Nicholas: Lord of Secrets

Fifteen

“So how do we do this, Nicholas?” Leah was sharing a glass of brandy with Nick in the Clover Down library, their evening meal concluded and the rain making a steady, battering downpour against the mullioned windows.

“How would it be least trying for you?” Nick asked, staring at his drink. Leah had chosen to sit beside him on the sofa, a generosity on her part he both treasured and detested.

She should hate him, for he most assuredly did hate himself, and his life.

“I found my years in Italy were made bearable by my brother’s companionship, and that of the people who lived around me. But I had the anticipation of Charles’s birth, and then his presence, to bring cheer to the whole experience.”

Nick closed his eyes at the practical way she delivered that blow.

“Shall we hire you a companion?”

“We shall not. I’ve made do without before, but I would like a riding horse of my own.”

“That’s easy enough to accomplish, but, Leah”—Nick risked a glance at her—“I don’t want you to feel you’re confined here. If you want to spend time at Belle Maison, or if you need the town house, send word. I’ve a number of places I can stay.”

Leah’s hands tightened on her glass, and Nick realized she was likely tormenting herself with thoughts of all the beds he’d be welcome in.

“Is there something wrong with me, Nicholas?”

“Wrong with you?” He speared her with a puzzled look. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You are a man who enjoys the ladies. You made that plain when I accepted your proposal, but now, it seems of all the ladies in all the beds in all the towns of England, mine is the one bed you won’t share. I must conclude the fault lies with me.”

Nick felt gut-punched as he saw the flickering uncertainty behind the studied composure in Leah’s eyes, and yet, she had her finger on the difficulty: the difficulty was that she was his wife, his countess, and the only woman who could bear his legitimate heirs.

“The problem is that I do not want to have children with you, Leah,” Nick said slowly, staring at his glass. “I’ve been honest about that much from the start.”

“Do you dislike children, Nicholas?”

“I love children,” Nick said on a harsh exhalation. He wouldn’t lie to her about that, but the truth had him so frustrated, he had to set his drink down before he hurled it at the hearth with all the considerable strength in him.

They sipped their brandy in miserable, jagged silence, until Leah laid a hand over Nick’s.

“I have an imposition to ask of you, Husband.”

Nick’s relief that she was changing the subject was pathetic. “Ask,” Nick said, meeting her eyes. “Ask anything.”

“You have offered to pleasure me,” Leah said, a blush heating her cheeks as she spoke. “I would avail myself of your kindness in this regard.”

“My kindness…” Nick closed his eyes. He would love to pleasure her, love it. If she’d allow him that… Even this one last time, he would adore the privilege and pain of it. But he’d proven unequal to the necessary restraint, and so her imposition was an accurately aimed dagger thrust into his floundering self-respect.

“We will not share a roof again,” Leah said, “and you cannot think to leave for London in this downpour, at this hour. Stay with me tonight, Nicholas, please.”

That last word, offered with such longing and sadness, please, it stole under Nick’s defenses, tempted him to folly, and brushed aside rational processes.

Nick was an expert on good-bye sex and the comfort and condolence it could offer. He knew about the tenderness and gratitude an intimate parting could convey, and he knew how to make the experience dear and memorable, and the very best way to slip away from a liaison. He knew all that only because, in the past, he’d been the one to decide the timing of each final encounter, and now Leah had taken the initiative from him.

Leah deserved that at least. She deserved to torture him, and she deserved to have her pleasure of him. Within reason.

“I will need some privacy first, Leah.”

She started to nod, then her eyes narrowed. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said with soft menace. “You will not ease yourself in private then come to me spent and safe, Nicholas. You will show me how to pleasure you and what you had envisioned for us were we not to part. That, or we sleep apart.”

She had him, and Nick knew it. He surrendered with good grace. “Come to bed then. It shall be as you wish.”

