Despite the dark emotions rolling through him, Nick felt tempted to laugh.
“Won’t you gentlemen have a seat?” Miss Eleanor graciously indicated two high-backed chairs opposite them.
Sitting and running his hand over his slicked back hair, Mac said, “It is not often that I am included in such lovely company, madam. This is a rare pleasure.”
Nick, now seated in the other chair, frowned at his friend, hoping to convey that he should tone down the drama. “Swell here is a member of the Royal College of Surgeons,” he inserted.
“Oh my, how impressive,” Miss Eleanor murmured.
Nick did not fail to miss the uneasy look she darted to her silent niece. Meredith’s hands worried the book she clutched, blinking wide eyes on Mac.
“How are you feeling, Lady Brookshire?” Nick inquired.
Her eyes jerked back to him. “Fine. Well. Very well.” Her voice wobbled, lacking conviction. As if on cue, Mac propped his little black bag on his lap. Meredith’s gaze flew to the bag like a moth to flame. If possible, her eyes grew wider.
“Happy to hear,” Nick murmured, fighting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the truth tumbled out. Unsure how to proceed, he asked, “And the Finney family? How are they?”
She tore her gaze from Mac—or rather, his imposing bag—and looked at Nick with a good deal of suspicion. “Doing as well as expected. It shall take time, but they are coping. I doubt they will ever fully recover.”
“One never does,” he agreed, holding her gaze.
The sight of those brilliant green eyes—so deceptively innocent—fueled his anger. “Such a tragedy. I’m haunted by that night, and I cannot tell you how it has worried me over you.” He pressed a hand to his heart in mock concern.
“Me?” Her hand fluttered to her throat and her blinking worsened, as if she were trying to rid some particle from her eyes.
“Yes,” he answered, never removing his probing stare from her. “The dangers of childbirth should not be taken lightly.”
“Indeed,” Miss Eleanor agreed, then clamped her lips together at the fulminating stare her niece cast her way.
Meredith swung her gaze back to him. “Fret not on my account, my lord. I hope you did not come all this way to express your concern for my health. I could have written a letter to assure you of my fitness.” Although she softened her set-down with a smile, it was clear she did not want his interference. He had known as much from the start. Only now he knew why.
Nick fixed a courteous smile to his face. “I realized the only thing that would set my mind to rest was to do the very thing I offered.”
With growing satisfaction, he watched her eyes drift again to Mac. Her dread crackled in the air, a perceptible, tangible thing Nick could reach out and touch. Clearly, she understood his meaning and what this visit signified.
Exhilaration and triumph raced through him. He had caught her in her own game, snared her in her own web of lies. Deceitful chit. Did she really think she could carry off such a scheme?
“Wh-What do you mean?” she stammered, suddenly examining her nails.
He grinned, enjoying her discomfiture. “I have acquired the service of a physician for you.” He gestured to Mac. “He has agreed to examine you.”
“What?” Her voice rose several octaves. She ceased studying her nails and gripped the arms of her chair.
Nick blinked in seeming innocence. “Swell here will make certain that you and the baby are faring—”
“That is not necessary.”
“You have seen a physician, then?”
She hesitated, and he could see the wheels turning in that devious brain of hers.
“No,” she said slowly, “but Maree is quite skilled in these matters. Her care is more than sufficient.”
“Yes, Maree is very knowledgeable.” Miss Eleanor finally recovered from the shock of his announcement to second.
“I would feel much better if you let the good doctor see you. He comes highly qualified.” Nick’s eyes narrowed, and he added a hint more forcefully, “I know that your foremost concern is for your child. That’s the case with all good mothers. You would not want to dismiss the opportunity of having one of Britain’s finest surgeons under your nose.”
Silence hung thick in the air as their eyes clashed in an unspoken battle of wills. Was she ready to admit her deceit and be done with it? He had effectively backed her into a corner. How could she possibly continue to refuse his offer and not appear insensible in her stubbornness? One thing was for certain: he wasn’t going anywhere. If she did not confess, he would stay until he had the truth.
“Have no fear, my lady.” Mac patted his black bag, and her eyes widened in dismay. “I’ve a gentle hand.” Then Mac had the audacity to wink.
Meredith gasped. Miss Eleanor made a small choking sound and reached out to grasp Meredith’s hand for support, her head lolling against the back of her chair as if her neck could no longer support the weight of her considerable turban.
Nick didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle Mac. Did his friend think he was coaxing a tavern wench into bed with him?
Extricating her hand from her aunt’s, Meredith surged to her feet and pointed a shaking finger at Mac. “I am not letting this stranger lay one finger on me.” She swung her finger next at Nick.
“And you, sir, have overstepped yourself. To have the gall to show up here with a physician to examine me. It is as though you question whether I am—” Her voice died abruptly, the only evidence of her inflammatory words the sudden dip of her gaze. A charged silence fell over the room.
Nick rose to his feet and took the two steps that separated them. Ducking his head so he could meet her gaze, he finished for her, “As if I question whether you’re pregnant?”
Her chest lifted on a hitched breath. “That is absurd.”
