One Week As Lovers Page 12

  A pleasant kernel of warmth bloomed inside his chest. The truth was that everyone would expect him to marry Imogene regardless. Everyone except Cynthia. “I’m afraid that’s not true. This isn’t about love or even affection. It’s about money and power.”

  “So find a nice heiress to marry! Don’t marry her.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the green salt smell of the ocean. The waves only lapped today, instead of crashing, and suddenly it was summer and he was fourteen and the world was so damned simple. The gulls screamed and the sun shone and Cyn stood over him with her fists on her hips, outraged about something. As usual, he could only smile at her. She was always so cute when she stomped her little foot and growled.

  “Nick!” she grouched, and he opened his eyes.

  No, he wasn’t fourteen, and Cynthia wasn’t a child. And the world might be simple, but it wasn’t the least bit kind. “It doesn’t matter, Cyn.”

  “Of course it matters. You’re not happy. I want you to be happy.”

  That kernel grew into a flame that singed his heart. No one had tried to protect him from anything in so many years. In the end, not even his own father had looked out for him. “I am happy.”

  “You most certainly are not.”

  “On the contrary, I’m well known as one of the happiest gentlemen in the ton.”

  She tucked her chin in. “By people who scarcely know you at all, I take it?”

  “I…” Lancaster didn’t know what to say. How could she see what others could not? How could she know that he was profoundly empty inside? He watched the sun reach out across the dark blue water. “Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,” he murmured to the sea, some maudlin bit of Scottish poetry that had stuck in his head.

  “What?” The clipped word radiated Cynthia’s impatience.

  He snapped from his reverie and met her eyes. “Who is ever happy? You’re not happy. How could you be, with the specter of Lord Richmond hanging over you?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze clear and steady. “That’s true. But I will be happy someday. And Nick…I’m happy now, when I’m with you. I always was.”

  His heart swelled. He blinked hard several times as the truth of her words hit him. Since the moment he’d discovered she was alive, he’d felt peaceful. Happy. As if he’d come home.

  Perhaps it would’ve been better if his parents hadn’t trundled him off to London to recover. He should’ve come home to Cantry Manor so that he could recall who he was.

  Cynthia slowly lowered herself to sit beside him on the wide boulder. She twitched her skirts a few times and then grew quiet, joining him in his study of the sea.

  “Why did you stop? In the passageway?” she whispered.

  The cold of the stone had begun to seep into his thighs, but she felt warm next to him. He wanted to drag her back to that passageway and finish what he’d started. He wanted to take her upstairs and bind her wrists and show her why he’d stopped. But more than that, he wanted to go back in time and be what she deserved.

  “I was free here,” he said. “You and I, we were free. But I am the viscount now. The head of a family drowning in debt. What I want no longer signifies and it never will.”

  “Nick—”

  He shook his head. “But you will have what you want someday. You’ll sail to America and meet a young American man and be charmed by his industriousness and drive. You’ll fall in love. And when you marry him, you’ll regret me.”

  “That’s nonsense. To speak of unknown people in some future time.”

  “It’s not nonsense, and I won’t ruin you.” When she started to interrupt again, Lancaster held up a hand to stop her. Miraculously, she closed her mouth. “Cynthia, your virtue is like a jewel.”

  “A jewel?” she sputtered while he nodded.

  “Yes, a precious jewel. Or a flower. Yes, it’s a flower. A fragile and priceless gift to be given only to your husband. A flower can only be plucked once, after all.” He’d finally managed to penetrate her stubbornness. Cynthia fell silent, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “You would not hand a flower to a…Actually, perhaps it is more of a jewel. Because you would not place a priceless jewel in the hand of a passing friend. You’d keep that jewel safe and hidden until your marriage.”

  “Because my husband must like jewels?”

  “Precisely.” Lancaster nodded again and slapped his hands against his thighs. “Right then.” He pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders. “Keep that hood up, just in case. Now let’s find your treasure.”

