Текст книги "Nicholas: Lord of Secrets"
Автор книги: Grace Burrowes
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Two
Nick punched his pillow, the strains of Val’s soft music drifting to him through the darkness. Val played like this only when he was alone with a good instrument, the music flowing up from his soul, out across the keys, and off into the night air, never to be heard again. Nick was in awe of such a gift, such an endless flow of creativity and sheer beauty from inside one generally quiet man.
And if there was a price for such talent, Nick hadn’t yet puzzled it out. Usually, when Val conjured lullabies, sleep came to heel like a biddable spaniel.
Tonight, though, Nick was preoccupied with a single kiss.
In his thirty-some years on earth, Nick had done more kissing than he could remember. Kissing was fun, sweet, and harmless. He enjoyed it; the ladies enjoyed it; he suspected even his horse enjoyed it.
But kissing was also meant to be forgettable. No more worthy of recall than a pleasant meal, a good book, an enjoyable walk in the garden. Nick kissed his lovers, his sisters, his friends, his grandmother. Lately, he’d kissed his father a time or two, hoping each one was not a kiss good-bye. Nick kissed babies—babies were particularly fun to nuzzle and kiss and tickle—he kissed his horses and his cats and his cousins.
So why should it matter that he’d stolen a kiss from this Leah person, who was bound for holy matrimony with the odious Hellerington? He’d meant it as a little gesture of encouragement to her and himself both, a kiss for luck, as he’d said.
Nonetheless, lying in the acreage of his bed, surrounded by mountains of silk-covered pillows and the softest of linen sheets, Nick felt a growing unwillingness to let a disgusting old man have a taste of the lady, much less a husband’s claim on her. From the place inside Nick that would have killed to protect a sister or a friend, a place that had been tempted to violence on behalf of beaten animals, Nick felt a growing desire to spare the woman the fate that had moved her to tears.
His fate was sealed. He would marry a calculating little jade, and that was that.
Her fate, however, he could still influence.
Tossing aside the covers, Nick got up and found a dressing gown to cover his nakedness. The room was cold—Nick liked it cold. He lit some candles and found writing supplies in his escritoire. A note to his solicitors came first, asking them to attend him at their earliest convenience.
Then a note to Benjamin Hazlit, discreet investigator for the privileged few who could afford him. If anyone could bring Nick what he sought regarding old Hellerington, it would be Hazlit.
Those decisions made, Nick returned to his bed and let Valentine’s music drift over him once more. Val was sad about something; that was as clear as the tones of the piano’s lovely middle register.
Ah, well. Nick closed his eyes. What a gift it must be, to be able to turn sadness to beauty. He thumped his pillow one last time and let his imagination conjure up the memory of a sweet, soft, lingering kiss between strangers.
* * *
Nick thought of spring and autumn as feminine—changeable, unpredictable, lovely—and winter and summer as masculine—entrenched, reliably trying, challenging, not for the faint of heart. April qualified as spring, and this morning, she was wearing all her glory. The sun shone in beneficent abundance, a hint of softness graced the air, and in the park, daffodils bloomed in profusion along with the occasional precocious tulip. The distance to his grandmother’s house might have encouraged another man to ride, but Nick had already taken Buttercup out for her morning hack, and he liked to move about whenever possible.
Then too, he needed time to think, to consider Valentine’s question from the previous night: Were there any young ladies available this Season to whom he might offer marriage? Unpleasant topic to contemplate, but—
“I beg your pardon!”
Instinctively, Nick reached out to steady the lady into whom he had very nearly plowed.
“My apologies,” he murmured, catching a hint of lily of the valley fragrance, though it wasn’t coming from the petite blond squirming to retrieve her balance.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The little blond peeked up at him with a tentative smile from under her bonnet brim. “I was intent on getting to the ducks. I should have been watching where I was going.”
Nick stepped back and tipped his hat with a little bow.
“I am at fault.” He smiled down at her, then included the lady’s maid in his smile. “I was lost in thought and cannot even claim the topic as interesting as hungry ducks.”
Not a lady’s maid, but rather, a youthful maiden aunt who could indulge in an alluring perfume but no longer needed—or afforded?—a fashionable wardrobe. Still, there was something about the other woman that drew Nick’s interest, and not simply because she had lovely brown eyes, a bit of height, and lustrous dark hair framing a serious, pretty face.
