Ice congealed in his gut. There was no forgiveness for the men who took part in Arianna’s demise, and it was beyond him to show mercy to any of them.
He released his cock, ruthlessly expelling Maryann from his mind. It was a bit damn shortsighted to even be wondering about her until the path he had set for himself was over. But when would it actually be done with? A month from now? A year? Would she still be there when he was ready, or would she be forced into marriage with Stamford or another man, and Nicolas would then lose his chance with her forever?
With a hiss of irritation, he pushed from the bed, padded to the windows overlooking the square, dragged open the massive green drapes. The sun had lowered in the sky and the night revelers were already pouring from their homes. Turning away, he rang for a tray to be sent up and a bath.
It was time to prepare for facing the duke.
An hour later, dressed in the heights of current fashion, Nicolas elected to walk to the duke’s home, given that they both resided in Grosvenor Square, his silver-headed cane which held his blade in his hand. Upon entering the man’s home, Nicolas handed over his coat and hat, but retained his walking cane as he made his way down the hallway to the duke’s study.
The butler preceded Nicolas to announce his presence, and then he was allowed entry into the study that was well lit with gas lamps.
“I am surprised you came,” the duke said, not bothering to rise from his desk.
“What is surprising about it?” Nicolas asked blandly. “Did you not invite me?”
The duke’s gaze was shrewd, but desperation also lurked in the depths of his gray eyes. “I also invited three other friends over the course of the last week,” he spat. “None came.”
“To what do I owe the invitation to your home?” Nicolas drawled, taking in the duke’s disheveled appearance.
“Sit,” he commanded, still trying to retain a measure of control of those around him, as if he exercised the same powers he had done a year or more ago. The power of those in the ton always rested in money. If that money was threatened even temporarily, his position and reputation would be endangered.
Nicolas lowered himself into the armchair opposite the fire, and smiled, barely, but the duke’s bleary eyes narrowed. The duke retrieved an enamel snuffbox from his pocket, opened it, and took a pinch.
Nicolas did not rush to fill the silence, though he suspected that was what the duke wanted. A man who fancied himself above others and had always enjoyed his superiority would find it uncommonly distressing to ask for aid in any way. But this was the place Nicolas had worked to take him, three years of systematic assault on his wealth and holdings.
“Are you by chance seeking a wife, Rothbury?” the duke finally asked after some contemplation.
Now that was interesting. “A wife?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Are you really determined to only marry when you are forty?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
“That was just idle chatter.”
“I collect you, like many gentlemen, find my sister to be ravishing,” the duke said, with faint amusement in his eyes. “I’ve entertained a number of offers for Lady Sophie’s hand, but I think she needs a man of your stature, one who will be able to keep her in the elegances and luxuries she deserves.”
With his back flushed against the wall, and the odds now against him, the man thought to sell his sister.
“And so, you offer her to me?”
Farringdon smiled. “I offer her to you.”
“I fear you’ll have to consider one of her previous suitors. I am not a contender.”
The duke’s jaw slackened. The man had believed Nicolas would be salivating over Lady Sophie’s beauty.
“Come, man,” Farringdon said with an incredulous laugh, leaning back in his wing-back chair. “Do not pretend to be unmoved by her prettiness. My sister is incomparable!”
Nicolas lifted a quizzical brow. “Incomparable? I find her to be spiteful and an undeserving creature who bullies others she deems below her. Her charms are quite lost on me.”
The snuffbox dropped from the duke’s hand to clatter onto the surface of his desk. “How dare you?” he slung with outrage.
“I dare whatever I want,” Nicolas said with icy civility. “I am sure you did not ask me to come to discuss your sister’s merits or lack thereof.”