Page 14 of Marquess of Stone (Braving the Elements #2)

CHAPTER 14

“ T o hell with propriety, to hell with expectations, and to hell with the entire blasted institution of marriage,” Nicholas muttered, his voice rough as he lifted the crystal decanter and sloshed a generous amount of amber liquid into his glass for the fifth — or perhaps the sixth — time that evening.

His study at Stone House lay in shadowed disarray, a physical manifestation of its master’s inner turmoil.

A firm knock at the door interrupted his solitary brooding. Nicholas ignored it, taking another defiant swallow of brandy instead. The knock came again, more insistent this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the door opening without his permission.

“I see you have decided to drown your sorrows rather thoroughly, old friend,” observed a familiar voice, the dry tone carrying equal parts concern and amusement. “How very predictable of you.”

Nicholas did not bother turning toward the doorway. “I do not recall inviting you, Blacknight.”

Elias crossed the threshold with the confidence that came with years of friendship. “When has that ever stopped me?” Elias countered, pausing to assess the state of both the room and its occupant before walking to the window and thrusting open the heavy velvet curtains.

Nicholas flinched as the too-bright light assaulted his eyes, raising one hand to shield them from the sudden, unpleasant sensation. “Damn you,” he growled though without any genuine heat.

“The burden to save you from yourself has to fall on someone’s shoulders,” Elias replied mildly, moving to stoke the fire back to life. The poker scraped against iron as he shifted the coals, sending spark spiraling upward like displaced fireflies. “Though I must admit, even for you, this is rather dramatic. One might actually believe you were genuinely affected.”

“If you have come to merely offer commentary, you may see yourself out the same way you came in.”

Elias remained unperturbed, settling himself into the chair opposite Nicholas with the casual grace of a man completely at ease in his surroundings. He reached for the decanter, examining its depleted contents with a raised eyebrow before helping himself to what little remained.

“Lydia sends her regards,” he said conversationally, as if they were meeting for a pleasant social call rather than him intruding on what had clearly been intended as a private descent into misery. “She is concerned for you.”

“Unnecessary,” Nicholas replied softly, his fingers tightening around the brim of his glass.

“Is it?” Elias leaned forward, firelight casting his features into sharp relief. “Three days without word, declining all invitations, sending your man around with transparent excuses… one might almost think you were avoiding us.”

Nicholas drained his glass in lieu of responding, the burn of alcohol a welcome distraction from the knowing look in his friend’s eyes. The silence stretched taut between them, broken only by the renewed crackling of the fire and the distant ticking of the mantel clock counting away seconds with merciless precision.

“I take it things did not go as planned with my sister-in-law then,” Elias observed.

Nicholas found himself grateful that his friend had chosen to not use her name, but the reminder sent a jolt through his body like a live current of electricity. He set his empty glass down with more force than necessary, the crystal making a sharp sound against the solid mahogany table.

“She refused me,” he said flatly. The words emerged with surprising difficulty, as if speaking them aloud somehow made the rejection more concrete, more irrevocable.

Elias’s expression revealed nothing beyond mild interest. “Did she indeed? How fascinating.”

“Fascinating?” Nicholas echoed, incredulity momentarily overriding his misery. “A woman of modest means and compromised reputation refuses me, a carrier of one of the wealthiest titles in all of England, and you find it merely ‘fascinating’?”

“Actually, I find it revealing,” Elias corrected, swirling the brandy in his glass with deliberate movements. “Of both parties involved.”

Nicholas rose from his chair with a single, fluid motion that belied the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He paced across the room with restless energy, his strides carrying him from the fireplace to the window and back again like a caged predator seeking escape.

“She claims to want spinsterhood,” he said, the words emerging in short, clipped tones. “Freedom from matrimonial bonds. Independence from male authority. All in all, she is very modern and enlightened.”

“And you offered her…?” Elias prompted when Nicholas fell silent.

