Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord

by Sarah MacLean

  Nick told his brother precisely what he could do with that thought.

  Ralston leaned back in his chair. “I will say that anyone who has ever considered you the good-natured brother will be in for a surprise this evening.”

  Nick stood then, irrational anger flaring. “Then perhaps I shall leave and save you all the trouble of having to suffer my company.”

  “Sit down, you ridiculous ass.”

  Nick towered over his brother. “Call me that one more time.”

  Ralston made a show of calmly swirling the scotch in his glass. “I am not going to fight you in my study, in my formal-wear. Callie would have my head.”

  Ralston’s unmoved response took the wind from Nick.

  He sat again, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, scrubbing his face as though he could erase his frustration. When he looked up, Ralston was watching him with complete understanding. “She has done a number on you, brother.”

  It was the first time that Ralston had referenced Isabel outside of the short, clipped conversation during which Nick had announced his marriage, and Nick knew that he could ignore the words and his twin would allow him the space he needed.

  But he did not want to ignore them.

  He wanted to talk about her … as though the words could bring her closer.

  As though they could make her love him.

  He ignored the pain that flared at the words. “She is … incredible.”

  Ralston did not reply. He simply listened.

  Nick began to talk, more to himself than to his brother. “She has such strength in her, like no one I’ve ever known. When she believes in something, or when she fights for what is hers—she’s a queen. She is nothing like the women we know. If something needs doing, she does it.” He looked up at him. “The first time I kissed her, she was wearing breeches.”

  One side of Ralston’s mouth kicked up in a smile. “There is something about them in breeches.”

  “But there’s a softness to her, as well. A deep-rooted uncertainty that makes me want to protect her with everything I have.” Nick scrubbed his jaw with one hand as he thought of her. “And she’s so beautiful. With these brown eyes … eyes you could just lose yourself in …” He trailed off, thinking about her. Missing her.

  “You love her.”

  Nick met his twin’s knowing gaze. “More than I ever thought possible.”

  Ralston leaned back in his chair. “So why are you here, drinking scotch in my study?”

  “Because she doesn’t love me.”

  “Nonsense.” The word came fast and frank.

  Nick shook his head. “I appreciate your affront, Gabriel, but I assure you. Isabel does not love me.”

  “Of course she loves you,” he said imperiously, as though he could make it so simply by being the Marquess of Ralston.

  “She doesn’t.”

  “They always love us.”

  Nick gave a little huff of laughter at the pronouncement. “Yes, well, perhaps they always love you. However, this one does not love me.”

  “Well, then you must make her love you.”

  Nick shook his head again. “No. I am through with trying to make women love me. I’ve spent my entire life chasing after women who were decidedly not in love with me. I have learned my lesson.”

  Ralston leveled him with a frank look. “This is not chasing after some woman. This is your wife. Whom you do, in fact, love.”

  God, he did love her.

  He’d never felt anything like the pain that had exploded through him at her announcement that she had married him for duty and not for love, but that pain did not seem to diminish his feelings for her.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “She doesn’t need me.”

  Ralston smirked. “You are laboring under the mistaken impression that it is their job to need us. In my experience, it is almost always the other way around.” He checked his watch. “A wiser man than I once told me that if he’d been a royal ass and lost the only woman he’d ever really wanted, he’d get her to the nearest vicar and then get her with child.”

  Nick winced at the words, and the memory they brought with them. “I’ve already married her.”

  “Then you are halfway there.”

  A vision flashed of Isabel at her stone keep in the sunshine, surrounded by children. His children.

  Raw desire flared and Nick scowled. “I hate it when you are right.”

  Ralston grinned. “As I am rarely wrong, I imagine it is quite a problem for you.”

  Nick considered his options. They were married, for God’s sake. He could not stay away from her forever. Indeed, he did not want to stay away from her. He wanted to get on his horse and rush back to Yorkshire and grab her by the shoulders and shake her. And then he wanted to kidnap her to the old stone keep and make love to her until she took him back. And then he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

  If she could not love him now, perhaps, someday, she would learn to. But she would never love him if he stayed in London.

  He needed her.

  He looked up, determined. “I am going back to Yorkshire.”

  Ralston slapped one hand to his thigh. “Excellent!” he announced, standing. “But first, you must attend this damned ball, or my wife will never forgive me.”

  Nick stood, as well, feeling invigorated by his decision.

  He would go to the ball. And then he would go to his wife.

  “Nick!”

  Nick turned from the refreshment table, where he was pouring himself a lemonade and wishing it were a scotch, to find his sister-in-law bearing down on him.

  He made an elaborate bow. “Lady Ralston,” he intoned, “What a crush! What a success! You are certainly the greatest hostess of the ton.”

  Callie laughed and lowered her voice. “Do not let Lady Jersey hear you. She’ll never invite us to Almack’s then.”

  He raised a brow. “And that would be a terrible pity.”

