A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series) (7 page)

“Far enough to turn an ankle. Better to do it my way. Never fear, I shall catch you.”

“I do not doubt you, but what if someone was to see us?”

“No-one will see us,” he replied smiling. “What are you so afraid of?”

Louisa’s heart seemed to skip over itself. She remembered when Malvern had caught them at Vauxhall Gardens and her mouth went dry. But Malvern was not here. “Nothing,” she said.

“Then come down to me,” he said holding out his arms. “I promise I shan’t let you fall.”

Louisa looked around for a means of escape and saw none but the gentleman smiling gently up at her. The warm breeze tugged at his shirt, laying the material flat against the muscles of his arms, ruffling the hair on his head, pulling at the rose he had hooked through the top button-hole of his waistcoat.

“Louisa,” he said. “Will you not trust me?”

She looked down at him and saw a mixture of humour and entreaty and frank admiration in his gaze. Throwing caution to the wind she eased herself forward, the bark grazing the backs of her thighs as she slid off the branch. His hands grasped her waist and he lightly swung her down until her feet almost touched the ground. Almost. He held her a moment, her toes in mid air, her breast against his, her heart hammering so hard she thought that he must feel it through their clothes. Her gaze seemed caught in his. She could not free it no matter how hard she tried to pull it away.

“Louisa,” he whispered. “Have you any notion how beautiful you are?”

She blushed in riotous confusion. The kitten mewled from his nest in Mr Ashworth’s coat.

“The kitten, sir, I think he must be hungry.”

“I am sure he is,” Nicholas murmured.

“I should return him to his mother.”

“All in good time.”

“Your poor coat, sir, I fear it is ruined.”

“And yet, strangely I do not care. What else will you think of, I wonder, to stall the inevitable?”

“I think you should let me go, sir.”

“And why would I do a silly thing like that?”

“Because it is improper to hold me so.”

“Even though you like it?” he asked.

“What makes you think that I like it?” she returned loftily, her eyes almost meeting his.

“Because you are trembling. And I think that if I kissed you…”

She swallowed hard, her eyes shyly meeting his. “And
are
you going to kiss me?”

“I was going to kiss you the minute I saw you stuck up that tree,” he replied and did so. He kissed her gently and almost as soon pulled his mouth away and Louisa was prey to a stab of disappointment. His arms held her close then and he placed his chin atop her head. Perhaps he would kiss her properly once they were married. She sighed contentedly and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

“Whenever you are with me everything seems so simple,” she said into his cravat. “It is when I am alone that I begin to have doubts. I don’t mean to but I just can’t help it.”

“Doubts about what?”

“You. Me. Malvern. Everything.”

“
Malvern
?” Nicholas ejaculated, pulling away slightly. “What on earth has he to say to this?”

“A great deal,” she responded, laying her hands against his chest. “My whole family wants me to wed him. His family too. It is expected of me.”

“I don’t give a stuff for that…” he said crossly. “You don’t, do you?”

“I don’t know.”

He took her by the shoulders and looked intently into her face. “Do you love me, Louisa?”

“Oh yes! At least I
think
I do,” she added thoughtfully in less than flattering accents, “but Mama says I am too young to think of love affairs. She wants me to make a good match first and then says I am to have affairs when I am older.”

Nicholas shuddered visibly at the thought. “You shall not. I won’t let you.”

“But it wouldn’t be so
very
bad, I suppose. Malvern is quite a good match besides being rather handsome and such a kind, considerate man―”

“Malvern isn’t just a good match,” he said grimly. “He’s the
best
match. They don’t call him
the Nonpareil
for nothing. Short of Prinny himself, you could not do better for yourself. And what am I? A poor country bumpkin who has acquired nothing but a little town bronze.”

“Oh no, Nicholas, you are a
gentleman
.”

He flung away from her. “A gentleman.” He laughed scornfully. “How can I compete with him? I have no title, no estate; I do not even have my brother’s purse with which to bribe your father.”

“What are we to do?”

“What can we do?” he asked disconsolately. “There’s nothing for it, I shall have to go to India as my brother did to make my fortune.”

“
India
?” Louisa clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh no!”

“I daresay I shall be gone these ten years or more.”

“
Ten
years?” she whispered.

“It would not be so very bad. I should write often. Would you wait for me, love?”

She swallowed. “Ten years. But I shall be one and thirty and quite…quite an old maid. Oh I cannot even think it. Are you certain it would have to be ten years? Would five not suffice?”

“Seven at the earliest.” He laughed and took her into his arms once more. “There now, don’t look so forlorn, I am not going to India. I have little appetite for sweltering heat and none at all for business.”

Louisa was relieved. “What shall you do then?”

