Authors: Kate Rothwell
And the sweet weight of her in his arms, asleep.
He craved power over her and not just in the bedchamber. He might as well be his uncle, taking the upper hand where he could. Nathaniel stared unseeing down the hall and prayed he wouldn’t grow so desperate he drove her away. What could be worse? The answer was obvious. He might break her.
He had to marry her before his uncle struck. Nathaniel didn’t know what his uncle might do, but the time to batten the hatches had come. They might be at war with the powerful Bessette, and she’d be better protected as his wife.
“My lord?” Burnbridge was in the hall. “Is Miss Camero staying here?”
“Her name is Cadero. No, she isn’t.”
“Ah. Thompson didn’t know.”
“You’re gossiping with the servants? Not worthy of you.”
“You don’t choose to discuss the matter with me,” Burney said with great dignity. “It is not gossip, my lord. Thompson is in charge of making certain your household runs smoothly, and I am supposed to do the same for your appointments and obligations.”
Nathaniel propped himself against a paneled wall. Two reprimands in a half hour. He must finally learn his lesson. “I have been irresponsible. I apologize,” he said lightly.
Burny drew back and looked alarmed. “No, no, you’re still recovering.”
“I’m off the damned drugs.” He said it aloud to convince himself as well. It worked, for he knew that even if he had another fit, he’d never take the vile green stuff again and he would survive.
“Are you, indeed?” Burny clapped his hands. The burst of one-man applause would have been silly if anyone else had done it, or more likely a sarcastic gesture from most of Nathaniel’s friends. Burny got away with it. “Well done, my lord. When did you finally loosen its grip on you?”
“As of last night, I was done with the stuff. I had cravings much of the night and this morning at six.” He didn’t wake Florrie when he was hit with need, but stared at her soft relaxed face and craved her instead of the green sludge. “And it got bad a couple of hours ago.”
Burny nodded soberly. “Yes, I am not surprised that discussing your imprisonment with the authorities would disturb you.”
True enough, thinking of Maller and the little room in Derbyshire brought back strong echoes of the nightmarish pain. But no fits, and he’d managed to hide the shaking.
Nathaniel had enough of the matter. “I’m fine as long as I keep active. But I can’t blame addiction for all my errors.” Florrie wouldn’t let him get away with that.
Burny looked at him anxiously. “You haven’t been so very bad, you know. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I thought—”
“Ha. You didn’t even know my fiancée’s name.”
“You’re a private person, my lord.”
“No, no, don’t abandon your accusations.” He pushed away from the wall. “And I hope you like Miss Cadero, because I’m going to marry her as soon as possible. In fact I’m going to send you out to purchase a special license.”
“So very soon? But why? Umm.” Burny’s face went red. “I beg your pardon.”
Nathaniel tried not to grin at his friend’s discomfort. “Nothing vulgar.” He practiced divulging more than was necessary by adding, “I simply don’t want my mother to develop any plans to halt the marriage.”
I don’t want Florrie to get away.
That might be the reason he didn’t tell his friends about Florrie. Sometimes when he understood his own thinking, he was appalled. No more secrets from the people that mattered, then. He’d unlearn his uncle’s habit of secrecy. He walked back into the office instead of running up the stairs—he could resist temptation.
He started to read an article about the history of the census and thought about Florrie instead. Even arguing with her was becoming a pleasure, except when she hinted she’d leave. Her simple statement “I’m going home” sent Nathaniel into blind panic. Stupid, stupid.
He put down the article and searched for another, less boring piece. The next one managed to put him to sleep, and he woke when someone standing near him made a noise.
He raised his head to see Florrie glaring at one of the articles. “I didn’t mean to wake you. But really this is silly. Is this true?” she demanded. “Is there really a connection between a person’s moral growth and what they eat? Corn creates evil thoughts?”
She put it down and picked up another.
He rose. “Won’t you sit?”
She shook her head without looking up from the papers in her hand.
Her hair was different. A bit had been cut at the front and shaped into small curls on her forehead and at her ears, framing her face. It was neat and fashionable. Perhaps too neat. He didn’t think he liked the change from her usual wild, sliding, glossy pile of hair.
“Your hair,” he said. “It’s, er, nice. Stylish.”
“Thank you.” She looked up from the papers and touched one of the curls very carefully. “Miss Brock and the hairdresser are very good.”
“Too good,” he grumbled, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
She turned the page and read, her full mouth pouting slightly in concentration. “This article is more interesting,” she said after a minute. “It is a sane argument with evidence to back it up. Of course we need an accurate census for more than just taxation.”
He blinked and stifled a yawn. It had struck him as entirely dull.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you. Does your mother know you publish this journal?”
“Pray, why do you ask about my uncle and my mother so often?” He hadn’t meant to sound so annoyed.
But Florrie answered calmly. “She’ll be a near relation of mine.”
“A relation, but I doubt it’ll be near. And no, she doesn’t know. Bessette does, of course.”
“Because he makes it his business to know everything about everyone,” she said, and wrinkled her nose. “He’s the reason you should make it clear to the world you’re the publisher. Even better than marrying a nobody like me for a good nose thumbing.”
He laughed and rubbed his eyes, which were still heavy.
She placed the pages back on top of the pile and carefully tapped the sides straight. “Do you know, it’s a shame you hide. I’d be proud of my association with this journal.”
“Thank you,” he said, touched.
She didn’t seem angry any longer, and he considered broaching the subject, asking if she’d forgiven him for hiring Miss Brock without consulting her. No. He suddenly understood he didn’t want to ask if she forgave him because she might say no, and when it came to Florrie, Nathaniel was an utter coward. No wonder he wanted to tie her up.
