Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord

by Sara MacLean

Isabel’s gaze narrowed. “He is not my handsome anything.”

  “That’s not what Gwen says,” Kate teased, setting Jane and Gwen snickering.

  Isabel considered throttling the lot of them. Why couldn’t they take this seriously? How could they not take this seriously? It was for their safety that Minerva House had been so carefully protected for so long. It was for them that Isabel had worked to keep their location and their identity so quiet.

  Kate spoke first. “Isabel. We know you have spent a large part of your life attempting to keep us safe. You’ve given us more than safety—you’ve given us courage—and faith in ourselves and in the world. We are not discarding your feelings—but you must realize that it would take more than one man knowing—”

  “Two men,” Isabel corrected.

  “—more than two men knowing about Minerva House’s … unique character … to bring us down.”

  “Not much more.”

  “We shan’t leave you,” Kate said.

  “You shall.” Isabel was not interested in debating the point.

  Kate stiffened. “Well, I cannot speak for the rest of them, but I’m not leaving you.”

  The words were straight and true, and Isabel met Kate’s green gaze across the table. Kate had been the youngest girl ever to arrive at Minerva House. She’d been barely fourteen when she’d marched up the wide, stone manor steps, mangy dog by her side, and knocked on the door, proud as could be.

  Isabel had opened the door that morning, and one look at the defiant set of Kate’s jaw had convinced her that the girl should stay.

  Five years later, Kate was an invaluable addition to Minerva House. It was her strength that gave the girls their courage. It was her work ethic that set the tone for the rest. None of the girls were more loyal than Kate—jaw set now the way it had been when she was fourteen—who would walk through fire to save any one of them.

  Isabel put down her pen.

  “Now,” said Kate, “why don’t you tell us what you really think of this Lord Nicholas? ”

  The question echoed around them as Isabel looked down at the scarred table around which they were gathered. She traced a particularly deep gash in the wood, wondering absently where it had come from as she considered the answer to Kate’s weighted question. “I—”

  What did she think of him?

  Truthfully, he’d done nothing to warrant her mistrust.

  Nothing but saving her life twice, agreeing to value her marbles, befriending her brother, and offering to keep them all safe.

  And then he’d kissed her.

  Indeed, in three days he’d done more to warrant her trust than any other man had done in all her twenty-four years. She sighed.

  She did not know what to think.

  “I suppose I rather like him.”

  Isabel was saved from having to elaborate on her statement by the arrival of Rock and Lara, laughing and stumbling into the kitchen from outdoors. Lara was wrapped in Rock’s immense cloak, and she removed it as Rock closed the door firmly behind them, shutting out the wind and rain that threatened never to relent.

  Looking around the room, Lara registered the seriousness of the other women.

  “What has happened?”

  Jane answered, “Lord Nicholas has discovered Minerva House.”

  Lara pushed her hair back from her face, wringing the rainwater from its sodden strands. “How?”

  “He’s known since yesterday,” Rock said, removing his hat.

  Isabel supposed she should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t invited them here …”

  Lara shook her head. “No, Isabel. If you hadn’t invited them here, we wouldn’t have any chance of saving Minerva House.”

  “He wants to know everything,” Isabel said.

  “And? What shall you do?” Lara asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “She’s decided she likes him,” Kate announced.

  “Kate!” Isabel blushed, looking at Rock, who did his best to ignore the announcement.

  “But that’s wonderful!” Lara said, breathy excitement in her voice. “The rain makes it ever so much easier to catch him!”

  Rock coughed then, and Isabel had the distinct impression that he wanted to disappear. “I have not decided to catch him,” she assured him.

  “I did not ask,” he said, half smiling.

  Isabel cringed.

  Silence fell, and she wondered if everyone in the room thought her a fool. She’d never been so uncertain of her actions before. She did not like this newfound doubt that came with men.

  “If I may?” Rock spoke then, and had Isabel not been so caught up in her own thoughts, she would have been amused by his tentative tone.

  She waved one hand idly in the air, pointedly. “By all means. No one else seems to mind interjecting an opinion.”

  “I assume that he did not take your secrecy well.”

  “That is correct. In fact, he threatened to seek out the truth himself.” Isabel took a biscuit from the plate. “I do not understand why he cannot leave well enough alone.”

  Rock gave a little laugh. “Nick has never been able to leave well enough alone. Particularly when it comes to beautiful women.” Isabel started to protest, but he pressed on. “He is irritated because you will not share your secrets. If he does not know them, he cannot protect them.”

  “How do I know he’ll protect them?”

  He pulled back as if he had received a physical blow. “Did you suggest such to him? ”

  She hedged. “I may have.”

  “Well. I don’t imagine he responded well to that.”

  “No.”

  “There are few things I know with certainty, Lady Isabel. But this is one of them: If Lord Nicholas St. John vows to fight on your side, so he shall.”

  She was immediately chagrined. “I did not …”

  “It sounds as though you did, Isabel,” Lara said. “Mr. Durukhan, would you like some tea? ”

  Rock turned to Lara, giving her his undivided attention. “I should very much like some tea, Miss Caldwell. Thank you.”