“I might work for the foreign office―I have a friend who might be able to put in a good word for me,” he suggested, contemplating a distant patch of daisies.

“To be sure I would like it if
you
were happy, but it does sound a trifle dull.”

“Well, yes, I own that is not
precisely
what I would like. But a second son, you know, has few options. I might become a curate…now don’t laugh. What pray is so funny about that?”

“
You
making sermons. Of all the most nonsensical notions,” she said, giggling.

He grinned. “Are you implying that I am so dissolute that I have no moral compass?” he asked, pretending to be offended.

“No, but you must own that it would be a trifle odd to have you prosing on to your parishioners about living a good Christian life while you were yourself gambling in to the small hours. I do not think you would make a very convincing curate, Nicky.”

“Well of all the shabby things to say! I am quite offended.”

She dimpled. “I think you would look just the thing in a red coat.”

His eyes shone. “Do you think so? Or the Hussars perhaps?”

“Very handsome.”

“I will speak to my brother directly, if you wish it. The uniform would certainly cut a dash… Although if I were to get posted abroad, which I very likely would be, I should be away from you a good deal. And then there is the unavoidable issue of getting shot at. And that, my love, is not agreeable at all. It would make a terrible mess of the uniform
and
me.”

They both fell silent for a moment, contemplating this gloomy picture.

“Well, we do not need to decide now. There is plenty of time. We shall be secretly betrothed in a very romantic way until I can figure out what is best to be done.”

“But we don’t have any time at all,” cried Louisa. “Malvern is coming tomorrow. And I can’t face him. I won’t!”

“Malvern? Here? Good God, what for?”

“Your brother invited him to stay with him at Stoneacre and he is to dine with us.”

Nicholas swore under his breath. “What in God’s name is Marcus playing at? He promised me―oh but never mind about that now. There is nothing for it; we shall have to run away together.”

Louisa laughed incredulously. “You are not serious?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to deliberately ruin myself? Papa would never forgive me.”

“What other choice do we have? Would you rather elope to Gretna Green?”

Louisa pulled away from him, paling at the thought. “Then I really would be ruined. I could not do that to my family. Pray don’t ask it of me.”

“Then I shall speak with my brother this minute. Meet me here tomorrow. Tell no-one and come alone.”

Louisa nodded as he kissed her swiftly on the lips and took himself off. She put her fingers to her mouth savouring the memory of his kiss.

* * *

Mr Ashworth was in shirtsleeves, engaged in dressing for dinner, when his brother sauntered into his bedchamber at his home at Stoneacre and threw himself down upon the bed.

“Where the devil have you been?” demanded Nicholas impatiently. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Mr Ashworth raised a brow, observed the young man in silence for a moment, and said, turning his attention back to his neckcloth, “It’s good to see you too.”

Nicholas missed the sarcasm. “I have something particular I wish to say to you.”

“Clearly. To what do we owe the honour? Have you been dunned out of London already?” asked the master of the house as his eyes lifted from the mirror, a flicker of warmth in the expression that rested fleetingly upon his brother.

Nicholas could not hide his irritation and scowled. “I am not here for money.”

“I didn’t suppose anything of the sort,” replied Mr Ashworth coolly, returning his attention to the matter at hand. “I am surprised to see you here, that’s all.”

“I thought you said I could stay whenever I wished it.”

“I did.”

“Well I wish it,” said Nicholas shortly.

Mr Ashworth bowed slightly. “Then you are welcome.”

Nicholas leaned back on the bed, propped up on his elbows, watching with vague disapproval as his brother negotiated the creation of a fold in his cravat with quick, impatient fingers. “Marcus wait, you can’t squash it all under your chin like that! Good Lord, it’s a travesty! And only one fold? Thank God the Beau cannot see you! He has quite twenty neckcloths at the ready in case he should make any mistake, you know.”

“More fool him,” muttered Mr Ashworth.

“What style are you copying anyway?”

“None,” replied his brother as he reached for his coat.

“None? But you must have been attempting
some
style or other, surely?”

“Er yes―it’s of my own creation. I call it
The No-Nonsense
.”

“You would!” retorted Nicholas, goaded. “But only
one
fold Marcus, it’s not at all the thing, you know―I can show you the Waterfall, I think you would look quite the gentleman―”

“Content yourself with the fact that I have dressed for dinner at all; that’s about as far as I go.”

“Who made your coat?” asked Nicholas, eyeing his brother as he shrugged his shoulders into it.

“Strauss.”

“
Strauss
?” repeated Nicholas, wrinkling his nose with distaste. “And who pray is he?”

“He trades in Netherby. He used to work in London before he had a difference of opinion over the setting of a sleeve or some such nonsense and set up shop not two hundred yards from
The Boar
. I think he has done a fine job.”