‘History takes time,’ Georgina put in sagely. ‘This sounds rather more like a whirlwind.’ She leaned forwards, a light hand on his knee beneath the table, partly invitation, partly the gesture of one conferring private information.
Nicholas arched an eyebrow, acknowledging her presence on his leg and assuming the former. But she did not take the hint and remove it. Attractive women never did take the hint. They were too confident in their charms to really believe they’d be rebuffed. Even women who were old enough to know better. Georgina Timmerman fit both categories. In her mid-forties, she was still pretty enough. Her hair still bore a lustrous nut-brown sheen, having escaped early threads of grey, and her body had maintained its youthful firmness. But that didn’t mean he wanted her.
‘I must warn you, Annorah is given to high spirits. She has had whirlwind romances before that did not end well.’ She shook her head sadly, but there was something of the coquette in the action. Her hand crept up his thigh. ‘My niece gets swept away and forgets to think about the long-term consequences.’ Apparently the acorn hadn’t fallen far from the tree, then. Aunt Georgina was definitely getting swept away right here before the fish course, fishing for something else entirely.
‘Has she said nothing about it? Nothing about her past?’ Georgina’s eyes were wide with concern. She waved a fork to dismiss the thought. ‘Well, maybe it’s of no consequence. It was years ago when she was first out. It probably doesn’t signify and you know what’s best. You’re both adults. You’ll know what is important to tell one another.’ She emphasised the last with a squeeze close to his groin.
Praise the lord for lobster turbot. Nicholas nearly celebrated when the footmen brought in the fish. It meant he could talk with Annorah. It meant Aunt Georgina would have to find something else to do with her hand. ‘How’s our friend Mr Redding?’
‘He’s not our friend and he collects coins. He has five hundred and forty-two.’
Nicholas stifled a laugh. Clearly she’d been privy to an introduction to each one of them. ‘Better coins than groins.’
Annorah choked and grabbed for her napkin just in time to avoid spitting out her wine. ‘Do you want to make an excuse or something? Perhaps you have some residual carriage sickness and you need to retire?’
Nicholas laughed and covered her hand. Her excuse was completely implausible, but he loved that she’d tried. ‘I can handle your aunt. It’s not the first time I’ve had to fend off unwanted advances.’
‘But you’re my fiancé! It’s the principle of it all,’ Annorah said with a fierce protectiveness that touched him. ‘She’s making advances towards her niece’s husband-to-be. That’s despicable. And at the dinner table, too.’
‘Would it be better if it happened in the summerhouse?’ Nicholas teased.
‘That’s not the point. She shouldn’t be doing it all.’ Annorah was lovely in her righteous indignation. Her cheeks had coloured and her green eyes snapped. How long had it been since someone had taken his part? How long since someone had stood up for him? Channing had, of course. Channing was always running a bit of interference on his behalf, just as he had with the Burroughs affair. But that was business. When had a woman been interested in his well-being beyond the pleasure he could bring her?
The beef came, the conversation turned once more and Aunt Georgina ran a slipper up his leg. He could do nothing but tolerate it without risking an enemy. She was talkative in her little flirtation and a certain pattern was starting to emerge. She wanted him to know about her niece. The things she wanted him to know were odd. This was not the usual story telling parents and relatives were wont to do. This was not the collection of tales about skinned knees and childish pranks with the occasional embarrassing but harmless anecdote thrown in for good measure. This was something else and it was malicious in spite of the lightness she wrapped it in.
Why would an aunt slander a ‘beloved’ niece who’d finally found marriage late in life, according to society’s standards? He would think it would be just the opposite. Aunt Georgina and Uncle Andrew should be ecstatic she was finally to be married. He understood Georgina might be put out by the suddenness of the announcement, especially after her efforts to find a suitor, but that disappointment should not have warranted such calumny, especially when a marriage would mean the money stayed in the family. Even her selfish aunt couldn’t complain about that.
‘But, of course, you know her,’ Aunt Georgina was saying again as the last of the plates were cleared away.
Nicholas smiled and supplied the requisite answer. ‘Yes, I do.’ But he was beginning to wonder. Something wasn’t right and it wasn’t just Georgina’s slipper taking a walk up his leg.
