Nicholas: Lord of Secrets (23 page)

Nick’s grip on her hand was tight, probably tighter than he knew.

“He’s… dead,” Nick observed softly after a few silent moments. “There is no mistaking that pallor and that stillness.”

“He’s at peace,” Leah countered. “His body is dead.”

Nick’s grip eased, but she did not allow him to drop her hand.

While Nick made his final farewells to his father, Leah stood beside him and took courage from sharing the moment with him. For all their problems, they were man and wife. If Nick allowed her to remain by his side now, perhaps it boded well for their future.

“He would not want to be seen like this,” Nick said. He sounded so sad, so lost.

“He is disporting with his wives and mistresses, or so you told me.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Nick’s mouth. “Come, else I shall weep like a small boy missing the only person who could ever make me feel like a small boy, regardless of evidence to the contrary.” And yet he didn’t move and he didn’t give up Leah’s hand. “I don’t want to be Bellefonte,” Nick said softly. “I never wanted to be the earl.”

And maybe there was guilt here, for not wanting what his father would bequeath to him. That would be utter male nonsense, of course, but because it was Nick’s male nonsense, Leah shifted to embrace him.

“No loving son wants his father’s title, Nicholas, unless it’s to spare his father a greater sentence to a painful existence.”

Nick’s arms came around her slowly, maybe reluctantly. “Papa didn’t want the title either, and yet he was a fine earl, all things considered. A very fine earl.”

That was not nonsense. That was something Nick could hold close, as Leah held her husband close.

He shifted, so his arm was draped over her shoulders. “Come upstairs with me?”

As if she’d drift away from him now? “Of course.”

And yet, “upstairs” held a curious development. Being newly wed, Leah and her husband had been housed in Nick’s bedroom. Both of their trunks were empty and sitting open at the foot of Nick’s enormous bed. Well, they were married—and the earl’s chambers would require airing and possible redecoration.

Perhaps it simply hadn’t occurred to Nick to direct that Leah be quartered elsewhere. He was that distracted by his bereavement.

Leah sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the late earl.

“I’m of a mind to take a nap,” Nick said, sitting down and tugging at his boots. “If you’d join me, I’d appreciate it.” Leah glanced at the bed and then back at Nick, but she couldn’t fathom the motivation for his request.

Maybe it was as simple as Nick being tired and unwilling to be alone.

Or perhaps he was aware, as Leah was, of how close they had come to declaring their marriage over before it had begun.

“A nap sounds fine.” Leah crossed the room and sat beside Nick, turning her back only when he’d finished with his boots. His fingers made short work of the hooks and eyes on her dress and the laces of her stays, but then he slid his arms around her waist and held on, a shudder passing through him, then a sigh.

“Off to bed with you,” Nick said, rising and drawing her to her feet. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Leah stripped down to her chemise while Nick undressed himself, but when she saw he intended to come to bed naked, she paused. What was this, and what did she want to do about it?

“I’m just getting comfortable,” Nick said, climbing onto the bed. “You could fill this bed with naked women, Leah, and at present, I could do justice to none of them.”

He was both rejecting her—not that she’d offered anything—and accepting her. She decided to focus on the acceptance, whipped off the chemise, and joined Nick on the bed.

Though that left at least five feet of cool mattress and bedding between them.

“Meet me in the middle?”

He was asking her for something, or maybe admitting that in these circumstances, he was entitled to the comfort of having a loyal wife. After a moment’s hesitation, Leah crab-flopped herself over a couple of feet and lay back, letting Nick take her hand in his.

“Let me hold you, Nicholas,” she said. “I just… I don’t want you to be alone in this bed, not today.”

He was in her arms in a heartbeat, his cheek resting against her breast, his thigh hiked over her legs. He let out the sigh to end all sighs, and closed his eyes, his lashes sweeping against her skin.

“How will I last until Friday, Leah?” Nick asked softly. “The neighbors will swarm, as will the well-meaning friends. The house will be full of people, when all I want is to be alone with my family. I comprehend now why there is always libation at wakes and viewings and funeral buffets.”

Leah tightened her hold on him, feeling the kind of ferocious protectiveness she’d directed previously only toward her son. He might not know it, but Nicholas trusted her the way a man ought to trust his wife. With painful certainty, Leah realized she did not want to lose him. Whatever their marriage could become, she did not want to lose this trust and closeness.