The nights at Belle Maison had given them a certain practical ease with each other that served well when they’d closed the bedroom door. Nick unfastened Leah’s dress; Leah relieved him of cravat pin, watch, and boots. He took down her hair; she untied his cravat and fetched his robe while he stripped off his riding attire. She brushed out and rebraided her hair while he used the wash water, then he took Leah’s robe from her so she could follow suit.

The only variation in their nocturnal routine was that Nick tossed the used wash water out a window then refilled the basin and set it on the night table. He also put both of his handkerchiefs on the table beside the basin and towel.

“You’re not going to blow out the candles?” Leah asked, climbing across the bed before taking her robe off again.

“Soon,” Nick said, shrugging out of his robe and settling on the bed, his back against the pillows. Leah drew the covers up to her chin and only then eased off her robe. “You are having a sudden attack of modesty, Wife? Not five minutes ago, you were naked and washing between your legs.”

Leah scowled at him and tugged the covers up higher. “Five minutes ago you were not naked or regarding me with that… anticipatory look in your eyes, and I was behind a privacy screen.”

He was going to miss her until his dying day. “So I am naked, and you must cover up. Interesting.”

A silence fell while Nick considered his next step. Just watching Leah disappear behind the screen with the basin and towel, knowing she’d invited him to be intimate with her, had set his blood galloping around in his groin.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” Leah muttered, flopping over onto her side, her back to Nick.

“It was a fine idea,” Nick said, “one of your best, but you’re going to have to come here, Leah, for matters to get under way.”

“Oh, very well.” Leah tossed the covers up and scooted closer to Nick, then settled back down on the pillows. “Now what?”

“I think we need to talk a little more,” Nick said, revising his first set of plans for the evening.

“Talk?” The notion apparently did not comport with her plans. “About what?”

“Come here, lovey.” Nick held out an arm. “And I’ll tell you.”

Leah visually measured the distance to him, her frown deepening. Then she seemed to come to some internal decision and laid herself down along Nick’s side, letting his arm encircle her shoulders. “I’m here.”

“I rejoice,” Nick said, not even half teasing despite the lightness of his tone. His hand came to rest on her shoulders, where he traced the pattern of her bones until he felt Leah’s weight relaxing against him. “We must give some thought to your finances.”

“Finances?” Leah’s brows went up, as Nick’s choice of pillow topics was clearly unexpected.

“I want you to be able to function independently of me,” Nick said. “Nothing aggravates me more than husbands who control their wives through the purse strings but ignore them otherwise. You need to know there’s a strongbox in the bottom drawer of the library desk, with a considerable sum of cash in it. The key is on the mantel under the lathed candlestick on the left. Are you paying attention?”

“Of course,” Leah said, snatching her hand from Nick’s chest as if caught stealing an extra tea cake.

“So where is the key to your strongbox, Wife?”

“Under the candlestick on the left side of the mantel,” Leah repeated, though Nick suspected she was half guessing. “What else would you tell me about finances?”

“I’ll forward to you a quarterly sum adequate for your personal needs,” Nick said, “and fill out some bank drafts as well, so you’ll have them in an emergency. If you want some excitement, I suggest you apply to David, Lord Fairly, to invest your excess funds for you. The man is beyond canny about mercantile matters, and he has a way of discussing business that is very unlike his titled peers.”

“Your titled peers,” Leah corrected him, her hand smoothing over his belly again.

“My peers?” Nick sucked in a breath as Leah’s thumb traced his navel.

“You’re Bellefonte.” Leah yawned and snuggled closer. “You outrank most of the friends who showed up at your father’s funeral.” She circled his navel lazily again. “Greymoor is an earl, but Lady Della told me yours is the older title.”

Nick marshaled his scattered thoughts. “In any case, you will not be in need of funds. Would you like to manage Clover Down?”

That stopped her hand from wandering any lower, much to Nick’s relief. His cock was throbbing to life and would soon be pointing due north if he couldn’t distract Leah and her infernally busy hand.

