“Indeed, Lady Brookshire,” Lord Havernautt said, quickly contributing his sympathies. “I had no idea the extent of your grief. How have you borne it?” He clasped her hand in his, adding, “Poor, sweet lady.” His heartfelt, anxious gaze made her feel the veriest of wretches, especially in front of Adam Tremble, who knew full well of her deceit.
“Oh, you need not pity Lady Brookshire,” Tremble inserted. “She is always a woman to land on her feet.” From his pointed look at the two of them, he clearly thought she had found a plump pigeon to pluck. With Lord Havernautt holding her hand, they probably appeared quite the cozy couple. She extricated her hand and looped her arm through Lord Havernautt’s.
“It was lovely to see you again, Mr. Tremble,” she lied, urging Lord Havernautt along.
They located Portia in the nether regions of the library, her nose buried in a dog-eared copy of The Rights of Women in the British Empire, and coaxed her next door with them.
There, taking a sip of tepid tea, Meredith fidgeted under Lord Havernautt’s worshipful appraisal. Apparently she had just been elevated in his eyes. He gazed at her as though she were a hero newly returned from war. Blast it, why did she have to bump into Adam Tremble with Lord Havernautt, of all people? If she did wed him, that lie would stand forever between them. Lies were a sticky business. One always led to another, then another…
Thankfully, Portia kept the conversation lively, chattering all the way back to Lady Derring’s about the books piled high on her lap, allowing Meredith to mull in silence beside Lord Havernautt.
Finch was waiting for them in the foyer. “Lady Derring is holding tea,” he told them.
The moment before they entered the drawing room, Lord Havernautt grasped her elbow to keep her from following Portia. Meredith lifted her face inquiringly.
“Are you well, my lady? You have been withdrawn ever since meeting with that Tremble fellow. I hope painful reminders did not spoil your day,” he murmured.
His kindness increased her discomfort. She twisted the fingertips of her gloves, stretching the fabric until the fine meshed cotton was translucent. “No, I enjoyed our outing.”
He looked beyond her to the drawing room where Portia and Lady Derring waited. The two women made a show of focusing their attention elsewhere: the tea set, the carpet, the vaulted ceiling. Yet it was clear where their attention truly lay, and that they were listening to every word. In spite of their audience, Lord Havernautt inhaled a deep breath and hastily confessed, “I hope I am not too sudden in saying that I have come to much prize your company, and I hope to become even better acquainted with you.”
Meredith played with the fringe of her reticule, unsure how much more time they could spend together without offending propriety.
“I should like for you to join me at the family estate in Cumberland so that you might meet Mother. Perhaps after your presentation at court? I realize it is bad form to drag you away at the start of the Season, but Mother does not care for Town and I so want her to meet you.” He looked so hopeful that she could not have refused him if she wished. And from Lady Derring’s vehement nods, it appeared to Meredith that she did not have a choice anyway.
“I should like that very much, my lord.”
“Teddy. Please call me Teddy.”
“Teddy,” she allowed, inclining her head.
He grinned like a child awarded a treat. “Shall I call you Meredith, then? Would that be acceptable?”
Nick’s bold use of her name flashed in her head. He had never asked permission. She scolded herself for even comparing the two men. A good thing Teddy was not like Nick. A very good thing. If he were, he would not meet her criteria.
“Of course…Teddy.”
“Brilliant!” In his pleasure, he grabbed her hand and placed a wet, fervent kiss to the back of it. “I count myself lucky to have found you so early in the Season and to have escaped another round of simpering debs. Your maturity and grace are very calming. You have borne experiences that make you all the more enchanting, the mark of a true woman, no green girl.”
His words caused her no small amount of alarm. She was older than the average debutante, but not necessarily more experienced. Tucked away in the country for so long, she sorely lacked a repertoire of experience…most notably in the bedroom. In that regard, she was most certainly a girl. How could she convince him she was a matron of seven years who had suffered a miscarriage? She gnashed her teeth until her jaw ached. How had her life become so complicated? How could one single fib have escalated until she found herself mired in a whole web of them? She felt like stamping her foot in childish pique. If it weren’t for Nick, she would not be in this predicament. He was the one insisting she acquire a husband. Due to him, she faced the problem of explaining her virginity to her future husband.
