Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  Carrie took a deep sip of the brandy and coughed.

  “Easy,” Nicholas said. “I imagine you rarely imbibe.”

  She placed a hand on her chest. “I’ve never had brandy before. It certainly warms one.”

  “Indeed it does.”

  “Carrie!” Bella burst into the room, followed by her brother. She flung herself onto the sofa beside her sister. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not even a little, Bella,” Carrie said calmly. She stroked her sister’s head where she rested it on Carrie’s lap. “Sit down and have tea. There might be crumpets.”

  Bella sat up and sniffed. “Have they remembered the honey?”

  Jeremy sat down in a chair. “Women can’t ride as well as men.”

  Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “That will get you into no end of trouble should you repeat it in a lady’s presence when you are older.”

  Jeremy blinked. “But it is true.”

  “It is not only wrong,” Nicholas said as the tea tray arrived. “It is entirely unfair. Especially when ladies ride to hounds and jump their horses while on a sidesaddle.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so,” Jeremy said grudgingly.

  When Carrie’s gaze rested on his with warm approval, he felt ridiculously pleased.

  After tea, Nicholas returned to his library. He sat at his desk for a moment, stoking Chester’s silky head. His elevated mood surprised him. How quickly the children became dear to him. He never would have believed it. And Carrie? Well… Nicholas straightened his shoulders. Her beauty had beguiled him. He’d enjoyed having her in his arms for even a brief moment. But he didn’t forget the fear which gripped his insides at that moment before he caught her, when she almost fell beneath the plunging hooves of the horse.

  ***

  Carrie went to her bedchamber to change out of her habit, still shaky from the experience. But Nicholas had been there and caught her. She remembered how safe she felt. Although she considered herself a confident woman, it made her realize how alone she had been after her father died. When she’d gazed up at Nicholas’s hard jaw, she saw her accident had unnerved him. His heart thumped so hard it felt like a drum.

  Her admiration for him and her pleasure to see how good he was with Bella and Jeremy grew with each day. Might he care for her? He seemed committed to his course, to take her to London.

  After dinner, the family gathered in the drawing room. Bella tried to persuade poor Scotty to dance a few steps of a reel with her. The long-suffering governess complained of her knees and sank into a chair.

  “Play spillikins with me, Bella,” Jeremy said. “And don’t cheat.”

  Nicholas smiled at Carrie. “Chess?”

  She agreed, pleased to have another chance to trounce him, but with no real confidence in doing so.

  They moved to the chess table, where Nicholas set up the pieces on the board.

  “You gave me white,” she said. “I should thank you, but I suspect that was because I can be easily beaten.”

  Nicholas studied her pink gown. “I don’t believe I’ve seen that dress before.”

  “No.”

  “It’s pretty. Is it a ploy to prevent me from concentrating on the game? If so, it might work.”

  Carrie was surprised. It was the first flirtatious thing he’d said to her. She had chosen this gown especially because she thought it suited her.

  She moved a knight in front of her pawns and gazed up at him, very much aware of how handsome he looked tonight in a coat that turned his eyes smoky blue. He raised his eyebrows as he studied the board and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. Really, it was she who must keep her mind on the game.

  “An interesting opening move,” he said.

  “I won’t be such an easy mark this time. Your move, my lord.”

  He chuckled.

  But as the game continued, Bella and Jeremy grew quiet. With just the crackle of a small fire, the mood became intimate, as if she and Nicholas shared something bigger, more important than just a game of chess. She was very aware of him, his broad shoulders in his dark coat, his gray eyes observing the play, his long fingers when they toyed with a pawn.

  Carrie breathed deeply and lost focus, not knowing her right from her left. Their hands collided when she held on to a piece too long. A frisson of feeling rushed through her.

  “Sorry.” She wetted her lips and frowned slightly. When she raised her gaze from the board, Nicholas studied her, a question in his eyes.

  “I’m a little tired,” she said, although she wasn’t at all. She wanted to stay up all night and talk, really talk to him. But Nicholas would never allow her to glimpse his innermost thoughts. Or give her some glimmer of what he thought of her. So, she ended the game before he could win and wished him a restful night.

