She prayed Derek was right, and if there was a way to coax Nicholas into thinking of their relationship in a present permanent way instead of a past casual one, she wanted at least to try.
Even at the risk of shattering her heart if it didn’t work.
“If I had known what it took to bring a smile like that to your lips, my dear, I’d have scrounged a dirty ill-bred dog from some nasty gutter myself. I can’t see a woman making such a gesture, so I do wonder who else might come up with an unorthodox idea to bestow such a present.”
His soft, almost menacing tone made her glance up and straighten, a flicker of alarm twisting in her stomach. Nicholas couldn’t have known Lord Wynn would be there when the puppy was delivered, but the timing was terrible. Franklin regarded her with narrowed eyes, his mouth a trifle tight.
“It’s from Melinda, I’m sure,” she improvised, knowing she wasn’t a good liar, hoping he didn’t notice the flush in her cheeks. “I believe she mentioned one of her husband’s spaniels was a bitch about to have a litter.”
“That is hardly the progeny of a purebred hunting dog.”
He was undoubtedly right. She murmured, “Who knows who sired him?”
Franklin got to his feet. “Since you seem currently occupied, I’ll take my leave. Think about what I said.”
Joy was replaced instantly with resentment. “If you mean marriage, I’m sorry, but it isn’t in my future plans at this time.”
With elaborate deliberation, he adjusted his cuff. “That will change.”
She stared at the doorway after he left, wondering what he could have meant by that cryptic remark. It made her uneasy, because while she vowed to herself he couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want, he seemed to have an equal measure of assurance he could.
A sharp tug on the hem of her gown drew her attention downward and she scooped up Nicholas’s gift and held the exuberant bundle close. A little unconditional love in her life would be nice, she thought, unable to suppress a smile as she dismissed Lord Wynn from her mind.
Chapter Twenty
T
he gaming room was, as always, held in a thrall of tobacco smoke imbued with the smell of brandy and claret, and windows open to the warm evening did little to clear the air. The conversations were occasionally raucous, punctuated by outbursts of laughter, but at their table the atmosphere was subdued. Derek watched in silence as the man across from him tossed down his cards and collected the winnings of yet another hand.
It seemed the Duke of Rothay was having a lucky night.
Only, for a man with the devil’s own fortune smiling on him, he didn’t look particularly overjoyed. Nicholas had a singular set to his mouth that anyone who knew him beyond casual acquaintance would recognize as irritation. Derek had a feeling he knew the reason.
“I say, Rothay,” young Lord Renquist grumbled, “mind sitting out a hand or two so the rest of us have a chance?”
Nicholas’s dark eyes held just the slightest glitter of what could be inebriation. If the number of times he’d had his glass refilled since he’d taken his seat was an indication of what he’d been doing before he arrived at the ball, it wasn’t a bad guess. He drawled with only marginal civility, “I’m not dealing the cards. Are you implying something?”
The young man might be a little foxed himself, but not so far gone that he didn’t recognize the hint of measured warning in Nicholas’s voice. “I wasn’t implying anything. Just a joke.”
“Was it?”
Renquist’s face paled just a little. “Not a good one.”
“Let’s just play, shall we?” Nicholas picked up his cards, his long fingers expertly fanning them out, his expression holding that uncharacteristic hint of sullen ill humor.
Derek saw two of the other players glance at each other in an unspoken but clear agreement to not cross the normally unruffled and smooth-mannered Duke of Rothay that evening. If such an innocuous remark could cause offense, perhaps it was best to stay quiet.
After two more disastrous hands, Renquist excused himself with careful politeness and moved on to a game of dice. Derek didn’t even mind losing a little, as he was determined to play the role of watchdog for the evening. Under normal circumstances he trusted Nicholas to behave himself, but the situation was not usual at all.
Caroline was in attendance, out in the ballroom as they played cards. On Derek’s advice, she was even dancing, something she did rarely. This evening she was lovelier than ever, dressed in a low-cut gown of cream lace with a pale underskirt of lemon silk, her gleaming hair and ivory skin set off to advantage. Something unidentifiable had changed about her since she had returned from her sojourn with Nicholas, and though she seemed just as serene, she had a different air about her.
