Royal Regard (23 page)

Nick repeated, “I’m sure I haven’t—”

“You needn’t deny your attraction, Sir, nor
hers. I am not the only person who has seen it. The king himself
has noticed.”

Nick felt himself blushing, possibly for the
first time in his adult life, so he played for time, forcefully
demanding, “If we are to continue in this vein, Huntleigh, I
absolutely insist you call me Wellbridge.”

Huntleigh nodded. “I also know,
Wellbridge
, you have no need of her inheritance from me, and
can be counted on to manage it for her benefit. I expect it will
not be difficult to arrange a proper settlement.”

Nick coughed again, then said, weakly,
“Should it come to that, I’m sure it will not be difficult.”

He stood and walked to his desk, which
allowed him to face away to collect himself, if it were even
possible. He wished he had taken up snuff when he was younger, or
pipe-smoking, or cheroots, or some other vice that might provide a
distraction. He wished he had gone to Ireland as soon as he had
received the correspondence from his agent. He wished it weren’t
half-nine in the morning, so he could have a glass of brandy.

“Would you care for a glass of brandy,
Huntleigh?”

Huntleigh’s laugh was very nearly a wheeze.
“No, Wellbridge, none for me, but you may wish to drink mine,
too.”

Nick nodded and strode to the decanters as
though he had a purpose. The Irish crystal decanter pinged against
the matching tumbler, both probably made near Rathemore. He poured
a short drink with a trembling hand while Huntleigh continued the
most ridiculous line of reasoning Nick had ever heard.

“As I believe romantic love requisite for her
happiness, your salacious intentions alone are not sufficient to my
purpose.”

Nick swallowed the brandy and poured another,
not so short this time, managing to leave half in the glass after a
very large gulp.

“I hope very much she will not confuse love
with…
baser
emotions. If your purpose is only seduction, I
will remove her from London while it is still in my power.”

Nick finished the drink. “She would prefer to
leave.”

He sat down at his desk, across the room from
his guest, and placed the brandy carafe and his glass within reach.
He took some care as he slowly poured another, knowing he might
need to pace his intake to make it through the rest of this
interview.

“As this will be the first and last time my
opinions are solicited in Parliament, I will be here at least until
the close of The Lords. I can insist she go now, and she will
comply under protest, but if I send her away, she will spend her
days anxious and fretful for my well-being. After half a lifetime
of it, I do not wish to cause her any further distress.”

Nick sipped the drink in a much more
courteous manner. “She loves you more than you think, Huntleigh.
Your matchmaking will turn your wife shrewish.”

“I will take that risk.”

“I know Lady Huntleigh well enough to
appreciate it is a very big risk.”

“I know her well enough to make the judgment,
Wellbridge, and you do not,” he snapped. “I will thank you to allow
me the benefit of my fifteen years’ experience with her when I make
decisions on her behalf, which it may never be your right to do.
Before such a possibility is even placed within reach, I have
further conditions which may sway your decision.”

Nick took up the crystal glass and waved it
toward Huntleigh, “Pray tell.”

“I will not countenance you taking liberties
with Bella while I am alive.”

Nick swilled the second half of the drink and
took the stopper out of the decanter, dropping it on the desktop
without regard for chipping the crystal or staining the wood. As he
poured another and sat back, he apologized, “Forgive me, Huntleigh,
I am not at all known for being foxed before noon, but today may
become an exception.”

“Quite right. Drink up, young man. This
discussion will be worse before it is better. As I was saying,
inappropriate behavior on your part may bring scandal down upon my
Bella that even the king’s favor cannot overcome. London is
difficult enough for her without that. Further, I will certainly
not beget an heir at this late stage of my life and would prefer
not to give my name to your by-blow. Frankly, that should be your
preference too.”

“I’m not in the habit of fathering bastard
children.”

“One need not be
in the habit
, but
your word will be sufficient to set my mind at ease on that score.
If you act the gentleman until I am gone, I am willing to quietly
stand aside in your favor as you woo my wife between now and my
demise.”

