Desire Me Always (13 page)

“You know that's all I have ever wanted from you.”

“I left a piece of myself here years ago,” he said carefully, as though thinking his words out before saying them.

“You didn't, Nick. You might think you did, but you are stronger than that.”

“This place stole my innocence, which would have eventually been taken, considering the place and life I lived.”

“And isn't that the exact point you are missing?”

Nick scratched at his scalp, further mussing up his deliciously tumbled hair. Why she was attracted to him in his current disheveled state was beyond her.

“I have had to set this right for more years than I care to count,” he explained.

“By facing your demons directly, instead of working on letting go of your past.”

“Give me today, Amelia. There is one more thing I need to accomplish before we leave.”

“But to what end? Honestly, Nick, you are a good man without dredging up the hatred inside left from your past. And the man I met and got to know . . . that's the man I adore beyond measure. Not this person you become when chasing a past that no longer has bearing on the person you are now.”

Amelia draped a shawl over her arm and walked toward the door. “Do find me when you've cleaned yourself up.”

She left, because if she stood there another moment, arguing the merits on seeking out his revenge, it would only further frustrate her. He would have to make his own decision in this. So close . . . she had been so close to getting him to leave, she'd felt it, noted it in the way he'd tensed up when she'd threatened to leave for London.

When she arrived in the inn's dining area, she saw Meredith and almost turned back around to avoid the conversation they needed to have. She almost groaned her dismay. Her day wasn't looking up in the least.

Meredith motioned to the seat next to her. Pasting a smile on her face, Amelia approached the table.

“I see we are both without our husbands this morning.”

“Indeed,” Amelia said tightly as she slid out a chair. “Have you already eaten?”

“Yes, I was down early this morning.”

“I assume you are also leaving Highgate today?”

“We are not. My husband is touring the properties, speaking with the families and business owners. Determining who to keep, and weeding out any problem tenants.”

One of the inn's daughters came by their table. “Another serving of tea, my lady?” she asked of Lady Burley.

“Yes, for my friend here. I might as well have another too.”

The maid dipped her head and left them alone.

“I thought we were leaving today or tomorrow, but Nick might have some further business to take care of first.”

“About yesterday—”

“Think nothing of it, Lady Burley.”

“Please, call me Meredith.” The look that crossed Meredith's face was a cross between distress and sadness. “I think it only fair that I explain my actions yesterday.”

“There's honestly no need.”

Despite Amelia's insistence that they had nothing to discuss, Lady Burley continued. “Do you know how our husbands met?”

Amelia decided she might as well play along. The faster Lady Burley said what she needed, the faster she could get on with her day. “They were rival owners, constantly bidding against each other.”

Meredith hesitated. “That's a very small part of how they became friends.”

Amelia's teacup was set down on the table with a fresh pot of tea. Amelia thanked the maid before focusing her attention back on Meredith.

“You have my attention.” She didn't mean to sound short, but yesterday's picnic had left a bad taste in her mouth. She busied her hands with the tea set, pouring out another cup for Meredith before making her own.

“When they were younger, they were more apt to make calculated moves, more so than they might make today.”

“The same can be said for almost any man caving a path of his own in life.”

“To an extent, though their past is a slight bit darker than that.”

“Yes, it is,” Amelia agreed.

“Our husbands met during a fighting match.” Meredith paused, nibbling on her lower lip. “Not the kind in which gentlemen engage at a pugilist club.”

“I know precisely how Nick started out, how he made his ‘reputation,' if you will.” She didn't need to get into the finer details of what that life might have been like, for she wasn't there firsthand to experience it. The truth of the matter was that Amelia knew more about her husband than Meredith did, no matter what the other woman thought.

“I did not mean to imply otherwise,” Meredith said without an ounce of affront. “I never thought I would marry Landon,” she said almost wistfully. “It was happenstance. I was, in fact, waiting on a proposal from another man entirely. Landon and I were worlds apart and at one point stood for different things. He and my eldest brother, Shelley, were as close as any brothers could be.”

