Marrying Mischief. Lyn Stone
had been scarcely more than a boy at the time. And half the fault of it had been hers since she had not in any way discouraged him from kissing her.
To be perfectly honest, she continued to treasure the memory of that passionate kiss in the deepest, most secret part of her. Wicked of her, she knew, but it was all she had of him or would ever have. She had loved him with all her heart.
A good thing she had replaced those feelings with dislike. Not hate, however. No matter how hard she tried or how much she wanted to, she could never bring herself to hate Nicholas.
Blaming him for the results of the kiss might be highly unfair, but it had helped her get over the fact that he had not loved her. And now it would serve to keep a chasm between them that sorely needed to be there.
If she were honest, she had to allow that he could do little else in this instance but force her to stay at Bournesea. Given a choice, she supposed she would have recommended the quarantine herself.
She couldn’t leave poor Joshua here to mend on his own. Nor would she dare risk carrying the cholera outside these walls. Still, she hated being put in this dreadful position.
The soft knock on the door surprised her. She scrambled up from the bed and quickly brushed her hands over her hair. “Yes, who is it?”
Instead of a verbal answer, the door opened.
“Nick—I mean, my lord?” she gasped. “What are you doing? It is highly improper for you to be here!”
He had not bothered donning a coat for the visit. Employing all her will, she directed her gaze away from his exposed neck and muscular forearms.
He hesitated a moment, then stepped into the room, softly closing the door behind him. “I have told you that you are not allowed in the men’s quarters, Emily, yet you would have gone straight to Joshua only moments after I said that. Have you no care for your health?”
“I needed to see him,” she argued. “And you did say he was nearly well.”
“Nearly, but still prone to the occasional bout of fever and other symptoms,” he explained. “I hope it will not be necessary to lock you in this chamber to prevent your disobeying my orders.”
She gaped at him in disbelief. “You would not dare!”
His determined expression left no doubt in her mind that he would.
“Very well, I shall wait to visit him, but not for long,” she conceded reluctantly, turning away and peering out the window to keep from looking at Nicholas. The very sight of him stirred emotions she had believed well conquered years ago.
She jumped when his strong hands clasped her shoulders. Hands she remembered all too well. Hands that had caressed her face, threaded through her hair, held her close against him, fingers flexing, tempting, making her wish…
“I promise on my honor that Josh will be hale in no time. Have I ever lied to you?”
With that question, fury suffused her body and she whirled on him, breaking his hold on her shoulders. She shoved against his chest with both hands. “Yes!” she hissed. “Yes, Nicholas, you have lied, by deeds if not words! How do I know you are not lying now? How could I ever trust you to care for my little brother when you had no thought to care for me?”
“I never lied to you. I regret that you cannot forgive me for leaving the way I did,” he said curtly, “but I tell you again, I was left with no choice. And once I was gone, it was necessary that I stay away. For both our sakes.”
Emily took a deep breath, her lips firmly closed on the words she would have spat in anger. Necessary, he said. Necessary, because he had always been betrothed to another woman, long before he had kissed Emily. Necessary, because he feared she would expect more than he could have righteously offered. Necessary, because he did not and never had loved her.
He stepped closer and touched her face. In horror and fascination, she watched his mouth lower to hers. Only at the last moment, did he place the kiss upon her cheek instead of her trembling lips.
Oh, sweet heaven, the gentleness, the heat of that mouth. It had been so long since he had touched her, held her. His tantalizing scent clouded her mind and his breath warmed her face. Fire rushed through her veins, obliterating all caution. He had not changed. She had not.
“My dearest Emily,” he whispered, breaking the spell he’d woven as effectively as if he had doused her with a bucket of icy water.
She shoved him away. “Dearest, is it? Get out of this room, Nicholas. Do it now!”
He had the audacity to look surprised. “What the devil is wrong with you, Em? I only meant to—”
“I know exactly what you meant to do!” She backed away, her arms crossed over her chest, wishing they could shield her heart. The foolish thing had barely begun to mend from the last time he broke it.
Though he turned to go, he faced her again when he stood in the doorway. “You have no cause to fear me, Emily. I would never do anything to cause you further pain.”
She remained silent, far from certain she believed him, and unwilling to lie about it. Though Nick’s intention would never be to inflict any deliberate hurt upon her, Emily knew he could do so without even trying, maybe without even knowing.
He searched her eyes for her answer and seemed to find it there. “I did care for you then, Emily. And whether you can accept the truth or not, I still do.”
There was little she could say to that. He might still desire her. But hunger was a common thing for a man to feel toward any female. Even if Nick did not recognize the difference, she now knew better than to confuse desire with true caring. At least he said nothing of loving her.
Without further words, he went out of the room and gently closed the door. She heard his measured footsteps on the stairs and felt as bereft as she always did when deprived of his company. That had not altered at all, unless she counted the fact that the deprivation cut even more deeply now.
With Nicholas residing continents away, it had been somehow easier to accept that he did not love her. How was she supposed to bear it when they were living under the same roof?
No matter how much she wished it, there seemed no way out of this conundrum. Though she wanted nothing more than to sneak back out the gardener’s gate with her brother and double her efforts to forget Nicholas Hollander, she knew that she and Joshua had no recourse but to remain here until the quarantine was over.
Emily straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Running is the coward’s way,” she muttered vehemently to herself, pounding one fist soundly into the opposite palm. “And you, Emily Loveyne, have never resorted to such behavior in your life. Where is your courage?”
She had overcome the snide remarks and polite censure of the whole village of Bournesea, as well as that of the old Lord Kendale, when she was hardly more than a girl out of short skirts. Never once had she doubted her eventual success in that endeavor.
Now she was a woman with the blinders of first love torn away and a much better understanding of people in general. Of men, in particular. Clearly, she could stand what she must and weather this storm, as well.
There was certain to be one, she realized. No one in the entire county would ever believe she had spent a whole fortnight in this manor with the man she once adored without surrendering to his charms.
It would likely take her more than seven years this time to convince them of her innocence.
Emily used the bellpull, after all. During the hours alone in the countess’s old chamber with nothing to read but a well-thumbed book of poetry, she grew desperately bored.
One could only dwell so long on the ramblings of Byron. Was this what Nicholas’s mother had endured day after day? Lying abed, pondering the rather pointless meanderings of a dissolute poet? Small wonder she always seemed so glad to greet the vicar and his tagalong.
Emily recalled the occasions