Page 15

N athaniel paced his study later that night, brandy glass clutched too tightly in his hand.

The memory of Almack’s still burned like bile in his throat.

Evelyn—graceful, maddening Evelyn—had looked entirely too pleased, whirling about the dance floor with half the eligible bachelors of London.

That had been the plan, of course. Find her a suitable husband.

Someone respectable who would protect her from that scoundrel of a father.

Someone who would get her out of his house post haste.

He took another swallow of brandy, welcoming the burn.

And then Halston had appeared, cutting through the crowd like a shark through the still waters. William bloody Halston with his perfect cravat and practiced smile. The golden boy. His uncle’s voice echoed in his memory:

“Young Halston is going to make quite the name for himself. He will go far. Maybe even the Privy Council,” his uncle had told him on one of the rare occasions that Nathaniel had visited him during a break from Cambridge.

Halston was the sort of heir his uncle wanted. Not Nathaniel. If he could not have a child of his own, then his uncle wished to be a man just like Halston. Charming on the outside. Ruthless on the inside.

Nathaniel shuddered as he thought of the time they had spent together at school. Halston, or Will, as he’d been known then, hadn’t wasted one precious chance of ridiculing Nathaniel when his status as heir changed time and again.

Nathaniel hadn’t seen Halston in years. He hadn’t even thought of him at all until tonight. But now he was back. Why? And for how long? Hadn’t he relocated to Newcastle to run his estate? At least that’s what Nathaniel remembered.

He slammed the empty glass down and reached for the decanter. Devil take it all.

He had escaped Almack’s without exchanging pleasantries with his old rival, but the damage was done. The memories had resurfaced, leaving him in a foul temper.

The house had been quiet for hours. Unable to face his bedchamber—with its proximity to hers—he found himself wandering to the music room—his uncle’s pride.

A magnificent pianoforte stood in the center, its moonlight from the tall windows casting a silver glow.

Nathaniel sat heavily on the bench, pouring himself another measure of brandy.

The liquid caught the moonlight as he swirled it again. He shouldn’t have another glass. He’d already had his share at Almack’s and more.

Still, tonight felt like a night for drinking.

He placed it beside him and opened the pianoforte’s lid.

His fingers hovered over the keys before pressing down randomly, producing a discordant jumble of notes that matched his mood perfectly.

He winced. Music had never been his talent—another disappointment for his uncle, who adored all manner of music and played five instruments.

“I didn’t know you played.”

Evelyn’s voice startled him, but he didn’t turn.

Couldn’t. Not with his defenses so thoroughly dismantled by brandy and melancholy.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her. She stood in the doorway, a vision in her night rail and wrapper, her dark hair loose about her shoulders.

The sight of her made his chest ache in a way he could not allow.

“I don’t,” he replied, still not looking at her. The brandy had loosened his tongue. “I just sit here sometimes. Pretending I’m not someone who steadily disappoints everyone.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Too honest. Too revealing.

He sensed rather than saw her approach, felt the slight dip of the bench as she sat beside him. Not touching, but close enough that he could smell the lavender on her hair.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice gentle in the darkness. Gentler than usual, anyhow. Her biting scorn was absent. A result of his confession earlier?

He straightened his spine, reaching for the familiar armor of arrogance.

“Nothing of consequence,” he said with forced lightness. “I merely meant I disappointed some of my associates who ruined your chances of finding a suitable husband tonight at Almack’s by making you dance. I had no idea you possessed two left feet.”

It was a blatant lie. She moved with the grace of a sylph, and they both knew it.

Her eyebrows rose. “How peculiar. I received three compliments on my dancing this evening alone.”

“Flattery,” he said dismissively, pressing another random key. “Men will say anything to a pretty face.”

“Including you. Although in your case, what you have to say is neither flattering nor kind.”

He felt his mouth quirk upward despite himself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you?” she pressed.

“Nothing that concerns you.” He idly pressed another key, then another. “I have arranged for Lord Worthington to call tomorrow, by the way. He expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes elaborately.

“Don’t do that in front of gentlemen,” he admonished. “It’s most unbecoming.”

“I am always on my best behavior in the presence of true gentlemen,” she replied, her tone saccharine.

