Nicholas: Lord of Secrets (20 page)

For a wife Nick wouldn’t permit to bear him children, he’d gone to a lot of bother in a short time—a minor consolation.

“You will be quite dashing tomorrow.” Leah smiled at the thought. “Knee breeches, and satin, and all the finery a gentleman is allowed.”

“I will attire myself as befits a man marrying his countess,” Nick said. “I don’t want to give you ammunition for regrets.”

“Regrets.” Leah ruminated on the word. “I don’t see myself as having regrets at this stage, Nicholas, more misgivings.”

“You think those are unusual?” He words were cautious, a man who sniffed a swamp on either side of a poorly lit trail but wasn’t about to back up.

“No, I suppose not. You?”

“I should tell you I have them,” Nick said, “so you won’t feel so alone with your doubts. In truth, I cannot admit to many, and none about you. You will be an outstanding Countess of Bellefonte, Leah, and my family will love you. Della and Ethan are much taken with you already, and Valentine has nearly offered to steal you from me.”

Honesty. He could cozen her with that too. “What doubts
do
you have, Nicholas?”

“I worry what I offer won’t be enough for you.” His hand on her nape slowed. “I can keep you safe, I am confident of that. Wilton is a bully and unlikely to trouble himself with you once you’re under my protection. I saw my man of business this afternoon.”

“What mischief did you get up to with your man of business?” Leah asked, allowing his maladroit change of topic. Too much more of his honesty and she’d be back to doubting her ability to be his countess.

“We’ve sent to Italy to see about bringing little Charles home,” Nick said. “It will take weeks, of course, because the mails are slow and the weather uncertain, and there are documents needed all around, but the process is started.”

“Ah, Nicholas.” Leah buried her face against his shoulder. “And you wonder if you have appeal beyond your muscles, your charm, and your title.”

He hoisted her against his chest and sat, cuddling her in his lap. Leah looped her arms around his neck, giving her more to add to her list of the myriad ways he cozened and charmed. “Lady Della will be scandalized.”

“Hardly that. In fact, it was she who suggested you bide here again tonight.”

Leah pushed images of enormous, steamy tubs and rose-scented water from her mind. “She’ll chaperone, of course.”

Nick shook his head. “No, she will not. We’ll put your cloak on old Magda, pull the hood up, and bundle Magda into Grandmother’s coach after dinner, once it’s dark.”

“Who’s Magda?” Leah closed her eyes and felt the slow, soothing beat of Nick’s heart.

“My grandmother’s familiar below stairs. She’s been with my family since my father’s salad days. When I’m in town, Grandmother sends her here to spy on me and poach brandy from my cellar. The other servants love her stories about me, Grandmother, Bellefonte, and the rest.”

“A fairy godmother. Every prince needs one.”

“And she’s tall enough to pass for you,” Nick said, “and happy to perpetrate subterfuge if it means keeping my princess safe.”

Leah said nothing. The sound of his voice, the feel of his embrace, the soft, steady thump of his heart was enough to convince her she was safe.

“Sleep, lamb.” Nick’s lips feathered across her forehead as he gathered her more closely.

Leah let herself drift, never having had the adult experience of falling asleep in arms determined to keep her safe. It was dear, and reassuring, and at some point she would find it frustrating as well.

But not today. She simply didn’t have it in her to protest this luxury today.

“What do you think of this marriage?” Trenton asked his brother. For once Darius was actually sitting, not pacing around the library like a neurotic predator held too long behind the bars of a menagerie.

“I thank God for it,” Darius said, accepting a glass of brandy from Trent’s hand. “That was a very bad business in the park, Trent. If Reston hadn’t happened along, I hate to think what might have happened.”

Trent sipped his drink and took a place beside his brother on the sofa. “If it had been just you or me, or even you and me against five determined miscreants, I don’t think we would have fared as well.” The wording was intended as a sop to fraternal pride wherever it might arise.

