One Week as Lovers (21 page)

Nick offered his wide London grin. “I think the lady could use a refreshment before we delve into deeper subjects. Care to offer one?”

“Nick!” Cynthia gasped, horrified by his rudeness. He couldn’t quite smother a choked laugh, and when she glanced toward their hosts, she realized why. Both of them stared at her with raised eyebrows.

So much time had passed since she’d been in polite company. Months. There were rules to be observed. Important ones. Nick was Lord Lancaster to her here.

“I…”

Nick didn’t look horrified at least, but he took everything with such ease. “Miss Merrithorpe and I have known each other since she was in pantaloons. We are very nearly cousins.”

“Cousins, hm?” the duchess replied. “Then as Lancaster is very nearly family, we must treat you as a cousin, too, Miss Merrithorpe. How lovely.”

“When,” the duke snapped, “has he been anything even close to family?”

“Well, not your family, perhaps. Stiff stodges the whole lot of them. Excepting your sister, of course. And Aunt Augusta.”

“Why, thank you.” Despite his grumbling, the duke moved to the sideboard and poured four glasses of red wine. “All right then,” he murmured as he handed them out. “Civilized enough for you, Lancaster?”

“Nearly.”

“Sit then.”

They all took a seat near the low fire. The duke could not possibly have been expecting visitors. Cynthia could hardly fathom a household where fires burned in empty rooms.

“I’ve come to collect on my debt,” Nick announced without preamble.

Somerhart snorted. “You are the one who specializes in debt, not I.”

“You know what I mean.”

Somerhart inclined his head. The duchess murmured something about posturing, but both men ignored her.

“Miss Merrithorpe requires a discreet home for a few days.”

Those blue eyes cut toward her. “How so?”

Cynthia turned to Nick in alarm. What would he say? Why had they not discussed this beforehand?

“She reaches her majority in nine days.”

“I see.” What Somerhart saw clearly did not please him.

The duchess, however, brightened. “Are you fleeing a disastrous marriage?”

Cynthia’s whole body twitched with tension.

The duchess’s eyes brightened further. “Are you eloping with
Lancaster?
”

“No,” she answered, at the same moment Nick said, “We shall see.”

The duke’s eyebrow rose again. “I see. But I’m not sure my debt obliges me to suffer the wrath of an entire enraged family. Two families even. Or…” He looked to Nick. “Perhaps four.”

Four,
Cynthia thought. Yes, that was exactly it. Four families ruined if they married. “Of course, Your Grace.” She stood, forcing the gentlemen to stand as well. “We should never have asked it.”

“We
did not ask,” Nick interrupted. His London face disappeared, replaced by gravity. “I did. And family wrath or not, I’ll ask you to take her under your protection. The suitor in question is Lord Richmond.”

“Richmond,”
the duchess gasped.

“I thought you might be familiar with his reputation.”

“Oh, at least,” she said. “He was one of my father’s
dearest
friends. If one believes that jackals have the capacity for friendship. A more despicable man I’ve never met.”

Cynthia’s face heated. She could feel the disgust in the room coalesce, as if it were something solid. Something
she
had brought here.

“Well, there’s no question then,” the duchess said. “You shall stay.”

Somerhart crossed his arms. “I suppose you must stay as well?”

Nick bowed with a little flourish. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

The duchess stood and took Cynthia’s arm. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. And you must call me Emma, for it seems we are more like cousins than I suspected.”

Stunned by the quickness of the current she found herself in, Cynthia let herself be swept from the room. The men stayed where they were. She was to be discussed. She understood that. She only wished she knew what would be said.

“You can imagine my confusion,” Somerhart said as soon as the door closed behind the women. “Emma and I were just discussing our upcoming trip to London. For your
wedding.
”

“Ah. Confusion. Yes.”

“I take it you’ve broken your betrothal.”

“I’ll call on Miss Brandiss in person as soon as I return to London.”

“That won’t go over well. With her family or your creditors.”

“I’m aware.”

Somerhart took a seat and crossed his legs. “I was given to understand that Lord Richmond had become…incapacitated.”

“If you mean that someone castrated him, yes I’d heard that as well. I don’t know what he’s about with Cynthia. All accounts are that he’s no longer capable of fathering children, but perhaps they were wrong.”

Somerhart grimaced and took a hasty sip of wine.

“His man followed me here. I plan to send my carriage on in the morning to try to throw the scent. If you’d like me to go with it, I will.” Relief washed over him when Somerhart waved him off.

“I’ll not lose a second of sleep over the likes of Richmond. At worst, I can hold Miss Merrithorpe’s family off for nine days. No point in being a duke if one can’t abuse one’s power on occasion.”

