Marrying Mischief. Lyn Stone
saint. Nicholas remembered him well, and doubted the lecher would treat her with the respect she deserved. The very thought of her assuming such an unguarded position was unacceptable and that was all there was to it.
Emily had made her decision, however, and Nicholas knew he would never be able to sway her on the matter of taking any financial assistance from him to prevent her working. He had to admire her for refusing his offer of support, even while it angered him that she did so.
Even an offer to renew the close friendship they once enjoyed, she would view as suspect. And probably would fling something at his head for good measure if he persisted. He would, anyway, of course. How could he do less? He’d missed her terribly.
He smiled wryly at the thought of her temper. For a girl reared as a vicar’s daughter, Emily did possess a fiery spirit plus impulsive and headstrong ways. That had drawn him to her like a lodestone. He had always admired her fiercely independent nature, her zeal, her ready laughter and lack of artifice. She never did a thing by half measure, his Emily.
Not his Emily, he reminded himself with a heartfelt sigh. And she never would be. That chance was gone, destroyed by old Kendale’s malice and Nicholas’s fear for her future. Perhaps it was just as well, for Emily’s sake, since he had fully intended to marry her at the time. Ah, the vagaries of that youthful passion.
Now, however, he could not envision her in the company of those he would find it necessary to socialize with in London when he took his father’s place in the House of Lords. No, such a structured and demanding life would have made her miserable.
He considered Dierdre Worthing. She had often indicated that she felt some attraction to him, Nicholas reflected. As he recalled, she had been an accomplished flirt. Of course, she’d been quite young at the time and he had never taken her seriously.
Emily was younger. Nick shook off the thought.
As the daughter of a baron who was very wealthy and influential, Dierdre would have the training required to fulfill the role of a countess.
All he need do was accept the betrothal and refrain from exposing his father’s forging of the document. If he did not, then explaining everything to Worthing would be awkward, to say the least. And Dierdre, if she knew about it, would be hurt to think he did not want her and never had. She might have been waiting these seven long years for him to return and marry her, with her father and his assuring her that she and Nicholas truly were betrothed.
Maybe he should go through with the marriage. There really was no point in thwarting the old man’s wishes and causing a scandal just for the sake of revenge. That would be childish and unproductive.
Nick was fast approaching thirty and must begin to think of marrying and producing an heir. What difference did it make whom he married as long as she liked him reasonably well, was of suitable birth and could bear him the requisite son?
His only goal in life now was to undo the wrongs his father had wreaked on others. Nick wanted to gain the respect of his peers for himself and the title. As earl, he meant to do his duty as he understood it, not to follow his father’s self-serving example. He would live with honor.
But would it be honorable to marry Dierdre when he felt absolutely nothing for her? Not even a special liking? He had outgrown his belief in love, of course, but lust was a fact. So was admiration and the need to protect. Unfortunately, he did not feel any of those things for Dierdre Worthing.
He could scarcely recall what she looked like. Yet he had never forgotten Emily’s face. Her sweet, trusting face turned up to his for that kiss that had changed both their lives for the worse when his father had heard of it. Nick knew very well that he still entertained feelings for Emily.
“No,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head, glaring at the drawer in which the false document lay waiting for its implementation. “I cannot wed Dierdre.”
But something had to be done about the document. He needed to straighten out the matter with Worthing as soon as possible.
Even more imperative to his peace of mind, Nick knew he had to do something to gain Emily’s forgiveness for the problems he had caused her. Perhaps if he explained face-to-face why he had left as he had, and then stayed away. Would she believe him then? She had obviously doubted his written words.
The door opened and Nick looked up. Wrecker grinned at him. “She’s a goer, that’un, ain’t she?”
“Mind your tongue,” Nick warned him. “Leave it hanging out like that and you’re likely to lose it.”
“Beg pardon, m’lord.” His gap-toothed grin grew wider. “Y’know, she woulda made straight for th’ lad again just now?” He poked his beefy chest with his thumb. “I stopped her. She were stompin’ all the way up the stair, mad enough to curse if she knew how.”
Nicholas stood and rounded the desk. “I’ll go up and see to her.”
Wrecker laughed slyly. “Aye, m’lord. I would do just that if I was you.”
Clearly the man knew Emily was forbidden game for himself and the rest of the men. But it was also quite apparent that he thought Nicholas intended to take advantage of her unchaperoned presence.
“The lady is my guest while we wait out the quarantine,” he explained. “She is the vicar’s daughter, Joshua’s sister, and a dear friend of mine. One hint of an insult to her or behind her back, and the perpetrator shall answer to me. And I shall not be kind. Is that understood?”
Wrecker shrugged, still smiling. “Aye, m’lord, I understand. We all do.”
It was no use. Through fear, he could control what they said, but the men would think whatever they would. There was no alternative to keeping Emily here, however, despite the harm to her reputation. If he released her and she fell ill, the sickness could spread.
He promised himself he would only go to her room this once, just to reassure her again about Joshua’s welfare. Then he would leave her alone. The less he saw of her, the fewer rumors would fly when this was over. But some would fly, he thought with resignation.
Emily tore off her shawl and bonnet in pure frustration and flopped down upon the bed.
The lavish appointments within the countess’s chamber did not surprise her. She had been here before, long ago, and nothing much had changed. The rich, rose fabric of the bed hangings and the draperies had faded a bit, the ornate walnut furniture could use a good dusting, but the room was essentially the same as when she had visited here at her father’s side. How privileged and grown up she had felt at the time, being allowed inside. Now, of course, she realized she had lent propriety to the vicar’s visit to Nicholas’s invalid mother.
The room felt at once both comforting and discomforting. It provided a familiar haven, yet emphasized the vast gulf between her station and that of a noble lady.
What a fool she had been to think Nicholas would ever have chosen such as her to wed. To his credit, he had actually never mentioned marriage. But he had made her believe that he loved her. She’d had to guess what he had in mind then, and to her dismay, she had wrongly assumed that his intentions were honorable.
The present indignity was not to be borne, she thought with a forceful groan. That hulk of a seaman who accosted her just now and prevented her going to Joshua, had all but accused her of coming here for the worst purpose imaginable.
“See to his lordship if ye must heal summat,” he had said suggestively. “Poor sod could do wif a bit o’ sympathy, hard as it’s been for ’im.”
Emily would have dearly liked to slap that silly grin off his whiskered face if she could have reached it. The wretched giant.
Before the sun set this evening, the entire population of Bournesea would believe Nicholas was keeping her here for immoral reasons.
Was he? Had Nicholas considered it? Did that rough-looking man who had stopped her from seeing Josh know something that she did not?
No, she didn’t really believe