Nicholas: Lord of Secrets

Five

“Did you know your father is selling off property?” Nick passed Leah the bag of bread crumbs and kept his gaze on the swan coming closer to their side of the pond. When Leah tossed a handful of crumbs onto the water, the swan retreated, while the ducks swarmed into the water, honking and flapping with no dignity whatsoever.

“I am not in his confidence regarding financial matters,” Leah said. “Regarding any matters, really. What is he selling?”

“The smaller of the two estates in Surrey.” Nick turned slightly to admire Leah’s profile. The breeze was such that her scent drifted over to him, redolent of lily of the valley, and he was struck by the simple beauty of her features on a lovely spring day.

“We used to have four estates, total.” Both her tone and her expression were… sad. He wanted, badly, to make that sadness go away. “Wilton would go to Trenton, of course, and then Ambrose Place to Darius. The two little properties were to be Mama’s gifts to Em and me, for our dowries. But when Darius escorted me to Italy, the earl sold Ambrose Place.”

“There’s a path around the pond,” Nick said. “Shall we stroll?”

“I’d like that.”

“The lady and I will stroll the path around the water,” Nick informed their liveried watchdog, who was at the ready up on the gravel walk. “There is no need for you to accompany us.”

Wilton’s minion nodded, though his expression was disgruntled.

“Come.” Nick winged his arm, then tucked his hand over Leah’s and led her away from the footman. “And walk slowly, if you please. I’ve been in want of your company.”

“I’ve danced with you twice so far this week.”

“That is your presence,” Nick said. “I miss your company.” He let a comfortable silence stretch while they put some distance between themselves and the footman. When they had wandered out of earshot, Nick bent down and unabashedly inhaled Leah’s fragrance.

“I don’t believe I’ve encountered lily of the valley on another woman. It suits you wonderfully.”

“I like your scent as well. Sandalwood, but something else too.”

“It’s blended exclusively for me. I didn’t want it too sweet, but sandalwood alone can be cloying. Now, why would your papa be selling an estate that should have been held in trust for you?”

“Because he does not consider himself under any obligation to provide a dowry for me,” Leah said. “I am fallen, and thus not worthy of such an honor.”

The sadness was muted behind a mask of composure, while hurt lingered in her eyes.

“Just how fallen are you?”

This silence was not quite so comfortable. The answer was none of Nick’s business, and yet, he wouldn’t withdraw the question.

“You ran off with that young man,” Nick guessed, “because you allowed him liberties.”

“I did,” Leah said, gaze fixed on the flat surface of the water. “Liberties only a husband should be allowed.”

So she was not a virgin, and Nick let out a long, slow breath. He hurt for her, because she’d thought to gift her lover with something irreplaceable, only to have the lover taken from her permanently. But another part of him, the part that panted and wagged its tail, was relieved. Stealing kisses from a woman of experience was not quite so reprehensible as stealing kisses from a virgin.

“You are not entirely chaste,” Nick concluded. “Take it from me, Leah, not as many brides are as they would have you believe. And many a wedding night would be more pleasant if there were fewer still.”

She moved along for a few steps, showing no reaction to his words. Nick realized belatedly that speaking from experience on this topic was perhaps not quite gentlemanly of him—for all it was honest.

“I should not have eloped,” Leah said. “But the earl had told Aaron he would not provide me a dowry, though he also said he would not withhold his blessing on a fait accompli. Aaron was convinced the earl was telling us to elope. Eloping would provide an explanation for my lack of dowry that Polite Society would accept without censuring my father.”

Something about this recitation did not add up. “You were intimate with Frommer, then he asked for your hand, and the earl told you to elope?”

“I was not intimate with Aaron until we had eloped. Aaron asked for my hand then met with the earl to gain his blessing. The earl said he would not dower me, that he expected Aaron to be able to support a wife without needing additional funds. At that point, Aaron believed the earl was telling him to spirit me away, and alas for me, I believed the same thing.”

“So you thought you had Wilton’s tacit approval,” Nick said. Perhaps some fathers were that subtle—his certainly was not. “Could Aaron have been that mistaken?”

“I’ve had a long time to consider this.” Leah leaned more heavily on Nick’s arm as the ground became slightly uneven. “And no, I do not think he was mistaken. Younger sons, as a lot, tend to be shrewd people, and Aaron was a very intelligent young man. I believe the earl intended to be rid of me, but then changed his mind for some reason, came after us, and called Aaron out.”