‘She’ll need a firm hand.’ Georgina’s slipper made intimate contact beneath the table.
Nicholas nearly leapt back from the table. As it was, his push backwards lacked all subtlety, earning him a humorous look from Westmore, who sat on the other side two chairs away. ‘Excuse me, I thought I dropped something,’ Nicholas improvised.
* * *
By the time he climbed the stairs to bed, it was clear something did not fit. He would have liked to have paid a nocturnal visit to Annorah’s room and solve some of that mystery, but right now, Grahame Westmore took priority, especially if Channing had sent a message.
Chapter Sixteen
Grahame was in the library, the pre-arranged location at any gathering the league had decided on as the meeting place if there was need. ‘About time you got here.’ Grahame looked up from his book. ‘You were surprised to see me.’ He gave Nicholas a half-smile that passed for friendly.
‘I was not expecting you. You have to admit, this isn’t exactly the league’s standard venue.’ Nicholas walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He held up an empty glass in enquiry. Grahame shook his head. ‘Are you here for business or pleasure?’
‘A bit of both.’ Grahame stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘I’m not working a particular assignment, if that’s what you want to know.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘London’s been very disappointing this Season. The new crop of débutantes is dismal. Milquetoast, all of them. I swear they get younger by the year.’
Nicholas took a long drink of the brandy. ‘Perhaps if you smiled more, you’d find the crop less dismal.’ Westmore wasn’t exactly the most approachable of Channing’s league. But women didn’t hire him to be affable.
‘I don’t need advice from you.’ Whatever social polish Westmore lacked, he’d certainly cornered the market on the dark, brooding officer type and there were plenty of ladies who liked that sort of thing.
Nicholas took another long, slow drink in the hopes Westmore would fill the silence with information. When none was forthcoming, he was forced to soldier on with the conversation. ‘Do I assume correctly then that you have a message for me?’
Something flickered in Westmore’s eyes. ‘Yes, and Channing insisted I make good time reaching you. Lord Burroughs hasn’t cooled down yet. He’s calling for your head on a platter. He even confronted Channing at the Duke of Rothburgh’s ball the other night, wanting to know where you were.’ He paused. ‘Channing wasn’t pleased to get your note about leaving Hartshaven. He feared you might make your way to London, or that London might accidentally make its way to you. I take it Channing doesn’t know about these latest details?’
‘No. I didn’t have time for a lengthy note and some things are best explained in person,’ Nicholas said uneasily. Westmore’s disapproval was evident.
‘Wasn’t this only supposed to be a few nights?’
‘We mutually decided to extend our time together. She had need of me at this house party and I had need of a place to go.’ Westmore didn’t need to know he hadn’t told Annorah the second part of that. That sounded utterly practical. Westmore should buy it. It was the kind of explanation that made sense to him.
‘She’s pay
ing you for the extra time, of course?’ Westmore put in.
‘Yes.’ Nicholas sighed.
‘Well, then, you’re making hay out of this arrangement, getting paid twice. She’s rich and pretty. Good for you.’
But Nicholas didn’t care for Westmore’s cynical tone or his choice of words. ‘What are you implying?’
Westmore leaned forwards, elbows on knees. ‘What is it exactly that she needs you here for? It’s clearly not sex since you’re down here talking to me well past midnight.’
‘That’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? She needed to produce a fiancé.’ Nicholas scowled into his drink. Westmore’s probes were hitting a bit too close to home. He’d started to wonder the same thing after her aunt’s interesting conversation at dinner. Redding wasn’t an unattractive man. What did Annorah have against him that she needed a fiancé for protection?
‘And you took that answer at face value?’ Westmore scoffed. ‘What did she tell you? Or better yet, what did she do that was persuasive enough to drag you to a house party?’
‘I needed a place to go. I didn’t have much choice,’ Nicholas reminded him, but he was already replaying the scene from the veranda. She hadn’t done anything, at least nothing of the sort Westmore was insinuating. Annorah had simply stood there, hands clenched, face pale, holding out the invitation. He hadn’t the heart to refuse her. ‘She said this was an annual summons, her aunt’s attempt to finally marry her off and she was tired of meeting her aunt’s suitors.’ But after encountering Bartholomew Redding, he couldn’t understand why except that Annorah had been tense in the man’s presence.