“Lord Pendleton might disagree, considering how you pushed him into the pond.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That was an accident! Though someone told me just this evening that Pendleton thoroughly deserved it.”

“Who said that?” he asked, curious despite himself.

She lifted her chin. “I shan’t say.”

“Very well, keep your secrets.” He took another sip of brandy.

“Though I must say, you seem remarkably resistant to all the eligible gentlemen I’ve presented.

Lord Stafford has an impeccable lineage.

Sir Franklin possesses a fortune that would make Croesus envious. What fault do you find with them?”

“They’re insufferably dull,” she complained. “All they wish to do is walk in the park and discuss the weather. Or worse yet, sermons.”

“What would you prefer?” he asked, genuinely curious now. “Go riding?”

“I detest riding,” she said vehemently. “When I was twelve, I had a rather unfortunate experience with a stallion at our country estate. The beast tried to throw me into a ditch. I’m convinced horses can smell fear, and they find it delicious.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, a genuine sound that surprised them both. “I did not know about that. Maybe the horse feared he would suffer the same fate as Lord Pendleton.”

“You have the wit of a toothless fishwife,” she replied. “Anyhow, my father lectured me for an hour about proper horsemanship while I dripped all over his carriage.”

“He sounds like my uncle. He was fond of lectures also,” Nathaniel said softly.

A comfortable silence fell between them. His fingers found the keys again, this time picking out a simple melody his mother had taught him long ago. Imperfect, but recognizable.

“You said you don’t play,” Evelyn said.

“I don’t. Not really.” His fingers continued their halting progress. “My mother tried to teach me. I never had the patience.”

“You’re not as terrible as you claim,” she observed.

“High praise indeed.”

She laughed, the sound like silver bells in the quiet room. Something in his chest loosened at the sound.

When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “Nathaniel?”

The sound of his name caught him off guard. He stopped playing.

“Yes?”

“Why would it be so bad to ask Lady Appleton to leave and for me to have the dower house? You cannot be happy with the current arrangement.”

“You know why. The will.”

“The will, yes. But she is not attached to the house. She would leave if only you paid her enough money to go,” she said, pushing her lips forward a little.

“I will not make her do anything. The will was clear. And you and I have an agreement, as you well know,” he said.

“So I’m to be passed from one man’s protection to another’s?” Her voice held an edge now.

He finally turned to look at her directly. In the moonlight, her eyes were luminous. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Are you?” she challenged. “Or are you simply trying to rid yourself of an inconvenient responsibility?”

He knew it had started that way. He had wanted to be rid of her so he could avoid possible complications, but now? Now things were more complicated. Now that he knew her better and oddly even enjoyed her company, he knew he had to marry her off even more so.

“Why must you challenge me? We have an agreement. I am doing my best to find you better options.”

“Perhaps I enjoy challenging you. Perhaps I like to exasperate you,” she fired back.

“And you do it so very well,” he said, eyes fixed on hers.

“Why, thank you. Do you know what else?” She leaned forward so that he smelled her lavender perfume. “I think you like it.”

The honesty of her words hung in the air between them. He should deny it. He should make a cutting remark and send her away. He should do anything but what he was about to do.

Slowly, giving her every chance to retreat, he leaned forward, so close he felt her breath brush against his cheek.

“Maybe I do,” he murmured.

He could feel her breath against his lips.

Then—

The door creaked open.

“Begging your pardon, Your Graces!” Jenkins, the young footman, stood frozen in mortification. “I was told everyone had retired. I was only coming to clear the glasses.”

Nathaniel jerked back as if burned, the spell broken. Reality crashed back with humiliating force. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking at all. That was the problem.

Evelyn stood without a word, dignity wrapped around her like armor, and swept from the room without a backward glance.

Left alone with Jenkins and his humiliation, Nathaniel reached for his brandy and drained it in one burning swallow.

“Leave it,” he growled at the footman, who promptly backed out with a hasty bow.

Nathaniel remained seated at the pianoforte, staring at the empty doorway where she had disappeared. The memory of her skin beneath his fingertips haunted him still.

God help him. He was falling for his uncle’s widow. And there wasn’t enough brandy in all England to help him drown that particular problem.