Chapter 26

Bernadette rolled over on the bed. The first thing she noticed was that the room was cold. The second thing was that she was stiff and sore from sleeping fully-clad on a hard bed in the icy air. The third thing that she noticed, as she stood up and winced as her swollen, sore feet touched the floor, was what had woken her.

Voices, somewhere in the building. Loud voices.

Bernadette tensed. The Watch had come looking for her—she knew it. Her parents, enraged at her departure, had sent them to find her and they had infiltrated the building.

Nonsense, she told herself angrily as she stumbled to the table and searched in her suitcase for her purse. It has nothing to do with me.

The Watch could have come looking for anyone. In fact, anybody could be here shouting for any number of reasons. Nonetheless, she felt the urgent need to know. Heart thudding, she put her shawl around her shoulders and walked slowly to the door, stiff legs aching. The voices were not too close, and she pressed her ear to the wood of the door, heart thudding as she strained to hear the words.

Muffled noises drifted up from downstairs. A door shutting, more shouting. She couldn't hear the words and she stood where she was, too scared to go into the hallway and yet wondering if it was important to hear what was being said.

She was still standing there when she heard voices just by the door.

"Blimey! What a row."

"'There is a man I can hear shouting."

The two voices were both female, and one of them must have said something crude, too low to hear, because they both started to laugh.

Bernadette took a deep breath and opened the door. Two women a little older than her gasped as they stared at her.

"By! Sorry!" One of them murmured. "We didn't know there was someone in there."

"Sorry if you were sleeping," the other one said. "You're blessed with heavy sleep if you could be resting with all that shouting going on." She gestured to the stairwell.

"What's happening down there?"

The two women both looked at Bernadette in surprise again when she spoke and Bernadette flushed, noticing that her accent stood out in comparison to their Cockney dialect. She thought at first that they were staring because of how she sounded, but one of them shrugged.

"No idea. Wish we knew. We can just hear a man shouting."

"We were on the second floor, asleep," the other woman said. "We heard a man come in. Mrs. Brookham answered the door and there was a big fight. We don't know what's happening."

Bernadette tensed. She could hear the voices now, and she felt sick as she listened to what they were saying. Maybe the first guess was right—maybe the Watch was searching.

"...Madam, please do not obstruct me any further."

"I'll obstruct you as I damn well please!" Mrs. Brookham roared back; her voice just as angry as the man's voice. "This be my boarding-house, and I say who comes in and who does not. And I say this house be shut to men."

Bernadette felt weak with relief, leaning back on the door frame exhausted. When she was safe, she would ask her aunt to reward Mrs. Brookham. She was doing a terrific job protecting innocent people like herself. She heard footsteps and Mrs. Brookham roared again.

"You go one more step, and I swear I'll stave your head in. Out!"

Bernadette heard the footsteps stop, and then she froze as the man's voice spoke again.

"Madam, I advise you to lower that cudgel."

"Out with you!" Mrs. Brookham shouted, clearly undeterred. Bernadette stood where she was, shivering.

That man has the same accent as me , she thought wildly. She didn't expect that. The members of the Watch were almost always not of the noble class. Yet, when he spoke, the man sounded like her.

"Madam, stand aside. I beg you," the man implored. Bernadette felt her frown deepen. Not only did he sound like a nobleman; he sounded familiar. The pitch, the careful intonation.

It can't be. It can't be him.

She tiptoed towards the stairs. The two women who had gathered outside her door were standing there on the top floor, laughing and joking, betting on who the man was and what he wanted, and none of their guesses were for polite ears. Bernadette edged a little away, heading for the stairs.

"Hey! It's not safe down there," one of the women called out to her, but Bernadette was already almost at the place where the stairs met the second floor, and she carried on. As she got lower, the words became clearer and her heart started to thud. She did know that voice. She was sure of it, though it couldn't be.

He's at his grandmother's and he's happy to be.

She felt her heart twist painfully. It was him who she'd come here to escape. Lord Blackburne didn't care. He would never have left the ball to look for her, and even if he had, it wasn't possible that he'd come to Mrs. Brookham's. It must be early morning already—if she recalled correctly, she'd heard the church bells ringing the hour of two a while ago.

