Nicholas: Lord of Secrets (19 page)

“Mortally.”

Wilton glanced up fleetingly, but with enough arrogance that Nick could see what the man thought of sons who valued deathbed promises over money and freedom.

“The terms appear to be in order, Reston.” Wilton sat back. “I’m impressed.”

“So you’ll sign that contract?”

“When you produce the required consideration, my boy. Once I sign this, she’s yours, and you have what you want. I don’t get what I want until you provide the funds.”

“If I provide those funds, you’ll sign?”

“With enthusiasm. Lady Emily deserves to have her sister out of this household before she makes her come out next year.”

Nick withdrew another sheaf of papers from his breast pocket. “Then here is your consideration, my lord.”

“That hardly looks like the sum you’ve agreed to,” Wilton observed, but his voice shook a bit, enough that Nick knew he had the element of surprise in his favor.

“The contract calls for funds, as cash, drafts, or other negotiable instruments, at my discretion, provided they find their way to your hands prior to the day of the ceremony. I have here bank drafts, my lord”—Nick paused and tossed one across the desk—“in increments of a thousand pounds, some cash, some bearer bonds, and other negotiable instruments, exactly as the contract specifies.”

Wilton picked up the draft and studied it. Nick tossed him another bank draft but added a sardonic arch of his eyebrow, indicating that even Nick, on bended knee, was not going to tolerate a gross insult to his honor.

“You have to be the most eager bridegroom to grace the kingdom in years.”

“I am,” Nick said as Wilton picked up a pen. “But not so fast, my lord.”

Wilton dropped the pen and eyed Nick speculatively.

“We need witnesses. If you can trouble yourself to share another cup of tea, I’ll send around to my town house for my man, and perhaps you can provide a second witness?”

“On such short notice?”

“Very well. I can provide two witnesses, then. Shall you pour?”

Wilton barked for his running footman, and Nick spent a very tedious half hour drinking tepid tea with his future father-in-law. The longer the man talked, the less Nick had any use for him. His conversation was a string of criticisms aimed at his older daughter, his sons, his Regent, his neighbors, the French, the Americans, and by the time he started on the Irish, Nick was ready to kiss the butler for interrupting.

“Callers, my lord,” the butler said, and something about his manner, a panic behind the reserve of an upper servant, must have communicated itself to Wilton. “The Marquis of Heathgate and Lord Valentine Windham.”

Wilton’s eyebrows shot up, and he swung his gaze to regard Nick closely.

Good. Even a rabid fox should be able to perceive when the hounds were in full cry.

“What would Heathgate be doing lounging about your town house with a duke’s son?” Wilton asked.

Nick shrugged and prepared to lie through his teeth. “They are acquaintances and probably thought to take me up in anticipation of lunch at the club. I assume they volunteered for this duty out of respect for me, and the demands I put on my man of business. Will they do?”

“They’ll do,” Wilton said, the only answer he could give. To refuse men from two families that outranked his would be to offend them both, and Nick as well. Even to Nick, though, Heathgate’s presence was a surprise. The second witness arranged the previous evening would have been Valentine’s older brother, Gayle, Earl of Westhaven.

“Lord Heathgate.” Wilton bowed. “Lord Valentine.” Around his betters, Wilton’s manners improved. He briefly, and with every appearance of respect, explained the need for witnesses, and presented the documents to his guests.

“This is a happy occasion, Nicholas,” Heathgate remarked. Big, dark visaged, and taciturn, the man would scare small children when he was in a foul mood—and grown men as well. “You are satisfied with the terms you’ve struck?”

Nick permitted Heathgate his posturing, as it was all for the cause. “I am, though the earl has driven a hard bargain.”

Heathgate grimaced as he glanced over the documents, no doubt seeing that the earl had in fact required coin to part with his daughter, a display of disrespect for the lady, if nothing else.

“Unusual terms. And you, Wilton? Are you satisfied with these terms? They hardly devolve to your credit.”

“They devolve to my benefit,” Wilton corrected him evenly. “And with all due respect, Heathgate, you need not consider the particulars of the document. Your role is to verify the parties are signing the thing freely and voluntarily.”

