Page 11 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

A fter leaving the Trowbridge musicale, Nick stopped by Brooks’s for a nightcap.

He was stalling returning home because there was nothing for him there.

He sat in a quiet corner by the fireplace, sitting in a comfortable, overstuffed chair and nursing a glass of brandy.

His eyes stared into the amber liquid, hoping to find answers for his life.

For many years, he’d felt damaged. His heart was unable to feel anything, which was why he never married Priscilla.

He felt she deserved someone who could love her, and for most of his life, he was incapable of loving anyone.

He always wondered what was wrong with him, why his heart didn’t work correctly, and why it was damaged.

After tonight, he wished it didn’t work.

During his time with Priscilla tonight, his heartbeat had changed course.

It had veered from the damaged path it had been on and turned in another direction.

His heartbeat had reset. He could feel the rhythm change during their kiss.

His feelings had overloaded him, and he’d had to fight the need to make her his in every way possible.

The intense need was difficult to ignore in those gardens.

He now thought back to the blackguard he had been to her since she turned ten. That was the first time she’d announced to him that she would marry him. What a defiant child she had been .

Tonight, once his heart reset, he couldn’t get enough of her. It wasn’t just his heart. Everything changed. The gardens came alive with sounds and scents. His eyes saw things differently. Not just Priscilla but everything around him.

When she left him in the gardens, a painful crack split his heart in two.

Who knew one could actually experience pain from inside one’s heart?

How had he lived in the dull gray of life up until now?

And would he want to go back? Part of him did because it was easier to live in the darkness where your feelings could not be hurt than to live in the light and be vulnerable.

He had protected himself so well since his Eton days, and then from the gossip that started seven years ago, that he hadn’t realized what the darkness had done to him until it was lifted.

He brought the cut crystal brandy snifter to his lips and downed the drink in one gulp.

The burn going down his throat and spreading into his belly was comforting.

It didn’t solve his problems, but he felt better for it.

He left Brooks’s, collecting his hat, gloves, and coat from the doorman, and went to his carriage. “Home, Fitzroy.”

*

The following day turned out to be a miserable, rainy, and windy day—the kind where the rain pelts sideways.

Nick called upon the Viscount and Viscountess Norton.

After relinquishing his rain-soaked coat, gloves, and hat to the butler, he was led up the stairs and into a burgundy drawing room, where he found the married couple sitting together on a settee enjoying a light repast.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Hollingsworth?” Norton said as he sipped what smelled like strong coffee. Nick would kill for a cup.

“I have something to discuss with the viscountess.”

“Please sit,” Viscountess Norton said with a flourish. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.” He could almost taste it already.

“Nonsense. I have a pot right here. How do you take it?”

“Cream and sugar,” Nick replied.

She handed over the cup and saucer. He took a sip and sighed. “This is delicious.”

Norton agreed, and the viscountess laughed. “If you say so. I find the taste of coffee too similar to dirt. Not that I’ve eaten dirt, mind you.”

Nick found himself chuckling and relaxed as he sipped the hot coffee. “May I speak privately with the viscountess?” he asked, watching Norton closely.

“My wife and I have no secrets. In fact, she told me about your night with her previous cohorts. And I must apologize for what you went through. My dear wife had no choice but to take to extortion to make a living. She refused to sell her body, which I highly commend her for. But still, I realize what she did was wrong, and it did irreparable damage to your reputation. Seven years is a long time for the ton to remember such things.”

“What I ask of her is to spread gossip about her attending the masquerade ball and recall witnessing a lady drug me and help me leave.” He paused and exhaled.

“That is it. The gossipmongers will fill in the rest. It will make people doubt what they thought happened, and perhaps I can finally find a wife to give me sons to carry on my title.”

“Do you think it will work?” Viscountess Norton asked, her deep blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“I do. Members of the aristocracy are fickle creatures. If it doesn’t work, no harm is done. What else can they say about me to make matters worse?”

“I understand you were to marry Lady Priscilla Amesbury when she came of age. If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you?” Norton queried over the rim of his cup.

