Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (31 page)

There was no stopping Uncle Charles once he had set a course. Besides, the addition of a few more Bow Street Runners wasn’t unwelcome.

This might actually be a good thing. With Uncle Charles distracted with chasing after the man responsible for the murder attempts, it would give Nigel time to make his marriage legal.

Elsbeth may not yet love him, but he wasn’t willing to give her up.

Not a chance
.

His uncle’s visit had made that much clear to him. He needed to act, and act soon, to make it near to impossible for anyone to tear his Elsbeth away from him. Devil take it, he would have to suffer through another social event. It was the only way.

“Gainsford!” he called out through the halls of his empty house soon after his uncle had left. “Gainsford!”

The cheerful butler appeared from around a corner. “Yes, my lord?”

“Begin what needs to be done to plan a ball. As grand as you can imagine. I wish to celebrate my marriage in the most visible and crowded manner.”

Gainsford’s face paled. “A ball, my lord? With-with
people
? Are you certain?”

“Yes, Gainsford. The more the better.” Nigel began pacing.

“And when shall this ball be held?”

Soon
. Tonight would be impossible. It would take at least a few days to prepare for such an ordeal. To order the food. To send out invitations. “Friday should do.”

“F-Friday, my lord?”

“Yes, Friday.” He was adament.

“Very good, my lord,” Gainsford gave a deep bow and hurried down the hall.

* * * *

Elsbeth returned from a long, trying day of visiting a string of residences to find the Edgeware household in chaos. The servants were running this way and that while speaking far too loudly and apparently accomplishing nothing. After pulling off her gloves she grabbed hold of Gainsford’s arm as he rushed by her. He nearly dropped the three-stemmed candelabra he was carrying toward the dining room.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I didn’t see you there, my lady,” he stammered. “There is so much to be done.”

“For what purpose?” she asked, a brow raised and her voice purposefully stern.

“For the ball, of course. He wants it held on Friday. Friday! And it has to be a grand affair with over half of England in attendance.”

“I see,” she said, wondering what her husband was up to. Though she had some stern words for him, it had nothing to do with this ball. Knowing well her duty as marchioness, she gathered the servants around and took the matter of planning the ball well in hand. She assigned each servant several specific tasks and had taken it upon her self to handle the most important details personally. After Friday evening, there would be no question that she was simply Nigel’s
latest piece of baggage
, or
a grasping mishap
. His mistress. Indeed!

She may have been hidden away throughout her marriage to Lord Mercer, as if she were nothing more than an embarrassment or a failure. But she wasn’t going to hide any longer. She had every right to take her hard-earned place in society. And she intended to do just that.

But it wasn’t those whispering town tabbies who had made tears spring to her eyes. No, it was something that had been carelessly said to her by a lady whose reputation was far more tattered than her own. In fact, the very beautiful Mademoiselle Dukard wasn’t a lady at all. She’d made her fortune from selling her favor to rich gentleman.

Gentlemen like Lord Mercer and—she wiped away a tear—Nigel.

Nigel
.

“Even your Lord Edgeware keeps a mistress,” Mademoiselle Dukard had leaned forward in her velvet chair, which was the exact shade as her lovely crimson gown. She’d said it in defense of her own profession. But the words hurt just the same. “He visits her several times a week, you should know. I hear he was with her yesterday.”

Elsbeth had had to swallow down a sudden stab of pain.

“I’ve not come to discuss my husband,” she’d said crisply. “It is his cousin, Mr. Purbeck who interests me. Do you know if his financial affairs have taken a turn for the worst recently? Is he in danger of coming to a bad end if he doesn’t pay off an unsavory moneylender?”

Mademoiselle Dukard had given a deep throaty laugh. “I know of nothing so dramatic.”

She told Elsbeth how Charlie was down on his luck, but that was nothing new for him. And there were others in the
ton
who were much worse off. There had been a horserace at Newmarket whose outcome was supposedly guaranteed. But it didn’t turn out how the young bucks who’d laid down a fortune in funds had expected. Charlie, the mademoiselle had heard, had placed the largest of those bets, though most of that money was not his own. Several of his friends lost small fortunes after being lured by Charlie into putting up their own funds on what he’d promised to be easy money.

