Authors: Erin Knightley
Because no one else on earth would possibly gather a speck of dust on them after a pounding eight-hour journey. “Didn’t you know? That’s the fashion these days.” He grinned simply because he knew it would irk his stepfather.
And it did.
The older man set his jaw, narrowing his eyes for a brief moment. “And here I thought the military would be able to make a man of you.”
He always had gone straight for the throat. Good thing Nick had a lifetime of acclimation to such comments.
“Well, if you couldn’t, what hope did the army have?”
Malcolm’s gaze would have frozen lava. “Clearly none. Some people are beyond hope.” Without another word, he strode from the room and out the front door.
Evidently nothing had changed.
Relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders, Nick shook his head.
It was ironic, really. During the past few years, Nick had had the meaning of respect drilled into him. As a commissioned officer, he’d been taught to earn the respect of his men, as well as possess a healthy dose of it for his own superiors. But apparently, he still had a blind spot when it came to his stepfather, who incidentally had paid for Nick’s commission. Not that he felt bad about it, since clearly the feeling was mutual.
The lofty Earl of Malcolm had never quite forgiven Nick for being part of the package that was his mother. Raising—no matter how loosely such a word could be applied to their situation—another man’s orphan wasn’t quite what he had in mind when Nick’s mother had ensnared the earl all those years ago.
The purposeful clearing of a throat had him looking over to Tolbert. He’d completely forgotten the man was even there. “Yes?”
“Shall I have your room readied, sir?”
There was no missing the censure in old Tolbert’s tone. Fantastic—Nick’s arrival had upset yet another member of the household. The butler hated surprises just about as much as he hated laughter, gossip, and puppies. All of which led to the disruption of his schedule, which was worse than any cardinal sin.
Nick nodded, infusing a healthy dose of humility into his expression. “Please, though if it is too much to ask, I am quite adept at making do. I’ve even slept on God’s own dirt a time or two in the not so distant past.”
Such a thing would seem the worst possible fate to Tolbert, but in truth, those nights hadn’t bothered Nick. When surrounded by people who respected him, even the worst conditions were preferable to this house and its self-important master . . . except for when Eleanor was in residence, of course.
The butler’s stiff brow relaxed slightly. “I’m certain we can find something more comfortable than that, sir.”
Well, well—was that a bit of dry humor he heard? “So glad to hear it.”
“And may I be so bold as to say, welcome home, sir.”
His first genuine greeting. Nick smiled and nodded his acceptance. After a distressed cousin and a contentious stepfather, he’d happily take a kind butler right about then. With a sigh, he retrieved his satchel and trudged up the stairs to the rooms he’d so infrequently used these past five or so years.
So far his homecoming was going bloody brilliantly.
***
Step one: discover a large cache of money.
Step two: Purchase a cottage beside the sea.
Step three: Tell uncle to go to the devil.
A perfectly reasonable plan, as far as Eleanor was concerned. There was only one problem: she was fairly certain no undiscovered treasure troves languished on the estate’s grounds.
It just seemed so hopeless. She had been unable to come up with any real plan in the two hours since her uncle laid down his ultimatum. It was incredibly frustrating to know he held all the cards. As he well knew
, Eleanor would do anything to protect her sweet sister.
Libby had an innocence about her that Eleanor was determined to preserve. Papa had died before she was old enough to recognize the tension in their home, or at the very least to place its origin. She had a rosy view of love and life that would be crushed by some overbearing aristocrat. It was a fate she did not deserve.
Of course, it was a fate Eleanor didn’t deserve, either. The whole situation was just so blasted unfair. Blowing out a breath, she paced the length of the room. Aunt Margaret’s snores filtered past the ebony door that separated their suites, and Eleanor immediately quieted her footsteps. Her aunt’s noise may not wake her, but the woman heard just about everything else in a half-mile radius.
Eleanor would love nothing more than to pour out her frustrations to her aunt, but she had just been so delicate since Mama’s death. Gone was the fiery woman who had once been a
tour de force
among the
ton.
Growing up, Eleanor had wanted to be just like her. Widowed young and without children of her own, she had always been so strong and independent—a striking foil to Eleanor’s mother while Papa was still alive.
Now, however, she was simply the aging, older sister to one sibling who was dead, and another who was a boorish nobleman who liked to manipulate them about like chess pieces.
And on top of everything, Aunt Margaret had been under the weather this week, and Eleanor didn’t want to cause her undue stress. Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her eyes. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
A light tap on the door to the corridor interrupted her thoughts. She padded over and pulled it open, only to find
Nick on the other side. What on earth was he doing here? His short, brown hair was damp and in need of a comb, standing up in all different directions. He’d taken the time to shave as well, and the late afternoon light illuminated one perfectly smooth, chiseled cheek while the other was cast in shadow.
For one fleeting moment, she had the oddest desire to run a fingertip down the side of his face, to see if the skin was as soft as it looked. And then her sanity returned with a biting snap.
Was he mad? One couldn’t go knocking on a woman’s bedchamber on a whim. She pulled the door mostly closed, leaving only enough room for him to have a clear view of her censure. “Nicolas,” she hissed, annoyance making the single word into a curse, “what are you doing here?”
He lifted one corner of his mouth is a rakish grin, knowing full well that she hated when he acted as though he was some sort of Corinthian. “You ran away without a proper greeting, young lady. I thought I might give you the chance to grovel for my forgiveness before dinner.”
