Книга - How to Tame a Lady

How to Tame a Lady
Kasey Michaels


A lady untamed… Lady Nicole Daughtry has vowed never to be vulnerable to any man. Despite the suitors vying for the beauty’s hand, she wants no part in the pursuits of love. But Lucas Paine has captivated her with his aura of danger and mystery…A man undercover… A scandalous affair with Nicole could be just the cover the Marquess needs to outwit his enemies. Though once Lucas lets Nicole into his world, he’ll face his greatest challenge yet – to keep the lady safe from harm…and his heart safe from her!







Dear Reader,



Would you attempt a five-barred fence on horseback? Were you “born for adventure”? Willing to try any dare, reach for any star, challenge any rule?



If so, Nicole Daughtry is your sister. If not, then she’s what we all wish in our heart of hearts we could be, even just once in our lives.



When Nicole runs into Lucas Paine—literally!—the sophisticated marquess is for the first time in his life totally at a loss for words.



He looks at her and thinks marriage (and a few other things men tend to think about when presented with an unimaginably beautiful woman!).



She unabashedly looks back at him and thinks adventure!



And an adventure they will have: one fraught with danger from an unscrupulous man’s ambition to their own desires—their all-consuming hunger for each other that will defy convention, thanks to a mutual passion that cannot be denied.



I hope you enjoy How to Tame a Lady. How to Tempt a Duke, the story of Nicole’s brother Rafe Daughtry, came prior to this story.

Nicole has a twin, by the way, the much more circumspect and careful Lydia. Stay tuned for her story, coming soon. And don’t forget to visit my website at www.kaseymichaels.com for information about all my books!



Enjoy!



Kasey Michaels





Praise for Kasey Michaels

A Reckless Beauty


“A Reckless Beauty [is] a cannon shot. Drama by the boatload, danger around every corner, and heart-wrenching emotion await readers.”

—A Romance Review




A Most Unsuitable Groom


“From the first page to the last this continuation of the Beckets of Romney Marsh saga is a well-crafted novel. Emotional intensity, simmering sexual tension, characters you care about and political intrigue—plus touches of humour and a poignant love story—all come together in this hugely entertaining keeper.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews




The Dangerous Debutante


“Her characters shine as she brings in fascinating details of the era, engaging plot twists and plenty of sensuality.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews




Shall We Dance?


“Brimming with historical details and characters ranging from royalty to spies, greedy servants to a jealous woman, this tale is told with panache and wit.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews




The Butler Did It


“Michaels’ ingenious sense of humour reaches new heights as she brings marvellous characters and a too-funny-for-words story to life. (…) What fun, what pleasure, what a read!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews


USA TODAY bestselling author Kasey Michaels is the author of more than ninety books. She has earned three starred reviews from Publishers Weekly, and has been awarded the RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America, the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award, the Waldenbooks and BookRak awards, and several other commendations for her writing excellence in both contemporary and historical novels. There are more than eight million copies of her books in print around the world. Kasey resides in Pennsylvania with her family, where she is always at work on her next book.





How to Tame a Lady


by




Kasey Michaels











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/)


To Missy Augustine, who keeps it all together so I can fall apart.

Thanks!


Available from Kasey Michaels and Mills & Boon

THE BUTLER DID IT IN HIS LORDSHIP’S BED

(short story in The Wedding Chase)

SHALL WE DANCE?

IMPETUOUS MISSES

MARRIAGEABLE MISSES

A RECKLESS BEAUTY

LORDS OF NOTORIETY

LORDS OF SCANDAL

HOW TO TEMPT A DUKE

and in theBeckets of Romney Marshseries

A GENTLEMAN BY ANY OTHER NAME

THE DANGEROUS DEBUTANTE

BEWARE OF VIRTUOUS WOMEN

A MOST UNSUITABLE GROOM

THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL

BECKET’S LAST STAND




PROLOGUE


HORSE AND RIDER EMERGED from the trees in an explosion of unleashed energy that sent a pair of long-eared hares fighting to be the first to scoot headfirst into their burrow. Birds fled the treetops, their dark underbodies shadowed against the high, uncharacteristically bright blue sky.

Shod hooves encountered the soft, just-turned earth of the field. The mare momentarily scrambled for footing, and then gathered itself for the gallop.

The rider, head low over the mare’s neck, held the reins in both hands, elbows up and out, almost standing in the stirrups, knees tight to the horse’s flanks, rump slightly above the saddle, in the way of jockeys once seen racing at a country fair.

Horse and rider both knew the route. The hedgerow first, followed by the low gate at the end of the second field. The stone wall, wide if not that high, which fronted a good three-foot drop-off and rather boggy landing.

Another long, liberating gallop would follow, and then the five-bar gate. That was the test, the five-bar gate. The undeniable challenge. The ultimate triumph once it was behind them.

The mare was strong, and fleet of foot, but it was the rider who held the control. Control was important; it might be everything. Control of your surroundings. Control over your own mind, heart and destiny.

And the freedom that control gave you.

The minor obstacles cleared, the five-bar gate was now visible in the distance. It was not a jump for the faint-hearted or those of only mediocre talent. Skill and confidence were needed. And perhaps a measure of luck.

But the rider had always been lucky.

The mare’s head bobbed and stretched as its strides lengthened, the muscles in its neck straining, its hot breath sending puffs of white vapor into the cool morning air.

The rider melted into the mare, their movements meshing, feeling the precise snap of the mare’s knees as it dug in one last time and then launched itself into the air.

Horse and rider became one in the jump. Soaring. Flying. Free of the earth and all its cares. The world waited below them, completely silent for one long, sweet moment in time.

And then the mare’s front hooves touched the earth once more and the thunder of its hooves, the steady thud, thud, thud, matched the heartbeat of the rider who now stood up completely in the stirrups. One gloved hand went to the soft wool toque and lifted it high into the air, waving it like a victory banner.

Masses of coal-black hair, no longer confined by the toque, tumbled free and blew about in the breeze. A full-lipped, wide mouth fashioned for smiling, for flirting, for kissing, formed to deliver hopeful dreams and crushing disappointments opened, and a delighted whoop of triumph echoed across the field.

Dark-lashed eyes the color of drenched violets sparkled and danced above a pert nose and highboned cheeks dusted with freckles that enticed, hinted of an innocence the sensual mouth denied.

The same breeze that danced in those midnight tresses caressed the high, pert breasts outlined beneath a man’s white lawn shirt that was tucked into a pair of tan breeches even a hardened libertine might call licentious.

Eighteen-year-old Lady Nicole Daughtry knew many would call her beautiful. And different. She reveled in the facts that she was young and brave, heart-whole and achingly alive. Marvelously, gloriously free.

Today was for celebrating that youth, that joy, that freedom. Tomorrow was for saying goodbye to one world and hello to another as she set out on her first London Season, approaching it just as she would a five-barred fence.

Head-on, and certain of the outcome.




CHAPTER ONE


March 1816

LUCAS PAINE, MARQUESS of Basingstoke, was classically handsome, with his thick dark blond hair, clear blue eyes and leanly muscled body. He dressed impeccably, had excellent manners, cherished his widowed mother and was good to his dogs.

He tipped his hat to all when out on the strut, and he belonged to the best clubs. An accomplished horseman and premier whip, he was also no stranger to the boxing saloons, where he excelled, although he would say that he was better with the rapier than his fists. He did not take snuff, affected no airs, graciously danced with all the wallflowers, flattered the dowagers and never gambled above his considerable means.

If there was even a breath of scandal still attached to the memory of the marquess’s late sire, that scandal did not touch the son.

In fact, as his friend Fletcher Sutton, Viscount Yalding, pointed out that mid-March day as the pair sauntered along Bond Street, one eye on the low, threatening sky, if the marquess could only manage to control the weather, he would be elevated to the status of near-god.

Both Lucas and Fletcher knew the reason for this pervasive unpleasant weather, the near constant rain and cold, the lack of sunshine. Although it boggled the mind to believe that a volcanic eruption nearly a year ago and halfway around the world in some benighted spot called Tambora could cause such prolonged misery for most of England and Europe.

“You’re quiet,” Fletcher said as they paused to unfurl their large black umbrellas, for the mizzle had moved on to a drizzle that was sure to become a steady downpour in a few minutes. “Still chafing at what Lord Harper said yesterday at White’s? That wasn’t nice of him, Lucas, saying he’d heard cheerier speeches at funerals, and then he and his friends all but turning their backs on you. Although I will admit he had a point.”

Viscount Yalding was referring to the incident that had taken place at one of London’s premier clubs. Lord Harper, a buffoon even in the best of times, had made a comment about the “ruffians and other low creatures accosting him for coins each time he stepped outside.”

Lucas—surprising even himself—had launched into an impassioned defense of the cold and hungry and frightened populace, and had even warned the gentlemen within earshot that if no steps were taken to assist their fellow countrymen the consequences could be serious.

It had been a very good argument, perhaps even bordering on the inspired. Not that anyone had listened.

Lucas looked at his friend, one eloquent eyebrow raised. “The day I am cast in the glooms by that buffoon’s opinions I shall have to race home and slit my throat.”

Fletcher acknowledged this with a tip of his head. “All right, what is it, then? The weather? No sense repining on that, according to you, as it’s not going to change any time soon. Your new boots pinch? But they’re Hoby’s, correct? So that can’t be it. Yet you look like you’ve just watched your very last friend walk away from you, which you haven’t, because I’m still here. In fact, please feel free to make a cake of yourself again any time you wish, and I’ll stand up on my chair and cry hear, hear as I lend you my support.”

“Is that so? How gratifying, Fletcher, truly. Except I’m now left to wonder if you are pledging your support or hoping to goad me into making a cake of myself again, as you so tactfully put it.”

Viscount Yalding, a handsome young man of five and twenty, a man with a sparkle in his light brown eyes and a pair of impish dimples in his cheeks, threw back his head and laughed aloud. “And that’s the real beauty of the thing, because you’ll never know which, now will you?”

“You know what it is, don’t you, Fletcher? We don’t learn. It wasn’t that long ago that our dear Prince Regent was hatching escape plans, sure his loyal subjects were going to rise up the way the French did against their king. Now, thanks to that damnable volcano, we face high prices and farmers losing their positions, our brave soldiers suffering, our children falling sick because there are no fresh vegetables for them to eat. We’re not preparing for that eventuality, or its inevitable result. Civil unrest.”

“Yes, yes, I remember what you said, but please stop now. Not the cheeriest thing I’ve ever heard, to quote Lord Harper. And you’re not completely correct, Lucas. Our government is taking steps, although probably not in a direction you’d approve—Watch out!”

Lucas looked down the flagway to see a young woman running toward him, looking back over her shoulder at another young woman who had stopped beneath a canvas awning to wait for a female servant to raise an umbrella.

“Oh, don’t be so missish, Lydia. The coach is just down here—you won’t melt. It’s only a little—Oof”

Lucas caught the female by the upper arms and held her in front of him, saying, “Steady there, young lady. And far be it from me to stand in the role of teacher, but it is usually deemed equally important to see where you are going as where you have been.”

The female, who stood only as high as his chest, lifted her head so that her face was visible beneath the wide brim of her bonnet, and looked him square in the eyes.

When had he seen eyes like these? Had there ever been eyes like these, so darkly blue as to be closer to sun-washed violet, so alive, so fearless and amused, daring him to—to what? The heart-shaped face in its frame of wonderfully dark hair, the perfectly centered nose, the slightly bee-stung lower lip, the single dimple that came and went in her right cheek. The skin that spoke of fresh peaches doused in cream, and sprinkled with a dusting of freckles that invited him to touch, to trace them with his fingertips, the tip of his tongue…

“Yes,” she said, biting that bottom lip between her fine, small white teeth for a moment as she ran her gaze over his features, “I believe I can see the wisdom in that statement. Although, as I already know where I’ve been, I’m always much more interested in what lies ahead. You may let me go now.”

