Page 30 of Marrying a Marquess (Widows of Mayfair #3)

D uring the play, Nick thought his heart might leap from his chest. Whenever the inside of the theater was bathed in light, Lady Grace looked at him with pleading eyes, her face filled with sadness.

The Countess of Wilmington glared at him.

If looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over.

The countess made him want to tear his hair out, while Lady Grace made him want to run away.

He hated disappointing anyone or making them sad.

Over the past month, he had grown fond of Lady Grace.

She was kind and easy to talk to, and she didn’t judge him harshly for the things he had done.

He wasn’t fool enough to think she cared deeply for him—she didn’t.

She looked upon him as her savior. But any way one looked at it, she deserved a man better than him.

When the play ended, he thanked Blackstone, said his goodbyes, and left.

He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to spend more time with Priscilla, nor did he want to speak to Lady Grace or Lady Wilmington.

His joyful mood from earlier in the day had turned dark, and it wasn’t fair to Priscilla or Grace to deal with him when he was like this.

He wandered the streets aimlessly until he found himself at the townhouse he had purchased for Anne, his former mistress.

Candles still glowed, so he knew she must still be awake.

He hadn’t heard from her since the unfortunate encounter in the park with her father, nor had he heard from her father after the note he had sent.

Well, there was no time like the present to find out what she and her father had decided.

He tapped his knuckles on the door. Six months ago, he would have walked right in, but the house now belonged to Anne, and it didn’t feel right to barge in.

The servants who cared for her were still under his employ, but they did not spy for him, per his request. He paid for their services but did not want to know what happened in the household or what Anne did.

After knocking several times without a response—where were the servants?—he sighed and turned the door handle. As he opened the door, he called out, “Hello? Is anyone home?” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Anne, where are you?”

Still no answer. He climbed the stairs and checked the drawing room.

Candles cast a soft light, but the room was empty.

He hated intruding on Anne’s privacy, but what if something was amiss?

Perhaps she had given the servants the evening off and took to her bed sick, or worse, in early labor.

She was with child, after all. He needed to know she was all right.

With his heart pounding, he marched down the hall to the master bedroom and paused outside when he saw the door slightly ajar and voices coming from inside.

“Have you heard from Hollingsworth lately?” said a man’s voice he knew all too well. It took all his self-control not to storm in there and strangle him. Nor could he bring himself to leave. What they discussed pertained to him.

“Not since my father and I saw him in the park,” answered Anne.

“I thought you weren’t speaking to your father.”

“I’m not. Not since he tried to marry me off to his assistant. It was Hollingsworth’s idea.”

“Of course it was. The man insinuates himself into everyone’s life.”

“How is your nose?”

“Broken and hurts like bloody hell. I can’t wait to find him alone some night and beat him senseless. I’ll make sure I disfigure his face permanently so no lady will have him.”

Nick’s hands fisted by his side, and his entire body vibrated.

“Does he still believe this baby is his?”

“Yes. He will never learn the truth from me,” Anne replied.

Red flashed in and out of his vision as he struggled to maintain control. Anne had deceived him. The child she carried belonged to Latham, and she had lied because she needed him to support her. After all, Latham was broke and unable to do so. How could she do this to him?

Soft footsteps echoed down the hallway, bringing him out of his shock. “My lord, what brings you here at this hour?” asked Mrs. Mullen, the housekeeper, her voice barely above a whisper.

“My apologies, Mrs. Mullen. I knocked, but no one answered, and I was afraid perhaps Anne had taken ill.”

Mrs. Mullen shook her head, looking cross. “She isn’t in bed because she is ill, my lord. Forgive me; I’ve wanted to send you a note, but you specifically asked us not to spy on Mistress Anne.”

“I believe I understand what you wanted to tell me. Now that I know the truth, I can’t keep paying your salary or anyone else’s. I’m sorry. I will provide a month’s pay and letters of recommendation.”

Mrs. Mullen curtsied. “Thank you. That is very generous of you.”

“Would you please inform the others?”

“Yes.”

“Tell them to come to my residence tomorrow, and I will give them sealed letters and their pay.”

“You are most kind, my lord.”

“I thought you gave all the servants the night off?” Latham’s voice traveled out to the hall, followed by footsteps across the room.

The conversation with Mrs. Mullen had been quiet, but not quiet enough.

The door swung open, and Nick came face to face with Latham, dressed only in breeches.

The shock Nick witnessed on Latham’s bruised, swollen face was almost laughable.

“Will you ever stop interfering in my life, Hollingsworth?” The man sneered with animosity.

“I believe it is you interfering in mine.”

Latham hauled back his arm and threw a punch, but Nick stopped it quickly enough.

He didn’t spend several mornings a week at Gentleman Jackson’s Club for nothing.

It was how he managed his emotions. Perhaps Latham should consider joining the club.

Although, if Nick ever found himself in the ring with him, only one person would be left standing on their feet.

“What the bloody hell?” he glared as Nick held onto his fist, squeezing as hard as he could.

“Let him go, Nicholas,” Anne said as she came to the door wearing a night rail that did little to hide her figure or growing belly. “You left me. I had every right to find another protector.”

Nick released Latham’s hand and narrowed his eyes. “You lie. I heard everything. The child you are carrying is Latham’s.”

Anne and Latham looked at each other in alarm.

“The house is yours, but don’t expect another pound from me. Your allowance is gone as of tonight, and so are your servants. Good luck paying the taxes and managing the upkeep on this property.”

She reached out and grabbed his arm. He glanced down at her hand with disdain. “You promised to take care of me and the baby forever.” She stomped her foot and yelled, “You promised!”

He brushed her hand off his arm like an unwanted bug and leaned close to her face.