“Oh please, I am not a young anything to you. Now go away, I’ll see you downstairs soon enough.” She started to shut the door, but he put his hand out, stopping her forward motion with a jolt.
“Not until you tell me what is bothering you,” he said, an underlying hint of concern color
ing the otherwise belligerent words. Then, just when she was about to think he might actually care, he added, “You are not nearly waspish enough for all to be well.”
She rolled her eyes, her gaze landing on the bulge of his arm muscles as he held the door in place, resisting her attempts to shut it. It was so jarring for him to look so different. And distracting. Her
heart gave a little flip as her gaze slipped over his broadened shoulders and the exceptionally sharp line of his jaw. Truly, they must have worked him like a mule in the army.
Good
.
Having regained her wits, she glared at him. “Would you please leave me be?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” she said, exasperation clear in her whispered words.
“Right after you tell me what has your face drawn tight as a miser’s purse strings.”
He gave another infuriating little grin. “Careful, such a thing will give you wrinkles. Especially at your advanced age.”
“Oh, do be quiet,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, Aunt Margaret will hear you, and if you wake her, I
will
make you regret it.”
He leaned in toward her until his face was only inches from hers, the clean scent of his shaving soap teasing her nose. His light green eyes held the same challenge they always did when he’d set his mind to having his way. “Then I suggest,” he murmured, his voice low and deep, “that you let me in and tell me what is troubling you.”
“
You
are troubling me,” she insisted, keeping her own voice down. “Now leave. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Nick sighed, shaking his head as though profoundly disappointed. “Only two years away, and they’ve turned you into such an old maid.”
An
old maid
? For heaven’s sake, was everyone intent on labeling her the doddering old woman today? It didn’t help that he looked as vibrant and virile as a prize stallion. And to think she had been inadvertently admiring him. The men in her family could go to the devil, as far as she was concerned. Fresh anger welled up from the conversation with Uncle Robert, from the helplessness and impotence of being played like some puppet.
Eleanor jerked the door open so suddenly
that Nick stumbled forward, very nearly falling flat on his face. She waited until he recovered to pin him with a frosty glare. “I am
not
an old maid, Nicolas Norton, and
you
are not some sort of confidant. Why would I tell you anything? You’ve been back all of two hours, and already you have reverted to the wayward young boy who always tagged behind me like a puppy, making trouble for me at every turn.”
She would never in a thousand years say such harsh things to any other person on earth, but Nick had always thrived on annoying her. This was what they did. She doubted she would know what to do if he ever offered her a genuine kind word.
To do so would mean that he actually took something seriously.
“What is life without a little trouble?” he asked, brushing off her insults. “You know what I think?
I think you’ve missed me.”
“Yes, about as much as one misses a hangnail.”
He chuckled, his green eyes sparkling despite the waning evening light. “You do say the sweetest things, Ellie. Lucky for you, I know exactly what you need.”
She crossed her arms, looking at him with patent disbelief. He knew nothing about what she needed, nothing at all. She needed freedom, respect, the ability to
not
be married off to the man of Uncle Robert’s choosing. “Oh? And what is that, exactly?”
“To meet me at the ruins. Tomorrow at dawn.” He gave her a quick wink, made a military turn, and marched from the room.
She blinked, caught off guard. Then a slow, reluctant smile softened the corners of her mouth. For once, he was absolutely right. Devil take the man for knowing her so well.
***
“My, but you are looking
so
well, darling.” Nick’s mother stretched her lips in a lazy smile from across the dinner table. She was the only person he knew that could manage such an expression without betraying a single wrinkle. Perhaps the vast quantities of drink she had consumed all these years—including tonight—were successfully preserving her after all. “Eleanor, isn’t he looking well?”
Ignoring his mother’s slightly slurred words, Nick raised an eyebrow
at Eleanor, challenging her to disagree with the assessment. He could practically hear her grit her teeth.
“Indeed,” she murmured
, clearly pained to admit it. An actual compliment would probably kill her.
Although, to be fair, he never complimented her, either. She was slender and beautiful, with full lips that begged to be kissed and gorgeous dark hair that looked so silky, he’d spent the last decade fighting the desire to run his hands through it. All of this, however, would never leave his lips.
Lifting his glass in a mock salute, he said, “Please, cousin, you’ll give me a big head with such eager praise.”
“You don’t need me for that.”
“Now, now, the both of you. Do behave at the dinner table.” Mother paused to take another drink of her wine before turning her less than focused gaze on Nick. “It’s been so long, my son. Please, tell us all about your life in the militia.”
Malcolm’s knife screeched against porcelain as he cut his roast lamb with much more force than necessary. “I don’t think we need to hear about his battlefield experiences,
Lavinia.”
Nick ran his tongue along his teeth in an attempt to hold back his retort, but it was no use. “Are you certain? I was under the impression gory battlefield details
were appropriate conversation for the dinner table, and was about to proceed accordingly.”
His stepfather glared daggers above the floral centerpiece
as the candlelight flickered menacingly in his eyes.
“Oh, Nicolas, how you tease,” Mother trilled. “It’s a shame Margaret couldn’t join us. She does so enjoy your cheek.”
Malcolm’s gaze flickered to his wife before returning to his meal. “You remember to keep your
cheek
in hand, Nicolas, while you are in my home.”
My home.
It was a theme that never quite went away. When he first came to live here fifteen years ago, the man went out of his way to put Nick in his place. As soon as he found a school that would take him, Malcolm packed him off with ill-concealed pleasure and washed his hands of him. If it weren’t for school breaks, Nick might have never seen his family.