Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (25 page)

Lord landing requires tenacity of purpose, Dear Reader! It is not for the weak-willed or the faint-of-heart. Once you have chosen your Knight and he has recognized you as his Maiden Fair, you must resist any temptation toward quiescence! Now is not the time to grow comfortable!

You do well to remember that battles are won and lost in their final stages. This time requires constancy, determination, and endurance!

Lara looked gleeful from her place on Isabel’s bed. “And he wants to marry you!”

The words sent a flood of nervousness through Isabel. “He did not say that. He said I should consider James’s proposal.”

“Which was marriage! To Lord Nicholas!”

“Yes, but that does not mean that he would
like
to marry me.”

He likely thought her a sad, pathetic case in need of saving.

Lara gave Isabel a look. “Isabel. I think that is precisely what it means.”

“No. It means that I should consider marriage. Not necessarily to him.”

“Isabel. I think you are being deliberately obtuse. It is clear that his statement referred to marriage between the two of you.”

“You cannot know that.”

Neither of us can.

“Indeed, I can! And I shall tell you why. We haven’t seen another marriageable man at Townsend Park in two years! Who would you have him suggest you marry?
And…”
she added, “I
saw
the way he was looking at you. The way you were dancing. He wants you.”

“Maybe he does
want
me,” Isabel said, peevish, “but I cannot imagine he wants to
marry
me.”

Lara lifted herself up on her elbows to look her cousin in the eye. When she spoke, her words were rife with offense. “Whyever not? You are an ideal candidate for Lord Nicholas’s bride! One might argue that, as daughter of an earl, you are well above marrying a second son!”

Isabel laughed at the idea. “Perhaps if my father weren’t quite the lowest form of aristocratic life, that would be true. As it is, I think Lord Nicholas could do a fair bit better than me.”

“Nonsense.” Lara’s words shook with irritation. “You are lovely, capable, intelligent, amusing.” She ticked the qualities off on her fingers. “Any gentleman would be lucky to have you.”

Isabel’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Thank you, coz.”

Lara’s brow furrowed. “It was not a compliment. It was fact. You must know a man like that would not consider marrying you if he did not find the idea more than palatable.”

Palatable. What a horrible word.

Isabel did not reply, instead setting her head against the high back of the tub and closing her eyes.

Not twelve hours earlier, hearing that Lord Nicholas found her palatable would have set Isabel on edge—sending her fleeing his company and vowing never to return for fear of his opinions of her growing more committed. Now, she rather detested the very idea that he might have such ambivalent feelings for her.

How was it possible that she was beginning to care for this man? How had he invaded her thoughts in less than two days? How was it that she was actually considering placing her trust in this complete and utter stranger? She knew nothing of him, for heaven’s sake.

Nothing but how he made her feel.

She sighed. She did not like the way he made her feel. She did not like the way his words made her pulse race, or the way his wicked smiles made her skin flush, or the way his simple, honest gaze made her want to tell him everything and give him access to her entire world. To her past. And her present.

And now he tempted her with a promise of the future by going and mentioning marriage. And for the first time in her life, Isabel was actually considering the idea. It did not seem that the marriage he meant was anything like the marriages she had experienced in the past—traps, battles for power, struggles for self-preservation.

A marriage to Nick would not be any of those things.

And, suddenly, marriage did not seem so bad.

Except…

“He has not offered to marry me.”

Lara rolled her eyes. “Of course he has.”

“No. He did not say the words.”

“Which words?”

Isabel looked down into the bathtub, noting the way her body disappeared in the darkened water, hidden by the flickering candlelight bouncing like starlight across the surface—reminding her of the darkened ballroom and their waltz … and her confession. “He did not say, ‘Marry me, Isabel.’ ”

Lara waved one hand. “A semantic issue.”

Semantics seemed rather vital, suddenly.

“Nevertheless.”

Lara stilled, leaning forward over the edge of the bed, squinting in the dimly lit chamber. “Oh, my.”

Isabel turned at the breathy words. “What is it?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“You are … enamored.”

Isabel looked away. “I am not.”

“You are!” Lara’s words were triumphant. “You are enamored of Lord Nicholas!”

“I’ve only known the man for three days, Lara.”

“After last night … the dinner … the dancing … three days is enough,” Lara said, as though she were an expert in all things romantic.

“Oh, how would you know?”

“I know. In roughly the same manner that I know that you are enamored of Lord Nicholas St. John.”

“I do wish you would stop saying the word
enamored,”
Isabel grumbled.

