I doubt she will rest until you arrive. That’s the reason for the rush."

"Then I must make sure everyone moves quickly." She ran down the hall.

Chapter 3

The sway of her yellow skirts made Drew think of spring and daffodils dancing in the breeze. Except for the eyes of Denmere blue, the chit resembled a young Aldora. Nicola Gordon’s hair, the color of rich, fertile earth, made him itch to see the tight braids loosened. He ached to plunge his hands into the mass and feel the tendrils cling to his skin.

He stood in the doorway of the morning room. Why had this chit accomplished what no other woman had ever done? Her shy glances had severed the tight ropes of his control, something the sultry looks of other women had never done. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions run rampant. His mother had. So had his father.

At eight years of age, Drew had vowed never to let anyone or anything control his life. The surge of lust for this chit had set him on his heels, but he wouldn’t succumb.

Enough, he thought. He couldn’t afford to give this woman the power to excite him into lust. For lust his mother had abandoned her husband and son. Desire was a lure designed to destroy control. He turned away.

Mr. Grey studied him. "Your bride is a taking young woman, my lord."

Not trusting himself to speak lest something in his voice betray his inner turmoil, Drew sat on the brocade sofa and cleared his throat. "She says she understands the terms of her father’s will and the marriage contract. Does she know that even if we don’t wed, I’ll have complete control of her sisters? Does she realize if she doesn’t marry me, she must remain in England as my dependent? Why would her father have set such terms?

Mrs. Grey studied his hands. "He feared his daughter’s love of India would see her eager to return once her sisters were settled. For her to return would put her in danger. India is no place for a woman alone."

"Nor is England. How can she be fool enough to think she can have charge of her life?"

Mr. Grey’s brow furrowed. "Since I stand as Ian’s friend as well as his solicitor, perhaps I should tell you about her. Her father wrote often and in glowing terms about her abilities."

Drew stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "She seems quite ordinary." He hoped he’d managed to inject the bored tones affected by Cairnton into his voice.

Mr. Grey moved from the fireplace. "She’s sensible and practical. Since her mother’s death, she has managed the house and cared for her father and sisters. Her sense of duty to those she loves has kept her from seeking her own desires."

Drew’s hands clenched. Is he trying to tell me there was a man she loved and would have wed? There was no reason for this idea to trouble him. Marriage had nothing to do with love.

"Besides her skill at running a household, she’s an excellent gemologist. She can also read and speak the languages of India and several others as well. Her father was proud of her accomplishments."

A bluestocking, he thought. Some members of the ton looked down on educated women. In the past, he’d found pleasure in discussing intellectual matters with women. He didn’t believe he would feel threatened by a wife who had an interest in matters other than gossip.

His shoulders tensed. He’d heard his future wife issue orders and saw how quickly her hoyden of a sister had obeyed. Was Miss Gordon so used to being in command he and she would clash over who held control?

"If she is all these things, why did her father not name her as guardian to her sisters?"

"She is a woman and hardly of an age for such responsibility. And of course, there is her father’s partner, a most unsavory man. If Fergus Crawford could find a way to be named guardian, the girls would never see a penny of their fortunes."

"I see. As her husband, I’ll have a closer claim as guardian. So be it."

Mr. Grey smiled. "I knew you would understand. I have prepared a packet describing each of the investments I made for Ian. I’ve also included suggestions for maintaining and changing them, according to your desires."

Drew nodded. "Let me take them for further study. One more thing. I would like to purchase estates for each of my wards. In Oxfordshire, not too distant from Denmere."

"An excellent suggestion. I’ll send a man to investigate possibilities. With luck, I should have a list of suitable properties when I arrive for the wedding. Ian gave me the honor of escorting his daughter to the altar." He poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Drew. "A toast to your bride, my lord."

Drew accepted the glass. Though he seldom indulged in strong spirits, he could think of no polite way to refuse. Memories of his father’s drunkenness had kept him from sliding into a bottle in search of solutions to his problems.

Mr. Grey raised his glass. "To Miss Gordon, a most delightful young woman who will make a charming countess and a helpful life’s companion."

Drew sipped and put his glass down. Charming, perhaps. Helpful, maybe. His thoughts roiled with objections to the marriage. First there were the feelings that enticed him to surrender the rigid control he maintained over his emotions. Then there was her managing nature. He would not abide a wife who sought to rule. All decisions about the estates, the houses, their social life, her sisters, and the use of the monies she brought with her belonged to him.

Mr. Grey cleared his throat. "Will you be leasing the London town house this Season?"

"No."

"Then you will be renovating?"

"I’ll let the Dowager decide what must be done."

"Not your wife?"

Drew resumed his seat on the sofa. "I had thought to send the Dowager and the younger girls to town for several weeks while Miss Gordon and I become better acquainted."

"I do not deem that proper."

"I’m afraid I phrased my intentions badly. I meant after the wedding. My wife and I will need time to learn how to go on with each other without having to deal with children."

"Will the Dowager be willing to part from one of her newly found loved ones so soon? Perhaps ‘twould be best if you were all to come to town."

Drew looked away. "Perhaps I could take my seat in the House while my wife learns how to conduct herself properly in polite society." He wondered what had brought the frown to the older man’s face.

"I...." Mr. Grey shook his head. "Do you think the Prince will be named as Regent?"

"I’m sure he will be. From all I’ve heard, our King’s condition worsens. Because of the trouble with Napoleon and the rumblings of the upstarts in America, a strong hand is needed."

Mr. Grey finished his drink. "I feel their accusations are just. We need no trouble with them when all our strength is needed to defeat the French."

"You have the right of that." Drew lifted the packet of papers.

A footman entered the room and bowed to Drew. "My lord, Miss Gordon has her party assembled in the hall and awaits your pleasure." He turned to his employer. "Burns has put a carriage and driver at their disposal to transport their luggage."

Drew thought of the trunks already at Denmere. How much more could his future wife want or need? He remembered his father’s shouts and his mother’s tears. They had argued constantly about her desire for jewelry and clothes. The man she’d gone away with had been able to provide her with all the luxuries she carved. But she had left that man as well.

His wife would soon learn to live within the allowance he granted her. Though she brought wealth to the marriage, he would hold control.

He followed Mr. Grey from the room. He walked to his betrothed’s side.

She smiled. "We are ready and it lacks a quarter hour of the time you set." She reached for her sisters’ hands. "You’ve met Margaret. This is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, the Earl of Denmere."

The girl was neither child nor woman. She curtsied. "I am most pleased to meet you, my lord."

Though she gazed at him through lowered lashes, there was no hint of shyness in her eyes. She showed a promise of great beauty, yet he found neither her looks nor her manner to his liking.

"Charmed." The word emerged clipped. The chit reminded him of the flirtatious young women he had no patience with. For the first time since he’d hurried home to deal with Aldora’s disaster, he felt thankful Nicola Gordon would be his bride.

He turned and shook Mr. Grey’s hand. "I’ll be in touch with you about the business matters and we’ll see you at Denmere in five weeks."

Mr. Grey nodded. The older man hugged each of the girls. He pulled on the end of Margaret’s braid. "No mischief, child. Cook may never recover from the discovery of a live chicken in her cooking pot." He turned to Elizabeth. "My dear, take time to be a child. One is grownup for too many years." He embraced Nicola.

Drew didn’t hear what the older man said to her. He struggled with a primitive urge to wrest his future wife from the older man’s arms.

She stepped away from Mr. Grey and turned to Drew. "My lord, there are two other members of our family you haven’t met." She indicated the dark-skinned couple. "Prabha, our amah and her son, Sarad, have been members of our family since I was born. Sarad is my best friend."

The warmth in her voice raised a bolt of jealousy. His hands clenched. Her best friend. Why did this announcement upset him? He had no reason to believe her caring for the young man went beyond the responsibility and duty she felt toward her family.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Let us be away. Our destination is at a distance." He strode to the door.

Once the women were inside the coach, he climbed onto the box beside Jem. The Indian boy rode with the driver of the second coach. Drew flicked the reins and concentrated on the route through the bustling streets of town and into the countryside.

At dusk, they reached the inn where he’d arranged for rooms. Had he known the size of the party, he would have rented a third sleeping room. While Sarad carried the portmanteaus upstairs and Nicola herded her sisters and the female servant after him, Drew spoke to the landlord and arranged for a meal to be served in a private parlor.

As he turned to leave the common room, a commotion in the hall pulled him to the door. Margaret raced down the stairs with Nicola on her heels.

"Margaret, come back."

The door of the inn opened and a dandified young man sauntered into view. Margaret plowed into him. His cane flew into the air. The elaborately arranged neckcloth unraveled. His hat landed on the floor beneath him.

Drew choked back a laugh. The incident couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man. Viscount Devonley was a man full of himself and the wealth he stood to inherit on his elderly father’s death.

The doomed man sputtered. Nicola Gordon laughed softly. Drew’s shoulders stiffened like a soldier’s at attention. Her laughter brought images of his mother to his mind.

"Margaret." Drew pointed to the private parlor. "Go inside and wait for me." The child couldn’t continue to behave like a hoyden.

"Well if it ain’t the Parson Earl."

Drew extended his hand and helped the young man to his feet. "Devonley."

Elizabeth approached. "I am most sorry about your accident. My sister’s behavior is at fault."

The young man’s eyes narrowed. His lips curled into a smile. "And who might you be?"

Drew breathed in relief when Miss Gordon pulled her sister away. "She’s a young relative of the Dowager’s. I’m escorting her to Denmere for a visit." No need to announce the girls’ identity, Drew thought. News of Aldora’s granddaughters would sweep through the ton all too soon.

Devonley retrieved his hat. "How old?"

"She’s still in the schoolroom."

"Pity. I would have given her anything she asked."

"And I would have called you out."

Devonley’s eyebrow arched so high, Drew thought it might touch the lock of hair arranged so artfully on the young man’s forehead. "No insult meant, Denmere." He sauntered away. "Who would have thought the Parson Earl would stoop to duel?"

* * * *

The Parson Earl, Nicola thought. How very apt. She had seen the same judgmental look on his face as the one worn by the vicar in Calcutta. He strode into the room. She pulled her sisters toward the fireplace and gathered them close.

He halted in front of her. "Do not think to protect them from a wigging." He glared at Margaret. "From this moment, you will behave like a young lady and cease playing the hoyden." He turned to Elizabeth. "And you will behave in a demure manner. Bold flirtatious ways won’t be tolerated in my house."

"Yes, my lord," Elizabeth said.

He tapped a booted foot against the wooden floor. "Margaret, I await your answer."

"Yes sir, I mean my lord."

Nicola wondered if he’d seen the flash of defiance in her sister’s brown eyes. Since their father’s death, Margaret had acted like a kite cut loose from its string. And Elizabeth craved the approval of every man they met.

A buxom woman backed into the room and placed dishes from a tray on the sideboard. "Your supper, my lord." She flashed a smile at the Earl.

Nicola stared. The low cut neckline of the woman’s dress barely covered her bosom.

The Earl reached into his pocket and flipped a coin to the woman. She caught it and tucked the money in the top of her dress. "Thank ye kindly, my lord. Be there anything else I can do for ye, I be in the common room." She ran her tongue across her lower lip.

He smiled. Nicola felt tightness grip her chest. After her mother’s death, she’d seen the same look on the faces of several Company wives who had come bearing food for the poor motherless family. One of them had offered her father comfort. Would the Earl accept the woman’s suggestion? Nicola let out a slow breath when the dour expression returned to his face.

"That will be all," he said.

Nicola moved to the sideboard and filled plates for her sisters. She set aside some vegetables for Prabha, who despite Nicola’s urgings, had remained in the room where they would sleep that night. Aboard ship, they had taken their meals together. Since their arrival in London, Prabha and Sarad had returned to their servant roles. The change troubled Nicola for she considered the pair as family. So had her father. He’d been training Sarad to take over the business.

During dinner, each time Nicola looked up, she caught the Earl staring. His blue green eyes appraised her with the same intentness she used to examine the gems her father had bought. Was something amiss? Were her manners faulty? How had she earned the disapproval of the Parson Earl?

He wasn’t the kind of man to display the closeness she wished to share with a husband. Love, laughter, tenderness, caring, the kind of passion Parvati and Siva had found.

He smiled. Her body vibrated with an energy she couldn’t define. "Is there a problem, my lord?"

The smile faded. "None that five weeks won’t end."

She frowned. In five weeks, they would be married and he would control not only her sisters’ fortunes but also hers. Was he planning to abandon her and lead the life she’d heard the servants at Mr. Grey’s house describe?

"Them nobs give no thought but to pleasure. Them chance more money than I see in years on the turn of a card. Drink enough to make them reel. Them seeks the company of ladybirds at lets a man do what he wants."

Once dinner ended, Nicola picked up the plate of food she had set aside for Prabha and pushed her sisters ahead of her to the stairs. Inside the room where the trundle bed had been pulled out, Margaret put her hands on her hips. "I don’t like the Earl. He’s mean."

"But handsome," Elizabeth said.

"I want Papa." Tears rolled down Margaret’s face.

Nicola pulled her sister into her arms. "Don’t cry."

Elizabeth huffed. "I would like Papa to be here, too, but he’s dead. Why must you behave so foolishly? You knocked that young man down. He stared at us like we were fakirs in the market."

"And you fluttered your eyes and acted like a monkey seeing a piece of fruit."

"Enough brangling," Nicola said. "I find myself in agreement with the Earl regarding your behavior. Both of you. Wash and go to bed. We have a long day tomorrow."

Margaret made a face. "Must you marry him?"

"Papa wanted me to." Nicola walked to the window and stared into the courtyard. What had happened to her dream of finding a hero like Siva? His love for Parvati had come in a sudden awakening. She wasn’t sure she had the kind of patience Parvati had shown.

She removed her dress and pulled on a linen nightgown and a woolen dressing gown. While Prabha brushed and braided her sisters’ hair, Nicola laid out dresses for the next day. Then she slipped into bed beside Elizabeth and drifted to sleep.

* * * *

Moonlight dappled the forest glen. She edged between two trees and saw him. He sat at the edge of a small pool and stared at the distant dark mountains. The scent of jasmine filled the air.

She sighed. "If he would but notice me, he would love me as I love him. Alas, it is said grief burrows into his bones."

She crossed the clearing and sat in a Lotus position facing him. For many nights, she had come and kept a silent vigil. He smiled. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a dove. He held out his hand. Her fingers touched his and her yoni throbbed.

Gracefully, he drew her to her feet. He put his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers. His lingam swelled and throbbed against her.

* * * *

"Nica, Nica, you must wake up."

Nicola rolled onto her side. "What?"

"He has been to the door and wishes to leave as soon as we are dressed. Breakfast has been delivered. Hurry, we must not displease him."

Nicola reached for the wet cloth Margaret held. She washed her face and rinsed her mouth with the spice water Prabha had mixed. There was barely enough time for a cup of tea and a slice of toasted bread before Sarad arrived for the portmanteaus.

Remnants of the dream lingered, but there was no time to ponder why she’d seen the Earl instead of Siva. She pushed her sisters to the door. The Earl waited at the foot of the stairs. He held a watch in his hand. A scowl darkened his features.

Nicola shuddered. In her dreams, he had become Siva, but she felt sure his soul had been invaded by demons she could never drive away.

Papa, why, she cried silently. Though the reports from Mr. Grey had mentioned the Earl’s serious and industrious nature, they had neglected to say he had a diamond for a heart. He would never cherish her the way her father had held her mother in his heart. Nicola couldn’t imagine the Earl shedding tears is she should die.

With her head held high, she strode past him. Once in the carriage, she leaned against the squabs. Tonight she would tell him they wouldn’t suit.

* * * *

The sun hadn’t begun to fade when the coach halted in front of a rambling stone inn. Nicola waited until her sisters and Prabha alit before she moved to the door. The Earl held out his hand. She hesitated. To touch him would bring a rush of sensations she didn’t understand. She placed her fingers on his arm. His muscles tensed. As she had suspected, he wanted this marriage not one wit more than she did.

"My lord, I believe we must talk about our marriage."

His eyes narrowed. "You’re right. We must. Once you see your sisters to their room, come down. We will walk in the courtyard. The day is mild so you should not suffer from the cold."

Once her sisters were in the room they would share for the night, Nicola returned to the courtyard. In silence, she and the Earl walked toward a cluster of trees at the side of the inn. Some of the barren branches brushed the upper stories of the building.

"My lord.…" Her voice broke. "My lord, I find we will not suit."

"Pray tell me why you have reached that conclusion?"

"You seem to have little liking for me. That hardly seems a promise for a companionable marriage."

"Then you will be content to remain as a dependent."

She shook her head. "I’ll return to India."

"What about your grandmother? To lose you will bring her great sadness."

Nicola swallowed. "My sisters will remain here."

He shook his head. "As will you. Whether we marry or not, you will stay in England. India is no place for a young woman. By not marrying me, you will give your father’s cousin a chance to claim guardianship of your sisters. His is the closest relationship."

She turned away. Her dreams began to fracture like a badly cut emerald.

He braced his hand on one of the trees. "I fear your decision comes too late. The announcement of our betrothal has been in the London papers. To cry off now would create a scandal."

She edged away. "Then we must live unhappily ever after. I find that a harsh sentence."

"There is also the matter of my honor. I’ve signed the settlement papers and received monies I would be hard pressed to return."

Nicola thought about the hidden gems and her talent. "Keep the money."

He grasped her arm. "We will marry and out marriage will be no different from those of most of the ton. A man marries for money and an heir."

"And a woman?"

He laughed. "For a title. For security and guidance."

His words made her want to weep. Indeed, he was demon-ridden. "Then I have no choice. Once my sisters are safe, I’ll leave."

His eyes darkened. "I will have an heir. We’ll live as man and wife until that day. Do you understand what that means?"

His gaze ignited something deep inside her. "Yes." Passages from the Kama Sutra rose in her thoughts though she didn’t completely understand their meaning.

"Then there’s no problem."

Frost tinged his voice, and for an instant, she heard a trace of sadness. Could he years for the same closeness she desired? Hardly likely. "And the monies you receive. Will you spend them on women and games of chance?"

Anger flared in his eyes. "I don’t waste my time on drink and gaming. If there are other women, I’ll be discrete."

"How kind of you, my lord." She turned away. "I suppose I will marry you."

How dare she speak as though she granted him a favor? He couldn’t let her believe the choice was hers. In two strides, he reached her. He pulled her into the shadows beneath a massive oak. His arms encircled her. She stiffened and pushed against his shoulder. He dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers. If not with words, he would use his body to show her the favor was his.

Desire replaced anger. As his hands moved along her back, he felt a different tension in her muscles. Triumph nearly made him laugh. He ran his tongue along her lower lip. Her lips parted, allowing his tongue to touch her teeth. His control began to dissipate.

"Nica, Nica, help me."

Drew released Nicola. He turned and searched the shadows for the child. The cry came again.

"Margaret, where are you?" Nicola called.

"Stuck in the tree."

"Come down at once."

"My dress is caught."

"What am I to do with you?" Nicola pulled off her gloves and walked toward the tree.

Margaret screamed. Drew saw her dark shape hurtling toward them. He moved to intercept the child. The force of her landing sent him crashing to the ground with her in his arms. Air whooshed from his lungs.

Nicola pulled her sister from his arms. "Margaret, why must you do these things? You could have been sorely hurt."

Once Drew regained his breath, he rose. He limped to the pair. "She wants for discipline. I will see she receives just punishment for her foolish actions. Young lady, there will be no more of these incidents."

Nicola glared. "She is frightened. Two weeks before we boarded the ship to come to this alien land, our father was killed by bandits." She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. "I won’t allow you to punish her."

"The choice is not yours."

"You don’t understand. She chooses this way to express her fear and grief. Come, Margaret. We need to talk."

Drew watched them walk away. He understood more than she realized, but the child had to learn control. Impulsive actions led to disaster.

He leaned against a tree. Though he felt loath to admit the admiration he felt for his future wife, he smiled. She had been a tigress defending her young. From a hidden corner of his mind, a tendril of thought crept. He wanted her to display the same protectiveness toward him.

He shook his head. He didn’t want her love, just her passion. The kiss they’d shared had given him a glimpse of what their marriage could be and had nearly eroded his control.

* * * *

By the time Nicola reached the room on the second floor of the inn, her hands shook and her legs trembled. Fear for her sister had dissipated and anger took its place. Anger toward whom? Margaret? The Earl? He’d been right about Margaret needing discipline. Sometimes Nicola thought her sister’s common sense had been buried with their father.

"Margaret, why?"

Margaret’s brown eyes filled with tears. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall, but Elizabeth said the Earl was kissing you. I wanted to see."

Her sister’s words reminded Nicola of the kiss and the burning sensations that had flowed through her body and of the desire to know and experience what happened between a man and a woman.

She shook her head. "You must not act like this again. What will our grandmother think?"

"Will the Earl punish me?"

"I don’t know. Perhaps if you can show him what you are really like, he will change his mind."

"I will try."

Nicola sank on the bed. I really hope she can, she thought. She closed her eyes. She was so tired of the responsibility, and yet, she didn’t want to relinquish it to someone who might treat her sisters sternly.

Chapter 4

Margaret bounced up and down on the carriage seat. Her erratic movement sent the plaid woolen lap robe slithering to the floor. Nicola caught the edge and spread the cover over her legs. Though the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, the air held a touch of the frost that had covered the ground that morning. She wondered if she would ever feel warm again.

Without warning, a memory of the heat evoked by the Earl’s kiss arose. His lips had called for a response she couldn’t define. Mouth congress had brought pleasure and confusion. Would body congress with the Earl send her further along the path to enlightenment the way the Kama Sutra promised?

Before he had claimed her lips, kisses had been light touches on her cheek or brow by her parents or sisters. She closed her eyes and again saw the Earl’s angry eyes. His lips had been taut; the muscles in his arms tense. When the rigidity had seeped from his body, she had found a similar relaxing of her own. Once more she had hoped she’d found a man like Siva. Then Margaret had fallen and his reaction had dashed her dreams.

"Bored. I am most bored." Margaret’s voice held a whine of impatience. "How long has it been?"

Nicola fumbled beneath her cloak to look at the watch pinned at her waist. "Ten minutes since the last time you asked. Be still. You can’t shorten the journey by hopping about."

Prahba reached over and stroked the child’s leg. "Young Margaret, good things be waiting at the end of the traveling. Best to wait."

"When has she ever waited for anything?" Elizabeth asked. "When Margaret whines and fusses, everyone jumps. She has been indulged every day of her life."

"Enough." Nicola closed her eyes. "We are all tired of traveling."

Even the days spent at Mr. Grey’s house in London had been ones of confinement. There had been two afternoon expeditions to the shops and one Sunday morning’s attendance at church. Their host had been too busy to entertain three girls. The narrow walled garden behind the house had offered the illusion of freedom, but even, but even there, Margaret’s restless nature hadn’t been stilled.

"Nica, Nica, look." Margaret pulled the curtain away from the carriage window.

Nicola’s gaze followed her sister’s finger. A long wall of golden brown stone lined the right side of the road. Moments later, the carriage turned between the open gate in the wall and entered a tree-lined lane. The branches of the massive oaks met above the wide passage. At the end of the lane, she caught a glimpse of a house built of the same golden stone as the wall.

"Oh, Nica, there is so much that needs to be done." Margaret’s face showed her reaction to the untended grounds. "Do you suppose the Earl will let me clean the flower beds?"

"He is more likely to chain you in the schoolroom until you learn to control your behavior," Elizabeth said.

"Why?" Margaret leaned forward and pulled the strings of her sister’s had. "Just because you don’t want to feel the earth in your hands doesn’t mean I can’t."

Nicola grasped Margaret’s hands. "This closed space is not right for quarrels. I am most disappointed in the pair of you." A wave of weariness rushed over her. She was tired of being mother and father to her sisters.

The ten-year-old sank back in the seat. "Sorry."

"And so am I," Elizabeth said. "I am afraid. What will we do if the Earl and our grandmother don’t wish us to stay?"

"That won’t happen." Nicola struggled to keep her voice calm. She knew the truce between her sisters was only for the moment. Since their father’s death, they’d changed from loving friends into rivals. Perhaps here in England, they would find the security they had known in the bungalow in Calcutta.

The carriage halted. Through her window, Nicola saw a fountain filled with leaves and stagnant water. The huge house loomed on the other side. Though their bungalow had been among the largest, the entire compound could have fit into the area between the wings jutting on either side of the central portion of the house.

As soon as the carriage doors opened, Margaret tumbled out. "Margaret!" The Earl’s deep voice made Nicola jump.

Nicola grinned. The Earl would find turning Margaret into a lady as difficult as turning base metal to gold.

The Earl extended his arm. His brow wrinkled into a frown. What troubles him, she wondered. She was the one who had come to an alien land to wed a stranger. The thought of marriage frightened her. Other than what she’d read in the Kama Sutra, she had no knowledge of what passed between a man and a woman. He surely did. The East India Company wives had offered whispered words of how a man enjoyed the pleasure of marriage before his wedding night.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she removed her hand from his arm. Margaret had plunged into one of the tangled garden plots beside the steps leading to the house. Nicola walked up the first three and paused on the broad landing.

"La child, you look so like your mother."

A slender woman with graying hair crossed the second landing. She wore a lavender gown and clutched a purple shawl. Nicola ran up the second set of steps. Brown eyes the shade of Elizabeth’s glistened. Nicola felt the pressure of tears against her eyelids. This is how Mama would have looked.

Arms enfolded her. For a moment, she felt safe. "Grandmother, I’m so glad we’ve found you. Elizabeth, Margaret, come at once."

Margaret raced up the steps. Elizabeth moved faster than her usual languid stroll. The dowager touched Elizabeth’s hair. "You have my eyes and your grandfather’s beauty." She turned to Margaret. "And you, child, must be the image of your father."

Margaret edged closer to the Dowager. "They say I have his face, though I’m not sure it’s proper for a girl to look like a man. ‘Tis the nose, I fear."

"You will grow into your face. I find you a pretty child."

"But one full of mischief and sorely in need of discipline," the Earl said. "The first thing I must do is find a governess who will teach you manners and control."

Nicola stiffened. What right had he to separate her from her sisters?

"But Nica gives us our lessons," Margaret said.

"Your sister will have other responsibilities." He put his hand on the Dowager’s arm. "Aunt Aldora, you shouldn’t be outside in this chill air. What has come over you that you didn’t wait for us in the house?"

Nicola glared at him. His voice held more ice than the air. If she had been the Dowager, she would have run outside the moment she saw the carriage. How could he be so indifferent to the excitement of this meeting?

The Dowager looked at him. "How could I have waited? These are my girls and I had to see them at once."

"You’ve been ill. I don’t wish to see Dr. Rodgers at your bedside again."

The concern in his voice tempered Nicola’s irritation. If he cared for her grandmother, perhaps there was a chance for her to touch his heart.

"La, Drew, I am well recovered, but I suppose I must obey the head of the house."

His laughter startled Nicola. "Only when you can’t find a way to divert me."

As the Dowager crossed the broad landing, she held his arm. "I’m glad you returned so quickly, my boy. I have missed you."

Margaret clutched Nicola’s hand. When they entered the massive and gloomy front hall, the child’s grasp tightened. Nicola felt small and insignificant. The marble floor, a checkerboard of black and white, needed to be scrubbed. At the far wall, a pair of fireplaces flanked a massive double set of wooden doors. No fires burned in the hearths. Soot smudged the carved white marble chimney pieces. She saw pale places on the paneled walls where pictures had once hung. Cobwebs hung from twin chandeliers and in the high corners of the room.

The neglect she had noticed in the gardens continued in the house. A dozen questions arose but she hesitated to ask them. The house was like and unlike the one her mother had described.

A stoop-shouldered man entered the hall through a door on the right side. He bowed. "My lord, my lady."

"Greene, these are my granddaughters. Show them to the suite we prepared." The Dowager sank on a large bench beside the door. "I will see you at luncheon."

"In one hour," the Earl said.

Nicole followed the butler into a smaller hall with the same pattern of black and white marble on the floor. The staircase rose to a landing before continuing to the second floor. Sconces with huge candles lined the walls on either side of the stairs.

Margaret’s eyes widened. "’Tis big. Like a castle."

Elizabeth laughed. "Hardly a castle. There would be maids to do the cleaning and footmen to fetch and carry."

"And young ladies with enough manners not to find fault," Nicola said.

The butler opened a door into a sparsely furnished parlor where a fire burned on the hearth. Beyond the sitting room were two bedrooms, one with a wide, curtained bed and the other with a pair of narrower beds.

"Must I share with Margaret?" Elizabeth asked. "She is forever creating disorder."

"And she will need the entire wardrobe and the dressing table for her things," Margaret said.

"’Twill not be for long," Nicola said.

Elizabeth smiled. "Will you share a bedroom with the Earl?"

"I don’t know." Nicola entered the green and white room that would be hers until the wedding. A musty odor caused her to wrinkle her nose. Tomorrow, no, on Monday, she would see these rooms cleaned. Why had her grandmother allowed the servants to neglect the house?

Elizabeth sat on the bed. "With all the rooms in this house, I would think I could have one to myself."

"Mayhap there are things we don’t know. Mr. Grey said our grandfather left many debts."

Elizabeth sniffed. "Perhaps the Earl uses his money for pleasure. I heard Mr. Grey’s servants speak about the ton and their wastrel lives. I hope you won’t let him waste our inheritance. He could be as greedy as Cousin Fergus."

Nicola shuddered. "I don’t believe Papa would have arranged our lives this way if that were true."

Thuds from the sitting room made Nicola jump. What had Margaret found to overturn? She rushed to the door. Sarad, Jem and Mr. Grey’s driver had arrived with the trunks. The Earl followed with the portmanteaus. Her eyes widened. In all the stories she’d heard about nobility, she’d never heard of one who acted like a servant. The Earl was rapidly becoming an enigma.

"Thank you, my lord," she said.

Muttering a response, he wheeled and left the room. His broad shoulders were braced and his back stiff.

"Can I go outside?" Margaret asked. "’Tis a lovely day. From my bedroom window, I saw a lake."

"Our bedroom," Elizabeth said.

"We must unpack before our new dresses are wrinkled beyond repair."

"I would like to find the music room." Elizabeth opened one of the trunks. In all the days of travel, I fear I’ve lost my touch. Why did you refuse to allow me to bring my pianoforte?"

Margaret skipped to the door. "Would you have gone into the hold to practice? You’re afraid of the dark and the creatures that lurk there."

"Come back here," Nicola said.

Her call went unheard. Torn between capturing her sister and unpacking the trunks, she sighed. "That child must mend her ways before she is sent away to some school."

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. "Do you think he would do that? She needs us and we need her. Papa wouldn’t like her to be sent away."

"But Papa is not here." Nicola hugger her now weeping sister. "’Twill be all right. I won’t allow him to tear us apart."

* * * *

Drew stared at his empty plate and waited for the Dowager to signal the end of the evening meal. The incessant chatter of the youngest girl made him yearn to escape. Aldora rose. He pushed his chair back and headed for the door. "I’ll leave you ladies now and return to my study."

"My lord." His bride-to-be’s voice flowed like smooth cream.

"Yes."

"I would speak to you. There are things we must discuss."

"Tomorrow," he said, knowing the moment the church service ended he would ride to London.

"I’d rather speak now." Her voice sounded close and determined.

He strode down the hall. The rustle of silk and the sweet aroma of some exotic flower told him that she followed. Did she fail to realize what danger might face her if she were alone with him? He didn’t know how long he could control his lust.

"We must talk about the house and the hiring of servants. Cook says there are any number of people in the village in need of employment. If you are loath to ask, I will write to Mr. Grey for money."

He turned. "You will not."

"But there is much that needs to be done in the house. Prabha and Sarad will help but they can’t prepare the house in time for our wedding. In India, we had twice the number of servants for a house little bigger than the front courtyard."

Though he’d intended to hire staff for the house, he didn’t care for the demand in her voice. Denmere was his and he would give the orders. "This is not India and there is no need to make the house pretty for the wedding. Don’t expect guests from London. I have other uses for the money that will be mine on the day we wed."

She touched his arm. He took a step toward her. Her eyes reminded him of the lake on a sunny day. He raised his hand and thought to touch her hair. Her lowered lashes and demure stance excited him so much that he wished to rush the wedding night. The desire to feel her beneath him, to touch her soft skin brought a groan. He backed away. He wouldn’t allow lust to shatter his control.

"Leave me now." He strode to the window to escape the subtle lures she cast. Until he heard the door close, his shoulder muscles remained tense.

Why did her presence raise these storms of lust? Each encounters left his body aching and his thoughts torn between anger and need. Once again, she had issued a challenge and had attempted to snatch the rule from him. She had better soon learn that he wouldn’t live under the cat’s paw.

He knew the house needed servants to clean and polish but the land and the herds came first. Any money advanced would be used for the priorities he’d set. The house ended the list. Surely she didn’t believe there would be houseguests arriving for the wedding.

A rush of air hit his back. His jaw clenched. Would she ever learn to obey? Angry words became sputters when he saw Aldora standing in the doorway. "La Drew, they are wonderful. Thank you for your willingness to wed Nicola and bring them here."

"I had to marry an heiress. How else could the estates be restored?"

She sighed. "I know your view of marriage has been distorted by the ones you’ve seen, but there are marriages filled with love and joy."

He shrugged. "I’m looking for neither of those things. I wish a civil marriage and an heir. I won’t harm her." He looked away. He stood in more danger of harm. Nicola Gordon stirred yearnings that led only to hurt.

"I know you would never do harm with intent." She warmed her hands at the fireplace. "Already they have brought me happiness." She wiped her eyes with the lace- edged handkerchief she held. "This afternoon, Nicola showed me portraits of her parents. Alice looked as though she’d been blessed with a great love. Nicola said her father carried his grief to the grave."

Drew stiffened. Did Miss Gordon expect to be so loved? Impossible! He would never trust her enough to put his happiness in her hands. If he did, she would turn from him the way his mother had.

"Margaret is the image of her father. In time, she’ll be a handsome woman and learn to use her energy in her home."

He cleared his throat. "She is an unruly and undisciplined child."

The Dowager sighed. "Do not take her behavior to be her nature. You were the same when you first came to the manor."

Drew thought back to the day Aldora had arrived at the house where he and his father had rooms. Perhaps he had been wild, but for good reasons. He’d been so glad to leave the beatings and the sour smell of alcohol, he hadn’t wanted to be confined.

"Elizabeth has her grandfather’s beauty. When she comes out, we’ll have more offers for her than we can handle."

"She is vain and selfish."

"In time, she’ll learn there is more to a person than beauty." Aldora frowned. "And Nicola, what faults do you find in her?"

"She...she...." He walked to the desk. The fault he found her arose from his own response. "She will do. I made a promise I will fulfill."

The Dowager walked toward him. "She will be a good wife and she has many qualities you admire. Though you don’t love her now, I’m sure those feelings will grow as you learn more about each other."

"I’ve no belief in love and I’ve no desire to experience such folly. Love makes addle coves of men and women. Look at the way you stumbled over yourself trying to please a man who gave you naught but anger. I’m sure you believed yours was a love match."

Aldora shook her head. "It would have been better if I had loved Edgar. I gave my heart to a man with no title or expectations. My father would see me a countess. As a young man, Edgar was different from the man you knew. My constant sighing for a lost love changed him. My failure to give him an heir embittered him. At first, he gamed to find excitement. Later, he reveled in each loss. He tossed money the way I threw away his love."

Drew shook his head. He couldn’t believe what Aldora had just confided. "What about my father? He loved my mother."

"He loved drink more. His problem began long before she sought other company. I wish she had taken you when she left, but for a year before her flight, you screamed when left alone with her."

For a moment, a memory nibbled at the edge of his thoughts. "Please don’t stew. Your granddaughter and I will manage. Once the banns are read tomorrow, I must return to London. There are business matters to attend, servants to hire and a vote to make Prinny Regent for the King."

"That poor old man. We will have grieved for him long before he finds rest." She walked to the door. "Good night, my boy. I’m sorry I forced this marriage on you."

"There was no force, only expediency." He brushed her cheek with a kiss. "The wedding plans are yours. I’m sure your friends and the neighbors will expect a grand celebration. Make what purchases you must. I’ll handle the bills on my return."

* * * *

Hours later, Aldora remained awake. The curtains surrounding the huge four poster bed were parted enough to allow moonlight to cast shadows in her cave. Why was Drew afraid to reach for love? Had he learned his fear from her?

She pulled the covers close and thought of the lonely nights spent in this massive bed. Edgar had only joined her on rare occasions. After Alice’s birth, he’d shunned this room and had moved to the suite Drew now used. The fault had been hers. She had turned from Edgar too many times. A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Twas too late for regrets.

Bertha’s rumbling snores accompanied Aldora’s sighs. Sleep remained inches from her grasp. Some deep problem troubled Drew but she couldn’t help if he refused to confide in her.

Would Nicola find a tunnel through the thick walls he’d build over the years? Her granddaughter might be the one to alleviate the sorrows of his childhood. Aldora had tried, but her love for the child he’d been and the man he’d become was not enough.

She closed her eyes. At dinner, the air between Drew and Nicola had been as heavy as before a summer storm. His eyes had glowed with desire, but desire wasn’t love. He needed love. She could do nothing for the pair except pray.

* * * *

On Sunday morning, Nicola shepherded her sisters down the stairs. The skirts of her bottle green silk morning dress rustled with each step. She reached to straighten the bow adorning Margaret’s braids. Drew lounged in the doorway leading to the Great Hall. Her grandmother sat on the lone chair across from the staircase.

The Dowager rose. "You look lovely, my dears. Our friends and neighbors have been waiting to meet you. Many of them knew your mother."

Nicola glanced at the Earl. He held the Dowager’s cloak. "We’ll be late if we continue to dally," he said.

Nicola helped Margaret with her cloak. She shook her head. A smudge of dirt marked the pale yellow silk dress. Trust Margaret to attract dirt the way the chumbaka stone drew bits of iron.

In the carriage, Nicola kept a firm grip on Margaret’s hand in hopes of keeping the child calm. Elizabeth sat with her hands folded in her lap and her gaze on her younger sister.

The Dowager spoke of the people they might chance to meet. "The vicar has a daughter of your age and one of Elizabeth’s. His sons fall on either side of Margaret. There are a number of young people among the other local families. When this cold weather ends, we will arrange an outing. Perhaps a picnic by the lake or an expedition to the standing stones. How wonderful it will be to hear young voices about the place."

Nicola stared at the hem of her gown. Would the stern and disapproving Earl allow laughter into the house. She feared he would banish not only the sound of joy, but every word that was not in agreement with his wishes.

The carriage halted near a massive yew. Margaret tugged on Nicola’s hand. "Nica, look. Beside the tree next to the church. A lady wearing a white nightgown."

Nicola saw nothing. "Are you sure?"

"She’s seen our ghost," the Dowager said.

Nicola frowned and turned to look at the church built of the same stone as the manor house. The Earl took the Dowager’s arm. They led the way down the aisle between the wooden benches to the canopied southern pew.

Nicola sat between her sisters on the rear bench. She had learned this was the only way to insure peace. The Earl and the Dowager sat in front. As though their arrival was a signal for the service to begin, the choir filed in followed by the gray-haired vicar.

Elizabeth leaned closer. "Since there’s no pianoforte at the house, do you suppose I could come and play the organ."

"I’ll ask. Now be still for people are staring."

Nicola’s thoughts drifted from the service to the teachings of the wise men she’d met in India. The sound of her name startled her. The banns, she thought. ‘Tis once and twice more before they’ll be cried. Then I will be trapped. My life will belong to the cold man seated in front of me.

Her attempt to find him this morning had failed. Why didn’t he understand that responsibility for the house would be hers? She hadn’t asked for servants and funds because she expected guests for the wedding. His anger troubled her. Perhaps she would never understand him, but if they wed, they needed to speak to each other. He seldom looked at her and when he did, she saw only distrust.

She sighed. He would never be like Siva. He would never follow the rules of the Kama Sutra, taking care to see she received pleasure in the marriage bed.

He won’t suit. Our needs are too different. I must speak to him of this. Unless we find trust, there will be no joy in our marriage. With all her heart, she wanted the closeness her parents had shared.

The vicar pronounced the benediction. The Earl bolted from the pew and headed down the aisle. The Dowager reached for Elizabeth’s hand. Their progress was like poured honey on a winter’s day. The Dowager paused beside nearly every row of benches. Nicola heard so many names she knew she would never remember any. A half dozen invitations were extended. The Dowager accepted several. Before they reached the doors, Nicola understood Margaret’s need to run free.

When she reached the carriage and found the Earl’s horse gone, she frowned. Jem helped the Dowager and then Nicola up the steps. She closed her eyes. The Earl avoided her, but he couldn’t hide forever.

The moment the carriage halted in front of the house. Nicola gathered her skirts and ran up the steps. "Miss, your cloak," Greene said. She avoided the butler’s offer to take her wrap and strode across the great hall and into the narrow corridor behind. She opened the door of the Earl’s study.

"My lord." She waited for an answer. "My lord, we must speak." Her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room. No fire had been laid. The room was empty.

Her grandmother appeared. "My child, is there a problem?"

"The Earl. I had some things to say to him."

"He has gone to London. He must find a governess and take his seat in the House of Lords."

"I’ve always taught my sisters."

The Dowager patted her hand. "You will have a husband and little time for the schoolroom. Come and eat luncheon with your sisters. Then I must inspect your wardrobe to see if there is a suitable gown for your wedding."

Nicola shook her head. "In the trunks from India is cloth for my wedding dress and for my sister’s gowns when their day comes. Mama purchased the silk not long before she died."

Tears filled the Dowager’s eyes. Nicola put her arms around her. "How like Alice. I’m so glad you will have a memory of her on your wedding day."

"Tomorrow we’ll open out trunks and show you the treasures we brought."

In the small dining room, Nicola took her place and stared at the Earl’s empty chair. Why had he left? Though her grandmother mentioned business, Nicola knew the trip was because he had little tolerance for her company.

Chapter 5

Drew slowed his gray gelding to a walk. Denmere lay miles behind. By now, Aldora would have informed Miss Gordon of his reason for leaving. Business. He held firmly to that explanation for his hasty departure. Work horses, farm machinery, livestock, mounts for the Gordon sisters, a valet for himself, a maid for his betrothed, and a governess for his wards. Until he reached an inn for the night, the listing of his intentions kept him from thinking about her.

She filled his dreams. Imagined scenes both tender and erotic jerked him from sleep a dozen times. At dawn, he woke aroused and aching. She’d come to him. Her lips had covered his flesh with feather kisses. Her breasts had brushed his chest. He groaned. He hadn’t dreamed this way since those days when he’d first entered manhood and lost his virginity to a tavern wench.

He grabbed his clothes and dressed. In London, he would find relief for the desire his betrothed had stirred.

A pale sun shone through lead gray clouds. The day was as gloomy as his thoughts. He prayed the storm would wait until his journey ended.

On the outskirts of town, he stopped at a tavern for a meal. Talk centered around the Prince of Wales and the bill soon to be introduced in Parliament to name him as Regent to the ailing King. Though Drew had little interest in politics and wasn’t one of the Prince’s circle of friends, he understood the frustration of waiting for someone to die. Each time a treasure had been removed from the townhouse or the manor, he’d wished Edgar Barlow in his grave. The end had come too late to save much, but the coming marriage would allow the estates to be restored.

