In the Night (31 page)

He took a breath. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I do not do it for you,” she replied quickly, harshly. “I am
doing this for my friend who is lying unconscious in my bed as we speak. He is an innocent in all this, and I would not see him suffer anymore.”

Wynthrope nodded. “Whatever your reasons, I appreciate them, and I swear I will repay you.”

She swallowed, and he could see that her hands were clenched into tight fists. “You may repay me by leaving.”

Again he nodded, saying nothing as he tucked the box under his arm and moved toward the door. She was right to feel as she did, but it didn’t stop his heart from hurting. He wanted to beg her not to make him go, beg her to give him another chance, to let him make it up to her, but he had some modicum of pride left, and he knew that begging would do him no good. The only way he could show her how sorry he was, was to do exactly as she wanted. He had hurt her so much that walking out on her now was the least he could do.

The very least.

T
he next morning Moira and Minnie sat in the library, making up a list of people to invite to Minnie’s engagement party that was to be held in two weeks’ time. It was the perfect distraction for Moira, who would rather be doing anything this morning but thinking of Wynthrope Ryland.

Had she done the right thing in giving him the tiara? Had he been sincere in all that he told her? Had his regret been genuine? Or had it all been a clever ruse designed to coerce the tiara from her?

Whatever it had been, it hardly mattered now. He had the stupid tiara—may Tony forgive her for handing it over—and if he truly cared for her, he might come back and try to woo her once again someday. If he did not, he would stay away. Would it make a difference in the end? She had told him to stay away; he might just believe she meant it.

She had meant it. As much as it broke her heart not knowing whether she could trust him, she was not about to put
anyone she loved in more danger by associating with a thief. Poor Nathaniel had already suffered enough.

“You know we have to invite Mama and Papa.”

Moira glanced up at her sister, who was watching her with worried brown eyes. “Yes, they are your parents after all.”

“And yours.”

Her smile was wry. “It will not be me they come to see. I’m certain Millicent, Margaret, and Marissa will want to come as well.”

Minnie wrinkled her nose. “It was terribly unkind of Mama and Papa to give us all names that begin with M.”

Yes, it was, but Moira had the sneaking suspicion that neither of her parents—especially her mother—lost any sleep where their daughters’ names were concerned.

“You have suffered grievously for it, obviously,” Moira replied in a dry tone. “I think we’ve just about finished the list. Is there anyone else you can think of?”

Minnie licked her lips, worrying the bottom one with her tongue. “Should we invite Mr. Ryland?”

“North?” Moira made a big show of looking over the sheets of paper on the desk before her. “Oh yes, he and Octavia are already on the list.”

“You know who I mean.”

Sighing, Moira met her sister’s anxious gaze. “Do you want to invite him?” If it meant Minnie’s happiness, she could certainly survive an evening with Wynthrope. They lived in the same city, for heaven’s sake, she was bound to run into him on occasion.

But not often, surely. Hopefully.

“I do not know. I would like to have him there because he was nice to me, and the rest of his family are invited, but I cannot abide what he has done to you, Moira, even though I only know the half of it.”

Less than half, actually, but Minnie didn’t need to be told
that. She would only ask questions, and Moira spent so much time thinking about it that she didn’t want to talk about it.

She made her face a mask of indifference. “You should invite him. I’m sure he would appreciate the chance to extend his felicitations.”

That didn’t seem good enough for her sister. “He did that last night when Lucas and I told him.”

Moira paused, her pen poised above the pot of ink. “No doubt he did, but doing so publicly is another matter.” She dipped her quill in the ink and scrawled his name on the list before nerves got the better of her.

“Do you think he will come?”

Good Lord, was she to have no escape from the man? “I do not know, Minnie!” Her patience was at its very end. “Would you like me to personally go to his lodgings and ask him?”

Minnie’s eyes widened. “You would do that for me?”

Moira was just about to tell her sister to go away—far away—when she noticed the gleam in the young woman’s eyes. She was teasing, and doing a fine job of it too.

“No,” she replied with a smile. “But I will have Cook make us some chocolate. Would you like that?”

Minnie clapped her hands like a child. “Oh yes!”

After chocolate, Moira went up to check on Nathaniel. She had sat with him most of the night, getting very little rest in a chair beside his—her—bed. It wasn’t merely the chair that kept her awake, it was the fact that her mind kept replaying the night’s events over and over again, especially that kiss she and Wynthrope had shared.

