Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (18 page)

With a whispered excuse, she was gone, skirts flying out behind her as she rushed through a nearby doorway into an adjoining room. He watched her go, a strange emotion twisting in his gut.

Guilt.

He did not like it.

With conviction, he turned his attention to Isabel, garbed in gray muslin, reaching deep into a clear glass box, her head and one long arm submerged in the clear case. “Of all the—Why did I ever agree—The damned creature is, of course, as far from me as it can be.”

“Izzy!” James rushed over to pull on her free hand. “What are you doing? You’ll hurt him!”

“I will not.” The words carried up, out of the box, and Nick moved farther into the room to gain a better look at the structure, filled with rocks and greenery, like a tiny forest. There, through the glass, he could see the tips of Isabel’s fingers brushing aside leaves and pebbles and, finally, a thick branch. He watched as she turned a large stone until she could get a decent grip on it, clasping it tight. “I’ve got you!”

She righted herself with a triumphant grin, several long auburn strands of hair having escaped their moorings, giving her the look of an excited young country girl. Nick was immediately reminded of the evening before, of her kisses—so fresh and willing and eager. He watched, a smile playing across his lips, as she held her prize aloft, her height placing it far out of James’s reach.

The young earl stood on his toes, reaching for the item in question. “Izzy! Give him to me!”

“Why should I?” Nick heard the teasing in her tone—was drawn to it. “I’m the one who saved him. By all rights, he belongs to me now.”

“You don’t even like turtles!”

“And for that, brother, you should be eternally grateful.” She looked past him with a laugh then, and noticed Nick. He knew the moment that she registered his presence. Her smile vanished and she immediately looked around the room.
For Georgiana.
She was hiding her from him. Anger flared, fleetingly, at the discovery—that she did not trust him.

Not that she should. He was about to reveal their location to the world.

One hand went to her hair in a movement he was coming to recognize as the product of her nervousness. Distracted, she lowered her arm, delivering the item she had so proudly procured into James’s grasp.

Nick felt a keen sense of loss at her change in demeanor. He wanted to know the smiling, happy Isabel. He’d had enough of this serious one.

He dipped his head. “Lady Isabel. Once more, we meet under … peculiar … circumstances.”

She gave a quick, almost imperceptible curtsy, more to avoid meeting his gaze than for anything else, he guessed. “Lord Nicholas. If you would stop turning up uninvited, I assure you I would seem less peculiar.”

“I never called you peculiar. Unique, yes. Intriguing, certainly. But never peculiar.”

Color rose on her cheeks, and Nick felt a wash of pleasure at the sight. Even as he considered acting on the feeling, however, he was reminded of James’s presence. Turning his attention to the boy, he crouched low. “I very much like turtles, Lord Reddich. Yours appears to be a fine specimen. May I have a look? ”

James proudly held his pet out for inspection. Nick made a show of looking the turtle over. “Good-looking, indeed.”

James beamed. “His name is George. After the king.”

“I am certain the king would be very proud to have such a namesake.”

“I found him in the spring. Izzy and I built the vivarium for him. It took us several weeks to make it perfect.”

Nick looked up at Isabel, curious about a young woman who would spend such time developing a habitat for a turtle.

“Did you?” His gaze did not leave her. “What an excellent project.”

Isabel huffed her irritation with the conversation, deliberately looking away and crossing her arms, pulling the fabric of her dress until it stretched tightly across her breasts.

He willed himself not to notice.

She had lovely breasts.

“Yes, well, if we do not move this vivarium, George shall lose all of his land,” Isabel said, drawing Nick’s attention back to the matter at hand. “The leaky roof has taken aim at the turtle.”

James and Nick followed the direction of Isabel’s finger, pointing at the ceiling. There was a leak in the roof and George’s habitat was, indeed, under siege.

“You might as well stay, Lord Nicholas,” Isabel said, and Nick noted the dryness of her tone. “We could use your brute strength.”

