Grace Burrowes - [Lonely Lords 02] Page 8

  “That is your presence,” Nick said. “I miss your company.” He let a comfortable silence stretch while they put some distance between themselves and the footman. When they had wandered out of earshot, Nick bent down and unabashedly inhaled Leah’s fragrance.

  “I don’t believe I’ve encountered lily of the valley on another woman. It suits you wonderfully.”

  “I like your scent as well. Sandalwood, but something else too.”

  “It’s blended exclusively for me. I didn’t want it too sweet, but sandalwood alone can be cloying. Now, why would your papa be selling an estate that should have been held in trust for you?”

  “Because he does not consider himself under any obligation to provide a dowry for me,” Leah said. “I am fallen, and thus not worthy of such an honor.”

  The sadness was muted behind a mask of composure, while hurt lingered in her eyes.

  “Just how fallen are you?”

  This silence was not quite so comfortable. The answer was none of Nick’s business, and yet, he wouldn’t withdraw the question.

  “You ran off with that young man,” Nick guessed, “because you allowed him liberties.”

  “I did,” Leah said, gaze fixed on the flat surface of the water. “Liberties only a husband should be allowed.”

  So she was not a virgin, and Nick let out a long, slow breath. He hurt for her, because she’d thought to gift her lover with something irreplaceable, only to have the lover taken from her permanently. But another part of him, the part that panted and wagged its tail, was relieved. Stealing kisses from a woman of experience was not quite so reprehensible as stealing kisses from a virgin.

  “You are not entirely chaste,” Nick concluded. “Take it from me, Leah, not as many brides are as they would have you believe. And many a wedding night would be more pleasant if there were fewer still.”

  She moved along for a few steps, showing no reaction to his words. Nick realized belatedly that speaking from experience on this topic was perhaps not quite gentlemanly of him—for all it was honest.

  “I should not have eloped,” Leah said. “But the earl had told Aaron he would not provide me a dowry, though he also said he would not withhold his blessing on a fait accompli. Aaron was convinced the earl was telling us to elope. Eloping would provide an explanation for my lack of dowry that Polite Society would accept without censuring my father.”

  Something about this recitation did not add up. “You were intimate with Frommer, then he asked for your hand, and the earl told you to elope?”

  “I was not intimate with Aaron until we had eloped. Aaron asked for my hand then met with the earl to gain his blessing. The earl said he would not dower me, that he expected Aaron to be able to support a wife without needing additional funds. At that point, Aaron believed the earl was telling him to spirit me away, and alas for me, I believed the same thing.”

  “So you thought you had Wilton’s tacit approval,” Nick said. Perhaps some fathers were that subtle—his certainly was not. “Could Aaron have been that mistaken?”

  “I’ve had a long time to consider this.” Leah leaned more heavily on Nick’s arm as the ground became slightly uneven. “And no, I do not think he was mistaken. Younger sons, as a lot, tend to be shrewd people, and Aaron was a very intelligent young man. I believe the earl intended to be rid of me, but then changed his mind for some reason, came after us, and called Aaron out.”

  “What could have been worth murder?”

  “Dueling is frowned upon,” Leah said, “but illegal in a technical sense only. For the most part, if discretion is observed, it’s tolerated.”

  “Let’s pause here,” Nick said as the path wound through a stand of willows leafing out in gauzy foliage. The swaying boughs formed curtains of soft green that hung to the ground when the breeze was still. “Come.” Nick shifted to grasp Leah’s hand in his. “We can appropriate some privacy.”

  He parted the feathery green leaves and drew her under the canopy of a large tree, effectively screening them with new growth on all sides.

  “And why do we need privacy?” Leah asked, even as she did not withdraw her hand from his.

  Nick smiled at her over his shoulder, then stopped and turned to face her. “Because I need to hold you.” He drew her against his body, and a sigh escaped her. She relaxed against him while his hand settled between her shoulder blades, pressing her closer.