“You can accept Reston as a brother-in-law?”

“Of course I can.” Trent’s lips curved up slightly. “He’s devious. Got Wilton to sign a marriage contract, then paid dear Papa off with his own gambling markers. Had the Marquis of Heathgate and one of old Moreland’s sons on hand to witness it, all legal and binding. Papa is still fuming and fretting and trying not to shout. I rather enjoyed it.”

Darius smiled as well. “That’s not devious. That’s sheer genius on Reston’s part. You have to respect a fellow who can orchestrate such doings on short notice.”

“Respect him, hell, I’d kiss him on the lips at Almack’s for what he’s doing for our sister.”

“Interesting offer. One hears many things about Reston, but not that particular penchant, and you a father of three.”

“Shut up, baby brother.” Trent paused to yawn and crack his neck. “Speaking of penchants, when will you stop keeping the company of sluts and gamblers?”

“There is gain to be had in such company,” Darius said, “and you of all people know I am motivated to garner coin when and where I can.” Trent fell silent upon that observation, considering his drink, his circumstances, and his little brother.

“Reston might be able to help.”

“It isn’t Reston’s problem,” Darius said, but without heat.

“Leah is our sister, but she’ll be his countess. I’d say that gives him an arguable interest in your situation.”

“So you’d make Reston privy to the things we perpetrated years ago and haven’t found a way to apprise her of since?”

Trent was silent a long time, feeling Darius shift beside him and tug off his boots. Well, good. It had been forever since Darius had spent more than an hour under Trent’s roof, and Trent missed him.

Worried about him.

“It’s like this, Dare.” Trent leaned his head back and set his drink aside. “I have to admit what a bloody relief it is to be out from under the guilt of failing Leah, and the strain of trying to convince myself I haven’t.”

“Now, now,” Darius said gently, “we got her to Italy, and she was reasonably content there. The talk died down, and Frommer’s people were decent about it, too.”

“I suppose,” Trent said slowly. Decent enough to ignore a woman who’d legally become part of their family. “But back to my point.”

“Your confession, rather.”

“Fine, call it a confession, because that’s what it is. I am relieved to pass Leah off to Reston, and I did much less for her than you did. I would like to pass the rest of our family’s situation along to him as well, just not quite yet.”

“I’d prefer to do that before the ceremony, not after, but I can’t argue with you as strenuously as I ought,” Darius said. “Leah deserves to know the truth, and like you, I want to be out from under the deceptions of the past, but we need to take Reston’s measure first. Let him and Leah get used to their married state and perhaps bury the man’s father.”

Trent ran a hand through his hair. “Hadn’t thought of that. Suppose that will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Suppose. You ready for another drink?”

Trent hesitated. He was trying to moderate his drinking, which was growing steadily greater in quantity.

“Half,” he said, reluctant to leave his brother drinking alone. Darius pursed his lips and nodded, leaving Trent with the conviction Darius saw more than he let on.

Leah was going to hate them. There was no way on earth the truth could come out without Leah being mortally put out with both of her brothers—and that would kill Darius more quickly than any penchant for vice and crime.

When Darius brought the decanter over, Trent grabbed the neck of the bottle and held it over his glass until the tumbler was full to the brim.

***

Leah drifted in a comfortable, contented fog, the rocking of the carriage and the warmth of her husband’s embrace soothing her into a drowsy, post-wedding lassitude. Nick must have been dozing as well, for he’d gone silent before they’d even left Town, and as darkness had fallen, he’d kept his peace.

Leah could not quite sleep, but because the seat was well upholstered and considerably deeper than any she’d seen before, she was content to doze. Her brother Darius’s words of parting after the wedding breakfast kept ringing in her memory:
Reston
is
a
damned
decent
man. He could love you, if you’d allow it. Really love you, not just use you to thumb his lordly nose at his indifferent papa
.