  She smiled broadly. “I am happy to see you. Ralston told me you were in town, but little else.” Her smile disappeared. “How do you fare?”

  Nick considered Callie’s serious tone for a moment before saying, “It appears my brother told you plenty.” At Callie’s telling blush, he smiled. “I am much better now than I was a few hours ago.”

  Callie’s brows rose. “It is not the ball that turned you round? ”

  Nick laughed at the preposterousness of the statement. “No, my lady.”

  She joined him in laughter as his sister approached, a happy smile on her face. As he leaned down to place a kiss on the back of her hand, Juliana said, “I cannot believe I did not know you had returned to town! What kind of a brother does not seek out his sister immediatamente?”

  One side of Nick’s mouth kicked up at Juliana’s sprinkling of Italian. “A very bad one, indeed.”

  “You must come and visit us tomorrow, no?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot, I am afraid. I must leave town again at first light.”

  Juliana’s mouth made a perfect moue. “Whatever for? You have barely said hello!”

  He hedged, not willing to share news of his marriage with his unsubtle sister in such a public setting. “I have some extraordinarily important business to which I must attend,” he said, “but I assure you that you will be very, very happy with the results once my trip is complete.”

  “Well. I hope it involves a lavish present,” Juliana teased, her attention moving to a spot over Nick’s shoulder. “Callie, who is that? ”

  “Who?” Callie stood on her toes, following Juliana’s line of vision.

  “Shh!” Juliana waved a hand. “I want to hear her announced.”

  Nick rolled his eyes and reached for a quiche, barely registering that the two women were grinning like idiots.

  “Lady Nicholas St. John.”

  A hush came over the crowd and Nick froze. Surely he had misheard. He turned slowly toward the stairway leading down into the gardens,
where guests were entering the ball.

  There, resplendent in the most stunning scarlet gown he had ever seen, stood Isabel.

  What was she doing here?

  He could not take his eyes from her; there was a small part of him that thought that perhaps he had conjured her up. That she was not actually here. In London. In his brother’s garden.

  Juliana poked him in the side with one long, bony finger. “Nick. Do not be un idiota. Can you not see she is terrified? You must go to her.”

  The words unstuck him, and he was moving toward his wife, first walking, only to find that that was taking entirely too long. And so he began to run. Which was almost certain to cause a scandal, but he did not really care. He would apologize to Callie later.

  Because all he wanted to do was reach Isabel.

  And touch her.

  And confirm that he was not, in fact, mad. That she was really there. That she had really come for him.

  There was a benefit to running through a ball; a shocked crowd tended to move out of one’s way, and he was at the foot of the stairway in seconds, bounding up the stairs to meet her. She watched him the whole way, her brown eyes wide with nervousness and surprise and excitement and something that he dared not name.

  Once there, mere inches from her, he stopped, drinking his fill of her.

  He watched as she took a deep breath, her breasts rising beautifully beneath the edge of the flowing silk gown she wore. “My lord.” She dropped into a deep curtsy and whispered, “I have missed you.”

  When she finally met his gaze, he saw the truth of her words. “I have missed you, as well.” He reached for her, but before he could touch her, a firm, pointed throat clearing stayed his movement. “Nicholas,” Gabriel said from nearby, his words quiet but clear, “perhaps you should escort your wife inside? ”

  Isabel blushed and looked down, away from the crowd staring up at them with unabashed curiosity. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her and said, “Yes, of course. My lady?”

  They entered the house, unspeaking, moving past a line of curious guests waiting to be announced and who would certainly be disappointed that they had missed what was surely the most exciting portion of the evening.

  Pulling her into the first room they reached, he closed the door behind them and threw the lock to ensure their privacy. They were in the library, a single candelabrum burning from the fireplace mantel.

  He guided her into the pool of light and kissed her, hard and desperate for the taste of her—the feel of her—which he had gone too long without. He ate at her mouth, stealing her breath. She met him stroke for stroke, caress for caress, and when she sighed her pleasure he groaned his. After long, intense moments, his lips gentled, and he softened the kiss, stroking her bottom lip with his tongue, ending the moment in an infinitely softer way than it had begun.

  He put his forehead to hers and said, “Hello.”

  She smiled, shy. “Hello.”

  “God, I missed you. I missed the feel of you. I missed the smell of you … all orange blossoms and Isabel. But more than that, I missed you.”

  She touched his lips, stemming the flow of words. “Nick,” she whispered. And in the one word was an ocean of healing.

  “You came to London.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been here? “ “Three days.”

  Three days and no one had told him. “Gabriel will pay for keeping this from me.”

  “I begged him not to tell you. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be beautiful for you.”

  He shook his head. “You are always beautiful for me.” She dipped her head, and he lifted her chin with one finger. “Always, Isabel. In mourning, in breeches, in silk … in nothing at all. You are always beautiful for me.”

  “There is something I must say.” She paused, and he waited. Finally, she took a deep, steadying breath. “I love you.”