Heathgate’s arctic-blue eyes bored into Wilton’s, and Nick considered the stage had lost a talent when Gareth Alexander ascended to his title. “You sign this freely and voluntarily?”

“I most assuredly do,” Wilton said with a touch of hauteur.

“Shall I review the consideration offered?” Heathgate asked. From Wilton, it would have been rude. From Heathgate, who was unapologetically up to his lordly elbows in trade, and whose rank was superior to Nick’s
and
Wilton’s, it was simply playing by the rules.

Wilton nodded, not meeting anybody’s eyes. “If you please.”

Heathgate prowled to the desk, took the stack of money and notes from Nick’s hands, and sat down, leafing through item by item, until he looked up and arched an eyebrow at Nick.

“You’re short by two thousand pounds, Nicholas.”

Lovely bit of histrionics there. Wilton handed Heathgate the two bank drafts Nick had passed to him earlier.

“That completes the sum. There is here consideration in cash and commercial paper worth the total agreed to in that contract.”

“I am satisfied,” Wilton said, as he bent over the contract and signed both copies. Heathgate passed them to Nick, who appended his signature, followed by Val, then Heathgate himself. Wilton sanded both copies and passed one to Nick.

“Now then?” Wilton gave Nick an expectant look.

Nick let relief show on his face. “The ceremony will be tomorrow at Lady Warne’s town house, two of the clock, sharp. I’ll send my carriage for you and your younger daughter. Leah will stay with Lady Warne prior to the ceremony.”

“Tomorrow?” Wilton’s surprise was visible. “I realize time is of the essence, Reston, but surely, you haven’t anticipated your vows?”

“I will ignore that insult to my future countess.”

Heathgate speared Wilton with a look. “Let me suggest the earl and his daughter accompany me tomorrow in my town coach. My marchioness has warned me Lady Emily will be very much sought after next year, and asked that I make the young lady’s acquaintance.”

Wilton’s eyebrow rose again, as if he weren’t sure he was hearing correctly. Heathgate, after years of cutting a broad swath across Society with all manner of vice on his mind, had settled down and taken a nobody for a bride. His wealth and influence were undisputed and far-reaching, but in the years since his marriage, his wife had taken little interest in using hers. Clearly calculating the enormous benefit to Lady Emily, Wilton graciously accepted and sprang the trap Heathgate had so generously set for him.

“We would be pleased to join you,” Wilton replied, his smile for once devoid of malice.

“I’ll call for you at half past,” Heathgate said. “Nicholas? I believe we’ve an appointment at my club.”

“I’ll take my leave of you, my lord.” Nick bowed formally, keeping his expression as grave as a young man’s in anticipation of marriage should be. “We will not start the ceremony without you.”

Val, assigned the role of the silent observer, followed Nick and Heathgate to the door. When they reached the street, Nick steered them to the park and made sure they were not being pursued.

“I’d like to visit a friend,” Nick said as they ambled along the walk. “If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind joining me?”

Val exchanged a look with the marquis as they strolled through the park, a display of lordly pulchritude that turned the heads of the governesses and shopgirls enjoying the spring day.

“Where did you get that?” Val asked, staring down at the crumpet in Nick’s hand.

“Pinched it from Wilton, for my friend.” They approached the duck pond, and only when they were off the path and away from prying ears, did Nick speak again.

“My thanks, gentlemen, and you in particular, Heathgate. I wasn’t expecting you, but you have hidden thespian tendencies.”

“Wilton is an ass,” Heathgate spat. “Are you sure you want to marry into that family?”

“Leah likely isn’t related to him,” Nick said, “but yes, I am sure, though I wish I could see the expression on dear Papa-in-law’s face as we speak.”

“He should be leafing through those IOUs by now,” Val mused.

“Those are negotiable instruments,” Nick said. “Ask any barrister, and because half of those IOUs are Wilton’s personal markers, and the other half Hellerington’s, I don’t see how the man can make a fuss.”

“Not accepting his own vowels in payment for a debt?” Heathgate smirked. “That would be a novel way to impugn one’s own character.”

“Are you ready for the wedding?” Val asked.

“Now that Heathgate has agreed to dragoon the doting papa,” Nick said, “I believe I am. Leah and I will be well and truly wed with a half-dozen titles on hand to make the thing proper and unassailably binding.”

