“But you don’t love me,” Leah reminded him, standing abruptly. “I know that, Nicholas, so you don’t have to pretend otherwise for the sake of appearances.”
“I do care for you, Leah Lindsey.” He rose and wrapped his arm around her gently. “I know you don’t believe me, and it would be easier on us both were it not true, but I do. You care for me as well, and I’m inclined to think caring is a better foundation for marriage than many other emotions.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “Tell me about your dress.”
He was cozening her. With his affection and amiability, with reason, and with the sandalwood scent of him.
Leah told him about her dress anyway, reluctantly at first, but because she hadn’t had a new gown in ages, much less one designed to make her look her best, she grew enthusiastic in the telling. Then too, Nick’s big hands were tracing slow, warm patterns on her back, and then her neck. When she fell silent, he buried his hand in her hair, and urged her head against his chest, then just stood there, massaging her scalp while she closed her eyes and rested against him.
He explained to her that he wanted the wedding to be unassailably proper, unlike the wedding Frommer’s family had ignored after the fact. He went on to give her some of the details of the wedding contract, duly signed by the parties and witnessed by men of impeccable standing.
For a wife Nick wouldn’t permit to bear him children, he’d gone to a lot of bother in a short time—a minor consolation.
“You will be quite dashing tomorrow.” Leah smiled at the thought. “Knee breeches, and satin, and all the finery a gentleman is allowed.”
“I will attire myself as befits a man marrying his countess,” Nick said. “I don’t want to give you ammunition for regrets.”
“Regrets.” Leah ruminated on the word. “I don’t see myself as having regrets at this stage, Nicholas, more misgivings.”
“You think those are unusual?” He words were cautious, a man who sniffed a swamp on either side of a poorly lit trail but wasn’t about to back up.
“No, I suppose not. You?”
“I should tell you I have them,” Nick said, “so you won’t feel so alone with your doubts. In truth, I cannot admit to many, and none about you. You will be an outstanding Countess of Bellefonte, Leah, and my family will love you. Della and Ethan are much taken with you already, and Valentine has nearly offered to steal you from me.”
Honesty. He could cozen her with that too. “What doubts do you have, Nicholas?”
“I worry what I offer won’t be enough for you.” His hand on her nape slowed. “I can keep you safe, I am confident of that. Wilton is a bully and unlikely to trouble himself with you once you’re under my protection. I saw my man of business this afternoon.”
“What mischief did you get up to with your man of business?” Leah asked, allowing his maladroit change of topic. Too much more of his honesty and she’d be back to doubting her ability to be his countess.
“We’ve sent to Italy to see about bringing little Charles home,” Nick said. “It will take weeks, of course, because the mails are slow and the weather uncertain, and there are documents needed all around, but the process is started.”
“Ah, Nicholas.” Leah buried her face against his shoulder. “And you wonder if you have appeal beyond your muscles, your charm, and your title.”
He hoisted her against his chest and sat, cuddling her in his lap. Leah looped her arms around his neck, giving her more to add to her list of the myriad ways he cozened and charmed. “Lady Della will be scandalized.”
“Hardly that. In fact, it was she who suggested you bide here again tonight.”
Leah pushed images of enormous, steamy tubs and rose-scented water from her mind. “She’ll chaperone, of course.”
Nick shook his head. “No, she will not. We’ll put your cloak on old Magda, pull the hood up, and bundle Magda into Grandmother’s coach after dinner, once it’s dark.”
“Who’s Magda?” Leah closed her eyes and felt the slow, soothing beat of Nick’s heart.
“My grandmother’s familiar below stairs. She’s been with my family since my father’s salad days. When I’m in town, Grandmother sends her here to spy on me and poach brandy from my cellar. The other servants love her stories about me, Grandmother, Bellefonte, and the rest.”