“What could have been worth murder?”

“Dueling is frowned upon,” Leah said, “but illegal in a technical sense only. For the most part, if discretion is observed, it’s tolerated.”

“Let’s pause here,” Nick said as the path wound through a stand of willows leafing out in gauzy foliage. The swaying boughs formed curtains of soft green that hung to the ground when the breeze was still. “Come.” Nick shifted to grasp Leah’s hand in his. “We can appropriate some privacy.”

He parted the feathery green leaves and drew her under the canopy of a large tree, effectively screening them with new growth on all sides.

“And why do we need privacy?” Leah asked, even as she did not withdraw her hand from his.

Nick smiled at her over his shoulder, then stopped and turned to face her. “Because I need to hold you.” He drew her against his body, and a sigh escaped her. She relaxed against him while his hand settled between her shoulder blades, pressing her closer.

“The more I learn of your situation, Leah”—Nick rested his chin against her temple as he spoke—“the less I like your papa.”

“Good,” Leah said, her cheek on his chest. “Don’t like him. Don’t trust him. Don’t underestimate him.”

The feel of her quiet in his arms was enough to make Nick lose the train of the discussion entirely, which would not do when time was limited and dire consequences threatened. She had seemed to him in need of a little affection, was all, not a mauling in broad daylight.

“Why would Wilton change his mind about letting you marry Frommer?”

“I have suspicions,” Leah said. “I think Mama’s settlements specified that the Surrey estate was to come to me upon my lawful marriage. I don’t think the earl realized this, at least not until after Aaron and I had departed for Manchester.”

“Manchester? Why not Scotland?”

“There was need for haste regarding the nuptials.” Leah rubbed her cheek over his shirt like a tired child might. “Aaron got us a special license. His brother went to school with the man who held the living at a town on the way called Little Weldon, and we planned on having the ceremony en route.”

“I see.” Nick’s hand on her back started a slow, easy stroking over her shoulder blades, more to soothe him than her. “Do you know who Aaron’s seconds were?”

“A friend,” Leah responded, her voice sounding sleepy and distracted. “Victor someone. I forget the other one. A brother, maybe.”

“Who would your father’s seconds have been?” Nick asked, thinking they could be having this discussion while they walked, though he didn’t want to move from the spot—ever. Leah’s weight leaning against his length so trustingly made his chest feel strange, even while it settled something inside him too.

“I don’t know who his seconds were.” Leah pulled back to peer up at Nick. “Why is this ancient history relevant, particularly when anything that discredits the earl will discredit Emily?”

Nick guided her head back to his chest. “Let’s hope the earl recalls that if the time ever comes to discuss the past with him. I would really like to know who the seconds were, though.”

“Trent might know, or Darius.”

Nick reluctantly loosened his hold on her and grasped her hand once more, leading her back to the path. “You don’t think Trenton was your father’s second?”

“I do not. Trent approved of Aaron, and so did Darius. Mama liked him too.”

“And you loved him.”

Leah nodded then tipped her gaze down, and Nick knew he’d again summoned her tears. “I am so sorry,” Nick said in the same quiet voice. “Sorry to make you talk about it, sorry you had to go through it.”

“I wasn’t in love with him,” Leah said. “Though I loved him, and he said that was enough. The rest would come in time. He was a good man, and he did not deserve to die for me. I was just so eager to leave my father’s house…”

“You loved him,” Nick reminded her, “and you’ve said he was a shrewd young man, and he knew you weren’t in love with him. You were honest with him, and you were prepared to give him your entire future. That was enough for him. It would be enough for any man who loved you.”

Honesty being a precious necessity in any true union. Nick kicked the thought away.

For Nick, the conversation regarding Leah’s elopement brought a greater sense of concern regarding the Earl of Wilton’s behavior toward his daughter. Wilton hadn’t been a papa enraged to find some young scoundrel had spirited his daughter away. He’d been instead a calculating, scheming spider, who spun a web of circumstances around his daughter and her intended, until one was killed and the other run out of the country.

In all likelihood, the only thing that had stayed the earl’s hand from further mischief against Leah had been the hovering presence of her brothers.

Words formed, and he let them pass from his brain out into the pretty spring day. “I think I had better offer for you.”

