Thunder & Roses Read online

  "Don't think I haven't found satisfaction in that knowledge," Emily said dryly. "Wherever the fourth Earl of Aberdare is now—and I suspect that it's a very hot place—I hope he knows that I am not barren." She touched her abdomen. "And in the autumn, William will have a brother or sister."

  "How lovely. Congratulations." No longer able to contain her bemusement, Clare continued, "But why are you telling all this to a stranger?"

  Emily shrugged. "Because you're easy to talk to. Because Nicholas brought you here. Because you're from Penreith. I suppose the last reason is the most important. If you live in the valley, you must know the scandal surrounding the death of my husband and Nicholas's wife. Heaven only knows what stories went around, though the rumors could hardly be worse than the truth. I left Wales as soon as I had buried my husband. At the time I was too numb to care what anyone thought, but this seems like a chance to set the record straight."

  Clare wondered how Nicholas had felt about the affair. Had he loved Emily? Did he still? But of course she couldn't ask. Instead, she said, "There was a great deal of wild speculation about what had happened, but the scandal is half forgotten by now. With you and Nicholas gone from the valley and no one else knowing the facts, the gossips had precious little to work with."

  "Good." Emily's brows drew together. "Robert helped me put that dreadful time behind me. Nicholas, I think, has been less fortunate. Perhaps you can help him, as Robert helped me."

  A little helplessly, Clare said, "This is a very strange conversation."

  "I suppose it is." Emily smiled. "I don't know exactly what is between you and Nicholas, but he wouldn't have brought you here if he didn't care about you. He needs someone to care about him. Someone he can trust."

  Before Clare could explain that the situation was not what Emily thought, Nicholas himself returned from the nursery. As conversation became general again, Clare decided it was just as well that she had been unable to respond, because she didn't know what to think, or what to say. She had been raised in a world of blacks and whites, where right was right and wrong was wrong. Unfortunately, the area around Nicholas was all shades of gray.

  A few minutes later, as Clare and Nicholas were taking their leave, Emily's husband returned home. Robert Holcroft was a stocky blond man with a contagious smile. When introduced to Nicholas, he shook hands eagerly, saying how much he had looked forward to this meeting. If he knew that Emily and Nicholas had been lovers, it didn't show in his manner.

  As they drove away in the curricle, Clare said, "I'm glad to know that Lady Aberdare is happy now. When she left the valley after burying her husband four years ago, it was as if she had dropped off the face of the earth. No one in Penreith had any idea what happened to her."

  "She wanted to forget her years in Wales, and one can hardly blame her," Nicholas said dryly. "She married Holcroft one year to the day after my grandfather's death. He's a barrister by training, but now he's a rising star in Parliament. Someday he'll be a cabinet minister."

  "What district does he represent?"

  "Leicestershire." Nicholas slowed the curricle, then turned left into a quieter street. "I control the seat, and when Emily wrote that Holcroft wanted to go into politics, I gave it to him. From what I hear, he's working out well—seems to be both cleverer and more principled than the fellow who preceded him."

  Startled, she said, "You control a district in Leicestershire?"

  "Among others. Our corrupt political system gives me effective control of seats in three different counties. Though the Aberdare title is rooted in Wales, these days the majority of the family fortune is generated elsewhere."

  Clare was struck by how little she knew about Nicholas, or about the wealth and power a man in his position wielded. "No wonder Mr. Holcroft was so happy to meet you, since you're his political patron. Is that also why you're William's godfather?"

  Nicholas smiled. "I'd like to think that friendship enters into it. Emily was an island of warmth and sanity at Aberdare."

  He didn't sound like a man suffering from a broken heart. Obviously he was very fond of Emily, but Clare took irrational satisfaction in the knowledge that she had not been the great love of his life. "If you were able to put Holcroft into Parliament, you must have kept fairly close track of your affairs while you were out of the country."

  "Every six months or so, a box of legal papers would catch up with me, and I would send instructions back to my man of business." He gave her an ironic glance. "I'm not quite as irresponsible as my reputation implies."

  "No one could be," she said tartly.

