Rebecca (29 page)

Instantly the whole room hushed. Even the orchestra halted in the middle of a chord which blew away in disharmony. Everyone turned to see the disheveled remains of lovely Lady Foxbridge. From the edge of the crowd, Sir Alec waddled toward her. She backed away in fear from the man who had introduced her to that beast Royce. She was sure they had contrived the attack together.

“Stay away from me!” she whispered. Scanning the room, she raised her voice over the murmurs and cried out once more, “Nicholas! Nicholas, where are you?”

The crowd parted reluctantly to let the dark-haired man through. Nicholas shoved aside those who did not move quickly enough, for from an upper landing he had heard the anguished sound of his wife's voice and had come racing back to the ballroom. He had been on his way upstairs to look for her when she had not been waiting when he returned with two glasses of champagne. He paused in the middle of a step as he saw her. “Rebecca! What happened to you?”

She could not reply as she ran to him. He pulled her into his arms and held her close to his heart, which beat rapidly with his fear for her. Although dozens of questions were being fired from every direction, he did not listen. All he cared about was the woman who obviously had been attacked. Ignoring everyone, he led her to a bench and helped her sit. Her dress ripped again as it caught in the broken heel of her remaining slipper. He knelt beside her, so their eyes were on nearly the same level.

He asked a single question, “Who?”

Her voice was distorted by her heart-rending sobs. “It was—it was Baron—Baron Royce. He told me—” Anger returned to combat her fear. In a stronger voice, she said, “He told me that American women were only good as harlots, and that I had—” She paused as she recalled the guests eagerly hanging on every word.

“She lies as well as acting the whore!” came the terse comment from the wide doorway.

Rebecca's eyes grew dark with antipathy as she saw Royce showcased against the star-strewn sky. She said nothing as she rose. Her hand slipped into her husband's as they faced her tormentor together.

Nicholas glanced down at her damp face and smiled. Squeezing her hand, he released it to step forward to close the distance between him and the scurrilous Baron Royce. His voice was emotionless as he spoke. Only Rebecca knew how enraged her husband was to act so calm. “Royce, Lady Foxbridge is neither a whore nor a liar.”

“I did not say that, my lord.” He smiled broadly. “I did not say she was either. I said she was both. Look at her. She teased me into a seduction, then runs back to you.”

By the bench, Rebecca clenched her teeth and her fists to keep from throwing curses at him. If she said what she wished, it would label her as no better than what he accused her of being. She would have to let Nicholas handle this as he considered appropriate.

He was saying in a closely clipped voice, “My dear Baron Royce, I shall give you one more chance to retract your words and to apologize to her for your crass actions.”

“I need no more chances, Foxbridge. I don't intend to apologize for your whorish wife.” Carelessly, he laughed. “It's a shame that someone with your reputation as a lady's man cannot keep such a woman satisfied. Perhaps, after all the years you chased Clarisse Beckwith's skirts, you are tired of having to do the same with your wife.”

A gasp of disbelief rippled across the crowd. Such an insult could not go unanswered, although it seemed as if Lord Foxbridge had been willing to give the baron every chance to beg his forgiveness. No one believed that Lady Foxbridge had done as Royce accused. Everyone had been impressed by the genuine adoration she had for her intimidating husband.

“Very well,” said Nicholas stiffly. “You give me no choice but to demand satisfaction for your spurious allegations. Shall we say tomorrow at sunrise? Send your second to my house with the location and weapon of your choice.”

“As you wish, my lord. Sunrise it shall be.” His grin widened as he looked past the man to the pretty woman he had held in his arms so briefly.

Rebecca had been listening to the exchange in growing despair. “No, Nicholas, don't be foolish! It isn't that important! Don't get yourself killed because of this.”

He looked at her, but his words were intended for his newest enemy. “I don't intend to get myself killed.” He held out his hand. “Come, sweetheart. I will take you home where you don't have to worry about other attacks by depraved, self-styled aristocrats.”

