“Yes, but . . .” Victoria’s voice trailed off as the carriage took a turn and swayed. They drove through two stone pillars and an open wrought-iron gate.
Ahead on the gravel road, Fernbridge Hall came into view. An English Baroque monstrosity larger than Blenheim Palace.
Victoria made a cooing sound.
The Duke of Fernbridge puffed out his chest. “What do you think, Lady Nina?”
Both Elliot and the duke stared at her, waiting for her response.
The massive residence seemed cold. Cobbles and gravel abutted the front of the home. There were no bushes or shrubs to soften the hard angles of the structure. Though she couldn’t tell the duke that. “It’s lovely.”
He nodded and grinned.
Several servants rushed forward to assist them out of the carriage.
A thin, prune-faced butler with thinning gray hair bowed as they strode to the front door. “Your Grace,” the servant said in a monotone voice.
As the butler opened the door, the Duke of Fernbridge acknowledged him with a nod.
They stepped into the entry hall, and Nina’s gaze immediately lifted to the domed ceiling that sported a fresco of cherubs playing violins against a blue sky with white intermittent clouds painted on it.
Beside her, Victoria snapped her fan open and fluttered it at her face as if the beauty of it might cause her to swoon.
“Exquisite, isn’t it?” the duke asked.
“Breathtaking,” Nina replied.
* * *
Bloody hell. Elliot tried not to gawk at the domed ceiling soaring thirty feet above them, or the dozen wall niches containing marble busts of haughty-faced men. Since they looked as pretentious as Fernbridge, they were probably his deceased relations.
Nina and Victoria stood with their heads tipped back as they stared at the ceiling. His cousin’s mouth gaped like a fish’s on dry land.
This elaborate residence was the type of country house Nina had grown up in, yet even she seemed awed by the opulence. Elliot’s run-down estate could never compare to this. What difference did that make anyway? He’d all but proposed to Nina, and she’d not accepted. Yet, he’d foolishly held on to a sliver of hope. Now, it whittled away as he listened to Fernbridge boasting about his residence and horses and all the duchy possessed. The sinking feeling in Elliot’s gut had turned rock hard.
“Does it make you think of another work of art?” Fernbridge asked Nina.
“Yes, Correggio’s Assumption of the Virgin.”
“You are familiar with painters?” Fernbridge glanced over his shoulder to cast Elliot a smug twist of his lips.
Still staring at the fresco as if trying to memorize every detail, Nina nodded.
“Then we should start our tour in the Baroque room. I have a couple of Rubenses, a Gentileschi, and others you will enjoy.” He held out his arm, and Nina placed her hand on it.
Victoria sidled up to Elliot and wrapped her arm around his. “Don’t give up,” she whispered.
“Give up?” he echoed lamely.
“You might have Nina fooled, but I see the way you watch her. You’re not doing this to win some point. You care for her.”
He did, but what Victoria didn’t know was that Nina had already made her choice and it hadn’t been him.
“She’s not as materialistic as Fernbridge might think.”
No. He didn’t think she was, but he also didn’t believe she would wish to live in a home with warped floors, faded wallpaper, and over fifty years of neglect. Opulence was one thing. Simple creature comforts a completely different thing.
The tour of Fernbridge Hall’s interior took over three hours, and they hadn’t even completed a quarter of the residence before they luncheoned alfresco, then headed to the stables.
In front of the carriage house, several stable hands lowered the top of the landau they’d rode over in and harnessed fresh matching bays to the vehicle.
“I thought perhaps we’d tour the grounds after the stables. The sun has warmed the air, making an open carriage ride pleasant. We could visit my folly,” Fernbridge said.
The exemplary meal they’d been served curdled in Elliot’s stomach.
Victoria gave him a sorrowful look. “You need to invite Nina to your country residence. Perhaps give a grand ball.”
Victoria was related to him on his mother’s side. She’d never visited the barony’s country residence. She was unaware of its dilapidated state.
