Nicholas: Lord of Secrets

“Did he respond to that?”

“I wish I could tell you he caught a packet for France, lovey,” Nick said, “but I was firing an opening salvo, and he understood it as such. I’ll next make a few pointed remarks at the club, maybe suggest something ought to be put in the betting book at your father’s club, call upon the baron again, and loudly hope I need not reduce my demands to writing or perhaps seek satisfaction through other means.”

Leah leaned closer still, maybe hunching in on herself but also dropping her voice to a near whisper. “What other means?”

“Typically, one offers a challenge in such a circumstance or simply beats the stuffing out of the party who’s refusing to pay a debt of honor,” Nick said, letting her scent come to him on the soft night air.

“Would you go that far?”

“If I say yes, you will think me a brute beast. If I say no, you will think me a bully who threatens those weaker but backs down at the first hint of risk.”

She said nothing for a moment then surprised him.

“I wish I knew how to use a gun, or that I was as big and powerful as you are.” Her voice was low and bitter, a tone no lady should ever have cause to adopt. Nick slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently against his side.

“You must allow me to be your champion. I would meet him over pistols,” Nick said, nuzzling her temple, though only once and lightly. Very lightly. “I would not raise my hand to him.”

“Why not?” She sank against him easily, as if she’d been waiting for him to make the first overture.

“Murder is frowned upon,” Nick said, thinking it quite the pity in this case. “He’s old and sick, and it wouldn’t be sporting to beat the man with bare fists.” Ladies needed comfort, he told himself, and Leah was very much a lady.

Before he nuzzled her again—or worse—Nick bestirred himself to pose a question to the woman tucked to his side. “What manner of brother is it who allows you to languish here in the dark with me? I want to like the man, but one does wonder.”

“He’s the best of brothers, but he has troubles of his own. He knows if I’m languishing, it’s because I want to.”

“Hmm.” Nick’s fingers insinuated themselves over Leah’s hand. “And what if Hellerington were to appear here?”

“I’d not hesitate to scurry back to the ballroom. I know his coach. I know his scent. I know him. He’s not here.”

“So you can enjoy yourself with me. For this one night.”

“For a single dance,” Leah said. “More than that will call attention.”

“I hear the musicians tuning up,” Nick murmured, closing his eyes the better to feel her beside him. “I must ask for the pleasure. It’s an English waltz, and they are not played often enough.”

Other couples moved past them over on the path, returning to the dance floor.

“I don’t want to go in.”

And didn’t that sentiment just flatter a fellow shamelessly?

“We’ll dance out here,” Nick said, rising and drawing her to her feet. “My lady.” He offered her the required bow, she sank into a curtsy, and Nick led her to the wide terrace that wrapped around one side and the entire back of the ballroom. The area behind the ballroom, however, was only dimly lit and gratifyingly devoid of other people.

He drew her into waltz position then drew her just a hair closer; then, when she didn’t protest or poker up, he drew her flush against his body. She melted against him, resting her cheek against his sternum, and Nick knew a sensation of gratitude so intense it physically warmed the center of his chest.

The music started, a stately triple meter that let them find each other’s balance. Nick kept his steps simple and small, and then gradually relaxed as it became obvious she followed him with ease. On impulse, he folded their joined hands against his chest, and their fingers linked.

To dance with her this way was wicked, scandalous, naughty, and intoxicatingly lovely. When the music ended, Nick kept his arms around her.

“We should go in,” Leah murmured.

“We should,” Nick agreed, his chin resting on the top of her head. He was going to kiss her first though, even though he knew that was a bad idea and not gentlemanly of him. Dancing under the stars could qualify as a shared stolen pleasure; kissing a woman who needed his help…

Her lips brushed against his so lightly he went still, hoping she’d repeat the caress.

Bless you, Nick thought as Leah reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, steadying herself for another sweet, slow sweep across his mouth.

“Lovey.” Nick told himself to open his eyes, not close them. “Lamb, we shouldn’t.”

Another achingly gentle pressure against his lips, and Nick growled, settled his hands on her hips, and resigned himself to having one more thing to regret. For long minutes, he let her explore his features, then—bold wench—his mouth. She wasn’t experienced, he could taste that easily, but she was avid, and increasingly uninhibited as Nick groaned and murmured encouragement when she came up for air.

Something else was coming up too, so Nick eased out of the kiss, resting his forehead on hers while they both caught their breath.

“You are taking advantage of me,” Nick scolded. “I’m out here all unchaperoned and lonely, and you are turning my head.” To his own ears, he sounded the tiniest bit sincere. “I don’t want to let you go,” Nick went on, his tone suggesting real regret, “but this can’t serve either of us.”

“It’s just a kiss,” Leah replied. She sounded as dazed and weak in the knees as Nick felt.

“You are stealing my lines as well as my breath,” Nick muttered. He stepped back, softening the loss by smoothing a lock of her hair over her ear.

“You’ve used that line frequently?”

“Countless times,” Nick said, hating himself but keeping his voice as light as he could. He really did not favor lying to women, no matter what that made him in their eyes.

“I wish you weren’t so honest.” Leah shifted back, and Nick feared she was regretting her advances.

“I wish you weren’t so pretty,” Nick rejoined. “I wish you had an honorable papa. Now, how about you introduce me to your negligent brother?”

He led her back around to the doors opening into the ballroom, and she even suffered his scrutiny when he made her tarry under a torch that he might inspect her presentation. Nick prided himself on being able to kiss a woman passionately without messing her hair, but had to ask her to smooth his back into place. She obliged by sifting her fingers repeatedly through his hair, until he had to straighten, clear his throat, and deliver a mental lecture to parts of him that were getting untoward ideas from even such a simple, casual caress.

Four

Darius nodded at Nick’s retreating back, Lady Blanche Cowell nigh wrapped around Reston’s arm as they walked away. “So where did you meet that?”

“I met him in the park with Emily,” Leah said, and then because the dratted woman’s perusal of Nick had been so possessive even as she’d clung to Darius’s elbow, “Where did you meet her?”

“She’s frequently at the same functions you are,” Darius said, delivering what Leah suspected was a lie— Darius was nigh gulping his wine. “She travels in a slightly less genteel circle.”

“Lord Reston apparently frequents the same set.” And that hurt, even while it also reminded Leah that Nick’s aid was a product of chivalry, nothing more.

“You needn’t sound so offended, Sister mine. I will run screaming into the night if Blanche gives up the juicy prey on her arm and returns her attentions to me.”

There was something off in Darius’s observation, for all he’d handled the introductions with careful punctilio. “You don’t like Reston?”