"You misjudge her, Nicholas," Anna said firmly. "She is who she says she is."

"What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

"You know precisely what it means." Anna met his gaze and eyed him as sternly as a nanny might a child in her charge. "I know Sebastian has told you about...my ability to determine the worth of a person with just a handshake."

"Are you trying to tell me-"

"I'm telling you that the woman I shook hands with is not Vickie."

The emphatic note in Anna's voice made Nicholas' jaw go rigid. Although he'd always been skeptical of his friend's intuitive manner, he couldn't remember a time when she'd been wrong. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that there was always a first time.

Throughout the evening meal, Eleanor's flirtations slowly became tedious. Even more annoying was the amusement on Victoria's face whenever he glanced in her direction. He was certain she knew Eleanor's behavior annoyed him, and he didn't enjoy the fact that she was aware of his discomfort.

"If you continue to frown like that Nicholas, your forehead is apt to stay wrinkled." Seated to his right at the dinner table, Anna's light-hearted words made him smile.

"I didn't realize I was frowning."

"Obviously. It must be a very serious matter you're considering."

"Not so serious that I should neglect my duties as host."

"Then tell us what excitement you have planned for us tomorrow?" Still smiling, Anna took a helping of fresh vegetables from the platter a servant held in front of her. Seated on the opposite side of the table, Viscountess Palmerton set her wine glass down.

"Yes, Nicholas, are we to ride in the morning as we usually do? You always have the best mounts of anyone we know."

"Yes," he said with a nod in Catherine's direction. "I bought several new horses at Tattersall's last month. I've been told they've settled in quite nicely."

"And will you join us, Lady Guildford?" Smiling like a well-fed cat, Eleanor looked in Victoria's direction. His wife's loathing of horses was a fairly well-known fact among the Set, and Eleanor's question caught the attention of everyone at the table. Silence filled the air until Nicholas smiled and lifted his wine glass in a mocking toast to his wife.

"Victoria is not an avid rider, are you my dear." A streak of devilish satisfaction flashed through him as he met Victoria's gaze over the rim of his glass. "However, should my wife decide to join us, I'll have one of the older, more reliable, horses saddled for her."

Victoria narrowed her eyes as she studied him for a moment. She might have managed to act her way through that ride on Zeus, but anything beyond that wasn't possible. Deep in the back of his head, he heard mocking laughter and forced himself to ignore it. Victoria's gaze never left his, and he waited patiently to see how she'd extricate herself from the morning ride so that he'd be able to expose her charade.

"The answer to your question, Eleanor, is yes. I'll be riding tomorrow." Victoria's quiet response made Nicholas stiffen as he slowly set his glass back on the table. What the devil did the woman think she was doing?

"I was under the impression that you do not ride, Lady Guildford," Eleanor said with a disagreeable frown.

"Then you've been misinformed." Victoria smiled defiantly.

Silence reigned for several awkward seconds before the conversation resumed. When they'd finished dinner, they returned to the salon. For Nicholas, the evening dragged on interminably with Eleanor continuing with her attempts to provoke Victoria. To his continuous amazement, Victoria seemed oblivious to the duchess' barbs as she quietly listened to Anna and Catherine's conversation.

Victoria was the first to excuse herself for the evening, which he found extraordinary. His wife never retired early, particularly if there was another woman in the room whom she viewed as competition. Nicholas frowned as he caught a glimpse of the weariness she was hiding from the others. She had the look of someone exhausted from shock. Perhaps he'd been harder on her today than he should have been. He stopped her as she headed toward the door. She winced as she met his gaze.

"Is your head still bothering you?" he murmured.

"A little, but I'll manage." The weak smile touching her lips aroused his protective instincts. It was a strange sensation to have where his wife was concerned, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling.

"Do you wish me to escort you upstairs?"

"No," she said with a soft laugh. "I'm not the helpless female, your duchess is."

"She's not my duchess." He eyed her coldly, and she blinked at him in obvious surprise at his brusque response.

"Well, you'd better tell her that," Victoria said without malice or sarcasm as she chuckled. "The woman is definitely on the prowl, and whether you like it or not, you're her next meal."