“You’ll be all right. Nobody will stay for long, or your countess will make them sorry.”

Nick raised his head, his expression guarded. “You’ll stay?”

A thousand retorts circled in her brain: I’ll stay as long as you need me. Why wouldn’t I stay with my husband? And then: Nicholas, you need not be always so alone.

He’d leave the bed if she said that.

“Of course I’ll stay.” For as long as he’d allow it, she’d stay, and hope that the painful, impossible topic they’d raised in the kitchen at Clover Down was never, ever raised again.

“The kitchen isn’t keeping up with the guests at the buffet.” Nita drew a black handkerchief from her sleeve, a warning to any of the nearby neighbors thronging the house not to approach.

“I’ll get the footmen moving,” Leah said. “Nick’s in the parlor with your sisters, and probably passing around his handkerchief.”

“Oh, my poor Nicky.” Nita bustled away, her expression determined, which left Leah wondering where Ethan had gotten off to. She found him in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, effectively hiding in plain sight. Her first task was to find the head footman and put the fear of hungry neighbors in him, and then she made directly for Ethan.

“How’s Nick doing?” He moved over as Leah sat beside him.

“He did not enjoy seeing his father’s corpse,” Leah said, stealing a sip of his tea. “And he’s resting more than I’ve ever seen him rest, actually spending time in his bed. But other than that, I think he’s managing. He’s glad you’re here, but why are you dodging your sisters, Ethan Grey?” Leah stole another sip of his tea. “Gracious, that is good. Is the kettle on the hob?”

“Cook is keeping a pot going for the servants,” Ethan said. “I pinched a cup by special dispensation.”

“Nick will appreciate a cup. Shall I send your sisters down here for you to receive them?” She rose, determined that this day should pass with a minimum of difficulty for Nick.

“I…” Ethan dropped his gaze to his nearly empty teacup. “I haven’t seen them for years, Leah. My brothers, I’d run into in Town, but the girls… there’s such a crowd up there, all curious, no doubt, and I don’t want the girls to have to…”

“All right,” Leah interrupted. The late Earl of Haddonfield’s sons were a surprisingly shy bunch—shy and considerate. “I’ll send them to you in the music room, how’s that?”

When she half expected him to bolt, he set his teacup aside. “That will serve.”

Leah eventually shooed the siblings who were present into the music room, and had a tea tray sent to them laden with all manner of appealing food, as well as a brandy decanter. She was directing the restocking of the buffet when the head footman found her and drew her aside.

“Lord Reston…” The man paused, cleared his throat, and started again. “The earl is asking for you, my lady. He’s in the music room, and he said to tell you…”

“Yes?”

“You need to take a break, my lady, and get off your feet for a few minutes. His lordship’s exact words.”

She did not need a break, but his lordship just might need her by his side. Leah gave a few more instructions and found her way to the music room. She slipped inside and saw the family was assembled, seven tall blonds bearing a strong resemblance, and their youngest, Della, petite, dark haired, but still bearing the stamp of the Haddonfield family in her features. Because Ethan was in the middle of a story about Nick as a child, Leah took a quiet seat at Nick’s feet. His hand settled on her nape, and his brandy glass appeared before her eyes. She took a sip and passed it back to him, enjoying the smooth burn of the alcohol and the smoother heat coming from Nick’s fingers caressing her neck.

When Ethan finished, Nita spoke up, reminding them of an occasion when the earl had been spectacularly in error and held accountable by his second wife. Leah felt a draft and looked over to see that another handsome, strapping blond had slipped into the room.

As discreetly as she could, Leah caught Nick’s eye and nodded toward the door.

Nick rose and crossed the room. “Now we are complete.” He drew the fellow to the center of the room and slid an arm around his shoulders. “Our Beckman has come home.”

Beckman was not as tall as Nick, or quite as handsome. He had something of Ethan’s sharper features, and yet in his height, blue eyes, and blond hair, he was unmistakably a Haddonfield. He scanned the room as Nick’s arm slid from his shoulders. “We’re all home, every one of us, and it’s about damned time.”

The room went silent as Beck’s gaze fastened on Ethan, who was blinking at a portrait of a young blond man in old-fashioned regimentals.

Young Della held up her brandy.