Nicholas halted his pacing, turning to face his friend with an expression of mingled frustration and disbelief. “Everything! A marriage of equals. Freedom to pursue her interest. Protection from society’s censure. My name, my fortune, my —” He stopped abruptly, his jaw tightening.

“Your heart?” Elias suggested quietly.

The question hung in the air between them, dangerous in its simplicity.

Nicholas turned sharply away, moving to the sideboard where he discovered, with poorly concealed frustration, that no more brandy remained. His fingers drummed in an agitated rhythm against the polished wood, betraying the emotions he fought to master.

“Do not be absurd,” he said finally, his voice deliberately casual. “This was never a matter of… sentiment.”

“No?” Elias raised a skeptical eyebrow, the gesture somehow more eloquent than any verbal challenge could have been. “Then pray, enlighten me as to what precisely it was then, old friend.”

Nicholas’s hands stilled their restless movement. “Practicality,” Nicholas said at last, turning to face his friend. “Marian required rescue from an untenable situation. I found myself in a position to provide it. Marriage seemed the most… efficient solution.”

Elias’s laugh was sudden and genuine, surprising them both with its warmth. “Efficient! My God, man, in all our years of friendship, I have heard you describe potential investments, business ventures, and even political alliances as ‘efficient’ but never a marriage proposal.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Nicholas’ mouth but was quickly suppressed. “You know what I mean.”

“I am afraid, I do,” Elias replied, setting his empty glass aside and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Which is precisely what concerns me.”

“She believes that I do not love her,” he said abruptly, the words tumbling from his lips before he could reconsider them. “That is why she refused.”

“And does she have reason to believe so?” Elias asked firmly though his voice was carefully neutral.

“I told her I did.” The words emerged almost grudgingly, as if they were being extracted against his will.

“But she did not believe you.”

“No.”

“How extraordinary,” Elias mused, and Nicholas could hear the creak of leather as his friend shifted in his chair. “A woman who does not immediately swoon when the great Marquess of Stone offers a vague declaration of love. Quite remarkable indeed.”

Nicholas turned, irritation flashing in his blue eyes. “If you have come merely to mock —”

“I have come because I am concerned about you,” Elias interrupted. “And about my sister-in-law.”

Nicholas ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture betraying his inner turmoil more clearly than any words could have. “I have arranged for her to stay with my sister instead of being sent to her aunt,” he said, changing the subject with deliberate abruptness. “Her parents have agreed.”

Elias’ eyebrows rose again, but this time in genuine surprise. “Your… sister? The one who thinks marriage is the solution to every problem?”

“She is a respectable widow. Her household is above reproach. And she is far enough from London to give Marian time to… consider.”

“Consider your proposal? Or her feelings for you?”

Nicholas’s expression shifted. “Her options. Of which I am merely one.”

Elias studied his friend’s face, reading the tension in the set of his jaw, the carefully maintained blankness of his expression. “Speaking of options,” he said after a moment, his tone deceptively casual, “what exactly happened with our mutual acquaintance? I notice the Viscount Crowton seems to have made himself remarkably scarce these past days.”

The change of subject brought a dangerous smile to Nicholas’ face, sharp as a newly whetted blade. “He has discovered that his presence in London had become… untenable.”

“Has he indeed?” Elias moved to pour himself another drink, only to remember the decanter was still empty. He set it down with a sigh of resignation. “And would this discovery have anything to do with certain rumors now circulating about unexpected debts and questionable financial dealings?”

“The man has lived long enough,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping to a cold register that few people ever heard. “But I have no desire for blood on my hands. Making certain he will never show his face in polite society again seemed… sufficient.”

Elias observed his friend with a measuring gaze. “You have gone to considerable trouble for a woman you claim is merely a… project.”

Nicholas turned back to the window, his shoulders a rigid line beneath the fine linen. “He deserved worse,” he replied flatly. “The rumors he spread about Marian were only the latest in a long pattern. There were others too, you know — shopgirls, servants, even a governess. I simply… consolidated the evidence.”

“And ensured it reached precisely the right ears,” Elias added, a note of admiration coloring his voice. “Elegant if ruthless.”

