Текст книги "Nicholas: Lord of Secrets"

Автор книги: Grace Burrowes

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Leah cocked her head. “It wasn’t before the appointed hour. You sent a note telling me when to meet you there.”

“Did you see the note?” Nick asked, his hand going still between her shoulder blades.

“I did not. William told me a boy brought it to the kitchen door, though he thought it was from Darius. But you’re telling me you didn’t send it?”

“I did not,” Nick said, his hand moving over her back again. “Who knew you were going to the park, Leah?” His tone was curious and relaxed, but inside his skin, he felt the urge to bellow with rage. Leah’s disclosure eliminated any possibility the attack had been random mischief.

“Emily knew, Darius, and my lady’s maid, who reports directly to Wilton. Anybody those people talked to, you, whomever you told, and Lady Della. I’m always strolling there. It’s the only place where I can go and think in peace.”

“Drink your tea,” Nick said, downing his at one gulp. “I cannot like this, Leah. It implies somebody in your own household colluded to have you attacked. I don’t want to let you go back to Wilton’s household.”

Her father might be behind the attack, a notion that acquainted Nick with the sensation of his blood running cold.

“I don’t want to go back there.”

“Leah, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Those men told me that where I was going I’d be taught respect, because the rough trade was always eager for haughty bitches like me, even if I was slightly used goods.”

Nick’s voice was much steadier than he felt. “I want to hold you, but I also want to treat the bruise on your jaw. I’m sure there’s ice and arnica waiting just outside the door, and you will bruise less and hurt less if we see to you now.”

“All right.”

“There’s my girl.” Nick gave her an approving nod—though she wasn’t his girl, wasn’t his anything, yet—and rose to fetch the ice. “If you’d sit on the table? You are lucky,” Nick said as he hunkered before her a moment later. He had the towel over his shoulder, the bowl of ice in his hand. “This could have easily laid you open.”

He blotted some cold water on a corner of the towel and dabbed carefully at her chin. “You’re going to be sore. The bruise is rising from here”—he grazed the point of her chin with his finger—“to here, and then back along your jaw to here.”

“Soft food,” Leah said. “Soups, fresh bread and butter, and willow-bark tea for the ache.”

“And ice,” Nick reminded her, gently applying the freezing towel to her jaw. He rose and stood beside her so she could lean against his hip while he held the ice against her face. “I am sorry,” Nick said. “So sorry, Leah.”

“You didn’t cause this.”

“We will find out who did. That’s a promise.”

A knock on the door interrupted his assurances but didn’t move Nick from his post. “Enter.”

Benjamin Hazlit walked in, taking in the scene with a frown. “I beg your pardon, Reston.” His dark gaze shifted to Leah. “Lady Leah, I presume?”

“Hazlit.” Nick didn’t move away from Leah. “I am pleased to see you.”

Hazlit smiled sardonically. “And astonished, no doubt. While I will invariably ignore a summons, I will honor the occasional request, particularly when violence to innocent ladies is involved. How are you, Lady Leah?”

“I have all of one bruise,” Leah reported. “Nicholas, would you introduce us?”

“My apologies.” He would have danced on his head and spit pennies had she asked it, though how the civilities would add to the situation, he did not know or care. “Lady Leah Lindsey, may I make known to you the Honorable Benjamin Hazlit. Benjamin, Lady Leah.”

“A pleasure.” Hazlit bowed. “Even under the circumstances.”

“Likewise.”

“I took the liberty of intruding on Reston’s home because I wanted to discuss matters before your memory of them has faded.” He glanced at Nick, who gave tacit assent to an interview. “May I be seated?”

“Of course. Nick?”

“Five more minutes,” Nick replied, moving the ice a little against her jaw as he glanced at the clock. “Help yourself to tea, Benjamin, and we ordered a late lunch, but the lady wasn’t equal to that challenge. It will go to waste otherwise, and I’ve graced your table often enough.”

“My breakfast table,” Hazlit allowed, pouring himself tea. “Lady Leah? Can you tell me what happened?”

He let her get through one telling of the entire story, addressing her need to put the sorry business into words, then he went back and began to color in the gaps with her. Did her attackers have any accent? Did she notice any particular scents? Did they address each other as familiars or by name?

On and on he questioned, drawing from her things she no doubt hadn’t realized she knew. He’d begun making notes, and somewhere during the interview, Nick had brought a rocking chair for Leah and lowered himself to the arm of the sofa so he didn’t quite sit beside her but remained propped near at hand, keeping silent watch.

