Day wasted, Nathaniel didn’t get a chance to go to the Archers’ townhouse even though Charlotte’s offer to list everyone she saw in the gardens was the perfect pretext.
Thankfully, another soirée was held that evening. The end of the Season was upon them, and no one wanted to give up a final opportunity to host a party.
Nathaniel waited in his carriage until he saw the Archers arrive and followed them inside. However Miss Haywood didn’t seem as pleased to see him as he anticipated. He found her in the corner of the ballroom, ill-inclined to talk.
When he could not get her to respond to his questions, he found his uncle and asked for an explanation.
Archer harrumphed and rocked back on his heels, clearly trying to decide what to say. “Well, we received a report from Miss Haywood’s estate in, um, South Carolina, I believe they call it. It was not pleasant news, I am afraid.”
“What is wrong?”
“I had not realized that her previous guardians never allowed her to participate in the management of her estates. Rather badly done, if you ask me.”
“And? Get on with it—what is wrong?”
“I may be mistaken, but it appears her agent in the Carolinas may have been slipping a few pounds into his pockets now-and-again.”
“Is she—is she ruined?”
“No,” Archer replied thoughtfully. “I would not say ruined, precisely. But she is not quite as affluent as we had assumed.”
“Does she know?”
“I went over the information with her, but as I mentioned, it was inconclusive. Certainly she is aware that her estates are not as profitable as they once were. The profits have been dwindling steadily for the last eight years.”
Nathaniel swore, running a hand through his hair and thinking of her plans to travel to Egypt. No wonder she was quiet tonight. Her dreams were on the edge of disappearing.
Hurrying back to her, he found her still in the corner, gazing sightlessly into the crowd.
“How are you feeling?” Nathaniel asked. Then, he nearly swore at the idiocy of the question.
“I am quite well, thank you.” She stared at him for a moment. “Does it strike you as odd that men twice your age come to you for advice, simply because you are a duke?” There was something in her voice that made him think she was looking for an argument, some way to distract herself. Nonetheless, her remark felt like salt poured on an open wound. His back stiffened.
“Why don’t we discuss it while we waltz?” he asked, aware that his invitation sounded more like an order.
“I don’t—”
“However, we will.”
He grabbed her wrist and whirled her against him so forcibly she was pressed tightly against his chest. Her body felt warm and supple against his. She gazed up at him in surprise, her eyes wide.
Without thinking, he pulled her closer and brushed her open mouth with his lips. Her mouth felt soft and warm beneath his. He felt her relax, her body languid, before she took a quick breath and pushed him away.
She glanced behind him. “What are you doing? We are in public!”
“I had not noticed,” he replied, his voice hoarse. It was the simple truth. When she was near, the rest of the room vanished into a haze.
“I am not going to waltz with you. Release me at once,” she said through clenched teeth. Her eyes darted past him to the couples surrounding them.
“You are, so you might as well stop protesting.”
They took a step together.
“Don’t you think the nobility are anachronistic?” she asked in dulcet tones.
He grinned wolfishly, bringing her just close enough for her to feel the steel in his arms. She flushed and after a slight push, she gave up.
“No,” he replied coolly. “Not at all.”
“England’s upper classes—the bon ton—are simply leeches. They are no longer necessary,” she said firmly.
With a small shove, she increased the gap between them to what was considered proper. “We have proved that in the United States, have we not? We have a government run by ordinary men—men without titles—and are doing splendidly. What possible need is there for lords and dukes?”
He whirled her around, tightening his grip. Why should he defend his position? His family had earned their titles and took their duties very seriously.
He studied her face, noting again the vulnerable curve to her mouth. “Do you think we do nothing but play cards and dance?” he asked, trying hard to make his tone light.
“Well yes, that is precisely what you do, is it not?”
“You have no idea what our responsibilities are,” he said, circling faster. Her skirts brushed his legs as his gaze lingered on the rapid pulse at the base of her throat.
She was so vulnerable and yet….
He was fairly crushed by the responsibilities that came with his title. She showed no sympathy for him. He swallowed his temper and continued in a low tone. “If you bothered to do any research, you would know a duke is responsible for everything regarding his land. We address our tenants’ grievances and ensure the health of the farms. We are responsible for the roads and bridges crossing our properties. We sit in the House of Lords to debate and institute our country’s laws and reforms. In fact, have you forgotten the structure of your own Congress? The House and the Senate, if I am not mistaken? Your government is modeled after our own—” He stopped, awaiting a response.
Her mouth pursed and her eyes remained fixed on his face.
“What are you doing?” he asked, aggravated by her silence.
“Dancing. And listening to you,” she replied demurely.
He choked. “What do you mean, ‘listening?’” He waited for her argument. Surely she would have some ill-informed riposte.
“As I said, I am listening. Do go on.”
“Then you admit you are wrong!”
“I have not come to that conclusion, Your Grace. However I am considering that I may not have been in possession of all the pertinent facts.”
“So you do think I am right!” He was so elated he nearly twirled Miss Haywood into another couple on the floor. After apologizing, he swept her into a small alcove where a few tables were set with refreshments.
