Royal Regard (30 page)

Nick grumbled, “They get on so well, I’m
surprised he hasn’t given her
carte-blanche
.”

Charlotte lightly slapped his knee, and her
laughter trilled through the room. “Oh Heavens, you are jealous!
Bella is not to Prinny’s taste at all. She is not stupid or devious
enough for his kind of bed-sport. Besides, Lady Conyngham would
snatch her bald if there were any hint of it.”

Nick feigned shock to hold a wicked grin in
check. “My lady! What can you be thinking, to speak of such
things?”

“La, Wellbridge. Don’t be stodgy. Although
they are not at all suited, should you wish to win Bella, you might
be wise to listen to
his
discussions with her.”

His face fell, and Charlotte’s lips turned
up. Apparently, his contrition was convincing. “Gardening, folk
art, ancient manuscripts, architecture. He does ask for political
opinions about her experiences abroad, as she is quite astute about
such things—in some ways, she is more valuable than Myron—but he
never makes it seem his decisions might rest on her opinion, even
if they do. And he asks his questions when they are walking in the
gardens or dining at Windsor or enjoying a
musicale
, not
sitting in the throne room at St. James. He always treats her
tenderly—always. If King George were wooing Bella, her skirts would
already be about her ears, and Myron would be a duke, not an
earl.”

If that thought weren’t hard enough to
swallow, now Nick remembered every single time Prinny had warned
him to be gentle—not to do exactly what he had done—and there had
been many. He had taken it as rare royal over-protectiveness and
assumed he knew more about seducing married women than the king, a
ridiculous assumption just on its face. Even when he had been told
if he broke her heart, Prinny would take out his indignation in
equal measure, Nick hadn’t changed his tactics one iota.

He dropped his face into his hand, massaging
his temples. After a lengthy round of self-flagellation for not
seeing what had been in front of his eyes, and not listening to
what he should have heard, he looked up at Charlotte, patiently
waiting for him to come to the right conclusion on his own. At the
look on his face, her eyes softened.

Clearing his throat of self-disgust, he
croaked, “Her parties are celebrated on every continent. She is a
favorite of the Kings of France and England, the Emperor of
Austria, and the tsar, to say nothing of their queens, ministers,
and ambassadors, and endless nobles everywhere. She is a woman of
the world, in every part of the world. How can she not be
worldly
?”

Charlotte patted his hand. “You can be
forgiven the misapprehension, as she has learned to hide it well.
She overcame her timidity to be a proper wife to Myron, but never
lost her shyness. No matter the rumors, her life required her to be
entirely circumspect—and I do mean
entirely
. The least of
flirtations cause exponential problems in places where there are no
women, even under the protection of Prinny’s hand-picked naval
officers.

“Since she’s returned, well,” Charlotte set
down her cup, “it is a miracle she can speak to you at all,
especially in London. The City itself leaves her tongue-tied. You
cannot imagine the dread she built up about the
ton
all her
life, and how spectacularly her fears came to fruition when she was
presented. I am not entirely sure she didn’t marry Myron so quickly
to avoid the second half of her own Season.”

His right forefinger tapped against the arm
of his chair in time with his left boot on the carpet. “I should
have realized. I hadn’t thought.”

“Have you done any thinking at all?” she
admonished.

“No.” He again dropped his head into his
hands, mumbling through his fingers, “I’ve gone about this entirely
the wrong way.”

“Indeed. Even if you only meant her as your
mistress, you’ve made a bungle of things. Really, Wellbridge. I had
heard you were masterful at seducing men’s wives.”

The chair was nearly upset and Charlotte
almost dropped her tea when he shot up onto his feet, no longer
able to still himself. Pacing again in front of the fireplace, he
was reminded of countless hours in similar pursuit since Huntleigh
had made his ridiculous—astute—ridiculous proposal. He eyeballed
the drink, but decided against it. It would only inhibit the
thinking he now needed to do.

“Demme!” He stopped himself. “My apologies,
Lady Firthley.”

“I take no offense, and my name is Charlotte.
It is indeed a mess.”

His pacing took on a frenetic quality he’d
never before experienced. Face turned down to pull out any insights
he could drag from the carpet, he wanted nothing more than to throw
off his coat and cravat and mount his horse for the two-day ride to
Wellstone.

Not that he had any idea what he would do
when he got there. He wasn’t entirely sure it was still staffed.
Only he had the strangest desire to sleep in the suite he had so
rarely used, earmarked for his infrequent use when he had turned
twelve. As though in so doing, he might put down the mantle of the
Duke of Wellbridge and only consider himself as a man.

If he had met Bella as a blacksmith or a
crofter or a footman, he thought, not as a duke and a rake and an
erstwhile Corinthian, he might have gone about things properly, not
like every other degenerate in London who had listened to
on-dit
about Bella being a wanton and so treated her as
one.

Nick had, once more, let his hard cock make
decisions about his honor, and used his title to costume his
appalling behavior in a gentleman’s overcoat. He had tried to buy
her to install in his home as an amusement, and her husband had
tried to sell her—as she had been sold to him. No wonder she had
slammed the door in Nick’s face. He had been lucky to get away
without a knife in the gut. Huntleigh might yet be in danger,
living with her temper ’round the clock.

Charlotte interrupted his cogitation again,
but was halfway through her thought before he stopped pacing to
listen.

“…should take from this conversation is that
Bella has never in her life been pursued. Myron danced with her
once and spoke to her twice, then applied to her father. Her only
ideas of romance come from books, which she disdains as pure
fiction.”