Lucas, a man who could not remember the last time he’d been flustered, and knowing the answer was never if the other person involved was a female, was finding it difficult to think of anything to say.

“Lucas?” Fletcher gave his friend a gentle jab with his elbow. “She says you can let her go now.”

He brought himself under control, but not without conscious effort. “Yes, of course. Forgive me, young lady. I merely wanted to be certain you hadn’t been injured by our…collision.”

“I believe I shall survive, sir, thank you. Ah, and here is my sister, frowning, and with a good scolding eager to escape her lips as she points out, for at least the tenth time, that we are not at Ashurst Hall anymore, and I cannot just behave as if London is our familiar village. Although I don’t see why not, do you? It’s not as if a person is likely to encounter anyone too dastardly right here on Bond Street.”

“I wouldn’t say that, miss. We could be quite dastardly, I’m sure, if we just put our minds to the thing,”

Fletcher said, winking at Lucas, who believed his friend was enjoying himself entirely too much.

“Ashurst Hall, you said?” Lucas pursued, turning back to the young beauty, whose luscious skin was now lustrous with the misting rain. She was fresh as a strawberry just plucked from the fields, yet the intelligence evident in her eyes told him she might be young, but she was neither shallow nor silly. “Then I may assume that the Duke of Ashurst is known to you?”

“You might assume that, yes. Rafael is our brother. And now that you have the advantage of me…?”

“A thousand pardons,” Lucas said as the beautiful young blond woman who’d been addressed as Lydia joined them beneath their now trio of umbrellas. Sisters? Yes, he could see the resemblance, but at first blush this one seemed to lack the dangerous fire of her sibling. “Lady Lydia, if I heard the name correctly? Please allow me to introduce myself and my friend here.”

“My lords,” Lydia said moments later, dropping into a graceful curtsy while motioning for her sister to do the same. “And in return may I present my sister, Lady Nicole Daughtry.”

Nicole. From the Greek, Lucas was fairly certain, and meaning “victorious people.” Yes, it suited her. He could see her riding at the front of her own army, rather like Eleanor of Aquitaine. The queen, to inspire her troops, was rumored to have ridden barebreasted.

Lucas shook off that disquieting thought and bowed to the young woman.

“A distinct pleasure, Lady Nicole.”

“Yes…” she said, smiling at him as if she totally agreed that the pleasure was his, the minx. It was difficult to believe that the duke let this one out without a leash. She looked down the length of his body and back up again. “Did you happen to notice, my lord, that you’re standing in a puddle?”

Fletcher gave a bark of laughter as Lucas looked down to see that a drainpipe aimed toward the gutter had been emptying rainwater the entire time they’d been standing here, and a dip in the flagway had served to collect quite a bit of that rainwater around his new boots.

“Why, yes, Lady Nicole, I did know that. I’ve made it a point to always stand in puddles. They’re rarely crowded, you understand.”

The dimple appeared, and that small, quick bite at her lower lip came and went almost before Lucas could see it. Almost.

“But I’m standing in it, too, my lord.”

All right. If she wanted to play, he would not disappoint her. “Which now makes it our puddle, doesn’t it, Lady Nicole?”

“I’m not sure. As my twin here could tell you, I have never been all that comfortable with sharing. You might wish to step back, my lord.”

She was giving him a warning? Him? He was the Marquess of Basingstoke, and she was a young miss fresh from the country. He should be warning her, although of what, he couldn’t be sure.

Fletcher nervously cleared his throat. “Yes…ah, um, yes indeed. Well, stap me if I haven’t just remembered something. We have that appointment, Lucas, as I recall. Going to be late, and you know how his lordship frowns when we’re late. And the ladies will take a chill, there’s that, as well. We shouldn’t keep them.”

“Indeed, no, we shouldn’t,” Lucas said, agreeing with his friend’s fib, as he already had a plan in mind to see Lady Nicole again. He turned to Lady Lydia, who might not have much influence over her sister, but who probably could be relied upon not to scramble his brains and tie his tongue into knots. “It would be our distinct pleasure to wait on you ladies tomorrow, if your brother will give his permission for the four of us to drive out to Richmond. Would you be amenable to such an arrangement, Lady Lydia?”

“If she knows what’s good for her, she will,” Lucas heard Lady Nicole whisper under her breath as she covered her mouth with one gloved hand, and once again Fletcher cleared his throat, this time to cover a laugh, no doubt.

“I should imagine you will have to apply directly to our brother, my lord,” Lady Lydia said, earning herself a weary shake of the head from her sister. “We dine at home in Grosvenor Square this evening, and if you and Lord Yalding are free, we would be honored if you’d join us. You can ask him then.”

Lucas glanced toward Lady Nicole, who was now looking at her sister in some astonishment. He quickly agreed, thanked Lady Lydia and then escorted the ladies to their waiting coach, the one with the ducal crest on it.

“What a mischievous piece of work that one is,” Fletcher said as they watched the coach pull off into the light afternoon traffic. “And what was all that ridiculousness about puddles? Not that it wasn’t all innocent, I suppose, but I was beginning to feel like a voyeur, listening to the pair of you. She’s nearly a child, Lucas. Not your usual sort at all.”

“A child, Fletch?” Lucas turned to head to his own coach, for he needed to go back to Park Lane, spend some time alone to consider all that had just happened to him. “That one has never been a child.”

“No, I suppose some females are like that. But they aren’t usually sister to a duke, if you take my meaning and no offense intended. And I’m supposed to be keeping the other one occupied so that the two of you can keep on speaking whatever private language you were spouting back there?”

They both handed their umbrellas to the waiting groom, who would return them to the nearest umbrella shop to be dried and refolded and be supplied with replacements. Umbrella shops were probably the most prosperous enterprises in the city this year.

“If you wouldn’t consider it a hardship, yes.”

“Absolutely not,” Fletcher said. “Lady Lydia is a beautiful young woman. Such a contrast to her sister, though, don’t you think? It would take a special eye to see her quiet beauty when matched up against the fire and flash of Lady Nicole.”

“And you have a special eye?”

“Hardly,” Fletcher said as they settled into the coach. “As you well know, I can’t afford one. Although I have observed that your mood has improved by more than half since our encounter with Lady Nicole. I thought you said you weren’t chafing about that business at White’s.”

“I’m sorry. Although I will admit that I am rather disappointed in my fellow man at the moment. Nobody wants to hear anything but good news. We’d rather close our ears and eyes and go on repeating the same mistakes over and over again.”

“Well, I agree with you there, I suppose, at least with that business about making the same mistakes. For instance, m’father might have thought to learn that a Faro bank in a gaming hell is a harlot’s tease. We all could have benefited if he’d taken that particular lesson to heart. But that’s not what you mean, is it? You’re angry with the way we’re treating the populace.”

“More than I thought I could be, yes. An iron fist is never a good ruler, Fletcher, when a helping hand benefits us all in the end. Why can’t our fellows in the House of Lords see that?”

Fletcher shrugged. “Perhaps because they’re in the House of Lords, and not scratching out a meager existence on the fringes of Society? Still, perhaps you should drop the subject now? You’ve said what you felt needed saying, and nobody seems to care.”

Lucas considered this for a moment, and then shook his head, deciding not to tell his friend about his early morning visit from Lord Nigel Frayne, a contemporary of his late father, and what that encounter might mean if Lucas chose to throw in his lot with the man.

“You’re probably right. But I wish I could do more,” was all he said.

Fletcher was silent for some moments, until the coach slowed and finally stopped outside his rented rooms in Upper Brook Street. He had his hand on the inside latch of the door before he turned to his friend and said, “If you’re set on finding ways to help the downtrodden, and much as I’m certain I shouldn’t tell you, you probably want to hear this.”

Lucas, suddenly lost in thoughts of his dead father, merely lifted an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”

Fletcher sank back against the squabs. “I didn’t think so, to tell you the truth, not when I heard it. Perhaps you’ve softened my heart? At any rate, I happened to overhear something about our dear friend Lord Sidmouth at my club last week.”

“Our illustrious Home Secretary is no one’s dear friend, Fletcher. I doubt his own mother enjoyed him.”

“True enough. Do you want to know what I heard, or not? Because after you surprised me with that passionate defense of the common man yesterday, I haven’t been all that hot to tell you. After all, it was only rumor, and I overheard no more than snatches, at that.”

Lucas gave a small wave of his hand. “Go on. I promise not to launch into another hot-blooded speech anytime soon.”

“And thank God for that. What I heard was that, between them, lords Liverpool and Sidmouth are determined to introduce new punitive laws and sanctions against those unhappy with the government. You know, those persons you were so staunchly defending in your magnificent but probably ill-timed comments.”

“I see. And did you happen to hear how they plan to get the whole of Parliament to agree to these new laws, considering that we’ve been introducing reforms this term, not new sanctions?”

Fletcher shook his head. “No, sadly, I did not, but I suppose they know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” He took hold of the latch once more. “Should I be ready by six, do you think? Or is that too early?”

Lucas was once again deep in thought, lightly tapping the side of his fist against his mouth. “Excuse me? Oh, yes. Too early by half. I doubt the duke sits down much before eight.”

“Then seven it is. Perhaps the lovely Lady Nicole can serve to take your mind off what I’ve just told you?”

“Fletcher, that young woman could take a man’s mind, period.”

Fletcher laughed and exited the coach, at which time Lucas’s smile disappeared as he thought about his strange encounter with Lady Nicole.

She had knocked him off balance, not physically, as a result of their small collision, but mentally, muddling his brain in a way that had never happened to him before that moment.

She was astonishingly beautiful. She was astoundingly forward and impertinent.

She possessed the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. And clearly she knew that, or else why would she have affected that quick, enticing bite of her full bottom lip, if not to drive a man insane?

She was also a distraction. With what Lord Frayne had just asked of him, with the information the man had just that morning dangled in front of him so unexpectedly, did he need a distraction at this moment in his life?

No. No, he did not.




CHAPTER TWO


NICOLE TOOK HER TIME combing through her thick black hair, carefully working out a few tangles caused by having it all anchored up and off her neck. She could allow her new maid, the estimable Renée, the chore. But, since Renée seemed to be of the opinion that a woman should suffer for her beauty, Nicole had set her to pressing the hem of her peach gown instead.

Looking into the mirror of her dressing table, she studied her sister as Lydia sat in a slipper chair, her head buried in a book. There was nothing unusual about that. Depressing, certainly, as they were in the middle of the most exciting city on earth, but most definitely not unusual.

Nicole loved her twin more than she did anyone else in the world, but this past year had been very difficult. And so terribly sad.

When their brother, Rafe, had returned from the war to take over the reins of the dukedom, he had brought with him his good friend Captain Swain Fitzgerald.

And Lydia, quiet, levelheaded, studious Lydia, had tumbled head over heels into love with the man, only to lose him when Bonaparte escaped his prison and forced one last battle on the Allies.

Even now, Nicole could see occasional hints of sadness in her sister’s huge blue eyes during quiet moments.

Some might argue that Lydia, at seventeen, had been too young to really know her own mind, and that Captain Fitzgerald had been years too old for her. But Nicole would never say any such thing. Not when she’d held her sister in her grief, fearful that Lydia’s very heart would break inside her and she’d lose her best friend, the other half of herself.

That terrible day, when the Duke of Malvern had come to this very house to inform them all of the captain’s death, Nicole had promised herself that she would never open herself to such devastating heartbreak. Life was to be enjoyed, gloried in, celebrated. Allowing one’s happiness to depend on someone else was to invite not only a chaotic mind but a vulnerability to pain that Nicole refused to consider.

No, Nicole would never allow anyone else, any man, to have so much power over her, and had stated that fact quite firmly to both her sister and her sister-in-law, Charlotte.