Leah stiffened but didn’t break contact with him.

“Hear me out,” Nick said, glancing up to find they were more than halfway around the pond. “I do not intend that you be stuck with me, but I do want your father to believe his interests are better served by keeping you in good health, rather than by allowing harm to come to you.”

“This offering does not contemplate marriage,” Leah replied. She was going to argue the notion, when Nick really and truly wanted her assent. “If I must cry off, my chances of ever being married will be reduced if I jilt you.”

“When you cry off,” Nick said, “it will not be as great a problem as you foresee. I will commit some outrageous act of philandering, and you will be pitied by Polite Society. You will be more greatly esteemed for putting me in my place, not less.”

“I am not willing to cost you your good name.”

“I am not willing for you to be at risk of harm under your father’s roof,” Nick said.

“I could be your mistress.”

Nick stopped in midstride and peered down at her. By St. Michael’s mighty sword, she was serious. The hound in him was barking approval of her mad scheme before he could toss the damned beast in the nearest rain barrel.

He closed his eyes, the better to obscure his wayward impulses from Leah’s notice. “Lamb, you would disgrace your siblings by becoming my mistress, and it’s well known I do not keep a particular mistress. I am rather thought to be a connoisseur of variety.”

“Oh.” Leah’s face flamed, and Nick felt awash in contrition.

For not agreeing to ruin her?

“Leah”—Nick’s tone took on a cajoling note—“you were casting about for a solution, tossing out any idea, no matter how unlikely. I comprehend that, and let’s keep thinking, though I did not embark on this project to ruin you, delightful as the process might be for me.” Delightful, captivating, pleasurable, exhausting.

Nick kicked his internal hound hard in the ribs.

Leah looked off into the distance, where a nanny and her charge were throwing a ball for a brown-and-white spaniel. “It was just a thought.”

He leaned down to speak directly in her ear. “A wonderful, scandalous thought. You should never have put such an idea in my head.”

“What other ideas can we come up with?” Leah asked, eyes front, shoulders back.

The ideas that came to mind were not constructive, not in the least.

“You could get engaged to someone else,” Nick suggested. Ethan might do it, provided the engagement were temporary. Beckman was another possibility, though he’d have to be retrieved from Portsmouth first.

“An engagement is not a permanent solution,” Leah said, “but I’d take it, if it were the only option.”

“Engagements can last months, years even. If you are engaged to my brother Beckman, the earl will no doubt soon be casting our family into mourning. That would buy you a year.”

“That is ghoulish, Nick, to use your father’s death that way, to buy me time to escape Wilton.”

Impossible woman—not that he particularly liked the idea of even a temporary engagement between Beckman and Leah. “I can get you to the Continent. You could go back to Italy and wait Wilton out. He won’t live forever.”

If anything, her pretty mouth became more grim. “I will not become your dependent, though Italy has a certain appeal. I was happy there, all things considered. I would be there without a brother or father, though, so it could be more difficult than it was five years ago.”

“Would your brothers help you leave the country?” This was an obvious solution, one he should have thought of sooner, and the only one she wasn’t shooting down right out of the gate. “You are not a minor, so you should be free to leave, and you already know the language, I presume?”

“I do. It isn’t so different from Latin, though I’m rusty, of course. I think supporting me would be a hardship for Darius and Trent though.”

“Why is that?” Nick slowed his steps as much as he could, because they would soon come back to their starting point.

“Darius has tied his coin up in that place in Kent,” Leah explained. “When Ambrose Place was sold, Darius took what little my mother left him and sank it into his own property. He gets a very small stipend from the Wilton estate, but Trenton and I are both puzzled as to how Darius supports himself. I don’t think Darius has coin to spare, and Trenton is in much the same boat, because his funds are derived from those of his children.”

“Unfortunate. We will continue to think on this, though. I cannot accept your present circumstances, even if—and you will note the conditional—old Hellerington’s guns have been spiked.”

“I will brace my brothers on the prospect of a return to Italy.”

“If it’s a matter of passage money or a stipend…” Nick began.

“No,” Leah said firmly. “You have tied up too much coin buying Hellerington’s markers, in the first place. In the second, you are going to be marrying soon, and you cannot be supporting me while you are waiting at the altar for your countess.”

A logical woman was an abomination against the natural order, or at least against Nick’s protective intentions.