  “The more I learn of your situation, Leah”—Nick rested his chin against her temple as he spoke—“the less I like your papa.”

  “Good,” Leah said, her cheek on his chest. “Don’t like him. Don’t trust him. Don’t underestimate him.”

  The feel of her quiet in his arms was enough to make Nick lose the train of the discussion entirely, which would not do when time was limited and dire consequences threatened. She had seemed to him in need of a little affection, was all, not a mauling in broad daylight.

  “Why would Wilton change his mind about letting you marry Frommer?”

  “I have suspicions,” Leah said. “I think Mama’s settlements specified that the Surrey estate was to come to me upon my lawful marriage. I don’t think the earl realized this, at least not until after Aaron and I had departed for Manchester.”

  “Manchester? Why not Scotland?”

  “There was need for haste regarding the nuptials.” Leah rubbed her cheek over his shirt like a tired child might. “Aaron got us a special license. His brother went to school with the man who held the living at a town on the way called Little Weldon, and we planned on having the ceremony en route.”

  “I see.” Nick’s hand on her back started a slow, easy stroking over her shoulder blades, more to soothe him than her. “Do you know who Aaron’s seconds were?”

  “A friend,” Leah responded, her voice sounding sleepy and distracted. “Victor someone. I forget the other one. A brother, maybe.”

  “Who would your father’s seconds have been?” Nick asked, thinking they could be having this discussion while they walked, though he didn’t want to move from the spot—ever. Leah’s weight leaning against his length so trustingly made his chest feel strange, even while it settled something inside him too.

  “I don’t know who his seconds were.” Leah pulled back to peer up at Nick. “Why is this ancient history relevant, particularly when anything that discredits the earl will discredit Emily?”

  Nick guided her head back to his chest. “Let’s hope the earl recalls that if the time ever comes to discuss the past with him. I would really like to know who the seconds were, though.”

  “Trent might know, or Darius.”

  Nick reluctantly loosened his hold on her and grasped her hand once more, leading her back to the path. “You don’t think Trenton was your father’s second?”

  “I do not. Trent approved of Aaron, and so did Darius. Mama liked him too.”

  “And you loved him.”

  Leah nodded then tipped her gaze down, and Nick knew he’d again summoned her tears. “I am so sorry,” Nick said in the same quiet voice. “Sorry to make you talk about it, sorry you had to go through it.”

  “I wasn’t in love with him,” Leah said. “Though I loved him, and he said that was enough. The rest would come in time. He was a good man, and he did not deserve to die for me. I was just so eager to leave my father’s house…”

  “You loved him,” Nick reminded her, “and you’ve said he was a shrewd young man, and he knew you weren’t in love with him. You were honest with him, and you were prepared to give him your entire future. That was enough for him. It would be enough for any man who loved you.”

  Honesty being a precious necessity in any true union. Nick kicked the thought away.

  For Nick, the conversation regarding Leah’s elopement brought a greater sense of concern regarding the Earl of Wilton’s behavior toward his daughter. Wilton hadn’t been a papa enraged to find some young scoundrel had spirited his daughter away. He’d been instead a calculating, scheming spider, who spun a web of c
ircumstances around his daughter and her intended, until one was killed and the other run out of the country.

  In all likelihood, the only thing that had stayed the earl’s hand from further mischief against Leah had been the hovering presence of her brothers.

  Words formed, and he let them pass from his brain out into the pretty spring day. “I think I had better offer for you.”

  Leah stiffened but didn’t break contact with him.

  “Hear me out,” Nick said, glancing up to find they were more than halfway around the pond. “I do not intend that you be stuck with me, but I do want your father to believe his interests are better served by keeping you in good health, rather than by allowing harm to come to you.”

  “This offering does not contemplate marriage,” Leah replied. She was going to argue the notion, when Nick really and truly wanted her assent. “If I must cry off, my chances of ever being married will be reduced if I jilt you.”