“How did this happen? ”

“I don’t know!” Isabel cried, lifting her hands from the water to cover her face. “I don’t even know the man!”

“It seems you know enough of him,” Lara teased.

Isabel looked up. “It isn’t funny. It’s awful.”

“Why? He wants to marry you!”

“Not for any rational reason.”

Lara tilted her head. “I am not certain that there has ever been a rational reason for marriage, Isabel.”

“Certainly there has been!” Isabel insisted. “He could marry me for money, or land, or to appease society, or to add respectability to his name. But … no, he cannot be doing it for any of those reasons, because
I
decidedly cannot
provide
any of those things!”

Lara giggled at the words. “Isabel.”

“It isn’t funny, really. Well, not outside of a dark, macabre sense of humor.”

“You are being dramatic. Can you really say that you aren’t the smallest bit intrigued by the prospect of marrying Lord Nicholas? ”

The frank question fell into the silence, and Isabel looked to the ceiling with a frustrated sigh.

She had spent twenty-four years telling herself that she did not want marriage. That she did not want children. That she did not want a mate. She had had a clear vision of her future—of helping James to restore the dignity of the earldom, of securing the future of Minerva House, of aging with the not inconsequential knowledge that she was impacting the world in some small, positive way.

Until tonight, she had been perfectly satisfied with her life as she knew it.

Mostly.

And now … all of a sudden, her whole world—everything that she had believed to be true and right and certain—was turned upside down.

Had she dreamed of the rest? Of marriage and children and waltzing and love?

Yes.

If she was honest with herself, yes. In the darkness, late at night, as she lay in her bed and worried about the future, about the girls and about James and, yes, about herself, she had dreamed of what could have been. She had dreamed, quietly, of how it might have been to have gone to London and filled her dance card and ridden in Hyde Park and been well and truly courted, and found herself a man who would be her partner, and her protector.

But that dream had never come to fruition.

Because it was unattainable.

Until now.

When she could imagine reaching out and taking it.

When she could
almost
imagine what it might be like to love him.

Love.

It was a strange and foreign word; a fantasy that had tempted her as a child and then terrified her as she grew—as she watched her mother torn apart.

No. She would not love him.

She knew better.

But…

“I like him,” she said, the words barely sound.

Lara heard. “I know.”

“I’ve never thought that would happen.”

Lara nodded. “I know.”

And now that I do, I’m frightened of what will happen next.

“It’s rather terrifying.”

Lara smiled. “I know that, as well.”

Isabel raised her eyebrows. “You do?”

“I rather like his friend.”

“Yes!” Isabel sat up quickly, water sloshing over the edge of the bathtub. “And it seems that he feels similarly to you! How did that …?”

“I do not know! One moment I was showing him your marbles, and then I was accompanying him to feed their horses, and then … he was …” She stopped, dipping her head in embarrassment.

“He was doing something he should not have been doing, it seems!”

“Isabel!” The flaming red on Lara’s cheeks gave everything away.

“You have kissed him!” Isabel accused.

“Oh! And you are one to judge!”

Isabel laughed. “No. I suppose that I am not.”

“It’s quite pleasant, isn’t it?”

“Kissing? I’m not sure I would use the word
pleasant.
Thoroughly unsettling, entirely vexing, and altogether—”

“Wonderful.”

Isabel smiled. “Precisely.”

Lara grinned. “We are a pair.”

“After years with no men in sight, we find ourselves made utterly silly by the first two that happen along.”

“Not the
first
two. You avoided Mr. Asperton.”

Isabel recalled the reedy, snakelike man and shuddered. “It was a challenge, to be sure, but yes, I did avoid Mr. Asperton.”

Lara stacked her hands on the bed, setting her chin to them as Isabel made to exit her bath. “So … you will accept Lord Nicholas’s suit? ”

Isabel stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a long length of linen to ward off the chill that threatened. She approached the bed, perching on the edge of it as Lara turned to face her.

She considered the question. He was the answer to their problems. The handsome, intelligent, entertaining, good-natured answer to their problems. “Yes. If he asks, I will accept. For all of our good.”

As the words left her mouth, she knew that they were a lie. That as much as she would like to believe she would accept for Minerva House, she would also accept for herself, despite the risk that came of tying herself to this man for whom she could so easily see herself coming to care.

For whom she could so easily see herself coming to…

No. She would not make the same mistakes her mother had made.

But Nick seemed nothing like her father. He was honest and forthright and kind, and he seemed precisely the type of man who would make good on his promises.