“Would you like to manage this place?” Nick asked again. “It’s in tidy shape as we speak, and I can add it to your dower estate so it will pass to you upon my death.”

“I have no dower estate.”

No dower estate, no husband worth the name, no children. Hurt for her was going to crush him.

“Lady Della would have it otherwise,” Nick said. “I don’t know all the details, for she deals with her own solicitors, but she put a nest egg aside for you, and at the time, I had no authority to comment on it or disclose it to you.”

“Do my brothers know?”

She didn’t even ask how much.

“I doubt Nana consulted anybody, save the Almighty and her own conscience, not in that order,” Nick replied. “I’ll have her man of business send you the particulars.”

“Nicholas?”

“Lovey?”

“Are you finished discussing finances with me?”

“I suppose.” Nick nearly gulped as he felt Leah’s hand brush across the head of his cock. “There’s nothing that won’t keep if you’d like to discuss something else.”

“Good.” Leah nodded complacently but then nigh caused Nick to vault off the bed as her hand closed around his shaft. “I find I’d like to change the subject.” She flipped the covers back and frankly surveyed Nick’s erection. “In fact, I know I would.”

Morning arrived for Leah with an abrupt awareness of brilliant sunshine and Nick’s warmth swaddling her right side. Pleasurable sensations piled upon one another from there—his sandalwood scent washing through the crisp air, a slight soreness between Leah’s thighs from where Nick’s beard had rasped against her skin, a kind of awareness low inside her body in a place Leah hadn’t thought of since she’d realized she was carrying a child.

One more thing to miss into a healthy old age.

And in addition to those memories, Nick’s eyes regarding her solemnly from where his face was turned toward her on the pillow—for the last time.

He leaves me today, was her first fully formed thought, and it pierced the haze of physical pleasure and emotional lassitude like a javelin hurled with deadly intent.

“I leave you this day.” Nick’s hand cradled Leah’s jaw. “But you will not leave my protection, Leah, or my heart. If you need me, I will come, and I will come gladly and quickly. Agreed?”

A little palliative tossed to the part of Leah that feared she would never see him again, a kindness in the midst of a cruel undertaking. She nodded, turned her face into Nick’s palm, and closed her eyes. Immediately, she felt him shift on the bed and cover her with his body.

Not again, Leah thought as she clung and let the tears seep from her eyes. Nick held her—as he had last night after bringing her such unbelievable pleasure—and let her cry and silently curse and rail against this decision; but ultimately, now as then, her arms loosened their hold, and her tears ceased.

“You will be all right, Leah,” Nick assured her, raising his body up but crouching over her. “A few weeks ago, we hadn’t met, and you were managing just fine. A few weeks from now, you’ll be settled in here, and you will be managing just fine again. I’m really not worth missing for long. You’ll see.” He kissed her eyes and tucked her face into the crook of his neck.

“You are wrong,” Leah said. “I will miss you and miss you, Nicholas. You are wrong to leave me, and you are wrong to think I won’t miss you.”

Above her, Nick’s muscular frame heaved with a great sigh, and Leah’s hands fell away from him.

“I meant what I said, Leah,” Nick rumbled against her neck. “If you have need of my protection, my funds, my name, my houses, anything, send word to me, and the matter will have my most prompt attention. Promise me you will.”

“I will, Nicholas.” She kissed his cheek. Her only alternative would be her brothers, and she was no longer their affair to worry about. “I promise.”

Some tension went out of him at her words, maybe some guilt and shame as well. Nicholas was stubborn and wrongheaded, but Leah was in no doubt that he suffered with his decision as much as she did.

“We have things to do this morning,” Nick said, easing back a few inches. “I’ll leave after luncheon, if the roads dry out. I want to introduce you to the steward who takes care of this estate and some other holdings for me. I also want to introduce you to the tenants and make sure you know how to reach my solicitors, Ethan and Beckman.” He shifted back farther, then straightened his arms, so he was looking down at her broodingly.

