Papa glared at him for two or three more moments before he retreated to catch the attention of a footman. "My good man," he called out. "I need my carriage."
A breeze wafted near Nicola's neck, stirred her senses—told her that Allegro was near. The notes of Beethoven's "Serioso" played in her ear. Drat that interfering pixie! If only she could grab him, she would wring his scrawny neck.
"Dessstiiiinnny," Allegro sang.
"Go away," she whispered, swatting at him and missing. Laughing, he became a brilliant sparkle that blended with the stars.
Falcon answered. "I intended to go away after the wedding, but your scheming makes it difficult to leave you in Nottingham."
She swiveled to find him glaring at her. "What scheming?" she asked, indignant.
"You intentionally stepped into the light so that you would be discovered alone with me." His tone was as cold as autumn wind rustling through the leaves.
"Excuse me? I did no such thing! Why would you even begin to think that I would want you, especially in such a manner?"
"So that you could have a very prominent wedding."
She took a step nearer, coming toe-to-toe with him. Her chest smoldered ire. "If you'll remember, I'm the one who doesn't want to get buckled. You do, enough so that you would hold Ramsey against his will in order to get me to the altar."
"And you are taking full advantage of the situation by forcing a large wedding. You have made it perfectly clear that you do not want to be ensconced in the country. You, madam, are an opportunist, an encroaching mushroom."
Fire lit her blood, the heat spreading so quickly it snatched the air from her lungs. "How dare you!"
Footsteps crunched the gravel behind, telling them of her father's approach. The coachman had already pulled the carriage up, and Papa grasped her gently by the elbow to escort her to their transportation.
Falcon gave a polite nod. "I look forward to our meeting on the morrow."
Papa threw him a pointed look. "As do I, my lord." Giving her sweetest smile, Nicola stared at Falcon. "Just who is the devious one, my lord?"
Her father's brow wrinkled in puzzlement, but Nicola scrambled into the carriage to delay the questions she knew were coming, barely allowing the footman to assist her. After her father settled on the squabs across from her, she leaned out the window. "Don't be so certain you know me, my lord. You may be in for a shock."
At her signal, the coachman encouraged the horses to trot. When she leaned back, she discovered her father openly scrutinizing her.
"What exactly happened back there, Nicola? Why do I get the feeling that you know each other … that he has been pursuing you, and that he was the reason we had been invited to this fancy gathering?"
She gave him a sheepish shrug. "Perhaps because he was the reason we were invited."
"Have you been seeing him?" His expression was full of disapproval.
"Only at the shop." Although she felt guilty for the lie, she was determined not to tell of the other times—especially the incident in the workhouse, which had initiated the whole catastrophe in the first place.
Not only was her father's health poor, but he was too protective. He didn't own dueling pistols—had never aimed one in his life—but that wouldn't stop him from challenging the Earl. Too, she didn't want him to blame Ramsey.
"You would tell me, wouldn't you, if he made improper advances?"
"As I told everyone else, I leaned against the hidden door and fell. The guests saw us together and came to the wrong conclusions."
With a grunt, her father rubbed his chin and glanced through the window at the night sky, his expression thoughtful, brooding. The creak of the wheels, an occasional snort from the horses, and the cry of a nightingale drifted into the cab as it swayed with the movement. "Why has he been showing an interest in you? Is it because of that infernal Clockwork Blue?"
With sudden certainty, she knew she couldn't mention the Falcon's interest in the dye. That Papa would think it was what enticed Falcon and not her charming person was humiliating by itself, but to admit the truth of his assumption would absolutely devastate her. Not to mention that her father would be just as upset—especially in view of his low opinion of the Earl. He would blame himself for Falcon's pursuit and do something rash. She couldn't afford any wild cards in this situation, especially since Ramsey was still at risk. "He's been pursuing me because we care for each other."
"Is this the reason you wanted him over for dinner? Because you were forming an attachment with him?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Nicola, I-I wish he were someone else. He's a scoundrel and a cheat. But if you love him then so be it. Of course, I'll do everything I can to thwart this wedding if it isn't what you want." His scowl of determination was back, and she knew she would have to reassure him, else he do something rash.
"Marriage with the Earl is what I want," she said with a firmness she didn't feel. "So please give him a chance. Try to see the goodness in him."
"Ah, my sweet girl, you know I will!" Her father grasped her hand and squeezed it affectionately. "I merely want you to be happy."
"I know," she whispered around the lump in her throat. "And I will be—how can I not with such a loving family with me, too?"
"I love you, daughter—I want you to be content," he declared before leaning across the narrow space to hug her.
"I'll be just fine. I love you, too, Papa." Tears of affection prickled the back of her eyes. How much simpler it would be to believe in the pixies' judgment—to have faith in the outcome of this marriage—and to forget what happened to Grandmother Diderot. As she returned his embrace, she hoped Glissando would succeed in getting Ramsey out of harm's way so that she would have more of a choice in the matter of her life.