Which made everything much easier.

She simply had to ensure that, if she married him, it would be on her terms. Yes, she would care for him. Certainly she would enjoy his company, and his wit, and his superior touch—for his touch was most definitely superior, and enough to send all rational thought flying from her head.

But she would not love him.

She turned to Lara with a smile. “Perhaps it would not be so bad, after all.”

Nick looked up from his cards and met Rock’s gaze.

“Finally.”

Nick grinned. “Longing for The Stuck Pig, are we?”

“Not at all,” Rock said. “I’m simply growing tired of seeing you in that coat.” He dealt a card, and Nick, recognizing his losing hand, tossed the handful of cards he had onto the table. Rock collected his winnings. “One would think that you would grow tired of losing to me after all these years.”

Nick leaned back in his chair, taking a drink of brandy. He leveled his friend with a look and said, “I’m going to marry her.”

Rock began to shuffle the cards again, casually. “Are you? ”

“She needs me.”

“That does not seem to be the appropriate reason to marry a girl, Nick. Particularly not when the girl in question is harboring a houseful of fugitives.”

Nick narrowed his gaze on his friend. “I don’t think it’s a houseful. And I don’t believe that she’s doing anything wrong. Neither do you.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then?”

“I thought marriage was not for you?”

Nick did not pretend to misunderstand. He had said the words dozens, hundreds of times over the last years, certain that marriage would ruin him. He’d never seen a marriage that was a success. And he knew better than to believe that he could make one from any of the options that had presented themselves. He would not bind himself to some woman for a mere strategic alliance, he had no need for a daughter of the aristocracy, no need for a boost in finances.

But he would not mind a partnership.

And when they were together, they would find pleasure in each other.

Immense pleasure.

Yes, a marriage to Isabel could be ideal.

“I have changed my mind. I quite like the idea of aligning myself with her.”

“Aligning yourself? Is that what it will be?” Rock raised a brow. “And what will you do when she discovers that you came here looking for one of her girls?” Nick did not respond. It was precisely the question he had avoided answering for the last two days. Rock dealt the cards again, and Nick considered his hand absentmindedly. “Marry her for the marbles. Marry her because you want to bed her. But don’t marry her because she needs you.”

“I don’t need to marry her for the marbles. I would buy them anyway. And I’m not entirely certain she does need me.”

“I note you don’t deny the desire to bed her.”

Nick signaled for another card. He wanted her. With a visceral intent. The events of the afternoon, the way she had given herself so freely, the way she had tilted her head back as she had fallen apart in his arms had made dancing with her—touching her—sheer torture. It had taken all his control to keep from kissing her in the darkened ballroom in the face of her confession, and when she’d finally taken to her bed, he’d had to force himself to remain belowstairs instead of following her into her bedchamber and showing her every conceivable pleasure.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ignoring Rock’s knowing smirk.

“I can tell you that I do not care for your phrasing.” Nick tossed a coin onto the table. Rock matched the bid, turned over a card for himself, and swore under his breath. “What was it you were saying about my losing to you? ”

“What is it you Englishmen call them? Red-letter days?” Nick began to shuffle as Rock continued, “The girl doesn’t need you. She needs money. Buy the marbles.”

“She needs more than money.” He paused. “And she doesn’t really want to sell the marbles.”

Rock snorted. “Then what are we doing here? ”

“Until five minutes ago, we didn’t have a choice.” Nick met his friend’s dark gaze. “And you were enjoying yourself, reading your effeminate novels and quietly fleecing me of my fortune. What has changed? ”

Rock reached to pour himself a new snifter of brandy. “Nothing. I am simply ready to leave.”

“Has something happened with Lara? ”

“Miss Caldwell, to you.” Rock scowled.

“I beg your pardon. Has something happened with Miss Caldwell? You seemed thick as thieves earlier.” Nick stopped, the words sinking in. “Ah.”

Rock looked up sharply. “What does that mean? ”

“It seems I am not the only one with a female predicament. Is yours as infuriating as mine? ”

Rock threw a coin onto the table. “Deal the cards.”

Nick did as he was told, and the next few rounds passed in silence. Finally, Rock said, “She’s quite lovely.”

Nick nodded. “She is.”

“Not simply lovely. Perfect.”

The words were so unexpected that it took Nick a few seconds to register their meaning. “I do not understand. What is the problem, then? ”

“Nothing can come of it.”

“Why not?”

Rock leveled Nick with a frank look. “Look at me, Nick.”