  Later, Carrie climbed into bed. She went back over the game. Just being near Nicholas made her heart race. Would she be able to think clearly enough to ever beat him?

  She pummeled her pillow. Would there even be a next time?

  Chapter Nine

  When Nicholas returned to the library after breakfast, his dog leapt up to greet him, tail wagging.

  “You are indefatigable, Chester.” Nicholas bent to pat him. “You exhausted yourself following my horse this morning. Have you forgotten?”

  Chester returned to his basket, turned around, and sank down with his head on his paws. Seated at his desk, Nicholas opened his ledger and read the chapter he’d penned earlier. He cleaned his pen, dipped it in the inkwell, then stared at the page as the last few hours came back to him, banishing any thoughts of the Battle of Waterloo.

  Carrie had been a mesmerizing opponent at their chess game last night. He found himself watching her rather than the board.

  Yesterday when her horse reared, and she slipped from the saddle, his heart had dropped into his boots. He grew sweaty thinking of it.

  Nicholas threw down his pen.

  His thoughts took him back to that day years ago. Sylvia, limp in his arms as he’d carried her from the lake, her wet, dark hair plastered across her ashen face. He’d returned home from meeting friends in the city. They were to meet that afternoon. Sylvia had taken the boat out onto the lake to fetch her hat, which must have blown into the water, and when reaching for it, fell in. She could not swim. If only she had waited for him. He arrived moments later, but it was too late.

  It seemed like a penance, like poking a sore to examine his culpability. He was about to go to Sylvia when his father arrived home with his new stallion, bought at Tattersall’s auction. Firefly was a chestnut beauty, spirited, and fleet of foot. Nicholas was eager to ride him, and his father promised him he could. He’d gone to the stables to see the horse settled in, the stallion’s coat gleaming like fire in the sunlight. Nicholas stayed too long. He had expected to find her cross at him for being late. But he arrived too late to save her from drowning. If he’d been there when he should have been, it would not have happened. He had only confessed this to one person—Max.

  Suddenly, with her death, his world lay in turmoil. From neighboring estates, he and Sylvia had known each other most of their lives. They were still young but expected one day to marry. Nicholas recalled how, his mind numb, he entered Oxford and completed his studies in history and mathematics. Max’s wisdom and strength helped Nicholas deal with his deep despair.

  Carousing in London with friends, watching boxing matches, attending race meets, or wandering Covent Garden at night no longer appealed to him. He begged his father to buy him a commission in the Horse Guards. As his older brother, Emory, was his heir, his father, albeit reluctantly, agreed. Nicholas began his army life as a subaltern and quickly rose in the ranks.

  Nicholas held his head in his hands; losing his father and brother still hit him hard. Emory fell from his horse and broke his neck, and a mere eighteen months later, his father died in a freakish hunting accident. When news reached Nicholas in Spain, he returned home shocked and saddened to take over the title. He refused to sink int
o sadness again.

  As his grief eased, he threw himself into the task. He had a methodical mind and was good at overseeing estate matters. And he liked to help his people. He was keener, in fact, than his father was and his brother might have been, for they both preferred to hunt and spend the Season in London at the gaming tables. Neither pastime interested Nicholas. While his years in the army had hardened him, it did not change his love of literature. His mother, a dedicated reader, had died when he was nine, but he remembered her fondly, often with a book in her hands.

  Nicholas gave up trying to write and closed the ledger. He doubted he’d accomplish anything until Carrie left for London. That she meant something special to him wasn’t surprising. She was an enchanting young woman, and he admired her. Once safely in his sister’s care, he would be free to write his book with a clear mind. While caring for Bella and Jeremy, he would be content.

  He sat back in his chair. Was contentment still enough? Gwen said he’d imposed self-exile on himself. He didn’t expect her to understand a man’s need for solitude. To disappear into their cave for a while. A primeval instinct, he was sure.