And they had only smiled indulgently. After all, what was a young lady of Nicole’s station to do but marry? As a sister to a duke, her options were limited, if, to many, all quite wonderful. A husband. Children. She would be mistress of a grand estate, an arbiter of fashion, become a successful and sought-after hostess. It wasn’t as if she could take to the high seas, or fight in wars or sit in Parliament…not that Nicole wished to do any of those things, either.

In truth, she didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life or what she wanted out of that life.

She only knew what she didn’t want.

Mostly, she didn’t want to be desperate, like her mother. Mostly, she didn’t want to be heartbroken, like her sister.

Mostly, she wanted to be left to her own devices so that she could someday answer that question as to what she wanted out of life. And in the meantime, if she thought the idea of some harmless flirtation and exercising of her charms to be a delicious entertainment, surely that wasn’t so terrible?

She loved her family, desperately. She needed no one else. Although not the prodigious student her sister was, Nicole had not been above quoting Francis Bacon to Lydia. “He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.”

Yes, Lydia had reasonably pointed out that Nicole was not a man (which often chafed Nicole, as she believed men enjoyed much more freedom than women), and that she, Lydia, had never suspected that Nicole had aspirations to great virtuous enterprises. To her sister’s already known propensity for mischievous enterprises, Lydia’s response was only to roll her eyes and sigh in affectionate resignation.

They were so different, she and Lydia. Her sister obeyed the rules, accepted her place in the world, caused not a smidgeon of trouble to anyone, while Nicole strained against every leash, saw every rule as a challenge and, although never purposely, had occasionally caused more than her sister to breathe resigned sighs.

Nicole and Lydia had settled into their very different roles early in life, and Nicole realized now that she had allowed herself to become comfortable with always knowing her sister was dependable if sometimes boring, clearheaded if perhaps too intense, and always a model of propriety.

Which did not explain what had happened earlier that day.

“Lydia?”

“In a moment, please, Nicole,” her sister said as she turned a page in her book and continued to read for several moments before closing the book over her finger. “I’m just reading the most interesting and rather bizarre argument.”

“That’s nice, Lydia. Then I take it you are not still reading Miss Austen’s latest inspired bit of silliness?”

Lydia shook her head. “I finished that yesterday. Today is for something Captain Fitzgerald recommended to me, written by one Thomas Paine. This volume is called The Rights of Man and—well, listen to this.”

It was Nicole’s turn to sigh in resignation. “If it sounds anything like a sermon, please don’t bother.”

“No, no, I just want to read you this one thing Mr. Paine wrote. Here it is. He states quite firmly how necessary it is at all times to watch against the attempted encroachment of power, and to prevent its running to excess. Shall I read you his exact words?”

Nicole bit back a smile. “No, I think I understand his point. Lydia, far be it from me to declare myself a scholar, but you do realize that your Mr. Paine could be thought by some to be fomenting revolution and the overthrowing of governments, don’t you?”

“I choose to think he is only warning us to always remain vigilant,” her sister said, closing the book once more. “But I suppose you could be right. That’s what America did to us, and France did to its king.”

Nicole put down her comb. “Nobody is going to do that here, if that’s what this is all about. We have a good king.”

“Do we, Nicole? Then why did I find this in my maid’s apron pocket when I went searching for the button she promised to sew back onto my blue pelisse? Which is why I’m reading Mr. Paine’s warnings.”

So saying, Lydia took a much-folded broadsheet from her own pocket and handed it to Nicole, who first looked to her sister, and then to the poorly printed call for everyone to join the “Citizens for Justice” and to “take up arms against an oppressive government determin’d to starve our children and screw honest men into the ground.”

She quickly read the rest, and could see why Lydia might be alarmed. “And you found this in your maid’s apron?”

Lydia nodded. “I’m going to show it to Rafe tomorrow. He may know what it all means. Revolution is terrible, Nicole, even when it is necessary. And it isn’t all that far-fetched, you know. It happened here.”

“I remember from our lessons, yes,” Nicole said, more concerned by the broadsheet than she’d allow Lydia to see. “But do you really think that—”

“Oh. Oh, no, I suppose not. Not when I say it all out loud. And I know you’re not interested, in any event. I…I wish Captain Fitzgerald could be here. He’d know just what to say to me.”

Nicole winced inwardly. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, Lydia. Or do you think I’m selfish, and care only for myself? That I couldn’t be concerned about oppressed classes or whoever it is who raise these revolutions? Because that’s not fair, Lydia, it really isn’t.”

Her sister was quick to agree, perhaps too quick to agree, and Nicole wondered if everyone saw her as shallow and more concerned with enjoying herself than she was with anything or anyone else. Was that the price a person had to pay for preferring a life without complications? Besides, was selfishness really a crime, if you were only selfish about protecting yourself?

Yes, she supposed many would see it that way. The conclusion didn’t sit well with her.

“Nicole? Don’t pout. I didn’t mean to say you aren’t the best of sisters, humoring me when I turn bluestocking, as Mama calls it each time she sees me with a book. If it were up to her, neither of us would have any conversation above commenting on the weather, as if anyone could say more than that they wished the rain would go away and the sun come back.”

Delighted to have any awkwardness passed over so easily, Nicole changed the subject—to the one she’d attempted to broach a full ten minutes earlier. “What made you invite the marquess and the viscount to dinner tonight, Lydia? Not that I wasn’t delighted down to my toes, but it was so unlike you.”

Lydia got to her feet after glancing at the mantel clock and seeing the hour. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I have no idea why I did that. Except that I believed I could sense that you wished to see the marquess again. It was no secret that he wishes to see you again. There’s never been a man who has seen you and not longed for more.”

“More what, Lydia?” Nicole teased, although inwardly, her stomach was doing a series of small flips. “So you saw it, too? The marquess’s interest, that is?”

“I did, the poor flustered Viscount Yalding did. You did, and then purposely set out to torment the man.”

Had she done that? Nicole didn’t wish to admit it, but she could barely recall a word she’d said to the marquess. She’d been much too busy simply looking at him.

“Do you plan his to be the first heart you break while we’re here?”

Nicole slipped her hands beneath her hair and lifted it up from her nape, piling it all on top of her head for a moment before allowing the heavy mass of waves to fall once more, shaking her head so that it tumbled free all around her face and shoulders. With any luck, Lydia would watch the gesture, and not pay attention to the flash of uncertainty her words had undoubtedly sent into her sister’s eyes. She had been doing her best all afternoon to not think about the Marquess of Basingstoke and his unexpected effect on her.

“Truth, Lydia? I had selected the Duke of Malvern for my initial conquest. After all, Rafe is friends with him, and the man has already met us, knows us. And there’s no denying how handsome the duke is. He seemed perfect for me to practice on.”

Lydia fairly leaped to her feet, her cheeks suddenly ashen. “The Duke of Malvern? Nicole, no! He’s the most loathsome creature alive. How could you even consider such a thing? I don’t think I want to talk about your silly plans anymore. I’m going to take a nap.”

Nicole wanted to kick herself for forgetting, even for a moment, the duke’s effect on her sister, that to Lydia he was a living reminder of everything she had lost. She could lay the blame for that lapse on the Marquess of Basingstoke, who seemed to muddle her brains every time she thought about him and their short but singular exchange that afternoon.

“Lydia, wait—” she said, but her sister had already run toward the connecting door between their bedchambers.

“How can I be so stupid!” Nicole berated herself, sinking back onto the low dressing table bench and dropping her chin into her hands as she contemplated her reflection. “I’ll have to apologize later. Perhaps offer to accompany her to Hatchard’s Book Repository again, and stand about for hours while she oohs and aahs over every other volume. Heaven knows that’s penance enough.”

That decided, she tipped her head to one side, wondering what it was that the Marquess of Basingstoke had seen when he’d looked at her that had seemingly upset him so much. Her eyes? Even she thought they were a pretty color, as well as unusual. Nicole liked to think of herself as unusual, singular.

She didn’t think he’d necessarily been put off by her freckles, the bane of her existence, especially since her mama, when she deigned to notice her daughters at all, had begun insisting Nicole spread crushed strawberries and clotted cream on them twice a week.

Yet if she had to choose between skin as creamy and blemish-free as Lydia’s and the freedom of riding Juliet across the fields of Ashurst Hall sans a hat, with the wind blowing her hair, well, she’d learn to live with the spots, and so would everyone else.

Although if she could rid herself of the childish habit of biting her bottom lip whenever she felt unsure of herself she would be happier, as it didn’t exactly seem the sort of thing polished London debutantes did.

In any case, the marquess had thought her attractive, she wasn’t such a ninny that she didn’t know that. And he was handsome, and sophisticated, very much a London gentleman, which was quite exciting. He’d make a delicious first conquest.

Unless he thought her vain, and stupid. Frivolous.

“Stop that!” she told herself. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. You’re here to enjoy yourself, not to end up like Lydia.”

Still, before she rang for Renée to have a bath prepared for her, Nicole picked up the slim volume her sister had left behind and sat down on the slipper chair, hoping to improve her mind.

LUCAS STOPPED JUST INSIDE the doors of the drawing room in Grosvenor Square and said quietly, “Well, damn me for a fool. She said Rafael, didn’t she? Captain Rafe Daughtry. Of course.”

Rafael Daughtry, Duke of Ashurst this past year, a man who only recently had been a poor relation who, with no other prospects, had served with Wellington for half a dozen years, favored the marquess with a lazy salute. “Major. Good evening, sir,” he said, smiling.

“What’s this?” Viscount Yalding said, confused. “You two know each other? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That should be obvious, Fletcher. I didn’t realize.” Lucas moved forward, holding out his right hand. “Rafe Daughtry. My God, how long has it been? The last time I saw you, you and your Irish friend were marching away from Paris just as I was marching in. What was his name again? Ah, I remember. Fitzgerald. One of the fiercest soldiers I’d ever seen. Completely fearless. He’s well?”

Rafe shook his head slowly, looking past Lucas to the ladies just entering the drawing room. “We lost Fitz at Quatre Bras. He was about to be betrothed to my sister Lydia.”

Lucas felt the too-familiar punch to the midsection that overtook him whenever he heard of the loss of another brave soldier. Even now, with nearly a year gone by, those blows remained too frequent. “My most sincere condolences, Rafe. I’ll not say another word.” He then quickly introduced Fletcher, and, together, they all turned to bow to the ladies.

There were three of them. Lady Lydia, along with Rafe’s clearly pregnant young wife, Charlotte, and Lady Nicole. Lucas bowed over Her Grace’s hand, begging her not to bother to curtsy to a gentleman who should be leading her to a chair and not allowing her to stand about, and then smiled to the younger ladies.

At least he hoped he’d smiled to both, as it was only Lady Nicole that he really saw.

If she’d been appealing that afternoon, this evening she was positively bewitching. He’d wanted to see her hair sans her bonnet, but he hadn’t been prepared for the impact of those thick black tresses, arranged with artless simplicity in the latest French mode, wondrously framing that perfect heart-shaped face and accenting the deep violet of her eyes.

Her pale peach gown was simple, as befitted a debutante, but there was nothing simple about the body beneath that gown. Her breasts were lush above the thin silken sash tied just below the bodice, and the sprinkling of freckles across the expanse of skin visible above that bodice made it impossible for him to think anything else save how he needed to know—had to know, would know—if the freckles extended everywhere, even to where the sun did not reach her.

Over drinks—wine for the gentlemen, lemonade for the ladies—Rafe told them all how he and Lucas had met many times on the Peninsula. He kept the telling light, relating an amusing incident involving a captured pack of supply mules and a shared meal fit for a king—but meant for the enemy.

“And you, of course, husband, only observed during this grand adventure in thievery,” Charlotte said, her eyes sparkling.

Rafe took his wife’s hand, raising it to his lips in a way that told Lucas the man was comfortable in allowing the world to see he was besotted with his lovely wife. “Oh, yes, certainly. I was always a pattern card of respectability, even while cold, halfstarved and in mud up to my knees.”

