Authors: Cheryl Brooks
Tags: #Romance
He knelt beside her, his hand cupping her chin. “Your happiness is very important to me, Juliet. If you are ever unhappy, please tell me, and I will do my utmost to change that.”
“I doubt I shall ever have cause to complain. Still, though the garden is quite lovely, it is only partly responsible for my contentment. The kindness everyone has shown me is what makes it all so special. I am not used to being treated thus.”
“You should be,” he said. “And I promise to do my best to see that you know nothing but kindness from now on. You deserve nothing less.”
“And you deserve as much, perhaps even more.”
Her lips touched his in a kiss so sweet it tore at his heart. Nick never doubted that William loved him, but the love of a woman was different. Softer, gentler, yet it made him feel strong. It was an unselfish sort of love, the love that gave birth and life, but needed protection.
He and William would provide that protection.
All the days of her life.
* * * *
William filled yet another glass with lemonade and set it on the tray, along with a plate of biscuits.
“You’ll be spoiling her if you keep that up,” Mrs. Biggs admonished him.
“It pleases me to spoil her,” William said. “Although I am not certain she
can
be spoiled—not after the life she led before Rotherford found her.”
She snorted in disgust, shaking her head. “That father of hers! What a nasty piece of work he is. Never a kind word for anyone.”
“Not even his daughter.” The mere thought made William long to give the earl a thrashing he wouldn’t soon forget. But then, if he’d treated her better, her life would never have joined up with theirs.
Mrs. Biggs nodded. “Poor dear. She’s been like a plant without water, dyin’ o’ thirst.”
William hoisted the tray. “Hence the need for lemonade.”
“Oh, go on with you.” Mrs. Biggs flapped her apron at him. “Better take two glasses, though. The master is there ahead of you.”
Adding another glass, he left the kitchen. The gardens were a good distance from the house, but William didn’t mind the walk. He was delighted that Juliet had chosen such a thirst-producing pastime, giving him ample excuses to serve her.
He was in love—so much in love he could hardly contain his excitement. His love for Nick had felt this way in the beginning. Granted it had settled into a steady relationship, but that first flush of love was a feeling unlike any other. He knew very well that Nick felt the same way. He remembered that look in his master’s eyes quite vividly. Once that expression had been solely for him. Strange that he didn’t feel the slightest hint of jealousy when it was directed toward someone else.
But then, this was a rather strange relationship.
And I will not ruin it with foolish thoughts.
He’d been uneasy at first, knowing that his part in their threesome was tenuous, but after last night…
Oh, my
. Nothing could tear him away from either of them now.
They both looked up and smiled as he approached.
“Lemonade, anyone?”
Juliet heaved a grateful sigh. “My dearest William. You truly are a saint among men—indeed, a prince.”
He smiled back at her as she took a drink, and then he handed the other glass to Nick.
“You can’t have it both ways,” Nick said with a wink. “Which is he?”
“Neither,” said Will. “I’m only the footman.”
No, he wasn’t a saint or a prince. He was simply her slave—and Nick’s. And that was the way he wanted it to be.
Always.
Nick sat across the table from his father-in-law, placidly sipping his wine. It was bad enough having to come up to London for the opening of the June session of Parliament. Enduring a private dinner with the earl bordered on penance, and he was anxious for Clarenhurst to cut to the chase so he could go home to his family.
Juliet and William had accompanied him on the journey, and while his new wife seemed to approve of his town house, he knew how much she longed to be back in the peaceful setting of his country estate. He didn’t blame her. The bustle of the city had never agreed with him. Nevertheless, he had come. This was one session and one vote he did
not
want to miss.
He paused as it occurred to him that they’d been married almost six weeks. Six weeks of continuous connubial bliss—with her, and with William. He couldn’t speak for William, but Nick had never been happier. Having a husband
and
a wife appealed to him enormously. Too bad it had to remain a secret. He would’ve loved to see the look on Clarenhurst’s face if he were to tell him the truth. The shock would probably kill him.
“So,” the earl began. “About our arrangement.”
“Arrangement?” Nick echoed. “I wasn’t aware that we had one.”
“I have given you my only daughter. You owe me your vote.”
Nick set down his glass and scratched his head. “Did I sign anything to that effect? I cannot recall ever having done so.”
Clarenhurst took a gulp of his port. “You signed nothing of the kind. We had a gentleman’s agreement.”
“Ah. I see. Pray tell, when did we decide upon the terms of that agreement? And how did we seal the matter? Did we shake hands or simply nod at one another?”
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t toy with me, Rotherford. You know very well why I invited you to my home, and also why I went to that tiresome gathering of yours and ended up handing over my daughter.”
“Did you by any chance
read
the wedding contract?”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that there was nothing in it regarding my vote on this or any other issue. Nor was it anything we ever discussed. Surely you must realize that.”
Clarenhurst waved a dismissive hand. “That makes no difference. The only reason I gave my consent was to secure your vote, and you know it.”
“Your daughter was of age at the time of our marriage. Therefore, your
consent
wasn’t strictly necessary.” Reaching into his pocket, Nick pulled out the document in question. “I read this very carefully before I signed it, and I have since had my solicitor check it over. Strange, there is no mention of votes in it, yet the question of Juliet’s dowry was spelled out in rather vague terms.” He unfolded the paper. “
The dowry of Lady Juliet Nordsworth shall not be paid to Nicholas Hartford Pennington, Viscount Rotherford, until such time as Thomas Richard Nordsworth, Earl of Clarenhurst, deems fit
. Peculiar wording, don’t you think?”
“Yet you signed it.”
