Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord

by Sara MacLean

  As she surveyed the mutton and jelly that had arrived as part of the second course, Isabel was overcome with uncertainty. This meal was far too simple to entertain these men— men who had traveled the world developing sophisticated minds and palates. What could they possibly find enjoyable about a quiet evening meal in the wilds of Yorkshire? What could they possibly find entertaining about the company of two uncultured young women and a ten-year-old child?

  The thought festered as the meal went on, and Isabel drifted into silence, shutting out the conversation around her.

  As Rock and Lara quizzed James on his lessons and the events of his day, Nick leaned close to Isabel. “You are not with us.”

  She straightened at the words. “I was thinking about the meal.”

  “It is an excellent meal,” Nick offered, and Isabel’s uncertainty grew.

  “I am sure it is rather less extravagant than that which you are used to.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Certainly not as sophisticated as you have had.”

  Nick gave her a serious look, one that did not tolerate self-deprecation. “On the contrary, Isabel. This meal is the ideal end to an … extraordinary day.”

  And there, in the deep, welcome tenor of his voice, was the thing that chased Isabel’s doubts away. His words were a dark promise that conjured images and emotions from their interaction in the statuary, making her wish that he would kiss her again. Making her wish that they were alone once more.

  But they were not.

  They were at dinner.

  With people.

  With children, for heaven’s sake.

  She dipped her head, hiding her blush in her plate. “I am happy that you are enjoying it, my lord.”

  “ … and then Lord Nicholas and I had our meeting.”

  Isabel looked up at her brother’s words, meeting Lara’s surprised gaze. “Your meeting? What kind of meeting? ”

  James seemed to remember that she was there. “A meeting of men.”

  She sat back in her chair. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We had something to discuss,” James said, simply.

  She looked to Nick. “To discuss.”

  He lifted his wineglass, making a production of drinking. “Quite.”

  “I—” She turned back to James. What could they possibly have been discussing without her? “About what?”

  “It’s really none of your concern, Isabel. I asked Lord Nicholas for a moment of his time, as earl.”

  As earl?

  Her eyes widened at her brother’s words. Mutely, she turned back to Nick, who was having obvious difficulty refraining from smiling. “I could not refuse, Lady Isabel. He is, indeed, the earl. And my host, no less.” He paused, then added, “This mutton is superb, the jelly in particular is excellent. Don’t you think, Rock?”

  “I do,” the giant said, and Isabel did not miss the humor in his tone.

  She would like to see both of them doused in jelly.

  She looked to Lara, noted the amusement dancing in her cousin’s eyes, and scowled in her direction. Unmoved, Lara turned back to James and said, “And you have learned to tie quite an impressive cravat!”

  “Oh, yes,” James said eagerly, reaching up to touch the neckwear in question. “Would you like to see me do it again?” Before Lara could answer, James had tugged on one end of his creation, destroying it in an entirely inappropriate display for the evening meal.

  As he began his lesson in the proper method of cravat tying, Isabel leaned toward Nick. “As you can see,” she whispered, “my brother may be the earl, but he is in no way able to act as such on his own. I should like you to tell me what it was that you spoke about.”

  Without taking his eyes from James, Nick replied, “You.”

  Surely she had not heard that correctly. “Me?”

  “You.”

  “What of me?”

  He took his time cutting a sliver of mutton and combining it with a piece of parsleyed potato. He chewed thoughtfully for a long moment, until Isabel’s frustration grew to the point where she could no longer remain silent. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Swallow!”

  Nick turned with mock surprise. “Why, Lady Isabel, what forcefulness! You should be careful—you will give me a case of indigestion.”

  “And what a sad situation that would be, Lord Nicholas.” He laughed, low and quiet, and warmth spread through her at the sound, audible only to her. “You are enjoying this.”

  He met her eyes, and there was no mistaking the heat in his blue gaze. “I confess that I am. In fact, I find that I enjoy all of my time with you.”

  Isabel blushed at the words, and the pleasure they brought.

  What was he doing to her?

  She could not allow him to reduce her to a simpering miss every time they spoke. Clearing her throat, she said, “I must insist, Lord Nicholas. What is it that you and James discussed?”

  “You needn’t worry, Isabel,” Nick said. “Your brother is simply concerned about your welfare once he leaves for school.”

  Isabel looked to James, awkwardly craning to see his cravat as Rock helped him to complete the elaborate knot. “And why would he think that speaking to you would help? ”

  Nick sat back as their plates were cleared, leveling Isabel with a frank look. “He has devised a proposal to keep you safe, and was asking for my input.” He turned back to James, across the table. “Well done, James. That is certainly the best knot you’ve tied yet!”

  James grinned his pleasure at the compliment, and turned to receive additional praise from Lara, who was heaping it upon both the young earl and Rock, for his assistance.

  Isabel was unable to appreciate the tableau. Brow furrowed, she whispered to Nick, “What kind of proposal? ”

  Waiting until Regina had cleared his empty plate, Nick finally leaned in close to Isabel. “He thinks we should marry.”

