Nicholas: Lord of Secrets (9 page)

“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.”

Leah 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.

“You think to corrupt your younger sister, miss?” The earl remained standing, his hands tucked behind his back while Leah sat before him.

“I think to encourage her to be happy.” Leah bent her head to her embroidery hoop but did not yield to the urge to cringe.

“Your example has proven instructive,” the earl said, beaming a malicious smile. “It did not occur to me you would have value as a cautionary tale, but it appears you do. I bring you words of caution as well, Leah.”

Leah raised her gaze to his and felt her chest constrict at the hatred she saw. “I am listening.”

“Hellerington rescheduled his appointment with me last week, but today I have his note postponing the meeting indefinitely. This tells me you have failed to secure the attentions of even such a one as he, who would at least have taken you off my hands and perhaps paid modestly for the privilege.”

“I’m sure you’re disappointed,” Leah said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Sending you into his waiting arms would have had a certain appeal, and you might yet end up there,” the earl replied. “Without benefit of matrimony.”

“You would condemn me thus?”

“Happily,” the earl snapped. “And when I hear you spouting off to Emily about choosing a man for his character… Your days under this roof are numbered, miss. I will choose Emily’s husband and the terms upon which she weds, make no mistake about that. I had hoped… well, no matter. I’ve had indications this Lord Reston might be seriously interested in you, and because he is soon to assume his papa’s title, I will take some time to consider the matter of your future. You, however, would be well advised to flirt your way into some man’s affections sooner rather than later. I care not whether it’s Reston or some wealthy merchant. Consider yourself forewarned.”

He left, sparing Leah the effort of a reply.

He’d warned her, at least. She could be tossed into the streets, her only recourse to impose on Trent, or perhaps retreat to Darius’s little place in Kent. As her options were truly narrowing, Leah felt the foreboding in her chest congeal into dread. To be not just a spinster daughter, but a poor relation cast out of her own home…

God in heaven, what had she done to deserve such a fate?

And God in heaven, what was she going to do? She had four sovereigns to her name. What in the world was she going to do?

***

“Sir.” The butler waited until Ethan Grey looked up from his ledgers. “A gentleman to see you.”

Ethan waved the salver away. “Tell me who it is.”

The butler, without raising a brow, read the card. “A Lord Reston,” he pronounced, “and the corner is bent.”

“Ah, Jesus.” Ethan sat back and saw the usual sea of ledgers, correspondence, and documents covering his desk. First that audience with Bellefonte, now Nick knocking at his door—in person—when there was work to do.

“Show him in.” Ejecting Nick would take more footmen than Ethan wanted to spare. “Bring us a tea tray with whatever the kitchen can add to it that’s passable.”

“Very good, sir.”

Nick was here, at Ethan’s town house, and Ethan knew damned good and well who had given him the address.

“Ethan.” Nick breezed in, his blue, buff, and cream riding attire showing his phenomenal physique to excellent advantage. “My apologies for not sending a note, and my thanks for your willingness to receive me.”

“I’ve always been willing to receive you.” Ethan frowned, for Nick looked
harried
. Nick never looked harried. He was the quintessential self-possessed, easygoing charmer. Ethan was the one who couldn’t manage to get enough done in a day.

Nick looked to be dropping weight as well, and Ethan’s characteristic irritability ratcheted up a notch. Nick was not allowed to be worn and tired. Nick’s job was to be happy, amiable, and bustling around in a fog of horny contentment, flirting his way from one merry widow to the next.

“Tea’s on its way.” Ethan shoved out from behind his desk and extended a hand. Nick’s expression showed momentary surprise, but he shook solidly then tossed himself down into a sturdy cushioned chair.

“Thank the gods for a man who appreciates real furniture.” Nick dragged a hand through his golden mane. “How was your trip to Belle Maison?”

Amiable and very, very direct.

“Trying,” Ethan said, lowering himself into the other chair and realizing that Nick—and probably Nick alone—was someone with whom he could discuss the trip.