In truth, Hazlit’s arrival was an unlooked-for blessing, because his calm, methodical questioning was creating results Nick, in his anger and upset, could not have.

“And what did you see of the coach?”

“Was there a tiger holding the leaders?”

“Were the wheels painted any particular color?”

Hazlit went on in the same fashion then shifted to put his questions to Nick, who was surprised at what he knew but hadn’t been aware of: how tall the men had been, their ages, the color of their clothing, hair, eyes. The type of boots they’d worn, the color and condition of the horses pulling the unmarked coach.

“So what do you think, Hazlit?” Nick asked almost two hours later.

“These were not common thugs,” Hazlit said. “Not just fellows hired for a morning’s lark. You’re dealing with somebody of means, who can keep a matched team of decent coach horses, frequent the more expenses houses of vice enough to know which ones are procuring, and use not just two, but five men to subdue a single woman.”

“Wilton,” Nick hazarded. “Or Hellerington.”

“We’ll start there,” Hazlit agreed, “but it shouldn’t be hard to find somebody who saw something, then too…”

“Yes?” Leah prompted.

“I always have somebody watching the park,” Hazlit said with a modest shrug. “A great deal goes on there, right under the nose of Polite Society, that you wouldn’t suspect. Lovers meet, illicit notes are passed, purses are snatched, crimes negotiated, blackmail payments made. It’s a busy place and worth keeping an eye on.”

Nick regarded his discreet investigator with no little respect. “You scare me, and I’m glad you’re not my enemy.”

Hazlit looked Nick up and down. “I’m glad we are not competing for the favors of the lady,” Hazlit remarked, “for I rather enjoy having my teeth and the ability to walk upright. I’ll report back as soon as I know something. Lady Leah.” When he’d bowed his farewell to her and left them alone, Nick hunkered on the low table and faced Leah, his splayed legs falling outside of hers.

“He’s a useful fellow to know,” Nick said, “and I like him.”

“I did too, but I think you have the right of it. His enemies had better run fast and far, and hide well.”

“You want to run and hide too,” Nick said, only to have her gaze slide away from his. “Why? I want only to keep you safe.”

“I was going to refuse your proposal today.” She smoothed the pleats of her walking dress down but could not hide the slight tremor in her hand. “I want a real marriage, Nick, not some polite caricature of the institution. I want all the foolish, romantic, impractical things I knew five years ago were not ever going to be mine.”

“They aren’t foolish, and you deserve them.”

He could be patient and reasonable, despite the panic her words set off in his gut, because she’d used the past tense in a conditional sense. She had beengoing to refuse his proposal, and this alone gave him the resolve to keep his wayward embraces to himself.

Still, he had to be sure.

“You were going to refuse me,” he said, “but you won’t now—will you?”

Nine

“My lord.” Nick’s butler tapped on the door but did not open it. “Lord Amherst and the Honorable Mr. Darius Lindsey, come to call.”

Nick held Leah’s gaze for one moment longer, then went to the door and spoke quietly to his servant before turning back to her.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Nick said. “You aren’t. I will not have it, and you don’t want to go. Leave your brothers to me.”

She said nothing, and then Trenton and Darius Lindsey joined them in the library.

“Gentlemen,” Nick offered in greeting.

“Leah.” Darius held out his arms to her, while Amherst watched, his expression impossible to read. Leah was in Darius’s embrace in two swift strides.

“She has a bruise on her jaw,” Amherst said with quiet menace. “Leah, tell us you’re all right, save for that.”

“I’m all right,” Leah managed, though her words were muffled against Darius’s coat. “It’s just a bruise, and I’m all right, now, but oh, Trent…”

Nick summarized the events of the afternoon, the threats made to their sister, and the steps he’d already taken to track down the culprit.

“Leah and I had made arrangements to meet in the park at three of the clock.” The day was temperate, but Nick had had a fire lit. He stabbed at it with a wrought-iron poker as he spoke. “The footman told Leah a note had been delivered to Wilton’s kitchen, asking her to come to the park at two, though the note was not signed. Had I not gone to the park quite early to enjoy the day, this kidnapping might well have been successful.”

He crossed the room and passed a brandy to Leah, making sure their fingers brushed as he did. Her hand was ice cold, but her eyes lacked the bruised, wary look they’d had two hours ago.

“That doesn’t prove Wilton’s involved,” Amherst observed, sipping a brandy.

