Merchants’ wives, collectively envied for their access to the newest styles and finest fabrics from Venetian and Genoese trading galleys, had a reputation for wearing their wealth without the slightest flair. But Lady Charlotte was an exception; tall, elegant, ma-donna-like in many respects with soft sea-coloured eyes that changed with the light and a top lip that barely covered her white teeth, she wore her wealth with more sophistication and discretion than most. She and George made a perfect couple and, for Nicola, Lotti was the only woman with whom she could talk intimately. Tonight, however, she did not intend to talk about Fergus Melrose when she suspected that parts of the conversation might accidently leak back to her brother during the night. George’s enthusiasm for the match had not been lost upon Nicola.
They sat together in one of the leafy alcoves on one side of the garden where Nicola watched the full moon’s reflection, striving to place those amazing kisses in the context of Fergus instead of Muir, trying hard to reverse her disappointment yet unable to think more positively about such a phenomenon. A few moments ago, she was sure he meant to chasten her, humiliate her. It was what he was best at, after all. He had done it that morning. Now, she was sure of only one thing: that they both intended to do battle.
Lotti’s head dipped gracefully. ‘George has told me something of the problem,’ she said softly, ‘but can you hold that against Fergus now, after all these years? It was a long time ago, love. He obviously intends to win you, you know.’
Nicola’s resolve not to speak of him instantly dissolved. ‘He wants to win because that’s the way he is,’ she said. ‘He’s always been like that. Tell him he can’t have something and he’ll prove to you that he can. Imagine being married to a man like that.’
Lotti’s sigh finished with a musical, ‘Mm…m.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Nicola, smiling at last.
‘Is it someone else? You have a lover?’
The question took Nicola by surprise. ‘Not a lover, exactly. Friends, not lovers. There’s Lord John, and…’
‘You mean Jonathan Carey, Earl of Rufford?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re fond of him?’
‘Well…yes…in a way. He’s fun to be with.’
‘He wants you to marry him?’
Nicola glanced at Lotti’s profile, but could see nothing of the concern in her eyes that George had spoken of. But the question was not easy to answer. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said. ‘I think…well…I think so.’
‘You mean he’s not said as such in so many words, is that it?’ When Nicola hesitated even more, Lotti began to understand. ‘You mean he wants you to go to bed with him. Yes, well…he would.’
‘What d’ye mean, he would? He’s nice. Very courteous.’
‘Of course he is, but how much do you know about him?’
‘Well, I know that he’s experienced. Most men of his age are if they get half a chance. I expect Fergus Mel-rose is too. I dare say Lord John would marry me if I gave him a little more encouragement.’
Experienced was not the word Lady Charlotte would have chosen to describe the dubious charms of the Earl of Rufford—Lord John, as he was known to his acquaintances. ‘Then for heaven’s sake don’t give him any encouragement, love. Marry Sir Fergus. You’ll be on safer ground there.’
‘Thank you, but no. Stuck up in the wilds of Scotland with nothing but a clutch of bairns for company is not my idea of safer ground, Lotti.’
‘He’s comely,’ Lotti replied. ‘And wealthy. And intelligent. What more d’ye want?’
Nicola cast a reproachful glance at her sister-in-law before returning to her study of the moon. ‘Do you have a spare four hours?’ she said. Then, regretting the reply, she tried to put into words the essence of her objections while wondering if Lotti would be able to see what lay beneath them. ‘Lotti,’ she said, ‘I want to keep hold of my new life. That’s what I want. I’ve only just discovered how it feels to take control of my own affairs, to be secure in my own home, be my own mistress. Without a mother I’ve had to suffer the control of four men in different dosages. Then the strict family in York. Now I’ve chosen friends who like me for my own company, men who actually seek me and vie for my attention. That’s new, Lotti. I’m enjoying it. I could become addicted. Do you understand? I know George thinks they’re all after something more interesting than me, but that’s what I’ve always been told, never that I was worth seeking out for myself alone. Now I know different, and I can pick and choose, and I can stop a man’s friendship if he doesn’t come up to scratch. I’m turning the tables, Lotti.’ She laughed with excitement, not noticing how Lotti studied her carefully. ‘I shall go too fast for them and leave them behind. For the first time in my life I can call my own tune and have men dance to it, and if Fergus Melrose wants to join in, he’ll have to do the same. So it’s no use asking me about marriage, Lotti. I don’t know. I’m not interested. Ask me again in ten years.’
‘So you’re still a virgin?’
‘Yes, silly. Of course I am. What makes you think I’d give that away so soon?’ Furtively, one hand crept up to hitch the vee of her bodice by a notch and to hold it there as the moon smiled knowingly back at her.
As far as it went, the explanation would probably convince Lotti, though Nicola knew only too well how much more personal it was than that. It was to do with the prickly defence she had placed around that tender place deep inside, a place that Fergus Melrose had trampled over and must not be allowed to reach again. It was to do with their old immature relationship where he had been the one to call the tune and she had followed, blinded by the force of adoration.
Yet now there was a new and more disturbing element that made it hard for her to dismiss him as she would like to do, as she would have done to any man guilty of such advantage-taking. Fergus Melrose would not be pushed aside as other young hopefuls had been, and she would have to fight him tooth and nail to maintain her ground and to show him that he could never be a part of her life. Whatever reason he’d had for changing places with his brother and making love to her, Nicola understood that he did not mean to play by the rules.
Her night at her brother’s River House was anything but peaceful, despite the ministrations of her maids, the coolness of white linen sheets, the regular call of bells and the nightwatchman’s reassuring cry. From the first fierce invasion of his lips, she had been badly shaken, but the question that remained longer than all others was to do with his deceit. Would she have pushed herself away so soon if she had known it was Fergus instead of his fawning brother? ‘Damn you!’ she whispered to her pillow. ‘I’ll make you pay dearly for that.’
‘George, dearest?’ said Lady Charlotte to Lord Coldyngham that same night, slipping a bare arm through his.
He clamped it to his side, possessively. ‘The answer’s no. I’m too exhausted.’ His grin was poorly concealed.
‘Stop teasing,’ she chided. ‘It’s not that.’ Even now, he was still able to send shivers down her legs. ‘It’s something else.’
‘So if it’s not that, it must be money. How much?’
‘George, stop it!’ Charlotte pulled at her arm, laughing when George held on to it. ‘Listen to me seriously. You’ve got to get Nicola and Fergus together somehow. Are you hearing me?’
She had few clothes on; in the light of one candelabra, she glowed like a young girl, alluring and lissome. It was not likely that George was listening as he turned her in his arms and let his hands wander. ‘Well, that’s the general idea, my sweet, isn’t it?’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Come to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘George, she’s getting too friendly with Jonathan Carey. She believes he’ll marry her if she encourages him to.’
His hands stopped caressing. ‘Is that what she said? Carey doesn’t need any encouragement, from what I’ve heard.’