“Of course your Edgeware is more careful with his fortune,” Mademoiselle Dukard had said. “He spends more time with his beautiful mistress than at the horse races.”

Elsbeth tried to steer the conversation back to finding the evidence she needed to prove to Nigel that Charlie was plotting to do him harm, but the mademoiselle resisted. Desperate to talk about anything but Nigel’s mistress, Elsbeth had even tried to question her about Dionysus. What did she know about him? While Mademoiselle Dukard seemed genuinely interested in finding Dionysus for herself—it would make her a fortune in blackmail—she knew very little that was helpful.

Undaunted, Elsbeth had pressed on, all the while her heart breaking over the news of Nigel visiting his mistress even after Elsbeth had spent the last several nights in his bed. Perhaps she hadn’t pleased him. Perhaps Lord Mercer had been right. Perhaps she
was
too cold for a man to enjoy.

“I don’t know if you are aware,” Elsbeth had said, while fighting off tears, “but several attempts have been made against the Marquess’s life. Do you know if Mr. Purbeck or Dionysus or anyone else for that matter would have a reason to want him dead?”

Mademoiselle Dukard had pursed her glossy, full lips. “No, no, not Charlie. He’s more like a vulture, circling the dead. He wouldn’t kill. He’d only plunder.” She waved her hand in the air. “As for Dionysus or the others in the Marquess’s life?” She shrugged. “I cannot say.”

No amount of prodding could get Mademoiselle Dukard to change her mind on that matter, and eventually she’d left the woman’s parlor. Like Nigel, the mademoiselle firmly believed Charlie to be nothing worse than a swindler. Elsbeth knew better. Yet she didn’t know how to convince anyone that he was a danger…to her…and to Nigel.

Nigel
.

She swiped at another troublesome tear.

The thought of him going to a mistress…

Anger and anguish pounded in equal measure against her breast.

“Where is his lordship?” she asked Gainsford before sending him off to take inventory of the wine cellar. Lord Mercer had never been faithful. Apparently it was a flaw common to all men. No matter, she planned to take a strip off Nigel’s sorry hide. He’d tricked her into a marriage she hadn’t wanted and yet continued to see his mistress? The cad. The bounder.

“Why he’s in his study, my lady. Do you need me to show you the way?”

Twisting her gloves with ruthless determination, she let Gainsford lead her to Nigel’s study. He sat at his desk. His man-of-affairs, a smart looking man with thick glasses, sat in a chair across from him. He appeared to be working on a long list.

Nigel glanced up and gave her a smile.

Was he thinking of his mistress now while he smiled at her, his wife? Her heart shrank away from the thought.

After dismissing his man-of-affairs, he crossed the room and placed a kiss on her cheek that left her cold. He’d made love to her. His hands had moved across her body, making her feel more than she had ever dreamed possible. Had he been thinking of his mistress
then?

“My lord,” she said, curtly. She made a conscious effort to lay her twisted gloves aside and to not reach for the locket she’d stopped wearing several days ago.

He gave a long sigh. “Elsbeth.”

Eyes dark as the midnight sky stared into her soul until she found it nearly impossible not to fidget. Surely, he didn’t plan on just standing there…staring.

“My lord,” she said again, feeling suddenly confused. When she was around him lately she found it hard to think, which only confused her more.

How could he make love with such passion every night and still pay visits to a mistress? How could he be so cruel?

She was about to demand an answer when she saw it.

Above the fireplace hung the town house’s only work of art—a tempest ripping a delicate rainbow to shreds. The painting sharply reminded her of what he was doing to her heart.

* * * *

Nigel cursed. He should have never allowed her entrance into this, his private domain. Her lips parted slightly as she stood transfixed by the painting.

That damned painting, a raging tempest that violently tossed about the waves at sea. The sea and the wind tore at the canvas. The purples, blues, and blacks created an ominous image of Dionysus’s soul…of Nigel’s soul.

No hope, no joy, nothing of beauty had been created by pushing those paints around that canvas.

“You loved Dionysus,” he said at long last.

“Yes,” she said.

“I see.” He saw only too well what was occurring in her troubled mind. He should tell her the truth or set her free. He had no right to keep her close when she deserved peace.

