Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

by Bronwyn Scott

  Nick shook his head. If she couldn’t give him a divorce, she would be tied to him for ever with no hope of escaping his sins. ‘Think what you’re asking, Annorah. You would bind yourself in marriage to a man you know nothing about, who you’ve known for four days, and what you do know of him is that he’s a paid escort. In case you didn’t know, I’m scandalous.’

  ‘Your worst secret is better than a life sentence with Redding.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I do. I saw you with the children, I saw you fishing and flying a kite and when I asked you for the one thing I wanted, you gave it to me.’

  She was talking about how he had found fulfilment in the sex they had shared. It touched him that she had indeed recognised what that had cost him.

  ‘You are a good man, Nicholas. I understand you may not love me, but you will not hurt me. Nor do I think you would disappoint those children by letting Hartshaven go when you could save it.’

  Oh, she did not play fair! He could see little Thomas and the others in his mind’s eye, tugging on his hand, wanting to play. Truly, she did overestimate him. He was not good at all. But he was starting to crack all the same. Channing would take him to task for this. He was about to forsake all the rules of emotional detachment Channing had ever invoked. ‘Would a fiancé do, Annorah?’

  A little spark of hope flared in her eyes as she hesitantly laid out the conditions. ‘You will have to sign papers and negotiate a settlement with my uncle. The will is specific that if there is only an engagement by my thirty-third birthday, it must be official and a wedding must take place within a year.’

  Nicholas smiled. ‘I will place an announcement in the papers right away.’ It was a half-measure at best, but at least he could buy her time. A year was a long while—who knew what could happen? If it saved her from the likes of Redding, it would be worth it.

  ‘You’ll do it?’ Annorah let out a breath. ‘I know it’s no small thing I ask.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Channing was going to kill him. It would mean he couldn’t work. Engaged escorts undoubtedly lost some of their appeal. Nicholas held out his arm. ‘Why don’t you walk with me and we’ll design a story for this fabulous fiancé of yours and talk about your birthday.’

  She took his arm and it seemed that the sun had returned to the morning. He tried to tell himself as they walked that his decision was about the money. This latest ruse would make him rich, perhaps rich enough to stop working and worrying. He told himself he was doing this for his family. He even told himself he was doing it for her because she touched him in some novel way. And why not do it? It wasn’t permanent, merely longer term than he’d anticipated. But deep down, he really knew he was doing it for him because he wasn’t ready to let her go, especially if it meant turning her over to another man, another fate.

  * * *

  ‘You shall be a gentleman’s son with comfortable prospects.’ Annorah began spinning their tale.

  ‘Not too wealthy to draw their attentions, but not poor enough to draw their suspicions,’ Nicholas put in, playing along. ‘A comfortably situated gentleman’s son,’ he said slowly, trying out the words as if they represented some novel concept. ‘Do I raise sheep or make my money on the exchange?’

  ‘Definitely sheep. The exchange is too risky for my family’s tastes.’ Annorah laughed up at him.

  Nicholas paused and plucked a daisy from the pathway. He tucked it behind her ear with a smile. ‘Sheep it is. I think this is turning out to be a most pleasant fiction.’

  They laughed away the afternoon, rambling the gardens and embellishing that fiction, but the question in the back of Annorah’s mind grew larger with each new plot. How far from the truth was this little ruse? Who was Nicholas D’Arcy or, more to the point, who had he been before this? Was Nicholas even his real name? She supposed it didn’t have to be. But what his name was mattered less to her than who he was, who he had been.

  She had clues of course. His bearing was that of a well-bred man. There was a smoothness to his manners that could not be taught, all of which suggested playing a gentleman’s son wouldn’t be a stretch. He’d referred to roaming the land, the way one referred to an estate. He’d inadvertently indicated servants were a part of his early life when he’d talked of long summer days spent fishing until dark. But how did a gentleman’s son end up escorting ladies, eating lutefisk with Norwegian immigrants in London’s East End, while also fraternising with the likes of Burlington? These were the pieces that didn’t quite fit the puzzle of Nicholas D’Arcy.

