Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (6 page)

A
few days later, Jane sat hunched over her aunt’s delicate French writing desk, attempting to read the document before her. Strong emotions blasted in her direction from every side.

From the upholstered sofa came Izabel’s determined anxiety and her father’s belligerent suspicion. From the chaise opposite the desk, the attorney’s speculation. And from the man sitting with his back to the window, a hum of something indefinable.

Jane glanced toward the mauve shadows of her aunt’s study where her would-be husband lounged, observing them all with those shocking blue eyes.

Why didn’t he speak?

“Maybe he has mistaken you for someone else,” Emma had suggested when Jane had told her the news of his offer. “Imagine his embarrassment if he comes calling and discovers his fiancée isn’t the correct one!”

But Lord Satyr had made no such demur upon seeing her when he’d arrived that morning.

Her eyes dropped to the sheaf of papers that had earlier been thrust under her nose by his attorney. It was impossible to comprehend the words on them while everyone in the room scrutinized her with such rapt attention.

The attorney inched the papers closer to her hand in an unsubtle attempt to coax her into signing.

“Will you explain this to me?” she asked him, tapping a particular codicil with her pen nib. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

“It’s your marriage contract. You are to sign here,” he replied, indicating a blank area on the final page.

Did he think her witless?

“May I take a private moment to study it?” she asked.

Her aunt tittered nervously. “Don’t be absurd, Jane. That could take all morning. And Lord Satyr might mistake it to mean you distrust him. Sign your name and be done with it.”

Jane sensed a restive movement in the shadows. A man rose from the chair. The man from the tent. The one who wished to marry her. Lord Nicholas Satyr.

“Don’t concern yourself, my lord, she will sign,” Izabel cooed prettily. But when she turned to her niece, her eyes were frosted slits. “Won’t you, Jane?”

“I would speak to Signorina Cova in private,” said Lord Satyr. The low rumble of his velvet voice caressed Jane’s nerve endings, causing the pen in her hand to tremble.

“Certainly, signore,” said Izabel, leaping to her feet. She tugged Jane’s father toward the door.

The attorney tossed her an encouraging wink as he ushered himself out, hard on their heels, folding the double doors shut behind them.

Jane stared after the trio, appalled. Her aunt knew the impropriety of leaving an unmarried female in the sole company of a gentleman. What was she thinking?

She turned to find Lord Satyr inspecting her.

“No pipe?” he asked, his lips curving slightly.

It took her a second to comprehend his meaning. The corncob pipe from her gypsy fortuneteller costume, he meant. So he
had
seen through her disguise.

She shrugged. “The occasion didn’t seem to call for it.”

His smile broadened.

He was extremely handsome, even more so than she remembered, if that were possible. Emma would think him a knight in, well, a dark waistcoat. Now that she studied the coat at close range, Jane saw that it bore a black-on-black design depicting bizarre beasts with tails and wings intertwined with vines and flourishes. On another man it might have looked outlandish, but somehow the peculiar coat served only to accentuate his masculinity.

Nick noted and accepted her interest in his form as useful. Some thought him vain, he knew. But one couldn’t live to nearly thirty years of age and not be aware of the effect one’s looks had on the feminine sex. He knew his features were arranged in an appealing way and used the knowledge to his advantage in social and business dealings. Beyond that, his own attractions were of little interest to him.

Her scent had teased at him since she’d entered the room. It was of spring and new sky and of crushed blossoms and cool, shaded earth.

He shifted closer, wanting more.

Satisfaction zinged through his blood at her nearness, stiffening his cock. There was no doubt this time. Everything about her proclaimed her to be of ElseWorld heritage. In the way of the Faerie, her face and form were delicate and ethereal, her manner and movements graceful.

Stilling, he allowed himself to savor her, to bask in the joy of discovering the woman he would take to wife. The urge to claim her—to mate her here and now—swelled in him, taking him off guard. The need shouldn’t be so strong.

