“Mackenzie Swell, ma’am.” Mac clicked his heels together smartly and bowed to both ladies in an exaggerated manner.
Despite the dark emotions rolling through him, Nick felt tempted to laugh.
“Won’t you gentlemen have a seat?” Miss Eleanor graciously indicated two high-backed chairs opposite them.
Sitting and running his hand over his slicked back hair, Mac said, “It is not often that I am included in such lovely company, madam. This is a rare pleasure.”
Nick, now seated in the other chair, frowned at his friend, hoping to convey that he should tone down the drama. “Swell here is a member of the Royal College of Surgeons,” he inserted.
“Oh my, how impressive,” Miss Eleanor murmured.
Nick did not fail to miss the uneasy look she darted to her silent niece. Meredith’s hands worried the book she clutched, blinking wide eyes on Mac.
“How are you feeling, Lady Brookshire?” Nick inquired.
Her eyes jerked back to him. “Fine. Well. Very well.” Her voice wobbled, lacking conviction. As if on cue, Mac propped his little black bag on his lap. Meredith’s gaze flew to the bag like a moth to flame. If possible, her eyes grew wider.
“Happy to hear,” Nick murmured, fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the truth tumbled out. Unsure how to proceed, he asked, “And the Finney family? How are they?”
She tore her gaze from Mac—or rather, his imposing bag—and looked at Nick with a good deal of suspicion. “Doing as well as expected. It shall take time, but they are coping. I doubt they will ever fully recover.”
“One never does,” he agreed, holding her gaze. The sight of those brilliant green eyes—so deceptively innocent—fueled his anger. “Such a tragedy. I’m haunted by that night, and I cannot tell you how it has worried me over you.” He pressed a hand to his heart in mock concern.
“Me?” Her hand fluttered to her throat and her blinking worsened, as if she were trying to rid some particle from her eyes.
“Yes,” he answered, never removing his probing stare from her. “The dangers of childbirth should not be taken lightly.”
“Indeed,” Miss Eleanor agreed, then clamped her lips together at the fulminating stare her niece cast her way.
Meredith swung her gaze back to him. “Fret not on my account, my lord. I hope you did not come all this way to express your concern for my health. I could have written a letter to assure you of my fitness.” Although she softened her set-down with a smile, it was clear she did not want his interference. He had known as much from the start. Only now he knew why.
Nick fixed a courteous smile to his face. “I realized the only thing that would set my mind to rest was to do the very thing I offered.”
With growing satisfaction, he watched her eyes drift again to Mac. Her dread crackled in the air, a perceptible, tangible thing Nick could reach out and touch. Clearly, she understood his meaning and what this visit signified.
Exhilaration and triumph raced through him. He had caught her in her own game, snared her in her own web of lies. Deceitful chit. Did she really think she could carry off such a scheme?
“Wh-What do you mean?” she stammered, suddenly examining her nails.
He grinned, enjoying her discomfiture. “I have acquired the service of a physician for you.” He gestured to Mac. “He has agreed to examine you.”
“What?” Her voice rose several octaves. She ceased studying her nails and gripped the arms of her chair.
Nick blinked in seeming innocence. “Swell here will make certain that you and the baby are faring—”
“That is not necessary.”
“You have seen a physician, then?”
She hesitated, and he could see the wheels turning in that devious brain of hers.
“No,” she said slowly, “but Maree is quite skilled in these matters. Her care is more than sufficient.”
“Yes, Maree is very knowledgeable.” Miss Eleanor finally recovered from the shock of his announcement to second.
“I would feel much better if you let the good doctor see you. He comes highly qualified.” Nick’s eyes narrowed, and he added a hint more forcefully, “I know that your foremost concern is for your child. That’s the case with all good mothers. You would not want to dismiss the opportunity of having one of Britain’s finest surgeons under your nose.”
