“Bad news?” he asked, and the gentleness in his voice unnerved her. She wanted him to rage at her, to yell at her for breaking his possessions, to fight with her so she could hold on to her anger. His kindness made her want to weep, and she didn’t want to waste any more tears on her father. She sure as hell didn’t want to cry in front of Nicholas. When she glared up at him, he said, “You’re upset. What can I do?”
She tilted her head up to regard him more fully, her dark eyes filling with tears, and an expression she had trouble understanding crossed his face. He looked concerned, compassionate even, and his kindness made her want to relent and speak to him. The heat radiating off him washed over her, their proximity to one another intimate—much passed in the space between them. She wondered if he would release her if she asked him to. She almost did, but then her eyes turned back to the letter, and her thoughts back to her father.
She had no home to go back to.
There was nothing for her in her father’s house—this was the closest thing to a home she’d had in a long time. With her father, if she’d shown the slightest spark of temper and he’d had anything to drink—and he’d always had something to drink—she would have been beaten. Here, Nicholas hadn’t even been perturbed when she broke a glass probably costing him more than all of her possessions put together were worth. In fact, he seemed amused by her show of temper. This man could so easily charm her heart. A look from him, and her heart fluttered. A casual touch, and she went weak in the knees.
But her father was right, too—not to write the letter, but in his warning. If she came to her fiancé on their wedding night without her maidenhead, the price she’d pay would be steep. She would be wise to remember that.
With a glance back up at Nicholas, she carefully folded the letter and placed it in her pocket. Smoothing her countenance into what she hoped was a serene expression, she graced him with a small smile and a shake of her head. She put a hand on his arm in a nearly companionable way before she left, thanking him without words.
And as she departed, even she couldn’t believe she had managed to get out of his study without speaking a single word.
“So, old boy, how’s your latest acquisition?”
Nicholas looked up from his glass of whiskey, glaring irritably at James. “What?”
“The girl you won. You’ve not been around, and I’ve been interested to hear.” James’s eyes glinted with mischief.
Nicholas rolled his eyes. Several days had passed since their encounter in his study, and Alexandra had received four or five letters since then. Every time she received a note, she seemed upset, as if the correspondences pained her. Strangely, it pained
him
to see her upset—he hated her father more than he had ever hated anyone. He had never felt so strongly about anything or anyone, but then, he had never cared enough to actually hate someone. He would do whatever she asked of him if only she would
ask.
Wearily, he said, “She’s a handful, that’s for sure.”
James laughed. “You get more than you bargained for? Has she been hysterical, crying for her dear father?” At Nicholas’s scowl, James’s grin widened as he asked, “Or is it the opposite? Does she not leave you alone? I can just picture it. You got a girl who can’t keep her hands off you, and now you don’t have a clue what to do with her. Could wreck a lad’s love life—can’t bring the lasses around anymore, eh?” James chuckled again, his gaze far away as he imagined it.
In that moment, it occurred to Nicholas he would have had an easier time dealing with her if she had been hysterical, and he
wished
she had trouble keeping her hands off of him. Now
that
would have made for an interesting diversion.
Wreck
his love life? Hardly.
“In fact, Campbell, she accepted her position with grace. Nary a harsh word from her.” A harsh word would have been an improvement. Hell, he would have welcomed it. Anything but the stony silence. Raging, screaming, hysteria he could handle, but he could no more charm the silent ghost who walked his house than he could charm the leaves on the trees. Actually, he thought bitterly, that might be easier than charming Lexie.
“Really?”
“Not one,” Nicholas replied, staring down into his drink. He swirled the liquid and watched as it trailed down the sides of the glass.
James made a surprised sound and picked up his own glass, drained it, and forcefully put it back down on the cherry wood bar. Pulling two cigars from his pocket, he offered one of them to Nicholas and asked, “Cigar?” When Nicholas shook his head, James put the other back in his pocket, and lit his. He puffed thoughtfully for a moment, and said wryly, “Sounds like you got lucky. You should try that luck out at the tables. Care to join me?” He leaned against the bar and surveyed the rest of the saloon.
Nicholas grimaced down at the bar. He wanted to drown his desire for Lexie in liquor and women, but both were proving impossible. The more he drank, the more he wanted
her
and only her. He had already been approached by an old flame, who had smiled at him coquettishly. She would have made an easy conquest. But the light didn’t shine off her blond hair quite as well as it would have had it been black as coal, and her sparkling blue eyes didn’t hold the same flash of temper and intelligence that shone in eyes as dark as night. Her bright smile didn’t hold a candle to Lexie’s small, sad smile, and her golden skin didn’t compare to Lexie’s porcelain. In short, while she was pretty, she hadn’t been Lexie, and that made her not good enough. He had a sinking feeling none of the women he met tonight, or tomorrow, or the night after, would be good enough when he compared them to Lexie.
“No,” he said, irritated by everything. The piano playing in the corner, the sound of men’s laughter, the women who loitered around the front of the parlor, James’s company. Even the whiskey tasted harsh and bitter in his mouth. He just wanted to be left alone, in silence.
But Nicholas’s words seemed to give James pause, and he took a seat on the stool next to him. “What’s got you, then?”
Nicholas shook his head. “Nothing. I just don’t want to gamble tonight.”
“Okay.”
