The Courtesan Duchess (25 page)

But could she afford to let it go completely? How could she ever trust him after what he’d said and done?

She’d trusted him once—and he’d thrown that love and trust back in her face, called her horrible names, and cast her out from his life. He’d broken her heart. She didn’t want to give someone the power to hurt her like that ever again. It had been too painful.

Heavens, how she wished he would go away. It would be much simpler if she didn’t have to see him every day.

Since he clearly had no plans to leave, it was past time to find out what he was doing here.

 

 

Later that morning, Julia rang for Thorton to ascertain the whereabouts of her husband.

“His Grace and Mr. Fitzpatrick are fencing in the ballroom,” the butler informed her.

A flash of a sweaty, half-naked Nick fencing in Venice went through her mind. She remembered the way his muscles had bulged and dipped as his feet shuffled around the floor. Her breath quickened at the memory. The urge to see him that way again was strong—stronger than she even realized.

Which meant it was a dangerous idea.

“Thorton, please ask His Grace to join me in the library when he is finished.”

“Very well, Your Grace. Shall I send for tea as well?”

“No,” she blurted, her voice sharp. This would not be a social visit. “Thank you, Thorton,” she added in a gentler tone, “but that will not be necessary. I do not plan on taking up too much of His Grace’s time.”

Julia went to the library to wait. She chose a book of poetry to distract herself, only to remember how much she detested poetry. Casting the book aside, she’d just selected a novel instead when the door opened.

Nick strode into the room, bone-deep confidence in every step of his long-legged gait. Black hair swept away from his rugged face, he wore only a fine linen shirt and breeches—both now damp with perspiration and sticking to his lithe frame. Heaven above, he was delicious. She swallowed and willed herself not to notice.

“I apologize for coming in without bathing first, but Thorton said you wanted to see me?” Was she imagining it, or was that hope in his eyes?

Julia cleared her throat. “Yes, I do. Shall we sit?” She resumed her seat on the sofa and he dropped into a chair.

She hesitated, deciding the best way to proceed. When the moment stretched, he quirked an arrogant brow. Annoyance rushed through her. “Why are you still here?”

“Because you’ve not yet told me what you need.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do not be deliberately obtuse. You know perfectly well what I meant. At Seaton Hall, Colton. Why are you still here?”

Nick seemed caught off guard by her forthright question. He shifted and rubbed his chin. “It is
my
home. Am I not welcome here?”

She fought the urge to tap her foot. “You have three other properties scattered about England, plus the town house in London. There is a reason you are
here
and I should like to know what it is.”

A long moment ticked by. By the muscle jumping in his jaw, she could tell he wrestled with his answer. But she remained silent, curious as to what he would say.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied, his voice low and soft. “Perhaps I am here for you. For Olivia.”

Emotion welled in her chest, but she forced it back down. This was all weeks too late. She stood and began to pace. “In your unreasonable anger, you ordered me here and then ignored me for
seven
months. Did you honestly believe I would welcome you with open arms whenever you decided to return? While I will not deny you contact with your daughter, I will
never
forgive you for what has transpired between us.”

His gray gaze was dark and solemn. “I have apologized for my part in what has happened, Julia. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.”

“And while I am sorry for duping you, I do not regret what I have done.” How could she, when she had Olivia as a result?

“Would you rather I left, then?”

Yes,
she wanted to tell him.
Go before my resolve deserts me.
But she recalled his nightly visits with Olivia. It would be unnecessarily cruel to take that time away from both of them. “No. But I wanted you to know how I feel. We shall see each other at dinner, obviously, and I should like our relationship to be . . . cordial. For Olivia’s sake,” she hurried to add. “But pray, cease your attentions during the day. I do not want to spend time—alone—with you.”

A mask of civility, his face revealed nothing of his inner thoughts. “Very well. As you wish, madam. If that is all?”

Julia nodded, remembering that this was for the best. Her husband rose, offered her a polite bow, and walked out of the room.

 

 

Nick stomped up the main stairs. Rage and frustration clogged his throat and he spun around to return to the ground floor. A bath, where he would do nothing but think, was not what he needed at this moment. No, dark emotions were strangling his insides and they needed to be purged or else he would go mad. He strode toward the rear of the house, headed for the stables.

He passed Fitz along the way. His friend must have seen something in Nick’s face because he changed direction and fell into step.

