Nicholas: Lord of Secrets ll-2

by Grace Burrowes

  “We would be pleased to join you,” Wilton replied, his smile for once devoid of malice.

  “I’ll call for you at half past,” Heathgate said. “Nicholas? I believe we’ve an appointment at my club.”

  “I’ll take my leave of you, my lord.” Nick bowed formally, keeping his expression as grave as a young man’s in anticipation of marriage should be. “We will not start the ceremony without you.”

  Val, assigned the role of the silent observer, followed Nick and Heathgate to the door. When they reached the street, Nick steered them to the park and made sure they were not being pursued.

  “I’d like to visit a friend,” Nick said as they ambled along the walk. “If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind joining me?”

  Val exchanged a look with the marquis as they strolled through the park, a display of lordly pulchritude that turned the heads of the governesses and shopgirls enjoying the spring day.

  “Where did you get that?” Val asked, staring down at the crumpet in Nick’s hand.

  “Pinched it from Wilton, for my friend.” They approached the duck pond, and only when they were off the path and away from prying ears, did Nick speak again.

  “My thanks, gentlemen, and you in particular, Heathgate. I wasn’t expecting you, but you have hidden thespian tendencies.”

  “Wilton is an ass,” Heathgate spat. “Are you sure you want to marry into that family?”

  “Leah likely isn’t related to him,” Nick said, “but yes, I am sure, though I wish I could see the expression on dear Papa-in-law’s face as we speak.”

  “He should be leafing through those IOUs by now,” Val mused.

  “Those are negotiable instruments,” Nick said. “Ask any barrister, and because half of those IOUs are Wilton’s personal markers, and the other half Hellerington’s, I don’t see how the man can make a fuss.”

  “Not accepting his own vowels in payment for a debt?” Heathgate smirked. “That would be a novel way to impugn one’s own character.”

  “Are you ready for the wedding?” Val asked.

  “Now that Heathgate has agreed to dragoon the doting papa,” Nick said, “I believe I am. Leah and I will be well and truly wed with a half-dozen titles on hand to make the thing proper and unassailably binding.”

  Heathgate treated Nick to an assessing glance. “You sound pleased about that. Is this your friend?” He gestured toward the bold, dirty little duck waddling over to investigate Nick’s boots.

  “My friend. He chaperoned some enjoyable encounters with my future countess.” Nick tossed a shower of crumbs to the duck. “I hope you both know how much I appreciate your assistance today.”

  “I don’t mind in the least assisting,” Heathgate said, “but I am off to other appointments and will see you both tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to go through with this wedding,” Val said when Heathgate was out of earshot. “It’s happening rather quickly, Nicholas. Are you sure this is the best course?”

  “Brave of you,” Nick mused as they took the path circling the pond. “Trying to talk me out of this at the eleventh hour.”

  “So you have an hour to reconsider,” Val said. “Leah can be kept safe simply by an engagement.”

  “She can be kept safer by a marriage,” Nick retorted. “Much safer.”

  “From her father, but what about from you?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Nick resisted the urge to stop dead on the walkway, grab Val by his brave, well-intended lapels, and heave him into the pond.

  “You are the terror of the demimonde, Nick,” Val said gently. “At least by reputation, though I know not all the talk can be true.”

  “Leah knows what my reputation is, and she has accepted my terms.”

  “For now, she likely has, but what about five years from now?”

  “What is your point, Valentine?”

  “You have the capacity to hurt her badly, Nicholas, and it will be unfortunate, when—not if—that happens. But Leah strikes me as a resilient woman, as most females tend to be, so that leaves me with you to worry about.”

  “Whatever are you prosing on about?”

  “I am your friend,” Val said, his gaze traveling around the lovely spring landscape. “As a friend, I am telling you that when you break her heart, it’s you who will suffer the worst.”

  “I’ll suffer guilt. I’m prepared for that. Guilt and I are old acquaintances. You can’t cut the swath I’ve cut without having some regrets, Val.”

