More than Tempted (Scandal Sheet Survivors Book 1), page 5
“When did you draw this?”
“When you left me alone in the bedchamber for three hours.” Her tone held a hint of reproach. “Who knew you preferred the company of horses?”
Guilt surfaced. “Spartan had a cut to the flank. Mrs Glover’s stable hand helped stitch the wound, hence why Sebastian paid her to take care of the animal for the next five days.”
It had taken less than an hour to perform the task, but he couldn’t risk being alone with Helen in a bedchamber. Not with his defences lowered, not when thoughts of Charles Holland and the demon coachman plagued him.
“I only saw his hand, but the person inside the carriage wore a strange ring.” She encouraged him to skip a page and pointed to the unusual design. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but there was something engraved in gold on the strip of black onyx. And it was set against a white stone, perhaps mother of pearl. Do you recognise it?”
He studied the likeness, delved to the depths of his mind, but could recall seeing nothing remotely similar.
“Of course, it might not be an accurate depiction,” Helen continued modestly. “I caught a glimpse before we tumbled down the embankment and my world went black.” She touched the small lump on her head. “Still, we have two pieces of evidence and must pursue all lines of enquiry.”
“We? You mean to draw me into this game of detectives?”
The prospect proved exciting and daunting in equal measure.
“It is not a game, Nicholas. We might have died.”
A heaviness settled in his chest. She was right. They needed to find a motive for murder if they hoped to find the person responsible. He might have insisted he deal with the problem. A lady did not sully her mind with thoughts of crimes and vengeance. But Helen was unlike any woman he had ever met.
Passion burned beneath the surface—a thirst for knowledge, a longing to break free from the constraints of her sex. A desperate need to make her mark in the world. A potential husband might find it vulgar. A man who loved her would do anything to make her dreams a reality.
“Very well. I agree to be your partner in this endeavour.”
God help him!
Her vibrant smile reached her eyes. “You do? But that’s wonderful. You mustn’t tell Sebastian, not until we have gathered more evidence. He will only ride roughshod over our plans.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “Where do we begin?”
When she arched a brow, he knew he would dislike her suggestion. “Tomorrow, you must tell me what troubles you. I believe you know why a man might want to kill you. And you need someone to share your burden.” The minx touched his arm again. “You must tell me everything, Nicholas.”
Everything?
What? That he had almost ravished her at her mother’s graveside? That he was miserable and lonely because the thought of kissing another woman proved repugnant? That he pictured her when he took himself in hand? Whispered her name as he found his release?
“I shall think on it tonight.”
She didn’t press him further but gestured for them to follow Somers, who took to plodding ahead as if his blood had pooled in his feet.
Somers stopped at the end of the corridor and opened the door to his left. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay, Miss Langley. Lady Brompton hopes you will be comfortable.” He informed her of the events planned for tomorrow. “You will find a list of activities on the console table in the hall.”
“Thank you, Somers.” Her gaze drifted from the butler. “Good night, Mr St Clair. Thank you for escorting me to my room. And I apologise to you both. No doubt you have a long walk to the east wing.”
Somers coughed discreetly. “Mr St Clair is in the room opposite, madam. And his lordship, Viscount Denton, is next door.”
Nicholas’ pulse raced.
Opposite? Bloody opposite!
Unmarried men were rarely placed on the same wing as unmarried women. What damn trickery was this?
Somers must have sensed his disquiet. “Viscount Denton insisted on the arrangements when he accepted the invitation, sir. In the absence of a female relative, he said you both wished to remain close to your sister.”
Sister? She wasn’t his bloody sister!
“Do not concern yourself, Mr St Clair. Somers can find you a room more suited to your needs.”
“Never mind,” he said, resigned to the fact he would not sleep a wink tonight. “It’s late, and I’ll not trouble the staff further.” Moreover, it was wise to keep Helen in their sights. “Your brother is next door, which will appease anyone who deems it inappropriate.”
What the devil was Sebastian about?
Had he problems of his own?
Was that the reason for his recent lapse in judgement?
Somers waited until Helen entered the bedchamber before escorting Nicholas into the room overlooking the manicured gardens.
A footman dressed in blue livery arrived with the portmanteau rescued from the wreckage and unpacked Nicholas’ clothes.
He sat silently on the edge of the bed, fear slipping past his barricade. Helen might have died today. The thought of losing her, of never knowing the taste of her lips, never feeling her touch, well, it might lend a man to recklessness.
