Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord (36 page)

She nodded. “I am happy for you both that you have found”—she paused, the lump in her throat making it difficult to finish the sentence—“each other.”

Rock breathed deep. When he spoke, his words were fast and clipped, as though he wished not to be saying them at all. “I know that she is a gentleman’s daughter. That she deserves someone infinitely better than me—a Turk—who will never be fully accepted in her world. I am not a gentleman. Not a Christian. But I care deeply for her. And I will do everything I can to make her happy.” He stopped. “I am very rich.”

Isabel smiled. “I do not know why you think that any of us would care about your being Turkish, Rock. Nor do I know why you would think we require you to be highborn. Have you learned nothing about this motley crew in the week you have been with us? ”

He matched her smile with a very dear one of his own. “I was simply pointing out my faults.”

“Goodness, let us not start doing that, else we shall be here all night as I list my own.”

“Never,” he said graciously, pausing for a long while to choose his next words. “I should like to marry her. And, since you are her closest family, I suppose I am asking you …”

She met his gaze, tears filling her eyes. “Of course you have my blessing. If she will have you, then you are happily welcome at Townsend Park.” Rock released a long sigh of relief, and Isabel laughed through her tears. “Did you really think that I would refuse you? ”

He shook his head. “I did not know. It is one thing to accept me as a guest in your home. It is another entirely to accept me as your …”

"Family,” Isabel said, placing one hand on his arm. “Cousin.”

He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

“Yes, well, it did not hurt that you are rich.”

He barked in laughter. “Nick was right. Yours is a sharp tongue.”

She grew serious at the mention of Nick. “Too sharp a tongue, I think.” She sighed, turning to this bear of a man. “I ruined it. When I saw him last … he was so different. Cold. Unfeeling.”

“He needs time, Isabel.”

“I love him,” she confessed, and there was something freeing about admitting her feelings to this man, her husband’s friend.

“Did you tell him that?”

She closed her eyes. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? ”

She gave a little pathetic laugh. “Afraid of him leaving me here. Alone. In love.”

He did not laugh. He did not reference the obvious irony from which she was suffering. He simply said, “I think it is time that you hear about Turkey.”

Isabel looked to Rock. “What about Turkey?”

“I assume he told you that we were in Turkey together.”

“Yes. He said that you rescued him from a prison there.”

“Did he tell you how he landed in the prison to begin with?”

“No.”

“There was a woman. Nick thought he was in love with her.”

A painful image flashed, Nick in the arms of an exotic veiled female who knew all the ways to his heart.

He leaned back against the stone banister, eyes glazed over with the memory. “We had been camped just outside of Ankara for several weeks. The Crown was nervous about rumors of an army being raised in the Empire, and they asked Nick to track an informant who had disappeared without a trace.” Rock’s voice turned admiring. “Nick was a legend across the East. They called him the
bulan
—the hunter. It was said he could find anyone.”

Isabel nodded. Finding Minerva House must have been a parlor game for him.

“Alana appeared outside his tent one night, bruised and bloodied from a beating she received at the hands of her husband, weeping for help. He took her in, fed her, tended her wounds, but she left him before morning, terrified that her husband would find her and beat her more.”

Isabel winced at the words, immediately understanding that Nick would not have been able to resist such a wounded dove.

“She was back the next night, lip split. And the night after that with some other wound. And then she disappeared. And he grew frantic, worrying over her. He had tracked her to a house inside the city, and he became obsessed with finding her—with assuring himself of her safety. After days of waiting for her, he was finally rewarded with her appearance. She was headed for market with several other ladies from the house. He found a way to speak to her there and she begged him to leave her alone. Assured him that she was fine.”

She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself at the words. No wonder he hated it when she claimed that she was fine without him.

Rock continued, “That night, she came to him again. Unharmed.”

He did not elaborate, but Isabel was no fool. She felt sick at the idea of him with the woman. “Was she very beautiful? “ The question was out before she could take it back.

“Yes. Very.”

Isabel hated her.

“Her beauty was overshadowed by her being evil incarnate.” Rock pressed on. “He begged her to stay with him that night. Assured her that he would keep her safe. Promised her safe travels back to England. She agreed, but refused to leave immediately—gave him some excuse about possessions or some such. He believed her, and they arranged a meeting place and time when he would collect her. And they would run away.”

Dread settled in Isabel’s chest. She knew what was coming, but could not stop herself from listening.

“It was a trap, of course. The Empire knew that the
bulan
was there, that he was searching for the informant. And they’d somehow discovered that it was Nick for whom they were looking. I was nearby when they took him. I watched the whole thing.” He stopped, lost in the past. “This is the part that I remember the most—it took six enormous Turks, bigger than me, to hold him. When he was subdued, Alana approached, removed her veil, and spat in his face.”

