Nine Buck's Row (23 page)

“Thank God for that.”

“You're exasperated, aren't you?”

“That's putting it mildly.”

I stumbled on the stairs. He held my arm in an even tighter grip. I would probably have bruises tomorrow. He wouldn't care.

“You wouldn't care,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn't know,” I replied.

“How much champagne did you drink?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Jesus! I should never have left you out of my sight.”

We were standing in the foyer, the exotic plants very green, colored mosaics on every side. The water gurgled, spilling from one basin into another with rippling melody. His hand still on my arm, Nicholas glowered and waited impatiently for Sir Reginald to return. I fretted, regretting that I hadn't left a slipper on the staircase. I would never see Ted again. Or George either, for that matter, or Steve or Fred or John or Roderick. It was over, and I was in disgrace.

“I suppose you'll expect me to wear rags and ashes,” I said hatefully. “Well, I won't. There are limits, Mr. Craig. Definite limits. I was a sensation, by the way. The boys adored me—”

“Here we are,” Sir Reginald said, returning with my wrap and Nicholas' cape over his arm. “The carriage will be around front in a few minutes. Are you feeling all right, Susannah?”

“I feel glorious,” I replied.

“Bit of fresh air wouldn't do her any harm,” he informed Nicholas.

“We'll wait outside,” Nicholas replied. “Tell Cordelia—well, just say we had to leave suddenly. She'll be furious, but it can't be helped. I'll send her some roses.”

“About tomorrow—” Sir Reginald began.

“I'll keep in touch.”

“The minute you hear anything. I'd better get back to my guests.”

“Goodbye,” I said politely. “It was an enchanting evening, Sir Reginald. A smashing evening.”

He grinned and made a gallant little bow before going on upstairs. He was a very sweet man. Nicholas helped me with my wrap and draped the heavy folds of the cape around his shoulders, and then he led me outside, his manner stern and disapproving.

“You're hurting my arm,” I protested.

“What a bloody little fool you are! How many people saw you like that? Did you disgrace yourself in front of everyone?”

“No one saw me,” I said primly. “I took the champagne out to the landing. I—it was that last glass. I drank too quickly. My head—I'm beginning to—”

“You're going to have a hellish hangover. Serves you right.”

He was an odious man. I hated him.

“I don't suppose any real harm was done,” he said grimly. “At least you didn't have a large audience. Head throbbing?”

“Dreadfully. I feel sick—”

He made no comment. It was cool out, the dark sky filled with frosty stars. My head was clearing rapidly as we stood beside the drive, but the throbbing was worse. The airy sensation vanished. I felt terrible. Nicholas stood with his hands jammed into his pockets, the cape whipping about his shoulders. I took deep breaths. It didn't help at all.

It was ten minutes before the carriage finally pulled around in front of the house. Nicholas helped me in, and we were soon driving away. I sat back against the cushion, my skirt making a great bell shape that filled the whole seat. Nicholas lounged across from me, his arms folded over his chest. The carriage clattered noisily, horse hooves clanking loudly on the cobblestones. It wasn't at all pleasant.

“What were you doing out on the landing?” he inquired coldly.

“I was looking for you,” I replied.

“Oh?”

“You didn't dance with me. Not once.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“You neglected me. It was wretched of you.”

“I didn't know it mattered,” he said quietly.

“It did. You could have at least—one dance—”

“That would have pleased you?”

“No,” I said haughtily.

“I see.” There was amusement in his voice.

“I wasn't a wallflower. Don't think that for a minute. I was
rushed
. Never a free dance. All those delightful nephews. George wanted to take me out to the gardens, and Ted
did
. He was so charming, so gallant. I was the belle of the ball, no doubt about it.”

“No doubt,” he agreed.

“You think I'm a child.”

“At the moment, yes.”

“Ted didn't think so. Neither did George.”

“Young scoundrels—”

“Oh dear,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I've never felt this way before. I'll never touch champagne again. Never. My head is splitting. Not that it would matter to you. You're beastly.”

“You'll survive,” he said dryly.