He banged his fist against his thigh, for if
he didn’t he might slam it into the plaster wall. When he saw
Charlotte draw back in slight distress, he calmed himself. He was a
peer, after all, and a gentleman. He should have more control than
to make a woman frightened by word or deed. He had seen enough
fearful women for a lifetime.

Retaking his chair, he apologized for his
demeanor, then took a small sip of his brandy, still miraculously
almost full, and he not remotely inebriated.

“So, how does one romance a woman unfamiliar
with the art? I assume you have suggestions for my continued
pursuit?”

“Of course.”

“Shall I ring for more tea?”

“Please. And just for fun, do you think your
butler might be convinced I am your new
chère-amie
?” Nick
choked as she teased, “It would be most entertaining if he
could.”

“Might I have this dance, Lady
Huntleigh?” Nick held out his hand to lead Bella to the floor in
Lady Chesfield’s ballroom. Supper was over, she had just finished a
cup of lemonade, the musicians were preparing their instruments
again, and Charlotte had gone to the retiring room with a
significant stare in his direction, clearing the field for his
invitation.

“I think not, Your Grace,” Bella
declined.

Nick wanted to beg but restrained himself in
public. The five-hour candles were only half-burned, so there was
still time to overcome the anger she had been leveling at him for
almost a fortnight. Between “I-prefer-to-be-alone” and
“No-need-for-apology” and
“I-would-not-like-to-lend-credence-to-gossip,” Nick might as well
be an unwelcome stranger in her home, no matter how much latitude
he had been granted by Lord Huntleigh.

“I believe the next set is promised to Lord
Malbourne.”

He dropped his hand and hissed, “Malbourne?
You know perfectly well that is unacceptable. Huntleigh will have
my—”

She kept her voice hushed and even and her
face gentle, but not her tone. “Then you may go find Lord Huntleigh
in the card room and the two of you may bloody well kill each other
whilst I dance with Lord Malbourne.”

Even Huntleigh had been unable to entirely
control her actions since the ill-fated day Nick had proposed.
Huntleigh confided she had softened somewhat toward her husband, as
they never knew from one day to the next if he would be ill,
seemingly on his deathbed.

The last time he had been unwell, Bella was
so solicitous, she barely noticed Nick’s uninvited presence, merely
using him as a footman to carry basins of water, roll bandages, and
prepare foul-smelling teas from roots and bark and dried flowers.
However, on nights when Huntleigh was healthy enough to demand no
special treatment, like tonight, she still behaved like both men
were mud on the hem of her gown.

Huntleigh took the whole thing in stride,
having managed her anger before, but she was driving Nick out of
his mind. If he wanted to be treated like mud, he had a perfectly
good sister. If he wanted to be thought a footman, he would close
his account at Weston’s and give up his membership at White’s.

Flowers hadn’t resolved the upset, nor
grandiloquent poetry, French pastries, expensive books, even framed
prints of her own floral sketches, pilfered from the king’s
library. Clothing of any sort, even hats or gloves, was entirely
too intimate, and when he suggested to Lady Firthley he buy ribbons
to remind Bella of the day they had met at Gunter’s, she had shaken
her head so hard she nearly dislodged her coiffure.

No matter what he had sent, or even offered
on bended knee, Bella threw it back in his face—in the case of the
pastries, quite literally. Even in childhood, he had never before
needed to remove jam from his hair.

He couldn’t buy jewelry, as her husband had
deemed it inappropriate, no matter how much both of them would like
to see this extended fit of temper ended. Huntleigh, however, made
two trips to Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, one in the company of
the king, and Nick had retrieved and delivered the final
commissioned pieces to Huntleigh to gift her from his periodic
sickbed.

Both Huntleigh and Charlotte had become
allies of sorts in his abortive attempts to woo Bella, but neither
had given him any truly effective advice, other than the belated
intelligence that there was nothing shy about an angry Isabella
Huntleigh. There was no way to end Bella’s tempers until Bella
herself decided to end them.

Which would, apparently, not be at the
Chesfield’s ball. Without another word, Bella turned to the slimy
Frenchman he now knew well enough to despise, smiled broadly and
curtsied deeply while Nick’s nemesis bowed. Bella didn’t even turn
her head to see how Nick reacted. If she had, he would know she was
doing this purposely to make him jealous, which would be a much
better state of affairs.

“
Bonsoir, Monsieur le Duc
, I’ve been
waiting all evening for our dance,” Bella said, as she offered her
hand.

“Lady Huntleigh,” Malbourne bowed to her, “I
am slain by your beauty, as always.”

He nodded curtly at Nick, and swept her onto
the dance floor for a waltz. Nick restrained himself from kicking
the wall.
A blasted waltz
. He had never before been opposed
to any dance considered
risqué
, but at the moment, he was
barely in favor of a cotillion.

Nick wanted to plant the man a facer, but
this was surely not the time and place. He nearly did it anyway,
fists clenched tightly against his thighs when he watched in one of
the wall mirrors as the scoundrel pulled her closer. When Malbourne
leaned down and whispered in her ear, making her blush, Nick took a
step toward them, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

“You’ll only make it worse, Nicky.”

“Allie!” He bent to kiss his sister’s cheek,
one eye still on Bella. She defied convention by returning the
kiss.

Lady Allison Nockham looked like a smaller
version of her brother. The same green eyes, the same blond curls,
the same square, stubborn jaw. She was much daintier, of course,
her figure a twig to his solid oak tree, features more delicate,
hair more orderly, manner more refined. She was all female as he
was all male, but no one would ever mistake the familial bond.

He welcomed the distraction from the brawl he
was about to initiate, which would probably lose him every chance
he had with Bella. Assuming he had any chance at all.

Keeping his other eye on the Frog, he said,
“Nockham told me earlier you had no plans to attend.”