Authors: Olivia Drake
Tags: #Historical Romance, #Romance Fiction, #Artist, #Adult Romance, #Happy Ending, #Fiction, #Romance, #Olivia Drake, #Adult Fiction, #Historical Fiction, #Regency Romance, #Barbara Dawson Smith, #Regency
Silver Splendor (48 page)
Elizabeth nodded, though mentally she vowed to do whatever was necessary.
Adelaide glanced at the group of sturdy stable men. “One of you, stay with Mr. Hastings. Come along, Elizabeth.”
Boots crunching the broken bits of porcelain, Adelaide headed through the doorway. Petticoats swishing, Elizabeth hastened to keep pace with the duchess.
Adelaide glanced back, her equine face alight with dry humor. “You should wear trousers, Countess. They’re far more practical.”
“Believe me, I shall return to trousers… as soon as my life returns to normal.” Elizabeth’s smile died. “Where do you suppose Marsh went? There must be a thousand places he could hide.”
The knife gleamed dully at the duchess’s side. “I’ve a notion,” she said grimly. “Perhaps he fled to the room where Hugh seduced your mother.”
A distant thudding grew louder as they hastened up the main staircase. At the far end of the corridor, Elizabeth spied a group gathered around Hugh Sterling’s chambers. Nicholas battered the closed door with his shoulder. The panel broke open with a splintering crash.
“Take care, your lordship,” Pickering warned. “The bugger’s got Kipp —”
Nicholas strode into the bedroom. Heart pounding, Elizabeth rushed down the hall and past the men. Peering around Pickering’s lanky form, she took in the macabre setting at a glance, the guns and swords and spears scattering the room, untouched since the duke’s death.
Before the suit of armor brandishing a pike in its gauntleted hand, Marsh held a white faced Kipp imprisoned. Horror choked her. One of the doctor’s arms was clamped around the boy’s chest; the other pressed a wickedly curved knife to Kipp’s slender throat.
Madness glittered in Marsh’s blue eyes. “Drop your weapon,” he snapped wildly.
“As you wish.” Nicholas opened his fingers; the pistol thumped to the carpet. “Just don’t hurt the boy.”
“Stay away,” Marsh warned. “I don’t want to kill him… I only want Lucy back.”
“Then release him,” Nicholas said soothingly. “Come with me and I’ll help you find her.”
The knife quivered against Kipp’s throat. “Help me?” the doctor said, his voice dwindling to a whimper. “You think I’m a lunatic. I won’t be put away. I won’t be trapped in a place where I can’t find my Lucy.”
Kipp’s brown eyes shone round and scared. She alone held the key, Elizabeth realized. The key to secure his safety.
Squelching a surge of fright, she stepped boldly forward, making a wide arc around Nicholas. “I’m here, Doctor. Your Lucy.”
She heard Nicholas’s sharp intake of breath, felt the alarm radiating from him. Yet she knew he dared not forestall her… not yet.
Marsh gave a start as his eyes focused on her. “Lucy?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“Yes,” she murmured. “You can let him go now.”
Seraphic peace softened the doctor’s face as he let loose of Kipp. Panting, the boy crumpled to the floor and stared up at the doctor.
“My dearest love,” Marsh whispered, his eyes never leaving her face. “You’re finally here. Come to me.”
He held his arms open, the curved knife glittering in the last rays of the setting sun. Elizabeth wet her dry lips. Why was Kipp still cowering at the doctor’s feet? A tiny frown began to form on Marsh’s angelic face. She had to humor him as long as Kipp remained in danger. She took a step forward.
Seizing her arm, Nicholas yanked her back. “No!”
Marsh waved the blade. “Don’t touch her! She’s mine!”
He started to charge, but Kipp rocketed his small body upward. Arms flailing, Marsh fell back, onto the armor. The suit teetered, then collapsed with a metallic crash. His slim body tumbled atop the pile. An unearthly scream rent the air. Blood blossomed around the pile point protruding from his chest.
A moment of silence stretched into an eternity of horror. Then Adelaide raced to Marsh, ahead of the footmen and servants.
Sickened, Elizabeth buried her face against Nicholas’s chest. Though Marsh lay dead, she could still hear his shriek reverberating in her head. The murmur of voices finally penetrated her shock and she lifted her face.
“Kipp?” she asked. “Is he all right?”
