My Seductive Innocent (28 page)

Near the front of the establishment, at the table occupying the space in front of the bow window, Ellison, Aversley, and Harthorne sat engaged in conversation. Nathan strode toward the table, and as he did, he caught Ellison’s eye. His cousin waved a hand in greeting and then said something to the men. Aversley, never one to show emotion, glanced at Nathan and raised his drink as if he was toasting.

Nathan frowned. He had a suspicion Ellison had told them Nathan had married, and when he neared the table and Harthorne turned and grinned at him, he knew it had to be so. Wariness caused him to slow his progress toward the table. He’d not told Harthorne or Aversley about his impending marriage when he’d come to London to get his aunt because he’d known they’d ask questions, and frankly, he’d not known exactly what to say. He raked a hand through his hair as he reached the table and realized he still didn’t know what to say.

He’d married Sophia out of pity and guilt. Now something more was there, but he was not ready to speak of it. He didn’t even understand it yet.

“You old devil!” Harthorne exclaimed as he shoved his chair back, clapped Nathan on the shoulder, and thrust a drink into his hand. “I would have bet my entire fortune—not that there’s much of it—that you wouldn’t succumb to marriage for at least another ten years! Thank God, I didn’t make that bet. I cannot believe you’re married. A toast!”

Nathan glanced around the room. This was one of those times when Harthorne’s perpetual optimism was annoying. Luckily, the other gentlemen in the club appeared too preoccupied with their own conversations to pay attention to Harthorne.

Harthorne elbowed him in the ribs. “Raise your glass, Scarsdale. Don’t you want to toast your marriage?”

Nathan raised his glass to his lips, downed the liquor, and savored the instant warmth the brandy created from his throat all the way to his belly. He pulled out a chair and sat beside Aversley as Harthorne returned to his seat.

Aversley stared across the table at Nathan with assessing eyes. “I noticed you didn’t answer Harthorne when he asked you if you wanted to toast your marriage.”

Nathan ground his teeth. He should have known Aversley would not miss a thing. “I toasted it, didn’t I?”

Aversley drummed his fingers on the rim of his untouched glass. “Not really. You gulped down your drink, which is not the same. Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?”

“How did you know I was married?” Nathan shot back.

Aversley glanced at Ellison, who shrugged. “Sorry, but how the devil was I supposed to know you didn’t want anyone to know?” Ellison defended. “I’d say that’s going to be a pretty hard secret to keep unless you plan to never bring your wife to London and introduce her to Society.”

Nathan stared down at the glass in his hand and swirled around the few drops of liquor that remained. Ellison’s innocent suggestion held a certain appeal, but only because Nathan didn’t want the
ton
to change Sophia, or worse yet, hurt her with cruelty.

“Good God, Scarsdale, your cousin isn’t right, is he?” Harthorne demanded, his face turning red with, knowing Harthorne, indignation. “Even if you’ve been trapped into marriage, you cannot keep your wife a secret. That’s callous, even for you.”

“It’s nice to know you think my callousness has its limits,” Nathan said.

“You know what I mean,” Harthorne replied.

The problem was Nathan
did
know what he meant. He was callous to most people because he believed it better to be unfeeling than wounded. But Sophia had made him question himself. “I was not trapped into marriage,” he said, choosing his words with care.

Harthorne grinned. “I knew it! You married for love!”

Nathan stiffened. He’d not yet decided if he could relent to love and he certainly wasn’t going to discuss it here and now.

Harthorne leaned forward and motioned to Scarsdale and then Ellison. “Pay up. I win.”

“You bet on why I married?” Nathan said, irritated that his marriage had been the topic of a wager.

“Stop glaring, Scarsdale,” Aversley replied. “We included no one in the wager but the three of us. It’s not as if we announced your marriage to everyone here.”

“At least one of you comprehends when to be discreet,” Nathan snapped, spearing his cousin with a look, which Ellison carefully avoided meeting.

