Nicholas: Lord of Secrets ll-2

by Grace Burrowes

  She said nothing for a moment then surprised him.

  “I wish I knew how to use a gun, or that I was as big and powerful as you are.” Her voice was low and bitter, a tone no lady should ever have cause to adopt. Nick slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently against his side.

  “You must allow me to be your champion. I would meet him over pistols,” Nick said, nuzzling her temple, though only once and lightly. Very lightly. “I would not raise my hand to him.”

  “Why not?” She sank against him easily, as if she’d been waiting for him to make the first overture.

  “Murder is frowned upon,” Nick said, thinking it quite the pity in this case. “He’s old and sick, and it wouldn’t be sporting to beat the man with bare fists.” Ladies needed comfort, he told himself, and Leah was very much a lady.

  Before he nuzzled her again—or worse—Nick bestirred himself to pose a question to the woman tucked to his side. “What manner of brother is it who allows you to languish here in the dark with me? I want to like the man, but one does wonder.”

  “He’s the best of brothers, but he has troubles of his own. He knows if I’m languishing, it’s because I want to.”

  “Hmm.” Nick’s fingers insinuated themselves over Leah’s hand. “And what if Hellerington were to appear here?”

  “I’d not hesitate to scurry back to the ballroom. I know his coach. I know his scent. I know him. He’s not here.”

  “So you can enjoy yourself with me. For this one night.”

  “For a single dance,” Leah said. “More than that will call attention.”

  “I hear the musicians tuning up,” Nick murmured, closing his eyes the better to feel her beside him. “I must ask for the pleasure. It’s an English waltz, and they are not played often enough.”

  Other couples moved past them over on the path, returning to the dance floor.

  “I don’t want to go in.”

  And didn’t that sentiment just flatter a fellow shamelessly?

  “We’ll dance out here,” Nick said, rising and drawing her to her feet. “My lady.” He offered her the required bow, she sank into a curtsy, and Nick led her to the wide terrace that wrapped around one side and the entire back of the ballroom. The area behind the ballroom, however, was only dimly lit and gratifyingly devoid of other people.

  He drew her into waltz position then drew her just a hair closer; then, when she didn’t protest or poker up, he drew her flush against his body. She melted against him, resting her cheek against his sternum, and Nick knew a sensation of gratitude so intense it physically warmed the center of his chest.

  The music started, a stately triple meter that let them find each other’s balance. Nick kept his steps simple and small, and then gradually relaxed as it became obvious she followed him with ease. On impulse, he folded their joined hands against his chest, and their fingers linked.

  To dance with her this way was wicked, scandalous, naughty, and intoxicatingly lovely. When the music ended, Nick kept his arms around her.

  “We should go in,” Leah murmured.

  “We should,” Nick agreed, his chin resting on the top of her head. He was going to kiss her first though, even though he knew that was a bad idea and not gentlemanly of him. Dancing under the stars could qualify as a shared stolen pleasure; kissing a woman who needed his help…

  Her lips brushed against his so lightly he went still, hoping she’d repeat the caress.

  Bless you, Nick thought as Leah reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, steadying herself for another sweet, slow sweep across his mouth.

  “Lovey.” Nick told himself to open his eyes, not close them. “Lamb, we shouldn’t.”

  Another achingly gentle pressure against his lips, and Nick growled, settled his hands on her hips, and resigned himself to having one more thing to regret. For long minutes, he let her explore his features, then—bold wench—his mouth. She wasn’t experienced, he could taste that easily, but she was avid, and increasingly uninhibited as Nick groaned and murmured encouragement when she came up for air.

  Something else was coming up too, so Nick eased out of the kiss, resting his forehead on hers while they both caught their breath.

  “You are taking advantage of me,” Nick scolded. “I’m out here all unchaperoned and lonely, and you are turning my head.” To his own ears, he sounded the tiniest bit sincere. “I don’t want to let you go,” Nick went on, his tone suggesting real regret, “but this can’t serve either of us.”