  Nicholas laughed. "You're a perfect Welsh rose: delicate, sweet-scented, and well-equipped with thorns." He reached out and brushed her chin with his gloved knuckles. "And it's the thorns that make you interesting."

  As compliments went it wasn't much, but Clare cherished it anyhow. She was much better at thorniness than she was at conventional charm.

  * * *

  Clare carefully lined up the cue ball, then stroked. The cue stick skidded against the ivory ball and veered off, missing the object ball. "Drat! I misstroked again." She raised the cue and scowled at the tip. "The problem is that the wood is so smooth and hard. Would it be illegal to put a different material on the end—something that would not skid as much as bare wood?"

  "I think it would be legal, but no true billiard lover would approve. The challenge is to play well in spite of the equipment, not because of it." Nicholas leaned over, his muscles flexing under his white lawn shirt, and neatly potted a ball. "At least this table is flat compared to the one at Aberdare, which resembled a plowed field in midwinter."

  "By the time we go home, that table should have its new slate top. It will be interesting to see how it works."

  Since her first day in London had been full of drama, it was pleasant to spend the evening quietly with Nicholas. And there were advantages to her being a novice billiard player, because she spent most of her time watching him shoot. Moving around the billiard table with easy, panther-like grace, he was a sight to please any female. With a small tingle of pleasure, she wondered when he would collect today's kiss. If he didn't do it soon, she might kiss him herself. He seemed to like it when she did that.

  Nicholas stroked again. After the cue ball bounced showily off three cushions, it knocked the object ball into a pocket.

  Before Clare could compliment him, a lazy voice drawled from the doorway, "A certain skill at billiards is the mark of a gentleman, but to play too well is the sign of a misspent youth."

  "Lucien!" Nicholas dropped his cue on the table and went to give the newcomer an exuberant hug. "I see you got my note. I'm glad you could come by tonight."

  Lucien murmured, "Still as unrestrained as ever, I see," but Clare noticed that he returned the embrace with obvious affection.

  While the men exchanged greetings, she studied the newcomer, who was dressed with an elegance just short of dandyism. He was almost as handsome as Nicholas, but in a blond, utterly English way. Among the Fallen Angels, he had obviously been Lucifer, the morning star who had been the brightest and most beautiful before he had rebelled against heaven. He also moved as quietly as a cat, for neither Clare nor Nicholas had heard him approach.

  After disentangling himself from his friend, Nicholas performed the introductions. "Clare, you'll have gathered that this is Lord Strathmore. Lucien, my friend Miss Morgan."

  Were she and Nicholas friends? As a description, it left much unsaid. Smiling, she said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Nicholas has often spoken of you."

  "Lies, all lies," he said promptly. "They were never able to prove anything."

  As Clare laughed, he bowed elegantly over her hand. When he straightened, she saw that his eyes were an unusual green-gold that made her think of cats again. He studied her curiously, as if trying to deduce her position in the household. No proper spinster would be spending an evening alone at a man's house. On the other hand, even her new gowns couldn't make Clare look like the sort o
f female with whom Nicholas would misbehave.

  Lord Strathmore said, "You're Welsh, Miss Morgan?"

  "And here I thought my English was flawless."

  "A touch of Welsh accent adds music to a voice." His smile proved he rivaled Nicholas in charm as well as looks.

  Nicholas said, "Clare, do you mind if we finish the game later?"

  She smiled. "I'll concede—I've no chance of winning."

  "In that case..." Nicholas handed the cue to his friend. "Think you can pot the last two balls?"

  Lucien bent over the table and stroked. The cue ball whizzed about the table, knocking first one, then the other, of the object balls into pockets. "I, too, had a misspent youth."

  After the laughter died down, Clare said, "I'll retire for the night. I'm sure you two have much to talk about."

  Nicholas draped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't go yet. I want to ask Lucien about Michael Kenyon, and the answer to that concerns you as much as me."

  Lord Strathmore frowned, but said nothing until the three of them were settled in the library, the two men drinking brandy while Clare sipped on a very small sherry. She and Nicholas sat in adjacent wing chairs while Strathmore lounged on a sofa opposite. The room was lit mostly by the coal fire, which created a warm, peaceful glow.

