Silk and Scandal

by Cassandra Dean

  Following where she led without protest, he said, “Where are we going?”

  “We are going to meet some of the people who—” Nicola stopped, so suddenly Thomas almost ran into her. “Sir Jervis!” she cried. “How delightful to see you!”

  Shock and a kind of horror froze Thomas as Sir John Jervis, the new Attorney General for England and Wales, turned to regard them both.

  Nic curtsed deeply and, dazzling with a smile, said, “Sir Jervis, it is so good to see you again. Tell me, how is your lady wife? I was just remarking to my grandfather, the Earl of Kerr, that I simply must renew my acquaintance with your delightful family!”

  Thomas couldn’t move. He could only stand there, smile frozen as Sir Jervis frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall—”

  Nic’s smile grew, if possible, more dazzling. “Lady Nicola, dear sir! Lord William’s daughter? We met once, I’m certain of it!”

  Though he still frowned, Sir Jervis nodded slowly. “Of course. Do give my regards to your father and grandfather.”

  “I will, sir, I will! But first, please allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas Cartwright, a new member of your party.”

  Sir Jervis turned to Thomas, whose stomach promptly relocated somewhere about his knees. “Mr. Cartwright.”

  “Sir Jervis.” His voice a tortured thing, he attempted a smile. He wasn’t altogether convinced he succeeded. Good God, the man whose position he might one day be privileged enough to occupy stood before him, and he could barely even croak out a greeting. This boded well for the future, didn’t it?

  Nicola’s smile intensified. “Mr. Cartwright is a brilliant barrister, Sir Jervis. Simply brilliant. My grandfather often relies upon him for advice.”

  “Really?” Sir Jervis turned a considering look on Thomas. “I’ll keep my eye on you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Could they see how he was sweating? He hoped to all that was holy they could not.

  Nic dazzled again. “Well, we’ve taken enough of your time. Thank you ever so. I shall be sure to call upon Lady Jervis soon!”

  “I shall inform her of your impending visit, Lady Nicola.” Sir Jervis nodded Thomas’s way. “Mr. Cartwright.”

  As Sir Jervis turned from them, Nicola tugged him away. Again, he followed her, his thoughts a whirl. What had just happened? What had she done? And, if he didn’t stop right now, his knees would go from under him.

  Halting in the middle of a crowded ballroom caused some issues, not the least of which that Nic seemed determined he should move.

  She tugged at his arm. “Don’t stop now. We have at least four more ministers to meet before you can collapse.”

  “I’m not going to collapse.”

  “Of course not. That’s why your knees are shaking.”

  “They are not.”

  “Thomas, we don’t have time for this. Come on.” Tugging at his arm, she tried to force him to move.

  He refused to budge. “What are you doing? Why are you assaulting members of parliament?”

  Her breath exploded. “I am not assaulting them; I’m introducing you. You didn’t seem about to do it anytime soon, and if someone didn’t intervene, you’d still be stood in that corner. Besides, you’re my friend. If I can help you, I shall.”

  Guilt bit deep. She sought only to help, and after he’d not kept their appointment yesterday. Bloody hell, he was a right bastard. “You shouldn’t extend yourself so, Lady Nicola.”

  She crossed her arms. “I will extend myself if I bloody well want to. I don’t give up on my friends.”

  Any feelings of guilt dampened at her accusatory words. “Are you suggesting I do, Lady Nicola?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Cartwright. Pray tell, exactly why was it you could not attend me yesterday?”

  ***

  Satisfaction swept Nicola as Thomas paled. Good, he deserved to feel low for leaving her to wait yesterday for over two hours. He’d sent a note, as well as a posy of admittedly lovely roses, but she had wanted him, not a bouquet of impersonal flowers. She’d been convinced he’d come, and when he hadn’t…. Well. She refused to become upset again.

  Now, she raised her brows. “Thomas? Was there a reason?”

