Darke London (8 page)

“Don’t say such things. Do you hear me? I won’t have you debasing yourself like that.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Would you rather I’d left you to die out there? Would you?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it would have been better.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying that.”

“But look at me. I’m a creature of the shadows. People shy away from me at the first glimpse of my face.”

“Do
I
shy away from you?” He held her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Well, Nellie, do I?”

She chewed on her lower lip, frowning. “No, but…but you’re a doctor. You’re used to seeing deformities.”

He sighed, his attention caught by the generous swell of her lip beneath her white teeth. The tingling warmth spread through his entire body, coalescing in his loins. “I am a doctor, yes, but I am also a man, and when I look at you I see a strong, vibrant young woman who has much to live for.”

Nellie gave a dry laugh. “Thank you, Doctor. I know you’re only trying to lift my spirits, but thank you anyway.”

“You think I’m dissembling?” Impatience and desire stirred his blood. How could she be so blind? Before he knew what he was doing, he slid his hands up and cupped her face. Her lips parted in surprise. Emotion overpowering self-denial, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers. He’d intended to give her just a friendly buss, but the soft generosity of her mouth ambushed him. Heat flared through him. The kiss deepened, he revelled in her sweetness. He ran his fingers through her thick curls to cradle her head all the better to taste her lips. She quivered against the length of his body, but she did not pull away, and her tacit consent emboldened him to wrap one arm around her waist and pull her even closer.

Lifting his head a fraction, he saw she’d shut her eyes tight as if she wanted to divorce herself from reality. But her lips were soft and rosy and inviting, and he couldn’t resist them. He kissed her mouth slowly, startled by the sensations she aroused in him. She was like no other woman he’d ever caressed. She was unique, precious, and he wanted to suck the marrow from every moment of the embrace.

Trailing his lips over her cheeks, he dropped kisses over her cicatrix, eager to memorise every bump and dip, but she instantly jerked her head away.

“Don’t, I beg of you. Please, stop.”

Her hoarse rebuke was like a douse of cold water. Julian released her. She pressed her hands against her cheeks, and the sight of her anguished expression made his heart contract.

“Nellie, I…” For the life of him he couldn’t think what to say. He ploughed his fingers through his hair, tearing at the knots, as if to punish himself.

“How can you…” Her fingers crept over the choppy skin of her cheek. “Doesn’t this…disgust you?”

“No!” He stared at her. “I don’t make a habit of kissing women who disgust me. Rather, the opposite.” He paused before reaching out and gently peeling her fingers away from her face. “I admire you, Nellie, and I admire your looks.”

“How can you?” She shook her head. “I’m a travesty compared to what I was before…”

“But I didn’t know what you looked like before.” He chafed her frozen fingers between his two broad palms. “And besides, it’s what lies beneath the skin that counts. It’s how a woman conducts herself that’s more important than any fleeting beauty.”

Several moments passed as she gazed at him before she slipped her hand free. “That is true, and in that regard I haven’t conducted myself well either. I should not have allowed you to kiss me, Julian, and I should not have allowed myself to enjoy it so much.”

His heart leaped before the rest of her words sunk in. “What do you mean?”

The delicate bone structure of her face stood out in stark relief as she clenched her jaw. “I mean, it was wrong of me to allow such intimacies between us because I’m not a free agent.” She held his gaze. “You see, I am already married.”

Chapter Six

“Married?” Julian shrank away from Nellie. His frozen rictus could not have been more horrified if she’d sprouted a second head. “Who are you married to? Surely not…” A vein pulsed in his perspiring brow. “For the love of everything, tell me you are not married to Thaddeus Ormond.”

“N-no,” she choked out. “Not Sir Thaddeus, but his son. I am married to Phillip Ormond.”