“No, you weren’t,” Charlotte corrected. “And I think we should applaud your ingenuity, all of you who had to deal with such extraordinary hardships.”

“Why, thank you, darling. But it was Lucas here who masterminded the raid on the supply train, and it was brilliant. He even kidnapped the man’s cook while he was about it. The cook spoke no English, we spoke no Spanish, but we managed. We hadn’t eaten so well in months.”

“I kept him for most of that summer, as I recall,” Lucas told them. “Until we understood each other sufficiently for him to inform me that he had a wife and, as I remember it, a dozen children in a village just over the hill. At which point we said our farewells. I still miss his way with a chicken. At the time, I mostly missed the chickens he stole when he left.”

By the time the majordomo announced that dinner was served, the small party had agreed to dispense with the formality of titles, and it was a fairly merry group that sat down to bowls of hot, clear consommé.

“Chicken,” Nicole pointed out as Lucas lifted his spoon. “Feel free to wax nostalgic once more about your Spanish cook.”

Lucas looked at her inquiringly. “You didn’t enjoy our small story?”

“I did, yes,” she told him quietly, her attention seemingly on her dish. “But I could not help but wonder, for all the stories you and Rafe told, that Captain Fitzgerald played no part in them. You know, don’t you?”

“Your brother was kind enough to warn me off,”

Lucas said, chancing a look across the table to where Lady Lydia appeared to be listening with rapt attention as Fletcher spoke just as quietly, gesturing with his hands in that way his friend had about him. “He becomes excited enough about his subject,” he said, indicating Fletcher, “and someone might be prudent to move those wineglasses. Once, when he was describing a boxing match he’d been to in Epsom, he knocked a candlestick into Lady Hertford’s lap. She was not amused.”

“I’d have been highly amused, and it will do no good to attempt to change the subject. I think my brother is entirely too protective of my sister. How will she heal if everyone continues to coddle her, to hide their memories of Captain Fitzgerald from her? To elevate him to sainthood, put his memory on a pedestal where he is no longer human, no longer real, is a disservice to the captain as well as to Lydia. He was a flesh-and-blood man, very much so. She will always love him, always remember him, but it’s time she smiled when she said his name. It’s time she makes him more than the dream he was to her.”

Lucas looked at her in some astonishment. Clearly polite dinner conversation, safe and innocuous, was not going to be the rule of the evening. “You may be right, Lady Nicole. But do you want to chance upsetting your sister?”

“No, I suppose not. Not right now. But I would think we need not tiptoe around the subject when we all meet again. To constantly avoid the captain’s name is cheating Lydia, and difficult for those around her.”

“When we meet again? Ah, a glimmer of hope invades my being. Then you have permission to drive out to Richmond tomorrow?”

The dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled at him. “Rafe considers you harmless, yes. How does it feel, my lord, to be considered harmless? I’m only curious because no one has ever applied that description to me.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” Lucas said tongue in cheek as the soup plates were removed and the second course served. He had no appetite, unless it was for the woman sitting beside him, deliberately goading him, testing the boundaries to see how far she could go before she shocked him.

He’d like to know that, too.

“Lucas,” Fletcher said, leaning his elbows on the table. “You won’t believe this. Lady Lydia here has read Thomas Paine. Isn’t that beyond anything you’ve ever heard?”

“Is that so, Lady Lydia,” he said, truly interested, if mildly surprised. “His most famous Common Sense is thought by some to be the major goad for the then American colonies to rise up against us in the last century, did you know that?”

Lydia’s cheeks had gone quite pink, but she looked directly at Lucas. “But there are things that must be said, don’t you agree, wrongs that must be righted? As Mr. Paine wrote, we cannot allow ourselves to be complacent, and to never question authority.”

“Yes, I remember. ‘A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right.’”

“You’ve committed him to memory, Lucas?” Rafe remarked from the head of the table. “Don’t tell me you claim the man as family.”

“Not at all, although sharing a surname has caused my family to feel forced to defend his memory from time to time. I admire some of his writings, but I wish he’d stopped before he vented his spleen with The Rights of Man. For a time, it was a crime for an Englishman to possess a copy, did you know that?”

“Lydia possesses a copy,” Nicole said quietly. “I read some of it just this afternoon.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before she’d shocked him, but he hadn’t expected that shock to come this soon. “Is that so? And have you read enough to form an opinion?”

Nicole bit her bottom lip for a moment and then nodded. “Truthfully? My sister may not agree with me, but for as much as I have so far read, I believe the man makes an incendiary argument consisting of a mixture of unpalatable truths and dangerous nonsense.”

Lucas threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Rafe! Did you hear that? I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“You have said it yourself,” Fletcher pointed out, looking at Nicole curiously. “It’s almost eerie.”

Lucas caught out Rafe and his lovely wife exchanging rather confused looks, as if they’d never expected to hear Nicole say anything like what she’d just said. Yet they hadn’t seemed shocked to hear that her sister had read Paine’s works. Or was there more to it than that?

He decided to find out.

“As you read Thomas Paine,” he asked Nicole as they ate, “I would imagine you’ve also read some of the works of Wieland, Gibbon, Burke?”

“You most certainly can imagine that. You can imagine that all you wish,” she answered brightly, and he knew he had just been put very firmly in his place. By a young girl clearly not easily put out of countenance by clumsy buffoons like himself.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, only to have her place her hand on his forearm and lean closer to him.

“And I should not have pretended to be someone I am not. Lydia stole all the brains, I believe, leaving me nothing but an only ordinary intelligence. But I did sound convincing, didn’t I? The use of incendiary was very nearly inspired, I think.”

And that was that. Beauty such as Nicole’s was not to be sneezed at and certainly he enjoyed looking at her, would like to possess her because of that beauty. But as he looked into those remarkable eyes, and saw what could only be a small imp of the devil looking back at him, Lucas was in serious danger of becoming completely and utterly lost. And he knew it.




CHAPTER THREE


AS IF TO PUNISH NICOLE for what she knew to be her outrageous behavior the night of the dinner party, there was such a downpour for the next two days that no sane person in London ventured outdoors, let alone took drives to Richmond or anywhere else.

In desperation, she had picked up Lydia’s copy of Jane Austen’s Emma, and hidden herself away in her room until all of the characters were nicely settled with their soul mates and Emma had finally opened her eyes to the charms of Mr. Knightley.

She hadn’t enjoyed the story very much. All this upset about matching this one to that one and keeping another one from making a mistake by bracketing herself to a clearly unsuitable person seemed silly.

Was there really nothing else for women to do but concern themselves with such mundane matters? Clearly her own decision never to marry would save her from a life of such nonsense, for which she’d be eternally grateful.

Although, considering herself more talented in the area than the fictional Emma, Nicole did think it might be fun to find a suitable husband for Lydia. For, although she saw no need to dip her own toe in matrimonial waters, clearly her sister needed to be loved, needed to love in return.

Nicole thought about the Viscount Yalding, who seemed a nice enough man, if rather nervous. Would he be a good match for Lydia? She hadn’t mentioned him, not even once, since the dinner party.

Lydia had, however, spoken often about the Marquess of Basingstoke. He’d been a soldier, like Captain Fitzgerald. He read Thomas Paine, like Captain Fitzgerald. He treated her kindly and obviously admired her intelligence. Like Captain Fitzgerald. But what did that mean, other than that Lydia still thought and spoke often of poor dead Fitz?

By the morning of the third day, marked by a thin, watery sun and with their escorts just arriving in Grosvenor Square in a pair of lovely curricles, Nicole had convinced herself that Lucas Paine was a man just like any other man, and that her intense reaction to him had been merely an aberration. She had more worlds to conquer than just this one man, and he could not be allowed to invade her mind to the degree that he had thus far, in only two brief meetings.

Nicole prided herself on being in charge of her own life, her own mind—and most definitely her own heart. So why did just the thought of seeing the man again turn her insides into jelly?

Well, enough of that sort of missish silliness! Today she would make certain that she was the one in charge.

So thinking, as she watched Lydia tie the strings of her bonnet beneath her chin—the blue ribbon picked out for her most expressly by Captain Fitzgerald the previous year—Nicole tried to imagine her sister married to the Marquess of Basingstoke.

She bit her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as she felt a slight, unidentifiable pang, but then pushed on with the idea.

“Lydia?” she asked her as they walked toward the staircase, for they’d been warned by Rafe and Charlotte both that it was not polite to allow their lordships’ horses to stand waiting too long. “What do you think of the marquess?”

Lydia stopped with her hand just on the railing of the staircase. “What do I think of him? I’m sorry, Nicole, but I don’t believe I think of him at all, not in any way that matters. What do you think of him?”

Nicole avoided the question by asking another of her own. “You don’t find him handsome?”

Lydia took hold of Nicole’s arm and steered her away from the stairs. “Nicole, what’s wrong? I thought you liked the man. You seemed to the day we met him, and he certainly was a delightful dinner companion. Rafe likes him. Charlotte likes him. Are you going to be contrary and decide to dislike him now, because everyone else likes him?”

“I don’t do things like that,” Nicole protested. “Do I?”

“No, I suppose not, except maybe for needlepoint. And turnips. But you do worry me sometimes. You don’t have to conquer every man you meet, you know. If you’ve decided that his lordship isn’t going to be your first…conquest, as you call it, then please, don’t feel you need to continue seeing him. Not that I approved of the idea in any case.”

“I don’t feel as if I have to conquer every—Do you know something, Lydia? Sometimes I don’t like me very much. This Season was supposed to be fun. London, the parties, the gaiety. I’ve lived for this moment ever since I can remember wanting anything. I didn’t have to think about the rest of my life, as everyone said I should do. And then he came along. If I could cry off from our drive, I would. He’s a most disconcerting man.”

Lydia looked at her for a long moment, and then a slow smile lit her face. “Why, Nicole, you like him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, although I think someone standing here is. All your plans, your boasts—and all it takes is one man to scatter those plans to the four winds. Now do you understand, Nicole? You don’t choose. Fate chooses for you.”

“Maybe for some people. But not for me. Oh, come along. We shouldn’t keep the horses standing, remember?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Suddenly I’m quite looking forward to this afternoon,” Lydia said, turning back toward the stairs, but not before Nicole realized that her sister, seemingly asleep, wandering listlessly through life since last June, had a tiny bit of sparkle in her eyes once more.

“Well, I’m not!” Nicole groused, just to please her twin, and then followed her down the stairs.

LUCAS SLICED ANOTHER LOOK at Nicole, her profile all but hidden by the brim of her fetching straw bonnet.

She’d greeted him rather coolly, climbed up onto the seat almost before he could assist her and had said less than ten words to him as they wended their way toward Richmond.

Her sister and Fletcher were behind them in his friend’s curricle, and each time Lucas had looked back to make sure they weren’t going to be separated in the traffic, he could see that the two of them were happily chatting together as Fletcher pointed out the sights of the city.

Nicole acted as if she had no interest in the buildings, or the people walking along the flagways. And most especially, no interest in him. She kept her head faced forward, her gloved hands folded together in her lap, and answered him with either nods or in monosyllables each time he attempted to start a conversation.

Thirty minutes of this, and Lucas had had enough.

“Has your brother warned you to behave?”

She turned to him in obvious shock. “What? Why would you say such a thing?”

“I don’t know. If I were your brother—and, thankfully, I’m not, for that would be decidedly awkward, considering my less than brotherly attraction to you—I might not let you out at all.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she refused to let it grow. “I don’t think you should have said that, my lord.”

“Clearly. But if you’ve decided to take me in dislike, I might as well be honest.”

“I haven’t taken you in dislike,” she said, lifting her chin. “If I had done that, my lord, I wouldn’t be sitting here beside you. I never do what I don’t want to do.”

He couldn’t resist teasing her.

“Ah, then you do want to be in my company today. I apologize for thinking you wanted me on the far side of the moon.”

