Pride in Regency Society. Sarah Mallory

kept her eyes on his profile, noting the fine laughter lines etched at the corner of his eye and at the side of his fine, curving lips. It would be so easy to lose her heart to him all over again. She squared her shoulders, determined to resist the temptation.

      ‘I understand that you would not want these villains to know you were alive, but what of me?’ she said quietly. ‘Why did you send Granby to tell me you were dead?’

      He turned his head to look at her and for once there was no smile in his blue eyes. ‘I never intended to tell you. I thought we could wrap up this matter quickly and there would be no need for you to know. Then I received your note, saying your grandfather had died, and I knew I would have to send Granby to you.’

      ‘But why? I do not understand.’

      ‘Because the man who shot me was your cousin, Bernard Shawcross.’

       Chapter Nine

      ‘Either the world has gone mad or I have lost my wits!’ Eve put her hands to her cheeks. ‘Confess you are joking me.’

      ‘It is no joke, Eve,’ Nick said quietly. ‘When you wrote to tell me of Sir Benjamin’s death, I knew Shawcross would go to Makerham. When your note reached me I was too weak to leave my bed or I promise you I would have found some way to get to you. Instead I had to send Richard to protect you.’ With a sudden, impulsive move he slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor before her, taking her hands and looking up earnestly into her face. ‘I never meant to cause you such pain, Evelina; we had known each other less than a month, only one night married—I did not think you could care for me so very much.’

      ‘Well, you were wrong,’ she muttered, pulling her hands away. She rose and walked about the room, trying to make sense of all he had told her.

      Nick sat back down on the sofa, watching her. At last he said, ‘You are looking very pale, love. Are you hungry? When did you last eat?’

      She stopped her pacing, frowning as if she did not understand his words. ‘At breakfast.’

      ‘Then we must dine.’ He jumped up. ‘But first, my little termagant, we need to call your maid.’

      Martha was quickly summoned and came into the room, dipping a slight curtsey towards Nick as she did so.

      ‘I am very pleased to see you looking so well, Captain Wylder.’

      ‘Thank you, Martha,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘Would you be good enough to bring up some fresh glasses? We had a—er—little accident with the others. But mind, not a word to anyone that I am here.’

      She nodded solemnly. ‘No sir, I’ll keep mum, my word on it.’

      Nick smiled at her and Eve noted with a stab of irritation how her usually stern-faced maidservant softened under the force of his charm.

      ‘And I’ll fetch a brush to clear up the glass in the corner, too, Cap’n.’

      When she had gone Nick shrugged off his coat and tossed it aside. ‘I hope you do not object to me dining in my shirtsleeves, sweetheart, but this is a very rough, workaday garment, not at all suitable for sitting down to dinner with a lady.’

      He was not wearing a waistcoat, and the linen shirt fell softly over his powerful shoulders. Eve observed the contrast between the billowing white shirt and tightfitting buckskins that hugged his narrow hips and powerful thighs. Memories of that strong, athletic body pressed against hers made her tremble and she resolutely pushed them aside. As Nick came to the table she realised that he was not walking with his usual grace.

      ‘Your wound,’ she said. ‘Is it very painful?’

      ‘Only if I move too quickly.’ The corners of his mouth lifted. ‘Or if I have to fight off an angry lady.’

      She ignored that. ‘May I see it?’

      ‘There is little to see,’ he said, pulling his shirt away from the waistband of his buckskins. ‘It is almost healed.’

      ‘Then why is it still bandaged?’

      ‘Protection,’ he told her. ‘The wound still bleeds occasionally.’ He lifted his shirt away and Eve gazed down at the white linen strips that were bound around his body. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘do you want me to remove the bandages, so that you may see I am telling the truth?’

      Eve flushed. ‘I believe you.’ She waved her hand at him. ‘Pray, tuck in your shirt.’

      He unbuttoned the waistband of his buckskins and she could not resist the temptation to look at the exposed skin on his stomach and abdomen, smooth and taut with a shadow of crisp black hairs, a shadow that continued on down towards—

      Eve dragged her eyes away. She must not think of such things because it made the excitement stir deep inside and her knees grew weak. She sat down abruptly at the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap while he finished tidying his clothes. Nick Wylder was a scoundrel. She must not think of him as anything else.

      Martha bustled back into the room and while she busied herself sweeping up the broken glass, Eve tried to concentrate upon Nick’s story, and not upon his body. The mere thought of dining together made her mouth dry; the little table was so small their knees would almost be touching beneath it. She watched Nick follow the maid to the door and lock it after her. She was not sure if that made her feel more or less safe; might as well be locked in with a tiger, she thought as he prowled back towards her.

      ‘I cannot believe Bernard is involved in smuggling.’ Nerves made her voice sharper than she intended. ‘He is an odious little toad, but I cannot think so ill of him.’

      Nick poured wine into her glass. ‘Can you not? It is a very lucrative trade.’

      Eve was silent. After a moment she said slowly, ‘I think I told you that at one time he was always calling upon Grandpapa, asking him for money, coming to Makerham to hide from his creditors.’

      ‘But not recently?’

      ‘No. You saw him at the wedding; a modish new coat and his own carriage.’ She paused while he carved a slice of ham and put it on her plate. ‘He asked Mr Didcot about Monkhurst. He thought it was part of Grandpapa’s estate.’ She clasped her hands together, her fingers tightening until the knuckles showed white. ‘He began to—to hint that I should marry him, now that you were—that I was…’

      ‘Now that you were a widow.’

      ‘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