Hissing a string of French profanities, he culminated, his arms holding him fastidiously above the woman's bleeding torso. Then he withdrew from her and stood, pulling the swordstick from the mattress and screwing the head of the cane on. He was buttoning himself, once more in control, when the door burst open and a gigantic footman crashed into the room, followed by the hard-faced madam with a pistol in her hand.
As Meggie's hysterical sobs filled the room, Veseul said calmly, "Your whore is not seriously injured. She is not worth the effort." Ignoring the pistol aimed at his heart, he dug gold coins from his wallet, dropping them negligently on a table. "For her cooperation, and for the temporary loss of her services."
The madam's eyes were narrow and angry. Much was allowed a rich nobleman, but even in a brothel there were limits. As the footman untied the weeping woman, the madam scooped up the gold and waved the Frenchman out of the room with the pistol. "Get out, and don't ever come back. We don't want your kind here."
Shrugging, he left the bedchamber. The little episode had restored his habitual calm by relieving the worst of his frustration. It had also been a pleasant rehearsal for what he would do to Diana Lindsay when he finally had her in his power.
Chapter 17
Another week passed and there was still no word from Gervase. For the sake of her sanity, Diana clung to her belief that Veseul had just been trying to frighten her. Madeline had agreed when she had heard the story, though her brown eyes clouded with concern and she warned her friend to be very wary of Veseul. The warning was quite unnecessary.
Francis Brandelin began calling regularly and Diana guessed he was debating whether to confide in her. Whatever he decided, she enjoyed his company. He was amusing and intelligent, and had a sensitivity rare in men. And though he was very different from his cousin, talking to him made Gervase seem closer.
This night was cold for July, and a steady drenching rain was falling when Diana was woken from a restless sleep by a soft footstep. Drowsily she asked, "Geoffrey?"
"No, damn you, not Geoffrey!"
The answer was harsh and angry and adult. Frightened awake, Diana sat bolt upright in the bed. An image of Veseul and his threatening black eyes flashed across her mind and she drew in her breath to scream for help. Her cry was cut off as the intruder seized her, one hand gripping her shoulder and the other clamping across her mouth as he said furiously, "It's only me. The man who gave you this house. Or have you forgotten that?"
Perhaps he was mad, and that thought was even more terrifying. As Diana struggled, he continued, "I'm going to light a candle. Don't scream when I let you go. If there is anyone in bed with you, I suggest he leave while I'm striking the flint, or by God, I'll break his neck, even if he is half my age."
When he released her, Diana slid across the bed away from him, her body tense with fear. The intruder took only a moment to strike the light, then turned to her with the candle in his hand. He was tall and thin, with the weathered face of a man in his late forties. His saturated greatcoat dripped onto her bed, and gray streaks showed in his wet dark hair.
As she clutched the blanket around her, he recoiled, as shocked by her as she had been shocked by his stealthy entrance into her bedchamber. "Who the devil are you?" he snarled.
He might be angry, but he didn't appear mad. His surprise caused her fear to subside and she said with creditable calm, "Surely that is what I should be asking you."
"Where is Madeline?"
"Here, Nicolas. I no longer sleep in this room." The cool voice came from the doorway, where Maddy was a barely seen shape in the dim light, her dark hair in a heavy braid and her scarlet robe tightly belted around her. She spoke into the charged silence. "I heard you cry out, Diana. Are you all right?"
"Yes," she replied succinctly.
Madeline's attention was on the intruder, and the room pulsed with tension. He took a step toward her, his voice a blend of fury and longing. "It really is you..."
She raised a hand, cutting off his words. "If you wish to speak to me, this is not the place to do it."
"If I wish to speak to you!" Once more the man seemed on the verge of explosion.
"Go back to sleep, Diana. There is nothing to fear," Madeline said before she led the man from the bedchamber.
Diana gazed at the closed door. A courtesan should never fall in love with her protector. Her friend never spoke of the man who had inspired those words, but as Diana lay back against the pillows and tried to relax, she guessed that the mysterious protector had come back into his mistress's life.
* * *
It was a short trip across the hall to Madeline's chamber. After they entered. she took the candle from Nicolas' hand and lit a lamp, then knelt on the hearth, adding fresh coal to the fire. As she stirred the embers, he said explosively, "Damn you, Madeline, look at me!"
Still kneeling, she raised her eyes to his. He was glaring, fury plain on his face. Fury, and desire. There had always been that between them. It was a struggle to keep her voice calm. "How did you find me?"
"Melton saw you at the Cyprians' Ball and wrote. He said you left with a boy young enough to be your son. I came to London as soon as I got his letter. I still have the key to the house." He paused, then added with bitter accusation, "It was the only thing of yours I did have."
"You frightened Diana."
He crossed the chamber and bent over to grab her arm, pulling her to her feet. "To hell with your damned Diana! Where have you been these last three years?"
Three long and lonely years.... She tried to pull away, fearing the response his touch aroused, but he had her securely by both arms. His grip hurt, though not half so much as her heart. "I left London. I wouldn't have returned if I hadn't heard that you never came to town now."