  Still he stared at her, obviously speechless, then he snapped his mouth shut. “Lady Nicola, I am a busy man. I cannot drop my caseload simply because you wish me to dance attendance upon you.”

  She ignored the twinge of hurt his words caused, the knowledge that perhaps he might be right. “I thought, Mr. Cartwright, that we were friends. I thought you should wish to renew our acquaintance. I had not heard from you in almost two years, and once I believed us to be close. Was I incorrect in that assessment?”

  Something flickered in his hazel eyes before they shuttered once more. “All you say is true, Lady Nicola. However, our consequences have now changed. I am a barrister, and a new member of parliament. I have responsibilities and must consider my acquaintances carefully.”

  “What do you mean? Are you—Oh.” Something small and hurt burrowed inside her. “You are speaking of the scandals.”

  “I should never be so crass.”

  “Of course you would.” Arms crossed, she gripped herself tight. “Speak of it, Mr. Cartwright, and let us have it in the open.”

  He glanced about them. “We should not speak here.”

  No, not here. The crowd of people pressed upon her, until she felt as if she could not breathe. “Follow me.” Turning on her heel, she departed, trusting he would follow.

  The first room she tried was appropriate. A library or some such, it was empty of guests and that was her only concern.

  Thomas entered, closing the door behind him. “Jesus, Nicola, what if someone should see?”

  Always this worry and concern. Always this nod to propriety, though he let her introduce him to Sir Jervis, though for a moment—for half a second—he had seemed glad to see her. “So what is it, Thomas? Why is it that you cannot see me, talk with me, be my friend as once we were?” Swallowing, she asked the question that had caused her agony these two years gone. “Why did you stop writing?”

  Again a flicker of something in his eyes. “I thought it best.”

  “Did you?” Pain she’d thought buried crashed through her. It had hurt, so badly, when he’d stopped writing. Though she’d never wanted to admit it, she’d known it was because of those missteps she took, the idiotic troubles she’d gotten herself in, and now it would cost her his friendship. Even a return to London, a hope to begin anew, wouldn’t change it if he were ashamed of her.

  She focused on the least painful. “Did you know how fiendish boring it was without you? Without your word of home and your briefs and what you were experiencing at the Old Bailey?”

  He crossed his arms. “Apparently, you decided scandal was a judicious use of your time.”

  She flinched. She hated that she was known for scandal, that boredom and circumstance pushed her to folly. Well, she would not let him see how his words affected her.

  Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I cannot undo what has been done, Thomas. I should never have agreed to those engagements, or any of the other hundred missteps I’ve made. But I…I had hoped—That is, I thought you might understand.” Breath shuddered through her. “Were you ashamed? That you knew me?”

  “Nic, no.” Striding forward, he made as if he wanted to take her hands in his. “I was never ashamed of you.”

  She dashed at her cheek. “Then why did you stop writing?”

  The concern bled from his features and, dropping her hands, he stood from her. “We shouldn’t have begun a correspondence. We are too far apart in consequence.”

  A burn started in her chest. “That is not a reason.”

  His brows shot together. “Of course it is. You are the granddaughter of an earl. I am the son of no one. Literally. I do not know who my parents are, Nic. How can it not be a consideration?”

  Lord, this was less than a consideration. “Thomas, you are the adopted son of a
baronet and his wife. My father likes you, and that is the only care I have. Why can we not be friends?”

  He looked as if he still wished to protest, but then his shoulders slumped. “Do you really not know?”

  “Thomas, all I wanted was to be your friend.” Stepping closer to him, she took his hand. “It is all I’ve ever wanted.”

  A hush fell. Brows drawn, eyes unfathomable, he stared down at her. Of a sudden, she was intensely aware of her breath, of the way her chest rose and fell and how very close he was.

  “You think we are friends.”

  Rough, dark, his voice slid along her skin. Mouth abruptly dry, she couldn’t look from him, his eyes dark and burning into her own. She wet her lips.