  Through the window, the setting sun painted the sky in a palette of gold and rose. Bella and Jeremy eased the ache he had carried in his heart with their youthful exuberance. But Carrie? He didn’t want to think about how much he would miss her. She would find a husband soon enough, a man who shared her interests with a poetic soul like hers. That wasn’t him. It never had been.

  Suddenly restless, he abandoned the library and any thought of writing and went in search of Jeremy. The boy might appreciate a game of billiards. High time he learned the skill.

  ***

  For the next week, torrential rain lashed the windows, day and night. Every day, Bella and Jeremy amused themselves, playing dominos, spillikins, or snap, while Carrie read a poetry book she’d found in one of her rare trips to the library.

  By the sixth day, Jeremy, bored and restless, began to complain. Nicholas took luncheon with them but work soon took him away. She expected not to see him again until dinner. She sighed and wished he weren’t so often in her thoughts.

  Curled up on the morning room sofa, Jeremy glanced up from a book on archeology, his brow furrowed. “This blasted rain! Nicholas won’t take me to visit the Roman ruins now for another week.”

  “Language, Jeremy,” Carrie scolded. “Be patient. He has his reasons.”

  “I asked if we could ride over to see the ruins on his estate, but Nicholas wants to wait until the ground dries out. I don’t see what difference that makes.”

  “The ruin is miles away. You’d be gone for most of the day. I imagine Nicholas has work to do. He might want us all to go.” She found the idea pleasing. “We could take a picnic hamper.”

  Jeremy cast her a scathing glance. “You and Bella have no interest in ruins.”

  “Probably not. It is only a pile of rocks, isn’t it? It will be pleasant to be out. I, too, am weary of being indoors.”

  She’d been unaware that Nicholas had opened the door. “I imagine you have all grown tired of the weather.” He glanced at the watery rays of sunlight falling on the carpet through the window. “It’s fining up. Tomorrow we shall go for a walk. If you would care to.”

  “That would be very welcome.” Carrie was so very glad to see him. How well he looked in the Carmelite brown coat and cream waistcoat with gold buttons, his long legs encased in fawn trousers. Afraid he saw her look of approval, she dropped her gaze, relieved when Jeremy’s disappointed groan caught Nicholas’s attention.

  “A walk?” Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “The girls will only lag behind us, talking. Why must girls talk so much when men just…get on and do things?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “That is one of life’s mysteries, Jeremy. And one day, I promise it will intrigue you. We can visit the home farm, or would you prefer to see my hounds?”

  Jeremy sat up and brushed an unruly chestnut lock from his eyes. “Can we see the dogs, Nicholas?”

  “We can. Bevans informed me of a new litter, and I am yet to see them.”

  Jeremy grinned. “Shall we go after breakfast?”

  “The dog pens are a distance from the house,” Nicholas said. “Shall we ride or walk?”

  “I am more than ready for a brisk walk.” Carrie wasn’t in a hurry to ride after the last time. She imagined Nicholas strolling with her through the woods while she picked a bunch of bluebells. It seemed romantic. Unsettled, she fiddled with the blue ribbons on her morning gown.

  Jeremy climbed to his feet. “I’ll tell Bella.”

  “Yes, do.” Nicholas walked to the door with her brother. “We’ll leave after breakfast,” he said to her, and they both stepped into the corridor.

  The door closed.

  She would have liked Nicholas to remain so they could talk but feared he wouldn’t. He seldom spent time with her alone. In eight days, she’d be in London and wouldn’t see him again for weeks. Or maybe longer. But she could not think of him on such terms—she must focus on meeting the right man, one who would love her sister and brother, one who would accept them all.

  ***

  When Carrie woke the next morning, the wind had blown the last of the clouds away during the night.

  They set out on foot after breakfast.

  Carrie’s plan to pick bluebells evaporated as Nicholas and Jeremy strode ahead, while Nicholas explained the technical advantages of his latest plow.

  As Bella skipped ahead of her, Carrie smiled, happy to be in this lovely place, the warm sunshine making everything fresh and bright. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she reminded herself how fortunate she was to have an honorable man like Nicholas in charge of her sibling’s lives, she still yearned for something more for herself. The dread of leaving them all tightened her stomach.