Amelia did not miss the note of sadness that inflected Meredith's voice. It was also hard to miss the shake of her hand as she took a sip of her tea.

“Were?” Amelia dared to query the tense in which Meredith referred to the friendship she mentioned.

“Shelley died rather suddenly. He just didn't wake up one day.” Lady Burley's eyes grew misty, and Amelia felt awful about being cold to her.

“I'm sorry.”

“I've had plenty of time to come to terms with the unfairness of the world and of life, Amelia.”

Amelia agreed with that sentiment for so many reasons, none of which she would share with her tea companion.

“Landon took it as hard as Shelley's own flesh and blood. He wasn't himself after that. I guess it's hard to be when death stares you so coolly in the face and changes the way things are. He got into a lot of brawls and tavern fights that my other brothers had to break up. Landon moved to London not a fortnight after the funeral.”

“I know what it's like to want to escape the place that you feel is responsible for your circumstance,” Amelia said, thinking that a little empathy might go a long way.

She hated to have the same sentiments as Meredith after yesterday's disastrous lunch, but Amelia knew she would have acted the same way, had their roles been reversed. How could she fault Meredith for that?

“He met Nick after that, didn't he?” Amelia asked, already figuring out part of the story.

Meredith surprised Amelia with a chuckle. “Fought him, actually. And by my husband's account, Nick knocked him flat on his rear in mere seconds. Landon stayed out of fighting after that, but he continued to watch with the same morbid fascination one might get from a cock fight.”

“I can't say I see the pleasure in either.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

“How did they become rivals in business?” Amelia asked, never having thought to ask Nick that very question in the past, as it was neither here nor there.

And now, her curiosity was truly piqued by what Meredith revealed. Amelia realized in that moment how starved for information on her husband she truly was. She pressed forward, wanting to know every tidbit of information.

“They have similar ideas on where to invest, so when their paths continually crossed, they realized it would be better to work together instead of against each other.”

“Help me understand Roberts's position . . . ” Amelia eyed the man who stood in the background, even now. He wasn't like any servant she had ever known or seen.

Meredith grinned. “My husband has probably nearly as many enemies as Nick has. They are savvy with their business dealings, sometimes undercutting peers who feel entitled to something they cannot necessarily afford.”

“Like Murray's property.”

“Exactly.”

“Has your husband found trouble before?”

“He nearly lost his life on one occasion. I'm not willing to repeat such an event for as long as I live. Death will not part my husband and me prematurely. I could not bear it.”

Amelia felt the same way with Nick, and when she thought back on his actions of late, the feeling was most certainly reciprocated.

Tipping the last sip of tea into her mouth, she then set the dainty white cup down on her saucer. “Thank you for the conversation, Meredith. It does go a long way toward my seeing you in a more . . . appreciative light.”

“I did not mean to give you the wrong impression yesterday.” Meredith's words were sincere, but Amelia had been too trusting of late and decided to err on the side of caution. There was no reason to rush into anything. She smiled at Meredith.

“Nick and I will return to London tomorrow,” Amelia said.

“We will not be far behind you. I think we'll be down in a couple of days.”

“Then perhaps we can arrange a breakfast . . . or an evening soiree.” Could she be so daring? Yes, yes, she could.

“That would be lovely. And thank you for spending some of your morning with me, when I'm sure this was the last thing you wanted to do.”

“It's been a pleasure.”

Amelia slid her chair out from the table, checked the tie on her bonnet, and nodded her good-bye to Meredith.

While she probably should have asked someone to come along with her, considering Shauley's appearance last night, she wanted time alone. She wasn't ready to see her husband, and she couldn't face Huxley just yet, knowing that he was the one to bring Nick back to their room. Did Huxley know that she and Nick had fought? No, she definitely could not face him.

If she stayed within the village area, where quite a few people milled about at this hour, she was unlikely to see Shauley. And that suited her perfectly well. It also gave her some time to come up with a plan to get her husband to leave Highgate today. And if she couldn't get him to leave, then she'd have to find reason to keep them both in their room until the morrow. Not too hard a task, she thought, sure she wore a silly grin on her face at the prospect of staying abed with her husband for another day.

