That Scandalous Summer (38 page)

Had he always been so small?

Calm fell over her. Her pulse slowed, and she drew an easy breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Right to the point,” he said. “Shan’t we share a drink first? I’ve traveled a long way.”

“You’ll be traveling longer yet. I’ve no intention to house you tonight.”

“Oh, come now!” With a laugh, he fell into a nearby chair. When he stripped off his gloves and folded them, his hands looked as pale and slim as a girl’s. “Will you really be so cold? We’re old friends, you and I.”

It gave her a shudder to remember how those hands had once touched her. “Not cold,” she said. “Bored, already. And you’ve barely spoken five words.”

“Intriguing,” he said. “You seem to be doing splendidly without me. You know I can’t resist a lady’s indifference.”

How had she ever found his malice-tipped humor so diverting? And really, was there anything so demoralizing as meeting a former lover? Never did a woman have more cause to doubt her judgment than when confronted with the pathetic evidence of what she had once somehow found appealing.

“Won’t you return the compliment?” he asked, winking.

That wink annoyed her. She had seen him dispense it across a dozen ballrooms, but she had never liked the boyish affectation.

That memory encouraged her. Yes, from the start she had seen all the warning signs that had eventually made him intolerable. “Surely you didn’t come all the way to Cornwall for compliments.”

“Perhaps I missed you,” he said.

She smiled. “How amusing! Has Miss Lister broken off the engagement, then? The Hawthornes
had
been wondering why a date hadn’t been set for the wedding.”

He laughed and gave an idle flip of his gloves. “Good heavens, no! That child thinks I hung the stars for her.
No, she has no idea I’m here. Her father, on the other hand . . .” He sighed. “More difficult. I really do wish you would sit down, Lizzie.”

That was James’s name for her. That Nello used it now, when he never had done before, announced very plainly how
determined
he was to be chummy. The realization was mildly alarming.

She took a seat. “There,” she said. “Now explain yourself.”

“Well, if you must know—I’ve a proposition for you. A delicate one. Didn’t want to put it into writing.” He laughed again. His laugh was one of his chief charms, low and lovely. His teeth, on the other hand, were yellow. She had always known that, too.

“I can’t imagine any proposition that would concern the both of us,” she said.

“Can’t you?” Now he began to bounce his foot. He’d always lacked the talent to sit quite still. His eyes wandered the room, latching onto the liquor cabinet, which he nodded toward. “Just one drink, then,” he said.

“Pour it yourself.” She folded her hands. “I’ll wait.”

His mouth flattened. “Had to let go of staff? I knew you were pinching pennies, but I never dreamed it would go south so quickly.”

“My staff is busy entertaining my guests.”

“Yes, Katherine said you had a houseful of perfect lunks. Very well.” He rose and loped to the cabinet, rummaging about until he found a decanter of whisky. Uncapping it, he took a whiff and grimaced. “Economies here, too?”

“Uncreative,” she remarked. “I’ve already told you of my difficulties. If you mean to insult me, you’ll have to find a novel approach.”

“Insult you?” He splashed himself a generous few fingers and then returned to his seat. “No, I’ve no interest in that. And of course I haven’t breathed a word to anyone . . . yet.”

She lifted her palm to disguise her mimed yawn. “And now threats. But surely those could have been communicated by post. It only requires a bit of subtlety.”

“Too true,” he said, and took a healthy swallow. “But I mean it when I say I’ve no wish to harm you, Liz. You’re lovely. And I look back very fondly on our time together.”

Her skin crawled. It would be far easier, she realized, to hear that he loathed her. “Don’t think of me at all,” she said. “And I will return the favor.”

“No, I have a different bargain in mind altogether,” he went on.

She could not begin to imagine what devil was dancing in his brain-box. “Then propose it, so I may return to my party.”

“Very well,” he said. “To the chase, then. What got me thinking of you was Hollister. Ennobled three years ago, yes?”

A very bizarre tangent. “I don’t keep track of such things. You may ask my social secretary. Shall I summon her?”

He waved away this suggestion. “Well, no matter. It was three years ago. I hear the Duke of Marwick had a great deal to do with it.”

