"Enough." Lord Nicholas slashed the air with his hand. "I suggest we change the topic to something less fruitless."
"I won't give up, you know," Nympha said with determination her mother would instantly recognize and take precautions against. "First you decide on your party affiliation. Papa said the Whigs lean toward the merchant and progress, and Tories lean toward the land and the church. They are the more traditional. Are you for progress or tradition?"
"Both. Where does that put me?" He assumed a devious expression she didn't trust in the least.
"Wanting," she promptly shot back at him. "You must have some idea regarding your beliefs."
"I said enough, and I meant it. My beliefs, wanting or otherwise, are not up for discussion. Is that clear?"
Chastised, Nympha nodded. She walked to the window to stare out. "The rain has stopped. I do believe the sun will shine before too long."
"How English we all are. From politics to weather in a trice."
"Well, what would you do?"
Nick knew what he would like to do and couldn't. She stood silhouetted against the light of the window, her
blond curls rioting about her head in spite of an attempt to tame them. Her eyes flashed at him with fire. But her person was poised, sweetly delineated in the blush sarcenet gown she had worn to greet the callers. Oh, he knew precisely what he would like to do.
Had he his way at this moment, he would gather her in his arms and forget all about the world. Her kisses would be his food and drink. There would be no discussion about money or political parties or government service.
"And why dogs, pray tell?" he wondered a moment later when the earlier question came back to him.
"Men are inclined to trust a man who has a dog. That's the way things go." Mrs. Coxmoor regarded him with amusement glimmering in her blue eyes.
Nick thought for a moment. "I'll give you that. I noticed Milburn had no dog, and it did make me wary of him."
"You see! Rags is an asset."
"You do recall what he looks like, do you not?"
"He is a sweet doggy," Nympha insisted.
"I think I'd need a bloodhound instead.
"Why?" Nympha frowned at him.
"Why to sniff out support and funding!" He gave her a sly, tongue-in-cheek grin.
"May I suggest you take a turn in the garden while it is still light? You never know but what it might rain tomorrow. Although one can always hope," Mrs. Coxmoor interjected.
"Yes, Great-Aunt. That is a fine idea." Nympha flashed him a look that dared him to argue.
He was tempted, but decided to meekly go along with the notion. After all, he might be able to talk her into playing a game of tennis—or some other sport far more interesting.
In short order the pair went out the front door. Behind them came Annie, muffled to her nose against the chill. Nympha wore her blue pelisse.
"You are sure this isn't too much for you?" He watched Nympha march along the walk toward the tulip beds with the same sort of determination she had shown earlier when talking about his standing for the Commons.
"Not in the least. Papa always says there is nothing better than a good constitutional."
Considering how the rector appeared as though he didn't walk farther than from his desk to the dining table, Nick decided to allow that to pass.
"Whatever gave you the idea that I ought to opt for the House of Commons?" He really was curious about that. Her remark had seemingly come out of the blue, and Mrs. Coxmoor had appeared to support it.
"Well . . ." She paused in her walking.
"Come now ... It cannot be that difficult?"
"As I believe I said, you are natural with people. You can put them at ease instantly. And you have integrity. Great-Aunt Letitia agreed with me on that. Besides, you have a dog."
"I do enjoy being with people, although I far prefer being on my own."
"With your dog," she reminded.
"But integrity? I thought you were angry with me." She fascinated him. Her mind seemed to work contrary to all he might expect of a woman.
"Well, it has to do with a number of things, actually."
She was hedging, and that made him even more curious. "Such as?" He would probe until he got an answer.
"Well, if you must know, it is that you came north determined to find the identity of the man murdered on the seventh green—even though it was nothing to you personally. You had not been charged with a crime. You wanted to see justice done. And when my carriage broke down, you offered your help without conditions, and you never once made advances—at least not then." She made a self-conscious little gesture. "You have been wonderfully kind to my aunt"—she turned to look him in the face—"and to me. And you were tolerant of Mr. Milburn in spite of your suspicions. Just think," she added artlessly, "were you in the Commons you might have a chance to do something about unsolved murders—or something."