If Nina married Fernbridge, she would host grand parties at this residence and be the envy of others. But surely, she wanted more out of her marriage. He glanced at the smile on her face as she talked with Fernbridge and wasn’t convinced. Not a single soul would envy her if she married Elliot, a man they thought would not remain faithful—a man who possessed not one but two residences in need of repairs.
They climbed into the carriage and crossed a stone bridge.
“There it is. The Temple of the Gods.” Fernbridge pointed to the roof of the folly as it came into view above a row of towering evergreens.
The vehicle took a turn in the road and the folly, which resembled the Temple of Hephaestus with its six immense columns under a pediment, stood before them. The magnitude of the structure hit Elliot like a punch to the gut. The duke hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said it was larger than Lord Hathaway’s. It made the other man’s folly look inconsequential.
“It’s magnificent,” Nina said.
Victoria leaned forward in her seat as if so anxious to tour it, she couldn’t contain her excitement. “Oh, Nina. I wish you had brought your sketchpad.”
“Dash it all.” Fernbridge frowned. “I forgot to get a member of my staff to get you something so you could draw it, but you will have other opportunities.”
Elliot’s gaze snapped to the man. Had he just informed them that he intended on asking for Nina’s hand? He glanced at her. Her face gave nothing away, except her hands, which were clasped together in her lap, tightened and then relaxed.
Fernbridge stepped out of the carriage and offered Nina his arm. She set her hand on it as the duke led her away and up the broad stone steps.
“Did he imply what I thought?” Victoria’s eyes widened.
“I believe so.” Elliot released a slow breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest.
“What do you intend to do about it?” Victoria asked.
“Do about it?” Elliot echoed. “Why, nothing. This is what Nina wants. Her wish to be a duchess is about to come true.”
“I don’t think this is what she truly wants. I think it is what she believes her family wants, but if you were to offer first . . .”
Elliot’s gaze shifted from his cousin to where Nina and Fernbridge stood under the roof of the folly. The duke chatted away as Nina appeared to listen intently to the windbag.
The knot in Elliot’s stomach tightened. With a tip of his head, he motioned to them. “I think you are mistaken, Victoria. She looks quite content.”
* * *
They arrived back at Lord and Lady Hathaway’s after the sun set. Tonight was the last night of the house party, and there was to be a ball.
Victoria and Nina headed to their rooms to get dressed.
Fernbridge tossed Elliot a smug smile. “Lady Nina was almost speechless at times. I knew once she visited my residence it would tip the scales in my favor.”
The urge to wipe the arrogant expression off the man’s face grew strong. Elliot drew in a calming breath. “I’d best get dressed as well.”
He’d taken two steps when Fernbridge spoke. “I know the truth.”
Elliot stopped in his tracks and pivoted around. Did Fernbridge mean Elliot and Nina’s plan to get his attention? “I’m not sure what you refer to.”
“Your finances.”
Elliot’s heart beat fast. “My finances?”
“Let’s not dance about the subject. You don’t have a pot to piss in.”
The man’s choice of words was as shocking as the revelation that
he knew about Elliot’s lack of funds.
“I had my man of affairs do some digging. He even visited your estate when he claimed his horse had thrown a shoe. Shame on you, Ralston. I hear you have your crippled sister working as a maid.”
Elliot wasn’t exactly sure when he had stepped up to the duke and planted a facer on the man. Just that he must have because Fernbridge was on the ground touching his bloody lip. The man scrambled to his feet and gawked at the blood on his cream-colored leather gloves.
“If you ever call my sister a cripple again, I’ll do more than plant a facer on you.” Elliot turned and walked away.
“You’ll regret that. You’re no better than an East End piece of rubble,” Fernbridge called after him. “Lady Nina deserves someone better.”
I bloody well know that. Better than either one of us.
Chapter Twenty
Nina returned from the Duke of Fernbridge’s residence to find Grandmother had arrived from London. As they strode toward the ballroom, the old woman lectured her ad nauseum about bringing Fernbridge up to snuff.
