“Will you be back again tomorrow? I have a noon engagement, but could be here by two,” Lazby offered.
All right. Maybe there was a limit to his benevolence. “I think not, good man. Perhaps sometime next week.”
“Next week. Yes. That would be better. I’ll work on my parries in the meantime.” Grinning like a fool, the silly sot gathered up his equipment and sauntered away.
“Been dipping into the brandy again?”
Dare hadn’t notice Joseph emerging from the neighboring piste.
“Excuse me?”
“Since when do you encourage that rattlepate?” Joseph was leaning on his foil, his expression intent.
He chuckled. “You are just jealous you aren’t able to attract such adoration.”
Joseph snorted and removed his padded vest. “Yes, that must be it.” Once he stowed his equipment in his case, he turned to Dare. “Do you have your carriage? I am in need of a lift to Bond Street.”
“Certainly. Are you going to visit my new friend Pierre? His talented transformation of me on Friday is sure to increase business.”
Joseph laughed. “How did you know? I plan to advise him to place a sizeable order for Landis Lilac. Once word gets out regarding your new fashion preference, Pierre will be hard pressed to keep the fabric in stock. No doubt, Lazby will wish to recreate the entire ensemble.”
“Good Lord. Please, do not let that become my fashion legacy,” he moaned, pulling on a subdued midnight blue coat.
“It would serve you right.”
Glaring at his friend, Dare sauntered out to his awaiting carriage with Joseph following closely at his heels. Tired from a morning of dueling, he would have been content to ride in silence, but Joseph had something on his mind.
“So, it appears you have resolved your recent dilemma.”
Dare closed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve changed. You’re much more relaxed than the time we talked at White’s. I take it you’ve resolved your issue with the woman in question.”
Dare shrugged.
“So. Nivea Horsham, is it?”
His eyes flew open. Good God, how had the man arrived at that conclusion? Forcing his voice to remain steady he asked, “Why would you say that?”
“At my party…I was watching you. You couldn’t take your eyes off her.”
Dare snorted. “Surely, you are mistaken.”
“No. It was quite obvious.” Leaning forward, he speared Dare with a penetrating gaze. “Now, tell me why was she so upset with you? Was it because you insulted her brother?”
He could blame it on his fight with William, but that did not seem fair. Taking a breath, he decided to come clean. “Truth be told, the day I insulted William, I was in a foul mood. I was unforgivably rude to Nivea as well. At your party, I decided to make amends with the entire Horsham clan. Fortunately, she is an immeasurably tolerant girl and she accepted my apology.”
Hoping to end the conversation, he added, “That was why I was being so attentive toward her at your party. I was just seeking to earn her forgiveness.”
Joseph nodded his head. “So, that was all—you hoped to earn her forgiveness?” he restated in a less than convinced tone. “So, the two of you are just…” He paused.
“We are just…” Dare struggled to come up with an appropriate word and settled for “friends.” He shrugged, thinking the subject closed.
“Hmm. Friends. Well that will certainly help matters when you ask the earl for Nivea’s hand?”
He flinched. “What? Why would I be doing that?”
Holding up one gloved finger, Joseph said, “You escorted her to dinner.”
That was a ridiculous point. “Can’t I be polite to my best friend’s sister?”
“You can, but you never have before.” He raised a second finger. “You have showed her an increase in attention. And you danced with her.”
A third finger appeared, which irritated Dare to no end.
“I’ve danced with her before without damaging her reputation.”
“Yes,” said Joseph, leaning in and lowering his voice, “but have you ever snuck into a garden unescorted with her before?”
Dare’s stomach dropped. They’d been seen.
Joseph nodded. “There. Now you know you must marry her. That is the end of it.”
“No.”
“Yes!” shouted Joseph. Then he calmed himself and continued. “Come now, Landis. Enough playing games. You must marry her. She is a lady, not one of your doxies. You cannot have a dalliance with her.”
“I know she is a lady. But, I cannot marry her. It’s…it’s Nivea!” Dare choked out as panic seized him.
“Yes,” Joseph growled, stony-faced, “It is. She is Miss Nivea Horsham, unmarried daughter of the sixth Earl of Cheltenham.”
The carriage stopped, but Joseph remained seated. “I don’t know if anyone else was aware, but if they were, and you don’t offer for her, she will be ruined. Forever. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“I understand that,” Dare admitted. He did. Truly. But for some reason it hadn’t prevented him from doing just that. But marriage? No. He couldn’t breathe. There had to be a way out. “What about me? What about what I deserve?”
To which Joseph softly responded, “I think you are getting exactly what you deserve.”
With that, he climbed out of the carriage and walked away, leaving Dare to face a very uncomfortable truth.
He had to marry Nivea Horsham.
No, surely not. He would not be marrying anyone, anytime soon. He had made that perfectly clear. Once he did decide to become leg-shackled, it certainly wouldn’t be to someone he cared about. That would just lead to trouble, impeding his lifestyle. As his wife, Nivea would no doubt expect him to accompany her places—riding together in the park, dancing with her at balls, disappearing into secluded gardens to tempt her into some more scandalous tricks…
No! His libido was once again getting the best of him. He had to think with his mind, not his body. But that was impossible when it came to this particular female.