Nick marshaled his manners. “If I may be so bold: Nicholas Haddonfield, Viscount Reston at your service, ladies, and again my apologies.” The blond glanced askance at the taller woman, obviously uncertain of the proprieties.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the taller woman said, her tone cultured, a little husky, and liltingly soft.
Five innocuous words, but it was enough. That soft, almost amused voice, the poise of it, and the charm… Nick knew immediately who she was, and drew in a slow, steadying breath. The lily of the valley scent connected with memories of their previous meeting and made the pretty day a shade closer to glorious.
“Whom was it my pleasure to nearly knock insensate?” Nick kept his smile in place, though it was arguably rude of him to ask when they hadn’t been introduced. Still, he could not abide to tip his hat and saunter away.
“Ladies Leah and Emily Lindsey,” the taller woman replied. She bobbed a curtsy, and her companion did likewise. Lady Leah gave not a hint of familiarity in her tone, gesture, or expression.
Not a hint of rejection, either.
“Might I impose my escort on you as far as the duck pond?” Nick offered. For good measure, he smiled disarmingly at the footman who hovered a dozen feet away, looking uneasy. “It’s a lovely day, and I would rather spend it in the presence of pulchritudinous ladies such as Mother Nature and yourselves than hurry to my destination.”
“You flatter prettily,” Lady Leah said, clearly more amused than impressed. “We will take pity on you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the footman. “John, Lord Reston will escort us to the pond.”
John nodded, apparently relieved that Lord Reston—all seventeen damned stone of him—presented no threat to his charges.
“I am on my way to see my grandmother,” Nick volunteered, winging an arm at each lady. “This puts me in line for a scolding, which is what grandmothers enjoy most with grandsons like me. I’ve been in Town almost ten days, you see, and I’ve yet to call on her. What shall I say was my excuse?”
“You could tell her you’re getting over a spring ague,” the blond said. Lady—Nick floundered for a moment mentally—Lady Emily. “It was nasty damp until last week.”
“That would serve, except she knows I’m seldom ill.”
“You could tell her you dreaded the scolding and waited for a suitably cheering day to make your bow,” the older sister said.
“The truth?” Nick affected a puzzled frown at Lady Leah. “With my grandmother? I will consider it as a novel approach. Do you ladies often come to feed the ducks?”
He kept up a pleasant, easygoing patter of nonsense talk, something he could do without thinking. As they chatted and strolled slowly toward the water, Nick studied his companions.
In the bright light of day, Leah Lindsey was revealed to be no longer in the first blush of youth, consistent with her disclosures the previous night. There was knowledge in her eyes, of things unpleasant and unavoidable. She carried herself with a well-concealed hint of caution, her grip on his arm cosmetic, unlike her sister’s.
The younger sister was innocent, Nick concluded. Probably not yet out, and happy to lark around in the park on a pretty day. This was the one for whom Leah was being sacrificed, and yet there was no enmity between the sisters. If anything, Leah was protective of her younger sibling.
Nick approved of that, though it wasn’t his place to make such a judgment.
Lady Emily held out a gloved hand. “I’ll take those bread crumbs now, John.”
“Shall we sit?” Nick suggested to the sister still loosely on his arm. Lady Emily became engrossed in feeding the ducks over by the water, John withdrew to a discreet distance, and Nick found himself relatively alone with the lady who’d kept him up half the night.
“Let’s take the bench,” Lady Leah said. “This is a day so lovely one wants simply to be still and drink it in, to save it up.”
“Such wistfulness,” Nick said as he lowered himself beside her. “Do you fear we’ll have no more such days?”
“The future is at best unpredictable,” Lady Leah said quietly. “For example, who could have predicted we’d cross paths twice in twenty-four hours?”
Pleasure—and relief—welled. “I wasn’t sure I was supposed to acknowledge that other, equally delightful meeting.”
“I hadn’t thought to ever see you again.” She was smiling as she said it, a soft, inwardly pleased curving of full lips.
Nick let himself bask in that smile and in the memory of those soft, delectable lips, until his blood began to stir in unmentionable places. “Everybody sees me. I am too big to sneak anywhere. What you hadn’t thought was to kiss me again.”
“My lord.” The frown was back in force. “We are in public.”
“Private enough.” Nick knew exactly where the footman stood, and the younger sister, and that the breeze put both upwind of this surprising conversation. “If the weather allows it tomorrow, may I meet you here again?”
“Whyever would you want to do that?” Leah’s voice was even, but a slight shift in her expression suggested Nick’s request did not meet with her approval.
