No Other Love (7 page)

“Was that when that awful man was killed? Richard told me about that, how the man was threatening one of the guests with a gun and Richard had to save her by shooting him?”

“Yes,” Nicola replied dryly. “He was threatening Marianne. The man who was killed had…had something to do with Marianne’s being placed in the orphanage.”

“The villain! Well, I am glad Richard shot him. It—it sounded so awful. I was very glad Richard had already sent me home earlier in the carriage.”

“It was awful,” Nicola agreed shortly, biting back the words she longed to say—that she suspected that it had been Richard’s own neck he was trying to save, not Marianne’s. “But even then, none of us knew, you see,
why
he had tried to kill Marianne. It seemed utterly senseless. Then the Bow Street Runner arrived the next day and revealed who Marianne was.”

“My!” Deborah’s eyes widened in wonderment. “How could Richard not have told me! Men are so silly sometimes. They think the dullest things are fascinating and then forget to even mention really exciting things.”

“The Dowager Countess has been happier than I have seen her in years,” Nicola went on. “She and Alexandra are ecstatic at being reunited with Marianne, and of course it was a dream come true for Marianne, finding her real family after all these years.”

“I should think so. What a wonderful story! And to end with a double wedding…” Deborah released a sigh of happiness. “I can hardly wait until they come to the Dower House and I can meet them. I—I see so few people here.”

“You should get out more,” Nicola urged. “You should come to London with Richard instead of staying here, rusticating.”

Deborah looked at her, her face falling into a look of sadness, and Nicola thought that she was about to say something, but at that moment a male voice came from behind them. “That is what I keep telling her. Perhaps she will listen more to a sister than to a husband.”

The two women turned around to see the Earl strolling along the dirt path toward them, smiling. He was followed by another man, a stocky, plainly dressed individual whose face looked as though it had never been visited by a smile.

“Richard!” Deborah smiled. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Hello, Richard,” Nicola greeted him coolly. She could never see him without thinking of Gil’s death, and though he had said it was an accident, she held him responsible. Now that she had learned from Penelope about the wicked things he had done, she was even more certain that he was a man driven by evil.

“I came out here to introduce my new employee to you. Ladies, this is the Bow Street Runner I told you I had hired. His name is George Stone. Mr. Stone, my wife, Lady Exmoor, and her sister, Miss Falcourt.”

“Milady. Miss.” Stone’s smile seemed carved out of granite, and he offered them a stiff little bow. He was not a tall man, but he was powerfully built, with a thick chest and arms that made his jacket fit him poorly.

“Mr. Stone wants to speak with you about the incident last night, Nicola,” Richard added. “He needs all the information you can give him to help capture this blackguard.”

“I am afraid I cannot tell him very much,” Nicola replied blandly. Little as she liked the highwayman, she had no good feeling about Mr. Stone, either, and she liked the Earl least of all. She found that she was not much inclined to aid Mr. Stone in finding the man who was tweaking Richard’s nose.

“You saw him, miss,” Stone said stolidly. “Surely you can tell me something about him.”

Nicola turned her most aristocratic gaze on the man, raising her eyebrows slightly as if amazed to find that someone such as he had dared to address her. “It was dark,” she said dismissively. “And he wore a mask. I cannot imagine what I could tell you about him.”

“What size man was he?”

“He was on a horse, Mr. Stone. How could I tell his height?”

“The coachman says he dismounted, miss, that he was standing in front of you part of the time. He says as how you slapped the man, miss.”

“Indeed, I did. I have no stomach for impertinence,” Nicola snapped, casting the man a significant look.

“I’m sure not, miss, but what I’m saying is, you must have gotten some idea of how tall he was then.”

Nicola sighed. “I suppose he was average height. Average build.”

“The groom says he was a large man, miss.”

“I presume he would seem so to the groom,” Nicola replied. “Jamie is a rather small man.” Her eyes flickered significantly to the top of the Runner’s head, indicating without saying anything that she found Mr. Stone rather lacking in inches, also.