An image of his father’s tortured face burst into his mind. The day he discovered the wife who had never loved him did indeed love someone else. It was enough to swear a man to bachelorhood. Enough to prevent a man from ever taking such a risk.
“Will that be all, sir?” came the footman’s polite question. “I can return in the morning to assist you. Perhaps you’d care for a tipple before you retire for the evening.”
Doubtless he looked like he needed a drink. “I can shave and dress without assistance. But I won’t refuse a glass of brandy.”
It might help him sleep.
It might help him forget the object of his desire slept a few feet across the hall, and that unrequited love proved so damnably painful.
“It must have been Parbrook,” Sebastian whispered between gritted teeth as he marched through the oak-panelled hall with Nicholas the next morning. “Who else would have cause to force you off the road? He must have been watching the house. He must have sent the letter, and I played right into his damn hands.”
Nicholas remained silent.
Parbrook did not wear a strange ring.
Parbrook needed to marry Helen, not kill her.
Nicholas might have confided in Sebastian were his friend not so hot-headed. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to the fact Charles Holland was his half-brother.
“We’ll question those in attendance. See if anyone has seen Parbrook about town.” Hearing the pad of footsteps on the stairs, Sebastian’s gaze moved to Miss De Luca and her ageing chaperone. He inclined his head and bid the ladies good morning, but as soon as they were out of earshot said, “I mean to avoid that woman like the plague.”
“Because she is hunting for a husband?”
“Because she is wildly exotic and has a mischievous glint in her eye that will land me in trouble.” He snorted. “We’ve avoided scheming misses thus far, and neither wants to break an oath.”
Nicholas suppressed a groan. “One day, a woman might sweep you off your feet.” He might brush tears from her cheeks and suddenly realise he had loved her forever. “Then you’ll say to hell with the pact.”
It was a case of wishful thinking.
Sebastian laughed. “There’s more chance of hell freezing over.” He caught Nicholas’ arm and brought him to an abrupt halt. “I meant to ask, did Helen say anything during the carriage ride? I fear this business has left her out of sorts because she seems to be in a constant daydream.”
“Not really.”
Was his life to be an endless stream of secrets and lies?
Sebastian frowned. “She must have said something.”
“Mainly, she spoke about Miss Ware’s interest in archaeology.” He chose not to mention the mystic’s prediction. “I get the sense Helen feels trapped by the confines of her sex. She has an adventurous spirit and seeks unconventional pastimes.”
It was all some semblance of the truth.
“Hence why she should marry before she finds herself ruined for good. She’s far too trusting.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Did she say what she was doing alone in a dark corridor at the Hamptons’ ball?”
“No.” But it wasn’t to take air. Nicholas knew that.
“I thought if you were alone together, she might confide in you. You beat Parbrook to a pulp. She has every reason to be grateful.”
Was that why he had left them alone in the carriage?
“We never spoke about Parbrook.” Not until after the accident. Only then did it occur to her that the scoundrel might seek retribution for his injuries. And Charles Holland was not to blame, not when he needed Nicholas alive to pay the blackmail demand.
“Next time, remind me to give you a list of questions, Nicholas.”
The comment roused his ire. “Next time, do not leave your sister in a compromising position. Had she died, you would not live with the guilt.”
Sebastian winced against the verbal blow. “I suppose I deserve that. Still, it is unlike you to remind me of my failings.”
“I might have died, too. Perhaps my frayed nerves have affected my temper.” And he would be forced to watch men fawn over Helen for five days, and his friend hadn’t had the decency to give him fair warning.
Sebastian arched a mocking brow. “You dice with death every time you visit that rogue’s club in Aldgate. Parbrook escaped lightly. One day, you might forget where you are and kill someone.”
With any luck, it would be Charles Holland.
They entered the dining room to find Lady Brompton seated at the head of the table. She was a vivacious widow of fifty, with coal-black hair and a love of yellow.
“Denton. St Clair.” The lady flapped her hands to get their attention and looked like an excited canary in her jonquil morning dress. “We expected you to join us for piquet last night. What kept you?”
“An accident on the road, my lady.” Sebastian inclined his head. “We were forced to return to London and change vehicles.”
Nicholas scanned the faces of those seated at the table—Mrs Forde, Mr and Miss Thorndyke and Lord Bowden. All the drunken louts were still abed and wouldn’t rise until noon. Lord knows who else Lady Brompton had invited.
