Grace Burrowes - [Lonely Lords 02] Read online

  “You did not enjoy what we did?” he asked, his cheek resting over her temple.

  “My body was very favorably impressed,” Leah said, glad he could not see her face. “I’ve never known such sensations, Nicholas, and for that, I must thank you.”

  “You’re thanking me, and now you’re willing to marry me, but you do not want to repeat the experience?”

  “I do not.”

  “Was it… me?”

  “Nicholas?”

  He shifted, his nose against her nape. “I’ve been told stallions are less vulgarly crafted than I am in my aroused state.”

  “God above, Nicholas.” Leah glared at him over her shoulder. “You are the envy of every man, of this I can be sure, and you are the most magnificent dream of any honest woman. But in a sense, it is you that troubles me.”

  He huffed out a sigh against her neck. “You want more from me than pleasuring.”

  “I have more from you,” Leah reminded him. “You’ve told me I have your respect, your affection, I will have your title, and I do have your protection.”

  “So what does that leave? And for the love of God, don’t reply that if I have to ask, you aren’t going to let me know the right answer.”

  “I’m not sure,” Leah said, and she wasn’t being coy. “But whatever it is, it is important, and it was missing from this demonstration of your very impressive bedroom skills, Nicholas.”

  “And it wasn’t missing with Frommer?” Nick asked, his voice betraying his frustration.

  “It very likely was, but I had not the sense or the experience to know it.”

  She drifted off to sleep while Nick pondered her words in silence. As sleep tugged at his brain, Nick tried to reason out why he should take a miniscule comfort from her words.

  Leah had been willing to settle for Lord Aaron, just to escape her father.

  No. Nick backed up and reconsidered.

  Leah had been willing to settle for Lord Aaron on Lord Aaron’s terms, he clarified. Eloping, anticipating vows, risking scandal, and more scandal with the duel with Wilton.

  She was willing to marry Nick and accept his protection, but not on Nick’s terms. Nick eased into his slumbers with the sure conviction that this somehow put him not just in a different class from the sainted Lord Aaron, but in a better class.

  ***

  Nick waited in the Earl of Wilton’s library, his thoughts turned to his upcoming interview with his prospective father-in-law, and the marriage contract drafted and copied for Nick by his solicitors. He tried to mentally rehearse what needed to be said, and how, and his contingency plans, but thoughts of Leah kept interrupting.

  Dear God, she’d borne and lost a child, and lived with the secret of her grief for long, silent years.

  It explained a lot, Nick reflected as he inspected weighty tomes likely chosen for display rather than the earl’s personal tastes. A mother’s grief illuminated Leah’s reserve, gave ballast to her sadness, and helped explain why putting up with Wilton since her return from Italy had probably been a mere afterthought for her. After losing a child, alone and in a foreign country, Leah Lindsey could survive a great deal. More puzzling was why she’d bothered to survive, and where she’d found the courage to endure what she had.

  He paused on that thought, and it occurred to him that refusing to give Leah children was probably the one thing he could have done to most effectively add to her pain.

  Jesus on a donkey.

  The stinging lash of Nick’s conscience was stilled by the approach of footsteps in the corridor. Nick schooled his features to those of an anxious suitor, one who could be written off as big, slow, and harmless.

  “Reston.” Wilton stopped halfway across the room, forcing Nick to come to him.

  “My lord.” Nick returned the greeting with what he hoped was a suitably hesitant and hopeful smile.

  “Shall we be seated?” Wilton gestured to a pair of padded gilt chairs Nick might easily have snapped into kindling. “The tea tray will be along presently.”

  Wilton was a handsome specimen. Tall, lean, and sporting a full head of white hair, about which he was probably vain. His eyes were pale blue, but something about them put Nick in mind of a hungry reptile.

  “I must say, Reston, you don’t waste time.”

  “I appreciate your directness,” Nick replied, thinking a modicum of civilities would have been appreciated more. “Bellefonte is not enjoying good health, and I’ve made my papa a promise I intend to keep.”