He put a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Everyone said not to fall in love with a whore, but I always said you were different. I even believed it."
She could no longer avoid his green eyes, and her heart twisted at the pain visible as he asked harshly, "Where were you, and with whom? Or were there too many men to count?"
"There were no other men, Nicolas."
His expression was disbelieving, but he released her, unbuttoning his wet greatcoat and throwing it across a chair. The last years must have been difficult ones for Nicolas, Lord Farnsworth. He was thinner and grayer than when she had last seen him, and he looked haggard in his black clothing.
Madeline knew he would not leave without making love to her, and she craved that, even though the problems still lay between them, even though scars that had partially healed would be ripped open again. So thoroughly had she believed that he was gone from her life that she had never imagined such a scene, and now she was unsure how to proceed.
His intense gaze holding hers, he said slowly, "I couldn't believe you would leave like that without telling me. I came back from Hazeldown and you were gone, the servants dismissed, the furniture in holland covers, not a single personal thing of yours in the house. Your man of business wouldn't tell me anything, even though I had referred you to him myself." The anger was leaching out of him, leaving the pain. "Why, Maddy?"
She realized that the truth was far less hurtful than what he imagined. She took his hand and drew him to the sofa, sitting at the far end from him. "I left because I was dying, and I didn't want you to see."
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. "You appear healthy enough."
"I am now." She pressed one hand to her breast in the old reflexive gesture. "There was a lump... it was growing rapidly. The physician said it was only a matter of months."
His anger returned. "Did you trust me so little that you thought I would abandon you to die alone?"
She said gently, "No, love, I knew that you wouldn't. That's why I left."
"I don't understand." His voice was flat, but his eyes were naked and vulnerable.
"Have you forgotten what was happening then? Your wife threatened that if you didn't give me up, she would ruin you."
>
His face worked for a moment. "Of course I haven't forgotten. But I chose you. I was prepared to let Vivian do her worst."
Madeline leaned back against the sofa, her face deeply sad. "Her considerable worst. Your children would have been torn in their loyalties, your family ripped apart, your reputation ruined. Even Hazeldown might have been threatened." His arm lay along the sofa back, and she reached over to take his hand. "It was too high a price to pay for a few months with a dying woman."
He turned his hand and caught hers, gripping convulsively. "You should have let me make that decision."
She looked into his beloved face. He was not what the world called handsome, but his craggy features had distinction and they were inexpressibly dear to her. "Can you honestly say you did not feel any relief when I left?"
He hesitated, unable to deny her words. After a long silence he said slowly, "I wondered at the time if you left because of some misguided impulse of nobility. I did everything I could to find you, but you might have vanished from the face of the earth. Where did you go?"
"Yorkshire, to the village where I was born." She gave a wintry smile. "My sister wouldn't have me under her roof."
He swore again while she continued, "Diana, the woman you terrified in my old bedroom, saved me from a blizzard and gave me a home. More, she made me part of her family. It was a blessing to be accepted, not condemned."
Madeline closed her eyes briefly, remembering. "I grew stronger and the lump gradually disappeared. When I came back to London, I visited the physician who had treated me. He said such tumors are unpredictable. Usually they kill, but sometimes, inexplicably, they go away." Opening her eyes again, she said, "That's the whole story. It was very simple, really."
"Why did you come back to London?"
"Diana wanted to live here." Madeleine swallowed hard as he released her hand so he could caress her arm under the sleeve of her robe. A delicious, melting sensation flowed though her body, and they both knew that she was his for the asking, at least for this night.
He slid down the sofa and took her face between his hands. The anger was gone, leaving gentleness and desire. "Why didn't you let me know you had returned?"
Her pulse was quickening and it was hard to remember what had been so clear. "My health has improved but your wife still has the power to ruin you. And so much time had passed... time enough for you to forget me."
His green eyes were tender now. "Do you think that only women know how to love?" He kissed her..
She moaned, hungry for the familiar touch and taste and weight of him. Her arms went around his neck, pulling the hard length of his body against her. There had always been rare passion between them, and the years of separation had fanned it to inferno heat.
As his lips moved to her throat and he opened her robe, she found that she was crying. Through her tears she whispered, "Oh, Nicolas, I love you so. Your wife will eventually find out and we will have to separate again, but let us make the most of what days or weeks we have."
In the drama and intoxication of reunion, he had neglected to tell her the fact that made all the difference. "Vivian is dead."
Madeline gasped, her body stiffening as she stared at him. He smiled wryly. "Don't look like that, I didn't murder her."
He slid his hand into her robe and circled her breast, holding it with gentle possessiveness. "In one of God's little ironies, she died six months ago of the same disease that you had. Didn't you notice that I'm wearing mourning?"
She shook her head, her face stunned.
As a gentleman, he had told his mistress very little about his wife, but now he wanted Maddy to understand. "When my father died, the estate was bankrupt. I married Vivian for her dowry. In return, she became Lady Farnsworth. A common arrangement."