  Isabel watched as Lara poured a cup of tea for Rock, peering up from her task with a soft smile. When he matched it, Isabel felt something flare in her chest. A longing for such a moment—filled with sweetness. There was something quite enticing about the obvious tentative interest between the two.

  The moment was gone in an instant, and Rock had returned his attention to Isabel. “You must, of course, do what you think is best for your home and your staff, Lady Isabel. But you would do well to remember that Nick is a great ally. And he understands the seriousness of secrets. He would not like me saying so, but he is not without several of his own.”

  Isabel was not surprised by the words. There was something deeply compelling about Lord Nicholas St. John—a mystery that seemed to lurk beneath the surface, a darkness that she had witnessed firsthand when she was in his arms.

  It was something that felt familiar. Something that made her believe—after all these years of thinking that the world was against her—that there might be someone who understood her. Who could help her.

  Perhaps she could trust him.

  That was, if she had not completely alienated him.

  “I made him rather angry, I think.”

  There was encouragement in Rock’s smile. “Nick is not one to stay angry for long.”

  “I am going to tell him everything.” Her audience watched her carefully, no one speaking. “You realize that this will change everything. Once he knows, I cannot take it back.” Isabel took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for battle. “I am not doing it for me. I’m doing it for Minerva House. For James. For the earldom. Not for me.”

  She had to believe that. For sanity’s sake.

  Lara reached across the table to take Isabel’s hand. “He can help us.”

  Isabel looked at her cousin for a long moment, then turned to Rock, meeting his dark, serious gaze. He was wa
tching her carefully, as if assessing her character. Finally, he nodded once. “You are precisely the kind of woman that he needs.”

  She blushed. “Oh … I am not …”

  “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but you are it, nonetheless.”

  Her stomach roiled at the words, and she was immediately nervous. But she could not back down now. She squared her shoulders and headed for the door, ready to search until she found him.

  “Isabel?” Gwen called after her. When she turned back, the cook said, “Show interest in his work. Gentlemen like ladies who share their entertainments.”

  Isabel gave a short laugh. “Pearls and Pelisses? Still?”

  Gwen smiled. “It has worked so far.”

  Sarcasm laced Isabel’s tone when she replied. “Oh, yes, it’s working brilliantly.”

  “Well, it would do, if you were following it more carefully. Also, do not be afraid to be close to him!”

  Isabel looked to the ceiling for patience. “I am leaving now.”

  Gwen nodded once. “Good luck!”

  Isabel spun on one heel, wishing that Pearls and Pelisses had offered up Ten Ways to Apologize to London’s Lords to Land.

  Unfortunately, in this, she was on her own.

  Twelve

  * * *

  Lesson Number Five

  Cultivate interest in your lord’s interests.

  Once your discreet first meeting has successfully garnered the gentleman’s attention, it is time to offer thoughtful and unwavering companionship for his pursuits. Any great man will have masculine interests, but remember that there is always a way for you to remain relevant despite your womanliness.

  Does your lord love his horseflesh? Perhaps he would like an embroidered blanket upon which to find his seat! And do not be afraid, Dear Reader, to be close to him!

  Pearls and Pelisses

  June 1823

  Isabel stood at the entrance to the statuary, watching Nick work.

  The storm had cast the room in an unearthly green pall, and the thunder and howling wind outside had hidden her arrival from him, so she could watch him unheeded. Whether from the light, or from the tension in his frame, or from the contents of the room, he seemed immense, even as he bent over a notebook, scribbling notes on a nearby statue.

  She had never met a man like him. He was broad and firm, and his surroundings made it impossible for an onlooker not to compare him to the marbles—these great, ancient sculptures designed to honor and celebrate the perfect form.

  He put them to shame, all wide shoulders and long legs and sinewy power. She watched as one thick lock of hair fell across his forehead, catching between his brow and the silver rim of his spectacles. This was the first she had seen of the glasses—an incongruous addition to this daunting man, an addition that served only to make him even more tempting.

  She caught herself at the thought. When had spectacles become tempting?

  When had this man become so tempting?

  She was instantly nervous about what was to come. He so confused her—one moment, she wanted him gone, and the next, she wanted him here. For as long as he could stay.

  She sighed, and the sound, soft and barely heard, turned his head.

  He met her eyes, his gaze unwavering, and waited, unmoving, for her to take the next step. She hovered in the doorway, unable to look away.

  And then she stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her.

  He straightened as she approached, removing his spectacles and placing them on the pedestal of a large black statue nearby, before he leaned against the base and folded his arms across his wide chest, waiting for her.

  Show interest in his interests.

  She could do that.

  She stopped mere inches from him, looking up at the statue. “This is a fine marble. Have you identified it yet?”

  He did not follow her gaze. “It is Apollo.”

  “Oh?” The high-pitched squeak grated on her ears. She cleared her throat delicately. “How do you know that? ”

  “Because I am an expert in antiquities.”