“Because I was foolish.”

“I understand she is widowed. Why not make her your marchioness now?”

“It’s complicated.” He rose and bowed. “Do we have an agreement?”

Viscount and Viscountess Norton both said yes simultaneously.

“Thank you, and I bid you good day.”

Nick made his way to Avery Manor to pay a call on Priscilla. Thank goodness the rain had let up, and he didn’t arrive resembling a wet dog. To his dismay, he arrived to find Latham sitting beside Priscilla on the settee while the Duchess of Avery sat in a chair across from them embroidering.

“Good day,” Nick bowed and glared daggers at Latham, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“Good day to you, Nicholas,” the duchess replied. “Please take a seat. Can I offer you refreshments? The cook just prepared a fresh tray with tea and cakes.”

He was liable to float away on the Thames if he drank anything else.

And then he really would resemble a wet dog.

“No, thank you,” he said as he took the chair beside the duchess.

His eyes took in Priscilla and how beautiful she looked in her pink-and-white day dress.

How he wished he sat beside her instead of Latham.

Even though his heart had transformed last night, he could still be a blackguard and selfish.

He didn’t trust Latham. He appeared to have mended his ways, but he’d spent years living in hell and lying.

Could someone truly change? He couldn’t have cared less if only his intentions were on anyone other than Priscilla.

Nick felt a certain responsibility for her.

A specific need to ensure she married well and was not used only for her money, even if she didn’t choose him.

Latham needed her dowry, but did he have feelings for her?

It wasn’t easy to tell. The man was nearly as good as he was at hiding his emotions.

If Nick were assured that Latham’s attentions were honorable and in Priscilla’s best interest, could he walk away?

That was a bloody fine question. He could walk away if that were truly what she wanted.

If she loved Latham, he would give her up to make her happy.

Until he knew what was in Pricilla’s heart, he would continue with their fake courtship.

And if his plan with Viscountess Norton worked, he could continue seeking a bride.

Perhaps tonight, at the soiree given by the Duke and Duchess of Blackstone.

Damn, if the idea of marrying someone other than Priscilla didn’t cause his heart burn.

*

“Hollingsworth must be desperate to show up here and propose his plan,” Norton said once their uninvited guest took his leave.

“Do you think he suspects anything?” Emma asked as she held her husband’s bony hand. She’d met Edward at her lowest point in London, and he’d taken her in and saved her. Several years later, she’d wept with relief when he’d married her, securing her future. They were true partners.

“If he did, he wouldn’t have come here today.”

“But?”

“But nothing, my dear. I married you to keep you safe. The likelihood of us being tried for our crimes, if they ever become known, is remarkably slim. There are advantages to being members of the aristocracy.”

“I understand, but sometimes I fear for the future,” Emma said as a chill invaded her body. “I didn’t expect Hollingsworth to come back into my life all these years later. We should never have attended the Langfords’ ball.”

Edward turned his hand over and intertwined their fingers. “Nonsense. You were bound to run into him. If not that night, some other night. We decided not to keep you hidden any longer, and I stick by that decision.”

Emma understood Edward’s desire to enjoy what time he had left since he had recently turned seventy.

He enjoyed showing off his young and beautiful wife.

Yet, she worried. Although she may have retired from the business, Edward was still involved.

It was where he received the funds to live.

He was the mastermind behind it all, even if he sought his replacement.

*

Sitting beside David, fidgeting with her hands on her lap, Priscilla tried not to stare at Nick.

More precisely, she tried not to stare at his lips.

The lips that kissed her senseless last evening.

Looking at him now, all she could think about was grabbing him by the hand and dragging him up to her bedchamber.

She could only imagine the extent of their shared pleasure if they were naked and in her bed.

Oh, dear. She twisted her hands to keep herself from fanning her heated cheeks. She must think of a cold, snowy day to cool off. She took her eyes off Nick. He had stared at her the entire time she’d stared at him, making her wonder if he was thinking about their time alone in the gardens as well.

“Are you both attending the Blackstone soiree this evening?” she asked, hoping to distract herself.