“I have not come to that conclusion, precisely. However, I am willing to admit that not all dukes are utterly useless.”
He laughed and was rewarded by her light, breathless giggle. “I am right.”
“I am sure Your Grace has the right to believe anything he wishes.” She accepted the crystal cup of wine punch he handed to her.
“Have you had a chance to make that list, yet?”
“I started it.”
“May I visit tomorrow? It is important.”
“I suppose it is if you wish to prove you are not guilty of murder.”
“I am not guilty.”
“I have no doubt that is true. The Archers have assured me you are perfectly trustworthy.” She made it sound vaguely insulting. She’d obviously been associating with the Archers far too long already. Their penchant for gambling and Archer’s oft-times shady activities made them less respectful of honesty than Nathaniel.
He eyed her sternly. “Why don’t we go in to supper?”
“Certainly. However tell me, Your Grace, have you gotten your Shakespeare yet?” She asked in such an innocent tone that he wanted to strangle her on the spot. “Not yet. Next week. Then we’ll see who portrays women more accurately, Chaucer or Shakespeare.”
“And you will find that on this subject, I am right,” she murmured.
Chapter Thirteen
In order to complete the arrest, the officer must actually touch or restrain the offender. — Constable’s Pocket Guide
The Archer dinner party was held the following night. Nathaniel watched Miss Haywood throughout the meal. Despite Lady Victoria’s attempts to find congenial dinner companions for their ward, Miss Haywood’s blue gaze remained mostly uninterested.
Nathaniel flattered himself by thinking s
he missed conversing with him. But as he studied her, she seemed withdrawn and silent, more subdued than warranted by her inability to argue with him.
When the meal was over and the musical part of the evening began, Miss Haywood made a hasty exit to the terrace. Nathaniel expected it and followed, wondering if she was going out to observe the moths again. She seemed inordinately fond of insects and night air.
Or perhaps it was just her excuse to escape the cream of British Society.
“Good evening,” Nathaniel said as he eased through the curtains to join her on the terrace.
He heard an exasperated sigh before she faced him.
The crescent moon glowed behind her, leaving her face in shadows. But she clasped her hands in front of her skirt and twisted her fingers as if nervous.
“Miss Haywood?”
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said. She sounded muted, sad.
His heart twisted. “What? No ‘Your Mindless Exaltedness’?” he asked, teasing her. He hoped to see the sparkle in her eyes despite the fact that the shadows nearly prevented him from seeing any expression at all.
She stiffened. “I hope you will forgive me that nonsense. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t be insipid,” he replied bracingly. “Surely you don’t think I am such a stuffed shirt that I cannot take a little teasing.”
For several seconds, he thought she would not answer. She turned slightly, her profile dark against the moonlit sky. The sad slope of her lips made him think she was frowning. “No. I didn’t think that. At least, I don’t think so. Now.”
“Did you have a chance to finish the list?”
“Yes.”
When she started to leave, he stopped her. “Don’t go. You don’t have to get it now.”
“I can send a maid after it. The list is in my room.”
“There is time. I will come tomorrow.”
She nodded and then seemed to forget he was there.
“Are you out here looking for moths? The Buttoned Snout?”
Her head snapped in his direction. “You remembered?”
“How could I forget?” he said lightly. “And the Garden Tiger, was it not?” He couldn’t resist showing off that he could remember a few things. “It is a trifle early for them, is it not?”
“Perhaps. I was never really sure. It flew away….”
“If you ever wish to go moth-hunting, I can—I mean—I am willing—that is….”
She laughed, but he heard the unmistakable razor’s edge of bitterness in the sound. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I would never suggest you accompany me. I know you fear being compromised. I have no wish to place you in an awkward position.”
He touched her arm, feeling protective and ashamed. “I don’t fear that.”
In all the years she had been in England, it was apparent no one had ever tried to make Miss Haywood feel at home. The Archer family, mad though it was, extended fierce loyalty and love to all its members, regardless of rank or position. He could not imagine what his life would have been like without his sisters, Oriana and Helen, and his uncle. His heart still ached when he remembered his elder brother, killed during the war with France.
The Archers might argue and scold one another, but they were there when needed. And John Archer wanted her to know she, too, had a family now.
And Miss Haywood, Charlotte, thought she had no one….
Perhaps Archer’s idea was kinder than Nathaniel had previously thought. The Archers could give her a comfortable haven for three years. When she gained control of her fortune, she could then decide what course she wished to pursue.
“Char—Miss Haywood, I would like to discuss an arrangement….”
She stiffened slightly but Nathaniel exerted himself to be charming. He used to excel at that art when he had no title and an ardent interest in wooing disinterested women. His skills were tarnished since he no longer had to work to attract female attention, but he thought he remembered the rudiments.
With a hand firmly in the middle of her back, he guided her to the far corner of the terrace. There was a pale pink rose there, just starting to bloom. He could smell the rich damask fragrance. Pale starlight illuminated a few of the flowers, draining their color and turning them a ghostly white against the dark plum sky.
In that sweetly scented corner stood a marble bench, partly hidden by the rose on one side and a boxwood topiary on the other.
