The heat in her cheeks tripled. “Hardly.”
“…Mastering the sensual arts with voluptuous young women of questionable moral fiber.” His voice was pitched low, and it sent shivers rippling across her skin.
Amelia breathed in to steady herself, but it only made it worse. “Did you?”
“Master them?” He leaned closer. There was no room left between them. If either shifted, the front of her dress would brush against the fabric of his jacket.
Amelia nodded, eyes wide.
He was staring at her parted lips. She swayed forward, her own lips parting in response.
“Not really, no.” He backed away with a grin. “Mostly I learned about art.”
It was the blush. The pink flush had positively begged him to tease her, but Amelia was an innocent. He shouldn’t have baited her like that, even if she weren’t spoken for. The fact that she was made him the worst sort of cad. Nick forced his feelings back down. It was just friendly teasing. That was all it would ever be.
“Learned about art.” There was nothing friendly about the way she was looking at him now. The breathlessness was gone, replaced by a cutting glare. “Apparently you also learned how to behave like a complete bounder.”
If only. If he were a complete bounder, he would know what she tasted like right now. “It was meant to be humorous.”
“You should stick to art.”
He should stick to safer topics.
Nick couldn’t think about the romance of a true masterpiece without his feelings for her bubbling out in his words. He couldn’t tell her being in Paris had felt like the first time she’d hugged him, setting every nerve ending in his body alight. That had been the plan, but not now. Not when she was engaged to Montrose.
“What?” She watched him, still frowning. “Tell me.”
Nick had to find something else to distract her with so he didn’t end up baring his soul and making a fool out of himself. “We lived with Bohemians.”
Amelia’s eyebrows flew up. “Bohemians? For how long?”
“The entire time.”
Her glare disappeared entirely. She grabbed his hand, dragging him down to sit on the ground with her. “Tell me immediately. Was it exciting? Oh, of course it was exciting. What were they like?”
Once he got over the rush of her hand on his, Nick laughed. Reliving it for Amelia was like being there all over again. Nick told her about the painters and actors and writers he’d met while he was away. He told her about a man from the Balkans who lived with his tiny dog and wrote the most beautiful poetry Nicholas had ever heard. She laughed and called him a liar when he told her about an Irish woman who sang in a deep baritone that somehow made perfect sense.
Sometime in the middle, between missing the midday meal and the sun disappearing behind some ominous-looking clouds, they became friends again. Nick was glad. He might have lost the chance to marry her, but he couldn’t bear to lose her friendship, too. She’d been far too important to him for far too long to be satisfied with polite distance between them.
“How are you not sitting somewhere quiet with a view of the Seine right now, reading modern philosophy or learning to paint?”
“It was lovely. It truly was, but…” Nicholas was beside her, staring at the sky through the tree branches. He couldn’t tell her it hadn’t been enough without her, now that she was engaged, and he didn’t want to talk about what was happening with his father. Not yet. Not until he knew how he felt about it. “It wasn’t for me.”
“What is for you?” she teased.
You. Nick put a stranglehold on his heart so he didn’t say it out loud. “Parts of it were beautiful, but there are so many problems in the world. I’d like to help mend them.”
Her teasing was replaced with genuine curiosity. “How?”
“I’d like to study the law.” Anathema as the idea might be to his parents, Nicholas couldn’t spend his life as just a scion of the house of Wakefield. He’d hoped to spend it as Amelia’s husband, too, but clearly he’d missed his chance at the one thing he wanted most.
“Like your brother, in the House of Lords?”
Nick shook his head. “God willing, I’ll never be a lord. No, I think I’d like to try for barrister.”
Amelia’s eyes went wide. “Barrister. A profession? Would your parents allow it?”
“I doubt it.” There were a lot of things Lord and Lady Wakefield would never allow, but it had never stopped him from wanting them. Or her.
She looked at him with the shy grin that only turned up half her mouth. “Well, I think it’s wonderful. If you can find a way to do it, I think you should.”
For a moment it was hard for Nicholas to swallow. He saw their whole lives stretched out before them. Him in his barrister’s wig. Her welcoming him home after a long day. Tiny children racing around her skirts while he kissed her like he’d longed to for his entire adult life.
It wasn’t to be, though. Amelia would welcome Lord Montrose home. The tiny children racing around her skirts would be Lord Montrose’s children.
He stood up, putting much-needed distance between them. “Well, I think you should find a way to sit beside the Seine and read modern philosophy while you eat pain à la duchesse.”
“I’m not sure Embry would enjoy that sort of thing.” The pause before she spoke was a touch too long.
Was Amelia not certain of her fiancé? The beat of Nicholas’s heart raced a little. A good friend would want her to be happy, but Nicholas had never just wanted to be her good friend. If there was a chance her engagement would be called off, maybe there was still hope.
“Your fiancé’s not one for philosophy? Or perhaps he has an intractable aversion to French desserts.”
“Embry seems to have an aversion to most frivolities.”
“Don’t tell the French he considers their cuisine frivolous. You’ll start another war.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”
“He sounds rather serious.” Nicholas pulled a thin branch off one of the trees and tested it against his leg. Serious was not what Amelia needed.
