Still, he’d had her all to himself. And Nicholas wanted more. The need for her pulsed just beneath his skin, even while his brother stood beside him.
He’d never hated himself as much as he did right at that moment.
“You can’t blame them for being curious.” Langdon nodded at the throng, many of whom were casting sidelong, interested glances at Nicholas. “You’ve been back in London for weeks and this is the first social event you’ve attended. No doubt they all want to get a look at the man who’s reputed to have returned from India with crates of jewels and gold. Plus,” his eyes glinted with amusement, “there’s also the fact that even before you left London for India, you rarely attended balls. So tonight all the ladies wish to dance with you and all the men want to hear tales of tiger hunts and harem girls.”
“There aren’t harem girls in India and I didn’t bring back crates of jewels,” Nicholas bit out.
“They don’t know that,” Langdon said mildly. “You can stop most of the speculation by dancing with a few women. They would be sure to spread whatever tale you tell them within moments of the music’s ending.”
“I don’t feel like dancing,” Nicholas growled.
Langdon chuckled. “Then why are you here? Clearly, it’s not because you wish to socialize with friends and family.”
“Fetch me a drink and we will see if I cannot be persuaded to behave otherwise,” Nicholas countered dryly. He waited for his brother’s witty retort, disappointed when none came. “Are you so easily bored by me that you cannot be bothered to keep up?”
Langdon frowned, his eyes somber. “It is not boredom, Nicholas. Actually, I have been meaning to speak with you for some time.”
“Oh bloody hell.” Nicholas groaned, more irritated than surprised by his brother’s concern.
A trace of disappointment flickered across Langdon’s expression. “You are lucky that none of your brandy binges have resulted in something worse than an aching head. It was one thing to live in such a manner when you were younger. Now, you have more responsibility. You created quite a business in India; you now have the means to settle down and build a proper life.”
Nicholas steeled himself against the flood of guilt, remorse, hope, pain—a cacophony of emotions roused by his brother’s words.
“Did you say ‘proper’?” Nicholas asked, feigning indifference as he cupped his left ear. “Because I am almost sure you did; which would beg the question, what in the goddamn world would make you think I’ve any interest in a proper life?”
Langdon did not match Nicholas’s caustic tone, nor did he adopt a defensive stance. Instead, he patted Nicholas on the shoulder as a father would his son. “I have upset you. And for that, I apologize.”
Nicholas wanted Langdon to fight back. Some part of him always had. But his brother would do no such thing; Langdon was an honorable man. And honorable men were not provoked by the likes of Nicholas.
“No, it is I who should apologize,” he muttered, tamping down the flames of self-loathing that licked at his heart. “You did nothing more than what a brother should do.”
Langdon smiled in appreciation, which almost made everything worse. “Let us leave such maudlin talk for the evening. Sophia has arrived.”
Instantly diverted, Nicholas followed his brother’s gaze across the ballroom floor. Ladies and their lords continued to arrive, their ascent down the grand staircase marked by the thump of the majordomo’s wooden staff. Just behind a reed-thin woman in gold stood Sophia and her companion for the evening, Lady Charlotte Grey.
He couldn’t look away from Sophia. She wore a sapphire silk gown that clung to her curves, her hair piled atop her head in tousled curls. A delicate necklace encircled her slim neck and drew the eye downward to its largest ruby, nestled just above the upper swell of her breasts.
Langdon too continued to watch as Sophia and Lady Charlotte were announced. “I think it’s time I married her. Don’t you?”
Nicholas tore his gaze from Sophia and stared at Langdon. “That depends.”
“On what, exactly?” Langdon asked distractedly as he continued to watch Sophia.
Nicholas snapped his fingers directly in front of Langdon’s face. “Why do you wish to marry her now?”
“I’d think that rather obvious,” Langdon answered, batting Nicholas’s hand away. “She’s my fiancée.”
“And has been for years—which begs the question, what is your hurry?” Nicholas pressed, desperation clawing at his skin. “Specifically, why now?”
