“No. Someone would have found out. There are other girls there with nowhere else to go. I won’t jeopardize that. And Greaves and Sophia are letting me use this house until the trial is over. I’ll be fine.”
Finally he lifted his head, seeming to notice the rest of the room’s occupants. And she abruptly realized that his brother had joined them, as well, his own expression nearly as miserable as she felt. He knew, then, the social price that Nate was going to have to pay for coming to her aid.
“I need to speak to Emily,” Nathaniel said. “Alone.”
“She shouldn’t have to stay here by herself,” Sophia argued.
“She won’t.”
With more diplomacy than he generally showed, Greaves took his wife’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “We’ll go. I’ll send a plain black coach for your use, Emily. And a driver. The housekeeper is Mrs. Avery. She is at your disposal, as well.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. And you, as well, Sophia.” She hugged Camille again, and kissed Keating on the cheek. “You are all truer friends than I ever thought to have.”
Nate waited, refusing to show his impatience, while Emily parted from her friends. She was lucky to have them, though how anyone could resist falling for her charms once they’d met her, he had no idea. Finally the front door closed, leaving only the housekeeper, Emily, and himself and his brother.
“Laurie, go see that the larder is stocked, will you? And shut the door here.”
His brother had barely uttered a word since daybreak, and he only nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Finally. Nate bent his head and kissed Emily softly on the lips.
“Much better,” he murmured.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, when he reluctantly straightened again.
“And why not?”
“Because you’ll only make things worse for yourself. And for Laurie.”
He shifted his grip to her hands. “Come here. Sit with me. We need to talk.”
“I’ll sit with you because I find you utterly irresistible, but we don’t need to talk. I know I’ve ruined your life. Don’t try to make it sound any better than it is.”
That made him smile. “So practical, you are. Very well. I won’t coat anything with sugar or honey. But I do need to talk to you.”
When he sat back onto the overstuffed couch she seated herself beside him, tucking her petite form against his shoulder. For a moment he kept silent, letting the feel of her sink into him. If he didn’t say the wrong thing, or if she didn’t decide that the best way to aid him was for both of them to be miserable and apart, he could have this every day. He could have her, be in her life, keep her in his, for the rest of their lives. And that was what he wanted. Her.
“The gossips have already got the tale,” he finally began. “About you being a commoner and a Tantalus girl, about me being a spy and lying to everyone about the reason for my presence on the Continent during the war. Wellington’s admitted to it. Jack’s already gone into hiding. It isn’t so easy for me to disappear. I’m Lord Westfall, now.”
“I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get dragged into this. I never meant for you to be hurt.”
He tilted her chin up and kissed her again, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. “I wanted to be involved. I’ve yet to do anything against my will, Em.” He took a breath. “There are people in my past who now know for certain that I’ve deceived them. Some of them will be quite unhappy about it. They may come looking for me. Or they may hire men to come for me.”
She sat up straight, her already pale cheeks going gray. “Nate! You have to leave London. If anything were to happen to you— Dear God, why didn’t you say something? I would never—”
“You would never have let me help you. I know. You would never have let me into your life. Did I mention that I’m in love with you? I’m accustomed to danger. I’ve never been in love before.”
She punched him in the chest, hard enough to hurt. “And I love you! Does that in any way make you think I could stand it if someone hurt you? If someone killed you?”
For a long moment he gazed at her, wanting to memorize the expression of deep worry and fear on her face—so he could make certain she never had to feel that way again. “Someone is going to kill me. I’m going to make certain of it.”
Ripping out of his hold, Emily bolted to her feet. “What? Who? I’ll kill them before they can touch you! I swear it, Nate. No one is allowed to hurt you! No one.”
Nathaniel stood, grabbing her wrists when she flailed at him and would have pushed away. “Listen to me. Listen, Em. Please. I won’t be hurt. I swear it.”
She glared at him, tears glistening in her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Stop jesting with me!”
“I spoke with Wellington and Jack,” he said, deciding that describing the details could wait. “Jack is going to pretend to kill me, in public. Tomorrow. I can then disappear, leaving you and Laurie and everyone else around me safe. It’s a last resort, but it’s the best solution.”
“You’ll be safe,” she muttered, swaying forward.
Damnation. Nate caught her as she fainted, lifting her in his arms and kicking open the morning room door. He carried her upstairs, the housekeeper and Laurie appearing to fall in behind him.
“She took it as well I as I did, then,” Laurie said.
“Shut up. Mrs. Avery, the master bedchamber?”
“Third door on the right, my lord. Oh, dear. Shall I fetch smelling salts?”
“No. Some peppermint tea, and brandy.”
The housekeeper hurried away without another word. Nate liked her immediately; no fluttering or wailing or indecisiveness from Mrs. Avery. She could be handy to have about. Laurie moved past him, opening the bedchamber door and hurriedly turning down the coverlet, then piling pillows up and throwing open the windows. His brother had matured, Nate realized. He would make a fine Earl of Westfall—likely a better one than he’d been, himself.
“Thank you, Laurie.”