  After briefly describing the situation at the Penreith mine, Nicholas said, "Michael seems to have completely abandoned the business, which doesn't seem like him. Do you know where he is now? I've had no contact with him since I left England, but I'd like to see him soon if possible."

  Lucien raised his brows. "You didn't know that he went back into the army?"

  "Good God, I had no idea. When he sold out, he swore that he'd had enough of soldiering to last him the rest of his life."

  "No doubt he meant it at the time, but he bought another commission not long after you left the country."

  Nicholas frowned, and Clare saw concern in his eyes. "You're not going to tell me that the silly beggar has gone and gotten himself killed, are you?"

  "Don't worry, Michael is indestructible. He spent most of the last four years fighting the French on the Peninsula. He's a major now, and something of a hero."

  Nicholas smiled. "That sounds like him. Better to unleash that ferocious temper on the enemy rather than on his friends."

  Lucien looked down into his glass and swirled the brandy around. "Speaking of his temper, did you and Michael lose touch because you had some kind of quarrel?"

  "No. Actually, I hardly saw him for some months before I left the country, even though he was in Penreith for much of that time. He was very involved with plans and improvements for the mine, which is why it's so surprising that he has neglected it since." Absently Nicholas reached over and covered Clare's hand. "Where is he now—with the army in France?"

  "No, you're in luck. He came down with fever in winter camp and was shipped home at Wellington's personal order. He's in London now, pretty well recovered from his illness, though he's still on sick leave." Lucien fell silent and regarded his brandy glass broodingly.

  "You've seen him then, and you're concerned about him," Nicholas guessed. "What's wrong?"

  "Too much war, I imagine," Lucien said slowly. "I met him in the park riding one morning. He's lean as a wolf, and I felt wildness just under the surface. Or perhaps it's desperation. The country may have benefited by his army service, but I don't think he has."

  "Is he staying at Ashburton House? I want to call on him."

  "No, he's taken rooms, but I don't know where." Lucien smiled wryly. "Though he seemed pleased to see me, he wasn't volunteering any information. Reminded me of a fox that's gone to earth. Though he's been in London for several months, he hasn't made much attempt to see his old friends."

  "You can find where he's staying—you always know everything about everyone."

  "But I very seldom tell all I know." Lucien glanced up, his eyes glowing golden in the firelight. "It might be better if you don't try to see him. When Michael and I were talking, your name came up and—well, I won't say that he literally bared his teeth like a wolf, but that's the impression I got."

  Nicholas's fingers tightened on Clare's. "It's a nuisance if he's having a tantrum, but I need to talk to him about the Penreith mine. If he doesn't want to run it properly, he can sell the lease back to me, but that is my land and those are my people, and I will not permit the present situation to continue."

  Clare glanced at him, surprised at his intensity. It sounded very much as if Nicholas had made her cause his own, in spite of his threat to walk away if she left him.

  "You're as stubborn as Michael is," Lucien said with a trace of exasperation. "If there are going to be fireworks, meeting in a public place is probably a good idea. Rafe is having a ball next week, and Michael said he'd be attending. Of course you'll be invited as soon as Rafe knows you've returned."

  "Perfect." Nicholas relaxed and smiled at Clare. "Rafe's balls are famous. You'll find it interesting."

  Lucien frowned. "I'm not sure that it is the sort of event you should take Miss Morgan to."

  "No?" Nicholas's glance was challenging. "The highest sticklers might not approve of Rafe's entertainments, but he would never permit real vulgarity. I think she'll enjoy it."

  "It's still no place for a respectable unmarried female."

  "But I am not respectable," Clare said smoothly as she got to her feet. "Nicholas can tell you about it if you're curious. I'm very glad to have met you, Lord Strathmore. Nicholas, I'll see you tomorrow."

  He also rose. "I'll be back in a moment, Luce."

  He escorted her into the hall and closed the door to the library behind him. "Did you think you'd be able to escape without surrendering your kiss for the day?"

