Rebecca (30 page)

Sitting quickly, she discovered she was still dressed in her tattered ball gown. Instantly the events of the previous evening flooded back into her mind. When a shadowed form approached to become her husband, she forgot that he had brought her into his room without consulting her. All she remembered was that he was going to fight a duel because of her this morning.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Nicholas said, as he sat on the bed. He had rinsed the powder from his hair and wore his comfortable riding clothes.

She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shirt. As he had the night before, he rubbed her back tenderly. He tilted her mouth up to be caressed by the ravenous touch of his. When he pressed her back into the softness of the bed, she did not protest. Instead she drew him closer.

A gasp of delight parted her lips, and his tongue searched her mouth. At the same time, his fingers were undoing the tiny hooks along the back of her gown. He pushed the sleeve along her arm to bare her skin which awaited his eager lips. Only when he felt her hands reaching to undo the buttons on his shirt did he pause.

Taking her hands in his, he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I know what you are trying to do, my love, and I appreciate it, but now is not the time. You must change into something appropriate. We have to hurry if we are to get to where Royce will be waiting for us on time.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Don't worry about being late. Don't go, Nicholas. Stay with me. You have asked me to join you in this bed so many times. Now I am asking you to stay with me.”

“I would much prefer to remain here and make love with you, sweetheart. First, I must deal with Royce. Then, shall I accept this charming invitation?” He bent to kiss her, but she turned her face away in pain. Grasping her cheeks, he said sternly, “I must do this, Rebecca. If you don't want to be my lover is irrelevant. You are my wife, and I will not let another man hurt you. It doesn't matter whether you care for me or not.”

He stood and crossed the room to where he had brought her clothes from her room. He picked them up and tossed them to her. Dropping the things on the bed, she ran to him.

“Please, Nicholas, don't you know how much I care for you?” she asked as she put her fingers on the wool of his hunting jacket.

Scowling, he gave her that dark expression that no longer daunted her. “To tell you the truth, dear wife, I have no idea how much you care for me. Your lips say one thing, and your body when I hold you close says another.”

“If you weren't so confounded stubborn, you would know I care very much for you, Nicholas Wythe!” Her voice grew sharp with anger.

“Very much? But not as much as you still love that useless Keith Bennett. Am I right? Where is your chivalrous knight, Rebecca? Wasn't he coming immediately to rescue you from my bed?”

“Stop it!”

He pulled her to him. “Why, Rebecca? Have you considered the idea that Bennett told you that only to make you miserable for betraying him by not telling him of your previous wedding? He knew he wasn't coming for you, but he wanted to make sure that you would not be happy with me. Why should he come, when he could stay and force your brother to pay for cheating him?” Staring down into her shocked eyes, he demanded, “When are you going to wake up to realize that he never loved you as you loved him? When are you going to stop throwing away your best opportunity for happiness?”

Her eyes searched his face and saw only his love for her. She wondered when he had begun to love her. At the beginning, she had been sure that he had been interested in her only as a bed partner. Now he wanted her as his wife to share all parts of his life. She longed to do exactly that, but the promise she had made to the man she would have wed kept her from throwing herself into his arms and saying the words she felt in her heart. All she could whisper was, “I don't know, Nicholas.”

He released her and turned to the door. “You have made your feelings very clear, my dear,” he said coldly. “If you wish to see this bloodletting, be downstairs in ten minutes.”

“Don't go to that idiotic duel angry at me.”

He gazed at her face and her gown, which gaped to give him a fine view of the soft curves of her skin above her chemise. A swell of yearning flared through him as he thought of how wonderful it would be to feel that skin against his. He kissed her cheek and walked out the door.

Rebecca went to the bed and picked up the dress he had selected for her to wear. It was her riding habit. Had he chosen it because of its dark color? She did not want to wear the color of mourning. Fear ran along her back as she stripped off her ruined dress and pulled on the heavier outfit.