“Remember you have a responsibility to get the man to offer for you before any gossip ruins your chance for a good match.”
But as they stepped into the ballroom, it was not the Duke of Fernbridge Nina’s gaze searched for, but Elliot.
At dinner, he’d chatted a great deal with Millicent Stiles. Though perhaps that was because the woman had been seated next to him. If he was trying to make her jealous, it wasn’t working.
Balderdash. Who was she kidding?
Eager to escape Grandmother’s nagging, Nina searched the room for one of the dowager’s cronies. “Oh, Grandmother, look there is Lord Pendleton. I shall leave you to converse with him.”
Grandmother’s hand latched on to hers like a lobster claw. “Remember what I said.”
Nina forced a smile and strode to Victoria, who’d entered the room with her great-aunt.
“Mrs. Darby, I’m sure my grandmother would be pleased if you sat next to her once she finds a seat.”
The woman nodded and strode toward Grandmother.
“I don’t think your grandmother cares for my great-aunt.” Victoria pinched her lips together.
“Really? I’m sure she does.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t. You did that on purpose. Is she being tiresome?” Victoria smiled.
“My grandmother graduated from being tiresome two decades ago. Now she is cantankerous.” Nina pinched her lips together and watched Victoria’s great-aunt cross the room. “Now I’m feeling guilty.”
“For being uncharitable toward your grandmother?”
“No, for sending your sweet great-aunt to sit next to her.”
Victoria snorted, then covered her mouth. “She is hard of hearing, so your grandmother’s sarcastic barbs and the intonation in her voice will be lost on Great-aunt. So, tonight is our last night here.” There was a questioning look in Victoria’s eyes. “Do you think the Duke of Fernbridge will pay a call on your brother when we return to London? I presume that was what your grandmother was hounding you about.”
Would he? The idea should have made her feel giddy with excitement, but it didn’t. Though Grandmother was right on one count—it would stop any unfavorable gossip. It would also make her brother happy to see her settled with a steady type of man. Whereas, if she were to marry someone like Elliot, it might cause James to suffer some malady. He’d think she’d gone quite mad after what had happened with Avalon.
“I’m not sure,” she replied distractedly as she watched the entrance. Neither Elliot nor the duke had entered yet.
“Do you truly care for him?” Victoria asked.
She blinked. Not sure if Victoria meant Fernbridge or Elliot. “Who do you mean?”
“The Duke of Fernbridge.”
He seemed nice, but did she really know him? Surely, he did not make her stomach flutter, and he was a bit of a braggart. He’s safe, a little voice in her head chanted. Yet, it’s Elliot you desire, the voice added.
Elliot strode into the ballroom.
Think of the devil and he doth appear.
Though all the gentlemen were dressed in nearly identical black evening attire, he stood out. Even the light from the chandelier seemed to cast all its luminescence on him, as if it thought him too handsome not to highlight.
His blue eyes met hers. And there it was—that unsettling yet euphoric sensation in her stomach. Like what she experienced whenever she leaped over a high hedge.
“I still think my cousin is smitten with you,” Victoria said, pulling Nina from her thoughts.
The fluttering sensation in Nina’s stomach knotted as he made his way to a group of men. She forced a laugh. Though it sounded cheerful, it had taken a great deal of effort to produce.
“As you can see, he has no interest in me now that his plan has caused the Duke of Fernbridge to single me out.” That wasn’t completely true, but telling Victoria that she’d offered herself up to Elliot and he’d plainly stated if he bedded her, he would wed her wasn’t something she felt comfortable sharing, even with her dearest friend.
Holding two champagne glasses, Amelia Hampton slinked across the room like the snake she was and joined the group of men Elliot stood with. Standing next to him, she offered one of the crystal goblets to Elliot.
Elliot had said he didn’t engage in liaisons with married women, but Amelia was trying her damnedest to make him break that rule.
The thought of them together made Nina’s stomach grow queasy.
The Duke of Fernbridge walked into the ballroom. Upon seeing her, he headed to where she and Victoria stood.
