He shook his arm out, but still smiled that maddening grin of his. “It’s a pity you’ve had to make do without an opponent in my absence. I’m sure Aunt Margaret and Malcolm would be happy to help you find one, should they learn of your early morning exercise.”
She knew very well he was teasing, but still she lifted her tip toward his neck. “You wouldn’t dare say a word, since you are the sole reason I have taken to fencing. Feeble-minded female that I am, I was easily led astray by my dear, trusted cousin.”
He snorted, stepping back at the same moment to deflect her foil. “If you’re feeble-minded, then I’m a weakling. And we both know that’s not true,” he said, purposely bullying his way toward her with hard, fast slashes of his blade.
Not true, indeed. Even as she concentrated on defending herself, her gaze darted toward him of its own volition, catching glimpses of his hardened chest through his loose, open-necked shirt. His sleeves covered muscled forearms that she knew would be flexing this way and that, and his biceps strained against the fabric despite its generous cut. Awareness washed over her, peppering her skin with goose bumps. Good heavens, he must be as strong as an ox now.
She bit her lip, forcing her mind back to their volleys, both verbal and physical. “You know Uncle Robert would never believe otherwise.” Her words came out in staccato puffs as she struggled to hold her ground.
“Because the man’s an idiot.”
The comment caught her off guard, making her grin. He immediately took advantage, surging forward with a volley that forced her backwards, pinning her against one of the tumbledown half-walls that once delineated the abbey’s courtyard. Drat it all—how had he gotten the upper hand so quickly? Her breath came out in a rush as he leaned against her; the X of their crossed foils the only thing preventing his chest from pressing against hers. She went a little lightheaded at the thought.
The crisp scent of sweat and soap surrounded her as his lips lifted in a slow, smug smile. “You’ve gone soft,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That was entirely too easy.”
Oh, no—there was no way on earth she would allow him to win this, their first battle in so long. Especially when her whole body seemed to be betraying her. Her nerves tingled at his closeness, her lungs willfully drawing in the scent of him. Forcing herself to relax, she offered a contrite smile. “I suppose I’m out of practice. Take your pound of flesh and be done with it.”
She turned her cheek, waiting for him to lean forward for the kiss he had long claimed as his prize of choice. Just another way to remind her of how he had bested her in their first meeting.
He bent forward, his green eyes alight with mischief. She held her breath, working to maintain the focus that wavered at his nearness. Just when she was about to spring, at the very moment her muscles tensed to counter attack, he stopped, tsking. “If you think,” he said quietly, his lips only inches from her flushed cheek, “that I would believe for a second you would just roll over and let me win, you have underestimated me, cousin.”
Smarter than she had hoped. Fighting to regain her flagging resolve in the face of his overwhelming closeness, she shrugged. “Then prepare yourself.”
With every ounce of her strength, she launched herself on the offensive, forcing him away and whipping her foil up between them.
He mirrored her position, his hand held out behind him with his legs evenly planted on the rocky ground. “See? Not feeble-minded in the least. Stubborn, willful, and scandalous, but never feeble-minded.”
They engaged once more, the clanging of their swords carrying across the dew-laden field. “I am not scandalous, thank you very much.”
He blocked her jab and countered with one of his own, but she saw it coming and danced back just in time.
“But stubborn and willful?”
She smiled. “A woman never argues with a compliment.”
Chuckling, he dodged her strike and repositioned himself. “That explains so very much.”
“Good. And a woman unwed is not scandalous. She is independent.” The fierceness with which she said the words felt good. The match was helping to give her back a bit of her confidence. Being with him somehow made her feel stronger.
He widened his eyes dramatically, gasping in mock disbelief. “Independence is so much worse than scandal. Malcolm would be in vapors to hear you speak thusly.”
Standing in the middle of the ruins, dressed in wholly improper clothes and clutching a sword of all things, she couldn’t help but laugh. Lowering her foil, she put her free hand to her waist. “Look at me, Nick. I do believe independence would be the least of his objections were he to see me right now.”