When she moved to place her fingers in his, she tripped on the broken heel of her slipper. Bending, she pulled it off. Nicholas held out his hand, and she placed the ruined shoe in it. Her confusion turned to a weak smile as he tossed it to land directly in front of Royce.

“There is your gauntlet, Baron.” He laughed darkly. “I will see you at dawn. Can you walk in your stockings, Rebecca?”

“I am fine,” she replied. She knew his teasing was to lighten her fears, but it was to no avail.

He led her through the crowd, which parted silently. Sir Alec met them as they were waiting for their evening capes to be brought by a maid from an upstairs cloak room. Profusely, he tried to apologize, but Nicholas waved his words aside as if they were unimportant. Rebecca did not hear them. All she could think of was that in just a few short hours her husband would be facing Baron Royce on the dueling green in a battle that could lead easily to one or both of their deaths. She knew how intensely he despised the perverted sport that had claimed his brother's life.

The carriage was brought around quickly. Nicholas settled her cape around her shoulders, and her fingers rose automatically to tie it in the front. Whether she said farewell to their host or not she had no idea, as they went out the door into the summer night.

Inside the coach, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fought the trembles racing through her body. She longed to beg him not to go through with the duel, but knew he was bound by honor to continue or admit that she was the type of woman Royce accused her of being. That she did not care what that man said when Nicholas's life was at stake made no difference.

Her fingers reached up and steered his head down so she could place her quivering lips next to his. His arms slipped beneath her cape to feel her warmth. When his fingers encountered the tears in her dress, he raised his head to gaze down into her terrified eyes.

“Did that bastard Royce hurt you, sweetheart?”

“No. I think he intentionally has done this to provoke you. He tried to scare me and insulted me, but let me go when I bit his hand.”

She was startled when he began to laugh uproariously. “You bit him?”

In a small voice, she explained, “Not very hard and only because he put his hand over my mouth to keep me from calling for help.”

“You are a true delight, my love!” Nicholas hugged her. “Put your head back against my shoulder. It's a long ride back to the Cloister. I assume you will insist on coming along in the morning.”

“If you don't mind, Nicholas.”

He put his mouth close to her ear. “I want you there, so I can't forget why I am fighting. I just don't want to force you to watch what might be very bloody.” He felt her shiver again. “No, darling, do not worry. It won't be my blood staining the grass at dawn.”

Lifting her to sit on his knees, he leaned back against the thickness of the seat. She placed her head on his chest and cuddled close to him. Her tear-heavy eyes closed swiftly as she fell asleep, content in knowing that she was with the man she could not help loving.

As he felt her breaths slow to the dainty puffs of slumber, he brushed her hair away from her face. Very little of the powder remained among the dark strands. It was just as well. He preferred his fiery wife with her dark hair shining as brightly as her azure eyes. He felt no fear. He did not expect to die in the morning. One time he had been tempted to give in to the easy lures of death, but that had been before this woman showed him how much more wonderful life could be. When he held her in his arms, he wanted more than ever to live. Although Rebecca still did not sleep in his bed, he hoped soon she would come to him speaking of the love glowing on her guileless face.

If for no other reason than he had not yet tasted the sweetness of his wife's love, he was determined that Royce would be the one to suffer. Forcing the thought of that deadly meeting from his mind, he settled more comfortably into the seat. He rested his head against her soft curls and joined her in slumber with the ease of a man confident of his own ability to face death and triumph over it one more time.

As the carriage slowed, Nicholas woke. In his arms Rebecca stirred slightly, but remained wrapped in her dreams. When the driver opened the door, he slipped out awkwardly as he carried the sleeping woman in his arms. Sims ran ahead to make sure the door to the house would be open.

Brody was waiting in his nightshirt. The butler had heard the familiar sound of the family coach returning up the long driveway and had leapt from his bed on the third floor and rushed downstairs to meet his lord and lady. When he saw the disheveled, slumbering woman, his age-worn eyes rose to the dark ones of Lord Foxbridge. “My lord?” he asked in a shocked whisper.