Had that been the sum total of Aaron’s interest in her? Leah told herself it wasn’t, that Aaron had been genuinely fond of her and as considerate as a very young man could be. But Darius—damn his too-knowing brown eyes—had a valid point as well. Aaron Frommer had been fond of dramatics too, and of feeling victimized by his place as a marquess’s fourth son. He had been making a play for his father’s attention by riding to Leah’s rescue, trying to assert his independence while proving he’d not achieved it, in truth.

She curled down onto Nick’s chest more snugly, thinking this was an admission she could make because Nick had married her, and married her knowing her past and accepting it.

Accepting her.

“Penny for them?” Nick’s voice vibrated under her ear, and his hand came through the darkness to rest on her cheek. “I’ll light the lamps, if you insist.”

“I’m fine without them. I was thinking you are uncharacteristically silent.”

“Tired,” Nick said softly, his fingers feathering over each of her features in turn. “And worried about my father.”

“You felt his absence today at the wedding,” Leah guessed, closing her eyes beneath Nick’s explorations.

“I felt that, and his presence, his approval. He would like you, Leah. Approve of you. He
will
like you.”

“You say that as if you’re sure.” Leah turned her head so Nick’s fingers could wander more easily.

“I didn’t realize his approval was a factor until Ethan pointed out Bellefonte would get on with you swimmingly.”

“What are you doing?” Leah asked, stifling a yawn.

“Touching my wife’s face. You met Magda? She’s older than she looks, probably older than Della. Her parents lived into their nineties.”

“I’ve never met anyone who lived so long.”

“Her father lost his sight early in life,” Nick went on, “and she used to tell me about him touching her mother this way. Magda said she was closer to him as a child, because he could tell her mood by the way her feet hit the stairs on their porch, by the way she came through the door, by the feel of her hand in his, or the sound of her exhalations. I’ve been fascinated by that, by the thought that her father knew his daughter so well.”

“A blind hound often does well enough, provided he had some sighted years first.”

This was a new facet to Nicholas Haddonfield, this thoughtful, quiet man with excruciatingly gentle hands. Leah tried to tell herself it was yet more of his cozening, but the notion simply wouldn’t wash.

Nick’s thumb brushed over her lips. “Maybe someday when I am an old, blind hound, I will know your moods by touch, sound, and instinct, Leah Haddonfield, and perhaps you shall even know mine.”

In the soft darkness of the spring night, Nick sounded so wistful, and his hands were so tender as they skimmed and caressed and danced across her face, she felt a lump constrict her throat. Maybe Darius had been right, and this misbegotten union might flower into something real and lovely and permanent.

“I would like that, Husband.” Leah turned her cheek into his palm and kissed the heel of his hand. “I would like, someday, to know you by instinct.”

Leah drifted off, content in Nick’s embrace, and did not wake up until he was hefting her into his arms and trying to extricate her from the coach without disturbing her.

“Nicholas, I can walk.”

“Nonsense,” Nick said, shifting as he freed her from the coach. “I will carry you over this threshold, for it’s one we own. Belle Maison, thank God, is still in my father’s hands.”

Leah did not protest, though she wanted to. With his talk of blind fathers, dying fathers, and thresholds that “we” owned, he was looping one thread of longing after another around Leah’s heart.

“My lord, my lady.” An old fellow standing by the mounting block bowed and picked up his lantern. “Congratulations, and welcome to Clover Down. The lad will light your way.”

Nick nodded his thanks as the coachmen steered their conveyance around to the carriage house and a young footman held up a second lantern to illuminate the front steps of the manor house. The butler opened the door, offered them congratulations and welcome, and was quickly waved off to bed. Leah gained her feet only when Nick had deposited her in the master bedroom, which to her surprise boasted an enormous tub of steaming, rose-scented water.

“A lookout was no doubt posted,” Nick said, “and the water kept heating in the laundry until we were spotted. Your staff wants you to feel welcome.”

