Nicholas: Lord of Secrets (3 page)

“You said he’s a womanizer. Is that whom you want me consorting with?”

Darius’s tone became lazy. “My dear, I am a womanizer. Every man who can get away with it, practically, is a womanizer. You ladies inspire us to it.”

“Blaming the women, Darius?” Leah’s tone was cool.

“Oh, now.” Darius looped an arm across her shoulders. “Hellerington has rattled you. He’s rattled me, too. I cannot bear to think of you with that man, Leah.”

“Then don’t think of it,” she said, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Of all the considerations her brothers showed her, this one—this casual affection—meant the most. She’d felt cast out, judged, unclean, and unforgivably stupid as a younger woman, and Society had done its cruel best to reinforce her opinion. Her brothers, though, had stood by her, and eventually the scandal had been faced down.

There were good men in the world, Leah reassured herself. Her brothers were good men.

Lord Reston… was a puzzle. His kiss lingered in Leah’s memory like a bonfire on a hill, a bright, riveting, but isolated event that drew her attention even while she should be figuring out how to tolerate a life as Lady Hellerington.

Reston was kind. She’d felt it in his touch, heard it in his voice, tasted it in his kiss and in the way he’d assumed an unthreatening, companionable honesty with her from the first moment. He was also stunningly, spectacularly
masculine
in that kindness. He wore some kind of Eastern scent, sturdy like sandalwood but sweetened with an exotic note of spices. His hands had been gentle, for all their size, but they’d also been undeniably knowing.

So he was kind, handsome, and single, but he was also—and most especially—wrong for her.

He would never take from a woman by plunder. He’d seduce instead, and make a lady grateful for the privilege of giving to him what he had not earned and would not treasure past a fleeting moment.

Nick punched his pillow, the strains of Val’s soft music drifting to him through the darkness. Val played like this only when he was alone with a good instrument, the music flowing up from his soul, out across the keys, and off into the night air, never to be heard again. Nick was in awe of such a gift, such an endless flow of creativity and sheer beauty from inside one generally quiet man.

And if there was a price for such talent, Nick hadn’t yet puzzled it out. Usually, when Val conjured lullabies, sleep came to heel like a biddable spaniel.

Tonight, though, Nick was preoccupied with a single kiss.

In his thirty-some years on earth, Nick had done more kissing than he could remember. Kissing was fun, sweet, and harmless. He enjoyed it; the ladies enjoyed it; he suspected even his horse enjoyed it.

But kissing was also meant to be forgettable. No more worthy of recall than a pleasant meal, a good book, an enjoyable walk in the garden. Nick kissed his lovers, his sisters, his friends, his grandmother. Lately, he’d kissed his father a time or two, hoping each one was not a kiss good-bye. Nick kissed babies—babies were particularly fun to nuzzle and kiss and tickle—he kissed his horses and his cats and his cousins.

So why should it matter that he’d stolen a kiss from this Leah person, who was bound for holy matrimony with the odious Hellerington? He’d meant it as a little gesture of encouragement to her and himself both, a kiss for luck, as he’d said.

Nonetheless, lying in the acreage of his bed, surrounded by mountains of silk-covered pillows and the softest of linen sheets, Nick felt a growing unwillingness to let a disgusting old man have a taste of the lady, much less a husband’s claim on her. From the place inside Nick that would have killed to protect a sister or a friend, a place that had been tempted to violence on behalf of beaten animals, Nick felt a growing desire to spare the woman the fate that had moved her to tears.

His fate was sealed. He would marry a calculating little jade, and that was that.

Her fate, however, he could still influence.

Tossing aside the covers, Nick got up and found a dressing gown to cover his nakedness. The room was cold—Nick liked it cold. He lit some candles and found writing supplies in his escritoire. A note to his solicitors came first, asking them to attend him at their earliest convenience.

Then a note to Benjamin Hazlit, discreet investigator for the privileged few who could afford him. If anyone could bring Nick what he sought regarding old Hellerington, it would be Hazlit.

Those decisions made, Nick returned to his bed and let Valentine’s music drift over him once more. Val was sad about something; that was as clear as the tones of the piano’s lovely middle register.

Ah, well. Nick closed his eyes. What a gift it must be, to be able to turn sadness to beauty. He thumped his pillow one last time and let his imagination conjure up the memory of a sweet, soft, lingering kiss between strangers.

***

Nick thought of spring and autumn as feminine—changeable, unpredictable, lovely—and winter and summer as masculine—entrenched, reliably trying, challenging, not for the faint of heart. April qualified as spring, and this morning, she was wearing all her glory. The sun shone in beneficent abundance, a hint of softness graced the air, and in the park, daffodils bloomed in profusion along with the occasional precocious tulip. The distance to his grandmother’s house might have encouraged another man to ride, but Nick had already taken Buttercup out for her morning hack, and he liked to move about whenever possible.