"Halt yourself right there!" Mrs. Brookham shouted, making Bernadette freeze, but she realized she was shouting at the man, who had to be near the foot of the stairs on the ground floor. "Make one more step and I swear this stick of mine will break your bones."

"Please, madam," the man said, pained. "I need to see for myself."

"Get yourself back to where you came from and see how you like it there!" The woman roared, and Bernadette winced, hearing a stick connect with something, but then she was on the stairs to the ground floor and a man gasped. She stopped.

"Miss Rowland."

Bernadette stared. Nicholas was standing at the foot of the stairs. He was wet with rain, he was wearing his fancy cravat and velvet evening wear, and Mrs. Brookham was inches away from him, stick raised. He was holding the railing and he stared up at her, his striking blue eyes huge in his face.

"Nicholas," she whispered.

"Bernadette!"

Without warning, before she could ever have expected it, he ran up the stairs and grabbed her in his arms. She stiffened. The last time she'd seen him, he'd embraced Lady Emily, and she needed an explanation.

"Nicholas," she murmured. He was very close and his arms were warm, despite the fact that his fine white linen shirt was damp. He smelled of rain and leather and pomade and she held him close and breathed in the smell and felt her heart flood with a wild joy that she had never imagined she would feel.

"Bernadette," he said, and he was standing back a little, looking at her face. He rested a hand on her cheek and he was laughing even as tears filled his eyes. "Bernadette! I'm so grateful I found you in time."

She said nothing, but it was much harder to be angry with him when he was this close, with his scent in her nostrils and the familiar, safe feeling of him beside her. It was hard to be angry when he was laughing with relief, when tears streaked his face and when she gazed into that beautiful, scarred face so near.

"Bernadette," he said again, and when he embraced her she relaxed. He stepped back, looking into her eyes again. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I am so very sorry."

"I should expect so," she said in a tight, prim voice. She had meant it to be angry, but it came out sounding simply proper, and he bowed low, taking her hand.

"I am truly sorry," he said. "I want to explain everything, but first of all, I want to declare my heart. You, and no other, are the queen of all of it." he added, gazing into her eyes.

"Nicholas..." Bernadette felt her throat tighten at his beautiful words. She looked into his eyes and she could see no dissembling, no dishonesty.

"Bernadette," he whispered. "My love."

Without a moment's hesitation, she stepped towards him, and he reached for her, drawing her into his embrace. She felt her heart thud in her chest as he bent towards her, a longing building up in her, growing and expanding so that, when he bent closer, pressing his lips to hers she tightened her embrace and leaned back, letting his firm, warm lips taste her own. She shut her eyes, lost in the wonder of his mouth pressed tight to hers, his chest, warm and firm, pressing close against her. His lips were sweet and gentle as they moved over hers, her heart thudding. She lost herself in his kiss, body molded to his as he held her close.

"Blimey!" A voice came from behind them.

Bernadette looked down to see Mrs. Brookham there, a few stairs away from them. She was gaping at them as though they were a particularly surprising act in the theater. Bernadette went red.

Nicholas, seeming unbothered, turned to Mrs. Brookham.

"My dear Mrs. Brookham," he said politely. "I thank you for guarding Miss Rowland so well. But I assure you, I mean her no harm. If I may, I would request that she be allowed to depart with me in my coach. I will explain tomorrow, but right now, I think she is getting too cold. As am I."

Mrs. Brookham just stared. Bernadette cleared her throat.

"Mrs. Brookham? He means me no harm. I wish to go to the coach with him."

Mrs. Brookham shook herself as if she was trying to shake off her earlier shock. She nodded. "If that's so, then that's different. Go on, then. I'll want my sixpence, but aside from that, you're free to depart as you please." She stood back and let them move to the foot of the stairs. Nicholas bowed to her.

"Madam, allow me to settle the charge. I would like to add more to apologise for the trouble I have caused you."

"No matter." Mrs. Brookham's voice was gruff.

Bernadette turned on the stairway.

"Do you need to fetch something?" Nicholas asked her, guessing her intention. She nodded.

