Grace Burrowes - [Lonely Lords 02] Read online

  “You love another,” Leah decided, her tone ominously calm. “You love a woman you cannot marry, and you’ve promised her your marriage will be in name only. I’m not sure if this is chivalrous of you, Nicholas, or deranged.”

  Nick blinked, realizing in an instant Leah’s hypothesis was a version of truth, and—more important—credible to her.

  “I’ve promised my father a countess. I’ve promised you safety, and you’ve promised me you will think about this before you answer.” The pseudo-syllogism pleased him, bringing order to a difficult situation.

  “Do you want me to hate you?” Leah asked, incredulity seeping into her words. “You offer me safety and the daily insult of knowing your promises to another woman preclude you from giving to me that which you’ve already assured yourself—assured us both—I could desire passionately.”

  “It isn’t like that,” Nick said. It was exactly like that. “I cannot risk having children with you, Leah. If what you want is easing of your needs, I can do that without taking my clothes off.”

  It would kill him to attempt it, and yet—

  “Nicholas”—Leah’s voice was very soft—“I’ve given you my word I will consider your offer, and I will keep my word, but right now, I do not understand you. What you’ve offered, and what you just said, is the first indication I’ve had that you are capable of unkindness. I am disappointed, and will take my leave of you.”

  She turned to go. Nick’s hand on her arm stopped her.

  “I am sorry,” he said, searching her gaze for some hint of common ground, of understanding. “If there were another way, if you find another way, I’d offer you that instead.”

  “That provides a great deal of comfort, Nicholas.” Leah’s voice was still soft, but her eyes narrowed slightly, and she didn’t give Nick time to react before she leaned up and brushed a kiss across his lips.

  Her pace was dignified, her spine straight as she took her leave. The door closed quietly behind her, leaving Nick, two fingers against his lips, staring at the closed door in miserable silence.

  ***

  “I’m off to the arms of my muse.” Val bowed to his companions and slipped out the door, the ladies having already vacated the dining room to retire above stairs, arm in arm.

  Ethan eyed Nick from across the table. “Do we get drunk here or in the study?”

  Plain speaking, for which Nick was grateful. “We’ll be closer to the piano in the study,” Nick said. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Not particularly.” Ethan shoved to his feet. “But between you and Lady Leah, there was a certain lack of conversation. Did you upset the lady during that tête-à-tête you had earlier today?”

  “Royally.” Nick followed Ethan out the door. “And she deserves better.”

  “Has it occurred to you to offer her better?” Ethan asked as he pushed open the door of the study and headed to the decanter.

  “You don’t know what I did offer her,” Nick said. “Don’t be skimping on the brandy, Brother. I have serious matters to regret.”

  Ethan handed him a glass half-full of brandy. “Not you too.”

  “Me too.” Nick nodded his thanks. “I’ve spoken with Leah’s brothers, and something must be done, sooner rather than later.” Nick lowered himself to the sofa.

  “Speaking of Lady Leah’s brothers”—Ethan slid down on the other end of the couch—“I was out riding this afternoon and came across Darius Lindsey. The last time I saw him, he was in the company of that dreadful Cowell woman. The one who likes to rouge her nipples under her silks.”

  “The lovely Blanche. I’m supposed to warn him off of her, so to speak. I didn’t realize he was rusticating, but without Leah to squire around, I don’t suppose there’s any need for him to be in Town.” Nick closed his eyes and toed off his boots, then propped his feet on the low table before the sofa. “I did something stupid today, Ethan.”

  “If we’re to imitate the Papists, the proper introduction is ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’” Ethan replied easily. “Are you sure I’m the one you want to talk it over with? Windham is the nonjudgmental sort.”

  Nick smiled slightly. “Val can be a bloody Puritan, and I’ll no doubt hear from him directly, in any case.”

  Ethan got up with the air of a man resigned to a long-suffering fate, and brought the decanter over to the table. When he sat, he chose the center of the couch, not touching Nick, but not as far as he could get from Nick, either.

  “Tell Father Ethan what wickedness you’ve been up to, though if it involves whips and blindfolds, I’m not going to listen until we’re halfway through this brandy.”