  They stopped beneath a tree and she risked the question with a teasing smile. ‘We’ve made a quite background for you. How close is it to the reality?’

  Nicholas was not fooled by the light-hearted manner in which the question was asked. He picked up a stick from the ground and began fiddling with it. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Annorah hesitated. She should not have given in to the curiosity. She should have let it be. It was enough that he was willing to do this for her.

  ‘Then why did you ask?’ Nicholas’s blue eyes were hard. ‘Are you afraid someone will recognise me?’

  That had not been her direction, but it was better than confessing her real reason in asking: she liked him. She wanted to know everything about him. It had become an obsession. ‘Will someone?’ There was a moment’s fear. She should have thought of that and she hadn’t. It wouldn’t serve her purposes at all if someone knew him. In fact, it would be mortifying if her aunt knew she’d hired an escort.

  ‘I doubt it, unless your family frequents the circles of the ton,’ Nicholas said derisively. ‘You needn’t worry that I’ll embarrass you.’ It took her a moment to refocus her thoughts and realise the derision she heard was for himself, not for her.

  Annorah reached for his hand. ‘You would never embarrass me. I’ll always be proud to stand beside you in any drawing room.’

  The tightness of his features eased and he gave her a half-smile. ‘It’s a worthy sentiment, at least, but perhaps you should reserve judgement.’ Nicholas threw the stick as far as he could. They watched it sail out into the meadow.

  ‘You’re the one I’m worried about. You haven’t met my family yet.’ She tried to restore levity.

  ‘Why is that? Are they all like you?’ He gave a mock look of horror at the possibility. But he had met them already through the portraits, through the stories Annorah had shared. They’d been likeable once. But no more; whatever sympathies he’d had for her father, pining away for her mother and leaving Annorah to fend for herself, were gone when weighed against the pressures he’d created for his only child in his rather idiotic will. Annorah’s aunt was no better with her greed-based motivations for thrusting Annorah into a marriage, any marriage, to save her own portion of the estate’s wealth.

  ‘No!’ Annorah gave him a playful punch in the arm, glad her tactic had succeeded.

  He grabbed her about the waist and spun her around, she gave a yelp at the suddenness of the movement. The oak tree was at her back when he set her down. His arm rested over her head against the tree trunk, his body angled close to hers. She could smell the scent of him, all man and summer as he smiled down at her. ‘Good. There should only be one of you.’

  He kissed her and the fiction was back in place. Perhaps for them both. Annorah wanted to believe he could keep her safe and he wanted to believe it, too, even if it meant simply keeping her safe from him. She might look at him as if he were indeed her knight. Only he knew just how tarnished the armour was and he wanted to keep it that way. He was selfish. There were things about him he never wanted Annorah to know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Financial security was a damnable thing, Nicholas thought once he’d had twenty-four–hours’ distance to assess what he’d committed to. The enormity of it was beginning to swamp him. Annorah had left fo
r the village with some last-minute errands. He had Hartshaven and all his thoughts to himself for the afternoon. He’d rather not have. Those thoughts were daunting.

  For the first time in years, he could afford to contemplate the future, only to find that financial security had opened up other insecurities. Annorah had insisted on settling a large sum on him for his role as her fiancé and he had to take it—logistics required it. Logistics also created other consequences: he need not work again when this was done. That was the polite way of looking at it. The other way of looking at it was that he could never work again. His days as Nick the Prick were very likely at an end.

  Nick strolled the veranda idly, letting his mind wander over the idea. Channing would be surprised. Channing had always predicted he’d go out with a bang, exiled over a hot-headed duel. No one, not even himself, had thought he’d quietly disappear into the respectability of a financially stable gentleman. On the surface that’s what it would look like. He was engaged and he would be for a year. He could go back to London but he certainly couldn’t pick up where he’d left off. Affianced men didn’t work as paid escorts.