“You'll never take me anywhere else. You can be so nice at times, almost human, in fact. Relaxed. Amiable. Sometimes, not often. Sometimes I like you very much, and then you're beastly. Perfectly beastly. Like tonight. Not one dance—”

Nicholas gave a weary sigh and shook his head.

Several minutes passed. The fog was thick, billowing around the carriage in moist gray-white clouds. The giddiness had all worn off now, and the throbbing had given way to a dull ache. I wondered what I had said, what I had done. I remembered setting my champagne glass on the bannister, but everything after that was hazy. Nicholas and Sir Reginald had come into the foyer, talking, and I had listened to them, but I couldn't remember what they had said. Something about Sir Charles and the press. Something about a crown. I sat up, smoothing down the folds of my skirt.

“I saw Valerie,” I said abruptly.

“Indeed?” He didn't seem at all disturbed by my remark.

“She is beautiful, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

“Yes, Valerie is beautiful.”

“You—you must love her very much. How could you help but love her? She—she's everything a man could want. I—I saw you with her. You were smiling. She was laughing. I—I suppose a man couldn't forget someone like her.”

“No,” he said calmly.

“I shouldn't have brought it up. I know you don't like to talk about her. She was with another man. I suppose you were jealous—oh, I wish I looked like that—”

Nicholas Craig smiled, his lips spreading in a bitter line. I could see his face in the semidarkness. The eyes were very dark, the hollows beneath his cheekbones deep and shadowy.

“You're consumed with curiosity, aren't you?” he said.

“I'm sorry, Nicholas. I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

“You think you're grown up, and you've made it a point to assure me of your worldly knowledge. I suppose it won't hurt you to know all the sordid details.”

“You don't have to tell me.”

“I loved Valerie,” he said soberly. “She was the whole world to me. I considered myself the most fortunate man alive when I married her. She was, as you put it, everything a man could want. I was young. I was ready to settle down. I was in love, head over heels, and vulnerable.”

“Please don't,” I protested.

“There had been other men. I knew all about them. She told me about them, but I loved her and it didn't matter. We had been married almost a year when I found out about the stable boy. I beat him to a pulp and threw him off the property. Then there was a neighbor, husky fellow in crimson hunting jacket and white pants, great sportsman. I soon lost track of her lovers. They were legion, not to put too fine a point on it. One week I had to come to London on business. I returned to Surrey a day early. My lovely wife was in bed with my best friend, a fellow I trusted—” He cut himself short, his face granite hard.

I was silent, thoroughly miserable.

“I wanted to murder her with my bare hands. I divorced her instead. I gave her a generous settlement. I was polite to her tonight, and she was charming. If I received word in the morning that she had fallen downstairs and broken her neck and died an agonizing death, I'd celebrate. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“You didn't have to tell me,” I said quietly.

“I realize that. Now you know. I never want you to mention her name again, Susannah. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice barely audible.

I understood now. I understood his bitterness, and I understood why he was so aloof. He had been in love, and that love had made him vulnerable. He had been hurt, badly, and he had resolved never to be hurt again. He would never love again. He would never allow himself to love. He would be cold, and miserable, nursing his bitterness, but he would never be hurt as Valerie had hurt him. He equated love with weakness, and Nicholas Craig was a strong man.

Neither of us said anything else for the rest of the drive. I thought about the strange, enigmatic man who sat across from me, and he stared out at the fog, a brooding expression on his face. The carriage turned down Buck's Row and stopped in front of number nine. Nicholas helped me out and gave the driver a generous tip. We stood in front of the shop for a moment, watching the carriage disappear into clouds of fog, and then he opened the side door and we went upstairs, his hand holding my elbow in a loose grip. My head still ached but I was completely sober now.

The clock in the front parlor struck one. A lamp burned, casting the rest of the room in darkness. We paused. Nicholas sighed heavily.

“I made a fool of myself tonight,” I said quietly. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Every young girl is entitled to make a fool of herself,” he replied.

“I don't know what Sir Reginald will think.”