Nick felt a primal satisfaction at her words—a recognition of the most basic of differences between them. The unrefined response was not something of which he should be proud, he knew. “I shall take it as a great compliment that you think me useful at all, Lady Isabel.”

He noticed a small smile played across her lips as she turned back to the giant glass enclosure. She was not the unflappable female she wished to be.

“Put George down over there,” she said to her brother, indicating a low table in the far corner of the room, “then come over here and help.” She looked up at the ceiling again, considering her options.

Finally, she looked back at Nick and, indicating the far corner of the room, said, “I think over there is our best bet.”

With a nod, Nick took his place at one end of the vivarium. “I do not suppose you would allow me to fetch Rock to help instead of doing this yourself? ”

Isabel matched his stance at the opposite end of the enclosure. “If I needed help, St. John, I would call for a footman.”

“Of course you would,” Nick said dryly, wondering which of the motley crew of footwomen she would summon. It was not worth the argument. He put his shoulder to the container and pushed. Good Lord, the thing weighed a ton. He did most of the work of moving the vivarium, Isabel lending her strength to guide it into its new home, James looking on, clutching George.

And then the sky fell.

One moment, he was catching his breath, waiting for Isabel to indicate that she was satisfied with the new location of the enclosure, and the next, there was an ungodly crash behind him. He whirled around at the sound to find that an enormous piece of the ceiling plaster had fallen, landing in the exact place where they had all been standing not a minute earlier. A cloud of dust marked the path of the chunk of wet ceiling, heavy with rainwater that had soaked through the roof overnight.

There was a moment of stunned silence as they all took in the damage before Isabel let out a long sigh. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before that happened. Now you see why I was repairing the roof yesterday, Lord Nicholas.” She turned to James. “You might as well go find your governess. I cannot imagine you’ll be using the schoolroom today.”

James blinked up at his sister, considering his options. Apparently, an afternoon with his governess somewhere other than the schoolroom was too enticing. Returning George to his home, the boy tore from the room, leaving Nick and Isabel to the mess.

Nick watched as the turtle emerged from his shell and tore a chunk from a nearby leaf, chewing leisurely, unaware of any external upheaval.

Oh, to be a turtle.

He turned back to Isabel, who was staring up at the hole in the ceiling. And then he saw it. One lone tear tracked from the corner of her eye down her cheek. She brushed it away immediately, so quickly that it was almost as though it had not happened.

But he had seen it.

Hell.

“Isabel—” he said, the uncertainty in his tone sounding foreign to him.

With a deep breath, she turned to him. “There isn’t much we can do about it now, is there? We shall just have to hope that the rain stops before we must build a bathing room here.”

And, in that, he recognized how much he admired this woman. Every other female he had ever known—from his mother, to the women he took to his bed—used tears to manipulate.

This one hid them.

And that made her even more remarkable.

He wanted to pull her to him. To give her a chance to let down her guard. She had an immense amount of responsibility. He did not blame her for feeling overwhelmed. But he knew implicitly that she would not want him to mention the tears, so he didn’t. “All the very best houses in London are installing bathing rooms. They’re spending small fortunes to do so. You would be the very height of fashion.”

There was something in her eyes when she met his gaze—something between relief and gratitude. “Well, how lucky are we, then, to have such an accommodating roof? ”

She chuckled then, a ripple of sound that teased his senses. He allowed himself to join her, and they laughed for a long moment, enjoying the companionship and the release.

When Nick’s humor ebbed into silence, it gave way to a realization. He liked this girl. Far more than he would like to admit, frankly.

A sobering thought. One that inevitably led to pain. Or shackles.

He cleared his throat. “I wondered at James’s nervousness about your safety, but now I see that he is not wrong to be concerned. Danger does have a way of seeking you out.”

Her brows snapped together. “James is nervous about my safety?”

