Past the rushing in her ears, Cynthia heard the word “introduce” and watched all three of them turn toward her. She waited in vain for the ground to swallow her up—perhaps there was an underworld of plaster roots and hollows where she could hide for days—but the floor stayed solid beneath her.
Nick winked in support, and Cynthia forced herself to step forward and meet the trio in the middle of the room.
“Your Graces, may I present Miss Cynthia Merrithorpe of Oak Hall? Miss Merrithorpe, Her Grace, the Duchess of Somerhart, and His Grace, the Duke of Somerhart.”
Trying in vain to remember how deeply she was to curtsy, Cynthia sank as low as possible, as low as she would if presented to the queen. Her ugly boots stuck out beneath her skirts.
“Don’t fall over,” the duchess said. “Though I daresay that would make a story to laugh over in future meetings. Regardless, up you go.” A hand wrapped around her elbow and tugged her up.
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Merrithorpe,” she said, linking her arm through Cynthia’s. She turned them both to face the duke. “Smile at the girl, Hart. Then you can go back to scowling at Lancaster.”
“Charmed,” he offered, flashing a smile that showed the enchanting side of the devil.
“A pleasure, Your Grace,” she managed to say.
His smile fell away when the duke looked to Nick. “Well, Lancaster, lovely traveling companion aside, what brings you so unexpectedly to Somerhart?”
Nick offered his wide London grin. “I think the lady could use a refreshment before we delve into deeper subjects. Care to offer one?”
“Nick!” Cynthia gasped, horrified by his rudeness. He couldn’t quite smother a choked laugh, and when she glanced toward their hosts, she realized why. Both of them stared at her with raised eyebrows.
So much time had passed since she’d been in polite company. Months. There were rules to be observed. Important ones. Nick was Lord Lancaster to her here.
“I…”
Nick didn’t look horrified at least, but he took everything with such ease. “Miss Merrithorpe and I have known each other since she was in pantaloons. We are very nearly cousins.”
“Cousins, hm?” the duchess replied. “Then as Lancaster is very nearly family, we must treat you as a cousin, too, Miss Merrithorpe. How lovely.”
“When,” the duke snapped, “has he been anything even close to family?”
“Well, not your family, perhaps. Stiff stodges the whole lot of them. Excepting your sister, of course. And Aunt Augusta.”
“Why, thank you.” Despite his grumbling, the duke moved to the sideboard and poured four glasses of red wine. “All right then,” he murmured as he handed them out. “Civilized enough for you, Lancaster?”
“Nearly.”
“Sit then.”
They all took a seat near the low fire. The duke could not possibly have been expecting visitors. Cynthia could hardly fathom a household where fires burned in empty rooms.
“I’ve come to collect on my debt,” Nick announced without preamble.
Somerhart snorted. “You are the one who specializes in debt, not I.”
“You know what I mean.”
Somerhart inclined his head. The duchess murmured something about posturing, but both men ignored her.
“Miss Merrithorpe requires a discreet home for a few days.”
Those blue eyes cut toward her. “How so?”
Cynthia turned to Nick in alarm. What would he say? Why had they not discussed this beforehand?
“She reaches her majority in nine days.”
“I see.” What Somerhart saw clearly did not please him.
The duchess, however, brightened. “Are you fleeing a disastrous marriage?”
Cynthia’s whole body twitched with tension.
The duchess’s eyes brightened further. “Are you eloping with Lancaster?”
“No,” she answered, at the same moment Nick said, “We shall see.”
The duke’s eyebrow rose again. “I see. But I’m not sure my debt obliges me to suffer the wrath of an entire enraged family. Two families even. Or…” He looked to Nick. “Perhaps four.”
Four, Cynthia thought. Yes, that was exactly it. Four families ruined if they married. “Of course, Your Grace.” She stood, forcing the gentlemen to stand as well. “We should never have asked it.”
“We did not ask,” Nick interrupted. His London face disappeared, replaced by gravity. “I did. And family wrath or not, I’ll ask you to take her under your protection. The suitor in question is Lord Richmond.”