‘Hmm,’ was Westmore’s only response.
‘Are you going to explain that?’ Nicholas prompted. Talking with Westmore was tedious work.
‘Do I have to? The country air seems to have addled your wits.’ Westmore sighed and settled into his chair. ‘Very well. The way I see it, your sweet Annorah is hiding something and she’s dragged you into the middle of it.’
‘She’s not that type,’ Nicholas began, but Westmore waved the comment away.
‘How do you know what type she is or isn’t? You’ve known her for a week and that entire week has been spent in isolation, hasn’t it? You’ve been tucked up at her estate, playing honeymooners, and the only evidence you have about who she is, is whatever she’s told you.’ Westmore raised his brows. ‘A pretty, wealthy woman all alone in the country should ring alarms right there, D’Arcy. What did she tell you? She’s tired of being alone? She’s tired of fortune hunters who are after her money? Good lord, she did. I can see it in your face. What’s worse, you fell for it. This is rich indeed. I think instead of you seducing her, she’s seduced you. What you have to ask yourself is—for what purpose?’
Nicholas could feel his temper rising. How dared Westmore sit there and malign Annorah, who was nothing but honest and straightforward. She was goodness personified and he’d be damned if he was going to sit here and spill the ‘family curse’ to Westmore about her need to marry within the week. ‘I don’t have to justify her to you,’ Nicholas ground out.
‘No, but I can see you’ve spent plenty of time justifying her to yourself.’ Westmore put up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘In the end, what does it matter? You’ll go your way, she’ll go hers and that will be that.’ Westmore pointed a judicious finger his direction. ‘Never mix business with pleasure. It’s not fair to her or to you. I hope you have a plan to break that engagement. It will get messy if you’re not careful.’
It was hard to argue with that. It already was messy. Aunt Georgina was groping him under the table and telling him stories that didn’t quite fit. It did not help matters that Westmore carried doubts, too, and his own instincts were on alert. He wasn’t going to stay here and debate Annorah’s intentions with Westmore, especially when he wasn’t sure he had evidence to the contrary. ‘I’m off to bed.’
‘Yours or someone else’s? Perhaps Aunt Georgina’s? Her hand seemed to spend a lot of time under the table this evening.’ Westmore already had his nose back in the book.
‘Mine. It’s been a long day.’ Out in the hall, however, Nicholas was tempted to take the other corridor and head towards Annorah’s room. He wanted her, wanted to wrap her up in his arms and hold her warm body against his. He wanted to lay all the questions at her feet. In the end, he went to bed alone, questions unanswered.
* * *
He wasn’t coming. Annorah finally conceded defeat and blew out the lamp. She might as well get some sleep if that was the case. House parties by their nature were tiring affairs in her opinion—days full of activities and dresses to be changed. Evenings full of games and dancing, and always this pressure to be ‘on’. Everyone was always looking at other people’s clothes, watching their every move and mannerism, judging every word.
It had already begun. After the ladies had left the table for the drawing room, the gossip started. Everyone wanted to know about Nicholas. Some of the young women had all but sat rapt at her feet as if she were Plato at the Academy while she talked of Nicholas, her words like pearls. ‘He likes the colour yellow, he enjoys champagne, he fishes...’ On it went until she’d exhausted everything she knew of him. Well, almost everything. There were plenty of things she wouldn’t share: he likes woman-on-top best, his hair falls forwards like a primordial god when he rises over you, he makes you want to scream until he finally lets you shatter, he likes it when you run your nails over his balls.
Her aunt tried once to insert the topic of Mr Redding into the conversation. ‘Mr D’Arcy isn’t the only one who has some nice property. Bartholomew Redding has inherited his second wife’s property not far from here. His prospects are exciting.’
But no one seemed interested in Redding’s prospects, farming or otherwise. They were far too interested in Nicholas. Annorah was relieved when the conversation had veered to other topics. She’d felt like she’d known quite a lot about Nicholas, but once she’d started talking, the list had been short and rapidly exhausted.
