Page 11 of When She Loved Me
Panicked, Nicole whispered breathlessly, guiltily behind him, “My lord, it was wrong... right? We just—well, the...with the dove and...the situation, it was wrong. Right?”
He did not answer her.
Once returned to the ballroom, he deposited her near the ladies retiring room, suggesting thickly that she attend to her person, while Nicole wondered hopefully if it were only his own guilt, manifested as anger, that had him staring at her with eyes shot so liberally with fury.
And with one last penetrating, probing glare, his jaw clenched tight, he turned on his heel and left her. Nicole took immediately to the retiring room, thankful it was empty save for its attendant maid, and cried quietly into a handkerchief plucked from her reticule. She could not show her face, now tear stained and reddened, in the ballroom again and so, from there, went directly to the Kent carriage, waiting what seemed like hours for Sabrina to appear.
Luckily, Sabrina had never had much cause or penchant for making conversation with Nicole, and after a brief inquiry as to how long she’d waited—to which Nicole lied and said only a few minutes—they’d driven home in complete silence. Nicole felt especially unable to chastise her sister now for her ill-treatment of Trevor, knowing her own sins were by far greater.
IT WAS WRONG. RIGHT?She’d asked him after that fateful venture into the gardens at Kenefick House. Trevor could not remove those words from his brain even three days later. He could not stop hearing them again, in that torn little voice of hers. He could not erase the picture of her, her lips swollen and reddened from his kiss, her gaze seeking assurances from him. He’d been unable to answer her then, unwilling to examine his own reasons for that kiss, and what his reaction to her meant to him now.
Wrong? No, it had not been wrong. Nothing, he’d determined, not anything in all his twenty-nine years had ever felt so right. But what to do now?
He’d called yesterday at the Kent townhouse—on Sabrina, ostensibly—but had also asked Bennett, the Kent butler, to fetch Nicole as well, if he pleased, as Trevor had pretended to have some business with her. He’d been informed straight away that Miss Nicole was not at home. “Driving with friends, I am to understand,” Bennett had told him in his staid and low voice, leaving Trevor left with nothing to do but await Sabrina’s incalculable presence.
He might have expressed surprise over Sabrina’s actual appearance and unaccountable willingness to visit with him if his mind were not so detracted by thoughts of her sister. As it was, Sabrina had invited him into the visitor’s parlor and served him tea, even going so far as to make banal conversation with him. But all of this—her questionable attempts at congeniality —was lost on Trevor until much later in the day. Then, he surmised it was her own guilt, having all but openly cuckholded him at the Clarendon ball, which allowed her to put on sweet airs for his benefit. Or perhaps—and more probably—her father had gotten wind of her recent headstrong and inappropriate behavior andhad threatened her very existence. Either way, Trevor found that he didn’t care. Sabrina could do as she pleased. He would eventually let her know this. Their union was to be a business arrangement only, he would inform her. As long as she was discreet—he would insist upon this—and as long as she put out the requisite heir and a spare, she could damn well do as she pleased. He cared not. He would stop pretending that he did.
And on each of the next three occasions in which Trevor called at the Kent house, hoping only for a word with Nicole, he’d been greeted by his own fiancé instead, Nicole being unavailable in all instances. After one week of this, having today left the Kent house after being hosted to tea by both Sabrina and her nearly always absent father, in which time Sabrina had nearly bored him to tears with the apparently inexhaustible topic of bonnets, Trevor went in direct search of Nicole. Vaguely, Baron Kent had let it be known that Nicole had taken up with “that Cattermole chit” and they were even now driving in the park with Miss Cattermole’s mama and brother.
Leaving Kent House, Trevor headed straight for Hyde Park, but despaired at finding his quarry, because a glance at his timepiece told him that the fashionable hour for driving was coming to an end and Nicole was likely, even now, on her way home.
But find her he did—walking, not driving indeed—unaccompanied along her very own street. Trevor jerked hard on the reins, pulling his phaeton alongside her, acutely aware of her shocked and distressed expression.
“Get in,” he commanded, to which she frowned and continued moving. “Nicki, get in the damn carriage.”
Her bonneted head swiveled sharply at his tone and language, her eyes lighting on his with dismay. But she did as he’ddemanded, slipping her hand into his to be pulled up into the open rig.
“Really, my lord—”
“We will talk about this, Nicki,” he stated with only marginally less harshness. She seemed to sigh audibly next to him, Trevor not unaware of their thighs and elbows touching as the vehicle moved steadily around the block.
“Truly, there isn’t anything to discuss,” she said, her voice sounding falsely bright and guiltless to him. “We made a mistake. We forgot ourselves, that is all.”
Forgot ourselves?He mulled these words. This statement insinuated that there had been a longstanding attraction growing, one they’d been forced to deny for some time. Was that the case? he wondered. Their acquaintance in itself was too short for this desire to have been sprung so long ago. But there was desire, he knew, misplaced and dastardly though it was. Trevor glanced sideways at Nicole, taking note of her prim and purposeful position, her eyes staring straight ahead, which afforded him, around the edges of her ruffled rimmed bonnet, only a slight view of her stalwart profile. His gaze settled longingly upon her lips, recalling their softness, already well met but never to be tasted again, he acknowledged with a hammering of his heart that was nearly painful.
Jesus!He cursed inwardly, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into—betrothed to a beautiful witch who stirred his blood not at all, and desirous of her very own sister, whose presence alone seemed to rouse many things inside of him, least of all being the urge to touch her again, to feel her respond to him with so tantalizing an innocence once more.
Rather out of the blue, as he’d not replied to her last statement, Nicki said, “It won’t ever happen again, that lapse of sanity.” She did not move her head to look at him as she delivered this vexing news.
Was that what he wanted? Instinctively, Trevor knew the answer was no. But his choices were so very...non-existent. Sabrina, from her mother, had the huge inheritance, which his family and estate needed so desperately. And Nicki, according to her father—even if she possessed the dowry and moneys that Sabrina would bring to a union—was not allowed to even consider a betrothal, as the baron thought eighteen too young yet to wed. It was often the practice in aristocratic families that the oldest daughter should marry first, lest she be considered less attractive to prospective takers, having been shelved while the younger took her place.
“Nicki, I don’t want you to think—”
She finally turned to him, laying her gloved hand upon his arm while he managed the ribbons, effectively silencing him. His skin under her small palm and fingers flexed and heated even at this slight touch. “Trevor, please do not concern yourself on my account. I may be young, but I think I am not so naïve as to think that what happened between us was anything other than a complete and absurd lack of judgment, instigated solely because of those strange circumstances.” With a quirky little smile, which he was beginning to favor greatly, she added, “Having listened to the Dove and her paramour upon the garden path, I am sure—”
Sternly, irrationally, he said, “You should not have listened to that.”
Nicki gave him a funny look, one brow raised over her vivid green eyes. “You were there, my lord. There wasn’t much Icould’ve done tonotlisten. But please, set your mind to rest. It happened, but it won’t again. Why, I’ve barely given it a thought.”
His gaze turned sharp at this dismissive statement. He studied her pretty face, looking for signs to refute her words, but she faced the street before them again, allowing him no glimpses into her mind. He’d driven them fully around the block by now, and back to her house, drawing the bays to a stop at the curb.
“Why did I find you walking along the street alone just now?”
She seemed surprised by the question, obviously hadn’t any knowledge of how desperate he was to not see her leave him just yet.
“I was with Lucy Cattermole,” she answered, and pointed up the street, “she lives just there.”
“You have plans for this evening?” God, he was pathetic.