“I’m ‘ere,” the boy said, and she realized Nicholas held an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders. His eyes were wide, his face pallid. “Blimey, I didn’t mean fer the doctor to grab me like that. I was only tryin’ to capture ‘im.”
“You took a senseless risk,” Nicholas snapped, yet his severe expression mellowed. “But you did save Elizabeth’s life.”
Kipp brightened, thrusting out his liveried chest. “Aye, I did at that.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Nicholas growled, guiding Elizabeth out the door and down the hall.
Once alone in their room, she said, “Did you find Cicely?”
“Yes. She’ll be arriving with Charles soon.” Nicholas took hold of Elizabeth’s shoulders, his grip none too gentle. “You stubborn American. You shouldn’t have come upstairs. For that matter, you should never have left this bedroom in the first place. Aren’t you ever going to learn to listen to me?”
Her heart overflowed; despite his gruff manner, love radiated from him. “When you learn to stop commanding me, my lord.”
Remorse softened his handsome face. “Forgive me, Elizabeth,” he said, his palms cupping her cheeks. “I swore I’d stop telling you what to do, but I suppose it’ll take time for me to change.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Will you allow me that chance?”
She smiled.”You were only trying to protect me… and I love you for that.”
“I love you, too.” Yet his brow remained furrowed.”I want you to know. Countess, that the instant we return to London, I’ll speak to Buckstone and convince him to —”
Laying a finger over her husband’s lips, Elizabeth silenced him. “I don’t need that commission,” she murmured, her words heartfelt. “I’d rather spend my life sculpting you and loving you.”
“Hold that pose.”
“Indeed. You try sitting still with twenty pounds of squirming baby in your lap.”
“The two of you look charming. Justin, give Mama another big smile.”
Pencil flying over the sketch pad, Elizabeth captured her son’s beaming face, the two front teeth, the adorable violet eyes. He perched restlessly in his father’s lap, his chubby body clad in a sailor suit. Winter sunshine poured through the windows of the conservatory, and gleamed on tousled chestnut locks the exact hue of Nicholas’s neatly groomed hair. Justin babbled and waved at her.
“My sentiments precisely,” Nicholas said, grinning at his son. “Your mother’s quite the beauty. You should have seen the admiring looks turned her way when we walked into the Meltons’ ballroom last night.”
“They were staring at
you,”
Elizabeth retorted, sketching the breathtaking angles of his face, angles that still fascinated her even after a year and a half of marriage, even after a thousand renderings on paper. “All those prim and proper ladies were secretly longing for a night in your bed.”
“Jealous?”
“Always.”
“I want only you. Countess.”
The tenderness shining in those silver gray eyes washed Elizabeth in delicious serenity. The pencil stilled in her hand; the fountain murmured in harmony with her quickened heartbeat. Her blood warmed under the impact of his sensual smile, his loving expression. Wanting him, she leaned forward in her chair…
Justin reached up and yanked at his father’s perfectly knotted cravat.
Aiming a severe scowl at his son, Nicholas peeled off the offending fingers. “Enough of that, young man.”
Unperturbed, Justin cooed and patted his father’s smooth shaven cheek. An indulgent grin softened the chiseled corners of Nicholas’s mouth; Elizabeth hastened to catch the expression on paper.
“Scamp,” he growled. “Only six months old and already you can circumvent me as easily as your Aunt Cicely.”
“Did I hear my niece’s name mentioned?”
Majestic as Britannia on the prow of a ship, Lady Beatrice sailed down the winding flagstone path, her navy silk gown rustling, the plume on her velvet hat wagging.
“We were comparing Justin’s behavior to Cicely’s,” Elizabeth said, quickly drawing her swan trademark in the bottom corner of the paper.
“He’s a perfect angel. Aren’t you, darling?” Beatrice smiled at the boy; Justin burbled in delight. “But oh, that Cicely.” She shook her head in fond disapproval. “Imagine, attending the ball in her condition. And Charles even allowed her to dance!”
Setting her pad on the worktable, Elizabeth hid a smile. “Pregnancy is natural and wonderful. It’s no cause for a woman to hide herself in shame.”
“How utterly American,” Beatrice sniffed, though no rancor colored her words. “Well, at least Cicely’s confinement is drawing near. Perhaps having a little one will calm her madcap ways.”
“Or perhaps,” Elizabeth murmured, “she’ll always be Cicely.”