  He closed his eyes at the words, words he had so desperately wanted to hear. When he opened them, she was watching him, nervous. “You don’t have to say that.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes. I do.”

  He shook his head. “No, love. You do not.”

  She took a step back, her voice firm and unwavering. “Nicholas St. John. Hear me. I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. I loved you the day of our wedding. And the day before that. And the day before that. I said what I said because I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you would leave me someday, and I would be sad and alone and heartbroken because you were not with me.”

  Tears welled at the words, and she dashed them away as she continued. “But not telling you that I loved you did not make me love you any less. And you left anyway. And I was sad and alone and heartbroken. So I came here. Because I cannot survive without you knowing that I love you. Because I never want you to think that you are less than what you are. Which is a man who deserves someone far, far better than me.”

  She stopped, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by emotion. She met his gaze, and there, in the depths of his blue eyes, she saw the Nick she thought she’d lost in her bedchamber with her silly words. She did not know what to say to win him back. And so she said the words that were in her heart. “I came to London to tell you that I love you. Please. You must believe me.”

  He stepped toward her, one finger lifting her chin, tilting her face up to his, and said what was in his heart. “I will never leave you again, Isabel. I am so very sorry that I did. I was coming back. I swear it.” The kiss he settled on her lips was soft and stunning, and it echoed the promise in his words.

  Tears came again when he lifted his head. “You left before I could fix it.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I know. I am sorry.”

  She spoke, her words muffled against his chest. “I wanted to fix it, Nick.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought you might have decided that you do not love me anymore.”

  He pulled back to meet her worried eyes. “No, Isabel. By God, I love you more now than ever before.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “Good. I considered sending Voluptas as a peace offering, but she is too heavy.”

  He smiled. “I much prefer to receive the real thing.” He kissed her again, stroking deep until they were both breathing heavily. When they stopped, Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck and he passed a wicked look over her. “This gown is incredible.”

  “Do you like it?” She stretched against him, catlike, and he groaned.

  “Where did it come from?” He spoke the words at the place where her neck and shoulder met.

  “Callie had her dressmaker send it over. I had only one request.”

  He was kissing across the tops of her breasts. “Mmm?”

  She sighed as his thumbs found her nipples beneath the fabric. “That it be red.”

  He lifted his head, passion in his gaze. “It is gorgeous. I should like to remove it from your person so that I can better admire it.”

  She giggled at his teasing. “No, Nick. We must go back to the ball. We’ve already caused an incredible scene.” She gasped, pulling away. “Do you think Callie will ever forgive us? We’ve ruined her ball!”

  Nick laughed at her concern. “Isabel, if I know one thing about my sister-in-law, it is that she will be eternally grateful to us for causing such a scene at her ball. It will set the standard for all future parties at Ralston House, Lord save my brother.” He brushed a loose curl back from her cheek. “But if you want to return to the ball, we shall return to the ball.”

  She gave him a little smile. “I confess, I would like to return to the ball, my love. For two reasons, not the least of which is that I should like to dance with my husband.”

  “Now that is a very good idea.” His eyes darkened. “I should like very much for everyone to see me dance with my wife.”

  With one final, clandestine kiss, they made their way back through the corridors and out onto the terrace, where scores of eyes immediatel
y found them.

  Isabel squeezed Nick’s hand. “They’re all watching.”

  He lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles through the silk of her glove before leaning over to whisper, “They are all attempting to calculate the length of time we were indoors.”

  She turned confused eyes on him. “Whatever for?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  She gasped, covering her laughter with one hand. “No!”

  He laughed, and she caught her breath at how handsome he was. He was hers. Just as she was his.

  They descended the stairs to the back garden, hands entwined when someone called out to them. “St. John!”

  Nick stopped, pulling Isabel close as a man approached. He was tall and lean and very handsome, his coat perfectly cut and his boots perfectly shined. He carried a silver-tipped walking stick and moved with a casual affect almost certainly designed to keep those around him from considering him more than a well-heeled dandy.

  He stopped in front of them and Nick squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Densmore.”

  Isabel’s eyes widened. This was Densmore? This handsome, exceptionally well-tailored man with a silly smile was the Densmore about whom they had been so worried?

  Densmore gave a short bow, turning to Isabel. “I say, Lady Isabel—”

  It hadn’t taken long for her identity to ripple through the crowd. Her sisters-in-law had worked quickly.

  “Nicholas.” Isabel corrected him.

  “I beg your pardon? ”

  “If you are addressing me, my lord, I believe the moniker you seek is Lady Nicholas.” She could feel Nick’s approval washing over her.

  Densmore looked from husband to wife, a wide smile on his face. “I was sure they were bamming me. But you are married.”

  Ah, yes. Her father’s friend, indeed.

  Isabel smiled her most brilliant smile. “I assure you that I am not bamming you.”

  Nick shook his head in mock seriousness. “My wife does not bam, Densmore.”

  “Well, at least, not strangers,” she added, noticing her husband’s dimple flash.