Nick would probably be a few hours in washing up, meeting with Landon, and eating—if he could stomach it—which gave her enough time to come up with said plan. And it also kept her from running back to him to tell him everything that had happened to her the night before. She was torn in her lies. Torn in what she should do. But it felt right to withhold her meeting with Shauley for the time being. She would reevaluate that decision later.

A
fter a long soak in the hipbath, Nick's megrim had subsided, and his spirits were a little higher with the day ahead. Amelia hadn't come back to their room, which, to him, said she was avoiding him. So be it; he hadn't been pleasant on waking this morning. Although he knew he would have to fix what he'd done wrong later in the day.

Dressing quickly, he made his way down to the stables to procure a horse for the day. Landon could wait, and he didn't want to face Huxley just yet.

While Amelia might not appreciate that he had to do this, there simply was no way for him to avoid what he'd been working toward for the past year. And it had to be done before they left Highgate.

The memories of what this place represented needed to end—the terrors he woke to in the night that still had the ability to haunt him and his thoughts constantly turned to this place whenever he thought about building the school. Screaming at him that this was a momentous mistake. Nick well knew that he would never find closure if his business with the vicar didn't take precedence. If he didn't face the only man who had ever frightened him.

He left the village without looking back. There was no time to think about this without acting; it had to be done. The sooner he did this, the sooner he could explain it to Amelia, and the sooner he could wash his hands of this place and the hold it had over him. At least, that was what he hoped.

The horse he rode frothed and champed at the bit, eager to be let loose, but Nick kept him at a steady pace so that neither of them would be injured once they entered the wood. He easily found the trail that led him to the
monk's
cabin. That Amelia had spent time with one of the men from his childhood . . . it had him seeing red. Unintentionally, his heels dug into the horse's side, and it reared up, stopping them in their tracks. Nick loosened his legs and gave the beast gentle strokes over its thick neck. “Sorry, Handsome.” Nick was sure a child had named the beast of a horse. “Didn't mean to frighten you.”

“Two strangers in so many days” came a cracked voice that obviously belonged to an old man.

Nick spun his horse, looking for the source, and halted when he spied the man he'd been looking for last night.

“Brother John.” It was amazing that he could forget many faces after years of not seeing them, but not this man's, who had been the old curate at the school. The man's face was etched into his brain, so deep it was just another scar like those that marked his back.

“Do I know you, son?” The man gave him a quizzical glance.

Nick swung his leg over the horse and jumped to the ground. He towered over the man now; how odd to remember having been a frightened, small boy when he'd last seen the curate.

“I attended St. Vincent's as a youth.”

On closer inspection, Nick saw the man's eyes were clouded and hindering, though obviously the man was not blind. He wore monk's robes, the material so old that it was tattered, patches sewn into the bottom hem. While ragged and threadbare, it was clean, and by all appearance worn of a humble servant of God. Nick nearly snorted with that thought but refrained.

“St. Vincent's you say? That's more than twenty years past. School closed when the vicarage was replaced by another church.”

Nick stood a few feet away from the man, not willing to get too close, afraid of what he might do, as the man obviously didn't know him from Adam. “Yes, twenty years. Though it was a long time ago, I remember it like it was yesterday. Do you live out here alone?”

Brother John waved Nick closer, but Nick couldn't stand to be too close to him and backed up a step. “Walk with an old man for a while, son.”

Nick bristled at the familiar name. “I am not your son.”

“We are all sons in the eyes of the Lord.”

Nick made a noise in the back of his throat but stayed his tongue, biting back something harsh and foul. The men who had been a part of that school were no sons mindful of God's work; they were all disciples of the devil.

The old man didn't wait for Nick; he ambled carefully down the path with his cane, stopping to uncover some mushrooms, picking them, and then continuing on. He didn't seem to care if Nick followed or not.

Nick followed, because this was a means to the end. This was the first step in getting what he came here for.