“Carrington,” Langdon answered, smiling politely at Lady Trinbull and her pasty-faced daughter as they trundled past. “To be more precise, Carrington’s marriage. He looked so happy at his wedding—as if nothing else in the world mattered to him now. I wouldn’t mind giving that a go. Besides, Sophia will not leave off with her charity work. I paid her a visit at the Halcyon Society earlier today. She looked utterly exhausted and was a tad cross with me—which is unusual for Sophia. And then there is that Bow Street business. I need to secure her safety. And that will not be accomplished until she’s living under my roof.”
Nicholas doubted Sophia would agree to abandon her interest in either the Runners or her charity work. And, he realized, he’d be disappointed if she did. Before he could comment, Langdon spoke.
“Come now, tell me you’re happy—for myself and for Carrington,” Langdon urged Nicholas, gesturing for him to walk with him. “Leg-shackled at last.”
“And why would I not be?” Nicholas answered sarcastically, flashing an appreciative smile at Lady Simmons and her friend, each displaying a scandalous show of bountiful cleavage.
Langdon ignored the women. “You would not be human if you failed to feel envy over Carrington’s luck. I know I did—and I am rather glad for it; Lord knows how much longer I would have waited to ask Sophia to set the date.”
God, Langdon was so bloody kind and understanding. Not for the first time, Nicholas puzzled over how, precisely, they sprang from the same line.
“And now that Carrington is settled, with me soon to follow his example, surely you see that there is hope for you,” his brother continued cheerfully.
Nicholas wanted to punch him. He knew that he should not. Nor, in all likelihood, would he do so if given the opportunity.
Still.
“There is a woman out there for you, Nicholas.”
Langdon’s assurance left his lips just as Sophia turned about and saw them. Her warm smile lit her features as her gaze swept across the brothers.
Nicholas flinched inwardly from the stab of sheer pain at her timing.
Yes, there is a woman out there for me. And she is closer than you could possibly imagine.
Langdon made a perfect bow and the ladies reciprocated with charming curtsies.
When both Sophia and Langdon looked expectantly at Nicholas, he sighed, offering a polite, if brief, bow. “Really, you two, it is not as if we do not know one another.”
Langdon sighed with disapproval. “Have they no manners in India?”
“Come now,” Lady Charlotte offered in her quiet, intelligent way. “Mr. Bourne has been abroad for some time. Have some patience with him.”
“You always have been my favorite of the Furies,” Nicholas said with approval.
“I know,” Lady Charlotte replied, a small, satisfied smile curving her lips. “Not that my two sisters do not have their admirers,” she added diplomatically.
Sophia tapped her fan against the fingers of her opposite hand. “I always think of the three of you as one—a united front, if you will.”
“Or an indestructible force. Perhaps the three horsemen of the—”
“There were four horsemen of the apocalypse, Nicholas.” Lady Charlotte’s dimples flashed and her eyes twinkled, her amused comment interrupting the pair as politely as one could. “If you should ever wish assistance with your daily Bible devotionals, I would be more than happy to come to your aid.”
“May we go back to the kissing bit?
” Nicholas asked with a wink at the stylishly elegant older woman.
“Of course, dear boy,” Lady Charlotte answered, holding out her hand.
Nicholas took it gently in his and placed a small kiss on her knuckles.
“Rather like kissing the king’s ring,” he grumbled.
Sophia watched with feigned amusement as Nicholas kissed Lady Charlotte’s hand, chuckling at his dry observation while her mind spun with concern.
Sophia had never deceived Langdon, not even about the extent of her work with Bow Street. There had been no need to hide any aspect of her life from him. Until last night. She feared it was only the beginning.
“Fancy a dance?” Langdon bent to murmur in her ear, his hand closing over her arm just above her elbow.
Sophia flinched when he unexpectedly brushed his thumb across the bare skin.
“Are you quite well?”
Sophia silently cursed her reaction and made herself stand calmly under his hand. “Of course. Perhaps you might escort Lady Charlotte onto the dance floor and save the next one for me?”
