Another thin smile lifted Nicholas’s lips. He’d gotten that black eye sparring with Rage in the parlor of his town home two days before. Three of the poor servants had promptly resigned out of sheer terror, but the exercise had relieved Nicholas’s feeling of being trapped, at least for a while.
“I see you find this funny,” his father said in disgust, stepping away. “You care very little about your reputation, or the reputation of this family.”
Nicholas shrugged, years of bitterness welling up in him as he stared into the eyes so like his own. “And? Do you really expect more from me?”
“Not expect,” his father said as he turned away and strode back into the crowd in a few long, angry steps. “Only hoped. A fool’s hope.”
Nicholas stared at his father’s back as it moved away from him. Farther in the distance, he saw his mother watching him. Her face was crumpled and soft with pained emotion.
And suddenly the fun he’d had tweaking his father, the moment of pleasure he’d taken in living up to every expectation the old man held, disappeared. Leaving behind shame, disgust, and grief. Grief for his brother. Grief for what should have been, but would never be.
So he set his empty glass down and left the ballroom.
Jane watched surreptitiously as Viscount Nicholas Stoneworth and his father had it out in front of a large portion of the Upper Ten Thousand. Most of the people around her weren’t even surreptitious. They stared openly, practically drooling as the little family drama played out across the room.
She couldn’t help but feel sorry for them both. Although she couldn’t hear the soft words the men exchanged, it was plain from their expressions that there was a great deal of painful emotion between them. It actually put her to mind of her own brother and father, the way they had exchanged words in the weeks before Marcus vanished, never to be seen again.
She had never understood what they fought about, either. When her mother died years and years before, the three of them had formed a tight, cohesive unit, bonding together in their grief. For a long time they had been happy.
But then that had unraveled. Slowly at first. An argument here, an emotional outburst there. Soon it had grown out of control, like a racer’s phaeton on a sharp turn.
But still, when Jane looked across the room at Nicholas Stoneworth and his father, she couldn’t understand how in God’s name they could fight as they were. Especially so soon after such a tragic family event. Anthony Stoneworth’s death should have brought them together, allowed them to overcome their petty differences.
If the new viscount couldn’t even do that for his own family…could he truly help her?
Well, there was only one way to find out. As Lord Bledsoe walked away from his wayward son and Stoneworth exited the ballroom, Jane leaned in closer to her employer and her friends. Certainly she would hear more than she ever needed to know from them.
“There now,” one of the women, Lady Abebowale, said as she spun back on her friends with a cruel light of pleasure in her eyes. “You see, Stoneworth is determined to ruin the entire family! He shall never return to polite Society no matter what he does. He has become a heathen, through and through.”
Lady Ridgefield shook her head. Unlike her friend, she was charitable and didn’t have an unkind bone in her plump body. “But the new viscount did come here tonight, surely that means he will make some attempt to do his duty in the end.”
Another of the older women, Lady Campbell-Carlile, sniffed. “And there are some who value a title and the large fortune Stoneworth has over all else. They will accept him.”
Lady Abebowale’s eyes bugged. “Well, we would not accept any of those people again, that is certain. Can you imagine having him appear at country parties? He would diddle all the maids and fight with the gentlemen before supper the first night.”
Jane bit her lip. When she was in Society, no one ever would have spoken so plainly in front of her because she was unmarried. But now that she was considered a servant, the women never hesitated to be blunt. So Lord Stoneworth had a lusty reputation, as well as a violent one. That seemed to fit.
She would have to be very careful with him once she got the one key piece of information she was lacking.
Leaning forward, she whispered to Lady Ridgefield, “Where is he living?”
Her employer was accustomed to such intrusions on her part. Jane often reminded Her Ladyship about the key pieces of gossip she might have forgotten in her excitement at these parties.
Lady Ridgefield’s head bobbed up and down. “Where is Stoneworth staying now? Not in the home occupied by his late brother?”
Lady Campbell-Carlile was the one who answered. “Great heavens, no. The viscountess and the children still live there. I heard Stoneworth would not move into the place for the shame he brought his family, though I cannot imagine that blue-eyed devil feeling shame over anything.”
Jane shifted in frustration. Damn it all, why did they not say where Stoneworth was living and be finished with it?
Her employer seemed to read her thoughts, for she said, “Where then? Certainly not with his father and mother if tonight is any indication.”
Lady Campbell-Carlile shook her head. “No, gossip has it that he let a home in Abernathe Court, near St. James. And his new neighbors are quite put out by the company he regularly keeps.”
Jane no longer heard any more of the women’s conversation. Now she knew everything she needed to know. All she had left to do was gather her courage and do something about it.
Chapter 2
Nicholas had opened a bottle of whiskey the moment he returned to his town home. A good, strong alcohol that would do what the watered-down version at the ball could not. But now he stared at the bottle that had been sitting going stale on his desk for some time.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to numb away the memories of the night. It was that he wasn’t sure he deserved such an escape.
“Was it truly necessary to do all that, Nicholas?”