  “Never knew your father well,” Wilton mused, smiling at nothing Nick could discern, “but you have my wishes for his speedy recovery.” The smile belied the words, leaving Nick with simmering anger that had to be ruthlessly shoved aside.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Nick let his gaze travel around the room, unwilling to launch his campaign until the tea had been brought. “You have a lovely house.”

  “It’s comfortable,” Wilton allowed dismissively. “Wilton Acres is far more grand.”

  “But your children and grandchildren are ensconced in Town, so you maintain a residence here.”

  Wilton shrugged. “Needs must. One has parliamentary obligations.”

  Nick had seen the barest hint of a flinch at the reference to the grandchildren, reinforcing Nick’s sense the earl was prone to vanity. The tea tray arrived in decorous silence, and Wilton suggested Nick pour, which was ungracious, and a tacit way to put Nick in the female role.

  So Nick took his time and made an elegant business out of it, like the docile son-in-law he would never be.

  “Your note suggested you had something personal to discuss,” Wilton prodded, sipping his tea and frowning. Nick had jotted off several notes last night while waiting for Leah to complete her bath, and tried to recall the exact wording of the one to Wilton.

  “Urgent and personal. To be very direct, my lord, I wish to court your older daughter.”

  “Why?” Wilton’s question was offered in such puzzled tones, Nick feared it was sincere.

  “I am in immediate need of a countess,” Nick said. “I promised my father not merely a fiancée, but a countess before his demise, and I have run out of time.”

  “Why Leah? You could have your pick of heiresses, debutantes, titled widows, and the rest.”

  The question might have been from a concerned father watching out for his daughter, but the glint of condescension in Wilton’s eyes suggested he was simply looking for leverage.

  “I am at a disadvantage when courting a wife,” Nick said, and there was some truth to the idea. “My size alone means the more diminutive women are of no interest to me, nor I to them. Then too, I have a certain reputation for trafficking with the demimonde, and the most protective of parents would not turn a sweet young thing over to my keeping. I need a woman who is practical, and experienced enough in the ways of the world that my peccadilloes will not dismay her. She must be of suitable rank and willing to marry immediately. I believe Lady Leah meets those criteria, and we appear compatible in the ways that matter.”

  Wilton laughed shortly. “If you think so, I’ll not dissuade you.”

  “You’d accept a match between us?”

  “You are in a hurry, aren’t you?” Wilton took a leisurely sip of his tea, pinky extended just so.

  Go ahead, fool, enjoy your moment of power.

  “I made a promise to my father,” Nick said. “He has been patient with me for years, but his health is precarious, and if I delay now, there will be mourning to observe.”

  “Are you asking, then, not just for permission to court, but also permission to marry?”

  Nick studied his hands. He wasn’t quite up to making them tremble, except possibly with the need to choke the life from Wilton in the next two minutes. “I am asking for both, if the lady will have me.”

  “Her wishes are of little concern to me,” Wilton said, “but trouble yourself over them if you must. What terms do you have in mind?”

  “Given the haste with which I make thi
s request,” Nick said, “I suggest we get down to specifics now. I might be called to Belle Maison at any moment.” Forgive me, Papa. “What specifics do you offer?”

  The earl arched an eyebrow, and Nick conceded the man had balls.

  An apologetic smile was Nick’s next feat of histrionics. “I believe a dowry is customary?”

  “Oh, really, dear boy.” Wilton let go the most irritating laugh. “You cannot expect me to pay to have you take her off my hands, not when I’ve been keeping a roof over her head these many years long past her come out?”

  As if Leah’s brothers hadn’t supported her in Italy out of their own pockets, as if she hadn’t served as Wilton’s unpaid housekeeper, as if Wilton hadn’t begrudged her every groat…

  “There are many ladies who do not find a match in their first few years in Town,” Nick pointed out. “I was under the impression Mr. Lindsey had taken some interest in his sister’s welfare.”

  “A jaunt overseas.” Wilton waved a hand. “What makes you think I wasn’t footing the bill for both of them?”

  Offensive in every sense of the word, but a question and therefore not quite a lie.

