let Nick draw her once again into the privacy of the willow bower on the far side of the pond.
“You are pale, lovey,” Nick said, wrapping his arms around her. “Your eyes are haunted, and fatigue shows around your mouth.” He bent his head and brushed his lips over that mouth. “You must not fret. All will be well.”
When he held her like this, Leah could believe it—Nicholas seemed to believe it, but then, his father hadn’t murdered his betrothed, and all but promised to deliver him, bound hand and foot, into a life of abject depravity.
She let herself cling to him for just a few more minutes, storing up the sandalwood scent of him, the heat of his tall body, the solid muscles enveloping her, and then she forced herself to step away.
“For two more days, I can manage, Nicholas. I’m not usually inclined to such dramatics.”
The look he gave her was searching, far more serious than his usual genial expression. Meeting his gaze, Leah was struck in a whole different way with how very attractive he was, and how male. The woman he married had best guard her heart and guard it well.
The breeze stirred, teasing a lock of blond hair across Nick’s brow. They were still in the sheltering embrace of the willow branches, so Leah allowed herself to smooth that errant lock back into place.
“Two days, lovey, and then Ethan and Lady Warne will kidnap you from your tower. Wilton won’t risk anything drastic when he knows you’re expected by a dowager marchioness at week’s end. Be strong for two more days.”
He kissed her again, a sound smack on the lips. One of his kisses for courage—though what did it say about her, that she was starting to catalogue the kisses of a man whom she had no intention of marrying?
Six
It nearly killed Nick to leave Clover Down without stopping in at Blossom Court, but he’d learned years ago that Leonie was a creature of routine. She loved him, and he loved her, but that meant he loved her enough that if she wasn’t expecting him, he could no longer disturb her peace by just dropping by.
When he did reach his father’s side, he was glad he hadn’t tarried on the way.
“What took you so infernally long to get here, boy?” Bellefonte’s voice had lost volume but not bite, Nick noted as he mentally armored himself for this interview.
“One doesn’t leave Town in the middle of the Season without having to send out regrets, confer with solicitors, and make other arrangements.” He met his father’s gaze, but it was an effort. The old man was losing ground, and that, not the earl’s temper, his displeasure, or his infernal meddling, was what bothered Nick most.
I’m losing him. Nick wandered around the overly warm, camphor-and-books-scented study, the better to avoid looking at his father. We’re losing him. Nick would never again be a little boy who could throw himself into his father’s arms and feel small and protected, knowing a robust, if irascible, father would defeat all demons and slay all dragons.
“Perhaps one doesn’t.” The earl’s scowl eased. “You’re too skinny, Reston.”
“Too much dancing.”
“Not enough dancing. You’ve brought me no sweet young thing for my approval.”
“I’m considering a few possibilities,” Nick said, “but I figure you’re too stubborn to die until I find the right lady, so there is no real hurry.”
“Cheeky.” The earl grinned fleetingly. “You get that from me, but don’t be too cocky, my boy.”
“Of course not.” Nick nodded graciously and forced himself to take a seat opposite the desk that now seemed to dwarf its owner. “I want this marriage business over with probably more than you do.”
The grin evaporated. “You don’t make sense. Of all my lusty boys, you are the lustiest of the lot. Word is you’ll swive anything in skirts—unlike your nancy brother, George, by the way—so what’s the delay in finding a countess?”
“In the first place,” Nick said pleasantly, “I do not swive anything in skirts, but am, rather, very choosy about my partners. In the second place, keep your beak out of my personal business, or I’ll dawdle until June to make a selection and let her choose the wedding date. In the third place, not just any woman could take on the family you’ve created, my lord, much less your rather generously proportioned heir.”
The earl waved a bony, mottled hand. “Marry some bovine parson’s daughter, my boy. You know I believe in the occasional outcross.”