“Go away,” Nick snarled.

“Are you certain about that?”

“Quite.”

Fitz ignored him, as usual, and kept pace until the stables, where Nick found a groom and ordered Charon saddled.

Fitz disappeared for a moment into a stall while Nick paced in the dirt, awaiting his mount, blood pounding in his ears. The October weather was a bit brisk and he wore nothing but a thin shirt, but he hardly noticed. He needed to escape. To feel the wind on his face. To drive himself to exhaustion.

After Nick swung onto Charon’s back, Fitz handed up a satchel. “Strongest Irish whisky you’d ever like to find, Your Grace. And if you don’t return in two hours’ time, I’ll be comin’ to find you.”

Too numb to argue, Nick nodded, tied the satchel to the saddle, and kicked his heels into the sides of the horse. Charon shot off into the rolling countryside.

The air stung his skin as the powerful horse tore up the ground with its massive hooves. Nick leaned down over Charon’s neck and gripped the sides of the animal with his thighs, his mind solely focused on staying seated.

Both he and Charon were covered with sweat by the time he slowed near the river. He walked the horse to the water and then dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground.

Satchel in hand, Nick threw himself down on the sandy bank. He dug into the bag and withdrew the bottle, uncorked it. When the first swallow hit his throat, liquid fire trailed down to his stomach. He sucked in a breath. Damn, Fitz had been as serious as a parson on Sunday, Nick thought, his eyes watering slightly. This was the strongest drink he’d had in some time.

And exactly what he needed. He took another long pull from the bottle.

For three weeks he’d been trying to melt the ice between them, attempting to be a proper, kind, and respectful husband—and he’d failed. All along, he’d hoped to make her understand how truly sorry he was.

He’d been a fool to try. Those words—
proper, kind, respectful
—had never been applied to him in his whole life. Hadn’t his parents said it time and time again? Nick hadn’t the first clue on how to be a husband. So why the devil had he believed he could pull it off after all this time?

He flopped back into the soft dirt. The tightness in his chest had now dulled to an ache. He stared up at the gray clouds floating in the sky, listened to the river gurgle softly.

He could well understand Julia’s anger. He’d treated her horribly. The shame of what he’d done in Venice to the mother of his child, a proper lady who’d never been with another man . . . it nearly made him sick. The things he’d said, made her do, and did to her in return, not to mention his accusations and vitriol once back in London. Little wonder she didn’t want him around. He hated himself every bit as much as she did.

And even if she did want him, he could never be the husband she needed, who came to her in the cover of night, touched her only as much as necessary before politely taking her under the sheets. The mere idea was laughable.

But he also couldn’t treat her like Mrs. Leighton. She was his wife, not a whore—even if she had acted one for a short period of time—and he could not expose her to his baser nature as he had in Venice. He could not disrespect her in such a fashion.

The rather alarming problem, however, was that he couldn’t forget Mrs. Leighton—Julia. Wanted her with every beat of his salacious heart. He’d pleasured himself to the memories of her so often in the last seven months that she should be purged from his mind by now. Only, the need continued to grow stronger.

Tilting the bottle up to his mouth, he took a few gulps, a trickle of whisky sliding down his cheek and into the ground.

When would this torture end, for God’s sake? When would he lose interest in her, as he’d done with countless women before?

Some inexplicable force drew him to her, made her entirely irresistible. Perhaps it was her fire and bravery, or that she said what she thought and had stood up to him from the start. If he were a better man, they would be perfect together.

The whisky turned sour in his stomach. Was he . . .
in love
with her? He took another swallow, hoping the idea would disappear. When it didn’t, Nick groaned. No wonder he hadn’t been able to have another woman since Venice. He’d gone and fallen in love, damn it. And with the one woman he’d never have.

Bloody hell.

God, wouldn’t his father love the irony. He’d told Nick over and over how no respectable woman would ever have him, title or no. Even the night of Nick’s wedding, his father had berated him, saying, “I had to pay a king’s ransom for her, you ungrateful whelp. You’d best get a couple of brats on her quickly, before she learns what a terrible bargain you are and locks the door to her bedchamber.”

And he was a terrible bargain. Coarse, stubborn, and angry, he’d spent nearly all of his life alone. Harry had been the only person Nick felt affection for, yet their relationship had poisoned soon after Harry’s marriage. Despite Nick’s vehement denials, Harry had been convinced Nick was trying to seduce Angela, and the despair over it had driven his brother to take his own life.