“He will no doubt find a small estate in the north ready for his immediate occupation,” Nicholas continued, a grim satisfaction evident in his tone. “Far from London, far from society, and with just enough income to keep him from complete ruin — provided he never sets foot in this city again.”

“Remind me to never genuinely cross you.” Elias murmured, moving to stand beside his friend at the window. Outside, a carriage rattled past, its lamps bobbing like fireflies in the gathering darkness. “Though, I must say, this level of retribution seems… personal.”

Nicholas’s reflection in the windowpane betrayed nothing, his expression remaining fixed as if carved from stone. “It was a matter of justice.”

“Justice,” Elias repeated softly. “Or something rather more primal?”

A single muscle ticked in Nicholas’s jaw, the only indication that the question had struck a nerve. Rather than answer, he abruptly changed the subject, moving away from the window with deliberate steps.

“I care for her,” Nicholas said finally, each word emerging with careful precision. “More than I could have anticipated. More than is, perhaps, wise.”

“You care for her?” Elias repeated, his tone making it clear he found the phrasing inadequate.

Nicholas shot him another irritated glance. “What would you have me say?”

“The truth, in all of its bare glory, might be refreshing since you have been tip-toeing around it since I stepped through that door.”

“The truth.” Nicholas laughed, but the sound held no humor. “The truth is that I have spent decades building a fortress around my heart, cultivating a reputation for mischief, cold calculation, and ruthless efficiency. I have transformed a nearly bankrupt estate into one of the wealthiest in all of England. I have navigated politics, business, and society with precision and control.” His voice hardened. “And then a woman with a ridiculous list and more courage than sense comes around and simply… dismantles everything in the space of a fortnight.”

Elias remained silent, allowing his friend’s venting words to fill the room without challenge.

“Is that what you wish to hear?” Nicholas demanded, rising from his chair in a sudden surge of restless energy. “That I find myself thinking of her at the most inopportune moments? That I have barely eaten anything as food seems to have lost all of its appeal? That I wake in the night — on the rare occasion that I do manage to get any sleep whatsoever — remembering the sound of her laughter when she first floated in that damnable lake? That I find myself caring what becomes of her beyond all reason or logic?”

“It would be a start,” Elias replied mildly.

Nicholas raked a hand through his hair, his movements betraying the agitation he could no longer fully suppress. “To what end? She has made her position quite clear. She does not wish to marry me — or anyone else.”

“Did she say that explicitly?”

Nicholas paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he recalled the conversation in the Brandon’s garden. “She said she could not commit herself to a lifetime with someone who does not love her,” he said slowly. “And when I told her that I did… she did not believe me.”

“Imagine that,” Elias murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “A woman requiring more than half-certain words as evidence of devotion.”

Nicholas glared at him. “What would you suggest I do? A Public declaration? Some grand romantic gesture straight from one of your wife’s novels?”

“I would suggest honesty.” Elias replied simply. “Bearing your true feelings.”

“It matters little what I truly feel,” he said finally, his voice carefully controlled. “She has refused me. The matter has been put to bed.”

“Has it?” Elias rose, crossing to stand beside his friend. “Then why arrange for her to stay with your sister rather than simply allowing her to go to Bath? Why continue to involve yourself in her affairs at all? You have been talking in circles the entire night, Nicholas. Perhaps it is time you faced the truth, once and for all.”

Nicholas remained silent, the muscle in his jaw working hard as he clenched his teeth against words he was not quite ready to speak out loud just yet.

“Have it your way then,” Elias continued when it became clear that no response was coming. “I suppose it is all rather theoretic now, given recent… developments.”

Nicholas’ head turned sharply, his attention suddenly and completely focused on his friend. “What do you mean?”

Elias’ expression remained deliberately casual as he examined his fingertips with affected interest. “Oh, you have not heard? The Brandons appear to have found an alternative solution to their… predicament.”

A stillness came over Nicholas, the kind that predators adopted before striking. “What alternative solution?” Each word emerged with careful, dangerous precision.