Nor his own, exactly, but he’d puzzle that out later. “I have put a few things in train you need to know about,” Nick said, purposely keeping his gaze on Emily and the honking, quacking gaggle paddling about before her.
“What could you possibly be up to that would affect me, my lord?”
Nick grinned, despite his attempt to emulate a fellow just enjoying the weather. “You sound like my grandmother, all starch and vinegar. I’m going to relieve you of your intended’s offer.”
Beside him, Leah went still in the way she had the previous night. Not just still physically, but mentally.
“Has it occurred to you,” she said, her voice very low, “Hellerington may be replaced by something worse?”
“What could be worse than being wife to a disgusting old man who will likely give you diseases you cannot recover from?” Nick’s own tone had become the least bit clipped, and he was rewarded with a sharp intake of Leah’s breath.
“Being his mistress,” she said, so quietly Nick had to lean toward her to hear her.
Silence, while Nick considered the horror she’d just admitted. Her father wasn’t content to marry her off; he must end his daughter’s life in illness and disgrace as well. No man who called himself father should be free to perpetrate such misery on his daughter.
“That would be evil,” Nick said. “And I shall not allow it.”
* * *
From the window of his first-floor suite, Gerald Lindsey, ninth Earl of Wilton, had watched his two daughters link arms and stroll off toward the park. Well, his daughter and that creature his wife had presented to him. He wasn’t pleased with the amount of time Emily spent with Leah, but Emily liked her older sister, and as long as they both dwelled under his roof, it was an association the earl could closely monitor. Soon enough, he’d see Leah taken off his hands, and if he played his cards right, Leah’s marriage would foot the cost of Emily’s come out and wedding.
A scratching at the door interrupted his plans for Emily.
“Enter.”
The upstairs chambermaid bobbed a deep curtsy. “My lord.”
“Well?”
“She danced with a Lord Valentine Windham,” the maid said, careful to keep her gaze on the floor. “And described him to her sister as tall, green-eyed, and very much a gentleman.”
“He’s also very much Moreland’s only unwed surviving son and legendarily besotted with his music. Leah will never get an offer from that one. What other confidences did the ladies exchange over their morning tea?”
“In the course of the evening, Lady Leah was introduced to a Lord Reston, my lord. She described him as grand, tall, and fit, like an old-style Viking, and well mannered. His father is the Earl of Bellefonte, and I gather from the conversation, Reston is the heir.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing, my lord. The ladies were anxious to enjoy the sunny weather.”
“Go.”
He waited until the door closed before he let his features compose themselves into a frown. Reston? Bellefonte’s heir? But nothing of old Hellerington, who was desperate enough to pay handsomely for a titled bride of childbearing age?
Wilton lowered himself into the chair behind his estate desk and tried to dredge up details on the Bellefonte title. All he could recall was that the present holder of the title had been a younger son, serving in the military or diplomatic corps, and not particularly concerned with the earldom. There were a fair number of offspring, like a bunch of bloody farming Hanoverians. He scrawled a note to his man of business and rang for a footman.
Hellerington was welcome to Leah as far as Wilton was concerned. Yes, the man was a dissolute, sick scoundrel, but that only made it easier to toss the ungrateful bitch into his arms. Hellerington had been nothing if not patient, and in his own devious way, trustworthy. Still, business was business, and if this Reston fellow were interested, then it was simply prudent to entertain an offer from him.
Hellerington was desperate, but he wasn’t particularly wealthy, and wealth was one thing Wilton respected more than he wanted free of his late wife’s bastard.
* * *
“You have no say in the matter of my betrothal.”
Leah ground her words out, while the great length of Lord Reston to all appearances lounged beside her on the park bench, and Emily cavorted with the ducks like the schoolgirl she was. “And while you are no doubt well-intended, my lord, I must ask you to turn your attention to some other matter. My father will do as he sees fit. He is a peer of the realm, as he frequently reminds all and sundry. You cannot gainsay him. My brothers have tried to thwart him, and it has gone hard for them as a result.”
Reston shrugged broad, heavily muscled shoulders clad in excellent tailoring. “Your brothers have to live with him. I can have you spirited off to family holdings in Ireland, and your father won’t find you. How old are you?”
Damn him for the casual rescue he offered. “Five-and-twenty years.”
“So your father cannot tell you where to go, or with whom. If you consented to some travel, it would not be kidnapping.”