“Do you think I wouldn’t be supporting a mistress if it pleased me to do so?” The question was out, a function of how rattled Nick felt at the prospect of Leah having to leave the country again to escape her father’s scheming.

“You will not keep a mistress once you’ve chosen your bride. You would not dishonor your wife that way.”

She was as bad as Valentine. “I keep no mistress because I enjoy variety, not because I entertain any notion of being faithful to my countess.”

Now, now when they must part in moments, she beamed a smile at him. “Tell yourself that, if you must. You are not that hard of heart, Nicholas.”

Bother that—though he loved hearing her use his name to scold him. “How did you enjoy your visit with my grandmother?” Nick knew it was a maladroit change of subject, but a gentleman didn’t argue with a lady, and Leah was just so… wrong.

“She is a lovely woman and asked to call upon me tomorrow.”

“Be warned,” Nick said as they approached the waiting footman. “I might join her.”

“That would be lovely.” Leah gave him a smile that reached her eyes, and Nick searched his mind in vain for the reasons he wasn’t going to make her his mistress.

“I will make a point of it then.” Nick smiled back at her, knowing the footman’s eyes were goggling out of his head. Nick bent over Leah’s gloved hand then straightened without turning loose of her. “And that other matter I raised with you? We’ll both put our minds to it, and I’m sure a solution will present itself. My thanks for your company, my lady, and until next we meet, may you keep well.”

Before swanning off with Wilton’s spy in tow, Leah bobbed the requisite curtsy, and waited that extra beat of the heart for Nick to release her hand. Nick watched her go, thinking he usually engaged in the flirtation and innuendo business without thought, but in this instance, he sincerely hadn’t wanted to let her hand go.

Try as he might, he could not come up with a credible reason he shouldn’t marry her, but Leah as his mistress? No. Not now, not ever, not even if she begged him, naked on her knees between his…

“Jesus, help me.”

Emily smiled over at Leah from between the pages of a small volume. “I am enjoying this book to no end. Miss Willers claims she does not know the language of the fan or the glove or the parasol, but the way she says it makes me think she simply disapproves.”

Leah glanced up from her needlework and kept her voice down. “She is not a finishing governess. It’s very likely she doesn’t know, Em. She’s taught you a great deal though. And a decent girl hardly needs to be sending coy signals with her fan, her parasol, or her gloves.”

Though a decent girl might dearly wish to send those signals.

“My French is wonderful,” Emily said, “my Italian passable, and my manners impeccable. I can do fetching needlepoint, I play the piano a little, and I know how to seat any dinner party of up to thirty if the Regent and his Princess are not both attending.”

“I don’t know who could solve that particular puzzle. You do not seem very proud of your accomplishments.”

“I’ve been at lessons for ten years, Leah.” Emily used a feather as her bookmark, a pure white quill about six inches long. “What do a few words of French or Italian matter when it’s my face and my fortune that will decide my future?”

What was this about? “You’d be surprised how handy some foreign languages can be, but you have a point. Your skill at academics should not entirely decide your future, nor should your face and fortune.”

“What does that leave, if you discount funds, brains, and appearance?”

“Your heart, little Sister. Your inherent virtue, your goodness or lack thereof, your humor or kindness or graciousness toward others. Those things should count for something with the man who seeks to marry you.”

Emily’s expression became solemn. “I do not mean to be unkind, Leah, but you chose a man based on such qualities, and look what befell you. I do not want to end up like you.”

“Well said.” The Earl of Wilton stepped into the room, his smile of approval for Emily only. “Your older sister was selfish, foolish, and properly made to suffer for her sins. You will be wiser than she, and life will reward you for it.”

“I hope so, Papa,” Emily murmured, careful not to look at Leah.

“Excuse us now, Emily,” the earl bade her.

Emily was out the door before Leah could blink, for which Leah could not blame her. With Wilton looking on, Emily did not dare show Leah too much deference.

“You think to corrupt your younger sister, miss?” The earl remained standing, his hands tucked behind his back while Leah sat before him.

“I think to encourage her to be happy.” Leah bent her head to her embroidery hoop but did not yield to the urge to cringe.

“Your example has proven instructive,” the earl said, beaming a malicious smile. “It did not occur to me you would have value as a cautionary tale, but it appears you do. I bring you words of caution as well, Leah.”