“I am not aware of the finer details,” Elias replied, his tone suggesting the matter was of only passing interest. “Lydia mentioned something about a suitable match being arranged. A gentleman of good standing who is apparently willing to overlook the resent… unpleasantness.”

The crystal paperweights on the mantel suddenly found itself in Nicholas’ grip, his long fingers tightening around it until his knuckles turned white. “A match,” he repeated, the words flat and cold. “For Marian?”

“Indeed.” Elias moved back to his chair, settling into it with deliberate ease. “I gather it is all very preliminary, but Lady Prudence seems quite encouraged by the prospect. Apparently, the gentleman in question is known for his progressive views regarding education for women. Quite the intellectual by all counts.”

The paperweight made a dull thud as Nicholas set it down with controlled violence. “His name?”

“I don’t believe Lydia mentioned it.” Elias’ expression remained neutral though something suspiciously like satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Does it matter? I thought you’d established that your interest in Lady Marian was merely… protective. Like an investment."

Nicholas moved across the room with swift, predatory grace, coming to stand before Elias’s chair with an intensity that would have intimidated a lesser man. “His name, Elias.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Elias’ mouth. “You seem rather invested in this information for a man who claims to be merely concerned for Marian’s welfare.”

“If her parents have indeed found someone suitable,” he said finally, his voice carefully even, “then I wish her happiness.”

“Do you indeed?” Elias raised an eyebrow. “How remarkably selfless of you.”

Nicholas shot him a look that would have withered a less confident man. “What would you have me do? Challenge this unknown gentleman to a duel? Forbid the match? Marian has made her choice clear — she does not wish to marry me.”

“Has she?” Elias leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. “Or has she simply stated that she will not marry a man who does not love her? There is a rather significant distinction there, my friend.”

“When I told her I loved her, she thought it was merely… strategy. A means to an end.” he said slowly, realization finally coloring his voice.

“Well, that took you longer than anyone could have ever expected. Well, done!” Elias laughed teasingly before continuing, “However, given your reputation…” Elias observed dryly, “can you truly blame her?”

Nicholas’s laugh held no humor. “My reputation. The cold, calculating Marquess of Stone. The man who views everything — and everyone — as pieces on a chessboard to be moved for maximum advantage.” His voice hardened. “A reputation I cultivated quite deliberately.”

“And now find rather inconvenient,” Elias finished for him. “Life does enjoy its little ironies.”

Nicholas moved to the window again, staring out at the night-shrouded street as if it might offer some solution to his predicament. Gas lamps created islands of misty light in the darkness, illuminating the occasional late carriage returning from some social engagement.

“This… suitor,” he said finally, not turning from the window. “When is the match to be announced?”

“I honestly could not say,” Elias replied, rising from his chair with unhurried grace. “Though I gather things are moving rather quickly, given the circumstances. Lady Prudence seemed quite determined to have matters settled before any further damage could be done to the family’s reputation.”

A muscle ticked in Nicholas’ jaw, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath his controlled exterior. “I see.”

“Do you?” Elias moved to stand beside his friend, his reflection appearing in the darkened glass like a ghost. “Because from where I stand, it appears you are about to let a woman you claim to ‘care for’ marry another man without so much as a word of protest.”

Nicholas remained silent, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft ticking of the mantel clock and the occasional pop from the dying fire.

A flash of something dangerous crossed Nicholas’s face, there and gone in an instant. “Who is he, Elias?”

Elias regarded his friend with a measuring gaze, as if weighing his words carefully. “I believe Lydia mentioned he was a scholar of some sort. Or perhaps a collector of rare books? The details escape me.”

Nicholas’ expression darkened. “A name, Elias. I want his name.”

“Does it matter?” Elias’ tone remained deliberately casual. “If Marian truly wishes independence above all else, surely one husband is as objectionable as another.”

“Not if she believes…” Nicholas stopped, realization dawning across his features like the first light of day breaking over a darkened landscape. “Not if she believes this man truly values her mind. Her independence.”