"My things."

"I'll fetch them," Nicholas said quickly. He pulled out a shilling and passed it to Mrs. Brookham, then bowed again. "I will fetch the lady's things. I assure you, all is above board."

"I should hope so," Mrs. Brookham muttered, but she tucked the shilling into her apron and stood where she was, seeming dazed.

Bernadette heard Nicholas following her on the stairs. Her heart thudded. In her home, it had never felt so intimate. Here, nobody even knew where they were. She walked swiftly upstairs and paused in the doorway to the bedroom, feeling her cheeks flush shyly.

"It's there," she said, pointing to where the suitcase lay. He nodded.

"I'll fetch it, then," he said, ducking in and lifting it easily with one hand. Bernadette felt her eyes widen. She was glad the women were not on the landing where they had been—she would have felt terribly self-conscious if they saw her going down the stairs with Nicholas behind her, carrying her things to his coach.

"Thank you," Nicholas said again solemnly to Mrs. Brookham at the door.

Bernadette smiled and inclined her head politely. "You helped me a great deal," she said sincerely. She would have protected Bernadette against anyone, that much was clear. She truly felt thankful to her.

They went outside into the street.

Bernadette almost let out a sigh of relief as she saw the coach standing there. Nicholas had paid a Hackney coach he had found on his way there to make sure he would immediately take Bernadette safe home. He helped her up into it, then swung her bag in and swung up himself, settling lightly on the seat opposite her. He also arranged for his horse to be sent back to his grandparents' house.

"Rothendale House, please," he called up to the driver, but Bernadette shook her head swiftly.

"Please," she whispered. "I don't think I can see them tonight."

Nicholas inclined his head. "My sweet," he said gently. "I cannot take you to my home. It would be improper. But I swear to you, I will not allow them to speak badly to you. Trust me."

"Yes, my lo—yes, Nicholas."

Bernadette felt her cheeks redden. Nicholas beamed at her, and the coachman set off. She was still thinking about how bold and foolish she was to be talking to him, to be here, when he gazed across at her. He held her stare with his.

"What is it?" he asked gently.

"I..." She stammered. "I don't know if I'm being a fool." She looked at him directly, deciding it was best to be honest.

"Bernadette," he said softly. "I am sorry. What you saw was an accident—in fact, I believe my grandmother planned it. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I swear to you that it is true. You don't need to accept that, but I swear to you that I tell only the truth in this."

Bernadette gaped as, suddenly, it made sense. His grandmother's undermining of her. Her insistence on balls and parties. Her inclusion of the woman and her daughter on the guest list. She was trying to take matters into her hands, steering Nicholas in the direction she wished him to go.

"You mean your grandmother sent her...? Told her to go and find you?" she whispered. It wasn't possible. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed as though he had to be telling the truth, because it was suddenly so clear.

"Yes. Yes. I confronted her, Grandmother, that is, and she told me." Nicholas let out a long sigh. "I am sorry, Bernadette. I truly am. And you don't need to believe me. But I swear it is the truth. And I swear I will never allow such a thing to happen again."

Bernadette looked into his eyes. She could see pain there, and an intensity that stopped her breathing for a moment. She nodded.

"I trust you, Nicholas," she said softly.

She saw him slump in his seat and for a moment she felt a stab of concern. He was cold and weary and it was very late at night. He had to be exhausted.

She was about to call to the coach driver when he lifted up his head. He looked at her and sat up, taking a deep breath.

"Thank you," he murmured. His voice was low.

She smiled a little exasperatedly. "Whatever for?" she asked gently.

"For trusting me. You are kind and wise. I don't deserve it."

She giggled. "No, I'm not kind," she said, though she could feel how his compliment made her glow, cheeks warming as he smiled at her. "And you do deserve it."

"Yes, you are," he said, and his voice was sincere. "You are clever, and wise, and compassionate and loving. And beautiful and sweet too. I am so, so lucky to know you, Bernadette."

"No," she whispered, and her eyes were full of tears. "No, Nicholas. I am lucky to know you."