She hadn’t meant it literally, but still his gaze swept over her, taking in her flowing, wide-legged trousers and sturdy, well-fitting long-sleeve blouse made of padded linen. It was impossible to miss the flash of appreciation in his celadon eyes. The oddest tug answered low in her belly, as though gravity had released her for a moment. Or perhaps it was reason leaving her body.
He tipped his head to the side. “Point conceded.”
Purposely looking away, she tucked her foil beneath her arm and tugged off her thick gloves. “Speaking of which, it’s getting late. I’d best get back before I’m missed.”
“Too late.”
She frowned, glancing to the first pink fingers of dawn stretching into the sky, heralding the start of the day. “Not at all. I have a good quarter hour before sunrise.”
Leaning his sword against the abbey wall, he stepped toward her, shaking his head. “No, I don’t mean you will be missed. I mean you have been missed.”
Her heart skittered as he extended his hand to her. Why was she acting such the fool around him? He was treating her exactly as he always had—since they were children, in fact—yet everything seemed to hold a different meaning. She was reacting to him as though he hadn’t spent the first decade of their acquaintance driving her mad.
When she didn’t move, he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You’d be amazed what you’ll miss when your only companions are a few hundred under-washed, stir crazy soldiers.”
Resolutely, she shoved aside the strange feelings, and accepted his proffered hand. “Yes, well, I suppose I may have missed you as well. You do serve as quite the magnet for Uncle Robert’s temper, which I inadvertently benefit from. At the very least, I’m glad you didn’t get yourself killed on some Godforsaken battlefield.”
“Careful cousin—a man can begin to think you actually care for him, with such gushing concern.” He winked before tugging her into an easy, one-armed embrace. The hard wall of muscled side was a far, far cry from the slim, lanky build she always associated with him. With his free hand, he gripped her chin in a firm hold and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek.
To her shock, heat seared her skin, and she had to force herself to breathe normally. Still, she did exactly what she always had, making a show of scrubbing at her cheek with her sleeve, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Ugh—must you insist on accosting me?”
Her tone was as light as always, his expression every bit as teasing. It was a scene they had engaged in for years. So why, oh why did she feel as though she was meeting him for the first time?
“Off you go, Ellie. No sense risking trouble merely to bask in the glory of my company a few moments longer.”
She’d do very well to remember that.
Chapter Four
WHEN NICK HAD PUSHED HIMSELF in his bid to make it home as soon as possible, it most certainly was not so he could find himself stuck in the midst of a house party. Yet, as he scanned the twenty or so guests mingling beneath the glittering chandeliers of the Manor’s impressive drawing room, he resigned himself to exactly that fate.
He cut his gaze to where Eleanor stood beside Malcolm, a smile fixed on her full lips as she greeted Lord Netherby. The man had gained at least two stone since the last time Nick had seen him, though apparently he was still attempting to fit into the same clothes. His expression was that of one in
specting a horse at Tattersall’s as his eyes freely roamed Eleanor’s figure.
Lecherous old codger. Would it be bad form to grab the man by his too-small jacket and toss him out on his ear? It didn’t help that Eleanor had changed into a perfectly fitted white and turquoise gown that suited her coloring just so. Never mind the other young women peppering the room—she stood out as the Incomparable she was.
She could have easily taken the ton by storm, had she decided to do so. Though he hated how she had come about her feelings on matrimony, he was glad for them nonetheless. It was the only thing that kept the jealousy at bay as she turned to greet yet another male guest.
In contrast to her polite but distant facade, Malcolm was thoroughly enjoying himself. Every time he moved on to another guest, he guided Eleanor around like a dog on a lead, his hand firmly grasping her upper arm.
Nick took a sip of wine, continuing his surveillance over the rim of the glass. His stepfather’s domineering ways didn’t surprise him, but Eleanor’s continued passivity did. She hardly looked like the same person he had met at the ruins earlier. In the morning gloom, she had stood straight, tall, and proud. He hated seeing her inner light squelched by Malcolm now. For a moment he considered intervening, but it would probably only serve to annoy her.