“It doesn’t,” Nick allowed, “but neither did he require that William attend Leah on this outing, when he has on every previous one.”

Leah spoke up. “Nick is right. I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts and pressed for time to make the earlier hour, I left the house without an attendant. Though I doubt William would have been a match for five grown men intent on mischief.”

“I suppose we must wait to hear more from your investigator,” Amherst concluded, “but Leah can stay with me until we have some further word. Even Wilton would not object to her spending some time with my children.”

The look of relief on Leah’s face sliced at Nick’s composure. He told himself her brothers were not kidnappers, and yet the fire received another assault with the poker.

“I can’t allow it,” Nick said, “for several reasons. First, if somebody means Leah harm, then you are bringing that danger to a household with small children. Second, Wilton’s guilt is not something you want to see objectively, my lord, and nobody can blame you for trying to think the best of your father. Third, both in my considerable person and in the bachelor nature of my household, I have more strong arms and hard heads with which to protect the lady.”

“That is logical, Trent,” Darius said. “Wilton makes a bitter enemy, as I well know. You and I can’t afford to antagonize him, and Reston can. I don’t like it”—Darius turned his gaze to Nick—“but I like even less what would have happened to my sister had you not been with her this afternoon. Then too, from my perspective, Hellerington is sniffing around Leah’s skirts because Wilton encouraged it, and to that extent, Wilton is complicit in this mischief if Hellerington is behind it.”

“What do you mean ‘if’?” Nick pressed.

Darius shrugged. “Frommer’s family might have gotten word Leah was to make a match, and taken steps to obstruct it. Wilton might have made an enemy who seeks to take from him his most salable asset and make him look like the miserable excuse for a father he is. Leah might have offended somebody who thought to set her cap for you, Reston. Desperate women are a force to be reckoned with, occasionally a deadly force.”

There was a bleak sort of knowledge in Darius’s dark eyes, and Nick studied the man for some moments in silence.

Nick recalled Leah’s comment that younger sons as a breed tended to shrewdness. “I will pass these thoughts on to my investigator. You make sense, Lindsey, though I wish you didn’t.”

Darius drew Leah against him, pressing his lips to her hair and closing his eyes. “If anything had happened to you, Leah, I don’t know how I would have gone on. You’ll stay with Reston? He’ll have Lady Warne here in no time, I’m guessing, and it won’t be forever.”

Leah’s gaze shot to Nick, who nodded once.

“I will stay here,” Leah said, “with Nick and Lady Warne.”

“So what do we tell Wilton?” Darius asked, turning Leah loose.

“I sent him a note,” Nick said, “telling him Leah had run into Lady Della in the park and would be taking a late tea with her.”

The look Amherst gave him was not exactly friendly. “Believable,” Amherst said, “so why not throw Wilton off the scent further by sending another note saying she’s with me, visiting the children for a day or two?”

“That will serve,” Nick agreed, though he could see matters were moving too quickly from Leah’s perspective. He was not kidnapping her. He was keeping her safe. “Leah, can you live with this plan?” Asking her if she likedthe idea didn’t seem prudent.

“I can live with it,” Leah said, “but then what? I can’t hide here forever.”

“Let’s deal with this one day at a time,” Nick suggested. “We are all tired, upset, and flustered. Gentlemen, can I offer you sustenance?”

“I think not,” Amherst said. “I’ve seen with my own eyes that Leah is safe, and we’ve made interim arrangements. If Leah might be visiting me later in the week, I’d best return to home and hearth, and I will want to have a word with my staff as well.”

“I’ll take my leave too,” Darius said, “and go about my usual haunts this evening. There’s always talk, and I can listen for it in a few low places that might yield some useful information.”

After Leah’s brothers had hugged her tightly, Nick walked them to the front door, though leaving his intended alone for even those few minutes flayed his nerves.

“No brooding,” Nick chided when he returned to the library. He sat beside her and laid an arm across her shoulders. “Talk to me, lovey. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I am upset,” Leah said, getting up to pace. “I am not keen on being alone, but I don’t want anybody to hover. I feel angry, but also tainted, and I am tired, Nicholas—tired to my soul—of feeling like an embarrassment, a useless, shameful appendage to my family. My brothers don’t know what to do with me, Society doesn’t know what to do with me, and my father’s plans for me don’t bear mention.”

“And then there’s me,” Nick added, sensing the direction of her ire. “I want to marry you, but only by half measures.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know you mean well, you mean to give me refuge from what my life has become, but it doesn’t feel like that, Nick. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

He wished it did too, but the only thing he knew to do—take her in his arms and kiss her witless—was a direct road to disaster.