She tried not to tense. The last time Marwick had entered their conversation, she had been awash in tears over Nello’s betrayal with Marwick’s wife. It was horrifying now to remember how very hurt she’d been. This man had not deserved a single sleepless hour. “What of it?”

He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, making himself comfortable. “To be clear—I speak now on the understanding that you and I, we will keep each other’s secrets, as a favor to each other . . .”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “You needn’t spell it out; I don’t wish to hear my private business advertised abroad.”

“Very good,” he said. “Then to be blunt: my future bride’s father was less than enthusiastic about our match. Some nonsense to do with thinking his daughter deserves a title.”

Liza laughed, blackly amused. “Imagine that! And I suppose you had nothing to do with his expectations.” Nello had been spinning the same story for years: a title was coming to him any day now. He was related to the Queen through a second cousin, and made an attempt, occasionally, to appear at court, though his welcome had waned after the Queen had witnessed him drunk at the theater last spring. Yet he persisted in believing that his blood connection to her, and the few brief years he’d served in the Horse Guards, somehow merited ennoblement.

“I may have hinted,” he said with a shrug. Always shameless, Nello. No parson or priest in the world could have put him to the blush. “That is, if Hollister can win a barony—a nobody whose parents were raised in the penal colonies! Well, then I can’t see why I shouldn’t be so lucky. They’re practically on sale these days. Disgraceful, really.”

She sighed. A very old polemic. “If they’re for sale, then Hollister certainly had the wherewithal to purchase his own. But I suppose, once you’ve wed your heiress, so, too, will you.”

“There’s the rub,” he said with a grimace. “Her father wants some more solid assurance of my advancement
before
we wed.”

“But that’s absurd.” Despite the editorials in the conservative papers, it was not, after all, so common for titles to be created. Yes, a handful of baronets every year, and a new baron or two, perhaps—but titles were not given to men who’d achieved nothing of import.

“Isn’t it?” Nello sighed. “It would be ever so much easier with his daughter’s fortune bankrolling my chances. But he’s insistent, and I’ve made discreet inquiries. In fact, I’ve had assurances from several quarters that my name
might
yet be placed on a particular list, to be submitted to Her Majesty for consideration early next year—but it will require funds, you understand, to guarantee it. And, more important, a word or two from the right people.”

“Naturally,” said Liza. “I’ve no idea what on earth this has to do with me, of course.”

“Nothing, really,” said Nello. “Only I’ve certain information that you’d not like divulged, which ensures your discretion—and you’ve a certain proximity to someone who can help me. Or rather, to his brother.”

She had an inkling now of where this roundabout nonsense might be headed, and it made her very uneasy. “Go on.”

“Since you’re doing so very well without me, I hope it won’t distress you if I tell you that Margaret de Grey was quite chatty in bed,” Nello went on. “Even more so out of it. Very indiscreet in her letters—and one in particular. To be blunt: I’ve not only a list of the other men with whom she shared her favors, but also some very amusing anecdotes about these men and
their use of secrets shared with her by her husband. Now, we all know the Kingmaker is
most
sensitive of his reputation. It seems to me that he might appreciate it very much if these letters were never to see the light of day. But I’m not stupid enough to approach Marwick directly.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Liza. “I seem to recall you groveling in fear at the prospect of him finding out about your liaison.”

“Fear seems a bit strong,” Nello said sourly. “But a healthy respect, yes, of course. So I’ll entrust the negotiations to you.”

She scoffed. This was more preposterous than anything she could have imagined. “To
me
? I’ve barely spoken with the man!”

“Yes, but it would take a miracle for him not to have heard of you—and of our affair. Besides, I imagine he’ll be quite intrigued when a great beauty comes sniffing at his door. He’s widowed, you know. For your part, you’ll play the heartbroken lover. A widower might appreciate that. In exchange for handing over the letters, you’ll insist that Marwick put in a good word for me when it comes to advising the Queen regarding new titles. Why, I expect he’ll find it very touching proof of your continued devotion to me. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll even end up a duchess for it.” He smiled. “Do you see? I truly am hoping the best for you, Liz.”