“You met my wife yesterday,” Nick told him.

“Ah, yes. What a kind woman. She graciously assisted me home, even when I refused to take her away from her daily tasks.”

Nick would not play games with this man; their idle chitchat needed to come to an end. “Surely you know who I am.”

“I do. You're the man who bought Caldon Manor. It's about time that property was taken on by someone who cares about its future. Your wife said you would be investing in the house.”

Nick was forced to trail behind, as Brother John continued on his path without waiting or beckoning Nick to accompany him again. This conversation wasn't the one he expected, and to Nick's surprise, the anger that had built in him throughout the day started to dissipate. How odd it was to not hate the man before him.

“She tells the truth,” Nick said, scratching the back of his head, wishing he knew how to approach the topic he'd come here to discuss.

“A grand house like that shouldn't fall to such a state of disrepair. It's good that someone wants to commit the necessary funds. You should have seen it in its heyday.”

That made Nick wonder just how long the curate had lived here, because the house hadn't been in prime condition when he was a youth, though it fared a hell of a lot better twenty years ago than it did today.

Nick had nothing to say to that as he walked a few feet behind Brother John. “Do you not remember me?” he asked, finding their conversation odd and unplanned. Nick found himself nearly speechless.

“I'm sorry, son. I do not.”

The answer caught Nick off guard. What did you say to a man who didn't remember you, even when you hated him beyond everything?

Nick was not here to enjoy a stroll through the wood at midday. He was here to get answers . . . to find the vicar.

To exact his revenge.

That was the only reason he was here, and he could not forget that purpose.

Nick wondered what he would say to the vicar, now that so much time had passed. What if the vicar didn't remember him either? It didn't matter; what mattered was confronting the man who had destroyed his childhood and getting answers as to why. Then he would get a confession out of the bastard for all his misdeeds and have him arrested by the magistrate, because there could be no other end for a man as vile as the vicar.

“Are you sure you don't remember me?” Nick asked.

“When you've lived to be as old as I am, you'll find your memory starts to change. I can remember my childhood with perfect clarity; it's the part in between that has grown foggy.”

Nick wanted to say it was because the curate wanted to forget his dark past just as much as Nick did, but he would not paint this man in a friendlier light.

“You helped destroy the lives of so many. Surely you remember your role at the school? Your purpose in luring boys, unaware of what they were in for? Of supporting the depravity of your brothers at the vicarage?”

Brother John stumbled in the path, and Nick, hating himself more and more by the second, helped the bugger right his footing until he could steady himself once again with his cane.

“Thank you,” Brother John said.

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

“Hallo!” called a third party.

That voice.

Nick spun away from the curate and stormed toward the man he despised as much as he did the vicar.

“Shauley,” he growled as though he were cursing something vile.

“Nicholas,” Shauley responded, a decided lack of venom that didn't go unnoticed, considering they had parted with harsh words the last time they'd seen each other. Considering this man would soon suffer the same pain Amelia had. He owed Shauley that much and more.

“I'm within my rights to take you to the magistrate,” Nick said—but why had he said that? He approached within ten feet or so of his quarry. He wished he had something to fight with, something to knock Shauley off his horse and put him on even ground.

“You can try.” Cocky as ever, Shauley had that same attitude as a boy, as though he was invincible. Well, he had another think coming.

“There's a bounty for your capture, Shauley.”

“Your own contribution filled that fund, I'm sure.”

Not precisely, though Nick offered to double anything the magistrate was willing to put up.

Nick turned his focus back to the monk, but the man had exited at some point after Shauley's arrival. Damn it. He'd been so close to finding the vicar. He'd have to find Brother John again, now that he'd been interrupted. And that meant Amelia would be angry with him, more so than she was now, when he told her they needed to stay another day.

As Nick edged toward his horse, needing to either ride out of here like hellhounds were nipping as his feet or give chase to the monster standing in front of him.

“You're helping them, aren't you?” Nick asked, suddenly realizing Shauley's presence was no coincidence.