  Something flared in his gaze. He moved closer. So very close. Slowly, gently, his hand cupped her chin and he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Stunned, she stood very, very still as his lips brushed hers. She’d been kissed before. Often. But she had never, ever, been kissed by Thomas Cartwright.

  Dear God. Thomas was kissing her.

  His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. Fire swept through her and, tangling her fingers in the soft strands of his hair, she pulled him closer. Then, she kissed him back.

  A thousand sensations assaulted her, a thousand different feelings, and all she could think was this was Thomas. Thomas, whose tongue stroked hers. Thomas, who made her weak and shivery and hot. Thomas’s soft hair curled around her fingers, and his strong hand splayed over the small of her back, pulling her into him. Thomas’s chest pressing against her breasts, his thighs against hers. Thomas was kissing her. And through all of these thoughts, all of these sensations, a realization.

  Of course. It had always been Thomas.

  With a final soft brush of his lips, he pulled from her and laid his forehead against hers. Their breath mingled, became one. And then, in the hush, he said, “That is why we cannot be friends.”

  Without even a backward glance, he strode from the room.

  Staring after him, she found herself unable to speak as he quietly closed the door behind him. She raised her shaking fingers to her lips. That was—There were no—

  Taking breath, she cursed herself for a fool. Of course she loved Thomas. Why else would she be devastated he severed their contact? Why would she try so hard to maintain it?

  A giddy joy exploded inside her, and she hugged herself happily.

  Well, now. This changed everything.

  Chapter Three

  Foot tapping a nervous rhythm, Nicola waited for Thomas to return. The walls of his office seemed closer than they had before, the room stacked with paper and law books and a million other things that seemed to push in upon her.

  Swallowing, she clasped her hands tighter. It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d arrived and Thomas had been sat behind his desk, a frown of concentration changing to a smile as he noticed her presence. Then, she could have enacted her plan and it would already be done, instead of twisting her stomach to knots as she waited.

  She looked down at her hands. This was folly. This was the worst idea she’d ever had, above the abortive engagements, above any other course that had set her to scandal. This plan could fail, so very badly, but she saw no other course of action.

  Though she’d not anticipated him being elsewhere. Arriving home from the gathering the night before—after Thomas had kissed her—she’d devised a stratagem where she would come to his office today, she would tease him and kiss him, and she would act as if he were already hers. Bluster and bravado had gotten her this far in the world; surely it would work one more time. However, upon her arrival, Thomas’s law clerk had informed her—rather haughtily in her opinion—that Mr. Cartwright was in court at the Old Bailey and not expected for another hour.

  And there were still another twenty-three minutes to wait.

  Oh, but this waiting was driving her mad! Staring down at her clasped hands, she forced her foot still. She couldn’t doubt herself. If he did not love her now, she would make him do so. She loved him too much for there to be any other outcome. Another hour. That was all she would wait, and if Thomas had not yet arrived, she would try again tomorrow.

  The door opened.

  Her heart leaped to her throat. Drawing a breath that shook, she straightened her back and pasted on a bright smile. So armored, she stood and turned to greet him.

  Still garbed in his wig and robes, Thomas strode through the doorway. Lines of tiredness drew his features, his arms weighed down with papers and books. Upon spying her, his brow creased further.

  Ignoring the twinge of hurt at his response to her presence, she brightened her smile. “Thomas, it’s wonderful you’re here! I’m so glad I didn’t leave.” Jumping to her feet, she rushed to him. “Here, let me take some of those papers.”

  Sidestepping her, he avoided her attempt to help. “There is no need, Lady Nicola.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Wrestling some of the stack from him, she smiled at him and tried to ignore how the twinge grew stronger when he did not smile in return. Instead, he ventured to his desk, dumped his share of paper and books, and, removing his wig, collapsed into his chair.

  Placing her stack on her side of the desk, Nicola considered him. The lines scored deep into his forehead didn’t lessen, even when he rubbed and rubbed at his temples. His hair stuck up every which way, as if his fingers had ploughed through the blond strands repeatedly. “What is amiss, Thomas?”