She did that thing with her teeth and her bottom lip, and turned her head forward once more. “You can be rather annoying,” she said imperiously.

Lucas couldn’t remember the last time a woman had said something like that to him. Most probably because no woman had ever said that to him. Not his mother, not his nanny and certainly none of the young ladies of the ton who seemed to think they had to be pleasant and charming—and boring—in order to snag him into their matrimonial net.

“Then I apologize again,” Lucas said as they left the confines of London behind them and he gave his horses the office to step up the pace. “Is there anything else?”

“Anything else? Oh. You mean is there anything else about you that annoys me?”

Lucas was having some difficulty maintaining his composure. “I don’t know if I would have put it precisely that way. But, yes. Please, feel free to open your budget of dissatisfaction and pay all your insults to me at once. It would be kinder.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if he were to see steam coming out of her nostrils at any moment, but she only breathed rather quickly for several breaths before holding up her hands and ticking off the complaints on her gloved fingertips.

“One, you look at me strangely, which I find unsettling to my customary peace of mind. Two, I am in London for the Season, not to catch myself a husband, so how you may or may not feel about me doesn’t matter. Three, I don’t like the way I—No, that’s it. I’m done now.”

“Are you quite sure?” Lucas asked her. “I’m not certain, but I believe I might wish to hear more about your third reason.”

“In which case you’re doomed to disappointment,” Nicole told him firmly. Then she sighed. “Did you ever plan something, my lord? For a long time, thinking about that plan for, oh, months and months. Perhaps even years. Just how you would go on, just how it all would be, and it would unfold exactly as you supposed you wanted it to, because you were so sure of your plan, sure of yourself and your reasons. And then…and then it all goes horribly wrong.”

He had stumbled onto something she felt strongly about, obviously. So he answered as lightly as he could, deliberately keeping his father and his own plans and expectations out of the equation, or else his answer would be too serious for the day.

“Not really, no. I seem to have lived a rather charmed life. I never think I will be disappointed in what I want, and as I already have most everything I want, I don’t invest a lot of time in planning for anything else. That might seem greedy.”

She looked at him sharply, pain obvious in her marvelous eyes. “Is that it? Am I greedy? Well, of course I am. I care only for myself and my own pleasures. I consider only my own happiness. I want fun, and gaiety, and adventures, and to feel…to feel free. And—and I’m annoyed with you because…”

And, suddenly, Lucas understood. Nicole had come to London to enjoy herself, a rare bird indeed, not interested in marriage. And he had stepped in her way.

He sympathized with her, as she had stepped in his way, as well.

If she was willing to be this honest, he wouldn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what she was trying to say.

“Shall I go away, come back in two years?” he asked her as he turned onto a less-traveled lane that led through the parkland. “That would probably be more convenient for me, truthfully.”

“People don’t talk to each other like this, do they? So honestly.” Nicole twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Lydia would probably faint if she knew. And Charlotte would roll her eyes and wonder aloud how I always manage to get myself into untenable situations out of my own mouth or through my own actions, and why can’t I learn to behave. And Rafe would—No, nobody would tell Rafe. Men are much happier when they don’t know anything.”

Lucas rubbed at his mouth, massaging away his smile. “And would they all say that you’re incorrigible?”

“Among all the rest, yes. But I don’t think you should go away. It’s too late for that in any case, as you’ve already ruined all my fun.”

If Lucas were to repeat any of this conversation to Fletcher—which he most assuredly had no intention of doing—his friend would probably tell him that Lady Nicole was saying that she had tumbled top over tail in love with him…which would serve him right for teasing with her in the first place. In fact, Fletcher was still mulling the conversation about puddles, sure it had been improper, although at a loss as to how.

But Lucas was too intelligent to believe that Nicole was in love with him. Love didn’t happen that quickly, if ever. Their attraction to each other had been instant, yes, but attraction was a far cry from love.

Love wasn’t on Lucas’s agenda any more than it would appear it was on Nicole’s. It wasn’t her fault that she was young and inexperienced, and didn’t realize in her innocence that their mutual attraction was of a physical nature. And if he told her that, she’d have every right to slap him, and then avoid him.

“What sort of fun were you looking for when you came to London?” he asked her at last, after sorting through and discarding other openings, all of which, he felt sure, would leave him hanging over a yawning pit.

Again, she shrugged, but her silence didn’t last long. “All sorts of adventures, I suppose. Everything new and different and…and exciting. I’ve been stuck in the country for all of my life. For instance, I’ve never driven a curricle, let alone been driven in one.”

“Indeed. And you think I should teach you how to drive a curricle?”

She turned to him in obvious excitement. “I’ve driven Rafe’s coach, at Ashurst Hall.”

“Lady Nicole,” Lucas said in all seriousness, “if I’m to assist you in regaining the fun you believe I’ve somehow taken from you, you are to kindly leave off trying to confound me with obvious crammers like that one. Are we clear?”

Her smile nearly knocked him off his seat. “John Coachman let me sit up on the box, and taught me how to hold the ribbons. And I tied some old reins to a chair in my bedchamber, and practiced for months, until I was certain I’d got it right. It’s almost the same.”

“As chalk is to cheese, yes. Here, let me see what your coachman taught you.”

So saying, and with only a quick silent prayer that she had at least told a partial truth, he handed over the reins, and then watched as she expertly took them between her fingers.

His prized pair of matched bays sensed the difference at once, and Jupiter, the left lead, immediately tested the new driver by picking up his pace.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Nicole said, drawing Jupiter back in effortlessly. “You don’t employ the whip, do you?” she asked, glancing over at the long whip that stood in a holder to Lucas’s right.

“Rarely.” He then asked her if she wished to try the whip, but she shook her head, concentrating on the roadway. “We’re coming to a sharp bend to the left. Are you still game?”

“If you are,” Nicole said, her delight obvious. “Behind us, Lydia is probably having a small comeapart, you know.”

“Which will leave her in real peril if Fletcher topples off the seat in a dead faint,” Lucas remarked, his good humor running full force. “Ah, very nicely done, Lady Nicole. Although I must say that your off wheel came dangerously close to the verge.”

“It did? I’ll have to work on that. Do many ladies of the ton drive their own curricles?”

“A few, yes. None of them, sadly, debutantes.”

“Good. Then I’ll be the first,” she said as he pointed to a wide grassy area and indicated that she should pull the horses off and stop.

Lucas applied the brake as Fletcher’s curricle pulled up beside them. “Let me guess. You want me to tell your brother that you should have your own curricle.”

She frowned for a moment—delightful!—and then the dimple appeared in her cheek. “I hadn’t considered that. Would you do that for me?”

“Not if you held a cocked pistol to my head and had already counted to two,” he answered cheerfully. “But, if you consent to drive out with me again, I will allow you to drive my curricle. In the parks, that is. London streets are an entirely different matter.”

“Lucas?” Fletcher called out to him. “Did I mistake my eyes, or was Lady Nicole holding the reins a moment ago? Her brother would have your neck if, well, if she broke hers.”

“Yes, thank you, Fletcher,” Lucas told him, and then asked if anyone would like to stop for some refreshment at a small inn they’d passed, one just off the crossroads a mile closer to London.

Everyone agreed this would be a fine thing, and Lucas turned the team on the soft grass, aware that Nicole was watching his every move, probably committing each maneuver to memory. Clearly she was very serious about her fun.

“Thank you,” she said as they rode back the way they’d come. “Now if you could see your way clear to locate a place where I might put my Juliet to a good gallop I would most appreciate it. I imagine she is sulking most prodigiously, as I haven’t been able to exercise her thanks to this dreadful weather. And I have the most extraordinary riding habit meant to turn heads wherever I go.”

“Really? Is that to warn me or to be sure I am suitably complimentary when I see it?”

“My lord?” she asked, instead of answering him. “Do you mind that I’m being so honest with you? Honesty is rare for me, so I may not be doing it right.”

“Lady Nicole, I would be willing to wager that there is very little that you don’t do right. You’re most especially proficient in throwing a man who considers himself rather unshakable entirely out of balance.”

“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip between her teeth for an instant, and then nodded her head. “Good. That seems only fair.”

Lucas laughed out loud as they pulled into the small inn yard. “Then we’re even?” he asked her. “Leaving us only to ask ourselves what happens next between us.”

Nicole shot a quick look past him, to where her sister was being helped down from the curricle by the viscount.

“I think we should be friends, don’t you? I think it would be…it would be safer if we were to think of each other as a friend.”

“For how long?” Lucas asked before he could stop to think, because he certainly wouldn’t have said the words if he could think of anything save how much he wanted to kiss Nicole’s full, enticing mouth.

“Why, um, I suppose until we don’t wish to be friends anymore? Really, this has been the strangest conversation. I may be raw from the country, my lord, but I think you really should know better. And I’m starved. Do you think there will be ham? I adore ham.”

Somehow, Lucas restrained himself from saying, “And I fear I am beginning to adore you.”

THE INN BOASTED ONLY the single private dining room the marquess promptly engaged while Nicole and Lydia were shown to a small bedchamber beneath the eaves, where they could wash and refresh themselves.

Lydia was still stripping off her gloves as Nicole, her bonnet tossed onto the bed, was standing bent over the washbasin, splashing cold water onto her burning cheeks.

“How did you manage to convince his lordship to allow you to take the reins?” Lydia asked her as she untied the ribbons on her own bonnet. “And, more to the point, do I want to know?”

Nicole rubbed at her face with the rough towel and then smiled at her sister. “Probably not. It was wonderful, Lydia, except that I knew he’d take them away again if I gave the horses their heads, which I truly longed to do. They’re a fine pair, not all highbacked and showy like the viscount’s team.”

“I hadn’t noticed any deficiencies in the viscount’s horseflesh. We had another lovely talk, by the way. He has a gaggle of younger sisters and a widowed mother, which is why he could not risk himself in the late war, although he feels terrible that he stayed home when so many others risked life and limb for the Crown. So I told him a little about our late uncle and cousins, and how none of them went to war, but ended by perishing anyway. We agreed that safety is a matter of opinion, and that rash actions can lead to unfortunate consequences as easily as facing an acknowledged enemy.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry I missed that,” she said, turning away as she refolded the towel, to hide her amusement. “On the way back to Grosvenor Square you might wish to pass the time conjugating French verbs, which I’m sure would be equally delighting. But, please, while we’re at luncheon, do try to find a lighter topic.”

“But…but the viscount seemed entertained. What did you and the marquess discuss, then, if you’re so much the expert?”

While Lydia washed her hands and then carefully blotted her cheeks with a washcloth dipped in the basin, Nicole perched herself on the edge of the bed, watching her. Lydia, the perfect lady. And such grace and circumspection came so naturally to her, unlike Nicole’s less well-thought-out actions.

Lydia, always prudent, carefully dipped into life. Nicole unconcernedly splashed her way through it. That was as succinct an explanation of the difference between them as Nicole felt necessary.

“The marquess and I,” she said, for once watching her words, “have decided to cry friends. We’re very…comfortable with each other.”

“Really?”

Lord no, Nicole thought, her stomach doing an all-too-familiar small flip. “Oh, yes. He understands that I am in London to enjoy myself, and he is content with that arrangement. You see, I thought it only fair to tell him that, as he may be on the lookout for a wife and to set up his nursery, as are many who come to Town for the Season.”

“Nicole! Tell me you didn’t say any such thing. To…to simply assume that the marquess—any man—should look at you, pay you the least attention, and then have it most naturally follow that he should wish to marry you? I know you mean well, sweetheart, and, knowing you, you can’t see the enormous impropriety of so much as intimating that his lordship should be…should be…”

“Hot to wed me? Or, at the very least, bed me?” Nicole suppressed a shiver, praying it was one of horror and not anticipation. “Don’t tell me you didn’t sense that from the moment we first met. I’m not such a gudgeon that I don’t know what men think when they look at me. Consider Mr. Hugh Hobart. He—”

“No! We do not discuss Mr. Hugh Hobart. Not ever. You could have been killed. Or worse.”