He groaned. His betrothed’s face flashed into his thoughts. His muscles tensed. Blood pooled in his groin. Before returning to Denmere, he had to rid himself of this lust. Otherwise, she had the power to play him for a fool. Her seductive laughter, the chests from India and the trunks of gowns from London had shown him more about her true nature than weeks spent in her company would. Like his mother. Nicola Gordon seemed greedy for luxuries.

He finished a large portion of savory fish pie along with a mug of bitter ale. Feeling replete, he rode through the streets of London to Cairnton’s townhouse. Wells, the Cairnton butler stared down his straight nose. Drew knew the disapproval was for his disheveled state.

"Tristan in?" Drew asked.

"In the library, my lord. Captain Ramsey’s with him."

Drew dropped his saddlebags on the black marble floor. "Have these taken to my usual room."

"Shall I have a bath drawn and your evening clothes laid out?"

Drew swallowed a yawn. Last night’s fitful sleep and the long journey had exhausted him. "Let me speak to Cairnton and Ramsey to see what they plan for the evening." He strode down the hall and entered the library. "Niall, good to see you. When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday."

Tristan ran his fingers through his pale blonde hair. "What brings you back to town? I thought you left to escort your bride and her sisters to Denmere."

Drew slouched on one of the four armchairs set in a semi-circle around the fireplace. "I did, but had to return to take care of business." He noticed the cane beside Niall’s chair. "What happened?"

"One of Boney’s soldiers sent a ball through my calf. Since my commander had dispatches for the War Office, I was elected courier. Not much good in battle with a bum leg. Tell me about this leg-shackle business. Thought you’d sworn off women along with life’s other pleasures."

Drew shrugged. "Money. What other reason is there for marriage?"

Tristan laughed. "Lust. Love."

"Are you foxed?" Drew asked. "I found an heiress. What else was there to do?"

Niall leaned forward. In the light from the fire, his hair seemed the color of the flames. "Could try the tables. You have the devil’s own luck."

"Luck can turn."

Niall nodded. "How true. Had my share of off days when knowledge of the odds and counting cards had no effect."

"Tristan reached for the decanter on the table beside his chair. "A glass?"

"Half. Raw weather for traveling."

Niall shifted his foot on the hassock. "Tell us about your bride."

Drew paused. What to say? He knew so little except what Mr. Grey had told him and the seductiveness he’d discovered when he’d kissed her. "In looks, she’s the picture of the Dowager as a young woman, though her eyes are Denmere blue."

A smile played at the corner of Tristan’s mouth. "Then she’s no merchant’s chit being passed off as a Barlow. This has all the elements of a romance, though you should be wealthy as well as titled and she some poor well-bred lass."

Drew laughed. "Should you ever found yourself adrift on the River Tick, you can turn scribbler."

"Where’s the chit from?" Niall asked. "With Gordon as a surname, Scotland’s my guess."

"India."

"You don’t say." Niall accepted a glass from Tristan. "Nearly took service there before Boney reared his head. Must talk to her about the place. She tell you much?"

"We’ve had little time for chatter. She’s been settling her sisters and becoming acquainted with her grandmother."

"Have you set a date?" Tristan asked.

"The last Sunday of this month."

"I’ll be there as your witness." Tristan stretched his long legs toward the fire.

"And I’ll come as well," Niall said. "I’m home until mid-March. Will you open the town house and have the wedding here?"

"The Dowager wishes a country wedding. She hasn’t been to town since her husband died."

"No disgrace to her," Niall said. "Man was a fool to challenge at his age."

"When do we leave?" Tristan asked. "Town is thin of company these days."

Drew shrugged. "A week, mayhap two. Depends on my business. Must hire a governess. My wards are still in the schoolroom."

"Are your wards charming girls?" Tristan asked.

Drew grimaced. "The older is vain and flirtatious. The younger a hoyden." He related the story of the trip to Denmere, ending with Devonley’s downfall.

"That young fool thinks to become a rake, but he lacks style." Tristan rose and smoothed his black superfine trousers. "Shame his older brother vanished in the American wilderness. Boy needs someone to take him in hand."

Niall chuckled. "Can’t wait to meet these young ladies. Perhaps Tristan and I can travel ahead of you."

"Tristan needs to be here to sit on the vote for the Regency."

"Why? ‘Twill be dome soon or late. I would think you would want to become better acquainted with your future wife." Tristan walked to the door.

"Time enough for that once the words have been said." Drew covered a yawn with his hand.

"Niall and I are for dinner at White’s and then on to Eugenie’s. Join us?"

Drew shook his head. "Made the trip in record time. I might fall asleep in my soup."

"Then we’ll see you tomorrow."

Nialll leaned on the cane and moved to the door. "Congratulations on your heiress. Better you than me."

* * * *

Tristan stood beside the carriage and waited for Niall to settle on the seat. "What think you of Drew’s coming marriage?"

"That he doesn’t want the chit and does what he must to save Denmere."

"I think you have the wrong of it. I saw something in his eyes I can’t decipher." Tristan settled across from his friend. "There should be more to marriage than money."

"What? Turning romantic on us? One marries for heirs, money or position. ‘Tis the way of life. Thank heavens I can escape the parson’s mousetrap. Uncle’s in prime health. Cousins flourish. Still, I’d do as Denmere if there were a need for blunt."

"I feel sorry for the chit. Her foreign birth. Her father being in trade."

"Denmere’s an earl. The chit is granddaughter of one as well. Do you think he’ll shun her."

Tristan shook his head. "Just fence her with his rules of proper behavior."

Niall chuckled. "Wonder why he tolerates us?"

"Friendship is as hard to explain as love."

"You have love on the brain." Niall leaned back.

"About Denmere’s bride. I say we make her a toast."

"Good thought. Not much I can do. Draft Fenwick, unless his name is bad ton."

"A marquis. Hardly. We’ll begin our project when we arrive at Denmere."

* * * *

Nicola sat at the Earl’s desk and completed a list of what needed to be done to make the manor house livable. The elderly butler stopped just inside the door. "Yes."

"Should you be in here, Miss? Not meaning disrespect, but this is his lordship’s private room."

"And the only desk in the house unless you could the ones in the attic. Do you know where the Earl stored our furniture and trunks from India?"

"They are in an empty room in the west wing, Miss."

Nicola rose. "Then let me get Jem and Sarad. Oh, Mr. Greene, do you know of someone in the village who could act as housekeeper? We have much to do before the Earl returns."

"Mrs. Bowen was head upstairs maid before the old Earl died and forced us to cut staff. Her husband died fighting in Spain. She could use the work. Has three young children. She’ll know who in the village needs employment the most."

"Thank you, Mr. Greene."

By early afternoon, the furniture, rugs and barrels from India cluttered the Great Hall. Nicola sat on one of the trunks and surveyed the mess. "I find a house on one level like our home in Calcutta much easier to organize."

Sarad grinned. "No compound but one belonging to a maharajah could contain all these rooms on a single level."

Nicola nodded. "We must begin cleaning but I don’t know where to begin. Upstairs, downstairs, belowstairs."

Jem stood with his hands on his hips. "Ye be a bossing one. Best not show these ways to the Earl."

"He isn’t here so I must see to things."

"Who’s to pay? The Earl don’t hold with wasting money on the house."

Nicola pursed her lips. "I’ve no love for debt either. I have some money I can use. Do you know of a carpenter with a knack for repairing furniture?"

"Ralph Cummins in the village be such a one. How be ye traveling there?"

"Sarad and I will take the pony cart."

"I be taking ye, Miss. The Earl won’t want ye going about alone."

Margaret clattered down the stairs. Elizabeth chased after her. "Tell her she must put her clothes away." Elizabeth shouted.

"There’s no room," Margaret said. "Did you find our trunks. The spices will please Cook. She has few. I’ll show her how to make curry and saffron rice."

The Dowager entered from the rear hall. "My dears, you have your treasures. What fun we will have."

Nicola reached for her cloak. "Then I’ll leave you to your fun. I wish to hire workers to start tomorrow."

The Dowager sighed. "My child we must wait until Drew remembers to send funds. Though he promised to settle any bills we make, I don’t feel comfortable spending money I don’t have."

"There’s no need to wait. I have sufficient funds to hire enough staff to do the work. Surely we don’t need that many."

"La, child, you will exhaust yourself. We are to dine at Baron Rasher’s tonight."

"I’ll return and be ready in time. I am quite used to long days with much to do."

The Dowager pursed her lips. "Then I won’t protest, but you must take one of your sisters. A lady doesn’t travel unless she is accompanied by another female. There is no maid to send with you. I am sure Drew will hire an abigail for you. Having a skilled maid is near as important as lineage."

Nicola waved to Elizabeth. "Get your cloak."

She found the village charming and larger than she had expected. With directions from a burly bald man outside the village inn, she found Mrs. Bowen at her sister’s bakeshop. Once Nicola explained why she’d come, Mrs. Bowen accepted the position as housekeeper. Her eyes brimmed with tears when Nicola told her the children would be welcome at the manor.

"Oh, Miss, ye be so kind."

"Children should be with their mother. Do you know who else might need work? There’s much to be done."

"Don’t ye be worrying. I’ll find a crew what can do the work and be there early tomorrow morning."

"And Ralph Cummins. Where can I find him? There is need for a carpenter."

"He be my sister’s man. I’ll speak to him. He’ll be glad for work. Times been hard."

"I’ll see you tomorrow." Nicola spotted her sister at the gate of the vicarage flirting with two boys about her age. "Elizabeth, we must go. Grandmother won’t forgive me if we’re late for the Baron’s dinner." She climbed into the carriage and waited for Elizabeth.

"’Tis not fair. Why should you have all the fun? I don’t see why I can’t go."

"Because you were not invited."

"Grandmother could have sent a note. I’m nearly of an age to move in company." Even a pout enhanced Elizabeth’s beauty.

"What will Margaret do if left alone?"

"Play in the stables. Blend her herbs and spices. You know she doesn’t care if there are others around."

Nicola frowned. "’Twould not be proper for you to come. We must follow the rules of our new home."

"We might as well be in some dungeon."

Nicola smiled. "’Tis not that bad."

"In India, girls are married at my age."

"At almost fifteen. Not among the English community. Cease your nonsense. I find going to this dinner hard enough without taking your complaints with me."

Elizabeth’s brown eyes filled with tears. "I wish we had never come here."

Though the words echoed Nicola’s thoughts, she knew her sister would never agree to return to India. "Would you like me to tell the Earl I won’t marry him and write Cousin Fergus to come for us?"

"You could never do that. We wouldn’t be safe."

"You are right, but can you see how childish you are just because you are missing a boring evening. There will be time in your life for parties. When I’m at Baron Rasher’s, I will learn if there are girls your age. We can invite them to the manor."

"Here?" Elizabeth made a face. "I would be ashamed."

"Once the rooms are clean, the furniture repaired and new draperies made, Denmere will be a beautiful place."

"I wish we had a pianoforte. I would practice for hours."

"You will have one."

"When?"

"As soon as Sarad and I discover where we can sell some gemstones."

"What gemstones?"

"The ones Papa gave me before he died. I didn’t leave them for Cousin Fergus."

"Lord, Nicola, he will be furious. Do you think he will come here and find us?"

The carriage halted in front of the house. Before Jem had a chance to climb from the perch, Nicola and Elizabeth emerged and headed for the front door.

"Why would he bother?" Nicola asked. "He knows about the marriage and the guardianship. There is nothing he can do." She handed her cloak to Greene and hurried upstairs to bathe and change. Though she’d rather remain at home with her sisters, she knew her grandmother had been pleased by the invitation.

* * * *

Nicola stood in the drawing room of Baron Rasher’s country house and listened to the hum of female chatter. The long and sumptuous dinner had ended with the women leaving the dining room so the men could enjoy their port and cigars. Though near as large as the great parlor at Denmere, the drawing room seemed cluttered with furniture. Almost as cluttered as the dining room table had been with the number of dishes with each remove. Nicola prayed the Earl preferred a more tasteful display of furniture and in food.

Her grandmother sat beside the vicar’s wife on a chair upholstered with material that matched the wall covering. Nicola’s three new acquaintances chattered and two of them giggled about Lord Devonley, a guest of Baron Rasher.

The Baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter smirked. "So you have caught the Earl. You must share your secret for we never thought he would marry even though ‘twas known he needed to find an heiress." Cynthia Rasher’s blonde curls were piled high on her head and threaded with pearls. She wore a long strand of pearls around her neck. Nicola thought of the simple hair ribbons that matched her gown and sighed. She tried to ignore the subtle probing.

"They call him the Parson." Barbara Wythe laughed. "’Tis a lie. I’ve heard tales of his gaming and his women."

"Lord Devonley chanced to meet him at an inn where the Earl entertained four beautiful women," Cynthia said.

‘Twas not what happened. Nicola held the words inside. Her lips twitched and she fought to control laughter when she recalled her first meeting with Lord Devonley. Though they hadn’t been introduced, she would never forget his astonished look when Margaret had bowled him over.

"You are both wrong." Grace Hopewell, the vicar’s daughter, shook her head. "The present Earl is somber and hard-working. Papa says he’s a credit to his title." She took Nicola’s arm. "I would like to hear about India."

"A heathen place." Barbara’s dark curls moved like swaying serpents. "I hear the women walk the streets wearing naught but jewels."

Nicola shook her head. "Though the weather is much hotter than here, the women wear lengths of cloth wrapped around their bodies. Many of them are veiled."

Cynthia held out her hand. "Papa bought me this ring. The stone is a valuable ruby from India."

Nicola touched the gem. "’Tis nothing but a bit of colored glass."

"How dare you." Cynthia glared. "What would you know about precious gems?"

"I helped my father in appraising the gemstones he purchased."

The blonde turned away. "A merchant’s daughter. How droll. Pray tell us where Denmere is tonight? Is he ashamed of your heritage?"

Nicola sucked in a breath. "He’s in London taking care of business."

"A likely tale," Barbara said. "He’s probably at the opera with his mistress." She linked arms with Cynthia and walked to the piano.

Grace Hopewell remained beside Nicola. "Don’t take what they say to heart. The Earl dismissed them as a pair of empty-headed children. They are barely old enough to be in polite company."

Nicola had seen the envy as well as spite. As she crossed the room to where her grandmother sat, the men returned. Lord Devonley stared at her. "Miss Gordon, have we met before? All evening, I’ve been thinking there is a familiarity about you."

Nicola felt a bubble of laughter move toward expression. "I fear not, my lord."

He stepped closer. "Are you sure you wish to tie yourself to Denmere? Marriage to a man with no money, even though he has a title, could make for a dreary life. I, on the other hand, possess a large fortune."

Nicola took a step back and then another. Sir, you insult me. Money is no measure of a man."

His dark eyes flashed anger. "I’m a Viscount and addressed as my lord."

Before he could say more, Cynthia Rasher arrived. "La David, I need someone to turn the pages while I play."

Nicola welcomed the interruption. She went to her grandmother’s side and listened to Cynthia make a hash of the piece she’d chosen. She wished Elizabeth could show the company her talents. A short time later, the Dowager rose. "My dear, I find I am exhausted. Do you mind if we leave?"

"I would gladly do so. My day was busy and I fear tomorrow will be as well."

As she sat across from her grandmother on the way home, Nicola closed her eyes. Had there been any truth in the tales she’d heard about the Earl tonight? How could she become his wife if he had no respect for marriage? She knew she would not find happiness if gossip and entertaining were to be her life. Did the Earl desire a wife so light of mind? She didn’t believe he’d be pleased if she failed to fit his idea of a wife. Unfortunately, she had no idea what he wanted.

* * * *

Drew lifted another letter from the stack in front of him. He read the words he wanted to see. "Miss Agatha Smythe is a firm disciplinarian and has served my family for the past year." He didn’t question why the governess had failed to remain with any family for more than a year. He looked up and met the solemn face of the head of the hiring agency. "She will do."

The woman rubbed her hands together. "Now about the lady’s maid. Miss Agatha’s sister, Agnes, has just chanced to leave Lady Betilda Lowsden and is available. Would it not be a boon to have both sisters in your employ?"

Drew nodded. The mentioned lady was known as a high stickler. Surely any maid Lady Lowsden had employed would be fully aware of the rules of society. "Consider them hired."

After making arrangements for transporting the sisters Smythe to Denmere along with three riding horses, a valet, two grooms and purchases for the farms, he hurried to Tristan’s to change. As he dressed, he thought about the news Mr. Grey had imparted.

"Fergus Crawford has departed India in hopes of stopping the wedding. He proports to have a letter from my friend naming him guardian of the three girls and a copy of a betrothal agreement between Miss Gordon and himself. I fear he’ll make trouble. He always was a bully and a liar."

Drew tensed. Was this other man the reason for Miss Gordon’s reluctance to wed?

"Be still, my lord, or another cravat will be ruined."

"Sorry." After the valet had arranged his cravat, Drew set off for White’s.

"Denmere, at last." Tristan waited near the door. "Do you plan to be late to your wedding?"

"I found a governess and a lady’s maid. Why the impatience."

Tristan winked. "We are four gathered to sit in session."

Drew strode into the dining room and held out his hand to the tall man with rich brown hair. "Michael, good to see you. I gather you’re a father."

"And a widower as well," Niall said.

"The child?" Drew asked.

"A daughter. She thrives." Michael refilled his glass from the bottle at his hand.

Drew wondered if he’d seen a glimpse of respect in his friend’s amber eyes. "So you are still in mourning?"

The Marquis of Fenwick shrugged. "’Tis been near six months. Her mother would have me in sackcloth and ashes, but I’ve no inclination to play the role of grieving husband."

"What do you plan for your daughter?"

Michael made a face. "If she is indeed mine. Her hair is brown like mine and her eyes are blue. I am told most infants are born that way." He lifted his glass. "She’s at Fenwick with her grandmother and her nurse."

"How interesting," Tristan said.

"My mother-in-law had nowhere else to go. Her wastrel husband lost his fortune with his ill-advised investments."

Drew wished he could offer his friend comfort, but he had no idea of what to say. "What have you planned for this evening?"

"A visit to Eugenie’s," Niall said.

"She has a new niece," Tristan added.

"Will you join us?" Michael asked.

"I believe I will." Drew looked at Michael. "Will you come to Denmere for the wedding?"

"Why not?"

Niall raised his glass. "We are four well met once again."

Drew settled in his chair. In the morning, he would write Aldora and inform her to expect three guests for the wedding.

Chapter 6

As Nicola hurried to the room where her sisters did their lessons, she heard a cry from her grandmother’s room. She threw open the door. The Dowager stood at the window and stared at a piece of paper she held.

"Grandmother, what’s wrong?"

"Oh la, what shall we do?"

"What has upset you? Is the Earl ill?" She reached for the paper. The Dowager pressed the letter to her chest. Maybe the Earl realized they wouldn’t suit and had written to cry off.

"No, my dearest child. Drew is hale and rapidly completing his business."

"Than what troubles you?"

"He plans to bring that rattle troop of rogues he calls friends here for the wedding. Where will we put them? This house is ill-suited for guests. We were hard put to find useable furnishings for the three of you." She sank on the sofa.

"Grandmother, don’t fret. Our furniture from India is being installed in our bedrooms and what was there moved out. We will install the beds and chests to rooms in the west wing."

"You make this sound so simple. The west wing is in a shambles. ‘Tis all the servants can do to prepare the downstairs for the wedding."

"Then we’ll hire more people to do the work." Nicola sat beside her grandmother. "You will make yourself ill if you continue as you are. If these men are the Earl’s friends, surely they know how the estates came to him."

The Dowager used the letter as a fan. "They haven’t been here since they were young men on holiday, not even when my husband died. Oh la, what will we do?"

"Please. Friends don’t care for appearances but offer understanding."

"They are gentlemen and important in society. A duke, a marquis and a captain in His Majesty’s army. Their presence will set the neighborhood in a dither. We must plan a ball and other suitable entertainments. We can’t afford large purchases until Drew sends money."

Nicola patted the older woman’s shoulder. The letter fell to the floor. Nicola retrieved the paper and read the tersely worded note. His writing and word choice showed the same rigid control as his manners and the coldness of his voice. Had he no thought for the effect of his missive on others?

"Don’t worry. I have some gems my papa gave me that can be sold, but I’ve no desire to travel to London."

The Dowager straightened. "Then we will go to Oxford. I know a jeweler there."

"We?"

"There are purchases that must be made for the wedding. Your sisters and I will need new gowns and we must hire a dressmaker to make your gown. We need new dishes and glassware to replace the mismatched ones we are using."

Nicola shook her head. "There are barrels of dishes and glassware that were Mama’s. We brought silks and cottons, enough for dozens of dresses. Elizabeth has a sense of fashion and can help the village seamstress."

"That eases my worries some."

"Then I’ll tell Sarad to make ready."

"Drew would never approve of you going alone. What if you are robbed or worse? Surely your father made sure you were well attended in that heathen land?"

Nicola thought of her trips with Sarad to the markets and temples. "Why should his approval or disapproval of matter? He left us to solve the problems. How long is the journey to Oxford?"

"Four hours by carriage."

"Then we’ll leave in the morning and stay until Sunday. I’ll tell Prabha and Mrs. Bowen what must be done."

* * * *

Nicola leaned back in the carriage and closed her eyes. She wondered about the wisdom of leaving Margaret at Denmere under Prabha’s care. The amah had trouble setting rules for the child. But as the Dowager had said, and Elizabeth had agreed, the trip would have driven Margaret mad.

Elizabeth and the Dowager chatted about fabrics and color schemes for the various rooms on the first floor of the central portion of the house. Bertha, the Dowager’s abigail, snored. Nicola grasped her reticule and felt the hard shapes of the gemstones she’d chosen to sell.

"We’re nearly to the inn," the Dowager said. "After luncheon, we will tour the shops."

Nicola rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to nap. Through the open windows of the carriage, she saw a large church and then three more. "How many churches are there?"

"More than I know," the Dowager said. "Drew might. He attended college at Merton as did two of his friends."

"I wish we could visit them all," Elizabeth said. "I would love to hear the organs and the choirs."

"Unfortunately, we’re here for another purpose," Nicola said.

The Dowager nodded. "While Nicola and I visit the jewelers, you and Bertha can spend time at the draper’s and choose fabric for the parlor and the dining room.

Two hours later, Nicola, Sarad and the Dowager reached the jewelers with the gemstones Nicola had selected to sell. The man’s eyes widened with pleasure when he saw the pair of matching rubies. He crooned over the yellow diamond. Having learned the value of the gemstones in London, Nicola bargained sharply. She left the shop with enough money to run the household in Calcutta for several years.

"La child, ‘twill allow us to purchase cloth to cover the chairs and sofas and new draperies in the windows, to purchase paint and paper and to burn beeswax candles instead of tallow." As the Dowager spoke, she entered the draper’s shop.

"I’m pleased to see you happy," Nicola said.

"So happy I could cry. You girls have brought more than wealth to Denmere. You have brought hope and joy." She studied the fabric Elizabeth had set aside. "We can purchase these and more."

"A pianoforte?’ Elizabeth asked. "There is a shop next door where there is one for sale. ‘Tis of rosewood with a mellow sound."

"You shall have the instrument," Nicola said. "What do you think Margaret would like?"

"A horse. She has grown tired of the old pony."

Nicola laughed. "She will have to wait until the Earl returns. I know little about horses."

The Dowager stopped outside a shop where bonnets were displayed. "Oh la, how beautiful."

Nicola laughed. "You shall have one for every day and when we return to Denmere, you can choose fabric to match your hats."

"Then bonnets all around before we return to the inn," the Dowager said. "Tomorrow is market day. We must ask Jem to see about hiring a cart to transport our purchases. I’m sure we’ll make many more."

"Then we can bring my pianoforte with us," Elizabeth said.

Nicola shook her head. "I know you are anxious to play, but let’s wait until tomorrow."

By Saturday night, Nicola felt exhausted. She didn’t have the stamina for shopping possessed by her grandmother and Elizabeth.

She picked at her dinner and listened to her sister and grandmother making plans. Tomorrow, they would be home and she could see what remained to be done. She would also set Sarad to keeping the estate accounts in the new ledger books she’d purchased.

* * * *

They reached Denmere late Sunday afternoon. Margaret raced down the steps and hugged her sisters. "Wait until you see what we have done."

Nicola hoped the child meant improvements and not mischief. "And just what is that?"

"You will see." Margaret stared at the cart. "Did you buy the entire town?"

"Elizabeth and your grandmother would have, but I was there to hold the purse. We brought presents for you."

"Thank you." Margaret grabbed her grandmother’s hand and pulled her to the front door.

"Oh la, I do not believe my eyes." The Dowager stepped into the Great Hall and looked around. "How could so much be done is so little time."

Margaret laughed. "Nica left orders and Prabha to enforce them. Papa always said Nica would make a splendid general."

"I can believe she would have. When he returns, Drew will be pleased."

Will he, Nicola wondered. When she’d asked for funds, he’d denied her request. She was glad he was bringing his friends with him. He wouldn’t dare express displeasure then. Let him be upset. We’ve done what was needed.

* * * *

Elizabeth grabbed Nicola’s hand. "Tomorrow, the seamstress from town is coming along with her assistant to begin our dresses for the wedding."

"But I thought you were making mine."

"The muslin pattern. There is too much for me to do about the house. I must make sure the draperies are hung in the proper rooms and that the chairs and sofas are covered with the proper fabric." She laughed. "I hope when I marry, I’ll have a castle that needs to be redecorated."

Nicola followed her sister upstairs. She pulled a length of heavy blue green silk embroidered with silver and gold lotus blossoms. Tears filled Nicola’s eyes. She remembered the day her mother had selected the cloth and ordered the embroidery done. "Are you sure the dress will be done in time?"

Elizabeth nodded. "If I must keep the seamstress and her assistant awake the entire night before your wedding, you will wear this gown." She spread sheer white silk with the same lotus design over the aqua silk. "’Twill be the most splendid gown."

"Haven’t you read in those fashion magazines you purchased that white for brides is the coming fashion?"

"Why should we be slaves to fashion? Mama bought the silk for our wedding gowns before she died. Papa had the necklaces made to match the gowns. You will have something from each of them to share your wedding day. Don’t you want them to be there?"

What she didn’t want was the marriage and neither did the Earl. Otherwise, he’d be here so they wouldn’t be strangers on their wedding day. She frowned. In India, many brides never saw their grooms before they wed.

While Elizabeth draped and pinned the muslin, Nicola stood in front of the window and stared at the lake beyond the grove of barren trees. How different the land would be come spring. Lawns and trees green with new life, yet the colors would be unlike the vivid hues of India. The flowers would be pale and muted. She heaved a deep sigh.

"Be still," Elizabeth said. "I must adjust the neckline. I’m glad gowns are more simple than those with ruffs or panniers."

"I envy your talent," Nicola said. "I lack so many of the sixty-four attributes of a wife. I do not sew, sing, dance or play a musical instrument."

Elizabeth made a face. "’Tis folly to think one person can be all things. You write and draw. You know about minerals, gems and jewelry. You can cipher and you know several languages."

"Hardly skills designed to please a man."

Elizabeth reached for another length of cloth. "You have the skills the Earl needs. Besides, he is handsome and strong. I would like to find a man like him."

"What happened to your dream of a man who would keep you in silks and jewels?"

Elizabeth grinned. "I have just added to my picture of the perfect man."

"He is cold, stern and most times angry."

"And right about Margaret and me. I am flirtatious and vain and she’s undisciplined, but we are less of these things since we’ve settled here." She began to unpin the cloth and to mark each piece with pins.

The door flew open. Margaret burst into the room. "Nica, Lizabeth, you must come and see what the Earl has sent from London. A second carriage and three of the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen."

"Come on." Elizabeth tugged on Nicola’s hand.

Nicola laughed. "I can’t go anywhere in my shift. Help me with my dress." She pulled a Coquelicot round dress over her head and turned so her sister could fasten the back. Her hair hung in a single braid down her back.

Mr. Greene stood in the Great Hall. His new livery made him look quite smart, but he wore a scowl. "Miss Gordon, there are two women sent from London by the Earl. My lady is napping so you must deal with them. I put them in the India parlor."

His voice hinted disapproval. Surely the Earl hadn’t brought improper women as guests. Nicola looked at her watch. Her grandmother never napped at this time. Who were these women and why did Mr. Greene disapprove of them. "Very well." She dropped her cloak on a sofa and followed Greene down the hall. He opened the door of the India parlor.

"Quite outlandish." The voice was nasal and shrill.

"Heathens. I don’t know if this house is a proper one for us." The second voice was near identical to the first.

Nicola stepped into the room. Greene followed. "Miss Gordon will see you now."

The women turned from the jade Buddha they examined. Not only were their voices identical but so were their faces. Nicola swallowed a laugh. If either of these women held the Earl’s interest, he was blind. Black hair winged with iron gray was pulled into severe knots. Ebony eyes showed disapproval. They stood with backs so straight they seemed braced with rods.

"Who are you?" Nicola asked. "What business have you at Denmere?"

"Agatha Smythe governess."

"Agnes Smythe, lady’s maid for the Earl’s betrothed."

Nicola took a deep breath. How dare the Earl make these decisions without consulting her? He didn’t know or understand her sisters’ needs. More than discipline and manners, they needed security and love.

"Unfortunately we had no idea you were arriving. Rooms haven’t been prepared."

"The schoolroom will be fine for me," said Agatha. "I’m sure there are rooms for myself and my charges in the nursery."

"The schoolroom isn’t ready for students."

"Then I’ll make do until it is set right." Agatha adjusted her black skirts. "By tomorrow morning, at the very latest. My sister will sleep in your dressing room as is proper for a lady’s maid. She must be available for your needs."

"There is no dressing room. I share space with my sisters."

Agatha looked at the watch pinned to her flat chest. "See that the children present themselves to me in thirty minutes and find a room we can use. This is full of idols and heathen objects. And let the children know I won’t tolerate a late arrival."

"I fear my sisters are occupied and can’t be disturbed." Nicola wished she could show these women the door and return them to London before her sisters appeared.

Agnes walked around Nicola. "Your choice of that shade of orange red is unsuitable for a young lady. Whites and pastels are the mode. Your dress is sadly out of fashion. If the Earl wishes you to impress the ton, I have much work to do. My last lady needed me near as much as you."

"Then why did you leave her?"

"Her new husband took a dislike to me. They were quite a scandal. Slept in the same bed at night and stood in each others’ pockets. Disgraceful behavior. They said they were in love."

Nicola frowned. How could love be considered disgraceful? In that instant, she knew why the Earl had hired the pair. Their ideas matched.

"I’ll have Mr. Greene show you to rooms in the servants’ quarters. Take the rest of the day to settle in. Tomorrow, we will meet and discuss your duties."

"The Earl will not be pleased." Agnes pursed her lips.

"He gave me charge of the children," Agatha said.

"Since he isn’t here, I’ll make the decisions." Nicola strode to the door. Greene stood just outside. "Show these women to rooms belowstairs."

He nodded in approval. "Best speak to my lady about the pair soon."

"I will." Nicola leaned against the wall. Her grandmother would be ineffectual in dealing with the pair. The moment the Earl returned, she intended to tell him what she thought of his choices.

* * * *

Drew followed Tristan and Michael into the library of Tristan’s townhouse. Niall sat in one of the chairs near the fireplace. He turned his head. "Gentlemen, I take it the deed is done."

"We have a Regent." Drew sat in the chair next to Niall.

"Let’s hope he shows some sense and doesn’t overturn the government by putting his cronies in and removing his father’s advisors." Tristan paused in the doorway to speak to one of the footmen.

Michael reached for the decanter of port. "Prinny may be frivolous but he’s no revolutionary. Besides, if one listens to the physicians, the King could recover any day. Our sovereign would be most displeased if his son caused a stir."

Tristan handed a glass to Niall and one to Drew. "Food is on the way." He lifted his glass. "To the Regent."

They all drank. Michael refilled his glass. "When do we leave for Denmere?"

"Soon," Drew said.

* * * *

Drew rode into the yard of the village inn a dozen lengths ahead of his friends. Though he’d given Aldora carte blanche for the wedding and the house, he wasn’t sure she had followed through. She tended to dither when called on to make major decisions.

He dismounted and waited for the others. "A guinea from each of you."

Niall slowly dismounted. "Would you beggar a cripple?" He reached for his cane.

The burly, bald innkeeper strode into the yard. "My lord, welcome back. Be it supper ye be wantin’?"

"And rooms for tonight. The Dowager doesn’t expect us yet."

"Be proud to serve ye and if ye have a mind for doublin’, there be a pair of rooms. We be near full tonight. Many come for the wedding."

Drew groaned. What had Aldora done? She’d been kept from society for so many years he hadn’t thought she would turn a country wedding into an event. "Doubling will be fine. Is there a private parlor available?"

"No problem there," Newly said. "Congratulations, my lord. Your bride be lovely.. Seen her when she came to hire folks from the village to work at the manor. Place be bustling."

Relief loosened the knot in Drew’s chest. Aldora had taken his orders to heart and had used Nicola as her deputy. For a moment, he contemplated the bills he would face. Then he shrugged. All part of putting the estate in order. He motioned to his friends. "We have a pair of rooms and a private parlor." He turned to Newly. "We’ll be down to order dinner soon."

The rooms were joined by a connecting door. Both rooms held a pair of beds. "Care to toss for spots?" he asked.

Niall tossed his saddlebags on one of the beds in the inner room. "Why bother? If I find a game, I may be up all night."

A buxom maid carried two pitchers of steaming water into the room. Tristan winked and tucked a coin between her breasts. "Might I see you later, love?" he asked.

"I be free once the crowd thins." She put the pitchers beside the basins and left.

Drew raised an eyebrow. "Last night wasn’t enough?"

Tristan sprawled on the single chair in the room. "After tonight, I must be on my best behavior. Not good ton to seduce your host’s servants."

"Quite true," Michael said. He strode to the door. "See you downstairs. I’m off to check our host’s cellar."

A short time later, the four friends met in the common room. The door opened. "Well if it ain’t the Parson and his Bishops," Viscount Devonley drawled.

"What brings you to Oxfordshire?" Drew asked. "Thought you favored London."

"The pater had a bee. Wants to see me leg-shackled at summer’s end. I say it’s too soon. Only twenty-three but there’s no other heir and since my brother --" His voice drifted off.

"Happens to the best," Michael said. "Who are you looking over?"

"Baron Rasher’s chit. Bit young. Bound to be an incomparable when she makes her bows. Her father’s dragging his feet. Thinks she might take higher."

Drew put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. "Beware his protestations. He often means the opposite."

"We’re about to have supper and a hand or two," Niall said. "Care to join us?"

"Don’t mind if I do. Had to escape another boring family dinner." He looked at Drew. "How do you stand country life?"

"I find more than enough to keep me busy."

Devonley grinned. "Met Miss Gordon. Came to dinner at Rasher’s. Charming. Blushes prettily and her laughter makes one feel special. Wouldn’t mind her myself."

Drew’s hands clenched. The expression on Devonley’s face made his stomach tighten. Nicola Gordon was his. He held back a groan. Jealousy? Why? He had no love for her.

What was the Dowager thinking to let Miss Gordon loose in society? The chit had barely left the schoolroom and her foreign manners would make her look foolish, though he’d never seen her act in a gauche manner.

The five men retired to the private parlor where they dined on chicken, beef and fish. Just before midnight, Drew rose. Niall had made it plain he intended to strip Devonley’s pockets and Michael was on his third bottle. Drew had no desire to watch his friends indulge in their vices and he’d stopped trying to reform them.

Upstairs, he stretched on the bed intending to nap and then head for Denmere.

* * * *

Nicola slipped from her bed and added wood to the fire. Though Agnes Smythe preferred Nicola to remain in bed until the arrival of tea and hot water, Nicola intended to go to the rear courtyard to begin her day with yoga and meditation. For too long, she’d neglected her spiritual development. Yogi Yakshi would be sorely disappointed in his pupil.

She pulled on the dhoti and tucked the end between her legs and through the waistband. Then she pulled a long sleeved shirt that covered her legs to the knees and tied her slippers.

Though the rear courtyard was sheltered from the wind, the air held a trace of frost. She shivered but knew the exercises would soon vanquish the cold. As the first light of dawn stained the sky, she inhaled a breath of the fresh air. She stood on the recently cleared lawn and faced east.

When would the Earl and his friends come? Rooms in the west wing on the second floor and been freshly painted and furnished. Though she ached to make changes in the Earl’s suite of rooms, especially the one that would be hers, she wanted to ask his pleasure.

She dropped to the grass and into a Lotus position. After performing a series of cleansing breaths, she rose. As the sun edged over the horizon, she began the twelve steps of the Sun Salutation. "The Sun is the soul of both moving and unmoving things." Her thoughts focused on these words from the Rig Veda. She forgot the Earl, the house and the wedding as her body moved through the first of the twelve ansanas.

Chapter 7

"Demme chair." A loud thud followed by the muttered words woke Drew. He opened his eyes a slit and saw Michael flop on the second bed in the room. When the sound of snores filled the chamber, Drew slipped out of bed. He opened his watchcase. If he left now, he would reach Denmere before sunrise.

By the time he reached the manor, pre-dawn lightened the darkness and allowed him to move about the stable without lighting a lantern. He brushed, fed and watered the gelding. Then he strode to the house and let himself into the Great Hall. Just inside the door, he stopped. The scent of citrus oil and spices had replaced the usual musty odor.

Banked fires on the twin hearths brought a touch of warmth to the large room. He lit a candle in the coals and strode about. The black and white marble floor gleamed. Pictures he’d never seen hung on freshly painted walls above the polished wainscotting. Fronting one of the fireplaces was an arrangement of chairs and a sofa. Other chairs covered with the same fabric stood against the walls.

He frowned. Several of the chairs and at least two of the tables had been stored in the attics. He left the room and crossed to the great parlor. Not only had the room been cleaned but new carpets covered the floors and new draperies hung at the windows.

How had Aldora managed the changes? He’s expected to see clear rooms, but also sparse and shabby furnishings. He turned to leave the room and dash upstairs to tell her how much the changes pleased him. In mid-stride, he halted. She would still be abed. His stomach rumbled but there would be naught to eat in the kitchen. Unless he was in residence, the servants kept the Dowager’s hours.

He strode into his study. Just inside the doorway, he stopped. Who had dared to invade and turn his private place into a study in neatness? The battered desk had a new and smooth top. The papers he’d left scattered lay in neat piles. A pair of ledgers sat in the center. Where were the bills for the draperies, carpets, repaired furniture and the servants needed to make the changes? He opened one of the ledgers and saw items listed in neat script followed by numbers on straight, ruled lines.

He tapped the ledger with his forefinger. Aldora would never have touched his papers. She left all matters concerning finances in his hands. Nicola Gordon, he thought. His betrothed had that kind of effrontery. Mr. Grey had boasted about the chit’s accomplishments in managing her father’s affairs.

He stared at the ledgers. Had she taken it upon herself to make changes in the way he ran the estates? No matter that months had passed without him listing expenses and income, the estate books were his business. Once the marriage vows were said, he would hire a manager, one who wouldn’t cheat him the way the previous one had. His wife couldn’t assume that office. Her duty lay in learning behavior suitable to the wife of an Earl. He pushed the books aside. When she woke, he would demand an audience.

He crossed the room and opened the draperies. Dawn stained the sky pink. He stared into the rear courtyard and marveled at the changes. The shrubbery had been trimmed and the grass clipped. Then he saw her. A low growl escaped his lips.

His hands pressed against the sill. Nicola Gordon, his betrothed, dressed in clothes that exposed her lower legs, stood with her hands in prayer position. Slowly, she moved, stretching back until he could see her breasts pressed against the fabric of her shirt. He couldn’t force his gaze from her. His body hummed with tension. He grew hard and imagined her moving against him in this fashion.

"No!" He couldn’t let lust rule him. He turned from the window and marched back into the great parlor. Anger at himself for allowing her to enflame him slammed like cannon balls against a wall. He couldn’t feel this way about the woman he planned to make his wife.

Marriage had no room for lust. Marriage was no place for love. The only reasons for marriage were money, an heir and position. He had to keep this foremost in his thoughts. The desire to bed his wife had no place in his plans.

He opened the French doors into the courtyard and paused on the threshold. Anger at himself ebbed; anger toward her grew. How could he not feel lust when she danced in such a way? He was trapped by honor into making this match.

He had promised Aldora he would wed her granddaughter. Money from the dowry had been spent. The news had been published; the banns read. For these reasons, he must marry her. Not because he wanted her.

He strode into the courtyard. "Miss Gordon." She didn’t respond. He called her name again."

She turned. "What are you doing here, my lord?"

"I should be the one to ask that question. Go to your room before the servants see you. Have you no shame?"

She frowned. "The servants are still abed or have not arrived from their homes. Why should I be ashamed? I am greeting the sun."

"A lewd dance. Is this how you intend to entertain our guests?"

"I don’t understand why you are upset. The Surya Namaskar is a preparation for the day. I’m not dancing but working to gain calmness and control."

He strode across the grass. "Perhaps you can control most men with such displays of your body, but I’m not one of them."

Her hands moved to her hips. "Why would I want to control you? Each must take charge of his own karma. A man’s destiny is of his own choosing. Yoga is my way of learning to live in harmony with myself and this alien land. ‘Tis but one of the paths to liberation."

He couldn’t comprehend her answer. Her soft, calm voice annoyed him. Why did she speak to him as though he were a child of a simpleton?

"I suggest you return to the house and dress in a manner suited to your station. A countess doesn’t parade about in a state of semi-dress. My friends and neighbors know of your foreign birth. I won’t have them look on you as a temple dancer who entices men with her body."

She stepped toward him. "If you would but listen to me, you would not think so poorly of me."

He stared at her legs and imagined his hands moving from her ankles to her thighs and beyond to touch her secret places. As she walked past him, he caught her arm and pulled her close. As his mouth closed over hers, he knew he’d made a mistake. His hands moved down her back and he held her against his aching groin. His tongue slid across her lips seeking admission. Her mouth opened. His tongue touched hers, twined and thrust.

Her arms circled his neck and she moved against him. He felt the bands of his control stretch. The urge to push her to the ground and cover her with his body grew almost too strong to resist.

"No." He pushed her away. She fell backwards onto the grass. "You will not control me."

"I don’t want to control you or anyone. I don’t want to marry you and I know you don’t want this marriage. I will gladly release you."

His breathing slowed. A feeling of self-loathing arose. He didn’t want the marriage but he wanted her. "Go to your room and dress like a lady. When my friends arrive, I expect you to behave in a proper manner. I forbid you to dress like this again or to practice your lewd dance."

She scrambled to her feet and ran to the house. He watched her. How could he marry her, yet, how could he let her go?

* * * *

Nicola hurried down the narrow hall and up the east wing stairs. Her thoughts churned with confusion. The Earl had made her feel ashamed of something that had brought her comfort after her father’s death. Papa had never chided her for wearing a dhoti and practicing Yoga. Why had the Earl accused her of improper behavior when he’d been the one to act improperly?