  Nicholas jumped a puddle as he returned to her. “Are we walking too fast?”

  “I’m enjoying the beautiful scenery.” Once, she would have bristled at the suggestion she was too delicate to keep up. But she rather liked his concern.

  She had changed so much since she came here. Never given to frivolous thoughts, she didn’t know herself. Papa always accused her of being too serious. “You’re like a maiden aunt, Carrie.” He’d shake his head at her. “Gentlemen are swooning over you at the assemblies, and you never toss them a crumb.” He hated how his illness kept her from having a London Season, but she’d refused to leave him.

  Her vision blurred with sudden tears, and she bent her head to hide them from Nicholas’s observant gaze. She had expected her father to be there to approve of the man who finally broke through her defenses. The one she came to love. But she doubted any man would measure up to Nicholas. She stumbled over a rock on the path.

  Nicholas grasped her arm. “All right?”

  Her head dipped a quick nod while she told herself she didn’t need his support and mustn’t seek it. But something stopped her from moving away. His hand slid down to take hers in his wide, firm grasp. Carrie’s heart began its fierce beating. She lifted her eyes to his, and something passed between them before he led her onward.

  After he helped her over a fallen log blocking the path, not wishing Bella to see her face and guess her feelings, Carrie slipped her hand from his.

  They walked in silence, with Carrie very much aware of him at her side.

  Well before they reached the enclosure, barks and yelps filled the air. Jeremy raced ahead. The hounds crowded along the wire fence and threw themselves against it, tails wagging.

  When Bevans, the gamekeeper, emerged from a hut, Nicholas introduced him. “Lord Leeming wishes to see the new litter,” Nicholas said. “Six weeks old now, I believe?”

  “Aye, milord. If you’ll come this way.”

  In a smaller pen, ten pups, some gray, some light brown, one black, were squirming against their mother’s teats. They were small with fat pink bellies. “They are adorable,” Bella sighed gustily. “May I hold one?”

  “W
hich one would you like, Miss Arabella?” Bevans asked.

  “The tiniest. The gray puppy with the bit of white on its head.”

  “That’s the runt of the litter,” Stevens said. “A bitch. She may not survive.”

  Bella gave a squeal of outrage. “Oh, she must!”

  Bevans went into the pen and picked his way through the swarm of eager puppies to remove the wriggling little dog which kept missing out on a feed. He brought the animal out and handed it to Bella.

  The puppy quietened and nestled against Bella’s chest. She stroked its soft fur. “Can we take her to the kitchen to raise? We did this sometimes at Leeming Hall. Cook didn’t mind.”

  “My chef and the kitchen cat won’t be too pleased,” Nicholas said, a smile in his eyes.

  “But, Nicholas, see how she has to fight the bigger pups for milk,” Bella protested.

  Carrie met Nicholas’s gaze in silent appeal. It would be perfect to give Bella a puppy to love. “Surely there is a way.”

  Nicholas laughed and held up his hands. “Very well, but you must take care of the pup, Bella,” he said. “And if my chef resigns in disgust, you will go without a decent meal until I can find another.”

  “I don’t mind,” Bella said with casual disregard for the rest of them.

  “I would like the black one,” Jeremy announced.

  “But Jeremy, you won’t be here often,” Carrie protested. “Besides, it’s rude to make such a demand.”

  “You may have the black one. It will be kept for you until you return.” Nicholas turned to Carrie with a smile. “Do you also want a pup?”

  She laughed. “No, but thank you.”

  “Shall we walk back? Give the puppy back to Bevans, Bella. Bevans will bring them to the house in a day or so. I shall alert the housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips. We will need a place to keep them. We can’t have two puppies running riot in the house.”

  Jeremy and Bella walked on ahead, their voices drifting back as they discussed names for their puppies.

  “That was kind of you, Nicholas,” Carrie said. “Bella will miss me. The puppy gives her something to love.” She looked up at his face. “And we all need someone to love, do we not?”