Men had noticed. Not just the dancing, though it had been remarked upon, but the more subtle difference that softened her usual icy shield.
Hence the duke’s unsettled ill humor at a guess, because no one knew better than Derek how it felt to be near the woman you desired and not able to approach her. Caroline was there, Nicholas knew it, and he had to stay away while other men waltzed and flirted with her. A posture of restraint heretofore unknown to a man who could usually have what he wanted, especially when it came to the fairer sex.
Not that
he
was in a better predicament, Derek thought, for Annabel was there also, lovely in pink tulle, her pale hair upswept to show off the graceful line of her neck and satin shoulders. He could, of course, ask her to dance, since no one would think much of it, given his familial connection to her guardian, but he wasn’t at all sure she wouldn’t give him the cut direct if he tried to approach her. Being snubbed in public would cause gossip and, while he didn’t care so much for himself, he doubted it would make her happy to be the subject of backhanded whispers. He had no illusions; she would blame him.
So, like Nicholas, he had to keep his distance.
One of their friends took Renquist’s open chair at the table and asked to be dealt in. Derek said in a neutral tone, “Just a word of warning, George. Nick is lucky as Satan himself tonight. He can’t get bad cards.”
“Thanks for the warning. I won’t play too deep, then.” George Winston, heavyset and gregarious, settled down and grinned. “Speaking of luck, how’s the contest between you two going anyway? When do we hear the grand announcement?”
A muscle visibly clenched in Nicholas’s jaw, but his voice was pleasant enough. “It isn’t settled yet.”
“Should be in the next few weeks, though,” Derek said with a deliberate lazy grin. “We don’t want to rush the matter.”
It could be a mistake to needle Nicholas in his current mood, but making him acknowledge his jealousy was part of the plan.
Good-natured but always too talkative, Winston winked. “You don’t want to rush the lady, you mean. You’ve got to know everyone’s having a devil of a time trying to figure out who she is. Give us a hint, now.”
Nicholas stared at his hand as if it were the most fascinating thing on earth. “No.”
“Is she beautiful?” George wasn’t interested in being put off. In fact, all the men at the table looked both amused and curious.
“What do you think?” Derek lifted a brow.
“I assumed. Big tits?”
Nicholas lifted his head like a wolf scenting its prey.
If there was a discreet way to tell George that speculation like that might make him a very sorry man indeed, Derek would have done so. Across the table, in a deceptively casual voice, Nicholas said tersely, “As gentlemen, we refuse to discuss it.”
Clearly a warning.
The cold look in his dark eyes declared the subject to be closed.
Then he tossed his cards on the table and got up. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m out.”
There was a brief silence after his abrupt departure. He left the room with determined steps, as if he had a definite destination in mind. One of the other players muttered, “I say, not quite himself this evening, is he?”
A very promising sign. Derek said merely, “He’s been meeting with the prime minister every day this past week and his family is in town. It could be he’s just tired.”
George snorted. “The Devilish Duke? I’ve seen him stay up until dawn drinking and do nothing more than change his clothes, leave for a race meet, and do the same thing the next night. Nick doesn’t
get
tired.”
Derek would wager the markers piled in front of him and then some that George was wrong. At the moment, he’d guess the legendary Rothay was very tired of being near the off-limits Lady Wynn and unable to so much as touch her hand.
The carriage door opened and Nicholas sat motionless, hoping he hadn’t just made the impulsive mistake of a lifetime by listening to his unruly cock. Caroline began to climb in but stopped dead as she caught sight of him, her soft mouth parting in shocked surprise.
He said quietly, “Please get in and I’ll explain.”
“Nicholas, what are you doing?” She hung there, not quite inside the carriage, the question an outraged whisper.
“I talked to your driver. He’ll take us the long way home. So, please, get in before anyone wonders why you won’t.”