The lady clasped her hand to her chest. “Did you hear that, Miss De Luca? We might have been deprived of the viscount’s company, and we do so want to make him suffer at the card table.”
Miss De Luca’s brown eyes widened as she observed them. “Thank heavens you had a spare vehicle, my lord, though I’m told you never play with ladies.”
No, he played with courtesans and widows, for he deemed them safe. Lord help the man if he had to break the oath.
Sebastian smiled. “I can make an exception.”
“Where is that pretty sister of yours, Denton?” Lady Brompton said.
Lord Bowden and Mr Thorndyke looked up from their plates of kippers and eggs, keen to hear Sebastian’s reply. No doubt both were calculating how to put Helen’s dowry to good use.
“She will be down shortly.”
Lady Brompton cast her beady eyes over Nicholas. “Are you certain there was an accident on the road, St Clair, and you were not involved in a fistfight at a coaching inn?”
Miss De Luca’s grin said she found their hostess’ blunt manner amusing. Again, the gentlemen at the table held their breaths while awaiting his reply.
“I wonder why you have such a poor impression of me, my lady.” Nicholas infused a hint of arrogance into his tone. “You do not strike me as someone who lends weight to gossip. That said, do not let the fine cut of my coat lead you to think I’m a milksop.”
“I have eyes,” she countered and pointed a bejewelled finger at him. “Is that not a faint bruise on your jaw?”
“Perhaps it’s a trick of the light.”
Lady Brompton narrowed her gaze. “I shall get a closer look when we play cards tonight. Tell me you’re not one of those dull men who refuses to wager with ladies.”
Nicholas placed his hand on his heart and bowed. “I am at the beck and call of my hostess, madam.”
The lady seemed appeased, though her attention moved to the person who had just entered the dining room. Nicholas turned to observe the newcomer, his smile dying when he faced the bastard who had robbed him of sleep and his sanity.
He tried to blink away what must be a hallucination, but Charles Holland’s bald pate glistened in the daylight, blinding Nicholas to all other possibilities.
“Ah, Mr Holland.” Lady Brompton beckoned the snake into the room, and he slithered around the table. “So glad you could join us at this early hour. I suppose your aunt is still wrangling with her tongs.”
“Aunt Agatha won’t be satisfied until her curls are of equal length.” Holland gave Nicholas a covert glance, his mouth curling into a serpent’s grin, his forked tongue appearing to moisten his lips.
“You already know Lord Bowden, of course. Your fathers were once such firm friends. Have you met Viscount Denton or—”
With his blood boiling in his veins, Nicholas did not wait to hear his name called. He turned on his heel and marched from the room, not giving a damn if he offended Lady Brompton. It was of no consequence. He intended to pack his clothes and be away from Grayswood Folly within the next twenty minutes.
It was that or swing for murder.
“Mr St Clair?” Helen’s voice caught him by surprise, and he glanced briefly left to see her standing next to him on the stairs. “Have you eaten? You seem in somewhat of a hurry.”
Unable to explain his dilemma, he said, “Forgive me. I must go.” Then took the stairs two at a time, keen to put a hundred miles between himself and the man he would invariably throttle.
Chapter Five
“Mr St Clair.” Helen called Nicholas again, but he was like a bull charging out of the gate. “Please wait. Is something wrong?”
The hall was deserted, so she hurried after him. But his strides were long and determined, and he had already stormed into his chamber by the time she reached his door.
“Mr St Clair,” she whispered, knocking quietly.
A loud bang—he had kicked or punched some inanimate object—and angry curses emanated from the room.
She had never known him lose control of his emotions, except for the night Mr Parbrook had taken liberties. Then, he had been near mindless with rage. Heaven knows what would have happened had Nicholas not appeared, her saviour from the shadows.
“Nicholas?” She glanced along the corridor before trying the door. It was unlocked, so she quickly slipped inside and closed it gently behind her.
He stood facing the window, his hands braced on his lean hips, his coat strewn across the floor. His breath came in ragged pants and one obscenity after another left his lips.
“Nicholas,” she said softly. Her heart urged her to move closer, to touch him, to smooth her hands over his shoulders. Her head mocked her foolishness and forced her to keep her back pinned to the door. “Tell me what happened.”
He swung around suddenly, his eyes wide with alarm. “Miss Langley? Mother of all saints! What the devil are you doing here? Leave. Leave now.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Have you lost your mind?” He strode towards her, his body rigid in his intentions, his expression flitting between panic and … and something else. Something that made her heart flutter and knees shake. “Do you know what will happen if Sebastian finds you in here?”