Leah raised her gaze to his and felt her chest constrict at the hatred she saw. “I am listening.”

“Hellerington rescheduled his appointment with me last week, but today I have his note postponing the meeting indefinitely. This tells me you have failed to secure the attentions of even such a one as he, who would at least have taken you off my hands and perhaps paid modestly for the privilege.”

“I’m sure you’re disappointed,” Leah said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Sending you into his waiting arms would have had a certain appeal, and you might yet end up there,” the earl replied. “Without benefit of matrimony.”

“You would condemn me thus?”

“Happily,” the earl snapped. “And when I hear you spouting off to Emily about choosing a man for his character… Your days under this roof are numbered, miss. I will choose Emily’s husband and the terms upon which she weds, make no mistake about that. I had hoped… well, no matter. I’ve had indications this Lord Reston might be seriously interested in you, and because he is soon to assume his papa’s title, I will take some time to consider the matter of your future. You, however, would be well advised to flirt your way into some man’s affections sooner rather than later. I care not whether it’s Reston or some wealthy merchant. Consider yourself forewarned.”

He left, sparing Leah the effort of a reply.

He’d warned her, at least. She could be tossed into the streets, her only recourse to impose on Trent, or perhaps retreat to Darius’s little place in Kent. As her options were truly narrowing, Leah felt the foreboding in her chest congeal into dread. To be not just a spinster daughter, but a poor relation cast out of her own home…

God in heaven, what had she done to deserve such a fate?

And God in heaven, what was she going to do? She had four sovereigns to her name. What in the world was she going to do?

“Sir.” The butler waited until Ethan Grey looked up from his ledgers. “A gentleman to see you.”

Ethan waved the salver away. “Tell me who it is.”

The butler, without raising a brow, read the card. “A Lord Reston,” he pronounced, “and the corner is bent.”

“Ah, Jesus.” Ethan sat back and saw the usual sea of ledgers, correspondence, and documents covering his desk. First that audience with Bellefonte, now Nick knocking at his door—in person—when there was work to do.

“Show him in.” Ejecting Nick would take more footmen than Ethan wanted to spare. “Bring us a tea tray with whatever the kitchen can add to it that’s passable.”

“Very good, sir.”

Nick was here, at Ethan’s town house, and Ethan knew damned good and well who had given him the address.

“Ethan.” Nick breezed in, his blue, buff, and cream riding attire showing his phenomenal physique to excellent advantage. “My apologies for not sending a note, and my thanks for your willingness to receive me.”

“I’ve always been willing to receive you.” Ethan frowned, for Nick looked harried. Nick never looked harried. He was the quintessential self-possessed, easygoing charmer. Ethan was the one who couldn’t manage to get enough done in a day.

Nick looked to be dropping weight as well, and Ethan’s characteristic irritability ratcheted up a notch. Nick was not allowed to be worn and tired. Nick’s job was to be happy, amiable, and bustling around in a fog of horny contentment, flirting his way from one merry widow to the next.

“Tea’s on its way.” Ethan shoved out from behind his desk and extended a hand. Nick’s expression showed momentary surprise, but he shook solidly then tossed himself down into a sturdy cushioned chair.

“Thank the gods for a man who appreciates real furniture.” Nick dragged a hand through his golden mane. “How was your trip to Belle Maison?”

Amiable and very, very direct.

“Trying,” Ethan said, lowering himself into the other chair and realizing that Nick—and probably Nick alone—was someone with whom he could discuss the trip.

“He really is dying,” Nick said softly. “Doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem like it’s time, and it doesn’t help that he’s ready to go.”

“He is, isn’t he? Miserable old pestilence.”

“I think he is miserable,” Nick said. “Angry and ashamed to be old and sick, and ready to get on with being remembered fondly.”

“By most.”

“But not all,” Nick agreed, smiling slightly. “I gather you did not grant him pardon, absolution, and remission of all sins?”

Nick’s directness on that issue was oddly welcome, even though it reminded Ethan starkly they’d once been able to read each other’s thoughts and had Bellefonte to thank for the distance between them now. “I could hardly stand to be in the same room with him.”

“One doesn’t need to bear a grudge against the man to feel thus.”

A soft tap on the door, and both men fell silent as the tea cart was rolled in.

“You pour.” Nick closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I am damned sick of being my own hostess.”