"Forget the House of Commons, will you? I shall." But he knew he wouldn't. She had planted a seed, and he was finding the idea curiously intriguing.
"I meant what I said about financing you."
"I could not accept money from a spinster." He knew that would annoy her, being called a spinster. Yet that was what she was in the eyes of the law, as were all unmarried women of age.
"That was not nice, Nick. Not nice at all. What a pity Mr. Milburn seeks a peerage; he would not be so finicky about money, I'll wager."
He observed the stubborn tilt of her chin, and smiled to himself. So she thought to rile him by a comparison with that man?
"Well, I'll give you this much—I will consider what you have said. Fair enough?"
"I suppose I must be satisfied with that. I should think your father would be proud of you, should you venture into politics." Her voice sounded wistful. He knew he ought to compensate for her disappointment in some way, but he wasn't certain how.
Annie had wisely huddled in the warmth of what sun there was, leaving Nick virtually alone with Nympha. If he were such a virtuous man he wouldn't even think about kissing Nympha Herbert. That just showed how wrong a person might be.
"Nympha? I still do not completely understand why you think I ought to stand for the House of Commons. But I said I would think about it and I will. Shall we seal that bargain?" Behind them beds of tulips were in bud, on the verge of bursting forth in glorious color.
Clearly puzzled, she lifted her face to his. The sun-gilded skin that was already blessed with fine texture and healthy color. He'd had no choice, when he came to think on it later. So he kissed her, and quite thoroughly at that.
Chapter Fifteen
Dinner was a quiet affair. Nympha wore her blue silk. Lord Nicholas was extravagant in his compliments.
Great-Aunt Letitia said, "You'll do nicely, girl," when she observed her grandniece enter the drawing room prior to dinner.
Nympha thought that considering how the kitchen staff must have worked yesterday it was only proper they not have something elaborate.
Once they had consumed the sweet, they retired to the drawing room to talk. Lord Nicholas brought a glass of port with him at Mrs. Coxmoor's suggestion. Just because he was alone was no reason to deny him her late husband's excellent port, nor should he be required to drink by himself.
"I truly believe you ought to consider standing for the Commons," Mrs. Coxmoor insisted, returning to the earlier topic. "You show great common sense, and that is certainly needed in the House. Surely you might stand from your home borough? You should be well-known there. I would wager you could connect with the Tory party leaders—or the Whigs, if you lean that way—and have support. Does your father have any influence?"
"The seat is in my father's gift. I merely have never had any inclination in that direction." He stared at the rich wine in his glass, turning it back and forth as though to study the color in the candlelight. "It is possible the fellow who holds it now would be willing to vacate his seat in exchange for some favor."
"Well, then," Nympha declared, "I should say that it is your duty to take the seat in the Commons!" She stared at her friend. He was merely her friend, was he not? She dared not consider him more than that. Their differences were considerable. If his father held the giving of a seat—it would be Lord Nicholas's for the asking. He scarcely needed her money.
But
she
needed him. She hadn't realized how much until now, when she recognized how little was her chance of ever having him as hers.
Her great-aunt allowed the matter of Lord Nicholas standing for the House of Commons to rest, and went on to other subjects.
Foley entered with a letter, handing it to Lord Nicholas with polite courtesy. "This was just brought from Nelthorpe Castle for you, my lord."
Excusing himself, he broke the seal, then unfolded the page. "It is a note from Milburn, requesting a match of tennis tomorrow. How curious. I would have thought he wanted nothing more to do with us once he left here. I really did not expect to see him again—except at a distance—before I left."
Nympha studied him a moment. There truly was no reason for him to remain in Nottingham now. Although he felt he knew the identity of the murderer, there was nothing he could do about it, frustrating as that might be. He probably was anxious to see his home—yet he remained.