She’d been anxious to talk with him and learn more about Grahame Westmore, but there’d been no time. On those grounds alone, she’d been certain Nicholas would come to her. Even if he couldn’t stay the night, he’d surely want to let her know about Westmore. But midnight had come and gone. One o’clock had come and gone. Now it was nearly two and there was no sign of him. Her questions would have to wait.
Apparently sleep would, too. She quickly discovered that blowing out the light and lying down was no guarantee sleep would follow. Her mind was too alive to go gently, and when it did, it was shortly before dawn with the realisation that she would wake up sleepy.
* * *
And grumpy. Annorah groaned against the bright daylight filtering through her window. The only bad thing about this room was its eastern exposure catching the sun. Lily was already there, pulling back the curtains and singing. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day, miss. I hear talk downstairs there’s to be a picnic out to the iron hill fort. I brought hot chocolate up. Your aunt had trays arranged for all the ladies’ rooms.’
Hot chocolate did make her smile just a little. This ritual of morning chocolate was one of her aunt’s self-proclaimed London affectations. Although to Annorah’s knowledge, her aunt had only been to London twice in her entire life, hardly enough to warrant the acquisition of any affectations.
Annorah sat up and took the cup of hot chocolate. ‘Any word of Mr D’Arcy this morning?’ Perhaps he’d slept better than she had and was already up or had already been out on a morning ride. It struck her that she really didn’t know his morning routine. The routine he’d followed at Hartshaven had been largely dictated by her: he’d slept in her bed, he’d eaten breakfast with her, they’d planned their day together. She’d missed him last night. Had he missed her? For her part, the bed had felt empty and cold. How quickly that habit had formed. She had not anticipated sleepi
ng with another person—in this case, literally sleeping with another person—to be so comforting, so desirable.
Lily shook her head and laid out a pretty green-muslin summer dress and matching kid boots perfect for tromping the countryside. ‘He’s probably downstairs with the gentlemen eating their hearty breakfasts.’
That’s where she wanted to be and not just for the sake of getting answers. She wanted to be with him. It took the better part of an hour to make her ready for the day, though.
* * *
By the time Annorah descended the stairs, the hall was crowded with guests milling about, chattering excitedly as they waited for carriages and horses to be brought around.
Nicholas found her immediately before she even reached the bottom step. He was dressed for the outing, too, in buff trousers, boots and a hacking jacket. He looked immaculate and perhaps a bit tired around the eyes, although if he was, he was wearing it well, probably far better than she was. ‘You’ve saved me from your aunt’s clutches,’ he whispered humorously, taking her arm, but Annorah thought she detected a bit of strain beneath his joke, a bit of reserve from his usual fun-loving self.
‘Well, good morning to you, too.’
‘It is now. I’ve been waiting for you.’ Nicholas smiled and she felt warm in the rays of his charm. Perhaps she’d imagined the strain. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you last night. I had business to take care of.’ He jerked his head to the left and she noted Grahame Westmore off to one side with a group of men. He was most definitely what one called a ‘man’s man’. He’d thrive in the country and was probably a crack shot, probably a crack everything when it came to the out of doors.
‘I hope it was not bad business?’ Annorah searched his face for any sign of worry, but found none.
‘All is well. He is here for his own purposes.’ Nicholas squeezed her hand where it lay on his sleeve. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he promised.
* * *
She held on to that promise through a very long morning. She’d thought a picnic would provide plenty of opportunities to speak privately with Nicholas. She could not have been more wrong. She’d not bargained on the carriage ride out to the fort in an open-air carriage with three other girls, all clamouring for Nicholas’s attention. And he gave it, charmingly, willingly to each of them in turn while reminding them in little ways that he was a pledged man. It was so neatly done, Annorah barely felt the sting of jealousy. He could smile and laugh all he liked since it was clear he had no intention of deserting her. Of course not, you ninny, you’re paying his bills. But it wasn’t the reality that convinced her. It was he. Nicholas was a loyal man. She wasn’t sure how she knew that or why she even believed it, but she did. Maybe it was how he’d spoken of his brother and the tales he’d told about how they’d done everything together growing up.
Secrets of a Gentleman Escort Page 15