“Yes, miss, I noticed.” Stone’s face turned even more expressionless, if that was possible. “Were there any distinguishing marks on the man? Anything about his clothing or his manner or his walk?”

“He spoke like a gentleman,” Nicola offered, knowing that this fact was already well-known. “As for his manner, his walk—I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Stone, but I was in fear for my life at the time, and I am afraid I did not notice many details.”

“Yes, miss. Thank you.” Stone sketched a rough bow toward Nicola, then turned to Richard, saying, “I shall look into the matter further, sir.”

Richard watched the man walk away, then turned toward Nicola. Raising his brows, he said lightly, “You seemed a trifle obstructive, dear sister-in-law.”

“Obstructive? Don’t be absurd, Exmoor. I don’t like Mr. Stone. I found him impertinent. But I told him all I know. The highwayman was dressed all in dark clothes, as were his men. They wore masks, and their horses were dark-colored, with no marks. They seemed to have put a great deal of effort into making themselves as unidentifiable as possible. Besides, as I said, I was in fear for my life.”

“You, my dear Nicola? I don’t believe you have ever been in fear of anything.”

“What nonsense. Of course I have. Just ask your wife. She will tell you I have an absolute abhorrence of rats.” She paused, then added, “Especially the two-legged variety.”

Her gaze remained steadily on Richard’s face. He allowed a thin smile to touch his lips. “Of course. Well, ladies, shall we go inside? I believe it is almost time for luncheon. Perhaps afterward we can have a pleasant visit. I am rather free for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Nicola said quickly. She had no desire to be stuck in her brother-in-law’s company all afternoon. “I have already made plans to go down to the village.”

“Visiting the peasants again?” Richard asked sardonically. “Don’t you find such nobility of soul rather wearing?”

“It is not nobility of soul. I enjoy the local people. They welcomed me when we moved here, and I shall never forget how kind they were to me.”

“What else would they be? You were Buckminster’s cousin.”

“I don’t mean they were polite and afraid to offend me, Richard. I am talking about real warmth and liking. That cannot be forced or caused by fear.”

“I must confess, I find your affinity for the lower classes rather odd. But I do trust that you will partake of luncheon with us before you set out.”

“Of course.” Nicola bared her teeth in a smile.

Richard returned one that was equally false. “Splendid.” He pivoted toward his wife, offering her his arm. “Come, my dear. Let us go in.”

Deborah rose and took his arm, and they started toward the house. Nicola, with a sigh, fell into step after them. She had known it would be difficult to live in the same house with Richard—she had acceded to her sister’s wishes only because Deborah seemed so desperate—but she was realizing that it was going to be even more difficult than she had thought.

She made it through the noon meal by talking little and smiling frequently, doing her best to tune out Richard’s conversation and face. Afterward, she went upstairs and got her kit of remedies, a bag that contained the salves and tonics for which she was most frequently asked. A few weeks ago, when she had been at Buckminster for her cousin’s party, she had been besieged by requests for healing remedies when she visited Bucky’s tenants and the villagers. Since Granny Rose had died, they had suffered without her wisdom and care, and they had turned to Nicola as her student to help them out. She had made certain to bring all her supplies with her this time, anticipating their requests.

With her kit strapped onto the back of her horse, and after firmly refusing the accompaniment of one of the grooms, Nicola left Tidings, taking the back trail through the fields. It was a little more difficult riding, but it cut at least a mile from the journey, and Nicola had always been at home on a horse. Of course, in London she had to be content with a morning’s ride along Rotten Row, but when in the country, as now, she loved to ride.