Why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he tell her the truth? About Dionysus? Why was he so afraid of her reaction?

“Come to my bed tonight.”

She blushed deeply. “I-I—” Her hands fluttered before landing squarely on his chest.

“Come to my bed, Elsbeth, not as a thief would sneak into a room but as my wife. Come to my bed when we retire.”

Her sapphire eyes sparkled with a heat that curled his toes. Perhaps she was remembering last night. Remembering that he’d been a little extra daring while they’d made love. Elsbeth had arched her graceful back and purred like a kitten in response. And then as they cuddled within the cocoon of the sheets she’d kissed him with such tenderness that his heart had nearly burst.

If he kissed her now she would no doubt melt into his embrace and they would be repeating the events of that wondrous night in his study at his country estate here and now in this stogy London study. But he didn’t want to take her that way. Nor did he wish her to continue to be a silent phantom sneaking into his bedroom in the middle of the night while a chilly wall remained between them in the light of day. She deserved to be wooed.

And damn it, he swore he would simply have to learn how.

“Please Elsbeth,” he said, feeling like a beggar. “Come to my bed tonight. Be my wife.” He swept up her hand and kissed her knuckle while seductive images flooded his body. The arch of a bare toe, the curve of an elegant neck, the shimmer of her golden tresses…an evening that was far too many hours away. “Let me prove to you that I can be the husband you deserve.”

* * * *

Not long afterwards, Nigel left the house on foot. With a jaunty stride he made his way toward Oxford Street.

“Where is the Marquess going?” Elsbeth asked Gainsford as he moved to close the door. She’d nearly convinced herself that Mademoiselle Dukard had been lying about Nigel. How could he turn her knees to jelly with one heated look and not be totally devoted to her? It was impossible. He may have had a mistress in the past, but no more. She refused to believe it.

Gainsford moved slowly, latching the lock before turning around to answer her. “I cannot say, my lady.”

The butler’s eyes danced a nervous jig.

No, it couldn’t be true. Certainly Nigel wouldn’t seek out his mistress shortly after imploring Elsbeth to make their marriage real. Certainly he wouldn’t do that to her…would he?

“Fetch my pelisse.” If she hurried she would be able to catch up with him. Confront him.

“And where will you be going, my lady?” Gainsford asked, his nervous eyes still dancing.

“I believe I will join Edgeware in his walk.”

“Oh dear.” Gainsford slumped against the door.

“Gainsford!” Her voice rose to make his name a command. She was determined to see this other woman with her own eyes.

“I will fetch your pelisse, my lady.” He scurried away.

Catching up to Nigel was no easy task. He kept a brisk pace and only spared acquaintances he met on the street the courtesy of a tip of his shiny beaver hat.

She trailed several yards behind, hiding her face in the shadow of her straw bonnet. All the while, she kept a keen eye out for attackers. On such a crowded street anyone could stroll up to Nigel and stick him with the sharp end of a knife. It didn’t appear that he was being the least bit cautious, either. He should have a footman with him or perhaps a friend watching his back. Well, even though he didn’t realize it, he had her. And she’d fight for him.

At Oxford Street Nigel turned toward Hyde Park. Several blocks later he darted down a small alleyway. She waited, wringing her hands before following.

She was a ninny, the worst sort of ninny, too. Why, Nigel could be visiting a friend, going to a gaming hell, or attending to any manner of pressing business a man of his position must surely be plagued. She should have never followed him.

And now she couldn’t turn back. Not without first seeing that he arrived safely at his destination.

Thankfully, the alleyway was not the frightening den of filth she’d feared it would be. The apartments were tidy, albeit a bit cramped, and the street swept clean.

Nigel had stopped in front of an ancient two-story cottage tucked between the apartments near the end of the alley. Vegetables were growing in a miniature garden on either side of the short path that led up to the front door. Without hesitation he knocked.

Elsbeth’s heart stopped when the door swung open. A voluptuous woman with the most glorious head of amber curls stepped out. She gave Nigel an easy smile and, swinging the door wide, welcomed him into her home. Of course the woman would welcome him with a smile. He, no doubt, paid the rent.