“You’re soon to acquire a countess, though, aren’t you?” Ethan asked as he peered at the tea. “It’s middling strong.”

“Let it steep,” Nick said, eyes still closed. “Did you put the earl in his place, Ethan?”

As if one could. The Lord God Almighty would probably be hard put to do as much. “I left in a snit. I did get something like an explanation from him, though.”

“Did you now?” Nick opened his eyes and sat up. “The grim reaper must be stalking him in earnest.”

“Or his indigestion was plaguing him. All those years ago, Bellefonte found you and me in the same bed.”

“Of course he did.” Nick looked puzzled. “Else the little boys would have heard all our secrets. As it was, every time Dolph had a nightmare, he was in with us as well.”

“But his lordship thought we were inappropriately attached to begin with,” Ethan said, “and when it became obvious we often bunked together, he decided we were engaging in perversions with each other.”

There was a beat of utter silence, then another, followed by a roar.

“He thought what?” Nick shot out of his chair and rounded on his brother.

Ethan remained seated, peculiarly gratified by Nick’s indignation. “He thought we were lovers, or the adolescent male variation on that theme.”

“God’s eternal balls,” Nick swore, pacing off. “Jesus George Christ Almighty in the Clouds. I cannot believe this. I am going to kill the misguided old goat and make it hurt. He cast you away because he thought we might have been a little too close? A little curious with each other? Jesus.”

Nick came to a halt and shut up, breathing deeply. Ethan watched, knowing he’d just seen Nick come as close to losing his temper as Nick ever would.

“I walked out,” Ethan said, “if that helps. Left him wheezing in his chair while I headed blindly for the stables. I ran into Nita there, and that distracted me temporarily.”

Nita had been a girl the last time he’d seen her, a pretty little girl who’d once told him he was her favorite brother.

“Nita would distract St. Peter. I am disappointed in our father, Ethan. I was disappointed in him for separating us in any case, but over nonsense like this… Disappointed and disgusted. Had you any clue?”

“No.” Ethan held out Nick’s teacup to him. “Not really, though we probably should not have been quite so cozy that late into boyhood.”

“That is utter tripe!” Nick shot back. “You left, so you have no idea what the rest of us got up to, Ethan. I can promise you George and Dolph were up to no good with each other, and Beck used to spy on you and me with the dairymaids while he pleasured himself. The earl had a randy damned pack of sons, and you and I were not the worst of the lot.”

Nick’s casual recitation of fraternal prurience hit Ethan with a curious blend of revulsion, humor, and relief. “I’ll take your word for it, though I do not think you are paying me the signal honor of a call after all these years to rehash ancient history.”

“I am not,” Nick admitted, looking at the teacup in his hand dazedly.

“Sit you down, Nicholas. We can talk more later, if you find you want to. I’m not sure I do. State your business.”

“I can hardly recall my business,” Nick growled.

Ethan waited him out.

“I need some help,” Nick said at length, his tone truculent.

Not at all what Ethan had expected—though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. “What manner of help?”

“I’ve been called to Belle Maison, but there’s a young lady here in Town whose safety I have pledged to ensure.”

With Nick, it was ever a problem with the ladies. The predictability of this also gratified. “What manner of young lady? I’ve no need to take on one of your lightskirts, Nicholas.”

“She’s a decent woman. I’ve asked Della to invite her to Clover Down for the week, or until I can get free of Bellefonte. Her dear father, the Earl of Wilton, seeks to wed her to Hellerington, or somebody of that ilk. If she can’t secure such a match, the old man might procure a different sort of situation for her.”

Ethan didn’t bother to keep amusement from his face. “You are in the shining-armor business, it appears.”

“I am not, but neither can I leave somebody who is essentially helpless in harm’s way.” Nick’s pronouncement was made in tones of self-disgust, which Ethan allowed to remain unremarked.

“What am I supposed to do? Wilton is a nasty bugger, Nick, and I am not anybody’s heir.”

“Just escort Della and Lady Leah out to Clover Down,” Nick said, “and hang about until I come back from Belle Maison.”

“I can do that.” Ethan was surprised to see the depth of the gratitude in Nick’s eyes. “Christ, Nick, are you really so alone as all that?”

Nick’s gaze slid away, and Ethan had his answer.