“Yours, his governess’s, Lara’s … ‘the girls,’ as he refers to you.” She looked away instantly. “Isabel, is there something you should tell me? ”

Tell me.
He willed her to confess everything. If she did, he would do everything in his power to keep them safe. But she had to trust him.

She didn’t say anything, of course, instead moving across the room to fetch a pail in which to put the large chunks of plaster that had shot across the room upon impact.

“Isabel … I can help you.” He heard the words come out even as he knew he should not speak them.

“What makes you think that we need help?” Her tone was light, but Nick heard the thread of tension there. He was too aware of her to miss it.

He crouched low, across from where she had stooped to clean up the plaster. He put one hand out, settling it on her wrist, letting his bare hand linger on the band of skin between her glove and her sleeve. “Do not push me. I can tell there is something amiss.”

She looked at the place where they touched, then farther, to meet his eyes. There was steel in her gaze. “It is not I who is doing the pushing, my lord. All that is amiss is a leaky roof and a visitor who will not leave well enough alone. Stop attempting to understand us. We are not your problem, Lord Nicholas. You would do us both well to stop pretending that we are.” Silence fell in the wake of her tirade. She pulled her hand from beneath his, and resumed her cleaning. “I can take care of us. I always have.”

There was a wealth of pain in the words.

“I never suggested that you couldn’t.”

She turned on him then, her voice rigid. “Yes, you did. Everyone does. But I’ve been here for years. Alone. Keeping the house together. And I shall be here long after you leave. Leaky roof and child earl and all.”

The wicked rise and fall of her chest underscored her frustration, and he said the only words he could think. Words that were utterly wrong. “Let me help you.”

Her gaze narrowed on him, the rise and fall of her chest violent in the still room. “You want to help? Appraise the damned marbles.”

She turned away again, and he watched her, fists clenched in irritation.

There was something going on in this house. He had faced enemies too vicious to recount—men who could inflict pain with scientific precision. Women with cold hearts to rival any of their male peers. Villains with more wealth and power than any evil man should have. He knew with an unwavering certainty that he could conquer whatever demons Isabel faced—that he could save this girl. This earldom. Without question.

But he did not know why it was so important that he do it.

What was it about this woman, this house, this place … that made him want to stay when his whole life, even a hint of permanence, of responsibility, even the threat of remaining too long in one place, had sent him running for the next adventure?

He wasn’t leaving her. Not until he was certain they were all safe from whatever evils they were facing.

He simply had to convince her to let him do what he did best.

One of them had to stop lying.

And so he told her the truth.

At least, part of it.

“For God’s sake, Isabel. I know about the girls.”

Wooing your gentleman is waging a war. You will need superior strategy, time-tested tactics, and a trusted company of men (or women) to ensure victory. Strategic alliances will be necessary—nay, critical to your success! Consider friends, family, servants, and others who might help to bring you together. Do not discount the power of a willing host or hostess; a true gentleman will never ignore a hint to waltz, and it is a small step from a waltz in a ballroom to a walk in the gardens … And from gardens filled with strains from a ball, chapel and aisle are no distance at all!

She wouldn’t have expected it to be so … She would have expected to be panicked, or to feel compelled to deny what he had seen—to scoff at his discovery and move on as if nothing had changed.

But what she felt when he’d looked her right in the eye and, as though he were announcing the weather, proclaimed his knowledge … it was more akin to relief than to panic. She was tired of hiding from him … of waiting for him to discover their secret in one way or another. In hindsight, it had been silly of her to imagine that she could keep the truth from him.

“You’ve a female butler, female footmen, and a female stable boy.”

She stood at his words, removing her gloves, which were ruined from the plaster she had been cleaning. “I’ve a female stable
master.”

He ignored the correction. “You’ve a houseful of women.”

“Not entirely.”

“How many, entirely?”

She paused. “All but one.”

He turned away from her. She noticed the scar on his cheek, white and stark with frustration. She watched his hands cup the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling. “Your brother.”

“The
earl.”
It seemed imperative that she underscore the title.

