Towards the center of the long, carpeted hallway, he passed Lord Daniel’s retreating form. The man did not look angry, in fact, the opposite could be said from the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Nicholas’s fingers curled deeper into his pockets, and he continued forward. The walls lined with portraits of the duchess and her family during their happier moments a stark contrast to the sharp possessiveness curling his fist. He wasn’t familiar with the bites of hot and cold current running along his skin. Nor the stabs of… He shook his head to dispel the vice tightening around his chest with no luck. He was jealous, he thought with dismay.
He stopped a few feet from the powder room, and he braced himself against the opposite wall, waiting for Lady Isabella to exit, when Lord Emsley stepped to the door. Nicholas straightened, took a step forward, then stopped when the man scanned both directions to be sure no one paid him particular heed, then turned the lock. The door opened, and Emsley slipped through.
Nicholas stared at the closed door for a long, angry moment and wondered if he should intervene, then decided against it. Lady Isabella did not need more scandal, and she was not his business. Across the passageway was an adjoining room he’d discovered earlier in the evening when he’d had enough of the upper class, a darkened office off limits to party goers, which he entered. Not bothering to light any lamps, he maneuvered to the shelf and opened the cigar box. He took his cigar from his breast pocket then clipped the head. Once again, he’d forgotten to guard his emotions around Lady Isabella. Tonight proved he hadn’t truly forgotten the lady. Instead, he had merely tucked her away in some distant corner of his heart. Nicholas frowned. Yes, his heart, he admitted, for her boldness and defiance to the rules of good ton had secured her place there. Tom had given many names of ladies over the years who would have welcomed his aid and marriage to escape poverty or the like, yet he’d sought none. Not until Lady Isabella. And now he was angry…and jealous—two emotions he kept well in check. He was a fool to think his need for a wife could be anything more than a business proposal.
Yet, Lady Isabella’s actions tonight served to harden his opinion of the upper-class—marriage to an aristocrat offered the connections he needed to expand his business and an improved status for his daughter, nothing more. She’d squashed any considerations that he’d look elsewhere for a wife with her public disobedience of rules, but any desires he might have harbored about their upcoming arrangement being anything more than a contract had been dashed. He no longer needed to woo her to his side, or to convince the lady that lineage was of no consequence. His protection and wealth would suffice.
French doors led to a corner of the balcony that wrapped around the side of the townhouse and eluded light from the hall. The length of a room, this end of the balcony offered a view of the neighbor’s property instead of the favored gardens. He took a match from his pocket, then scratched it along the brick wall. The stick lit, and he cupped his hands around the foot of the cigar and inhaled. Back and forth, his thumb and forefinger turned the head between his lips, and he blew smoke until it clouded his vision. So, the lady had planned a secret assignation, he mused, and she’d done it under the nose of the ton.
Four
The door to the powder room opened and Isabella rubbed her exposed arms. The faint scent of sandalwood tickled her nose. She turned to look over her shoulder and her eyes met Emsley’s. Isabella inhaled deeply. She should have recognized the scent of his aftershave tonic.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, but I’m delighted you came.” Lord Emsley walked further into the room. He was dressed in a dark shade of gray and his green necktie matched his eyes. Eyes she had remembered more clearly than she cared to admit. “You look as I recall…”
She turned towards him. “Heartbroken?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Radiant.”
It was difficult enough keeping her composure after seeing that rogue Nicholas, now Emsley had followed her. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her skirt. How had she ever fancied herself in love with him? She was bone-tired and in no mood for his antics or deception. She’d made new friendships with Lord Daniel and his aunt, and had rekindled an old one in Lady Godric, but she’d accomplished little else.
It did not bode well that he’d sought her company in the ladies’ quarters. If anyone had seen him enter…knew that they were alone…her appearance tonight would be for naught. There would be no hope of tutoring well-born children. “I wish to be alone,” Isabella said.