Several days earlier he’d traveled home, returning to Tivoli only yesterday. The sole purpose of his trip had been to take part in the Calling along with his brothers. It was possible to perform the ritual away from his estate, but when his mind and body were given over to the Change, he was vulnerable and preferred not to be among strangers.

When he spoke, Nick gave no clue as to what he’d been thinking. “You’re reluctant to sign. Why?”

Jane’s gaze darted to the door and then back to him. “You must know your offer comes as a surprise.”

“A happy one?” he inquired.

“In my aunt’s view, at least,” she replied with a tight smile.

“And in yours?” he asked.

“In my view,” Jane confided, “you are too fickle. At Villa d’Este, you were quite fixed on another young lady, as I recall.”

“Ah!” Something shifted in his eyes momentarily, making her wary. “I can’t explain my behavior the other day beyond saying that once you left the gardens, I realized a definite attraction in your direction existed. I apologize for the necessity of making formal arrangements for our marriage through your guardians. It’s done this way here in Italy.”

“It’s arranged in much the same way in England, as you must know. But even there, men and women learn something of one another before they marry.” She spread her hands in a gesture of confusion. “How can you want to wed someone you don’t know?”

“From what I have observed at your English balls, there is little interaction before an engagement. Women dress like flowers to attract men to their honey. A few dances, a very few words, and men soon find themselves husbands.”

“I wasn’t dressed to attract when we met.”

“How lucky for me then that I saw through your disguise.”

He was too glib. Annoyed, she tried to read his thoughts.

Nick felt her press at the gates of his mind. Her touch was purposeful but weaker than his will and easily blocked. No doubt this was not her strongest talent. Briefly he wondered what that would prove to be.

Concealment. It rolled from him in waves. Jane’s gaze shifted away. He wasn’t the only one concealing something.

“I sense some underlying reason for your suit of which you aren’t apprising me. Otherwise, why the rush?” she went on.

“It’s difficult for me to be away from my land for great stretches. I recently decided it was time to marry. Now, I’d like to get on with it,” he said.

“And any woman would adequately suit the position? Even one who tells fortunes in disguise for coin?”

“I have numerous requirements in a wife.”

“I’m interested to know what they are,” she snapped. “I bring you no title, no wealth, no land. I’m unremarkable.”

She had no idea how wrong she was. “I have sufficient titles, wealth, and land that I needn’t go seeking them in a wife. I only require an intelligent, well-bred lady of marriageable age who will bear my children.”

“Under your requirements, you would find hundreds of suitable ladies.”

He spread his hands, feigning regret. “Alas, the laws of Italy decree I cannot marry hundreds. I’ve chosen you.”

“But for all you know, I could be unchaste.” She leaned forward meaningfully. “Or a candidate for bedlam.”

“Are you?” he inquired.

She drew back. “I’d hardly reveal it if I were.”

He smiled, enjoying her. “It’s of no moment. Our contract allows me to annul our marriage on several counts, including those you mentioned. Come, unlike your aunt, I would not have you ignorant.” He drew her to sit at the desk. Leaning over her, he began to outline the meaning of each paragraph of the agreement in turn.

“Here I require you to accept the surname of Satyr rather than keeping that of your father, as would be customary in Italian marriages.”

His desire to stamp his name on his wife didn’t surprise her. But it was the least of her concerns.

“And here it says the marriage may be annulled for a number of reasons.”

“Voided, you mean?” she interrupted. “As though it had never existed?”

He nodded, and she marveled at his conceit in suggesting such an idea.

“As you see here,” he went on, enumerating the clauses, “I may petition for annulment in the event you prove not to be virginal.”

She blushed furiously at this, glad her bent head hid her reddened cheeks.

“Likewise,” he continued matter-of-factly, “I may do so if you deny me husbandly rights, prove unfaithful, or if you don’t produce an heir within a reasonable amount of time.”

“The latter is hardly fair,” she pointed out.

“But necessary. And, in the event of an annulment, I will of course provide a comfortable allowance for you.”

Hope rose within her. With such a settlement, she and Emma could be free. Able to live as independent women.