Meredith had heard the whispers. She knew a virgin experienced pain her first time. And there was blood. A widow wouldn’t bleed. How could she explain the blood? She wasn’t certain what would be worse: telling Teddy that Edmund had found the notion of consummating their marriage distasteful, or explaining how she invented a pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage. In either case, he would probably have their marriage annulled at the first opportunity.
Nick was a worldly man. He should have foreseen this problem. After all, he was the one insisting she remarry. Yes, she would go to him and lay this dilemma at his feet. Certainly he would see that she could not go through with this marriage now.
Meredith returned Teddy’s smile with a shaky one of her own and accepted his arm. As he escorted her into the drawing room, she told herself that her suddenly churning stomach had nothing to do with facing Nick again, that she only sought an audience, only needed to explain that she could not wed someone under a cloud of lies. She was sick to death of lies. No more.
Wanting Nick with every breath in her body had nothing whatsoever to do with her desire to see him again.
Chapter 18
The hired hack waited at the corner at half past eleven just as Meredith had instructed her maid to arrange. Her slippered feet carried her down the sidewalk in a combination of haste and caution. She tried to hurry, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Lady Derring’s mansion, but the lack of visibility made her step cautiously. The fog hugged her like smoke and shrouded the hack from view until she nearly smacked into it. Its dark outline materialized suddenly, a slumbering beast lying in wait.
She paused to issue instructions to the driver before ascending unassisted into the coach. Devising an excuse to stay home had been relatively easy. Her complaint of a headache had been readily accepted as the others prepared for an evening out. In truth, Lady Derring’s managing ways had subsided, at least in regard to her. All due to Teddy.
She’d had a momentary spurt of panic when Aunt Eleanor insisted on staying behind to take care of her. Fortunately, Lady Derring added her voice to Meredith’s protests, saying she needed a good night’s rest to cure her ails and Aunt Eleanor need not miss the musicale.
Pushing thoughts of her aunt and Lady Derring to the back of her mind, Meredith marveled at her boldness as the hack crawled sedately through the fog-filled streets of London. She knew that Nick resided at his gaming establishment, the Lucky Lady. She saw it as a fortuitous circumstance, increasing his availability. If he had not yet retired for the night, she need only wait for his appearance.
On the morrow she would be presented at court. After that she would depart for Cumberland, Lady Derring, Portia, and Aunt Eleanor in tow. If Lady Derring was to be relied upon, she would be betrothed at the end of the house party. She had to see Nick tonight.
The hack came to an abrupt halt, rocking her from side to side on the squabs. Steadying herself, she parted the curtains and peered out. The Lucky Lady stood before her, several stories high, lights blazing from its stone and oak facade. The structure resembled an Elizabethan playhouse of old, with Tudor style windows and heavy oak beams crisscrossing the front. It looked more like a grand home than a bu
siness. A smile touched her lips. It reminded her a little of Oak Run. Perhaps Nick missed his former home more than he knew.
“Getting out?” the driver barked from his perch.
She hopped down, fished a coin out of her reticule, and tossed it to him. The hack clattered away, leaving her alone. She pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head, her fingers luxuriating in the gray ermine fur trimming the edges. Another one of the elegant purchases Lady Derring had insisted upon. She gathered the folds of her cloak about her, self-conscious of the provocative gown beneath. Like most of her new gowns, the green silk exposed vast amounts of shoulders and cleavage.
Upon entering the Lucky Lady, she hovered uncertainly on the raised dais, not yet taking the Italian marble steps that descended into the large room abuzz with activity. Several heads lifted to note her arrival. Tables dotted the room, occupied by gentlemen—even the occasional woman. Whirring roulette wheels added their volume to the steady drone of conversation. Liveried servants wove about the room carrying gleaming silver trays laden with drinks, food, and cigars.