“We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Sweat ran along her spine. He should be in the country, basking in matrimonial bliss, not here destroying what was left of her tattered reputation.
“You loved me once.” A slight curve at the corners of his lips softened his voice. “Do you remember the day I proposed? You were knee deep in muck when I found you.”
“We were to have a picnic,” she said. “I couldn’t decide on a spot. I was frantic with indecision when I fell off my mount. I could not help that the pool was more mud than water.”
“You never do anything simply, do you?” He closed the distance between them.
She reached for her necklace before remembering it wasn’t around her neck. The gift from her mother had been stolen weeks after moving into her home. She closed her eyes and rested her hand against her chest. It was another loss, another piece of her life that was snatched away while she had been too naive to see the danger. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
“I remember you saying you loved me. We were going to have a life filled with children and happiness, everything you lacked in your nursery.” Lowering her lashes, she turned from him. “They were all lies, and I was foolish to believe them.”
“I did—do love you.”
She shook her head. “You married someone else and left me in ruins.” From his reflection in the glass, she saw his lips flatten into a thin line.
“I had no idea your father would—”
“You had no idea running off and marrying someone else would cause scandal, or that my father would toss me, his unmarriageable daughter, aside?” Her father had called her a spinster, and a soiled one at that.
He moved further into the powder room, close enough to see her trembling lower lip. Her fingers curled. This was to be her night—if not to be fully embraced again by the gentry, then at least to remind the ton of her good breeding. Who better to tutor their sons and daughters if not one of their own?
She’d spent hours, days dreading the sight of Emsley. She’d been bold with her rebuff in the mirror—her chin had tilted up, not with the slight quiver she now felt, nor did she stare into eyes that held regret. Emsley’s did, and that almost undid her. She owed him nothing.
“If you’d waited…” Emsley said, his eyes dark. “Did you not read my message?”
Isabella froze. His message on the night things had ended had been a few lines scribbled on elegant paper. “You said your choice ensured our future. Pray tell, how could marriage to another woman benefit us?” When he stared at her, Isabella had a sinking feeling she would not care for his answer. “I say again, sir: we have nothing to discuss.”
“I apologized.”
Isabella stepped away from him. “Not for the hurt you caused me and my family…the humiliation, but for the haste of your decision.”
“I had to think beyond our wedding. My father squandered our family’s wealth; your dowry would not have cleared my debt. I will not live in ruin because of him. I thought you understood that.”
“Because my father also gambled my fortune? I understand you chose the path that filled your coffers.” Isabella realized he had not trusted in their future, and she could not tolerate his faithlessness.
“I did this for us, Isabella.”
Emsley grabbed her arm. She flinched. Through the sleeve of her dress, she felt the cold sting of his rings against her warm flesh. She always thought he wore them as a show of wealth, but when she spied the ruby tha
t once belonged to her father, she knew he boasted his winnings.
“That you would continue to wear that token of my father’s is a demonstration of your character. Good evening.” She yanked her arm from his grip. Isabella’s gaze shifted, and she saw, to her dismay, Emsley’s new wife standing in the door of the powder room. Was the girl embarrassed that her husband had sought Isabella’s company?
“There must be something James and I can do for you?” Lady Emsley tugged on the tips of her glove then slipped it off her hand. Then she gave her husband a sidelong glance, willing him to silence before facing Isabella again. “His offer in his message was quite generous, I assure you.”
Isabella swallowed, anger making her throat dry. “No thank you, I don’t need a hand out.”
“You’re no ninny, Lady Isabella. My husband still fancies you.”
“Catharina!”
“Well, it’s true.” Lady Emsley glanced towards her husband.
“You approve of…this?” Isabella shuddered as the words left her mouth. Had the woman not been cold, Isabella would have felt pity.