His eyes held hers. "The luck is mine, he said after a moment as they gazed into one another's eyes. "I am so grateful. I love you, Bernadette. I love you with all my soul. I am so pleased I found you."

Bernadette gaped at him. She shut her mouth. Not only had he said she was beautiful and sweet, but he'd said he loved her. She cleared her throat. A wonderful warmth was spreading through her, a warmth that began where her heart was, filling each inch of her body and throbbing in her cheeks, making her smile and feel as though she was flying.

"I love you, too, Nicholas" she managed to say, though her voice was tight in her throat, emotion closing her throat. "I love you too. So much."

He gazed at her and she thought she saw tears there, but then he leaned forward and he rested a hand on her cheek and the space between the seats in the coach didn't seem so big after all as he pulled her towards him and his lips found hers again.

She shut her eyes, feeling his soft, warm, firm mouth on her, exploring her mouth, touching so gently, so caringly, that she thought she would melt inside. He drew her close, holding her in a tender, sweet embrace, and she nestled close against him, holding him close and feeling her own eyes mist over.

He leaned back.

"Whew," he breathed raggedly. She giggled, her own breathing just as wild.

She smiled at him and he smiled back and they sat without speaking for a moment or two. The coach rattled down the street and they passed windows where lamplight glowed and she felt her soul soar. They were getting closer to his townhouse.

"Let's go in," he said gently as they rolled up towards the square opposite the townhouse. "I'll be glad to know we're both somewhere warm."

"Me, too," Bernadette said, shivering with cold.

"Let's go in," he repeated gently as he stood to open the door. She stepped down and he caught her in his arms, carrying her lightly up the stairs and settling her on the doorstep carefully. "I'll talk to your parents."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Please have a bath drawn for Miss Rowland," he told the butler as he appeared, gazing at them from a bright-lit corridor. "And have word taken to her parents that she is safe."

"Of course, my lord," the butler said, bowing low. He stepped aside so they could enter, and Bernadette almost collapsed as she stepped inside the warm, brightly lit house.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold that Mama and Papa's voices filled the air.

"Bernadette! Bernadette! Oh, thank God!" Her mother cried out, running towards them.

"You found her. Where did you find her?" Lord Rothendale demanded of Nicholas.

Bernadette blinked at her parents, confusedly. She had expected chastising and fury for compromising her reputation and that of the family. No such anger showed in their faces.

"I think we are both too tired for explanations now," Nicholas said firmly. His face was intensely pale, and Bernadette could feel the tension in his body. His eyes held her father's, his gaze hard. "Bernadette should retire to bed, and I will return and discuss things in the morning."

Bernadette looked at him fearfully. He couldn't leave her here with them. They might be calm now, but she could not imagine them staying that way. "Please, stay?"

Nicholas looked over at her parents. Mama cleared her throat.

"It's late, Lord Blackburne. We shall have the guest-suite prepared for you."

"Thank you, my lady," he replied, bowing low.

"Where have you been?" Lord Rothendale demanded of Bernadette, making her heart thud fearfully. Nicholas cleared his throat.

"We will discuss this in the morning, Lord Rothendale," he said firmly. "For the moment, I think it would be a better course of action for us to rest."

"Mm. You're right," he murmured.

Bernadette let out a sigh of relief, gazing up at Nicholas. He looked hard at her father for a moment, then turned to her.

"You should go upstairs to rest," he said gently. "You must be exhausted."

"Yes, I am," she whispered. She was almost falling over with tiredness. Nicholas took her arm gently.

"I will walk you to your bedchamber," he said gently. "And then retire to the guest-quarters."

"Thank you," Bernadette said quietly.

Nicholas wrapped an arm around her and helped her up the stairs and she felt her heart soaring, joy filling her and flooding through her body as he walked with her to where she could sit by the fire in the warm room.

He held her close and she smiled and knew that, even though she was almost too weary to move and there was a lot to talk about, still, she had never felt so happy in her life.

"Goodnight," he said softly. "We will see each other in the morning."

"Goodnight, Nicholas," she whispered. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he said with a grin, and Bernadette smiled back. She was still thinking of that beautiful grin as she took a bath and then settled down in a warm bed, immediately drifting off to sleep.