Nick spoke slowly, succinctly. “No, I don’t think it is. I think it’s the bloody truth.”
Shock crossed her features, followed by a look of desperation. He could hear the wheels in her head screech to a halt and shift gears, searching for a way out of the hole she had dug.
Nick pressed further. “The truth. I want it now.”
She opened her mouth several times, but no words spilled forth.
He shot a glance at the room’s other two occupants. “Out. Both of you,” he barked.
Mac jumped to his feet, ready to comply.
Miss Eleanor wrung her hands uncertainly, not moving from her seat. “Meredith?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Nick jerked his head at Meredith’s aunt. “Mac, would you escort Miss Eleanor from the room?”
“I don’t think a private audience is in order, my lord.” Meredith’s voice wobbled pitiably on the crackling air. “I am offended by your accusations and request you leave at once.” She raised her chin a notch and somehow accomplished the appearance of looking down her nose at him. Nick had to hand it to her. She had backbone. Most would have thrown their cards in by now.
Mac took Miss Eleanor by the elbow and helped her to her feet. The woman looked on the verge of tears, and grabbed Nick’s arm as she was led past, “Please, my lord. You don’t understand.
Meredith is a good girl. She was just frightened you would throw all of us out.”
“Aunt Eleanor,” Meredith snapped, losing her haughtiness in the face of her aunt’s heedless plea.
Miss Eleanor shut her mouth with an audible snap. She looked between a fierce Meredith and a smug, satisfied Nick. The dear, stupid woman had as good as confessed on behalf of her niece.
Nick couldn’t help himself. He threw back his head and let loose a laugh.
It took a second for Miss Eleanor to realize she had given up her niece by way of her loose tongue. Her face blanched and she erupted into noisy tears, striking Mac on the chin with the top of her turban as she collapsed into his arms. Mac looked uncomfortable at this new development.
Calming a sobbing lady was something with which he had little experience.
“Oh! I’ve ruined it all!” Miss Eleanor twisted Mac’s coat in her white-knuckled hands. Mac led her out, awkwardly patting her shoulder.
The door clicked shut behind them and they were alone at last. Nick ceased to laugh. Meredith’s bottom lip jutted defiantly, reminding him of a thwarted child. He was hard pressed to remember she was a woman full grown. Stepping back, he let his eyes skim the black sack she wore. The generous outline of her br**sts, although put to extreme disadvantage in her hideous dress, was in clear evidence. It sufficed as a reminder. She was all woman. And as dangerous and deceitful as they came.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
“About what exactly,” she hedged, eyes flitting nervously past him, clearly searching for an escape route.
His annoyance grew… along with his disappointment. This was not the scene he had played out in his mind. In his mind she was weeping at this point, begging for his forgiveness, his mercy. It was over. She was caught. Could she not at least try for an air of contrition?
“Oh, I don’t know. About your lying,” he growled.
“There was nothing personal to it. You must understand that,” she explained with a coolness that further fanned his temper. She slid several steps back and lowered herself onto the edge of a chair.
He moved forward, gripped her by the arms and lifted her up. “Did you enjoy making a fool of me?”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously in denial. “It was never like that—”
“No?” he ground out. “You didn’t get a thrill in sending me packing knowing that this place rightly belongs to me?”
The ice princess evaporated. “Oak Run is not rightly yours! A circumstance of birth does not make it yours! You’ve not given it a passing thought these many years,” she dared to contradict, eyes sparking like flaming tinder.
He gave her a small shake, ignoring the wild pulsing of his blood in response to her flashing eyes. “And how is Oak Run any more yours than mine? Don’t I deserve something from the man who fathered me? Thus far, he has contributed very little to my life.”
“That may be,” she allowed, “but before I came here this place was just wood and stone. I made it a home. I made it prosper.”
He shook his head at her logic. “Tell me one thing. Are you pregnant?”
She jerked in his hands as if struck. “No, of course not. How—”
“You’ve proven yourself nothing but a liar,” he broke in, forcing a careless shrug. “How am I to know you do not carry another man’s child?”
“Unhand me!” With renewed vigor she tried to wrench her arms free. Nick felt certain that if he had not been holding her, she would have slapped him. After all her revealed sins, he marveled that she should be offended by such a reasonable question.
“Then there isn’t another man?” he asked, strangely relieved.
At this, she ceased struggling. The pins had fallen loose from her hair, framing her face in a fetching tumble of waves. “No. There was never a man.” Her words were soft, almost sad. Her eyes looked haunted in her pale face, the light spattering of freckles on her nose especially prominent.
There was never a man. He studied her, denying the primitive surge within him to be that man, the first one to introduce her to passion, to feel her untried body arch beneath his. He released her and stepped back, clasping his hands behind him. Safer than touching her.
Clearing his throat, he asked, curiosity demanding to know, “How did you intend to pull off this deception? I applaud you for your shrewdness. No doubt you intended to have a son. However did you plan to acquire one?”
“Must we do this?” she whispered, her hand fluttering to her forehead as if she were suddenly suffering a headache.