“I did, indeed. It suited me perfectly.”
The earl snorted his disgust. “Not likely. You want her money, don’t you?”
“I have no need of it. I wanted only Juliet. Whether you choose to believe that or not is your choice.”
“Are you implying that I cannot count on your vote tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes,” Nick replied. “You can count on the fact that I will, indeed, cast my vote. However, you cannot in any way influence it.” He arched a brow. “Did you really think you could?”
Clarenhurst’s scowl had been known to strike terror in the hearts of his adversaries, often goading them into headlong flight. Rotherford, however, merely smiled at it.
“You cannot browbeat me, either,” Nick said. “I refuse to be bullied or intimidated, and as I see it, you have no hold over me whatsoever. Nothing
legal
, anyway.”
“You are married to my daughter,” Clarenhurst shot back.
“Very true. However, that only makes you my father-in-law. Juliet is my
wife
, and if you ever intend to see her again—or meet your grandchildren—you would do well to remember it.”
“You would keep my grandchildren from me to blackmail me into paying you her dowry?”
“Really, Clarenhurst,” Nick drawled. “Blackmail is such an ugly word, and I believe I’ve already made myself clear on the subject of Juliet’s dowry. I do not want it. I shall put that in writing if necessary.”
“You may not want it, but you cannot stop me from giving it to any child of hers.”
This tactic was so unexpected, Nick nearly choked on his wine. “True,” he conceded. “I cannot—nor can I stop you from giving it to Juliet, although I must caution you not to attempt to use that money as a means to turn my wife or my children against me. You will regret it.”
Clarenhurst glanced up sharply at the steel in Nick’s voice. “Do you seek to threaten me?”
“Not at all,” Nick replied. “Nor will I be threatened by you. I simply wish to make my meaning quite clear.” With a short laugh, he added, “I must say, you surprise me. I had no idea you were so anxious to part with such a large sum.”
The earl shrugged. “My son has yet to produce any offspring after three years of marriage. I hadn’t realized it had been so long until recently.” His face sagged along with his shoulders, erasing the casual nature of his shrug. “Time has a tendency to pass more quickly when one reaches a certain age.”
Which explained a great deal. “And from that, we may safely assume that Juliet’s may be the only grandchildren you will ever have.”
“Just so. They will not inherit the earldom—that would go to my nephew’s son—but every man has pride in his lineage, whether he be an earl or a blacksmith, and I would not wish to see my line die out.”
Nick arched a skeptical brow. “Are you certain that is your only concern? Do you not wish to dandle a grandchild upon your knee before you depart from this life?”
The older man’s brow furrowed, and his chin rose in defiance. “You are too young to understand the motives of a man of my age and station.”
“Oh, I think I can guess,” Nick said, ignoring the earl’s stiff tone. “When one reaches their dotage, one wishes to be surrounded by a loving family rather than receiving occasional duty visits from distant relations who long to be elsewhere.”
Clarenhurst glanced away, the bulging muscles in his jaw belying his efforts at control.
“Dying alone does have its drawbacks,” Nick continued. “Can it be that you are not quite the ogre you are reputed to be?”
A flicker of irritation passed over the earl’s face. “Perhaps not entirely.”
Nick suspected this grudging reply was the best he could hope for at that point. A tiger like the Earl of Clarenhurst wouldn’t change his stripes so easily. Still, it was a start. “I will not prevent you from visiting your grandchildren or your daughter. However, you cannot influence my political views in any way. Do not attempt it.” He paused, contemplating the rich hue of the wine as he swirled it in his glass. “You do know that your bill has no hope of passing, with or without my vote.”
Clarenhurst nodded slowly. “Support
is
dwindling, despite my continued efforts. I am forced to admit that your political savvy may be greater than my own—if only on this particular issue.”
Nick smiled, knowing how hard it must have been for Clarenhurst to make that admission to a younger man of lesser rank. “Repression is never a good policy, my lord. It only creates the need for rebellion.”
The earl sighed. “I am beginning to understand that.”
Nick hoped it wasn’t the
only
thing his father-in-law understood. Otherwise, he and the earl would clash on a number of issues—not the least of which being what name Nick should give to his heir.
William, perhaps…
* * * *
Juliet hadn’t heard a word from her father since her marriage, but she hadn’t been surprised that the earl’s dinner invitation did not include her—nor had she been disappointed. She’d enjoyed being free of his continuous frowns. She glanced up from her book as Nick entered the drawing room, followed closely by William bearing the tea tray. “How was it?”
“Enlightening,” Nick replied. “I had considered arriving here in disguise and staying in a hotel to avoid the encounter. However, I am very glad I did not.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “You would never have done such a cowardly thing.”
He bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Perhaps not, but the idea was not without merit.” Taking a seat beside her on the settee, he added, “Never fear, my love. Your esteemed parent shall not sway my vote.”
Juliet nearly choked. “Esteemed parent? Hardly.”
“Nevertheless, he
is
your father, and, astonishingly enough, he appears to have realized that fact at long last.”
“Really? How so?
“I am pleased to report that he not only wishes to bestow your dowry upon any children you might have, but he is also compelled to admit that his proposed bill is nothing more than a load of pompous hogwash.”
“My dowry?” Juliet stared at him, aghast. “I cannot imagine he would ever wish to part with any of it, nor would he concede defeat of his bill in such a manner.”
“Those were not his exact words,” Nick admitted. “Nevertheless, that is the gist of the matter.” He glanced at William, who was engaged in pouring the tea. “I also informed him that if he wishes to see you—or his
grandchild—
he must deal with me.”