She breathed deeply, pulling in the fresh air, so different from the City, and felt the tensions of dealing with Richard ease from her shoulders and back. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the following months with Richard. Every time she saw him, she felt as if a serpent had crossed her path. Yet she could hardly leave. Deborah had been so pathetically eager for Nicola to come stay with her, and Nicola had seen this morning how much better Deborah felt with her here. She could not desert her sister in her hour of need. She wished that she could take Deborah back to London with her, but that was clearly impossible, even if Exmoor would have allowed it. Given Deborah’s condition and her past history of miscarriage, a jolting two-day journey would be the worst thing for her.

But such worries gradually melted away as she trotted through the countryside, taking the occasional low stone wall with ease. By the time her mount approached a fence, she and the horse had grown accustomed to each other, and they soared over it. Exhilarated, Nicola emerged onto a lane lined with trees and dappled with winter sunshine. She paused, looking up the lane toward the right. If she went left, she would reach the village sooner. To the right lay the road to the top of Lydford Gorge, where Lady Falls poured down in a torrent. If she went to Lady Falls, she could then take a different path to the village. It would add perhaps an hour to her ride, but she would still have ample time to visit.
Of course, there was no reason to go there….

Nicola turned to the right, urging her horse back to a trot. She had to see Lady Falls again. She realized now that it had been in the back of her mind when she had decided to visit the village; after her thoughts the evening before, she knew she could not rest until she had seen the Falls again.

She hardly noticed the countryside now as she rode; the bold upthrusts of rocky tors might have been the green grass of Hyde Park for all the attention she paid to them. All her concentration was on the place to which she was riding.

After a time, she came to the narrow River Lyd and followed it to the spot where it tumbled suddenly down into Lydford Gorge. Her pace slowed, and her heart began to pound. She had not been here since the day after Gil’s death, so many years ago. She dreaded seeing it again. A few weeks ago, at Bucky’s house party, she had accompanied the rest of the group on a picnic to Lydford Gorge below, and even that, looking up at the Falls from the gorge, had filled her with an almost unbearable sorrow. This, she knew, would be worse—to stand at the top of the Falls, in that spot so filled with beautiful and painful memories—yet she had to do it. She could not rest until she had.

She heard the roar of water, faint at first, then growing louder. At last, ahead of her, she saw the idyllic spot where she and Gil had often met during those magical few weeks of love—the tumble of rocks and the greenery growing rampant at the edge of the water, the delicate mist rising from the Falls, creating a dancing rainbow of colors in the air.

Nicola pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading it the last few yards. Finally, close to the edge, the mist from the tumbling spray caressing her face, she stopped and looked around, her heart swelling with emotion.

It was here that she and Gil had often met after the dance at Tidings. They had sat beneath the shade of the trees a few yards from the Falls, and they had talked and kissed, making plans for their future. They would go to America, they said, when Nicola reached eighteen and could marry as she chose. There, Gil had heard, people did not care about one’s birth and a man could make his way on his own merits. He had given her a ring, a heavy, simple man’s ring that was, he said, the only inheritance he had. His mother had given it to him before she died, saying it was his father’s, but she would not tell him more than that. It was their betrothal ring, and Nicola wore it on a chain, hidden beneath her dress.

Nicola closed her eyes, yearning sweeping through her. She remembered sitting on the ground, leaning back against Gil’s chest, his arms wrapped around her from behind, enfolding her with love, and the memory was so real it was a fresh stab of pain.

“Oh, Gil!” The words tore from her in a sob, drowned by the rush of water.

She had never felt so alive as she had in his arms. His kisses had been like fire, and his caresses had awakened sensations in her that she had never dreamed existed. They had lain beneath the tree, kissing and stroking each other, exploring their eager, youthful passion until they were almost frenzied with desire, yet always Gil had pulled back finally. He refused to dishonor her, he said; no matter how difficult it was, they would wait until she was his bride.

Nicola had wanted to continue, arguing with him that she did not care, teasing him with her mouth and body. That last day, she remembered, she had unbuttoned her bodice and pulled the sides apart, glorying in the heavy-lidded, greedy way Gil stared at her, his breath rasping in his throat.