“Of course,” Langdon replied, easy acceptance in his voice. “Lady Charlotte, would you do me the honor of partnering me in a dance?”
“Certainly, Lord Stonecliffe,” the older woman answered, offering Langdon her hand. “Though I feel I must warn you, I am not as quick as I used to be.”
“I don’t know about that,” Nicholas countered dryly.
Lady Charlotte arched one silver eyebrow in laughing response and allowed Langdon to steer her toward the crowd gathered on the dance floor. “He will require some looking after, Sophia,” she added over her shoulder before she and Langdon joined the throng.
“How is it possible that the Furies somehow never seem to age?” Nicholas said, watching his brother and Lady Charlotte join a set of other couples. “Rather, their power only grows. Would you not agree?”
Sophia wanted to reply to his humorous observation, but found it impossible to do so.
Nicholas turned to look at her, his head cocked slightly to the side as he studied her. “Come now, Sophia. Light repartee is a specialty of yours, is it not?”
“It would seem the act of deception comes quite naturally to me,” she began, startled by his pert comment. “Rather like putting on a play, really.”
He grinned in understanding. “I suppose you’re right; ‘all the world’s a stage’ and whatnot, Miss Spoon.”
“Having lied and deceived?” Sophia continued. “That is a bit more challenging.”
Nicholas narrowed his gaze. “In what way?”
“The guilt, Nicholas,” Sophia explained. “How does one make it go away?”
“Impossible. There is always guilt,” Nicholas warned, his gaze unsympathetic.
“I was afraid of that,” Sophia replied, searching his eyes for a hint of empathy.
Nicholas shook his head. “As well you should be. Exacting revenge on your mother’s killer will change everything, Sophia—most likely it already has begun.”
“I’m doing this for all of us, don’t you see?” Sophia countered, her hackles rising in response to his distant behavior. “Once my mother’s killer is captured we’ll be free, Nicholas.”
“Of what?”
“Everything that has plagued us for the last twenty years,” Sophia explained, an urgency growing in her throat. “Surely Langdon will understand that.”
Nicholas’s piercing gaze captured hers. “Then why do you feel guilty?”
“Because I should,” Sophia replied, the inexplicable premonition of an approaching storm coloring her tone with apprehension. “Because it is Langdon. Because I am the last person he would ever suspect of lying to him.”
“You have choices, Sophia,” Nicholas reminded her. “One week in and already you are in shambles. If you would leave the investigation to me …”
Sophia forced herself to look away from his handsome, compelling face. She inhaled deeply and exhaled in equal measure. The act seemed to shore up and stabilize her shaken nerves. “I’ve given you my reasons, Nicholas. And they’ve not changed. Besides, I’ve already made some progress. Mrs. Mason was of use, after all. I’m in possession of an address that should help in finding the Kingsmen.”
Nicholas took a step back, visibly distancing himself. “But you have changed. And soon enough, everything else will follow suit. No bloody address will help then.”
Sophia’s eyes widened with alarm. “What do you mean?”
“Langdon is intent on a wedding, Sophia,” Nicholas answered curtly. “Your wedding, to be exact.”
“Why now?” she asked, her hands beginning to tremble.
“Why now?” Nicholas repeated her question, confusion reflected in his countenance. “Because you have been engaged for nearly twenty years—”
“Please, do not exaggerate, Nicholas,” Sophia chided, taking yet another deep breath and attempting to relax taut muscles.
“All right, then,” he replied, his tone menacing. “What about the fact that he loves you? And you love him? Is that not enough reason to marry?”
“Please don’t be cruel,” Sophia whispered, forcing a smile in response to Lady Bascombe’s nod as she strolled by.
“What, precisely, is cruel in reminding you of your approaching marriage?”
Sophia fixed her gaze on a wall sconce to the right of Nicholas’s head and concentrated on her body, attempting to ease the tense muscles first in her temples, then her neck, and still lower, until she reached her toes.