His eyes darkened to black, fathomless pools. He wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his forehead. “Phillip Ormond. I see.” Hauling in breath, he swung away and stalked over to the brandy bottle on the sideboard. The clatter of glass against glass sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed sitting room. “May I pour you a drink?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She nodded and took the tumbler he proffered with hands that shook uncontrollably. Reckless, she swallowed an incautious gulp, wincing as the brandy lit a fiery streak down her throat.

“You told me your name was Nellie Barchester.”

The accusation in his statement made her bite her lip. She smoothed down the skirts of her dress as she fought to regain her self-control. “I’ve only been married a few weeks. I—I haven’t yet become accustomed to using my married name.” In truth, there was much about married life she hadn’t grown accustomed to. Being called Mrs. Phillip Ormond had been the least of her concerns.

“So. Are you going to tell me how you came to be married?”

He stood away from her, his expression austere, his entire bearing hard and distant. Her heart sank. Until then, she hadn’t realised how much she’d counted on being in Julian’s good graces, but now his forbidding countenance chilled her to the core, causing the words to stutter out of her.

“Yes,” she whispered, clasping her tumbler of brandy. “I shall tell you everything…”

The asylum where Nellie and her father lived took a variety of patients. Some were clearly deranged and lived permanently at the asylum, but others were suffering only temporary lapses, and departed once they recovered.

One day Phillip Ormond was brought to the asylum. For several weeks he’d been staying at a nearby inn, until his increasingly unsettling behaviour and mounting unpaid bills had resulted in an altercation with the innkeeper. He’d suffered a nervous collapse, and the irate innkeeper had summoned the constable, who’d promptly bundled him off to the asylum, keen to be rid of the problem.

From the first day, Nellie was drawn to the young man. She was nineteen, had spent most of her life at the asylum, and had little experience with personable gentlemen. That he was a gentleman was evidenced by his unblemished face and smooth hands, his soft, springy curls, his finely tailored clothes and boots, and the leather-bound books of poetry in his luggage. The fact he appeared not to have a penny to his name was neither here nor there. Nellie found herself spending many hours at his bedside, mopping his fevered brow, tucking in his sheets, spooning mutton broth into his mouth. She daydreamed about who he was and what she might say to him when he recovered, and her innocent fantasies helped to lift the tedium that was her daily rote.

As the young man regained his strength and mental capacities, she spent even more time in his company. He seemed to find her presence soothing, and she was flattered by his attentions. They talked about poetry and literature—both subjects Nellie was not well-versed in, but she was more than happy to be instructed by him—and when he grew stronger they strolled around the blighted grounds of the asylum. In his company the decaying gardens became flourishing arbours, and the raw north winds were spring breezes. She fell in love, and to her utter amazement, her feelings were reciprocated.

He loved her passionately, Phillip told her. She was his angel, his stalwart, his saviour. In the depths of his breakdown, it was she who had guided him back to sanity, she who had banished his torment and suffering. He could not live without her.

Three weeks later she eloped with Phillip Ormond, and they ran off to London.

Grimacing, Julian dusted some ash from his sleeves and tugged at the lapels of his frock coat. “From the sound of it, it was quite the whirlwind romance,” he said with more than a touch of acidity.

Nellie laced her fingers together, uncertain of his mood. Where was the impassioned rescuer who’d gone to such lengths for her, who’d kissed her just a moment ago with searing intensity? As she gazed at him, she struggled to recall the features of the man she’d married in so much haste. Phillip, her husband, with his fair hair and cherubic looks, soft hands and impractical disposition. So different from the man standing aloof from her here. Julian was gypsy dark, vivid, rough at the edges, dynamic and…exciting.

She bit down on her lip to punish herself. She should not be thinking such things, just as she should not have let Julian kiss her.

“Yes, it was a whirlwind romance,” she agreed.

But was it romance at all? She’d thought she was in love with Phillip, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. Cloistered away in the asylum, with a father dissipated and corrupted, she’d been naive and ripe for any kind of romance, and Phillip Ormond had been the first personable young man to cross her path. Of course she’d fallen in love with the idea of him, and of course she’d accepted his marriage proposal, dazzled that such a fine gentleman as he would wish to marry a humble doctor’s daughter.