“I promised to take care of you if you chose not to take another protector, which you did. I promised to provide for the child when I believed it was mine.” He paused, edged closer, and said, “You lied on both counts. I regret putting the deed to the house in your name.” He paused.

“You still have options. You can marry your father’s assistant and give your child a name.

You can sell this townhouse and buy something smaller and bank the rest to live on. ”

He moved his eyes to Latham. “Don’t you ever speak to me or Lady Priscilla again. If you do, the dueling field it will be.”

As he made haste to leave, he nodded to the housekeeper and practically ran down the stairs and out of the house.

Several doors down, he bent over at the waist, gasping for air, and lost his dinner into someone’s bushes.

Every nerve in his body vibrated with anger at himself for not seeing Anne for what she was until tonight.

Had she been entertaining Latham for years, making a fool of him?

He wouldn’t doubt it—not after what he knew now.

His only regret was the child she carried and not providing for it even though it wasn’t his.

The child, at least, was innocent. A conversation with her father was needed.

Nick had to have confirmation the man would provide for them.

And if Nick had to provide her father with funds, so be it.

As long as it stayed between the two of them.

His mind raced along with his heart, and he knew he wouldn’t settle down and sleep.

He wandered the streets for the second time that night and found himself before Avery Manor.

A single candle glowed in the entry hall.

Nick knocked, hoping no one would answer the door.

He did not want to explain his presence at this time of night.

When no one opened the door, he walked to the side where the servants’ entrance was.

He turned the knob and frowned at finding it locked.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black leather bifold.

Ever since the day the viscountess, going by the name Esmeralda, led him astray, he kept tools with him.

One never knew when a lock would need picking.

That was one good thing that had come out of Eton. Holzer taught Nick how to pick locks.

Making quick work of the lock, he quietly stepped inside, closing and locking the servants’ door behind him.

He knew where to go. How many times had he been here, after all?

Even drunk as he was the other night when he’d snuck in through this door, he’d remembered how to get to Priscilla’s chambers.

Though the door had been unlocked that night, which was a godsend, because in his inebriated state he didn’t think his lock picking skills would have worked.

He tiptoed down the hallway, feeling his way along the wall, glad that he knew her parents’ chambers were in the opposite wing.

When he arrived at Pricilla’s door, he paused, his hand covering his heart, which thumped fast. He tried to settle it down.

After several breaths, he opened the door, snuck inside, closed, and locked it.

“Priscilla?”

“Nick. Why are you here? Can’t a lady have privacy in her own chambers?”

He shrugged his shoulders, not that she could see him in the dark. “Obviously not. Can you please light a candle? I don’t want to trip on something and make a loud noise.”

“So demanding.” He heard the rustling of the covers and the soft patter of her feet as she moved around.

She proceeded to light several candles, and he found his eyes entranced by the shape of her body, perfectly silhouetted through the translucent pink nightgown by the glow from the candle.

Before he could stop himself, he groaned.

“Don’t make that sound. You are not an animal.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Nick, why are you here? I just saw you two hours ago at the theater,” Priscilla said. She sat on her bed, her back against the headboard, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Though it was a bit too late for modesty to be of much use. He had already seen every alluring part of her body thanks to the sheer night rail she wore, and he wanted nothing more than to peel it off her body.

He ran his hands through his hair. He hadn’t come here to take her to bed; he had come to talk... again. But seeing her sitting like that had him suddenly feeling mischievous. He jumped onto the bed, sitting beside her, his legs stretched out and his booted feet crossed at the ankle .

“Get off my bed.”

“I’d rather not. I have things to say and questions to ask you.”

“I’m not in the mood for answering,” she said with a challenge in her voice.

“What I have to say or ask cannot wait. I found out tonight that the child my former mistress carries is not mine.”

She swung her head toward him and narrowed her eyes, likely trying to assess if he was telling the truth. “That is good news, is it not?”

He grinned. “Excellent news indeed.”

“And whose baby is it?”

He grinned and snorted. “Take a guess.”

Crossing her arms on her chest, she sighed. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

He took pity on her. “None other than Baron Latham.” He paused. His eyes studied her face. Her head lowered, her eyes closed, and she inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry. That man has turned out to be a menace to both of us.”

“No truer words. I have a favor to ask.” He had no right to ask this of her, but he was bone weary and didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

“Yes?” Her eyes flicked to his and gave him a peek into her soul. A sweet, kind, patient soul.

“May I spend the night?”

“Nick, I don’t think that is a good idea in so many ways.”

“Just to sleep. I don’t want to be alone.

” He knew it was much to ask, and he wouldn’t have if he weren’t so desperate.

It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts over the shock of what he learned from Anne and Latham, but also because—and he wasn’t too prideful to admit it—his dignity was wounded.

He’d always believed he was an intelligent man.

How wrong he was. All his decisions lately proved that regarding Priscilla, Lady Grace, and Anne .

He also didn’t want to be alone physically.

He needed to be with someone he trusted.

And he trusted Priscilla with his life. The sound of her breathing, the jasmine scent of her hair, the knowledge that she lay beside him would go a long way in easing the turmoil inside him and help him get the rest he needed.

If he slept soundly, perhaps he would see things clearly tomorrow.

“What if someone sees you in the morning?”

“Did anyone see me leave the other morning?”

Sighing deeply, she looked at him again, her hazel eyes showing the soft gold color from within. “Fine. Just stay on your side of the bed.” She pointed at his feet. “And get those filthy boots off.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said with a relieved laugh.

He slid to the side of the bed and struggled to pull off his boots.

The little minx didn’t offer to help. Once he got them off, he stood, removed several articles of clothing until he was left in his shirt, breeches, and socks, and climbed beneath the covers of Priscilla’s bed.

A bed he never thought he would be in. And up until recently, never wanted to be.