She stiffened her spine ready for battle. Then she reached behind, locked the door, and removed the key. “I meant what I said, Nicholas. You’ll have a companion for the whole day unless you tell me why you’re so irate.”
It had to do with his secret.
She was certain of it.
With a firm stance, he thrust out his hand. “Give me the key, Miss Langley. Give it to me now before I say something I shall regret.”
He would never hurt her.
Indeed, he sounded afraid, not angry.
Fearing he might snatch it from her grasp, she pushed it down between her breasts and shot him a challenging stare. “If you want it, you must retrieve it yourself.”
The thought left her pulse racing, her mouth dry.
He moistened his lips and glanced at her breasts. “Doubtless you think me too much of a gentleman to do something so reckless.”
“On the contrary, you forget I have seen your savage side.” A side she found dangerously alluring. “Besides, you see me as a sister. Touching me intimately will prove repugnant.”
He held her gaze. “Is that what you think?”
“What?”
“That I see you as a sister?”
“Yes, you’ve said as much.”
“Those words have never left my lips.”
She blinked in bewilderment. “They must have. Why else would I say such a thing?”
“Because you see me as a brother. Hence why you’ve hidden the key on your person. You’re confident I won’t touch you.” The corners of his mouth curled into a slow smile. “What if you’re wrong, Miss Langley? What if touching you is the only thing I crave?”
Confusion sent her mind spinning.
Had she been living under a misconception?
Had she—
A sudden bang on the door made her jump.
“Nicholas!” Sebastian’s commanding voice rang through the corridor. “What the devil happened down there?”
Nicholas stepped so close their bodies touched. He braced one hand firmly against the door, trapping her in his masculine prison. “Shh. Don’t say a word,” he mouthed, then pressed his finger to her lips.
Say a word?
She was one degree away from melting into a puddle.
“Nicholas! Let me in.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “What is it with you and Holland? The fop told Lady Brompton you’re rude to him for no apparent reason.”
Nicholas kept her pinned to the solid oak door, his eyes locked with hers, his finger moving ever so slightly across her lips. Perhaps he feared she might speak. Perhaps that was why he watched her mouth so intently.
“When you left me alone in the bedchamber for three hours.” Her tone held a hint of reproach. “Who knew you preferred the company of horses?”
Guilt surfaced. “Spartan had a cut to the flank. Mrs Glover’s stable hand helped stitch the wound, hence why Sebastian paid her to take care of the animal for the next five days.”
It had taken less than an hour to perform the task, but he couldn’t risk being alone with Helen in a bedchamber. Not with his defences lowered, not when thoughts of Charles Holland and the demon coachman plagued him.
“I only saw his hand, but the person inside the carriage wore a strange ring.” She encouraged him to skip a page and pointed to the unusual design. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but there was something engraved in gold on the strip of black onyx. And it was set against a white stone, perhaps mother of pearl. Do you recognise it?”
He studied the likeness, delved to the depths of his mind, but could recall seeing nothing remotely similar.
“Of course, it might not be an accurate depiction,” Helen continued modestly. “I caught a glimpse before we tumbled down the embankment and my world went black.” She touched the small lump on her head. “Still, we have two pieces of evidence and must pursue all lines of enquiry.”
“We? You mean to draw me into this game of detectives?”
The prospect proved exciting and daunting in equal measure.
“It is not a game, Nicholas. We might have died.”
A heaviness settled in his chest. She was right. They needed to find a motive for murder if they hoped to find the person responsible. He might have insisted he deal with the problem. A lady did not sully her mind with thoughts of crimes and vengeance. But Helen was unlike any woman he had ever met.
Passion burned beneath the surface—a thirst for knowledge, a longing to break free from the constraints of her sex. A desperate need to make her mark in the world. A potential husband might find it vulgar. A man who loved her would do anything to make her dreams a reality.
“Very well. I agree to be your partner in this endeavour.”
God help him!
Her vibrant smile reached her eyes. “You do? But that’s wonderful. You mustn’t tell Sebastian, not until we have gathered more evidence. He will only ride roughshod over our plans.”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “Where do we begin?”
When she arched a brow, he knew he would dislike her suggestion. “Tomorrow, you must tell me what troubles you. I believe you know why a man might want to kill you. And you need someone to share your burden.” The minx touched his arm again. “You must tell me everything, Nicholas.”