  Chapter 10

  A jewel? Her virtue was a jewel?

  Cynthia watched Nick’s back as he descended the trail in front of her. She hadn’t known what to say to that ridiculousness, and she still didn’t. He’d seemed quite pleased with his platitudes.

  But his words were in vain. That flower had been plucked long before.

  Or, if it was a jewel, she’d snuck it carelessly into the pocket of a man who certainly hadn’t considered it precious. Perhaps her jewel had been made of shoddy paste.

  A laugh snuck up on her and escaped loudly enough to draw Nick’s attention. Coughing into her hand, Cyn waved him on, determined not to hurt his feelings. If he thought his less-than-poetic speech had been profound, there was no point in setting him aright.

  He was a sweet, thoughtful man. It was no wonder she’d once loved him.

  Oddly though, his sweetness did not seem to extend to his lovemaking. He might be thoughtful, but he was certainly not gentle.

  Cynthia ran a hand across her forehead and wondered why this didn’t disturb her. Her first lover hadn’t been gentle either, but for some reason Nick’s rough hands excited her into a strange bundle of shaking nerves.

  Well, she didn’t know much about it. Likely, they were all the same. But Nick wasn’t as large as James had been, and the difference in size could only recommend him. With Nick it would be easier. Better.

  “Nick,” she called as he reached the sand of the beach and paused.

  He held up a hand and knelt down.

  Puzzled, she hurried to catch up. “What is it?”

  “Hoof prints.”

  She skidded to a halt, her heart turning over in alarm. “Are you sure?” But she could see them herself now, clear in the dry sand, and even clearer at the water’s edge.

  “These are fresh, Cyn.” He stood and stepped farther out onto the sand to peer down the beach. “Stay there.”

  She backed up until her shoulders touched rock and watched as Nick strode straight out into the water to get a better view. Before the water could reach the top of his boots, he turned and surveyed the coast.

  “I don’t see anything, but there’s only one set of prints here. Whoever he is, I don’t think he’s come back yet. We’d better go.”

  “He might have only ridden to the next trail.”

  Nick stared down the beach, eyes narrowed. “It’s not worth taking the chance.”

  “But we’re going the other way, and a rider couldn’t make it past that outcropping. We’ll be fine.”

  He turned his narrowed eyes on her. “I don’t like it.”

  “As usual.” She set off toward the north, confident he’d follow. Unsure as he was about this search, she could tell he was enjoying the adventure of it. He’d taken to whistling as they walked. But there was no whistling behind her today. They both ran.

  Sand sprayed up her legs with each step. The faster they ran, the more likely it seemed that someone chased after them. Fear spread through her.

  With her heart beating so hard, it seemed to take only seconds to get to the outcropping, and her legs lifted her easily up the rocks. Nick was right behind her. As soon as she made it to the far side, Cynthia dropped to her knees in the sand and gulped for air.

  “Good God,” Nick gasped. “I believe you’re faster than I.”

  “It’s that…civilized…London lifestyle.”

  “Mm. Too many biscuits with my tea.”r />
  “I was thinking more of…brandy and whores.”

  Nick smiled. “I was too.”

  It took her a moment. “Biscuits,” she murmured and then collapsed in laughter.

  He grinned so widely she could see his back teeth.

  “You’re doing a terrible job of preserving my delicate sensibilities, milord.”

  “Well, if you’re saucy enough to speak of whores, there’s not much I can do for you.”

  “True.” She was still laughing as he helped her to her feet, but she noticed the way he glanced at her mouth, as if all his earlier words had been futile protests against his true desires. His smile wavered for only a brief moment before springing back to full life.

  When they began to stroll, Nick kept hold of her hand, centering Cynthia’s whole world on their clasped fingers. It felt like spring today, and she imagined she and Nick were out for a romantic stroll.