  “It’s just a kiss,” Leah replied. She sounded as dazed and weak in the knees as Nick felt.

  “You are stealing my lines as well as my breath,” Nick muttered. He stepped back, softening the loss by smoothing a lock of her hair over her ear.

  “You’ve used that line frequently?”

  “Countless times,” Nick said, hating himself but keeping his voice as light as he could. He really did not favor lying to women, no matter what that made him in their eyes.

  “I wish you weren’t so honest.” Leah shifted back, and Nick feared she was regretting her advances.

  “I wish you weren’t so pretty,” Nick rejoined. “I wish you had an honorable papa. Now, how about you introduce me to your negligent brother?”

  He led her back around to the doors opening into the ballroom, and she even suffered his scrutiny when he made her tarry under a torch that he might inspect her presentation. Nick prided himself on being able to kiss a woman passionately without messing her hair, but had to ask her to smooth his back into place. She obliged by sifting her fingers repeatedly through his hair, until he had to straighten, clear his throat, and deliver a mental lecture to parts of him that were getting untoward ideas from even such a simple, casual caress.

  Four

  Darius nodded at Nick’s retreating back, Lady Blanche Cowell nigh wrapped around Reston’s arm as they walked away. “So where did you meet that?”

  “I met him in the park with Emily,” Leah said, and then because the dratted woman’s perusal of Nick had been so possessive even as she’d clung to Darius’s elbow, “Where did you meet her?”

  “She’s frequently at the same functions you are,” Darius said, delivering what Leah suspected was a lie—Darius was nigh gulping his wine. “She travels in a slightly less genteel circle.”

  “Lord Reston apparently frequents the same set.” And that hurt, even while it also reminded Leah that Nick’s aid was a product of chivalry, nothing more.

  “You needn’t sound so offended, Sister mine. I will run screaming into the night if Blanche gives up the juicy prey on her arm and returns her attentions to me.”

  There was something off in Darius’s observation, for all he’d handled the introductions with careful punctilio. “You don’t like Reston?”

  “I like him well enough, though I can’t say I know him.”

  Ah. Darius did not like Blanche Cowell, then. When Leah and Nick had come upon Darius literally in Blanche’s clutches, Leah’s brother’s expression had been one of banked despair. The notion that Leah had abandoned her brother when he might have needed her was insupportable. “Is Lady Cowell trifling with you?”

  Darius scowled at her. “I am not going to dignify that, unless you want to tell me if Reston is trifling with you. Shall I lead you out or find you a place to hide?”

  “Leave me in peace.” She wasn’t up to concealing her emotions from her brother, but knew if they went home before supper, her father would be railing at her, reminding her he didn’t spend a fortune on ball gowns so she could hide away at home night after night.

  “Keep an eye out for Hell-raiser,” Darius warned. “If you see him, find me or Lord Val, or even your new friend Reston.”

  Leah waved him off with a flick of her fan and sank onto a bench nearly obscured by potted plants. She loved her brothers, and she owed them more than she could ever repay, but Darius of late had been more than a little trying.

  If she did see Hellerington, she was under strict ord
ers from Wilton to be pleasant to the man, just as she was supposed to be pleasant to Reston.

  And look what had come of that.

  She blushed anew at her forwardness and at Reston’s careful retreat. He was trying to help her, for pity’s sake, and she had to behave like the strumpet her father believed her to be.

  A ruthlessly honest part of her had to admit, though, that strumpethood had never been so appealing. Reston’s scent was divine, and dancing with him… When Nick Haddonfield held her, she felt protected, cherished, understood, and… treasured. When he kissed her, she felt all that, and so much more that was wicked, wonderful, and hopeless.

  She didn’t know how much time went by while she sorted feelings, arguments, and more feelings, but in the end, she could only conclude she’d suffered a lapse of judgment when she’d kissed Nick—kissed him again. He was a flirt, that much was obvious, and she’d misread his generous willingness to dance with her on the back terrace. It was just more of his kindness, no doubt. She’d have to apologize, relocate her dignity, and watch her step in the future.