“He found the whole thing amusing. Don't worry about it. Come, I'll walk you up to your bedroom.”

“It isn't necessary. I'm quite all right now.”

He frowned and wrapped his fingers around my elbow again, guiding me up the second flight of stairs. Maggie was asleep in her bedroom, and the third floor was in darkness, thick shadows coating the walls. Moonlight sifted through the windows, making wavering pools on the carpet. Nicholas knocked his arm against the stairpost and emitted a soft curse. My bedroom door was open, a ray of moonlight pouring over the bed and revealing Scrappy curled up in a ball in the middle of the counterpane.

We stood in front of my bedroom door. I was nervous without knowing exactly why. A cloud drifted across the surface of the moon, and in a moment the hall was illuminated with milky moonlight, shadows scurrying from the walls. The narrow staircase leading up to the attic was a nest of darkness, and I fancied I saw something moving there.

“I'm sorry I didn't dance with you,” Nicholas said.

“It hardly matters. You had more important things to do.”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Perhaps it won't always be that way.”

He was standing a few feet away, directly in front of me. He was in a strange mood, a mood I had never encountered in him before. The moonlight swept through the hall in milky waves, creating a misty lighting effect. A breeze billowed the curtains at the end of the hall. Nicholas' cape fluttered, and a lock of hair tumbled over his forehead. He was staring at me with a peculiar intensity.

“I've been very rough on you, Susannah. I've been beastly, just as you said.”

“Did I say that?”

“You said a number of things. Champagne loosens the tongue.”

He smiled a wry smile and brushed the lock of hair from his forehead. A board creaked. Shadows stirred on the attic staircase. Nicholas frowned. He seemed undecided about something.

“Young Ted Elliot was extremely attentive,” he said quietly.

“You noticed,” I replied.

“I noticed all right. He plays fast and loose with all the girls. That lad has the makings of a rake.”

“I'll probably never see him again.”

“Did you fancy him?”

“He was thoroughly enchanting,” I said.

Nicholas looked disturbed.

He came over to me and laid his hands on my shoulders, his eyes peering down at me. I couldn't read the expression in them. He was so close, the strong fingers squeezing my shoulders. I could smell his flesh and the pungent, leathery smell of his shaving cologne. A curious weakness stole through my body. I was completely mesmerized, unable to look away. His lips were dry, the skin slightly chapped, and there was a tiny crescent-shaped scar at one corner where he had cut himself shaving, a faint pink groove that made his mouth seem even wider.

“It's very late,” I said. “I—I'd better get to bed.”

“Not just yet—”

He pulled me toward him, one arm wrapping around my shoulders, the other winding around my waist, holding me securely. I struggled, startled by the sudden action, and his arms tightened, crushing me against him. He lowered his head and fastened his mouth over mine, those firm, dry lips arousing sensations I never knew existed. Holding me tightly, he swung me around and I wrapped my arms around his back for support. Sensation piled upon sensation, and there was a whirling giddiness that no amount of champagne could induce.

He released me abruptly. I stumbled against the wall, my heart pounding. He stepped back, his face a fierce mask.

“Nicholas—” I whispered.

“Forgive me,” he said harshly. “It won't happen again.”

“You—you do feel—”

“Go to bed!”

He moved to the staircase in rapid, angry strides, and I could hear him going down and stalking savagely along the hall below. Misty light wavered and then disappeared as a cloud covered the moon. Dark, velvety shadows filled the hallway. I leaned against the wall, my heart still palpitating, my whole body weak, and it was several minutes before I finally stepped into the darkened bedroom.

15

Two days passed, and I did not see Nicholas even once. He left early, came in late, taking his meals at restaurants, and I hadn't so much as seen him on the stairs. He was avoiding me, deliberately, and I wasn't displeased with the arrangement. I wasn't ready to face him again, not yet, and was willing to delay the confrontation as long as possible. I didn't know what to make of that passionate kiss in the shadowy hallway, but I knew that our relationship had been altered. I could no longer think of him in the same way, and Nicholas could no longer see me as a schoolgirl.