Everything?
What? That he had almost ravished her at her mother’s graveside? That he was miserable and lonely because the thought of kissing another woman proved repugnant? That he pictured her when he took himself in hand? Whispered her name as he found his release?
“I shall think on it tonight.”
She didn’t press him further but gestured for them to follow Somers, who took to plodding ahead as if his blood had pooled in his feet.
Somers stopped at the end of the corridor and opened the door to his left. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay, Miss Langley. Lady Brompton hopes you will be comfortable.” He informed her of the events planned for tomorrow. “You will find a list of activities on the console table in the hall.”
“Thank you, Somers.” Her gaze drifted from the butler. “Good night, Mr St Clair. Thank you for escorting me to my room. And I apologise to you both. No doubt you have a long walk to the east wing.”
Somers coughed discreetly. “Mr St Clair is in the room opposite, madam. And his lordship, Viscount Denton, is next door.”
Nicholas’ pulse raced.
Opposite? Bloody opposite!
Unmarried men were rarely placed on the same wing as unmarried women. What damn trickery was this?
Somers must have sensed his disquiet. “Viscount Denton insisted on the arrangements when he accepted the invitation, sir. In the absence of a female relative, he said you both wished to remain close to your sister.”
Sister? She wasn’t his bloody sister!
“Do not concern yourself, Mr St Clair. Somers can find you a room more suited to your needs.”
“Never mind,” he said, resigned to the fact he would not sleep a wink tonight. “It’s late, and I’ll not trouble the staff further.” Moreover, it was wise to keep Helen in their sights. “Your brother is next door, which will appease anyone who deems it inappropriate.”
What the devil was Sebastian about?
Had he problems of his own?
Was that the reason for his recent lapse in judgement?
Somers waited until Helen entered the bedchamber before escorting Nicholas into the room overlooking the manicured gardens.
A footman dressed in blue livery arrived with the portmanteau rescued from the wreckage and unpacked Nicholas’ clothes.
He sat silently on the edge of the bed, fear slipping past his barricade. Helen might have died today. The thought of losing her, of never knowing the taste of her lips, never feeling her touch, well, it might lend a man to recklessness.
An image of his father’s tortured face burst into his mind. The day he discovered the wife who had never loved him did indeed love someone else. It was enough to swear a man to bachelorhood. Enough to prevent a man from ever taking such a risk.
“Will that be all, sir?” came the footman’s polite question. “I can return in the morning to assist you. Perhaps you’d care for a tipple before you retire for the evening.”
Doubtless he looked like he needed a drink. “I can shave and dress without assistance. But I won’t refuse a glass of brandy.”
It might help him sleep.
It might help him forget the object of his desire slept a few feet across the hall, and that unrequited love proved so damnably painful.
“It must have been Parbrook,” Sebastian whispered between gritted teeth as he marched through the oak-panelled hall with Nicholas the next morning. “Who else would have cause to force you off the road? He must have been watching the house. He must have sent the letter, and I played right into his damn hands.”
Nicholas remained silent.
Parbrook did not wear a strange ring.
Parbrook needed to marry Helen, not kill her.
Nicholas might have confided in Sebastian were his friend not so hot-headed. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to the fact Charles Holland was his half-brother.
“We’ll question those in attendance. See if anyone has seen Parbrook about town.” Hearing the pad of footsteps on the stairs, Sebastian’s gaze moved to Miss De Luca and her ageing chaperone. He inclined his head and bid the ladies good morning, but as soon as they were out of earshot said, “I mean to avoid that woman like the plague.”
“Because she is hunting for a husband?”
“Because she is wildly exotic and has a mischievous glint in her eye that will land me in trouble.” He snorted. “We’ve avoided scheming misses thus far, and neither wants to break an oath.”
Nicholas suppressed a groan. “One day, a woman might sweep you off your feet.” He might brush tears from her cheeks and suddenly realise he had loved her forever. “Then you’ll say to hell with the pact.”
It was a case of wishful thinking.
Sebastian laughed. “There’s more chance of hell freezing over.” He caught Nicholas’ arm and brought him to an abrupt halt. “I meant to ask, did Helen say anything during the carriage ride? I fear this business has left her out of sorts because she seems to be in a constant daydream.”
“Not really.”
Was his life to be an endless stream of secrets and lies?
Sebastian frowned. “She must have said something.”