Once again, she and the Earl had engaged in mouth congress. Her body had taken fire and she’d yearned for -- for --. She shook her head. She didn’t know what she wanted other than his kisses and his touch. He’d pushed her away. Why, when only moments before he had pressed her so close she’d felt the contours of his body? She did not understand him, but when his mouth and his hands touched her, she felt like Parvati yearning for Siva.

In her bedroom, she took her copy of the Kama Sutra from the table beside the bed. She sank to the carpet and assumed the Lotus position. Then after opening the book, she began to read.

The Earl’s kiss had not been one of affection. Had it been throbbing or touching? These were the only forms of mouth congress suitable for a maiden, and until she married, she would remain so. She read on. A gasp escaped. He had gone beyond what was proper and had engaged in "Fighting with the tongue."

Should she tell him he had erred? He seemed to have no knowledge of the rituals of love. Like a practitioner of Yoga, one who sought enlightenment through kama should begin with simple steps along the path. She feared he wouldn’t take her teachings kindly. He hadn’t understood or even listened when she had explained the purpose of the sun salutation.

She put the book on the carpet. After selecting a mantra, she closed her eyes and meditated on a breath. Instead of serenity, she found chaos. Instead of peace, she found madness. The Earl’s handsome face and his cold turquoise eyes remained present in her thoughts. She surrendered to the need to understand the man she would wed.

Physically, he was pleasing. He had a love for the land and the laborers in his fields. He honored and respected the Dowager and believed promises were to be kept. In many ways, he approached her idealistic picture of a husband.

Yet, he was different. His heart was adamantine; his mind a block of jade and his soul a flawed emerald. Could his nature have been formed by this cold and bleak land of his birth?

As her thoughts wrestled with the dichotomy of the Earl’s nature, a different view of Siva arose. In another guise, Siva became the destroyer. She sighed. Was the Earl the destroyer or the destroyed?

Demon possessed. Knowledge filled her thoughts. If she couldn’t help him face his demons, they would destroy each other. She had to try.

A hand grasped her shoulders and roughly shook her. "Miss Gordon, whatever are you doing?"

The nasal whine of Agnes Smythe jerked Nicola from the near-trance state. For a moment, she felt disoriented. She stared at her attacker.

Agnes Smythe’s mouth pursed in disapproval. "A lady never sits on the floor. You are a disgrace to your station. My sister had the right of matters when she said we have come to a house of heathens. The Earl has arrived and is presently in the breakfast room."

In a fluid movement, Nicola rose. "I’ve already spoken to the Earl."

"Indeed." The sharp-faced woman walked to the wardrobe. She took a pale green round dress out. "Your sense of impropriety will turn him against you. Good heavens, what is the disgusting costume you are wearing?"

"A dhoti and shirt," Nicola said. "’Tis common garb in Calcutta." For men, she silently added.

"Heathen things. A lady never bares her legs. Even a flash of ankle is thought to be fast. I fear turning you into a proper lady is beyond my reach. Wash your face and hands while I ready your clothes."

Nicola bit back angry words. Agnes Smythe had ideas set in mortar like that used to build stone walls. Nicola reached for a cloth. Once she’d spoken to Mrs. Bowen about the means and the projects for the day, Nicola intended to corner the earl and tell him the Smythe sisters had to go.

After donning her chemise, she stood patiently while the abigail lifted the dress over her head and fastened the stomacher. Nicola would have preferred to wear one of her old dresses. The green sarcenet was perfect for receiving callers but she had no time to spend in idle chatter. She couldn’t give her assistance to the servants while wearing such a fine dress.

From the other bedroom, she heard laughter and excited chatter. How nice life had been before the Earl had sent the opinionated sisters Smythe to Denmere. Nicola and the girls had helped each other dress. Merriment had been the rule. She sighed as Agnes pulled her hair into a tight and unflattering bun.

"You’ll do. I hope you remember your manners today."

"If a maharajah complimented me on my manners, I’m sure I can deal with an Earl."

"A maharajah?"

"An Indian prince who lived in a gold and marble palace with two hundred servants and twenty wives all dressed in glittering jewels and silk fine enough to be near invisible." The woman’s shocked stare made Nicola smile. She heard her sisters giggle.

Nicola left the abigail standing with her mouth agape. She called to her sisters. "Come to breakfast or you’ll be late to the schoolroom."

When the door closed behind them, Margaret made a rude noise. "I wish we had a dungeon for both Miss Smythes."

"I wish we could hire a snake charmer to pipe and keep Miss Agatha swaying like a cobra in a basket," Elizabeth said.

"And a bed of nails for Miss Agnes," Nicola added. "I’ll find a way to rid us of these women. Maybe Grandmother will speak to the Earl."

She studied her sisters and saw a glint of mischief in Margaret’s eyes. Elizabeth looked determined. The pair had something planned and she hoped whatever they were up to would not cause more trouble. She stirred honey into her tea. Once her sisters had made a decision, turning them around was all but impossible.

When the girls rushed from the breakfast room, Nicola sought Mrs. Bowen. "The Earl’s friends will arrive today."

Mrs. Bowen nodded. "Greene informed me that his lordship had come. I’ve set the maids to checking the rooms."

"Thank you."

"Though the restoring of the house will take months, I’ve ordered the ballroom to be next. Your grandmother wishes to hold the wedding party there. Oh Miss, we’ve discovered a trove of old armor and weapons left in the attic to rust."

Nicola smiled. "Margaret will adore them. I often think she should have been born a boy. Later we’ll clean these things and install them in one of the rooms." She walked to the door. "I must speak to Cook about changing the menu for tonight since there will be four more to feed."

"Very good, Miss."

Once the menu had been planned, Nicola hurried to consult her grandmother about how to best approach the Earl about ridding the house of the sisters Smythe. She’d seen the Dowager use subtle meant to cajole him. Nicola’s way had always been direct, but with her husband-to-be, these tactics would not work.

A piercing scream sounded from the immense room across from the Dowager’s suite. Once used as the state dining room, Nicola had turned the area into a schoolroom. She opened the door and barely held in a laugh.

Miss Agatha Smythe stood on one of the chairs. Between cries, she sneezed. Two cats and a dog raced from one side of the room to the other. Another dog had positioned itself before the chair where the governess cowered. Frogs hopped on the table used as the schoolroom desk. As Nicola watched, the rampaging animals knocked over the globe stand and the world rolled across the floor.

Margaret and Elizabeth sat on a window seat with their arms around each other. Each shriek, sneeze, yowl or yelp brought a fresh burst of laughter from the pair.

"What have you done?" She shouted to make herself heard over the din.

"My sister is right," Agatha Smythe said. "We have fallen into the midst of heathens. I was brought into this house to teach these hellions manners and proper behavior. The task is utterly impossible."

"Your methods have upset my sisters." Nicola turned away. "Margaret, collect this menagerie and remove them from the house."

"Nica, look out."

Nicola turned but not soon enough. Miss Smythe yanked Nicola’s bun.

"I wasn’t finished speaking. My methods have never been questioned before I came here. Girls, line up and present your hands. Ten strokes is your punishment."

"You won’t hit me again," Margaret screamed.

Elizabeth put her arm around her sister. "I won’t let you touch me."

The dogs barked. The cats yowled. Nicola pulled free from her captor. "I won’t allow you to strike them."

"She’ll have to catch us first," Margaret said.

"The Earl gave me charge of them. He’s their guardian."

"Did he give you leave to beat them? I don’t believe that."

"Spare the rod and spoil the child. That’s what the Good Book says." A series of sneezes punctuated her speech.

"You are dismissed." Nicola’s hands became fists and she strode toward the woman.

"You do not have that right. The Earl hired me and he is the only one who can dismiss me."

"Enough!" The Earl’s deep voice set the dogs barking. "Is this the way lessons are held?"

Nicola whirled. Her hair uncoiled. The Earl stood in the middle of the doorway with his hands on his hips. She felt the heat of his glare.

"I wish to speak to you about this woman’s methods of instruction."

"She hits my hands with her pointer and pulls my braids." Margaret dropped the cat she held. It landed on the back of one of the dogs. The animal barked and raced across the room.

"She pulled Nica’s hair and struck my face," Elizabeth said. "Nica never raised a hand to us when she gave us our lessons."

"Your wards are hellions and your betrothed a disrespectful chit," Miss Agatha shouted. The battling animals crashed against her, knocking her to the floor. Her black bombazine skirts flew high. She pulled them down.

Margaret laughed and Elizabeth giggled. Nicola had trouble keeping her amusement contained. A frog jumped from the table. One of the cats leaped to catch the creature.

"I will have silence," the Earl shouted.

Nicola heard deep masculine laughter. Her eyes widened when she saw the trio standing at the door. Three tall, handsome men slapped each others’ backs. Their hoots of laughter grew louder.

"I haven’t seen such a sight since Eton when we drove the pigs into the chapel." The speaker had pale blond hair and the face of an angel.

"Dressed in wigs and gowns." A man with fiery hair moved into the room.

"Drew, did you plan this melee for our entertainment?" The brown haired man’s eyes sparkled with laughter. "How good of you to think to pull me from the doldrums."

The Earl threw his hands in the air. "I didn’t expect the three of you to recover so quickly from last night’s debauchery."

"You can thank my military training for that." The redhead bowed. "Captain Ramsey, ladies."

The next arrival pushed past the men. Miss Agnes Smythe walked to her sister and helped her up. She grabbed the pointer from the table and turned to face Nicola. "You are unworthy to wed an earl."

When the abigail waved the pointer, Nicola jumped back and stumbled over one of the dogs. The angelic looking man steadied her. "Atwell, Duke of Cairnton at your service."

Drew grabbed the pointer. "Margaret, Elizabeth, remove this menagerie from the house and await me in your room." He gulped a breath. Order must be made from this chaos before he went mad. "Cairnton, Ramsey, Fenwick, since you think this is so amusing, you may assist my wards."

His orders changed the chaos into madness. His friends joined the chase. Drew saw a glint in Margaret’s eyes as she chased one of the dogs. Elizabeth grabbed a frog and immediately shrieked and dropped the animal.

Nicola moved toward her sisters. Drew grabbed her hand. "Stay right here and explain the meaning of this farce."

"I’ve been trying to discover why this happened. I heard the noise and came immediately. Miss Agatha Smythe pulled my hair. She hit my sisters. I have dismissed her."

"You have no right."

"Then I’ll take my sisters and leave. We haven’t said our vows. Papa would never allow my sisters to be beaten and I can’t marry a man who would give his permission for such brutality."

"I did not give permission." Drew shouted. "I will question Miss Smythe and discover the truth of the matter."

"Truth? How so? She will only tell you what you wish to hear."

The flash of anger in her Denmere blue eyes had an odd effect on him. He wished to kiss and make her passion his. He looked away in time to see Michael holding one of the dogs while a cat cried to climb his black trousers. Michael dropped the dog and grabbed the cat. He headed to the door. Niall grasped a brace of frogs.

"Oh la," the Dowager cried. "My boy, what is going on?"

"A fine welcoming party." Tristan kissed Aldora’s cheek. "My lady, you are as beautiful as ever."

Nicola held her sisters’ hands. "We’re leaving. I can’t wed him."

Drew stepped toward the trio. "Miss Gordon...Nicola."

"Oh la," Aldora cried. She pressed her hand to her chest and slowly crumpled.

Drew caught her in his arms. He looked at Nicola. "You will not leave this house."

"How could you think we could leave before we know how our grandmother fares. Once the doctor has been here, you won’t have the bother of our company."

The Dowager’s eyes fluttered open. "Do not make a hasty decision, my child. I will be fine after I rest. The noise and confusion have overset me."

Drew looked down at the Dowager. Her eyes closed and her mouth slackened, but something about her almost serene expression made him wonder if she’d really fainted. He carried her from the room and placed her on the sofa. Bertha fetched the vinaigrette.

Drew knelt beside the sofa. Part of him believed she had staged her collapse to diffuse the confrontation with his betrothed.

Aldora coughed. "Do not glower."

"I won’t be woman ruled."

"La, Drew, that could never pass. Treat Nicola gently. Remember how soon after her father’s death that she came to England and remember how her father died. Caring for her sisters has kept her from grieving."

He rose and walked to the window. "There is another possibility. I fear she doesn’t want to relinquish her control of their lives."

Aldora sighed. "And you would heed those dragons you brought into the house. The younger girls were growing comfortable with the changes in their lives until those women arrived."

"They came with the highest recommendations. I fear my wards were responsible for Miss Agatha’s behavior. I wish to retain their services until I can observe them in action."

"Drew, think about the blows and hair-pulling. Remember the bruises I discovered when I took you from your father? Surely you can’t condone the use of force."

Drew stared outside. He seldom though about the days before he came to Aldora. "Miss Gordon can’t make the decisions. She should have laid her complaints in my hands."

"You chose to stay in London."

"She could have sent a letter."

"She’d been responsible for her sisters for more than half her life."

"Then she should be willing to cede the responsibility to me. What kind of father would permit.…" His voice trained off. The Gordon sisters never spoke of their father without love in their voices. They had shared something utterly foreign to his experience. He had no memories of a happy family life.

Aldora rose and put her hand on his arm. Tears filled her eyes. "For my sake, treat her with kindness."

Drew inhaled. He much preferred Nicola’s directness to the Dowager’s approach. "I’ll be fair. Should I send Jem for Dr. Rodgers?"

"I am fine. The wrangling needed to be stopped lest you or my granddaughter drew a line neither of you could cross."

"That won’t happen. We will wed." He kissed Aldora’s cheek and left the room. Instead of going to the schoolroom for explanations, he headed to the peace of his study. He would deal with Nicola Gordon and her sisters later. And he would also caution his friends about encouraging the girls to mischief.

Chapter 8

As the Earl carried the Dowager from the room, Nicola hid a smile. Her grandmother’s faint had come at a most opportune moment. Just before the Dowager’s eyes had closed for the second time, Nicola had seen a flash of awareness. This time, she would let her grandmother handle the situation.

She turned from the door to survey the chaos her sisters had created. What had possessed the pair? If they had done their mischief before the Earl’s arrival, the house might already be rid of a Smythe sister or two.

One of the dogs, a small spotted pup, raced toward her. Nicola grabbed the beast and strode to where her sisters stood chattering with the Earl’s friends. She thrust the dog at the angelic Cairnton. "Call a footman or two to help escort these creatures of chaos from the house."

His hearty laughter warmed her. Would that the Earl were such a man. When she realized the Duke’s laughter didn’t touch the bleakness in his dark eyes, she wondered if the Earl had chosen friends who had demons of their own.

"Did you really dress pigs and set them loose in the chapel?" Margaret’s hazel eyes danced with delight. "What a fun thing to do. In India, there are cows and monkeys in some of the temples."

Fenwick chuckled. "A cow would have caused more of a stir."

"I don’t believe you when you say the Earl knew how to have fun," Elizabeth said. "He is too dour and proper."

Captain Ramsey grabbed another frog. "He has changed. Duty and responsibility, you know. How many more of these beasties did you set loose?"

"Four in all, my lord," Margaret said. "’Twas all I could catch."

"I’m not a lord, only a soldier."

Nicola cleared her throat. "Elizabeth, Margaret, I would speak to you."

Fenwick plucked a cat from the draperies. "Don’t rung a peal over the pair. Just pray their tactics worked. Never seen a more offensive pair of women."

"If I had to look at them every day, I would’ve resorted to worse actions." Cairnton captured the second dog. "Though I dearly love most ladies, they were de trope."

"They were twins and the Earl hired them." Elizabeth said. "Men shouldn’t be trusted to hire governesses."

"That I can believe," Fenwick said. "He must’ve been impressed by their references."

A short time later, Mr. Greene and three footmen arrived. "My lords, Captain. The Earl has sent us to remove the creatures. Then I’ll show you to your rooms."

Once the men left, Nicola rounded on her sisters, "I am most displeased with the pair of you. Why did you choose the day the Earl arrived to try such a prank?"

"To gain his attention," Elizabeth said. "I fear he won’t listen to our complaints."

"And I fear he’ll send you both away to some place where the discipline is strict."

Margaret clung to Nicola’s hand. "You wouldn’t let him do that.

"When we wed, he becomes your guardian. I won’t be able to gainsay him."

"Then don’t marry him," Margaret said. "We’ll find another home and take Grandmother to live with us."

"Cousin Fergus will find us and make Nicola return to India and work with the jewels and find worse things for us," Elizabeth said.

Margaret’s eyes widened. "I wouldn’t like that. Nica, don’t let Cousin Fergus have us."

Nicola hugged the child. "Then I must marry the Earl and you must promise to do naught else to anger him."

"Twill be hard, but I will try."

Nicola turned to Elizabeth. "The next time someone bothers you or Margaret, you must tell me. I should have known what was happening in the schoolroom."

"With Miss Agnes dogging your path?" Elizabeth flipped her braid over her shoulder. "’Twould have given the pair time to invent a story. I’m sorry the animals got so out of hand, but we had to do something to show the Earl the true nature of those women."

Nicola thought back to her entrance into the room and smiled. If the Earl hadn’t been so angry, the episode would have been funny. She hugged her sisters. "Now, let us clean this mess. When that is done, I want each of you to write an essay about the methods of discipline you feel I should employ and apologize to the Earl and Grandmother for the disruption you caused."

* * * *

Drew sat at his desk and rested his hands behind his head. Slowly, amusement filtered into his thoughts. He chuckled and then laughed. The vision of Niall holding a brace of frogs and the cat climbing Michael’s trousers brought a roar of laughter. As he trued to gain control, the chair rocked. Would not do to let his wards know he’d been amused. He sobered quickly. The problem of his wards and their governess remained to be solved. He couldn’t permit the girls to run wild. They needed to learn how to behave in society. He rose and paced to the window.

He stared into the courtyard. Another memory flashed into his thoughts. He saw his betrothed dressed in her outlandish costume, moving with lithe grace. The rays of the rising sun had outlined her body and highlighted her legs. He’d been so close to losing control then, and again in the schoolroom. What was she doing to him?

He heard a knock on the door and braced himself for another confrontation with Nicola Gordon. Relief and regret mingled when he saw the sisters Smythe. "Come in."

"My lord, we will not stay in this house another night," Miss Agatha said.

"We wish accommodations in the village inn and immediate transportation to London," Miss Agnes demanded.

"The London coach does not leave until Sunday noon," Drew said.

"Then we will wait at the inn." Miss Agatha drew herself tall. "I will not tolerate interference in my schoolroom or questions about the kind of discipline I choose to employ or the subjects I teach."

"Do I not have a say in the matter?" Drew asked. "I am your employer."

"Of course, my lord, but I thought you were in agreement with my methods. Why else did you hire me?"

Drew didn’t want to admit he’d acted in haste to solve the problem of his wards’ education. He looked at Agnes Smythe. "And what is your complaint?"

"Your bride will never learn to comport herself among the ton. She refuses to heed my fashion advice and argues over hairstyles." Miss Agnes humphed. "Not to mention her other inappropriate behavior. She’s a heathen just like those two dark natives who are staying at this house. Can you believe she treats them as friends?"

Drew leaned against the wall. "How do you ladies recommend I handle my wards? I won’t countenance the use of physical punishment."

Miss Agatha laughed. "Pray not, my lord? Surely you were subject to the paddle at Eton?"

"My wards are not rowdy boy and I’m not sure the rod deterred many of the boys for long."

"Then in my opinion, there is nothing you can do to solve their behavior." Miss Agatha stood ramrod stiff. "In all my experience, I have never had to use the cane more than once and when my charges have accomplished a proper and meek manner, I move to another position."

Drew straightened. "Or are discharged."

"You have seen my recommendations. I’ve been given highest praise. Perhaps you will remember that when you write my letter."

"There will be no letter for either of you. I’ll order a carriage to remove you to the inn."

Miss Agnes smiled. "There is the matter of our salaries. We contracted to you for a year. Perhaps you will add a bit to make up for the inconvenience we have suffered while in your employ. Once we reach London, I am sure there will be many who express curiosity about your betrothed and her sisters. After all, they are nothing more than merchant’s chits."

"And the granddaughters of an Earl and his Countess." Drew’s eyes narrowed. "Since your stay at Denmere was so short, you can’t expect more than a month’s salary, your custom at the inn and transportation. If I hear tales in London, you will regret your words. Presently, the Duke of Cairnton and the Marquis of Fenwick are my guests. They are not without influence." He flipped open his watchcase. "The carriage will be ready in one hour."

Miss Agnes glared. Miss Agatha turned and strode to the door. Her sister wheeled and followed. Once the pair were gone, Drew slumped in his chair. He was well rid of them, but he still needed to deal with Nicola Gordon and his wards. He had no clue as to how. He doubted his friends would either, but some time spent in their company would be a welcome escape.

Just as Drew was about to search for his friends, Nicola arrived at the door. He studied her intently. Though her dress was demure and her hair in the fashion of most of the young ladies of the ton, he felt the same surge of lust he felt every time she appeared. Her return smile sent desire through his body.

"Are matters calm in the schoolroom?"

She nodded. "My sisters are writing apologies for their behavior. Grandmother is having luncheon in her room. About the governess and the abigail --"

"They are leaving."

"Thank you, my lord. My sisters were most upset and feared we would be the ones to leave. I pray you will understand my reasons for my earlier outburst and do not think unkindly of me."

All he could think of was baring her body, cupping her full breasts and seeing her respond to his touch. He pressed his hands against the desk. This line of thought would not do. "You must learn to consider your words before you speak. Your sisters must learn to consider their actions."

She inhaled. He watched the rise of her breast and imagined her hardened nipples brushing his chest.

"My lord, our marriage is a necessity. However, I can’t allow my sisters to be abused. While Margaret and Elizabeth were partly responsible for the scene, the entire fault wasn’t theirs. If they had come to me and reported Miss Smythe’s actions, I would have dismissed her before you returned. Before you hire another governess, I would like to interview the candidates."

"I will make the selection."

"How? You don’t know my sisters or the things that interest them. Elizabeth has many talents in the arts. Her skill at the pianoforte and with paints is remarkable. Rather than a governess, she needs a music and drawing teacher."

Drew rose. "And I suppose Margaret should have a governess who climbs trees and likes frogs and snakes. Maybe she would like lessons in fencing and shooting."

Nicola laughed. "She would be in the highest alt, but I fear she would grow more wild than she is now."

He yearned to join her laughter but if he lowered one barrier, the rest would be breached. "I’ll admit hiring the Smythe sisters was a mistake. I’ll advertise and allow you to read the responses, but as guardian, the final choice is mine."

She moved around the desk and stopped inches from his chair. "Could we not be partners in the way my Papa and I?"

He kept his hands on the desk. "We can hardly deal with each other as father and daughter. In a marriage, the husband makes the decisions and the wife sees they are obeyed."

"I don’t think I will like that kind of marriage."

"Miss Gordon."

"My lord."

"What else were you doing when you saw my orders to your grandmother were carried out? Where are the bills for the purchases you made?"

She stared at the floor. "At first, I had to check the bills the village tradesmen submitted for things ordered months ago to see if they’d been paid. I learned several of the bills had been rendered thrice and paid twice."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I spoke to those merchants of my discoveries and they were glad to see matters adjusted."

He planted his hands on the desk. "Who gave you leave to interfere?"

"Interfere?" She frowned. "I was only handling business the way I did for Papa."

"I’m not your father." He didn’t understand why her words had brought a surge of anger. "And the books?"

"I set Sarad to organizing the clutter. Papa trained him as an assistant. Papa said the East India Company is falling apart and in not too many years hence, individual companies would control the trade. If you would like, I’ll have Sarad explain his system."

Drew frowned. What she said about the East India Company had much merit. Why had her father used her as a confidante? She was a daughter, not a son. "I’ll speak to your servant about the books. I still don’t understand why there are no bills. You and the Dowager have made more than a few purchases."

"Papa always said if you have the money, you should pay the merchants for their wares. Grandmother feared to buy anything because you had left no money for expenses. We went to Oxford where I sold some gemstones Papa gave me."

"I hope you’ve kept an accounting of what you spent."

"’Tis in the ledgers." She turned to leave the room.

He sought a reason for her to remain. "What will you do without an abigail?"

"My sisters and I have always helped each other."

"That won’t be appropriate after we are wed. I won’t have giggling girls invading my chambers."

"Then I’ll ask Mrs. Bowen if one of the maids would like to advance."

"They have no experience. Agnes Smythe said you have much to learn before you are ready to be presented to the ton."

The flare of anger in her eyes startled him. What had he said? She had little experience in society. If someone didn’t show her how to act, she would be eaten alive.

She walked to the door. "I don’t care to meet the ton or be presented to the King. I would rather remain at Denmere."

Something in her voice made him doubt the truth of her words. What young woman would choose to remain buried in the country and miss the excitement and pleasure of the London season? "If I go to London, you will go with me."

She opened the door. "I can see we have much to discuss, my lord, but we must continue at another time. I have much to do today."

Instead of following, he opened the ledger containing the household accounts. Once the estates ran at a profit, he intended to replace every cent she had spent. He would not have her believe her dowry was the only reason he had agreed to marry her.

What other reason could there be? He sank back in the chair. An answer arose that he rejected.

* * * *

Eager to tell her sisters about the Earl’s decision, Nicola hurried upstairs. She didn’t know why he’d decided to send the sisters Smythe away, but he had. His other decisions were not to her liking. He wanted absolute and complete control of her life and even her thoughts.

She grasped the railing. Papa, why? What would he have thought if he’d met the Earl? She considered the things she knew about the man she would wed. On paper, she felt his attributes would have pleased her father. In action, his qualities were like poorly set gems.

Enough, she thought. Dwelling on his flaws made the coming wedding seem like a punishment instead of a time for joy.

She opened the door of the suite she shared with her sisters. Margaret stood at the window. Elizabeth sat on the sofa.

"Must we return to the schoolroom?" Elizabeth asked.

"I won’t." Margaret put her hands on her hips.

"You will return, but I will be your teacher until another is found. The sisters Smythe leave this very day."

Margaret turned from the window. "Then I can go to the stables to see Cinnamon. That’s the name I’ve given him for his coat is near the color of the spice. Miss Agatha fears horses and she wouldn’t let me ride. Every morning, I sneak to the stables."

"You can’t go yet." Elizabeth rose. "Mrs. Parker is coming to fit our dresses for the wedding. There was enough of the aqua silk to trim mine and Margaret’s dresses. We will all look beautiful."

Nicola laughed at the martyred expression on Margaret’s face. "You shall go first and then you can amuse yourself until it’s time to prepare for dinner."

Margaret hugged Nicola. "You are the best of sisters."

"Tomorrow we’ll begin lessons again," Nicola said.

"The Earl’s friends are handsome." Elizabeth sighed.

"And much too old for you."

"I shall practice flirting with them. Then when I go to London to make my bows, I’ll be ready to take the ton by storm."

Nicola shook her head. Elizabeth had been ready to conquer society since the day she’d been born. Nicola wished she had a dollop of her sister’s confidence.

The seamstress and her assistant arrived. Margaret tolerated her fitting and then bounded from the room. Elizabeth went next, but she remained while the woman fitted the dress she had designed for her Nicola.

"You look beautiful," Elizabeth said.

Nicola looked down and saw how much of her chest the neckline of the gown exposed. She felt more naked than she had this morning when the Earl had commented on her dhoti and shirt. She swallowed. "I do not think the Earl will approve."

Elizabeth laughed. "He won’t be able to keep his eyes from you. Every man in attendance will envy him. Your gown is all the fashion."

"She’s right, Miss," the seamstress said. "The color and the style are perfect for you. And such fine cloth. I seldom see the like here in the village."

"When will the dresses be finished?" Elizabeth asked.

"Tomorrow in the afternoon." The seamstress beamed. "Since you have given us your custom, I’ve had to hire another woman. Miss Rasher and Miss Wythe have asked for dresses to be finished in time for the ball the Baron is holding Friday."

Nicola bit her lip. She’d forgotten the invitation her grandmother had accepted. She didn’t want to attend for she would make a fool of herself. How could she go to a ball when she knew nothing of dancing? Maybe the presence of the Earl and his friends would be reason enough to remain at home.

"Nica, can we go to the village tomorrow and fetch the gowns?" Elizabeth asked.

Nicola nodded. "A good idea. We’ll take Margaret."

Elizabeth reached for the stack of carefully copied music. "I must practice in case Grandmother wishes me to play this evening."

* * * *

Aldora rose from her seat at the dressing table. "The gray cashmere shawl, Bertha. Though spring is on the way, the nights remain chilly."

"But not like they were before Miss Nicola came. She has made this house more like it was when we first come here."

Aldora nodded. Her husband’s parents had been contented and had warmth, if not love for their son’s wife. She’d always been thankful they had died without seeing the shell the house had become. Drew and Nicola could change the lack of warmth here if only they learned to deal gently with each other.

She took the shawl from Bertha and walked downstairs to the India parlor. Greene held the door for her. "My lady, you are the first. Shall I pour a glass of sherry?"

She shook her head. "Later. Drew will do the honors." She stood in the center of the room and once again admired the beautiful objects the girls had brought from India. Carpets with jewel tones patterned like fanned peacock tails. Jade statues of horses and strange beings.

Through the open doors, she glanced into the music room. Perhaps Elizabeth would play this evening. Drew strode in looking handsome in his gray evening wear.

"You seem well recovered." He took her hand.

"I was never ill." She sat on the sofa. "A sherry, please. Then tell me if ‘tis true you have sent the dragons back to their lair."

He laughed. "They are waiting in the village for the London coach." He handed her a glass.

"My girls are gems and I won’t see them flawed by ones such as those two. I hope you choose the next governess with more care."

"I have promised Miss Gordon a look at their references. Speaking of jewels, I heard about your trip to Oxford."

"La Drew, she is resourceful and practical and one who can bring you much love."

He snorted. "You know my opinion of that sentiment and I do not need it."

"Your autocratic ways will drive her away." Aldora saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes. "Don’t break her spirit or you will both be unhappy. Since you are determined to marry her, reach for the joy love can bring."

He looked away. Aldora shook her head. Would he always cast himself in the role of the outsider? Before she could marshal arguments, Tristan strode into the room.

As usual, he wore black and white. He stopped in front of the sofa and took her hand. "You are looking lovely this evening." He winked. "I quite admire your tactics this morning. How I wish you would come to London. There is a whole generation of women who could benefit from your example."

She laughed. "Fustian! When will you choose a wife and settle down?"
"You sound like my aunt. There are many ladies I have yet to...meet. How can I settle for just one?"

"You need an heir. That needle-nose cousin of yours has no style and will impoverish your estates in a year of two."

Tristan laughed. "More like fifty. My fortune grows fatter every year."

Aldora looked up and saw Michael drain his glass and pour another. She turned to Tristan. "Tell that scapegrace to leave the bottle and attend me. Alcohol will never solve problems."

"I doubt he will listen to you more than to me. Michael, you neglect your hostess."

The Marquis of Fenwick carried his glass across the room. "Countess, you are looking much better this evening."

Aldora stared at his glass. "You will look much worse if you continue along the road you have chosen. My condolences on the death of your wife. Tell me about the infant."

"What’s to tell. A girl. I took little note of her."

She rapped his hand lightly with her fan. "Since she has no mama, she will need her papa. But you will learn that one day."

Michael shrugged. "Mayhap."

Niall paused beside the sofa. "Countess, I‘m glad you’re better. Perhaps some whist after supper."

"If you will consider playing for buttons. I have no taste for gaming."

"I dare say I can indulge you. Was lucky at the tables last night." He looked up. "The young ladies have arrived."

Chapter 9

Nicola stood outside the India parlor where her grandmother entertained the Earl and his guests. While she waited for her sisters, she listened to the Dowager chide the three men. The mild scoldings confirmed her suspicions. The Earl had chosen friends who had demons of their own.

She sighed. Perhaps there were no unflawed men in this land. ‘Twas a shame she hadn’t brought Yogi Yakshi with her. She missed his wisdom and she had met so many people who would benefit from his teachings.

Margaret bounced past and burst into the parlor. "When do we eat? I am most hungry."

Elizabeth shook her head. "She has no more manners than an elephant loose in the market."

"Would you like Miss Smythe to return?" Nicola asked. "She held a similar opinion of your sister."

"And of me. She thought we were heathens because we were born in India."

"Then you must be patient with Margaret for she is young. If we don’t make an issue, perhaps her behavior will improve again."

Nicola took her sister’s arm. They entered to parlor. Margaret sat beside her grandmother. The four men stood near the fireplace. Only Drew didn’t hold a glass. For a moment, Nicola studied them. All four were handsome but even with his dour expression, her betrothed made the other men seem pale. She walked to the sofa and kissed her grandmother’s cheek.

Drew strode away from the group of men. "Miss Gordon."

"My lord."

"Though you’ve met my friends under less than normal circumstances, I would like to make a formal presentation." He put his hand at her waist.

His touch brought a rush of warmth she felt sure stained her skin. She wondered if the reaction of her body to his presence was a normal thing. He smelled of the spice soap Margaret had blended for him. He led her to his friends.

Three pair of eyes appraised her. She wondered if her choice of a sapphire evening dress with pale blue embroidery at the hem and bodice met their approval.

"Nicola Gordon, this is Tristan Atwell, Duke of Cairnton, Michael Fenwick, Marquis of Fenwick, Captain Niall Ramsey."

Each man bowed. Captain Ramsey grinned. Michael Fenwick smiled. Tristan Atwell brushed her hand with his lips. "Charmed," he said. "You are lovely. Shame Denmere has bound you before I had a chance."

"Fustian," cried the Dowager.

The Earl’s fingers tightened on her waist. Nicola swallowed. Unless she misunderstood, his posture was one of possession. Why, when he’d given no indication of pleasure over the coming marriage?

She curtsied. "My lords, Captain Ramsey, I am pleased that you have come for the wedding. Margaret, Elizabeth, come and make your bows."

Margaret dashed over. She faced Captain Ramsey. "The black horse in the stables. Is he yours?"

Niall nodded. "You have the right of that."

"And does he run as fast as the wind?"

"Newly purchased. No time to test his paces."

"Do you think I could ride him?"

"Have you a good seat and light hands?"

"She is a centaur," Elizabeth said. "I don’t think there is a horse she can’t ride or an animal she can’t tame."

Niall laughed. "Saw proof this morning."

The Earl shook his head. "You will leave the Captain’s black alone or suffer the consequences."

Nicola stiffened. Why did he choose to challenge her sister in this way?

Tristan smiled. "Denmere, do you think a vague threat will stop the child?" He turned to Elizabeth. "Do you ride?"

"Indifferently. I can maintain my seat, but I much prefer a carriage. My talents are not like Margaret’s affinity for animals and plants." She opened her fan and looked at him over the edge.

Tristan laughed. "Come and I’ll teach you the language of the fan, though I don’t believe you need lessons in flirtation." He paused near the open door of the music room. "Ah, this is new."

Elizabeth nodded. "We had to leave my pianoforte in Calcutta. ‘Twould have cost too much to ship and Nicola wanted to bring other things. When we went to Oxford to sell some gems, she bought this for me."

"Are you accomplished?"

"She is a master," the Dowager said. "Her touch is strong and better than many paid musicians. After dinner, she’ll show you. Each of my granddaughters possesses unique talents and they had a father who encouraged them to explore their gifts."

"Miss Gordon, what is your talent?" Michael asked.

"Gemstones."

"She is most learned," Margaret said. "She reads the languages of India and knows the legends of their gods."

"A bluestocking," Michael said. "Pray tell, who is this odd creature." He lifted a jade statue of a man with an elephant’s head.

"He is Ganesha, god of wisdom and remover of obstacles. Unlike so many of the gods of India, he is gentle and friendly. Indian merchants revere him. When a business fails, he is turned upside down."

"Why does he have an elephant’s head?"

"’Tis said Shani or Saturn gazed on him and his head disappeared in flames. His mother was told the find the head of the first being she met and put that in place of his. ‘Twas an elephant."

"Amazing," Tristan said.

"I don’t understand this need for a multitude of gods," Niall said.

"Nor do I," Nicola said. "The stories are ancient and often appear akin to Greek and Roman legends."

The Dowager approached the group. "Tristan, you may escort me to dinner tonight." She smiled. "My girls have brought many changes to Denmere."

"Indeed they have."

Instead of following the others, Nicola lingered near the statue of Ganesha. She glanced at the Earl’s stony countenance and wondered what she had done to earn his disapproval.

"Is there something wrong?"

He pulled her into his arms. "I asked you to behave like a lady."

"What have I done? I spoke to your friends and answered their questions. I don’t understand."

"You laughed. You flirted."

"How can you say that?" She tried to break free of his embrace.

"I heard of your flirtatious ways when I was at the inn. Devonley was there. He spoke about your charming ways and was much taken with you."

"My lord, surely you don’t believe him."

Drew didn’t know what to think. He’d seen the way she charmed his friends. He’d heard her laughter and remembered another woman’s laughter. "Did you flirt with him?"

She looked up. "My lord, each time I looked at him, I was hard pressed not to giggle. All I could see was the way he looked at the inn after Margaret knocked him down?"

As Drew recalled the scene, he chuckled. "I’d forgotten. ‘Twill be hard to keep from laughing the next time I see him."

Grandmother has accepted an invitation from Baron Rasher to a ball this Friday. Tomorrow, I’ll write a note to beg off. Surely now that your guests have come, we won’t attend."

Drew laughed. "Baron Rasher will be delighted to add these eligible bachelors to his guest list. After all, he has a daughter he hopes to marry to a man of higher station than himself. Shall we join the others."

"Very well, my lord."

* * * *

The next morning, Nicola heard the news she’d dreaded. Baron Rasher had been most delighted to include the Earl’s friends among those who would attend the ball. Nicola hurried to the west wing to check the huge room where the wedding party would take place. She stopped in the doorway and was surprised to see her grandmother.

"La child, I am so pleased with what has been done here. The ballroom shines the way it did in the days when I first arrived as a bride. With flowers from the orangery, ‘twill be splendid for the festivities."

"There’s still much to do," Nicola said. "I think I’ll cry off from the Baron’s ball."

The Dowager laughed. "The wedding plans are complete. Greene and Mrs. Bowen have matters well in hand."

A lump settled in Nicola’s chest. How could she attend the ball when she didn’t know how to dance? Since her father had seldom mingled with the Company families, there had been no need to learn. She searched for another excuse rather than admitted to her deficiencies in the social graces. To say she couldn’t dance would give the Earl another reason to question her fitness as his wife.

"Perhaps our guests would rather not attend since they were not among those invited."

Again, the Dowager laughed. "La child, you know so little about the ton. Drew’s friends are welcome everywhere. I’m sure Miss Rasher swooned and the Baron rubbed his hands when he heard the names of our guests." She turned to leave the room. "What gown will you wear?"

"The silver silk over a slip of pale aquamarine."

"I wish my husband hadn’t sold the family jewels for there was a stunning necklace and earbobs of aquamarines and diamonds. You must at least have a necklace to adorn yourself. I notice you wore none to the Baron’s dinner."

"I have a string of pearls that were Mama’s."

"They will do." The Dowager swept from the room.

Nicola followed slowly. She ducked into the India parlor and lifted the jade Ganesha from his niche. The Earl would soon learn she didn’t know how to act like a lady. What would she do then? She stroked the cool stone statue.

* * * *

"What problem do you wish solved? "The angelic Cairnton lounged on one of the sofas.

"A major one. The Baron’s ball. I don’t want to go."

"Why ever for? You’ll have no lack of partners starting with the men from this house. Even Niall will forgo the card room until he’s taken a turn with you."

Nicola sank on a chair. "That will do me little good. Dancing is one of the sixty-four attributes I lack."

"Sixty-four?" He laughed. "Surely there couldn’t be that many."

"Singing, playing a musical instrument, combining dance, music and singing, writing, drawing.…" She gulped a breath.

He held up a hand. "I’ll listen to your list another day. Let me drag Michael and Niall from the billiard room. Have no fear. We’ll help you overcome your lack of one attribute. When the lessons are done, you will be a polished dancer and have your choice of partners, even if Denmere chooses not to dance."

"Doesn’t the Earl know how either?" If this were true, she could spend the evening at his side and not fear making a cake of herself.

"Actually, he is a splendid dancer but he hates to display his social skills." Tristan strode to the door. "We must have music. Fetch your charming sister while I roust the others. We’ll meet in the music room."

"But your Grace…."

"Don’t tarry or I’ll set a hue and cry through the house for you. If you wish to be a proper countess, you must know how to dance."

His words echoed the Earl’s instructions. She flew up the stairs and entered the sitting room where Elizabeth and Margaret worked on their lessons.

"What’s wrong." Margaret dropped her quill. A blot of ink spread across the page.

"His Grace has learned of my deficiency as a dancer. He plans to teach me and wants Elizabeth to play."

"Wonderful." Elizabeth clapped her hands. "I’m of an age when I too should learn."

Margaret rose. "I won’t stay here alone. Maybe I can talk to Captain Ramsey about the black."

Nicola shook her head. "You won’t ride his horse and don’t tease for permission."

Margaret dashed from the room and clattered down the stairs. Nicola looked at Elizabeth and rolled her eyes.

"She will have a ride before he leaves," Elizabeth said.

"And find herself confined to her room or worse."

"Surely not."

Elizabeth glided down the stairs. Nicola sighed and wished she was that graceful. She followed her sister into the music room. Elizabeth curtsied. "Good morning."

Tristan placed several sheets of music on the pianoforte. "Morning. Found these pieces. They will do for our lessons. First some country dances and then a cotillion and you will be ready for the ball."

Michael rose from his chair. He bowed to Tristan. "My lady, I believe this dance is mine."

"Let me consult my card." Tristan pitched his voice high. "La my lord, you have the right of matters."

Elizabeth giggled. Her hands hit the keys causing a discordant sound. Nicola and Margaret laughed.

Niall clapped his hands. "Young ladies, attend your lessons."

Elizabeth began to play. Nicola watched Tristan and Michael move through the steps of the dance. Niall offered her his hand. "Now we will try."

Her knowledge of yoga had accustomed her to learning patterned movements and she found following the steps to be less difficult than she had feared. When the first dance ended, Michael strode to the piano. "Miss Elizabeth, join Tristan. By your age, young ladies of the ton are well schooled in social manners."

"Denmere should be here," Tristan said. "He is by far the lightest of the Deacons on his feet."

"Deacons?" Nicola asked.

Niall laughed. "A name given to the four of us."

Margaret bounced to her feet. "We heard about the pigs. What else did you do?"

Michael laughed. "Some things not fit for a lady’s ears."

"Put pepper in the Latin Master’s snuff," Tristan said.

"Turned green smoking behind the stables," Niall said.

"Sometimes I wish I had been born a boy," Margaret said. "Girls are not allowed to have fun."

Tristan took her hand. "A day will come when you’ll be glad you’re not a boy. Go see if you can find Drew. Tell him we have need of him for the cotillion."

"He planned to visit his tenants today," Michael said. "Drew is much too duty bound and must oversee every inch of his estates."

"So should you all," Nicola said. "Papa said that was the only way to be sure you were not cheated. He taught me how to keep his books for that reason."