“What do you think happened to his lip?” Victoria whispered.
One side was swollen and red. Nina’s rascal brother Anthony had gotten into a few scuffles that had made his lips look similar, but she couldn’t imagine His Grace fighting. “Probably a shaving accident.”
“Ladies. You both look stunning,” the duke said, stepping up to them.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Nina felt the heat of her grandmother’s gaze and glanced over to see the older woman nodding her approval.
The violin player drew his bow across the strings of his instrument, and couples started moving toward the dance floor.
“Lady Nina, might we stroll about the room?”
She didn’t want to stroll. She wanted to waltz and become swept away in the music.
His Grace offered her his arm as if he would not expect her to say no.
“Of course.” As soon as they moved away from Victoria, Elliot crossed the room and said something to his cousin.
Victoria smiled and nodded. Then they joined the others on the dance floor who waited for the music to start.
Amelia stood watching Elliot, looking as if she were sucking on an over-salted herring. Obviously, she’d wanted him to ask her to dance.
As the Duke of Fernbridge led Nina around the perimeter of the room, the first strains of a Venetian waltz drifted in the air. She tried not to stare at those moving around the dance floor, especially Elliot, who danced so sublimely. She wanted to be in his arms, moving to the music, while drawing in the heat from his body. Her mind drifted back to them lying on her bed, his wicked mouth between her legs. The memory caused a heartbeat to pulse on the nerve-filled spot his tongue had touched.
“When I return to London,” the duke said, pulling her from her wicked memory, “I will be visiting Tattersalls to buy some new horseflesh. Mounts that are accustomed to a woman who rides sidesaddle.”
Nina forced a smile. Yet another hint that implied he intended to ask for her hand.
She should feel jubilated. Instead, she felt numb.
* * *
As the evening went on, Elliot couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting to Nina. The material of her lavender gown flowed with her as she danced with Lord Pendleton.
Throughout the night, he’d avoided Nina for his own self-preservation. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d fallen in love with
her, but he had, and there was nothing he could do to stop her from accepting the Duke of Fernbridge’s proposal. Elliot was one hundred percent sure the bastard intended to offer for her. Why else would he have sent a man to Elliot’s country home? The duke’s hateful words about Meg kept replaying in Elliot’s head. The impulse to drag Fernbridge outside and give him a thrashing nearly overwhelmed him.
As Pendleton led Nina off the dance floor, Elliot could not stop himself from moving toward her. There was only one waltz left, and he wanted to dance it with her, even if it was to be the last time he ever did so. Once she married Fernbridge, he would not ask her. He’d be too tempted to take their relationship to another level. And he would never cuckold another man—even a bastard like Fernbridge.
He’d made it partway across the room when the Dowager of Huntington stepped in his path and pinned him with her steely gray eyes.
“Lord Ralston, take a walk around the room with me.”
It wasn’t a question but a command.
He contemplated picking up the disagreeable woman and placing her to his right or left, or out the window. All three options would have him asked to leave the house party. He forced a smile and offered the woman his arm. “Of course, my lady.”
Like a stray cat who’d just been adopted by a fishmonger, she smiled—a clearly forced expression. A deception for those in the room to witness. “Let us cut to the chase. You are obviously interested in my granddaughter, but I wish you to step aside.” With a jerk of her chin, the old bat motioned to Nina and Fernbridge, who were now standing together with several other guests. “I want her to marry the Duke of Fernbridge,” the dowager continued. “The alliance between the two families is well matched.”
“Is that all that is important, my lady? An alliance?”
“What else is there?”
“Love.” That he’d spoken the word out loud startled him.
The Dowager of Huntington gave a sharp laugh. “I doubt a black-hearted devil like you believes in love.”
“That might have been true at one time, but not now.”
“Until some pretty widow comes along and distracts you?”
“Your opinion of me is quite low, isn’t it?”
“I have always found it hard to believe a leopard could change his spots.”
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 15