“Your ladies will be safely tucked away in the country,” Ethan assured him. “Is there more you would ask of me?”

Nick was silent, and Ethan reached over and plucked Nick’s empty teacup from his hand.

“This is me, Nicholas,” Ethan said in low, impatient tones. “I accidentally branded your bony little arse, I was the first person to get drunk with you, and I wouldn’t know how to read if you hadn’t taught me my letters. What?”

“Come to his funeral,” Nick said, his gaze on his empty hands. “Not the service, if you don’t want to, but to Belle Maison.”

Ethan rose and ran a hand across hair slightly darker than Nick’s. “I did ask.”

He turned his back to Nick, staring into the fire as a plethora of emotions rioted through him—resentment, surprise, and something else. An elusive little bolt of warmth Ethan wasn’t about to examine too closely. Nick needed him, and for the first time in more than ten years, Ethan could help. The sneering, righteous rejection he’d practiced off and on for all that time was the last thing on Ethan’s mind.

“You don’t have to.” Nick rose as well. “I’m presuming, to put such a request to you.”

Ethan half turned and regarded his younger brother—his harried, tired, worried, very large younger brother who had gone into the shining-armor business, whether he admitted it or not. “I’ll go. I’ll escort Della and your damsel, and when Bellefonte goes to his reward, I’ll at least put in an appearance, if you’re still certain you want me there when the time comes.”

“I will,” Nick assured him, eyeing him grimly. “Beck is lying low in Portsmouth, Dolph and George will probably be skipping around from one house party to the next, you’ll be easy to reach, and…”

“And?”

Nick slapped riding gloves against his thigh in a slow, solid rhythm. “And of real use. To me. To the girls. They’ve missed you.”

Ethan said nothing rather than remark on all the letters he’d never received from his devoted sisters.

Nick turned his back and reached for the door latch. “God knows I’ve missed you too.”

And then he was gone.

“Wilton has made it plain that I’m to secure Lady Warne’s sponsorship for Emily, and that’s the only reason he’s allowing me to accept this invitation.” Leah ambled along on Nick’s arm at a decorous pace completely at variance with the panic building inside her.

“What aren’t you telling me, Leah?” Nick’s tone was pleasant, a gentleman escorting a lady on a casual ramble by the duck pond on a spring day.

She wasn’t telling him she was scared nigh to death, wasn’t telling him she needed his embrace with a desperation that qualified as pathetic.

“Wilton’s getting worse, Nick. He no longer seems to care what befalls me or who learns of it.”

Nick’s hand closed over hers in a warm, reassuring squeeze. “In two days’ time, you’ll be ensconced at Clover Down. Because I must away to Belle Maison, my brother Ethan will escort you, and you can pry all my boyhood secrets from him. We were incorrigible, of course…”

She let the soothing patter of his voice wash over her, let herself believe that a week in the country would work some miracle where Wilton was concerned. She also let Nick draw her once again into the privacy of the willow bower on the far side of the pond.

“You are pale, lovey,” Nick said, wrapping his arms around her. “Your eyes are haunted, and fatigue shows around your mouth.” He bent his head and brushed his lips over that mouth. “You must not fret. All will be well.”

When he held her like this, Leah could believe it—Nicholas seemed to believe it, but then, his father hadn’t murdered his betrothed, and all but promised to deliver him, bound hand and foot, into a life of abject depravity.

She let herself cling to him for just a few more minutes, storing up the sandalwood scent of him, the heat of his tall body, the solid muscles enveloping her, and then she forced herself to step away.

“For two more days, I can manage, Nicholas. I’m not usually inclined to such dramatics.”

The look he gave her was searching, far more serious than his usual genial expression. Meeting his gaze, Leah was struck in a whole different way with how very attractive he was, and how male. The woman he married had best guard her heart and guard it well.

The breeze stirred, teasing a lock of blond hair across Nick’s brow. They were still in the sheltering embrace of the willow branches, so Leah allowed herself to smooth that errant lock back into place.

“Two days, lovey, and then Ethan and Lady Warne will kidnap you from your tower. Wilton won’t risk anything drastic when he knows you’re expected by a dowager marchioness at week’s end. Be strong for two more days.”

He kissed her again, a sound smack on the lips. One of his kisses for courage—though what did it say about her, that she was starting to catalogue the kisses of a man whom she had no intention of marrying?