  “I cannot claim to have any knowledge of your family’s personal arrangements,” Nick said evenly. “Are you suggesting Lady Leah is to have no dowry?”

  “She most assuredly is not,” Wilton snapped. “I am guessing, Reston, that your father’s circumstances have robbed you of the natural prudence a man in your position should show. Let me speak to you as a father, though, when I tell you she forfeited her dowry years ago, when she brought scandal and shame to this family. She made her bed, so to speak, knowing full well I could not countenance the option she chose. If you want her, you’re welcome to her, but you will pay for the privilege.”

  “I will pay?” Nick knit his brows in the expected display of consternation, and he took a long, perhaps worried-looking sip of his tea.

  “You will.” Wilton smiled evilly. “You’ve boxed yourself in with your promise to your papa, young man, and Leah can get you out of that box, if I allow it.”

  Beelzebub’s pizzle, the man was unnatural. “So what are your terms, my lord?”

  “Your own finances are reputed to be improving, Reston.” Wilton’s pinkie finger was back in evidence. “If you are provided an instant countess, they will likely continue to grow, particularly as you take your seat and gain influence in government. For that privilege and Leah’s role in it, you will compensate me a certain sum.”

  He named a figure, and Nick rendered in return a virtuosic display of restrained, gentlemanly dismay.

  “If I provide that sum,” Nick said after a suitably awkward silence, “you will approve of a marriage by special license?”

  “If you provide the sum prior to the wedding, yes.”

  “I see.” Nick nodded, and nodded again as if thinking furiously. “Well…”

  “Well.” Wilton rose. “Why don’t you have your solicitors get to work on it, and when you have a draft of something, have them send it along to mine. I really cannot spare this interview a great deal more time, you see, because your suit will stand or fall exclusively on the basis of your ability to meet my terms.”

  Because, Nick tried not to grind his teeth audibly, Leah’s happiness means nothing to this man.

  “It is fortunate,” Nick said, keeping his seat, “my solicitors, in view of my unseemly haste, have already been busy.” He withdrew the sheaf of papers from his breast pocket, reached across Wilton’s desk for a pen, and scribbled a figure onto the document in duplicate. “If you’d take a moment of your time, my lord, I think you’ll see that your terms are met herein.”

  Wilton resumed his seat, but not before Nick saw a flicker of surprise and avarice in the man’s eyes. Nick passed him both copies of the contract and sat back, keeping a guardedly hopeful expression on his face.

  By tremendous effort of will.

  “How ill is your father?” Wilton asked as he perused the contract.

  “Mortally.”

  Wilton glanced up fleetingly, but with enough arrogance that Nick could see what the man thought of sons who valued deathbed promises over money and freedom.

  “The terms appear to be in order, Reston.” Wilton sat back. “I’m impressed.”

  “So you’ll sign that contract?”

  “When you produce the required consideration, my boy. Once I sign this, she’s yours, and you have what you want. I don’t get what I want until you provide the funds.”

  “If I provide those funds, you’ll sign?”

  “With enthusiasm. Lady Emily deserves to have her sister out of this household before she makes her come out next year.”

  Nick withdrew another sheaf of papers from his breast pocket. “Then here is your consideration, my lord.”

  “That hardly looks like the sum you’ve agreed to,” Wilton observed, but his voice shook a bit, enough that Nick knew he had the element of surprise in his favor.

  “The contract calls for funds, as cash, drafts, or other negotiable instruments, at my discretion, provided they find their way to your hands prior to the day of the ceremony. I have here bank drafts, my lord”—Nick paused and tossed one across the desk—“in increments of a thousand pounds, some cash, some bearer bonds, and other negotiable instruments, exactly as the contract specifies.”

  Wilton picked up the draft and studied it. Nick tossed him another bank draft but added a sardonic arch of his eyebrow, indicating that even Nick, on bended knee, was not going to tolerate a gross insult to his honor.

  “You have to be the most eager bridegroom to grace the kingdom in years.”

  “I am,” Nick said as Wilton picked up a pen. “But not so fast, my lord.”

  Wilton dropped the pen and eyed Nick speculatively.