“He is, a bit. He’s not boorish,” she rushed to explain. “He’s quite clever. He’s just…”
“Serious?”
“Serious.” Amelia held out her hand. “It’s going to start raining. We should head back.”
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Nicholas took her hand, ignoring how suited it felt to his own as he helped her to her feet. When she placed it on the crook of his arm and leaned in close against the chill breeze, he certainly ignored the warmth of her body pressed against him and the softness of her hip against his.
Rain fell in waves, like the ocean had been turned upside down above their heads. Amelia stared out the window of the drawing room at a world washed grey. Her breath frosted the glass in great big puffs of fog.
“Don’t,” Julia said.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Yes, she was. Her engagement party was only days away and Amelia was sitting in the window seat, moping over the wave of change heading her way. Much as she tried, she couldn’t see how to stop it from coming. “I can’t help it.”
“You’re announcing your engagement. You’re supposed to be thrilled.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Is it because of Nick?”
“What? No.” Perhaps Nick was a small part of it, but it wasn’t only him. It was all of it; the engagement, marriage, a title, leaving home, leaving her family, Nick coming back unexpectedly… Suddenly feeling a jolt when he did something he’d done a thousand times before.
Julia raised an eyebrow as she worked her needlepoint. “I thought you gave up your Nicholas nonsense when you were twelve.”
“I did.” She had, when he’d openly admired the new dairymaid whose raven hair and bright green eyes were as far from Amelia’s medium-brown-everything as a person could get. “He does look different now, though. It took me by surpri
se.”
“He’s exactly the same.”
Amelia paced the room. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how much broader his shoulders are, or how certain he is when he says things now.”
“Fascinating.”
“What?”
“You’re spoony on Nicholas.”
It wasn’t like that at all. Yes, she’d had an unexpected reaction to him, but they hadn’t seen each other in years. It was completely understandable. Amelia slumped down in her father’s favorite overstuffed chair in front of the fire. She pulled her feet up underneath her, watching the flickering flames. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s different and I noticed. It’s not a crime.”
“It is when you’re sitting here moping instead of jumping for joy because a handsome earl wants to marry you.” Julia tossed her embroidery back into the box. Amelia was surprised she’d lasted so long. Julia excelled at everything a lady was expected to excel at, but she preferred less docile pursuits.
“What do you think is the matter with me, truly? I should be excited. I’m going to be a countess, for God’s sake.”
“Nerves, most likely.”
“Is there anything to be done about it?”
“I doubt it. You’ll probably die. I hear conditions like this are fatal.”
Amelia flopped onto the settee, sticking her tongue out at her sister. “Very amusing. I wish I could just be left alone for a little while. There has been entirely too much excitement these last few weeks.”
“At least men notice you.” Julia’s soft tone made Amelia immediately regret her wish.
“Jules—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Julia pushed herself off the couch. “We’re lamenting your imminent death right now. We can be sad about my spinsterhood tomorrow.”
It was too late for that. “Tomorrow, then.”
Julia grinned. “Oh yes. Tomorrow, we’ll have a proper bout of pity over it. Hair tearing. Clothes rending. But today, we’ll be sad for you and your terrible judgement.”
“It’s not terrible!”
“An earl asked you to marry him. An earl! And you’re frowning into your lap, giving yourself wrinkles.”
“I blame the weather.”
“I’ll show you weather.” Julia pulled the bell-cord. “Get up. We’re going for a ride.”
Amelia groaned. “It’s wretched outside.”
“It’s wretched in here. A race will do us good. Come on.”
Protesting any further would be futile. While Julia arranged for the horses to be saddled, Amelia went upstairs to collect their riding boots and jackets. A full change would take too long, and Julia was shorter of patience than usual once the thrill of a race was on her.
Outside, their mounts were waiting for them.
“Good afternoon, Tryphosa.” Julia greeted her mount with the utmost formality, in the tradition the sisters had established years ago.
Amelia followed suit. “Good afternoon, Dionysia.”
Dionysia flicked her tail and stamped a hoof in response.
Just seeing the stocky little horse improved Amelia’s mood. She was a cross-bred Arabian, shipped across the Atlantic when Lord Bishop discovered his daughters had a love for the smaller, American-bred sprinters. Amelia and Julia had named their horses after the oldest and youngest of a trio of ancient Turkish sisters renowned for their sprinting prowess in the Roman arenas.
Of the two, Julia’s mount usually proved faster, but Amelia contended that hers possessed more heart and athletic talent. It was only the reckless abandon with which Julia rode that allowed the older sisters to consistently beat the younger pair.
They set off into the rain, letting Dionysia and Tryphosa start out at a moderate walk. Amelia’s thoughts drifted to Nicholas while they picked their way through the mud and out of view of the house. She’d wanted him to kiss her under that tree—there was no denying it. When he’d leaned close, saying those wicked things, she’d wanted him to kiss her more than she’d ever wanted anything else. That had never happened before. Even when they were children and she’d spent a brief summer fancying herself in love with him, he’d never had that effect on her. She’d wanted his attention, certainly, but she’d never needed his touch.