Lancaster raised his glass in the man’s direction before downing it. “How is your accumulation of power proceeding? I knew about your railroads, but I’ve only recently heard talk of your shipping enterprise as well.”

Somerhart grunted. “Despite the dealings with parliament, I find the railroads simpler. The shipping…I swear these damned Americans expect to be seduced into a contract. The only person I’m interested in seducing is my wife.”

“What’s that?” Lancaster grinned. “They want you to be
charming,
Your Grace?”

“As if I have time for that,” the duke spat out in disgust.

“I could give you lessons.”

“Somehow I don’t think they’d take.”

Lancaster inclined his head in polite agreement.

“If you care to exercise your one remaining asset on someone else…We’ve a bit of a fete planned two days out. You’re welcome to join in and trot out your charm if you like. Emma’s invited the Osbournes and a few dozen of her favorite opponents.”

“Opponents?”

“At the tables. She misses gambling, though she denies it. Claims she’s merely helping the stable hands learn math when she plays them for biscuits.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Lancaster laughed.

“I’ve never had enough patience for it, whether it’s biscuits or crowns I’m betting.”

As soon as Somerhart uttered the word
crown,
Lancaster forgot his amusement and sat forward. A gambling party. And Cynthia had 304 pounds that needed to be more. Perhaps the solution had just fallen into his lap.

“Thank you, Somerhart. I’d love to attend.”

His feet swung slightly as if there were a breeze in the room, as if the rope were a child’s swing instead of a noose. The creaking of it filled his ears, but the sound spun farther away the longer he hung. His hands dropped from the rope.

“Nick.” He opened his eyes to find Cynthia standing in front of him, glaring up. “Did you hang yourself?”

Did she expect an answer? He pointed to the rope.
I can’t speak.

“Well, you should be ashamed of yourself, Nicholas Cantry.”

So he should. Deeply, horrifyingly ashamed. He stared down at her, relieved that her face would be the last he saw.

But then a door opened behind her and Richmond entered, completely nude, hand cupping his bollocks. His skin was fish-belly pale, his gut soft and doughy, just as it had been ten years before. Lancaster watched in horror as Richmond, fully aroused, approached Cynthia from behind.

Lancaster kicked his legs, tried to raise an arm to point, but Cynthia just shook her head in disgust. Then Richmond dropped his hand and reached for Cynthia, blood dripping from his fingers. When Lancaster looked down to see the man’s bollocks were a mangled, torn mess, he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

“Nick!” Cynthia called again, rapping a little harder on the door.

The doors in this house were damned solid. A hint of a noise drifted through. A muffled curse. The faint rustle of bedclothes.

She knocked once more. “Nick, it’s almost time for dinner!”

She couldn’t go downstairs by herself. Her nerves were a jangling mess of wires and barbs. Guests had been arriving all day, and Cynthia had only just begun to relax into the idea of being in a duke’s home. Even after two days, she still jumped like a frightened mouse whenever His Grace entered a room. The duchess, however, no longer scared her at all. She was enticingly mysterious though, and Cynthia wondered what her guests would be like.

At the thought of the mill of lords and ladies she was about to face, Cyn raised her fist to knock again, but the door finally swung open.

“I take it you had a good nap?” The words were out of her mouth before she registered Nick’s pale face and sweat-damp brow. “Are you ill?”

“No. Just sleeping too soundly.”

“It’s nearly time for dinner.”

He rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. “I’d best dress then. Thank you for waking me.”

When the door began to close, Cynthia huffed and slipped past him into the room. “Nick, I’m terrified. I don’t think I should attend.”

He shut the door with an irritated snap, then leaned against it with his arms crossed. “Whatever are you talking about?” His teeth chattered a bit over the words.

“Perhaps you should get back into bed. Are you sure you’re well?” She started to reach a hand toward his brow, but changed her mind at the way he stiffened.

“I’m only chilled and I’d like to dress, so if you could excuse me…”

“Would you simply dress then? I have seen it all quite clearly before. Though
not
in the past few days, I might mention.”

He scowled at her as he passed. “Agree to marry me and I’ll agree to see to your needs again.”

“Arrogant cur,” she muttered. “And I would recommend against your taking naps. They seem to leave you in a foul mood.”

“After catching a glimpse of that portrait you started of Emma last night, I found myself incapable of sleep.”

“Lout.”