Had she no control where the man was concerned? He kissed her and she melted, forgetting every despicable thing he had done to her. While her friend had been sleeping above them, his body battered and bruised because of an as
sociation with a dastardly criminal, Moira had been ready to make love to that same criminal on her Aubusson carpet.

Nathaniel’s face was peaceful when she peeked around the half-open door. If possible, his features were even more swollen than they had been the night before, and the bruising had deepened to an awful shade of purplish green, but he didn’t look as though he was in pain, and that was good.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he mumbled, opening his eyes as she slipped into the room. “I am in desperate need of the chamber pot, and I’m afraid you are going to have to help me.”

With anyone else Moira would have been embarrassed beyond reason, but not with Nathaniel. During Tony’s illness they had both taken turns nursing him, and that included helping him to the water closet, and eventually emptying his bedpans. After all of that, she could certainly help her friend stand while he attended to nature’s demands.

“I am happy to see you as well,” she informed him, “but for entirely different reasons.”

She crossed to the bed and drew back the blankets. He was nude beneath and she caught a glimpse of the bandages wrapped around his ribs before she averted her gaze. Guilt stabbed at her conscience. It was her fault this had happened to him. If only she hadn’t given in to her attraction to Wynthrope.

“Stop blaming yourself,” he ordered hoarsely. “And get me a robe, will you. I’m cold.”

She had never seen Nathaniel in such a foul mood. Of course she had never seen him nude, or beaten before, so it shouldn’t surprise her. She fetched the robe that one of her servants had collected from his house and brought it to him. It was a slow and painful task for him to don it, but he stubbornly saw it through. Then, with his arms over her shoul
ders, Moira wrapped her arms high around his back and helped lift him to his feet.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather a bedpan?” she asked, gasping for breath as they both struggled for balance. “I can get you one.”

“I can make it to the pot, blast it.”

And make it he did. It took almost a quarter of an hour to get him to the commode and back, and he was winded and perspiring by the time he settled against the pillows, but they had achieved his relief. Moira made a mental note to have one or two of the footmen move the commode closer to Nathaniel’s bedside so he wouldn’t have such a struggle again.

Once he was settled against the pillows again—still clad in his robe—Moira finally allowed the tears to come. “I am so very sorry, Nate.”

He scowled at her—or at least she thought he did. It was very difficult to tell when one of his eyes was swollen shut. “I told you not to blame yourself.”

“How can I not?” Was that whining noise her voice? How very annoying it was.

Apparently he found it annoying as well, because he was positively peevish. “Because it had nothing to do with you.”

“Of course it did.” It was time to confess all and get it over with. “It was all about that damn tiara!”

He watched her with one pale eye. “I know.”

She froze. “You know?”

“Oh yes.” He might have attempted a bitter smile, but it was nothing more than a slight hitch of his lips. “They made sure I knew I was intended to be a message for your Mr. Ryland.”

An acrid taste filled her mouth. “He is not my Mr. Ryland. Not anymore.” She glanced away. “I do not know if he ever was.”

“Save the melodrama for when you are alone with your thoughts, dearest.” Nathaniel’s tone was firm but not cruel. “That man has treated you abominably, to be sure, but he cared about you too.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes. When I was lying on those steps, on the brink of unconsciousness, I heard his voice. He was begging God and anyone else who might be listening to keep me alive, and he told me he was going to bring me to you because if anyone could save me it was ‘our Moira.’”

Moira clenched her jaw to fight the prickling behind her eyes. “That simply means that he knows how much I love you.”

“Whatever you say.” Nathaniel licked his lips, wincing as his tongue hit the split in the lower lip. “He probably saved my life by bringing me to you.”

“How can you say that? It is because of him that this has happened to you!” The more she thought of it, the angrier she became. The anger felt good. It was much preferable to the misery she had been feeling lately.

“It is not his fault either.” He cast a longing glance at the pitcher beside him. “Be a love and pour me a glass of this water, will you?”

She rose from the chair to fetch his drink from the tray on the bedside table. “How can you be so forgiving when you know it was the man who hired him behind the attack on you?”

