Ruined by a Rake

by Erin Knightley

  Oh Lord. It couldn’t be.

  “Well, well, look who’s come to greet this weary soldier. Your dedication truly warms the heart, coz.”

  “Nicolas?” She gasped. He looked so different—if it weren’t for the insolence of his tone, she wouldn’t have recognized him at all.

  He had always been such a scrawny boy, and had never really changed much as an adolescent, save for his growing taller. He’d only been gone two years. Was it possible to double one’s weight in that amount of time? His arms, once thin and lanky, were now padded with muscle, visible even through the fabric of his crimson coat, while his ivory breeches did little to hide his long and powerful legs.

  She gave her head a little shake. None of that mattered, for heaven’s sake. This was Nick, and as was his talent, he had shown up at the worst possible time. “What are you doing here?”

  He set his satchel on the tiled floor and handed over his gloves and hat before offering a careless little grin. “I knew how much you must miss me, so when I had the opportunity to come home three weeks early, I jumped at the chance. Oh, I know Mama will be thrilled, but I’m sure that’s nothing compared to the delight wending its way through your pitter-pattering little heart at the very sight of me.”

  “That’s dread, Nick. I know they start with the same letter, but I’m certain you can tell the difference if you apply yourself.”

  “No, no—your face says it all. You’re beside yourself with joy.” He stepped toward her, spreading his arms wide. “Come now, give us a kiss.” He puckered his lips like a particularly surprised fish and leaned toward her. It was the same annoying greeting he always gave her, loving as he did to remind her of their first meeting. Having this small bit of normalcy after such a terrible day was oddly comforting.

  Rolling her eyes, she put a hand against his chest, blocking his advance. Good heavens, was he hiding a metal breastplate beneath his shirt? She gritted her teeth and blew out a breath. Surely she only noticed these things about him because she was so frazzled from her encounter with her uncle. “I am not in the mood, Nicolas.”

  He angled his head, his gaze far too observant for her peace of mind. “Shall we proceed directly to the joyful weeping, then? I do believe your eyes are dewy already. Yes, I know, two years is simply too long to do without my company.”

  Eleanor stiffened under his scrutiny. Yes, her eyes were a little teary, but it had absolutely nothing to do with him. She yanked her hand away and backed up a few steps. “I’m very happy you are alive, intact, and returned to the bosom of your family. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Before she could flee up the stairs, he reached out and snagged her arm. “Elle, is everything . . . all right?” His ever-present grin slipped and for the first time, she could see him for the officer he was.

  Blast it, now the tears were threatening all over again. This was Nick; he hadn’t a compassionate bone in his body. They teased, mocked, and riled each other, but they didn’t do…this, whatever this was. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded briskly. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you at supper, I’m sure.”

  He didn’t try to stop her when she pulled away, and she dashed up the stairs, not daring to look back. With the mess Uncle Robert had just dumped in her lap, dealing with her annoying cousin was the last thing she needed to worry about.

  No matter what strange feelings the sight of him had roused.

  Chapter Two

  Fisting his hand at his side, Nick watched as Eleanor fled up the stairs, clutching handfuls of her skirts as she rushed to escape him. His heart pounded like a battle drum despite the brevity of the encounter.

  He’d waited so long to see her, and even in her plain white gown and simple coiled braid holding her straight dark hair in check, she still looked better than he remembered.

  And he remembered her looking pretty damn good.

  He took a long, deep breath. Not exactly the best homecoming in the world. He had always been a burr beneath her saddle, but she’d been particularly agitated, especially considering how long he’d been gone. Something was definitely bothering her, and for once, it wasn’t him.

  Yes, they rarely shared a civil word, but it was never with any real heat. It was a challenge of sorts to see who could trump the other’s barbs most effectively. He learned early on it was the most effective way to engage her, and over the years it had become the norm.