“Would it please you if I approved?” She smiled then. The act transforming her fine features into nothing short of a beautiful fairy. It was that beauty and money that had likely turned Emsley’s head. “Emsley and I share an agreement, you see. He gets my dowry. My father gets a grandson with a title, and I’m free from Father’s iron will. And after the child is born, we both agree to do as we please.” The woman stepped closer. “And you, Lady Isabella, shall be taken care of.”
“I don—” Isabella started to object at the absurdity of the situation. Clearly they were mad.
“I’ll even aid in finding a husband if you still wish…”
Emsley grumbled from across the room. But Isabella was too stunned to take her gaze from the woman standing a few feet away to pay Emsley any mind at the moment.
The woman raised a brow, effectively silencing Emsley’s growl of disapproval.
Isabella sucked in a breath of air. She looked between the two. For the first time, Emsley’s ambitions and greed frightened her. The wine she drank earlier did cartwheels in her stomach, and it took a moment to sweep the cloud of disbelief from her brain. Some nerve, sashaying into the room and offering her husband as if he were some prize instead of a bee in her bonnet. She was surprised the woman did not hide her intentions… Then again, Lady Emsley was not English. “I’m no one’s mistress,” Isabella said. “I don’t need charity from you, Lord Emsley.” She turned her attention fully to Lady Emsley. “And I don’t need you to find me a husband.”
“Isabella.”
She walked out the room, slammed the door, and received more than one curious glance from the guests as she walked towards the back balcony for some much needed fresh air. For the second time, Emsley had managed to humiliate her. Blinking rapidly, she willed her tears not to fall. He did not deserve them. Oh, why had she waited for him, years longer than any woman would have, to watch him marry a wretched child of eighteen? She hurried further along the balcony where shadows of light from the hall no longer played against the brick.
Secluded in darkness, the palm of her hand slapped the rail. Damn you, Emsley! At four and twenty, she should be married with children, not a social pariah being offered unsavory deals by a greedy child. She gripped the rail, surprised the low whimpers filling the air came from her. She must not cry. He didn’t deserve her tears.
A hand held her shoulder, then spun her around. The chest that greeted her was broad beneath the jacket. She inhaled smoke and the sweet aroma of ripened cherries. Cigar and brandy. Her eyes searched the dark for any hint of identity. Her lips parted in silent protest when the first touch of calloused fingers brushed along her cheek, tilting her chin.
“Are you drowning, Lady Isabella?” His Scottish accent was a bath in hot springs. His thumb brushed the tip of her nose. Lingered. Her nostrils flared and the scent of him invaded her senses. His hands snaked around her waist, guiding her closer.
“You,” Isabella whispered.
“Aye, me.” He kissed her cheek. “Is your nose still covered in freckles, lass?”
“No!”
“Liar.” He brushed the tip of her nose with his. “Did he kiss you?” His lids lowered to watch her mouth. “I’ll be damned if I kiss you after him.”
“No.” She shivered, the sensation curling her toes in anticipation. “Emsley didn’t kiss me.” The man holding her in strong arms was something old, from her past, something forgotten. Isabella relaxed, molding against the captain. Oh, but she needed this, to feel like a woman again, alive and desired. His tongue brushed against her lips, not once but twice, tracing the outline of her mouth—a delightful distraction from her recent episode.
“Let me in, lass.”
His warm breath fanned her face. She had dreamed of this, years ago, when she was young and thought the world not full of danger but adventure. His gaze moved from her mouth, wet from the tantalizing brushes of his tongue, to her eyes. In the darkness of the night, his eyes were black fire. Hot. Wicked.
“What a bonnie reward for my second rescue.”
“You’ve botched your count, sir.”
“A new tally is in order then.”
“Brilliant.”
He smiled. His lips descended in slow torture, groaning his approval when his tongue brushed hers. All rational thoughts scattered. He explored her mouth. Heat pooled. Fanned out. The shudder that shook her was not from anger, but fear and desire.
The sea, that’s what he was. Raging waves that didn’t settle in the wee hours of dawn.
