Joan Wolf (19 page)

He stared at her. “Want her back? Of course I want her back!”

“Why, Nicholas?”

Her eyes, with the glimmer of a smile in the dark blue depths, were so familiar. “Because I love her,” he replied, his voice calmer than it had been.

The smile in her eyes grew. “I thought perhaps you might. She has been so very unhappy, Nicholas.”

“I know. This whole mess has been my fault, Mother. I only hope I can put it right.”

“Just tell her what you told me, darling. That is what she needs to hear.”

Her eyes held his for a minute longer and then he sighed. “Yes, I know. Where is she now?”

“She went up to her room to lie down.”

He hesitated a minute and she said, “It is the second door on the right as you go down the hallway. Go up to her, Nicholas.”

“Thank you. Mother,” he said simply, and went.

* * * *

It was a warm day and Margarita had taken off her dress and lain down in her chemise and petticoat. She was lying curled on her side, trying to stop thinking and drift off to sleep, when a knock came at the door. Startled, she sat up. “Yes?” she called. “Is it you, Charlotte? Come in.” The door opened and her husband was there.

“It isn’t Charlotte,” he said. “May I come in?”

“Nicholas!” Her hand flew to her throat. “Yes, of course. Come in. I did not think to see you so quickly.”

“Did you not?” He closed the door behind him and came over to the bed. “My mother sent me up,” he said.

“Your mother? Oh, Nicholas, have you seen her then?”

“Yes. And I have apologized for my outrageous neglect, and she has assured me that I am forgiven.”

“I am so glad,” she said softly.

He stood silent for a minute, gathering his thoughts and looking at her. “Will
you
forgive me?” he asked.

She bowed her head. “It is I who should be asking that of you. It was very wrong of me to have run away.”

“It was the smartest thing you could have done,” he said flatly, and she raised wide, wondering eyes to his face. It was very serious. “I have loved you for so long, Margarita, but it wasn’t until you left me that I realized how very much you meant to me. You are the most important thing in the world to me, and I will never ever even look at another woman again. I promise.”

At his first mention of love, Margarita’s eyes began to glow, and by the time his speech was finished her face was radiant. “Oh, Nicholas,” she said huskily. “Oh, my love.” Then she was in his arms, the roughness of his coat under her cheek. She closed her eyes and clung to him tightly. His cheek was pressed against her hair.

“My little love,” he kept saying. “My little love.” Then, his voice sounding rougher, “I meant what I said just now, Margarita. I only got involved with those other women because I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t need you. It was a piece of colossal stupidity only I could have invented. And all I succeeded in doing was demonstrating the opposite.”

Her voice was muffled by his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him. “Are you going to let me get off scot-free, then?” he asked softly.

The brown eyes gazing at him were big and dark and bottomless. “Yes,” she whispered.

His face was intent, profoundly serious. She knew what was coming next and felt the tremor deep within her. She raised her face a little, and his mouth came down on top of hers.

* * * *

“Well go back to Winslow,” he said about an hour later. “You don’t really like London, and Nicky is much better off in the country.”

She smiled. “I do like it best at Winslow. I have you and I have Nicky. I don’t need anything else.”

“Mmm.” He was propped on one elbow, looking down at her face.

“Perhaps we can have another baby,” she said, very softly.

“That would be nice, but I wouldn’t mind waiting for a little while.” Very gently he ran his finger around her nipple. “Trying to make one is so much fun.”

“Nicholas . . .” She tried to ignore the ache inside her his roving finger was creating. “What must your mother be thinking?”

“The worst,” he murmured, and after a moment of token resistance, she capitulated.

They missed tea and arrived downstairs only five minutes before dinner. “Nicky has been fed and is
now asleep,” Charlotte informed them placidly. She looked shrewdly at the two young faces before her and smiled. “Dinner
is served. You must be hungry.”

Nicholas grinned. “Starved, Mother,” he said, and Margarita blushed.

Later, after dinner, as they sat in the comfortable sitting room, he said, “Would you care to come and live at Winslow, Mother? Both Margarita and I would love to have you.”

There was suspicious brightness in Charlotte’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Thank you, darling, but I like my little cottage. It holds many happy memories for me, and I have some good friends in the neighborhood. When John died, I was afraid I should have to give it up, but thanks to my son I was able to keep it.”

“You owe small thanks to your son for anything, Mother,” he said bitterly.

Charlotte smiled at Margarita. “For how long do you think he means to keep this up?”

Margarita’s answering smile was full of identical humor and tolerance. “I don’t know,” she replied.

Nicholas scanned their two faces, taking in the kinship of expression. “Not for very long if you two plan to take sides against me,” he said dryly, and both his mother and his wife laughed.

“But seriously. Charlotte,” Margarita said, “if you won’t make your home with us, I hope you will come on long visits. Nicky has grown so fond of you. And I, also.”

Charlotte smiled. “And I have come to love you both.”

“Then you will at least come for visits?” put in Nicholas.

“You couldn’t keep me away,” she assured him. She was sitting in a high-backed chintz-covered chair, her hands resting loosely on the arms. Nicholas leaned forward a little from the sofa where he was seated next to Margarita, and briefly covered one of his mother’s hands with his own. She looked for a minute at the large, strong hand that rested on hers and then raised her eyes to his face. The gray-green eyes were warm and unguarded, and reflected back her own feelings of tenderness and love.

“We will expect you next week, then,” said Margarita serenely.

Nicholas removed his hand from his mother’s and turned to look at his wife. He had a sudden urge to put his arm around her and hold her to him. All this, he thought, his mind encompassing Charlotte, the warmth and love in the room, the baby sleeping upstairs, all of this is because of Margarita. But he refrained from reaching for her; her Spanish dignity would be offended by so public an embrace. He contented himself with an endorsement of her invitation. “Next week,” he repeated, then yawned hugely. “By George, but I’m tired. Think I’ll turn in.”

His mother looked amused. “By all means. It has been a rather exciting day. You two go ahead upstairs. I’ll just see about locking up here below.”

“Good night, Mother.” He bent and kissed her cheek. He went to the door and held it for his wife. “Coming, Margarita?”

“Good night, Charlotte,” she said sedately. She too kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek and then crossed the room to her husband. With beautiful dignity, she passed out of the room, and Nicholas, watching her straight back as it preceded him up the stairs, smiled imperceptibly.

Copyright © 1982 by Joan Wolf

Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451156676)

Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.RegencyReads.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.