Nick stared interminably at a tall stack of
books yet to be catalogued by his part-time librarian. Once he had
determined Bella’s taste in literature, he had gone on something of
a spree, buying up scores of recent novels and poetry to ensure
topics of conversation guaranteed to keep her interest.

“I am certain there must be opium in this
brandy. Or this is a fever dream.” As though to test the theory, he
held up the glass and stared into it a few moments, then tossed
back the lot and dropped the tumbler onto the leather desktop.

Huntleigh just looked at him with raised
eyebrows and a half-smile.

“You wish me to seduce your wife, but remain
chaste until we are married. As though she were one of the
debutantes my sister is dangling.”

“That’s right.”

“Unless I hoped to marry, there would be
little value for me in such a plan.”

“That is true,” Huntleigh agreed, right hand
tugging at his ear.

Nick refilled his glass again, slowly placing
the stopper back in the carafe. “My sister is the one who would
like me leg-shackled, not I. I cannily avoided that deathbed
promise to my mother.”

Huntleigh sipped his coffee, then leaned
forward to pour another cup. “I have heard.”

Nick took a small sip of the brandy,
reminding himself to moderate his consumption so he wouldn’t end up
six sheets to the wind. Then he took another. And another. Until
half the glass was gone.

He realized the liquor in the carafe might
not last through the entirety of the conversation, so he crossed,
slowly and carefully, to the cabinet where Blakeley kept the extra
supply. Behind a Joseph Légaré oil painting of angels hailing Noah
and the Flood, he found a case of good French cognac, already
bottled for his convenience.

As he set the carboy on the desk, he asked,
purely out of curiosity: “How might such an arrangement work?”

For the first time since he had walked into
the room, Huntleigh’s face began to relax. He rolled his shoulders
and shifted in his chair to stretch his leg.

“You and I shall suddenly develop a deep
friendship. I will provide you exclusive business opportunities.
You will propose me for membership at Brooks’s. We will be seen
gaming and dining together, co-sponsor legislation, and so forth. I
will give you such access to my home as appropriate for a close
associate. You may become acquainted with Bella under chaperone, in
part by me, until such time as it is appropriate for you to pay her
formal addresses.”

Nick remained standing, sipping his brandy,
staring into the tumbler of liquor that matched the cherry wood
furniture, watching the red flames in the fireplace flicker through
the amber pool.

Nick said nothing. Huntleigh said
nothing.

Behind the secretary desk where he had been
working, a bay window overlooked the back garden. Nick opened the
curtains to the sunshine, remembering his grandmother, then his
mother, ensconcing themselves in the window seat, mending his
grandfather’s, then father’s, shirts while the men tended to
business.

The columns framing the window were Grecian
to reflect his grandfather’s preference for Greek philosophers over
Roman. The tapestry hanging upstairs behind his grandfather’s desk,
showing the siege of Troy, had been stitched by his grandmother, in
deference to her husband’s inclination. Nick stared blankly into
the garden, wondering when the hyacinths had bloomed.

“Does such a plan fit your intentions?”

As he turned back, Nick considered whether it
might be time to get rid of the awful rococo furniture his mother
had installed. He wouldn’t mind replacing it with something much
simpler, sturdy rather than stately, perhaps even modern. He could
have something plain knocked together on one of his estates or
another, or he might consider an American cabinetmaker.

Perhaps he should saddle Blakeley with the
task. Or put aside consideration of furniture until he had a wife
to see to the details.

“I do not know my intentions.”

“Do not know or will not say?” Huntleigh
asked.

“I do not know.”

At the suddenly vicious tone, Huntleigh
poured himself more coffee, surely now cold, and sat back,
obviously giving Nick room to explain himself.

“I am many things, Lord Huntleigh, but not a
liar.”

Nick’s hands clasped behind his back and he
turned to gaze out of the window again. “You know my
reputation—everyone knows—but you may not be aware it is half
mythos.”

“Which half?” Huntleigh asked quietly.

Nick spat, “The half that says I set out to
ruin women, which has never occurred at my hand.” As he turned back
toward his suddenly unwelcome guest, he felt like a vulture going
on the attack. “My relationships are mutual, genuine, and
circumspect, not based on misrepresentation or deceit.”