“Richmond,” the duchess gasped.
“I thought you might be familiar with his reputation.”
“Oh, at least,” she said. “He was one of my father’s dearest friends. If one believes that jackals have the capacity for friendship. A more despicable man I’ve never met.”
Cynthia’s face heated. She could feel the disgust in the room coalesce, as if it were something solid. Something she had brought here.
“Well, there’s no question then,” the duchess said. “You shall stay.”
Somerhart crossed his arms. “I suppose you must stay as well?”
Nick bowed with a little flourish. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”
The duchess stood and took Cynthia’s arm. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. And you must call me Emma, for it seems we are more like cousins than I suspected.”
Stunned by the quickness of the current she found herself in, Cynthia let herself be swept from the room. The men stayed where they were. She was to be discussed. She understood that. She only wished she knew what would be said.
“You can imagine my confusion,” Somerhart said as soon as the door closed behind the women. “Emma and I were just discussing our upcoming trip to London. For your wedding.”
“Ah. Confusion. Yes.”
“I take it you’ve broken your betrothal.”
“I’ll call on Miss Brandiss in person as soon as I return to London.”
“That won’t go over well. With her family or your creditors.”
“I’m aware.”
Somerhart took a seat and crossed his legs. “I was given to understand that Lord Richmond had become…incapacitated.”
“If you mean that someone castrated him, yes I’d heard that as well. I don’t know what he’s about with Cynthia. All accounts are that he’s no longer capable of fathering children, but perhaps they were wrong.”
Somerhart grimaced and took a hasty sip of wine.
“His man followed me here. I plan to send my carriage on in the morning to try to throw the scent. If you’d like me to go with it, I will.” Relief washed over him when Somerhart waved him off.
“I’ll not lose a second of sleep over the likes of Richmond. At worst, I can hold Miss Merrithorpe’s family off for nine days. No point in being a duke if one can’t abuse one’s power on occasion.”
Lancaster raised his glass in the man’s direction before downing it. “How is your accumulation of power proceeding? I knew about your railroads, but I’ve only recently heard talk of your shipping enterprise as well.”
Somerhart grunted. “Despite the dealings with parliament, I find the railroads simpler. The shipping…I swear these damned Americans expect to be seduced into a contract. The only person I’m interested in seducing is my wife.”
“What’s that?” Lancaster grinned. “They want you to be charming, Your Grace?”
“As if I have time for that,” the duke spat out in disgust.
“I could give you lessons.”
“Somehow I don’t think they’d take.”
Lancaster inclined his head in polite agreement.
“If you care to exercise your one remaining asset on someone else…We’ve a bit of a fete planned two days out. You’re welcome to join in and trot out your charm if you like. Emma’s invited the Osbournes and a few dozen of her favorite opponents.”
“Opponents?”
“At the tables. She misses gamb
ling, though she denies it. Claims she’s merely helping the stable hands learn math when she plays them for biscuits.”
“Oh, good Lord.” Lancaster laughed.
“I’ve never had enough patience for it, whether it’s biscuits or crowns I’m betting.”
As soon as Somerhart uttered the word crown, Lancaster forgot his amusement and sat forward. A gambling party. And Cynthia had 304 pounds that needed to be more. Perhaps the solution had just fallen into his lap.
“Thank you, Somerhart. I’d love to attend.”
Chapter 19
His feet swung slightly as if there were a breeze in the room, as if the rope were a child’s swing instead of a noose. The creaking of it filled his ears, but the sound spun farther away the longer he hung. His hands dropped from the rope.
“Nick.” He opened his eyes to find Cynthia standing in front of him, glaring up. “Did you hang yourself?”
Did she expect an answer? He pointed to the rope. I can’t speak.
“Well, you should be ashamed of yourself, Nicholas Cantry.”
So he should. Deeply, horrifyingly ashamed. He stared down at her, relieved that her face would be the last he saw.