Then too, he needed time to think, to consider Valentine’s question from the previous night: Were there any young ladies available this Season to whom he might offer marriage? Unpleasant topic to contemplate, but—

“I beg your pardon!”

Instinctively, Nick reached out to steady the lady into whom he had very nearly plowed.

“My apologies,” he murmured, catching a hint of lily of the valley fragrance, though it wasn’t coming from the petite blond squirming to retrieve her balance.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The little blond peeked up at him with a tentative smile from under her bonnet brim. “I was intent on getting to the ducks. I should have been watching where I was going.”

Nick stepped back and tipped his hat with a little bow.

“I am at fault.” He smiled down at her, then included the lady’s maid in his smile. “I was lost in thought and cannot even claim the topic as interesting as hungry ducks.”

Not a lady’s maid, but rather, a youthful maiden aunt who could indulge in an alluring perfume but no longer needed—or afforded?—a fashionable wardrobe. Still, there was something about the other woman that drew Nick’s interest, and not simply because she had lovely brown eyes, a bit of height, and lustrous dark hair framing a serious, pretty face.

Nick marshaled his manners. “If I may be so bold: Nicholas Haddonfield, Viscount Reston at your service, ladies, and again my apologies.” The blond glanced askance at the taller woman, obviously uncertain of the proprieties.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the taller woman said, her tone cultured, a little husky, and liltingly soft.

Five innocuous words, but it was enough. That soft, almost amused voice, the poise of it, and the charm… Nick knew immediately who she was, and drew in a slow, steadying breath. The lily of the valley scent connected with memories of their previous meeting and made the pretty day a shade closer to glorious.

“Whom was it my pleasure to nearly knock insensate?” Nick kept his smile in place, though it was arguably rude of him to ask when they hadn’t been introduced. Still, he could not abide to tip his hat and saunter away.

“Ladies Leah and Emily Lindsey,” the taller woman replied. She bobbed a curtsy, and her companion did likewise. Lady Leah gave not a hint of familiarity in her tone, gesture, or expression.

Not a hint of rejection, either.

“Might I impose my escort on you as far as the duck pond?” Nick offered. For good measure, he smiled disarmingly at the footman who hovered a dozen feet away, looking uneasy. “It’s a lovely day, and I would rather spend it in the presence of pulchritudinous ladies such as Mother Nature and yourselves than hurry to my destination.”

“You flatter prettily,” Lady Leah said, clearly more amused than impressed. “We will take pity on you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the footman. “John, Lord Reston will escort us to the pond.”

John nodded, apparently relieved that Lord Reston—all seventeen damned stone of him—presented no threat to his charges.

“I am on my way to see my grandmother,” Nick volunteered, winging an arm at each lady. “This puts me in line for a scolding, which is what grandmothers enjoy most with grandsons like me. I’ve been in Town almost ten days, you see, and I’ve yet to call on her. What shall I say was my excuse?”

“You could tell her you’re getting over a spring ague,” the blond said. Lady—Nick floundered for a moment mentally—Lady Emily. “It was nasty damp until last week.”

“That would serve, except she knows I’m seldom ill.”

“You could tell her you dreaded the scolding and waited for a suitably cheering day to make your bow,” the older sister said.

“The truth?” Nick affected a puzzled frown at Lady Leah. “With my grandmother? I will consider it as a novel approach. Do you ladies often come to feed the ducks?”

He kept up a pleasant, easygoing patter of nonsense talk, something he could do without thinking. As they chatted and strolled slowly toward the water, Nick studied his companions.

In the bright light of day, Leah Lindsey was revealed to be no longer in the first blush of youth, consistent with her disclosures the previous night. There was knowledge in her eyes, of things unpleasant and unavoidable. She carried herself with a well-concealed hint of caution, her grip on his arm cosmetic, unlike her sister’s.

The younger sister was innocent, Nick concluded. Probably not yet out, and happy to lark around in the park on a pretty day. This was the one for whom Leah was being sacrificed, and yet there was no enmity between the sisters. If anything, Leah was protective of her younger sibling.

Nick approved of that, though it wasn’t his place to make such a judgment.

Lady Emily held out a gloved hand. “I’ll take those bread crumbs now, John.”

“Shall we sit?” Nick suggested to the sister still loosely on his arm. Lady Emily became engrossed in feeding the ducks over by the water, John withdrew to a discreet distance, and Nick found himself relatively alone with the lady who’d kept him up half the night.

“Let’s take the bench,” Lady Leah said. “This is a day so lovely one wants simply to be still and drink it in, to save it up.”

“Such wistfulness,” Nick said as he lowered himself beside her. “Do you fear we’ll have no more such days?”

“The future is at best unpredictable,” Lady Leah said quietly. “For example, who could have predicted we’d cross paths twice in twenty-four hours?”