“Lydia, nothing is worse than being killed. Any other condition is only temporary. And, if uncomfortable, even frightening, at least possible to overcome. Or would you rather that I’d withdrawn from life because of what almost happened to me that day, as you did when the captain—Oh! I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

She hopped down from the bed and ran over to take her sister in her arms, hug her tightly. “You worry so for me, because I reach for everything with both hands. And I worry for you because you refuse to reach even a single hand forward, to take back your life. I love you so much. I don’t mean that you should attempt to drive a curricle, or take on a five-barred fence, or flirt outrageously with a dangerous man because it delights something inside you to do so. We’re twins, yes, but we’re each our own person. You have your own way, you always did. Sweet, and gentle, and loving. Please, Lydia, love yourself enough to step out of the shadow you’ve been hiding in. I want you to dare something, sweetheart. Be alive. It’s what I want for you, it’s what the captain would want for you.”

Lydia held on to her for long moments, her breathing somewhat shallow and irregular. And then she kissed Nicole on the cheek and stepped back from her. “If I promise to be less careful, will you promise to be more careful?”

Nicole hesitated, knowing her own limits. “In general, do you mean, or with the marquess most particularly? Because I don’t know if I could—”

“Oh, no, I’d never ask you to cry off of whatever it is you and the marquess have found in each other. I also am not such a gudgeon. But will you be careful, Nicole? I know you believe it impossible, but even a strong, independent heart can be broken.”

“Yes,” Nicole said, pinning a bright smile on her face. “We wouldn’t want that to happen to the poor unsuspecting marquess, now would we?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Lydia said, giving her sister another quick, fierce hug.

“Everyone keeps saying that. Mostly, I’m starving,” Nicole added, truly believing her sister had at last taken a strong step back into the world. She believed Captain Fitzgerald would have approved. “Now, as we go downstairs, tell me—what do you think of the Viscount Yalding? Does he interest you? He seems to like you well enough.”

“Nicole!” her sister exclaimed. “Certainly not!”

“Very well,” Nicole said, taking the lead on the stairs. “Mayfair is fairly well littered with possibilities, I’m sure. I’ll keep looking.”

Lydia swatted at her sister’s head from behind, causing Nicole to laugh in pure pleasure as she continued down the stairs…to see Lucas standing in the narrow hallway waiting for her.

His thick blond hair was slightly mussed from his curly brimmed beaver, a thin red line marking where it had sat on his forehead above those most marvelous blue eyes. He looked completely at his ease, handsome and fit and extraordinarily alive. The way he made her feel.

Did he think her smile, her laughter, was for him?

He reached up his hand and she took it, surprised by the frisson of delight that swept up the length of her arm.

And if he did think her smile was for him, what did it matter? After all, Lydia was smiling, wasn’t she? And it most certainly was a beautiful day…




CHAPTER FOUR


LUCAS WATCHED, NEARLY mesmerized, as Nicole waved a chicken wing about as she regaled them all with a story about the day Rafe and Charlotte had discovered a nest of baby mice in their bedchamber at Ashurst Hall. Rafe was all for dispatching them forthwith, while Charlotte had demanded they be gathered up and taken outside, to be set free.

Once, of course, Rafe had located their mother, who was probably still necessary to their well-being.

Fletcher was nearly doubled over in laughter as Nicole described Rafe’s hunt for the mother, which included a hunk of cheese, a butterfly net and a large pillowcase…only to have Charlotte demand after the capture that he ascertain whether this was the mother or the father, for the father would be no good to those poor babies at all.

“And Rafe declared, ‘Madam, against my better judgment I have performed as you asked. Lift its tail and take a look if you must, but I am done.’”

And then, as Fletcher roared with fresh laughter, she took another bite out of the chicken wing—her third of the meal—and winked at Lucas.

He only shook his head, silently telling her she was, yes, incorrigible.

She affected no airs, was so obviously comfortable in her own skin, sure of herself and her place in the world, certain that others would like her just as she enjoyed the world at large. Someday she would make a delightful hostess, as well as a real force in Society, setting trends, dictating fashion. If she didn’t manage to disgrace herself before she decided just who and what she wanted to be, that is.

Nicole was such a mix of temptress and unaffected delight. He’d noticed when she came downstairs that her cheeks were glowing, and a few of her curls were slightly damp, as if she’d had herself a wash and brush up and her interest had lain more in refreshing herself than in preserving some sense of sophisticated beauty.

She certainly did not apply to the paint pots, or else her freckles would not be in evidence. No, the glow of her skin was pure good health, her lips made pink by nature. Her eyes sparkled with the life inside her, the pure joy of living that shone from her.

Some might find her exhausting. He found her exhilarating, and wonderfully challenging. And if he had any sense of self-preservation, he’d take her back to her brother and then avoid her in future.

“Are you still starving, Lady Nicole,” he asked her quietly a few minutes later, “or would you care to take a stroll outside on this so rare a sunny day before we return to Grosvenor Square?”

She looked at him for a moment, her head tipped to one side, and then put out her hand so that he might help her rise. “Dare we leave these two unchaperoned?” she inquired in a whisper, those violet eyes dancing.

“You don’t wish to invite them to accompany us?”

“Do you?”

Perhaps she could read his mind? Still, politeness decreed that he had to ask the others to come along. “Fletcher? Lady Lydia? Would you care to join us on a small stroll?” he asked as Nicole, her back to her sister, pulled a face at him.

Lydia and Fletcher exchanged looks before both begged off, much more interested in discussing whatever had been keeping them intent on each other these past minutes whenever Nicole wasn’t joking about mice and butterfly nets.

“I imagine we can just leave the door open when we leave,” she said, taking the bonnet he handed her and placing it on the tabletop. “You know, I’ve got a solid dozen of these things, a promise I made to myself, yet I have found them more a nuisance than anything else. The brims are lovely, but for the most part I feel like a draft horse with blinders on.”

Lucas looked at his curly-brimmed beaver for a moment, and then left it where it was as he offered his arm to Nicole and together they headed for the front door of the inn. “I suppose, since we’re only taking a short walk, we can be informal without shocking Society at large.”

“If I thought that Society at large had anything to say about whether I wore a bonnet or you your hat, I should think Society might consider finding something more serious to occupy itself with.”

“Do you plan to tell Society that, or shall I? Just before we’re both banished, that is.”

“And you’d worry about that?” Nicole asked as they stepped out of the inn, turning to the left and a path that seemed to lead into a fairly light woods. “That Society might look askance at you? I would have thought you had more consequence than that. You could even set a new fashion. A hatless fashion.”

“I could do that, I suppose. According to Fletcher, I’m fairly dripping with consequence. You, however, would be immediately labeled a hellion, even fast, and mamas would steer their sons clear of you—unless Rafe has set up a large dowry, in which case you could have three ears and no one would care.”

Nicole’s laugh was a delight, and she unaffectedly leaned her body into his side as she kept her arm through his. “If I had three ears, I’d always wear my bonnets.”

Lucas looked at the way the sunlight danced off her shining curls, his fingers itching to slide into the thickness, feel their warmth. “And the world would be the less for it. Is that what you hoped I’d say?”

Her smile fled, and she bit her bottom lip for a moment before looking away from him. “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t angling for compliments, my lord. I thought we were friends now, and only being silly. I am not always, as Charlotte says, on the flirt.”

“Your sister-in-law has all the best intentions, I’m sure, but she clearly can’t see you the way I do, the way any gentleman less than eighty and not deaf and blind would see you. You flirt, my dear, simply by existing at all. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that if Her Grace is truly worried about either you or the male population at large, she would be doing a service to hang a sign around your neck, warning the unwary away.”

Nicole pulled her arm free of his and danced ahead of him along the narrow path. Stopped a few paces in front of him and turned to confront him. “I didn’t think you were unkind. But that was a horrid thing to say.”

Lucas wanted to kick himself. “Of course it was,”

he said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you in any way.”

That imp of the devil was back in her eyes. “Me? Oh no, my lord, I wasn’t at all insulted. You insulted yourself, and—how did you say it?—the male population at large. Surely there are gentlemen who care for more in females than appearances.”

“At the risk of further insulting my own sex, I have to say that for many of us, appearances aren’t just important, but all that’s important. We’re by and large a shallow bunch.”

“So, if I had three ears, and no dowry, you’d turn and walk away from me right now? I see.”

Lucas mentally retraced his conversational steps from the moment they’d left the inn, and wondered where he had first gone wrong. And then he realized what she was attempting to do. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke an argument between us?”

Her shoulders slumped for a moment, and then she lifted her chin and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Yes. And it’s not working, drat you for being so uncooperative. Why isn’t it working? Rafe says I can try the patience of a saint when I put my mind to it.”

“I’m not a saint,” Lucas said quietly, stepping closer to her. He could smell the sunshine in her hair. “Are you really that afraid of me? Am I that much of a threat to you, Nicole?”

She bit her bottom lip once more, and then quickly raised a hand to her mouth, as if to wipe away some betraying gesture. “I don’t even know you, not really. You don’t know me, either, when we come straight down to it. So why do you have this effect on me? Because I don’t like it, my lord, I truly don’t.”

“How do I affect you?” he asked intently, daring to touch a finger to the soft underside of her chin, hold it there, mesmerized by the way the sunlight seemed to kiss her lightly freckled skin. “Tell me.”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she said, jerking her head away from him. “This has gone too far. Take me back to the inn or step out of my way.”

He couldn’t do that.

“Have you spent the past three days wondering what it would be like to have me kiss you, Nicole? Because I have. Sister of a duke, sister of a good friend, and all I can think about is how your mouth might taste, how you’d fit in my arms. From the moment you first crashed into my life, setting my world tipping on its axis.”

She shook her head slowly, but didn’t turn to run from him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Really? Because I’m not certain I can believe that. I’m afraid of you. You’re everything I don’t need in my life right now, just as you’ve made it clear that you don’t want me in your life. And yet here we are, and I still want to kiss you, and I’m more than fairly certain you want me to kiss you. Truth to tell, I doubt either of us will be capable of thinking of anything else until—”

She nearly knocked him off his feet, surprising him by launching herself at him. She took his face between her hands as she stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down and fiercely pressed her mouth to his, her eyes screwed tightly shut, as if she might be in pain.

She released him just as abruptly, stepping back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “There! Now we neither of us have to think about it anymore.”

Before he could respond, she lifted her skirts and ran past him, back to the inn. He decided to light a cheroot and stay where he was for a while, giving her time to recover from her impulsive action.

God, she was magnificent.

And as he smiled, and smoked, and replayed the moment of her impulsive kiss, an idea began to form in his mind. An insane idea, but one that seemed more reasonable the more he thought about it…

WHEN WOULD SHE LEARN not to be so impulsive? When would she finally think first, and then only act afterward?

But Nicole desperately had wanted him to stop talking. To simply shut up, say nothing else that she couldn’t deny without sounding like a complete ninny.

It had all seemed so eminently reasonable at the time. And, as it turned out, rather enjoyable.

She should have remembered that she still had to sit up beside the man all the way back to London.

She’d run all the way back to the inn, only skidding to a halt before she took a deep, steadying breath and rejoined her sister and Lord Yalding in the dining room, finding them still deep in conversation, so that neither of them even noticed that she’d returned.

Lucas had entered some minutes later, saying he’d settled their bill of fare with the innkeeper and that they should probably get back to the city soon, before the unpredictable weather took another turn for the worse.

“Don’t say a word,” she warned him as he joined her on the seat of the curricle after handing her up first. “Not a single word.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucas told her. “But may I at least thank you? That was a most…interesting kiss. Daresay your first? I’m flattered.”