“Nicky, darling,” his mother said from behind him, “I must introduce you to Miss Landon.”
Suppressing a sigh, he turned and nodded to his mother. She was arm in arm with a pretty young blonde girl who smiled up at him with a shy smile.
“Miss Landon, allow me to introduce to you my son, Mr. Nicolas Norton. He is an officer in the militia, and he has only just returned yesterday after an extended absence. We are so thrilled to have him home safe.”
Nick bowed as the girl curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Landon.”
A delicate pink blush touched the apples of her cheeks. “We’ve met before, Mr. Norton, though I doubt you would remember it. I was but a girl, and you were home from Cambridge for a few weeks.”
She looked to be ‘but a girl’ still, with rounded freckled cheeks and wide blue eyes. Though he would have sworn he didn’t know her from Eve, he smiled politely and said, “Well, it is good to see you all grown up.”
Mother patted her arm. “I had forgotten all about that. You’ve some catching up to do, then. Why don’t the two of you talk—I see Lord Henry is in want of conversation.” With a none-too-subtle wink at Nick, she floated away, waving her fingers at the widowed earl.
“Is this your first house party, then?” Nick asked, struggling to keep his attention on the girl when Eleanor was visible just over her shoulder.
“Indeed, sir.” She glanced around the room, surreptitiously taking in the other guests. “I must say, I’m feeling a bit out of place.”
“What, you don’t normally fraternize with old, yet politically important, men?”
Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she ducked her head. “I can scarce believe you said that,” she said, biting her lip against laughter. “I was referring to how very sophisticated everyone is—men and women.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Sophisticated is just another word for old and boring. Though I will grant there are a few exceptions here tonight. Not many, but some.”
She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, do stop, Mr. Norton. My mother would have my head if she overheard this conversation.”
“Ah, but that is the beauty of a house party, Miss Landon. With my mother agreeing to be your chaperone, you are as good as free to do whatever you like.”
They both glanced at his mother, who was lifting a wine glass from a passing tray as she stood entirely too close to Henry.
“Regardless, I’m much too terrified of incurring my mother’s wrath to make even the smallest faux pas. It’s a long time until the Season—I’d rather not spend it listening to her lectures on propriety.”
“I’d be more worried about impropriety when you are with Nicolas, Miss Landon.” Eleanor, apparently having broken free of her jailor, grinned at the girl. “He can be quite the trouble-maker.”
“Noted, Miss Abbington,” she answered, returning the smile. “Mr. Norton, you must be on your best behavior around me.”
Nick offered the pair of them his most rakish look, making Miss Landon giggle and Eleanor roll her eyes.
“It shan’t work, Nick. Miss Landon is a friend, and I will not allow her to be fooled into believing you are the consummate gentlemen.”
It was a relief to see a spark of mischief glinting in her eyes. He affected his most solemn expression, shaking his head. “Have no fear, Miss Landon. I am a reformed man, courtesy of the army. If Eleanor wasn’t so busy playing the part of the social butterfly, she might have noticed what an utterly charming and devoted companion I am tonight. Isn’t that so?”
The girl went along with his teasing, nodding. “Yes, utterly.
Eleanor arched a dark eyebrow, “Somehow I’m not convinced. I suppose I shall have to take your very dubious word for it, since I’m much too busy to keep an eye on you this evening.”
Spreading his arms, he let a wicked grin turn up the corners of his mouth. “And yet, here you are.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Malcolm interrupted, sidling between Nick and Eleanor. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I must steal Eleanor away. There are many who wish to speak with you, my dear.”
The mere sound of his stepfather’s voice put Nick’s teeth on edge. Why was he acting as though Eleanor was his to command tonight?
Returning his stepfather’s false smile in spades, Nick said, “Yes, including Miss Landon and myself. I’m certain the others will expect her to mingle with everyone present, and we wouldn’t want Miss Landon to be neglected.”
