A Visit From Sir Nicholas (16 page)

She sank back and absently drummed her fingernails on the arm of the chair. As difficult as it was to admit, even after all this time the man did, well,
something
to her. Something no other man, even her own husband, had ever done to her. Something that would obviously be difficult to handle with any sort of usual method. Still, she was nine-and-twenty and a widow. By her own standards, she was an intelligent woman and, by anyone else's, an experienced one. She had been married for seven years, after all, and had given birth to two children. Surely she could cope with lust. Her own, and—if the look in his eyes was any indication—his as well.

A tremor of excitement tripped up her spine.

Oh, she could certainly handle lust. And Nicholas Collingsworth. Both might be rather enjoyable and the kind of adventure she'd never actually had.

What she couldn't handle with Nicholas was love.

And if she was even half as clever as she thought she was, she wouldn't have to.

It was a damnably good thing Nick had already gone over Elizabeth's account books once today. Now, sitting across the table from her in the small library in her home, he found it impossible to concentrate on the neatly written rows of numbers.

Indeed, what male in his right mind could? Only a dead man could sit in the same room with her and fail to notice the way the light from the gas lamps fell on her blond hair and tinted it the color of spun gold. Or ignore the graceful curve of her neck as she bent over the books. Or disregard the manner in which her eminently proper gown molded to her bosom like a caress.

Or the way her green eyes shot sparks each and every time their gazes met. In spite of the veneer of politeness she'd adopted, there was no doubt in his mind that she was still angry with him. On the one hand, that was something of a problem. Just getting her to accept him back into her life would be a challenge. On the other, the fact that she had obviously not, after ten long years, forgiven him struck him as possibly a good sign. If she had not forgiven him after all this time, perhaps she had not lost whatever feelings she'd once had for him. Indeed, at the moment she appeared to truly despise him. And wasn't there little more than a fine line between love and hate? Right now, hate was a very good sign indeed.

They'd been in the room for hours, and together they had indeed gone over every entry and every figure in each and every accounting book. He'd had her explain every notation and every action she'd taken. Not that it was truly necessary. Her ledgers were efficient and self-explanatory. In the beginning he'd feared he'd sounded like something of a simpleton, then he'd realized that she took his questioning not as a result of his own lack of intelligence but as a sign of his opinion of hers. Still, she'd been nothing but businesslike and relatively cordial, if distinctly remote, throughout the evening. It must have taken a great deal of self-control on her part.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and studied him. "Well?"

"Well what?" He drew his brows together in confusion.

"You've seen everything there is to see, Sir Nicholas." She brushed an errant strand of hair away from her face with a weary hand in a gesture she probably didn't realize was exceptionally charming. "Have you come to any conclusions?"

"I have come to any number of conclusions."

"And?"

"And I have an apology to make."

"Oh?" She raised a brow.

"Your management of your finances has indeed been brilliant." He waved at the account books spread across the desk. "I must commend you. You have done as good a job as any man could have and far better than many I have known."

"I'm surprised that you would admit such a thing," she said slowly.

"Are you? Now I'm surprised. Why?"

"You are a man of business, and it has been my experience that most men, men in general, but especially men of business, do not consider women capable of adequacy, let alone brilliance, in the handling of accounts."

"You will find I am not like men in general." He leaned back in his chair. "I have not managed to achieve what I have by being like most men, particularly most men of business."

"Perhaps," she murmured, then drew a deep breath. "Then will you give me leave to continue to handle my money?"

He considered her for a long moment. From a strictly business standpoint, it was exceedingly foolish to remove a man from a position which he not only liked but excelled at. Yet if he relinquished his duties as administrator, he would have no excuse to see Elizabeth. And the very moment he'd seen her again he'd known that would never do.

"I will give it due consideration," he said in his most businesslike way.

"'Due consideration'?" She blew a frustrated breath. "That's it? You admit I have performed in an outstanding manner, yet 'due consideration' is the best you will offer me?"

"I will, however, propose a compromise you may find to your liking."

"I doubt it. I can't imagine that any compromise you propose would be to my liking save that of your washing your hands of all of this and leaving me in peace."

"Would that I could." He shook his head forlornly. "But I have responsibilities—"

"Yes, yes, I am well aware of your responsibilities." Elizabeth rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. "What kind of compromise?"

"You shall continue to manage your accounts much as you always have. I shall go over them on a daily basis until such time as I am confident it is no longer necessary."

"How utterly ridiculous." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I have been doing exactly that without anyone looking over my shoulder for three years."

"Then this shall not be at all difficult for you."

"And if I refuse?"