“I am looking.”

Rock threw his cards down on the table. “She’s a gentleman’s daughter. I am a heathen, born in the back alleys of Turkey.”

“She lives in a house designed to harbor fugitives. She cannot be entirely beholden to the rules of society. At least, not in the way you suggest.” Nick paused. “I assume that your intentions are honorable?”

Rock stood, unable to remain still. He moved to the window, throwing it open and letting in fresh air, still heavy with the recent rain. “If anything were to happen between us … she would be exiled.”

“Farther than Yorkshire?” Nick said dryly.

Rock did not look back as he said, softly, “Her current exile is self-imposed.”

Nick watched his friend for a long moment before standing and moving to join him at the window. “You overthink this. You have dozens of friends who are wealthy and titled, plenty of whom would happily accept your interactions with her.”

Rock shook his head. “You know that isn’t true.”

“I know no such thing,” Nick scoffed. “Not one of them would care.”

The Turk turned away from the window, meeting Nick’s eyes. “You only think that because you would not care. But they would. When I descended from the carriage in London with a beautiful blond Englishwoman by my side, they would care. And I would no longer be a friend. I would be a dark-skinned enemy, robbing them of their women.”

Nick held Rock’s gaze for a long while, the truth of his words sinking in. Finally, Nick swore quietly and clasped his friend’s shoulder. “You care for the girl?”

“I do.”

“Well, that seems to me that it should be enough. Hang the rest of them.”

A small smile crossed Rock’s lips. “It is easy for you to say such things. Second son of a marquess, planning to marry the daughter of an earl.”

“She hasn’t said she’ll have me.”

“She will have you. She would be mad not to. But promise me something. Promise me you are marrying her for more than your own insane desire to save her.”

Nick considered the words. He knew what Rock was asking.
Was Isabel his way of repairing the damage that Alana had wrought?
Could this brave, unmatched Englishwoman erase the memory of her wicked Turkish counterpart?

He recoiled at the comparison of the two. “It is not the same.”

“I am not certain you could survive at the hands of another woman whom you cannot help.”

“What makes you think I cannot help this one? ”

“Only that you have never been able to help them, Nick. Not in all the time I have known you.”

There was a long moment of silence before Nick gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Not in all the time before that, either.”

“You can help the girl without giving up your life. That is all I am saying.”

Nick considered the words, playing them over in his mind. Was that all he wanted? Simply to help Isabel? Certainly that was a part of it—certainly he wanted to ensure her safety, to give her the peace of mind that came with knowing that her house would stand, that her girls would thrive, that her brother would succeed. But Rock was right, of course, he could give her all of those things without marrying her. He could leave here and go back to London, track down Densmore and convince him to turn over the guardianship of Townsend Park to him. If he guessed correctly, Densmore would happily relinquish the responsibility.

So why was it that marriage was there, looming so large in his thoughts?

What was it about this woman that had him tied in knots and willing to sacrifice everything for her?

What made him want to help her so very much?

An image of Isabel flashed, fresh and beautiful and relaxed—happy and certain that her world was not going to come crashing down around her. He had never seen her that way. He had seen her beautiful and teasing, beautiful and bold, beautiful and concerned for those around her, beautiful and coming apart in his arms, but never beautiful and sure of herself. Of her future. Of him.

He wanted to give her that.

Perhaps it was his weakness for women. Perhaps this was Turkey all over again. Perhaps Nick was destined to be trapped by this woman in the same way he had been trapped by his mother, by Alana. But he found it difficult to believe that Isabel was anything like them.

She seemed infinitely more honest.

She threatened to become infinitely more dear.

This was more than his history.

It was his future.

He met Rock’s eyes. “I am going to marry her. We would make a good pair.”

Rock nodded once. “Fair enough.” There was a long silence as they both looked out the window, into the darkness beyond. “You know you can’t do it without telling her the truth.”

The words fell like lead between them. Of course Nick knew. He had known from the beginning that he would have to confess his relationship with the Duke of Leighton. He would have to tell Isabel that he was looking for Georgiana. And he would have to bear the full weight of her anger and interrogation.

But there had been a small part of him that had hoped that he might convince her to marry him and get the deed done before he had to admit his less than honest actions.

He was not entirely certain that it was not still possible.

There was something very tempting about wedding her, tying her to him, and only then, when she could not leave him, telling her everything.

Rock read the thought. “Your telling her is far better than her discovering it for herself sometime in the future.”

“I know.”

But he did not like the sound of either option.