Silence hung thick in the air as their eyes clashed in an unspoken battle of wills. Was she ready to admit her deceit and be done with it? He had effectively backed her into a corner. How could she possibly continue to refuse his offer and not appear insensible in her stubbornness? One thing was for certain: he wasn’t going anywhere. If she did not confess, he would stay until he had the truth.
“Have no fear, my lady.” Mac patted his black bag, and her eyes widened in dismay. “I’ve a gentle hand.” Then Mac had the audacity to wink.
Meredith gasped. Miss Eleanor made a small choking sound and reached out to grasp Meredith’s hand for support, her head lolling against the back of her chair as if her neck could no longer support the weight of her considerable turban.
Nick didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle Mac. Did his friend think he was coaxing a tavern wench into bed with him?
Extricating her hand from her aunt’s, Meredith surged to her feet and pointed a shaking finger at Mac. “I am not letting this stranger lay one finger on me.” She swung her finger next at Nick. “And you, sir, have overstepped yourself. To have the gall to show up here with a physician to examine me. It is as though you question whether I am—” Her voice died abruptly, the only evidence of her inflammatory words the sudden dip of her gaze. A charged silence fell over the room.
Nick rose to his feet and took the two steps that separated them. Ducking his head so he could meet her gaze, he finished for her, “As if I question whether you’re pregnant?”
Her chest lifted on a hitched breath. “That is absurd.”
Nick spoke slowly, succinctly. “No, I don’t think it is. I think it’s the bloody truth.”
Shock crossed her features, followed by a look of desperation. He could hear the wheels in her head screech to a halt and shift gears, searching for a way out of the hole she had dug.
Nick pressed further. “The truth. I want it now.”
She opened her mouth several times, but no words spilled forth.
He shot a glance at the room’s other two occupants. “Out. Both of you,” he barked.
Mac jumped to his feet, ready to comply.
Miss Eleanor wrung her hands uncertainly, not moving from her seat. “Meredith?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Nick jerked his head at Meredith’s aunt. “Mac, would you escort Miss Eleanor from the room?”
“I don’t think a private audience is in order, my lord.” Meredith’s voice wobbled pitiably on the crackling air. “I am offended by your accusations and request you leave at once.” She raised her chin a notch and somehow accomplished the appearance of looking down her nose at him. Nick had to hand it to her. She had backbone. Most would have thrown their cards in by now.
Mac took Miss Eleanor by the elbow and helped her to her feet. The woman looked on the verge of tears, and grabbed Nick’s arm as she was led past. “Please, my lord. You don’t understand. Meredith is a good girl. She was just frightened you would throw all of us out.”
“Aunt Eleanor,” Meredith snapped, losing her haughtiness in the face of her aunt’s heedless plea.
Miss Eleanor shut her mouth with an audible snap. She looked between a fierce Meredith and a smug, satisfied Nick. The dear, stupid woman had as good as confessed on behalf of her niece. Nick couldn’t help himself. He threw back his head and let loose a laugh.
It took a second for Miss Eleanor to realize she had given up her niece by way of her loose tongue. Her face blanched and she erupted into noisy tears, striking Mac on the chin with the top of her turban as she collapsed into his arms. Mac looked uncomfortable at this new development. Calming a sob
bing lady was something with which he had little experience.
“Oh! I’ve ruined it all!” Miss Eleanor twisted Mac’s coat in her white-knuckled hands. Mac led her out, awkwardly patting her shoulder.
The door clicked shut behind them and they were alone at last. Nick ceased to laugh. Meredith’s bottom lip jutted defiantly, reminding him of a thwarted child. He was hard pressed to remember she was a woman full grown. Stepping back, he let his eyes skim the black sack she wore. The generous outline of her breasts, although put to extreme disadvantage in her hideous dress, was in clear evidence. It sufficed as a reminder. She was all woman. And as dangerous and deceitful as they came.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“About what exactly,” she hedged, eyes flitting nervously past him, clearly searching for an escape route.