Tristan laughed. "My dear Miss Gordon, I believe you are the perfect wife for my friend. I pray he comes to see you as you are."

Nicola looked away. Cairnton had expressed one of her desires. Had the Earl created a view of her she could never fit?

"Come," Niall said. "No time to waste. Music."

* * * *

When Drew stepped from his study, the music and the sound of Nicola’s laughter caused him to crumple the letter in his hand. He tried to push the shards of envy away. She laughed with his friends; she talked to them. With him she was stiff and formal. Would her flirtatious ways continue after they had wed? He knew none of his friends would step over the line, but there were many men in London who would see wooing his wife as a challenge. Her laughter became his mother’s. He stiffened his spine and left the house to find Sarad. The letter from Mr. Grey contained the news that Fergus Crawford had arrived in London and searched for the Gordon sisters.

When Drew entered the stables, Sarad straightened. "Do you wish your horse, my lord?"

Drew nodded. "I’ll take care of him. This afternoon, I’d like you to present yourself in my study so you can explain what you’ve done to the ledgers."

"I would be most honored, my lord. Mr. Gordon trained me as his factor for the time when he left India. He didn’t trust Crawford and wished to break the partnership. Alas, his death came too soon and in a bad manner."

"What do you mean?"

"We had just left Calcutta to journey north when we were set upon by thugs. Sahib Gordon was sorely wounded."

Drew frowned. "Were they hired by Mr. Gordon’s partner? Tell me about him."

The young man’s eyes widened. "Much evil. Many demons."

Drew leaned against a stall. Even Crawford’s name frightened Nicola’s servant. The change in the young man’s speech told that story.

"He came to house. Miss Nicola very frightened. He wanted to force her to marry him. She planned to run away when man from England come and say she is to marry you."

Drew thought about the terse words he had just read. "Why does he want the girls?"

"Miss Nicola knows about gems and is good at finding those with value. All have much money. He is greedy but for Miss Margaret, I fear. Crawford likes young girls. In Calcutta, he has a house where he keeps them."

"I see." Drew reached for his saddle. He would keep the news of the man’s arrival a secret. In four days, Nicola and her sisters would be safe.

"Why you want to know about the evil one?" Sarad’s voice rose to a high pitch.

Drew didn’t answer. He saddled his house and rode from the stables. When he reached the first tenant he planned to visit, he discovered he no longer had the letter. Had he dropped it in the stables?

* * * *

At the end of the cotillion, Nicola stopped to catch her breath. She looked toward the door. Sarad stood in the hall and waved frantically. "My lords, Captain, I will return soon. There is something I must see to."

"Mayhaps we should continue our lesson after dinner. Your grandmother can persuade Denmere to join us and we will be able to practice a four couple cotillion."

Nicola wanted to rub her aching feet. She slipped into the hall. "Sarad, what is wrong?"

"He...he come."

"Who?"

"Sarad handed her a crumpled piece of paper. "Evil one."

As Nicola read the note from Mr. Grey, she knew why Sarad was frightened. Cousin Fergus had arrived in London and claimed he was the rightful guardian of Nicola and her sisters. What if he discovered them before the wedding on Sunday? She couldn’t bear to think what that might mean. She knew so little about England and she didn’t know how to arrange an escape. There was naught to do but pray and wed the Earl. Then she had to leave Denmere before he consumed her spirit.

"Thank you, Sarad."

"Nica, where are you?" Elizabeth called. "Have you forgotten we must go to the village and fetch our gowns?"

"I’ll be right there." Nicola turned to Sarad. "Do not let your mother or the girls know Cousin Fergus is near. Once I’m married, the Earl will protect us." She hurried to join Margaret and Elizabeth. Why had the Earl hidden this news from her?

* * * *

Drew leaned against the wall in Baron Rasher’s ballroom. His gaze focused on his betrothed as she moved through the figures of a country dance. The candles in the chandeliers cast light and shadow in changing patterns. The heavy scent of a multitude of roses cloyed and the music from the six-piece orchestra sounded too loud for the room.

Miss Gordon’s dress shimmered. Her smile caused Drew’s shoulders to tense. She joined hands with Devonley. Drew felt as alert as a duelist waiting for the count.

Good lord, he thought. ‘Twas nothing more than a dance. Yet, he didn’t like the way the young Viscount’s gaze focused on the neckline of Nicola’s dress. He recalled his reaction when she’d come down the stairs at Denmere. He had wanted to wrap her in a cloak and forbid her to leave the house. Why had Aldora allowed her to wear such a daring gown? When they were married, he would personally select her clothes. He wouldn’t permit her to wear gowns designed to draw a man’s attention the way his mother had.

The music ended. A mad rush for the dining room began. Nicola walked away from Devonley. Drew nodded. At least she had remembered her promise to sit with him for the repast. He threaded his way through the mass of people to reach her side. Miss Rasher pulled Nicola into one of the window alcoves. Drew approached near enough to hear what was being said.

"I won’t listen to you," Nicola said.

Miss Rasher laughed. "Don’t think you will be a success in London. ‘Tis because you are with the Earl and his friends who think they must dance attendance on you. You will never be a diamond like I will."

"Why would I want to be a diamond? They are hard and cold. Besides, I have no wish to go to London."

"What? Not go for the Season? Clearly you have no idea what your station will mean. But then, a merchant’s daughter will have no standing with the ton, not even with the Earl’s and the Dowager’s clever plan of passing you off as her granddaughter. I’ll see everyone hears the truth."

Nicola straightened her shoulders. "I don’t know why you are saying these things. Could you be envious?"

"Hah! Everyone knows the Earl marries you because his pockets are to let. I will never have to buy a husband the way you are."

"There’s no reason for your jealousy. I want no part of the ton. There is more to life than balls and gossip."

"Oh la, you are so provincial." The blonde laughed. "I see the Earl has failed to give you a betrothal ring. That shows how little he thinks of you." She turned and stepped from the alcove.

Drew started forward and stopped. Indeed, Miss Rasher was right. How could he have forgotten to buy her a ring?

"But he has given me a ring." A flush colored Nicola’s cheeks. "You see, ‘twas too large and I couldn’t wear it until the Earl has the band cut to size."

"How very convenient. I don’t believe you." Cynthia Rasher brushed past Drew and hurried toward the doors.

"There you are," Drew said. "Tristan, Michael and Niall are dancing attendance on your grandmother and the buffet. If we don’t go now, there will be little food left."

She looked up at him. "How much of her nonsense did you hear?"

"About the ring, I have been remiss." He reached for her hand. Though she had defended him, he believed she had chosen to soothe her own pride.

"It does not matter."

"I fear it does. Miss Rasher will spread her poison."

She looked up at him. "Her words will harm nothing more than my pride. Those you count as friends will know she speaks from jealousy. She thought to charm your friends and in that, she failed. We both know this is no love match. There is no reason to bow to convention."

He straightened. "There is every need." He saw Tristan across the ballroom. Gratified for his friend’s presence, he led Nicola to the dining room. If he had been alone with her, he would have taken her into his arms and he wouldn’t have stopped with a single kiss.

Chapter 10

As Drew left the house and strode toward the stables, he yawned. Though he would rather be abed, the trip to Oxford had to be made. He inhaled a breath of the crisp air, and caught a hint of the coming spring. The sun lifted above the horizon and he paused to savor the moment. The pink-stained clouds and the slow transformation of the lake from ebony to blue had never failed to bring pleasure. Denmere was his and he would do what he must to see the estates restored and the lands productive.

Just as the land belonged to him, so did Nicola Gordon. Eagerness to reach Oxford and to purchase the rings that would mark her as his filled him. Though last night she’d reminded him theirs was no love match, his failure to give her a betrothal ring marked him as no better than a flat. He hadn’t meant to give the impression he trifled with her. Miss Rasher’s taunts had made his transgression in the eyes of society quite clear.

Why had no one reminded him? Aunt Aldora, his friend, Mr. Grey? Why should they? He knew the rules that governed society. The fault was his.

The shrill cry of a horse propelled him across the yard and into the stable. "Who goes there?" he shouted. He heard a cry and the rustling of straw. Just inside the wide doors, he saw Niall’s black tied outside one of the stalls. An overturned bucket and some rags lying on the ground puzzled him. Drew approached the gelding. In the light entering through the open doors, he saw gashes on the horse’s legs.

Who, he wondered and bent to examine the extent of the injuries. Niall wouldn’t have left the black unattended. Nor would Jem or either of the newly hired grooms. He straightened.

"Margaret!" he bellowed.

The gelding snorted and sidled away. Drew stroked the silky coat to calm the beast. Once the horse settled, he strode down the length of the stable, pausing to check for the culprit in the stalls on either side of the aisle. Straw crackled beneath his boots. Horses nickered and bumped against the wooden walls.

"Margaret, you will present yourself at once. You were warned to leave the black alone. You have willfully disobeyed me. Come out and face your punishment." He spoke in low and measured tones, keeping a tenuous hold on his anger toward the wayward child.

"This is no prank like the one you played in the schoolroom. If Niall’s mount is injured beyond healing, you will find yourself removed from Denmere and placed in a boarding school for young ladies where they will deal with your hellion ways."

He heard rustling in the pile of straw at the rear of the stable. With long strides, he moved toward it.

"Margaret, come out. If I must search, it will go worse for you. You will be confined to your room until your hair turns gray and only be allowed out on Sundays for church. I forbade you to ride Niall’s black. I am sure your sister did the same. Though Niall found your pleas amusing, he won’t find the injury a joke. What if the horse must be destroyed?"

A dark figure hurtled toward him. "I didn’t mean to cause harm. The black is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. I only wanted to ride faster than the wind."

He captured and held the struggling child against his chest. "This is what happens when you surrender to your impulses." As anger again threatened to burst through the imposed bonds, he inhaled. "Like a thief, you took what wasn’t yours. Like a weasel, you crept from the house to do what was forbidden. You must learn to control these kind of actions before you destroy yourself."

She shuddered and went still. "I truly didn’t mean to hurt the Captain’s horse. I didn’t mean to steal. I am most sorry. Don’t send me away. Cousin Fergus will find me and do the dreadful things he whispered when no one could hear."

Her body shook. Drew felt her fear as though it was his own. "Go to the house. When I return from Oxford, we will end this matter and set your punishment."

Without looking back, she ran to the house. He groaned. To have this happen on the eve of his wedding might prove to be a disaster. How could he punish Margaret without causing another point of contention between his betrothed and himself? If Nicola took exception to her sister’s punishment, he would have to tell her Crawford had arrived in London and even now searched for the three girls.

He shook his head. He didn’t want Nicola to come to the marriage because she feared another man. He ran his fingers through his hair. What could he expect from her other than money and an heir? He couldn’t ask for or believe in her love.

Pushing troubled thoughts away, he strode to the door of the room where Jem sat. "Ramsey’s black has been injured."

The burly man opened the door. "I be right there, my lord. How be this happen?"

"Do not ask."

"The young one then," Jem said. "She has the touch but she be small and feckless." He fastened his breeches and followed Drew to the black. There, he knelt and examined the horse’s legs. "I be fetching my ointments."

Drew saddled his gray gelding and backed the horse from the stall. "I’ll be back this afternoon. Tell Niall I’ll handle the matter of my ward then."

He mounted and rode the horse down the oak-lined lane. As he headed for Oxford, his thoughts turned to Nicola. How could he expect her to care for him when he’d done nothing to make her feel he wanted her company?

* * * *

Nicola completed the final ansana of her morning routine. She rose and stripped off the dhoti and shirt she always wore. After washing, she put on her dressing down and walked to the window. Sunlight sparkled on the lake. The height of the sun told her she had slept later than she had planned.

"Oh, Miss, I have your tea." The round-faced woman chosen by Mrs. Bowed to replace Agnes Smythe backed into the room.

"Thank you, Peggy. I’ll pour for myself."

The maid crossed to the wardrobe and took out a simple dress of azure Cambric muslin. "His lordship rode off early this morning. Cook said he didn’t wait to break his fast."

Nicola put the cup on the tray. Why had he gone this time? Would he return before tomorrow when they were expected to stand in church and speak their vows? She nibbled on her lower lip.

If he didn’t return, what would she do? Cousin Fergus was in London. Before long, he would discover where she had her sisters were. She inhaled to control the shudders that coursed her body. Though she wanted to return to Calcutta, she didn’t desire to make the trip with Cousin Fergus’ fangs embedded deep in her flesh. That would mean disaster for her sisters and worse for herself.

After she dressed, she stepped into the sitting room. Neither of her sisters were there, but on Saturday and Sunday, there were no lessons to be done. She smiled and pictured Margaret in the kitchen arguing with Cook over the amount and kind of spices to be used in each dish being prepared for the morrow. Surely Elizabeth flitted from the ballroom to the Great Parlor where the wedding buffet would be served.

As she stepped into the hall, she thought about Drew’s latest absence from Denmere. Were his actions any different from her decision to leave the morning after the wedding?

Of course they were. He’d run away because he didn’t want to marry her. She planned to leave because her dream of love would go unfulfilled. Tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with a wish to have the love she’d seen between her parents.

Instead of heading to the stairs, she opened the door of her grandmother’s sitting room. The scent of lavender had replaced the musty aroma present when she and her sisters had arrived in Denmere. Deep rose draperies hung at the windows. The sofa and chairs had been covered with rose and gold brocade. A deep blue carpet covered the floor.

"Good morning, Grandmother."

The Dowager turned. "La child, you are the very image of your mother, though her nature was more like Margaret’s." She reached for the teapot and filled a second cup. "Why are you so downcast? Tomorrow is your wedding day."

Nicola kissed her grandmother’s cheek. "He has gone again. What have I done to make him flee my company? What if he doesn’t return?"

The Dowager placed her cup on the tray. "I have no words to turn your fears to mist, yet I know Drew is an honorable man. Perhaps he is afraid. You see, he doesn’t believe he is worthy of being loved."

"How can that be?"

"He was a near babe when his mother abandoned him to a drunkard’s care and all too frequent beatings. La child, he was wild and depended on himself when I brought him here to Denmere."

What had the abandonment to do with her, Nicola wondered. Once she gave her heart, she would no more leave than a diamond could be eroded by the wind and the rain. She stood a whisper from complete surrender. "I am not his mother, but he gives me no chance to prove the truth."

"Time." The Dowager reached for Nicola’s hand. "He needs time to learn to trust you."

Nicola rubbed her shoe on the carpet. What could she do? Her desire to leave before her heart shattered like a brittle emerald would only compound the Earl’s inability to trust. Yet, how could she stay and allow the essence of her nature to be worn away? "He trusts you. He trusts his friends."

"Those bonds took time to form. If you but have patience and give heed to his commands, he will learn faith in you. Your father placed too much responsibility on your young shoulders. A marriage is not like a business partnership. ‘Tis different from the bonds between a parent and a child. In a proper marriage, the wife obeys her husband and honors his demands."

Why should the man make the rules and issue orders with no regard for the woman’s strengths and talents? "I don’t take kindly to orders and rules. ‘Twould be better for me to give him my dowry and find a haven for my sisters and myself elsewhere."

La child, do not say such things. Drew loves you. I have seen the way he watches you."

"’Tis but desire he feels." Nicola reached for the teacup. "I have studied the Kama Sutra, an ancient Sanskrit work that tells what happens between a man and a woman. Love is not desire. He had no love for me. He would do anything to repay the care you’ve given him. That is why he agreed to marry me."

The Dowager rose and walked to the window. "’Tis true he cares for me but ‘tis because he knows I am weak and have need of his protection."

Nicola shook her head. She didn’t see her grandmother as weak, but as a woman who had learned to live by the rules of her society. "I’m not weak. I seek protection, not for myself, but for my sisters. Papa raised me to make my own decisions."

"’Tis my fault Drew cannot see you as you are. I was not a woman with the strength to stand beside my husband. Nor was his mother." The Dowager turned. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

Nicola embraced her grandmother. "You aren’t to blame. The Earl sees the world as he wishes. His demons distort his vision. Yogi Yakshi spoke to me of karma but said fate can be changed if one has the fortitude to make the changes to turn to roll of the wheel."

"I do not understand."

"I am saying that since the Earl doesn’t want me as his wife, and though I would be true to him, his behavior will drive me away and so the cycle of abandonment will take another turn. Before I left Calcutta, the Yogi told me my destiny is twined with a man who needs my love. If the Earl won’t accept the gift, I will leave."

There, she thought. My plans are in the open. Maybe the Earl won’t return to Denmere and the choice would be taken from her.

The Dowager shook her head. "After tomorrow, there is no way you can leave Denmere. Once a woman weds, her wealth, her body and even her soul belong to her husband."

Nicola gasped. "Unless he is a demon, no one can possess another’s soul. I don’t care about the money. I can’t live with a man who cares so little for me he must flee the house so he doesn’t need to be in my company."

"La child, Drew will return. His honor won’t permit him to leave you waiting at the altar. Neither would he ride off and leave his friends behind. Perhaps there has been a message from one of the tenants about a problem only Drew can solve. He will return and you will wed as planned."

Nicola sighed. Her idea of love and marriage were too alien to this new society she had entered. She would never make her grandmother understand. She kissed the Dowager’s cheek. "Let me be about my duties." She left the room.

What could she do? She wasn’t like the Earl’s mother, but she couldn’t vow to stay with him forever without a trace of love. Love was a many faceted jewel. She would settle for the light from a single point.

"Nica, Nica, where are you?"

Elizabeth’s shout startled Nicola. "In the Great Hall," she said. "What has upset you so?"

"Margaret is gone." Elizabeth burst into the room and slid across the polished marble floor. "I have looked for her in every room, even the attics and cellars. Cook said she came to the kitchen early this morning and took some bread and cheese."

"She has gone riding."

"Cinnamon is in the stables. Jem hasn’t seen her. She has run away."

"Why would she do that?"

Elizabeth thrust a piece of paper at Nicola. "I found this on her bed."

"Why didn’t you show me this first?" Nicola read the note aloud. "He will take me away. I am at my secret place."

Nicola felt the blood drain from her head. She slumped on one of the benches. Somehow Margaret had learned Cousin Fergus was near. Her next thought filled her with dread. Had he discovered their presence at Denmere? Had Margaret seen him?

"We must find her," Nicola said. "Where is this secret place?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I am not sure, but twice she slipped away from the dragon and went into the woods."

In an attempt to calm the rising panic that threatened to leave her incapable of action, Nicola gulped several breaths of air. If Cousin Fergus found Margaret, he would hold the child captive until his terms were met. Nicola didn’t want to return to Calcutta and be forced into a marriage she didn’t want.

* * * *

So dense were the woods that even though the trees bore no leaves, little light filtered through the entwined branches. Thick brambles encroached into the narrow path. Nicola didn’t know how long they had been searching for Margaret’s hiding place and she wondered if she should have asked for help.

As she walked through the thick covering of decaying leaves, an unpleasant odor arose. She swallowed repeatedly. She heard bird songs and strange rustlings that marked the passage of animals. She freed her braid from some briars. Should she tell Elizabeth about Cousin Fergus?

"Nica, look. Could this be a bit of cloth from Margaret’s riding habit?"

Nicola moved to Elizabeth’s side. "I believe it is and here is another."

Soon they came to a small clearing. A shaft of sunlight pierced the overhead tangle and illuminated a rude stone hit. "Margaret, are you here?" Nicola ran to the hut. "’Tis only Elizabeth and me."

Seconds later, Margaret appeared. She threw herself into Nicola’s arms with such force she knocked her sister to the ground. "He will come for me. I am most afraid."

Nicola stroked her sister’s hair. "The Earl will protect you from Cousin Fergus. ‘Tis why I wed him tomorrow."

"Not Cousin Fergus, the Earl." Tears streamed down Margaret’s face. "Nica, I am in the briars for I have ruined Captain Ramsey’s black."

Elizabeth knelt. "Ruined? What do you mean?"

Margaret inhaled a shuddering breath. "He will send me to a boarding school where they will beat me. He will lock me in my room forever. He will take my clothes away and feed me naught but bread and water."

"When did he threaten you with these things?" Nicola felt anger growing inside.

"Early this morning when he came to the stables." Margaret rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands leaving dark streaks behind. "I didn’t mean for the horse to be hurt. I did not mean to disobey."

"Then why did you?" Nicola asked. "What were you doing in the stables so early?"

The child took a deep breath. "The dragon was afraid of horses and wouldn’t let me ride. Every morning when she was here, I rose before the sun and took Cinnamon for a gallop. This morning, I took the black and rode him without a saddle. Oh Nica, ‘twas marvelous but he was too strong. He headed for the brambles. The thorns tore his legs. When I was cleaning the wounds, the Earl caught me. He scolded me most fierce."

Nicola grasped Margaret’s shoulders. "I would have done more than scold. Margaret, why must you do these things?"

"Did you ever dream of flying or of outrunning the wind?"

Nicola shook her head. "I have dreamed but never of something so wild and impossible." Other than of finding a hero like Siva, she thought. "Come back to the house. You must beg Captain Ramsey for forgiveness and decide what your punishment will be."

"Must I?"

"Yes, and you must consider what you’ve done. Captain Ramsey purchased the black to carry him into battle. If the horse should fall because of what you’ve done --"

"The Captain could be hurt." Margaret trudged along the path ahead of her sisters.

"Why should she set her own punishment?" Elizabeth asked. "Should that not be the Earl’s duty?"

"She will be harder on herself than the Earl and me combined."

*****

The afternoon sun had chased the chill of the morning from the air. Drew unfastened his great coat. The gelding turned from the road into the tree-lined lane leading to the manor house. Drew’s shoulders slumped, not from exhaustion, but from what lay ahead. The rings had been purchased. Now he must face the problem of Margaret. Her oldest sister was sure to disagree with any punishment he set.

At the stable door, one of the grooms took the reins. Drew dismounted and checked the deep pocket of his coat for the rings. Jem sat on a bench outside the stable door.

"The black?" Drew asked.

"Be no more than briar scratches, my lord."

Drew looked into the stable. Margaret sat on the ground with Niall’s saddle across her lap. She rubbed oil into the leather. "What is this about?" He pointed to her.

"Part of her punishment," Jem said.

"Set by whom?"

Jem scratched his whiskered chin. "Suppose Miss Gordon."

Drew’s shoulders tensed. Why had she stepped into his preserves? The child was his ward.

"My lord."

Drew turned. Margaret stood with her head bowed. She toed the dirt with her boot.

"I am ashamed that I disobeyed you. My punishment is to clean the Captain’s gear until it shines like a mirror and to give him Cinnamon to take to war." She lifted her head. "Don’t send me to school or lock me in my room. My loss --" She pressed her hands to her face.

"Is dire enough." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I wouldn’t have been as harsh as your sister."

She shook her head. "Nica didn’t punish me. I made the choice myself. She said I would be harder on myself than you or her, but she didn’t expect me to give up my horse." She turned. "I must finish my task so I can change for dinner. I am truly sorry, my lord."

"So am I, Margaret." As he walked to the house, he wondered about the tightness in his chest. After dinner and before he gave Nicola the betrothal ring, he would ask if there was a way for the child to keep her horse without undermining the punishment for her impulsive deed.

*****

"We will leave you gentlemen to your brandy." The Dowager rose from her place at the table. Her three granddaughters followed her to the door.

Drew stood. "Miss Gordon, a word, please."

She halted in the doorway. Drew strode to her side. He took her arm and led her down the hall to his study. "My compliments on your dress. I like the shade of green." Why had he mentioned her dress?

"’Tis one of my favorites. Elizabeth selected the fabric and the style in London. She has an eye for fashion."

"And the dress you wore last night? Was that one of her choosing?" He groaned as once more, he saw the leers her provocative neckline had evoked.

She shook her head. "’Twas one made for someone who neglected to pay the dressmaker. She altered it for me."

He reached for the door. "In the future, we will consult about your clothing. The dress was inappropriate for my wife."

"Why? The modiste assured me the dress was quite in style."

Before he could stop himself, he spoke. "I don’t fancy that much exposure of your...your...."

She looked up. He couldn’t tell if laughter or anger darkened her eyes.

"But there were other gowns at the ball more daring than mine."

"Not on my bride." He clamped his mouth shut before he revealed the emotions stirred by the appraising glances of the other men. Devonley had paid too much attention to the low neckline of the dress. "I didn’t bring you here to discuss fashion."

"My lord, if you wish to speak about Margaret and the injury to Captain Ramsey’s horse, the matter is settled."

"And most harshly." He held the study door open. "Is there any way I can persuade you to lessen the terms?"

She smiled. He reached out and gently touched her cheek.

"I thought you would be displeased because you hadn’t been the one to punish her. ‘Twas Margaret’s decision. Captain Ramsey was shocked but Margaret explained her reasons. Later, he confided to me that when he leaves, he will tell her the mare is not suited to the battlefield and will place Cinnamon in her care until he returns from war."

Drew chuckled. "A ploy I favor. She’ll have time to regret her impulsive action, but won’t suffer forever. How I wish I had such a judge for my own behavior."

"I believe you have one as stern as Margaret. I…." She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Drew put his hands on her waist and though he wanted to pull her close, to explore her lush curves and to feel her response, he only kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I didn’t bring you here to discuss Margaret either." He led her to the sofa.

"Why then, my lord? Have you decided we will not suit?"

Her gaze captured his. He struggled against a fierce need to show her how well they would suit. To gain time, he crossed the room and lit several candles. Her question hung in the air. He waited for the evidence of his arousal to subside before lifting one of the small boxes he’d brought from Oxford and returning to her side.

"This morning, I went to purchase this." He lifted a ring with a sapphire set in a nest of diamonds.

"A ring isn’t necessary."

He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles before slipping the ring on her finger. "My dear, Miss Gordon, a ring is absolutely necessary." He gently kissed her. "I promise to be the best husband I can."

She touched the stone and then held the ring to the light from one of the candles. "You’ve chosen a magnificent stone. See the star and the depth of the blue. This is truly a valuable stone."

Her interest in the gem puzzled him and brought to mind his mother’s greed for expensive trinkets. "Why are you so concerned with the value of the gem?"

"Assessing gemstones is my talent. I can’t look at one and not want to know its worth."

He nodded. "I believe Mr. Grey said as much. Still, I don’t know why you have taken it on yourself to worry about the ring."

"Though I don’t know the cost, I am pleased to think you weren’t cheated. There are many ways for a jeweler to pass an inferior stone or a bit of glass to an unknowing customer. In India, this sort of thing becomes a game."

"Are you as careful with everything?"

"One must be sure they pay for value, not dross."

He laughed. "Though ours is a marriage of convenience, I believe we will deal well with each other."

He pulled her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips. "We must join the others for I won’t have you subject to my friends’ teasing even if it is good-natured."

As they left the study, a new discovery startled him. Though he wanted to explore her body, he also wanted to protect her from his lust. He shook his head. What kind of spell had she cast on him?

She took his hand. "My lord, thank you for the ring. I will treasure it to the end of my days."

Her words brought hope and the knowledge that he had ceded her a corner of his heart. He shook his head. He didn’t love her but he believed he could be content with her as his wife, though only if he remained in control of his desires.

Chapter 11

Nicola paused at the head of the East Wing stairs and peered into the darkness. She set the small portmanteau she’d packed on the floor. Though she wavered between staying and leaving, ‘twas best to be prepared. ‘Twould not take much for her to give her heart to the Earl. Last night, his kiss had been gentle and he had promised to be the best husband he could ‘Twould not be enough. She needed him to give her his heart in return. With a sigh she reached for the bag.

She crept downstairs and out the French doors of the ballroom. As she crossed the yard to the stables, a knot formed in her stomach. Yogi Yakshi had spoken of destiny. He’d said she could be tied to a man who needed her love and she would remain forever in this alien land. Did her teacher know how many demons her betrothed possessed? Always before she had accepted the Yogi’s idea of fate, but in this matter, she couldn’t. How could she remain in a loveless marriage where she was the vulnerable one?

When she stepped into the stable, one of the spotted pups rose and sniffed her skirts. She bent to scratch his head. Horses stirred. After waiting for the horses to quiet, she opened an empty stall and hid her bag in a dark corner. For a moment, she leaned against the rough wooden half wall. ‘Twas done. Tomorrow morning, she could leave. A tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away and headed back to the house.

The sky grayed with pre-dawn light. The air seemed warmer than she had expected.

As she started up the stairs, she heard noises from the kitchen. She reached the upper floor without encountering any of the servants. In her room, she walked to the window and sat on the padded seat. The knot in her stomach rivaled the ones tied by the sailors on the ship from Calcutta.

Today, she would be a bride.

She touched the betrothal ring and thought of the Earl’s promise. Why was that not enough?

The rising sun colored wispy clouds pink and mauve. The day promised to be beautiful.

To calm her fears, she put on the dhoti and shirt and began a series of ansanas she hoped would unknot the tangled mass in her stomach. She began with calming breaths and moved to the Lion. To end the series of postures, she flowed into a head stand.

"Oh, Miss, I’ve your tea." Peggy gasped. "What ever are you doing on your head."

Nicola let her legs down slowly. "Exercises."

The maid’s round cheeks turned scarlet. "I know you’re addled by nerves, but not enough to put yourself upside down."

Nicola laughed. "I will admit to a bit of nerves, but the exercises have helped calm them." She poured a cup of tea and sweetened it with honey.

"That’s good. Would not do for you to be overset on your special day. The Earl and his friends are to breakfast already. He looks serious." She walked to the door.

Serious, Nicola thought. Of course he would look neither happy or eager. His life would change this day and so would hers.

She took the dressing gown Peggy handed her. A footman carried in the hip bath and several others brought buckets of water. Once the footmen departed, Nicola took her soap from the dressing table.

Margaret bounded into the room. "Nica, are you excited?"

Nicola smiled at her sister. The knot in her stomach became a lump. "I feel as though I am poised over an abyss and I don’t know if I want to jump over or into the void."

"Why would you want to jump into a deep hole? If you had a horse, you could easily jump over," Margaret said. "I’ve brought you new stockings and garters to match your dress."

"I thank you."

"What gift have you for the Earl? I thought he might like Papa’s watch, but his own is quite splendid."

Nicola frowned. Would the earl expect a gift? She didn’t know the marriage customs. "Not Papa’s watch or his ring either."

"Then it must be his studs and cravat pin. The stones match his eyes."

"And Nica’s," Elizabeth added.

Nicola nodded. "’Tis the perfect gift."

Elizabeth pulled a package from behind her back. "I have a new chemise for you."

Nicola kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. "Will you help me dress?"

"I wouldn’t dream of anyone else seeing if your dress is perfect. Mama would be so happy to see how beautiful you will look."

Nicola felt tears form. How sad their mother and father couldn’t be with them today. "Stop or I will cry."

Margaret climbed one of the bedposts. "You can’t cry today." She clung by one hand, and scratched her side and chattered. "Remember the day Mrs. Driden came to call on Papa and the monkey pelted her with rotten fruit."

Elizabeth laughed. Nicola giggled. "And we hid in the bushes and laughed."

"I threw a piece of melon that landed in her wig," Elizabeth said.

"Did you really?" Nicola asked.

"I did and I would have thrown more." Elizabeth grabbed Margaret’s hand. "Come, we must take the Earl his gift. Then we must get dressed."

When the pair left, Nicola climbed into the hip bath and washed herself with the jasmine soap Margaret had made for her. Beneath the floral scent, she caught a hint of cloves. The Earl, she thought. Margaret has scented his soap with cloves. Has she added a hint of jasmine to his?

The water soon cooled. Nicola sat beside the fire while Peggy brushed and curled her hair. Nicola closed her eyes and thought of how soon she and the Earl would be alone. Would he follow the plan set forth in the Kama Sutra or would he follow his own?

A click of the door disturbed her reverie. Prabha crossed the room. The amah wore a midnight blue sari embroidered with silver threat and a necklace of rubies. "Young miss, there is no mother to speak to you today. I would offer a few words."

"And I’ll listen." The knot balled into a huge coil.

"Today you are a maiden. Tonight, your husband will come to your bed. The lord of your heart is a stranger for he has not taken the time to build your confidence in him. Even though I was a second wife, my husband took the time to court me."

Nicola closed her eyes. The amah’s words troubled her. Papa, why does my betrothed not see me as more than a convenience?

"You are most fortunate, Young miss. Your husband has no greedy brothers who want his wealth or an older wife to make your life a misery. If your husband dies, no one will force you into the fire though you carry in your womb the hope of an heir. Your son will be most welcome. Your duty as a wife is to give your husband many sons."

Nicola stared at the amah. She had hoped Prabha would tell her of the act and not the result. Should she ask the meaning of the way her yoni throbbed when the Earl kissed her?

Prabha patted Nicola’s shoulder. "May you find the happiness of your mother and not the grief I bore."

Before Nicola could speak, the amah scurried to the door. Nicola reached for the Kama Sutra and tried to make sense of what she read.

"La child, put down your book. You must begin to dress." The Dowager hurried into the room. The scent of lavender surrounded her. Her gown of amethyst silk was trimmed with deep purple bands. She wore a turban the same shade as the trim.

"There is time."

"Are you not excited? I can’t sit for a minute. Drew was pleased with your gift. I have never seen such lovely turquoise." She perched on the edge of a chair. "Oh la, what lovely children you and Drew will have."

Nicola frowned. First Prabha preached about heirs and not her grandmother spoke of children. Was this the only reason for a marriage?

"For him, money and an heir. For her a title."

The Earl had told her these things. Surely there should be more. The knot in her stomach expanded.

"I must speak to you of the marriage bed."

The Dowager’s declaration caused Nicola to straighten. "I would like to hear."

"The act is strange and not entirely pleasant. You must allow Drew to show you what pleases him. The first union will be painful but after that, you will suffer no more than mild discomfort." The Dowager sighed. "Even though you will find no pleasure in the act, don’t drive your husband from your side by refusing him his rights. He will only seek the company of women of the lower orders. Your duty is to submit to his demands."

Nicola bit back a protest. Submit to his demands. Follow his rules. See that his commands are obeyed. Allow him his rights. She didn’t like this English idea of marriage, but was it any different from what Prabha had told her?

The Kama Sutra promised pleasure. The legend of Siva and Parvati told of love. Did this mean without love she would find nothing but duty and discomfort?

The Dowager kissed her cheek. "Mr. Grey has arrived. I don’t know why he waited so long to come. The Earl and his friends will soon leave for the church. You must dress for you would not want to be late."

Margaret ran into the room with Elizabeth on her heels. Their white dresses had sashes of aqua silk. Nicola reached out to adjust the ribbon on Margaret’s curls. Elizabeth spun around. "Maybe someone will ask me to dance at the ball. I’m so glad we’ll be there, if only for a short time."

Peggy took Nicola’s dress from the wardrobe. After Nicola donned her stockings and chemise, Peggy lifted the aqua gown. The sheer overgown followed. Elizabeth fastened the necklace of silver lotus blossoms each with a garnet heart around Nicola’s neck. With hands grown cold and stiff, Nicola fastened the matching ear bobs.

The Dowager placed the veil on Nicola’s head. "’Twas mine and my mother’s before me." She sighed. "Just one of my daughters wore the veil. I am so happy there are three granddaughters to carry the tradition." She brought her handkerchief to her eyes. "I shall save my tears for the church. Peggy, see if the Earl has gone. ‘Twould bring ill luck if he sees his bride before the church."

"This marriage needs no bad luck," Nicola said.

"La child, smile. ‘Tis true Drew has been neglectful but he is not a cruel or heartless man. With time and patience, he will be the husband you desire."

Would he, Nicola wondered. She dared not hope. The knot in her stomach now rivaled the massive coils she had seen on the London docks.

Peggy returned. "He and his friends have gone."

Nicola gathered her short train and walked to the door. She paused at the top of the stairs. Her groom waited. She would marry him, but she didn’t want a marriage based on practicality.

Mr. Grey, resplendent in black, waited at the foot of the stairs. "My dear, you are lovely. You look like your mother did when I visited your parents years ago. Your father would have been pleased to see you wed so well."

Perhaps, Nicola thought. Papa hadn’t known the Earl. She fingered the lotus necklace. Then she followed her sisters through the front hall and down the steps to the carriage. Her sisters rode in the Earl’s. She and her grandmother rode with Mr. Grey. Another length of rope coiled around the knot.

During the ride to the church, as though this was a routine outing, Mr. Grey and the Dowager chatted about inconsequential matters. Trying not to think of the Earl and the wedding night, Nicola clasped her hands in her lap.

The trip seemed too long and too short. Nicola felt as though fire and ice surged through her veins. Mr. Grey helped the Dowager down and then Nicola. Sunlight made the church seem as though it had been build from blocks of gold. Her sisters and the Dowager vanished inside the church. The knot encompassed Nicola’s stomach and wrapped around her heart. The scent of flowers mingled with incense. She placed her hand on Mr. Grey’s arm. A sudden thought alarmed her. What if Cousin Fergus arrived before the ceremony ended? Was there a way for him to stop the wedding?

A wave of music engulfed her. She looked down the aisle to where the Earl waited at the altar rail. His friend, Cairnton, stood beside him. Sunlight poured through the rose window set high above the altar and surrounded her betrothed with a halo of multi-colored light. She swallowed. The knot had reached her throat.

The Earl turned. He smiled and the knot unwound. Nicola took one step and then another until she and Mr. Grey reached the altar rail. Moments later, her father’s friend surrendered her to the Earl.

*****

Thankful the ceremony had ended, Drew helped Nicola into the carriage and took the seat opposite her. He wished he could read the emotions hidden behind her lowered eyelids. "Are you cold?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord."

He reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were as icy as they’d been in church. "Afraid?"

"I don’t know." She looked up. "I do not know you. I feel...I was afraid Cousin Fergus would come into the church and stop the wedding."

"How could he?"

"I know he’s in England. I saw the letter from Mr. Grey. Why didn’t you tell me?"

He groaned. "The letter arrived by messenger on Friday. I had a problem at one of the farms that required my attention. That evening, we attended the Baron’s ball. I didn’t want to ruin your evening. Then I went to Oxford and there was Margaret’s mischief...."

He looked into her eyes. How could he tell her of his wish that she had married him for himself and not because of fear? But fear had always been her reason. That and her father’s wish for the marriage. Now she had a home and protection for her sisters. What more could she want?

"It doesn’t matter. He didn’t come and we are wed."

The desire to pull her into his arms and cover her face with kisses until her body heat matched his was strong. Too many hours would pass before he made her his in truth.

By the time they reached the house, the tenants and servants would be there to greet his bride and to offer wishes for happiness. Later, the local nobility and gentry would arrive for the rout Aldora had planned.

Just a simple country wedding. That had been what he’d ordered. He should have obtained a Special License instead of allowing Aldora to plan the festivities. She had seen just one of her daughters wed with what she considered the proper ceremony. For years, there had been little to celebrate. Now, she had her granddaughters and he’d been unable to deny Aldora her pleasure.

He leaned forward and kissed his bride’s hand. "I thank you for your gift this morning."

"They were Papa’s favorites. Margaret and Elizabeth helped me decide."

"Then I will also thank them." He released her hand. "My dear Miss..." He chuckled. "You are no longer Miss Gordon, but Nicola Gordon Barlow, Countess of Denmere. Would it trouble you to be called by your given name and you used mine?"

She stared at him. "I don’t know if I can. ‘Tis hard to speak with familiarity to one who is a stranger."

"I see." He leaned back. Had she meant to chastise him for his failure to remain at Denmere? More time spent with her would have meant disaster. Each encounter frayed his control to tatters.

A flush colored her cheeks. "I didn’t mean to insult. I know so little about you and what interests you other than the estates. All I know has come from Grandmother."

"And she has painted a picture of a man just several degrees from sainthood."

Her laughter enchanted him. "She cares deeply for you. It is...we are so different."

"Thankfully." Her puzzled frown told him she didn’t understand. A subtle pleasure over her innocence arose. Tonight, he would show her the meaning of the difference.

The carriage halted. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "We’ve years to come to know each other. Just now, we must face the waiting crowd."

"You don’t sound pleased."

"I would rather have had a quiet wedding."

"At least we share that wish."

The twinkle in her eyes sent heat spreading through his body. Quickly, he lowered the carriage steps and extended his hand to her.

* * * *

Fresh straw covered the dirt floor of the barn. Long tables filled with a variety of foods lined the walls. The Earl stood beside a keg of ale and accepted a mug from one of the men. Children climbed ladders to the loft. Nicola inhaled the aroma of food, the scent of trampled straw and a multitude of other odors. The noise of myriad conversations heightened by a group of fiddlers, laughter and boisterous shouts from the children surrounded her. When she closed her eyes, for a moment, she envisioned Calcutta and one of the busy marked squares.

She sighed. She wasn’t in Calcutta but at Denmere where later today, she and the Earl would greet a different group of guests.

"Nica. Nica." She heard Margaret’s whisper, but didn’t see the child. The summons came again, followed by a tug on her skirt.

"What are you doing beneath the table?" She bent and met her sister’s gaze. "You look as though you’ve been dragged through the fields. What will our guests think?"

"He is here."

"Who?"

"Cousin Fergus. I saw him when I was playing with the boys. He rode up the lane. Don’t let him find me. He will steal me away."

Nicola reached for her sister’s hand. "There is naught he can do for I am safely wed and the Earl is your guardian."

"He is a bad man. I am most afraid."

"I’ll send him away. Find Elizabeth and go to the house by the kitchen door."

"You should not face him alone. He’ll hurt you." Margaret emerged from beneath the table.

"Go to the house and change your dress. I will see to Cousin Fergus."

Nicola gathered her train and her courage. She hurried from the barn. Perhaps Margaret had seen some other man. Even if he is Cousin Fergus, he can’t take us away. He can’t harm Margaret or put his greedy hands on our money.

When she reached the fountain in front of the house, her courage slipped. Cousin Fergus had indeed arrived. He sat astride an ugly horse, black and rawboned. Nicola wondered if the horse’s eyes held glints of demon red.

The horse snorted. Fergus Crawford turned. His dark eyes glowed bright. He slid from the horse and wrapped the reins around the railing of the steps to the front door.

"From your looks, it appears I’m ta late ta stop the wedding, but I be in time ta stop the bedding."

As he spoke, his head swayed from side to side. She found herself moving in his rhythm. She gulped a breath. "Go away. You couldn’t stop the wedding. Papa wanted me to wed the Earl."

"Should of listened ta me. Things be worse for ye now. Got papers showing your pa’s a thief."

"Go away. There is nothing for you here."

His fingers tightened on her arm. "You took something wot was mine and something I’ll have na matter what."

She shook her head. "We took out belongings and some things we purchased in the market. I send all Papa’s papers to your house."

"Was a foolish thing. Found a letter asking me ta look out for ye and yer sisters. Discovered a man of law in London willing ta go ta court."

"What are you saying? Papa didn’t do that."

"Can ye prove he didn’t? Heard of the pouch of gems he’d collected. There’s the sapphire wat is mine. Give them ta me and I’ll be gone."

She looked past him. The gems represented security.

"Weren’t legal the way yer pa sent the gems ta market. I could cause a bit of trouble if I was ta drop a word or two. Ye be wanting to see yer pa named a thief?"

His dark eyes captured her gaze. If papa had done something wrong, so had she. She’d assessed the gems and separated the valuable ones from the dross. This had been a game she and Papa had played.