“I will not consent,” Leah said. “He has already threatened to cut off my brother without a penny and has reduced Darius’s quarterly funds to a pittance, as it is.”
“Let me help you,” his lordship rumbled. He shifted his tone, imbued it with a lazy sensuality that sent tremors of memory through low places in Leah’s body. “I ask nothing of you, only that you let me help you, and you might as well.” He stood and tipped his hat. “I’m going to whether you like it or not. A pleasure, Lady Leah.”
He ambled over to the water to take his leave of Emily, showing her the same courtesy he would an older lady. She blushed and smiled, flattered, no doubt, that a titled lord would pass the time of day with her. Watching the tableau, Leah had an astonishing thought:
If Reston married Emily, then Leah could dwell in safety with her sister. As a member of the family, Reston would be able to provide a home for Leah, and the earl would have to allow it.
And so what if the most memorable kiss Leah had experienced had been with her sister’s prospective spouse?
Leah rose. “Lord Reston!”
“My lady?” He was at her side in a few long-legged strides.
Leah glanced at the footman, who was respectfully keeping his distance. “If the weather is fair, I can chance to meet you again at this hour in three or four days’ time. I am watched, though, so it had better not appear contrived.”
“Watched by the help,” Reston concluded easily. “Friday then, weather permitting, or Monday. Until then.” He tipped his hat again and left with a final, thoroughly friendly smile at the footman.
* * *
“So that was your Viscount Reston?” Emily gushed as she and Leah sauntered toward home. “Grand, indeed, Leah. And so very well-mannered. Is he the kind of gentleman you meet at these balls and breakfasts?”
Leah smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm and chose her truths, as usual. “He’s larger than most and probably more charming than most. Did you like him?”
“Of course I liked him, though he is quite a specimen.”
“Quite.” Emily was just a shade over five feet in her stockings, while Leah was eight inches taller. If Nicholas Haddonfield was imposing to Leah in terms of both his charm and his physique, what must Emily make of him? “He’s a mild-mannered man as well, though. I shouldn’t think his size would matter a great deal to his friends and family.”
“Perhaps not,” Emily replied, then she gave a little shudder. “But to his wife?”
“He would be a gentleman, Em,” Leah said. “In everyregard.”
Emily cast her a curious glance, then shook her head. “He can be your gentleman, never mine.”
Bless Emily’s loyalty, and drat her stubbornness. “Don’t be too sure about that. He’s rumored to be in the market for a wife, and he’s an earl’s heir, Em. You could do worse. He’d be kind. I know he would.” And his kisses would be lovely. Drat that, too.
“Kind or not,” Emily said, “I’ve no wish to bear him his heirs. I’m sure I can find a suitable man among the fifty-one remaining candidates I’ve listed from Debrett’s, though perhaps I’d best start making inquiries regarding height, hadn’t I?”
Leah did not respond to that pragmatic observation, letting the subject drop. Emily had been ten years old when Leah had been whisked off to Italy, and the version of events passed along to Emily was no doubt the one that would put a girl in fear of the slightest misstep, particularly in her search for a husband.
She and Emily had never openly discussed the past, a small, curious sadness amid a sororal landscape full of them. A landscape that now included one very tall, well-mannered viscount with kind blue eyes.
And a devastating way with a kiss.
* * *
The young lady for whom Nick would cheerfully have given his last farthing and his last breath was strolling in her gardens, unaware that he watched her from the back of his mare on the grassy hill high above. Blossom Court and Clover Down were not two miles distant by the road, but the properties backed up to each other, and riding from one to the other cross-country was the work of a few minutes.
Every afternoon, weather permitting, the young lady walked outside with her companion. If the companion saw Nick up on the hill, she knew better than to wave. He paid her salary, after all, and kept the entire little jewel of a property simply so the young lady could have her peace and quiet in the pretty countryside.
Then too, if Nick’s presence were discovered, he’d be compelled to join the ladies, and there would be tears and apologies and more tears. He’d already tried to explain why he could not visit as often, and why he must marry and spend more time at Belle Maison.
Explanations that had fallen on deaf, heartbroken ears.
The companion took out a book, while the object of Nick’s devotion chose the location for the afternoon’s picnic. She and Nick had consulted endlessly over the flowers for each bed, most of which would not bloom for weeks yet. Forget-me-nots for true love, coreopsis for cheer, a border of mint for virtue. She chose to spread her blanket near a patch of daffodils—daffodils for chivalry—that Nick had planted for her the previous autumn.