It was possible that Nicholas could die this morning. He could die without knowing what she knew in her heart. Could she let him face his enemy without telling him the truth of her love for him?

Twisting her hair in place, she grasped her jacket and boots and raced along the hallway. At the top of the stairs, she looked down into the upturned faces of the rest of the family. Even though it was early, both Eliza and Lady Margaret had risen to discover the cause of the turmoil which could be felt throughout the house.

Terror identical to the turbulence in Rebecca's middle was clear in Eliza's features, but pure hatred was on the older woman's face. Her mother-in-law blamed her completely for this meeting that could mean the loss of her only surviving son to the same death his older brother had suffered. There was nothing she could say to defend herself. Although she believed that she had been only a pawn Royce had used to raise Nicholas's ire, it was undebatable that she was at the center of the conflict.

After she had pulled her boots on her feet and bent to button them in place, she walked down the stairs. Taking Nicholas's hand, she gazed up into his eyes to plead silently for his forgiveness. A smile floated briefly across his lips, and she knew that despite his words, he understood her feelings.

Eliza gasped, “Rebecca, you are going with Nicholas and Curtis?”

“Curtis?” Only now did she see the other man standing in the shadows.

“He is acting as my second,” Nicholas explained quietly. “Part of the whole procedure of which you have been blissfully ignorant until now.”

She turned to Eliza who was dressed in her night robe and said, in a near whisper, “My place is with my husband. His trials are mine, as well.”

“They should be!” snapped Lady Margaret. “Especially when you are the cause!”

Rebecca's face crumbled with sorrow as she lowered her eyes. When she felt Nicholas' arm around her, she leaned against his strong body. Tightly, he said, “What has and will happen isn't Rebecca's fault. She's the victim, not the villain. Come along, Curtis. We should be home in about two hours. That will give enough time for all the formalities.”

She glanced at her husband and discovered he did not share her fear. Confident of his own skills, he was ready to face Royce and teach him an overdue lesson. As she put her fingers on his proffered arm, Rebecca wished she could be as sure that when the midday sun stood overhead Nicholas still would be alive. It seemed the greatest irony that she could be the cause of his death just when he was becoming the center of her life.

Chapter Fifteen

The coach waited for them, for Nicholas knew Rebecca was still not overly confident on horseback. This morning was not a time to test those new skills. The spacious carriage was not crowded with the three of them, but a heavy silence settled on the interior. What the two men were thinking, she could not guess, and she did not want to tell Nicholas of her true feelings in front of Curtis.

Fortunately, it was not far to what was known as the dueling green. It was, in fact, nothing more than a clearing on a deserted road. The open space was the perfect size for two men to face each other across cocked pistols or well-sharpened sabers. When the carriage pulled off the road to roll to a stop under the trees, the first hints of dawn were visible on the eastern horizon.

The others had arrived before them. Rebecca was surprised, for she had considered the baron a braggart and a coward. It appeared he was anxious to do battle with Nicholas.

As Curtis opened the carriage door, the pungent smell of dew-wetted grass erupted around her. Soon the sun would evaporate the dampness which by then might be discolored by the red of a man's lifeblood. It did not seem right that this morning appeared the same as any other. Some heavenly sense of foreboding should have darkened the sky with grey clouds instead of the bright promise of summer sunshine.

“Stay here, sweetheart,” said Nicholas as he stepped out. “There's no place for you over there, and from here you'll be able to see all that happens.”

“It isn't too late! It doesn't matter that he called me those names. I know I am neither, and so do you! Who else matters?”

He smiled sadly. “No one, but this must be done. Wait here for me, will you?”

As he turned to go to where the others waited, she stretched out trembling fingers to grasp his sleeve. “Nicholas, please, don't leave until I tell you what I must.”

“I will be careful. I promise.”