  He was not going to make this easy.

  “I see. I suppose I owe you the answer to a question now.”

  He turned back to his notebook. “I find I’ve grown tired of that game.”

  “Nick.” The sound of his name on her lips surprised them both. He turned back to her. Waited. She stared for a long minute at the place where his collar met the tanned skin of his throat. She spoke to the spot. “I am sorry.”

  The only sound in the room was his breathing, slow and steady in the wake of her words, and there was something in its evenness that spurred her on. “I have never told anyone about Minerva House—” She met his curious gaze. “That’s what we call it. The house. The girls.”

  She paused, waiting for him to ask questions. When he didn’t, she began speaking—always to the notch in his throat—unwilling to meet his gaze, unwilling to look away entirely. “We had nothing. My father had left and my mother had gone into a … decline. She took to her bed and would go days without eating—without seeing us. And when she did—” She swallowed. No. She couldn’t tell him that. “The servants were not being paid. I’m fairly certain that they were stealing from us. And then, one day, they were gone.”

  “How old were you? ”

  “Seventeen.” She shook her head, lost in her thoughts. “Jane was the first to arrive. She needed work. Shelter. And I needed someone to help keep the estate running. She was intelligent. Strong. Willing. And she had friends who were in similar straits. Within months, there were half a dozen girls here. All looking to escape something—poverty, family, men; I suppose I was trying to escape something, too.

  “If they were willing to work, I was willing to have them. They kept the estate afloat. They tended goats and mucked stalls and tilled land. They worked as hard as the men we’d had before. Harder, even.”

  “And you kept them a secret.”

  She met his eyes then. “It wasn’t hard. My father was never here. He paid for his life with his winnings when he was flush, with the contents of the house in town—ultimately the house itself—when he was down on his luck.” She stopped, then laughed bitterly.

  “And your mother?”

  She shook her head, pressing her lips into a straight, thin line as she remembered. “She was never the same after he left. She died soon after Jane arrived.”

  He reached for her then.

  She did not resist, even as she knew it was wrong—that she should not allow him to hold her. But how could she resist his warm strength and the way it enveloped her? How long had it been since she had been the one held? Since she had been the one to be comforted?

  “Why do you do it?”

  She turned her head, placing her ear against the crisp wool of his jacket. She did not pretend to misunderstand. “They need me.”

  And … as long as they need me, it’s easier to forget that I am alone.

  He made an encouraging noise deep in his chest, and it spurred her on. “There are a dozen of them out there—seamstresses and governesses, mothers and wives. One owns a pie shop in Bath. They had nothing when they came to me.”

  “You gave them something.”

  She was silent for a long while, ultimately pulling out of his arms. When he let her go, she felt a small pang of remorse that he did not resist. “It is all I have ever done well.” She looked up at the statue of Apollo. “I couldn’t keep my father from leaving—and taking my mother with him. Couldn’t keep the estate afloat. But I could help these girls.”

  He understood. She could see it in his clear, open gaze.

  “I am scared,” she added softly.

  “I know.”

  “I cannot expect Densmore to support us. I cannot expect him to keep our secrets.”

  “Isabel—” He stopped, and she could see that he was choosing his next words carefully. “Who are these girls that you live in fear of their discovery? ”

  She stayed quiet.
/>
  “Are they married? ”

  “Some of them,” she whispered. “They’ve broken the law to come here.” “And you break the law to hide them.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know you risk James’s reputation. He’s got enough of a scandal to overcome.”

  Frustration flared. She did not like to think that it was James who would ultimately suffer for her choices. “Yes.”

  “Isabel,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern, “you cannot shoulder this burden by yourself. It is too much.”

  “What do you suggest I do?” She wrapped her arms around herself, defensive. “I will not abandon them.” “You do not have to.”

  “What, then?”

  “There are ways.”

  She gave a little laugh. “You think that, in seven years, I have not considered every possible avenue? Who will risk themselves to take in a woman who has deserted her marriage vows? Who will stand up to an aristocratic father coming to fetch his runaway daughter? And even if they might, who would take such a risk on nothing but the word of the daughter of the Wastrearl?”

  “Let me help you.”

  She was silent then. She’d never wanted to trust someone as much as she wanted to trust this man—this man who reeked of strength and power and safety. It had all seemed so simple in the kitchen. But now, faced with him, could she do it? Could she place her faith in him? Could she place their future in his hands?

  His blue eyes glittered with something she did not quite understand as he thrust both hands through his hair and turned away from her, his frustration sending him stalking several feet away before he spoke again. “You are the most infuriating female I have ever met.” He turned back to her, and his words came fast and furious. “You take pride in the fact that you’ve done this alone, don’t you? It’s your house. They’re your girls. It’s you who have saved them. This is your work.

  “You should be proud of it, Isabel—Lord knows you should be. But you are intelligent enough to know when you are in over your head. You’ve got nothing to protect you from whatever is outside these walls. I’m offering you help. Protection.”