“I’ll also want you to have the directions of several others,” Nick informed her. “Matthew Belmont; Andrew, Lord Greymoor; and Valentine Windham, of course. You already know how to reach Lady Della and my sisters. If all else fails, apply to Gareth, Marquis of Heathgate. He can lack charm, but he’s hell in a fast chariot if he thinks women and children are in harm’s way. Then too…”

“Nicholas.” Leah smoothed his blond hair back from his forehead, loving him, hating him, and heart breaking for him.

“Yes, lovey?”

“It’s time to get up.”

He swallowed, nodded, and remained right where he was, staring down at her as if to memorize the feel of her naked beneath him, her hand in his hair, her breathing against his body. Last night, they’d shared pleasure upon pleasure, as if this morning wouldn’t come.

Oh, but it had come.

“Please,” Leah added softly. “You aren’t leaving for hours yet, and it’s time to get out of this bed.”

He cradled her against him for one brief, fierce hug, then hoisted himself off of her and off the bed. As Leah followed, Nick stretched out a hand and brought her to her feet to stand naked in his embrace. They remained thus for just an instant, and then Nick was handing her a dressing gown and shrugging into his own.

A knock on the door, followed by Nick’s permission to enter, began the next step of their parting. A maid wheeled in a tea cart and quietly departed after building up the fire.

“For June, it’s remarkably chilly this morning.” Or maybe the chill was just in her heart.

“We are not going to discuss the weather, Wife. Come have some sustenance, and let us continue planning the day.”

“Let you continue your lecture, more like.” Leah offered him a wan smile. “Can’t you just enjoy the meal, Nicholas, and send me the rest of your admonitions and instructions in some epistle?” She took a seat on the sofa by the hearth and surveyed the selections on the tea cart. Tea, she was up to; food was too much of an effort.

“Eat something.” Nick lowered himself beside her. “Share a buttered scone with me, at least.” It seemed important to him that she eat, so Leah accepted the food from his hand after he’d slathered her portion with butter. Nick took his to the window and parted the curtain to eye the weather.

“Quite cool,” he said, “but sunny and breezy. The roads will dry easily.”

“And you will go,” Leah added, forcing herself to take a small bite.

“I will go.” Nick said, still staring out the window. “But not far, and I will come back if you sense any mischief afoot whatsoever. I’ll also let Darius know you are in residence here, and Trenton as well.”

He turned to face her again, and there was an intensity to his blue-eyed gaze Leah could not decipher, as if he were trying to discern her internal workings by visual inspection of her outer attributes. “I’ll also call on Lady Della. The funeral distracted me from asking her about something that’s been plaguing me.”

“Burying one’s father is distracting,” Leah agreed, taking another bite of scone, though it tasted like so much buttered sawdust.

“I want to know who the seconds were at the duel where Frommer lost his life. It’s a detail, but I can’t shake the sense it’s an important detail.”

“You still think it matters?” Leah asked, putting down the rest of her scone.

“I think you are absolutely safe here,” Nick said. “I also think there are questions to which you still deserve an answer. You assume your father killed Frommer in a fair fight, but I’m not so sure. And if it’s not the case, then somebody can bring your father to justice.”

Leah didn’t argue that the matter should drop, largely because Nick seemed intent on pursuing it regardless of its seeming irrelevance. He would not be deterred, and it gave her a sense that his caring about her was genuine and not just a function of guilt.

So she capitulated—something she’d long since grown adept at.

“You’re not going to eat,” Nick said, eyeing her half-eaten scone.

“Not much appetite, I’m afraid.”

“Of course not,” Nick said in commiseration, but to Leah’s relief he kept his one thousand and seventeenth apology behind his teeth. “May I help you dress?”

She nodded and rose, and again they fell into the intimate, casual ritual of spouses attending each other’s mundane needs. To Leah, though, it seemed Nick’s touch on her hair and skin lingered, and he stood rather nearer than he needed to. And instead of letting her assist him, he brushed out and repinned her hair first, taking extraordinary care with the task, until Leah wanted to weep with frustration at the tenderness he showed her.