  She chuckled. "I was hoping you wouldn't forget." She stepped into his arms and turned her face up.

  As always, his kiss was intoxicating, stirring pulses throughout her body. One of his hands wandered down to cup her buttock, pressing her tightly against him. She almost broke away. Then a mischievous demon pointed out that Nicholas would have to return to his friend soon, so it was safe to tease him in a way that she wouldn't dare otherwise.

  Delicately she nipped his lower lip with her teeth. He gasped and his hands began working convulsively, kneading her body as if he was trying to absorb her into himself. Amazed at her own boldness, she slid her hand down between them until it came to rest on that fascinating, alarming ridge of male flesh. He hardened instantly, his whole body going taut. "Luce can go home while we continue this upstairs," he gasped.

  A little flustered by the intensity of his reaction, she broke away from his embrace. "Mustn't be rude to a friend you haven't seen in years," she said breathlessly.

  As she started up the stairs, he caught her hand and turned her toward him. In a soft, mesmerizing voice, he asked, "Shall I join you later tonight and show you what comes next?"

  She felt a shiver that was part fear, part excitement. She was teasing a tiger, and if she wasn't careful, the tiger would make a meal of her. Disengaging her hand, she said lightly, "After such a tiring day, I need a full night's sleep."

  "Soon you'll say yes." His black eyes bored into hers, demanding and promising. "I swear it."

  "Don't count on that, Nicholas. Remember, your object is to seduce me, and mine is to drive you to distraction."

  He gave a crack of laughter. "You're a minx, Clare. But this is one contest I aim to win."

  She gave him her sweetest smile. "Prepare yourself for failure, my lord." Then she whisked upstairs, exhilaration sizzling in her veins.

  Her animation lasted until she entered her room. After locking the door, she leaned against it as her gaze traveled over the sumptuous bedchamber. Gilded cherubs cavorted on the ceiling, gold velvet hangings swathed the magnificently carved bed, and her feet rested on a Chinese carpet that probably cost more money than she would earn in her entire life. She felt a wave of disorientation. Merciful heaven, what was plain, sensible Clare Morgan of
Penreith doing in such a place?

  Good intentions had led her to Nicholas in the first place, but it was unholy anger that had made her agree to his devil's bargain. Ever since then, the two of them had been circling each other in an elaborate dance, advancing and separating while drawing ever closer. At the center of the circle lay ruin, both spiritual and social. Yet still she danced, for she had never felt so alive in her life. If all sin was so sweet, so exciting, no wonder mankind was a race of sinners.

  For an instant, she imagined her father standing before her, regarding her with a grave disappointment that hurt more than anger would have. She knew she wasn't living up to his standards. She had never been able to, and since meeting Nicholas she had been awash in pride, anger, and lust.

  Desolation engulfed her, and a great and terrible despair.

  For the first time since leaving Penreith, she knelt and attempted to pray. Our Father, who art in heaven...

  An ethereal father in heaven was no help, not when set against the warm, solid reality of Nicholas. He wanted her. Though his desire might be fleeting, as much the urge to win a game as to indulge his lust, it was real and powerfully compelling. No one had ever wanted her so intensely.

  It meant so much to be wanted.

  It would be easier to resist Nicholas if he was evil, but he was no more a devil than he was a saint. She suspected that he was best described by the words pagan and amoral. But he was kind to her, and sometimes she sensed in him a loneliness as great as her own. She was learning that loneliness was even more compelling than desire....

  She tried to force her mind back to the prayer, but she broke again at Lead us not into temptation...

  It was too late, for temptation surrounded her. She suspected that the major reason she hadn't succumbed to it was because of her competitive desire to beat Nicholas at his own game. If she were being honest, she would have to admit that virtue had very little to do with her resistance.

  If she managed to preserve her virginity, she would be able to go back to Penreith and face down the gossip, for her conscience would be clear. But what would become of her if she surrendered? She could not imagine returning to her old life if she was a ruined woman. Yet there could be no future for her with Nicholas, who wanted to bed her mostly to prove that he could. Marriage was out of the question, and she could never live as his mistress even if he continued to want her.