"Five thousand pounds a year?" Papa exclaimed the following afternoon, his jaw slack.
From her seat on the other side of her father's desk, Nicola peered at the man she was supposed to marry and her heart sank. Falcon's expression was as remote and still as if he perched on a desolate cliff. He sat in the high- backed Georgian chair, the early afternoon sun reflecting off his deep-black hair, his steady gaze on her father.
"If that is not enough, I'm prepared to offer six thousand. However, that is my limit. Furthermore, I will provide for Ramsey. I have already seen to it that he starts his studies at Oxford in the fall. He will come into my Welsh estate upon his twenty-fifth birthday."
"Thunderation," Papa responded, his tone full of wonder.
Staring at the ornaments decorating a low table near her chair, Nicola picked up a figurine resembling a tiny pixie. The crystal felt cool and smooth in her hand. Though the ornament was cheap, a silly prize that her father had won for her mother in the ring toss at a carnival years ago, it had been her mother's favorite piece. A lump formed in Nicola's throat.
"I don't know what to say." Her father's eyes were as glassy as the figurine.
She shifted her attention to the austere, almost beautiful angles of Malcolm's proud profile; then her gaze dropped to his mouth, seemingly carved of stone. Her heart sank.
Seeming to give himself a little shake, her father regained his composure and tossed Falcon a cool look. "Money isn't a substitute for Nicola's happiness. Will you treat my daughter well?"
"Of course. As the mother of my children, she will have all the finer things in life. She'll have social status and be accepted into the highest circles. Your daughter won't lack for anything."
Papa turned to her. "Nicola? I've dreamed of such a station in life for you, but above all I want you to be content. Tell me, is this what you want?"
Nicola traced the fragile spun glass and wondered where Allegro was. She hadn't seen the rascal since the previous night. Not to mention Glissando, who'd disappeared a sennight ago in his magical balloon. The marital shackles were looming nearer, but she must answer her father, who was beginning to look grim.
As much as she wanted to reassure her father, she wanted to express her notion of th
e perfect marriage to Falcon once and for all—if for no more reason than to warn him of just what he was up against. "Yes, Papa, I know our marriage will be a match made in heaven. Why, we'll adore each other, not able to bear to spend time apart. We'll read poetry together, discuss politics, search the fields for insects to find new dyes, visit the dump to discover even more hues, and love each other on a daily basis."
She glanced at Falcon and shuddered, for his eyes had turned as cold as silver coins.
How could she shackle herself to someone who didn't value the important things in life? Love, that intricate understanding of each other with merely a glance, the deep knowledge that your loved one was there for you, through thick and thin; a profound camaraderie with a soul mate—those were the most important experiences. But as she looked at Malcolm, at the frigid indifference in his expression that turned her blood to ice, she had a sinking sensation that her longing for even a modicum of a friendship would never be fulfilled.
Lifting her hands, Nicola defied Falcon with a look, then smiled at her father. "Our marriage will be just like yours and mum's, Papa."
He clapped his hands. "Well, that is settled, then." He pushed up out of his chair and looked at Falcon. "When would you like to have the ceremony?"
"By this Friday," Falcon responded, rising also.
In five days? She had to plan a wedding and reconcile herself to the notion. Her chest tightened with panic. "That's much too soon."
He turned, his whole being exuding strength and power. "Don't worry, sweeting. I promise you the wedding will be everything you hope for and more."
"What do you mean by that?"
"My staff is already preparing for our union. Because of last night, I plan to extend the guest list and ask the whole county to attend."
Was she to have no say in her own wedding preparation? Didn't every woman long to plan the perfect day, though this being the business arrangement it was, perhaps he didn't think being perfect mattered. She frowned, confused. "When did you do all this?"
"Shortly after I arrived in Nottingham."
His arrogant assumption that he would get his way, even before he had met her, made her fume. Insufferable and arrogant were the adjectives that came to mind. How dare he assume she would give in. But she was giving in, though not through any wish on her part. She tossed him one of her sugary smiles. "Then it must have been love at first sight for you."
He stared at her gown, made from a plaid fabric dyed Clockwork Blue. "Yes, it was."
The reminder couldn't have been any more blunt. She was so much chattel, unwanted baggage that came with the dowry. A suffocating sensation engulfed her, but she forced it down.
Thankfully oblivious to the undercurrents, Papa took hold of her arm. "Well, well, I say we are progressing marvelously. And we have much to do."
"Yes," Falcon said. "I will get a special license."
"Very good, my lord. My, but Ramsey will be quite astounded about all this. I thought he was due home today. He'll be glad to know our Nicola is getting married."
"I'm certain he will," she mumbled, not certain at all.
"Now, Nicola." Papa gave her an admonishing look and reached for the foolscap on his desk. "I must send him a missive at John Wimble's home."
But contrary to Papa's belief, he wasn't at Wimble's home.
"I will frank the note for you," Falcon said.
Nicola realized her future husband was very sly. By franking the note, Malcolm could be assured their deception need never be revealed. She stared at him in frustration.