His annoyance grew…along with his disappointment. This was not the scene he had played out in his mind. In his mind she was weeping at this point, begging for his forgiveness, his mercy. It was over. She was caught. Could she not at least try for an air of contrition?
“Oh, I don’t know. About your lying,” he growled.
“There was nothing personal to it. You must understand that,” she explained with a coolness that further fanned his temper. She slid several steps back and lowered herself onto the edge of a chair.
He moved forward, gripped her by the arms and lifted her up. “Did you enjoy making a fool of me?”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously in denial. “It was never like that—”
“No?” he ground out. “You didn’t get a thrill in sending me packing knowing that this place rightly belongs to me?”
The ice princess evaporated. “Oak Run is not rightly yours! A circumstance of birth does not make it yours! You’ve not given it a passing thought these many years,” she dared to contradict, eyes sparking like flaming tinder.
He gave her a small shake, ignoring the wild pulsing of his blood in response to her flashing eyes. “And how is Oak Run any more yours than mine? Don’t I deserve something from the man who fathered me? Thus far, he has contributed very little to my life.”
“That may be,” she allowed, “but before I came here this place was just wood and stone. I made it a home. I made it prosper.”
He shook his head at her logic. “Tell me one thing. Are you pregnant?”
She jerked in his hands as if struck. “No, of course not. How—”
“You’ve proven yourself nothing but a liar,” he broke in, forcing a careless shrug. “How am I to know you do not carry another man’s child?”
“Unhand me!” With renewed vigor she tried to wrench her arms free. Nick felt certain that if he had not been holding her, she would have slapped him. After all her revealed sins, he marveled that she should be offended by such a reasonable question.
“Then there isn’t another man?” he asked, strangely relieved.
At this, she ceased struggling. The pins had fallen loose from her hair, framing her face in a fetching tumble of waves. “No. There was never a man.” Her words were soft, almost sad. Her eyes looked haunted in her pale face, the light spattering of freckles on her nose especially prominent.
There was never a man. He studied her, denying the primitive surge within him to be that man, the first one to introduce her to passion, to feel her untried body arch beneath his. He released her and stepped back, clasping his hands behind him. Safer than touching her.
Clearing his throat, he asked, curiosity demanding to know, “How did you intend to pull off this deception? I applaud you for your shrewdness. No doubt you intended to have a son. However did you plan to acquire one?”
“Must we do this?” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her forehead as if she were suddenly suffering a headache.
“Yes, I want to hear all of it.”
Those lovely eyes of hers searched his face before answering. “There are plenty of orphans in need of homes.”
“Ah.” He rocked back on his heels.
“I know it seems horrible, but if you could just try to look at it from my perspective.”
“Seems horrible? That you would go to such lengths for money? Or was it the title that you could not part with?”
“It wasn’t the money.” Her nostrils flared and she beat a fist into her palm. “And I don’t care about the title. My family—”
“Spare me your pretty excuses,” he cut in.
She flinched. “You’ll not hear me out, then?”
He stared down at her for a long moment. She made a tempting picture with her flushed cheeks and bright, tear-filled eyes. A part of him still wanted to believe her good and innocent. He straightened his shoulders. “No.” He dared not. She’d weave a spell around him if he let her.
He recalled that last night at Oak Run, when he had almost kissed her. The only thing to stop him had been his belief that she carried Edmund’s child. The thought of following in Edmund’s wake had repelled him. But now that he knew the truth, that the marriage was unconsummated, little had changed. She was still off limits. Now more than ever. Attractive or not, even he would not risk touching such a viper.
His eyes drifted down. Curiosity prompted him to reach out and touch her swelling stomach. The padding felt firm and surprisingly real. She cried out, slapping his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
Perhaps it was her tone. Or her defiant attitude. But he deliberately ignored her. He had a right to investigate the means she took to deceive him.
Meredith, however, did not hold the same opinion.