"He is dead. He can’t be hurt by your stories. Why would you do this? You shared in the profits. I don’t believe you would beggar yourself."

"I believe ye be right." He chuckled. "There be other ways. What yer husband be thinking if rumors spread about his wife’s pa. And your grandmother. Could she live with the thought of another scandal? Your grandfather got himself killed in a duel be a man who named him as a cheat. Your husband’s mother died in a whore house."

Her hands rested on her hips. "I have no gems to give you."

His lips curled. "Then I’ll use the papers ye unwittingly give me ta have your marriage annulled. I’ll take your sisters back to India. I’ve a great fondness for Margaret."

"I won’t let you take them."

"Then sacrifice yerself. Return ta Calcutta. Assess the gemstones I bring ye."

"The Earl won’t let me go. We are wed."

"Wed but not yet a wife. If ye refuse ta let yer husband come ta yer bed. there will be na problem."

His grin caused a chill to walk her spine. Did he really have papers? She didn’t want to believe him, but she hadn’t read through what she’d sent to his house. "Give me the papers you have and I will decide."

"Be ye think I’m a fool. I don’t have them here. Well, what say ye?" He stroked her face with a finger.

Nicola trembled. "I say no. Now, go away."

He released her arm and walked to his horse. "Take time ta think about what ye do. I be at the village inn." He mounted the horse. "I want the gems yer pa give you and Siva’s Eye."

Nicola watched him ride away. What should she do? Could he demand the marriage be annulled? She couldn’t go with him to India, but she had to leave Denmere. She remembered the portmanteau hidden in the stables. Though she didn’t want to leave, she would.

* * * *

Drew looked around the barn. Where was his bride? Not long ago, she’d been surrounded by a gaggle of women. Odd, he thought. Elizabeth had also vanished. He glanced at the loft where a dozen or more children played and didn’t see Margaret’s white dress. Knowing the dress was no longer pristine, he smiled.

He pulled his watch from the fob pocket and flipped the case open. Time to head to the house to greet the guests who would soon arrive. He took his leave of the group of tenants and strode to the house. When he saw his bride near the fountain, he frowned. He caught a glimpse of a figure on horseback headed down the lane.

Who, he wondered. Would Crawford have left without creating a scene? He thought about the papers Mr. Grey had mentioned. Crawford had tried to pass them off as being from Nicola’s father, but the solicitor had declared them forgeries. Drew’s shoulder muscles tightened.

She was his. Tonight, his claim would be made beyond contention. Unwilling to see in her face concern for another man, he turned toward the kitchen. If she loved this other man, she would never love him. He found he had no care for that idea at all.

Chapter 12

Nicola watched Drew walk away from the buffet with a plate of food for her that she didn’t want. Though she had eaten little today, she had no appetite. Cousin Fergus was here and he’d threatened to create a scandal unless she did as he demanded. The clock in the corner of the Great Parlor chimed eleven times. Her throat tightened. Across the table, Cynthia Rasher and Barbara Wythe flirted with the Duke of Cairnton and the Marquis of Fenwick. Their inane gossip failed to capture Nicola’s attention.

"Deny him your bed. I’ll take your sisters. Ye be wed but not bedded. Annul the marriage. I be at the inn. Come to Calcutta."

Round and round these words rolled like the wheel Yogi Yakshi had spoken about.

"Your pa be a thief. What will the Earl’s fine friends think? Your grandmother will be shamed. Tales spread."

That much she believed. Gossip was like a swarm of wasps stinging again and again. Her grandmother didn’t deserve another scandal. Neither did Drew. Would her sisters be safe if she failed to obey Cousin Fergus? She feared he would carry out his threats, but she didn’t think he would keep his word if she gave in to his threats.

Drew sat beside her. She looked at the full plate. Lobster patties. A curry of chicken. A slice of duck. A medley of vegetables.

"Thank you, my...Drew." The words emerged in a hoarse whisper.

Cynthia Rasher giggled. Barbara Wythe smirked. Drew rested his hand on hers. She imagined he’d meant to calm her, but the pressure of his fingers raised a different set of emotions, though one of them was also fear. A fear of the unknown events to occur later tonight.

She lifted her fork and ate without tasting the food. The marriage would be consummated. Then she would take the gems and vanish. Cousin Fergus couldn’t act on his threats if she were not here. Drew would protect the girls. She sighed and put the fork on the plate. Great sadness encompassed her. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to remain at Denmere and --. She swallowed. Why did she want to stay here when the Earl did not and never would love her?

This evening, he’d been courteous and distant. Though he acted like an attentive bridegroom, she sensed he played a role. Would he come to her tonight? Her fingers pleated the napkin. If he did, what would he do?

The Kama Sutra called for three days to pass between the wedding and the act of sexual congress. Since she had to leave tomorrow before Cousin Fergus ferreted out her plans, there was no time for a lengthy courtship. Did Drew know and could she entice him to complete the act without the days of gentle persuasion.

Drew rose. He paused beside Miss Wythe’s chair. "I believe you promised this dance to me."

The dark-haired young woman smiled at Nicola and her friend. "Oh la, you did. I can see you don’t intend to live in your bride’s pocket."

Cynthia Rasher leaned toward Cairnton. The Duke reached for Nicola’s hand. "This dance is mine, Countess."

Though Nicola felt battered by a multitude of fears, she rose. "You are right, your Grace."

"Tristan," he said. "There’s no need to stand on ceremony. Drew and I are near brothers as are Michael and Niall." As they walked to the ballroom, he held her arm. "Along with a husband, you’ve gained three brothers who will do their best for you."

Dare she share her problems with this charming man? She didn’t believe he would keep silent about her desire to run and hide. His loyalty was to her husband.

He led her into a set. As she moved through the figures of the dance, her edginess grew.

The dance ended. Before she caught her breath, she was pulled into a reel by Niall. Then Michael led her into a country dance. At the end of the dance, he brought her a glass of champagne.

She sipped the sparkling beverage. Though she’d heard champagne relaxed tensions, she felt no lessening of the growing unease planted by the encounter with her father’s cousin.

She looked up and saw her husband striding across the room. Her heart beat in double time. Not knowing why, she rose and walked to her grandmother.

"Smile. You should be the happiest of women. The tenants were impressed. The servants approve of you. Our guests have been lavish in their praise of the changes in the manor house and of the food.

Nicola sank on a chair beside her grandmother. "I’ve done little. Elizabeth has more to do with the changes and Margaret with the food. She badgered Cook for days."

"You sold the gems your father gave you. You hired the servants and issued the orders." The Dowager patted Nicola’s hand. "This day has made me most joyful. To see the man who is the son of my heart wed to the daughter of my youngest child is near more than I can bear." She pressed her hand to her chest.

"Grandmother, are you ill?"

"’Tis joy." She looked up. "My boy, I’ve just told your wife what happiness the pair of you have given me this day."

Drew kissed the Dowager’s cheek. "I’m pleased." He turned to Nicola. "My lady, will you walk with me?"

His use of the same formal voice he had always used with him made her swallow, "’Twill be my pleasure, my lord."

He led her into he gallery hall outside the ballroom where portraits of the many Earls of Denmere and their families had once been displayed. Candles in the sconces along the walls showed places where frames had once hung.

Nicola felt as though a storm gathered and she wanted to hold it back "My...Drew, do you think we could find the pictures that were once here?"

"Perhaps a few, though many of them were painted by master artists and now grace the walls of merchants with pretensions."

"Grandmother regrets that her bride portrait is gone."

He turned her to face him. "We have matters other than portraits to consider now." His hands moved to her waist and tugged her slowly toward him. "You are mine."

His lips touched hers. Her fears vanished beneath his gentle assault on her mouth. She parted her lips. Since she was a bride, fighting with the tongue was now allowed. Soon he would perform the kisses and caresses she had only read about.

He pulled her ever closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest. They ached and throbbed in harmony with the pulses in her yoni. Not knowing why, she moved against him. His lingam felt hard, she felt an answering throb against her abdomen. She yearned to feel his hands on her flesh. She wanted to touch his skin, to stroke his muscles and compare them with those of the statues of Siva she had seen.

He groaned and stepped back. "The time has come for you to go to our rooms."

"But the guests, what will they think?" She felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks. Naught had been said in the Kama Sutra about the presence of guests in the house of the bride and groom.

"They will understand." He smiled. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm. "Years ago, the guests would have escorted us to our chamber and stripped us to make sure there were no blemishes to void the match."

She stared at the floor. Uncertainty flooded her. "I am glad I did not live then."

"So am I." I’ve no desire for any man other than myself to see your body." He pushed her toward the stairs. "Go. I will play host awhile longer and give you time to prepare for bed."

She wondered about the roughness of his voice. Had she done something wrong? Reading about an action and performing one were different. He seemed eager for the consummation. Soon Cousin Fergus would have no cause to annul the marriage.

Holding her skirt, she hurried upstairs to the rooms she would share with Drew. She had been in the suite but thrice. Once to set the maids to clearing. The second to select new draperies and spreads for her chamber and the third to do the same for the Earl’s sleeping room.

Two bedrooms, separated by a dressing room. The first time she’d thought the arrangement odd. Her parents had shared a bedchamber. Their wide bed minus the insect netting stood where a none too steady four poster had been.

When she entered the room, Peggy rose. "My lady, welcome. I’ve spent the evening arranging your belongings."

Nicola turned slowly. The chests her parents had used stood on either side of the wardrobe. Her mother’s dressing table had been placed between the windows. Aqua draperies at the windows matched the bed cover and hangings. A pair of chairs fronted the fireplace. On the table between the chairs, she saw her copy of the Kama Sutra. Tonight, she would experience the things she had read of in the book.

"My lady, a bath is waiting. Miss Margaret gave me a special oil for the water. Smells heavenly." The round faced maid moved behind Nicola and began to open the buttons on the dress.

"Thank you." Nicola inhaled the scent of jasmine. The day had been long. She felt tired and yet filled with an odd energy. She followed the maid into the dressing room. Peggy added a kettle of steaming water that released an overpowering scent of jasmine scented with cloves.

After Nicola dried herself, Peggy produced a silk nightrail. The sheerness of the cloth made Nicola swallow. ‘Twould leave nothing hidden from the eyes of her groom. Wistfully, she thought of her heavier sleeping garment but allowed Peggy to lift the gown over her head. With shaking fingers, Nicola fastened the long row of tiny buttons. Then she sat at the dressing table so Peggy could brush her hair.

When the maid placed the brush on the dressing table, Nicola turned. "Have you forgotten the braids?"

The maid blushed. "Your hair be beautiful and it reaches near to your hips. Men like unbound hair. The Earl will be pleased."

Nicola looked away. "I see."

"Will you be wanting anything else, my lady?"

Nicola shook her head. "You can go. I’ll ring in the morning when I need you."

The door closed behind the maid. Nicola paced from one side of the room to the other. She avoided looking at the bed. Would the Earl come to her or invite her into his chamber? She sat on one of the chairs and reached for the Kama Sutra. Before she had time to do more than open the book, she heard the door close. Expecting to see the Earl, she tensed.

"Young Miss, I have brewed a special tea for you," Prabha said. "Will help you be pliant when your husband initiates you into the duties of a wife."

"Why must they be duties? The Kama Sutra speaks only of pleasure." She accepted the cup.

"But duty can be pleasure."

Nicola sipped the tea. "’Tis bitter."

Best bitter now than tears in the morning."

Nicola put the cup on the table. "I’ll finish later."

"In the morning, I will come for your sheets."

"You don’t have to change the beds. The maid will take care of the matter."

"This I must do. You will know the reason when I come." Prabha put her hands on Nicola’s shoulders. "Do not fight your husband. If you do, the pain will be most hard to bear. If he is a kind husband, he will make sure you are ready to receive him before he acts."

Prabha left the room as silently as she had come. Nicola clutched the book to her chest, but her eyes focused on the dressing room door. With each moment that passed, her muscles coiled tighter.

* * * *

Drew heard the clock strike the half hour and realized he’d sent his bride upstairs more than an hour before. He escorted Miss Rasher to her mother and bowed. Her simpering voice and smile irritated him. Thank heavens he’d seen how shallow the chit was before he fell into the trap the Baron had set. A handsome dowry and the promise of land with borders matching his estate would not be payment enough for eternal boredom.

With Nicola -- He cut off the thought of his bride’s superiority to most of the women he knew. All evening, she had been edgy and aloof. The reason brought anger rising like oil spilled onto water. She’d spoken to another man this afternoon and had stood with slumped shoulders when the man had ridden away. Did she love that man? Drew uncoiled his fists. She had married him. By command. Out of fear. Neither reason pleased him.

He inhaled. Nicola belonged to him. This morning in church, she had vowed to love him. Soon he intended to claim her swiftly and completely. He wouldn’t leave her side until she carried his heir. He wouldn’t give her a chance to leave him.

"Aunt Aldora." He paused in front of the Dowager.

"La Drew, why do you neglect Nicola and dance attendance on that foolish chit?"

He leaned toward her. "I won’t sit in any woman’s pocket."

"Even on the day you are wed. I don’t believe you are so lacking in feeling."

"I have sent her to her room and given her time to prepare. I’m about to join her and only stopped to bid you good night."

She covered his hand with hers. "Be gentle with her, my boy, and she will bring you all the love you have missed in your life."

Love! He had no need for love, just for a willing and obedient wife, one who would remain forever at his side. He would not let her make the choice his mother had. "I’ll see you in the morning."

* * * *

Aldora watched Drew stride across the room. She had seen sadness and anger in his eyes. She sighed. Would he give her granddaughter a chance to show her loving heart?

This day had brought happiness. The evening had laid sorrow on her plate. There was naught she could do to lighten Drew’s spirits.

Time, she thought. She prayed he would be able to offer his bride trust before Nicola carried out her threat to leave Denmere.

* * * *

Drew paused at the foot of the stairs. Would Aldora retain her foolish belief in love is she knew there was another man who owned Nicola’s heart? He gripped the railing. His bride’s feelings didn’t matter. If not her heart, he would possess her body.

With each step, his desire for her grew. By the time he reached his chamber, he was hard and ached. He opened the door.

Bevel, his valet, turned from the wardrobe. "My lord, a bath awaits."

Drew waved him away. He wanted no one to see the evidence of his arousal. "There is no need."

"My lord, you can’t approach your bride with the odors of your day’s exertion evident."

Drew held in a groan. In his own way, Bevel was as officious as Agnes Smythe had been. "Then leave me."

"Don’t you want my assistance?"

"I’ve been taking care of myself for years."

"As well I know. The condition of your wardrobe when I arrived was abominable."

"Go," Drew said. "I’ll see you in the morning at the usual time."

Bevel’s brows lifted. "Very good, my lord." As he left the room, he shook his head.

Seeing the valet’s disbelief about an early awakening, Drew frowned. The estates wouldn’t lie fallow while he entertained his bride.

He waited until the door closed. Then he unfastened the turquoise studs and pulled the pin free from his cravat. This morning, the gift had brought warmth, but he’d learned how false the gesture had been. He pulled his cravat free and dropped the studs and pin on his dressing table. Then he stripped off his clothes and tossed them on a chair.

Even the suspicion of his bride’s feelings for another man had no effect on his lust. He lifted his robe from the foot of the bed and entered the dressing room. His bride’s floral scent lingered in the air. He added steaming water to the tub and stepped in. Her scent surrounded him.

Instantly, desire roared like a conflagration. He gripped the sides of the tub. Control, he thought. He had to keep his lust contained.

Nicola. He inhaled. Surely his bride had no skills like those plied by the women at Eugenie’s. He’d never lost control with them, not even when they’d assumed the most interesting positions and pleasured him in many ways.

He rose from the tub and briskly rubbed his body dry. His bride would be abed. He reached for his robe and couldn’t push from his mind an image of his bride dressed in a diaphanous gown worshipping his body with her hands and his mouth. He tied his dressing gown and walked to the door of her bedchamber.

In the doorway, he paused and looked toward the bed. She wasn’t there. His bride sat in one of the chairs near the fireplace. She turned the pages of a book. Doubt circled his thoughts. From other men, he’d heard how their virgin brides had cowered in a near dark room with the covers pulled to their chins and a frightened expression in their eyes. What did his bride’s actions mean?

His thoughts bounced from moments when Nicola’s shy glances and startled stares had clearly shown her virgin state to the times she had responded to him with eagerness. Which woman would be his tonight? No matter, he decided. Tonight, she would be his and he had no intention of allowing her to discover how close he was to losing control of his emotions and his heart.

He stepped into the room. She looked up. "My...Drew."

Was there a tremor in her voice? He crossed the room and held out his hand. She rose. He caught and held his breath. His gaze moved from her face downward. Through the thin fabric of her night rail, he saw the dark aureole of her round, lush breasts. His eyes lingered on the darkness at the apex of her thighs. His body vibrated with an urgency to plunge into her depths, to possess her and to let her know she could never leave him.

She took his hand. Her icy fingers trembled slightly in his grasp. She looked at him. An instant of uncertainty was replaced by desire.

He inhaled. Did she see the face of the man she loved instead of the one she had wed?

"What shall we do?"

He heard puzzlement in her voice and pulled her close. His mouth closed over hers. Her lips parted and he thrust his tongue into the depths of her mouth. The rasp of her teeth over the sensitive flesh made him groan. He caressed her back. The silk of her night rail teased his palms. His erection pulsed against her abdomen and she moved her hips slowly and seductively.

When her hands slid around his shoulders and her fingers lightly stroked his nape, he felt the bonds of control begin to stretch. Her tongue touched his. The bands snapped. He struggled against the wish to push her to the floor and take her without further preparation. Control, he thought. If this slow seduction continued much longer, he would lose any hope of maintaining distance.

Ragged breaths shook his body. "Get into bed."

Desire fled from her eyes. "What is wrong?"

He sucked in a deep breath. "You will call me by my name when we are alone."

"Drew, what is wrong." Nicola stared at her bridegroom. What had she done to raise the anger in his eyes? His kiss, his caresses had heated her body. Now a chill followed the path of fire.

"Get into bed." His voice sounded harsh to her ears,

Her grandmother’s and Prabha’s voices sounded in her thoughts. "You must do your duty. You must obey his commands."

She sighed. "Should I take off my gown?" The Kama Sutra spoke of a man and woman meeting flesh to flesh.

"That won’t be necessary."

She backed away. ‘Twould seem he was two men in one. She bit her lip. The man who had entered the room and kissed her until she wanted to touch his flesh had vanished and had been replaced by one who was demon possessed. She swallowed her fear and climbed into bed. Neither Prabha, her grandmother nor the Kama Sutra had told her what to do when faced by a man ruled by demons.

She moved back until her head rested on the pillows. Her muscles tensed in anticipation of the pain the amah and her grandmother had told her she faced. Her husband strode across the room and got into bed beside her. He pushed her knees apart and knelt between her spread legs.

"What are you doing?"

"Claiming the rights this morning’s ceremony gave me."

She raised on her elbows and inched up in the bed. "But this is not the way it should be done. I know that for a man, the first time is intense, but the same can be true for a female."

Drew sank back against his heels and stared at her. His eyes became as hard as the gems they resembled.

Nicola wet her lips with her tongue. "First comes the embrace begun by touching, then fondling that leads to rubbing and pressing. In bed, we should lie with our limbs entwined and thus begin to kiss. Where you kiss me, I should do the same to you."

She watched the expression on his face change and knew his demons had gained control. He left the bed and stared at her.

"Damn you. Where did you learn about these things? Who was your teacher?"

His words and the bitter tone were like drops of vile poison splattering her heart. "I do not understand."

"Don’t play the innocent." He laughed. "I know you love another. I saw you with him this afternoon. Were you planning to fun away or setting an assignation? Couldn’t you wait until the ink on our license had dried?"

"No." The cry escaped. She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t tell him about Cousin Fergus’ visit or about the threats he’d made. "This marriage must be consummated."

"Lest I ask for an annulment." He strode to the door. "The marriage will be in name only. I will control your money and your sister’s lives. You won’t leave this house without my permission." He slammed the dressing room door.

Nicola stared at the door. Gooseflesh covered her body. What could she do now? The marriage hadn’t been consummated.

Like a cobra in its nest, Cousin Fergus waited at the village inn for her to come to him. Her plans for leaving in the morning had gone awry.

She didn’t know this country. She didn’t know where to hide. If Cousin Fergus found her before she joined her body with Drew’s, she would have to return to Calcutta and leave her heart behind.

A tear trickled down her cheek. A flood of salty moisture followed. She didn’t know why Drew had become angry but she had to stop him before he invaded her tense body and caused the pain her grandmother and the amah had predicted. She pulled the covers over her head and wept.

* * * *

Drew leaned against the bedroom door and pressed his body against the hard surface as though he feared his bride would follow him. She had spoken like a courtesan, saying things no young lady fresh from the schoolroom should have known. He’d been fooled by her demure behavior, but now he knew the truth.

A groan escaped. His desire for her hadn’t abated but he wouldn’t bed a woman who behaved the way his mother had. He strode across the room and splashed brandy in a glass. "To my bride and the end of my illusions." He gulped a mouthful. The liquor tasted as bitter as his thoughts.

With a quick movement, he tossed the remainder of the drink in the fire. Blue flames flared and died. He would not drown his anger in alcohol the way his father had.

For a moment, he considered taking a horse from the stables and riding until the beast and he were exhausted. But some of the guests remained in the ballroom and he had no explanations that would make him look like less than a fool.

What should he do about his bride? Though he’d threatened an annulment, he didn’t want his name on the lips of the London gossips. His wife would remain in Denmere. There would be no visits to London or a trip to the Yorkshire estate.

He lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow after his friends departed for London, he’d visit the estate where he’d planned to take his wife.

Chapter 13

Noises from the dressing room woke Nicola. She rubbed eyes still swollen from the tears she’d shed during the night. Her body felt heavy, her mind dull and her spirits morose. She slid to the edge of the bed and listened to her husband’s deep voice and the much lighter one of the valet.

Why had Drew said those things to her? She had never experienced any man’s embrace but his, yet he had acted as though she had. She had considered opening the dressing room door and demanding an explanation but she feared another scene like last night’s. She couldn’t face her husband, at least not when her thoughts were muddled. When he’d made his accusations, he’d held himself with rigid control. She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

She had to leave Denmere, but not this morning as she’d planned. Not before she enticed the Earl...her husband...Drew to consummate the marriage. How? She had no idea of ways to accomplish the deed.

With slow steps, she crossed the room and knelt on the window seat. The sun was but a dim circle in a sky of pewter gray. Wind churned the surface of the lake the way her thoughts roiled. Holding back a fresh spate of tears, she dressed in her dhoti and shirt. A small part of her wished her husband would come and see her act of defiance.

While meditating, her husband’s accusations remained strong and clear, breaking her attempt to regain serenity. Her body moved through the chosen cycle of ansanas like a marionette controlled by a puppet master’s hands. At the end of the cycle, she sat in a Lotus position and forced herself to breath in a slow and even pattern. To no avail, for her thoughts centered on Drew’s unjust statements. After realizing there was no balm for the ache she felt, she rose.

She crossed to the door of the dressing room. No voices sounded from within. She eased the door open. Once inside, she washed and took a simple pale blue round dress from the wardrobe. Though she could have called Peggy for assistance, she had no desire to see anyone.

What were her choices? Her husband had declared the marriage would be one in name only. How could she thwart Cousin Fergus’ plans to present letters naming him guardian of her sisters? How could she prevent him from causing a scandal? Though he’d promised to allow her sisters to remain at Denmere, she had no reason to trust him. If she had to return to India to keep her sisters safe, she would go, though she didn’t want to leave. India would always be her beloved home, but as her feelings for her husband had changed, her desire for her birth land had decreased.

There was but one way. She had to seduce him.

The Kama Sutra spoke of seduction but the role of the seducer belonged to the man. She had no idea if reversing the roles would accomplish her purpose. What gifts could she give him? How could she pursue him without reinforcing his ideas about her nature?

"His mother died in a whore house."

Cousin Fergus’ declaration had shaken her. She had felt pity for Drew. Those words had helped her understand his wariness, but she wasn’t his mother. She sighed. Would he ever believe in her? Though she had planned to leave Denmere, ‘twas not to hurt him, but to keep from being shattered by the lack of love.

The door opened and Prabha entered. The amah’s dark eyes studied Nicola. When the amah saw the nearly full cup on he table, she clicked her tongue. "You did not drink."

Nicola stared at the cup. "I forgot."

"Foolish child. In your eyes, I see you pay the price of not heeding."

What did she mean? No amount of bitter tea could have changed what had happened.

Prabha walked to the bed and reached for the covers.

"You don’t have to do the maid’s work," Nicola said.

The amah ignored the order and whipped the top covers aside to expose the sheet. "Ai, ai, what have you done? Where is the proof you are truly a wife? What have you done with the sheets?"

"Nothing. They are the same as they were when I went to bed."

"Foolish girl. What were you thinking when you sent your husband away?"

"I didn’t send him. He left."

"And did not make you his wife?" The amah wrung her hands. "Ai, ai, what troubles him? Is he not a man? He has the form and the manner. Come, I will tell you things you can do to bring strength to a man."

Nicola shook her head. "’Twas not the problem. He... he..." How could she tell Prabha that even before she had tried to instruct him in the ways of the Kama Sutra, he had become cold? "He accused me of having experiences with men I can’t even imagine."

Prabha straightened. "I have the insult from this man and I will tell him he is foolish. Have I not watched over you night and day from your birth until you come to this cold and heathen land?"

Nicola’s cheeks burned with shame. "Please don’t speak to him. I don’t understand why he said untrue things. ‘Tis just...just he does not hear advice from anyone."

The amah walked to the dressing room door. Before she reached it, Drew stepped into the room. Prabha planted herself in his path. Her finger stabbed toward his chest. "You have shamed this child and offered me an insult."

Drew stepped back a pace. "Insulted you? Shamed her? Woman, you don’t know what you say. I don’t like those who present themselves as other than they truly are, the way your mistress has done."

"Untruth. Ai, ai, this man be a fool."

Drew walked around the amah. "Nicola, I would speak to you in private."

Nicola patted Prabha’s shoulder. "Go. He won’t harm me."

"Words be slicing knives." Prabha shook her finger at Drew. "You do not know this girl. She fed from my breasts. She came to womanhood in my care. She is not what you have named her. If you had taken the time, you would know." With a clicking of her tongue, she left the room.

Nicola looked at Drew. "My lord, what do you wish?"

"My friends are leaving this morning. I will see them on their way. Until I return, you will remain in this room."

"How long will you be away?"

"As long as I wish."

"Do you mean I can’t go to the schoolroom to give my sisters their lessons?" Nicola asked. "Do you mean I must eat my meals here and not visit my grandmother?" She inhaled a deep breath and prepared to ask more questions.

"The house, then," he said. "You won’t speak of our affairs to anyone."

"My lord, we must talk. You are wrong in your judgment of me." She had to show him the Kama Sutra. Would he believe her when she translated the words into English?

He whirled and stride from the room. Angry words stuck in her throat. She closed the door with a firm click. How dare he set such a punishment? She leaned against the door.

Perhaps she should leave as soon as he and his friends were gone. Though this was little to her liking, at present, she couldn’t think of another plan. She walked to the window and knelt on the window seat. For a long time, she stared at the black clouds and the gray sky and tried to think of a way to keep her heart untouched.

* * * *

When Drew stepped into the hall, he heard Niall’s booming voice. He turned to duck into his bride’s room but the door closed with a firm click and cut off that retreat. With quick steps, he moved down the hall and opened the door of the Dowager’s sitting room. Facing his friends before he had perfected his reasons for leaving Denmere would make him look like a fool. He had no desire for them to know just how badly he had been taken in by his bride.

"Drew, what is this strange tale I’ve just heard?"

He turned. The Dowager stood in her bedroom doorway. He groaned. He hadn’t expected to find her awake and in the company of Nicola’s servant. The dark-skinned woman’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Drew thought she might strike him.

"Bhujang," she spat.

He returned her glare. When the door slammed behind the amah, he turned to Aldora. "Perhaps you will listen to the truth. Your granddaughter is not what she seems."

"How can you say that?" Aldora asked. "Prabha says you have hurt the woman who has been like a mother to Nicola and insulted your wife. You have gone too far with your dislike of marriage and your distrust of women."

He strode to the fireplace. "I haven’t gone far enough." He placed one hand on the mantle piece. "It seems your granddaughter is a woman of great experience. She has knowledge of what happens between a man and a woman that she should not possess."

"La Drew, surely you have misunderstood." Aldora sat on the edge of the sofa. "I didn’t mean to frighten her when I spoke about what to expect last night."

"You should have saved your breath. If you had heard the things she said, you would believe me."

Aldora leaned back. "Perhaps you misheard." She nodded. "Of course, she was quoting from some Indian book she has read, the Kama something. She reads that heathen language, you know."

He straightened. Could Aldora be right? "I will hear her explanations when I have time. My friends are leaving this morning. I will see them on their way before I leave for the Yorkshire property."

"And Nicola?"

"She will remain in this house until I return."

The Dowager sighed. "You must forget your parents and their troubled marriage lest you make the same mistakes as your father. Nicola is not your mother and you are everything your father was not. I don’t believe my granddaughter will be content in a loveless marriage. I fear she will take flight if you treat her in this way."

He looked up. Had there been a warning in her words? Nicola was his wife. Her place was here and her duty was to be content with what he chose to give her. She would learn defiance wouldn’t work. Without money, she couldn’t leave him and he didn’t intend to give her more than a small allowance.

"I will consider what you have said."

"If you will but try to love her, she will make you happy."

He bit back his usual response to the four letter word he hated. Love was a sugar sop for fools. "I’ll try. This is all I can promise."

"Then I am content for you always keep your promises."

Drew kissed her cheek and left the sitting room. When he returned from seeing his friends off, he would speak to his wife. He wasn’t sure he could keep the promise he’d made to Aldora. He groaned. His body vibrated with need. If nothing else, he could assuage his lust.

Downstairs, he entered the breakfast room. Michael slumped in a chair at the table with a cup cradled between his hands. Tristan and Niall had heaped plates before them. Drew filled his plate with eggs, sausages and fresh baked bread. A footman poured a cup of steaming coffee.

Michael groaned. "Must I be beset by gluttons? How can the lot of you eat so hearty?"

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Denmere, you’re about early. If I had a bride to match yours, I would remain in bed for a fortnight."

"Estate matters can’t wait," Drew said. "If the three of you are leaving soon, I’ll ride out with you."

Niall raked his auburn hair with his fingers. "Are you sure you don’t want to purchase a commission? Could use a hundred men with your coolness and sense of duty to send against old Boney."

Drew leaned back. "I don’t have the stomach for war. One of the tenants has a problem."

"Must you do everything yourself?" Tristan asked. "Why not hire an estate manager? There is more to life than farms, crops and livestock."

"Like becoming acquainted with a charming bride," Niall said.

Drew dropped his fork on his plate. "I am well acquainted with my wife." His shoulder muscles tightened. He had no patience for bantering with his friends.

Michael gulped from his cup. "If there is a problem, tell me. I am sure between the three of us, we can tell you how to go on."

"You jest," Drew said. "The three of you have a vast experience with other men’s wives, but you will leave mine to me." He pushed his chair back. "Do what you wish. Leave when you want. I’ll see you when I come to town."

Tristan rose. "No need to rush off. We’re on our way. My coach left in tandem with Mr. Grey’s early this morning. We hope to catch them by dinner time."

Michael finished the coffee. Niall strode to the door. "Let Miss Margaret know my gear will be the envy of the army. Tell her to take special care of my mare. As soon as I return from war and am settled, I will come for Cinnamon." He made a face. "Why must women name their horses?"

"’Tis an unusual name," Michael said. "She could have named the mare Buttercup or some equally silly name." He followed Niall to the front door where a footman waited with their coats.

Drew followed his friends from the house. "Margaret will be quite pleased."

"Only thing to do." Niall laughed. "A mare on the battlefield could spell disaster."

"Let Miss Gordon know when she takes her bows, she’ll take the ton by storm," Tristan said. "I will beg for the honor of leading her out for her first dance."

For a moment, Drew thought his friend meant Nicola. Then he remembered Elizabeth now bore the title. "No doubt she will be honored. In two years, I’ll depend on you to help me sort out the bounders."

Michael took the reins of his horse from the groom. "Tell your wife and the Dowager I will think on their advice and will write to let them know how it goes."

"You speak as though if will be years before I see you," Drew said. "I plan to be in town for part of the Season."

"And your bride," Tristan said. "She must come to town and be presented at court."

Drew had forgotten that necessary ritual. "I have to petition for a day." He mounted and led the way down the lane to the road. His thoughts turned to his bride and the things Aldora had said. "Have you…." He clamped his mouth shut. He’d nearly asked them if they’d heard about this Indian book the Dowager had mentioned. If he had, he would have to explain the fiasco of his wedding night.

Just beyond the village, he parted from the trio. After they vanished in the distance, he turned back toward town. He considered dropping at the inn to make inquiries about the stranger who had come to Denmere yesterday, but he wouldn’t. Tonight would be what last night should have been.

* * * *

As soon as the trio rounded a bend in the road, Tristan reined in. "What can we do about Denmere? His mood seemed strange."

Niall nodded. "He had the same tension I’ve seen in men just before a battle."

Michael sipped from a silver flask. "He’s in love with his bride and the thought frightens him. I’m not sure things went well last night. I believe his control slipped."

Tristan laughed. "Who would strive for control on his wedding night?"

"Denmere," Michael insisted.

Niall chuckled. "Shame I won’t be here to see what develops."

Thunder rolled in the distance. The three men whipped their horses and raced down the road.

* * * *

Nicola pressed her forehead against the windowpane and stared at the dark clouds gathering in the sky. ‘Twill rain soon, she thought. Perhaps she could leave Denmere during the storm. Where could she go? Not to Mr. Grey. Though he was the only person she knew in England other than the people she’d met here, she was sure he wouldn’t hide her from her husband.

Sarad, she thought. He’s my friend. I will set him to discover how one rents a cottage and where to find the best place to hide from Cousin Fergus.

The door opened. Peggy bustled in. "I have your tea, my lady." She placed the tray on the table between the chairs. "Why didn’t you ring? I’ve been up for hours waiting for your summons." The abigail walked toward the bed.

Nicola poured a cup of tea. Would Peggy react the same way Prabha had? Nicola wished she had spread the covers.

Peggy stared at the sheets and then turned to examine Nicola. The maid’s round face turned the same shade of scarlet Nicola knew colored hers. She put the teacup down and grabbed her cloak from the chair. From the look on Peggy’s face, Nicola knew the maid suspected what hadn’t happened last night.

As she bolted into the hall, she nearly collided with Greene. "Sorry," she said.

"My fault, Miss...I mean, my lady."

Nicola swallowed. Did the butler know? Before long, the entire household would buzz with the news that the Earl had left his bride’s bed and abandoned her. In India, the servants had known everyone’s secrets. Why should matters be different here?

Silently, she sped down the west wing stairs. She paused at the door of the Earl’s study and looked inside for Sarad. Her friend wasn’t there. One of the footmen walked past. He smiled. Nicola read knowledge instead of friendliness in his eyes. She gathered her cloak and hurried toward the door leading to the rear courtyard.

"You will remain in this room the house."

Her shoulders stiffened in defiance. He hadn’t cared to listen to her explanations so why should she obey his dictates? Tears rose and she bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry. There had been enough tears.

For a moment, she stood at the head of the stairs to the basement kitchen. Laughter drifted up to her. "Would you believe he went riding with his friends this morning?" The voice was deep and male. "Odd thing for a bridegroom to do."

If the gossip had spread to the kitchen. ‘Twas worse than she feared. She opened the door into the courtyard and stepped outside. A damp chill clung to the air. She strode across the grass past the herb beds and the areas soon to be planted with vegetables for the table.

A man stood near the orangery speaking to one of the grooms. At first, she thought one of the tenants had come seeking her husband. As she neared the pair, she halted and turned to flee back to the house.

"She’s the one." Fergus Crawford’s shout made her break into a run. The bottom of her cloak tangled around her legs and she tumbled to the ground. Seconds later, she was pulled roughly to her feet.

"Be ye sure she’s a thief? She be the Earl’s new lady."

"’Pears she fooled him," Fergus said. "Took some gems of mine. I been looking for her for weeks."

The groom Drew had recently hired in London nodded. "I heard tales ‘bout the way she sold some jewels to buy things hereabouts. What ye be doing with her?"

Nicola struggled to free herself from the groom’s grasp. Fergus grabbed her other arm. Nicola screamed and then wondered who would hear her. Had Drew confined her to the house because he knew Cousin Fergus was staying at the village inn? She wished she could believe he knew, but his anger had been laced with bitterness. She kicked and caught the groom on his shin.

The man released his hold, but Crawford twisted her other arm behind her back. He flipped a coin to the groom. "For yer help." He pushed Nicola ahead of him. "Lassie, ye and me are going ta have a long talk."

"What do you want?"

"My gems. Yer sisters. Ye. If I can’t have them all, I’m taking ye back ta India."

"My husband will stop you."

"But he ain’t here. Seen him from the inn window riding out of town with some men."

"He’ll return soon." The pressure on her arm brought tears to her eyes.

His laughter made her shudder. "Why? I hear he be denied his rights. Servants gossip, ye ken."

He propelled her around the corner of the orangery. When he released her, she fell to the ground. He grabbed the end of her braid and hauled her to her feet. Then he pushed her across the yard to where his black horse waited.

"Nica," Margaret said.

Her youngest sister appeared in the stable doorway. "Get Jem," Nicola shouted. "’Tis Cousin Fergus."

For a few minutes, Margaret remained still. Then she vanished.

Crawford pushed her against his horse. "Get on now."

Instead, Nicola turned and swing her fist against his nose. He howled and released her braid. She ran. Her dash for freedom took her toward the woods.

"You’ll pay for this," he shouted. "Damn chit. I will have ye. Ye will rue yer acts this day."

She heard Margaret’s screams. Nicola looked back. Crawford had mounted his horse and headed toward her. Jem and a groom tried to grab the reins of the rawboned animal.

Her heart pounded. She found the path she and Elizabeth had followed to Margaret’s secret place. If she could reach the hut, she could hide until dark. Her sisters’ safety depended on her disappearance.

Brambles tore at her cloak. She gripped the wool garment closer. Her lungs burned. Why had Papa taken his cousin as a partner?

She paused to catch a breath. Crashing noises sounded behind her. A horse whinnied. She began to run again. Maybe she should give the gems to him. Would he take them and leave her sisters alone?

Her breaths became short gasps. A sharp pain stabbed her side. Her legs ached. A man’s voice shouted her name and propelled her forward. She lunged toward the clearing. Her cloak snagged on a bush. For an instant, she feared she’d been caught. Please, she thought. She pulled free.

In the gray light, she could barely see the hut. She ran across the clearing. Her feet tangled in a grassy hummock and she sprawled on the ground. Again, a man shouted her name. Cousin Fergus. She struggled to her feet and hobbled across the grass.

Seconds later, she plunged into the open door of the stone hut. Darkness enfolded her. She crept to a shadowed corner and pulled her cloak around her. Trying to control her sobs, she gulped deep breaths of air.

"Nicola, I will have you."

She pressed her hand against her mouth. Why had she run into the woods instead of toward the house. Trapped, she thought. He will come and I will be caught.

Other men’s voices filled the air. A sense of relief blurred the edges of her fear. Cousin Fergus dare not stop to search the hut. Her head whirled and she feared the relief over being safe from her pursuer would make her swoon.

Safe, she was safe, but only for the moment. Cousin Fergus wouldn’t give up. She buried her face in the cloak. Her husband didn’t want her. He’d proven that last night. Since he’d rejected her, she was fair prey for her father’s cousin.

The sound of the men’s voices came closer. "She be gone," Jem said.

"Did he take her?" a second man asked.

"Be hard to tell."

"What we do now?"

"Report to the Dowager and wait for his lordship to return."

Nicola started to rise. Her legs refused to hold her. She closed her eyes. If she returned to the house, she was sure Drew wouldn’t believe her tale of her father’s cousin. Would her husband even listen? He hadn’t cared to hear her this morning. She would wait here until tonight. Then she would take her portmanteau and the horse and ride until she found a place where she could hide from everyone.

Chapter 14

A commotion in the hall outside the Dowager’s parlor sent Bertha scurrying to the door. Aldora followed her abigail. When she saw Jem and Margaret, the Dowager’s eyes widened in surprise. What had the child done now? Since Drew had ridden out with his friends, why had Jem not taken her to Nicola?

"What is the meaning of this noise?" Aldora asked. "Margaret, what have you done?" She sighed. Surely Drew would not forgive another transgression.

"He...he has come and taken Nicola away." Margaret’s sobs turned into wails.

Aldora looked from the child to Jem. "What is she talking about?" Though Drew had been angry, he wouldn’t do such a thing. In fact, he’d threatened to abandon his bride.

"My lady, I not be knowing the man. He be short and swarthy and rides a black horse. Bribed one of the grooms to help him." Jem held his hat in his hand.

Aldora grasped Margaret’s shoulders. "Who is he? Do not be afraid to tell me."

Margaret raised her head. "Him...Cousin Fergus. I knew he would come for us. He’ll hurt Nicola. We must help her."

The Dowager pulled Margaret into her arms. "No one will take you from this house. Drew won’t allow anyone to harm Nicola. Where is Elizabeth?"

"She is going to find the Earl. ‘Cept we don’t know where he has gone." Margaret pulled away. "I want to go with her."

Aldora motioned to Bertha. "Fetch me a cloak. I’ll speak to Elizabeth. Drew should be somewhere between the village and here. He rode out to see his friends on their way back to London."

Moments later, Bertha returned with a cloak. Aldora hurried to the stairs. As she descended, she held Jem’s arm. "Pray tell me what happened." Aghast, she listened to Jem’s tale of the morning’s events. If only Drew had gone to see Nicola and made things right, she might not have left the house. "Have you searched the woods?"

"My lady, we followed him. Though we be afoot, he could not gallop. We saw him ride ‘crost the witch’s clearing and vanish on the other side."

"Alone?" Aldora asked.

"He be far away. The light be poor. We couldn’t see clearly."

Aldora sighed. Why hadn’t Drew warned her about the danger to the girls? She would have insisted they be escorted when they left the house.

Jem’s boots clicked on the marble floor of the Great Hall. As Greene opened the door, he frowned. "My lady, the day is not one for a walk."

"There is a problem I must deal with," Aldora said. "Assemble the footmen. I may have need of them."

Elizabeth sat on her bay beside the fountain. She argued with Sarad. Aldora shook her head. When she realized Elizabeth wore a morning dress and not a habit, the Dowager felt afraid.

"My dear, who is this man who took Nicola and why does he want her?"

"Papa’s cousin and his partner. He wanted to marry Nica but Mr. Grey sent his man for us before that could happen."

"Do you think ‘tis safe for you to go off alone? Is it only Nicola he wants?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don’t know. Cousin Fergus is a greedy man. I’m sure he wants Nica because she knows how to value gemstones."

"Let Jem ride for the Earl."

"I can’t remain here and do nothing while my sister is in danger."

Aldora shook her head. "Don’t put yourself in danger. Wait for Drew."

