Chapter Twent Four
The tangle of nerves in Bronte's stomach tied themselves into a tight knot as the car Nico had sent for her joined the queue to drop her off at the entrance to Ludlow Hall.
She told herself it wasn't disappointment but relief she was feeling that he hadn't come in person to take her to the Ball.
There was plenty to be thankful for in her life. The dinner in London last night with her father had been wonderful. Of course, she could have done without the gossip columns this morning speculating on why Carl Terlezki was wining and dining a woman young enough to be his daughter. If they only knew. Her father's phone call this morning made her feel better. The truth would come out in due course, but not until Alexander had returned, met Carl and they came up with a plan on how to handle it.
Then she saw Nico waiting for her at the entrance to Ludlow Hall.
He looked fabulous in black Armani.
Her mouth dried with nerves and Bronte ordered herself to remain calm.
Nico opened the car door and took her hand. His eyes, grey and intense, studied her features as if he hadn't seen her in a year rather than almost two days.
"Thank you for coming. You look spectacular this evening."
His deep voice brought her out in goose bumps.
He brought her fingers to his lips and she felt the little hum in her system.
If the look in his eyes was anything to go by the Elie Saab gown was a hit. Shame she could care less.
Well, at least he was being polite and for that she was grateful.
He certainly looked dark and dangerous in his tuxedo.
The key to getting through the evening, she'd decided, was to play it cool. Keep the mood light and show him there were no hard feelings and agree to draw a line under the whole thing. His hand on the small of her back pulsed heat through her veins.
They walked into the ballroom and Nico kept his fingers on her elbow.
He snagged a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed her one.
"Thank you." She kept her voice steady and the tone friendly, desperately telling herself she could do this.
Her eyes scanned the room.
The usual suspects, as she thought of them, were all here and dressed up like peacocks.
Among them were the great and the good of the county, heads of business, the local MP and his wife.
Rosie whirled past with a beaming young man. She winked at Bronte and sent a cool look to Nico who cleared his throat at her side.
He took her glass, placed it on a table with his and turned to her.
In a smooth move as the tune changed Nico slid Bronte into his arms, swaying in time to the music.
He studied her face.
His hand pressed on her lower back but she resisted his attempt to pull her close.
"We need to talk about what happened in Rome."
Her eyes flicked to his before she concentrated on his chin.
"There's nothing to talk about. You were correct. Your life has nothing to do with me."
The cool tone with the polite delivery told him he was not forgiven.
She held herself stiff in his arms.
"I want you in my life." The words were said before he realised it and this time she met his gaze. Her green eyes remained steady on his.
Nico thought he read regret and something else he couldn't quite define.
"You can't have everything you want."
"Si, I know this, but I am trying to apologise." It was a unique feeling and not altogether pleasant. Neither was the feeling of desperation. Couldn't she see he was serious? Confused and wrong footed, he tried again. "I am sorry, cara mia, for my behaviour."
Bronte blinked twice and gave a little shrug of her slim shoulders.
"Apology accepted. But as you said, it isn't any of my business."
He trailed a finger down her neck.
She didn't shiver or tremble this time, he noticed with a small frown.
Her vivid green eyes were difficult to read tonight and although she smiled, it appeared remote.
"I see you've hit the headlines." Her little jerk in his arms had him look at her carefully.
"He's an old family friend," she told him as heat flared in her cheeks.
?She held herself too stiff in his arms now.
Strain darkened those fabulous eyes.
"I know," he said, trying to work out what the hell was wrong with her. "Alexander told me."
?She appeared to be riveted by his tie.
Anxiety warred with fear, a rare emotion for him. Together, they marched up his spine. They needed to clear the air, he told himself. What he wanted, needed, to do was to kiss her senseless, but instinct warned him that it was neither the time nor the place.
The music finished and Bronte tugged her hand, but he held it firm.
"Oh God, look who's here." He caught Rosie's mutter to Bronte.
He turned as a tall fair haired man approached with his arm around a pregnant blonde.
The atmosphere around them hummed with latent hostility and Bronte's nervous strain. Her grip on his hand tightened convulsively and he looked at her.
Her face was deathly pale now, but it was her eyes that ripped his heart in two. They were filled with despair, pain and longing. She blinked and the look had gone, but her grip almost stopped the circulation to his fingers.
"Bronte, how are you?" the man said.