What was the matter with her? It was Nicholas, for goodness sake. He might cut a more masculine figure now, but he was still just Nicholas. Even his shameless flirting on their walk wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He’d been practicing his charms on her and Julia since he’d come back from Eton with a shameful understanding of exactly how lacking they were. And she was engaged! Embry was widely regarded to be quite handsome. Amelia had no business wanting to be kissed by anyone but her fiancé.
That was another problem. Amelia had never needed Embry’s kiss the way she’d needed Nicholas in that moment. She hadn’t thought anything of it—hadn’t realized there was even anything to think—until her whole body set to tingling at a few wicked, whispered words from Nick. It was still alight and he’d gone hours ago.
Embry was a good man. A good fiancé. He’d brought her books the second time he came to call, for goodness sake. He was perfect. Who was to say these tingles were specific to Nicholas? Perhaps if Embry whispered wicked things to her while smelling like dessert she would react the same way.
Maybe all she needed was for Embry to behave a little less properly. Not that Amelia had the slightest idea how to bring that about. Embry was extremely diligent in his propriety.
Still, she was up for the challenge. She would forget all about Nicholas Wakefield and his wicked whispers, and set her mind to figuring out how to seduce her fiancé. That was the proper course of action. Well, proper enough anyhow. She was a Bishop, after all. She couldn’t be expected to behave entirely.
“Well, what shall it be?” Julia asked. “The forest or the meadow?”
“The meadow stream will be swollen over with all this rain,” Amelia warned.
“You’re right. The meadow it is.”
Of course. Julia wasn’t happy if she wasn’t actively trying to get them both killed—either by genuine catastrophe or parental wrath once they were found out. “Are you certain? You’re not immune to consequences anymore now that I’m the favorite.”
Julia squinted for a moment, like she was pondering it as they urged the horses into a trot. “What’s the worst they might do to me?”
“Ban you from riding.”
“They wouldn’t dare. They wouldn’t be able to stand how morose I’d be.”
Amelia was certain her sister was right, but she played the devil’s advocate anyway. “You never know. They might.”
Julia shrugged. “A lot of things might happen.”
“Yes, but those things aren’t under our direct contr—”
With a shout, Julia and Tryphosa shot off across the field.
Amelia swore, giving Dionysia her head when the mare lurched forward, unwilling to let her sister have the lead without a fight.
Chapter Three
“How do I look, Bertie?”
“Exceptionally capable, my lord.”
Nicholas grinned at him in the gilt-edged mirror over the dressing table. The corner of Bertram’s mouth twitched up.
“All right, then. Time to fulfill my glorious destiny.”
The meeting with his father and the estate agent would take place in the study. Nicholas had to admit a certain thrill of anticipation. True responsibility would do wonders for keeping his mind off Amelia’s impending marriage. Once he knew the extent of what needed to be done, he would find a way to make time for studying as a barrister. He could do both. He could be there for his family and follow his dream.
“Lord Nicholas.” Smithson appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “This arrived for you with the morning post.”
Nicholas took the folded sheet of paper. He would have left it for later, but the seal promised it would be short. Lord Bellamy despised writing.
Nick,
Paris is dismal without you. Last ni
ght I drank alone at Marcelles. Come back at once.
Jas
P.S. Claudette also demands your return. Her claim is obviously inferior to my own, but if lures of the flesh will accomplish what friendship cannot, so be it.
He smiled. Unfortunately, Jasper would have to accept disappointment, as would the talented Claudette. Nick had a job to do. His arrival in the study, however, threw him immediately off balance. A man he’d never seen before was sorting through the papers on the desk. The desk that belonged to Nicholas’s father, and his grandfather before that.
He looked up when he heard Nick enter. “Lord Nicholas, I presume?”
He did not appear to be an intruder, but he was still a stranger to Nick. “You presume correctly. Who are you?”
“David Fletcher, my lord. I’m the estate agent.”
“What happened to Dickson?”
“He retired about six months ago, my lord. I was hired to replace him.”
Six months ago. “Was it because…”
Mr. Fletcher’s expression smoothed into one of extreme tact. “I believe it was difficult for him to adjust to the new situation, my lord.”
His father’s condition. “How bad is it?”
The estate agent spent a moment considering the tips of his shoes. His answer was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Wakefield.
“Nicholas! When did you get back?”
“I’ve been home all mor—”
Lord Wakefield rang the bell pull. “We must tell your mother. She’s been on about bringing you back from the continent for months. I told her you’d come back when you were ready, and here you are.”
Surprise struck Nicholas like a blow to the gut. His father didn’t remember speaking with him yesterday. It was one thing to have his parents tell him calmly that his father was forgetting things, but quite another to have it so vividly proven.
Mr. Fletcher stepped in. “You did summon him back, Lord Wakefield. He arrived yesterday. You set a meeting for the three of us to discuss Lord Nicholas taking on some of the estate running.”
Confusion clouded Lord Wakefield’s face. “I did?”
“You did.” The estate agent was the soul of patience. “Would you like to reschedule for a different day?”
The Importance of Being Scandalous Page 3