“Why are you smiling?” she said. “Or is that a grimace?”
“I suspect it’s both,” he said. “Would you like tea? Is it time for a meal?” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Eleven. I could use a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, but I should return home. This time of day most of the residents will be out at work. I can sneak in.”
He clicked the watch shut and shoved it back into his waistcoat. “You have no need to sneak.”
She scowled, her dark brows beetling. “You have obviously never lived in a boarding house, my lord.”
He nodded. “You’re correct. And you won’t be there much longer.”
Her frown didn’t diminish.
Disappointed that she didn’t seem excited about the prospect of leaving the boarding house, he went to the bell pull. “I’ll order the carriage and take you home. Unless,” he was unable to resist asking, “you think you’d like to lie down for a rest?”
She reddened. “In the middle of the day?”
He leered. She hadn’t mistaken his meaning. “Any time,” he said. “Anywhere.”
She fingered one of her new curls. “Um. I think I should go.”
He wasn’t going to show disappointment, and he ordered himself not to worry that she was leaving him. “Of course,” he said, and rang the bell.
He requested the open carriage even though the day was overcast and cold. He could drive, and the smaller seat meant she must sit closer to him.
She sat next to him on the leather bench and shivered. “I couldn’t find my climbing costume. With Miss Brock present, I didn’t look very thoroughly. She is an agreeable woman, but that might be too much to explain.”
“I put it in my wardrobe,” he said. “I’ll have to invent an explanation for Short, I suppose, should he discover it. I’m sure he will. Here, come closer to me and I’ll keep you warm.”
“It’s bad enough that I am out in public without a hat or gloves, but now I’ll allow a man to molest me,” she said as she inched over to him.
The horses were fresh, so he carefully transferred the reins to one hand then put an arm around her. He felt her relax against him.
Perfect. The rest of it could go to hell. His blasted family, the unconvinced police investigators who’d taken the letters that morning, the jittery sensation of his raw nerves. Oh, and the lady he recognized as his mother’s friend now gazing across the pavement at the respectable Lord Felston in his old-fashioned curricle with his arm around a young lady.
None of it mattered. He’d take this moment and the others—when Florrie was under him, her eyes wide with astonished lust. The other nonsense he could figure out, or ignore.
Tomorrow he’d return to Florrie’s boarding house with the license in hand. His friend, Martin, was an assistant to a bishop. He’d perform the ceremony.
She interrupted his thoughts. “Will you go to your mother this afternoon or tomorrow?”
He tightened his arm around her. “We could be married and then present ourselves to her as a fait accompli.”
“You are so eager to wed.” She sounded amused. “I thought it was the females who wanted to move quickly once they had entrapped a male and you lot fought off the end of your happy bachelor days.”
He didn’t answer.
“I won’t break my promise to marry you,” she said, serious now. “Is that your concern?”
“No, of course not.” He pulled back on the reins to slow the horses and glared over at the dray that rumbled past.
She tucked her hand around his arm. “I want my brother to be there and my friend. And perhaps some of your friends? I should like to meet them.”
“All right.” He’d have to put up with Johnston’s impertinent questions sooner or later. “Then we shall be married in three days.”
“And what shall you do tomorrow?”
The woman was relentless. “Yes, all right. Tomorrow morning, I promise I will tell my mother about my uncle.” He stopped the pair at a busy crossing and looked down at her. “But, pray, do not expect me to obey your every command.”
“What can you mean?” She looked surprised. “This is a conversation. Command didn’t come into it.”
They had reached her boarding house, and he handed her down. He reached for her arm, and she pulled away.
“You needn’t escort me. I live here. And at any rate, no one is going to point a finger at me and scream harlot. I hope. So there’s no need for you to come along and look threateningly at them all.”
He aimed a look at her, but she didn’t appear to notice.
As he drove away, he reflected that frustrating though her lack of good sense might be, if she fell into his every wish or whim, he’d be afraid for them both.
.
He went to his mother alone, and for once, she was not entertaining anyone.
She received him in the breakfast room, a pleasant room when the sun shone, a dull place today, yet another overcast day.
“I hope you have come to bring me good news?” She motioned him to take a seat, and a footman presented him with a cup of tea. He expected she wanted him to announce an end to his engagement.
“No, I fear not.” He wanted to speak to her privately, but she would not be alone with a man, not even her own son. Perhaps most especially him. He attempted it anyway. “I think I would prefer to speak privately.”
Lady Margaret surprisingly didn’t argue. She waved a hand at her companion.
“You will excuse us,” she announced.
Miss Weatherby, the dogs, and the attending footmen vanished almost at once.
“Well? What is the matter?” She stared down her nose. “You are still engaged to be married?”
“Yes, but that isn’t why I’m calling upon you today.” He remembered Florrie’s indignation when he hesitated about making this call, and he smiled. “Although there is some correlation.”
“Continue.” She showed no sign of impatience as she lifted her cup to her lips.
He couldn’t take anything for granted when it came to Lady Margaret, so he started at the beginning. “Do you accept that I am of sound mind?”
She sniffed but didn’t disagree.
“And you admit that someone held me prisoner and fed me poisons to produce hallucinations and the illusion that I was mad? I know we haven’t discussed this matter, but I think you must have heard of this.”
She watched him as if he’d frothed at the mouth. Distasteful. But she surprised him with a brisk nod of the head. “Go on.” She wouldn’t try to stop him after all.
“I know who made the plans to turn me into a helpless invalid.”
“Yes, a man called Grub.”