Dropping his head into his hands, he tried to imagine the ton’s reaction to this unprecedented news. They would be appalled at the thought of Lord Landis marrying a plump, plain wallflower.
His family…well, he really didn’t care what his family thought. Frankly, he didn’t care what the ton thought either, but he didn’t want to become a laughingstock.
Ouch.
That was a painful realization. How petty of him to think that marrying a sweet, generous woman like Nivea would embarrass him. Shame choked him and he swallowed hard. He’d spent most of his life worried that his secret would be discovered. That he would be ridiculed for his cowardice. Yet when Nivea learned of it, she stood by him without judgment, without reproach.
Society had never given her the same courtesy. And why? What was her sin, after all? Being larger than was fashionable? That she wasn’t able to deliver a well-timed quip or set down? Is that what was important?
His father had spent years trying to make him a man, and until this point, he only had a superficial understanding of what that meant. But now, he understood. Nivea had shown him it meant doing the right thing. Caring for others and treating them with respect. And not expecting the worst of everyone.
Which was exactly how Nivea behaved.
She was kind and loving and beautiful and had made him a better person. He felt safe with her. When he was with her, he felt at home. The truth was, he trusted her.
And that was all that should matter. That was love.
Holy God in heaven, he loved her.
He shook his head in wonder. He loved Nivea Horsham.
He couldn’t control the smile that crept up his face. Love. He was in love. This was what he’d been fighting all these years. Remarkable. And now, sitting here in his carriage, he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.
Chapter 42
A rare sight treated Londoners strolling through Hyde P
ark. Adair Landis, the future Marquess of Raynsforth, one of the most arrogant, supercilious, notorious rakes of their time, was skipping.
Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he was definitely walking with a jaunty bounce, tipping his hat to passersby and smiling like a bedlamite.
“Such a pity,” a stately matron whispered to her companion, “that such a refined gentleman as Lord Landis would succumb to drink so early in the day. It is quite unseemly.”
But Dare didn’t notice the stares of surprise. Or if he did, he simply didn’t care. He’d made up his mind to marry Nivea. He was going to her house to ask for her hand. He could not believe how eager he was.
He would meet with the earl and state his intentions and…
Dare froze.
Good God, when had he ever given the man a reason to think he’d make a good husband? The earl would reject his suit. Of course, he would. For that matter, so would Nivea. It would serve him right if she rejected him. He had been a complete scoundrel after all.
As he slowed down to a virtual crawl, passersby were forced to skirt around him. He stepped out of the way, located a nearby bench, and threw himself down.
She would never agree to marry him. Why would she? He’d made it perfectly clear that he would only marry to beget heirs. And once that was accomplished, he would abandon his wife in the country, while he continued his debauched lifestyle. What woman would agree to that?
He dropped his head into his hands.
She would throw him out on his head. Or even worse, decide he was only marrying her out of pity. That, having taken her virtue, he was once again doing his duty as a so-called gentleman. He couldn’t have that. He had to convince her that he loved her, respected her, and would treasure being with her.
Obviously, this proposal would require more finesse than he’d anticipated. Rising from the bench, he reversed direction and headed back home to consider his options.
“Horsham? How’s your colt? Will he be ready for the Derby next week?”
“Yes, yes.” William beamed. “He’s fully healed now, good as new.”
“Excellent to hear. I’ll make sure to place my bets.”
Dare had had an inspiration. He would reestablish himself with the Horsham family, join them for casual events, and slip in admiring comments about Nivea. He would act the gentleman, well and true, and convince them all that he was a worthy suitor. And more importantly, prove to Nivea that he was reformed.
So, he had spent the past two weeks accompanying Nivea and his friends to all sorts of entertainment—the theatre, musicales, picnics. While these outings had always bored him beyond tears, he was astonished to find himself looking forward to each engagement with anticipation. They gave him a chance to see Nivea. To kiss her hand, to watch her smile, to give her an improper leer and watch the blush creep over her cheeks.
He ached to do more—touch her, smell her skin, taste her lips. To his dismay, more often than not, Joseph was hovering in the background, monitoring their actions, preventing any further familiarities. After uncovering their tryst during his birthday party, he had become extremely vigilant, making sure Dare did not tarnish Nivea’s reputation any further.
This was becoming rather challenging, given the lady in question appeared to have no regard for her reputation whatsoever. She had been taking every opportunity to lure him into a secluded location and press against him.
“Lord Landis,” she would coo at him, “would you accompany me to get a lemonade during intermission?” Or “Oh, I left my reticule in the carriage. Can you help me retrieve it?” Or, most distressing, she would offer him a plate of treats, bending low enough to afford him a tortuous view of her delectable bosom. He could tell she was dismayed by his repeated rebuffs. And he was getting painfully tired of returning each night to an empty bed.
But with remarkable discipline, he evaded temptation and continued his campaign to becoming a respectable, respectful suitor.
Hopefully, once she learned why he was being so elusive, Nivea would forgive him.