“What sort of arrangement?” she asked in a tired voice.
“Please, Miss Haywood, pray be seated.”
She cast a quick glance at him, her face still shadowed. He smiled, hoping she could actually see his expression and would interpret it as guileless. It felt rather wolf-like to him. He tried to believe what he was about to do was entirely innocent. He had the best of intentions.
Didn’t he?
“The arrangement is…. Well—” he said, trying to find a delicate way of asking her to marry him without actually implying he wanted to marry her.
She half-stood, but he pressed her back down on the bench. When she resisted, he wrapped his arm around her waist and placed his free hand over the hands she had clasped in her lap. Her fingers were cold despite the balmy air. They twisted beneath his palm.
“As I already stated, I only wish to go to Egypt as soon as possible,” she said, staring down at his hand. “Unless your ‘arrangement’ relates to that, I don’t know I care to hear it.”
“It does relate…in a way,” he assured her.
“In what way?”
“Well, you are going to be gone in three years—”
“That does not, I believe, require any arrangements between the two of us. I will be gone in three years no matter what you do or don’t do.” Her voice became tart, as if she suspected he was about to tease her regarding her ambitions.
He bent closer, trying to catch her gaze. Her eyes stayed stubbornly focused on the darkness a few feet beyond their bower. After a final squeeze on her clenched fingers, he gripped her chin to force her to face him.
“Please let me go,” she said abruptly, pulling away.
“I just want you to look at me.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t let go. Her eyes glimmered a deep, rich blue in the dim light. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his fingertips. As he studied her, her glance flickered away under the intensity of his gaze. He could feel her trying to twist away again. Before he could frame what he wanted to say, he gave in to impulse. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his.
Her back stiffened. Her mouth opened slightly as if she gasped at his boldness. Her reaction somehow spurred him on.
The challenge of chasing a reluctant quarry.
He felt hungry—almost starving and dangerous because of that hunger. The almost-forgotten scent and feel of a woman in his arms tantalized him. He tightened his arm around her waist, the warmth of her body pulling him forward. He drew her more firmly against him and slid his hand over the smooth skin of her jaw and throat into the soft curls at the nape of her neck.
Hands pressed against his chest, she pushed against him, and then the magic happened. One cool hand slipped up his waistcoat and paused timorously at his collar. He deepened the kiss, her lips warming and opening to him. Her fingers trembled as they touched his neck.
He groaned, pulling her tighter until her thighs bumped over his, fleetingly touching him….
The tentative touch on his cheek suddenly vanished. A cool burst of air flowed over his face. He drew back slightly and a whooshing blow hit his left ear.
“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked, her voice outraged. She leapt up and faced him. Her left hand remained cupped and partially raised, ready to box his ear again.
“Nothing! I am….” He rubbed his throbbing ear.
What the devil did she think he was doing?
“You are a duke! I suppose you thought you could just do as you please and I would swoon at your feet!”
“Good God, no! I thought n
o such thing!”
“Then precisely what were you thinking?”
“Nothing!”
“Well, that much is obvious.” Her menacing hand dropped to her hip. To his dismay, she sighed. Even in the dim light, he could see her shoulders slump. “I suppose this was the ‘arrangement’ you wanted to discuss. You thought I would not mind having a—well, being intim—ah, that is…. Well, you know best what you thought,” she stuttered. “I suppose I ought to be grateful for your kindness in thinking of me in that way, particularly since you knew of my desire to travel to Egypt. My departure would be a convenient way to end our—that is, whatever relationship we should happen to have. That is—assuming anything would occur between the two of us. And that it would last three entire years….” her words stumbled to a halt.
“I did not intend—”
“Oh, I am sure you did not think of it in quite those terms. In fact, you are such a nice man I am absolutely convinced you thought you would be doing me a favor in providing me with an escort to various functions. Not the best functions, of course—but certain functions where women of that sort are allowed.
“Well, I might believe in equality and independence, but I am not a raving lunatic. I have no intention of becoming your mistress so you can conveniently be rid of me three years hence without even having to provide me with the obligatory bracelet. Or worry about meeting me when you’ve another lady on your arm.”
Nathaniel stood. Before she could escape, he grabbed her shoulders. He only meant to bring her into the light to see her face more clearly, but she kicked him quite firmly in the shins.
“Damn it!” he exclaimed, tightening his grip.
“Take your hands off of me, you—you rake!”
“I will have you know, I am not a rake! In fact, I am a well-known misogynist. Ask anyone. You women are a menace and a plague upon mankind. Always jumping out—”
“That certainly explains your behavior, you beast. I suppose you felt you could seduce me and make love to me. Then you would laugh and thrust me toward Egypt, making me realize what a fool I had been. You thought you could prove I am merely a simple-minded representative of the weaker sex. That I only want to be loved like all the other blond-haired, petite, simpering, idiotic women of your acquaintance! That should appeal to a misogynist rake! Well, how dare you!” Her muddled words almost made sense. She paused after speaking, nodded abruptly, and glared into his eyes.
Love Regency Style Page 154