It was only because he was watching that he caught the flash of surprise in Eleanor’s eyes. Before he could interpret whether she was pleased or not by his interference, Eleanor pasted the artificial smile back in place and raised her gaze to meet his. “Uncle Robert’s right, I should return to my duties. But it is so lovely to have you with us, Miss Landon. I do hope Nicolas will find it within him to be good company for you.”
Nick had to work to keep his expression neutral. What the devil had gotten into her lately? Why was she being so damned biddable? She may look perfectly content to others, but he knew her too well. He could see her strain in the way she held her mouth, and the dullness of her normally luminous brown eyes.
It made him want to shake her, to make her confide in him. Had her mother’s death changed her so much, or was it something else?
Pulling Eleanor away from them, Malcolm said, “I’m quite certain Norton can provide all the entertainment Miss Landon could hope for.” With a slight bow, he headed for Lord Shevington, pulling Eleanor along with him. Nick couldn’t help but be put in mind of a sacrificial lamb.
“Well, that was a bit awkward,” Miss Landon said, biting her lip as she looked after Eleanor.
“Indeed,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes in thought. Did Malcolm think he could use Ellie as some sort of pawn? He took a good hard look around the room. There were an inordinate number of members of the House of Lords present—several of whom were unmarried. There was no disguising the fact that this house party was meant to strengthen political bonds.
A thought occurred to him, one so distasteful he nearly crushed the stemware in his hand before he realized what he was doing. Did Malcolm have visions of marrying her off to one of these overly dry, mostly older men? Nick had no doubt that if his stepfather couldn’t get by on his politics, he’d use whatever weapon he had in his arsenal to get what he wanted.
And Nick would be damned if he’d let Eleanor be the man’s ammunition.
WITH A BLAND SMILE FIRMLY IN PLACE, Eleanor pretended to listen as Lord Shevington droned on about his hunting trip to Scotland last month. She couldn’t have cared less about the details of the hunt, but she was determined to appear to Uncle Robert that she was abiding by his ultimatum.
The very thought of his words poisoned her mood, and she swallowed against the lump that lodged in her throat. It had been over a day since Uncle Robert had thrown down the gauntlet, and absolutely no alternative had presented itself, no matter how much she tried to think of one.
She could refuse, make a fuss, cause a scandal—but all of them seemed to come back to her sister paying the price. Libby deserved a Season, blast it. More than that, she deserved the chance to decide her own future.
By God, Eleanor wouldn’t let her uncle steal that from her.
Laughter from across the room caught her attention, and she glanced to where Nick stood with Miss Landon and Lady Blackwell. Her brittle smile softened just a bit. It had been the highlight of her night when he had attempted to free her from her uncle’s control.
Or was it just that he enjoyed being contrary to his stepfather? That was more likely the case, but still, she appreciated the effort.
“Don’t you agree Miss Abbington?” Shevington blinked at her expectantly, his old-fashioned whiskers making him look like a squirrel begging for a nut.
“Of course,” she said with conviction, having no idea to what she was agreeing. Whatever it was, it made the man smile and carry on.
Sneaking a glance in Nicolas’s direction again, she was struck with an unexpected pang in the vicinity of her ribs as Miss Landon giggled at something he said. It was the oddest sensation—she’d never once felt jealously where Nick was concerned. He was a pest; surely she was just envious of their freedom. It had nothing to do with the brief touch of Miss Landon’s fingers to his sleeve, or the way he tilted his head toward her when he spoke.
Ugh—she had to get a hold of herself. This was Nick! The bane of her existence, her competitor, her own personal tag-along tormentor. Clearly Uncle Robert’s demands had addled her brain.
Speaking of which, she should be paying more attention to Shevington. A low burn deep in her chest nagged at her, threatening to turn to full-blown panic. The men she had met so far tonight either were old enough be her father, or worse—reminded her of him. Polished manners, polite smiles, but with a certain arrogant authority about them that could easily translate to overt possessiveness or unreasonable rage.
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