  The mother of all understatements, that.

  “I’m not talking about guilt, Nick.” Val’s smile was pained. “I am talking about having your very large and tender heart broken.”

  Val sauntered off, leaving Nick to realize his scrappy little friend was honking indignantly around his boots, demanding even the crumbs remaining in Nick’s pocket.

  * * *

  “Greetings, ladies.” Nick walked through the parlor door, looking relaxed and pleased with himself. He kissed Della’s cheek, then surprised the stuffing out of Leah by stealing a quick kiss on the lips from her.

  “Shame on me.” Nick smiled down at her. “But forgive me too, for I have irresistible provocation in the person of my bride. Grandmama, if you would excuse us, there are matters relating to Leah’s family I would like to discuss with her.”

  Della wagged a finger at him. “You want to kiss her again, young man. Don’t think you’ll be fooling me when you do.”

  “Of course I want to kiss her again, just for starters, but if you don’t trust me, you can leave the door open.”

  “As if the threat of discovery would slow you down,” Della huffed, letting Nick draw her to her feet. When she swept from the room, he settled beside Leah and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “You are bearing up?” he asked, his gaze traveling over her profile.

  “Della is good company and very generous. She truly loves you, Nicholas.”

  “And I love her.”

  “But you don’t love me,” Leah reminded him, standing abruptly. “I know that, Nicholas, so you don’t have to pretend otherwise for the sake of appearances.”

  “I do care for you, Leah Lindsey.” He rose and wrapped his arm around her gently. “I know you don’t believe me, and it would be easier on us both were it not true, but I do. You care for me as well, and I’m inclined to think caring is a better foundation for marriage than many other emotions.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “Tell me about your dress.”

  He was cozening her. With his affection and amiability, with reason, and with the sandalwood scent of him.

  Leah told him about her dress anyway, reluctantly at first, but because she hadn’t had a new gown in ages, much less one designed to make her look her best, she grew enthusiastic in the telling. Then too, Nick’s big hands were tracing slow, warm patterns on her back, and then her neck. When she fell silent, he buried his hand in her hair, and urged her head against his chest, then just stood there, massaging her scalp while she closed her eyes and rested against him.

  He explained to her that he wanted the wedding to be unassailably proper, unlike the wedding Frommer’s family had ignored after the fact. He went on to give her some of the details of the wedding contract, duly signed by the parties and witnessed by men of impeccable standing.

  For a wife Nick wouldn’t permit to bear him children, he’d gone to a lot of bother in a short time—a minor consolation.

  “You will be quite dashing tomorrow.” Leah smiled at the thought. “Knee breeches, and satin, and all the finery a gentleman is allowed.”

  “I will attire myself as befits a man marrying his countess,” Nick said. “I don’t want to give you ammunition for regrets.”

  “Regrets.” Leah ruminated on the word. “I don’t see myself as having regrets at this stage, Nicholas, more misgivings.”

  “You think those are unusual?” He words were cautious, a man who sniffed a swamp on either side of a poorly lit trail but wasn’t about to back up.r />
  “No, I suppose not. You?”

  “I should tell you I have them,” Nick said, “so you won’t feel so alone with your doubts. In truth, I cannot admit to many, and none about you. You will be an outstanding Countess of Bellefonte, Leah, and my family will love you. Della and Ethan are much taken with you already, and Valentine has nearly offered to steal you from me.”

  Honesty. He could cozen her with that too. “What doubts do you have, Nicholas?”

  “I worry what I offer won’t be enough for you.” His hand on her nape slowed. “I can keep you safe, I am confident of that. Wilton is a bully and unlikely to trouble himself with you once you’re under my protection. I saw my man of business this afternoon.”

  “What mischief did you get up to with your man of business?” Leah asked, allowing his maladroit change of topic. Too much more of his honesty and she’d be back to doubting her ability to be his countess.