He turned at the soft voice at his door. There, framed by the light from the hallway behind her, stood his sister-in-law, Lucinda. His brother’s widow.
Over the years, Nicholas had wondered at many things about his twin. Like how Anthony could stand the life of a respectable man. Or how he could endure their father’s constant interference and suggestions.
But one thing he had never questioned was why his brother had married Lucinda. She had always been stunning, the diamond of the first water the year she made her debut. And kind. Even when Nicholas was utterly shunned by Society, Lucinda never asked Anthony to extract his twin from their lives. A fact Nicholas had never mentioned, but always appreciated.
And now she stood in his doorway, unable to look at him because Nicholas’s face was the same as that of the man she had loved and lost. Even now, as she accused him with just the quietest of words, the faintest lilt of disappointment, Lucinda kept her eyes trained anywhere else.
“Hello, Luc—” he began.
She held up her hand. “Please,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “Please don’t call me by my given name. You sound too much like…”
She trailed off, and a heavy silence hung between them. Nicholas didn’t need her to finish the sentence.
“I did not know you were in attendance tonight,” he said quietly. As far as he knew, Lucinda hadn’t even left her London home since his brother was buried.
“It has been six months, and your mother was worried that I had locked myself away entirely. It is against protocol, but she was so upset, I could not deny her. I would not have attended if she had not practically begged me. So I stood in the background, wearing my widow’s weeds, and did my best not to speak to anyone, but I was there.” Her voice was so bitter that Nicholas wanted to cover his ears.
“I should not have behaved that way,” he finally admitted, feeling a more magnified version of the shame he had experienced when he looked at his mother across the ballroom earlier in the evening.
“No,” she agreed, lifting her gaze to him finally and flinching away immediately. “You should not have. I realize you take a childish pleasure in twisting your father about, but you must know what damage your surly attitude and poor dress and generally wicked behavior do. Don’t you?”
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair. “I embarrassed the family, yet again. But you have been in this family for nearly five years. You know that has always been my role.”
Lucinda shook her head with a deep sigh that made Nicholas feel like a spoiled youth, although he was a good half a decade older than his sister-in-law.
“Your role is different now. It must be,” she whispered as she half turned.
She still hadn’t fully entered the room, merely stood in the doorway as if she couldn’t wait to leave. Nicholas supposed that was accurate. Being in the same space as he was, seeing her beloved late husband’s face on some other man, it had to kill her a little every time they met.
Yet another shame to add to his many recent shames.
“Yes, I am the viscount,” he said, choking on the words. “I must have honor and fidelity and duty and—”
“I don’t give a damn about that,” Lucinda suddenly snapped, her harsh tone unlike any he had heard from her before. Normally she was gentle, almost to a fault.
Nicholas lifted his gaze to her in surprise. She clenched her fists at her chest, and in the dim light he saw tears glitter on her cheeks.
“What I do care about is your brother’s memory. Like it or not, you share Anthony’s face. When people judge you, they judge him. It has always been that way, but at least when he lived his actions spoke for themselves. Now…”
She trailed off, and Nicholas tasted bile in his throat.
Lucinda drew a long breath. “If you will not change for yourself, for your family, and all those things you listed a moment ago, will you not change for Anthony? For his memory?”
Nicholas swallowed hard. “I—”
She wouldn’t allow him to continue. “And if not for Anthony, then what about your nieces? I know it is hard to remember when Margaret is only three and Georgina barely six months, she never even met her father, but your actions will affect their futures, as well, for good or for ill.”
All the anger seemed to deflate out of her when she mentioned her children, leaving her slender shoulders to roll forward in pure exhaustion.
“Oh, Nicholas.” She sighed. “I know you. All those times you visited us, I came to adore you as my own brother. You do not want to be responsible for ruining my daughters’ futures. For making it so that no amount of dowry can erase the weight of their names. I also know that you may want to shame your father because of some age-old grudge I never fully understood. But you loved Anthony.” Her voice broke painfully. “And you do not want to shame him.”
Nicholas lifted his hand, wanting to touch her arm, to offer her some comfort. But he didn’t.
“I don’t want that,” he finally admitted softly.
“Then before you return to Society again,” she whispered, “please, you must gain some control over yourself. I know it has been many, many years since you were part of polite company. You have probably forgotten many of the niceties that are the rituals of our lives. Relearn them, Nicholas. I beg of you.”
Nicholas stared at her a long moment. She had to know what she was asking of him. That her request was the pull against the noose around his neck. More than anything in the world, he wanted to deny her appeal. To sink back into the underground haven he had built, where he was revered almost as a god and whatever he did made no difference.
But that option had been taken from him the same moment his brother drew his final breath. There was no abandoning his duty now, or the life his brother had left behind for Nicholas to step into. Or the truth of Lucinda’s words.
“I will not force you to endure the humiliation of tonight again,” he finally whispered, his stomach turning with each syllable. “I swear to you that I will not destroy what my brother built.”