“Here’s to family,” she said, “reunited, and isn’t Papa just laughing his harp off to know he’s the reason.”

***

Thank God and all his angels, Della’s toast had broken the ice, because Nick hadn’t known what to say. Nothing and everything. Love for his siblings swirled through his grief, through his marital woes, through his dread of assuming responsibility for the earldom, and all of it seemed to impair both his ability to speak and his ability to think.

As Beckman wedged into a place beside Ethan, the room once again settled in to storytelling, reminiscing, the occasional teary aside, and more frequent laughter. When Nick resumed his seat, he arranged a leg on either side of Leah’s perch on the floor, and drew her back to lean against his chair. His hands caressed her neck and shoulders, not idly, but because it soothed him to touch his wife.

Nick leaned down, his lips near her ear, his nose nearly buried in the lily of the valley fragrance of her hair. “Your behind has to be getting numb,” he whispered. “I’ll trade you.”

A man could say such a thing to his wife, and watch for the way she tried not to smile.

“Why don’t we shoo the last of the guests away and arrange for a late supper on trays in here for the family?”

“You shoo, Wife. I’ll get word to the kitchen.”

Leah shook her head. “You’re the earl, and I’m sure your letters patent spell out very clearly that you are in charge of shooing on all occasions of state. Come along like a good earl, lest I report you to the Regent.”

Oh, how he loved her, Nick mused as he trailed her from the room. Then his steps slowed and faltered as he realized exactly what he had admitted.

God
in
heaven
, what he’d tried to characterize as fondness, protectiveness, and sexual attraction was much worse than all those combined. All odds to the contrary,
he
loved
his
wife
, and he’d not even truly become her lover.
Nor
could
he, ever.

“Nicholas?” Leah eyed him curiously. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, lovey.” Nick took her hand and linked his fingers through hers. “A-shooing we will go.” They passed the family parlor, and Leah paused to close the door. Across the hall, neighbors were still eating, drinking, and visiting the day away, leaving Nick to frown in consternation.

“How exactly does this shooing work?” Because Leah would know.

“You find the vicar or the mayor or the local magistrate,” Leah said, “and ask them to clear the room as politely at possible. Their consequence will demand they see to it with all dispatch.”

“I did not learn this at university,” Nick muttered, his eyes lighting on the vicar. In five minutes, the crowd was thinning, his neighbors and friends offering final condolences, until he, Leah, and the servants were the only ones left.

“God’s hairy b—beard.” Nick looped his arms over Leah’s shoulders and drew her close. Time enough later to ponder the disaster looming for a man in love with a wife he could not have. “This has been a long, long day.”

“You’re managing wonderfully,” Leah murmured against his chest, “but the brandy is catching up with me.”

“Was that you who sent the decanter to the music room?” Nick asked, his cheek against her temple. “Little Della was in alt to be taking spirits, but George surreptitiously snitched most of her portion.”

“I am the culprit. Ethan did not want to greet his sisters in public, and the best part of any funeral is the stories.”

“I wasn’t aware funerals had a best part,” Nick said, though the memory of Leah curled at his feet while his siblings laughed and cried together was precious, if not without pain. “Nita was wise to put the actual… service off for a day. We’re going to want tomorrow to recover from today.”

“Can we have the body sealed into its coffin now?” Leah asked, stifling a yawn.

“We can. You are so matter-of-fact, using words like body, coffin, and burial. I did not know I married a woman of such ferocious courage.” And she would need more courage yet, given his feelings for her. “There’s still some daylight. Will you walk with me?”

“Of course.” Leah slipped her arms from his waist. The head footman was smiling at them, the maids were trying to look interested in packing up the food, and the junior footmen were trying to look as busy as the maids.

Nick walked with Leah through the gardens, knowing he had to deal with his marriage and the unexpected turn of his emotions for his new wife, but knowing as well, resolving that situation was beyond him until his father’s death rituals were complete. For now, Leah at his side and in his arms at night was too great a comfort to give up.

He knew he was in particularly dangerous waters when he woke up in the middle of the night, wrapped around her and content simply to stay that way.

“Go back to sleep, lovey.” He kissed her neck and tucked her against him.

“Did everybody else trundle off to bed when you told them to?” Leah asked, her lips brushing his forearm where it lay across her collarbone.

“I made sure Nita got to bed,” Nick replied. “And Ethan has sought his bed. The rest of them are in need of a good visit without the elders around.”