  Her scent still lingered in the air, a delicate mix of lavender and honey, the same blend that haunted his dreams. He certainly couldn’t do anything now, but perhaps he could wheedle the problem out of her at dinner. Besides, it was a long ride here, and he very much needed a change of clothes and a hearty drink.

  He had made the trip from London in record time, pushing Caesar, and later a rented mount, much harder than he should have, but unable to force himself to pull back on the reins. It had been too long, and he had seen too much, to want to delay his homecoming even another minute.

  Footsteps in the corridor leading to the west wing jarred him from his woolgathering, and he unfurled his hand and straightened his spine. His stepfather emerged, his gaze already assessing as he approached.

  Exactly the person Nick didn’t wish to see.

  “Malcolm,” he said in neutral greeting, offering a slight nod. “I hope you are well.” Or not. Either would be fine with him.

  “More or less. You’re early.” It was more accusation than observation.

  “Indeed. My plans changed, so I thought I would surprise my mother with my illustrious presence.” He heartily wished she was here now, but Tolbert had informed him Mother was visiting the village for the rest of the afternoon.

  “Yes, well, try to make yourself presentable before she returns. You could pass for a highwayman in those filthy clothes.”

  Because no one else on earth would possibly gather a speck of dust on them after a pounding eight-hour journey. “Didn’t you know? That’s the fashion these days.” He grinned simply because he knew it would irk his stepfather.

  And it did.

  The earl set his jaw, narrowing his eyes for a brief moment. “And here I thought the military would be able to make a man of you.”

  He always had gone straight for the throat. Good thing Nick had a lifetime of acclimation to such comments. “Well, if you couldn’t, what hope did the army have?”

  Malcolm’s gaze would have frozen lava. “Clearly none. Some people are beyond hope.” Without another word, he strode from the room and out the front door.

  Evidently nothing had changed.

  Relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders, Nick shook his head. It was ironic, really. During the past few years, Nick had had the meaning of respect drilled into him. As a commissioned officer, he’d been taught to earn the respect of his men, as well as possess a healthy dose of it for his own superiors. But apparently, he still had a blind spot when it came to his stepfather, who incidentally had paid for Nick’s commission. Not that he felt bad about it, since clearly the feeling was mutual.

  The lofty Earl of Malcolm had never quite forgiven Nick for being part of the package that was his mother. Raising—no matter how loosely such a word could be applied to their situation—another man’s orphan wasn’t quite what he had in mind when Nick’s mother had ensnared the earl all those years ago.

  The purposeful clearing of a throat had him looking over to Tolbert. He’d completely forgotten the man was even there. “Yes?”

  “Shall I have your room readied, sir?”

  There was no missing the censure in old Tolbert’s tone. Fantastic—Nick’s arrival had upset yet another member of the household. The butler hated surprises just about as much as he hated laughter, gossip, and puppies. All of which led to the disruption of his schedule, which was worse than any cardinal sin.

  Nick nodded, infusing a healthy dose of humility into his expression. “Please, though if it is too much to ask, I am quite adept at making do. I’ve even slept on God’s own dirt a time or
two in the not so distant past.”

  Such a thing would seem the worst possible fate to Tolbert, but in truth, those nights hadn’t bothered Nick. When surrounded by people who respected him, even the worst conditions were preferable to this house and its self-important master . . . except for when Eleanor was in residence, of course.

  The butler’s stiff brow relaxed slightly. “I’m certain we can find something more comfortable than that, sir.”

  Well, well—was that a bit of dry humor he heard? “So glad to hear it.”

  “And may I be so bold as to say, welcome home, sir.”

  His first genuine greeting. Nick smiled and nodded his acceptance. After a distressed cousin and a contentious stepfather, he’d happily take a kind butler right about then. With a sigh, he retrieved his satchel and trudged up the stairs to the rooms he’d so infrequently used these past five or so years.

  So far his homecoming was going bloody brilliantly.

  ***

  Step one: discover a large cache of money.

  Step two: Purchase a cottage beside the sea.