The guilt, the horror of finding his brother’s body . . . Nick would never be able forget it—or forgive himself. Bottle at his lips, he poured the whisky down his throat in one long guzzle.

So now he’d made it all worse by falling in love with his respectable, beautiful, paragon of a wife—who happened to loathe his very existence.
Christ, what a mess,
he thought, his surroundings starting to blur a bit. Good. Mayhap he’d stay here and drink all day. God knew there was nothing awaiting him at the Hall.

A thought of Olivia went through his mind, and emotion swelled around his heart. Sweet and perfect, his daughter was more precious to him than anything. He’d never imagined feeling love like this for his child, and it nearly overwhelmed him. In his experience, children were ignored—but he could never see doing that to Livvie. She needed to grow up knowing that her father loved her.

Maybe that was why he didn’t want to leave, not just yet. He didn’t want to repeat the sins of his own parents. Olivia should never be made to feel unworthy or unloved. Un-bloody-anything. He may not have wanted a child, but he’d be damned if anyone took Livvie from him at this point.

So he’d keep his distance from his wife and continue to visit his daughter at night, when the two of them could be alone. They didn’t need anyone else. He had Livvie and that was enough.

The decision should have made him feel better, but oddly, it did not. Perhaps another drink would help.

A month went by and Julia saw her husband a mere handful of times. He no longer dined with them in the evenings and kept to himself during the day. She knew from Mrs. Larkman he continued to visit the nursery each night to spend time with their daughter, but he never sought Julia out. In fact, she wondered where he slept because she never heard him in the adjoining chamber.

She tried not to be hurt. After all, she had
asked
him to leave her be. Yet she hadn’t expected him to disappear altogether. At the very least, she had assumed he would continue to attend dinners. So what was he doing with his time?

To find out would require pursuing him, which Julia refused to do. Instead, she spent her afternoons with Olivia and Aunt Theo. Her body now completely recovered from the birth, she could take long daily walks about the estate, which she did each morning.

This particular morning, she had agreed to visit Angela. Yesterday, Lady Lambert had written Julia a note, where she’d apologized for sending Nick away on the night of Olivia’s birth and begged for Julia to come visit her.

It had been two months since Colton had ordered Angela to the dower house, and Julia’s confusion and anger over the night of Olivia’s birth had not diminished a bit. How could this woman, one Julia had considered a friend, turn on her at such a crucial moment? It made no sense. Julia never would have suspected Angela capable of such cruelty. And while nothing Angela could say would excuse her behavior, Julia needed to hear straight from the woman’s mouth on
why
she’d done it.

In the kitchens, Julia was overseeing the preparation of a basket with various treats and foods when she heard the jangle of keys.

“Good morning, Your Grace. Off for a picnic?” Mrs. Gibbons, the housekeeper, smiled politely from across the room.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gibbons. I am off to see Lady Lambert and thought she might appreciate some of Cook’s treats.”

The housekeeper frowned. “A far way to walk alone, Your Grace, if you don’t mind my saying so. Shall I have one of the footmen go with you?”

“No, that is not necessary. I traveled nearly as far the other morning. I’ll be fine.”

“If you insist, Your Grace. It’s quite chilly, so take care with your warmest cloak.”

Julia nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Gibbons.”

Twenty minutes later, she set off, wearing a thick cloak, hat, mittens, and scarf. The weather was indeed cold, the late-autumn wind blowing through nearly bare trees. Leaves of all shapes, sizes, and colors swirled on the ground like a pagan carpet, crunching under her sturdy half boots as she walked.

The forest closed in around her, and she tried not to think of her accident. True, she hadn’t ventured along this path since, but there was no cause for concern. It had been a strange incident, surely caused by her lack of balance due to pregnancy.

Through the other side of the thick trees, she could see the dower house on the rise of the hill. It was a sturdy, brick two-story structure, with green ivy snaking up the façade. Since no one had lived there in quite a number of years, Julia was unsurprised to see the grounds a bit unkempt. Angela had taken a servant or two with her, but it would take time to bring the property up to snuff.

She came up the walk and noticed a horse resting nearby. Did Angela have a visitor?

