risking scandal, and more scandal with the duel with Wilton.
She was willing to marry Nick and accept his protection, but not on Nick’s terms. Nick eased into his slumbers with the sure conviction that this somehow put him not just in a different class from the sainted Lord Aaron, but in a better class.
***
Nick waited in the Earl of Wilton’s library, his thoughts turned to his upcoming interview with his prospective father-in-law, and the marriage contract drafted and copied for Nick by his solicitors. He tried to mentally rehearse what needed to be said, and how, and his contingency plans, but thoughts of Leah kept interrupting.
Dear God, she’d borne and lost a child, and lived with the secret of her grief for long, silent years.
It explained a lot, Nick reflected as he inspected weighty tomes likely chosen for display rather than the earl’s personal tastes. A mother’s grief illuminated Leah’s reserve, gave ballast to her sadness, and helped explain why putting up with Wilton since her return from Italy had probably been a mere afterthought for her. After losing a child, alone and in a foreign country, Leah Lindsey could survive a great deal. More puzzling was why she’d bothered to survive, and where she’d found the courage to endure what she had.
He paused on that thought, and it occurred to him that refusing to give Leah children was probably the one thing he could have done to most effectively add to her pain.
Jesus on a donkey.
The stinging lash of Nick’s conscience was stilled by the approach of footsteps in the corridor. Nick schooled his features to those of an anxious suitor, one who could be written off as big, slow, and harmless.
“Reston.” Wilton stopped halfway across the room, forcing Nick to come to him.
“My lord.” Nick returned the greeting with what he hoped was a suitably hesitant and hopeful smile.
“Shall we be seated?” Wilton gestured to a pair of padded gilt chairs Nick might easily have snapped into kindling. “The tea tray will be along presently.”
Wilton was a handsome specimen. Tall, lean, and sporting a full head of white hair, about which he was probably vain. His eyes were pale blue, but something about them put Nick in mind of a hungry reptile.
“I must say, Reston, you don’t waste time.”
“I appreciate your directness,” Nick replied, thinking a modicum of civilities would have been appreciated more. “Bellefonte is not enjoying good health, and I’ve made my papa a promise I intend to keep.”
“Never knew your father well,” Wilton mused, smiling at nothing Nick could discern, “but you have my wishes for his speedy recovery.” The smile belied the words, leaving Nick with simmering anger that had to be ruthlessly shoved aside.
“Thank you, my lord.” Nick let his gaze travel around the room, unwilling to launch his campaign until the tea had been brought. “You have a lovely house.”
“It’s comfortable,” Wilton allowed dismissively. “Wilton Acres is far more grand.”
“But your children and grandchildren are ensconced in Town, so you maintain a residence here.”
Wilton shrugged. “Needs must. One has parliamentary obligations.”
Nick had seen the barest hint of a flinch at the reference to the grandchildren, reinforcing Nick’s sense the earl was prone to vanity. The tea tray arrived in decorous silence, and Wilton suggested Nick pour, which was ungracious, and a tacit way to put Nick in the female role.
So Nick took his time and made an elegant business out of it, like the docile son-in-law he would never be.
“Your note suggested you had something personal to discuss,” Wilton prodded, sipping his tea and frowning. Nick had jotted off several notes last night while waiting for Leah to complete her bath, and tried to recall the exact wording of the one to Wilton.
“Urgent and personal. To be very direct, my lord, I wish to court your older daughter.”
“Why?” Wilton’s question was offered in such puzzled tones, Nick feared it was sincere.
“I am in immediate need of a countess,” Nick said. “I promised my father not merely a fiancée, but a countess before his demise, and I have run out of time.”
“Why Leah? You could have your pick of heiresses, debutantes, titled widows, and the rest.”
The question might have been from a concerned father watching out for his daughter, but the glint of condescension in Wilton’s eyes suggested he was simply looking for leverage.
“I am at a disadvantage when courting a wife,” Nick said, and there was some truth to the idea. “My size alone means the more diminutive women are of no