  Step three: Tell uncle to go to the devil.

  A perfectly reasonable plan, as far as Eleanor was concerned. There was only one problem: she was fairly certain no undiscovered treasure troves languished on the estate’s grounds.

  It just seemed so hopeless. She had been unable to come up with any real plan in the two hours since her uncle laid down his ultimatum. It was incredibly frustrating to know he held all the cards. As he well knew, Eleanor would do anything to protect her sweet sister.

  Libby had an innocence about her that Eleanor was determined to preserve. Papa had died before she was old enough to recognize the tension in their home, or at the very least to place its origin. She had a rosy view of love and life that would be crushed by some overbearing aristocrat. It was a fate she did not deserve.

  Of course, it was a fate Eleanor didn’t deserve, either. The whole situation was just so blasted unfair. Blowing out a breath, she paced the length of the room. Aunt Margaret’s snores filtered past the ebony door that separated their suites, and Eleanor immediately quieted her footsteps. Her aunt’s noise may not wake her, but the woman heard just about everything else in a half-mile radius.

  Eleanor would love nothing more than to pour out her frustrations to her aunt, but she had just been so delicate since Mama’s death. Gone was the fiery woman who had once been a tour de force among the ton. Growing up, Eleanor had wanted to be just like her. Widowed young and without children of her own, she had always been so strong and independent—a striking foil to Eleanor’s mother while Papa was still alive.

  Now, however, she was simply the aging, older sister to one sibling who was dead, and another who was a boorish nobleman who liked to manipulate them about like chess pieces.

  And on top of everything, Aunt Margaret had been under the weather this week, and Eleanor didn’t want to cause her undue stress. Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her eyes. She wasn’t getting anywhere.

  A light tap on the door to the corridor interrupted her thoughts. She padded over and pulled it open, only to find Nick on the other side. What on earth was he doing here? His short, brown hair was damp and in need of a comb, standing up in all different directions. He’d taken the time to shave as well, and the late afternoon light illuminated one perfectly smooth, chiseled cheek while the other was cast in shadow.

  For one fleeting moment, she had the oddest desire to run a fingertip down the side of his face, to see if the skin was as soft as it looked. And then her sanity returned with a biting snap.

  Was he mad? One couldn’t go knocking on a woman’s bedchamber on a whim. She pulled the door mostly closed, leaving only enough room for him to have a clear view of her censure. “Nicolas,” she hissed, annoyance making the single word into a curse, “what are you doing here?”

  He lifted one corner of his mouth is a rakish grin, knowing full well that she hated when he acted as though he was some sort of Corinthian. “You ran away without a proper greeting, young lady. I thought I might give you the chance to grovel for my forgiveness before dinner.”

  “Oh please, I am not a young anything to you. Now go away, I’ll see you downstairs soon enough.” She started to shut the door, but he put his hand out, stopping her forward motion with a jolt.

  “Not until you tell me what is bothering you,” he said, an underlying hint of concern coloring the otherwise belligerent words. Then, just when she was about to think he might actually care, he added, “You are not nearly waspish enough for all to be well.”

  She rolled her eyes, her gaze landing on the bulge of his arm muscles as he held the door in place, resisting her attempts to shut it. It was so jarring for him to look so different. And distracting. Her heart gave a little flip as her gaze slipped over his broadened shoulders and the exceptionally sharp line of his jaw. Truly, they must have worked him like a mule in the army.

  Good.

  Having regained her wits, she glared at him. “Would you please leave me be?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you,” she said, exasperation clear in her whispered words.

  “Right after you tell me what has your face drawn tight as a miser’s purse strings.” He gave another infuriating little grin. “Careful, such a thing will give you wrinkles. Especially at your advanced age.”

  “Oh, do be quiet,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, Aunt Margaret will hear you, and if you wake her, I will make you regret it.”