  His eyes snapped open. As if every muscle ached, he straightened his form and leveled his gaze upon her. “Lady Nicola, do you require a barrister for some purpose?”

  Maybe it was he tried for a professional mien, but his action only served to make him look more defeated. “Thomas, are you sleeping well? You look tired.”

  Features pinched, he said, “Nicola, I don’t have time for this. Is there something you require?”

  Clearly, he needed help and, knowing Thomas, he would not ask. Making her way to his side of the desk, she stopped beside him. Without comment, he watched her, back still rigorously straight. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand and smoothed her fingers through his hair.

  He flinched.

  Instantly, she froze. She would not force him to accept her comfort, and she would not be the cause of any more distress.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned into her touch. Just a bit. Just enough to accept her comfort.

  Wishing she’d had the forethought to remove her gloves, she stroked the bright blond strands. “Thomas, what ails you?”

  Tension bunched his shoulders. “Nic, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Always it’s ‘Nic, you shouldn’t be here.’ Well, I am here, Thomas, and it is plain something troubles you.” Hidden in the folds of her skirt, her hand tightened to a fist even as she kept the other stroking a soothing rhythm. “Please. Tell me.”

  Exhaling, he turned into her touch. “I should not burden you.”

  Oh, how very vexing he was. Lightly, she tugged his hair. “Do not force me to be more violent than this. Tell me.”

  A slight smile touched his lips. “Ah, Nic.”

  A hush fell, comfortable, familiar. Gently, she combed through his hair.

  Eventually the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and the lines in his brow smoothed away. “I did badly in court today.”

  A protest leaped to her lips, strong words to deny his, yet she knew that wouldn’t help. Quiet, she turned another response over in her mind, and then she turned it again. Finally, she said, “Why do you think so?”

  Opening his eyes, he leaned forward and, as he did so, her hand slipped from his hair. He pulled a stack of paper tied with red ribbon from the pile. “Do you know when I received this brief?”

  Curling her fingers into her palm, she shook her head.

  “An hour before I arrived at the Bailey. An hour to prepare, Nic. I couldn’t do more than glance at the circumstances. The prosecution hammered me today.” Throwing the papers down on the table, he placed his head in his hand.

/>   Chewing her lip, she regarded his hunched form. “Does the trial continue tomorrow?”

  “Thorough no little fault of my own.” Disgust drew his features. “I represented my client badly today.”

  Well, that settled it. Marching around the table, she stopped in front of the chair. Taking it in hand, she dragged it around to his side.

  He straightened. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping.” Arranging the chair next to him, she sat down and unlaced the red ribbon on the papers. “So what’s the case? Defense, correct? That’s what the red ribbon signifies?”

  Skepticism made his tone harsh. “You cannot help me, Nic.”

  “Of course I can,” she said. “I helped you before, didn’t I?”

  “When I was clerking for Lord Harry? That was completely different.”

  “It’s still helping.” She paused. “Do you truly wish me to stop?”

  For endless moments, he stared at her. Heart beating madly, she resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms. Dear God, she didn’t want him to say no.

  Finally, he looked down at the brief. “Attempted murder as a result of aggravated burglary. My client claims he was defending himself, that the victim would have killed him.”

  Relief was like a balm. “Right. Just like Regina versus Allen” Nicola scanned the paper before her. “What was the victim’s testimony?”

  “Nothing of the sort, of course.” She could feel his gaze upon her, a prickle on her skin. “You remember Regina versus Allen?”

  “Of course. I remember all your cases.” Shifting in her seat, she told herself she wasn’t reacting to his nearness. For goodness sake, they were discussing a felony.

  For a moment more, he regarded her. Then, he bent over the papers with her. “The victim claims the defendant beat him for no reason, but the witness claims he…”

  Watching the brief as he explained, she tried to focus solely only his words. She would not notice how his eyes brightened as love of the law overtook him, how his tiredness faded away as his passion flared. She would not think on how she wanted to place her lips against his, and turn all that passion to her.