A woman seemed to be directing these servers, snapping her fingers at one footman, directing him to offer cigars to several gentlemen playing at a nearby table. She caught Meredith’s notice primarily because of her unbelievably red hair, but also because of the air of ownership and authority about her. She was striking, despite her gaudy dress and hair. Meredith immediately wondered at her relationship with Nick. Was she an employee or more? Her air of command marked her as no one’s servant.
Meredith’s stomach heaved when she spotted a few familiar faces among the crowd. Until now she had not appreciated the fact that gentlemen of the ton—primarily gentlemen of her newfound acquaintance—frequented Nick’s establishment. If recognized, she would be ruined, all hope for a match gone. Her chances with Lord Havernautt would be forever lost, despite his apparent attachment for her.
One face in particular stood out. Bertram, Portia’s errant older brother, sat among the crowd. He lifted his head from his cards and took a fortifying drink from the glass in front of him. She clutched at her hood and staggered back several steps, her resolve crumbling. Suddenly, her adventure did not seem so thrilling—the need to talk with Nick not nearly that important. Not if it led to discovery and ruin.
Whirling around, her panicked retreat was brought to a swift halt when she smacked into another body.
A grunt of pain preceded a coarse, “Watch where the hell you’re going.”
“My pardon, sir, I’m terribly sorry.”
The sight of a sneering, pockmarked face did little to soothe her already frayed nerves. “Bloody right you are.” Pale eyes inspected her face and fine cloak with insulting thoroughness, as though she were a piece of horseflesh. “A right fine piece you are. Look like a regular lady. Talk like one too.” Hard fingers took hold of her arm as he thrust his face closer to hers. “You already belong to someone, lovey?” His shifty eyes looked over her shoulder, as if to satisfy himself that she was indeed alone and unprotected. When he looked back to her, the glitter in his pale eyes chilled her to the bones. Thin lips stretched over an uneven row of rotting teeth. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out alone. There’s all kinds of danger for a girl without a protector. Why don’t you come with ol’ Skelly and let him look after you?”
She assured herself that he could not simply drag her off. Not in front of so many witnesses. Not if she protested. Not if she cried for help. She bit her lip in consternation, her quandary clear. Should she cry for help and alert everyone in the Lucky Lady to her presence, her identity? Certainly not. Surely she could handle this matter herself without creating a scene.
Skelly, as he had identified himself, began dragging her toward the front door. She dug her heels in and shook her head, striving for a calm she did not feel as the soles of her slippers slid with frightening speed along the marble floor.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she hissed, still unwilling to draw attention to herself. “I’ll thank you to release me so that I can make my own way.”
“Any bloke keeping a fine piece like you waiting simply don’t deserve you. I’ll set you up like a princess. You won’t have to lift a finger…just your skirts.” He chortled, amused by his own quip.
She gasped. He could not be serious. Her reticence vanished at once. He almost had her to the door. Reputation be hanged. She could not allow this man to abduct her.
She spoke through gritted teeth, deciding to give him one last chance. “Release me.”
His hold on her arm did not ease in the slightest. “Don’t be skittish—”
She cocked back her arm. With her elbow pressed close to her side and her thumb tucked carefully under her fingers, as Nels had taught her, she jabbed him with her fist. She hardly noted the pain in her hand as her fist made contact with his face. The satisfaction in seeing blood spurt from his nose eclipsed all discomfort.
“Little bitch, you mashed my nose in.” Even with his hands clutched over his nose, his muffled words were clear enough to understand. Blood seeped between his fingers in a steady stream of crimson. Instead of taking the opportunity to flee, she could only watch in fascinated horror at the damage she had wrought, looking back and forth between her fisted hand and his bleeding face.