Thunder rumbled. In the distance, lightning flashed. Aldora shivered and pulled her cloak closer. How could she let Elizabeth ride off before Drew returned?

"What if Cousin Fergus has caught and carried Nica to some place we can’t find."

Aldora stared through the dim light toward the lane. A figure on horseback emerged from the tunnel of trees. "Look, he is coming."

"My lord," Elizabeth shouted. She snatched the reins from Sarad’s grasp and galloped away.

*****

Drew’s thoughts centered on his decision to make his bride his wife in truth. Tonight, of perhaps this afternoon. He smiled and though the smile didn’t signal happiness, he knew he would soon be free of the all-consuming lust he felt for his bride.

Shouts startled him. He looked up and saw Elizabeth galloping toward him. What had happened? Was Nicola all right? Was Aldora ill? Had their discussion caused her to collapse?"

"My lord, ‘tis a disaster. He has come. Nica’s gone."

Who had come? Anger flooded Drew’s thoughts and caused him to jerk the reins. So his bride had disobeyed and fled the house rather than face him. His horse stopped so abruptly, he nearly lost his balance. Elizabeth reined in. Her wide-eyed look, the tension around her mouth spoke of fear. Doubts slithered around the shards of anger. What did she fear. His anger or the man who’d taken her sister?

"Who came?" he demanded.

"Cousin Fergus. He forced Nica to leave."

Fergus Crawford. Why Nicola? From the things Mr. Grey had said, Drew believed Crawford wanted Elizabeth and Margaret to control their fortunes. An abduction of Nicola made no sense unless Crawford was privy to the events of the past night and planned to cause further trouble.

He kicked his horse and galloped toward the house. A mass of people milled around the fountain. Their voices formed a babble of noise. He dismounted and led his horse to the cluster.

"’Tis my fault." Margaret clung to Aldora’s hand. "I should have helped Nica but she told me to go."

Sarad broke away from his mother. "I’ll go after them."

Jem grabbed the young man’s shoulder. "We wait for the Earl. No need being off in a dozen directions."

"Oh la, what will we do," the Dowager moaned. "I should have gone to her this morning."

"Ai, ai, the evil one has taken my child," Prabha cried.

"Silence," Drew shouted.

Abruptly, the babble stopped. Drew handed his reins to the groom. "I want to know what has happened and when the abduction occurred."

Once again, the chorus rose in a cacophonic din. Drew slashed his crop against the marble fountain wall. "Aldora, begin."

The Dowager shook her head. "I don’t know what happened, only what Margaret and Jem have told me. Nicola is gone, taken by a stranger."

Drew turned to Margaret. "What happened."

"Cousin Fergus. He tried to grab Nica. She fought him. I wanted to help but she told me to get Jem." Margaret hopped from one foot to the other. "Jem and the groom came. Nica ran into the woods." She gulped a breath. "Cousin Fergus mounted his horse and chased her. Jem and the groom ran after them."

Drew’s hands tightened on the crop. He felt a surge of guilt. Why had he ridden off before speaking to her? "Jem?"

Jem squared his shoulders. "We be afoot, my lord. No time to saddle mounts. We chased him to the witch’s circle but he disappeared afore we got there."

"Did he have my wife?"

Jem shrugged. "I not be certain, but where else could she be? If she hid in the witch’s hut, surely she heard me and the groom and know we could keep her safe."

What Jem said made sense. Drew quickly formed a plan of action. "Jem, take one of the grooms and ride to the village. Check the inn for Crawford. The other groom and I will search the clearing for signs of the way they’ve gone."

"Be just one groom, my lord. ‘The other be selling house secrets to the man what come. Him helped take your wife. I sacked him. Be that all right?"

Drew nodded. "Greene, I leave you and the footmen to protect the house. Sarad, take your mother, the girls and the Dowager inside. I will find Nicola."

The roll of thunder grew louder and the sky darkened. Drew mounted his gray. "I’ll follow until I find her."

"Even to India?" Elizabeth asked.

"If I must, but I don’t think I’ll travel that far." He studied Margaret’s face. "Perhaps your sister staged an act. Maybe she wishes to return to India and the man she loves."

"What man?" Elizabeth asked.

Margaret ran down the steps. "Nica wouldn’t go anywhere with Cousin Fergus. He came yesterday. Nica sent him away but I fear what he said for she looked most unhappy after he left."

Drew groaned. The man he’d seen hadn’t been Nicola’s lover, but the man she feared. Why hadn’t she told him about the arrival of the man? He turned the gray and rode toward the woods.

Why? But he knew. He’d allowed his suspicions to rule his tongue and his actions. His fears about the man were false. He might also be wrong about her lack of chastity.

The gloom of the woods matched his spirits. Was it possible to have so much control there was none? Even before Nicola had attempted to instruct him about lovemaking, he had withdrawn. He’d feared losing control of his body. In doing so, his anger had escaped.

Rain borne by the wind wet his face. He guided the gray along the narrow, twisting path leading to the clearing where an old woman skilled in herbal lore had once made her home.

Evidence of Crawford’s passage was found in the broken bushes and bent saplings. The man had taken no precautions to hide his route. Had Crawford harmed Nicola? Drew didn’t think his wife would meekly do what she didn’t wish to do. She would struggle against her captor.

The bushes and trees thinned. Drew emerged from the trail into the clearing. Rain fell in a steady flow and he feared any tracks would be obliterated if he stopped to check the hut.

A scrap of white against the brown and green grass caused him to rein in and dismount. He picked up one of Nicola’s slippers and imagined the struggle that had caused its loss.

Crawford had Nicola. Those words circled in his thoughts as he remounted and urged the horse forward.

Thunder rumbled. Streaks of lightning slashed the dark sky. Wind stirred the trees into angry rustling. Rain gusted against him.

Crawford had Nicola, but he wouldn’t keep her. Bending low in the saddle, Drew scanned the ground for a direction. Once he found his wife, he would hold her in his arms and kiss her. Then he would possess her completely.

Lightning cracked and struck a tree at the edge of the clearing. The horse whinnied and reared. His position in the saddle pulled Drew off balance. He flew from the saddle and hit the ground.

* * * *

The roll of thunder and the crack of lightning made Nicola start. Where was she? How long had she cowered here? Had she swooned in relief or fallen into an exhausted sleep?

Lightning illuminated the hut. A horse whinnied in terror. The animal’s fright took seat in Nicola’s thoughts. Cousin Fergus had returned. Trapped. She was trapped. She should have crept from the hut and found a hiding place closer to the house.

She moved to the hut’s sole window and peered outside. Wind whipped the trees. On the ground across the clearing, she saw a crumpled figure. A horse thundered past. Another flash of lightning brought a momentary brightness to the scene. She stared at the fallen rider. The figure seemed too large to be the man she feared, and yet the shadowy light might have added substance to the body.

No matter, she thought. Even if ‘twas Cousin Fergus, she couldn’t leave him lying in the rain.

As she dashed from the hut, water penetrated the stocking of her shoeless foot. Chill rain pelted her face. She reached the fallen rider. Her eyes widened and she gasped.

"No." She knelt beside her husband. Her hands brushed his hair from his forehead. When she touched his throat, the steady pulse beneath her fingers made her sigh.

"My lord...Drew..."

How badly had he been injured. She saw something white clutched in his hand. He’d found her slipper. She tried to pry it from his hand. His grasp tightened.

"Drew, ‘tis Nicola."

He didn’t respond. The fall must have knocked him senseless. She felt a knot on his head. Were there other injuries? She moved her hand toward his legs, she saw a broken branch near his right calf. She tried to brush the tree limb away. When it didn’t move, she thought it had stuck in his clothes. She pulled the branch free. A spurt of blood followed.

For a moment, she stared at the red flow and watched the rain lighten the color from scarlet to pale red. She tore his trousers and saw the gash along his calf and the puncture where the limb had penetrated his skin. A pool of blood collected beneath his leg.

From her dress pocket, she pulled a handkerchief and folded it into a wad. Then she removed his cravat and used the neckcloth to bind the folded handkerchief over the wound.

"Drew, Drew," she cried. He didn’t move or respond to her calls. Rain washed her tears away. What could she do? She had to go for help, but she couldn’t leave him to be drenched by the rain. She bent and kissed his lips. Her fingers caressed his face. With a shuddering sigh, she realized she loved him. How could she leave him for even an instant? Would someone come to find them? She couldn’t take the chance. She had to go for help.

Nicola rose and grasped his arms near the shoulders. Inch by inch, she dragged him beneath the tree. She draped her cloak over some low hanging branches to form a tent to protect him. Then she pulled on her wet and ruined shoe.

"I must go for help." She turned and raced across the clearing and down the path to the house. Brambles tore at her arms and snagged her dress. Rain plastered the silk cloth to her body. Rocks bruised her feet and tore at the soles of her shoes.

When she reached the trail’s end, her legs ached. Sharp pains stabbed her chest. Her body felt leaded. She dashed across the grass and into the stables. "Jem, Jem. the Earl needs you."

The groom who had helped Crawford strode toward her. She screamed. The fright infused her with energy. She turned and raced to the house. She slipped on the flagstones and slid toward the fountain. Just before she collided with the circle of marble, she regained her balance. She ran up the steps and across the landing. When she reached the front door, she pushed it open.

"My lady," Greene said.

"The Earl...he’s been injured."

The Dowager and the girls entered the Great Hall. "Nica," Margaret cried.

"My poor child," the Dowager said. "Are you hurt?" She draped her shawl around Nicola’s shoulders.

"’Tis Drew who is hurt. His horse bolted and he fell. Where’s Jem? I must take him to help me."

"He has gone to look for Cousin Fergus," Elizabeth said.

Tears flowed down Nicola’s face. Water from her braid ran down her back. "Two footmen then. Come, I must show them the way to the clearing."

The Dowager put her arms around Nicola. "If you don’t change your wet clothes, you will take a chill."

Margaret grabbed a cloak. "Grandmother is right. I know how to find the clearing." She pointed to a pair of footmen. "Come with me."

Sarad followed Margaret and the footmen to the door. "I’ll ride to the village for Jem and the doctor," he said.

Nicola’s legs trembled. She sank on an oak bench. What would she do if Drew died? She dared not think that way.

"My child, you must go to your room. ‘Twill not do for you to become ill."

Elizabeth pulled Nicola to her feet. "I’ll help you. Oh, Nica, I was so fearful when Margaret said Cousin Fergus had taken you."

Nicola limped across the marble tiles. She felt exhausted; she felt helpless. She should be with the footmen. Instead, she had let others make the decisions.

She grasped the railing and dragged one foot after the other up the stairs. Her teeth chattered. The silk gown felt as though the cloth had been spun from ice. Elizabeth half-dragged her down the hall and opened the door of Nicola’s chamber.

"My lady, you are safe," Peggy said. "You are soaked. Come and get out of those clothes. I’ll have water heated for a bath and fetch some tea."

"I’ve no time for a bath or tea," Nicola said. She looked for her sister, but Elizabeth had vanished. "My husband is injured. I must be ready to care for him."

"If you become ill, you can’t help him." The maid’s pale eyes glowed with curiosity. "Is it true that some man tried to steal you?"

Nicola allowed Peggy to pull the sodden dress and chemise over her head. She slid her arms into the sleeves of a heavy dressing gown. Cousin Fergus was strange but not in the way the maid meant.

She sank on a chair before the fire and closed her eyes. The heat warmed her flesh, but what would warm her heart? She felt as though shards of rock crystal encrusted the surface. Her eyes flew open. She had no time for dreams or fears. Drew needed her. ‘Twas her fault he had been hurt; her fault that Cousin Fergus had come to find her father’s gemstones.

Peggy bustled from the room. Nicola rose and walked to the dressing room. There, she washed her hands and face and feet. The soap stung where the brambles had scratched her arms and where stones had cut her feet. She found a clean chemise and stockings. When Peggy returned with tea, Nicola stood beside the wardrobe deciding which dress to wear.

"My lady, water for your bath is being heated."

"’Twill be needed for my husband. I must dress." The maid took a peach silk afternoon dress from the wardrobe. "Not that one. One of the cottons I brought from India."

"But the old ones are made from dark and gloomy colors," Peggy protested even as she followed Nicola’s orders.

"Once my husband is settled, I’ll change." She reached for a brush and attacked her tangled hair.

Peggy took the brush away. "I know you’re worried, my lady, but your haste is making the tangles worse. Let me dry your hair."

Nicola heard noises in the hall. "Braid it quickly. I must go."

She heard her grandmother issuing orders. The maid finished and buttoned the back of the brown dress. Nicola slipped on her shoes. "Thank you." She pushed open the door into her husband’s chamber.

She halted in the doorway and watched with fascination. While two footmen held Drew, his valet stripped off Drew’s wet clothes. Heat rose in Nicola’s cheeks. She stared at her husband’s wide shoulders. Tanned skin covered his muscular back. Siva, she thought.

She backed into the dressing room and filled a pitcher with water from the kettle hanging over the fire. She placed soap and clothes in a porcelain basin and opened the door into her husband’s bedroom.

Drew was in bed. She crossed the room and put the things she carried on the table beside the bed. When she touched his cheek, the iciness of his skin frightened her. "Drew, it’s Nicola."

Again he groaned. His eyelids inched open. "Nicola."

"Yes, my lord."

"What happened?"

"I’m not sure but I believe the lightning frightened your horse and you were thrown. You must have hit your head."

His eyes closed. She bent and kissed his cheek. He clasped her hand.

"My lady, I must clean the wound on the Earl’s leg." Bevel poured water from the pitcher into the basin.

"I’ll assist you."

"Are you sure? Not many ladies can stand the sight of blood."

"I helped care for my mother and my father when they were ill." She thought of her father’s wounds. Her husband’s couldn’t be as horrible.

Bevel pulled the covers to expose Drew’s right leg. Blood stained the makeshift bandage Nicola had applied. The valet untied the knot and unwrapped the cravat. He pulled the pad free. Blood trickled from the wound.

Nicola swallowed. Where was the doctor? Had Sarad reached the village?"

Bevel wrung out a cloth and began to scrub the lower part of the wound. Drew groaned. "Damn."

Nicola touched his hand. "We must clean your wound lest it become purulent." She handed Bevel a soaped cloth.

"Hurts." Drew grabbed her hand. "Why did you run?"

As the valet worked, Nicola told drew of her encounter with Crawford and the groom’s duplicity. "Cousin Fergus came on our wedding day. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you."

"I’m at fault." I pushed you away and played the gracious host to the hilt. I should have behaved more like a bridegroom." She pressed her hand. "We’ve made a poor start to our married life."

Why was he so concerned? ‘Twas not because he loved her. Who did he try to convince? The neighbors and his friends knew why they had wed.

She stared at him. White lines surrounded his mouth. A film of perspiration covered his forehead. His grasp on her hand relaxed. She turned to Bevel. "The bleeding?"

"Continues," he said. "I’ll apply a tight bandage and pray the doctor arrives soon. That is all one can do, my lady."

Nicola sat beside the bed. Minutes dragged until they seemed like hours. Finally the door opened and Dr. Rodgers bustled in. He placed his bag on the bed. "Let’s see what this problem is. My lady, I will send for you as soon as I’m finished here."

"I want to stay."

"This is no place for a lady. I won’t begin until you leave this room."

Reluctantly, Nicola talked to the door and stepped into the hall. Her grandmother sat on a chair someone had brought from the schoolroom. Nicola paced from one end of the long hall to the other. By the time she had walked three circuits, Elizabeth and Margaret appeared.

"Prabha is making a poultice for the Earl’s wound," Margaret said. "Do you think the doctor will use it?"

"If the doctor won’t, I will," Nicola said. "’Twill have to wait until I have a chance to be alone with him. I’m sure Bevel will look on the doctor’s orders as commands."

"What of Cousin Fergus?"

Nicola took her sisters’ hands. "I’m sure he sits somewhere hatching another scheme. When you go riding, you must leave off your solitary rambles and take a groom."

"’Tis not fair." Margaret sighed.

They reached the end of the hall and turned. Elizabeth sat beside the Dowager. Their expressions were grim. Nicola swallowed a lump of fear. ‘Twas like when her papa had been ill. She and her sisters had hovered outside the room waiting for the doctor’s verdict. She tried to deny the possibility of death but found no words to reassure herself.

At long last, the bedchamber door opened. Dr. Rodgers stepped into the hall and crossed to the Dowager’s side. "He should be fine. He lost enough blood that I didn’t bleed him. If he doesn’t develop purulence in the wound or a fever, in a week, he should be riding again. I have left instructions with the valet."

His words brought relief. Nicola collapsed against the wall. Drew’s injury had laid a burden on her shoulders. She would talk to Bevel about sharing in Drew’s care. Until she knew he would recover, she had to remain at Denmere and hope Cousin Fergus wouldn’t act.

Chapter 15

Drew smiled. Delicious warmth spread through his body. Nicola lay on the ground with her back arched and her head touching her feet. The sight of her full breasts straining against the white cloth of the shirt she wore turned the warmth to molten fire. He lifted his head and groaned.

A dream. A fantasy. An impossibility.

His eyelids inched open. The bright rays of the afternoon sun made him blink. His bedchamber. When had he returned to Denmere and how long had he been in bed? His head ached like the aftermath of a drinking bout worthy of Michael.

Impossible, he thought. He would never risk losing control in that manner. His body felt as though a horse had rolled over him. Had he been ill? Were the warmth and the vision of his wife part of a fever dream? The last thing he remembered was a storm-dark day, the rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning.

Nicola!

Crawford had kidnapped his wife. Drew remembered leaving the house to track the pair. He’d found her shoe. Where had the villain taken her?

A flood of memories drenched him. The wedding, his bride’s knowledge of lovemaking, the quarrel with Aldora and the return to Denmere to find Nicola had been abducted. He had to find her.

He tried to sit up and fell back against the pillows. "Bevel." Instead of a shout, his voice emerged as a harsh whisper.

"My lord, you are awake. How is your head? Are you in much pain?"

Drew blinked. The man’s image blurred around the edges. "Water."

"Yes, my lord, of course." The slender man moved to the bedside. "We’ve been quite concerned about you. The fall. Your injury. You woke briefly and seemed quite lucid. Dr. Rodgers was pleased to hear you answer his questions. Would you like a dose of laudanum?"

"I must find my wife. She is in danger. Help me out of this bed and see that my horse is saddled."

"But my lord --"

"Do not question my orders. I must save my wife and bring her home." Drew closed his eyes and thought of how he would treat Nicola when he had her in his arms. The vigor of his body’s response heartened him.

"How does he fare?"

The soft voice increased the confusion he felt. Why did he think he heard Nicola? He felt a hand brush his brow. Small and soft, a woman’s hand. An exotic scent teased him. The perfume belonged to his wife. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Nicola." He released a held breath.

"How do you feel?"

Her smile flooded him with hope. Perhaps his boorish actions on their wedding night hadn’t completely ruined their chances for a comfortable marriage. "How did I come to be here?"

She pulled a Queen Anne chair to the bedside. "Bevel, fetch a tea tray and some of the broth Cook claims will restore the Earl to good health."

Drew grasped her hand. "Her restorative broth for a blow to the head?"

"For that and because you have a great tear to your right lower limb. Though I bound the wound, you lost a great amount of blood. Dr. Rodgers expects you to be abed for a week or two."

Though he wished to shake his head in denial, any movement brought a dull ache. Later, he would speak to the doctor. Drew groaned. Playing an invalid wasn’t possible. Too many people depended on his advice, especially since the planting season approached.

"How did you find me?"

"I hid from Cousin Fergus in the hut in the clearing. Your horse screamed. I ran to the window and saw you lying on the ground."

"Why did you stay in the witch’s hut? Jem and the groom would have protected you."

She looked away. "Since one of your grooms aided in my capture, I was afraid."

Drew wondered if there were reasons other than fear for her failure to trust Jem. He tightened his grip on her hand. "I’ve made a mull of our marriage."

She sighed. "The fault is not entirely yours. I shouldn’t have attempted to educate you. A good wife does her duty and obeys her husband’s every command."

"If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have hurt you."

A flush spread above the neckline of her dress. "Grandmother told me that."

He swallowed. "She said you were quoting from some book."

"The Kama Sutra, an ancient book of India, written to help a person in the quest for enlightenment. Though I’ve studied the words, I fear I am lacking."

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "I’m sorry I misjudged you. Will you accept my apology?"

Her gaze met his. Waves of longing coursed through him. He felt certain he couldn’t control his lust, but the throbbing pain in his head and leg reminded him that while willing, he wasn’t able to aid her quest for enlightenment.

"I share the blame." She sighed. "There is still Cousin Fergus to consider. He has learned that we...we...did not...not..."

"Why did you tell him?"

She shook her head. "I believe ‘twas one of the grooms. There was gossip."

He nodded and immediately wished he had remained still. A surge of nausea made him swallow. "Mr. Grey believes the letters Crawford has are forgeries."

"There is other trouble he can cause. I don’t wish to bring scandal to you and Grandmother."

"Surely it can’t be that bad. Tell me so I can judge."

She bowed her head. "Papa used a secret route to send gemstones to other countries. I helped by assessing the worth of the gems. Cousin Fergus threatened to spread tales in London, naming us thieves unless I agreed to an annulment and to return to India with him."

Drew squeezed her hand, "Crawford has no entry into society. He’s but a merchant. The ton will laugh at his stories."

"I wish I could believe you. ‘Twould have been easier to counter his threats if we had...had...done." Scarlet stained her cheeks.

He brought her hand to his lips. "There are ways."

The red coloring of her face darkened. "I’ve read about a woman taking the part of a man, but I don’t understand how it can be accomplished. A woman...." She pressed her hand to her mouth.

Her innocent words made him want to laugh. "When I’m not so groggy, I will show you." Her obvious embarrassment removed his doubts about her experience with men. Damn the pain that now stabbed instead of ached.

The door opened and Bevel arrived with the tea tray. "My lord, that person from the stables requests to speak to you."

What did Jem want? Before he’d ridden off to find Nicola, he’d sent Jem on an errand. What? The answer had vanished in the clutter of thoughts. "Send him in."

"My lord, first you must have your tea and the dose of laudanum the doctor ordered."

Drew grimaced and swallowed the bitter medicine. Nicola helped him wash down the opiate with some overly sweet tea. Lifting his head brought a wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes. Moments later, he heard Jem’s gruff voice.

"My lord, that Crawford person be gone from the inn. Took his belongings and rode off like old Nick be riding his tail. Some said he took the London road."

If only the man stayed there, Drew thought. "From now on, have a groom accompany my wards and my wife when they leave the house."

"Be just one groom, my lord."

Another piece fitted into the hours missing from his memories. "Hire men in the village."

"I be off then."

Drew yawned. Lethargy made his body unresponsive. Soft lips brushed his cheek. "I’ll return later. Rest now."

Though he wanted to call her back, sleep beckoned. He carried the memory of her sweet kiss into his dreams.

* * * *

"Papa, no!"

Drew’s cries woke Nicola. She reached for her dressing robe and rushed through the room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s chamber. Three days had passed since the accident. This afternoon, he’d felt warm to the touch and she feared his wound had become purulent. Though she had ordered Bevel to remove the dressing, he had refused.

She opened the door. A disheveled Bevel pressed her husband’s shoulders against the mattress. "My lord, you must drink this. The laudanum will take the pain away."

"’Twill do nothing for the fever," Nicola said. "We must remove the dressing. I’ll call Prabha. She’ll know what to do."

"I won’t permit that heathen to touch the Earl." Bevel’s green eyes glinted with determination. "My lady, Dr. Rodgers will be here in the morning. He’ll decide what to do."

Tears welled in Nicola’s eyes. By morning, her husband might be dead. Drew pulled at the covers. His head rolled from side to side. His cries sounded like those of a child. She looked at Bevel. "Then fetch some willow bark from Mrs. Bowen’s stores for the fever and bring buckets of cold water so we can sponge him."

"My lady, the doctor left no orders for willow tea or a cool bath."

Lest she punch Bevel, Nicola held her hands stiffly at her sides. She couldn’t permit the valet’s slavish attention to the doctor’s orders to hold sway while Drew’s condition continued to deteriorate.

"No, Papa. Not Mama. Not again. Mama, do not cry. Go away. Go away." Drew screamed in terror. He waved his hands as though warding off blows. "Don’t hit me. No! No! No!"

Nicola approached the bed. Large beads of perspiration covered Drew’s forehead. She gently stroked his face. The scream died. His skin burned with the heat of a fire. She looked up and glared at the valet.

"Mr. Bevel, I’ll take charge of my husband’s care. When I return, you will go to your bed. I’m sure a rest will benefit you."

"The sick room is no place for a lady," he said.

"In this case, I don’t want to be a lady." Nicola crossed the room. Once in the hall, she hurried to the servants’ basement quarters and found Prabha’s room. The amah roused at a touch.

"Young miss, what wrong?"

"My husband is fevered and talks in his sleep." Nicola thought of Drew’s terror-filled screams and the things he’d shouted. Those words gave her clues to his reasons for not trusting many people.

"I come." Prabha rose and put on a sari. She lifted a packet from the dresser. "I mix these before doctor come. You make fever tea."

Nicola nodded. She woke Greene and ordered pails of cool water to be brought to her husband’s rooms. Then she hurried to the pantry for a jar of willow bark. On her way upstairs, she stopped in the linen room and grabbed a tattered sheet.

When she opened the door of her husband’s chamber, she stopped short. Bevel stood in front of the bed with his arms spread wide. "Begone, witch."

"Mr. Bevel, go to your bed."

"My lady, if his lordship takes harm from this woman’s treatment, I won’t keep silent. It’s my duty to see to his care."

His shouts roused Drew. "Papa, don’t hit me. You are right. She is a witch. Bad Mama. Go away." His cries changed to racking sobs.

"See what you’ve done." Nicola grabbed Bevel’s arm and pulled him to the door. "Go to bed. Tomorrow, we will discuss your inability to follow orders." She pushed him into the hall and closed the door.

"Hot water," Prabha said. "Need now."

The amah pulled aside the blankets covering Drew’s legs. The sight of the soiled dressing and the stench rising from it caused Nicola to pinch her nose. She bolted past the bed and stood in the dressing room until her stomach settled. Then she filled a pitcher with hot water from the kettle hanging over the fire. Carrying the steaming water, she returned to Drew’s chamber.

Prabha thrust the packet of herbs into Nicola’s hands. "Put in water. Make a paste."

The door opened. Three footmen carried in pails of water. Prabha pointed to the two huskiest men. "You and you hold sahib. I clean evil from leg." She took the pitcher of water and poured a steady stream over the wound to wash away the foul matter.

Drew screamed.

"Prabha, no," Nicola said.

"Must be clean. Much evil here. Sahib be more sick if evil stay."

Nicola brushed tears from her cheeks. "But he suffers."

"First pain. Then healing. Do what I tell you. Make paste. Make fever tea."

Nicola retreated to the dressing room and followed the amah’s orders. When the herbal paste cooled, Nicola steeped willow bark in hot water. She returned to Drew’s chamber with the paste and the tea.

Prabha stuck her finger in the paste and sniffed. "Good. He be better soon."

Nicola stared at the now bleeding wound. One of the footmen held Drew’s leg away from the soaked and soiled sheets. Prabha smeared paste on a clean cloth and bound the wound.

"We take to Missy’s room. Burn sheets. Need new bedding."

Before long, the footmen had carried Drew to Nicola’s room. After they brought the buckets of water, they left. Prabha rattled off directions for Drew’s care. Several times she lapsed into Hindi and Nicola converted the orders into what she hoped were the correct English words.

The amah patted Nicola’s shoulder. "You do what I say. Then he be better."

For a short time after Prabha left, Nicola stroked her husband’s face. The stubble on his chin sensitized her fingers. If his fevered cries were true, he had watched his father beat his mother and then turn on him. Though she wished she knew some panacea that would restore his body and his spirit, she knew none. She could help him on the physical plane but spiritual healing only came from within.

She reached for the now cool willow bark tea. Using a spoon, she coaxed him to drink. When the cup was empty, she tore the old linen sheet into squares and dropped the cloth into one of the water pails.

"Bathe him until his skin cools," Prabha had ordered.

Nicola stared at her husband. Where to begin. She hadn’t realized there was so much skin to bathe. She reached into the bucket and grabbed one of the squares. The sleeves of her dressing down trailed in the water. Small streams dripped onto the Axminster carpet. She dropped the cloth in the bucket and pulled off the robe. Then she retrieved the cloth and wiped his face.

In an instant, the linen square felt as though a maid had applied a hot iron to the surface. She looked down the length of Drew’s body and wished she has several helpers. She reached for a second cloth and laid it on his forehead. There had to be a way to cool him faster.

She pushed the sheet to his waist. For a moment, she could do naught but stare. A tangle of dark hair covered his chest. She brushed the curls with her hand. The coarse texture intrigued her. She ran her hands over his chest.

He groaned.

Had she hurt him? Did the fever make his skin sensitive to a touch? She reached for a new cloth and bathed his arms and shoulders. The muscles were like and unlike those she had seen and touched on statues of Siva. Those images had been carved from jade, alabaster and marble, cold and hard, not like the resilient and heated flesh she touched. Even without the fever, she knew his arms and chest would be as warm as his mouth and his hands.

A slow burning rose from her toes. Her cambric nightrail seemed as heavy as the woolen robe she had discarded. She shook her head and pulled her attention from her husband’s body to her task.

As she sponged his chest, she discovered two small nubbins buried beneath the hair. When she touched one with her finger, it beaded the way her breasts responded to Drew’s kisses.

He moaned. His tongue emerged and rubbed across his lower lip.

How would he react if she kissed him? Water from the cloth in her hand dripped on her nightrail and reminded her of the bath. She placed wet cloths on the area she had sponged and continued her progress along his broad chest toward his waist.

The dark hair tapered like an arrow. His abdomen was flat and taut. As she moved the cloth over his skin, she felt the muscles contract.

"Do not torture me," he cried. "Come, let me have you."

"What is wrong?" He didn’t answer and she didn’t understand what he wanted. Had he hurt his abdomen when he fell? Deciding her actions had caused him pain, she moved to the foot of the bed and uncovered his legs. A clean aroma rose from the herbal dressing and made her believe the amah’s treatment would prevent a recurrence of the infection.

She wring out a cloth and began to bathe his muscular left leg. When she moved the cloth above his knee to sponge his thigh, he groaned and made a guttural sound.

"What is wrong?"

He reached for the covers and pulled them away. "Do not be a tease."

His whispered words made no sense. She dropped the cloth in the water and looked at the area he had bared. Her eyes widened. Though she’d seen statues, she hadn’t believed they had been correct. His member jutted from a mass of dark hair. As she stirred, his lingam grew larger. Words from the Kama Sutra filled her thoughts.

"Men are divided into three classes, hare, bull and horse." With these words in mind, she studied her husband. He was a horse. What if she was a deer and not an elephant? Their union would be unequal. She bit her lip.

The heat of embarrassment warmed her skin. How could she think of such things when her husband remained so ill? She fished a cloth from the bucket and began to wash his lower abdomen.

He grasped her wrist. "Witch, no more. Kiss me."

Nicola leaned across his body and touched her lips to his. His arms circled her waist. His tongue moved across her lips. Her body felt as fevered as his. His hands moved on her nightrail and pushed the fabric upward. Inch by inch, she felt her flesh touch his.

"Need you."

His husky voice sent blood pulsing in her veins. He had told her lovemaking was possible even though he was injured. The things she’d read told of positions of the body she had been unable to imagine. "What should I do?"

"Your gown. Take off." His hands pulled at the nightrail.

His request echoed her desire. "Then you must let go."

"Never."

"But I must undo the buttons."

"Ah." His hands slid away.

Nicola stood beside the bed. Her legs trembled. She felt as though ball lightning had struck her body leaving every cell charged with energy. Soon she would learn the meaning of all she’d read. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Her yoni pulsed in tune with the rapid rhythm of her heart. She would practice the art of love with but one regret. Though her husband filled her heart, she held not even a tiny corner of his. She pulled the gown over her head and dropped it on the floor. Two steps brought her to the bed.

Drew opened his eyes. The fever glaze remained. When she touched his chest, his skin felt as hot as when she’d begin the bath. "Come to me," he said.

"I don’t know what to do."

He raised his head from the pillow. "Nicola? Are you a dream?" He stroked her face with his fingers.

"I am here and real." She pressed her hands against his shoulders.

"Ah," he sighed. He pulled her so she lay across his chest. His hands stroked her back. His tongue licked her shoulder. "Sit astride."

She frowned yet did as he asked and placed her legs on either side of his waist. The contact with his fevered flesh nearly made her flinch until the heat and the touch of his hands on her breasts created a desire to move. She felt a wetness and didn’t know if the moisture was from him or her.

"Astride, I said. What is the meaning of this torture? Have the Deacons designed this as a joke?" He slurred the words.

Nicola didn’t understand. "This won’t work."

"Foolish chit. It would if you had any knowledge. Come then and lay beside me. I don’t understand why you were chosen."

Nicola slid to his side and lay on her back. "Papa wanted to protect his daughters."

"An odd kind of protection. Will your sisters join us?"

"Of course not."

He turned on his side. One finger circled her breast causing the nipple to tighten. He slid his arm beneath her shoulders and raised her until his mouth found her breast. He suckled and Nicola forgot everything except the sensations building to a peal of pleasure. Drew groaned.

"Are you in pain?"

"Sweet, sweet agony."

His fingers slid into the cleft between her legs. She hovered between pain and pleasure as his fingers moved in a steady rhythm.

Then he was atop her. His lingam plunged into her yoni. He caught her cry of pain in his mouth. He moved inside her, rocking her body until she found herself moving to the same tempo. Exquisite sensations swept her into the heat of her husband’s body. Great spasms shook her. Drew raised his head and cried aloud. Then he collapsed and pinned her to the mattress.

For a moment, she panicked. Slowly, she wiggled from beneath him and rolled him on his side. She stood and reached for her nightrail. When she turned back, she saw a spot of bright blood on the sheet.

"What have I done? She clutched her gown and checked the dressing on his leg. No blood oozed through the bandages. Trying to puzzle the meaning, she pulled her gown over her head. Drew’s skin felt a little cooler than it had earlier. She should continue the bath, but a strange lethargy made her too tired to continue. She crawled into the bed beside her husband and fell asleep.

"Missy wake."

Nicola rolled over and opened her eyes. The amah stood beside the bed.

"Get up. Evil flee from the sahib. Fever burn away. Must wash him. Change sheets so evil will not enter again."

Nicola touched Drew’s chest. His skin, though covered with a sheen of perspiration, felt cool. She slid out of bed and reached for the robe she’d discarded when she’d begun the bath.

Prabha chuckled. "Sahib be much man. You are wife."

Heat rose from Nicola’s toes. "Yes."

"I keep sheet. Sahib horse. Bring much pleasure. You have hurt?"

Nicola shook her head. She thought about the pleasure she’d found and wondered how long she would have to wait for her husband’s powers to be restored.

Now Bhujang not take you. Husband keep safe."

Nicola wasn’t sure the amah’s prediction would come true. Cousin Fergus was as tricky and as evil as the cobra Prabha had named him.

The amah returned with a bucket of hot water and the soap. She began to wash Drew’s feet. Nicola reached for a second cloth.

Drew groaned. His eyes fluttered open. "Nicola."

"Your fever has broken. You were so ill I feared I would lose you. We must turn you so the sheets can be changed. Prabha believes the evil has left your body and collected on them." She knelt on the bed and pulled him toward her.

"Bevel?" he asked.

"I sent him to his room. Three days and nights, he took care of you."

"You shouldn’t be doing this."

"’Tis my place as your wife." She released him so he lay on his back on a roll of sheets. As she pulled the dirty sheets from beneath him, he saw a spot of bright blood.

"Does my wound bleed again?"

Her face turned scarlet. "Your wound is find. All you need is rest."

He closed his eyes. What had caused her blush? "I am tired, but we must talk about Crawford and other things."

She smiled. "We will have time to talk. Rest while I order a breakfast tray."

He pressed her hand to his lips. "A large one. I feel like I haven’t eaten for days."

Chapter 16

Drew yawned and straightened. The first rays of the morning sun filtered around the heavy drapes covering the windows of his bedchamber. He listened for sounds from the dressing room.

Where the devil was Bevel? Didn’t the man realize the importance of the day? Last night, Dr. Rodgers had pronounced Drew nearly recovered and had granted permission for the patient to be out of bed the next day.

Impatiently, Drew tugged on the bell pull. The sun had risen and so should he. His lengthy incarceration in this room would have ended at midnight if he’d been able to remain awake.

During the long days of being an invalid, he’d counted every flower on the wall covering. He knew the location of every crack in the ceiling. Every hour, like a breeding rabbit, the mattress produced another lump to add to his discomfort. He felt like a child confined to bed as a punishment for some misdeed.

The chamber door opened. Bearing a tray, Bevel entered. "Tea, my lord."

Drew shook his head. "I want to get out of this bed and have my tea in one of the chairs before the fire. Where have you been? The sun has been up...."

"For a quarter hour." Nicola appeared in the dressing room doorway. She laughed. "Your roar this morning puts me in mind of a man-eating tiger whose prey has escaped. Have patience."

Her laughter made him grit his teeth. "For nearly two weeks, I’ve played the invalid." He clamped his lips to halt the whine in his voice. Not only did he feel like a child, his behavior smacked of the nursery.

His eyes focused on his wife. The neckline of her canary morning dress captured his gaze. The swell of her breasts above the square cut bodice made him wish Bevel gone so he could explore and taste her lushness.

Nicola motioned to Bevel. "Fetch the footstool from my room. Then we will help the Earl to a chair."

"I think we should wait until his morning ablutions are completed."

"I don’t think he has the patience for a lengthy delay."

"It will not take that long."

"Have you forgotten I’m here?" Drew’s voice crackled with anger.

She shook her head. "I could never do that."

The husky quality of her voice enhanced his discomfort and frustration. He couldn’t grab her and do the things he wished. He couldn’t kiss her until she cried for release. Because his behavior on their wedding night had been less than polished, patience had to be cultivated. If he hadn’t acted the fool, Crawford would never have abducted Nicola and Drew wouldn’t be a prisoner in this bed.

"You don’t have to play at nursemaid," he said. "Bevel and I will manage."

She patted his hand. "’Twill take two. You’ve been fevered and abed for days. Dr. Rodgers doesn’t want you to stand on your right leg. If you should fall, Bevel would be crushed beneath you." She frowned. "Perhaps I should call for two footmen to carry you to the chair."

The thought of the entire household being privy to his weakness was intolerable. "You and Bevel then."

She kissed his brow. "I thought you would see the practicality of my decision."

He kept his lips firmly pressed together. Had she any idea of how the proximity of her breasts stirred him? If he raised his head an inch or two, he could touch her nipples with his tongue. He pressed his hands against the mattress. Why hadn’t she sent Bevel to London for the footstool?

When Nicola straightened, his thoughts turned perverse. What did it matter if the valet witnessed a moment of affection between a husband and his wife? Drew groaned. Who but himself would be this fool? Need, desire, lust was what he felt. He had to turn his thoughts from his need to possess his wife before he frightened her.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"Where is that man?"

"He has been gone but a few minutes. You must have patience."

"I’m not a child to be scolded."

She laughed. "You sound like a rather surly one." She crossed the room and moved one of the armchairs at an angle to the fireplace.

Moments later, Bevel arrived with the footstool. He followed Nicola’s directions and placed it in front of the newly positioned chair. With Bevel’s assistance, Drew moved to the edge of the bed. While the valet supported his injured lag, Drew sat up. He gripped the edge of the mattress. The furniture in the room wavered. He felt as though he had boarded a ship in the middle of a storm. He swallowed. Surely he wouldn’t swoon. That condition was for elderly ladies or hysterical young women, not a man and in particular, not an Earl.

Nicola sat on the bed beside him. "Just wait a few minutes to allow your blood to settle. I’ve heard dizziness often results from a long confinement. Should I fetch Grandmother’s --"

"No vinaigrette. I’m fine and we’re wasting time."

"Your robe, my lord."

Drew shook his head. "My clothes, Bevel. I need to go down to my study." He placed his right foot on the carpet and attempted to stand. A stabbing pain made him gasp.

Nicola took the dressing down from Bevel and draped it over Drew’s shoulders. "I fear your study must wait unless you want to be carried downstairs."

He made a face. "I can see you’re right. I’m not even sure I can walk the short distance to the chair." He slipped his arm into the sleeves of his dressing gown.

Nicola put her arm around his waist. "Bevel and I will support you while you hop."

By the time they reached the chair, he felt as though he’d worked a full morning in the fields. His chest heaved. His muscles trembled and his heart hammered. He leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

Nicola laughed. "’Twill be easier the next time." She brushed a kiss on his cheek. "I’ll go down and see that a breakfast tray is prepared." She hurried from the room.

He accepted the cup of tea from Bevel. Though he hated his weakness, he planned to use this time to court his wife until her desire for him matched his for her. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. "A shave, Bevel."

"Very good, my lord."

* * * *

By the time Drew finished breakfast, he felt stronger. He wished Nicola had stayed, but she’d left to speak to Cook and Mrs. Bowen. Then she planned to give her sisters their lessons for the day.

He stared at the door. If he had crutches or a cane like Ramsey had used, he could leave this room. He’d never been ill before and couldn’t imagine how anyone took pleasure in being an invalid. Did anyone know how the hours dragged when a person was forced into solitude.

He reached for the book on the table. When he opened the leather bound volume, he frowned. He supposed the markings had some meaning, but they were unlike any writing he’d ever seen. He’d watched his wife turn pages in this book as though she were reading the latest Minerva Press novel. He put the book down and wondered if this was the one she had quoted on their wedding night.

With a groan, he remembered the way she’d responded to his kisses and caresses. Her eagerness had been so exciting he’d nearly lost control. What would have happened if he had? Before his thoughts spiraled downward into another cycle of guilt and regret, he turned his thoughts toward estate matters.

The door opened. Nicola crossed the room and sat on the other chair. "Sarad has some questions for you. Would you like to see him now?"

"After luncheon," Drew said. "Bevel is off to the village on an errand. I’d thought we might spend some time together."

"That would be pleasant."

"Move your chair closer."

When she did, Drew reached for her hand. "I’d like to begin anew. Tell me about the things you like to do."

She turned to face him. "There isn’t much. I’ve always been too busy for fun, except when Sarad and I escaped from the house to explore the markets and temples. We went to a market in Oxford, but ‘tis not the same as the ones in Calcutta."

He stroked her hand with his fingers, slowly moving upward. "And the temples. I’ve heard they are nothing like our churches."

She laughed. "The English in Calcutta thought the temples shocking and pagan. In their own way, they were beautiful. The walls were often covered with carved reliefs and jeweled statues abounded."

"Such as the ones found in the India parlor."

She nodded. "Sort of but larger and more...more ornate." Her face turned pink. "In one...there were statues of men and women...." She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. A wave of grief washed through her. She’d visited that temple, the night her papa had been wounded.

"What’s wrong?"

"A memory of a bad time."

Drew continued his gentle stroking until his fingers touched the puffed sleeve of her dress. Her embarrassment about the statues enhanced his curiosity. "Were they temple dancers?"