But then a door opened behind her and Richmond entered, completely nude, hand cupping his bollocks. His skin was fish-belly pale, his gut soft and doughy, just as it had been ten years before. Lancaster watched in horror as Richmond, fully aroused, approached Cynthia from behind.
Lancaster kicked his legs, tried to raise an arm to point, but Cynthia just shook her head in disgust. Then Richmond dropped his hand and reached for Cynthia, blood dripping from his fingers. When Lancaster looked down to see the man’s bollocks were a mangled, torn mess, he opened his mouth in a silent scream.
“Nick!” Cynthia called again, rapping a little harder on the door.
The doors in this house were damned solid. A hint of a noise drifted through. A muffled curse. The faint rustle of bedclothes.
She knocked once more. “Nick, it’s almost time for dinner!”
She couldn’t go downstairs by herself. Her nerves were a jangling mess of wires and barbs. Guests had been arriving all day, and Cynthia had only just begun to relax into the idea of being in a duke’s home. Even after two days, she still jumped like a frightened mouse whenever His Grace entered a room. The duchess, however, no longer scared her at all. She was enticingly mysterious though, and Cynthia wondered what her guests would be like.
At the thought of the mill of lords and ladies she was about to face, Cyn raised her fist to knock again, but the door finally swung open.
“I take it you had a good nap?” The words were out of her mouth before she registered Nick’s pale face and sweat-damp brow. “Are you ill?”
“No. Just sleeping too soundly.”
“It’s nearly time for dinner.”
He rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. “I’d best dress then. Thank you for waking me.”
When the door began to close, Cynthia huffed and slipped past him into the room. “Nick, I’m terrified. I don’t think I should attend.”
He shut the door with an irritated snap, then leaned against it with his arms crossed. “Whatever are you talking about?” His teeth chattered a bit over the words.
“Perhaps you should get back into bed. Are you sure you’re well?” She started to reach a hand toward his brow, but changed her mind at the way he stiffened.
“I’m only chilled and I’d like to dress, so if you could excuse me…”
“Would you simply dress then? I have seen it all quite clearly before. Though not in the past few days, I might mention.”
He scowled at her as he passed. “Agree to marry me and I’ll agree to see to your needs again.”
“Arrogant cur,” she muttered. “And I would recommend against your taking naps. They seem to leave you in a foul mood.”
“After catching a glimpse of that portrait you started of Emma last night, I found myself incapable of sleep.”
“Lout.”
Ignoring her, he shucked off his robe and tossed it on the bed. Cynthia forgot her irritation, and lost herself in the sight of his naked back as he rifled through the wardrobe. His buttocks tensed and relaxed in a fascinating rhythm as he shifted and moved. His muscles created hollows that begged her fingers for a thorough study of the contours of his body. And his thighs looked so hard, nothing like hers. Solid muscle dusted lightly with fur. She’d never touched his thighs, but now her mouth watered with the lust to do so. Her sex melted.
But Nick’s uncooperative mood foiled her fantasy. He pulled a starched shirt over his head and the hem fell to cover him all the way to the tops of his thighs.
Cynthia sighed.
“Are you ogling me?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes.”
He tugged on trousers with a smirk, facing her fully as he buttoned them closed. “My. I do believe Somerhart’s a tad slimmer than I.”
“If I had an extra set of stays I’d let you borrow them.”
“Oh, I’ve got my own,” he said with a wink. “That’s why I wanted you to leave, damn you.” His eyes sparkled as he took a starched cravat from the wardrobe, and Cynthia’s stomach let go of its worry. He looked better. The sweat had dried and the blood had returned to his face.
His eyes dipped down her body. “You are breathtaking.”
“Really?” She ran a reverent hand down the deep gold silk of the dress. “You seemed to be breathing quite easily for a while there.”
“An illusion.” His gaze lingered on her décolletage. “I assure you I am quite weak.”
Cynthia raised her chin. “Your weakness would have been better served before you dressed.”