“So,” Aversley began, “as much as I know it pains you, you must confirm or deny if you married for love so I will know whether to pay my greedy brother-in-law the large sum I wagered.”

“How much did you wager?” Nathan asked.

“One hundred pounds. Did you or did you not marry for love?”

“I did not,” Nathan said, wishing his conscience would let him lie, but it simply wouldn’t.

Aversley grinned triumphantly at Harthorne and Ellison. “You both owe me one hundred pounds.”

Harthorne groaned as Ellison cleared his throat. “Not so fast, Aversley. We do not yet know why my cousin married. I may be the winner, after all. You said it was because he was trapped and he’s already told us that was not the case. So, cousin, I wagered that you married for pity. After Mother described what your new duchess looks like, I knew it had to be pity. And no one knows better than I that you have an abundance of that
one
particular emotion. Tell us, did you marry the wench out of pity?”

Nathan’s pulse pounded in his ears as he searched for a thread of control. Normally he would have felt remorse that he’d unknowingly made Ellison feel pitied, but the anger surging through his veins washed away any regret. He placed his palms flat on the table and leaned in. “You have crossed a line, Ellison. I suggest you retreat or the consequences will be dire.”

Ellison didn’t respond, but Nathan noted his cousin’s flared nostrils and sweat-dampened brow. “
Never
refer to my wife as a wench. That will get you an appointment with my pistol. Are we clear?”

“Yes.” Ellison swallowed audibly. “I’m sorry.”

He would have accepted an apology from his cousin for almost any slight he could think of, but not one against Sophia. She didn’t deserve it, and he wanted to make the point unforgettable. “Never ask me again why I married.” He made sure his gaze included Aversley and Harthorne. “It’s none of your damned business. I value each of your friendships, but I will cut all ties and never look back if you ever say another word that could hurt my wife.”

“Agreed,” Ellison said weakly.

“For the record,” Harthorne replied, “I never uttered a disparaging remark against the duchess. I’ll be pleased to meet her and count her as a friend.”

“I appreciate that.”

Nathan turned to Aversley, who shrugged. “Your secrets are yours to keep. Who am I to pry? And another point for the record, I don’t give a damned four Sundays to the next why you married. I simply like to win and felt I would. Amelia and I will do everything in our power to help ease your wife into Society. If you think she needs help, that is.”

The tension vibrating through Nathan trickled out of him. He leaned back in his chair and raised his glass to signal he needed a refill. As the waiter appeared and whisked their tumblers away, he thought about what Aversley had offered. “To be blunt, I’ve not yet decided whether Sophia will live most of her days in the country or stay in Town with me when I’m here. But I do plan to introduce her to Society as is proper. I hadn’t considered it until now, but if there is a chance Amelia would lend her expertise in helping Sophia prepare for that eventuality, I would appreciate it. I could have you both out for an extended stay, or just Amelia, if you could spare her.”

“I make it a habit never to let Amelia out of my sight,” Aversley said. “I’ll come, as well. When and where?”

“To Whitecliffe. Two weeks should be sufficient time.”

“What brings you to Town now?” Aversley inquired as the waiter reappeared and handed them each a fresh glass of brandy.

“One of my ships was caught in a storm, and I lost several of my crew. I’ve come to let the families know, assess the damage, and determine how much it’s going to cost me.”

“I told you it was ludicrous to buy a shipping line,” Ellison said. “Trade is for the lower classes.”

Nathan trained his gaze on Ellison. “And I’ve told you a man’s worth is not measured in pounds but in hard work and honor.”

Ellison snorted. “You hold a minority opinion.”

“I don’t much care if I have company in my beliefs or not,” Nathan replied, struggling to keep his tone civil.

“Actually,” Aversley said, “I agree with Scarsdale.”

“As do I,” Harthorne added.

Nathan leveled Ellison with a look. “Taking my beliefs out of the equation, steamships are the future, and I will be part of changing the world.”