With a mischievous smile, she walked around him and left the room. As he stared after her, he heard Eleanor's plaintive call for him to join her at the card table. Slowly he turned and rejoined his friends with Victoria's words ringing in his ears. She seemed completely unconcerned that he might be engaged in a liaison with Eleanor. The realization confused him. And he didn't like being confused about anything.

Chapter 8.

One by one, his guests retired for the night until he and Eleanor were the only ones left in the salon. Their card game was almost finished, and he was eager to be done with her company. She laid a card down in the middle of the table, and Nicholas took the winning trick with a careless gesture. He didn't bother to gather the cards to shuffle them, and Eleanor rose gracefully from her chair to stand at his side.

"You look so troubled, mon cher, tell me what's wrong." Her fingers lightly stroked his forehead. Nicholas caught her narrow wrist and pushed her hand away. Rising to his feet, he crossed the floor to the liquor cart to pour a small amount of brandy into his snifter.

"While I appreciate your concern, Eleanor, I have no need of comfort."

"Surely you can't mean that," she said in a voice that held the assurance of a woman determined to find her way into a man's bed.

"I do, Eleanor, and I'm not interested in furthering our friendship beyond its current boundaries."

"But we would be so good together, Nicholas," she exclaimed softly. "You know we would."

"No, I don't think we would suit each other at all," he mused as he studied his brandy for a second before taking a drink of the smooth liquor.

"How can I make you believe me, Nicholas? I could make you happy."

The pleading expression softening her features emphasized the heartfelt emotion threading through her words. Caught off-guard, he stared at her for a long moment. Was it possible Eleanor truly cared for him? If so, then he'd done her a disservice by not having this conversation with her sooner.

"I have no interest in taking a mistress, Eleanor. I'm a married-"

"How do you know she's your wife?" Eleanor interrupted angrily. The question sent a chill through Nicholas as he met her gaze.

"Exactly what are you implying, Eleanor?"

"She does not act like the Vickie everyone knows," she said with a defiant tilt of her chin. "We all saw it. What if she's an imposter?"

An icy chill slid through Nicholas at the harsh words. Eleanor was right. So certain his wife's behavior was an elaborate charade, he'd failed to realize others might come to a different conclusion. The repercussions of others thinking his wife was an imposter could be devastating. The memory of Victoria adamantly stating she wasn't his wife made his gut twist violently.

Was it possible he'd erred in his judgment? If he had, then he'd forced Victoria into playing the role of his wife. Her innocence would be difficult to prove after his announcement of her return. Worse, if she was an imposter, where was Vickie? Angry at the ludicrous direction of his thoughts, he sucked in a breath and released it then glared at the duchess.

"For the past three weeks, the rumors of foul play surrounding my wife's disappearance have hung like Damocles' sword over my head, Eleanor," he said through clenched teeth. "I do not appreciate the suggestion that I've replaced my wife with an imposter."

"Dear God, Nicholas," Eleanor exclaimed as she hurried forward to touch his arm. "I would never suggest something so reprehensible. But Vickie was gone for such a long time. It would be easy for an imposter to take advantage of you and take her place."

"Now you're questioning my ability to recognize my own wife," he snapped.

"No, of course, not." Eleanor shook her head in dismay. "Nicholas, you mis-"

"My wife has suffered an injury to her head, Eleanor. It has clearly affected her behavior," he said coldly. "I've no doubt she'll be back to her usual antics in the near future."

"Vickie's behavior need not destroy what we have, Nicholas. I know-"

"We have nothing but friendship between us, Eleanor. If you thought otherwise, I'm sorry."

"Oh please, Nicholas," she whispered as both her hands clutched at his arms as though he were a lifeline. "Please don't push me out of your life. I cannot bear the thought of it."

The desperate note in her voice made him frown as he looked into her terror-glazed eyes. Narrowing his gaze, he studied her expression with curiosity. As if aware she had somehow given something away, she took a quick step back and looked away.

"If you do not mind, Nicholas, I should like to leave first thing in the morning." The strain in her voice vibrated with something more than rejection, but he was at a loss to decipher what it was. She moved toward the salon door then paused and turned her head toward him. "Would you be so kind as to explain to the others that I remembered a previous engagement?"

"Of course," he said quietly. "I'll arrange for someone to take you to the station at first light to catch the early morning train."