  “That would bother you?”

  “No,” Ethan said. “Well… maybe. I did brand your ass, you’ll recall. Wouldn’t want to think your early experiences gave you a taste for the unusual.”

  “Perish the thought.” Ethan was stalling, perhaps as nervous about hearing Nick’s confidences as Nick was about imparting them. “I offered Leah a white marriage.”

  There followed a considering sip of libation.

  “So you do have a taste for flagellation. Interesting. There are places that cater to such whims, you know.”

  “Ethan, I’m serious.”

  Ethan shifted down the couch to Nick’s side, bringing the decanter with him. “This has to do with Leonie, doesn’t it?”

  “You remember her name.”

  “Of course I do.” Ethan frowned while he propped his feet up. “How is she?”

  “Sweet,” Nick said, his smile wistful. “Dear, more lovable than any female has a right to be.”

  “It isn’t a matter of either a wife or Leonie, Nick,” Ethan said, his voice containing a hint of sympathy.

  “For me, it has to be.”

  “I have wandered this wicked world for the past fourteen years, Nicholas, searching in vain for a force equal to your stubborn will. Alas, you see before you a disappointed man.”

  From Ethan, this was commiseration.

  “We’ve wasted years, Ethan,” Nick said quietly. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Spare me.” Ethan sipped his drink with exquisite indifference. “Lest I confess to the same regret.”

  They fell silent, each content with that much progress.

  “You ought to just tell Leah about Leonie,” Ethan said. “Leah’s a tolerant woman and would understand. Other men have mistresses, by-blows, entire second families.”

  “I more or less did tell Leah.” Nick knew he hadn’t fooled Ethan. To a brother’s ears, “more or less” left acres of room for prevarication. Entire shires and counties, in fact.

  “What did Leah say?”

  “I hurt her feelings, offering her only appearances when she knows my caring for another prevents me from offering more.” Nick frowned at his empty glass. He passed the glass to Ethan, who obligingly refilled it. “Leah didn’t reject the idea of marriage to me outright, but she still might. Don’t suppose you’d be interested?”

  “Are you procuring for Leah now too?” Ethan asked pleasantly.

  “That was mean, Ethan. Any husband will do for her. It doesn’t have to be me.”

  “No woman should have to find herself wed to me, Nick. I have no title to pass along, and my wealth is all a product of that dreaded scourge referred to by your kind as trade. Leah is an earl’s daughter, and she could do better than me.”

  Nick shook his head, which made the room swim a bit, though not unpleasantly. “No, she can’t. Her father will not dower her, she is plagued by old scandal, and she is too much woman for the average prancing ninny in search of a sweet young thing. Leah has been through too much to sit docilely stitching samplers while her husband gambles the night away.”

  Ethan bumped Nick’s shoulder gently. “Correct me if I’m wrong. Isn’t that exactly what you’ve asked her to do, except—let’s not forget the details—you’ll be heating the sheets with your lightskirts—one hears you have a taste for plural encounters, though to the delight of all concerned�
��while she’s stitching the night away?”

  “I hate you, Ethan.” Nick slouched down, sprawling against his brother in his misery. “I really do.”

  “Drink your brandy,” Ethan said softly. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Seven

  Inbreeding being undesirable beyond a certain point in any species, Nick had agreed to exchange bulls with his neighbor, David Worthington, Viscount Fairly. While Fairly’s bull was a mature gentleman content to propagate the species wherever the duty arose, Nick’s bull was a strapping young fellow of four, and while not mean, Lothario was obstinately attached to the herd Nick had first put him to as a two-year-old.

  Lothario was also, fortunately, attached to the man who had hand-fed him as a calf, and thus it became necessary for Nick to personally escort Lothario two country miles to Lord Fairly’s estate.

  Ethan cheerfully declined his brother’s invitation to share the errand.

  “Something amiss?” Ethan asked as Nick slammed into the front hall looking once again harried.

  “Oh, please.” Nick bounded up the steps. “Aggravate all you dare, Ethan, for there’s nothing I’d like better than to pound on somebody for a bit.”

