“Let me go,” she begged.
“Just a moment more,” he advised, “then it will all be over.”
“Please?” she begged again.
“Veronica has the instincts of a shark. Don’t encourage her to turn them on you. You’ll always regret it.”
The warning centered her, and she pulled herself together as much as she could. Her legs gained strength, and she was able to stand on her own, but she was weaving, as if the slightest breeze would knock her down.
Nicholas was being the perfect gentleman for Veronica, pretending naught was amiss, and Stephen had to give him credit. What man would know how to behave when confronted by his fiancée while saying an emotional goodbye to his latest paramour?
The episode might have been humorous—if it wasn’t so thoroughly distasteful. Miss Wilson was crushed, which was why Stephen had demanded Nicholas leave for London. Too bad they’d been delayed by five minutes.
Veronica flashed a flirtatious grin at Nicholas, and she tipped her cheek toward him. He grinned too, like the besotted swain he definitely wasn’t. He bent down and supplied the kiss that Veronica was seeking.
Beside him, Miss Wilson began to quake quite visibly.
“How long have they been engaged?” she murmured.
“A few months.”
“Have they set the wedding date?”
“The end of August. It’s to be the highlight of the London Season and the grandest fete in decades. Royalty from all over Europe are invited.” Brutally, he added, “Her father’s a duke. She’s his only daughter.”
Miss Wilson sucked in a shocked breath, her legs giving out a second time, and he slipped a supportive arm around her waist again.
He was being deliberately cruel, but she should have no illusions about Nicholas. She couldn’t be allowed to harbor any insane fantasies that she could change him or mold him into a better man.
He was the person she was viewing that very instant, a person of no morals or scruples, who was lacking in loyalty and fidelity. He never made commitments, and he was incapable of forming bonds or keeping promises.
Their childhood experiences had warped him, had left him too tough, too ready to do whatever was necessary to protect himself. He had no conscience. He would always choose the route that suited his own purposes, and he’d destroy anyone who got in his way.
Veronica grabbed Nicholas’s arm in a proprietary manner. They approached, Portia trailing behind.
“Hello, Lt. Price,” Veronica simpered.
“Hello, milady.” Nicholas had told Stephen that he could call her Veronica, but Stephen couldn’t abide her and had no desire to be on familiar terms.
“You’ve met Portia.” Veronica didn’t glance back at her companion.
“I have.” Stephen bowed to her friend.
“Who is this?” She glared at Miss Wilson, studying her simple dress in a derogatory fashion. “Is she a servant? Could she take my bags up to my room?”
“She’s a guest,” Nicholas managed to choke out.
“A guest!” Veronica tsked. “You’re a bachelor, Nicholas. How very odd. She’s been crying. Why? Have you awful men hurt her feelings?”
“I’m Emeline Wilson,” Miss Wilson had the backbone to say, when neither Stephen nor Nicholas was courteous enough to introduce her.
“How nice.” Veronica rudely turned away so Miss Wilson would understand that Veronica couldn’t care less, that she deemed Miss Wilson to be of no consequence. She smiled at Nicholas. “Let’s go inside. I’m dying to explore the house. Give me a tour. I especially wish to see the countess’s suite.”
Nicholas hesitated, the moment awkward, but there was no reason not to show her.
They would have to play the part of polite hosts, but with any luck, the encounter wouldn’t last long. Veronica was spoiled and easily bored. She appeared to have brought only her friend and her maid, so she couldn’t spend the night. Hopefully, she’d snoop for a bit, then travel on.
“Yes, Nick,” Stephen urged, “show her the house.”
Stephen was desperate to get Veronica out of sight before poor Miss Wilson collapsed.
“Come,” Nicholas said to Veronica, but he paused again.
He stared at Miss Wilson, yearning to offer a pertinent remark, but what could it possibly be? He sighed, then spun away and guided Veronica up the stairs. Portia trotted after them.
Stephen and Miss Wilson tarried until they vanished, then he led her off in the opposite direction. She was in a state of shock, so she put up no resistance.
He went in the rear of the manor, to an area Veronica would never visit. He escorted her into a deserted parlor and closed the door. He steered her over to a chair and sat her down.
There was a sideboard along the wall. He walked over and poured her a brandy. He held it out, but she didn’t reach for it. She seemed paralyzed, so he lifted the glass to her lips.
“Take a drink,” he commanded. She shook her head, but he pressed, “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”
With a trembling hand, she clasped it and downed a hefty swallow. The potent liquor had her eyes watering, and she coughed once, but she was made of stern stuff. She gulped another swallow, then another and another, until the glass was empty.
“Thank you,” she said as she set it on a nearby table.
“You’re welcome.”
“I wasn’t aware that he was betrothed.”
“I realize that.”
“I thought he was . . .” She broke off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter what I thought.”
“Do you know very much about my brother, Miss Wilson?”
“I assumed I did, but I’m now sure I know nothing about him at all.”
“He never told you about our parents?”
“No, and really, Lt. Price, why would he have? We’re just acquaintances. I’m hardly a confidante.”
As she voiced the bald-faced lie, he didn’t contradict her. Her cheeks flushed, providing ample evidence of her mortification. And perhaps it wasn’t a lie. In light of Nicholas’s preferences, it might have been a strictly physical relationship. They might never have talked.
Whatever the situation, Stephen would let her pretend there had been no affair, but he wouldn’t let her wallow in some