"Thank you," Eleanor said in a tight voice as she continued toward the doorway. One hand gripping the frame of the salon door as if her life depended on it, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. There was a look on her face that made him realize she was hoping he would stop her from leaving. When he didn't move, she uttered a soft sob and fled the room.

Guilt washed over him. It was clear he'd sent Eleanor mixed signals, and he'd hurt her in the process. Damnation, he was an insensitive bastard. Nicholas tossed the remainder of his cognac down his throat. He should have made it clear to Eleanor from the beginning that friendship was all there could ever be between them.

Disgusted with his behavior, Nicholas limped out of the salon and made his way up the stairs. The ache in his leg seemed to have worsened as the evening wore on. He could only assume it was a forecast for a cold winter. In his bedchamber, a small blaze crackled in the fireplace, while an oil lamp at his bedside illuminated his room with its soft glow. Nicholas undressed then shrugged his night robe onto his shoulders and cinched the garment's belt. Wearily, he sank into the fireside chair.

The past three weeks had taken their toll, and he was afraid it was about to get worse. Eleanor's suggestion that Victoria was an imposter made him realize just how precarious his position was where she was concerned. Victoria's return and odd behavior would no doubt be just as problematic as her disappearance had been.

Closing his eyes, Nicholas rubbed his forehead before gingerly stretching out his painful leg. Even the brandy he'd imbibed had failed to take the edge off the throbbing tenderness that had reverberated through the limb all evening. Without warning, the ten-year-old memory of the paper mill fire pushed its way into his thoughts.

He drew in a sharp breath as the vivid recollection thrust him back to those last terrible moments in the mill. Flames crackled and popped like a live thing intent on devouring everything in its path. He'd managed to help several people toward the exit when Nicholas saw him. Eyes wide in his face, the boy met his gaze across a wide barrier of fire.

The lad couldn't have been more than twelve, and he was frozen with fear. The roar of the fire echoed in Nicholas' ears as he jumped across fallen equipment and wood to find a way through the wall of flames separating him from the boy. Behind him he heard Roberts' shout, but he ignored the man's warning.

Frantically, Nicholas jerked off his coat and covered his head as he prepared to leap through the growing flames to reach the boy. A loud crack echoed from above, and a split second later one of the roof's triangular trusses knocked him to the ground and pinned his leg to the floor. A howl of pain ripped its way out of his throat. Trapped beneath the flaming piece of wood, Nicholas forced himself to sit up, but nausea made him fall backward as he saw bone jutting out of his lower leg in two places. Flames licked at his skin, and he desperately fought to remain conscious. Dazed, he looked for the boy. The lad was staring at him in horror.

"Jump, boy. Now."

Nicholas urged the boy to run through the flames toward him with a wave of his hand. Their gazes locked, and the boy took a step forward when a loud crack split the air. Nicholas' gaze jerk upward as the boy screamed in terror. In a split second, a large support beam silenced the boy's shrill cry.

Another shout erupted from Nicholas' throat, this time it was a roar of rage. The next few moments were still a blur, but he remembered Roberts shouting his name. A moment later, the man had freed Nicholas' leg from the narrowly constructed wood beam and dragged him out of the building. The quiet sound of his door opening jerked him out of the waking nightmare. He turned his head to see his valet entering the room.

"Roberts, I thought I told you I wouldn't need you this evening."

"You did, my lord," the older man said with a fatherly smile as he displayed the small tin in his hands. "But, I've brought the salve for your leg as promised, my lord."

"Thank you, I won't deny that I need it." Nicholas winced as he straightened in his chair and glanced at his valet.

The man had been no more fortunate than he had been that night at the paper mill. A sheet of flames had laid waste to the left side of the man's face as he'd helped pull Nicholas to safety. They were both lucky to be alive, but it had been Roberts who'd ensured their survival. It was a debt he could never repay.

"No doubt all the extra exercise hasn't helped, my lord."

"Why do I have the feeling you're chastising me?"

"I would not presume to do such a thing, my lord."

"Of course, you wouldn't," Nicholas said dryly as he eyed his valet with a hint of amusement.

"Would you like me to apply the ointment, my lord?"

"No, I can do it myself." Nicholas rejected the offer with a small wave of his hand. "Go on to bed, Roberts."

"Are you certain, my lord?"