The ladies settled in for a lazy afternoon, while Nick felt his chest constricting with frustrated need. He’d give anything to be the one reading that book to her, to be the one sharing the hours with her.
He sat there for a minute, savoring the simple sight of her. Sunshine beat down with springtime benevolence, while the scent of a field recently treated with the cow byre’s winter leavings lent a pungent, fertile undertone to the air. The mare swished her tail at some bold insect and stomped a hoof while Nick felt a yearning so old and futile it had long since eclipsed tears.
What she needed from him was the self-discipline to turn the horse back down the hill and resume the search for that bride he’d promised his father. Life, Nick reflected as he trotted his horse through the glorious spring day, could be so damned brutally hard.
* * *
“What has put you in the dismals?” Val asked Nick at breakfast the following Friday. “The sun is finally out, and spring is at hand.”
“Buttercup and I ran into Ethan in the park this morning,” Nick replied. “He is enough to put anybody in the dismals. Pass the damned teapot.”
Val slid the teapot—a pretty porcelain thing with blue and pink flowers glazed all over it—down to his host.
“I do not know your elder brother well,” Val said, “but mention of him does not seem to cheer you.”
“Nobody knows him well,” Nick opined, stirring a prodigious amount of sugar into his tea, then a fat dollop of cream. “We used to be close.”
Valentine made no reply, and Nick resented both the silence and his companion’s perspicacity.
“As boys,” Nick went on, “we were inseparable. I was his shadow, and we were of a size then, though he’s more than a year my elder. For several years, we rode one pony, then had to have matched ponies. Ethan is brilliant—quick and smart, not just one or the other. He could devise more ways to have fun and not get caught than you can imagine. Beckman used to trail us around like a puppy, and Ethan could lose him without him figuring out he’d been lost.”
“You loved your older brother.”
Nick scowled mightily. “Still do.” And nearly hated him too, sometimes.
“So what happened?” Val prodded, reaching for the teapot.
“An accident.” Nick tossed his tea back and appropriated the teapot before Val could pour himself a cup. “Bellefonte was in the habit of branding his saddles and harness and such with an H—for Haddonfield—and we thought we’d do the same with our boots, clever lads that we were. The brand landed on my backside by inadvertence, and Bellefonte decided Ethan had done it apurpose. Before that…”
Nick poured a second cup, stirred in more sugar, then more cream.
He stared at his tea. “Before that we were brothers and best friends. After Bellefonte tore into Ethan in front of me that day, we became the bastard and the heir. He sent us to separate public schools. He no longer permitted Ethan to spend holidays and summers with us. He sent Ethan to Cambridge while I went to Oxford.”
Valentine considered the teapot at Nick’s elbow. “Over a stupid accident? That doesn’t sound like your father.”
Nick’s smile was sad. “You know Bellefonte as a dear old fellow. Twenty years ago, he was up to his ears in children and responsibilities, and he was a regular Tartar. Grandmother sneaked a few letters for us, but Ethan and I could not sustain a bond. After a time, I told myself it was for the best. I imagine Ethan has done the same.”
“How could losing a brother and a best friend be for the best?” Valentine had lost two brothers, one to war, one to consumption. Nick knew the question was sincere and… difficult.
“I have three other brothers, and four sisters, and until my father sent Ethan away, I could barely have told you their names. Ethan and I were that close. As the heir, I needed to know my entire family, not just my favorite brother. Then too, Ethan needed to make his way, not spend his entire life protecting me and being my… companion.”
“I don’t know, Nicholas.” Val made another try for the teapot, and this time poured himself a cup immediately. “Devlin was raised with us, at least from the age of five on. Their Graces love him as if he were one of their legitimate sons. They saw to it he had the best of everything, and bought him his colors when Bart joined up, no questions asked. But he still felt second-rate, as if he were on probation…”
Val stopped and glared at his tea.
Rather than allow him to maunder on, Nick took pity on his friend. “Your point?”
“Your father isn’t solely responsible for the fact that you and Ethan haven’t made much progress recovering your friendship,” Val said. “Devlin was stuck, thinking himself unnecessary to us, when he could not have been more wrong.”
“But my family is not the Windhams,” Nick said. “We have no duchess humanizing us, no matriarch to smooth over Bellefonte’s many rough edges. Ethan is not necessary to us—he will not allow himself to be—and I’m not sure there is an us.”