  And London would know, too. In fact the whole city would know in another day. The engagement announcement would be printed in The Times for all to see. It was all part of making the engagement look legitimate. For all purposes, the engagement would be legal, it had to be in order to pass muster. Only he and Annorah would know the temporary intentions of that engagement. What they had invented in the garden paths the previous afternoon might be a fiction, but the implications would be real.

  Nick supposed he could go back to work after his year was up, but he wouldn’t need to. Annorah had made it possible for him to never need to work like that again. It wasn’t the loss of the thrill of bedding women that bothered him. In truth, that had begun to pale before Annorah. There was no challenge in it. The nights all began with the same foregone conclusion. It was the loss of the identity that worried him. Who was he if he wasn’t Nick the Prick? Who would he become? He had a chance to refashion himself and the thought was frightening.

  Being a gentleman escort had always been his excuse for not going home. Now there would be none. He could go home and mend his fences and become a sheep farmer in truth if that was what he wanted. He could face his mother, his brother, his past. Would he? Or would he play the coward?

  It was a lot to take in and that was only half of it. What would he do about Annorah? He’d pledged himself in a sham engagement to buy her a year. But then what? What happened when the year was up? It wasn’t as if she could be courted by potential suitors during her engagement. It was unlikely there’d be another suitor waiting in the wings at the end of her year. Unless he could quietly help with that. He supposed he could ask Channing to send a few recommendations her way—nice, titled men who would treat her well.

  His gut clenched at the thought. He didn’t like that idea any more than he’d liked the idea of her marrying a stranger to save her estate. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had done such a thing. But he didn’t want Annorah to join those ranks. Lucifer’s balls! Nick sighed, dead-heading a peony. The woman had got under his skin and he was in over his head.

  The future was a difficult subject to think about. Better to return to his usual method of taking each day as it came. They were leaving for Badger Place, her aunt’s home, in the morning. Tonight would be their last night at Hartshaven and Nicholas knew exactly how he wanted to spend it: a private birthday evening for two, a chance perhaps to say a subtle farewell to their days in paradise.

  No matter how the house party ended, everything was about to change between him and Annorah. At the very least, he’d return to London and they’d part. Engaged or not, he could not continue to live at Hartshaven and who knew what sort of arrangements they’d be required to uphold in order to protect the ruse. But those were thoughts for later.

  If he meant to have a party, he’d best get started. Annorah wouldn’t be gone for ever. There’d been a summerhouse he’d spied on one of their walks and an idea started to form, especially if the summerhouse was as well kept as the rest of the estate. Nick called for Plumsby and began to marshal his troops.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Nicholas stepped back to survey his work. The interior of the old summerhouse had been transformed into a rustic but romantic bower. The biggest job had been arranging the summerhouse furniture. He’d decorated the table with fresh flowers and an old set of dishes he’d scrounged from the kitchen. He’d moved the wicker chaise and matching chair to the front of the house where it overlooked the lake and draped the ageing furniture with quilts to disguise the wear—also perfect for cuddling under once the evening cooled and the stars came out. Best of all, set behind a dressing screen was the bed, now made with clean sheets and blankets and scented with roses for a night of pleasure. Annorah’s nightgown and their personal items were neatly laid out on a makeshift bureau.

  Everything was ready. Cook and a couple of footmen were bringing the supper down later. Champagne was chilling in advance. He even had a birthday cake arranged.

  It was arguably his finest work. Not even the evening at the Greenwich Observatory he’d planned for Lady Carruthers came close to this. Quite possibly because this wasn’t work. He didn’t want to think of this as work anyway. He wanted to give her a birthday she’d never forget. He hadn’t wanted Annorah to celebrate her special day on the road, or worse yet, to have to celebrate it at her aunt’s, a place she had no desire to be. His family had always felt birthdays should be joyous occasions held in joyous places with people you loved. In the absence of anyone else, she would have to settle for him.