“You’re an elder?”

“Head of the family, God help me.”

Leah scooted over to her back and considered him by the waning firelight. To accommodate her change in position, Nick threaded her arm under his neck, hiked one of Leah’s legs over his hips, and shifted up to prop his head on his palm.

“You have been head of this family for several years, I think.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “You’re going to have to say the eulogy.”

“I’ve worked on it some.” Nick’s hand smoothed down her sternum and rested on her belly. So smooth, her skin, such a delight to stroke. “It doesn’t seem natural, to publicly praise a man who was in truth very private, but I suppose it’s expected.”

“There are the rituals, and then there is the grieving, the real mourning, which is god-awfully miserable work.”

“We’ll mourn.” Nick leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “Nita said it was Papa’s wish we not observe deep mourning for more than six months, and then only on formal occasions. He’d buried two wives, two mistresses, and two babies, and didn’t see the sense in all the ritual and display.”

“Two children?” Leah’s hand drifted up the column of Nick’s throat. The touch was soothing and quite… personal.

“Between Nita and George,” Nick said. “A boy and a girl, both of whom died in infancy. He wanted to stop trying at that point, but my stepmother was desperate for more babies.”

“Everybody grieves differently,” Leah said. “Why don’t you want children, Nicholas? The real reason, if you please.”

Nick rolled slightly and buried his face against Leah’s neck. He had not seen this coming, not now. “There is risk to you, Leah. Honest-to-God risk, no matter what medical assurances are given, no matter how safely you bore your son.”

“You still think you killed your mother? I was certain you were bruiting that about as a mean sort of jest.”

“I would never jest about a woman’s death, much less my mother’s,” Nick said, his words muffled against Leah’s neck. His tongue slipped softly along Leah’s jaw, just taking a taste of female sweetness and warmth—to distract her, to comfort him.

“But you had nothing to do with your mother’s death, Nicholas. If anybody was to blame, it was your father.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Nick’s hand slid over Leah’s stomach, coming to rest on her opposite hip. “He was a third son inheriting a title later in life, and intent on doing his duty, and he succeeded, as yours truly lives and breathes.”

“But you were being weaned,” Leah said. “It was your father’s fixation on producing a spare that cost your mother her life.”

Nick abruptly pulled back and stared down at her. “I have the sense we are talking at cross purposes.”

“As do I.”

“My mother died as a result of complications following childbirth, and I am the only child she bore.” He knew this; he’d known it all his life.

“You were shy of a year old, Nick,” Leah said gently. “Della told me Sara had conceived again and was weaning you at your father’s insistence. Losing that second child before the pregnancy was full term is what led to her eventual death.”

Silence, filled only by the hiss of the last of the embers in the fireplace.

“
Nana
told you this?” Nick said slowly, rolling to his back.

“She most assuredly did.” Leah propped herself on his chest and peered at him. “You had nothing to do with your mother’s death. Not. One. Thing.”

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to fathom the sense of her words. There was loss in what she said, but loss of a burden as well as loss of a dearly held belief. Leah tucked a leg across his body, folded herself down over his chest, and slid an arm behind his neck.

Did she seek to anchor him physically while his entire world went tumbling?

“You honestly thought you killed your own mother. Oh, Nicholas…”

His arms came around her, carefully, slowly. “How did Della convey this… information?”

“We’d finished fitting my wedding dress,” Leah said, “and I asked her if you’d killed your mother.”

“You were afraid?” Of course she’d be afraid. Nick was afraid.

“Curious,” Leah clarified, her cheek over his heart. “Your heartbeat is steadier than the beat of a clock. I love that you are so tall that your heart lies right under my ear when you hold me.”

That simple little compliment, coming on the heels of unexpected absolution for his mother’s death, sliced at Nick’s soul. She thought he was handsome, when most women of her station thought he was a freak. She was protective of him—all seventeen damned stone of him—when by any sane lights, protecting ought to be his exclusive domain.

“Leah…” But he had no words, so he kissed her. He meant to express things beyond words—gratitude, wonder, relief, and tenderness—but Leah surprised him. When his lips pressed against hers, she groaned softly and fitted her mouth over his. Tentatively, her tongue seamed his lips, asking entrance even as her hand moved over the contours of Nick’s shoulders.