sham! It is not legal! Show me proof!”
Nicholas tossed the marriage lines onto the desk. “Read. It’s quite fresh, Jacqueline.”
She snatched it up, her eyes running rapidly over the page, and then it dropped from her hand, and she looked up, looking as if she’d just been slapped. The color had gone from her face, leaving it white, with two violent spots of red flaming on her cheeks. “No. It is not possible. Not Georgia Wells. No. No!”
“Yes. Georgia.” Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “Georgia Wells, now Georgia Daventry. Say goodbye to your modiste, Jacqueline, and say good-bye to Raven’s Close. I’d like the deed and the keys, not that keys are really necessary. The door would most likely fall in if I leaned on it.” He scooped his marriage certificate up off the floor. “If you please? There’s no point delaying. Accept it. All of your scheming has failed.”
Jacqueline, who looked as ill as he’d ever seen her, pulled herself up. “I don’t know how you managed this, Nicholas, although I wouldn’t put anything past the scheming little baggage, nor you, for that matter. But I promise, you will regret this. I swear that I will make you regret this.”
“Swear what you will, Jacqueline. It makes no difference to me. You make no difference to me—not any longer. You can’t touch me now, can you, and I would lay money that that fact is tearing you up inside. So why don’t you scurry along and get me my things?”
Jacqueline drew in a long, hissing breath. “Don’t push me, Nicholas. You have no idea what I am capable of doing. You have no idea at all.”
“You’re probably right, Jacqueline. I’d hate to contemplate the true depths to which you’re willing to sink. And since today is my wedding day, and I’d like to get back to my wife, I’m not going waste any more time in your highly questionable presence. My key, please.”
She swept past him, and he laughed softly to see the speed at which she went. He had gotten to her. He had definitely gotten to her, and it pleased him. It was about time that something pleased him when it came to Jacqueline de Give.
He was just about to untie his horse from the mounting post when a young man came around the corner, and reflexively he glanced up. The young man stopped abruptly, and Nicholas stared, his mouth curving into a wild smile. Talk about spitting images—here was one, indeed. He might have been looking at himself fifteen years ago. “Good God. Cyril?” He quickly moved toward him, his hand outstretched. “What a pleasure it is to see you again! It is Nicholas—your cousin Nicholas? Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”
“Wh-what are you d-doing here?” Cyril not only didn’t take his hand, he took a wary step away, and Nicholas dropped his hand to his side, surprised.
“I’ve come home, Cyril. Did your stepmother not tell you? Ah—yes, I can see she did not. I’m going to be moving into the Close.”
“The Close? B-but … but you c-can’t!” Cyril looked shocked as much as anything else.
“Can’t I? Why not?”
“B-because-b-because you c-can’t. My father t-tossed you out on your ear. You c-cannot come home.”
“But here I am,” Nicholas said gently. “Here I am, and here is the key,” he said, holding it up to Cyril’s view. “My wife and I move in tonight. I’m sorry if the news doesn’t please you, but I have waited a very long time for this. I’ve also waited a long time to see you again. I had hoped you would be happy that I’d returned. I confess to surprise at your dismay.’’
Cyril reddened. “I am s-surprised at your cheek. You d-don’t belong here.”
“Well. You’re entitled to your feelings. I don’t know what you’ve been told about the falling-out your father and I had, but it’s clear to me that a black picture was painted. Look here, Cyril, you’re the only cousin I have. I would hope we could be friends as we once were. I know you were very young when I left,
Nicholas tossed the marriage lines onto the desk. “Read. It’s quite fresh, Jacqueline.”
She snatched it up, her eyes running rapidly over the page, and then it dropped from her hand, and she looked up, looking as if she’d just been slapped. The color had gone from her face, leaving it white, with two violent spots of red flaming on her cheeks. “No. It is not possible. Not Georgia Wells. No. No!”
“Yes. Georgia.” Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “Georgia Wells, now Georgia Daventry. Say goodbye to your modiste, Jacqueline, and say good-bye to Raven’s Close. I’d like the deed and the keys, not that keys are really necessary. The door would most likely fall in if I leaned on it.” He scooped his marriage certificate up off the floor. “If you please? There’s no point delaying. Accept it. All of your scheming has failed.”
Jacqueline, who looked as ill as he’d ever seen her, pulled herself up. “I don’t know how you managed this, Nicholas, although I wouldn’t put anything past the scheming little baggage, nor you, for that matter. But I promise, you will regret this. I swear that I will make you regret this.”
“Swear what you will, Jacqueline. It makes no difference to me. You make no difference to me—not any longer. You can’t touch me now, can you, and I would lay money that that fact is tearing you up inside. So why don’t you scurry along and get me my things?”
Jacqueline drew in a long, hissing breath. “Don’t push me, Nicholas. You have no idea what I am capable of doing. You have no idea at all.”
“You’re probably right, Jacqueline. I’d hate to contemplate the true depths to which you’re willing to sink. And since today is my wedding day, and I’d like to get back to my wife, I’m not going waste any more time in your highly questionable presence. My key, please.”
She swept past him, and he laughed softly to see the speed at which she went. He had gotten to her. He had definitely gotten to her, and it pleased him. It was about time that something pleased him when it came to Jacqueline de Give.
He was just about to untie his horse from the mounting post when a young man came around the corner, and reflexively he glanced up. The young man stopped abruptly, and Nicholas stared, his mouth curving into a wild smile. Talk about spitting images—here was one, indeed. He might have been looking at himself fifteen years ago. “Good God. Cyril?” He quickly moved toward him, his hand outstretched. “What a pleasure it is to see you again! It is Nicholas—your cousin Nicholas? Surely you haven’t forgotten me?”
“Wh-what are you d-doing here?” Cyril not only didn’t take his hand, he took a wary step away, and Nicholas dropped his hand to his side, surprised.
“I’ve come home, Cyril. Did your stepmother not tell you? Ah—yes, I can see she did not. I’m going to be moving into the Close.”
“The Close? B-but … but you c-can’t!” Cyril looked shocked as much as anything else.
“Can’t I? Why not?”
“B-because-b-because you c-can’t. My father t-tossed you out on your ear. You c-cannot come home.”
“But here I am,” Nicholas said gently. “Here I am, and here is the key,” he said, holding it up to Cyril’s view. “My wife and I move in tonight. I’m sorry if the news doesn’t please you, but I have waited a very long time for this. I’ve also waited a long time to see you again. I had hoped you would be happy that I’d returned. I confess to surprise at your dismay.’’
Cyril reddened. “I am s-surprised at your cheek. You d-don’t belong here.”
“Well. You’re entitled to your feelings. I don’t know what you’ve been told about the falling-out your father and I had, but it’s clear to me that a black picture was painted. Look here, Cyril, you’re the only cousin I have. I would hope we could be friends as we once were. I know you were very young when I left,
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