Before she could get to the door, a sharp pain exploded behind her head, the force of a blow sending her forward, the ground rising up to meet her. Cool dirt beneath her cheek was the last thing to register before blackness engulfed her.

 

 

Nick stood in the ballroom, stripped to the waist, waiting for Fitz to ready himself. His friend had requested a quick break to catch his breath.

“If you were not so busy with nocturnal activities, perhaps you would have more stamina for our morning exercise,” he called out.

“And if you found a bit of nocturnal activity for yourself, you wouldn’t feel the need to drive us both to bleedin’ exhaustion each day,” Fitz grumbled.

Probably true, Nick admitted. His body frustrated to distraction, these daily workouts were all that kept him sane. But he wasn’t about to tell Fitz that.

“And how is the lovely Lady Carville?”

Fitz reddened, a sight Nick had never thought to see. Bloody hell, Fitz was in love.

“Lovely,” the big man replied. “And gentle. Sweet as—”

“Enough.” Nick held up a hand. “I’d prefer to hold on to my morning meal, if you don’t mind.”

Fitz smiled knowingly, a look that had Nick’s fingers tightening on his foil. “You could be under a particular woman’s spell, too, if you’d but let yourself fall.”

He’d already fallen, but didn’t bother correcting Fitz. “Get up, you lazy ox. You talk more than a woman.”

Right then, the door opened and one of the footmen came in. “This just arrived, Your Grace.”

Nick tossed down his foil, took the note, and tore it open. All the air left his lungs. Blood pounding in his ears, he murmured, “My God.”

“What is it?” Fitz rushed over and Nick handed him the note.

“Who do you suppose this is from?” Fitz asked.

Nick shook his head, his mind frozen with fear. Someone had Julia.
Kidnapped
her. How in the blazes had that happened?

He grabbed his shirt and ran out of the room. “Thorton!” he shouted as he pulled on his shirt and thundered down the stairs two at a time. “Thorton!”

“Yes, Your Grace?” Thorton appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wide with concern.

“My wife. Where is she?”

“I believe Her Grace went on a walk this morning. She planned to visit Lady Lambert at the dower house.”

“
Alone?
No one went with her?”

When Thorton shook his head, anger and guilt tore through Nick, and he slammed a fist against his thigh.
Damn it.
He should have kept a closer eye on her, but his bloody pride had prevented him from doing so. She’d told him to stay away and, like a fool, he’d done exactly that.

Jesus. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

“Fitz!” he called loudly.

“Here, Your Grace.” Nick whirled and saw Fitz looming on the stairs, his scarred face showing concern. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know yet. But grab the pistols and let’s discuss it on the way.”

 

 

Julia roused slowly, the pain in her head excruciating. Everything hurt. Confused, she twisted slightly and realized with no small amount of alarm that her hands were tied behind her. She blinked in the dim light and glanced around. It was a small cottage of some sort, one she did not recognize, though it appeared to have gone unused for a good number of years, if the cobwebs were any indication. What had happened?

She took some deep breaths in an attempt to ease the pounding in her skull. The walls and floor were bare wood, with very little furniture inside the room. A small wooden table with a few chairs and a cot. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, warding off the cold air.

Who lived here? And what did they want with her?

Moving her arms, she tested the strength of her bindings. Perhaps she could wriggle free. With a soft grunt, she gave up. Escape would not come easy. The ropes were too tight for her to get any slack.

The door opened and a man came inside, his arms loaded with firewood. He looked up—

Templeton.

Oh, for God’s sake, she should have known. Julia’s eyes narrowed on her husband’s cousin. Instead of fear, white-hot anger flooded her. This man had plagued her for far too long.

“Good. You’re awake. I did not want you sleeping the afternoon away.” He strode to the fireplace and dropped the wood next to the wall.

“I would not have slept at all if you hadn’t clobbered me, you dolt. Untie me.”

“Shouting at me won’t do you any good, Your Grace. And I don’t take orders from you.”

She sighed. “Have you lost your mind, Templeton? Why have you brought me here?”

“You shall see,” he said, removing his overcoat. “First I must deal with your husband when he arrives.”

Oh, no. She swallowed the panicked hysteria welling up inside her. Why had he hit her over the head? What was he planning to do to Nick?

“How do you know Colton will even come?”

Templeton took a chair and placed it against the wall, facing both her and the door. “I sent a note. He’ll come.”

