Pride in Regency Society: Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife / The Earl's Runaway Bride

‘Yes.’ She did not look at him. ‘That was why I left Makerham. I feared he might…compromise me.’

‘For that alone I would thrash him,’ he muttered savagely.

She smiled slightly. ‘Thank you. But you cannot blame him; he believes you are dead. Is that not what you wanted, to catch the villains unawares?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t only that; I thought it would protect you. Once Chelston knew I was on to him, I feared that he might try to get to me through you. Making Chelston think I was out of the way removed that threat. However, when Sir Benjamin died I knew your cousin would be swift to claim his inheritance and if he suspected news of my death was a ruse then you would be in even greater danger. That is why I asked Richard to take you to my family in the north. I could be sure you would be safe there.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not know then what a stubborn little minx I had married.’

‘If Mr Granby had told me the truth—’

‘Poor Richard was merely following my orders.’ Nick hesitated. ‘I did not know—I did not know if I could trust you.’

She shrugged, the core of misery hardening in her heart. She had thought as much. ‘And now?’ She looked up. His eyes were midnight blue in the candle-glow. Inscrutable.

‘Now I have no choice.’ He reached across the table for her hand. ‘I cannot be sorry that you know the truth, Eve, but this is a dangerous game; you would be advised to let Granby escort you to Yorkshire, to the protection of my family. I will join you there when I have finished my work here.’

‘But you could still be killed.’

He laughed. ‘Faith, sweetheart. I have faced greater dangers than Chelston and his cronies!’

Nick was holding her hand, his grasp warm and comforting and he was smiling at her in that reckless, devilmay-care fashion that invited her to enjoy the adventure. She swallowed.

‘Let me stay.’ She heard the words come out of her own mouth. ‘Let me stay and play my part in this.’ Suddenly she felt reckless, no longer afraid of the world. She put up her chin. ‘If you are going to get yourself killed, I want to be on hand to know of it!’

He was staring at her intently. ‘Are you sure, Evelina?’

She met his gaze steadily. The weeks since he had left Makerham had been the most miserable of her life; Grandpapa was at peace, there was nothing more to be done for him, but the idea of being more than two hundred miles away from Nick was not to be borne. Not, of course, that she cared a fig for him now, but he was her husband and she knew her duty.

‘Yes, I am sure,’ she said at last. ‘I will live at Monkhurst and be your eyes and ears there.’

His chair scraped back. He stepped around the table and pulled her up into his arms. She put her hands against his chest, holding him off, but all the while her heart was beating a rapid, heavy tattoo against her ribs, leaving her breathless. He looked down at her, his mouth tantalizingly close.

‘It could be dangerous,’ he murmured.

‘Being your wife is dangerous, Nick Wylder!’

With a laugh he bent to kiss her and it took all her willpower to turn her head away.

‘No,’ she gasped, closing her eyes as his lips feathered kisses down the line of her neck, causing her traitorous body to shiver with delight.

‘You cannot deny you want me,’ he murmured. His warm breath on her skin made her tremble, weakening her resolve.

‘No, but I—do not—trust—you.’

The butterfly kisses stopped. He raised his head. ‘Ah.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart, it is my fault.’ He cupped her chin and tilted her face up towards him. ‘And I am to blame, too, for these dark circles under your eyes.’ He ran his thumb gently across her cheekbone. ‘What a villain I am to embroil you in this.’

Angrily she knocked his hand away. ‘Yes, you are, and I shall never forgive you.’

‘Never is a long time, sweetheart.’ He grinned at her. ‘I must try to make you change your mind.’

She hunched one shoulder and turned away from him. ‘It will not work. I am wise to your charming ways now, Captain Wylder.’

He laughed softly. ‘We shall see. But for now, we must feed you.’

‘I do not think I could eat anything.’

He pushed her gently back on to her chair. ‘Oh, I think you can.’ He pulled a little piece of flesh from the chicken carcase with his fingers and held it out to her. ‘Try this. The most succulent pieces are near the bone.’

Patiently he coaxed and cajoled her, offering her tasty slivers of cheese and the most succulent pieces of meat until she put up her hands, protesting that she was full. Only then did he look to his own needs. While he dined, Eve leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine.

‘Nick? Why did you come to the Mermaid?’

‘I was meeting a sea-captain, one with more information on the black-sailed lugger.’

‘Did you see him? And did he help you?’

‘Yes, and yes. He knows the lugger; she’s called the Merle and sails out of Boulogne.’

‘Is that not where you said Chelston has his warehouse?’

‘It is. All I need now is evidence of where the smouch is being made and we can make our move.’ He looked up at her. ‘A few weeks more, my love, and all this will be over.’

Eve did not reply, but she watched him while he finished his meal. Light from the candles and the fire cast a warm golden glow over his face, enhancing the lean cheeks and strong jaw line, glinting off his ravendark hair when he moved his head. A stab of longing shot through her and she clamped her teeth into her bottom lip to prevent a sigh. She must be careful or her wayward body would betray her. At last he pushed his plate away and gave a sigh of satisfaction.

‘Our host knows how to please his guests, excellent food washed down by the finest French wines.’ He refilled their glasses.

‘And has the duty been paid on the wine?’

He grinned at her. ‘I doubt it, but I am not going to ask. Now, one more thing to finish our meal.’ He picked up an orange.

‘No, really, I have had sufficient—’

‘We will share it, then, but you will have some; it will do you good.’ His lean fingers deftly removed the peel and broke the orange into segments. He leaned forwards, holding a piece out for her. ‘Eat it,’ he said. ‘No, don’t touch it; you will get juice on your hands.’

Obediently she leaned forwards and allowed him to put the segment in her mouth. She nodded, smiling slightly. ‘It is good.’

He held out another piece and this time his fingers touched her lips; she yearned to take them in her mouth, to lick the sharp-sweet juice from his skin. It took all her willpower to pull away. Nick’s eyes were on her face, reading her thoughts, piercing her very soul. In turmoil, Eve tried desperately to think of something to say. Anything, to break the dangerous mood that had settled around them.

‘We should build a hot-house at Monkhurst. Fruit would do very well there. The gardens are sadly neglected but I have set Nathaniel and Sam to clearing the ground—’

‘Eve.’

‘We will need to employ a gardener, but Silas may know someone…’

Nick’s chair scraped back. ‘My love, you may employ as many gardeners as you wish, but we will not talk of it now.’ He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. She kept her head down and braced herself. Her instinct was to give in, to lean against him and yield to his embrace, but she would not. She could not, for she knew only too well the heartbreak he would cause her. He cupped her chin with his hand and forced her to look up at him. When she saw his eyes darken with desire, felt his aroused body pressing hard against hers, she panicked.