“Brody, Baron Royce's second should be calling within the hour. I would appreciate it if you would go to Mr. Langston's room with the message that I want to see him in my study immediately. I will meet him there as soon as I take Rebecca upstairs.” His voice softened for a moment as he looked down at the worried expression on the butler's face. “She's unhurt, Brody.”

“I'm glad.”

Nicholas concurred. If Royce had hurt her, there would have been no duel. He would have killed the sadist himself, not caring that there would have been a hundred witnesses to view the slaying. Carefully he climbed the stairs. The butler opened the door of their suite and waited until they were inside. Then he closed it before going to deliver the message to Curtis. When Nicholas started toward the room where Rebecca slept each night, he paused. He wanted her in his room. Although he would not be there with her, he wanted to know she was safe in his bed.

He placed her on the bed and untied her cape. She was so deep in her sleep that she did not notice when he removed it and her stockings. Pulling the covers over her, he gazed down at her with a smile. Sweet Rebecca, who haunted his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. It was time they resolved the issues forcing them apart when they both longed to be together. Tomorrow, after the duel, he would take her in his arms and tell her of his true feelings for her, feelings he had known from the second their eyes had met in the small church.

He bent to kiss her. Blowing out the candle, he went out of the room. With a sigh, he shook off thoughts of love and concentrated on the matter at hand. He had to get through that useless show of masculine pride in the morning.

Curtis was waiting in his office. As the older man entered, he asked, “Nicholas, what's wrong? You are home far earlier than we expected from Sir Alec's fete.”

“I have a favor to ask of you, my friend.” He grinned wryly, as he added, “I have been put into a position where I must fight a duel with Baron Royce in the morning.”

“You? That's absurd! I know how you feel about dueling, especially after Brad—” He interrupted himself as he saw the bleak expression on Nicholas's face. For the lord of Foxbridge Cloister, the two-year-old tragedy was still freshly painful. “Excuse me. I know that remains an unhappy subject.”

Nicholas sat down at his desk. Picking up a quill, he twirled it in his fingers as he spoke with a tranquillity that masked the rage inside him. “I had no choice, Curtis. He was most ungentlemanly toward Rebecca in actions and words. I will not allow a man to say things like that about my wife and not let him know my displeasure. What I need is a second. Would you do the somewhat disgusting honors?”

“I'm truly honored that you would ask me. I would be glad to do as you ask.”

With another deep sigh, he said, “Thank you. Royce's man will be over in a short while with the details as to where and the choice of weapons. If you would deal with that, I would appreciate it. Come back at about an hour before we have to leave, and let me know it is time.”

Curtis leaned on the huge oak desk. “You intend to stay awake all night, Nicholas, and fight a duel in the morning? Go to bed, man, and get some rest so you are in a condition to save yourself in the morning.”

“I will be ready to face Royce at the time of the duel. Now I would appreciate some time alone.” He did not make it an order, but the other man knew he was being dismissed.

Without a word, Curtis went out and closed the door quietly. His footsteps along the passageway toward the front of the house were loud in the night silence. As they diminished in the distance, other creaks and moans could be heard as the stones and wood settled themselves in the dark cool of starlight.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. Although he had refused to consider it when speaking to Rebecca, there was always the chance a man could be killed by a less-competent marksman or swordsman. Royce had survived many such duels, for he was a hot-headed roué who delighted in harassing the ladies of his social inferiors. This was the first time he had dared to attack the wife of a man who outranked him.

Perhaps the baron had been the victor in many duels, but Nicholas had faced death many more times. It had taught him the cost of overconfidence and underestimating the abilities of his enemy. He had learned, too, the respect for his own cool head and steady arm.

As he put his boots up on the cluttered surface of the desk, he closed his eyes. The most important lesson he had garnered as a soldier was the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and to awaken refreshed and ready for battle.

Rebecca turned on her pillow as she heard a noise. She saw darkness past the edges of the drapes at the windows and wondered why Collette had arrived so early. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the strange curtains on the bed. This was not her room. It was Nicholas' room.