“That’s nothing to the point.” She narrowed her eyes as she turned to glare at him. “And, may I add, that’s also not what I meant by not saying anything. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman. A lesser man would have grabbed you and shown you what a real kiss is, but I restrained myself. In point of fact, I’m rather proud of my self-control, if not actually amazed at my gentlemanly behavior in the teeth of temptation.”

“How gratifying for you, my lord, I’m sure. I cannot say the same for myself.” Nicole took a deep breath and turned her attention to the scenery on her side of the road. “We shouldn’t see each other again, at least not willingly. Although I do suppose we’ll inevitably run into each other from time to time, at which point we will of course be civil to each other, especially if Lydia or Rafe is watching. Will you be at Lady Cornwallis’s ball?”

“I will be now, yes,” Lucas said, infuriating her, except for the traitorous parts of her that were delighted to hear the news. “But I believe I shall be able to restrain myself from tossing you to the floor and ravishing you during the Scottish Reel, if that’s what worries you. As for your behavior, I really can’t be certain, can I? After all, I wasn’t the one who…went on the attack.”

“Yes, and I’m glad I did,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster, “for now that my perfectly reasonable curiosity has been satisfied, I find that you are not as much of a problem as I’d believed you might be.”

“The kiss was a failure?”

As if she’d tell him otherwise—he was already entirely too smug to make her happy! And she’d certainly never let on how happy she was that he seemed to wish to continue…pursuing her. So much easier than her having to chase him, she concluded, while also deciding that she may be her own worst enemy when it came to defending her determined heart-whole plans for her life.

“Since I feel no great need to repeat the exercise, I would rather say it was a resounding success. Watch what you’re doing, my lord. You nearly ran us into that ditch.”

“Forgive me,” Lucas said, facing forward and taking control of his team once more.

Perhaps she’d gone too far? Charlotte was always warning her that her sometimes outrageous speech and actions could drive an anchorite to strong drink. Nicole was silent for nearly the length of a mile, wondering if he’d meant she should forgive him for the kiss, or for nearly running them into a ditch, before admitting quietly, “It wasn’t all that terrible.”

“I beg your pardon? I’m afraid I’ve lost track of the last few turns in this conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t making things any easier for her, was he, and that he was doing it on purpose was obvious. “I said, it wasn’t all that terrible. The kiss, I mean. I still like you, much as I don’t want to. I think we may both be quite insane, and I know you shouldn’t be behaving toward me the way you are, or I toward you, but I still like you. I don’t know why.”

“You can’t help yourself, as I’m naturally charming,” Lucas told her, handing over the reins once more. Nicole wondered if he’d made the gesture as a peace offering, but wasn’t about to reject his offer. “Cock your wrists just a bit more—ah, that’s it. Now, taking into account Fletcher’s possible impending apoplexy behind us, take them through their paces, because I know you’re dying to. The road is straight here and no one is visible for a good half mile.”

She sliced a quick look at him, once more in charity with the man. In truth, she doubted she could ever stay angry with him, which probably didn’t bode well for either of them, now that she thought of the thing. “You mean it? I’m good enough? Or are you simply trying to apologize to me?”

“Since I have a healthy regard for the state of my neck and being tossed from this seat is not in my immediate plans simply to make you happy, yes, I mean it. And I’m apologizing. Is it working?”

“I think so, yes. I apologize, as well. I’m well aware that I behaved very badly, even if I was goaded into it,” she told him, for that was as close to an apology as she could muster. Then she turned her attention entirely to the horses, flicking the reins lightly so that they moved out of their easy canter. She felt the breeze tugging at the brim of her bonnet and smiled. “Ah, heaven.”

“And tomorrow, if the weather remains fair, we’ll do something about exercising your mare. Juliet, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her eyes still on the roadway ahead of them. “Oh, all right, I agree. Only because you’re, as you so modestly say, so charming. But don’t think that anything will come of it, my lord. There will be no more kisses.”

“Well, now I’m crushed. But I agree, there will no more kisses like the one you think we shared at the inn.”

Confound the man! She heard his words, but could not help wondering if he was actually saying the opposite of what she might think those words meant. His smile told her she could be right. “We’ll go on as we began—as friends.”

“Until and unless you want something more or less, yes. But I am not without my motives for agreeing to this, Nicole. After giving the idea far less thought than I probably should have before speaking to you, I wish to strike a bargain between us. One you might consider an invitation to adventure. You did say you wanted adventures while you’re here in London.”

As they turned at a bend in the road and other vehicles appeared, he took back the reins. She didn’t argue with him. She was much too intrigued by the tone of his voice. “That sounds ominous. You have motives?”

“From time to time,” he said, looking at her rather intently. “Let me just say this quickly before my better judgment rears its head. For reasons I won’t bore you with, I believe it might be in my best interests to be considered a love-struck fool for the next few weeks. Or, in other words, harmless.”

Now this was interesting, intriguing. “Only an idiot would ever consider you harmless. To what purpose?”

“That’s not important. Just hear me out, Nicole, please. We’ve cried friends, we’ve warned each other off, more than once. We neither of us want entanglements at this time. You agree?”

The sun was still shining, yet Nicole suddenly felt very much in the shade. “That’s what we said. All right, yes, we’re…friends.”

“So if I agree to allow you to drive my curricle, if I take you for gallops with your Juliet—and anything else you might desire, within reason, of course—will you agree to be my companion in Society? Only for a few weeks at the outside, I promise. Then you can be seen to very publicly dash my expectations and move on to greener pastures in ample time to break at least a dozen more hearts before the end of the Season, both of us knowing we’d only been playing out a charade of sorts, and no harm done to either of us.”

There was something in his eyes Nicole hadn’t seen before this moment. Some sort of determination that made him appear somehow stern, even forbidding, as well as definitely angry with himself. “I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t. Why would you need anyone to think you a love-struck fool?”

“Surely I didn’t say fool, did I?” If his smile was meant to divert her, it had sorely missed its mark.

“You did, yes,” she said, refusing to return that smile.

“Then we’ll change that to devoted swain, all right?”

“Not until you tell me why you want to look like a devoted swain, no.”

His expression became shuttered. “Then never mind, Nicole. With friends, some things must be taken on trust, as I trusted you with the reins.”

He was so infuriating. “Do you always give up so easily, my lord?”

“When I realize I’ve just made an idiot of myself, yes. Forget I said anything, please. The idea only held merit until I voiced it out loud, at which point it seemed silly, not to mention stupid.”

“No, that’s not true. As I spout lies so easily myself when it suits me, I can usually tell when someone is attempting to lie to me. You like your idea very much, as it somehow suits your purposes, whatever they are. You simply don’t like that I want to know why you feel some need to pretend something that isn’t true.”

“I have my reasons. That’s all I can say.”

“All you will say.” Nicole peered at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw a slight tic working in his jaw. “Are you in some sort of danger?”

His smile nearly dazzled her. “And therefore applying to you to protect me? Hardly.”

“Don’t be facetious,” she said without really thinking, her mind still working feverishly. “You can’t be a spy, because the war is over and there is no need for spies. Is there?”

“None, no. Nicole, let it go. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have. But you did, and now I will go out of my mind attempting to discover why you said it and why you obviously feel a need for certain people to believe something that isn’t true. Oh! Are you being chased by a particularly persistent mama who is trying to bracket you to her pudding-faced daughter?”

“If I said yes, would you believe me?”

She considered that for a moment. “No, I suppose not. You don’t seem the sort to fear petticoats.”

“Present company excepted, of course,” he shot back, to both her delight and chagrin.

“Yes, yes, I’m ferocious, I know,” she quipped lightly, still cudgeling her brain for any reason Lucas would want the world to think he was intent only on courting a woman…and not whatever else it was that he might be doing. “Just answer me this, please. Are you in any danger? Because you didn’t really answer me the first time I asked.”

He cocked one eyebrow as he looked at her. “You noticed that?”

“I’ve already admitted that I’m not bookish, like Lydia. But I never said you should feel free to believe me stupid. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

He was silent for some moments, careful of the increased congestion now that they were back within the confines of London.

She waited, trying not to hold her breath. Because his answer now would decide whether or not she would see him again. She knew that. She was sure he knew that.

“What I’m planning,” he said at last, “could perhaps prove minimally dangerous, I suppose. But at the moment, no, I’m in no danger at all. And, if the world has no reason to suspect me of anything, that slight chance of possible danger grows even smaller. Is that enough for you, Nicole?”

Was the man even listening to himself? He’d just dangled a secret in front of her, as well as the prospect of adventure. Did he really think she would be satisfied never knowing what he intended to do? Not that she’d ever know unless she agreed to his plan to use her to cover his intentions.

“Will you tell me when it’s over? This thing you’ll be doing that you don’t want anyone to suspect you of doing, that is.”

“When it’s over, Nicole, if I’m successful, yes, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. That’s only fair.”

“And if you’re unsuccessful?” she asked, her heart beating fast, as she was suddenly quite worried for his welfare, drat him. She wanted adventures, certainly. But both adventures and caring for someone else’s well-being had not been on her agenda. “What happens then?”

“I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “I haven’t considered failure.”

Her smile started small, and then spread into a wide grin. “I never do, either. Consider failure, that is. We’re very alike, my lord.”

“Lucas.”

“We’re very alike, Lucas,” she repeated, and then she sighed in some small contentment. “All right. Feel free to consider yourself my ardent, love-struck swain. Lydia will be delighted, if full of I-told-you-so’s, since she’s well aware that I have sworn to care for no man. Rafe and Charlotte will be glad to see me occupied with a suitable person and thus think I’ll stay out of trouble, even while I’m having my adventures. And, at the end of the thing, I get to know your secret. Is there anything else?”

“Just one thing. As a gentleman, and considering our friendship, I need to tell Rafe.”

Nicole rolled her eyes in exasperation. Did the man know nothing of the meaning of a secret? “Absolutely not. He won’t agree to any of it, for one thing. And if Rafe is to know why you want to do this, then I would have to insist on knowing what Rafe knows, or else you’d both have the advantage of me. Which, by the way, I would consider unconscionable.”

“He’s your brother and my friend. I can’t in good conscience deceive him.”

“Are you also going to tell him that I kissed you?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“But you’re a gentleman. You’re his friend. How can you not tell him?” Nicole felt sure she had the advantage now, and she eagerly pressed it.

Lucas’s answer deflated her immediately.

“All right. I believe I agree. I’ll tell him, saying that it was I who kissed you—to save your blushes, you understand—and Rafe will then announce our engagement in the morning newspapers.”

She looked at him, aghast. “You’re threatening me? After I agreed to help you?”

His laughter came and went quickly. “How interesting. You consider the prospect of marriage as a threat, Nicole? To anyone in general, or to me in particular?”

She put up her hands, waving them in front of her to scrub away his words. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve said yes, and now that I have you’re sorry you asked me, so you want to make me angry so that I’ll cry off. Well, I won’t do it. Run and tell Rafe about that stupid kiss if you feel some great crushing need for confession. It won’t be my nose he bloodies.”

He looked at her in what she hoped was at least a little bit of amazement. “I think I’ve just been completely backed into a corner, and by a girl at least eight years my junior. Deny it if you wish to, but you have a very clever and even devious mind, Nicole. Almost frighteningly so.”

“Yes, I probably do, but I believe my arguments are sound,” she said rather proudly, before remembering the last time she’d been clever in what she’d believed was a good cause, which had nearly ended up with her dead.

She’d promised herself then to be more careful, most especially of those she believed she could trust, those she could, yes, even believe she could control, as she’d thought she could control Mr. Hugh Hobart.

Did she trust Lucas? Yes, she had to admit that she did.

Could she control him?

No. She couldn’t even control herself when she was in his company.

Still, there was no turning back. Not now. The carrot he’d dangled in front of her face was too potentially delicious for her to ignore it. Freedom. Adventure. A secret.

“I don’t know how sound your arguments are, Nicole, but they seem at least to be better arguments than mine.”