When they were both dressed and presentable, Leah could not manage to sashay through their bedroom door.

“I don’t want to leave this room,” she said, the dread she’d held at bay congealing in her chest.

“There’s nothing out there I’d allow to hurt you,” Nick said, obliquely admitting he was the cause of her pain. “And I cannot depart until after luncheon. Let’s find your farmers and your steward, Lady Bellefonte, and stroll in your garden.”

That feeling of dread inside Leah’s body sank down to her vitals and spread, like an illness taking over, until Nick’s proffered arm was not merely a courtesy but a real support.

The morning went, as Nick intended, with them trotting briskly from one farmstead to the next and spending more than an hour with the steward, reviewing the progress of the newly planted crops, the livestock, and the upcoming harvest of hay.

Luncheon arrived, and Nick suggested they take their meal in the garden. They dined sheltered from the breeze by the high walls near the house, if pushing food around and nibbling the occasional bite could be called dining.

Nick called for his horse when the lunch cart was wheeled back into the house, and remained sitting beside Leah on her stone bench, his hand linked with hers.

“I don’t want you to go,” Leah said finally. She wasn’t crying—yet—but her chest ached terribly, and she had the feeling she was burying her marriage and any hope for her long-term happiness with it.

“But I leave because I care about you,” Nick said, “at least in part, and I can only urge you to be as happy as you can, Leah. That is what I want for you, though it might not seem like it.”

Leah looked at him curiously. “And for yourself? What do you want for yourself, Nicholas?”

“Honor would be nice,” Nick said, staring at their joined hands, “but not likely possible. Peace, perhaps. Mostly, I want the happiness of those I love.”

His tacit admission hung in the air between them a moment longer, then he rose to take her in his arms when Leah said nothing in reply.

“I am intent on my course, though I regret deeply its consequences to you,” Nick said by way of one thousand and eighteenth apology.

“Perhaps time will create greater understanding for us,” Leah offered, and in her words, she intended that he hear both acceptance and hope.

“Walk me to my horse?”

“Of course.” Leah slipped her hand into his and tugged him in the direction of the stables when he seemed content to remain rooted in the fragrant, flowery garden where the summer blooms were making a good effort. As they walked past a bed of forget-me-nots, Nick fished for a handkerchief and silently passed it to her.

Dratted man. Dear, dear, dratted man.

His mare was waiting, saddled and patient at the mounting block, a groom at her head. Nick turned again to Leah and drew her against him.

“If you need anything,” he said against her hair, “if you sense any danger or anything amiss…”

“I promise,” Leah said around the painful ache in her throat. I need you, I need you, I need you. “And you—you must let me know how you go on from time to time.”

“Always,” Nick murmured then stepped away. He seized her in his arms again though, thoroughly kissing her despite the waiting groom and the myriad eyes no doubt peering out from the manor and stables. “Always,” Nick repeated as he let her go. He swung up, and without turning to face Leah again, touched his crop to his forehead and sent his horse cantering down the drive.

While Leah subsided unceremoniously onto the mounting block, her eyes trained on his retreating figure, his sandalwood-scented handkerchief pressed to her nose. When he reached the foot of the drive, Nick turned the horse not left, toward London, but right, toward the estate where the blond young lady no doubt awaited his visit. In the mare’s retreating hoofbeats, Leah heard the sound of her marriage and her heart shattering into a thousand miserable pieces.

Nick had left Clover Down intent only on ending the misery of parting for Leah. On the short journey to Darius’s estate, he assured himself he’d done the only thing he could under the circumstances, and Leah would be much, much happier without her sorry excuse for a husband lurking about, lusting for her, and resenting—for the first time in his life—the burden of desiring a lovely woman.

When he reached the Lindsey holding, he was in a foul, unconvinced mood, ready to frighten small animals and intimidate the hell out of anybody who crossed him. Darius himself met him at the door, the creaky butler nowhere in evidence.