“Why did you elope?” Julian asked, his expression taut. “Surely your father couldn’t object to such an advantageous match?”

Her father… Dear heaven, even now it was painful to recognise the degradation to which he’d sunk. Inhaling a deep breath, she answered steadily, “Unfortunately my father would not have seen it that way. He has become…rather partial to laudanum, and I took it upon myself to perform many of his duties. I knew he wouldn’t be happy at my leaving, for it would have been to his detriment.”

Julian stared at her. “My God, an opium addict in charge of patients. Surely the board of governors would have found him out?”

Yes, Mr. Crawley had discovered her father’s secret, at the same time as he’d begun to take an unhealthy interest in her. Mr. Crawley, one of the governors, was broad and stout, with foul breath and fingers like bunches of sausages. She’d found his manners unctuous and unpleasant, and always managed to slip out of his presence at the earliest moment. But one day he’d cornered her in a linen closet. With his pudgy fingers, he’d grabbed her thigh and, breathing sweatily over her, had advised her to be more friendly to him or he would have her father sacked. The odium of his advances was nothing compared to the shock she’d suffered when, having spilled out the awful incident to her father, her beloved parent had suggested she submit to Mr. Crawley’s overtures. That was when she knew she had to escape, and Pip’s proposal had offered a neat solution.

But this aspect of her past was too degrading to share with Julian. Lowering her gaze, she murmured, “He was not permanently incapacitated. With some effort he could maintain a facade of professionalism.”

“So you and Phillip ran away to London. And Sir Thaddeus?” Julian’s voice roughened. “Was he aware of you?”

“Of course not, or the marriage would never have happened.” Nellie rubbed her temples as a sudden headache hammered against her skull. “Sir Thaddeus had no idea even of Phillip’s whereabouts. Phillip had run away from home, so to speak. He was mortally tired of his father’s interference in his life, yet he was too afraid to stand up to him, so he left their London home without warning and simply disappeared. He put up at the local inn for a few weeks, but his funds ran out, and the thought of returning to his father was too distressing. I think that was what triggered his nervous collapse in the first place.”

“Hmm,” Julian grunted, glaring at the empty fireplace. His skin, usually such a warm golden hue, had become grey and stretched around his taut mouth. “I don’t understand. Phillip was afraid of his father, yet he took you back to London to be married. Did he really think Sir Thaddeus would welcome you with open arms?”

The derisive bite in his voice stung her. “What are you implying? Do you too think I’m unworthy to marry into the Ormond family, a nobody like me?”

“I think nothing of the sort, dear girl. I’m merely pointing out that Phillip must have suffered some delusions if, knowing how his father worships the family name, he thought Thaddeus would approve of the marriage.”

Nellie balled her hands, the artificial fingers gnashing against the metal glove. Grimly she made her hands relax. “I am no ‘dear girl’, and yes, Phillip had hopes of a reconciliation with his father, as far-fetched as that sounds to you.”

“But his hopes were dashed, and he abandoned you to go crawling back to Thaddeus.”

No!
The denial leaped to her lips but found no voice. Sick at heart, she spun away from his scorn. She stared out the window at the trees bending under the wind, their branches bleeding like black veins against a charcoal sky.

A footstep sounded behind her.

“Nellie? I’m sorry, that was…uncivil of me.”

Instead of derision she heard compassion, and it snaked through her defences, cracking open her reticence.

She turned to him, seeking the warmth of his eyes. “No, don’t apologise. The truth is, everything started to go horribly wrong as soon as we reached London.”

Her first glimpse of London was from a lurching third-class train carriage as they neared the end of their arduous journey. In her exhaustion, the city seemed like a monstrous dragon, breathing smoke and fire, heaving and groaning with millions of people, a restless, snarling, ravenous beast which, she feared, would eat her whole.