That brought her inside finally and the young Welshman who’d driven her to Essex shut the door. She settled on the seat in a graceful rustle of silken skirts and a moment later the vehicle pulled away. Luminous silver eyes stared at him, but it was dim and he couldn’t quite gauge the level of her opposition to his presence. She said finally, “I certainly hope no one saw you talking to Huw or, even worse, getting into my carriage.”
“I was careful.” He had been and was damned glad he’d taken the time to speak to the young man during the time Caroline had stayed with him in Essex. He and her driver discussed horses, a natural mutual love there leveling aristocrat and servant with ease. Besides, Huw obviously knew exactly where his mistress spent her nights, so he hadn’t blinked an eye over Nicholas and his request.
“I am not sure you know how to be discreet, Rothay,” she said in a tart tone, but a small smile curved her mouth.
“For you, I am willing to do my best.” He relaxed a little, familiar with that soft expression on a woman’s face.
Not that knowing a woman wanted his company had ever been quite so important to him before, but with her, it was. Very important. As incredible as it might seem, he wanted to know she’d missed him the way he’d missed her.
She still primly reprimanded him. “I believe I told you no. I realize you are unfamiliar with the word, but in this case, I’m afraid I’m sincere. I do not want to take the risk of trying to have a clandestine affair with you. There is a long enough list of people who know about my trip and stay at your estate as it is. Besides Huw, there’s Mrs. Sims, the maids there, not to mention Lord Manderville.”
“Derek won’t say anything, no one in Essex was told your last name, and only you can speak for your driver, but he seems loyal enough. We won’t be discovered.”
Her lacy lashes lowered minutely. “It must be nice to always have such assurance life will go your way.”
Being born to wealth and title probably did give one a certain confidence that wasn’t so much inbred as imposed, but he really didn’t want to debate the matter, not with her so deliciously close. The light fragrance of her perfume put his body on full alert and he could see the luscious curves of her breasts framed by the décolletage of her gown. Big tits? No. Perfect firm womanly breasts that fit in his hands and mouth? Yes. When Winston had started speculating over her physical appearance, an all-too-vivid image of her nude body beneath his had come to mind, and at that moment he’d made a decision, unable to help himself, which he was going to have to look at later when in a calmer frame of mind.
When not in full rut, a more civilized wry voice in his mind observed. His growing erection just from being close to her was irrefutable proof his body agreed.
“I am very much hoping
this
evening will improve, true.” He held her gaze and patted the seat next to him. “Come sit here.”
“I shouldn’t.” Her response was quiet. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You should. We’re alone. Your driver will postpone our arrival until I give him a signal. I want to introduce you to the joys of making love in a carriage. It’s a bit cramped, I’ll concede, but can be done with delightful results.”
“I somehow feel quite sure it’s an art you’ve practiced often enough.” Despite her dry tone, she did as he asked and moved to take the proffered seat. A soft gasp escaped as he changed his mind and lifted her onto his lap instead. Her tempting bottom nestled against his groin and he hardened further.
Nicholas nuzzled her neck. “You danced tonight. You don’t often.”
“You watched me?” Her throat arched back to give him greater access, the question soft as a gossamer cloud.
Admitting he hadn’t been able to help it seemed as imprudent as sneaking into her carriage. The retreat into the gaming room hadn’t helped either. He murmured, “I noticed.”
“I noticed you too.”
The admission was made in a hushed voice and her eyes sparkled like jewels in the dim light.
So, they watched each other. He didn’t want to think about it too much. It was becoming a distraction in his life and what he should do is stay away from her until the fever passed. But instead there he was, stealing a few moments of her time like some vagabond thief who had nowhere else to turn.
Which was ridiculous. He had dozens—more—places to turn. Lady Whitmore had earlier issued a blatant invitation as they’d waltzed, but he’d been on the floor in the first place only because he wanted to brush past Caroline.
He’d declined in the most polite way possible.
And instead spent almost an hour sitting in a dark carriage. Waiting.
For this.
“You smell like flowers,” he told her, his mouth tracing the sensitive hollow under her ear as he tried to dismiss his unsettling thoughts. “Hmm.”