Julia wasn’t so sure. After all, she and Nick weren’t exactly on friendly terms. In their last conversation, she told him to leave her alone, and he’d been only too happy to do so. She seriously doubted the man would rush off to rescue her. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Oh, he will.” Templeton withdrew a pistol from inside his pocket. “But no more talking. I want to be ready for him.”

“You’re planning to kill him.” Suddenly it became clear. If Nick were out of the way, with no Colton heir, Templeton stood to claim the title for himself.

“Yes, that is the general plan. The degenerate never should have come back. And if it weren’t for
you
he wouldn’t have.”

“So why kidnap me?”

“When the authorities find the gun in your hand instead of mine, Colton’s death will appear as a lover’s quarrel gone bad. After all, everyone knows of the lack of affection between the two of you.”

Her stomach rolled. “Templeton, even for you, that is disgusting.”

He smiled, his sharp, pinched features twisting in evil merriment. “Thank you.”

A loaded silence descended. The hiss and crackle of the fire was deafening, and every second that passed was torture. Her muscles tensed in dreaded anticipation of the moment Nick came through the door. Perhaps she could convince him to give her more slack in the bindings. If so, she might be able to escape.

“The ropes are a bit tight, Templeton. My arms are quite sore. Would you mind loosening them?”

He shot her a withering glare. “Not a chance. I cannot risk having you escape. Now cease your chattering, harpy, or I will gag you.”

The minutes crept by. How long had she been here? Hours? Her anxiety grew, since she had no idea if Nick would come for her. And if he did, how would he stay alive?

She imagined Nick rushing in the door and Templeton shooting her husband dead right in front of her. Pain gripped her chest and she had to close her eyes. No, no. Nick couldn’t
die
. Yes, she was angry with him, but the idea of losing him filled her with a despair she would not have expected.

She still loved that infuriating man—and he was not allowed to die before Julia had a chance to tell him. Only Nick had the ability to turn her emotions inside out. He could make her spitting mad one second and burn with lust in the next. He’d hurt her, no question about that, but Julia needed him. Olivia needed him.

The thought of her daughter caused moisture to gather in her eyes. Would she ever see little Olivia again? If Templeton made good on his threat, both she and Nick would die today.

Which meant Olivia would be dependent on the kindness of relatives. While Julia loved Theo, her aunt had never wanted children. So would she take Olivia in? They had never talked about it, but if Theo didn’t raise Olivia, who would?

Julia hated the idea of a distant relative or a stranger caring for her daughter. Who would kiss Olivia’s scrapes and smooth her hair? Who would help her pick out dresses and present her at court? Would they tell Olivia about her real parents, how much she was loved? Tears slid down Julia’s face and she muffled a sob.

Templeton shot her a strange look, then stood and threw the last of the logs onto the fire. “I’m going out for more wood.” With that, he pulled on his greatcoat and hat, and stomped out of the cottage.

She almost smiled. If she’d known crying would get rid of Templeton so quickly, she would have produced a few tears a long time ago.

Pulling frantically with all her might, Julia attempted to loosen her bindings. She used her fingernails to pull at whatever section of the rope she could reach. With even a bit of slack, she might be able to squirm free. She knew from the sharp sting of pain in her hands that her fingers were bleeding, but that hardly mattered. Templeton would not win.

The door bounced open. She froze, expecting Templeton, but instead saw her husband. Braced for battle, his face was hard and angry, a pistol in his right hand. “Nick,” she breathed, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank God.”

Nick rushed forward, glancing around to confirm they were alone. “Are you hurt?” He touched her cheek gently with his free hand, his face softening.

She nodded. “I’m fine. It’s Templeton. He means to kill you.”

“Indeed I do,” Templeton said from behind them, his pistol trained on Nick. “And if Colton will turn around, I shall claim what should be rightfully mine.”

Julia found Nick’s gaze. There was determination and savage ferocity in the gray depths of his eyes, but also fear. He was scared for her. “Do not dare,” she told him quietly. “Do not sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Drop the pistol, Colton.” Templeton stepped farther inside. “On the floor. Now.”

Nick’s stare never wavered from hers. A loud
thud
reverberated as the pistol hit the wood floor. “No, Nick,” she whispered, a tear sliding free and cascading down her cheek.

He lifted his hand to gently brush the wetness with his thumb. “Do not cry,
tesorina,
” he murmured.