Huntleigh nodded. “Other than the
husband.”

Nick downed another mouthful of brandy.
“Other than that. But most often, my arrangements are with women
whose spouses are unconcerned about… polite indiscretions. Gads! I
play cards with some of the gentlemen in question. I am a duke,
Lord Huntleigh; nothing short of murder would make me unwelcome at
Almack’s. I am well aware the ladies of my acquaintance do not have
the same luxury.”

Huntleigh agreed, “I’ve heard you are
perfectly discreet. The house on Harley Street is virtually
unknown, and I could not identify any particular wife with whom you
have dallied; only general agreement you have tumbled half the
married ladies of the
ton
.”

“Even assuming your research is
half-fictitious, it is remarkable you are asking my intentions
instead of my participation in a duel.”

“I am far too old and sickly to reliably
prevail.” Huntleigh waved his cup toward Nick to indicate continued
attention.

Nick was beginning to feel his ire misplaced.
Huntleigh hadn’t meant to bring up a sore subject; he was only
doing his best to protect his wife, and doing so politely.
Admirable, really, now that Nick thought of it. It was a good thing
someone was concerned for Bella’s good name, because Nick certainly
hadn’t been. Still, his reputation as a rake had never sat well
with him, even when he deserved it.

“The reason you cannot find the hundreds of
women I’ve supposedly toyed with,” Nick remarked, “is that most of
them don’t exist. I have love affairs for a Season, maybe a year,
one woman at a time, and not always married. I will restrain any
further reflection, wishing to respect the privacy of the ladies
involved, but you may be sure I do not keep a harem or arrange
orgies in my country house or debauch innocents or force the
unwilling or, most importantly, tell ribald tales about what
happens in my bedchamber. I enjoy talking to women as well as
tupping them. I just don’t want to marry one.”

On that final note, Nick poured more brandy,
doing his best not to count his drinks, nor to watch the level in
the decanter, almost low enough to be of concern. If he were
concerned. He took a small sip, rolling it around in his mouth as
he tried to restrain his unreasonable irritation.

When it appeared Nick would manage to keep
his temper in check, Huntleigh asked, “May I ask for what reasons
you question your intent toward my wife?”

“Is that what I am doing?”

“It would appear so to the interested
observer.”

An angry sigh escaped Nick’s nose, his back
teeth ground nearly to dust. He took another sip of the brandy,
then reconsidered and tossed the rest back.

“My sister will not rest until I am wed to a
brainless broodmare, and I have less than no desire for a
schoolroom chit. I admit, I had decided to spend one last Season as
a bachelor, seducing Lady Huntleigh for our mutual enjoym—”
Huntleigh winced and Nick stopped, afraid that in his unwarranted
anger, he had been too frank.

“I knew that, Wellbridge, but I confess it
painful to hear it spoken so plainly.” Huntleigh waved his hand.
“Please continue.”

Nick doubled the amount of brandy when he
poured. He held the carafe out to Huntleigh, assuming it might be
needed now, but the older man shook his head, holding up his
half-full dish of coffee.

Nick drank deeply before he continued, “I
rarely meet women like Bella—excuse me, Lady Huntleigh—” Huntleigh
nodded to acknowledge the correction. “—who speak intelligently on
a variety of cerebral topics, rather than feigning silliness in
pursuit of my fortune. She is at once world-wise and perfectly
innocent, without artifice… refreshing, unaccountably pleasing. Not
at all the kind of woman I am comfortable debauching.” He shook his
head. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you
about your wife.”

“I admit I cannot credit it.”

Nick continued, “It is a luxury to find such
a woman, no matter her title or rank, and my intent has most
recently been to engage her in the most correct of friendships.
Rake I may be, but she deserves better than to be a man’s light o’
love.”

Nick had no idea how he had come to this
conclusion, but the more he had learned about her, the more awkward
he felt about his usual mode of seduction. Not that she was ever at
risk of believing his usual fustian. She had seen right through him
from the start.