  “When you cry off,” Nick said, “it will not be as great a problem as you foresee. I will commit some outrageous act of philandering, and you will be pitied by Polite Society. You will be more greatly esteemed for putting me in my place, not less.”

  “I am not willing to cost you your good name.”

  “I am not willing for you to be at risk of harm under your father’s roof,” Nick said.

  “I could be your mistress.”

  Nick stopped in midstride and peered down at her. By St. Michael’s mighty sword, she was serious. The hound in him was barking approval of her mad scheme before he could toss the damned beast in the nearest rain barrel.

  He closed his eyes, the better to obscure his wayward impulses from Leah’s notice. “Lamb, you would disgrace your siblings by becoming my mistress, and it’s well known I do not keep a particular mistress. I am rather thought to be a connoisseur of variety.”

  “Oh.” Leah’s face flamed, and Nick felt awash in contrition.

  For not agreeing to ruin her?

  “Leah”—Nick’s tone took on a cajoling note—“you were casting about for a solution, tossing out any idea, no matter how unlikely. I comprehend that, and let’s keep thinking, though I did not embark on this project to ruin you, delightful as the process might be for me.” Delightful, captivating, pleasurable, exhausting.

  Nick kicked his internal hound hard in the ribs.

  Leah looked off into the distance, where a nanny and her charge were throwing a ball for a brown-and-white spaniel. “It was just a thought.”

  He leaned down to speak directly in her ear. “A wonderful, scandalous thought. You should never have put such an idea in my head.”

  “What other ideas can we come up with?” Leah asked, eyes front, shoulders back.

  The ideas that came to mind were not constructive, not in the least.

  “You could get engaged to someone else,” Nick suggested. Ethan might do it, provided the engagement were temporary. Beckman was another possibility, though he’d have to be retrieved from Portsmouth first.

  “An engagement is not a permanent solution,” Leah said, “but I’d take it, if it were the only option.”

  “Engagements can last months, years even. If you are engaged to my brother Beckman, the earl will no doubt soon be casting our family into mourning. That would buy you a year.”

  “That is ghoulish, Nick, to use your father’s death that way, to buy me time to escape Wilton.”

  Impossible woman—not that he particularly liked the idea of even a temporary engagement between Beckman and Leah. “I can get you to the Continent. You could go back to Italy and wait Wilton out. He won’t live forever.”

  If anything, her pretty mouth became more grim. “I will not become your dependent, though Italy has a certain appeal. I was happy there, all things considered. I would be there without a brother or father, though, so it could be more difficult than it was five years ago.”

  “Would your brothers help you leave the country?” This was an obvious solution, one he should have thought of sooner, and the only one she wasn’t shooting down right out of the gate. “You are not a minor, so you should be free to leave, and you already know the language, I presume?”

  “I do. It isn’t so different from Latin, though I’m rusty, of course. I think supporting me would be a hardship for Darius and Trent though.”

  “Why is that?” Nick slowed his steps as much as he could, because they would soon come back to their starting point.

  “Darius has tied his coin up in that place in Kent,” Leah explained. “When Ambrose Place was sold, Darius took what little my mother left him and sank it into his own property. He gets a very small stipend from the Wilton estate, but Trenton and I are both puzzled as to how Darius supports himself. I don’t think Darius has coin to spare, and Trenton is in much the same boat, because his funds are derived from those of his children.”

  “Unfortunate. We will continue to think on this, though. I cannot accept your present circumstances, even if—and you will note the conditional—old Hellerington’s guns have been spiked.”

  “I will brace my brothers on the prospect of a return to Italy.”

  “If it’s a matter of passage money or a stipend…” Nick began.

  “No,” Leah said firmly. “You have tied up too much coin buying Hellerington’s markers, in the first place. In the second, you are going to be marrying soon, and you cannot be supporting me while you are waiting at the altar for your countess.”

