“Good God. Someone worse than Lady Caroline? I should have brought my pistol.”
“No, no, nothing like that. Do not tease me. I am having a most dreadful day with so many things going awry—just stay here, Nicky, please.”
When she reverted to his nickname, it reminded him of their childhood, an innocent time when they’d often played together. He smiled. “I will, Laurie. Go tend to your hostess duties while I stand guard in case Caro and Sally declare pistols at five paces.”
A shudder rippled through her as she managed a faint smile, and she departed the music room, leaving him to the very people he had tried to avoid.
Lady Mountebank greeted him. “It is surprising to see you here, Lord Nicholas.”
“Indeed? Though the Flimwell Turnpike is rather harrowing—with carriages overturned, and passengers stranded at inns—my coachman is proficient, and we arrived without undue stress.” His response to her comment was not at all the answer she’d wanted. He knew that well enough, but would not give her the satisfaction of drawing him out.
“I daresay, but being accustomed to danger, you likely handled it better than most, I am quite certain.” Lady Mountebank indicated a small group seated before the fire. “You know Lady Jersey, I believe?”
Lady Jersey tilted her head coquettishly and smiled up at him. “Lord Nicholas Hawkely, you wicked man, I am delighted to see you again. I had heard you found companionship in the city and preferred it to our country retreat. Tell me, have you decided yet when we are to run away together?”
As the irrepressible Sally patted her lustrous dark hair and smiled, he drawled, “I’ve no wish to meet your husband under the oaks,” to the amusement of those around them. It was an oft-repeated jest from the 5th Earl of Jersey that he refused to call out any of the many men his wife dallied with, as he would then be required to call out every man in London.
“Dear Hawkely,” Lady Jersey said with a laugh, “even if he had the inclination, I doubt George would challenge you to a duel, even if you abducted me from beneath his nose.”
“He is a most amiable man,” Nick replied with a half-bow and smile. While Sally was a beautiful woman who loved flirtations and discreet dalliances, he had not made a practice of dallying with married women. It led to complications of the sort he detested. But he did enjoy an innocent flirtation with a few married women, with both parties fully aware it would go no further. Yet after so much time at sea the past ten years, and his home leaves taken up with more necessary pursuits, he seemed to have lost the art of flirting, or at least, the desire for it.
This had been a mistake. He should have continued on the turnpike to London, perhaps taken refuge in a crowded inn rather than trade insipid remarks in his present mood. Restless at the banality of conversation and provoking remarks, while he knew at least some of the guests thought him a thief and worse, he murmured a polite excuse and retreated toward the grand entrance hall. Lady Howard could impart her gossip later, when they had gathered in the drawing room after supper, perhaps. Until then, he would find his chamber and enjoy a few moments of quiet reflection before the inevitable round of evening clothes, music, dancing, and suppers.
As he stepped into the marbled entrance hall flanked by life-sized marble statues tucked into niches at regular intervals, a commotion at the double doors caught his attention. He turned as a footman flung open the doors to reveal a man assisting a young woman who had slipped on the ice as she made her way up the broad steps to the doors. He recognized the lady, although it had been some time since he had seen her, and started forward to greet her until the man glanced up at one of the footmen who had scurried to assist him. Nick halted abruptly.
Good God—Will? That Lord Willem Wakefield should be here convinced Nick he had made a grave error in taking refuge at Seabury. Anger and betrayal rose hot and thick to clog his throat and he took a step forward before stopping. No. It would not do to confront his former friend now. Not here, not like this. There would be time for that later, in some other setting, but not where it would only distress Lord and Lady Howard and cause more gossip. Both the earl and countess had gone to greet the new arrivals, and there was a flurry of hugs between the women while Lord Howard took Wakefield aside. In another instant Will would look up and see him, so Nick took refuge in the nearest room to prevent any confrontation. It seemed safe enough, for he doubted Will would step into the library when he obviously had interest in Julia, Lady Leighton. Perhaps Will was the guest Lady Howard meant to warn him about. She must suspect the end of their friendship.