Isabel recoiled at the image of the betrayal.

“He told me that he deserved the scar.”

Rock nodded once. “He thinks he did. As punishment for falling victim to her womanly charms. For believing that she loved him.”

They were silent for long moments as the truth of Nick’s past settled between them. Isabel flinched at the pain he must have felt, having been laid low by a woman he loved.

No wonder he had left.

She had done the same thing.

Rock continued, unaware of the turmoil she was experiencing. “He swore off women then. I’ve never known him to tie himself to one since. Not until we came here. Not until you.”

The words were a physical blow. He had opened himself to her, trusting himself to love again. Trusting her to accept that love. And she had rejected it. Rejected him.

She was going to be sick.

He leaned forward, recognizing her turmoil. “Isabel. He loves you.”

The words made it worse. “I did the same thing she did.” His protest was immediate and unyielding. “No. You did not.”

“He loves me. And I rejected him.”

“Isabel. She
betrayed
him. She sent him to prison. She had him tortured. He would have died had I not found him.” He paused, using it to emphasize his words. “You are the very opposite of what she was.”

She shook her head. “He does not know that.”

“Yes, Isabel. He does. He just needs time.”

“How much time? ”

“I don’t know. He will not be able to stay away, though. That I can guarantee.”

They were quiet for long minutes, the sound of crickets in the background. Isabel thought about Rock’s story and her own time with Nick.

For her entire life, she had been afraid to take what she wanted for fear of failure. She was afraid to leave Townsend Park and face the gossip that her father caused; she was afraid to send James to school for fear that he might turn into her father.

And she had been afraid to love Nick, for fear of losing herself.

Now, however—without him—she was lost anyway.

But she had a chance to make it right. To make it better.

To have the life of which she’d begun to dream.

All she had to do was reach out and take it.

Take him.

She stood, looking down at Rock. “I want to go after him.”

Rock’s brows shot up. “Now? ”

“Now. Where is he? ”

“Halfway to London, I would imagine.”

London.

She nodded. “Then London it is.”

He stood. “I shall take you.”

She shook her head. “No. I must do this alone.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Isabel. Nick will have my head if I let you travel to London on your own.”

“It will be fine. I shall go by mail coach.”

Rock laughed at the ridiculous prospect. “He shall kill me without a second thought if I allow you to do that.”

“Why? Plenty of girls come here by mail.”

“Yes. Well, you are Lady Nicholas St. John now, sister-in-law to the Marquess of Ralston.
You
do not travel by mail.”

The conversation was taking up valuable time. She acquiesced to speed the process. “Fine. How do you suggest I go?”

“We
shall rent a coach and six tomorrow morning.”

“We shan’t be there for days!”

He sighed. “If we stop only to change horses, we shall be there in two and a half days. Mail coach will take four at the least.”

Isabel’s face lit. “Then your escort would be much appreciated, good sir.”

Rock looked up to the sky. “He’s going to flay me for this.”

She smiled. “Not if I succeed in winning him back. In that case, he shall be eternally grateful.” She turned and headed up the stairs, eager to prepare for the journey. Several steps from the top, she turned back. “Wait. Where do we go once we are in London? ”

Rock did not hesitate. “We go to Ralston House. You will need the assistance of the marchioness.”

“Probably. But you won’t. It’s your own fault for returning to London. If I were you, I would have stayed away for the rest of summer.”

“How would I have known that Callie was hosting a summer ball?” Nick took a long drink from the tumbler of scotch he held, stopping to scowl at his brother. The twins sat in Ralston’s study as the orchestra in the gardens beyond began tuning their instruments. In less than an hour, half of London’s elite—the half that had remained in town for the month of July—would be in the gardens, as well. Nick fidgeted in his formal attire. “Who has even heard of a summer ball?”

“Callie thought it would be a good way of keeping Juliana in the public eye,” Ralston answered, refusing to rise to his brother’s bait. “I might remind you that our sister suffers from something of an unfortunate reputation.”

Nick growled into his scotch. “For no reason other than because our mother was a—”

“Yes. Well, society seems not to care much for the hows and whys.” Ralston leaned forward to add more of the amber liquid to Nick’s glass. “Callie is happy that you are here, Nick. Juliana shall be, as well. Try to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Enjoy himself.

As though that were possible.

It had been five days since he had left Isabel, and he hadn’t enjoyed a moment of the time. He highly doubted that spending the night in a darkened garden with simpering London misses and their clamoring mothers would change that.