Ignoring her, he shucked off his robe and tossed it on the bed. Cynthia forgot her irritation, and lost herself in the sight of his naked back as he rifled through the wardrobe. His buttocks tensed and relaxed in a fascinating rhythm as he shifted and moved. His muscles created hollows that begged her fingers for a thorough study of the contours of his body. And his thighs looked so hard, nothing like hers. Solid muscle dusted lightly with fur. She’d never touched his thighs, but now her mouth watered with the lust to do so. Her sex melted.

But Nick’s uncooperative mood foiled her fantasy. He pulled a starched shirt over his head and the hem fell to cover him all the way to the tops of his thighs.

Cynthia sighed.

“Are you ogling me?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

He tugged on trousers with a smirk, facing her fully as he buttoned them closed. “My. I do believe Somerhart’s a tad slimmer than I.”

“If I had an extra set of stays I’d let you borrow them.”

“Oh, I’ve got my own,” he said with a wink. “That’s why I wanted you to leave, damn you.” His eyes sparkled as he took a starched cravat from the wardrobe, and Cynthia’s stomach let go of its worry. He looked better. The sweat had dried and the blood had returned to his face.

His eyes dipped down her body. “You are breathtaking.”

“Really?” She ran a reverent hand down the deep gold silk of the dress. “You seemed to be breathing quite easily for a while there.”

“An illusion.” His gaze lingered on her décolletage. “I assure you I am quite weak.”

Cynthia raised her chin. “Your weakness would have been better served before you dressed.”

Winding the dark blue cravat around his neck, he kept his eyes on her. “I’m not sure you are entirely decent, Cyn. Even aside from the danger of a chest cold, I don’t like it at all.”

She glanced down to the rise of her breasts above the gown. She’d spent a good fifteen minutes studying them in her room. “Emma told me my breasts were perfection.”

“And so they are. Too much perfection.”

She tugged at the neckline. “Stop it! I am nervous enough without you making me feel like a cow past the milking hour!”

“Have mercy, Cyn,” he choked out before collapsing against the wardrobe in laughter.

She tugged again. “Is the dress inappropriate? Emma had it taken out just for me, and I’d hate to be ungracious, but I don’t think I should go. I
won’t
go.”

“Come now.” He walked toward her, ends of the cravat still hanging free. As he drew closer, she could see that the blue was darkened with stripes of coal black. She wished she knew how to tie a neck cloth so that she could fuss over him.

“Cynthia, you are beautiful. Too beautiful. And every man will fall in love with you tonight, and I shall be quite distraught.”

“I don’t think it wise to draw attention to myself. The duke has already stuck his neck out for me, and I can’t imagine why he would allow me to waltz about tonight as if nothing is wrong. Someone shall tell my stepfather and—”

“Your stepfather has already written.”

“What? Why did you not tell me?”

“You were out in the gardens with Emma.” He turned to the mirror and began to execute an elaborate knot that looked as if it took years of practice. She could not keep track of the turns and twists.

“Well, what did it
say?
”

“It was excruciatingly deferential, as I’m sure you can imagine. ‘I appreciate Your Grace’s unbounded good will in taking in a wayward young girl,’ and so on. Seems your stepfather would like to come and retrieve you at His Grace’s earliest convenience. I believe Somerhart responded that his household would be fully occupied with social activities until late next week.”

“Did he?” she chirped.

“And I don’t expect your stepfather has the wherewithal to impose himself uninvited on a prince of the realm, do you?”

She allowed herself the hope of one small smile. “So this could work? It could honestly work?”

“It could.”

“And if we lose all the money at the tables? What then?”

“If I lose all the money at the tables…” Cravat forced into an elegant sculpture, Nick slipped on the black coat he’d borrowed from Somerhart. “Don’t worry. I will see you free of him.”

“What does that mean?” she pressed, more than a little distracted by the picture he presented. Here was the Nick who’d spent the past ten years among the highest reaches of the
ton.

“Come.” He held out his arm with a wink. “Let’s away.”

She kept her hand at her side. “I am not like these people, Nick. You said so yourself.”

He touched her cheek, fingers spreading to cup her jaw. “You are better than these people, Cyn, and they will love you.” When he pressed his lips to hers, she stayed still and breathed him in. Their time together was rushing toward a close. She could feel the breeze it created in its passing.
I love you,
she thought.
I love you.

But she only nodded silently and took his arm.

He was winning.

Lancaster looked at his pile of coin, slightly larger than it had been at the start of the evening.

He’d avoided the games of pure chance like hazard. He’d also rejected whist as it left him dependent on the judgment of a partner, and he simply wouldn’t leave Cyn’s future in the hands of an acquaintance. And in his final effort to turn luck in his direction, Lancaster had studiously avoided any table where the Duchess of Somerhart was playing. That woman was a miracle at the tables. A miracle for herself, at any rate. A curse for others.