“By ‘them,' I assume you mean Brother John and Reverend Andrew.”

The closer Nick got to his horse, the farther Shauley seemed to back up his mount. Nick wasn't sure what he'd do to his old foe, should he catch him, and he didn't flinch at the idea of killing Shauley with his bare hands; in fact, he wasn't so sure he could pull himself back if given that opportunity. Nick could envision it perfectly—his hands around Shauley's throat, choking the last breath out of his beaten body.

“Was that your mark or the inspector's heavy handprint left on my wife's face?” Nick cracked his knuckles, ready to fight this out if that's what it came to. Hell, he wanted to fight this out, retribution for the pain Shauley had caused his wife.

“How does Mrs. Riley fare?”

Nick rolled his shoulders. There was no way in hell Shauley was getting out of here in one piece. But first, he'd have to catch the slimy eel. The reins of Nick's horse were within reach. Nick could either casually climb onto the horse, or . . .

“I wouldn't bother,” Shauley said, pulling a pistol from his saddlebag and pointing it at Nick's chest.

“I asked you a question, Shauley.” Nick was at his wit's end. Did he take a chance or hold his ground? He eyed the pistol. Shauley's aim was steady and direct.

“And I chose not to answer,” Shauley snapped back, his temper now getting the better of him. Nick hoped that would be to his advantage, because when Shauley was angry, he could make a misstep that would give Nick a momentary advantage.

“Why are you here?” Nick had to try another angle because he certainly had no intentions of standing here all day, helpless to act on every front.

“You're interfering with my plans.”

“The same could be said of you.”

“I suppose you're right.” Shauley came closer, the pistol never wavering.

“Did they teach you to shoot in school as well as give you a fondness for young boys?”

“I feel sorry for you, Nick. If you look at yourself, your life, your history, what do you see of the man you are? You're weak, even though you will not admit it. You're pathetic, in that you try to hide from your past. What is the reason you purchased this shit hellhole of land? There's nothing left here for either of us. You moved on a lot sooner than I ever did. I stayed here. I endured. This is my battle to fight, not yours, when you gave up the opportunity time and time again.”

“Is that what this is about? Because you couldn't escape the school and what the teachers thought we needed to be educated in? It's my fault you ended up the way you did?” Nick nearly snorted in laughter.

Shauley shook his head. “We are more similar than you think.”

“Not in the least.”

Shauley ignored him. “I don't blame you for getting out of here at the first opportunity. Had my mother a care in the world, I wonder if she would have withdrawn me, even after I insisted on staying. But she didn't. And here we are. Together, in the middle of the bloody Highgate forest where the downfall of our childhood took place.”

And that was the crux of the matter that had destroyed their friendship. They'd never talked about what had happened to them as boys, but the knowledge always stood between them. The hatred for what had happened to them and the anger and frustration that they had no control to stop it.

“Did they make you believe it was normal?” Nick asked, truly curious as to why Shauley would stay behind when Nick's own mother had advocated bringing him home to St. Giles at Nick's insistence. None of it had mattered. Shauley had already made up his mind. He'd stayed. Nick had run away. He hated to think that made him the weaker person, but it was hard to see it in any other light.

“Normal? Sodomizing young boys? Definitely not. When I think back on it all, my reasons for staying made me no better than my mother. I whored myself out, thinking it would get me to a better place in life, give me the opportunities I would not otherwise have as the son of a harlot. I stuck through it all because it was a free education; it was the name of a vicarage behind me when I entered the workforce.” Shauley closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before gazing directly at Nick again. “And then there's you . . . ”

Nick would not justify the position he'd gained in his life. He and Shauley were worlds apart. “I'm sure we have both done regrettable things in our lives,” Nick said.

“It's not envy I feel. It never has been. You've been little more than a nuisance in my life. Until the Murray deal, that is.”

Nick didn't think it was as simple as that either. Regardless of all else, Nick had been the one to escape. Nick alone had been free of the abuse suffered at the hands of the men of the vicarage where they'd gone to school.