“The ten-year-old earl.”

“What does it matter? He is still the earl!”

“It means there is no one to protect you!” The words shook the room, surprising Isabel with their power. All at once, she was angry. Angry at the truth of the words. Angry at the universe. Angry at this man—who had known her for less than three days—and his insistence that she must be protected. That she could not care for herself. For her brother. For her girls.

“You think I do not understand the straits in which we are? You think I do not see the risks we take? You think that if there were another way, I would not have found it?” Tears came fast and furious. “I never asked for your help, Lord Nicholas. I never asked you to protect me.”

He met her gaze, frustration flaring in his blue eyes. “I know, Isabel. You wouldn’t dare ask me for help. You are too afraid of revealing your weakness.”

“Perhaps I do not ask you for help because too often it is men from whom we need protection. Did you consider that?”

She immediately regretted the words, which fell between them like a stone.

He did not deserve them. He was not like those other men. She knew that.

Even as she knew he was infinitely more dangerous.

“I am sorry.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment. “It was easy enough to discover that they were female, but who are they? Why are they here? ”

She shook her head. “You cannot really believe that I would tell you that.”

“Are they criminals? ”

“Some of them? I’m sure you would think so.” She knew she wasn’t being fair. But she could not stop herself. She was transfixed by the movement of his hands, clenching and unclenching slowly. “Some are just girls who needed an escape.”

“If you are harboring criminals, Isabel, you could go to gaol.”

She did not answer.

“People may come looking for them. That is why you keep them secret.”

He was putting it all together, but she would not give him the pleasure of acknowledging the truth.

“The marbles. Your concern about finances. It isn’t just for James. It is for them.”

“I never denied that I needed the money for more than James’s school.”

“No. You merely omitted the whole truth.”

“It is not your truth to bear.”

“It seems I bear it nonetheless.”

“I never asked you to do so.”

He did not respond, instead turning back to the window, looking out over the wet, stormy land beyond. She could see only the scarred half of his face, the white line stark in the gray morning light, whiter still for his stony silence. He stood there for long minutes, unspeaking, until Isabel thought she might go mad from it. Finally, he spoke. “You can trust me.”

Trust.
What a lovely word.

There was something about this man, about his strength, about the way character virtually seeped from him, about the way he looked at her with patience and honesty and
promise,
that made her desperate to believe him. That made her want to place her faith, her trust, her girls, her house … everything she had … in his grasp and ask him to help her.

But she couldn’t.

She knew better.

Oh, certainly he thought he could help them. He thought he could be their protector. Certainly the idea appeased some kind of masculine desire within … but she had seen what happened when men with pretty words and strong arms grew bored of their surroundings. Of the needs of the women in their lives. She had watched as her father had deserted her mother, leaving her with nothing but a crumbling estate and a broken heart.

If she leaned on him now, she would not survive it when he left.

“You have brought me into your world, Isabel, like it or not. I deserve to know.”

There was no room to trust him. No matter how badly she wanted to do so. No matter how much his strength and his certainty—and his kisses—beckoned to her.

This man was more dangerous than legions of men like her father.

She shook her head.

“So you will not tell me.”

She held her ground. “No.”

“You do not trust me.”

I want to!

“I—I cannot.”

Something flared in his eyes—something dangerous—and Isabel wished she had not said the words.

He took a step closer to her, his voice low and dark. “I will find out on my own, you realize. I am an excellent hunter.”

She did not doubt it. But she would not let him see that. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. This is not a collection of marbles. You cannot expect them to simply open up and tell you all.”

One side of his mouth kicked up. “They would not be the first women to do so.”

She did not like thinking about other women opening up to him. She remained silent.

“So it’s to be like that, is it … Izzy? ”

There was something in the sound of her childhood nickname that made her feel laid bare. She did not like it. Not one bit. She squared her shoulders. “So it would seem.”

“Excellent. Then let the hunt begin.”