Her Husband's Harlot (13 page)

"I
take it you are enjoying yourself this evening, my lord." She bit her lip
at the accusatory tone of her words. What was wrong with her this evening?
Hopefully Nicholas would not notice.

"You
were the one who requested my presence, as I recall," her husband replied.
His eyes were fathomless in the moonlight. "Was my enjoyment of it not
part of your plan?"

"Of
course I want you to have a pleasurable evening."
But with me, not
Caroline
. She felt flustered, desperately jealous as a matter of fact, but
she could not tell her husband that. She studied a camellia hedge, the top of
which had been pruned into the undulating shape of a wave. If only she knew how
to flirt as Caroline did.

"Is
something amiss?" Nicholas inquired.

Everything
was amiss, Helena thought miserably. Her husband was
flirting with Caroline. Her mother was nearing a fit of vapors. And her father
... Sweet heavens,
her father
. Her stomach dropped to her toes. How
could she have forgotten?

"Harteford,
I must go," she said.

"Go?
Where?"

She
hesitated. She did not want to tell Nicholas the truth. In all honesty, it felt
shameful—as if she was somehow betraying her father's trust. For all Papa's
feckless ways, she loved him. Before Thomas' death, the Earl had been a
different man, his
joie de vivre
expressed through his affection for his
family and friends rather than at the card table. She remembered the
Christmases and birthdays of her childhood overflowing with Papa's generous,
larger-than-life spirit. But Nicholas had not known her father then, and she
feared he would only see the Earl as he was now. A man who needed his own
daughter to rein him in.

As
she debated what to say, Nicholas' brow eased as if in sudden understanding. "Ah.
Well. I trust you are feeling ... well enough? I will summon the carriage if
you like."

Now
it was her turn to be perplexed. "The carriage? Whatever for?"

Nicholas
looked distinctly ill-at-ease. Even in the darkness, a tinge of ruddy color
could be seen on his rugged features. "For the condition which, ah, ails
you."

"To
what condition do you refer?" Helena asked, truly puzzled now. "I
have no problems with my health, sir."

"However
you wish to call it, I am nonetheless happy to assist you. Shall I have a
servant bring you anything? Perhaps you could rest unobtrusively in the gazebo
..."

"Whatever
are you talking about?" Helena asked. "Why would I need to rest?"

A
pained expression crossed over Nicholas' face. "I am sure there is no need
to entertain the specifics."

"I
am finding this conversation most baffling," Helena said.

"That
is one way to put it," her husband muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look
at the ranunculus!" the countess exclaimed.

As
her mother darted toward the prized collection, Helena took a deep breath and
said, "I need to fetch my father. That is what
I
am talking about."

"Your
father. I see." Nicholas cleared his throat.

"And
what topic were
you
addressing, my lord?"

Her
husband appeared discomfited. "Nothing of import. In fact, it has quite
escaped me now."

Helena
eyed him doubtfully. "But a minute ago you were—"

"Why
must you fetch him?" Nicholas asked. "Your father, that is."

Helena
traced the stepping stone with the tip of her slipper. Could she trust him not
to judge her father too harshly? Meeting Nicholas' intent gaze, she said, "He
is in the card room at present."

The
heat rose in her face, and she prayed she would have to say no more. How
appalling it would be to have to explain that one's father could not control
his gambling habits and that one had to intercede on his behalf. At the same
time, she felt guilty for exposing her father's weakness—even if it was to her
own husband, who in reality must know something of the problem.

Helena
was aware that Nicholas had assisted with the Northgate debts as part of the
marriage settlement. From her mother's recent letters, brimming with
descriptions of new millinery and furnishings, Helena had gleaned that all had
returned to normal on the estate. Papa had even purchased a new carriage and a
pair of chestnuts to lead it with. But now, to admit that her father had not
changed his ways, even after so narrow an escape from ruin ...

"I
wished to ask him about a specific matter," she said in as bright a tone
as she could muster, "and had forgotten about it until this moment. Would
you mind escorting my mother until I return?"

She
made to leave, but was stopped by Nicholas' hand on her arm.

"I
have not yet spoken to your father this evening," he said. "Allow me
the honor of paying my respects."

Helena
shook her head in misery. "But I must find him. You see, he is—"

"I
shall find him and bring him to you and Lady Northgate directly." Nicholas
dropped his hand, but he looked steadily into her eyes.

Helena
felt her knees weaken. From his brief touch, yes, but more so from the relief
that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. It had been so long since she'd had
a shoulder to lean on—not since Thomas in fact.

"D-do
you think you could persuade him ...?" she asked shakily.

"Give
me ten minutes," her husband said, "before rejoining you in the music
room."

Nicholas
strode off in the direction of the card room.
Damn and blast Northgate
.
The man could no more resist a hand of whist than a drunkard could a bottle of
blue ruin. At this rate, Northgate would soon be back flailing in a bog of
arrears. Nicholas did not particularly care if his father-in-law ended up in
the Fleet—it would probably do the earl good to see what happened to a man,
even a peer of the realm, who failed to honor his debts. That was justice, pure
and simple.

What
did infuriate him was the worry darkening Helena's countenance, the slump of
her shoulders as she bore the brunt of her father's reckless behavior.
Northgate was oblivious to the shame and ruin he was about to bring down on his
own head; Helena was not. Despite her demure appearance, she was a loyal little
thing. His lips curved grimly. Brave or foolhardy, as well, depending on how
one looked at it. How exactly was she planning to extricate her sire from the
gaming tables? She was too slight to do it by force, too innocent to resort to
other means.

Since
he was neither slight nor innocent, he did not anticipate any trouble
whatsoever.