“Mainly, she spoke about Miss Ware’s interest in archaeology.” He chose not to mention the mystic’s prediction. “I get the sense Helen feels trapped by the confines of her sex. She has an adventurous spirit and seeks unconventional pastimes.”
It was all some semblance of the truth.
“Hence why she should marry before she finds herself ruined for good. She’s far too trusting.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Did she say what she was doing alone in a dark corridor at the Hamptons’ ball?”
“No.” But it wasn’t to take air. Nicholas knew that.
“I thought if you were alone together, she might confide in you. You beat Parbrook to a pulp. She has every reason to be grateful.”
Was that why he had left them alone in the carriage?
“We never spoke about Parbrook.” Not until after the accident. Only then did it occur to her that the scoundrel might seek retribution for his injuries. And Charles Holland was not to blame, not when he needed Nicholas alive to pay the blackmail demand.
“Next time, remind me to give you a list of questions, Nicholas.”
The comment roused his ire. “Next time, do not leave your sister in a compromising position. Had she died, you would not live with the guilt.”
Sebastian winced against the verbal blow. “I suppose I deserve that. Still, it is unlike you to remind me of my failings.”
“I might have died, too. Perhaps my frayed nerves have affected my temper.” And he would be forced to watch men fawn over Helen for five days, and his friend hadn’t had the decency to give him fair warning.
Sebastian arched a mocking brow. “You dice with death every time you visit that rogue’s club in Aldgate. Parbrook escaped lightly. One day, you might forget where you are and kill someone.”
With any luck, it would be Charles Holland.
They entered the dining room to find Lady Brompton seated at the head of the table. She was a vivacious widow of fifty, with coal-black hair and a love of yellow.
“Denton. St Clair.” The lady flapped her hands to get their attention and looked like an excited canary in her jonquil morning dress. “We expected you to join us for piquet last night. What kept you?”
“An accident on the road, my lady.” Sebastian inclined his head. “We were forced to return to London and change vehicles.”
Nicholas scanned the faces of those seated at the table—Mrs Forde, Mr and Miss Thorndyke and Lord Bowden. All the drunken louts were still abed and wouldn’t rise until noon. Lord knows who else Lady Brompton had invited.
The lady clasped her hand to her chest. “Did you hear that, Miss De Luca? We might have been deprived of the viscount’s company, and we do so want to make him suffer at the card table.”
Miss De Luca’s brown eyes widened as she observed them. “Thank heavens you had a spare vehicle, my lord, though I’m told you never play with ladies.”
No, he played with courtesans and widows, for he deemed them safe. Lord help the man if he had to break the oath.
Sebastian smiled. “I can make an exception.”
“Where is that pretty sister of yours, Denton?” Lady Brompton said.
Lord Bowden and Mr Thorndyke looked up from their plates of kippers and eggs, keen to hear Sebastian’s reply. No doubt both were calculating how to put Helen’s dowry to good use.
“She will be down shortly.”
Lady Brompton cast her beady eyes over Nicholas. “Are you certain there was an accident on the road, St Clair, and you were not involved in a fistfight at a coaching inn?”
Miss De Luca’s grin said she found their hostess’ blunt manner amusing. Again, the gentlemen at the table held their breaths while awaiting his reply.
“I wonder why you have such a poor impression of me, my lady.” Nicholas infused a hint of arrogance into his tone. “You do not strike me as someone who lends weight to gossip. That said, do not let the fine cut of my coat lead you to think I’m a milksop.”
“I have eyes,” she countered and pointed a bejewelled finger at him. “Is that not a faint bruise on your jaw?”
“Perhaps it’s a trick of the light.”
Lady Brompton narrowed her gaze. “I shall get a closer look when we play cards tonight. Tell me you’re not one of those dull men who refuses to wager with ladies.”
Nicholas placed his hand on his heart and bowed. “I am at the beck and call of my hostess, madam.”
The lady seemed appeased, though her attention moved to the person who had just entered the dining room. Nicholas turned to observe the newcomer, his smile dying when he faced the bastard who had robbed him of sleep and his sanity.
He tried to blink away what must be a hallucination, but Charles Holland’s bald pate glistened in the daylight, blinding Nicholas to all other possibilities.
“Ah, Mr Holland.” Lady Brompton beckoned the snake into the room, and he slithered around the table. “So glad you could join us at this early hour. I suppose your aunt is still wrangling with her tongs.”