  “We’ve sent to Italy to see about bringing little Charles home,” Nick said. “It will take weeks, of course, because the mails are slow and the weather uncertain, and there are documents needed all around, but the process is started.”

  “Ah, Nicholas.” Leah buried her face against his shoulder. “And you wonder if you have appeal beyond your muscles, your charm, and your title.”

  He hoisted her against his chest and sat, cuddling her in his lap. Leah looped her arms around his neck, giving her more to add to her list of the myriad ways he cozened and charmed. “Lady Della will be scandalized.”

  “Hardly that. In fact, it was she who suggested you bide here again tonight.”

  Leah pushed images of enormous, steamy tubs and rose-scented water from her mind. “She’ll chaperone, of course.”

  Nick shook his head. “No, she will not. We’ll put your cloak on old Magda, pull the hood up, and bundle Magda into Grandmother’s coach after dinner, once it’s dark.”

  “Who’s Magda?” Leah closed her eyes and felt the slow, soothing beat of Nick’s heart.

  “My grandmother’s familiar below stairs. She’s been with my family since my father’s salad days. When I’m in town, Grandmother sends her here to spy on me and poach brandy from my cellar. The other servants love her stories about me, Grandmother, Bellefonte, and the rest.”

  “A fairy godmother. Every prince needs one.”

  “And she’s tall enough to pass for you,” Nick said, “and happy to perpetrate subterfuge if it means keeping my princess safe.”

  Leah said nothing. The sound of his voice, the feel of his embrace, the soft, steady thump of his heart was enough to convince her she was safe.

  “Sleep, lamb.” Nick’s lips feathered across her forehead as he gathered her more closely.

  Leah let herself drift, never having had the adult experience of falling asleep in arms determined to keep her safe. It was dear, and reassuring, and at some point she would find it frustrating as well.

  But not today. She simply didn’t have it in her to protest this luxury today.

  Twelve

  “What do you think of this marriage?” Trenton asked his brother. For once Darius was actually sitting, not pacing around the library like a neurotic predator held too long behind the bars of a menagerie.

  “I thank God for it,” Darius said, accepting a glass of brandy from Trent’s hand. “That was a very bad business in the park, Trent. If Reston hadn’t happened along, I hate to think what might have happened.”

  Trent sipped his drink and took a place beside his brother on the sofa. “If it had been just you or me, or even you and me against five determined miscreants, I don’t think we would have fared as well.” The wording was intended as a sop to fraternal pride wherever it might arise.

  “You can accept Reston as a brother-in-law?”

  “Of course I can.” Trent’s lips curved up slightly. “He’s devious. Got Wilton to sign a marriage contract, then paid dear Papa off with his own gambling markers. Had the Marquis of Heathgate and one of old Moreland’s sons on hand to witness it, all legal and binding. Papa is still fuming and fretting and trying not to shout. I rather enjoyed it.”

  Darius smiled as well. “That’s not devious. That’s sheer genius on Reston’s part. You have to respect a fellow who can orchestrate such doings on short notice.”

  “Respect him, hell, I’d kiss him on the lips at Almack’s for what he’s doing for our sister.”

  “Interesting offer. One hears many things about Reston, but not that particular penchant, and you a father of three.”

  “Shut up, baby brother.” Trent paused to yawn and crack his neck. “Speaking of penchants, when will you stop keeping the company of sluts and gamblers?”

  “There is gain to be had in such company,” Darius said, “and you of all people know I am motivated to garner coin when and where I can.” Trent fell silent upon that observation, considering his drink, his circumstances, and his little brother.

  “Reston might be able to help.”

  “It isn’t Reston’s problem,” Darius said, but without heat.

  “Leah is our sister, but she’ll be his countess. I’d say that gives him an arguable interest in your situation.”

  “So you’d make Reston privy to the things we perpetrated years ago and haven’t found a way to apprise her of since?”

  Trent was silent a long time, feeling Darius shift beside him and tug off his boots. Well, good. It had been forever since Darius had spent more than an hour under Trent’s roof, and Trent missed him.