"That is good of you, my lord." Her father rubbed his hands together.
Alarm whistled through her like the blast of a steam locomotive. She knew she could never whisk Ramsey out of the country in so short a time and thereby avoid this marriage. "That will be too late," she mumbled.
Papa's bushy brows furrowed. "Too late? The wedding will be in five days."
Falcon smiled. "I'm certain he will be in time to bear witness."
His expression reminded Nicola of a great bird preparing to strike. As he turned to leave, she had the strange sensation that something important was afoot. Grimly, she decided it was time to visit his estates, and she would go to Windmere early in the morning to hustle Ramsey far, far away—before the modiste could work on her wedding dress, before the purchases of supplies for the breakfast, before any decorations could be made, before any invitations were mailed, before any plans for this catastrophe of a ceremony could come to fruition. The sooner the better.
As she bustled away to make plans of her own, she hoped Glissando world return with Mr. Hamilton.
Malcolm watched Nicola rush away as if a hundred falcons chased her and wondered at the small prickle of discomfort near his heart. He reminded himself that he didn't want affection or even acceptance. His sole reason for the wedding was the dye. When her footsteps faded, he sensed the older man's attention and turned to find Moore openly examining him.
"I want to make one thing clear, Falcon. Do right by her or you will wish you had never been born."
Moore's obvious fondness for his daughter helped ease the prick of what Malcolm could only term as conscience. Bloody hell, he was becoming as soft as Gaspar. He would have to remember to work on his weakening resolve to stay aloof from Nicola, to remind himself that this marriage was needed to win what he craved—the Clockwork Blue. No one would crack his resolve to remain a watcher in life, not a participant. However, the realization that her father cared for Nicola so much made it that much easier to leave her ensconced in the country near her beloved relative. "Sir, I give you my solemn vow that I will never mistreat your daughter. I will do all that I can to make certain she is content."
After several moments of perusal, Moore sighed. "I don't know what she sees in you, but I guarantee one thing."
"What's that?"
"If anyone can thaw that icy veneer you wear, it will be Nicola."
"I'm going to draw your cork!" Ramsey growled.
Nicola halted in Falcon's courtyard, startled. She peered over a mulberry bush heavy with morning dew and gasped. Not more than a hundred yards away Falcon and Ramsey stood in a clearing near the stables. Windmere Manor loomed large and impressive in the background, but the combative stance of the Earl and Ramsey was what caught her attention. They circled, their arms cocked aggressively. The pungent smell of the dewy grass weighted the morning air, tickling Nicola's nose. She'd hoped to catch Falcon unawares, believing she would see a truer picture of Ramsey's welfare. She was shocked by how hostile the situation truly was.
Ramsey's expression was rigid with concentration, but Falcon's quiet power crackled the air. Her cousin was no match for him. Blood pounded in her ears.
Ramsey dove for Malcolm's legs, but Malcolm pivoted to one side. As he missed, Falcon pounced, causing Ramsey to slam face-down onto the grass with a bone-jarring thud.
Nicola's heart leapt into her throat. She rushed forward.
Ramsey groaned and sat up. "Cogs, Falcon!"
"Knocked the air out of you, did I?" With a grin, Malcolm adjusted his shirt sleeves.
"How did I give myself away that time? I did it just like you did the other day."
Nicola froze, confused.
Ramsey frowned in concentration. "I didn't lean, did I?"
"No. If you hadn't flicked your gaze in the direction you were intending to go, I would have been completely surprised." Malcolm offered a hand to Ramsey, who was rubbing his shoulder. "You're improving."
Ramsey accepted his assistance, allowing Falcon to pull him to his feet. "Let's have another round. I'll get you this time."
How had this happened? she wondered. How had the two developed this camaraderie? The Falcon had obviously manipulated her vulnerable, young cousin, and that infuriated her. In fact, everything about him infuriated her. His arrogance, the way his eyes swept over her—her shiver of excitement from that possessive look. Yes, she knew it was her reaction, but the unwanted response was his fault.
/> Calm down, she told herself. The three-mile walk had caused a dew to form on her temples and upper lips, not to mention her ire upon seeing Falcon wrestling with the closest person she had to a sibling.
"You'll have a chance later to pin me, once your cousin leaves," Falcon answered Ramsey. He glanced in her direction.
She met his stare. "Not if I can stop it."
"What a pleasant surprise, Nicola. Good afternoon."
Before she realized what he intended, Falcon grasped her hand and kissed the back of it. His warm mouth against her skin sent sparks tumbling through her, like the furnace in her father's dye house.
Ramsey smiled. "When did you get here? Did you see what Falcon did?"
"I saw." She moved away, hoping to escape Falcon's overpowering aura, and clamped down hard on her back teeth to keep from shouting at the ridiculous men, wrestling in such an absurd manner—although if she were truthful, Malcolm looked far from absurd. His movements had been sinewy, smooth and natural, and caused her breath to hitch in her chest.
Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles) Page 13