Indeed, he was fairly certain that spending the night in a darkened garden would make him think of Isabel. And he was entirely certain that spending the night dancing with women who were not Isabel would render him quite mad.

“There is something you should know.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What is that?”

“You are still considered to be a very valuable catch. I assume many of the women here tonight will be here for you.”

“I am married.”

“That information has not been made public, as you know. Indeed, one would have thought you would have told your brother of the change in your status sometime before you arrived back in London, ready to chew nails.”

Nick told his brother precisely what he could do with that thought.

Ralston leaned back in his chair. “I will say that anyone who has ever considered you the good-natured brother will be in for a surprise this evening.”

Nick stood then, irrational anger flaring. “Then perhaps I shall leave and save you all the trouble of having to suffer my company.”

“Sit down, you ridiculous ass.”

Nick towered over his brother. “Call me that one more time.”

Ralston made a show of calmly swirling the scotch in his glass. “I am not going to fight you in my study, in my formal-wear. Callie would have my head.”

Ralston’s unmoved response took the wind from Nick.

He sat again, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, scrubbing his face as though he could erase his frustration. When he looked up, Ralston was watching him with complete understanding. “She has done a number on you, brother.”

It was the first time that Ralston had referenced Isabel outside of the short, clipped conversation during which Nick had announced his marriage, and Nick knew that he could ignore the words and his twin would allow him the space he needed.

But he did not want to ignore them.

He wanted to talk about her … as though the words could bring her closer.

As though they could make her love him.

He ignored the pain that flared at the words. “She is … incredible.”

Ralston did not reply. He simply listened.

Nick began to talk, more to himself than to his brother. “She has such strength in her, like no one I’ve ever known. When she believes in something, or when she fights for what is hers—she’s a queen. She is nothing like the women we know. If something needs doing, she does it.” He looked up at him. “The first time I kissed her, she was wearing breeches.”

One side of Ralston’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “There is something about them in breeches.”

“But there’s a softness to her, as well. A deep-rooted uncertainty that makes me want to protect her with everything I have.” Nick scrubbed his jaw with one hand as he thought of her. “And she’s so beautiful. With these brown eyes … eyes you could just lose yourself in …” He trailed off, thinking about her. Missing her.

“You love her.”

Nick met his twin’s knowing gaze. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Ralston leaned back in his chair. “So why are you here, drinking scotch in my study?”

“Because she doesn’t love me.”

“Nonsense.” The word came fast and frank.

Nick shook his head. “I appreciate your affront, Gabriel, but I assure you. Isabel does not love me.”

“Of course she loves you,” he said imperiously, as though he could make it so simply by being the Marquess of Ralston.

“She doesn’t.”

“They always love us.”

Nick gave a little huff of laughter at the pronouncement. “Yes, well, perhaps they always love
you.
However, this one does
not
love me.”

“Well, then you must make her love you.”

Nick shook his head again. “No. I am through with trying to make women love me. I’ve spent my entire life chasing after women who were decidedly
not
in love with me. I have learned my lesson.”

Ralston leveled him with a frank look. “This is not chasing after some woman. This is your
wife.
Whom you do, in fact, love.”

God, he did love her.

He’d never felt anything like the pain that had exploded through him at her announcement that she had married him for duty and not for love, but that pain did not seem to diminish his feelings for her.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “She doesn’t need me.”

Ralston smirked. “You are laboring under the mistaken impression that it is their job to need us. In my experience, it is almost always the other way around.” He checked his watch. “A wiser man than I once told me that if he’d been a royal ass and lost the only woman he’d ever really wanted, he’d get her to the nearest vicar and then get her with child.”

Nick winced at the words, and the memory they brought with them. “I’ve already married her.”

“Then you are halfway there.”

A vision flashed of Isabel at her stone keep in the sunshine, surrounded by children.
His children.

Raw desire flared and Nick scowled. “I hate it when you are right.”

Ralston grinned. “As I am rarely wrong, I imagine it is quite a problem for you.”

Nick considered his options. They were married, for God’s sake. He could not stay away from her forever. Indeed, he did not want to stay away from her. He wanted to get on his horse and rush back to Yorkshire and grab her by the shoulders and shake her. And then he wanted to kidnap her to the old stone keep and make love to her until she took him back. And then he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

If she could not love him now, perhaps, someday, she would learn to. But she would never love him if he stayed in London.

He needed her.

He looked up, determined. “I am going back to Yorkshire.”

Ralston slapped one hand to his thigh. “Excellent!” he announced, standing. “But first, you must attend this damned ball, or my wife will never forgive me.”

Nick stood, as well, feeling invigorated by his decision.