To ensure privacy, Nick turned and closed the library doors behind him, relieved he had avoided an unpleasant encounter for the moment. Of course, he would take his leave as soon as possible. He had no intention of remaining in the vicinity of Willem Wakefield, no matter how much of a friend he had once thought him. Their last meeting had been too hostile.
Across the library, a bank of windows looked out over the carriageway and front gardens, stretching to the frozen road some distance beyond. Tall trees rose like ghostly specters, some bent and broken by the weight of snow and ice on their branches, others so completely encased in capes of white, it was impossible to tell oak from chestnut. No doubt, the River Brede and the marshlands were frozen over in places as well, making a return trip to London risky. Perhaps the London Road from Hastings through Rye would be clearer than Flimwell Turnpike.
Cursed weather. It had begun to snow harder, coming down in thick drifts. No roads would be passable. And here he was, trapped in the same house with Willem Wakefield, for God only knew how long.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, stepping to the windows to peer out. “It can’t get much worse than this.”
A small, furtive sound emanated from the heavy velvet draperies pulled back to allow in light, and he tensed. Rats? Laurentia would be horrified. He backed away from the dark-green draperies and to the fireplace, seized a poker, and moved silently back to the windows. Waiting for the rat to give away its location, he stood silently, poker in hand, as the case clock on the mantel ticked loudly. The library smelled of old leather, smoke, and perfume, the latter quite odd in a room meant mostly for gentlemen. Few women frequented libraries, in his experience.
Green velvet remained still, and he began to wonder if he’d mistaken the sound or the rat had escaped, when he heard a slight rustle and muffled, “Chooo!”
Snatching back the heavy drape, he swung the poker in a downward stroke meant to immobilize a rat, and instead barely missed striking a slippered foot. “Good God,” he exclaimed as he stopped mid-swing. “What the—?”
As his startled gaze met blue eyes staring up at him, he recognized her at once.
Chapter 3
“I MUST SAY, YOU have a most novel manner of greeting, my lord,” said Chary in a remarkably steady voice for one quite unnerved by the expression on Hawkely’s face and his fireplace poker. She kept her hands folded in front of her so he could not see them shake.
“That implied reproof would carry more weight if you weren’t hiding behind the drapes,” he replied coolly, and rested the poker against the polished top of his boot. “Should I inquire what has prompted such an extraordinary event, or shall I assume it is my presence that sent you running to ground?”
After a brief silence, she said, “Your arrival was unexpected. I did not anticipate your being a guest of Lady Howard.”
“Nor I, you. It seems both of us have been surprised.”
“I do not think she meant it unkindly,” Chary said thoughtfully. “She is not a devious kind of person.”
“No, she is not. But, I suppose I must share part of the blame as I had first refused her invitation before deciding at the last moment to attend.” He towered over her, intimidating just by his height, and looked down at her with a frown tucking his dark brows over his eyes. “I was unaware you are acquainted with Lady Howard,” he said curt
ly.
He made her nervous, although she kept her chin up and voice steady. “Only for a few years. We found ourselves sitting together with our backs to the wall at Almack’s one dreadful evening. It was a bonding experience.”
“I can well imagine. Almack’s should be demolished. Insipid refreshments and gargoyle chaperones do not add to the ambience.”
Chary nodded. “My thoughts exactly. As marriage marts go, I suppose it is the best, but not at all my kind of lively entertainment.”
Lord Nicholas actually smiled. It softened his features, keeping him from looking like one of the marble statues adorning the great hall and making him appear more like an approachable man.
“Dare I ask what you consider lively entertainment, Miss St. John?” he asked, and turned to place the poker back on the hearth. He moved easily, his dark-blue cutaway coat and fawn breeches tucked into top-boots, enhancing his masculine appeal. He wore no foaming lace cuffs or stiffly starched cravat to soften the impression of a man accustomed to action instead of repose, and to ships instead of libraries. But she had learned appearances were often deceptive.