Scarlet stained her cheeks. "You could say that."

His fingers touched her shoulder. He felt her respond to his touch. "Nicola, I want to kiss you, but you are beyond my reach."

She rose and went to him. He put his hands on her waist.

With a thud, the door banged against the wall. Nicola jumped back. Drew growled.

"My lord, I’m so glad the tales are true and you are up." Margaret stood on the threshold with a white bundle in her arms. "We were most worried and Nica wouldn’t let us visit you."

"I’m sorry you were worried," Drew said. "As you can see, I’m well on the way to recovery. Did you want something?" The bundle in her arms moved.

"How did you guess?" Margaret stepped into the room. "Sarad says you’ve advertised for a governess. I don’t want to be a pest, but is such a person necessary?"

Nicola walked toward her sister. "Without someone to spark your interest in learning, you will spend all your time in the garden and the stables."

"If he chooses one, I fear we’ll be stuck with another Miss Smythe." Margaret rushed past Nicola and nearly stumbled into the footstool. "I pity the next student she finds. Even if she is meek, she will ruin her. She boasted about her cruel actions. Is there a way you can keep her from obtaining a post?"

"I gave her no letter of recommendation."

The bundle in Margaret’s arm definitely moved. A strange cry emerged from the blanket.

"Are you sure that’s enough?" Margaret asked.

"I can think of nothing else to do."

"Margaret, what do you have?" Nicola asked.

"Lucinda."

"Have you taken to stealing babies from the tenants?" Drew tried to think which of the families boasted a newborn child.

"A sick room is no place for an infant," Nicola said.

"’Tis not a child." Margaret opened the blanket to reveal a small pink pig. "’Twas the runt and was to be destroyed. I snatched her and brought her home."

Drew looked at Nicola. Her hand covered her mouth but he saw laughter in her eyes.

"A pig," Nicola said. "What will you do with a pig."

"Keep her in my room."

"There you are," Elizabeth cried. "Tell her she can’t drag another animal into our rooms."

"Lucinda is most docile," Margaret said. "’Sides, you are moving into the room Nica had."

"’Twill not be far enough from that creature. The beast will turn your room into more of a sty than it already is."

Drew couldn’t contain his laughter. A burst of sound escaped. Margaret and Elizabeth stared.

Nicola turned her back to the scene. How would her husband handle this wrangling? Since his injury, both girls had been thoughtful and kind to each other. Drew’s recovery had broken the truce.

"Margaret, you may keep Lucinda." He held up his hand. "But only if you keep her from creating havoc in your room and if you refrain from driving a second governess from this house."

"’Tis not fair," Elizabeth said. "She always gets her way."

Drew nodded. "I’m sure it appears that way, but I have a task for you. Margaret said there are letters from several women seeking the position of governess. Would you read the letters and select the ones to be interviewed?

Nicola nearly laughed at the expression on Elizabeth’s face. "Just remember, she will be your governess as well," Nicola said.

Elizabeth smiled and turned to leave. "My lord, ‘tis good to see you are feeling better. There have been so many visitors asking about your health." She grabbed Margaret’s arm. "A pig. I suppose ‘twill not be worse than living with frogs, snakes and bugs."

Nicola closed the door. The interruption had broken the cord of rapport between Drew and herself. She had learned one important fact. Her curiosity about the length of time her husband needed to recover his powers had been satisfied. Two weeks, she thought. ‘Twas a shame for her desire arose each time she looked at him. She returned to the chair beside him.

"You handled my sisters with great diplomacy." She sighed. "I believe they delight in their wrangles."

"I fear you’re right." He grasped her hand and placed a kiss on her palm.

A delicious warmth encompassed her. She thought about his tanned, muscular body and how his flesh had felt when touching hers. The heat increased. She felt as fevered as he’d been just days before.

"Come," he said.

Why had she thought his eyes were as hard as gemstones? Bright and alive with desire, his gaze drew her from the chair and into his arms. As she sat on his lap, she felt the proof of his renewed powers. His hands framed her face and his thumbs stroked her neck. His lips touched hers. She opened her mouth.

Nicola heard a rap on the door. The knocking grew insistent. Drew inhaled. "It seems we’re to have no peace."

Nicola sighed. "I fear you’re right." She rose and opened the door. "Grandmother, is there a problem?"

"I don’t see why no one thought to tell me Drew felt fit enough to be out of bed." The Dowager walked past Nicola. "My boy, are you sure this kind of activity is not too much."

Drew laughed. "Aunt Aldora, don’t fret over me. As you see, I’ve not gone far."

"Why should I not fret? You worry about me when I’m ill." She smiled. "I’m glad to see you are well and I plan to steal your nurse. There are bride calls to be made."

Nicola approached her grandmother. "I don’t wish to leave Drew yet." She glanced at her husband. His gaze kindled the fires she’d banked on her grandmother’s entrance. "I would rather wait until Drew is fully recovered."

"Perhaps you’re right," the Dowager said.

"If you wish to go calling, why not take the girls," Nicola said.

"A brilliant idea." Drew murmured.

Nicola’s smile broadened. "I’m sure my sisters are weary of their confinement to the house."

The Dowager nodded. "I’ll take Elizabeth. She is of an age to learn social graces."

"And not Margaret?" Drew asked.

"La, the child is a hoyden and would want to bring the pig. How could you indulge her so? I thought you believed she lacked discipline."

"She does but I believe time is the cure for the problem. Convey mine and Nicola’s greetings and our thanks for the wedding gifts."

"As well as my apologies for being remiss about writing notes of thanks."

The Dowager kissed Drew’s cheeks. "Don’t stay up until you are exhausted." She smiled. "I remember all the times I told you this in the past and you didn’t obey. Will you listen this time?"

"Perhaps."

Once the door closed behind the Dowager, Nicola didn’t wait for an invitation. She resumed her seat on Drew’s lap and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hope we’ve seen the last of them."

"For several hours." His lips found hers and his hands stroked the skin left exposed by her low-cut bodice. Nicola felt her nipples bead. She sighed when he slid a finger into the valley between her breasts.

When they heard another knock, Nicola giggled and Drew laughed. "’Tis karma," she said.

"Karma?"

"Fate." She rose and adjusted her dress before going to the door. Sarad and a tall man of middle years stood in the hall. Nicola suppressed an urge to smack her friend. "Yes," she said.

"Nic...my lady, this is Martin Grove. Mr. Grey sent him to speak to the Earl about the position as estate manager. I also have a number of matters that require the Earl’s attention."

She stepped back. "I’ll leave you gentlemen and see about luncheon."

"And arrange to have dinner here with me," Drew said.

Nicola closed the door. Though she could have stayed and perhaps added her assessment of Mr. Grove, being in her husband’s company would only increase the frustration she felt.

*****

Prepared to eat another dinner at her husband’s bedside, Nicola walked to his room. Their days had fallen into a pattern that filled her with impatience. For a week, they’d had little time to spend in each other’s company. A steady stream of visitors, neighbors, tenants, Sarad, Mr. Grove, her sisters and the Dowager, had flowed through Drew’s room. Soon after the dinner hour, her husband fell asleep when she would rather have been in his arms.

When she entered his room, she saw the chair in front of the fireplace was empty. Her smile became a frown. She glanced toward the bed. "Drew." His laughter caused her to spin around. He stood at the window. "Should you be walking?"

He lifted a silver-headed cane. "Niall left this behind and Greene brought it to me yesterday morning. I’ve been practicing. I believe we’ll join the family for dinner."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I’ve taken four turns in the hall while you were about your household duties. I’m so sick of these rooms I’ve considered making drastic changes. Come, we don’t want to be late."

When they reached the dining room, the Dowager and the girls monopolized Drew’s attention. He listened to Elizabeth’s report on the candidates for governess and directed her to send letters and travel money to two of the women. Margaret regaled him with tales of Lucinda’s growth and intelligence. The Dowager entertained with stories of the neighborhood.

By the time dinner ended, Drew gladly accepted the assistance of two footmen to help him upstairs. Nicola followed him into the room. She kissed his cheek. "I’m sure you’re exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow."

He caught her hand. "Stay awhile. Though I am tired, there is something I wish to speak to you about."

She sat on a chair beside the bed. Did he mean talk or had he other plans? "My pleasure is yours."

"Tomorrow I’ll be riding out with Martin Grove to show him the estate and introduce him to the tenants. The next day, I’d like to invite you to join me in looking over some properties Mr. Grey has recommended for your sisters."

Nicola sucked in a breath. Was this the way he showed his displeasure over the girls’ behavior? What need had they for land and houses? They would wed and their husbands would provide homes for them. "Why do you want my sisters gone?"

"What?"

"Unless you plan to send them away, there is no need to buy houses for them."

He chuckled. "Aldora would have my head if I made such a suggestion. Besides, what would life at Denmere be without Margaret’s pranks and Elizabeth’s music?"

"Then why purchase estates."

"I’ve had much time to think about your sisters and my responsibility to them. Perhaps they will decide not to marry or marry a man who has no land."

"You won’t force them to wed?"

"The way you were?" He reached for her hand. "I know you had no say in the plans your father made. Are you still troubled by our marriage?"

She looked up. "Our marriage provided me with what I needed." Almost, she thought. Except for love and she still had hope love would come.

He brushed her lips with his. "The day after tomorrow, we’ll have time for ourselves."

"I’ll look forward to that."

Before she could return the kiss, Bevel arrived to assist Drew in preparing for bed.

* * * *

Drew woke at sunrise. He washed and dressed without waiting for Bevel. Last night, he’d ordered Cook to prepare a picnic hamper and he’d seen a clean blanket placed in the phaeton. An eagerness to have the day begin filled him. He had plans for continuing his courtship of Nicola. He slipped through the dressing room and opened the door of his wife’s bedchamber.

Expecting to find her in bed, the sight of her standing on her head startled him. She wore the same attire she’d worn when he’d come upon her in the garden. His gaze followed her slender legs. The white shirt had gathered beneath her arms affording him a glimpse of her breasts. Slowly, her legs separated to form a vee. His body responded with lightning swiftness. She curled out of the headstand and rose.

"Drew."

He didn’t speak, just crossed the room and took her into his arms. As he teased her lips apart with his tongue, he ran his hands down her back. She raised on her toes and pressed against him. Her response created an urgency he had to deny. Any moment, Bevel or Peggy would arrive and he wanted no interruptions.

Reluctantly, he released her. "We’ll leave right after breakfast if that suits you."

The look of disappointment on her face made him smile. She lowered her gaze. "I would like that."

He limped back to his room for the cane. Leaning heavily on the stick, he navigated the stairs. While he ate a hearty breakfast, he thought about his wife’s eager response. Though he’d never touched her naked body, he could almost feel he’d felt her soft skin, had suckled her lush breasts and explored her secret places.

A fever dream, he decided. He recalled a brief snatch of a vivid fantasy in which he’d touched her face. How he wished that had really happened. He wiped his mouth and headed to the Great Hall to await Nicola.

* * * *

Nicola tapped the toe of her half boot on the floor and wished her maid would hurry. As Peggy arranged Nicola’s hair, the abigail chattered. Nicola paid little attention to the tale. Instead, she mulled over the earlier encounter with her husband. Why had he walked away? He’d kissed her the way he had the night she had become his wife in truth, yet this morning, he had abandoned her and left her body craving his caresses.

He had responded to her. She had felt his body quicken. His heart had beat in time with hers. What had she done wrong?

Had her disobedience been the reason? Several days before the wedding, he’d forbidden her to wear the dhoti and to practice yoga. Or had his injured leg troubled him. He’d limped as he walked away.

She sighed. Perhaps he now remembered his command for her to remain in the house. Her attempt to escape had caused his injury. Did he blame her as much as she blamed herself?

"Which spencer, my lady," Peggy asked.

"The dark blue one." Her pale blue carriage dress was made from corded muslin and trimmed with dark blue ribbon. She tied a white chip hat decorated with a pale blue ribbon beneath her chin. Holding the spencer, she walked to the door. Perhaps during the day, she and Drew would find a way to come together instead of standing apart.

Chapter 17

As Drew paced from the Great Hall into the smaller one, his cane tapped on the black and white marble squares. Each time he passed the staircase, he glanced up. Where was Nicola? This morning, he had nearly lost control. Had his passion frightened her? His actions had been precipitous but the sight of her bare legs and her responses to his kiss had breached his hold on his desires.

Almost, he could love her, but since he had no belief in the truth of that emotion, he had little more than affection to offer. Would that be enough to keep her at his side?

He reached the stairs again. He looked up and saw her. Beautiful, he thought. Mine. The degree of possessiveness he felt made him tighten his grip on the cane. From where had the wish to own her completely come? He’d never considered himself as a jealous or possessive man.

She moved with light steps down the stairs. Her pale blue gown reminded him of the spring sky. He took several steps forward and halted. He couldn’t rush the day or his plans with impulsive behavior. Time must be spent with her without the constant and annoying interruptions that had broken every attempt he had made to woo his wife.

"Good morning," she said. "I hope you’ve not been waiting long."

"’Twas worth the wait." He offered her his arm. "The day promises to be perfect." He stared into her eyes and nearly asked what caused the sadness underlying her smile.

A footman opened the door. While she donned her spencer, Drew stepped outside. A groom waited with the curricle. Drew allowed the footman to help him onto the seat. Nicola scrambled up beside him.

"Jem be waiting to know if I should come along," the groom said.

Drew reached for the reins. "No need, but thank Jem."

The man hunched his shoulders. "Her ladyship requested the other carriage for shopping."

Nicola laughed. "How Grandmother delights in wandering through the shops. And with Elizabeth along, they may never come home."

Drew chuckled. "Thank you for the warning. When we are in London, I’ll be sure to hire a special carriage and two footmen to travel with them."

She reached out and brushed her fingers along his cheek. "Tell me about these properties."

What he wanted to do was return the horses to their stalls and carry her up to their suite. Instead, he flicked the reins and sent the team down the lane leading to the road. "The first is on the other side of the village and I fear the house has fallen into disrepair though at one time it was a showplace. The second property is north and west though a corner of it touches Denmere land. There is a third but the distance is more than I wish to travel today without spending a night in an inn." A choice that had no part in his plans for today.

"Then I’ll pray for good fortune."

He turned the carriage onto the road. "I would like to thank you for the care you took of me when I was ill."

"That was my duty."

He studied the road. He wished she felt more than an obligation to him. He wished she would love him. His stomach knotted. How could he wish that when he couldn’t give her love in return? He could offer affection and respect but little else.

For a time, they rode in silence. Then Nicola began to talk about her plans for the other wings of the house. He told her about the farms and the improved methods he struggled to get the tenants to accept.

"Change is hard," she said. "Unless it comes without warning."

"If you’d had time to think, would you have followed your father’s dictates?" Suddenly, the answer seemed important. He wanted to hear her say she would have chosen him without her father’s arrangement.

She sighed. "There was the threat of Cousin Fergus to consider. I’d already planned to bring my sisters here and beg my mother’s family for a refuge."

"And yourself?"

"Though leaving them would have been hard, I wanted to return to India. My sisters are for more suited to this country than I am. Elizabeth will be a social success and Margaret would like land where she can raise herbs and animals. Land is scarce in India."

"And now?"

Her hesitation bothered him. Did she still want to return to the country of her birth?

"My life has changed and I’m learning to be content with my lot."

He wished he could give her more than contentment. He wanted to give her joy and excitement. Maybe they could find those things in the marriage bed.

Once past the village, he consulted the directions Mr. Grey had sent. A short time later, he pulled into the lane leading to the first property.

"There are tales in the village about the lady in white who haunts this house. She was a woman who lost her betrothed in the times of Henry the Eighth. I’ve heard it said she comes to the church when there is a wedding."

"Margaret said she saw her on our wedding day."

He frowned. There was more to the story that he didn’t recall. They rounded a bend in the lane and caught their first sight of the house and the gardens. The disorder shocked him and though the condition of the Tudor house was bad, he thought about Denmere before his wife arrived.

"How dreadful to let such a place go unattended."

"The house has pleasing proportions and the garden can be tamed. I think Elizabeth will welcome the challenge."

Fastidious Elizabeth, he thought. "I would think disorder more a Margaret ideal."

Nicola laughed and climbed down from the seat. He groaned. He should have helped her down. He thumped the cane against the ground and wished he didn’t need its aid.

Nicola opened the door of the sprawling Tudor house. Drew followed her inside. A musty odor assaulted him. He sneezed. Dust covered the floors and grimed the mullioned windows. Cobwebs gathered in the corners. Despite the desolate condition, the proportions of the room were marvelous. The stairs to the second floor rose in a graceful spiral.

His wife laughed. "Elizabeth will glory in the house and in turning each room into a perfect setting. She told me that though she wishes to wed a man wealthy enough to keep her in furs and silks, he must also possess a dingy castle for her to bring to life. This house will give her practice."

Drew laughed. Though he remained skeptical about Elizabeth wanting this derelict house, he allowed Nicola’s wishes to rule. "I’ll write Mr. Grey and tell him to make an offer. Now, let’s be off before we look as though we’ve been rolling in a dustbin."

Her laughter flowed with his. The harmonious unity gave him hope the rest of the day would go as smoothly. He forgot to protest when she helped him into the curricle.

"I can’t wait to tell Elizabeth about her fortune."

He guided the carriage toward the road. "You’ll have to wait until I discuss the whereabouts of your father’s cousin and the purchase papers are signed."

She sighed. "Cousin Fergus has proved to be a thorn. Prabha says he’s evil. She named him a cobra. I’m glad I punched him and would gladly do it again."

"Let me deal with the man."

He flicked the reins and set the horses to a faster pace than an amble. "Let’s hope the next property is suitable for Margaret. What kind of house do you envision for her."

"She would live in a single room if there’s a large barn, stables and enough land for a greenhouse and a garden. She is horse mad, you know."

"And dogs, frogs, cats. Don’t forget pigs. Has she always craved a menagerie?"

"In India, she had a mongoose and a monkey. Once she tried to bring a baby elephant home. Thank heavens a pig is an easier pet." She slid closer to him. He put an arm around her waist and halted the carriage long enough to kiss her lightly.

For a long time neither of them spoke. He started the horses forward and allowed himself to hope a slow and patient wooing would win him what he wanted.

An hour later, he located the twin willows that marked the entrance to the second property. A small Georgian house sheltered by a stand of willows stood a short distance from the lane.

The second estate was completely different from the first. The house contained but six bedrooms. A caretaker and his wife resided in a cottage not too distant from the house. The stone barn predated the house and because the place had once been a horse breeding farm, the stables were more than adequate. A meandering brook flowed through the property. Just beyond a small cluster of willows, Drew discovered a small white structure with wooden shutters that could be opened. Benches had been built along the walls.

"Let’s have our picnic here," he said. "Rather than search for a spot on our way home."

Nicola smiled. "I wondered if you’d planned to starve me. Let me run and fetch the basket. I’m sure you’re tired from all the walking."

Though he hated to admit she was right, his leg ached. He sat on one of the benches. "Don’t tarry."

"If you don’t see me for a lengthy time, be sure I’ve discovered the wonders of the luncheon Cook prepared and stopped to eat my fill."

"Is this how you plan to treat your husband?"

"You will see." She hurried away.

Drew closed his eyes. There were things he had to tell her, apologies to be made, thanks to be given. He wasn’t sure how to begin but he knew the guilt they both felt over his injury needed to be resolved and soon.

"I think we should spread the blanket in the sun," Nicola said.

With a start, Drew opened his eyes. He rose and felt his leg threaten to buckle. He reached for the cane. "I should be doing this."

She brushed his arm with her fingers. "’Tis hardly a labor to carry a basket and spread a blanket. I’m sure if I’d been injured, you would fetch and carry for me. Why should the reverse not be true?"

"But you have done so much for me since the accident."

"I am to blame." She put the basket on the blanket.

He shook his head. "The fault is mine. If I hadn’t been such a boor, you would have told me about Crawford’s presence at the wedding feast."

"If I hadn’t been angered by your restrictions, I would have stayed in the house. Perhaps we are equally to blame and there is no reason for guilt." She laughed. "’Tis a thought worthy of Yogi Yakshi."

Drew lowered himself to the blanket. "Who is this Yogi person?"

"A wise old man who taught me much about the myths and philosophy of India and the various ways of striving for perfection." She opened the basket and laid out the food.

"How does one go about that?"

"There is meditation, yoga and kama."

He frowned. Had the latter been part of the book title of the instruction manual Nicola had mentioned? He reached for the wine bottle, removed the cork and poured two glasses. When he handed one to her, his fingers lingered. He touched his glass to hers. "To a perfect day and the perfect companion."

Nicola sipped the wind and felt a cord of heat flow to join the warmth she experienced from his touch. How wonderful if he meant his words for they bore a promise for the future.

"What would you like? There is chicken, ham and beef, rolls and greens and several other dishes."

He smiled and she felt her heart race. "For you to sit near me." He reached for a piece of chicken, took a bite and held it out to her. "Since we share the blame for my injury, we can share our meal as well."

She moved to sit beside him, fished a roll of ham from the container and held it to his mouth. He nibbled until he reached her fingers. "Enough. We must eat, not tease."

When Nicola had eaten her fill, she sat with her arms around her knees. The day seemed a dream she prayed would never end. Drew stretched out on the blanked with his hands beneath his head.

"You look ready for a nap," she said.

"I might at that, but what will you do?"

"Sit and think."

"About what?"

"Perhaps nothing, though I’ve found it hard to clear my mind since I left India."

"Are these thoughts troublesome?"

She wasn’t sure how to reply. So often her thoughts dwelled on him and her worries about his expectations for their marriage.

He pushed into a sitting position. "I won’t waste our time napping. Do you realize this is the first time since our marriage there have been no interruptions. No Margaret bearing pigs or Elizabeth with complaints."

"No Sarad with letters or Mr. Grove and the tenants with a hundred questions."

He moved closer and slid his arm around her waist. "This is nice, but I think I would miss the chatter, the protests and the questions if they were gone forever."

She turned to face him. His gaze fanned tiny fires in her chest. He pulled her closer and brought his lips to hers. An avalanche of strange and thrilling sensations rolled over her. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks and glided his tongue along her lips.

His fingers found the pins in her hair. One by one, he removed them until her hair tumbled free. He plunged his hands into the mass. "I’ve wanted to do this since the first time we met. Your hair makes me think of rich warm earth."

"I’m not sure that’s a compliment."

"For a man who’s a farmer at heart, consider it the best." He slid down and pulled her to lie beside him. His hands moved to the buttons on the front of her dress.

When his fingers began to open the buttons, Nicola inhaled. Surely he didn’t mean to lie with her in the open. What if someone came along and saw them? He turned on his side. As he unfastened each button, he kissed the exposed skin. Small shivers played along her spine. The brush of his warm breath brought delight. His hands parted her dress and he caressed her breasts. The silk of her chemise slid across the aching tips. Without thought, she arched against him.

He suckled one breast and then the other. Nicola felt a need to move, to feel him deep inside her as she had once before. She felt the evidence of his arousal, hard and throbbing against her hip.

When he groaned and sat up, she felt as though she’d been abandoned. He slowly fastened the buttons of her dress and moved away.

"Don’t you want me?" she asked.

He brushed strands of her hair from her face. "A foolish question. "This isn’t the time or the place to allow matters to go beyond my control. I want you. I desire you, but I want our first time to be in a bed."

"But --"

He pressed his fingers to her lips. "I believe it is time for us to return to Denmere."

Nicola knelt on the blanket and began to braid her hair. What did he mean the first time? Had he no recollection of the night he’d made her his wife? She could never forget a moment of that time. How could he have forgotten?

* * * *

Drew looked down the dinner table to where Nicola sat. The meal had dragged until he wanted to shove his chair from the table and march the length of the room to grab his wife and carry her upstairs. His body hummed with the need that had been stoked during the day.

"Lucinda is most clever," Margaret said. "She answers to her name."

Elizabeth laughed. "’Tis only because you coax her with milk. Nica, you should have been in the village today. Viscount Devonley treated Grandmother and me to tea. He’s so handsome. I nearly swooned when he smiled. Alas, he returns to London tomorrow."

"Without an arrangement with Cynthia Rasher," Aldora said. "A good thing. He’s too young and callow for marriage." She signaled and one of the footmen moved her chair back. "I believe we will go to the music room."

Drew rose. He reached Nicola’s side before the cluster of females surrounded and bore her to the India parlor. "Nicola and I have matters to discuss."

Aldora smiled. Drew felt sure he saw the same gleam of mischief in her eyes as he’d seen so often in Margaret’s before she played one of her tricks.

"Then you must join us later," Aldora said. "I’d like to hear about the things you did today."

Nicola’s face flushed. "We visited several properties, that is all."

Drew pulled on her hand. "Good night,"

"Why would you want to go to bed?" Margaret asked. "’Tis too early."

Nicola looked at him. The puzzlement on her face brought an urge to kiss her worries away. He urged her down the hall and nearly dragged her upstairs.

"Drew, what have I done?"

He turned her and kissed her lightly. "It’s not what you’ve done but what you will." Her blush spread to the edge of her bodice and he felt sure reached her toes.

"Oh." A smile lit her face. For a moment, he thought he saw desire shining in her eyes. How could that be, he wondered. She had nothing more than the words she’d read in books to tell her what was about to occur.

He opened his chamber door. Bevel rose. "I won’t need you tonight. Let Peggy know the countess won’t need her."

"Very good, my lord." Bevel strode to the dressing room door. "I’ll see you in the morning at the usual hour."

"I’ll ring when you’re needed," Drew said.

Once the valet departed, Drew put his arms around Nicola and held her close. He bent his head to kiss her. She stepped back. "Why did you send Peggy away? I’ll never be able to unfasten the back of my gown."

His mouth covered hers. His tongue brushed her lips. He tasted a hint of cinnamon left from the apple tart they’d had for dessert. Her lips parted. His tongue delved into her mouth, plunging and withdrawing. He inched her closer until her body seemed melded with his.

Reluctantly, he released her lest he move too fast and frighten her. He pulled off his jacket and unfastened his cravat.

Nicola stared at her husband. The look in his eyes sent heat spiraling downward. As he unfastened the studs on his shirt, she wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t help remembering the splendor of his body. He dropped his shirt on the floor beside his jacket and his cravat. Her eyes focused on the dark hair covering his chest. Her hands tingled with a memory of the feel of his skin and muscles.

She took a deep breath. As she was about to step forward, he moved until he was behind her. He opened the first button on her gown. Then she felt the touch of his lips. One by one, he alternated buttons and kisses. He pushed her gown from her shoulders and down her arms.

His fingers found her breasts and lightly massaged them. The tips pushed against his hands. She wiggled and felt him throb against her. His lips nuzzled her nape. His hands moved from her breasts and for a moment, she feared he would leave her.

Slowly, he turned her to face him. Her gown tangled around her legs. He pulled her into a tight embrace. She looked into his eyes and wished she could read more than desire in their depths. The heat she saw seared a trail to her heart.

What would she do if he never learned to love her? Did she have the patience of Parvati to wait until her Siva noticed her? The kisses he trailed along her neck and the feel of his hands splaying against her buttocks while he moved against her made her trade fears for hope. She opened her mouth to confess her love, but his lips covered hers and his tongue touched hers. For a time their tongues dueled, thrust and parried. The fire in her yoni blazed.

He eased her chemise down and freed her breasts. His hands and then his tongue caressed the tips. "Nicola, I need you."

She couldn’t speak. She put her arms around his neck and met his lips with hers. She inhaled his scent. Sensations cascaded through her body until she feared she would drown in them.

He released her, kicked off his half-boots and pulled his trousers down. Surely he was larger than the night he’d taken her in fevered haste.

Nicola pulled her chemise over her head. Drew’s gaze caressed her, moving from her full breasts to her narrow waist and focusing on the dark hair above her cleft. Her body fulfilled his every dream. He drew her into his arms. He kissed her lips and then her lowered lids. "I’ll try not to hurt you, but I fear I must."

"What do...."

His lips cut off her words. He needed no conversation, just the movement of his body on hers as he claimed possession. With a fluid movement, he lifted her into the bed and knelt between her legs. Before he plunged into her depths, he brought his mouth to her breasts and suckled deeply. She moaned. She moved. He slid a finger along her cleft and felt the moisture gathered there. When he touched the tiny bud, she cried out. His finger moved rhythmically. So did her body.

Her moans became mewling cries that increased in intensity. He plunged inside her. For a moment, the absence of a barrier caught him by surprise, but then she moved and he was caught in the rhythm of the dance.

"Siva," she cried.

The violence of her climax triggered his. For a moment, he reveled in his possession of her body until he remembered her cry and her lack of a maidenhead. He tensed. Anger surged to the fore. She had played him for a fool. He rolled off her and got to his feet.

"Drew, what is wrong?"

"Surely you know." He reached for his clothes and began to dress.

"What have I done?"

He fastened his trousers. "Why, madam, you cried for your lover. How crude. I thought to trust you and believed your tale that you’d been with no other man. Tonight, I discovered you lied."

"No, you’re wrong. Don’t you remember?"

He shoved his shirt into his trousers and pulled on his boots. "What is there to remember?"

"The night your fever broke. The night you made me your wife."

He reached for his jacket and strode to the door. "How good of you to remind me of a time that is beyond recall. It’s a mist clever tale." He opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Chapter 18

Nicola watched the chamber door close. Stunned by her husband’s quiet accusation, she pressed her fist against her mouth to stop the scream that rose deep inside. How could he have forgotten the time their bodies had joined? Memories of that night were inscribed on every inch of her flesh and etched on her heart. Though he’d been fevered, she couldn’t believe he had no memory of that night. If only he cared enough to seek them.

He hadn’t wanted to marry her or any woman. His reasons for accepting her father’s offer had been clearly stated. "For money and an heir." He had no desire for love. She had hoped, and for the past two weeks, had believed he’d changed his mind. Was there a way to bring what she knew was hidden into the light?

She sat up. Prabha had the sheets with the tell-tale stain. Her breath rushed out. Even if he saw the sheets, he would accuse her of deceit. Besides, there wouldn’t be enough time for her to dress and run to Prabha’s room in the servants’ quarters before he rode off.

He would leave. Walking away seemed his solution to every problem and his method of avoiding confrontations. Had the pattern been set the day his mother had abandoned him? Did he fear he possessed the same violent streak as his father?

She pulled the sheet around her shoulders. His scent lingered on the cloth. A feeling of desperation stronger than when she’d left India brought an ache to her chest. Using the sheet to cover herself, she left her husband’s bed and walked to her room. There, she knelt on the window seat and pressed her face against the glass.

A full moon lit the sky. She saw a mounted figure ride from the stables and head toward the lane. Tears leaked from her eyes and ran down her face.

She’d been unable to defeat his demons. Her tears flowed faster. She wiped her eyes on the sheet. He had consigned them both to the fate of his parents, to love and die unwanted and alone.

She turned from the window and crept to her bed. Her parents had slept in this bed. Here they’d found love. So had she. At least that had been her thought. She curled into a ball and recalled the days of her husband’s illness. She heard his fevered cries, touched his heated skin, felt him moving deep inside her and savored the sensations he’d elicited. Memories of the promise she had found in his embrace blurred.

Lost, she thought. His refusal to believe her had fractured every dream.

She had to leave Denmere. Though once she’d planned for an escape, Drew’s accident, his illness and their growing friendship had changed her decision. Plans to leave this bleak land must be made. While she wanted to return to Calcutta, she had to face the impossibility of that choice. Cousin Fergus would find her there and force her to work for him.

India was a vast country. Before she decided on a place, the gemstones had to be sold. Oxford or London? The jeweler in Oxford had been her grandmother’s friend. If she went to him, she feared the tale would reach Denmere before she left. London then. A smile crossed her face as a plan emerged.

Sarad would go with her to London. He would help her find a safe place in India. Her shoulders slumped. Her friend would never leave his mother behind and Prabha wouldn’t leave Margaret.

Tears filled Nicola’s eyes. By returning to India, she would leave those she loved behind. Her sisters, her grandmother and....She gulped a breath. The love she had for her husband couldn’t be denied. Why had he chosen not to return her love? Yogi Takshi’s prediction for her future had proved false. Had her teacher woven a dream to make leaving her beloved country an easier choice?

She pulled the covers over head to muffle her gut- wrenching sobs. Though her heart urged her to stay, she had no reason to remain.

* * * *

Voices woke Nicola. She eased the covers from her face. Peggy stood at the dressing room door. "He isn’t here and I don’t know where he’s gone. My lady’s sleeping."

"At nearly noon," Bevel asked. "She’s not one to be abed so late."

Peggy tittered. "With the state of your master’s bed, I fear she’ll sleep until supper time."

"That doesn’t tell me where the Earl is," Bevel said. "Why were you in his room? That’s my domain."

"To return the sheet from his bed. Lord knows how it got here."

Nicola felt her cheeks flame. She wanted to duck beneath the covers and never emerge. "Is there a problem?"

"The Earl’s gone," Bevel said.

"I believe he left for London," Nicola said. "He left in a rush."

"Without me?" The valet’s voice squeaked. "What am I to do now?"

Nicola raised her head from the pillow. "Wait until he sends for you."

The valet vanished. Peggy approached the bed. "Would you like tea or should I send for a tray?"

Nicola swallowed. The thought of food or tea made her ill. "Nothing." She pulled the covers to her chin.

"What’s wrong?"

"My stomach is unsettled. I believe I’ll stay in bed a little longer."

"If you are ill, that’s the very thing to do. Let me draw the draperies and warn your sisters away."

Nicola turned on her side. Was she ill or were the pails of tears responsible for the nausea that threatened to undo her?

* * * *

With a clatter, Nicola dropped the teacup on the tray and reached for the basin. Eight mornings, or was it nine? She collapsed on the pillows and willed her stomach to behave. "Peggy, take the tray."

"Again, my lady. Your grandmother is very concerned. She wants to send for Dr. Rodgers and the Earl."

Nicola’s hard-fought battle for control over her stomach failed. She leaned over the basin. "I’ll be all right. There’s no need to worry. By noon, I’ll be myself."

"Your sister’s nurse says she can make a tea to calm your nerves."

Nicola shook her head. "Just let me rest awhile."

"My lady, it is possible you are breeding? My mum says she knew the minute she took because the sickness came right away."

Breeding! Nicola bit her lower lip. The possibility she was with child existed. ‘Twas days past the time her monthly flow was due. Her hands clenched. Her stomach roiled. What would she do if she were carrying a baby? Drew would never admit the child was his.

She covered her eyes with her arm. What of her plans? She couldn’t remain here to face her husband’s scorn but where could she go? The voyage to India was too long and arduous for a breeding woman. As she waited for the churning to subside, she revised her plan. If not India, she would find a refuge in England and raise her child alone.

I must become a widow when I have hardly been a wife. What kind of husband? Perhaps a soldier killed in battle or a clerk employed by the East India Company. Before her grandmother sent word to Drew, she had to make her escape.

With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. "Peggy, I think I’ll wear the rose dress this morning."

"Are you sure you should be about? You look pale."

"I feel much better." She pressed her hands against the mattress and stood. After swallowing several times, she let Peggy slip the dress over her head and brush her hair.

Once the maid departed, Nicola put on a pair of shoes. She had to see Sarad and tell him of the change in her plans. Cautiously, she slipped into the hall. With luck, she would gain her husband’s study without encountering her sisters of her grandmother. She had no wish to hear any rumor about her condition and be forced to deny what she feared was true.

At the foot of the stairs, she peered into the hall. Seeing no one, she hurried to the study and slipped inside.

Sarad sat at the desk. "Nic...my lady, I heard you have been ill."

She slumped into a chair beside the desk. "Sarad, how far have you progressed with our plans?"

He frowned. "There are several ships due to depart for India in the next few weeks. Why do you want to return? Have you forgotten Crawford is there?"

She straightened. "Has he left England?"

"I have no way of knowing where he is, but why would he stay here now that the Earl knows what he tried to do? There is no need for you to flee this house."

Though she wished her friend’s words were true, she believed Cousin Fergus lurked somewhere near waiting for another chance. "It doesn’t matter about him. I must leave Denmere."

"Why?"

"My husband. You’re my friend and I’m depending on you to help me." She related the new plans.

He groaned. "I think you do the wrong act."

"Then I’ll go on my own."

"How can I betray the trust the Earl has given me?"

Nicola rose. "If you won’t help, you betray me. Please, I’ll give you a share of the money from the sale of the gemstones. Come to London and deal with the land agent for me and become the husband of the Maharani of Calcua until the gems are sold."

He nodded. "This is a bad thing, but I will not let you go alone."

She wiped her eyes. "Thank you. Now, here is what we must do..."

* * * *

A fortnight after his departure from Denmere, Drew rode into London. His visit to the small Yorkshire property had given him a chance to regain his strength. He rode into the stable yard behind the townhouse. A groom emerged. "Who be ye?"

"The Earl," Drew said.

The man held the horse while Drew dismounted. "Be needing the horse tonight?"

"Not until morning." Drew walked through the walled garden to the front of the house. He pounded on the door.

A footman answered. "The family is not in residence, sir."

"I’m the Earl."

The man’s eyebrow lifted. "Are you sure you have the right house?"

"You were hired by Mr. Grey, but I can fire you."

"Sorry, my lord. We received no notice to expect you. Should I hang the knocker?"

"Not yet." At the moment, Drew had no intention of announcing his presence in town. He handed the man his coat. "I’ve been on the road since dawn. A bath and a tray in my room are in order. Is there no butler?"

"Mr. James is expected back from the wine merchant’s soon. When he returns, I will inform him of your presence. Does your valet follow?"

"No."

As Drew walked to the stairs, he compared the house to Denmere. Though clean, the furnishings were as sparse and shabby as those at the manor had been before the arrival of his wife.

He grimaced. Thoughts of Nicola brought anger and a need to know the identity of the man she had called for in her passion. Drew hadn’t believed he could feel jealousy. Until Nicola had entered his life, he had kept his emotions on ice.

Who? As he strode up the steps, he chanted names. Sarad. Impossible. The boy was Nicola’s friend, nothing more. Devonley had been at the Rasher’s during the time Drew had lingered in London, but Nicola thought the Viscount amusing.

Yogi Takshi, Nicola’s teacher. The man who had taught her how to seek enlightenment.

"There is meditation, ansanas and Kama."

He pushed the door of the master bedroom open. A short time later, a footman arrived with water for a bath. Drew stripped and stepped into the tub. The hot water soothed his aching muscles but nothing could ease his throbbing thoughts.

As he ate dinner, he considered leaving the house and finding an escape from his haunted thoughts. Tristan would be in town. His friend seldom visited his Cornwall estates and when he did, he never lingered.

Drew yawned. Tomorrow or the next day would be soon enough to visit his friend. He didn’t have the energy to plunge into the social scene and dash from one entertainment to another. He left the tray on the table and lay on the bed.

Sleep eluded him. The same question that had worried him since he’d discovered his wife had been with another man remained like a piece of granite that would not be dug up.

Memories from his childhood stormed the barriers he had built. Had his father held the same obsession for his wife as Drew felt for Nicola? Had his father continued to crave his wife even after she’d betrayed him?

Slowly, the barriers crumbled and Drew hurtled into scenes that wouldn’t stop. Laughter turned to screams. Kisses to punches. Words of love had become bitter. Hurting phrases he’d forgotten. "I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d never been born. I don’t want you but she’ll never have you."

He rolled on his side. How could he have taken his wife’s virginity and not remembered? When the fever had broken, he’d been too weak to feed himself. He beat the mattress with his fists. As he fell into sleep, an odd thought arose. Why did he remember hearing Nicola’s voice and the touch of her soft skin?

* * * *

Two days later, Drew rose from the chair in Mr. Grey’s office. "Do you think they’ll find him?"

"If he is still in the country but I don’t think it will be today or tomorrow. Fergus always had a talent for slyness."

Drew shook the older man’s hand. "Thank you for hiring servants for the townhouse. Notify me immediately when you hear from Bow Street."

"Of course. Give my best to your bride."

Without responding, Drew stepped outside and glanced at the sky. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been with Mr. Grey and the pair of Bow Street Runners the older man had recommended. Hiring the men had been a logical choice. He had no intention of allowing Crawford near Nicola. Though Drew didn’t believe he could ever trust her, she belonged to him. When he returned to Denmere, he would lay his terms before her.

There would be no London Season for his wife, even after she presented him with an heir. Once he had his son, he would see his wife settled in the remote and isolated Yorkshire estate. He would never allow her the opportunity to flee from him the way his mother had.

For a long time, he stood outside the office and pondered his next move. He wasn’t ready to return to Denmere and face his bride. He flipped a coin to the lad who had watched his gray while he’d met with the solicitor. After mounting, he headed for Tristan’s townhouse. The quite proper butler showed him to the library.

Tristan lounged before the fire. "Drew, I didn’t expect to see you in town so soon after the nuptials."

"I had some problems to solve."

When Drew filled a glass with brandy and took a healthy swig, Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Serious enough to make you abandon your bride. Enlighten me."

The brandy burned his tongue and sent a path of heat to Drew’s stomach. He sat across from his friend and related the story of Crawford’s arrival and the kidnapping of Nicola. "Had to hire Runners to find the man." He finished the brandy and poured a second glass.

Tristan leaned forward. "Couldn’t you have sent word to them? Why did you leave your countess in danger? Seems there is more to this tale than you’re telling."

"Perhaps." Drew swallowed more brandy. "Do you have plans for this evening?"

"Supper here followed by a visit to Eugenie’s. I’m bored with the mamas and my aunt pushing chits in my path."

"Perhaps I’ll join you." Drew wondered if any of the women could remove the aching need he felt for his wife.

Tristan rose and reached for the decanter. "Are you telling me the honeymoon is over? I would know more."

Drew held his glass for a refill. "I’ve no wish to speak of her unfaithfulness."

"You just did." Tristan put his glass on the table beside his chair. "Was she ravished by Crawford?"

"No."

"Then who?"

Drew shook his head. "Before...India."

"I can’t believe that. If there ever was an innocent, it is your bride. How did you reach this conclusion?"

Drew tossed down the last of the brandy. "She inshists I took her when I was fevered. Imposhible."

Tristan chuckled. "A mere fever doesn’t stop a man from performing. Ramsey told a delightful story of pleasuring three women when he developed a fever after a wound. Why would you think your wife invented such a tale?"

"She shouted for Siva."

Tristan’s laughter made Drew’s head pound. Several minutes passed before his friend spoke. "I would be atop the houses if a woman named me as a god."

"God?"

"Siva is a lusty god of India known for his prowess."

Drew tried to stand. A memory flashed in vivid color. Nicola lay beneath him. "Oh, lord, what have I done? I mush go and see if I can repair what I’ve ruined." The furniture in the room swayed. He fell back into the chair.

"Not tonight," Tristan said. "I doubt you could stay on your horse."

"You are abshutley correct." Drew found moving his tongue difficult. "Mush sleep. Tomorrow..."

* * * *

Nicola eased her bedroom door open and crept into the hall. With one hand, she clutched the opening of her dark cloak. In the other, she held the pouch of gemstones and the box her father had given her. As she made her way along the dark hall to the West Wing stairs, she fought the urge to enter her sisters’ rooms and look on them once more before she vanished from their lives.