  If she were bold, she might slip off her boots and stockings and cool her feet in a shallow wave. Viscount Lancaster would try to hide the way he stared at her feet, waiting impatiently for glimpses of her ankles. His admiration would make her bold, and she might occasionally lift her skirts high enough to show off the curve of her calves. He’d be overcome with passion and stop her right in the wake of a wave to declare his love.

  “Bollocks,” Nick said, startling her so much that she stumbled over her own feet. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Boots are full of water.”

  He might not have been mocking her daydream, but somebody should. What utter bollocks to descend back into the self-same fantasies she’d had as a child. Delusions that Nick would love her and they’d ride off into the sunset together.

  Well, Nick wasn’t free to love her. And she couldn’t ride a damned horse at any rate. But she would take what she could and be satisfied with that.

  “Do you want to stop?” she asked him.

  “No, we’re almost there. And I fear if I take them off they might not go on again.” He squeezed her hand briefly and then let go, leaving her skin tingling with grief.

  “Ah, here’s the infamous spot of my early demise.”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” she scolded, smacking his arm as hard as she could. “I really thought you might have been dead.”

  He winked, but that didn’t stop the horrible flutter in her stomach. He’d hit the sand so hard, she still couldn’t believe that he was fine. She hurried past the spot, and they rounded a short outcropping that didn’t quite reach the water.

  “Oh, look at this,” Nick said.

  Cynthia stopped to stare. The land curved in here, creating a small horseshoe-shaped cove. But instead of being filled with water, it was flat sand broken up by piles of boulders.

  “I remember this place,” Nick said, turning in a slow circle. “Close to the full moon, it fills with water at high tide. Do you remember?”

  “I do,” she answered. Of course she remembered. She’d been here the whole time.

  While he looked around, she began a careful study of the cliffs around them. An hour later, she collapsed into a defeated lump on the sand and threw an arm over her eyes. “There’s nothing here.”

  “I know. We should head home soon or you’ll be burned.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I know that too.” He chuckled. “But considering your foul tongue and awful temperament, you’ve only your fine skin to recommend you. Best to protect it.”

  “Scoundrel,” she muttered. The pleasant weather and Nick’s good mood had begun to annoy her. Was gloominess too much to ask?

  “I should have brought…”

  When his silence drew out, Cynthia lifted her arm to find him staring off into the distance, head cocked at a slight angle. “What is it?”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  She held her breath, straining to hear. And then it came again. The clink of metal on metal. Nick’s head jerked up, his gaze locking on the tops of the cliffs on the far side of the little cove.

  “A rider.”

  When the wind brought the sound of a horse’s snort, she jumped to her feet and looked frantically around. The largest boulders were too far away to reach quickly. There was nowhere to hide.

  “Over there,” Nick bit out, pushing her toward the pile of rocks closest to them. “Pull the cloak over you and curl up as tightly as possible.”

  The largest of the rocks was perhaps two feet wide. She knelt beside it, though she nearly tripped over her skirt when she saw that Nick had removed his coat and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going for a swim. Now get down.”

  She did as he instructed, tucking the gray cloak under her knees and pulling the hood fully over her head. She curled into a ball, and barely squeaked when something landed on her back.

  “I’m going to pile my clothes on you. Do not move.”

  She felt a lighter thump of weight on her back. And then another and another. A few moments passed, and then the sound of churning water filled the tiny woolen cave she’d made. She thought there might have been a horrified curse mixed in with the splashes as well.

  Spring day or not, the water was undoubtedly cold.

  Though she held as still as possible, her heart thudded so hard that she was sure her whole body must be jumping in time with her pulse. Her neck began to ache almost immediately, but she kept her forehead pressed tight to her knees. The sound of his splashing grew more distant. All she could hear now was her own breath blasting against the sand.

  Time ticked by. Sweat trickled down her temple. She thought she heard that clink of metal again, closer this time, but it could have been her imagination, weaving danger from threads of fear.

  Her thighs began to shake. Sand dug into her fists, scraping her skin until she thought she might risk everything just to shift an inch.

  It seemed half the day had passed before she heard the swish of Nick returning. “He’s gone,” he called in a hushed tone.

