No Other Love. Candace Camp
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journey would be the worst thing for her.
But such worries gradually melted away as she trotted through the countryside, taking the occasional low stone wall with ease. By the time her mount approached a fence, she and the horse had grown accustomed to each other, and they soared over it. Exhilarated, Nicola emerged onto a lane lined with trees and dappled with winter sunshine. She paused, looking up the lane toward the right. If she went left, she would reach the village sooner. To the right lay the road to the top of Lydford Gorge, where Lady Falls poured down in a torrent. If she went to Lady Falls, she could then take a different path to the village. It would add perhaps an hour to her ride, but she would still have ample time to visit. Of course, there was no reason to go there….
Nicola turned to the right, urging her horse back to a trot. She had to see Lady Falls again. She realized now that it had been in the back of her mind when she had decided to visit the village; after her thoughts the evening before, she knew she could not rest until she had seen the Falls again.
She hardly noticed the countryside now as she rode; the bold upthrusts of rocky tors might have been the green grass of Hyde Park for all the attention she paid to them. All her concentration was on the place to which she was riding.
After a time, she came to the narrow River Lyd and followed it to the spot where it tumbled suddenly down into Lydford Gorge. Her pace slowed, and her heart began to pound. She had not been here since the day after Gil’s death, so many years ago. She dreaded seeing it again. A few weeks ago, at Bucky’s house party, she had accompanied the rest of the group on a picnic to Lydford Gorge below, and even that, looking up at the Falls from the gorge, had filled her with an almost unbearable sorrow. This, she knew, would be worse—to stand at the top of the Falls, in that spot so filled with beautiful and painful memories—yet she had to do it. She could not rest until she had.
She heard the roar of water, faint at first, then growing louder. At last, ahead of her, she saw the idyllic spot where she and Gil had often met during those magical few weeks of love—the tumble of rocks and the greenery growing rampant at the edge of the water, the delicate mist rising from the Falls, creating a dancing rainbow of colors in the air.
Nicola pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading it the last few yards. Finally, close to the edge, the mist from the tumbling spray caressing her face, she stopped and looked around, her heart swelling with emotion.
It was here that she and Gil had often met after the dance at Tidings. They had sat beneath the shade of the trees a few yards from the Falls, and they had talked and kissed, making plans for their future. They would go to America, they said, when Nicola reached eighteen and could marry as she chose. There, Gil had heard, people did not care about one’s birth and a man could make his way on his own merits. He had given her a ring, a heavy, simple man’s ring that was, he said, the only inheritance he had. His mother had given it to him before she died, saying it was his father’s, but she would not tell him more than that. It was their betrothal ring, and Nicola wore it on a chain, hidden beneath her dress.
Nicola closed her eyes, yearning sweeping through her. She remembered sitting on the ground, leaning back against Gil’s chest, his arms wrapped around her from behind, enfolding her with love, and the memory was so real it was a fresh stab of pain.
“Oh, Gil!” The words tore from her in a sob, drowned by the rush of water.
She had never felt so alive as she had in his arms. His kisses had been like fire, and his caresses had awakened sensations in her that she had never dreamed existed. They had lain beneath the tree, kissing and stroking each other, exploring their eager, youthful passion until they were almost frenzied with desire, yet always Gil had pulled back finally. He refused to dishonor her, he said; no matter how difficult it was, they would wait until she was his bride.
Nicola had wanted to continue, arguing with him that she did not care, teasing him with her mouth and body. That last day, she remembered, she had unbuttoned her bodice and pulled the sides apart, glorying in the heavy-lidded, greedy way Gil stared at her, his breath rasping in his throat.
“Don’t you want me?” she had whispered.
“Sweet heaven, girl, you’re killing me” had been his husky answer, and he had reached out and cupped one breast, his thumb brushing her nipple and making it harden eagerly. “Don’t you know I want ye more than life itself?”
His dark eyes were lit with an inner flame. He moved his hand across her chest, pausing to touch the ring that lay nestled between her breasts. “To see you…to see my ring there, warmed by your flesh—knowing that ye are mine and I’m yours…”
“Then take me,” Nicola had said boldly, covering his hand with hers, her eyes glowing up at him. “Make love to me. I want to feel you, to know—”
“No! I won’t be plantin’ my seed in ye and ye not bearin’ my name. It’s what happened to my mother, and I will not put that shame on ye. Or on my child.”
He had bent and lightly touched his lips to her pink nipple. “Now cover up, girl, before ye drive me to distraction.”
“And if I won’t?” Nicola had asked saucily, leaning back on her elbows, her eyes filled with challenge.
“Well, then, I’ll just have to make ye, won’t I?” He had reached for her.
At that moment a roar had split the air, sounding even over the rush of the water, and Nicola and Gil had whirled around to see the Earl of Exmoor standing only a few feet away from them, his face thunderous.
Gil scrambled to his feet, but Richard reached him before he was completely upright and swung his fist, connectedly solidly with Gil’s jaw and sending him tumbling backward. He turned toward Nicola, and his eyes dropped down to her open bodice, and he stopped as if struck. “What is that? A ring?”
“Yes. Gil gave it to me,” Nicola told him, rising and pulling the sides of her bodice together to hide her breasts. “I am going to marry him.”
“Marry? Marry a groom?” Before she realized what he was doing, Richard reached out and grabbed the ring, snapping the thin chain that held it. He held the ring up, looking at it for a long moment, then murmured, “I’ll be damned….”
“Give that back!” Nicola cried. “That’s mine! How dare you interfere?”
With a great roar of rage, Richard hurled the ring toward the Falls. “You’ll never marry him!”
Nicola shrieked and ran after the ring, stopping helplessly at the edge. Behind her, Gil got up and rushed at Richard, crashing into him, and the two men fell to the ground. Nicola stared down at the tumbling water, spilling down the side of the cliff to crash into the gorge below and rush onward. Gil’s ring was gone. She could never hope to find it again. She whirled, angry words on her lips, then stopped at the sight of the two men locked in a silent, furious struggle.
She’d seen two men fight before. Once, when she was young, two of the grooms had squared off in the yard, and one of them had knocked the other down before Nicola’s governess hustled her back inside. But that angry exchange scarcely resembled this intense battle. The two men rolled across the ground, punching and grappling, silent except for an occasional grunt or atavistic growl.
“Stop it! Gil! Exmoor!” Nicola realized that she might as well have been speaking to herself for all the good it did.
The men inched perilously close to the edge of the Falls, so close that the mist from the spewing water enveloped them. Nicola started toward them, shouting of the danger. At that instant, the edge of the cliff beside the Falls began to crumble. Nicola froze, a shriek tearing out of her lungs, watching in horror as the men’s feet were suddenly dangling in air. Realizing what was happening, Gil and Exmoor crawled toward safety. But the ground gave way beneath Gil’s legs, the rocks and earth flowing from beneath him almost like a river, and he slid backward, his hands scrabbling for purchase.
“Gil!”
Richard, who had reached stable ground, turned around as Gil slid slowly over the lip of the cliff, the spray from the Falls