“I will order you a bath,” Nick decided, rising, “and send you up a tray, from which, Leah Lindsey, you will eat something. Valentine will be here soon, and he will play you lullabies before I send him elsewhere, and when I’ve set a few more things in motion, you and I will talk.”

He waited for her to protest, but she dropped her arms. “A soaking bath would be appreciated.”

“If you want me, you need only ring, or just yell. I’m not going out again tonight.”

He gave her another up-and-down look, assessing and weighing what he saw. “Come. I’ll take you to your room and show you where Lady Della will be staying.”

And he did, ensconcing her in a lovely, airy guest room, right across the hall from Lady Della’s quarters—and around a corner from Nick’s suite.

“Anybody seeking to travel the corridor you and Della are in has to pass my room. Your bath should be here in a few minutes. Turn around.”

“What?”

“Please turn around,” Nick said. “I have one very matronly housekeeper, Leah, who has retired for the day, and a cook who has likely nodded off over her sherry. I seek to unhook your gown, and then I will take my leave of you.”

He did his best to look entirely sincere, maybe even a trifle testy. She turned around and bowed her head, offering him her nape.

The pose was erotic, at least in the estimation of certain parts of Nick’s anatomy. He gave himself about two seconds to envision kissing her nape, and in those two seconds he caught the floral scent of her.

He’d never unhooked a gown quite so quickly. While he was in the neighborhood, he made short work of her stays then stepped away.

“There’s a vanity behind the privacy screen,” he said, “and you can change there while the water is brought in. You’ll find some things of Della’s hanging on the hooks, and the maids will leave you towels and soap.” He regarded her closely, fisting his hands to keep from touching her. “You’ll be all right?”

She nodded, looking to him forlorn, bruised, and much in need of tenderness rather than solitude.

“Then I’ll leave you for now,” he said. “Soak until you pickle, and I’ll come back later for further discussion.”

* * *

Nick left, and Leah felt his absence keenly. Nicholas Haddonfield, she realized as she finished undressing, was a toucher. He gathered information with his hands, with the embrace of his body, with his skin and his nose and his senses. He conveyed it too, conveyed caring and competence, and without his presence, Leah felt every raw edge on every nerve and emotion.

Climbing into the steaming, fragrant water helped settle her though, at least enough that she could consider her situation. Nick was coming back to her room to finish the discussion Darius and Trent had interrupted in the library. She had yet to accept Nick’s proposal, and watchdog that he was, he would not rest until she had.

She scrubbed herself from head to foot, then scrubbed herself again. The day’s memories would not wash away, but bathing helped put them at a slight distance. Then too, Nick’s tub was nigh large enough to swim in and shaped to encourage a lady to repose at her bath, and even to close her eyes.

“Lovey.” Leah heard a sound like a chair scraping. “Leah? Sweetheart? Lamb?”

She opened her eyes to find Nicholas Haddonfield looking large and concerned from his perch on a stool by the tub. His sleeves were rolled up, suggesting he’d been sitting there for more than a moment. Gracious.

“I fell asleep,” she murmured—inane comment. She had sense enough not to sit up, but realized the water and the fading bubbles provided her only so much camouflage.

Nick smiled at her with only a hint of innuendo in his expression. “As long as I’m here, shall we wash your hair? I promise not to peek, and your bubbles hide the best parts anyway.”

He sounded as if he were inviting her to stroll his back gardens or take tea on the terrace. Such was the savoir faire of the man who’d proposed to her.

“For now,” Leah muttered. It wasn’t right, however tempting it felt to be with him under such circumstances. It should feel shocking, upsetting, wrong… not reassuring, not comforting. Sitting in the warm water, seeing the concern in Nick’s blue eyes, Leah realized something else: She was going to marry him.

“You’ll have to take down my hair.”

He shifted his stool to sit behind her, giving Leah a measure of privacy in which to grapple with the truth of her realization. Downstairs, she’d told herself marrying Nick was the sensible, safe course. A good match, a friendly match, one she could accommodate if she dwelled on the things Lady Warne and Ethan Grey had suggested about propinquity and happenstance.

Here in Nick’s house, with him so casually at ease with a significant intimacy, accepting the notion took on bodily ramifications. They would occasionally share a bed, or at least a bedroom. She would see him in casual dishabille. He’d know when her monthly plagued her with cramps.