“Aunt Agatha won’t be satisfied until her curls are of equal length.” Holland gave Nicholas a covert glance, his mouth curling into a serpent’s grin, his forked tongue appearing to moisten his lips.
“You already know Lord Bowden, of course. Your fathers were once such firm friends. Have you met Viscount Denton or—”
With his blood boiling in his veins, Nicholas did not wait to hear his name called. He turned on his heel and marched from the room, not giving a damn if he offended Lady Brompton. It was of no consequence. He intended to pack his clothes and be away from Grayswood Folly within the next twenty minutes.
It was that or swing for murder.
“Mr St Clair?” Helen’s voice caught him by surprise, and he glanced briefly left to see her standing next to him on the stairs. “Have you eaten? You seem in somewhat of a hurry.”
Unable to explain his dilemma, he said, “Forgive me. I must go.” Then took the stairs two at a time, keen to put a hundred miles between himself and the man he would invariably throttle.
Chapter Five
“Mr St Clair.” Helen called Nicholas again, but he was like a bull charging out of the gate. “Please wait. Is something wrong?”
The hall was deserted, so she hurried after him. But his strides were long and determined, and he had already stormed into his chamber by the time she reached his door.
“Mr St Clair,” she whispered, knocking quietly.
A loud bang—he had kicked or punched some inanimate object—and angry curses emanated from the room.
She had never known him lose control of his emotions, except for the night Mr Parbrook had taken liberties. Then, he had been near mindless with rage. Heaven knows what would have happened had Nicholas not appeared, her saviour from the shadows.
“Nicholas?” She glanced along the corridor before trying the door. It was unlocked, so she quickly slipped inside and closed it gently behind her.
He stood facing the window, his hands braced on his lean hips, his coat strewn across the floor. His breath came in ragged pants and one obscenity after another left his lips.
“Nicholas,” she said softly. Her heart urged her to move closer, to touch him, to smooth her hands over his shoulders. Her head mocked her foolishness and forced her to keep her back pinned to the door. “Tell me what happened.”
He swung around suddenly, his eyes wide with alarm. “Miss Langley? Mother of all saints! What the devil are you doing here? Leave. Leave now.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Have you lost your mind?” He strode towards her, his body rigid in his intentions, his expression flitting between panic and … and something else. Something that made her heart flutter and knees shake. “Do you know what will happen if Sebastian finds you in here?”
She stiffened her spine ready for battle. Then she reached behind, locked the door, and removed the key. “I meant what I said, Nicholas. You’ll have a companion for the whole day unless you tell me why you’re so irate.”
It had to do with his secret.
She was certain of it.
With a firm stance, he thrust out his hand. “Give me the key, Miss Langley. Give it to me now before I say something I shall regret.”
He would never hurt her.
Indeed, he sounded afraid, not angry.
Fearing he might snatch it from her grasp, she pushed it down between her breasts and shot him a challenging stare. “If you want it, you must retrieve it yourself.”
The thought left her pulse racing, her mouth dry.
He moistened his lips and glanced at her breasts. “Doubtless you think me too much of a gentleman to do something so reckless.”
“On the contrary, you forget I have seen your savage side.” A side she found dangerously alluring. “Besides, you see me as a sister. Touching me intimately will prove repugnant.”
He held her gaze. “Is that what you think?”
“What?”
“That I see you as a sister?”
“Yes, you’ve said as much.”
“Those words have never left my lips.”
She blinked in bewilderment. “They must have. Why else would I say such a thing?”
“Because you see me as a brother. Hence why you’ve hidden the key on your person. You’re confident I won’t touch you.” The corners of his mouth curled into a slow smile. “What if you’re wrong, Miss Langley? What if touching you is the only thing I crave?”
Confusion sent her mind spinning.
Had she been living under a misconception?
Had she—
A sudden bang on the door made her jump.
“Nicholas!” Sebastian’s commanding voice rang through the corridor. “What the devil happened down there?”
Nicholas stepped so close their bodies touched. He braced one hand firmly against the door, trapping her in his masculine prison. “Shh. Don’t say a word,” he mouthed, then pressed his finger to her lips.
Say a word?
She was one degree away from melting into a puddle.
“Nicholas! Let me in.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “What is it with you and Holland? The fop told Lady Brompton you’re rude to him for no apparent reason.”
Nicholas kept her pinned to the solid oak door, his eyes locked with hers, his finger moving ever so slightly across her lips. Perhaps he feared she might speak. Perhaps that was why he watched her mouth so intently.