Nick nodded curtly, scowling down at Leah’s brother. “Lindsey.”

“Reston.” Darius stepped back. “Or it’s Bellefonte now. My profound condolences. Can I offer you a drink?”

“You may.” Nick stepped over the threshold and saw there was no footman at attention in the front foyer. “Was that Lady Cowell’s carriage I passed on your driveway?”

“Yes.” Darius ran a hand through his hair. “I was not nor will I ever be again home to her here, but if you’re going to lecture me about the company I keep, why aren’t you keeping company with my sister?”

Well, damn. Lindsey had obviously eyed the saddlebags on Nick’s mare as she’d been led away, and realized this was not strictly a social call.

“That drink?” Nick arched an eyebrow, unwilling to confess his sins in the foyer. And come to that, Lindsey looked like he could use a drink too. “Though I don’t promise you won’t get a lecture as well,” Nick went on as Darius led the way through the house. “What can you possibly see in that woman?”

“My bloody miserable fate,” Darius said. “Brandy or whiskey?”

“Whiskey.” Nick decided on the libation that suited his harsh, volatile mood. “I’ve left your sister.”

Darius went still in the act of removing a glass stopper from a decanter, but then carefully set the stopper down on the sideboard. “Did she send you away?”

“She did not, and she has not in any way displeased me, nor does she deserve the talk that will undoubtedly ensue in time.”

“I see.” Lindsey poured one drink, very rudely tossed it back before pouring another for himself, then pouring a third and passing it to his guest. “Shall I call you out, Bellefonte?”

“Don’t call me that.” Nick accepted the drink, downed it, and passed his glass back for a refill.

“What shall I call you?” Darius inquired in lethally soft tones. Nick surveyed him and saw a man who was several inches shorter than he, maybe a year younger, and decades better acquainted with bitterness.

“Leah would kill us both for dueling,” Nick said as he accepted the second drink from his host and tossed that one back as well.

“I will not suffer my sister to be hurt,” Darius said, “but losing one of us in a duel would no doubt hurt more than weathering some gossip. So…” Darius looked around the room. “Shall we sit and blast away at each other with civilized insults and veiled threats, or can you tell me why you’re being such an ass?”

If he hadn’t liked the man before, and respected him for his championing of Leah, Nick liked him thoroughly in that moment.

“We sit and enjoy your surprisingly fine spirits.”

Darius gestured to the couch for Nick, and took a well-cushioned chair for himself, letting silence stretch while Nick took a seat.

“You will look in on Leah?” Nick set his empty glass down on the table, wondering if Lindsey possessed enough decent spirits to get them both drunk.

“Of course,” Darius replied, his expression hooded. “But why are you doing this, if you can tell me? I suspected your affection for Leah was genuine.” There was a hint of sympathy in the man’s tone, and Nick dropped his gaze to his empty glass rather than face compassion head on.

“My affection for your sister is genuine,” Nick said, “but have you never made a decision, Lindsey, that rippled out across your life, having repercussions you could not possibly have foreseen? Have you never given a promise in good faith you lived to regret?”

“I don’t promise anybody much of anything,” Darius replied with a snort of humorless laughter. “I have regrets, though. I most assuredly do have substantial, relentless regrets.” He lifted his drink to sip, when the door to the library burst open, and a little boy came barreling straight for Darius. Darius quickly set the drink down and caught the child up in his arms.

“Dare!” the child cried. “She’s gone! I can come out now, and we can go for a ride!” Darius’s arms tightened around the child’s squirming body, and his gaze over the child’s shoulder became so fierce Nick felt relief they wouldn’t meet over pistols or swords.

Darius Lindsey’s gaze promised death to Nick, right then and there, should Nick offer any hurt or insult to the child.

“She is gone,” Darius said quietly to the child in his lap, “but we have another guest, John, so why don’t you make your bow?”