But the game of
vingt-et-un
was serving him well. His holdings had increased to 550 already, though nervousness had made his mouth dry as a bone.

Lancaster collected his winnings and set off in search of a glass of watered whisky. A muzzy head would do him no good tonight.

Before he’d taken three steps, he spotted Cynthia smiling politely at Lord Osbourne. She didn’t look quite at ease, but less than abjectly terrified now. Thankfully, Emma had sat him across from Cynthia at dinner, but all his encouraging smiles hadn’t seemed much help. She’d looked ready to bolt at any moment. Or toss up her accounts.

When he spied her laughing at one of Lord Osbourne’s jokes—they were new to her at least—Lancaster decided to leave her be. The only solution was to let her navigate the party on her own. He knew this, because he’d felt that terror himself on his first forays into London society.

Not only had he felt hyperaware of his lack of city polish, but he’d been sure he was marked in some way. A secret script feathered over his skin. A scent that permanently marked him as defiled.

But no one had noticed, not even those men known to prefer the company of their own sex.

Lancaster had watched them carefully those first few months, looking for some sign that he was a member of that forbidden club. And of course, there was the constant, exhausting guard against pursuit or attack.

In the end, Lancaster had found that those men were like any other men, no better or worse. Just the same. And as stories of Richmond had filtered into his social circle, he’d come to realize a sad truth. Richmond didn’t favor boys over girls. It wasn’t about sodomy or Greek love. Richmond simply liked the taste of innocence.

With the memories clinging to him, Lancaster gave up his search for temperance and plucked a whisky from a passing footman. Emma caught him mid-swallow.

“I hope you’re not drowning your sorrows.”

He shook his head. “No. Celebrating. I’m doing moderately well.”

“Well, that fifty pounds you entrusted to me has blossomed into nearly two hundred.”

Though he’d meant to take another sip, he slowly lowered the glass. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I purposefully played against Wolfson. He’s a spectacularly awful player and he can well afford the losses. You’re welcome.”

“Emma!” he said. “Have I ever told you how mad I am for you?”

“Not explicitly, no. But don’t let Hart or Cynthia overhear that.
They
might actually believe it.”

He winked and raised his glass in a toast.

“Care to tell me what happened between you and Miss Brandiss, by the way? I assume it wasn’t a love match.”

“Not between her and me, no.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if she cannot love you, then she doesn’t deserve you, Lancaster. The whole of the
ton
is in agreement that you are easy to love.”

His cheeks heated at her words. “I…Um…Regardless, it seems I find myself continuously involved with women who do not love me. Quite pitiful, actually.”

Emma cocked her head. “Cynthia loves you.”

He wanted to grab her hand and ask what she meant and how she could know and what Cynthia had said to her. But he had his pride.

Actually, it wasn’t pride at all. It was the hard realization that it didn’t matter if she loved him. The girl had been born with a spine of pure iron. If she was determined not to marry him, she wouldn’t. Her heart would have no say in it.

“Well,” he said, “thank you for that small kindness. And for the larger kindness of spinning straw into gold. And for the unrepayable gift of keeping Cynthia safe.”

Her eyes wandered toward a table that had grown raucous with laughter. “I would sooner cut off my own hand than see a young woman turned over to that man. I have witnessed his games, you know.”

“As have I.”

Emma turned back to him with a grim smile. “Then we are resolved.”

By the time he’d wandered off from Emma, the whisky had finally hit his blood. Between the whisky and the winnings, he was hardly even bothered at all when the third person of the night mentioned his wedding.

“Best be heading back to London soon!” chortled Sir Chisholm. “You’ll miss your own wedding if you’re not careful, you great lout!”

He really wasn’t on the sort of terms with Sir Chisholm that would invite him to call a viscount a lout, but he patted his shoulder anyway, and escaped without a word.

Yes, he had best be heading back to London soon. He couldn’t very well cry off the engagement on the eve of the wedding. Though facing Imogene and her father would hardly be pleasant, Lancaster couldn’t wait to have it over. He wanted to be happy. And breaking the bad news to the Brandiss family would be a start.

“Lord Lancaster!” a familiar voice called in a very unfamiliar way. He turned to see Cynthia hurrying toward him.

“Good evening, Miss Merrithorpe,” he said with a bow.

She looked disconcerted for a brief moment, then offered a curtsy with a twinkle in her eye. “Good evening, milord. And how is your luck holding tonight?”

“Well, thank you. Tolerably well.”