“Precisely,” Elias agreed, satisfaction evident in his voice. “A man who shares her intellectual interests. Who would encourage rather than stifle her unconventional pursuits. Who would offer partnership rather than ownership.”

Nicholas’ hands clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitening with tension. “The exact qualities I offered her,” he said, his voice tight with controlled fury.

“But perhaps,” Elias suggested gently, “not the ones she believed you capable of providing.”

The statement hung in the air between them, its truth undeniable. Nicholas turned away, moving to the fireplace where he stood gazing down at the dying embers, his expression hidden from his friend’s observant eyes.

“I have been a fool,” he said finally, the words barely audible.

“On that, at least, we can agree,” Elias replied though without malice. “The question is, what do you intend to do about it?”

Nicholas straightened, something in his posture shifting as decision crystallized within him. When he turned to face Elias again, his expression had transformed — the uncertainty vanished, replaced by the focused determination that had built his fortune and reputation.

“First,” he said, his voice taking on the crisp authority that had cowed hardened businessmen and politicians alike, “I need to know exactly who this suitor is and how far arrangements have progressed.”

Elias’ lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “I might be persuaded to share what little I know… if you were to admit certain truths we’ve been dancing around all evening.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Elias countered. “The great Marquess of Stone brought low by something as common as love. It’s positively Shakespearean.”

The word hung in the air between them — love — stark and unavoidable. Nicholas stared at his oldest friend, internal struggle visible in his eyes for perhaps the first time since they’d known each other.

“Very well,” he said finally, the words emerging with the reluctance of a confession being dragged into the light. “I love her. I love Marian Brandon.”

Elias’s smile bloomed slowly, satisfaction evident in every line of his face. “Well,” he said mildly, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Nicholas glared at him. “The name, Elias. Now.”

“Richard Riverstone,” Elias replied, watching carefully for his friend’s reaction. “The Duke of Myste.”

The color drained from Nicholas’s face, leaving him pale beneath his tan. “Riverstone,” he repeated, the name emerging like a curse. “The collector.”

“The scholar,” Elias corrected. “Renowned for his library, his patronage of female authors, and his remarkably progressive views on education.” He paused deliberately. “And, I believe, a man you once described as ‘the most boring conversationalist in England.’”

Nicholas’ laugh held a note of genuine alarm. “He’s also wealthy, titled, and universally respected. Even I can find no fault with his character.”

“A formidable rival then,” Elias agreed, watching as Nicholas began to pace the room with renewed agitation. “Though I understand no formal arrangements have yet been made. The Duke merely expressed… interest in calling upon Marian.”

Nicholas stopped mid-stride, hope and determination warring in his expression. “When?”

“Tomorrow, I believe.”

With swift, decisive movements, Nicholas crossed to the bellpull, yanking it with enough force to suggest urgency to whoever might answer. “Then I have no time to waste,” he declared, running a hand through his disheveled hair as if suddenly conscious of his appearance.

“What do you intend to do?” Elias asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Nicholas turned to him, and for the first time that evening, a genuine smile transformed his features — wicked, determined, and utterly focused.

“I intend,” he said with quiet intensity, “to prove to Marian Brandon that I am not merely capable of love but that I love her with a depth and sincerity that would put Riverstone’s scholarly devotion to shame.” His eyes gleamed with newfound purpose. “And I intend to do so before that impeccably mannered, intellectually superior Duke of Myste has the opportunity to offer her everything I failed to convince her I could provide.”

As his study door opened to admit his butler, Elias watched his friend issue rapid instructions for a carriage to be prepared, fresh clothing to be laid out, and a message to be dispatched immediately to his sister’s estate in Derbyshire. For the first time since entering the gloomy study hours earlier, Elias felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

The Marquess of Stone — calculating, controlled, utterly rational, Nicholas Grant — had finally admitted what had been obvious to everyone except himself: he was completely, irrevocably, and quite inconveniently in love.