  A logical woman was an abomination against the natural order, or at least against Nick’s protective intentions.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t be supporting a mistress if it pleased me to do so?” The question was out, a function of how rattled Nick felt at the prospect of Leah having to leave the country again to escape her father’s scheming.

  “You will not keep a mistress once you’ve chosen your bride. You would not dishonor your wife that way.”

  She was as bad as Valentine. “I keep no mistress because I enjoy variety, not because I entertain any notion of being faithful to my countess.”

  Now, now when they must part in moments, she beamed a smile at him. “Tell yourself that, if you must. You are not that hard of heart, Nicholas.”

  Bother that—though he loved hearing her use his name to scold him. “How did you enjoy your visit with my grandmother?” Nick knew it was a maladroit change of subject, but a gentleman didn’t argue with a lady, and Leah was just so… wrong.

  “She is a lovely woman and asked to call upon me tomorrow.”

  “Be warned,” Nick said as they approached the waiting footman. “I might join her.”

  “That would be lovely.” Leah gave him a smile that reached her eyes, and Nick searched his mind in vain for the reasons he wasn’t going to make her his mistress.

  “I will make a point of it then.” Nick smiled back at her, knowing the footman’s eyes were goggling out of his head. Nick bent over Leah’s gloved hand then straightened without turning loose of her. “And that other matter I raised with you? We’ll both put our minds to it, and I’m sure a solution will present itself. My thanks for your company, my lady, and until next we meet, may you keep well.”

  Before swanning off with Wilton’s spy in tow, Leah bobbed the requisite curtsy, and waited that extra beat of the heart for Nick to release her hand. Nick watched her go, thinking he usually engaged in the flirtation and innuendo business without thought, but in this instance, he sincerely hadn’t wanted to let her hand go.

  Try as he might, he could not come up with a credible reason he shouldn’t marry her, but Leah as his mistress? No. Not now, not ever, not even if she begged him, naked on her knees between his…

  “Jesus, help me.”

  ***

  Emily smiled over at Leah from between the pages of a small volume. “I am enjoying this book to no end. Miss Willers claims she does not know the language of the fan or the glove or the parasol, but the way she says it makes me think she simply disapproves.”

  Lea
h glanced up from her needlework and kept her voice down. “She is not a finishing governess. It’s very likely she doesn’t know, Em. She’s taught you a great deal though. And a decent girl hardly needs to be sending coy signals with her fan, her parasol, or her gloves.”

  Though a decent girl might dearly wish to send those signals.

  “My French is wonderful,” Emily said, “my Italian passable, and my manners impeccable. I can do fetching needlepoint, I play the piano a little, and I know how to seat any dinner party of up to thirty if the Regent and his Princess are not both attending.”

  “I don’t know who could solve that particular puzzle. You do not seem very proud of your accomplishments.”

  “I’ve been at lessons for ten years, Leah.” Emily used a feather as her bookmark, a pure white quill about six inches long. “What do a few words of French or Italian matter when it’s my face and my fortune that will decide my future?”

  What was this about? “You’d be surprised how handy some foreign languages can be, but you have a point. Your skill at academics should not entirely decide your future, nor should your face and fortune.”

  “What does that leave, if you discount funds, brains, and appearance?”

  “Your heart, little Sister. Your inherent virtue, your goodness or lack thereof, your humor or kindness or graciousness toward others. Those things should count for something with the man who seeks to marry you.”

  Emily’s expression became solemn. “I do not mean to be unkind, Leah, but you chose a man based on such qualities, and look what befell you. I do not want to end up like you.”

  “Well said.” The Earl of Wilton stepped into the room, his smile of approval for Emily only. “Your older sister was selfish, foolish, and properly made to suffer for her sins. You will be wiser than she, and life will reward you for it.”

  “I hope so, Papa,” Emily murmured, careful not to look at Leah.

  “Excuse us now, Emily,” the earl bade her.

  Emily was out the door before Leah could blink, for which Leah could not blame her. With Wilton looking on, Emily did not dare show Leah too much deference.