It was much easier conversing with him at a distance, and Chary moved from the bank of windows to a small round table built to hold books. She idly turned it on well-oiled casters as she replied, “My idea of entertainment has nothing to do with hounds and horses, I’m afraid. Those gentlemanly pursuits are too grim for me.”
“Ah yes, you prefer the pursuit of sparrows and buntings.” He turned to lean against the carved mantel, a slight smile still curving his well-cut mouth. “What do you do with them when you find them?”
“I admire them. Not every living creature must be shot, stuffed, and mounted, or served up on toast, you know.”
“That’s not very English of you. Hunting is our favorite national pastime, after declaring war and squabbling over fields and ditches.”
“Not to mention squabbling over seaports and trade routes.”
“I see we agree on something,” he observed.
“So we do. However, it is the things on which we disagree that I find most daunting.”
“Now I’m intrigued. Where do we disagree, Miss St. John?”
“Perhaps it saves more time to discuss the areas where we agree. Politics and wars are a particular nuisance, as are chaperones, insipid refreshments, and dull companions.”
He grinned. “We can certainly agree on those subjects. I daresay we can find other areas to agree upon, if we put our minds to it.”
“I daresay.” Chary smiled. He was so handsome when he wasn’t scowling or being arrogant. It changed his entire countenance and made him seem more amicable. Perhaps they could find some middle ground on which to meet, after all.
“Your father said you speak Greek. Are you fluent?” he asked as he abandoned the mantle and moved to a small table holding a tray of cut-crystal decanters. “Brandy?”
“I read Greek but my accent is unintelligible, so I spare anyone who may be familiar with the language. No, I prefer sherry.”
“A dainty drink. Of course. It’s doubtful they have any in the library—ah, I speak too hastily. Trafalgar 1805, Solara Vieja. An excellent choice.”
She watched as he sorted through the decanters and goblets for proper glasses. “Are you a connoisseur of spirits, my lord?”
“My expertise is more in the appreciation of spirits, I would say. Your sherry, Miss St. John.”
She accepted the small glass of amber-colored wine. “The area of Jerez where this was bottled is said to be very beautiful. Now that the war is over, I should love to visit,” she added.
“Oh? Are you interested in exploration of foreign lands?”
“Spain isn’t so very foreign, I suppose. Not like the Americas or East Indies. Or even the Orient. I have read a great deal about the customs, as well as the flora and fauna of those lands.”
“Have you, indeed. But you have never traveled?”
“Yes, to Ireland, but that was years ago. I long to see Greece, Italy, Spain, China, and the East Indies.” She sighed, a bit wistfully.
“An ambitious itinerary. Have you any particular destination that is your favorite?”
She hesitated before saying, “Yes, I should like to go to the Falklands.”
“Good God. Whatever for? They’re rather dismal, you know, great lumps of rock and a few grass tussocks, with brutal weather.”
“I am aware of that, but I understand the islands harbor huge colonies of penguins. I’ve often thought it would be exciting to see their rookery.”
For a moment he didn’t respond, but gazed at her over the rim of the brandy glass, his dark eyes reflecting the fire, a color as warm as the brandy. She half-expected ridicule, or even scorn, but to her surprise, he nodded.
“There are vast numbers of them. They’re rather comical creatures, clumsy on land, loud and messy, but when in the water, they are sleek and agile.”
“I should very much like to see that.”
“No doubt. But one must be made of stern stuff to go trekking off on such a long voyage, and there are many hazards still, even with Napoléon now safely locked up. Perhaps a visit to the Royal Menagerie is more suitable.”
“You are trying to say I’m too feeble and don’t know my own mind, I perceive. While it is true that it may be an arduous journey, I am convinced I would survive it very well.” She took a sip of the sherry, lifting her brows when he shook his head. “You needn’t say it aloud for it to be heard, my lord. I am well aware that men prefer to think of women as fragile creatures, who are unable to do more than tat lace and bear children.”
