Even as he thought it, he was sorry he was thinking badly of her. Sweet, beautiful Skye!
God, how he wished ’twere she who was under him now. As he found his release, Skye’s name poured from his lips and hewished with all of his heart that he was back at Mt. Holyoak with her in his arms.
*
Gaston was upbefore dawn, as was usual with him. He ran into Nicolas as the men broke camp, his eyes hot on his cousin.
Nicolas was concerned. “What is it?”
Gaston opened his mouth, and then shut it as if afraid to speak his mind lest he rant out of control. When he finally did speak, it was measured. “I will not ask you why you took the serving wench last night, especially after the conversation we had yesterday. But I will say this; I will hear no more of your conquests, Nicolas. If you do indeed bed another woman, then make sure she is discreet. That bitch you bedded last night has announced to anyone who will listen that you took her, and took her hard.”
Nicolas lowered his gaze, but he was irritated as well. “Who I bed is my business, cousin.”
The veins on Gaston’s temples flared dangerously, but he kept his outward calm. “Aye, it is. But I made a promise to Remington some time ago that I intend to keep; I promised that I would not allow my knights to hurt her sisters. I forbid you to abandon Skye now that she is pregnant with your child, Nicolas. Do you understand me? And I will not hear that you have bedded anymore wenches.”
Nicolas refused to look at him. “You shall not force me into marriage, Gaston. I shall marry when I am damn good and ready.”
Gaston came very close to cuffing his cousin. He forced himself to take a step back, out of range. “You will do what is right, or you will not serve me. Is that clear enough for you? I will not be shamed by my rutting, irresponsible cousin who hadno idea he could get a woman pregnant by releasing his seed on her thigh.”
Nicolas was drawn with rage. Gaston watched his cousin’s reaction, calming somewhat. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I can only pray, for your sake, that Remington does not hear of your indiscretions. If she comes to me with tears in her eyes, I shall take it out on your hide.”
He turned and strode away, calling Matts to him as he went. Nicolas kept his gaze averted, angered, and ashamed.
Why couldn’t he admit he loved Skye and did indeed want her for his wife? Was it because he was too unsure of himself, afraid of tying himself to one woman? He simply did not know; but he knew that the more Gaston pressured him, the more he would not give in. Nicolas possessed the supreme de Russe trait; he was as stubborn as an old ox. And he did not like being told how to deal with his personal life.
Remington exited the inn shortly after sunrise, clad in a magnificent dress of aqua-colored satin. It flattered her to a fault. De Tormo was her escort, along with six papal guards, as they made their way back to the carriage.
Nicolas was standing back by the coach, his gaze guarded as she approached. He fully expected a slap in the face and was surprised when she greeted him with a radiant smile.
“Good morn, Nicolas,” she said gaily. “It promises to be a hot one today.”
“Good morning, my lady,” he opened the carriage door, placing her personal satchel inside.
De Tormo climbed into the rig, but Remington stood next to Nicolas, observing her surroundings in the daylight. In truth, she was waiting for Gaston to greet her and she scanned the column eagerly.
“Did you sleep well?” Nicolas asked.
She nodded. “I sleep much better on a bed than on the ground. Rory was the one who loved sleeping under the stars, although we did not get many chances for it.”
Nicolas’ gaze lingered on her a moment longer before looking away. He was vastly relieved that she obviously had not heard of his tryst, but not because he feared Gaston’s wrath. He just did not want the lady hating him.
As they stood together, Gaston rounded a group of soldiers and headed straight for them. Remington’s eyes lit up at the sight of him, and his gaze devoured her in return.
“My lady looks bright and lovely this morn,” he said with a soft smile on his lips.
She dipped her head coyly. “My thanks.”
Gaston’s smile faded as he glanced at his cousin, who took the hint and left them. Alone, he moved closer to her.
“Madam, if I had any less self-control, I would kiss you in full view of the church and my men.”
She giggled. “Coward.”
“Must you berate me so? ’Tis not cowardice, but rigid discipline I employ,” he looked over at de Tormo, seated in the carriage. “What do you plan to do today to occupy your time?”
She shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “More cards, I suppose. When will we be arriving in London?”
“If we leave now, by early afternoon,” he tapped her gently under the chin. “Let us depart, then. And no gambling with the priest.”