Nick’s fingers in her hair were deft. He stacked her pins neatly on the vanity and tugged her hair down over her shoulders in long, unfettered skeins. He’d undone many a lady’s coiffure. The knowledge left Leah more sad than angry.

“Down you go, lovey. All the way.”

She submerged completely, a baptism of sorts into a marital reality she had yet to inform Nick she’d accepted.

“Now close your eyes,” Nick instructed, “and lean back.” He used both hands to lather her wet hair, taking the weight of her head in one broad palm and massaging soap into her scalp with the other. The sensations were novel, both soothing—to be cared for—and arousing—to entrust her welfare literally into his hands.

The arousing part, she’d have to learn to deal with.

“I’ve always liked your hair,” Nick observed conversationally. “My sisters are all fair, save the youngest, and so many of the blushing little debutantes aspire to that pale-English-rose sort of beauty. On most of them, it’s insipid and childish. You have color and substance. Your hair is full of fiery highlights, and it always smells lovely.”

“You notice too much,” Leah murmured, eyes still closed.

“Dunk.” Nick’s voice held a smile. To Leah’s pleasure, he repeated the shampoo and finished it off with several thorough rinses with warm water.

“My thanks.” Leah sat up, blinking water out of her eyes. “I’ll ring for you when I’m through.”

“Not so fast.” Nick rose from his stool and retrieved a bath sheet from the wardrobe. “We have things to discuss.”

“We can discuss them when I am dry and decently covered,” Leah replied. If the bath water weren’t cooling, though, she would have been just as happy to drift off and discuss thingsin the morning—or never. Once Nick was assured they’d be marrying, she doubted there would be any more cozy baths.

Which might be for the best, drat the man.

“Out you go, lovey.” Nick averted his face and held the sheet wide. “I won’t peek, if you’ll recall.”

He wasn’t going to be nagged into leaving, and Leah was too tired to argue with him. Then too, she was hardly a blushing virgin, and he was no callow youth.

She wanted him to peek, though, which made the sadness a little harder to ignore. “Close your eyes, Nicholas.”

He did, and she rose, stepping carefully from the tub, and backing into the bath sheet to wrap it around her. Nick’s arms finished the task, enfolding her in clean, soft toweling and his fleeting embrace.

That had been nice, that simple hug. Also heart wrenching.

“Your robe?” Nick held it out then smiled as he saw that holding the bath sheet closed required both of Leah’s hands. “I’ll hang it behind the screen. When you’re decent, I’ll start on your hair.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Can’t have you taking a chill,” Nick replied, the soul of equanimity. He probably bathed women regularly, the wretch. When Leah had retreated to the screen, Nick bellowed for the footmen to remove the bath, and by the time Leah emerged, it was gone.

And Nick was sitting on her bed.

Maybe her husband-to-be had a cruel streak? “Why are you still here, Nicholas?”

“Because we need to talk, lovey.” Nick’s tone had lost its teasing quality, and Leah knew a sinking dread in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m too tired for this,” she said, crossing to the bureau and retrieving a brush.

Nick rose and prowled across the room to her. “And yet we do need to have a very personal conversation, Leah, and sooner rather than later. I would spare you this if I could, but soon Della will arrive, and until such time as you are my countess, she will afford us little real privacy.”

“You are going to bully me into marrying you,” Leah said, lowering herself to the thick rug on the floor before the hearth. She arranged her robe so she could sit cross-legged, and started on her hair with the brush.

“I will not bully,” Nick said, folding his long frame down behind her, “but I will attempt to persuade. No matter what scheme we concoct, Leah, you will not be safe as long as your father is the male in authority over you.”

“He won’t live forever,” Leah said, giving up the brush without a fight. Nick put it aside and took a towel to her hair, twisting lengths of hair with toweling to wring moisture in his strong grasp.

“You shouldn’t brush it when it’s sopping wet,” Nick chided. “And while your father will not live forever, he is in good health and not that old. He could live for a long time. Rather than coming up with schemes to buy you time, Leah, I think we need to discuss what about marriage to me makes the idea so objectionable.” He wrung the rest of her hair to dampness with the towel, then added, “I want you to be honest.”

Leah drew her knees up and rested her forehead against them. The honest truth was that she was likely to desire this man, to harbor an attraction to him until she was older than Lady Warne. “This topic is hard to even consider.”

“All the more reason to broach it now, when we have peace and quiet, and privacy.”