Bronte's smile did not reach her eyes.
"Good evening, Jonathan, Annabel." Her voice was too stiff, the tone too polite.
Jonathan beamed a smile in the general direction of the group and introduced his wife who did not look particularly comfortable.
Jonathan moved towards Bronte with a calculating look in his eye.
"May I have this dance? For old times sake?"
Bronte hesitated, shrugged and moved towards the dance floor, ignoring Jonathan's outstretched hand.
Standing there feeling helpless Nico fought the urge to plant a fist in Jonathan's smooth, handsome face.
Bronte narrowed her eyes at Jonathan's triumphant smile, but did not resist as he led her on to the floor.
His pregnant wife had caught her off balance and although she was aware of the speculative glances and murmured voices, she chose to ignore them. Two babies within eighteen months, Jonathan was a busy boy. Although it occurred to her that poor Annabel didn't look a happy bunny. Bronte found she genuinely felt sorry for the girl.
"You're looking particularly gorgeous." Jonathan's cold blue eyes slid over her dress, missing nothing.
She wasn't in the mood for small talk.
"What do you want?"
The feel of his hand on her back did nothing for her, no chemistry, no shiver of awareness, nothing.
She noticed he had the grace to blush, even as his eyes flicked to Nico.
"I hear you're selling The Dower House."
She blinked in surprise. Her brows met as she leaned back to study him.
"I don't know where you heard that piece of gossip. But I can tell you categorically it is not true."
"Come on, Bronte. You know in my business I hear about the decent properties coming onto the market." His family owned an estate agents and auction house. He also had a cousin in the planning authority. Yes, she remembered Jonathan always kept his ear close to the ground.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
?He flicked another unpleasant look towards Nico.
"You should speak to your new boyfriend."
"Excuse me?" Why had she never noticed his weak mouth before? Or the sly look in his eye? What on earth had she been thinking to even have considered marrying this creep? "You're talking in riddles this evening, Jonathan. I find it quite tedious." He wasn't used to her speaking to him in that tone. By the clench of his jaw, she could tell he didn't like the change.
"He's been asking questions about planning permission for a landing strip to be built on your land and changes to the hous
e. He said it was hypothetical, since he doesn't own it yet. Before you accept an offer, you should get independent valuations. I'd give you a good price for it. It's the perfect family home for us."
Bronte's pulse thundered in her ears. What the hell was this? Had Nico's apology meant nothing? Her tired brain was finding it hard to compute. Nico knew she wasn't selling. He still wanted the house? The sense of betrayal almost floored her.
And as for Jonathan, she wondered why she was so shocked? Both of them had their own agendas and were prepared to walk over her to achieve them. The room tilted and then she remembered to breathe.
Nausea hit her like a tsunami.
She needed to get out here.
Jonathan watched her reactions like a coiled snake and utter fury hit her so hard her hand made a fist. Before she made a scene and actually struck him, Bronte pushed him away.
"Go to hell!"
She spun on her heel and almost ran from the room.
"Uh oh, looks like trouble." Rosie moved to intercept Bronte but Nico put a hand on her arm.
"Let me."
Rosie looked at his hand and then up at him.
"Take care of her."
"I will."
Since she'd disappeared in that general direction, he headed for the ladies powder room. The ache in his heart as he watched her dancing with her ex-fianc? was nothing compared to the pain he felt at the absolute certainty Bronte was still in love with the man. Her reaction when he arrived and the upset now proved it.
"Is Miss Ludlow in there?" He asked the attendant. She shook her head.
"I think she left, sir," she said pointing towards the entrance.
Frowning, Nico picked up speed and exited in time to see the car she'd arrived in glide down the driveway.
Patting his pockets for his keys, he sprinted for his car.
Nico drew his car to a halt at the rear of the Dower House.
The light was on in the kitchen.
Tapping the steering wheel, for a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Perhaps it would be better to let her lick her wounds in private? But that was complete cowardice. The point was she needed him, even if she did not know it.
After a couple of knocks, he turned the handle. And as usual Bronte hadn't locked the door.
He entered.
To see her standing there, shaking as she sipped what appeared to be cognac, her eyes huge and dazed with shock, broke his heart.
"Bronte?"
He moved fast. Gathering her close his hands ran up and down her back.
It took him a moment, but he realised something was off. She held herself too stiff in his arms.