“I assume I was chosen because I am close to you, and whoever was behind it knew that.” His face contorted with pain as he shifted himself into an even more upright position. “They also knew that Wynthrope would assume that either Minerva or you would be the next target. They did it to exercise their control over him. He is as much a victim as I am.”

She shoved the glass of water at him. Were he not an invalid, she might have thrown it. “You are too forgiving.”

That clear, unmarred blue eye regarded her knowingly. “You are vexed with me because you cannot bring yourself to forgive him, no matter how much you want to.”

“I have not forgiven him,” she countered as she sat, “because he has not asked me to, and even if he did, he does not deserve to be forgiven.”

“Why not?”

She couldn’t believe he had to ask her that! “Because he used me.”

He nodded slightly as he took a sip from the glass. “Tony used you.”

“That is not the same thing!” How could he even suggest such a thing? If anyone should be able to understand Tony’s motives for marrying her it was Nathaniel.

“Is it not?” He shifted against the pillows again, grimacing as the movement obviously disturbed his abused ribs. It must be so very difficult for him to find a comfortable position.

“Of course not.” She was so petulant and defiant. “Tony and I had a mutual understanding.”

“Yes, you did.” He took another drink. “And Wynthrope Ryland used you to steal a tiara and you used him to lose your maidenhead. I think that was fairly mutual as well, do you not?”

Moira’s face flamed. “I did not use him to lose my virginity!”

“Of course you did. You did not fall in love with the man at first sight. You fell in love with him after you came to know him, after you had already decided to take him as a lover. You wanted to know what all the fuss was about and you set your sights on him.”

She shook her head. He made it sound so mercenary and it hadn’t been like that. She wasn’t like that. “No.”

He reached out and covered one of her hands with his. “Yes. And it is all right. You did nothing wrong.”

“But he did!” Tears filled her eyes. “I gave myself to him and he tried to steal from me! He betrayed my trust!” Anything else she might have said was lost in a sob. She would not cry, not now.

Nathaniel watched as she wiped her eyes with her hands, pulling herself together with a mighty sniff.

“He didn’t have to become your lover to steal from you, Moira. He could have entered your house and taken it without you ever being the wiser, that’s what good thieves do.”

She sniffed again. “Obviously he’s not a very good thief.”

“I disagree. He stole your heart, and I despaired of anyone ever being able to achieve that.”

She didn’t bother to argue. “He didn’t waste any time in tossing it back at me.”

“He did no such thing. He is as much in possession of it as he was when you took him to your bed. You would not hurt nearly so much if he had relinquished his claim.”

Moira sagged against the back of her chair. “How I wish I had never met him.”

Nathaniel’s smile was kind. “Instead of regretting what cannot be undone, you would be better off asking him why he waited so long into your relationship to betray you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

No doubt he would have shrugged if could have without hurting himself. “Only that I believe he was coerced into stealing the tiara after you and he had already begun your courtship.”

Courtship. He made it sound as though she and Wynthrope were destined to have more than just one night in her bed.

“I think you might be suffering some kind of brain fever,” she told him dryly.

“Did you ask him why he wanted the tiara?”

“He said he had to acquire it for someone. He wouldn’t
give me any more information—probably because he couldn’t think up a lie fast enough.”

“Or because he is protecting someone.”

“Who?” It came out more sharply than she intended.

“I have no idea.” He raised his brow. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

Moira rolled her eyes heavenward. “Now I know you are suffering a brain fever. What guarantee would I have that if I were foolish enough to ask he would tell me the truth.”

“You could trust him,” he suggested.

“Oh yes, because I have had such good luck with that thus far.”

Instead of being offended, Nathaniel smiled. “You sounded exactly like him just then.”

Moira wasn’t feeling so guilty over Nathaniel’s injuries anymore—the guilt was being edged out of the way by a sense of annoyance. “You are only defending him because you have become infatuated with him playing your rescuing knight.”

Nathaniel’s face darkened. “Ah, because I am such a deviant and must want every man I meet, is that it?”

Moira gasped. “No, that is not—”

He cut her off, angrier than she had ever seen him. “Well I do not want every man I meet, Moira, no more than you do. However, I do know a good man when I see one, and I do not have to become infatuated with him to see his worth.”

She should apologize for insulting him, but she couldn’t let it go. “How can you of all people claim that he is a good man?”