Liza came to her feet, her laughter now entirely genuine. “Charles Nelson! Truly, I believe you’ve taken a hard knock to your head. I wouldn’t lift a finger to spare you from a runaway carriage, and you know it.”

“Oh, come now, darling, you might at least shriek a little, surely?”

She rolled her eyes. To think that she’d once found his flippancy amusing!

Nello came to his feet as well. “But more to the point, you could always demand a payment of your own,” he said. “I won’t be selfish—I’ll have no need of money once this title business is settled and Miss Lister and I walk down the aisle. Ask for whatever you like from Marwick. Save this pile, and your little parish. See? I bring you a gift!”

“Goodness,” Liza said. “How kind of you. Do I strike you as a blackmailer?”

“No, but I have faith that you could learn.” He smiled slowly. “You were always very . . . inventive.”

Had he been closer, she would have slapped him for that smug leer. “You will leave now,” she said. “Or I’ll have you thrown out.”

He
tsked.
“Think, Liz. If not for your own sake, perhaps you’d care to spare Marwick the embarrassment of those letters going public. It would hardly reflect well on his brother.”

She froze.

“Yes,” he said. “You were never very good at discretion, were you? The Hawthornes’ letters have been terribly suggestive.”

A bluff based on empty suspicions. She’d done nothing compromising in front of the Hawthornes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh?” Nello bolted the rest of his drink and set his glass on the coffee table. “Very well. I suppose they were wrong, then. It makes no difference to you if Lord Michael de Grey is once again made a laughingstock by his family. Very well.”

No, that prospect did not agree with her in the least.
That
Nello
should be the one to effect it made her heart pound with pure, elemental rage. She took a deep breath and thought very carefully. “For all I know, you’re lying,” she said. “What woman would be so stupid as to commit all this to writing?”

“An opium eater,” said Nello with a smirk. “Oh, don’t look at me so—as I’ve said, it was a mistake to sleep with her. But one I’m quite grateful to have made, now that it offers such a neat solution.”

“Charming,” she said. “So you propose I waltz into Marwick’s house and inform him of all of this? I’m sure he’ll be very amenable to championing you after
that
. Provided he even believes me!”

“Well, you’ll have proof in the form of the letters,” said Nello. “As for Marwick . . . surely he’ll recognize his own wife’s handwriting?”

She stared at him. “You have no shame.”

He offered her a bland smile. “Once you rather liked that.”

With a noise of disgust, she waved this comment away. “If this is true, you should go to Lord Michael, not me.”

“As I said, I wish to maintain my anonymity. And about that . . .” He paused. “Should you breathe a word of this to de Grey—should it come out that I’m behind this—well, the letters will be published. And your own sad circumstances will become public knowledge on the instant.”

Beside the scandal of the letters, her private circumstances would barely register. But she wouldn’t point that out to him. He’d only look for another way to compel her. She did not think he’d find one, but . . . Michael would pay the cost for it.

Perhaps she could do precisely as Nello bade her: take the letters to Marwick and let
him
ferret out their source.

If word reached Michael of her involvement, he would never forgive her for it.

Michael.
Michael knew Nello was here. “Lord Michael will put two and two together,” she said. “He knows you’ve come down to Bosbrea. He’s not an idiot. He’ll divine that you’re behind this scheme.”

“So you must convince him otherwise,” said Nello. “Or the copies of the letters will be distributed.”

She bit her lip. There was some solution, but she required time to find it. “I must think on it,” she said. “Figure out how to make my approach to Marwick.”

“Don’t think too hard,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t want to injure your pretty little head.”

Bastard. “Were you always such a rotter?” she asked. “Or have you taken a hard knock to your skull recently?”

“Again—you used to like it,” said Nello with a laugh. He started for the door. “I’ll let myself out, shall I? Write to me with your decision, if you can still afford the postage.”

The door shut behind him, closing her into a suffocating silence.

•   •   •

Elizabeth never returned after her conference with the bastard. That none of the other guests remarked on her absence turned Michael’s mood all the blacker. These were her
friends
. Did they not wonder where she had gone? No, it seemed they were content to sit about drinking themselves to death, and trading ridiculous conversation.