  Isabel opened her mouth, closed it, and repeated the action.

  One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up in amusement. “Why, Isabel. I do believe that I have rendered you speechless.”

  “I—” Isabel stopped, uncertain of what to say.

  “He has contemplated it quite thoroughly,” he said. “He believes that your ability to run a house and calculate your sums makes you an excellent candidate for a wife.”

  Surely this was not happening. Not here. Not at her dinner table.

  “He is eager for me to see you sit a horse, as well. I am told your equestrian prowess will win me over. I am looking forward to that.”

  “I—”

  “Also—and this is critical—you are not ugly.” She blinked.

  Nick’s eyes danced with amusement. “Remember, Isabel. It was your brother who said it. I would not dare to take credit for such pretty words. I would have said something much more pedestrian. It takes a great orator to come up with—”

  “Not ugly.” She gave a little shake of her head. “What a lovely compliment.”

  “Ah. You have recovered your voice.” He smiled then, full and winning, and she could not help but match it.

  “It would seem so.” She paused, “Tell me, my lord, will school help my brother to learn prettier words with which to woo his future countess? ”

  “One can only hope,” he replied, “else we should be very concerned for the Reddich line.”

  Isabel could not help but laugh at the bizarre turn of events, drawing the notice of their dinner companions.

  “James did say one thing about Lady Isabel during our conversation that has me very intrigued.”

  He had the attention of the entire table now, and Isabel felt a thread of nervousness uncoil. Surely he would not repeat anything embarrassing, would he?

  “What was that, Lord Nicholas?” Lara prompted.

  “He claims that she is a champion at charades.”

  “Oh, she is!” Lara agreed. “I’ve never seen her equal.”

  “I should like to see proof of that.” He leveled Isabel with a contemplative l
ook. “But first, I believe that we have an appointment for dancing.”

  Within moments, they had agreed to adjourn to the ballroom, and Isabel’s anticipation had set her on edge.

  Nick held her chair as she stood, and Isabel turned to thank him, only to find him watching her thoughtfully. Distracted from her observation by his intensity, she dipped her head and said, “Thank you.”

  He offered her his arm. When she took it, the heat of him rising up from the thick fabric of his coat, he leaned down and said, “I think you should know, I would have used a different phrase altogether to describe you.”

  Isabel felt her heart quicken, but attempted a light air. “You mean, other than ‘not ugly'?”

  “He did not smile, and all of a sudden, there seemed to be less air in the room than there had been previously. Isabel caught her breath in anticipation.

  “I would have described you as magnificent.”

  The ballroom had been transformed.

  Isabel stopped short as she entered the enormous room, shocked. She had discussed the plans for the evening with Jane immediately after leaving Nick that afternoon, letting her know that the drop cloths needed to be removed from a section of the ballroom and suggesting that they dust the pianoforte in preparation for the evening.

  Instead, Jane had worked a miracle.

  The far end of the ballroom glowed in the soft, golden light from several dozen candles, unmatched and clearly pilfered from around the house and installed on tall candelabras.

  The lights had been strategically placed to create an intimate area of usable space, cordoned off with two low chaise longues on either end, and several comfortable chairs set off to one side.

  There was a table of refreshments also, with a large crystal bowl of lemonade, a bottle of brandy from the cellars, along with several snifters and a platter of petits fours that James immediately pillaged. Isabel could not help but smile at the addition—she would wager that Gwen had spent much of the afternoon working on the tiny pastries.

  Every surface gleamed with fresh polish, and Isabel wondered how many of the girls it had taken to turn the unused space into a little mini-ballroom, fit for an evening of dancing. “It is beautiful,” she whispered, forgetting her audience for a moment.

  “You seem surprised,” Nick said, quietly.

  “I am.” She laughed, a small, delighted sound. “It’s been a decade since this room has been used for its intended purpose. We clean it periodically and use it rarely, but never for balls …” She trailed off, one hand waving absently in the air as she searched for the rest of the sentence. “We don’t have much cause for balls at Townsend Park. We are severely lacking in dance partners.”

  He smiled as she laughed again, and bowed low in an exaggerated way. “You have several willing ones this evening, my lady.”

  She met his smile with her own. “So we do.”

  An interior door to the ballroom opened then, and Georgiana entered, head down, moving quickly, as though she was not interested in the activities of the inhabitants of the room. Isabel opened her mouth to ask if there was something wrong, so surprised was she that the governess—who had been so terrified of being spotted by Nick—would choose to join them. She was stayed from speaking, however, when the young woman sat down at the dimly lit pianoforte, her back to them, and began to play a waltz.

  James went to sit with her as Rock bowed to Lara, inviting her to dance. Within seconds, she was in his arms, and the two were floating across the room, Lara’s pale blue silk glittering in the candlelight. Isabel watched them with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, wanting to consider their obvious connection, but altogether too aware of Nick’s nearness.

  After an interminably long wait, she was rewarded with his low, deep voice. “Isabel …”

  “Hmm?” She tried desperately for a tone of distant interest.

  She heard the smile in his words when he said, “Would you care to dance? ”

  “Yes, please,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  And then she was in his arms, and they were twirling across the room.