The bottom of Nick’s stomach dropped out as he gazed into young eyes so like Leah’s.

“John Cowperthwaite Lindsey,” the child piped cheerfully as he scrambled to his feet and bowed to Nick. “At your service, good sir.”

Nick rose and bowed to the child. “Bellefonte. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Then he squatted when he saw wee John’s stunned reaction to his great height. “But you can call me Nick, with mine host’s permission, as Bellefonte is not so friendly, young John, and I should like to make a new friend today.”

“Are you a giant?”

“Of course not,” Nick scoffed, still hunkered at the child’s eye level. “I am merely a fellow who ate all his vegetables, went to bed without a fuss every night, and bathed when nurse said I must. Darius was not quite as well behaved as I, at least when he was a boy.”

John eyed Darius, who was sitting as still and attentive as a hungry papa wolf. “Is that why Dare isn’t so big as you?”

“Quite possibly, though as grown fellows go, he’s on the tall side,” Nick said. “We mustn’t hurt his feelings when it’s too late for him to grow any more. Sit you down, John, and we will impress Darius with our conversation.” Nick hoisted the child onto his lap. “Now, my good fellow, tell me about your pony.”

John chattered on with the bright, happy oblivion of a well-loved child before a new audience, and Nick let go of some anxiety. Every child deserved to be loved, and this one had at least that in his favor.

Nick interrupted John’s description of his latest tumble from his pony. “Don’t you suppose if you’re to go riding, you’d best don appropriate attire?”

John looked for a translation from Darius, who’d been silent and watchful throughout the entire exchange.

“Put on your boots and breeches,” Darius said, “and grab a carrot or two from Cook, but take a proper leave of Lord Bellefonte first.” John executed a perfect little bow of parting and scampered off, leaving an enormous silence in his wake.

“It seems we have more to discuss than I thought, Lindsey.” For a wretched, uncomfortable suspicion had bloomed in the back of Nick’s mind.

“Leah will kill us both if you call me out,” Darius said with bitter humor. “There is an explanation for why matters stand as they do, but I’ve been trying to convince Trent that because Leah’s circumstances have changed, perhaps it’s time to change John’s circumstances as well.”

“No perhaps about it,” Nick shot back. “That boy deserves his mother’s love, to say nothing of what Leah deserves.”

Surprise crossed Darius’s features, surprise the man made no effort to mask. “You and the rest of Polite Society are supposed to conclude John is my by-blow.”

“He has Leah’s eyes, Lindsey. Beelzebub’s hairy balls, you can’t—”

Lindsey held up a hand. “John is my paternal half brother, our paternal half brother. His mother was a maid at Wilton Acres who walked here from the Lindsey family seat in Hampshire just to seek my aid. Wilton had discarded her when she couldn’t hide her condition any longer and scoffed at the notion she might be carrying his child. If Wilton knew of the boy’s existence, the consequences to the child would be unthinkable. Leah doesn’t know of him. She’s had enough to deal with, and the time was never right.”

Another secret kept from Leah, by another man who professed to love her. The idea should have assuaged Nick’s guilt, when in fact it did the opposite.

“You won’t tell Leah?” Darius asked, his manner softening a little.

“I won’t tell Leah, yet,” Nick said, “but she is going to know soon, and you’d best use the time to make sure John is prepared for that day. She lost a child, Lindsey, and her marriage will not provide any opportunities to replace that loss with joy. I will be very surprised if she doesn’t snatch the boy from you the moment she learns of him.”

Rather than rant and rail to the contrary—and wouldn’t a rousing argument suit Nick’s mood wonderfully?—Darius’s gaze turned pensive.

“You’re an earl now, Wilton’s peer,” he said. “Leah would dote on the boy.”

Behind dark eyes, the mill wheel of Lindsey’s brain was turning at a great rate, and Nick suspected he knew exactly the direction of Lindsey’s thoughts. “You and John can ride a few miles with me in the direction of town. We’ll talk.”

And talk they did.