They sat side by side in silence for a time. James ordered another whiskey—the finest the house had—and regarded Nicholas for a time. Under James’s appraising gaze, Nicholas snapped, “What?”
Putting his hand up in a conciliatory manner, James shook his head. “Nothing. You’re just not yourself, is all.”
“Oh, so because I don’t want to play the tables, something’s obviously wrong? You sound like old Mrs. Ferguson.”
James gave a snort of laughter. “Unlike Mrs. Ferguson,
I
am content to leave you to your melancholy. I’m just wondering why you’re not partaking of any of your typical pursuits. You’re here, but you don’t seem to be enjoying the drink, you aren’t gambling, you aren’t chasing women. Jenny told me you flat refused her earlier.” When Nicholas turned surprised eyes to him, James continued. “Oh, she wasn’t so gauche as to say it so baldly, but that was the sentiment. You’re acting like...”
At James’s pause, Nicholas demanded, “Like what?”
“Oh, I get it. It’s a woman.” James laughed.
Damn James for seeing so much more than Nicholas wanted to admit. “You’ve spent too much time infatuated with that picture you carry. You wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”
“That’s different. She’s business.
I’m
not the one who looks like someone just drowned his puppy.”
“Knock it off.”
James laughed again. Nicholas wished the man
would
leave him to his melancholy, knowing James wouldn’t. It was hard to be despondent when in the company of one who found his situation so amusing. The problem with James was that he found
everything
amusing.
“So who’s the lucky girl?” he asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nicholas growled.
“Of course you do,” James retorted, amusement clear in his voice. Nicholas kept his eyes firmly on his glass while James regarded him. Four years Nicholas’s senior, James had a reputation as being a confirmed bachelor, a reputation he cultivated. No woman labored under the delusion he was capable of anything more than a casual diversion. But just because his heart never suffered passion didn’t mean James wasn’t good at spotting a man infatuated with a woman—or teasing him mercilessly about it. After a moment of silence, James said, “Oh. You’ve got it for Markland’s daughter.”
Nicholas snorted into his glass as if to dismiss the idea, but he didn’t voice a rejection of James’s assessment. Lexie was, by far, the most intriguing woman he had ever met. Not just beautiful, but intelligent, well-read, stubborn as anything, and underneath all that, he sensed a passionate nature. He wished he could get the taste of her out of his head. Every time they were together, he found himself fantasizing about the sensation of her lips crushed against his, of those full breasts pressed against his chest. Rather than staying home and nursing his heart, he had come here to escape the scent of her, the sound of her soft footfalls in the hallway, and the temptation to try to catch her in his library once more.
“Again, you’re so busy staring at that picture of yours, I’m amazed when you notice anything beyond the end of your nose.”
James shrugged, as if he didn’t care what Nicholas thought. He probably didn’t. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.” Taking a long look at Nicholas, James said, “I think I need to meet this girl.”
Nicholas’s head swung in his direction. James was an attractive bloke, tall and broad, with wavy, rust-colored hair and merry brown eyes. He was engaging and charming, and rich, to boot. Women loved him. Loved him just as he was, for what he was—a pleasant, charming diversion. It was a rare girl, indeed, who sought to change him, who thought to win his heart.
At one time, Nicholas had fancied himself to be cut from the same cloth. He charmed women, seduced them, but he never lost his heart, and, because he was careful to remind them what and who he was, if they lost theirs, well, that was their problem. He was good-looking and charming, he had money to burn, and he enjoyed his life. Yet a stubborn, dark-haired girl turned that notion on its head, for here he was, acting like a lovesick fool, loath to introduce Lexie to a man he considered his best friend. He had no idea what he would do if Lexie talked to James when she wouldn’t talk to him.
“I don’t think so,” Nicholas grumbled.
“Worried about the competition?” James asked with a grin.
Nicholas suppressed the fit of temper rising in his chest at the thought that James knew him so well. “Hardly. I just don’t think you’re suited for one another. She’s not very talkative, and let’s face it, you can’t shut up.”
“If she’s pretty enough, I won’t be interested in talk.”
Nicholas glared at James, offended enough to want to challenge him before he realized he himself had said those very words to Lexie. James at least had the sense not to tell her to her face.
“Just shut it,” Nicholas growled. He knew James was teasing him, but his temper flared at the thought that Lexie’s favor could be so easily won. Lexie wasn’t that kind of girl. If she were, she would already be warming
his
bed. He didn’t think he had imagined the way she melted into his body when he kissed her. He wanted to explore the hunger he’d felt in her.
If she would only just talk to him.
James, never one to take offense at anything, chuckled, got up from his barstool, walked over to the nearest blonde and easily struck up a conversation. No one could beguile a woman with his words better than James. Even Nicholas had a thing or two to learn from him. He doubted James would go back to the tables tonight. He seemed far too interested in the prospect of a woman to gamble. Back at the tables, he would find only men-or women he would have to pay for. James never paid for his women.
He watched how James interacted with the girl for a spell. He knew most of James’s tricks, had used more than a few of them. He thought of all the ways he could charm Lexie—all the ways he had tried to charm her and all the ways he had yet to try—and realized none of them would work. Lexie was beyond his reach.
And then it hit him, the one thing he had left to try. One thing that might actually work.
He could court her.