“I agree,” Aversley said. “If you’ve need of a partner, I’d be eager to come down to the docks and hear more about your company.”

“I’d be eager to come and listen, as well,” Harthorne inserted. “Though I cannot currently invest.”

Nathan grinned. “I’ll take you both up on that. Why don’t we say on Wednesday? Three days should give me plenty of time to inform the crew’s relatives of their losses and set my affairs to order.”

“I’d like to help, too,” Ellison said quietly. “I can inform the relatives so you can use your time to go over the records and meet with Aversley and Harthorne.”

“I appreciate it,” Nathan replied, glad to see his cousin was willing to be more open-minded, especially since Nathan had been paying him a small fortune to run the shipping office for him. “Though, I need to be the one to see the families. I’m the owner of the shipping company, and those men were my responsibility. But I appreciate you offering, Ellison. Can you tell me anything of what happened?”

“Not much. But we are to get a detailed report from the captain late tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll make sure it’s on your desk for you when you come in the next day.”

“I’ll come by the office tomorrow night to read the report after I see the families.”

“It’ll be dark by then!” Ellison exclaimed.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” Nathan drawled, irritation flaring. He had known Ellison hadn’t particularly wanted to work in the shipping company, but he also knew his cousin could use the extra money. “I don’t expect you to be there. Just have the report on my desk.”

“It’s not safe at the docks at night. You’re not thinking, man,” Ellison said.

“I am thinking perfectly,” Nathan clipped. “I’ll be at the office in the morning to get the list of men who perished and take a look at the ship. We can talk more then.” Travel weariness had caught up with Nathan, and he found himself eager to leave. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire for the night.”

Aversley rose, as well. “I better go, too. Amelia worries when I’m out late. I’ll walk out with you.”

After they said their good-byes, Nathan and Aversley made their way to the door, retrieved their coats, hats, and gloves, and stepped out into the cold night. They stood in companionable silence as they waited for their carriages—or in Nathan’s case, his curricle—to be brought around.

“Do you want any marriage advice?” Aversley said with a chuckle.

Nathan laughed. “Not yet.”

Aversley cleared his throat and spoke again. “What shall I tell Amelia to expect?”

Nathan glanced up at the twinkling, burning stars and thought of Sophia. What could he say about her? “Tell Amelia to expect the unexpected,” he replied, not wanting to voice his thoughts that Sophia was not a beauty on the outside, but on the inside, she might just possibly be an Incomparable. That she was rough, yet gentle. Fragile, yet fierce. Smart, yet uneducated. Worldly, yet naive. And that he felt as if he had only peeled back the first amazing layer of his complicated wife.

“Forthcoming, as always,” Aversley said, his voice light but his face full of tension.

Nathan grunted. “Had you expected marriage to change me?”

“Yes,” Aversley clipped, as his carriage rumbled to a halt in front of him. “Yes, I had.” With that, Nathan’s closest friend departed, and he was left standing alone in the cold with the disconcerting knowledge that marriage was, indeed, changing him.

N
athan was at the docks first thing in the morning as he’d promised. As he made his way down to his office through a blanket of thick fog, he passed scores of lightermen carrying heavy loads between ships. He paused to watch a bevy of porters balancing wood and seeming to effortlessly get aboard the ships with mind-boggling acrobatic moves. Farther down the dock, he stopped to admire a large schooner and watched as several men scaled one of the masts to begin repairs on a torn sail.

As he stood there observing the men, a tall, black-haired man with a matching patch of dark hair on the tip of his chin strode across the deck with a cocky gait. He slowed as he seemed to catch sight of Nathan.

Ravensdale.

Nathan fingered the pistol holstered at his waist. He always wore it to the docks, usually at his ankle but tonight he’d worn it at his waist. He didn’t know if seeing Ravensdale here after all these years was a coincidence or not, but he damned sure wasn’t taking any chances. Ravensdale made his way off the ship and halted in front of Nathan. His green gaze fastened on to Nathan’s right hand where it rested on his pistol.