  “James’s governess has a gift for the piano.”

  “Minerva House boasts many talents, my lord.” Isabel did not want to talk about the girls. She did not want to hide from him. Not now. Not while she was in his arms. “You are an excellent dancer.”

  He dipped his head, spinning her around a tall candelabrum and heading off toward the far end of the dance floor. “How it is that you think you cannot waltz?”

  “I … I never do …” He turned her again, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the movement, the sheer strength of him, the way that he managed her weight so gracefully, swaying in time to the music.

  “You should. Your body was made to be held like this.” The words were soft and lush at her ear, and she knew that he was holding her much too closely. That she should tell him to stop.

  But she couldn’t.

  They turned once more, and she opened her eyes to face the far wall and the door through which Georgiana had come. It was open again, and a row of curious faces peeked through the space between door and jamb, Gwen, Jane, and Kate all focused on the events inside the ballroom. Isabel could not contain her surprised laugh.

  Nick looked down at her. “What is it?”

  She looked up, amused, to meet his questioning gaze. “Do not look now, my lord, but it appears that we have an audience.”

  He grinned, immediately understanding. “Ah. Yes, if I know ladies, I can imagine we do.”

  “To be fair, they are attempting discretion.”

  “They are better at it than the women in my family.”

  The words, spoken with teasing admiration, made her curious. “Tell me about them.”

  He thought for a moment before he spoke. “My half sister, Juliana, is Italian, which makes her everything you would imagine. She is opinionated and infuriating and has a penchant for saying entirely inappropriate things at entirely inappropriate times.”

  She was drawn to the laughter in his voice. “She sounds wonderful.”

  He gave a little snort of laughter. “You would like her, I think. And I know she would like you—she has no patience for London, or the ton, and she has a particular distaste for simpering females and foppish gentleman. Which is going to make it virtually impossible to find her a husband. But really, that’s Gabriel’s problem.”

  She smiled. “Ah, the benefits of being the second son.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And your sister-in-law?”

  “Now, Callie will love you.”

  She laughed at the words. “I find it difficult to believe that the Marchioness of Ralston will ‘love’ a country-raised northerner who wears breeches when it is practical and has spent most of her life with women who have done entirely inappropriate things.”

  Nick grinned. “That is precisely why the Marchioness of Ralston will love you.”

  Isabel gave him a frank look. “I do not believe you.”

  “Someday, Isabel, I shall take you to London, and you will hear the truth from my brother and sister-in-law themselves.”

  Isabel warmed at the promise inherent in the words—the assurance that there would come a time when they would be together in London. When she would meet his family and they would have reason to discuss the private history of one of the ton‘s most talked-about couples.

  She wanted it to be true.

  It was strange. Here, in this darkened room, with the magic of the waltz, and the candlelight, and this strong, wonderful man, she wanted it to be true. She wanted to be tied to him. To be his partner. To have the life that peeked out from behind his words. Here, as she lost herself to the feel of the dance, to the sway of their bodies and the warmth of his arms wrapped around her, she let herself have the dream that she had shut away so long ago.

  The dream that let this, her first waltz, be a waltz with a man who would care for her, and protect her, and shoulder her worries, and, yes … who would lov
e her.

  Isabel closed her eyes once more and gave herself up to the movement, aware of the place where his hand, unhindered by gloves, spread warmth through her gown to the curve of her waist. She could feel his long, muscled thighs where they brushed against her own as he guided her across the floor in an endless, curving journey. After several long moments, she opened her eyes, meeting Nick’s searing blue gaze.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Isabel? ”

  She knew she should be coy. She knew that if he were in London, the woman in his arms would have something brilliant and witty and flirting to say in response. But Isabel had none of those things. “Very much.”

  “Good. You deserve to have pleasure in your life. I think you do not allow yourself enough of it.”

  She looked away, embarrassed. How was it that this man knew her so well, so quickly?

  “Why is that?” The question was soft, a mere breath at her temple. “Why won’t you take your pleasure?”

  She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I—I do.”

  “No, beauty. I don’t think you do.” He pressed closer, the warmth of him crowding her thoughts. “Why not dance and laugh and live the way you dream?”

  Why not, indeed?

  “Dreams are for little girls with no worries,” she said, resisting the words even as she spoke them.

  “Nonsense. We all have dreams.”

  She opened her eyes, met his brilliant blue gaze. “Even you? ”

  “Even me.”

  “What do you dream?” The question was exhaled—so breathy that she barely recognized her own voice.

  He did not hesitate. “Tonight, I think I shall dream of you.”

  She should have found the words silly and teasing. Instead, she heard the promise in them, and wanted nothing more than to believe him. “Tell me what you dream of, Isabel.”

  “I should dream of school for James. Of safety for the girls. Of a repaired roof and an unlimited supply of candles.”

  He gave a little laugh. “Come, Isabel. You can do better than that. This is not their dream. It is yours. What do you dream? For yourself?”

  For a long moment, her mind was blank. How long had it been since she had considered her own desires?