  “We need witnesses. If you can trouble yourself to share another cup of tea, I’ll send around to my town house for my man, and perhaps you can provide a second witness?”

  “On such short notice?”

  “Very well. I can provide two witnesses, then. Shall you pour?”

  Wilton barked for his running footman, and Nick spent a very tedious half hour drinking tepid tea with his future father-in-law. The longer the man talked, the less Nick had any use for him. His conversation was a string of criticisms aimed at his older daughter, his sons, his Regent, his neighbors, the French, the Americans, and by the time he started on the Irish, Nick was ready to kiss the butler for interrupting.

  “Callers, my lord,” the butler said, and something about his manner, a panic behind the reserve of an upper servant, must have communicated itself to Wilton. “The Marquis of Heathgate and Lord Valentine Windham.”

  Wilton’s eyebrows shot up, and he swung his gaze to regard Nick closely.

  Good. Even a rabid fox should be able to perceive when the hounds were in full cry.

  “What would Heathgate be doing lounging about your town house with a duke’s son?” Wilton asked.

  Nick shrugged and prepared to lie through his teeth. “They are acquaintances and probably thought to take me up in anticipation of lunch at the club. I assume they volunteered for this duty out of respect for me, and the demands I put on my man of business. Will they do?”

  “They’ll do,” Wilton said, the only answer he could give. To refuse men from two families that outranked his would be to offend them both, and Nick as well. Even to Nick, though, Heathgate’s presence was a surprise. The second witness arranged the previous evening would have been Valentine’s older brother, Gayle, Earl of Westhaven.

  “Lord Heathgate.” Wilton bowed. “Lord Valentine.” Around his betters, Wilton’s manners improved. He briefly, and with every appearance of respect, explained the need for witnesses, and presented the documents to his guests.

  “This is a happy occasion, Nicholas,” Heathgate remarked. Big, dark visaged, and taciturn, the man would scare small children when he was in a foul mood—and grown men as well. “You are satisfied with the terms you’ve struc
k?”

  Nick permitted Heathgate his posturing, as it was all for the cause. “I am, though the earl has driven a hard bargain.”

  Heathgate grimaced as he glanced over the documents, no doubt seeing that the earl had in fact required coin to part with his daughter, a display of disrespect for the lady, if nothing else.

  “Unusual terms. And you, Wilton? Are you satisfied with these terms? They hardly devolve to your credit.”

  “They devolve to my benefit,” Wilton corrected him evenly. “And with all due respect, Heathgate, you need not consider the particulars of the document. Your role is to verify the parties are signing the thing freely and voluntarily.”

  Heathgate’s arctic-blue eyes bored into Wilton’s, and Nick considered the stage had lost a talent when Gareth Alexander ascended to his title. “You sign this freely and voluntarily?”

  “I most assuredly do,” Wilton said with a touch of hauteur.

  “Shall I review the consideration offered?” Heathgate asked. From Wilton, it would have been rude. From Heathgate, who was unapologetically up to his lordly elbows in trade, and whose rank was superior to Nick’s and Wilton’s, it was simply playing by the rules.

  Wilton nodded, not meeting anybody’s eyes. “If you please.”

  Heathgate prowled to the desk, took the stack of money and notes from Nick’s hands, and sat down, leafing through item by item, until he looked up and arched an eyebrow at Nick.

  “You’re short by two thousand pounds, Nicholas.”

  Lovely bit of histrionics there. Wilton handed Heathgate the two bank drafts Nick had passed to him earlier.

  “That completes the sum. There is here consideration in cash and commercial paper worth the total agreed to in that contract.”

  “I am satisfied,” Wilton said, as he bent over the contract and signed both copies. Heathgate passed them to Nick, who appended his signature, followed by Val, then Heathgate himself. Wilton sanded both copies and passed one to Nick.

  “Now then?” Wilton gave Nick an expectant look.

  Nick let relief show on his face. “The ceremony will be tomorrow at Lady Warne’s town house, two of the clock, sharp. I’ll send my carriage for you and your younger daughter. Leah will stay with Lady Warne prior to the ceremony.”