He shook his head. "I never dreamed how high a price I would pay for Hazeldown. I treated Vivian with the respect due my wife, I gave her a position she could never have achieved as a merchant's daughter, I gave her children. Butit wasn't enough. She tried to own me, body and soul, and when she couldn't, she made my life hell. It wasn't because she loved me, but because she needed to dominate. She wanted me to give you up because she couldn't bear to think that I had found some happiness."
Madeline laid her hand over his with silent sympathy. He continued, "For eight years, you made my life worth living. You were wrong to leave like that, without telling me, but... it was so like you to act from a generous spirit." Her heart was a steady throb under his palm. "Don't ever leave me like that again."
He leaned forward and claimed her lips, and this time she made no attempt to resist the rising swirl of passion. She kissed him fiercely, glorying in the rediscovery of every remembered inch of his body, still not quite believing they were together again. If lightning were to strike her dead in the morning, she would die content for having loved Nicolas one more time.
Later, when desire was temporarily satisfied, they lay in each other's arms and talked as they had so often in the past. She spoke of Diana and Geoffrey and Edith, and how she had learned to pluck a chicken again. He talked of Hazeldown and his children. She had watched their growth at second hand, and delighted in knowing that his daughter had married and presented him with a grandchild, that his younger son enjoyed life in the army, that his heir had become a keen agriculturist.
She was dozing with her head on Nicolas' shoulder when he said, "When shall we be married?"
She turned her face up to his. "It is quite unnecessary that you marry me. With my past, it would cause something of a scandal. I'm content to be your mistress."
"That's not what I want for either of us." Her braid had long since come undone and her hair drifted across his chest. He stroked the thick dark strands, then leaned forward to brush a kiss on her forehead. Like him, Maddy was no longer young, and the lines of living in her face made her all the more dear to him. "All my life I have done my duty to Hazeldown and the Farnsworth family. Now I'm going to do something for myself."
She smiled and snuggled closer. "If you still feel that way when you are out of mourning, we can talk about it then." As she sank into sleep, she reminded herself to tell Diana that falling in love with one's protector was not always a bad thing.
* * *
In the years that Diana had known Madeline, she had seen her friend go from despair to resignation to a deep, unshakable serenity. Now she saw Maddy radiant with joy. For the next week Lord Farnsworth was at the house constantly. Since he acted as his own land agent, he could not be away from his estate for too long during the summer, and he made the most of the time before he had to return to the country.
Farnsworth was a mercurial man, quick with words and laughter and occasional impatience. He watched Madeline in a fashion that made Diana wish that Gervase regarded her that way, rather than with the dark, puzzled wariness she seemed to inspire in him.
After Lord Farnsworth left, the house seemed quieter than ever, and Diana welcomed a visit from Francis Brandelin. Though he was as polite and charming as usual, he was edgy, and she guessed that he had been drinking. For courage, perhaps? They talked of commonplaces over tea, with Francis crumbling the cook's excellent cakes without eating any. He reminded her of Geoffrey when her son had something regrettable to confess.
Deciding it was time for a bit of coaxing, Diana poured herself more tea. "Is there something you wish to discuss, Francis?" They had gotten on a first-name basis quickly. Leaning back in her chair, she added with grave reassurance, "You know that anything you say to me will go no further."
Carefully setting his own cup in the exact center of the table, he said in a low voice, "I know that. But... it is still almost impossible to speak."
"Because words have power, and once you say them, what you fear will become true?"
He considered a moment, then gave her a fleeting smile. "I suppose that is it. You're very perceptive."
"Not perceptive," she said with regret. "Experienced at not being able to say what should be said."
/> He gave her an inquisitive look, but today was not the time to talk about her problems. Instead she said, "Because words have power, saying them can also set you free."
He stood and crossed the room in quick, nervous steps, coming to a halt in front of a window, where he stared out, his hands linked behind him. "I know that, Diana. I suppose that is why I want to tell you about... about my weakness. Because talking to you may be the beginning of freedom."
She rose and walked quietly to the window, standing to the side so she could see his profile. "What those men said about you at the Cyprians' Ball... it was true?"
"Both true and false." Francis swallowed hard, the tendons in his neck drawing taut. "Young boys are separated from everything they know and sent to school, thrown together without privacy, tormented by older boys. Intense friendships can develop. Sometimes they behave in ways that the world considers... unnatural." He turned to face her, his light blue eyes as bleak as the hinges of hell. "Most men outgrow such things, pretend that they never happened. Despise the very thought, despise those who behave that way."
"But you did not?" Her voice was very gentle.
"But I did not," he answered flatly. "I hoped, prayed that I would outgrow my... unnatural desires. As an adult, I have never acted on them, but it doesn't matter. The desire is still there." Francis shrugged, then gazed across the room, his eyes distant. "It's ironic, you know, I'm the exact opposite of most men. I like women, I really do."
He glanced at her a little shyly. "I like you a great deal." His eyes slid away again. "But I don't want to... to make love to women. It wasn't just Eton. I think I was born this way. I'll never be what the world considers normal."
Diana had a flash of insight. "Something has changed recently, hasn't it?"