"Yes, I'll sit by the fire for a little while. Between the salve and the fire's heat, the leg will be much better in the morning."

"Very well, my lord. Good night." With a nod, the valet left the room.

Nicholas shifted slightly in his seat, and drew in a hiss of air as the movement sent pain shooting up his leg. Tugging his robe away from his leg, he stared down at the scarred tissue on his calf. With a grunt of discomfort, he shifted his leg and liberally applied the special salve Roberts had concocted for him years ago. In moments, the liniment eased his pain as it melted down into the muscles beneath the ugly scars that ran from his ankle almost to his knee. Using the towel Roberts had set out on the side table, he cleaned his hands then leaned back in his chair and stretched his leg out to capture the added heat of the fire. Nicholas closed his eyes again in an effort to quiet his racing thoughts. Slowly, the throbbing in his leg subsided and his thoughts slowed and he dozed off.

A scream echoed loudly in his dream, and he jerked upright in his chair. The fire in the hearth in front of him had burnt down to embers, and he berated himself for having fallen asleep in the chair. The night's stillness embraced him, and he rose to his feet. Cautiously applying weight to his leg, he was relieved to find the salve and fire's warmth had eased much of his pain. The silence was suddenly shattered by a scream from Victoria's room. Fully awake now, he quickly limped his way through the connecting doors and into his wife's bedchamber.

The small fire in the fireplace created dancing shadows on the bedchamber walls. In the dim lighting, Nicholas saw Victoria writhing beneath her sheets. Fear punctuated her soft moans, and he moved quickly to her bedside. Suddenly, she flung her arms outward and violently clawed at something only she could see.

"No. Stop." The raw panic in her voice ended on a sob of horror. Despite all that had passed between them in the past, Nicholas didn't like seeing her suffer. He slowly sat down on the edge of the mattress and tried to soothe her.

"Shhh, Victoria. Everything is all right. I'll not let anyone harm you. You're safe here. You're safe with me."

Gently, he brushed his fingers across her brow in a soft caress. She jerked against his touch and whimpered with fear. An urgent need to protect her from the demons haunting her sleep made him stretch out his body beside her. Warning shots fired in the back of his brain as he brushed his mouth against her silky hair.

"You're safe, Victoria," he murmured. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm here now."

Nicholas continued to whisper soothing words of reassurance, and relief swept through him as her nightmare ebbed away. Gently, he wiped away the tears on her cheek and stroked her forehead until she was sleeping quietly in his arms. When had he ever seen his wife so vulnerable? He hadn't.

Victoria shifted unexpectedly, and her soft form suddenly snuggled into his side like a sleek kitten. One cheek burrowing into his shoulder, her arm slid around his waist as though clutching a pillow. Startled, he realized his wife was naked beneath the soft muslin sheets. The Vickie he knew found the habit of sleeping in the nude common and revolting.

Despite his shock, his body instantly responded to the soft body pressing into his. The tangy scent of lemons in her hair filled his nose. In the two years they'd been married, he'd not bedded a woman, including his wife. Now, here she was naked and pressed into him as if she belonged in his arms. His mouth grew dry as he remembered the way she'd responded to him earlier in the day.

Soft and pliant in his arms, she'd been eager for his touch. She'd not uttered a single protest, but had responded to him with an abandon that had incited him to explore as much of her as he could. The image of his tongue flicking and swirling around the tip of her breast tugged a small groan from him as he experienced the intense craving to repeat the action. Heightening that longing was the memory of how she'd caressed him through his trousers. In a split second, his cock was hard with need.

Without thinking, his fingers traced a path from her shoulder down to the full curve of the breast that was pressed into his chest. Almost as if she understood in her sleep what he wanted, her body shifted in his arms and exposed a lovely breast. His fingers trailed across her skin to the nipple that grew stiff as he caressed her.

Victoria murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto her back. The sheet fell down to her waist, and his throat closed as he experienced a rush of desire he'd not experienced in a very long time. Another soft sound passed Victoria's lips as her eyes fluttered open. Sleepily, she stared up at him then reached out to caress his face.

"Nicholas?" she whispered.

"You had a nightmare," he choked out as a burning need hardened every one of his muscles. God help him but she was lovelier than he'd ever seen her.