  Easy, old boy. Nicholas reined in his thoughts. He needed some perspective. It was never a good sign when one started using adjectives like love and joy in the same sentence. Annorah had perspective. This was another level of business to her. Yes, she’d been emotional and distressed yesterday when she’d made her offer, but that didn’t mean she was in love with him, or that she’d forgotten what he was. She was paying him. It was all still business to her at its core. Desperate business. She had rushed headlong into her decision, blind to the most obvious pitfalls in her effort to avoid ‘the curse’. He hoped she’d forgive him for that if the worst happened. But that was all in the future. They would sort it out when and if it came.

  For now, all that remained was returning to the house and inviting Annorah for an evening carriage drive. And settling on a gift. That was the one sticking point he hadn’t managed yet in his plans. He knew what he’d like to give her, if he was brave enough. His friends in London, Amery and Jocelyn, would laugh at the notion he was afraid to give someone a gift so small it fit into a pocket. In their town circles, it was nothing more than a token of a gentleman’s affections. It would not be so casually given tonight.

  * * *

  Annorah was waiting on the front steps when he returned from the summerhouse. She waved to him, making a fetching picture with one of her wide straw hats dangling from her hand. As he tooled up the drive in the little gig, he entertained the fancy that he was coming home to his house, that children would spill down the steps any moment, that his wife would call to them to stay out of the way of the prancing horse. His wife. Where had that notion come from? That was the danger of fantasies. They made you believe in the impossible.

  Nicholas jumped down and took the steps two at a time. ‘Are you ready for an evening drive?’ He took her hand and tugged her towards the gig.

  ‘What about dinner?’

  Nicholas laughed and helped her up. It was just like Annorah to worry about upsetting someone else’s schedule. ‘Dinner has been taken care of. It’s a beautiful evening and we’re going to enjoy it.’ He settled beside her and chirped to the horse. ‘Tell me about the village. Did you get your errand taken care of?’

  He let her regale him with news from the village even though he
didn’t know a soul beyond the children. She had encountered Thomas while she was there. Thomas had asked after him. Nicholas smiled. The boy had made an impression on him, too, and his soul ached for all he’d never have. It was one more sign he’d fallen for his own fiction. He could never belong in a place like this or with a woman like this, so good, so decent. But it could be his for a while, if he dared. A cautious man would have left today when he was supposed to.

  * * *

  ‘What is this?’ Her face was a mixture of excitement and incredulity as he swung her down. Her cheeks were flushed from the drive and her eyes sparkled as if she suspected some mischief on his part.

  He grinned and put his hands over her eyes. ‘You’ll see. Keep your eyes shut and I’ll guide you.’ He led her up the shallow steps and ushered her inside. He made her wait while he lit the lamps and candles. ‘All right, you can look.’

  ‘Oh! It’s beautiful!’ Annorah gasped, her eyes trying to take it all in at once, but no matter where she looked, her eyes kept coming back to him. ‘You did this? All this afternoon?’ If he’d been uncertain or in denial of where he stood in this fantasy, there was no mistaking it now. When those eyes shone on him, with their genuine gratitude and delight, he was lost. Annorah Price-Ellis might possibly have succeeded in sweeping him off his feet when he’d least expected it.

  ‘Happy birthday.’ Nicholas dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Dinner will arrive shortly, but perhaps I can interest you in champagne and the view?’ He led her to the chairs overlooking the lake and poured their glasses. He should give her the gift now before he lost his nerve.

  ‘I think a toast is in order.’ Nicholas raised his glass. ‘Happy birthday to a beautiful woman on a beautiful night. May you have many more.’ It was the best he could do. The only other toast he could think of was one of Jocelyn’s inappropriate rhymes: another year lies behind, a new year lies ahead, may a lovely woman always lie in your bed. No matter that it typified his hopes for the evening. What hopes? He wasn’t some besotted swain. If he wanted her in bed, he’d have her. Good lord, had he really fallen so far into his fantasy that he’d forgotten he was Nicholas D’Arcy, seducer extraordinaire?