Val smiled, a sweet smile the ladies found irresistible. “You are ridiculous. The Haddonfields sport a great deal of ‘us.’ Beckman has followed you all over southern England. George and Dolph can’t get a grade on an exam without you knowing about it. Your grandmother knows before your head hits the pillow exactly how many dances you stood up for and with whom. You remember every sister’s birthday, and her favorite flowers and colors. What is Beckman up to, by the way?”
Nick scowled at his plate, from which a significant portion of eggs and toast had disappeared, Nick knew not how. “Still rusticating. The earl sent him down to Portsmouth to look in on Three Springs for Grandmother. I don’t think he’s in any hurry to take up Town life, and I can give him one of my estates in Kent when I’m forced to reside at Belle Maison.”
But not both estates. Beckman could have Clover Down. Title to Blossom Court would always remain in Nick’s hands, no matter what.
“You’re frowning again,” Val said. “I hadn’t taken you for such an introspective fellow.”
“Must be the full moon. You up for a trip to Kent?”
“Of course, if there’s a piano to be played along the way.”
“I’ll send the requisite notes to my staff.” Nick felt a lift to his mood at the prospect of leaving London. “And ring for more tea, would you? Somebody drank the entire damned pot while you were picking my feeble brains.”
* * *
Leah did not hurry toward the park, but oh, Lord, she wanted to. She’d tossed away half the night, thinking she should send Reston a note telling him to leave her in peace. Or a note telling him today did not suit, or a note telling him…
Sending notes safely was no more possible now in Wilton House than it had been eight years ago, so she was going to wave him off in person. Emily didn’t want to marry the man, and Leah had to admit the girl had a point. Reston was the largest specimen of humanity Leah had ever seen; he had muscles on top of muscles, and such tremendous height. For the first time, it occurred to her that not just her father’s servants, but anybody in the park would know she’d met with Reston. Between his height, his golden hair, and his gentleman’s manners, he was that distinctive.
Gads. What had she been thinking?
“Good morning.” Reston’s pleasant baritone sounded to her left when she’d been on the bench beside the pond for only a few minutes. “Lady Leah? Yes, it is you. We met earlier this week, I believe, along with your dear sister, Lady Emily. May I join you?”
Leah nodded and found herself once again sitting beside the compilation of muscle, charm, and masculine appeal that was Viscount Reston.
“I sent my footman off to purchase some bread for the ducks,” Leah said, her tone clipped. “We haven’t privacy for long.”
“Then I will reserve the flirtation and flattery for later. Has Hellerington called upon Wilton yet?”
“He has an appointment Friday next,” Leah said, hating the catch in her voice and the truth of her words.
Reston stretched out long, long legs, all nonchalance and polished riding boots. “Not until then? That is all the time in the world. I might be calling on your papa by then myself.”
Leah closed her eyes, the lovely day and the handsome man at such variance with the topic under discussion as to make her queasy. “My lord, I am going to ask you again to desist from this course. Hellerington is devious and determined, as is the earl. They can lock me away without a word to anybody, and Wilton has threatened as much in the past.”
“Was that before or after he killed your fiancé in cold blood?” Reston inquired, keeping his eyes trained on the ducks, his hands propped on the golden head of his walking stick.
The words, so casually uttered, sent a blast of winter through the spring day. “You know about that?”
“I know your brothers also got you to the Continent for a couple years while your father’s ire cooled,” he added. “From what I hear, the young man was of good family and had honorable intentions. There was no cause for a duel.”
“There was not, but you may take from my experience that Wilton will stoop very nearly to murder to have his way. I do not think to thwart him with impunity.”
“You’ve considered it, though.” Reston slanted her another look. “You’ve considered running away, eloping with someone else, going into service. Why haven’t you done it?”
That he’d reasoned this accurately on so little acquaintance should have made Leah uneasy. Instead, it provoked her to confidences she ought not to be sharing. “He’s promised to take out any of my misdeeds on Darius,” Leah said. “I don’t know what hold he has over Darius, though much of it is financial, but I will not be the cause of my brother’s ruination.”
Reston rubbed his chin with a hand that should have been sporting gloves. Large hands but capable of a gentle touch. “I see.”
“You’ll leave me in peace, then?”
“My intention was never to disturb your peace, but rather to preserve it.”
“That is not an answer,” Leah bit out. “My lord, you are meddling with my life and the lives of the people I care about. You have no right to do this.”