“Am I too plainspoken?”

“On the contrary,” she told him. “Your lack of subterfuge inspires trust.”

“Sufficient trust that you will agree to my proposal?” he murmured above her.

Jane stared at the words dancing across the page, her mind examining the choices open to her.

If they married, she would have access to his lands. On that ancient ground, plants such as moly might exist that could help her—help her sister—before it was too late. Definitely an argument in favor of wedding him.

But he would touch her. Could she keep herself from melding? He didn’t strike her as a man who would miss much of what she was. An argument against.

Still, he no doubt had business interests that would often take him from home. Perhaps he would spend so little time in her company he’d never notice his wife was an unnatural freak. A plus.

And he wasn’t Signore Nesta. A definite plus.

“Do you enjoy children?” Nick prompted, breaking into her thoughts. “More specifically, are you prepared to bear mine?”

She stood and slid from the desk and him. If she could be certain they wouldn’t share her taint, she would gladly bear his children. She would shower them with all the affection her family had denied her.

A few feet away, she turned, clasping her elbows with her hands.

“One cannot predict the likelihood or timing of heirs with any great certainty.”

Secrets flashed in his eyes. “Thus my inclusion of the clause. Make no mistake—the production of heirs is of paramount importance in my association with you. Should you prove unable or unwilling to provide them, I must have the freedom to form an alliance with another.”

Approaching her, he tilted her chin up and waited until her eyes met his.

Surprisingly, no visions came to her at his touch.

“Do you understand what that entails?” he asked.

She glanced at him sharply. Did he refer to childbirth or to…?

“Do you understand what will happen in our marriage bed?” he clarified.

She wriggled, and he allowed her to shrug free. “Your questions are premature. Before we reach an agreement, I have requirements of my own.”

He folded his arms, half sitting against the desk. “Go on.”

“My sister, Emma. You know of her?”

He nodded.

“Since our mother’s death, I have provided for Emma’s care. If I were to wed, I’d wish to have her with me, to raise her as my own daughter. And I’d want to keep a promise that was made to her that she might attend the school of her choosing. She’s quite intelligent.”

“Of course,” he agreed easily.

“It may prove costly,” she cautioned.

He lifted his fingers in a careless gesture that was innately Italian. “Its cost is of no consequence.”

Jane released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. How easily that had gone. Perhaps managing him would not prove difficult after all.

“Was that your only condition?”

“I have one other,” she said. “I’ve been used to certain freedoms in my choice of hobbies. I’d like to continue with them, unhampered.”

“Fortunetelling?”

“No,” she said, refusing to blush. “That was strictly for coin.”

He tilted his head, considering her. “Then may I inquire as to the general nature of this other hobby?”

She realized she was twisting her hands and forced them to stillness, folding one atop the other at her waist. “‘Studies’ is more accurate. Botanical studies.” She stifled the impulse to prostrate herself with further explanations and pleas.

He examined her a moment more and then replied easily and without reservation. “As long as they don’t endanger or shame you or my family in any way, you may keep your hobbies.”

She sighed. “That’s what I find so difficult about this marriage business. Why is a husband entitled to give a wife permission or withdraw it simply because he’s male? In truth, I would prefer to abide in a single state.”

“’Tis a husband’s obligation to protect his wife and family. And consider that if you never marry, Signore Cova will continue to control your future.”

He was right, she knew. Until she amassed enough wealth of her own, she would never be free of male domination.

A feeling of entrapment squeezed her chest. Why was she continuing this farce? She should tell him no and be done with it. Bearing his children was simply too great a risk. And if he but knew the depth of her strangeness, he certainly would not want children of her.

Instantly, an idea born of desperation came to her. There was a way, it whispered. There were herbs said to prevent impregnation. Such herbs would let her marry him and lie with him yet ensure she would not conceive.

It was deceitful. And he would eventually annul the marriage when no heir was produced. Until then, she and Emma would have a home. Afterward, they would have the allowance he promised.

From beneath her lashes, she studied him. Did she dare trick him in such a way?