“He really is dying,” Nick said softly. “Doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem like it’s time, and it doesn’t help that he’s ready to go.”

“He is, isn’t he? Miserable old pestilence.”

“I think he is miserable,” Nick said. “Angry and ashamed to be old and sick, and ready to get on with being remembered fondly.”

“By most.”

“But not all,” Nick agreed, smiling slightly. “I gather you did not grant him pardon, absolution, and remission of all sins?”

Nick’s directness on that issue was oddly welcome, even though it reminded Ethan starkly they’d once been able to read each other’s thoughts and had Bellefonte to thank for the distance between them now. “I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him.”

“One doesn’t need to bear a grudge against the man to feel thus.”

A soft tap on the door, and both men fell silent as the tea cart was rolled in.

“You pour.” Nick closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I am damned sick of being my own hostess.”

“You’re soon to acquire a countess, though, aren’t you?” Ethan asked as he peered at the tea. “It’s middling strong.”

“Let it steep,” Nick said, eyes still closed. “Did you put the earl in his place, Ethan?”

As if one could. The Lord God Almighty would probably be hard put to do as much. “I left in a snit. I did get something like an explanation from him, though.”

“Did you now?” Nick opened his eyes and sat up. “The grim reaper must be stalking him in earnest.”

“Or his indigestion was plaguing him. All those years ago, Bellefonte found you and me in the same bed.”

“Of course he did.” Nick looked puzzled. “Else the little boys would have heard all our secrets. As it was, every time Dolph had a nightmare, he was in with us as well.”

“But his lordship thought we were inappropriately attached to begin with,” Ethan said, “and when it became obvious we often bunked together, he decided we were engaging in perversions with each other.”

There was a beat of utter silence, then another, followed by a roar.

“He thought what?”
Nick shot out of his chair and rounded on his brother.

Ethan remained seated, peculiarly gratified by Nick’s indignation. “He thought we were lovers, or the adolescent male variation on that theme.”

“God’s eternal balls,” Nick swore, pacing off. “Jesus George Christ Almighty in the Clouds. I cannot believe this. I am going to kill the misguided old goat and make it hurt. He cast you away because he thought we might have been a little too close? A little curious with each other?
Jesus.
”

Nick came to a halt and shut up, breathing deeply. Ethan watched, knowing he’d just seen Nick come as close to losing his temper as Nick ever would.

“I walked out,” Ethan said, “if that helps. Left him wheezing in his chair while I headed blindly for the stables. I ran into Nita there, and that distracted me temporarily.”

Nita had been a girl the last time he’d seen her, a pretty little girl who’d once told him he was her favorite brother.

“Nita would distract St. Peter. I am disappointed in our father, Ethan. I was disappointed in him for separating us in any case, but over nonsense like this… Disappointed and disgusted. Had you any clue?”

“No.” Ethan held out Nick’s teacup to him. “Not really, though we probably should not have been quite so cozy that late into boyhood.”

“That is utter tripe!” Nick shot back. “You left, so you have no idea what the rest of us got up to, Ethan. I can promise you George and Dolph were up to no good with each other, and Beck used to spy on you and me with the dairymaids while he pleasured himself. The earl had a randy damned pack of sons, and you and I were not the worst of the lot.”

Nick’s casual recitation of fraternal prurience hit Ethan with a curious blend of revulsion, humor, and relief. “I’ll take your word for it, though I do not think you are paying me the signal honor of a call after all these years to rehash ancient history.”

“I am not,” Nick admitted, looking at the teacup in his hand dazedly.

“Sit you down, Nicholas. We can talk more later, if you find you want to. I’m not sure I do. State your business.”

“I can hardly recall my business,” Nick growled.

Ethan waited him out.

“I need some help,” Nick said at length, his tone truculent.

Not at all what Ethan had expected—though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. “What manner of help?”

“I’ve been called to Belle Maison, but there’s a young lady here in Town whose safety I have pledged to ensure.”