Nicholas
entered the gaming parlor, where the guests milled around the half-dozen
occupied card tables. He spotted Northgate immediately. Seated with cards in
hand, the earl wore a burgundy velvet jacket, and his face was a matching
florid shade under his whiskers. His typically jovial expression was replaced
by a feral look. His eyes moved furiously around in their sockets, like a beast
that had been cornered. Nicholas heaved an irritated breath. No wonder the man
ruined himself at cards. He was an easy mark if there ever was one.

Ignoring
the looks aimed in his direction, Nicholas made his way to the table. He
returned the stiff nods of two gentlemen who did not quite meet his gaze. His
mouth thinned. Two weeks ago in his office, Yardley and Caverstock had been
much friendlier when they received news that their investments in a Fines and
Company venture had tripled in value. To his recollection, they had all but
tripped over themselves in their eagerness to shake his hand. But now, under
the watchful eyes of the
ton
, they could afford little more than a
fractional inclination of the head. Nicholas understood the unspoken rules.

One
did not socialize, after all, with the help.

He
circled the table once, stopping at Northgate's side. He kept his expression
neutral even as he gave another inward sigh. He hoped Northgate had not wagered
a vast sum on this particular hand.

But,
of course, the bloody fool had.

Nicholas
waited until the table had been cleared and the earl scribbled his vowels.
Nicholas almost snorted. The promissory note was worth less than the paper it
was written on. He should know, as he oversaw Northgate's accounts. It had been
a stipulation on his part (and a damned prudent one) that if he was to resolve
the earl's debts, the earl would have to answer to him in all matters
financial. He did not wish to make a habit of bailing his father-in-law out of
trouble. It would be like sailing a hole-filled dinghy with nothing but a
bucket in hand.

"Good
evening, Northgate." Nicholas clamped a hand on the earl's shoulder. The
old man jumped in his seat, so focused had he been on the deck of cards about
to be dealt.

"Harteford,"
Northgate sputtered. "What the blazes are you doing here?"

"I
could ask you the same thing," Nicholas said, keeping his voice low. "Be
that as it may, this is a musicale, and I am here escorting my wife and yours.
I've come to invite you to join our group as the ladies desire your presence."

Northgate
turned even ruddier. "Good God, man. I cannot abandon my partner in the
middle of a game. Besides, this next hand is to be my lucky one, I can feel it
in my bones. Tell the ladies I'll be there shortly." He turned back to the
table.

"You
are wanted immediately." Ignoring the tittering of the other players,
Nicholas spoke in a tone that booked no refusal. "I am sure your presence
here will be excused."

"I
do not want to leave," Northgate said stubbornly.

"I
say, it is most ungentlemanly to stand between a man and his cards," the middle-aged
man across the table drawled. "You should know better, Harteford."

There
was a twitter of laughter.

 Nicholas
felt his fist bunch at his side, but he ignored the jibe. He had better things
to do than waste time on the likes of Sir Danvers Jacoby, heir to an ancient
baronetcy and known profligate. He focused his attention instead on Northgate.
The earl's velvet-clad shoulders were hunched over the table, as if he planned
to stay there awhile. As if he had every right to wager money that was not his.
As if he could do as he chose and damn the consequences to others. Cold rage
spread through Nicholas' veins. He leaned over and spoke tersely near the earl's
ear.

Northgate's
eyes widened.

"Northgate,
are you in?" Jacoby asked, deck in manicured hand.

"No,
I'm afraid not," the earl said. He shot a nasty look at Nicholas. "Harteford
here reminds me of other duties."

"Duties
at a time like this? Harteford, do stop being such a killjoy. In fact, why don't
you take Northgate's place and lighten your purse a little." Jacoby adjusted
the diamond studs on his cuff, smirking as he added, "How dreary it must
be to carry all those bags of coin around. A hazard of the merchant profession,
I suppose."

Remain
calm
, Nicholas told himself, as
mocking laughter surrounded him. How he would love to plant a facer on Jacoby's
arrogant, grinning face. His palms actually tingled with longing. At this
moment, he could imagine no greater joy than knocking the bugger off his high
horse.

But
he would not. He had learned early on in the
ton
that responding to the
subtle taunts and underhanded cracks only made matters worse. That was why they
bear-baited him in the first place—they hoped for some uncivilized response
they could further ridicule. So they could poke at him with their pointed
insults and barbed wit. At heart, Mayfair was no different from the stews he'd
grown up in. The fine lords and ladies were just as savage, thirsting for blood
at every turn. Well, he'd be damned if he gave them that pleasure.

"I
am afraid I haven't the time." Nicholas bowed mockingly and raised a brow at
Northgate. With a petulant turn to his mouth, the earl got up. Nicholas could
hear the excited whispering behind them as they made their way out of the card
room.

"That
was deuced embarrassing," Northgate hissed, as soon as they reached the
hallway. "I will never again be able to hold my head high in front of
those people."

"And
you would be able to do so, living on Fleet Street?" Nicholas inquired in
tones of granite. "You think your friends will be visiting you there, in
the debtors' slums?"

Northgate's
face approached an apoplectic purple. "That is preposterous! I am the Earl
of Northgate. I would never find myself in such a position. How dare you
suggest—"

 "That
is exactly the point. I do dare." Nicholas inclined his head politely as a
couple walked past.

Northgate's
expression froze into a grin that bordered on frightening. Once the couple was out
of earshot, he said furiously, "Show some respect, sirrah. You are my son-in-law
and therefore obliged to respect—"

"Respect
this, my lord." Nicholas' voice was dangerously soft. "Everything you
currently own, from the bricks of your manor house to the stitches on your
back, belongs to
me
. Every rent you collect goes towards repaying your
debt to
me
. Every pound, every bloody guinea you blow on the cards,
comes from
my
pocket. You are living on my good graces, Northgate, and I
swear to you that at the moment they are wearing thin."