Leah’s throat constricted, and a wave of homesickness washed through her—but homesickness for where? Not Wilton, though the green terrain of Hampshire had seen most of her childhood years. Not the sterile, tense atmosphere of the earl’s town house, and not even Italy, where she’d known some happiness and much pain. She thought maybe she missed her mother, but in truth, that lady’s life had become so circumscribed by bitterness and disappointment, her death had been a blessing.

“I am tired of being an outsider, Nick,” Leah said, raising her face from her knees. “You do not want to let me in. You want to keep me at arm’s length in this marriage.”

“I want to keep children at arm’s length,” Nick replied, unwrapping the towel from her hair and taking up the brush. “Have you set your heart on children, Leah? Is that why my conditions are so unbearable?”

“One cannot set one’s heart on children,” Leah observed wearily. “They come, or not, as God wills.” They also left, as God willed. “But yes, given my preferences, I’d present my husband with his heirs.”

Nick sighed mightily behind her. “I do not give one goddamn which of my nephews inherits. I love all my brothers and will be proud to call any of their sons my heir.”

“Fine for you, Nick,” Leah said, feeling honesty about to gallop past her common sense. “While I gain significance from what, exactly? Running into all the Society ladies you’ve taken to your bed in my place? Not asking where you go when you are from home night after night? Not allowing myself to drive past the house where I’ve been told you keep your current mistress? I watched my mother suffer torment upon torment at Wilton’s hands. She went into her marriage hoping for the best, offering that man her heart. She ended up bitter, hurt, and as mean to him as he was to her. And supposedly, at one time they cared for each other.”

He drew her hair over her shoulders in a slow, soothing caress, proof positive men had more courage than brains. “I can promise never to take a mistress.”

“Nicholas,” Leah said in weary disgust, “you said you’d never takena mistress—you prefer variety, remember? Don’t think to fence with me then ask that I, alone, be honest.”

Memories of Nick plucking a sprig of arbutus jabbed at Leah’s composure. Perhaps the lady was something beyond even a mistress to him.

“You don’t want us to end up hating each other,” Nick said, his tone aggravatingly reasonable, “and you do want to bear my children. I don’t want you to hate me, either, but neither do I want to think of you naked, handcuffed to a bedpost, while some deranged old man takes a riding crop to you and beats out of you what self-respect you have.”

Leah shuddered at his graphic description. There were rumors about Hellerington…

“I’m sorry. That was not helpful.” Nick fell silent again, and Leah felt him dabbing at a handful of hair with the brush. He was suited to the task, working his way slowly, slowly up each lock, dealing patiently with each little tangle until her hair was drying in smooth, shining waves. He’d do the same with her arguments, parse them one by one, until her resistance to his offer was obliterated.

“What would help?” he asked, putting the brush down and drawing Leah back against his chest. “What would make marriage to me less unattractive to you?”

Less unattractive.He did not know what he asked. She remained against him, holding herself away from him even as their bodies touched.

“You use the word attraction,” she said, “but you don’t want to be attracted to me, and you want to pretend I am not attracted to you. That is the problem in a nutshell, Nick. I need you to protect my very life. You need me merely for the sake of appearances. Our stations are unequal. In any marriage, a man and woman are of unequal station, but an earl’s daughter—even under Wilton’s roof—is raised to expect her consequence, her household skills, and her willingness to secure the succession can even the balance and allow her to hold her head up. Those assets allow her to expect her husband’s protection, respect, and affection.”

“You have those things from me,” Nick said. “And I am attracted to you.”

“Nicholas,” Leah said with pained patience, “the first time you kissed me, you couldn’t even see me. How can you be attracted to someone you can’t see? And yes, I comprehend that when we are… affectionate, your body responds. I am not a virgin, and I understand men are prone to such reactions. That is not the caliber of attraction I would hope for from a husband.”

“You think I become aroused for just any woman?”

“You’ve said as much, Viscount Variety, and you can’t tell me you are attracted to me in any personal way, and then tell me we won’t be intimate. You are frighteningly intelligent, Nicholas, and you would not put yourself in such a position for the rest of your life, wanting what you cannot have, and yet you expect me to step gladly into such a role.”

She was making herself upset with the extent to which she could assure herself of misery in this marriage, and yet… chained to the bedpost, naked, the sound of a riding crop slicing through the air above her…?

She was going to marry Nicholas Haddonfield and be grateful for the privilege.

“I did not say we would not be intimate,” Nick replied, his voice a whisper against Leah’s neck. “I said I would not risk conception with you.”