"Perhaps he wants one last game before you head south again." Mrs. Coxmoor subjected him to a searching inspection. "I suppose you feel drawn to inspect your new home. It might be completed by the time you get there. Not that we wish you to leave, mind you. But I
am
aware you must have many demands on your time. It was most kind of you to escort Nympha north. We have enjoyed having you here as our guest—and you know that you are welcome to remain with us as long as you please."
She nodded when Foley brought in the tea tray, placing it before Nympha so she might pour.
"I imagine your dog misses you very much," Nympha said, then added mentally.
Not to mention all the women.
He must have them littering the landscape down there, as handsome as he was and with a lovely new home just waiting for the proper wife. A knot settled in her chest at the very thought of Nicholas with a beautiful woman— for of course she would be breathtakingly lovely. She couldn't imagine him with anyone ordinary.
She poured out tea for her great-aunt. When Lord Nicholas nodded in reply to her raised brows, she poured for him as well, adding the sugar he preferred. Lastly she poured a cup for herself, taking a restoring sip at once. The thought that Lord Nicholas Stanhope would disappear from her life forever stabbed her heart with anguish. She very much doubted another could ever replace him in her affections.
Conversation was the trivia one expected over a late-evening tea tray, with Nympha more than a little absent-minded. The weather always drew comments, possible plans for the morrow.
"I believe I shall retire early," her great-aunt announced once she had finished her tea. "That ball took more out of me than I realized. You two young people needn't go up just yet. With Nympha a rector's daughter, and Lord Nicholas as fine a man as he is, I need not worry in the least about propriety. Besides, Foley is around the corner," she added dryly.
She could be heard in the hallway—speaking to Foley, a soft laugh, then her steps on the stairs.
When she had gone, Nympha poured more tea. She met his lordship's gaze, and chuckled. "That assuredly put us on our honor, did it not?"
"Hmm, there is nothing like high praise to make one likely to behave." He finished the last of his tea, placing his cup down with deliberation. His gaze was intense, she thought, uneasy with the notion he might read her mind. Could he? Never. She hoped.
She sipped, studying him over the rim of her cup. Dare she remain? It was testing her willpower as well as his if she did. She set her teacup on its saucer with a note of finality, and rose. "I believe it might be wise if I also retired."
"I am flattered if you think me a temptation to stray." The wry, half smile he assumed brought an answering smile to her lips.
"Actually, it is drawing late. I had a short night last eve. Perhaps it is sensible to follow my great-aunt."
He rose when she did, trailing her to the door.
In the entry, Foley pretended not to see or hear anything. But he was there.
She glanced at Lord Nicholas, suddenly a bit nervous, although why, she was not quite certain. He had never stepped
too
far out of line before. He walked at her side, but not overly close.
"Does your great-aunt wish me gone?" He picked up a night candle from the hall table, lit it, offering it to her when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
He was nothing if not direct. "I do not believe she does—she has said nothing to me on the subject. Tonight she indicated you are welcome to remain as long as you please. Perhaps she thinks you would wish to leave us?" She accepted the candle, staring at the flame in an effort to avoid meeting his eyes again.
"And do you? Wish me gone?" He leaned against the beautifully carved newel post, crossing his arms before him. Nympha had the oddest notion he held them in place lest he do something else. It was as though he restrained himself.
What a dreadful question to put before her. She had been raised to be truthful. One did not ever tell lies, and his query had been very pointed.
"I have enjoyed your company very much," she replied, intent on telling the truth as far as she needed to go.
"Should I remain for a time?" His eyes studied her with an intentness she found disconcerting. She discovered it easier to look at the understated elegance of the pin placed in his cravat.
"I would miss you," she confessed, although she had not meant to utter those words.
His smile lit his eyes as though capturing the flame from her candle. Reaching out one hand, he picked up hers where it rested on the handrail. Holding her hand as though something precious, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. She had never thought of a hand kiss as a sensuous matter. Lord Nicholas changed the simple gesture into something to melt one's bones, send shivers up and down the spine, and send a shock of longing through one.