"A husband holds all rights to his children."

When she’d asked her grandmother why Drew’s mother had abandoned him, those words had been the answer. Nicola chewed on her lower lip. Why should Drew have custody of a child he would deny? Though she’d planned to send for her sisters as soon as she found a hiding place, those words told her she couldn’t. Would they understand and accept the reasons she had written in her letter to them?

"He doesn’t believe I came to him untouched. He will deny the child is his. He won’t love me the way I love him. He might even give me to Cousin Fergus. All Drew cares about is the money I brought him and he can have that. Don’t be angry with me. If I can find a way for you to be with me, I will send for you."

Tears stained the paper, but the time for crying had ended. She crept down the stairs and through the dark hall to the entrance to the rear courtyard. The noise caused by the door made her heard pound. She slipped outside.

With hurried steps, she ran down the lane to the road and hid behind the wall bordering the grounds. Just as dawn lightened the sky, she heard the rumble of a coach.

Sarad. Please let it be him. Yesterday, he’d left for Oxford stating he had business for the Earl. He had taken two portmanteaus and two valises containing her dresses from India and some things she couldn’t bear to leave behind. Saris borrowed without Prabha’s knowledge had completed her packing.

The carriage stopped. Sarad jumped down. "Are you sure this is what you must do?"

Nicola nodded and accepted his help to enter the coach. What alternative did she have? When the door closed and she was alone, she cried for the hopes that lay shredded. Finally, she wiped her eyes and refined her stories. The first, a widow’s tale and the second about the Maharajah and Maharani of Calcua.

*****

Three days later, an exhausted Nicola stood in the bedroom of her suite at Pulteny’s Hotel in Picadilly. During the trip, tears and nausea had claimed her. Last night, she’d remained at an inn outside London while Sarad had gone to the docks.

Fortunately, their arrival in London had coincided with the docking of a ship from India. If no one thought to check the passenger list, her masquerade should hold for the short time she remained in town.

She hung the last of the borrowed saris in the wardrobe and walked to the sitting room where Sarad waited. "You have the direction of the land agent and you know what I’m looking for."

He nodded. "I think you are making the wrong choice." Sarad had changed from the turban and richly embroidered coat chosen for their entrance into the hotel to the clothes he usually wore. "I will return with the listings."

"Tomorrow we’ll visit the first of the jewelers. The one on Sackville Street where Mr. Grey sent us."

"Don’t you fear the man will remember you."

Nicola laughed. "Dressed in a sari and veil? If I must speak ‘twill be in Hindi. You will be my voice."

Sarad walked to the door. "Since you cannot be moved from your choice, I will see this finished as soon as I can."

"Please order luncheon and tea for me. The less I’m seen the better ‘twill be."

"Especially if the cobra is settled here."

Nicola sighed. Mr. Grey would know if Cousin Fergus had returned to India, but she couldn’t seek her father’s friend. When Sarad closed the door, she retreated to the bedroom.

The dinner hour drew near and still Sarad hadn’t returned. Nicola’s worry grew as the minutes passed. At the instant her fear became panic, he arrived with a packet of property descriptions and directions. He also brought a book of maps. After dinner, Nicola studied the material and selected the one perfect for her needs.

* * * *

Nicola stood beside Sarad and watched the jeweler study the six emeralds that gleamed on the black cloth. Once again, Sarad wore a turban and the garb of a wealthy Indian. To enhance his image, she had fastened a large ruby to the turban. The jeweler made an offer. Nicola shook her head.

"Your offer is an insult for such magnificent stones," Sarad said.

The door of the shop opened. An elegantly dressed woman stepped into the shop. An older woman wearing drab colors followed.

"Mr. Pembrooke, have you repaired the clasp on my diamonds? I must have them for the ball Saturday. My husband will be most upset if I don’t wear them."

"Countess Truesdale, dear lady, of course they are ready. Wait here while I fetch them." He left the counter and entered the door at the rear of the shop.

Countess Truesdale moved toward the display case. She eyed Sarad with the same avidity as the jeweler had examined the emeralds. She ran her tongue across her lower lip. Then she glanced at Nicola.

"Who have we here? I’ve never seen your like before. From what exotic land have you come?"

Sarad bowed. "From India, my lady."

"And what do you do there?"

The jeweler emerged from the back. "My dear Countess Truesdale, may I present the Maharajah and Maharani of Calcua. They have come from India with a king’s fortune in gems. I believe they are some kind of nobility in their land."

"How wonderful." She moved closer to Sarad. "I would so love to hear more about your country. Perhaps you will pay me a call."

Nicola kicked Sarad’s foot. He smiled at the Countess. "Unfortunately, our stay in London is limited and our days are full."

"I won’t give up. Where are you staying?"

"At the Pulteny."

The jeweler opened the box he held. "Your diamonds, Countess."

She glanced at the necklace. "Send the bill to my husband." The older woman took the box and walked to the door. The Countess put her hand on Sarad’s arm. "I’ll send an invitation to my ball to your hotel. Do stay and attend. I’ll be the envy of everyone if you do."

When the door closed behind her, Sarad returned to the bargaining. Nicola held in the first laughter she had felt for weeks. Soon afterwards, she and Sarad left the shop. As he helped her into the carriage, she thought she saw Cousin Fergus. ‘Tis only my imagination. Still, her stomach threatened to rebel.

Chapter 19

Drew reached Denmere not long before the dinner hour. His departure from London had been delayed by a pounding head and reports from Bow Street. Crawford had been spotted in London, but the man had deftly evaded his pursuers. At least the man hadn’t lingered in the vicinity of Denmere. Drew regretted his hasty departure and his lack of concern for his wife and her sisters. He wondered if he would ever climb over the mountain of guilt.

Jem met him at the stable doors. "Ye be back, my lord. Is a good thing." The stable master studied the gray. "Near spent your mount."

Drew nodded. "I needed to get back."

"Be ye staying?"

"I believe so." Drew headed to the house. If Nicola forgave him, and even if she didn’t at first, he would remain to convince her he’d been a fool.

He opened the front door. "My lord, welcome back," a footman said.

"My lord, we did not expect you." Greene entered the Great Hall.

Drew handed his coat to the footman. "My business has been completed. It’s good to be home and I plan to stay for a long time."

As Drew headed to the stairs, he wondered about the worried look on the butler’s face. Did the servants think he hadn’t planned to return. He was sure conversation at the servant’s table centered around his treatment of Nicola. He halted mid-way up the stairs and considered staging a retreat. Being here and making amends seemed harder than he’d imagined. He reached his chamber and stepped inside.

Bevel sat in one of the chairs before the fire and polished a boot that hardly needed his services. "My lord, where have you been and why did you leave me behind? I can see you have sorely needed me." As soon as Drew sat on the edge of the bed, the valet pulled off Drew’s riding boots. "Your wardrobe appears in as sorry a state as when you hired me."

Drew took off his jacket and then his shirt. "I’ve been on the road for two days."

Bevel reached for the bell pull. "I’ll have water brought, my lord."

"There’s no time for a bath. I’ve no wish for dinner to be delayed to accommodate me. Nor do I wish to arrive in the middle of a meal."

The valet wrinkled his nose. "As you wish, my lord."

Drew strode into the dressing room and poured water into a basin. Once he’d washed, he changed into the clothes Bevel had laid out.

Drew heard no sounds from his wife’s room, but the absence didn’t trouble him. He wasn’t ready to face her. He sucked in a breath. She had called him a god and he had insulted her. During the ride, he’d remembered more about the days of his illness. A memory of stroking her face and calling her name just before he had plunged into her had added another yard of guilt. Though winning her forgiveness seemed impossible, he had to find a way to restore her hope and show her he trusted her.

"Would you like a drink before you go downstairs?" Bevel asked.

"Good lord, no." Even the thought of wine or brandy made his stomach churn.

Moments later, he stood outside the India parlor and squared his shoulders. Not only must he face his wife, but Aldora and his wards. He felt sure the bevy of females would stand united against him.

Aldora sat on a sofa near the fire. She looked up. "My boy, how did you come so quickly? Surely the messenger couldn’t have reached Yorkshire so soon."

"What messenger?"

"Nicola has vanished. How could you not love her?" She daubed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

Since he’d left London, he knew he wanted Nicola as more than a bed-partner. He swallowed. He loved her, but he didn’t wish to make his declaration to the Dowager. Nicola should be the first to hear the words. "What are you talking about? Where is my wife?"

The door opened. Margaret stomped toward him. The pig trailed behind her. "She has run away and we will never see her again. ‘Tis your fault. I don’t like you, my lord."

"Your uncaring attitude drove her away." Elizabeth faced him. "Once I thought to wed a man like you, but I’ve changed my mind. Why didn’t you believe Nicola?"

Margaret stood with her hands on her hips. The Dowager rose from the sofa and stood between the girls. Lucinda snuffled Drew’s boots. Questions and accusations bombarded him. He made no sense of the jumbled words.

"Silence," he shouted. "We’ll discuss this matter and leave blame-placing for later. Aldora, begin."

"La Drew, you’ve been gone for so long and we didn’t know where to reach you until Mr. Groves mentioned you had gone to Yorkshire. Until Nicola failed to join us for dinner, we didn’t know she was gone. She has been feeling ill most mornings and often remained in her room for most of the day."

"What did the doctor say?" Drew interrupted Aldora’s narrative.

"She would not see him."

Margaret shook her finger at him. "She’s going to have a baby. Prabha says ‘tis not unusual for a woman’s body to protest and make her sick."

A child, he thought. For a moment, the wonder of the news thrilled him. "That doesn’t explain where she’s gone."

"I fear ‘tis India," Elizabeth said. "She only came to England to see us safe. She stayed because she loved you. She wrote that in her letter."

"There were tear-stains on the paper," Margaret said.

He inhaled. "Where did she send this letter from?"

"’Twas on her pillow," Aldora said. "Her maid had gone home for several days while her mother gave birth. I went to speak to Nicola." Aldora reached into the sleeve of her dress and pulled out a piece of paper. "I cried when I read her words. Drew, how could you be so cruel? How many times have I warned you about your attitude? Why didn’t you listen?"

He took the note from her. "I behaved like an ass but until I know where she has gone, I can’t change the situation." He read the letter and felt as though a horse had kicked his chest. "I will find her."

"Where?" Elizabeth asked. "Will you go to India?"

"If I must."

"She is alone, but for Sarad," Margaret said.

"Sarad?"

Aldora put her arm around her granddaughter’s waist. "He’s gone as well and he didn’t tell his mother he was leaving. My boy, you have much to answer for."

"She took Prabha’s saris," Margaret said. "My amah is most worried."

"Do you think I’m not?" Drew asked.

"How nice." The irony in Elizabeth’s voice slashed him. "’Tis about time you cared for someone other than yourself. How could you cause her to believe you would deny being the father of her child?"

"La Drew, I’m afraid that man who tried to steal her will carry her away." Tears ran down Aldora’s cheeks. "I can’t bear another loss. My daughters are gone and now my grandmother is lost to me."

Margaret hugged her grandmother. Elizabeth kissed the Dowager’s cheek.

"I’ll find her," he said. "She can’t have gone far for she had no money."

"A lot you know," Margaret said. "She has the gemstones she brought from India."

"The ones Cousin Fergus wants," Elizabeth added.

Drew groaned. Nicola had surely gone to London. Where else would she find a ready market for the gems and where else could she find a ship leaving for India. "I’ll find her. I’ll leave at once."

Aldora put her hand on his arm. "What good will it be if you rush off exhausted and hungry? Have dinner and then rest for a few hours."

Though his urgency to leave was strong, he knew she was right. He wasn’t sure his leg would bear up under another long ride. "You’re right."

He offered Aldora his arm. "Let’s go in to dinner." He glared at Margaret. "The pig isn’t a guest I care to have at my table."

"I know. Lucinda stays with the footman during meal times." She picked up the pig and carried her to the door. "I won’t blame Nica if she refuses to speak to you."

"I’m in agreement with you." He led the way to the dining room and pulled out a chair for the Dowager. "I’ve made a muddle out of our lives."

Elizabeth took her seat. "Do you love her?"

Drew lifted a spoon of soup. "That is between Nicola and myself. I promise I’ll do everything possible to bring her back to Denmere."

"My boy, I believe I’ll set Bertha and Prabha packing for the girls and myself. We must marshal out forces. I wouldn’t want to see you make a cake of yourself."

Drew rolled his eyes. "The townhouse is understaffed and sparsely furnished. You wouldn’t be comfortable there."

Elisabeth clapped her hands. "We must go. There’s nothing I like better than bringing a house alive."

"She’s right," the Dowager said.

Drew groaned. He couldn’t keep them here. Once Aldora had made a decision, she moved ahead like a boulder pushed from the peak of a mountain.

"Once Nicola is found, I’m sure there will be many invitations," Aldora said. "Oh, we will have a lovely time."

Drew stared at his plate. If he had his way, he and Nicola would retire to their chamber and remain there until she believed in his love.

* * * *

Drew left at dawn, and by mid-morning Aldora had her troops gathered in the Great Hall. The footmen loaded trunks on the carriage where Bertha, Prabha, Peggy and Bevel were to ride. Margaret clutched her pig and danced from foot to foot.

Elizabeth examined her bonnet in a mirror. "Why must she bring the pig? People will stare and think we harbor a ninny."

"Just because you are vain and proud doesn’t mean I must be like you," Margaret said. "Lucinda is most well behaved." She grinned. "Besides, her presence irritates the Earl and I think he deserves to be uncomfortable."

"Come girls," Aldora called. "I’ve sent one of the grooms ahead to secure rooms at an inn for the night." She herded the girls ahead of her and saw them into the carriage. Then she turned to Greene. "If you hear anything from Nicola or Sarad, send a message to the townhouse."

When the coach rolled forward, Aldora smiled at her granddaughters. "I’m sure Drew doesn’t expect us to come so soon, but with frequent changes of horses, we’ll be in London by Saturday. Now, let us plan our strategy to bring the pair together."

"Lock them in their rooms," said Margaret. "Bind them hand and foot."

Elizabeth shook her head. "A foolish idea. Maybe we should let them solve their own difficulties."

"I won’t allow them to act the cabbage heads another minute. He isn’t to be trusted. I feel he’ll make a stew of something as simple as an apology for his boorish behavior."

Elizabeth sighed. "Do you think he loves her?"

"How could he not?" Aldora reached for Elizabeth’s hand. "While we’re in London, we must hire a dancing master and a music teacher. I believe the three of us will remain in town until summer and banish the lovers to Denmere. Oh la, ‘tis a brilliant idea."

* * * *

On Friday, the invitation to Countess Truesdale’s ball arrived. Sarad dropped the envelope in Nicola’s lap. She pulled out the enclosed note and chuckled. "It seems you have made a conquest. She will be distraught if you don’t attend her ball. And of course, you must bring your wife." She tapped the card against her hand. "I’d like to go."

"Attending would be a foolish idea and would draw too much attention to our presence in London," Sarad said. "What if Crawford learns you are here? And someone might discover we are not what we seem."

Nicola frowned. "What would be the harm? By Monday, I’ll be gone from London."

"I can’t forbid you." He shook his head. "Sometimes you are as heedless as Margaret."

"You’re right." Nicola sighed. Just once, she would like to attend one of the glittering balls Cynthia Rasher had boasted about. According to Cynthia, the Baron’s ball and the wedding celebration had been small gatherings compared to the crush of a London ball. Just once, she thought. Instead of discarding the invitation, she placed the envelope on the table.

Sarad picked up the book of maps. "Are you sure you want to purchase the cottage in Cornwall?"

She nodded. "According to the description, the village is small. The cottage is sound and near the ocean. ‘Tis not the bay or the Ganges but it will remind me of India."

"Then I will go to the land agent and make the payment." He disappeared into his room. A short time later, he emerged wearing dark gray trousers and a navy blue jacket.

Once Sarad left, Nicola felt restless. She had read the two books she’d brought from the library at Denmere. Her Sanskrit texts were on the table beside her bed, but she had no desire to read tales of heros and heroines. Nor did she want to read the Kama Sutra.

For a time, she paced from the sitting room to the bedroom. Without some diversion, she would go mad. Questions about her decision plagued her. Was it right to deprive Drew of his child? Not that he would ever admit to being the father. Was it right to abandon her sisters and grandmother? If she sent for them, Drew would find her. Could she live for years in the company of strangers and without the love of the man who held her heart?

She slumped on the bed and fought the nausea that still made her mornings miserable. She curled on her side. How long would Sarad be gone?

After a short nap, she walked to the wardrobe. The drab unfashionable dresses she’d brought from India hung behind the colorful saris. She took out a black bombazine. Dare she put on the dress and venture from the hotel to visit a bookseller’s? The more she considered the idea, the better it seemed. Yes, she would go.

She removed the sari and changed into the black dress. From a hatbox, she took a black bonnet with a heavy veil she’d chosen to complete her disguise as a widow. Taking care not to be observed by the other guests or hotel employees, she slipped down the stairs and across the lobby. The doorman hailed a hackney and she gave the driver the address of the bookstore on Bond Street she’d visited during the time she and her sisters had stayed with Mr. Grey.

As she leaned back in the seat, she caught a glimpse of a man who resembled her father’s cousin. Ridiculous, she thought. She couldn’t imagine Cousin Fergus leaving the vicinity of Denmere until he had the gems.

A short time later, she entered the bookstore. Rows and rows of books, the smell of leather bindings overwhelmed her. Slowly, she moved among the shelves, touching the tooled leather covering a book, lifting a volume and scanning the pages. Finally, she selected a book of poems by Shakespeare, one by Blake and a novel. After paying for her purchases, she stepped outside and looked for a passing hackney.

A hand grasped her arm and nearly caused her to drop the package of books. "Tis ye. Ain’t ye a bit feckless?"

Nicola swallowed. The voice belonged to Cousin Fergus. She turned and looked at him. His dark eyes glittered like a cobra’s and she was nearly trapped by their hypnotic gleam.

"You are mistaken. I don’t know you."

His laughter raised gooseflesh. "Ye can’t fool me, Lassie. Thought ye’d seen the last of yer dear cousin, did ye?"

She tried to pull free. "Let me go."

"Give me the Eye and the monies ye got from selling the other gems. Seems I don’t have the persuasive powers of yer pa. Couldn’t talk his thieves ta sell ta me. I needs what ye stole ta make good on some promises."

"I do not know who you are and what you’re talking about." She fought to keep fear from her voice.

"Foolish chit. Never thought yer husband would let ye prance around London town."

"I will scream if you don’t let me go."

"No one be believing ye when I tell ‘em grief has made ye crazy." He pulled her toward a closed coach.

Nicola swung her reticule and smashed it against his face. He jerked back. She pulled free and plunged past a group of people and around a corner."

"Demme, I will have ye."

Nicola continued her flight. She dared not look back to see how close he was. Why had she forgotten to order the hackney to wait?

She collided with a solid barrier. Arms enclosed her in an embrace. For several seconds, fear caused her heart to pound against her chest and thunder in her ears.

"What’s wrong?"

"Not Cousin Fergus, but a familiar voice. She looked up. The Duke of Cairnton held her against his chest.

She looked away and prayed he hadn’t recognized her. Perhaps her drab clothes and the heavy veil would blur her identity. He was Drew’s friend and being discovered by him was nearly as bad as being recaptured by Cousin Fergus. The Duke would inform her husband.

"Can I help you?"

She heard no recognition in his voice and relaxed. "My reticule...a man...tried to steal." Would he believe the words that popped out or her mouth like peas from a pod?

"Do you see him?"

She turned and looked in all directions. "He’s gone." She slumped against the Duke. Would her legs support her until she reached the hotel?

"May I take you somewhere?"

She shook her head. "I won’t trouble you further, sir. You’ve been a savior. Just let me find a hackney."

He stepped from the curb and hailed a passing coach. "I’m glad I could be of service."

"Thank you, your...sir." Nicola lifted her veil and gave the driver her direction. Then she collapsed against the cushions. Shivers shook her body. She clutched the books. Twice she had barely escaped recognition. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Since she had fooled Drew’s friend, she and Sarad could safely attend Countess Truesdale’s ball. As soon as she reached the hotel, she would send their acceptance.

* * * *

Tristan stared at the hackney. What the blazes was she doing in London? He couldn’t have mistaken those blue eyes as belonging to anyone other than Nicola Barlow, Countess of Denmere. What a coil. Drew had left London and headed for the manor house to repair his fractured marriage, but his wife was in London. For a moment, Tristan considered hauling her from the carriage and depositing her in Drew’s townhouse. He shook his head. He had no desire to stand guard over anyone’s runaway wife.

He signaled to the young lad he’d hired to hold his horse and climbed onto the high perch phaeton. The tiger scrambled to his position on the rear of the carriage. Tristan pulled into the street and allowed several carriages to form a line between his and the one bearing his friend’s bride. He followed until the vehicle halted in front of the Pulteny Hotel. After handing the reins to the tiger, he walked to the hotel. In the lobby, he inquired after the Countess of Denmere.

The clerk frowned. "There is no countess of anywhere in residence, sir."

Tristan turned to leave and halted. Striding across the lobby was the young man from India who acted as Drew’s secretary. Tristan smiled. He’d been right. Nicola Barlow was here, but under what name? He returned to the desk. "Who is the foreign gentleman who just came in?"

"The only foreign gentleman we have here is the Maharajah of Calcua and his wife."

Aha, Tristan thought. He strode to the door and hurried to his phaeton. When he reached Drew’s townhouse, he left a message requesting his friend to call on him as soon as he reached town.

That evening, he joined several acquaintances at White’s for dinner. A portly young man stopped at the table. "Cairnton, good to see you."

"And you, Truesdale. How is your charming wife?"

"In the boughs for she has stolen a march on all of London. The Maharajah of Calcua has accepted an invitation to our ball. Will we see you?"

Tristan smiled. "I wouldn’t dream of being absent. I’m expecting Denmere to arrive sometime tomorrow."

"Then bring him along. My wife will be delighted."

* * * *

On Saturday at mid-morning, Drew entered the townhouse. The butler took his coat. "My lord, we didn’t expect you to return so soon. The Duke of Cairnton wishes you to call on him immediately."

"Later," Drew said. "Inform the housekeeper that the Dowager Countess and my wards will arrive tomorrow or the next day. Rooms will need to be prepared."

"I will see to it at once," Percy said. "I will also notify Cook about the influx of guests. Are you off to the Duke’s?"

"First a bath. Have a footman lay out a change of clothes for me."

Instead of heading directly to Tristan’s townhouse, Drew visited some of the London jewelers. In shop after shop, he heard the same words. "I’m sorry, my lord. No English lady has been here with gems to sell."

By late afternoon, Drew felt discouraged. Would he find Nicola before Crawford did? Drew entered yet another shop. The response was the same. He turned to leave.

"Excuse me, my lord, I have some choice emeralds. From India, they are. It is strange, but they are a near match for some I purchased from a young English woman some months ago."

Drew halted. "Who did you buy them from?"

"The Maharajah of Calcua."

Could it be, Drew wondered. Sarad had come to London with Nicola. Had he posed as a maharajah? "Do you happen to have his direction?"

The jeweler shook his head. "I never thought to ask. Would you like to look at the emeralds?"

"Not today."

Drew mounted his horse and rode to Tristan’s. His friend stepped out of the house dressed for riding. "Drew, aren’t you dizzy from all the galloping about? How are things at the estate?"

"Nicola has taken some foolish notion and has come to town to sell some gems. I’ve been visiting the jewelers with little success."

"About your wife."

"I’ve no wish to discuss the matter. Where are you off to?"

Tristan tapped his crop on the railing of the steps leading to the house. "How would you like to join me at the Truesdale’s ball this evening?"

Drew groaned. "I’ve other matters to consider."

"I half promised you would be there."

"She is a ninnyhammer and he’s a nodcock. I’ve no time for frivolity. Nicola’s in danger. Crawford has been seen in London and unfortunately, he has gone to ground."

"Humor me. I promise a most enlightening evening. Seems the Countess has snared a pair of enigmatic guests."

Drew shook his head. "I must locate the Maharajah of Calcua."

Tristan grinned. "How very interesting. Seems he and his sweet wife plan to attend the very ball I’ve asked you to attend. I hear the Countess is beside herself."

Drew nodded. "I believe I’ll join you. What time should I expect you?"

"Tenish. Wouldn’t want to be among the first to arrive, would we?"

Drew inhaled. He would like to be standing on the steps of the Truesdale house when his bride arrived. "Of course not. I’ll see you then." He waved as Tristan rode away. Drew smiled. When he had his wife in his arms, first he planned to convince her of his love. Then he would scold her until she promised she would never leave him again.

Chapter 20

Nicola stepped from her bed chamber into the sitting room of the hotel suite. Silver embroidery on the midnight blue sari she wore glittered in the candlelight. In her hand, she carried a sapphire caged by six strands of silver that dangled from a silver chain. Though the setting was crude, the gem was magnificent and as large as her eye. She had found the strangely set stone in the secret compartment of the box her father had given her.

Sarad sat on the sofa. His red coat covered with designs created from thin strings of gold outshone her sari. "I am still believing this ball is the wrong action." His eyes widened. "Where did you find that?"

"The sapphire?"

He reached for the jewel and studied it intently. "I have heard tales about the Third Eye of Siva missing for more years than you and I have lived combined. How do you have it?"

"The stone was hidden in the box Papa gave me. Oh, Sarad, do you think he stole it? Is that why Cousin Fergus threatened to name Papa a thief?" Her stomach roiled when she recalled the threats.

Sarad shook his head. "The Eye vanished long before your father came to India, so long ago that the story is a myth. It is said he who possesses the Eye will be blessed with wealth and happiness."

"Yogi Yakshi told me a different story about the gem. That he who has the gem will gain what he deserves."

"Both may be right," Sarad said.

She hung the chain around her neck. "Do you think this is the sapphire Cousin Fergus wants?"

"If that is the case, I do not understand why you would wear the stone and why you are insisting on going tonight."

Nicola held her reasons inside. She couldn’t tell him she hoped to see her husband at the ball, to watch him and store memories to carry her into her self-imposed exile.

"What if Crawford followed you from the bookseller’s? He could be waiting outside to carry you away."

She sighed. "If he’s still around, I will be in as much danger tomorrow when I leave for the cottage and I won’t have your protection."

"You are right. He is a bhujang and will not meet you face to face. He will lurk in the shadows poised to strike. If he wants the Eye, he will not hesitate to harm you."

"I’ve escaped him twice and will do so a third time."

Sarad threw up his hands. "You are as foolhardy as Margaret and as overconfident as Elizabeth. You must promise not to stray from my side. What will you do if the Earl comes to the ball?

She fastened the veil and reached for the door. "Would you know me if you saw me from a distance? I won’t allow him to approach." She sighed. "I wish a nibble of the life I could have had. That is all."

"And if Crawford comes?"

Nicola laughed. "He doesn’t have entrance to such an affair."

Sarad shook his head. "That does not mean he will not try."

"If he comes, I’ll give him the Eye and we’ll be rid of him. If you don’t go with me, I’ll go alone."

"And for that reason alone, I will escort you." He rose. "Why not forgive your husband and return to his home?"

"You don’t understand. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t love me. He won’t believe I carry his child." Tears filled her eyes and she fought to keep them from falling.

More than anything, she wanted Drew’s love. For a handful of days, she’d believed she had won his heart, but she’d been fooled. To love, one had to trust. Drew had refused to believe she was different from his mother. She slumped against the door. By running from Denmere, she had proved his fears were true and had thrown away her chance for happiness.

Sarad offered his arm. "The Countess Truesdale will be devastated if we do not make our appearance. Come, the Maharajah and Maharani of Calcua’s coach awaits."

Nicole fastened the veil and followed Sarad from the room. The huge sapphire swayed in rhythm with her steps.

During the ride from the hotel to the Truesdale’s townhouse, despair filled her thoughts. Would it matter if Drew attended the ball? There would be no joyful reunion. By tomorrow, she would be on her way to Cornwall. She would gladly give the gemstone to Cousin Fergus if her hopes could be restored.

"We are here," Sarad said.

Nicola wet her lips. Her fingers brushed the sapphire. When the coach door opened, Sarad stepped down and waited for her to join him. Her fingers trembled as she placed them on his arm. They joined the line of arriving guests entering the townhouse.

A clock struck ten times as Nicola and Sarad reached their host and hostess. "My dear Maharajah, I am so thrilled you accepted my invitation," the Countess gushed. When Sarad bowed low over her hand, she tittered. "So happy you brought your dear wife. Oh la, what a magnificent jewel." She turned to her husband. "The Maharajah of Calcua, my dear." The portly young man nodded. The Countess rattled on. "I pray you will enjoy our meager hospitality. I am sure affairs in your home would put this poor effort to shame."

"Your home is beautiful," Sarad said. "We have the great pleasure in being here." He reached for Nicola’s arm. "We should not hold your other guests back."

When Nicola entered the ballroom, she gasped. The vast room was a study in white and silver. Candles burned in crystal chandeliers and in sconces set on the walls. Chairs covered in white brocade formed clusters in the corners of the room. Masses of white flowers nearly hid the orchestra and filled silver baskets set on pedestals about the room.

Sarad lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing footman dressed in silver and white livery. Nicola lifted her veil, supped and savored the flavor of the wine. The scent of roses and the aroma of a hundred perfumes swirled in the air the way the dancers moved through the figures of a country dance.

Before long, she and Sarad stood in the center of a group of curious guests. The men formed a dark background for the colorful gowns of the women. Questions flew. Nicola kept her eyes lowered and listened to Sarad’s responses.

He found London an intriguing city. The climate was colder than India, but the frequent rain showers reminded him of the monsoons. The food lacked the heave spices his palate desired. Unfortunately, the Maharani spoke no English though she understood a bit. He had learned the language as a child. Yes, elephants were enormous beasts and were often ridden. He and his wife had no children.

Behind her, Nicola heard an excited whisper. "He is so handsome and mysterious. I wish he would ask me to dance."

Cynthia Rasher. Nicola prayed the Baron’s daughter wouldn’t see through the disguise.

"I’ll make the suggestion and see if I can capture the hand of the Maharani. Did you know she’s a princess in her land? I would love to see the face beneath the veil for I wonder if it’s as intriguing as her form. Did you see the jewel she wears?"

Nicola grasped the sapphire. Cynthia Rasher’s companion was the Viscount Devonley. She glanced at Sarad, hoping to catch his eye, but Devonley addressed his question first.

"I am sorry," Sarad said. "I do not know your dancing."

"Perhaps your lady would like to take a turn about the room," Devonley suggested.

Nicola stiffened. The Viscount’s remarks to Drew had set in motion her husband’s suspicions of her nature. She studied the sea of people to find an escape. Sarad reached for her hand. "Your suggestion for a stroll is welcome, but I will do the honors."

* * * *

Drew fastened the turquoise cravat pin Nicola had given him as a wedding gift and stepped back from the mirror. Though Bevel would have created an unusual arrangement, Drew believed he would do. He still had difficulty accepting the services of a valet. He held out his arms so the footman could assist him into his corbeau evening jacket. After slipping on his Spanish leather pumps, he walked to the door. As he entered the hall, he heard a clock strike the quarter hour.

Elevenish, Tristan had said. Drew gulped a breath and thought about the coming confirmation. Once again, he repeated his plans. First he would convince her of his love and then he would scold her.

Why had he agreed to accompany Tristan to the Truesdale’s ball? His friend would find the situation amusing and Drew’s nervousness funny. Tristan wouldn’t allow himself to plunge into a bumble broth, and he would definitely never treat a woman the way Drew had treated Nicola.

He heard the front door knocker. Percy stepped to the door. Drew paused on the stairs. His eagerness to be off made him feel foolish. Why did he expect Nicola to forgive him? He feared she wouldn’t listen to either his apology or his confession.

The doors opened. Drew groaned. Instead of Tristan, the Dowager and his wards along with a group of servants spilled into the hall. Tristan strolled behind them. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms on his chest. His grin broadened.

"La Drew, I’m sure you did not expect us to arrive with such dispatch," the Dowager said. "The trip has been a trial, but then, you know for you have traveled with this brangling pair. My head thumps and I’m completely beside myself." She turned. "Bertha, see that my trunks are delivered to my room and find me some tea. Prabha, Peggy, see to the girls. Bevel, attend the Earl. Drew, surely, you don’t plan to go out when we have just arrived."

Drew reached Aldora’s side and kissed her cheek. "But I am. Tristan and I are for the Truesdale’s ball. He has promised me an enlightening evening."

"Tristan, how can you drag him off for pleasure at such a time?" The Dowager rounded on Cairnton. Drew feared she would assault his friend. "We did not come to town for pleasure. Surely he has told you all."

Tristan raised Aldora’s hand and placed a kiss on her wrist above her glove. "My dear Countess, you are as lovely as ever. Even a tedious journey can’t dim your vitality."

"Fustian," she said. "Save your Spanish coin for someone who will believe you. Drew what news have you of Nicola?"

Margaret planted herself in Drew’s path. "Where is my sister?" The pig squealed. "Have you let Cousin Fergus find her?"

Tristan laughed. "Frogs, cats, dogs and now a pig. Miss Margaret, you are an original. I can’t wait to see the London scene when you make your bows."

"Why haven’t you found Nicola?" Elizabeth asked.

"Drew smiled. "Though your sister isn’t in my pocket, I know exactly where she can be found."

"Then why are you standing here?" Margaret asked. "Go and bring her home."

"Perhaps the crust in this hall is keeping him from the door," Tristan said. "Come, Drew. We don’t want to be more than fashionably late."

Aldora lifted a handkerchief to her eyes. "You can’t go to a ball when you should be finding Nicola."

"Of course I can." Drew edged past the Dowager. "I make this promise. Your granddaughter will be in this house before morning."

"Really and truly?" Margaret dropped the pig and moved to hug Drew.

"Watch your shoes," Drew said. "The pig has a liking for polish." He side-stepped the pig and pushed Tristan to the door. The pig followed.

"Catch your pet before she ends in someone’s pot," Tristan called.

"As soon as you have collected Nicola, bring her directly to us," the Dowager said. "I vow I will not sleep a wink until I’ve seen her."

"Me either," Margaret and Elizabeth said in unison.

Drew hurried down the steps. A laughing Tristan followed. "What a scene. Rivaled the best of farces I’ve seen on the stage. I swear Margaret has infected your entire household with her hoyden nature." He settled in the coach opposite Drew. "Do you really plan to return to the house tonight? I would think you might desire privacy and seclusion for your reunion with your bride. Do you think the trio plus pig will allow you a second for yourselves?"

With a groan, Drew leaned back. "I can’t believe they made the trip so soon. My plans are a shambles and I don’t know where to begin in order to gain control of matters."

Tristan chuckled. "I believe control is the problem. For once, can’t you flow with the moment? Spontaneity adds spice to life."

"I dread to think how many teams were blown on their journey."

"Who knows," Tristan said. "Stop worrying about such a trifle and think of how you will separate your bride from the crush we’re sure to find. You can’t toss her over your shoulder and rush out. I dare say that would create the very scandal I’m sure you wish to avoid."

Tristan spoke the truth but Drew couldn’t shed the image from his thoughts. When he and Tristan entered the ballroom, Drew scanned the dancers and groups for his wife. First he spotted Sarad, resplendent in a red and gold coat. Next he saw Devonley and clutched his fists. The man seemed ready to pounce on the veiled woman dressed in dark blue and silver.

"There she is." Drew started across the room. Tristan strode beside him.

* * * *

Nicola saw Viscount Devonley leave his partner with her chaperone. She nudged Sarad, but before they had time to move, the top-lofty young man cornered them.

"Maharajah, does your wife wear a veil to hide some imperfection? I believe a veil would improve any number of ladies of my acquaintance."

"My lord, men of India value their wives," Sarad said. "The veil hides my wife’s beauty from all men lest one of them covet my treasure and is provoked to some mad scheme to possess what I own. Alas, if one of them should see her, there are a number of just punishments I dare not mention in the presence of ladies."

Nicola felt laughter bubble inside. She looked up in hopes of catching Sarad’s eye and thus share her amusement. Instead, she felt a chill. Drew and Tristan strode across the ballroom. Her husband’s rigid posture and his purposeful stride announced his anger. She edged closer to Sarad and spoke in Hindi to warn him.

"Lords and ladies, my wife feels faint. Let me take her outside."

"Allow me to assist you." Drew’s clipped tones made her stumble. He grasped her arm.

Tristan draped an arm around Sarad’s shoulder. "The Maharajah of Calcua, I presume. I believe Countess Truesdale in rapture over your presence at her ball. There are ever so many questions I wish to ask about your country."

"See here Cairnton," Devonley said. "The Maharajah and I were speaking."

"You may have your turn when I’m finished," Drew said. "It seems this pair are friends of my wife and I’ve come with an invitation for them to visit her at Denmere."

Tristan chuckled. "She’ll be ecstatic to see her dear friends." Keeping hold of Sarad, he moved ahead of Drew and Nicola. "Let’s find a private room so we can make our arrangements."

Nicola regretted her role dictate she remained silent. There were a number of things she wished to say. She spoke in Hindi and told Sarad she would take the blame.

Drew stroked her arm. "Don’t be afraid, Maharani. I have no intention of hurting you."

Nicola chewed on her lower lip. Her body trembled and her stomach churned.

Tristan opened a door and ushered Sarad inside. Drew and Nicola followed. Tristan closed the door. Drew released his hold on Nicola’s arm so abruptly she nearly fell. She moved to sit on a sofa near a door that opened into the garden.

"Are the pair of you fools?" Drew asked. "I can understand that friendship allowed you to persuade Sarad to help you. Crawford is in London and you have placed yourself where he will have no trouble finding you. Sarad, I thought you were a sensible fellow. How did you become involved in this scheme?"

"She would have gone alone if I had not accompanied her," Sarad said.

Tristan cleared his throat. "Instead of assigning blame, we need to determine how to extract the pair without exposing them as frauds."

"Let us leave," Nicola said. "Sarad can explain that I’ve taken ill."

"You will go nowhere without me, madam."

Nicola slid along the sofa to the end and put her hand on the arm. She had no desire to hear her husband’s bitter words. "Why are you doing this? You don’t want me."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes."

"Denmere, let Sarad and me make our excuses to the Countess while leaving the dreadfully ill Maharani in your care and allowing us to arrange for a carriage to pick you up at the garden gate."

"The very thing." Drew turned from Nicola to look at his friend.

She waited to hear no more. She opened the door a crack and stepped outside. What a tangle her life had become. She hurried down the steps and across the grass toward the row of bushes that nearly hid the wall.

"Where is your protector?"

She gasped. Cousin Fergus had found her. She backed away and turned to run to the safety of the house. The narrow skirt of the sari hobbled her. She had gone no more than five steps before he grabbed her.

"What a foolish chit ye be. Ye can’t escape me this time. I will have what I seek."

Nicola reached for the sapphire intending to pull the chain over her head. His fingers dug into her arm.

"Take the gem," she said.

He put his hand over her mouth. She sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his hand. Not only did she fear for herself, but for the child she carried.

"Bitch."

He whirled her to face him. She inhaled and screamed. He shoved a wadded cloth into her mouth. The odor and the rancid taste made her gag.

He laughed. "Ye’re more foolish than I believed. Ye brought me what I sought." He yanked the chain. She felt the links bite into her skin.

* * * *

After Sarad and Tristan left the room, Drew turned to deal with Nicola. This time he would keep his fear chained. He glanced toward the sofa. Once more, fear converted to anger. Why wouldn’t she listen? He crossed to the door and stepped outside. Her scream alerted him. He vaulted down the steps and stumbled when his still healing leg buckled. When he regained his balance, he ran across the lawn.

"Crawford, let her be," he shouted.

The man pushed Nicola into Drew. She fell. He landed on his hands and knees. He gulped a breath. If Crawford had harmed her or their child, he wouldn’t rest until he saw the man punished.

Crawford vanished into the shadows. Though Drew wanted to follow and thrash the man, his first concern was for his wife. There were so many things he had to tell her. Words she needed to hear.

When he lifted her into his arms, he saw the thin line of blood on her neck. What had Crawford done? Rage at the man threatened to consume all other emotions. Drew sucked in a deep breath and touched her throat. Shallow, the cut was shallow. He loosened his cravat and covered the injury.

"Nicola, I love you." As though he feared she would never know, the words spilled out. "I didn’t mean the things I said. I’ve been a fool." He felt her breath on his face. "Open your eyes, love. Life without you would be completely empty."

* * * *

Nicola sighed but kept her eyes closed. His words flowed over her like a blessing. He loved her. His fingers stroked her face.

"I love you," she whispered. "I should have stayed and fought to make you believe me."

"Don’t blame yourself. What I said and did was wrong. I wouldn’t blame you if you sent me away."

She looked up and saw love shining n his eyes. "’Tis karma and we can’t fight fate. In India, I was told a man who needed my love was my destiny."

"I’m that man." He brushed her lips with his. "I’m that man and from this day, I’ll work to prove myself worthy."

She touched his face and felt the tears gathered on his cheeks. "I promise I’ll never leave you again."

"And I promise I’ll never drive you away." He rose and helped her to her feet. "We must be away before anyone comes. Tristan and Sarad will see that a carriage waits for us at the garden gate." He put his arm around her waist. "How did Crawford wound you?"

"By pulling off my necklace. I don’t think he will trouble us again. Though he may have wanted to control my sisters’ fortunes and he wanted my expertise in valuing gemstones, he craved the Third Eye of Siva more. He’s welcome to the stone and may it bring him everything he deserves, the way it has for me."

He closed the gate with a firm click and pulled her into his arms. His lips closed over hers. She molded her body to his and felt his desire for her. When he broke the kiss, she reached for him.

He shook his head. "We must be away." He helped her into the carriage and gave the driver the address of his townhouse. "Is it true you are breeding?"

She put her arms around his neck. "Yes. Are you upset?"

He ran his tongue along her lips. "Happy and afraid. I’ve been a poor husband and I fear I’ll be the same kind of father." He pulled her closer. "I love you and I’ll love our child."

"Then all will be well." She nuzzled his neck. "I can’t wait until we’re home."

He groaned. "You don’t know what awaits us there."

"I’m afraid to ask."

"Your grandmother, your sisters and Lucinda, plus a bevy of servants." He lifted her onto his lap.

"We could go to the Pulteny Hotel and hide from them." She caressed his face.

"No matter how many days we hide, we’ll have to face them."

He stroked her breasts causing the nipples to tighten and send waves of heated sensations through her body. Her mouth met his and their tongues twined. She sighed. "Then I suppose we must go to them."

The carriage halted. Drew stepped down. He lifted Nicola into his arms and carried her up the steps to the house. As though they had been summoned by magic, Aldora, Margaret, Elizabeth and the pig appeared in the hall.

"You have seen her," Drew said. "Good night, ladies."

The expressions on their faces made Nicola laugh. "Drew, what are you about?"

"As Tristan would say, I’m flowing with the moment." He turned and left the house. He lifted Nicola into the coach. "The Pulteny," he shouted to the driver. "Five guineas if you don’t dawdle."

Nicola found herself held tightly in his arms. "You are Siva."

"For tonight and always."