“What’s going on here?” The brassy, red-haired woman approached. Hands on her hips, she glared first at Meredith, then Skelly. “You know Nick told you not to step foot in here again.” She jerked her head in Meredith’s direction. “She one of your girls? Nick won’t have you working over one of your girls in his place—”
“I am not one of his girls,” Meredith inserted indignantly, having a good idea what that distinction implied. “He tried to force me to leave with him.”
“That so?” The woman dipped her head to gain a better look at her shadowed features. “Well, looks like you handled him.” She turned her attention back to Skelly, who was mopping at his face with a dingy-looking handkerchief. “If I were you, I would leave before Nick sees you.”
“See who, Bess?”
Never had she experienced joy and dread simultaneously. Nick sauntered forward, looking splendid in a black jacket and silvery gray waistcoat. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. He was magnificent. More so than she remembered. Her face flushed. Dread reasserted itself. She was sure to receive a tongue-lashing as only he knew how to deliver for venturing out unescorted.
Hovering there, waiting for him to notice her, she realized how foolhardy her actions. Good Lord, look what nearly happened to her. Her breath trapped in her chest as she braced herself for the moment he recognized her.
“Skelly has taken to accosting our guests,” Bess informed Nick.
“That’s Mr. Fairbanks to you.” Skelly patted his bloodied nose, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. “And I didn’t accost anyone. That bitch hit me.”
Nick finally looked at her. The concern and sympathy ready for one of his patrons immediately vanished from his face.
“What in hell are you doing here?” he growled, taking a threatening step toward her.
“You know her?” Bess asked sharply, the arms crossed over her chest falling to her sides.
Nick ignored her question, either unaware of it or indifferent. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.
Meredith darted a wary glance to Bess’s and Skelly’s rapt faces. Skelly held his handkerchief midair, suddenly forgetting his bloody nose. Bess scowled darkly.
“I needed to speak with you.” She hated the telling tremor in her voice.
“You couldn’t have sent a message?” He grabbed hold of her shoulder and gave it a shake. “This is no place for you. What were you thinking?”
“Why is this no place for her?” Bess demanded, stepping forward to stand side by side with Nick.
Meredith held her hands up in supplication. “I needed to speak with you privately. This seemed the best way. I realize now that I should have sent word that I was coming.” She glanced uneasily betw
een Bess and Nick. Both glared at her with equal expressions of hostility, and Meredith was unsure which one posed the greatest threat to her at the moment.
“You should not have come at all.” As if suddenly remembering what had happened to her, he abruptly released her shoulder and wheeled around, grabbing Skelly by the throat. “You touched her?”
“She was alone!” Skelly scratched at Nick’s fingers with an animal-like frenzy, wheezing, “I didn’t know she was yours. I didn’t hurt her. She mashed my nose—I’m the one bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“And I can imagine just what you did to warrant that.” Nick’s knuckles were white around Skelly’s throat, and Meredith placed a restraining hand on his bicep. The muscle hummed with tension beneath her fingers.
“Nick.” She spoke his name softly, trying to reach past his anger. He looked down at her hand on his arm as Skelly continued thrashing against his hold. Her voice beseeched him. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”
“Nick,” Bess interrupted, her angry gaze scouring Meredith. “People are watching.” Her eyes swept Meredith and Skelly in mutual contempt. Indeed, several people were beginning to gather around them, inching up the steps to the dais. Meredith dropped her hand and tried to disappear even farther into the confines of her cloak.
Nick hesitated for the briefest moment, a tumult of emotions flickering over his face—his desire to continue choking the life out Skelly the most apparent. At last he shoved the man away. “I warned you to stay out of here. There won’t be a next time.”
Skelly nodded, rubbing the angry red flesh of his throat. “I hear you.” He spared one last venomous glare for Meredith before stalking out the front doors.
Nick looked back at her, fists closing and opening at his sides, his expression as dark and forbidding as when he had looked at Skelly. Did he want to choke her too? If possible, she shrank even farther into her cloak. He tore his eyes from her to take in the curious faces around them, realizing, just as she did, that they hovered on the brink of scandal. His jaw tensed in grim acknowledgment of the crowd drawing ever closer.