  Worried about him.

  “It’s like this, Dare.” Trent leaned his head back and set his drink aside. “I have to admit what a bloody relief it is to be out from under the guilt of failing Leah, and the strain of trying to convince myself I haven’t.”

  “Now, now,” Darius said gently, “we got her to Italy, and she was reasonably content there. The talk died down, and Frommer’s people were decent about it, too.”

  “I suppose,” Trent said slowly. Decent enough to ignore a woman who’d legally become part of their family. “But back to my point.”

  “Your confession, rather.”

  “Fine, call it a confession, because that’s what it is. I am relieved to pass Leah off to Reston, and I did much less for her than you did. I would like to pass the rest of our family’s situation along to him as well, just not quite yet.”

  “I’d prefer to do that before the ceremony, not after, but I can’t argue with you as strenuously as I ought,” Darius said. “Leah deserves to know the truth, and like you, I want to be out from under the deceptions of the past, but we need to take Reston’s measure first. Let him and Leah get used to their married state and perhaps bury the man’s father.”

  Trent ran a hand through his hair. “Hadn’t thought of that. Suppose that will be a bit of a distraction.”

  “Suppose. You ready for another drink?”

  Trent hesitated. He was trying to moderate his drinking, which was growing steadily greater in quantity.

  “Half,” he said, reluctant to leave his brother drinking alone. Darius pursed his lips and nodded, leaving Trent with the conviction Darius saw more than he let on.

  Leah was going to hate them. There was no way on earth the truth could come out without Leah being mortally put out with both of her brothers—and that would kill Darius more quickly than any penchant for vice and crime.

  When Darius brought the decanter over, Trent grabbed the neck of the bottle and held it over his glass until the tumbler was full to the brim.

  * * *

  Leah drifted in a comfortable, contented fog, the rocking of the carriage and the warmth of her husband’s embrace soothing her into a drowsy, post-wedding lassitude. Nick must have been dozing as well, for he’d gone silent before they’d even left Town, and as darkness had fallen, he’d kept his peace.

  Leah could not quite sleep, but because the seat was well upholstered and considerably deeper than any she’d seen before, she was content to doze. Her brother Darius’s words of parti
ng after the wedding breakfast kept ringing in her memory: Reston is a damned decent man. He could love you, if you’d allow it. Really love you, not just use you to thumb his lordly nose at his indifferent papa.

  Had that been the sum total of Aaron’s interest in her? Leah told herself it wasn’t, that Aaron had been genuinely fond of her and as considerate as a very young man could be. But Darius—damn his too-knowing brown eyes—had a valid point as well. Aaron Frommer had been fond of dramatics too, and of feeling victimized by his place as a marquess’s fourth son. He had been making a play for his father’s attention by riding to Leah’s rescue, trying to assert his independence while proving he’d not achieved it, in truth.

  She curled down onto Nick’s chest more snugly, thinking this was an admission she could make because Nick had married her, and married her knowing her past and accepting it.

  Accepting her.

  “Penny for them?” Nick’s voice vibrated under her ear, and his hand came through the darkness to rest on her cheek. “I’ll light the lamps, if you insist.”

  “I’m fine without them. I was thinking you are uncharacteristically silent.”

  “Tired,” Nick said softly, his fingers feathering over each of her features in turn. “And worried about my father.”

  “You felt his absence today at the wedding,” Leah guessed, closing her eyes beneath Nick’s explorations.

  “I felt that, and his presence, his approval. He would like you, Leah. Approve of you. He will like you.”

  “You say that as if you’re sure.” Leah turned her head so Nick’s fingers could wander more easily.

  “I didn’t realize his approval was a factor until Ethan pointed out Bellefonte would get on with you swimmingly.”

  “What are you doing?” Leah asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Touching my wife’s face. You met Magda? She’s older than she looks, probably older than Della. Her parents lived into their nineties.”

  “I’ve never met anyone who lived so long.”