She closed her eyes briefly before looking up at Nicholas. “Why are you doing this?”
Sophia caught sight of Langdon and Lady Charlotte from the corner of her eye. The dance had ended and they were returning, Langdon’s hand atop Lady Charlotte’s on his bent arm. He smiled at Sophia, his familiar, fond show of affection so stark in contrast to Nicholas’s enigmatic glance.
“You did not answer my question,” Nicholas said, turning to look at the returning couple. “Is it cruel to mention your love for my brother?”
“I do not know if it is cruel. It is pointless, though. Of that much I am certain.”
How long Nicholas had been at the faro table was a mystery not even the empty bottle of brandy next to his cards could reveal.
He looked around the room at his fellow players, noting the numbers had thinned considerably. “Are we the only ones left with money to wager, then?” Nicholas asked no one in particular.
Three gentlemen seated with him at the table stood, one retrieving a small amount of bank notes and coins from in front of him. Then all three walked from the room, leaving only Nicholas, and one other gentleman sipping brandy at a nearby table.
“Come, Braxton,” Nicholas urged the man, nearly falling out of his chair from the effort. “We could use another player. Or rather, I could.”
Lord Charles Braxton, Baron Maplethorpe, had also been born the second child. Fortunately in his case, the firstborn had possessed the decency to come into the world a girl. There had never been any question what he would do with his life.
Nicholas had not been so fortunate.
He was vaguely aware of the thread of sheer meanness running through his thoughts—often a sign that he’d had too much to drink.
Or, looked at in a different light, a sign that he’d not had enough.
“My good man,” Nicholas called to a footman. “Fetch another bottle for me.”
“Of course, sir,” the young man replied, bowing before leaving the room.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Bourne?”
Nicholas was not sure who had addressed him, then realized there was only himself, Braxton, and two footmen present. He stood up and attempted to walk toward Braxton.
The table he’d been seated behind had the audacity to not spontaneously move of its own accord, catching Nicholas’s left hip and sending him crashing to the floor.
“I believe you just answered my question.” Braxton bent over Nicholas, his features somewhat fuzzy
, while his intentions were crystal clear. “Let me help you, Bourne.” He held out his hand and waited.
Nicholas batted the man’s hand away. “I do not need your help, Braxton,” he spat out, rolling onto his stomach.
“That is arguable. Still, suit yourself,” Braxton replied.
Nicholas snapped. There was no other way to describe his reaction to Braxton’s words. As if the man possessed any right to judge him! It was unthinkable. Absolutely ridiculous. And deserving of retribution.
Nicholas shoved himself up off the floor, grabbing the table to steady himself. “Turn around, Braxton, or you might not live to regret it.”
Braxton slowly turned and faced Nicholas, his expression dubious. “You can’t be serious, Bourne. I’ll not fight a man in his cups.”
“Why, because your honor won’t allow it?” Nicholas countered. “I’ve always thought it too convenient when cowardice masqueraded as honor.”
“Does he not have any friends with him?” Braxton asked the footman, who only shook his head in response. “I’ve no quarrel with you, Bourne. Let me find your brother. Perhaps he can talk some sense into you.”
Nicholas watched Braxton turn toward the door and begin to walk away. A sickening sense of urgency coursed through him. “Afraid, are you? Then run away. You’d only lose—but then, you clearly already knew that.”
The tinkling of crystal caught Nicholas’s attention. He looked over his shoulder and watched as the footman discreetly picked up a tray full of empty glasses and backed away.
“I don’t know that such precautions will be necessary, my good man,” Nicholas said loudly, resettling his gaze on Braxton. “It appears young Lord Maplethorpe will not be defending his honor today.”
Braxton stopped in the doorway and spun about. “I warned you, Bourne.”
Nicholas braced himself as the man stalked toward him.
“And you do know, after what you’ve said here in front of these witnesses, I could kill you and no one would question my actions,” Braxton added, folding one hand over the other and cracking his knuckles.
The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel Page 9