  He leaned in toward her until his face was only inches from hers, the clean scent of his shaving soap teasing her nose. His light green eyes held the same challenge they always did when he’d set his mind to having his way. “Then I suggest,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, “that you let me in and tell me what is troubling you.”

  “You are troubling me,” she insisted, keeping her own voice down. “Now leave. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Nick sighed, shaking his head as though profoundly disappointed. “Only two years away, and they’ve turned you into such an old maid.”

  An old maid? For heaven’s sake, was everyone intent on labeling her the doddering old woman today? It didn’t help that he looked as vibrant and virile as a prize stallion. And to think she had been inadvertently admiring him. The men in her family could go to the devil, as far as she was concerned. Fresh anger welled up from the conversation with Uncle Robert, from the helplessness and impotence of being played like some puppet.

  Eleanor jerked the door open so suddenly that Nick stumbled forward, very nearly falling flat on his face. She waited until he recovered to pin him with a frosty glare. “I am not an old maid, Nicolas Norton, and you are not some sort of confidant. Why would I tell you anything? You’ve been back all of two hours, and already you have reverted to the wayward young boy who always tagged behind me like a puppy, making trouble for me at every turn.”

  She would never in a thousand years say such harsh things to any other person on earth, but Nick had always thrived on annoying her. This was what they did. She doubted she would know what to do if he ever offered her a genuine kind word. To do so would mean that he actually took something seriously.

  “What is life without a little trouble?” he asked, brushing off her insults. “You know what I think? I think you’ve missed me.”

  “Yes, about as much as one misses a hangnail.”

  He chuckled, his green eyes sparkling despite the waning evening light. “You do say the sweetest things, Ellie. Lucky for you, I know exactly what you need.”

  She crossed her arms, looking at him with patent disbelief. He knew nothing about what she needed, nothing at all. She needed freedom, respect, the ability to not be married off to the man of Uncle Robert’s choosing. “Oh? And what is that, exactly?”

  “To meet me at the ruins. Tomorrow at dawn.” He gave her a quick wink, made a military turn, and marched from the room.

  She blinked, caught off guard. Then a slo
w, reluctant smile softened the corners of her mouth. For once, he was absolutely right. Devil take the man for knowing her so well.

  ***

  “My, but you are looking so well, darling.” Nick’s mother stretched her lips in a lazy smile from across the dinner table. She was the only person he knew that could manage such an expression without betraying a single wrinkle. Perhaps the vast quantities of drink she had consumed all these years—including tonight—were successfully preserving her after all. “Eleanor, isn’t he looking well?”

  Ignoring his mother’s slightly slurred words, Nick raised an eyebrow at Eleanor, challenging her to disagree with the assessment. He could practically hear her grit her teeth.

  “Indeed,” she murmured, clearly pained to admit it. An actual compliment would probably kill her.

  Although, to be fair, he never complimented her, either. She was slender and beautiful, with full lips that begged to be kissed and gorgeous dark hair that looked so silky, he’d spent the last decade fighting the desire to run his hands through it. All of this, however, would never leave his lips.

  Lifting his glass in a mock salute, he said, “Please, cousin, you’ll give me a big head with such eager praise.”

  “You don’t need me for that.”

  “Now, now, the both of you. Do behave at the dinner table.” Mother paused to take another drink of her wine before turning her less than focused gaze on Nick. “It’s been so long, my son. Please, tell us all about your life in the militia.”

  Malcolm’s knife screeched against porcelain as he cut his roast lamb with much more force than necessary. “I don’t think we need to hear about his battlefield experiences, Lavinia.”

  Nick ran his tongue along his teeth in an attempt to hold back his retort, but it was no use. “Are you certain? I was under the impression gory battlefield details were appropriate conversation for the dinner table, and was about to proceed accordingly.”

  His stepfather glared daggers above the floral centerpiece as the candlelight flickered menacingly in his eyes.

  “Oh, Nicolas, how you tease,” Mother trilled. “It’s a shame Margaret couldn’t join us. She does so enjoy your cheek.”