He would go to the ball. And then he would go to his wife.

“Nick!”

Nick turned from the refreshment table, where he was pouring himself a lemonade and wishing it were a scotch, to find his sister-in-law bearing down on him.

He made an elaborate bow. “Lady Ralston,” he intoned, “What a crush! What a success! You are certainly the greatest hostess of the
ton.”

Callie laughed and lowered her voice. “Do not let Lady Jersey hear you. She’ll
never
invite us to Almack’s then.”

He raised a brow. “And that would be a terrible pity.”

She smiled broadly. “I am happy to see you. Ralston told me you were in town, but little else.” Her smile disappeared. “How do you fare?”

Nick considered Callie’s serious tone for a moment before saying, “It appears my brother told you plenty.” At Callie’s telling blush, he smiled. “I am much better now than I was a few hours ago.”

Callie’s brows rose. “It is not the ball that turned you round? ”

Nick laughed at the preposterousness of the statement. “No, my lady.”

She joined him in laughter as his sister approached, a happy smile on her face. As he leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her hand, Juliana said, “I cannot believe I did not know you had returned to town! What kind of a brother does not seek out his sister
immediatamente?
”

One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up at Juliana’s sprinkling of Italian. “A very bad one, indeed.”

“You must come and visit us tomorrow, no?”

He shook his head. “I cannot, I am afraid. I must leave town again at first light.”

Juliana’s mouth made a perfect moue. “Whatever for? You have barely said hello!”

He hedged, not willing to share news of his marriage with his unsubtle sister in such a public setting. “I have some extraordinarily important business to which I must attend,” he said, “but I assure you that you will be very, very happy with the results once my trip is complete.”

“Well. I hope it involves a lavish present,” Juliana teased, her attention moving to a spot over Nick’s shoulder. “Callie, who is that? ”

“Who?” Callie stood on her toes, following Juliana’s line of vision.

“Shh!” Juliana waved a hand. “I want to hear her announced.”

Nick rolled his eyes and reached for a quiche, barely registering that the two women were grinning like idiots.

“Lady Nicholas St. John.”

A hush came over the crowd and Nick froze. Surely he had misheard. He turned slowly toward the stairway leading down into the gardens, where guests were entering the ball.

There, resplendent in the most stunning scarlet gown he had ever seen, stood Isabel.

What was she doing here?

He could not take his eyes from her; there was a small part of him that thought that perhaps he had conjured her up. That she was not actually here. In London. In his brother’s garden.

Juliana poked him in the side with one long, bony finger. “Nick. Do not be
un idiota.
Can you not see she is terrified? You must go to her.”

The words unstuck him, and he was moving toward his wife, first walking, only to find that that was taking entirely too long. And so he began to run. Which was almost certain to cause a scandal, but he did not really care. He would apologize to Callie later.

Because all he wanted to do was reach Isabel.

And touch her.

And confirm that he was not, in fact, mad. That she was really there. That she had really come for him.

There was a benefit to running through a ball; a shocked crowd tended to move out of one’s way, and he was at the foot of the stairway in seconds, bounding up the stairs to meet her. She watched him the whole way, her brown eyes wide with nervousness and surprise and excitement and something that he dared not name.

Once there, mere inches from her, he stopped, drinking his fill of her.

He watched as she took a deep breath, her breasts rising beautifully beneath the edge of the flowing silk gown she wore. “My lord.” She dropped into a deep curtsy and whispered, “I have missed you.”

When she finally met his gaze, he saw the truth of her words. “I have missed you, as well.” He reached for her, but before he could touch her, a firm, pointed throat clearing stayed his movement. “Nicholas,” Gabriel said from nearby, his words quiet but clear, “perhaps you should escort your wife inside? ”

Isabel blushed and looked down, away from the crowd staring up at them with unabashed curiosity. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her and said, “Yes, of course. My lady?”

They entered the house, unspeaking, moving past a line of curious guests waiting to be announced and who would certainly be disappointed that they had missed what was surely the most exciting portion of the evening.

Pulling her into the first room they reached, he closed the door behind them and threw the lock to ensure their privacy. They were in the library, a single candelabrum burning from the fireplace mantel.

He guided her into the pool of light and kissed her, hard and desperate for the taste of her—the feel of her—which he had gone too long without. He ate at her mouth, stealing her breath. She met him stroke for stroke, caress for caress, and when she sighed her pleasure he groaned his. After long, intense moments, his lips gentled, and he softened the kiss, stroking her bottom lip with his tongue, ending the moment in an infinitely softer way than it had begun.

He put his forehead to hers and said, “Hello.”