“I’m very good at making the ridiculous sound sensible, at least to myself,” she admitted with a smile. “I practice.”

She hadn’t even realized that the curricle had turned into Grosvenor Square. He didn’t speak again until he’d set the foot brake and a footman ran to assist Nicole down from the seat.

Lucas put his hand on her forearm, holding her in place. “If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d be running from you right now. But, for my sins, I think we’re agreed. Come along and let’s ask Fletcher and your sister if they’d care to attend the theater tonight. If we’re to convince the ton that I’m this love-struck fool I’ve proposed, we may as well get on with it.”

Nicole nodded as he let go of her arm and hopped down from the curricle, hastening around the vehicle to assist her to the flagway.

She put her hands on his shoulders as he cupped her waist, their eyes meeting as he slowly lowered her to the ground. She had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not simply being nosy, you understand. Or wanting my own way, wanting my own fun. It’s…it’s more than that. I know you said you’re in little danger, but I’m worried about you. As…as your friend. Which makes me very angry with you for some reason.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his smile delighting her in ways she really didn’t wish to think about at the moment. He took hold of her right hand and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you.”

Did she blush? Her cheeks felt hot. But that was impossible; she never blushed. Lydia blushed. “Yes…yes, well…you’re welcome. And still infuriating,” she added when his smile grew and once again twisted her stomach into knots. “And now I’ll tell you that I had a lovely time and, if you have a shred of kindness in you, you will take yourself off so that I can go inside and attempt to figure out what happened between us today.”




CHAPTER FIVE


LUCAS READ THE FIRST LINE written by the Citizens for Justice out loud—“It is time, friends, to take up arms against an oppressive government determin’d to starve our children and screw honest men into the ground”—and then folded the broadsheet, handing it back to Fletcher.

“Yes, yes, thank you, I’ve read it. Several times. Quite depressing. She was going to give it to her brother the duke, but he was called away to his estate the morning after we dined in Grosvenor Square, and isn’t due back until this evening. So she gave it to me at the inn today instead, having decided not to bother her brother with it. “What do you think, Lucas?”

“Nothing good, that’s for certain. And you say Lady Lydia found this in her maid’s possession?”

“In the gel’s apron pocket, yes. Lady Lydia didn’t confront the woman. She admits she may be seeing trouble where there is none, but the fact that she’s reading your relative’s fiery pamphlets at the moment did set some frightening ideas to percolating in her head.”

“He’s not my relative,” Lucas said offhandedly. “But I can see where Lady Lydia might connect the two in her mind. That broadsheet is speaking sedition, Fletcher. Do you know what that means?”

“Necks will be stretched?” Fletcher offered, shrugging. “When we find out who wrote such nonsense, that is. Citizens for Justice? Citizens for Mischief is more like it. I told Lady Lydia not to worry, but I don’t think she believed me. What do you say about this? You’re the one who warned of just this sort of possibility not more than a few days ago, after all.”

“What do I say about it?” Lucas repeated, subsiding into the leather chair behind his desk in the large private study in Park Lane. He answered carefully. “I think there are no names associated with this nonsense. There’s a call to arms, but no mention of when or where the angry populace is to gather, or what they are to do when they do come together. Where do they go? Whom do they attack?”

Fletcher scratched at his cheek. “Well, I…Stap me, Lucas, I don’t know. Do you suppose there’s a code hidden in there somewhere?”

Lucas smiled. “No, I don’t suppose so. No more than I suppose that more than one in fifty of the persons this broadsheet is directed at can even read the King’s English, let alone decipher hidden codes. So, what is the purpose of this broadsheet, hmm?”

Fletcher screwed up his features, clearly deep in thought. Then he shook his head. “Since we’re the only ones who can be counted on to read it, I imagine I don’t know.”

“But you do know, Fletcher. You just said it. This wasn’t directed at the people of London, or wherever-all the thing has been distributed. It was aimed at the people who could read it. Us.”

“No, sorry, I don’t understand.”

Lucas wished he didn’t understand, either. But thanks to Lord Nigel Frayne, he was sadly sure that he did. It was only Fletcher who believed that Lucas was seeing this particular broadsheet for the first time.

“Think about what you told me the other day. You told me you’d overheard that some in our government believe they’ve found a way to bring Parliament, Tories and Whigs both, around to the idea of stricter laws and taxes meant to beat down English citizens, correct?”

“I don’t believe I said beat down. But yes, that was about it.”

“All right. And what better way to assure success than to have the populace threatening to rise up against the government? Against us, the rich and powerful and, sadly, uncaring.”

Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying—No. That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want that to happen? Riots? Marching in the streets of Mayfair? They throw rocks, Lucas. They rip up cobblestones and use them as weapons. I’ve heard the stories of what happened not that many years ago. I can’t afford to replace all the windows in my townhome, for pity’s sake.”

“Your glazier’s possible bill to one side, we can none of us afford civil unrest. Calling out the Guard on our own citizens? And I may have actually helped Sidmouth and the others with my impulsive tirade at White’s, warning of just such an occurrence if we don’t help those among us who are suffering most at the moment. I was unwittingly making their case for them, the exact opposite of my intention.”

It also hadn’t been his intention to have Lord Frayne approach him. But he had.

Fletcher picked up his wineglass and stared into it, deep in thought. “Let me see if I follow this, all right? You’re saying that someone—for the sake of argument, Sidmouth, or some of his ilk—would deliberately goad citizens to rise up against their government? So that the laws that are already oppressive to them can be made more oppressive?”

“Exactly, yes.” And, God help him, Lucas knew that he, against all his principles and arguments, was about to become a large part of that effort.

“I’d like you to be wrong. I hope you don’t mind. The glazier bills, you understand. Very well, as I see you’re set on this—this whatever it is you’ve clearly decided to do. How can I be of help to you?”

Could he lie to his friend? To clear his father’s name, yes. Yes, he could. Especially if confiding in Fletcher could end with the man in trouble. After all, a man didn’t do what Lucas was contemplating doing without bending a few of the King’s laws. “I don’t want to involve you.”

“Christ’s teeth, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’m your friend. If you’re planning something, I should be a part of it. You’d do the same for me. Now, what do you want me to do?”

“Would it be a hardship for you to continue to pay court to Lady Lydia Daughtry?”

Fletcher sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Ah! In case she finds more broadsheets, you mean?”

“No,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I’m sure we can find more of those on our own all over Piccadilly, if we just look.”

“Then why?”

It was too late now for the truth.

“That’s fairly simple. After, as you call it, making so much of a cake of myself at White’s, I don’t wish for some people to believe I’ve taken up the cause of people such as those who supposedly wrote that broadsheet. I need to fade into the background, hoping everyone forgets my…outburst. To help me, Lady Nicole has agreed that I might be allowed to show the world that I’m actively pursuing her, and therefore much too besotted to think about anything as serious as the possibility of civil unrest.”

“The devil you say. So you do already have some sort of plan in the works, some way to keep the cobblestones in the streets as it were? Without consulting me, but enlisting Lady Nicole instead? I’m hurt, Lucas. Truly. And she agreed to this, I imagine? Why?”

Why indeed? Lucas had spent the time since his and Nicole’s shared afternoon wondering about exactly that, telling himself that she had a real interest in him, and then alternately deciding that her interest was more in the adventure of the thing. The first thought flattered him, the second disturbed him.

He gave a dismissing wave of his hand. “Something to do with curricles and gallops, and probably more I don’t want to consider too closely. But never mind that. And I’ve got no real plan.”

“Not yet, you mean, beyond getting people to forget that dreadful speech you made at White’s—no offense meant. Again, tell me what I can do to help.”

“All right. You could help me by keeping the sister occupied, the two of you acting as chaperones of sorts. Lady Lydia is very protective of her sister and, you’ll admit, quite intelligent.”

“She is that,” Fletcher agreed. “Talks rings around me most of the time, but I don’t mind. I think she considers me as harmless as you want whomever you want to think you harmless. Now give me at least a small hint of what you believe you’ll be doing that isn’t quite so harmless, because I am honest enough to not understand what you could do.”

“Another time, or we’ll be late in getting to Grosvenor Square to squire the ladies to the theater. For now, answer me this. Do you know if Lady Lydia showed that broadsheet to Lady Nicole?”

Fletcher nodded. “Yes, I do know that. She showed it to her. She thinks that’s why Lady Nicole read some of Thomas Paine’s pamphlet. You remember? The Rights of Man? Lady Lydia confided that she’d never been so surprised as when she heard that her sister had read the thing. It’s nothing like her, you understand. She believes Lady Nicole has somehow decided that she needs to take more interest in the world beyond her own enjoyments, or some such thing. Lady Lydia is quite proud of her.”

“Damn, that could complicate things. I’ll have to be careful,” Lucas said quietly.

“Careful of what?”

“Of a beautiful woman’s curiosity, Fletcher,” Lucas said, motioning that his friend should precede him out of the study. “For now, since you’ve offered to help me, I’d like you to watch over the two of them tonight at the theater when I slip away to meet with someone. Don’t turn your back on Lady Nicole while I’m gone, not for a moment. All right? And then, tomorrow, I may be able to tell you more.”

“She’s only a young woman, barely out of the nursery, and fresh from the country at that. I’m sure I can manage her.”

“Yes,” Lucas said, turning away from his friend to hide his smile. “I’m sure you think you can.”

COVENT GARDEN WAS A MARVEL of architecture and size, dwarfing the small regional theater near Ashurst that Nicole had attended a few times in the company of her brother and Charlotte.

She attempted a sophisticated disinterest in her surroundings, but couldn’t maintain the pretense for more than a few minutes. There were simply too many people, too many beautiful people, over-dressed people, ladies whose beauty astounded her or whose sausagelike bodies stuffed into corsets and garish silks amused her, gentlemen whose dark, formal clothing distinguished them, youths whose outrageous high-heeled patent shoes, outrageously exaggerated shirt points and dangling lace handkerchiefs made her bite her lip so she wouldn’t giggle.

Jewels sparkled on every neck, even when some of those necks looked to be better suited to horse collars. Some laughed too loudly, some appeared desperate, while others seemed to be extremely comfortable in their skin, their clothing and their place in the world.

They sauntered along the flagway in front of the theater. They pranced into the lobby and as they headed toward their assigned seats, their leased boxes. They minced and they dawdled. Everyone was looking at everyone else, measuring the crowd with their eyes. Quizzing glasses and lorgnettes were raised, fans were unfurled and fluttered, expressions ranged from bored to interested to openly curious.

Nicole decided she loved all of them. Caught between her admiration of the heavily gilted carved wood and the brocade wall coverings highlighted by massive crystal chandeliers and unabashed interest in the exotic birds of Society that flitted all about her, she leaned closer to Lucas.

“It’s like stepping into a fairy tale,” she told him. “Who are all of these people?”

Lucas nodded to yet another couple walking past them, but didn’t stop. “Just that, Nicole. They’re people. I’d like to tell you they’re here to take in the entertainment, but they’re not, at least not most of them. They’re here to see, to be seen and then to gossip about all they’ve seen. Which is a pity, for Marie Therese de Camp’s play, Smiles and Tears, is on the bill for tonight. Would you like to meet her? Does that come under the heading of adventure for you?”

Nicole smiled up at him. “It does, certainly. Is it proper? I mean, to meet a woman of the theater.”

“Entirely acceptable, yes, if I send round a note and ask her to join us in our box during one of the intermissions. Not quite as proper if we go to her.”

“So of course we’ll go to her. Leaving Lydia and Lord Yalding nicely chaperoned in your box by Renée,” Nicole said as he gazed down at her rather intently, clearly having dropped into his role of adoring swain. “That is what you meant, isn’t it?”

“Thus providing you with another adventure to keep you amused. I do remember my end of our bargain. You look beautiful this evening, by the way. Heads have turned with each new step you’ve taken.”





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