his hands tucked behind his back while Leah sat before him.
“I think to encourage her to be happy.” Leah bent her head to her embroidery hoop but did not yield to the urge to cringe.
“Your example has proven instructive,” the earl said, beaming a malicious smile. “It did not occur to me you would have value as a cautionary tale, but it appears you do. I bring you words of caution as well, Leah.”
Leah raised her gaze to his and felt her chest constrict at the hatred she saw. “I am listening.”
“Hellerington rescheduled his appointment with me last week, but today I have his note postponing the meeting indefinitely. This tells me you have failed to secure the attentions of even such a one as he, who would at least have taken you off my hands and perhaps paid modestly for the privilege.”
“I’m sure you’re disappointed,” Leah said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Sending you into his waiting arms would have had a certain appeal, and you might yet end up there,” the earl replied. “Without benefit of matrimony.”
“You would condemn me thus?”
“Happily,” the earl snapped. “And when I hear you spouting off to Emily about choosing a man for his character… Your days under this roof are numbered, miss. I will choose Emily’s husband and the terms upon which she weds, make no mistake about that. I had hoped… well, no matter. I’ve had indications this Lord Reston might be seriously interested in you, and because he is soon to assume his papa’s title, I will take some time to consider the matter of your future. You, however, would be well advised to flirt your way into some man’s affections sooner rather than later. I care not whether it’s Reston or some wealthy merchant. Consider yourself forewarned.”
He left, sparing Leah the effort of a reply.
He’d warned her, at least. She could be tossed into the streets, her only recourse to impose on Trent, or perhaps retreat to Darius’s little place in Kent. As her options were truly narrowing, Leah felt the foreboding in her chest congeal into dread. To be not just a spinster daughter, but a poor relation cast out of her own home…
God in heaven, what had she done to deserve such a fate?
And God in heaven, what was she going to do? She had four sovereigns to her name. What in the world was she going to do?
***
“Sir.” The butler waited until Ethan Grey looked up from his ledgers. “A gentleman to see you.”
Ethan waved the salver away. “Tell me who it is.”
The butler, without raising a brow, read the card. “A Lord Reston,” he pronounced, “and the corner is bent.”
“Ah, Jesus.” Ethan sat back and saw the usual sea of ledgers, correspondence, and documents covering his desk. First that audience with Bellefonte, now Nick knocking at his door—in person—when there was work to do.
“Show him in.” Ejecting Nick would take more footmen than Ethan wanted to spare. “Bring us a tea tray with whatever the kitchen can add to it that’s passable.”
“Very good, sir.”
Nick was here, at Ethan’s town house, and Ethan knew damned good and well who had given him the address.
“Ethan.” Nick breezed in, his blue, buff, and cream riding attire showing his phenomenal physique to excellent advantage. “My apologies for not sending a note, and my thanks for your willingness to receive me.”
“I’ve always been willing to receive you.” Ethan frowned, for Nick looked harried. Nick never looked harried. He was the quintessential self-possessed, easygoing charmer. Ethan was the one who couldn’t manage to get enough done in a day.
Nick looked to be dropping weight as well, and Ethan’s characteristic irritability ratcheted up a notch. Nick was not allowed to be worn and tired. Nick’s job was to be happy, amiable, and bustling around in a fog of horny contentment, flirting his way from one merry widow to the next.
“Tea’s on its way.” Ethan shoved out from behind his desk and extended a hand. Nick’s expression showed momentary surprise, but he shook solidly then tossed himself down into a sturdy cushioned chair.
“Thank the gods for a man who appreciates real furniture.” Nick dragged a hand through his golden mane. “How was your trip to Belle Maison?”
Amiable and very, very direct.
“Trying,” Ethan said, lowering himself into the other chair and realizing that Nick—and probably Nick alone—was someone with whom he could discuss the trip.
“He really is dying,” Nick said softly. “Doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem like it’s time, and it doesn’t help that