He drew back to study her face. It wasn't heartbreak Nico read, but pure undiluted rage.
He let his hands drop to his sides.
She turned, walked towards the sink and spun to face him.
Her eyes shot scorching darts of emerald fury.
Bronte gulped the cognac and threw the glass at him.
Nico ducked just in time as it smashed against the wall behind his head.
"You son of a bitch," she snarled. "Bronte, do not interfere in my business." She mimicked his accent and moved towards him. She looked murderous.
He shook his head, totally at a loss.
What had he done?
"Did you query the local planning department about a landing strip on my land and structural changes to my house?" She held up a hand as he winced, his throat suddenly dry as his pulse kicked. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"
"I can explain."
"I'll just bet you can, you snake."
"You are upset. I could see how he hurt you, cara. Believe me you will get over him."
Her chin whipped up.
Stormy emerald eyes met his and narrowed into icy slits.
"How he hurt me? Compared to you, Jonathan is a rank amateur." She circled around him. "It doesn't matter to you what my home means to me does it?"
"Of course it does."
"When did you speak to the planning department?"
His pulse jerked simultaneously with the lurch in his gut.
Nico licked his bottom lip and had the dizzy sensation of standing on the edge of a precipice.
"Yesterday, but I can explain ..."
She held up her hand like a traffic cop.
"I don't want to hear it."
Desperate now, voice pleading, he tried again. "Bronte, I care for you."
She whirled around and leaned on the sink and took a deep breath, her head bowed.
Keep calm, Nico told himself. She was a reasonable woman. Or she would be once she cooled down.
She turned to him her face bone white, anger leaking out of her like a deflated balloon.
"As a matter of interest, since you care for me. Where was my business supposed to go? Where was I going to live or had that thought not occurred to you?"
Hope sprang in his chest. She was going to listen to him.
He kept his voice soft, the tone friendly. "I have already found the perfect place for the business to re-locate, just outside town, where ..."
Eyes huge, Bronte merely shook her head and studied him with unconcealed amazement.
Nico immediately realised his mistake, but if he could only get her to listen to him and his plans to live with her here in the Dower House.
He moved towards her.
"Stay back!" Chin high, she drew herself up to her full height, pure steel in those magnificent eyes. "You care for no one and nothing except yourself." She took a step forward and he stepped back. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Jonathan made me an offer tonight. He told me this house would be the perfect place to bring up his family. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
A hot, hard lump lodged in his gut as she stepped forward again, eyes filled to the brim with pain and longing. "You can live anywhere, why does it have to be here?"
At last, she was going to listen to him.
"I need a base, a home and this would be perfect ..." She flinched as if he'd slapped her and he hesitated. It is time I settled down with you, he desperately wanted to add. But he spoke with his head instead of his heart. "I can see you are still in love with him."
For an instant her eyes widened in stunned surprise, before she sank into a chair.
She cleared her throat and studied a fingernail for an endless moment.
"What gave you the idea I am in love with him?" Her voice was hoarse, filled with pain. She looked too pale, too fragile.
His heart wrenched in his chest.
"You almost broke my fingers when you saw him this evening."
She said nothing, just continued to stare at her fingernail.
He didn't miss the hectic pulse in her throat or the rapid blinking of her eyes.
Nico narrowed his own as he studied her.
In his business, timing was everything.
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, around his neck, he knew for certain Bronte was in love with another man.
She'd not denied it, which meant she needed time to heal.
Time for him to draw back, to re-group. They had a deep connection. He did not believe it was only a physical attraction on her part. Everything between them had happened too fast, burned too hot and too intense. Patience, he told himself. He would give her time and take her advice to see his father, get to know his brother. Show her she was right.
But his heart waged a bitter war between fury and grief.
And he wondered if he would ever get over this night.
Bronte sat, fingertips rubbing her forehead.
For the first time she looked totally defeated.
The need to pull her into his arms, offer her his heart, his life, made Nico light-headed.
He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her.
Elbows on his knees, hands clasped, he leaned forward.
"I have handled this badly."
She licked her top lip as her eyes, empty now, met his.
"That is
an understatement."
"I am leaving for Rome tomorrow, but I shall return in a couple of days."
She took a breath, nodded, as they rose in unison.
"Nico?" He turned to her. "I want you to leave me alone."
If he wanted her to trust him then they needed the truth between them.
"I cannot do that."
?