Pleasure—and relief—welled. “I wasn’t sure I was supposed to acknowledge that other, equally delightful meeting.”

“I hadn’t thought to ever see you again.” She was smiling as she said it, a soft, inwardly pleased curving of full lips.

Nick let himself bask in that smile and in the memory of those soft, delectable lips, until his blood began to stir in unmentionable places. “Everybody sees me. I am too big to sneak anywhere. What you hadn’t thought was to kiss me again.”

“My lord.” The frown was back in force. “We are in public.”

“Private enough.” Nick knew exactly where the footman stood, and the younger sister, and that the breeze put both upwind of this surprising conversation. “If the weather allows it tomorrow, may I meet you here again?”

“Whyever would you want to do that?” Leah’s voice was even, but a slight shift in her expression suggested Nick’s request did not meet with her approval.

Nor his own, exactly, but he’d puzzle that out later. “I have put a few things in train you need to know about,” Nick said, purposely keeping his gaze on Emily and the honking, quacking gaggle paddling about before her.

“What could you possibly be up to that would affect me, my lord?”

Nick grinned, despite his attempt to emulate a fellow just enjoying the weather. “You sound like my grandmother, all starch and vinegar. I’m going to relieve you of your intended’s offer.”

Beside him, Leah went still in the way she had the previous night. Not just still physically, but mentally.

“Has it occurred to you,” she said, her voice very low, “Hellerington may be replaced by something worse?”

“What could be worse than being wife to a disgusting old man who will likely give you diseases you cannot recover from?” Nick’s own tone had become the least bit clipped, and he was rewarded with a sharp intake of Leah’s breath.

“Being his mistress,” she said, so quietly Nick had to lean toward her to hear her.

Silence, while Nick considered the horror she’d just admitted. Her father wasn’t content to marry her off; he must end his daughter’s life in illness and disgrace as well. No man who called himself father should be free to perpetrate such misery on his daughter.

“That would be evil,” Nick said. “And I shall not allow it.”

***

From the window of his first-floor suite, Gerald Lindsey, ninth Earl of Wilton, had watched his two daughters link arms and stroll off toward the park. Well, his daughter and that creature his wife had presented to him. He wasn’t pleased with the amount of time Emily spent with Leah, but Emily liked her older sister, and as long as they both dwelled under his roof, it was an association the earl could closely monitor. Soon enough, he’d see Leah taken off his hands, and if he played his cards right, Leah’s marriage would foot the cost of Emily’s come out and wedding.

A scratching at the door interrupted his plans for Emily.

“Enter.”

The upstairs chambermaid bobbed a deep curtsy. “My lord.”

“Well?”

“She danced with a Lord Valentine Windham,” the maid said, careful to keep her gaze on the floor. “And described him to her sister as tall, green-eyed, and very much a gentleman.”

“He’s also very much Moreland’s only unwed surviving son and legendarily besotted with his music. Leah will never get an offer from that one. What other confidences did the ladies exchange over their morning tea?”

“In the course of the evening, Lady Leah was introduced to a Lord Reston, my lord. She described him as grand, tall, and fit, like an old-style Viking, and well mannered. His father is the Earl of Bellefonte, and I gather from the conversation, Reston is the heir.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing, my lord. The ladies were anxious to enjoy the sunny weather.”

“Go.”

He waited until the door closed before he let his features compose themselves into a frown. Reston? Bellefonte’s heir? But nothing of old Hellerington, who was desperate enough to pay handsomely for a titled bride of childbearing age?

Wilton lowered himself into the chair behind his estate desk and tried to dredge up details on the Bellefonte title. All he could recall was that the present holder of the title had been a younger son, serving in the military or diplomatic corps, and not particularly concerned with the earldom. There were a fair number of offspring, like a bunch of bloody farming Hanoverians. He scrawled a note to his man of business and rang for a footman.

Hellerington was welcome to Leah as far as Wilton was concerned. Yes, the man was a dissolute, sick scoundrel, but that only made it easier to toss the ungrateful bitch into his arms. Hellerington had been nothing if not patient, and in his own devious way, trustworthy. Still, business was business, and if this Reston fellow were interested, then it was simply prudent to entertain an offer from him.

Hellerington was desperate, but he wasn’t particularly wealthy, and wealth was one thing Wilton respected more than he wanted free of his late wife’s bastard.

***

“You have no say in the matter of my betrothal.”

Leah ground her words out, while the great length of Lord Reston to all appearances lounged beside her on the park bench, and Emily cavorted with the ducks like the schoolgirl she was. “And while you are no doubt well-intended, my lord, I must ask you to turn your attention to some other matter. My father will do as he sees fit. He is a peer of the realm, as he frequently reminds all and sundry. You cannot gainsay him. My brothers have tried to thwart him, and it has gone hard for them as a result.”