She slid across the seat so her face was close to his. Her eyes swept along it to view the sable hair that twisted obstinately on his forehead above his full eyebrows and the sharp angles of his face with the intense eyes and expressive mouth that could give him the image of Satan or of an adoring lover. She stroked his freshly shaven cheek. “Nicholas, I love you. Don't do this to try to show me what I should have known long ago. I love you, my most precious husband, more than any man I have ever known.”

Drawing her face to his, he kissed her with brief passion. “I love you, too, Rebecca. I have since you were an obstinate child. I have grown to love you more as an even more obstinate woman.” He kissed her fiercely, before adding, “Keep your lips warm, sweetheart. As soon as this foolishness is completed, we will go home and finish another thing that needs to be done. I think that will be highly more fun than this.”

“Be careful, Nicholas. Please.”

With a smile, he walked away. Sims explained to her that the blond man was Baron Royce's second, a hanger-on named Eaton. The final man was a doctor who would minister to the wounded or dying. Her face turned as grey as the leaves in the twilight. She clenched her fingers through the window opening as she watched the perverse drama unfold.

Nicholas politely endured the formalities of introductions between the combatants and their friends. While Curtis and Eaton debated some of the finer points of the logistics of who would stand where and how the count would be taken, he glanced at the carriage with the Foxbridge family crest embossed on its side. Although he had guessed Rebecca loved him, it had been a succulent surprise to hear her speak of that love. The warmth of the thought of what awaited them when they returned to their suite at Foxbridge Cloister brought a smile to his face.

When his adversary gave him a strange glance of disbelief that any man would look so pleased while risking his life, Nicholas allowed his grin to broaden. If Royce was off balance, it would make his job easier. He had no intention of killing his enemy. His goal was to teach him to be more polite to Rebecca and other ladies.

“We are set, Nicholas,” announced Curtis. He held out a box which had contained a set of dueling pistols. Only one remained in the velvet-lined case.

His jaw clenched tightly as his fingers gripped the well-made butt of the fine weapon. It seemed that Royce was determined to kill him. He had expected the baron would choose sabers to bring an honorable end to this nonsense without inviting death. “On your signal, Curtis,” he said, formally, as he stepped out into the clearing to face Royce.

The baron still was dressed in the clothes he had worn to the ball. His finger caressed the barrel of his weapon as he gazed at his rival. “I see you brought your wife, Lord Foxbridge. Not that it is a surprise that such a low-class strumpet would enjoy such sport. Perhaps it helps to convince her she is a lady to see two gentlemen fighting for her lost honor.” He laughed at the rage on Nicholas's face.

Sternly controlling his wrath, he replied calmly, “No matter the outcome of this, there is nothing that can change the fact that Rebecca is the finest lady any of us will ever know. Don't think that because she was not born to the blood that she is of less value than any of us. Certainly she is worth a dozen Royces.” He paused as he thought of Rebecca sitting in the coach. She would be growing concerned by the delay. “We are wasting time. Let us get this done with, for I have a hankering to get home in time for breakfast.”

As directed, the men stood back to back. They were told to take ten normal paces to the count given by Eaton, then turn and fire the single shot in their weapon. When they nodded that they understood, everyone else moved back to view the carnage from a safe distance.

“Are you ready to die, Wythe?” asked Royce over his shoulder.

“I have no plans to do so, Baron,” he answered coolly.

Eaton called to them to listen to his count. Nicholas forced his mind to a blank as he had done in America when he prepared for battle. He concentrated solely on this fight.

In the carriage, Rebecca held her breath as the two men slowly stepped apart in direct rhythm to the man's voice. When the man finished with ten, she forgot everything else as the foes turned to face each other. All time froze into slow motion as she saw both guns raised to sight on the other man in the prescribed method. Because of the distance, she could not see Nicholas's finger contract on the trigger. The only sign of trouble she had was when he drew the pistol back toward him and shook it violently.

“Oh, by the heavens above,” groaned Sims, “his lordship's gun has jammed.”

“Tell them to stop this then!” she cried.

“They won't stop it, my lady. The baron has a right to make his shot.”