“I hope so,” Nicholas drawled. “If my sister hadn’t stolen away to study with a certain sculptress, I wouldn’t be happily married today.”
His eyes sought Elizabeth’s; the softness on his face brought a familiar wave of fulfillment.
“Humph.” Despite her hauteur, Beatrice had a suspicious sheen in her gray eyes as she looked from her nephew to Elizabeth. “Come along, Justin, say your goodbyes. We’re going to visit your Aunt Cicely and Uncle Charles.”
Nicholas hugged the boy close. “I love you, son. Be a good lad now, and don’t pull your great aunt’s hair.”
Elizabeth went to gather Justin into her arms. The feel of his small body made contentment curl around her heart. His faintly milky scent enveloped her as she planted a kiss on his silken cheek.
Over his tousled mop of hair, she gazed at Beatrice. “Where are Papa and Miss Eversham?”
“Waiting in the carriage. I am quite capable of fetching my own grandnephew.”
Beatrice efficiently took hold of Justin; his chubby fingers reached for her pearl earrings. “Here now, my little lord, you must learn to behave the way you’re supposed to,” she scolded, carrying the baby out of the conservatory.
“Whether she realizes it or not,” Nicholas said, “my aunt has become a bit unconventional herself lately. You’ve changed us all, Countess.”
Wistfulness touched Elizabeth. Clasping her hands, she took a step closer. “Does that bother you, Nicholas? To have society label you an eccentric for marrying me?”
A lazy smile lit his handsome features. “Come here.”
“Yes, my lord.” Willingly she took his outstretched hand, let him draw her onto his lap and fit her against his hard shoulder.
“Society can go to hell,” he murmured. “My life would be empty without you. You’ve taught me to be open, given me my precious son, shared so much of yourself.”
His words lifted her heart. She raised a hand to grasp the ring hanging from its silver chain inside her blouse. “Oh, Nicholas, I feel so blessed to have you and Justin. This ring has truly been a talisman.”
“Hugh Sterling would have been proud to see his grandson.”
A bittersweet sigh escaped Elizabeth. She tilted her head to study her husband’s face. “Drew was proud, too. When I was finishing the memorial in Yorkshire last week, did you notice the way he took to Justin? He seems to have mellowed lately, and I had the impression he’s lonely beneath all that ducal cynicism.”
“He’ll have sons of his own someday. Especially if he wants to gain control of the generous trust fund you set up for his children.”
“I want him to marry for love, not money. I want him to be as happy as we are.”
Nicholas nuzzled her ear; a delicious shiver slipped over her skin. “Happy,” he murmured, “is too mild a word for the way you make me feel. Do you remember the first time you sat in my lap?”
“Mmm… yes. You touched me_ “
“Like this.” His hand drifted downward over her breasts, seeking the womanly shape of her waist, the roundness of her thigh. Dewy warmth bathed her as his fingers stopped just shy of their goal.
“I touched you, too.” Desire trickling through her veins, she discreetly shaped her hand to the virile proof of his love. “This is how I’ve always wanted to sculpt you… magnificent… extraordinary… the perfect man.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Praise God you used a fig leaf. It’s rather disconcerting to know all of London has been gawking at the statue of me on display at the Royal Academy.”
She laughed. “The head is Apollo’s. No one need know that flawless body is yours, my darling.”
“No one but you. One of my fondest memories is the night you finished that statue, the night we made love here in this room, with the moonlight silvering your skin and camellia petals showering your body.”
“I remember, too,” she grumbled teasingly. “I was sore for days from that stone floor.”
He tweaked her nose. “Next time you can get on top.”
“How gallant. Who says there’ll be a next time?”
“I do.” His fingers traced the valley formed by her Turkish trousers. “I adore you. Countess. I’d love to show you how much.”
“Now?” She gasped as his fingers worked a familiar magic. “Anyone could peer in the windows.”
“Come now, you were the one who taught me to be adventurous.”
“To a point. Enough’s enough.”
“I’ll never have enough of you.”
His fingers continued to stroke her intimately; she struggled to gain the breath and the willpower to speak. Brushing a kiss against his jaw, she said, “Nicholas Ware, can’t you ever behave the way you’re supposed to?”
Discover Olivia Drake and Barbara Dawson Smith on Kindle
Olivia Drake
Barbara Dawson Smith