Winding the dark blue cravat around his neck, he kept his eyes on her. “I’m not sure you are entirely decent, Cyn. Even aside from the danger of a chest cold, I don’t like it at all.”
She glanced down to the rise of her breasts above the gown. She’d spent a good fifteen minutes studying them in her room. “Emma told me my breasts were perfection.”
“And so they are. Too much perfection.”
She tugged at the neckline. “Stop it! I am nervous enough without you making me feel like a cow past the milking hour!”
“Have mercy, Cyn,” he choked out before collapsing against the wardrobe in laughter.
She tugged again. “Is the dress inappropriate? Emma had it taken out just for me, and I’d hate to be ungracious, but I don’t think I should go. I won’t go.”
“Come now.” He walked toward her, ends of the cravat still hanging free. As he drew closer, she could see that the blue was darkened with stripes of coal black. She wished she knew how to tie a neck cloth so that she could fuss over him.
“Cynthia, you are beautiful. Too beautiful. And every man will fall in love with you tonight, and I shall be quite distraught.”
“I don’t think it wise to draw attention to myself. The duke has already stuck his neck out for me, and I can’t imagine why he would allow me to waltz about tonight as if nothing is wrong. Someone shall tell my stepfather and—”
“Your stepfather has already written.”
“What? Why did you not tell me?”
“You were out in the gardens with Emma.” He turned to the mirror and began to execute an elaborate knot that looked as if it took years of practice. She could not keep track of the turns and twists.
“Well, what did it say?”
“It was excruciatingly deferential, as I’m sure you can imagine. ‘I appreciate Your Grace’s unbounded good will in taking in a wayward young girl,’ and so on. Seems your stepfather would like to come and retrieve you at His Grace’s earliest convenience. I believe Somerhart responded that his household would be fully occupied with social activities until late next week.”
“Did he?” she chirped.
“And I don’t expect your stepfather has the wherewithal to impose himself uninvited on a prince of the realm, do you?”
She allowed herse
lf the hope of one small smile. “So this could work? It could honestly work?”
“It could.”
“And if we lose all the money at the tables? What then?”
“If I lose all the money at the tables…” Cravat forced into an elegant sculpture, Nick slipped on the black coat he’d borrowed from Somerhart. “Don’t worry. I will see you free of him.”
“What does that mean?” she pressed, more than a little distracted by the picture he presented. Here was the Nick who’d spent the past ten years among the highest reaches of the ton.
“Come.” He held out his arm with a wink. “Let’s away.”
She kept her hand at her side. “I am not like these people, Nick. You said so yourself.”
He touched her cheek, fingers spreading to cup her jaw. “You are better than these people, Cyn, and they will love you.” When he pressed his lips to hers, she stayed still and breathed him in. Their time together was rushing toward a close. She could feel the breeze it created in its passing. I love you, she thought. I love you.
But she only nodded silently and took his arm.
He was winning.
Lancaster looked at his pile of coin, slightly larger than it had been at the start of the evening.
He’d avoided the games of pure chance like hazard. He’d also rejected whist as it left him dependent on the judgment of a partner, and he simply wouldn’t leave Cyn’s future in the hands of an acquaintance. And in his final effort to turn luck in his direction, Lancaster had studiously avoided any table where the Duchess of Somerhart was playing. That woman was a miracle at the tables. A miracle for herself, at any rate. A curse for others.
But the game of vingt-et-un was serving him well. His holdings had increased to 550 already, though nervousness had made his mouth dry as a bone.
Lancaster collected his winnings and set off in search of a glass of watered whisky. A muzzy head would do him no good tonight.
Before he’d taken three steps, he spotted Cynthia smiling politely at Lord Osbourne. She didn’t look quite at ease, but less than abjectly terrified now. Thankfully, Emma had sat him across from Cynthia at dinner, but all his encouraging smiles hadn’t seemed much help. She’d looked ready to bolt at any moment. Or toss up her accounts.
One Week As Lovers Page 22