Heathgate treated Nick to an assessing glance. “You sound pleased about that. Is this your friend?” He gestured toward the bold, dirty little duck waddling over to investigate Nick’s boots.

“My friend. He chaperoned some enjoyable encounters with my future countess.” Nick tossed a shower of crumbs to the duck. “I hope you both know how much I appreciate your assistance today.”

“I don’t mind in the least assisting,” Heathgate said, “but I am off to other appointments and will see you both tomorrow.”

“You’re going to go through with this wedding,” Val said when Heathgate was out of earshot. “It’s happening rather quickly, Nicholas. Are you sure this is the best course?”

“Brave of you,” Nick mused as they took the path circling the pond. “Trying to talk me out of this at the eleventh hour.”

“So you have an hour to reconsider,” Val said. “Leah can be kept safe simply by an engagement.”

“She can be kept safer by a marriage,” Nick retorted. “Much safer.”

“From her father, but what about from you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nick resisted the urge to stop dead on the walkway, grab Val by his brave, well-intended lapels, and heave him into the pond.

“You are the terror of the demimonde, Nick,” Val said gently. “At least by reputation, though I know not all the talk can be true.”

“Leah knows what my reputation is, and she has accepted my terms.”

“For now, she likely has, but what about five years from now?”

“What is your point, Valentine?”

“You have the capacity to hurt her badly, Nicholas, and it will be unfortunate, when—not if—that happens. But Leah strikes me as a resilient woman, as most females tend to be, so that leaves me with you to worry about.”

“Whatever are you prosing on about?”

“I am your friend,” Val said, his gaze traveling around the lovely spring landscape. “As a friend, I am telling you that when you break her heart, it’s you who will suffer the worst.”

“I’ll suffer guilt. I’m prepared for that. Guilt and I are old acquaintances. You can’t cut the swath I’ve cut without having some regrets, Val.”

The mother of all understatements, that.

“I’m not talking about guilt, Nick.” Val’s smile was pained. “I am talking about having your very large and tender heart broken.”

Val sauntered off, leaving Nick to realize his scrappy little friend was honking indignantly around his boots, demanding even the crumbs remaining in Nick’s pocket.

***

“Greetings, ladies.” Nick walked through the parlor door, looking relaxed and pleased with himself. He kissed Della’s cheek, then surprised the stuffing out of Leah by stealing a quick kiss on the lips from her.

“Shame on me.” Nick smiled down at her. “But forgive me too, for I have irresistible provocation in the person of my bride. Grandmama, if you would excuse us, there are matters relating to Leah’s family I would like to discuss with her.”

Della wagged a finger at him. “You want to kiss her again, young man. Don’t think you’ll be fooling me when you do.”

“Of course I want to kiss her again, just for starters, but if you don’t trust me, you can leave the door open.”

“As if the threat of discovery would slow you down,” Della huffed, letting Nick draw her to her feet. When she swept from the room, he settled beside Leah and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You are bearing up?” he asked, his gaze traveling over her profile.

“Della is good company and very generous. She truly loves you, Nicholas.”

“And I love her.”

“But you don’t love me,” Leah reminded him, standing abruptly. “I know that, Nicholas, so you don’t have to pretend otherwise for the sake of appearances.”

“I do care for you, Leah Lindsey.” He rose and wrapped his arm around her gently. “I know you don’t believe me, and it would be easier on us both were it not true, but I do. You care for me as well, and I’m inclined to think caring is a better foundation for marriage than many other emotions.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “Tell me about your dress.”

He was cozening her. With his affection and amiability, with reason, and with the sandalwood scent of him.

Leah told him about her dress anyway, reluctantly at first, but because she hadn’t had a new gown in ages, much less one designed to make her look her best, she grew enthusiastic in the telling. Then too, Nick’s big hands were tracing slow, warm patterns on her back, and then her neck. When she fell silent, he buried his hand in her hair, and urged her head against his chest, then just stood there, massaging her scalp while she closed her eyes and rested against him.

He explained to her that he wanted the wedding to be unassailably proper, unlike the wedding Frommer’s family had ignored after the fact. He went on to give her some of the details of the wedding contract, duly signed by the parties and witnessed by men of impeccable standing.