  “Didn’t enjoy your constitutional with Lochinvar?” Ethan drawled, grinning.

  “It’s Lothario,” Nick shot back. “And no, for your information, waltzing with a lovesick bull who’s trumpeting his woes to the neighborhood is not how I’d like to spend a spring morning.”

  Ethan could not resist emphasizing the divine justice of that. “The lovesick debutantes being so much better company?”

  “At least they smell better, and when they step on my feet, they do not imperil my delicate bones.”

  “But you and Lothario seemed so comfortable with each other,” Ethan went on blithely, because whether Nick admitted it to himself or not, he needed somebody other than any old fellow to imbibe with of an evening. He needed—after all these years, still—a brother. “You and the bovine struck me as kindred spirits, hail fellows, well met.”

  “Bugger off, Ethan.” Nick glowered as they reached his room. “I got a damned note from Mrs. Waverly at Blossom Court.”

  “And she would be?” Ethan closed the door behind them. A huge copper tub sat steaming by the hearth, and Nick began to wrench at his neckcloth.

  “Leonie’s companion,” Nick bit out, scowling.

  “You’re knotting the thing tighter,” Ethan said, batting Nick’s hands away from the cravat. Nick never did think clearly when he was worried. “Chin up and stop glaring daggers at me. What did the note say?”

  “Leonie recognized the horses Val and Leah rode earlier today, and she is quite out of sorts to know I am entertaining a lady here and I have not bothered to call upon her to explain.” Ethan stepped back and went to Nick’s wardrobe, where he began assembling a fresh set of clothes while Nick stripped down to his skin.

  “So you hadn’t told Leonie you were here?”

  “I’m trying to get her accustomed to seeing less of me,” Nick said, heaving a martyred sigh as he lowered himself into the water.

  “Is this attempt at self-restraint because you’re contemplating marriage?” Ethan pressed, bringing Nick a bar of hard-milled soap and setting it on the stool beside the tub. The soap smelled of sandalwood, and Ethan made a mental note to take a bar of it with him when they left.

  Nick sniffed the soap and began to lather himself. “Marriage has nothing to do with it. Almost nothing. I’ve seen less of Leonie because our father is dying, and I will soon be called upon to manage the bloody earldom, and take my bloody seat in the Lords, and live at the bloody family seat… And I am bloody whining.” He fell silent and leaned back in the tub, closing his eyes on another sigh.

  Ethan draped clothes over the foot of the enormous bed then drew a hassock up to the tub. Nick was not just worried, he was overwhelmed and alone with it—also confused regarding a matter of the heart, and that last inconveniently and irrevocably resurrected all of Ethan’s fraternal instincts.

  “You already manage the earldom,” Ethan reminded him, settling comfortably, “and you won’t have to take your bloody seat until you’ve put in a period of mourning, and you can live anywhere you please, Nicholas.”

  “For now,” Nick agreed, not opening his eyes. “Eventually, I won’t be able to spend as much time here as I’d like—hell, I can’t do that now—and with Leonie, changes that do not suit her are best introduced in the smallest, least noticeable increments.”

  “Probably a sound strategy with any lady.”

  “Speaking of ladies.” Nick squinted at his brother. “What are you doing for companionship these days?”

  “I hardly have time to worry about it,” Ethan replied, realizing he was—somewhat to his surprise—telling the truth. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You’re an uncle, you know.”

  Nick’s gaze whipped to Ethan, who sat on his hassock, examining his hands.

  “You have a child?”

  “A couple of little boys,” Ethan said, still studying the same hands he’d had for more than thirty years. “They live at Tydings, raising hell, climbing out their bedroom window, harassing the daylights out of their tutors.”

  “And when,” Nick asked very quietly, “were you going to introduce me to my nephews?”

  Ethan rose from the hassock and paced off to gather up the clothing Nick had cast to the compass points. “I hadn’t really planned on it.”

  “I suppose you haven’t told Bellefonte he is a grandfather twice over?” Nick only sounded angry. Ethan could hear the bewilderment beneath the indignation all too easily.