“I most assuredly feel welcome. Perhaps you’d like to go first?”

“We can share. Because this is our wedding night, I will be your lady’s maid.”

Leah turned and offered him her back, thinking how odd it was, to be so casually intimate with Nick once again, and how nonchalant he seemed with the whole business.

“I feel as if I’m watching some woman who looks like me embark on her married life with a man who resembles Nicholas Haddonfield,” Leah said, her back to her spouse.

Nick’s fingers made short work of the myriad buttons on Leah’s wedding dress. “Maybe married life, if it’s to be successful, is no different from the rest of one’s life, or it shouldn’t be.”

“This feels different,” Leah decided, “but not strange.” She turned, the back of her dress gaping, and lifted her hands to Nick’s chin.

“Hold still,” she said, unfastening his sapphire pin and untying the elaborate knot in his cravat. Without pausing, she undid the buttons of his waistcoat, and then relieved him of his sleeve buttons, which also sported inset sapphires.

“You do clean up well, Nicholas.”

“You aren’t going to stop now, are you? I am hardly ready for my bath.”

He was teasing, so Leah humored him. Many married men had no valet, and this was something she could do for him as his wife. She undid the buttons at the knees of his satin breeches and the garters to his stockings, slipped off his shoes, then took another step back. Nick reached forward, turned her by the shoulders, then eased her gown down to her hips and unlaced her stays. Leah balanced on Nick’s shoulder to step out of her gown and found herself facing him in chemise and petticoat.

He smiled down at her. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He knelt to deal with her stockings, garters, and slippers, then unfastened the tapes to her petticoats, gathering the entire frothy pile and dumping it on the couch that faced the hearth.

Leah watched him pad barefoot across the room, and it was as if with each piece of clothing they shed, Nick became more himself and less that polite, well-dressed aristocrat she’d married hours ago.

“You are looking at me, Wife. I like that.”

“You are rather hard to miss.”

Nick walked right up to her and gathered her close. “I will blow out all the candles, sleep in my clothes, pledge to leave you in peace, but on our wedding night it will be expected that we share a bed. I’ll sleep elsewhere if that’s what you prefer.”

He offered her a reprieve. Nick, in his boundless kindness and perceptivity, was offering her a reprieve.

“Let’s begin as we intend to go on,” Leah said, though she could only manage it with her cheek resting against Nick’s chest. The fine linen of his shirt lay beneath her nose, and below that his beating heart. She pushed his shirt aside, put her ear over that heart, and listened to its steady rhythm while Nick’s hands caressed her back.

“It shall be as you wish.” He rested his cheek against her temple, and silence spread around them until Leah planted a tasting kiss over his heart.

“Lovey?”

“Nicholas?”

“What are you doing?”

Such a careful question. She dropped her arms from around him. “I honestly don’t know, though of this much I’m certain: I am not enamored of what passed between us earlier, when you pleasured me and I allowed it. We are to be married, though.”

He remained unreadable, watching her as she visually took in the tub, the bed, the flowers in a vase on the windowsill—red roses, of course, with maidenhair and baby’s breath.

“We are married,” Nick said, as if picking up the conversational shuttlecock and batting it to her.

Leah had thought about this, after he’d left her aching in her bed, when she’d dressed in her wedding finery, and on the coach ride out from London. Her husband was a stubborn, independent, shrewd rogue of a man, but he was also kind and the closest thing Leah had to a friend. She hadn’t been at ease with what had passed between them, but neither was she ready to toss all intimacies with him aside.

Which left only one course: “Nicholas, will you teach me what pleases you?”

***

Nick could not form an answer, for his mind was whirling, robbing him of coherence.

Why, why in the name of sweet, squalling baby Jesus, did his
wife
have to be the first woman to ask him how she might please him?

Women who were intimate with Nick were safe with him; they could take and take and take to their hearts’ content, and that was how he wanted it. He’d learned, to his eternal heartache, that when he took, misery followed.