Lucinda nodded. “Thank you. Now I must go back. Margaret still cries for her father every night. If I am not there when she wakes from her nightmares, she cannot be consoled.”
His sister-in-law moved toward the door, but Nicholas stepped forward. “Luc—my lady, if I could trade my place with my brother, I hope you know I would do it in a moment. Without hesitation.”
Lucinda shuddered before she turned back. She looked at him squarely, the first time she had done so since her husband’s death. “You know I do adore you, as your brother did. So please know that I do not mean to sound harsh when I say, I wish you could trade places with Anthony, Nicholas. I wish you could.”
And then she was gone, her soft footsteps disappearing down the hall.
Suddenly his office felt small, confined…like a cage, and Nicholas could hardly breathe for the walls closing in on him. Wrestling with his poorly tied cravat, he staggered from the chamber and down the hall. He had to get out. Out of this life, away from the burden of respectability and the weight of the consequences that would now follow his every action.
His stomach roiled, twisting as he rushed through the hallways toward the French doors that led to the garden terrace behind the small home he had let. When he burst into the night air, he gasped, lifting his face to the moon and wishing he could bolt like a wolf over the gate and disappear forever.
Only that was impossible.
With a long sigh, Nicholas leaned on the railing with all his weight.
“My lord?” came a voice from the doorway behind him.
Nicholas flinched at the use of the title, but did not move. Perhaps the servant would take the hint and go away.
“Lord Stoneworth?” the insistent butler said, this time a bit louder.
Nicholas scrubbed a hand over his eyes with a frustrated growl. After tonight, the last thing he wanted was an interruption. Right now he wanted a woman to drown his anger and pain in, a drink to make him numb, and a dreamless sleep. Not necessarily in that order.
“Sir?” his servant said a third time.
“Go away, Gladwell,” Nicholas growled as he finally turned to face the man. His body hurt as if he had been in a fight. Bruised and battered, but without the excitement to dull the pain.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you have a very strange visitor.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Nicholas said. “Tell him to go away.”
“It is not a he, sir, but a she. And she refuses to leave until she sees you,” Gladwell said, giving a sniff that left no amount of guessing to how he felt about his employer or his uninvited “guest.”
Nicholas arched a brow. The cool night air was beginning to calm him, and his mind was clearing from the painful haze his encounter with Lucinda had caused.
“A woman?” he asked.
The servant nodded, and for the first time all night Nicholas smiled. Perhaps he would get one of his wishes without even having to search for it. Few people knew he was here, but perhaps one of the actresses or dance hall girls had gotten wind of his new title and home.
“Bring her to me,” he murmured as he perched himself on the edge of the veranda.
The man’s eyes widened as he looked around the darkened terrace. “Here, sir?”
Nicholas arched a brow. “Yes. Here.”
“It is not…er…you are certain you wish to receive a lady outside in the middle of the night?” Gladwell asked slowly.
He nodded. It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of the breach of protocol. It was that he didn’t care. And he had a sneaking suspicion that the kind of woman who would come for a meeting this late wouldn’t care, either. Hell, a tryst in the moonlight might do him some good. Just one last time, he could feed that beast within him that Lucinda said he had to tame.
“I would like to see my ‘strange’ guest, after all. And I want to see her right here.”
Jane clenched her shaking hands behind her back as she waited near the servants’ entrance of the town
home Nicholas Stoneworth had been letting for the past six months. She had never been so terrified in her entire life as when she rapped on the kitchen door and demanded to see His Lordship. And when the butler initially refused her request, she had almost, almost run back into the night and home in failure.
But one thought of Marcus, lost somewhere and possibly needing her help, had stiffened her resolve. And her “lady of the manor” tone had seemed to work, at least for now, for the servant had stomped off to find the gentleman in question and report her arrival.
The kitchen maid who had been left to make sure she didn’t steal the silver looked at her out of the corner of her eye before she smiled awkwardly and shot her gaze away. All the servants Jane had so far seen in this house looked a little…tired. Which made the mysterious Viscount Stoneworth even more terrifying. The man was looking to be an utter beast.
But he was her only hope.
The butler stepped back down the short flight of stairs into the kitchen and glared at her. “His Lordship will see you. How shall I announce you?”
Jane stiffened. “I shall tell the viscount my name myself, thank you.”
The slightest twitch around the servant’s eye was the only outward indication he gave of his annoyance. “Very well…madam, please follow me.”
Jane stared for a moment as the man turned and began to make his way back up the stairs. She couldn’t move. Had her wild scheme truly worked? Somehow she hadn’t really expected the viscount to see her, and now she was frozen with uncertainty.
“Don’t worry, luv,” the maid who had been watching her said from behind her, low enough that the butler wouldn’t hear. “No woman His Lordship has had here has ever left with complaints. Fact, most of ’em look happy as can be when they leave his bed. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Jane blanched as she stared in shock over her shoulder at the young woman. She wasn’t oblivious to the assumptions people might make if she came here uninvited, but she hadn’t exactly expected them to be spelled out so bluntly.
Her Notorious Viscount Page 2