“There are other uses,” he murmured, and sipped his brandy. “However, I do not think sailing around the world to look at penguins is one I had considered.”
“Pray, do not be crude, my lord. I find it offensive.”
“It was not my intention to be offensive, but instructive. By all means, set sail for the Falklands and you will soon see my warnings were meant kindly.”
“Now you are offended. Is it so difficult to think women might want more than marriage and children? Not that those aren’t perfectly wonderful events, but surely, there is more to life than balls, fêtes, soirées, and insipid refreshments?”
“We agree on that last point, at least.”
“So we do.” The conversation seemed to be deteriorating again, and Chary glanced toward the closed doors. Would it be too rude to excuse herself and go to her guest room? For a moment, she had thought—hoped—Lord Nicholas might be different from what she had first assumed, more like the man Lady Howard declared him to be.
“So, when did you arrive?” he asked abruptly, and she answered cautiously.
“Two days ago.”
“In the middle of the storm?”
He seemed to be trying for peace and she decided to cooperate. “It had just begun to snow when I arrived, but it is quite deep already. Did you have trouble on the turnpike?”
“I came from Bath. Sussex seems to be worse than I anticipated.”
“It is worse than anyone anticipated, I think. Very unusual weather.”
“Everything here is unusual at the moment,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “I hardly expected to see you or—or another person.”
She studied him for a moment. He seemed agitated, though he obviously struggled to keep it hidden. Was he that upset about their marriage? No doubt he’d had other plans. He’d made that point fairly clear, stating plainly that his father had arranged the marriage and he was simply obeying his sire’s wishes. She wondered what sort of inducement the duke had used to convince him to offer for her, as she had the distinct impression Lord Nicholas was not a man to yield easily.
“I can always reject your suit, you know,” she said calmly, although the thought of the resulting gossip and
rumors made her cringe inwardly. “We do not have to go through with it.”
“Pardon?” He sounded slightly startled. Then he lifted a dark brow and focused his gaze on her as if really seeing her for the first time. “Are you throwing me over, Miss St. John?”
“It would certainly simplify matters.”
“For whom?” He set his half-finished glass of brandy on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes so sharp, it felt as if he could see clear to her femurs. “You seem to labor under the illusion you or I have the option to discard a signed agreement without inviting more legal trouble than either of us wishes to encounter.”
“Do you mean to say, you will sue my father if I change my mind?” she asked, almost incredulously.
“I will not. I cannot, however, speak for Avonhurst. He views signed contracts as sacred.”
“I find myself apprehensive at the prospect of meeting such a formidable man,” she murmured.
“A remarkably prescient sentiment.”
Chary caught a wealth of meaning in his terse comment. An involuntary shiver ran through her, and the sherry glass trembled in her grasp. She steadied it with firm resolution.
“So, tell me about him,” she ventured, more to ease the awkward moment than to hear about the duke. “You make him sound almost like an ogre at times. I’m afraid I would be most terrified of him.”
“I doubt it. You seem fairly fearless.”
That startled her. “I do?”
“Indeed. Any woman willing to sail halfway around the world just to see fat birds waddle across a lump of unappealing rock has to be fearless.”
“Papa has said he thinks me rather daft at times, not fearless.”
“Your Papa may be right, but life would be dull indeed without a bit of madness to make it more interesting, I suppose. Why so intrigued with birds, may I ask? Especially penguins?”
“When I was a child, I became very ill. I had to stay in my room in bed, and as children are wont to do, I grew quite restless. My mother brought me a beautiful bird in a cage to entertain me, and she was so sweet, I became fascinated with all manners of bird. I saw penguins at the Royal Menagerie and thought them quite interesting, but they looked so miserable and out of place, and I—I rather imagined I knew how they felt. So, I developed a desire to see them in their natural environment. It is my intention to one day do so. Or, it was my dream as a child, I suppose I should say.”
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