  “Pining for me?” Reston’s mellow bass-baritone startled her out of her reverie, only to be followed by the surprising bulk of him settling in beside her on the bench. “I feel like a bunny rabbit, peering out from between the fern hedges. You have a knack for finding hiding places. Still no sign of Hellerington?”

  “My lord.” Leah’s tone was cool, which seemed only to amuse him.

  “Reston?” Nick arched an eyebrow. “At your service, and so forth? Are you going to make me start all over with the elementary civilities like an errant schoolboy who’s offended teacher at the dame school?”

  “I am not up to your humor, my lord.”

  Nick surveyed her with a thoughtful frown. “You are not out of charity with me because of the time I spent with you on the terrace, though you should be, but you are out of charity with me because I rescued your poor, beleaguered brother from Lady Blanche’s clutches. Am I right?”

  Rescued Darius? Perhaps he had, but still… “She was familiar to you. Familiar with you.”

  “Leah, I am a single young man of good fortune and rank, and that makes me part hound. The Lady Blanches of this world consort with dogs according to very well-understood and sensible rules, and the Lady Leahs of the world do not. I am not proud of such associations, but I am capable of treating decent women decently. Blanche is a dog of a sort herself, and you should not envy her.”

  She liked that he was honest with her, more honest even than her brothers could be. “I am to feel sorry for her?”

  “You really should. She is lonely, mean, pathetic, and headed for a miserable existence. Warn your brother off her if you get the chance. Now, the supper waltz is coming up, and you owe it to me to let me prove I can behave. Will you do me the honor?”

  “I’d rather not.” She wanted to; she wanted to so very badly, which meant she ought not.

  “If I’m to credibly court you, lovey”—Nick bumped her shoulder gently with his own, which was rather like being nudged by a well-mannered horse—“you’re going to have to be seen with me, and supper will start the tongues wagging nicely. Now don’t be difficult. There are always sacrifices to be made in the course of being rescued.”

  “You won’t jolly me out of this,” Leah said, though she was feeling unaccountably more sanguine.

  Nick smiled over at her, a smile full of flirtation the likes of which Leah hadn’t seen since, well, ever. A smile like that made a woman wonder if she might show off just a hint more of her bosom, or perhaps tap the handle of her fan against her lips. Slowly. Repeatedly.

  “You remind me of my grandmother again.” Nick rose and extended a hand down to her, the same hand that had cradled her jaw so tenderly. “This is a great compliment, I assure you. I am not asking you to forgive me my private associations, Leah, just tolerate a few minutes in my company for a good cause.”

  “Oh, very well.” Leah rose without his assistance just to make her point, but let him stand up with her and lead her in to supper. The dance was different, of course. Nick held her at the proper distance, though he twirled her down the room with the same sense of utter competence she’d found so appealing on the darkened terrace. On one or two turns, he did pull her in a little too closely. Leah had the impression he was doing it to maintain appearances, that it was expected that Lord Reston—part hound—couldn’t help but flirt with whatever lady was to hand.

  How utterly not flattering.

  “And now we line up at the trough with our fellow shoats,” Nick leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Can we return to your hedge-bench to eat in relative peace?”

  “You are flirting,” Leah whispered back. “It’s tiresome.”

  “It’s expected.” His nose bumped her temple—which had to be an accident, didn’t it? “Of both of us, if I might remind you.”

  He was right, damn him and his canine attributes. Leah arranged a smile on her face, and let Nick fill up her plate, and one for himself as well.

  He leaned in again to speak close to her ear. “Now we make our escape, or Lady Blanche will find me unprotected and start pestering me.”

  “Poor Nick.” Leah’s voice dripped with irony. “Too bad for her she doesn’t have a papa like mine.”

  Nick bent close, maybe too close. “She did. That’s how she ended up with her current spouse. He’s not a bad sort, but he’s hardly a young girl’s dream. Still, he had the title, you know?”

  “Papas are the very devil,” Leah allowed on a sigh, but she’d used Reston’s name—just like that, and it had come easily and it fit him and she wanted to say it again to herself, over and over.

