The first crack of dawn appeared on the horizon, and he slipped from the bed.
He stood, straightening his clothes, gazing down at her. There was the strangest pressure in the center of his chest, as if his heart was . . . was . . . breaking.
Goodbye, he whispered, and he turned and tiptoed away.
“There it is! Look!”
Veronica pointed out the carriage window, and her friend, Portia, leaned across the seat to peer out at Stafford Manor.
Veronica was terribly nervous, but trying not to show it. She’d been on pins and needles, watching for her initial glimpse of the mansion. If it wasn’t incredibly imposing, Portia would tell everyone that Veronica was taking a step down.
Veronica was very spoiled—there was no use denying it—and she insisted on having the best of everything. She couldn’t have her reputation tarnished by a plain, modest residence. It had to be absolutely grand or she’d just die!
“It’s fine,” Portia said. “Not as big as your father’s—”
“Father is a duke,” Veronica snapped. “Nicholas can hardly be blamed for his home being less impressive than ours.”
“But it has its own charm.”
“Yes, it does,” Veronica agreed.
It was set on the side of a hill, with orchards of fruit trees leading up to it. The stone was a pretty tan color that glowed in the morning sunlight. It appeared to be a magical spot where a princess, which she deemed herself to be, could live happily ever after with her prince.
Not that she intended to live at Stafford, but the house would suffice for her infrequent forays to the country.
Her visit to Nicholas, unexpected and uninvited, was thrilling and reckless. Since she’d be alone with him for the first time ever, she’d built up numerous scenarios in her head as to what might occur without a chaperone dogging her every stride.
He was reputed to be vastly skilled with the ladies. Would he, by chance, shower her with some of his extensive experience? If she could wrangle a few delicious kisses, she would consider the trip an enormous success.
“I can’t wait,” Portia said, “to see Lord Stafford’s face when you climb out of the carriage.”
“Neither can I. He’ll probably faint with shock.”
“Wouldn’t that be hilarious? It would provide us with stories for months.”
At the notion of Nicholas suffering a fit of the vapors, they both laughed.
“What if she is here when we arrive?” Portia asked, she being the brazen hussy who was supposedly ensconced on the premises.
Rumors of a mistress were still rampant, and Veronica hadn’t made any progress in learning if they were true or not.
Well, she’d soon discover the actual state of affairs. If there was a doxy, the trollop would definitely know her place when Veronica was finished with her.
“If she is here,” Veronica mused, “she won’t be staying for long.”
“What will you do to be rid of her?”
“I haven’t decided, but I wouldn’t be beyond taking a stick to her backside. She’ll be sorry to have crossed me.”
“Oh, you’re too, too horrid.” Portia chortled with glee. “What about Lord Stafford? What if we find out that he’s betrayed you—as everyone claims?”
“I’m not ready to believe the worst of him. Yet. He is to be my husband after all. He deserves my respect.”
“If he’s squandered it though,” Portia pressed, “what then?”
“He’ll be very sorry too.”
Emeline walked down the grand staircase. She could barely contain her joy and was fighting the urge to grin.
While she was usually an early riser, the prior night’s activity with Nicholas had kept her occupied much too late. It was nearly nine o’clock, and she was finally traipsing down to breakfast.
Sexual dalliance it seemed, with the most marvelous man in the world, could generate a huge appetite.
She was anxious to eat, then locate him. He’d made some promises, and she’d given herself to him to seal those promises, so they had many topics to discuss. He planned to return to the army, but she wanted him to retire and come home to Stafford as fast as he could.
They could marry before he left. That way, when he was far away, he would know she was impatiently waiting for him and thinking about him all the time.
As she reached the foyer, she glanced out the front window. She stopped and stared.
Nicholas was there, arguing with his brother. He was dressed in his uniform, his horse saddled, a pack tied on the back.
Her heart pounded. Was he leaving? He couldn’t be! Not before they’d talked!
She hurried to the door and rushed outside.
“Lord Stafford!” she called, scarcely able to recollect that she shouldn’t refer to him as Nicholas.
Both brothers whipped around, and they glared at her as if she’d done something wrong.
Lt. Price muttered, “Damn it.”
“Lord Stafford,” she said again, “what’s happening?”
Nicholas frowned at Emeline, at his brother, at Emeline, then he told Lt. Price, “Give me a minute alone with her.”
“No,” Lt. Price maddeningly replied. “This needs to end. Right here, right now.”
She stumbled to a halt. They were big and brawny, and they towered over her, making her feel small and insignificant.
“I thought you’d sleep in this morning,” Nicholas said.
“I was just coming down to breakfast.” She studied his clothes, his horse, and she asked, “What are you doing?”
Nicholas didn’t answer, and his brother explained, “He’s departing for London. Immediately.”
“But . . . why?”
“You know why,” Lt. Price scathingly retorted.
Emeline blanched, her cheeks reddening with shame and fury.
“Tell me why,” she demanded of Nicholas. “Not your brother. You. Tell me.”
He shrugged. “I have to go.”
“For how long? Forever?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”
His cheeks reddened too, but likely from chagrin at being caught.
“You were sneaking away? Without a goodbye?”
“Miss Wilson,” Lt. Price counseled, “remember yourself. Remember where you are and who might be listening. Why would the earl need to say goodbye to you?”
Humiliation swept over her, and she wondered if she might faint.
While she’d assumed her remarkable