A strangled cry arose. But this man, breathless as he made her, was a stranger. They were too close and the scoundrel too warm and tempting. Isabella didn’t have the time or luxury to sort her emotions. She shoved his chest and his hands loosened, but not enough to be decent. His head rose above hers, eyes bright with longing. Isabella moaned, a bolt of desire running up her thighs.
“Unhand me.”
“Nay, I approve of where you’re standing.”
Five
Nicholas gasped when the woman in his hold shuddered, sending a shock of awareness through him. She was a bonnie lass, with wee brown freckles dashed on the tip of her nose. He tried to convince himself that his immediate attraction and the betrayal of his body was due to the fact that he hadn’t bedded a woman in months—an unease he’d yet to rectify since he docked—and even as he tried to lift the bolt of arousal from his head, he knew that was a lie.
“You’ve received your reward. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir.”
“Aye, but I’ve rescued you twice.”
“No decent gentleman—”
His head dipped to whisper into her ear. “I’ll let go if you promise to give me what I want.”
At her sharp intake of breath, he knew she was not as innocent or unmoved as she pretended.
In normal times, he would woo a lady, but these were not normal circumstances and he hadn’t interest in brothels or bedding widows, not since he glimpsed the fire-cat embraced in a waltz moments ago. She had claimed both his desire and interest.
When he had docked, Tom mentioned that Lady Isabella was not under her father’s protection. The man was convinced it was Nicholas’s only chance to stand among the ton as an equal. With no other choice, a woman of privilege might consider marrying a Scottish bastard that made his trade at sea. Well, Lady Isabella was in more than a little trouble, and he intended to bolt the door to her exit far above her bonnie head so she couldn’t escape.
Tom was correct in his assessment of her circumstances, however, that knowledge did little to ease Nicholas’s annoyance that Lady Isabella so easily hardened his body.
The lady in his arms was warm and alive, not at all the cold lass he’d envisioned. Her head, covered in thick curls, leaned against his arm. He was sure he could not resist if she were to seduce him, yet he could not trust her with his heart. Not after his own father, an aristocrat, chose peerage over him,
leaving Nicholas and his mother to fend for themselves. He was not so low as to blame Isabella for his scars, but he could not swear, given the choice, she would not choose the ton.
Lady Isabella was dangerous, Nicholas decided, and it would do him good to remember that before she poked her fingers at his emotional wounds.
His lips connected with soft skin just below her earlobe. Nicholas took the shudder that vibrated through her as encouragement. His tongue flicked, drawing lazy circles over the sensitive flesh. Her body responded to his simple play. He bit down. Isabella gasped, her head tilted. Her hands, hesitant at first, reached up to encircle his neck. His hips flexed and thrust towards expectant warmth. Their bodies meshed, leaving no doubt as to what he wanted, craved, desired.
Their breaths mingled as his tongue explored her mouth, inviting dual play. She followed his lead and her tongue moved against his teeth. A shudder ran from him to her, until neither knew where it began or ended.
She broke their kiss, pressed her cheek against his chest and gasped for air.
“Nicholas,” he whispered into her ear.
She looked at him.
“My name. Nicholas Ferguson. We were not properly introduced before.” When she continued to stare at him, Nicholas released their embrace, and stood beside her. “You are not charmed with my name.”
“Of course, Nicholas is a fine name.”
He chuckled. “Tell me, what heap of trouble have you gotten yourself into?” He easily saw the spirited lass from years ago and that pleased him. Nay, he did not want her hardened by the streets of London.
“I was jilted.” Her chin quivered.
Ah, that was his problem with high society. While brothels and mistresses were acceptable behavior for men, any stitch of rumor proved difficult for a lady. Looking at the stolen color from her cheeks, he suspected more to her plight and that she’d only divulged that bit of information because it was common knowledge if he cared to ferret out information from any in the ballroom. “That can’t be all, lass?”
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