  She popped her head up and gasped for breath. But the divinely fresh air froze in her throat.

  Nick was still two feet deep in water. And he was totally naked. The skin of his chest was paler than his arms. And his scar stood out a dull pink against his neck. Her eyes skipped over the damaged flesh and followed the dusting of golden hair over his wide chest. His body narrowed at his waist and hips, and his muscled thighs were rough with hair.

  As was the area around his sex.

  She stared, taking him in.

  “I couldn’t see him clearly,” Nick muttered, gaze still locked on the cliffs above. When his eyes fell to her, he cursed and his hands flew to cover his private bits.

  “Christ, Cyn. Don’t look at me.”

  “I’ve already seen you naked,” she said, easing up to a sitting position as her back screamed its outrage.

  “But not like this! I’m not…I’m not at my best. The cold water…You don’t understand.”

  No, he certainly wasn’t at his best. He was even smaller than he’d been that first night. She just shrugged.

  “Close your eyes, damn it, and let me get dressed. It’s damned cold in there.”

  His lips did look a bit blue. Cynthia turned and faced the rocks.

  “Thank you,” he snapped. She heard the sound of fabric being shaken and his grumbling as well. “Remind me to bring along a fishing pole next time.”

  “That was a good idea,” Cynthia offered. “Going for a swim.”

  “I figured if it was Bram, he’d be suspicious of me just wandering the beach on foot.”

  Her eyes flickered up. “Do you think it was Bram?”

  “Maybe.” He sat on the rock behind her. His back brushed her shoulder. “All I could make out was a man on horseback. He was neither slim nor portly. Didn’t seem old. But he did stand in his stirrups and watch me for a long time.”

  “Perhaps he only liked the view.”

  Nick shot her a dark look. “We need to get home. Now.” His tee
th chattered over the words.

  “Why don’t we wait for you to warm first?”

  He tugged his boots on with shaking hands. “I’ll warm faster if I’m moving. And we’ll need the day to come up with a new plan. Your days of wandering the beach are over.”

  “I won’t be brushed aside like a child,” she complained for the fourth time. Nick just kept walking, head down. He’d stopped shaking anyway, though it had taken a while. They were only yards from the front door of Cantry Manor.

  “Hurry,” he urged, and she did, but her legs were starting to ache from the fast pace he set.

  “You can’t dictate to me.”

  “I most certainly can.” He rushed up the steps and tugged open the door to wave her through. Once they were safely inside, he slammed the big wooden door and kept moving, brushing past her to head toward the kitchen. “We’ll discuss this after a dram of whisky. My b—, er, my guts are still frozen.”

  She wanted to push him and scream and argue, but instead she bit her tongue. She could wait till he’d had a glass of whisky. Hell, she could use one herself.

  So Cynthia pushed back the hood of her cloak and rushed after Nick. And almost immediately came to a rocking halt beside him in the door of the kitchen.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered at the sight of Mrs. Pell. Standing next to Adam.

  He was backing out the narrow door, the housekeeper’s hand on his chest providing the momentum. Mrs. Pell’s knuckles turned white with the pressure, but Adam had ceased to move.

  His eyes locked on Cynthia. His mouth opened in an “O” of shock, transforming him from a young man of twelve to the five-year-old he’d once been. “Miss Merrithorpe?” he squeaked.

  They all stood there, silent. A frozen quartet of pale, stunned faces. The fire crackled. The wind blew the door open another inch. And still they didn’t move.

  Cynthia decided there was only one thing to do. “Ooo,” she moaned, undulating her voice in a spooky vibration. She tugged the hood up and moaned again. “Oooooo!”

  Though she elbowed Nick, he only gawked at her and edged away. Following him, she wailed in his direction and nudged him again, raising her eyebrows meaningfully toward Adam. Nick frowned and shook his head. She jerked her chin in Adam’s direction and glared at Nick until he finally rolled his eyes and dropped his crossed arms.