  “Papas, brothers, nephews, all the very devil,” Nick said as he got them arranged on their bench with plates on their laps. “I’m a neighbor of your brother, by the way. Would you like a strawberry?”

  “I adore fruit,” Leah said, glancing at his plate. “You didn’t tell me there were strawberries.”

  “I got enough for both of us. Here.” He held up a strawberry, not to pass to her plate, but rather before her mouth, for her to take from his hand. She watched his eyes, and the teasing she’d seen there earlier shifted, first cooling then heating to a silent dare.

  Holding his gaze, Leah leaned forward, touched her tongue to the succulent red berry, then took it between her teeth.

  “My thanks.” She chewed slowly then swallowed. “Delicious.”

  Nick, looking gratifyingly disconcerted for once, simply passed her his plate and surrendered the rest of his strawberries.

  * * *

  Thinking of you.

  Blue salvia, Leah learned from a book her mother had given her as a child, meant “thinking of you.”

  How interesting, and how odd that Ni—Leah caught herself—Lord Reston had included it in his bouquet and conveniently forgotten its significance. In the long-dormant part of her soul from which feminine intuition sprang, Leah suspected he’d known good and well what the flower meant, and he’d included it on purpose.

  And forgotten its meaning with the same sense of purpose.

  Reston had chosen his bouquet with care and an unerring sense for what was lacking in her life.

  “Pretty,” Wilton remarked, eyeing the bouquet as he sauntered into the family parlor. “I have to commend the man for showing some strategy.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Leah resisted the urge to get to her feet. Wilton might interpret it as a sign of respect, though more likely a sign of weakness.

  “Reston is courting your sister,” Wilton said, touching the little white snowdrops. Why didn’t they wilt on contact? “He’s scouting the terrain, forming an ally, gathering information before he tips his hand.”

  “No doubt.”

  Wilton eyed her pensively. He was a good-looking man, tall, trim, with even features and a full head of white hair. His smile, when he produced one, gave Leah chills nonetheless.

  “Perhaps he thinks to take you off my hands,” Wilton said
. “I cannot credit his taste, but his coin will spend as easily as the next man’s. You’ll have him, if he offers.”

  “He won’t offer for me.” Leah bent to her book, turning a page as if in idle perusal.

  “You will do nothing to deter him from that possibility,” Wilton informed her icily. “Your sister can reach higher, but you will take what’s offered and be grateful.”

  “Aren’t we being premature, my lord?” Leah strove for an indifferent tone. “One bouquet does not a courtship make.”

  “One bouquet, a supper waltz, several meetings in the park,” Wilton shot back. “Don’t think you’re ever far from my sight, girl. Your brothers can’t hide your comings and goings, and neither will you, if you value their happiness.”

  “I value their happiness,” Leah said, and thinking to offer a placatory display of submissiveness, she added, “and if Reston offers, I will accept him.”

  “Of course you will. If he’s stupid enough to make that mistake, I will not preserve him from his folly.”

  Having left the requisite ill feeling and discontent behind him, Wilton stalked out, calling for a footman. His footsteps had barely died away before Leah looked up to see the bouquet with its blue salvia directly in her line of sight. By the time Wilton had slammed out the front door, she felt the first tear sliding down her silly, foolish, wretched cheek.

  * * *

  Colonel Lord Harcourt Haddonfield, fourteenth Earl of Bellefonte, had not enjoyed a decent bowel movement in weeks, by which evidence he concluded that death was indeed stalking him. He had some time, maybe even weeks, before the filthy blighter actually took him down, but when a man couldn’t preside competently over the lowliest throne in the land, what dignity was there left in living?

  Neither one of his deceased wives would have understood that sentiment or appreciated its vulgar utterance even in private, which thought provoked a faint smile. Good ladies they had been, but ladies through and through.

  His heir shared his appreciation for the fairer sex, which was a bloody damned relief. George, the third boy, was a nancy piece. Beckman was deuced independent, and Adolphus, who aspired to professordom, would be unlikely to marry young.