be sanguine about that.”
“I call upon Hellerington this afternoon,” Nick informed her, “and I will soon hold the bulk of his markers and will use them to your advantage.”
“You’re buying up his debts?” Leah paused to peer up at him. “Why?”
Nick resumed their progress rather than bear her scrutiny, tugging on her hand to encourage her to move with him. “It’s no great effort. He generally does pay his debts, if slowly, and I can afford it.” He decided not to tell her that with the aid of a discreet investigator, he was also buying up Wilton’s debts, not wanting to unnerve her further.
“I dislike that you would risk coin on me. I gather I cannot stop you.”
“You cannot.” Nothing could stop him—Nick had made up his mind on that. “When I assist you down to the water, I will slip another two sovereigns into your glove.”
“My father may be on to you,” Leah said as they left the path. Nick angled his body around hers, as if they were promenading, his right hand at her waist, his left gripping her left hand. On the damp grass, Leah’s foot slipped.
“Oh, well done,” Nick murmured near her ear. She was cast against him, momentarily leaning on his greater strength to get her footing. Nick slipped coins into her glove, even as he took a shameless whiff of her fragrance.
“Gads, you’re strong,” Leah said when he’d righted her.
“Very, and you need to explain yourself.” He stepped away, finding much to his surprise that he needed the distance. Her flowery scent had teased his nostrils, her lithe shape had felt too right against his chest, and her worry was stirring his protective urges.
Well, his urges, at any rate.
“The earl is aware we’ve met here twice,” Leah said, her voice carefully even. “I am to be pleasant to you at all times and keep him informed of further encounters.”
Nick glanced over at her, resenting the need to use his brain, resenting the way the muddy scent of the pond eclipsed the fragrance Leah wore. “Am I courting you or your sister?”
Leah tossed a handful of bread crumbs onto the surface of the water, provoking a honking, quacking stampede on the part of the waterfowl.
“If you court my sister,” Leah said when the ruckus died down, “the earl will reason you can offer for her now and save him the expense of her come out.”
Nick reached over and appropriated the bag of crumbs. “Leaving you at Hellerington’s mercy and enriching your father to the extent of your bride price. So I had best court you, hadn’t I?”
“I don’t want you to,” Leah said, her expression damnably serene. “You can’t keep up such a farce, and sooner or later, there will be another Hellerington, or worse.”
Nick tossed the bread much farther out over the water than Leah could have. “What would make you happy, Leah Lindsey?”
“Happy is not a useful concept,” she muttered in reply. “Happy would mean I did not dwell with the death of a decent young man on my conscience. Happy would mean my brothers were not saddened daily by my circumstances. Happy would mean I could be completely indifferent to those who still comment on the years I spent in Italy.”
Nick handed the remains of the bread crumbs back to her but let his hand cup hers briefly in the process. There was more misery and heartache here than he’d first surmised, and it bothered him.
“Your past is not happy,” he said, watching the ducks, “but your future can be more enjoyable. I like that little fellow on the end there, with the yellowish wings. He’s a scrapper.”
Leah smiled at the little duck, who was paddling furiously after his share of the crumbs. “He’s dirty.”
“Scrappers are willing to get dirty in pursuit of their ends,” Nick remarked, making his point, he hoped. “Which one catches your fancy?”
“That one.” Leah nodded at a swan gliding along across the pond. “She could not care less for what troubles her inferiors.”
“Above it all,” Nick agreed. “But probably hanging about over there so nobody will hear her stomach complaining. Too proud, that one.”
“I am not too proud,” Leah said, keeping her voice down. “My father is not to be underestimated, and you will make matters worse with your meddling. When you tire of playing the gallant, I will be left to suffer his displeasure.”
“Hush,” Nick soothed, seeing she was near tears and hating the sight. “Yon stalwart footman will suspect we are not in charity. Toss some more bread, Leah, and listen to me.”
She obeyed, to his relief—and did not take umbrage at his appropriation of her name.
“I am not going to meddle and then lose interest in your situation.” Nick kept his voice low, as it had been in the darkness of the Winterthurs’ parlor. “I will see to your welfare, and without bringing you further misery. You are out of the habit of hoping and trusting, and you grow frantic at the thought of the fate pressing upon you. Trust me, and I will win you free of it.”
“You must not do this.” She swiped at her eyes with her glove. “You must not.”
“Ah, now.” Nick’s tone became wistful. “I might have been talked out of it before, but I’ve made you cry. Shame on me, and there’s no help for it now. Compose yourself.” He shifted to stand behind her, not quite touching but shielding her from the gaze of the nosy footman, literally guarding her back while she gathered her wits.
“I hate to cry.”
“I’m none too fond of it myself. Are we out of bread crumbs?”
“Not quite.” She passed the bag back to him, and he sidled around beside her. “Aim for your friend.”
“But of course.” Nick spied the little duck paddling near the bank and tossed the last handful in its direction. “I’m off to Kent for the next couple of days, but I’d like you to call on my grandmother on Friday morning, and I do mean morning, not a morning call.”
“I can do that,” Leah said, surprising him. “She invited me in my brother’s hearing, and I’m not sure my father comprehends the connection. He doesn’t socialize a great deal, though he is received.”
“Then don’t tell him, unless Lady Warne tells you to.” As Nick stood close to her, Leah’s fragrance enveloped him again. Lily of the valley had never struck Nick as an erotic scent, but it was winding through his senses and stirring all manner of feelings.
“Return of happiness,” Nick murmured, earning him a sharp glance from the lady. “Your scent—lily of the valley?—it symbolizes the return of happiness.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Leah said, smiling at him slightly.
“I would not lie to a woman.”
“You are not the typical titled heir,” Leah said, her smile fading. “I could not abide you were you to lie to me, Lord Reston.”
For a man to keep certain matters to himself for years on end was not lying. Nick tried to convince himself of this regularly.
“Call me Nick,” he said softly as they regained the path. “And send a note around to Lady Warne. Be warned, though, she’ll stuff you like a goose if you let her.”
Leah eyed Nick up and down. “I bid you good day, my lord.”
For the benefit of the footman, Nick adopted the same polite tones.
“Good day to you as well, Lady Leah.” He bowed correctly over her hand. “And my regards to your dear sister.”
He appropriated the bench again and watched until she’d left the park, footman in tow. The ducks set up another squawking, and Nick glanced over to see his little scrapper swimming hell-bent for the next offering of crumbs tossed forth from the hand of another pretty young lady.
Scrappers, he reminded himself, were sometimes not fussy enough about how they gained their ends; and eating just any old handout could leave a fellow with a mighty sorry bellyache.
The solicitor’s spectacled gaze put Wilton in mind of a rabbit tracking the location of a fox at the watering hole.
“We have yet to receive any indication Lord Hellerington’s intentions are sincere, my lord. There’s been no