He shrugged. "I shall remove all financial activity from your control. You shall have an allowance, of course. A set amount for your personal needs and a separate amount for your household. And I should think—"

"Fine," she snapped. "I accept your proposal, but only as the lesser of two evils. Just how long do you anticipate this
compromise
to continue?"

"Until Christmas Eve. The Effington Christmas Ball," he said without thinking, then winced to himself. It was the first thing that popped into his head, and it had been a very long time since he'd said the first thing that came into his head in regards to any kind of negotiations whatsoever. Of course, she was a far cry from the men he usually negotiated with, and this was far more important than business. Besides, it would be ten years ago this very Christmas Eve that they had last been together. What better time than Christmas Eve and what better place than the Christmas ball to begin anew? He rather liked the irony of it.

"Christmas Eve?" Her eyes widened with disbelief. Apparently Elizabeth did not appreciate irony. "The Christmas ball?"

"Unless that does not meet with your approval." He forced a casual note to his voice, as if there were nothing of note about that particular date.

"It scarcely matters to me," she said with a shrug that belied the flash of annoyance in her eyes. "There are still a few weeks until Christmas." She paused, and he could almost see the gears and wheels of her mind in motion. "Very well." She nodded slowly. "I can agree to that."

"There are conditions, however," he said quickly.

"I should have known there would be." Her voice was wry. "What kind of conditions?"

"First," he braced himself, "you must allow me to escort you to my uncle's party."

"I scarcely think—"

"You are obviously not still in mourning. Lovely dress, by the way." His gaze drifted over the most becoming peach-colored gown she wore this evening. The silk complemented the creamy tones of her skin, and the color brought out the blush in her cheeks. It was at once a pity and completely beneficial to his frame of mind that it was not the least bit revealing. "It quite suits you."

"I know." She smiled sweetly. "Everything I wear suits me. It is one of the benefits of having adequate funds, thanks to the brilliant management of my money."

He refused to take the bait and change the topic at hand. "Surely I will not be the first gentleman to serve as your escort since your widowhood?"

"No, you will most certainly not be the first." She laughed softly in an altogether too knowing manner that he didn't like in the least. "I am widowed, Sir Nicholas, and, as you well know, have been for some time. However, my life did not cease upon my husband's death." She raised a shoulder in a graceful shrug. "I have always enjoyed the numerous entertainments offered by London society, indeed I have always believed in having a bit of fun and, while I mourned my husband for the requisite period, I see no need to spend the rest of my days doing so. Lord Langley is dead, but I am very much alive."

"Indeed you are," he murmured.

"In the past two years, I have found it most beneficial to be escorted to various events by suitable gentlemen." She studied him for a moment as if trying to ascertain if he was suitable or not.

"Well?"

She rose to her feet and crossed the room to a side table bearing a decanter and glasses. "It has been a very long evening, and I believe it is past time for a brandy."

"Brandy is an excellent idea." He followed her without pause. "But you are avoiding the issue at hand."

"Am I?"

"You have not agreed to my condition."

"Haven't I?" She poured two glasses and handed him one. "Is it necessary, then, for me to agree?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Although, in truth, once again, I have no choice." She shrugged. "Very well then, I shall allow you to escort me to your uncle's dinner."

"And any other occasions that arise in the next few weeks," he said quickly. If he were to win Elizabeth's heart by Christmas Eve he needed to be with her as much as possible. "Most particularly the Effington Christmas Ball."

"Oh, dear. That might be rather awkward." She took a sip of her brandy. "While I am willing to agree to that as a deadline, I may well have already accepted an offer for an escort to the Christmas ball." His hand tightened on the glass. "Then change your plans."

"That would be unforgivably rude." She shook her head in feigned regret. "And I do try not to be unforgivably rude."

He snorted. "This afternoon you—"

"My apologies, Sir Nicholas," she said in her most composed manner. "I was simply caught unawares. Your appearance was something of a shock in a day already full of shocking and most unpleasant surprises."

His gaze met hers. "And was I an unpleasant surprise?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"I see." He drew a deep swallow of the liquor. Nick wasn't certain if she was baiting him or flirting in an odd, challenging sort of way or simply trying to drive him mad. Probably all three. "Have you recovered from your shock?"

"Most certainly." She gazed up at him in an innocent manner he didn't believe for a moment. He'd give much of his fortune at the moment to be able to read her mind.

"Dare I ask if there is one escort in particular out of those gentlemen you find suitable that you especially favor?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

If indeed there was another man who had already claimed her affections, his own efforts would be futile. No, not futile, only more difficult. He had learned through the years that it was always best to know what the possible obstacles were in any proposed venture.