It was as if a dam broke. She attacked him, his hands no longer her primary target. Her fists rained down on him as great sobs tore from her throat. He suspected more than his bold touch galvanized her. It was her loss, her failure…her elaborate scheme blowing up in her face.
Grim satisfaction filled him to witness the last of her composure crumble. Evidence that she was not the fine, dignified lady. She did not differ from the many women he had encountered throughout his life, all looking out for themselves and turning vicious when thwarted. No wonder Edmund had married her. They had been well suited—Edmund’s sexual preferences withstanding. Both were self-serving.
He hauled her against him to stop her from swinging another fist at his face. She tossed her head to glare at him through the tangled mess of her hair.
“Let me go,” she sobbed, green eyes wet and furious. The dangerous toes of her slippers lashed out and kicked him. One kick was particularly effective, grazing his shin.
Hissing in pain, he squeezed tighter and lifted her off the carpet. Tossing her down on the sofa, he straddled her and trapped her arms to her sides with his knees.
Leaning back, he wagged a finger at her. “Listen, you she-devil, you’re lucky I don’t call the authorities on you.”
She lifted her head off the sofa and bellowed into his face. “Do it! I expect no less from you.”
“Oh, I’m the villain, am I?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Shall I recount your sins? I think they outweigh mine.”
“You can’t even try to put yourself in my place, to see why I did it, to try and understand. You’re cut from the same cloth as your brother—selfish to the core.”
He felt her accusation as keenly as a knife to the chest. The separate life he led away from his family certainly guaranteed that he bore no resemblance to either his father or brother. Didn’t it?
Leaning his face close to hers, he whispered, “Rest assured I am nothing like my brother. I would have no problem consummating my marriage. More specifically, I would have no problem bedding you.”
If possible, her eyes grew even bigger, green saucers in her pale face. She went as still as a stone beneath him. “How do you know Edmund never consummated our marriage?”
He ignored the question, instead ran a finger along her jaw and down the column of her throat. Her breathing hitched. He stopped his finger at the throbbing pulse on the side of her neck. “It’s an easy enough matter t
o verify. Perhaps that’s what you need, hmm? A man in your bed to rob you of your rebelliousness? You could use a little taming.”
Wordlessly, she shook her head from side to side, rendered speechless for a change.
“No?” he queried softly, letting his fingers continue their path down her throat. “You’ve never wondered these many years?” His fingers stopped at the deep well between her breasts, as far as her neckline would allow him. “Never wanted to know a man?” She made a choking sound and her breasts lifted higher, straining the seams of her bodice. “Never wanted to take a man deep in your body?” His hand came over her breast. Her nipple rose up through the fabric of her gown. He grazed his palm back and forth across the hard little peak, increasing pressure as he did so.
“No,” she gasped even as her body arched beneath him, betraying her.
His hand froze and he studied her passion-heavy gaze. God, he wanted her. Wanted to bury himself inside her again and again until he had his fill and no longer wanted her.
“Still a liar, I see,” he said hoarsely as he removed himself from her. His hands shook as he straightened his rumpled jacket. His erection strained painfully at the front of his trousers. She did that to him. The little witch.
She lay there immobile, staring up at the ceiling like a piece of marble. “How did you know?” Her lips barely moved.
He knew instantly what she meant. “Adam Tremble. He was quite helpful in illuminating what kind of marriage you and Edmund shared.”
She closed her eyes where she lay, and Nick could almost see the waves of humiliation wash over her. Why should she feel shame? It was through no fault of hers that Edmund had preferred men. Of this, at least, she shouldered no blame.
“Whether my marriage was consummated is none of Adam Tremble’s business. Or yours.”
He stood quiet for a moment, undeniably disturbed at the pain he heard in her voice, and why it should be there. Had she loved Edmund so much she could not bear his lack of ardor for her? Inexplicable anger lanced through him. Why would she have wasted her affections on someone who could never return her love?
“The subject of your marriage is of no real interest to me, only insofar as it establishes you are a liar set out to defraud me.”