  “I did not tell him,” Ethan said, wishing Nick hadn’t been so quick to spot this very oversight. “I planned on telling Della.”

  Nick ducked his head under the water, came up, and began lathering his hair.

  “Did Della get an invitation to your wedding, Brother? Doubtless, I must have misplaced mine, for I do not recall attending.”

  “Nick…” Ethan eyed his brother, wondering why they were having this conversation now, when Nick was at his bath. Perhaps it was because that should have put Nick at a tactical disadvantage.

  “Explain this to me, Ethan.” Nick went on scrubbing his hair, his voice deceptively casual. “Even given our estrangement, you could not drop me a note? Not when you got married, not when you had your firstborn or your second?”

  “How do you know I married?”

  “You would not sire a bastard, much less two,” Nick said, dunking again and coming up, sloshing water all around the tub.

  “I did not sire bastards, but neither am I married as we speak.”

  “You lost a wife,” Nick concluded, staring straight ahead and frowning mightily. “You did not think to inform me of this either?”

  Ethan crossed the room and picked up one of the two pitchers of warm water sitting beside the tub. “Close your eyes,” he ordered then poured both pitchers over Nick’s hair.

  Nick rose out of the tub and took the towel Ethan passed to him. “Talk to me, or so help me God, Ethan, I will start pounding on you, and pounding hard.” For some reason, that Nick offered this threat while very casually naked, his every bulging muscle in plain sight, made the menace more believable.

  “I had a mistress,” Ethan said, running a hand through his hair, “a perfectly mundane business arrangement with a woman suited to that purpose. She got pregnant, and because my dealings with her were exclusive, I married her to prevent my child from being illegitimate. Once married, a second child came along directly. When Joshua was two, and Jeremiah three, their mother succumbed to typhus.”

  Nick scrubbed his face dry but stood for a long moment, naked and dripping all over the hearthstones while he clutched at the towel and stared at his brother’s face.

  “How long ago did she die?”

  “Several years. Several years this summer.”

  “Did you love her?” Nick’s tone was puzzled.

  “By the t
ime she bore the second child,” Ethan said wearily, “I hated her, and she hated me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said, looking like he meant it quite sincerely. “I am not sorry you told me, though, and it goes without saying I would like to meet—no, I would like to know—my nephews, and I can promise you the rest of the family will feel the same way.”

  Ethan nodded, wishing to hell he’d kept his mouth shut, for there was a damned uncomfortable spasm in his throat; an ache, really.

  “Della doesn’t know?”

  “I haven’t told her.” Ethan lowered himself back to his hassock, the scent of sandalwood wafting around the room. “I didn’t want to put her in a position of having to keep a secret from you, though she somehow got wind of my marriage.”

  Nick stalked over to the bed and surveyed the outfit Ethan had assembled for him. It was tidy, conservative, and altogether appropriate for a social call on a lady. Ethan watched as Nick transformed himself from a gloriously naked male animal into a properly clad gentleman. He finished the ensemble with a sapphire pin for his cravat, then fished a comb off his vanity tray.

  “My damned hair is too long,” he groused, combing the hair straight back from his face.

  “You look dashing and fresh from your bath.”

  “Leonie likes me clean and sweet smelling,” Nick muttered, regarding himself in his full-length mirror, then splashing on some scent. “I’m forgetting something.”

  “Your jacket.” Ethan picked it up from the bed and tossed it to him.

  Nick shrugged into it. “I still don’t feel quite dressed.”

  “So stop in the garden and pick a bunch of posies. They are the perfect accessory for a gentleman with awkward explanations to concoct.”

  “Pick some yourself, then,” Nick suggested, spearing Ethan with a look. “I can appreciate now is not the time to interrogate you regarding your sons, Ethan, but when you’re ready for the telling, I want to know why you’d keep them from us for years. Bellefonte did not do right by you when you were a boy, but those children are our family, and I would not have them think otherwise. I want to know who they are, what makes them laugh, what gives them nightmares, and what they do that reminds you of us when we were their ages.”