Laurence glanced up at him, hesitated, then nodded. “She loves you. I was … She’ll be good for you. Don’t be so logical she turns you away, Nate. And make certain she knows how much blunt I’m giving you. And the Crown’s donation, or whatever they’re calling it. I’ll be downstairs.”
Nathaniel gently set Emily down on the bed. When he would have straightened, though, her arms swept up around his shoulders and pulled him down to her for a kiss. “Turns you away from what?” she asked, her face still alarmingly pale.
“In a minute.”
When Mrs. Avery returned with the tea tray and a decanter of brandy with two snifters, Nate decided he was going to hire the housekeeper away from Greaves, whatever the cost. He thanked her, watched as she left the room again and shut the door behind her, then sank down on the edge of the bed.
“Now. Where were we?” he asked, handing Emily one of the snifters.
She sat up, sipping at the brandy. “Jack Rycott is going to shoot you tomorrow, you’re receiving some blunt, and I’m not to turn you away from something.”
“No, you’re not.” He grinned at her, kissing her again because he couldn’t not do it. “I will be killed, Laurie will take the title, and I will assume the identity of your footman, butler, and groom while you’re staying here.” He’d just now decided that last bit, but it made sense, and he could keep her safe from anyone who didn’t want a common Tantalus girl testifying against a wealthy marquis about a murder she’d witnessed.
Her free hand twined around his. “Nate, you can’t give up an earldom. Not because you were good enough to want to help me.”
“I never wanted to be an earl. And in all honesty, Em, if I remained an earl I couldn’t do this.” Trying to keep his fingers from shaking, he took the brandy from her and held both her hands in both of his. Her dark brown gaze lifted to meet his, and he smiled. “This is what I want. I want to be your husband. I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife. I want to be a
gentleman farmer and not have to wear spectacles or assume a limp. I want to choose a name and make it mine for the rest of my life. I want you to choose who you want to be, and be it with me. Will you marry me?”
For a hard beat of her heart Emily thought she must still be asleep and dreaming. But his hands were shaking, and they were warm and real as they held hers. “This is what I want,” she said, sounding to her own ears as unsteady as he had. “I want to be loved and cared about and safe. I want to be who I am without pretending to be anyone else ever again. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Yes, I want to marry you. You. Whoever you choose to be.”
He captured her mouth with his, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. When they separated to take a breath, Nate pushed her back down on the bed and resumed kissing her, her mouth, her damp cheeks, her ears, her throat, everywhere. Then his hands joined in, undoing the trio of buttons at the front of her gown and slipping inside to caress her breasts.
Emily sat up again to push the coat from his shoulders and open his waistcoat, shoving them to the floor as he pushed her dress down her arms to her hips. When she lifted up he stripped the dress down her legs and flung it aside, her shoes following.
“Have you thought of a name?” he asked her breathlessly, moving her hands aside so he could open his own trousers and shove them down. Together they yanked off his boots and dropped them to the floor, his trousers following them onto the polished wood. “Who do you want to be?”
“I’ve always been partial to Isobel,” she returned, kissing him again as she lay back on the bed, tossing aside pillows and pulling him down on top of her.
“Isobel,” he said slowly, drawing out the word as if he was tasting it. “I like it. Isobel.” Pushing his hips forward, he slid inside her, hot and hard and deep. “My Isobel.”
She gasped at the filling sensation, at the weight of him across her hips. “And what about you? Who are you going to be?”
“William. It’s my middle name, and I’ve always liked it.”
“It’s a good, solid name. Like you. William.”
“Then I, William, ask you, Isobel, t—”
“McQueen,” she finished, groaning as he entered her again and again. “Isobel McQueen.”
“We’re to be Scottish, then? Very well,” he returned, laughing breathlessly. “Isobel McQueen, will you marry me, William … Pinkerton?”
“Yes. Yes, I will marry you, William Pinkerton. But … oh, yes … but where does Pinkerton come from? It sounds familiar.”
“From that damned book you were reading. The Scottish Cousin. The cousin’s name is Bartholomew Pinkerton. It seems a good Scottish name, don’t you think?”
She’d forgotten about that. “Yes, for a Spanish troubadour’s son. I like it. Nate and Isobel, oh, Pinkerton. But may I still call you Nate?”
“Only when we’re in bed together, and I’m inside you.”
Emily—Isobel—grinned. “Yes, Nate.”
Also by
SUZANNE ENOCH
A Beginner’s Guide to Rakes
Taming an Impossible Rogue
Rules to Catch a Devilish Duke
PRAISE FOR SUZANNE ENOCH
and her bestselling romances
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About the Author
A native and current resident of Southern California, Suzanne Enoch loves movies almost as much as she loves books, with a special place in her heart for anything Star Wars. She has written thirty Regency novels and historical romances, which are regularly to be found on the New York Times bestseller list. When she is not busily working on her next book, Suzanne likes to contemplate interesting phenomena, like how the 3 guppies in her aquarium became 161 guppies in 5 months.
Visit www.suzanneenoch.com
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE HANDBOOK TO HANDLING HIS LORDSHIP
Copyright © 2013 by Suzanne Enoch.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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eISBN: 9781466821231
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / April 2013
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
The Handbook to Handling His Lordship Page 28