He had determined his next maneuver would take place on Thursday. With Horsham’s colt racing at Epsom Derby, he could accompany friends and family to cheer the horse on. It should be a simple matter to draw Nivea off to a private spot and declare his intentions. If he was as persuasive as he hoped, perhaps Nivea would agree to do more than just talk.
The day dawned clear and cool, perfect for the races. The entire Horsham family was joined by Briar and Joseph, Abby and Thomas, and a hodgepodge of other friends. The group was in high spirits as they strolled the grounds, visiting tents with assorted entertainment. Dare managed to act the solicitous gentleman once again.
It was late afternoon when he spotted a gathering of fortune tellers. With sudden clarity, he remembered the eerie message he’d received from the gypsy soon after his return to London. “Your pain is ending. Allow it to happen. Don’t let fear stop your destiny.”
His gaze settled on Nivea. The old crone had been correct. His pain was ending. With a simple smile or a longing gaze, Nivea soothed him. She was his destiny.
Now, he was desperate to get her alone. But every time he attempted to pull her aside, someone would interfere. It was maddening. The day was ticking away, and he hadn’t declared his intentions.
He couldn’t bear to wait another day. He invited his friends back to his townhouse on the premise of celebrating the Horsham’s victorious colt. Surely, he could get Nivea aside there.
They had just entered his foyer when there was a knock at the door. Expecting to welcome another friend, Dare was surprised to find a dusty, road-weary rider on his doorstep.
“Lord Landis?” asked the man.
Dare inclined his head.
“I have an urgent message from your father.”
He grunted in disgust. “I’m not interested. Please be on your way.”
Dare’s footman started to close the door, but the man braced it open with his dirt-encrusted boot. “Milord, you don’t understand. Your father is very ill. I must speak with you.”
Noting the man’s grave tone, Dare waved him into the foyer. His friends were still gathered there, exhibiting a concern that Dare himself did not feel.
“Well?” he barked.
The man eyed the mass of onlookers and whispered, “Milord, this is a family matter. Perhaps we should discuss it in private.”
Dare glared at him. “How private?”
He crumpled his cap in his hands. “As I said sir, your father…is…that is to say…he’s not well. In fact, he may not…there’s a good chance he may…perish.”
“Finally.” Dare spat out. “So, tell me, what is it that will take the bastard out?”
His friends gasped.
“Dare,” Betsy exclaimed, “surely you should be more respectful of your father.”
He waved her off. When Betsy tried once more to speak, Nivea placed a hand on her arm. “Let him be.”
Dare turned back to the messenger and, raising a haughty eyebrow, silently bid the man to continue.
“My lord, the marquess appears to have”—his voice dropped low—“the French disease. He rallied this summer, but now he is weak. Very weak. He is not expected to last through the month.”
While the others murmured their condolences, Dare stood there, unmoved. When it became evident the messenger expected a response before continuing, Dare replied, “That is fitting. What am I expected to do about it?”
The man, troubled about the way this was unfolding, continued to mangle his cap, trying to decide how to proceed. Then he marshaled his courage, squared his shoulders, and continued with the message.
“The marquess has decided that you must be married before he passes on. It has been a great disappointment that you have not already done so. He has made arrangements with the Billingston’s on the adjoining property. Their daughter was to be introduced this spring. Now, a contract has been made with Lord Billingston, and you are engaged to be married.”
&n
bsp; “What?” Dare barked. That was ridiculous. The man had no right!
His jaw was so firmly clenched, he was barely able to spit out a retort. “I am of majority now. My father cannot enter me into such a contract.”
The hapless man took a step back in the face of such powerful anger but managed to choke out the last few statements. “Well, it appears it has been done. You are commanded to come home immediately and marry in his presence.”
Dare looked over at Nivea and saw that all the color had drained from her face. He could imagine what she was thinking.
“No!” Turning back to the messenger, he restated, “No, I will not be marrying the Billingston chit.”
The messenger looked at him, unsure what to do. Dare knew the feeling.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he came to a decision. “Sir, I will travel to my father’s home. And I will be married. But not to someone of his choosing. I have found a woman to be my wife. I just pray that she will say yes.”
Turning to Nivea he reached for her hand. He brought it up to his lips and placed a kiss on her fingers. His heart was thumping madly in his chest. This was the most difficult moment of his life. He’d never thought to make such a public declaration, but it must be done.
Taking a deep breath, he looked into Nivea’s beautiful blue eyes—eyes that had seen the real man inside and shown him what life could be. And he said the words he’d never imagined he’d utter. “Nivea, I love you. I love your kindness, I love your honesty, and I love your faith in life…in me.”
Her eyes begin to well up and her lip quivered and it gave him courage to continue. “I know I am not perfect, and I will, no doubt, make a very challenging husband, but I love you and I want to marry you. Will you do the honor of becoming my wife?”
Chapter 43
Nivea blinked at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying. She must have misheard him. Or she’d been kicked by a horse and was now stretched out on the stable floor, trapped in the arms of Morpheus. Yes, that must be it. If she could survive this long without air in her lungs, she was probably dreaming.
Dare to Love Page 26
