Dalliance with the Duchess (Seducing the Duchess #3)

Chapter Four

N icholas cursed softly to himself as the door to the townhouse in Berkeley Square closed behind him. He shouldn’t have said that. Why had he? Because just for a moment, her closeness, her scent, had made him lose concentration, and now she would be wondering if he realized she had been the woman that night at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. She would be remembering her gasps and his moans, her body clenching hard on his cock at the last until he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

What if she refused to help him now that she knew?

He had not forgotten that night and, judging by the shocked expression on her beautiful face, neither had she. He could play dumb, but he rather thought the cat was out of the bag now, and there was no putting it back in.

At the same time, he wondered if she regretted their moments together. It was certainly the opposite for him. That night was one he revisited regularly in his memories, and it never failed to stoke his passion and soothe his turbulent soul.

Nicholas knew he led a dangerous life, and it was not one he had ever wished to share. He had no wife or mistress, no children, and no happy home to return to when his day was done. His enemies were always seeking ways to bring him down, so friendships and closer bonds were risky to any person involved. Sexual comfort was also not something he took for granted, and he rarely visited the same place twice. So many times when Nicholas sought out female companionship, driven by his need for the touch and warmth of another body, he was left unsatisfied.

But when he had found himself at Vauxhall Gardens on another matter and caught sight of Sophia, he had made an uncharacteristically snap decision to indulge in a moment of her company. He had thought only to dance with her, nothing more.

She was someone he had paid a great deal of attention to over the years. Not just her place in the ton and her past, but little things like the manner in which she turned her head, the dark gloss of a curl of her hair lying against her cheek, the gleam of her brown eyes between her lashes. Even her voice, despite her only whispering, was familiar. He had recognized her easily, and if he had any doubts, as they walked down the secret paths in the garden, those doubts had dissolved when her perfume had filled his head. It was a scent he had always associated with Sophia.

Nicholas had long ago accepted that despite her enmity, or perhaps because of it, he greatly enjoyed their encounters. That spark of hatred in her eyes, the twist of dislike to every word she spoke. They crossed swords whenever they met, and whenever he bested her he felt particularly smug. And when she bested him... it made him secretly smile. He wasn’t sure why their animosity was so exciting to him, but he wondered if it was the same for her. Sometimes their clashes felt like a courtship rather than a conflict.

That night in the gardens, when he had held her in his arms, when he had buried himself deep inside her and heard her cries of pleasure, he had known the memories would live with him forever.

Now he had seen another side to her, an unexpected but pleasing one. When he had told her about Gordon, she had paid attention, and he could see her concern for his friend. She understood why he wanted to save Gordon, and he thought she might even concur with his heroic endeavors. And dash it, then she had agreed to help him, and all he could think was that she was putting herself in danger.

Nicholas would need to keep a close watch on matters. Particularly on Chatham, that vile aristocrat who, now that Oldney was gone, seemed to be running the show. His thoughts strayed again to Sophia, and he wondered if she had ever been hurt by any of them, but he decided not. Not physically, anyway. Oldney was possessive of her, and he would have made certain she was protected from Chatham and the others. Of course, that did not mean Oldney had not hurt her himself—Nicholas would not have put anything past him. He had wanted to ask her, but he had bitten back the impulse, knowing she would not appreciate his stepping outside the boundaries of their acquaintanceship.

When Nicholas reached home—his spartan rooms in Edith Street—he flung himself down in the chair by the fire and took a deep breath. His landlady had left a plate warming on the hearth and he reminded himself to thank her. If it weren’t for Mr. and Mrs. Shirley, he probably wouldn’t have bothered to eat. Often, he was too weary or too sickened by what he saw about him to have an appetite. Nicholas had glimpsed the best and worst of humanity during his years as a man for hire.

If you were in a fix, then he was the one to call.

Recently, he had been seeking some agitators who had been bent on inciting rebellion against the government, but they were so inept their plot would never have worked. All the same, there was relief around Westminster when he delivered the fellows, and he was paid a nice sum for his work. He lived simply, so he also had savings, money set aside for a rainy day, money he rarely touched. But now he asked himself: Would that day ever come? And how could it when there was one vital question he still hadn’t found the answer to?

His younger sister, Fern, had been missing for more than ten years now. It was her disappearance at the age of seventeen that had been the catalyst for Nicholas to begin his line of work, and in between that work he had searched relentlessly for Fern. His father still believed that against all the odds his son would find her. If he stopped looking... How could he disappoint the man who had been everything to him since his mother had died shortly after his sister was born?

Reverend Blake was a minister at an exclusive private school for boys, and because of his father’s privileged position, Nicholas had also attended the school. He had not enjoyed being the butt of jokes and bullying from the more affluent and sometimes titled boys, but he had been able to hold his own. His sister had taken lessons, too, but privately, and once she was older she spent her days helping in the kitchen, or sitting with the boys who were in the infirmary and cheered them up by reading them stories and playing games. She was an angel, and everyone loved her, and then one day she was simply gone. There had been an investigation, but an unsatisfactory one, in Nicholas’s estimation. Eventually, the school had bowed to Nicholas’s demands, and questioned the boys, the staff, and anyone else he could think of. And yet no one had been able to solve the mystery of his sister’s disappearance.

That was ten long years ago, and the reverend had retired to a cottage on the grounds, although he still took on the role of religious adviser when asked. Like his daughter, he was universally loved, but although he accepted most things as God’s will, he could not come to terms with the loss of his daughter. Instead, he put his faith in Nicholas’s ability to find Fern, to restore her to her family, and he had never lost the belief that one day, Nicholas would succeed.

When Nicholas was having a bad day, his father’s faith in him was more of a burden than a matter of pride, and one he almost wished he did not have to bear.

He shook his head wearily. There was still a spark of hope he could find Fern, but with every year that passed it grew dimmer. And even if he could convince himself to walk away from this life and this task, what would he do? He doubted there was some rose-colored future awaiting him when he carried the guilt of failure. The best he could do was sit on a mountain top somewhere, alone, and watch the sun rise and set.

The loss of Fern made his rescue of Gordon, the young fool, from his own stupidity so vital. He couldn’t face another failure.

When Gordon had been a child, he had followed Nicholas about like a puppy, and gazed up at him as if he were brighter than the sun. The boy had been miserable at the exclusive school, and the minister had suggested Nicholas take him under his wing. It had worked for them both—Nicholas had been miserable, too. He had never fit in with the wealthy, privileged boys who were his classmates. He had come to view Gordon almost as a younger brother, and they had formed a bond he had thought was unbreakable. Until now.

Nicholas considered again Sophia’s descriptions of the three men, Chatham, Butcher and Arnold. She was afraid of them, but she was willing to go into the lion’s den for Gordon’s sake. She was brave as well as beautiful, but he would not allow her to be injured by joining forces with him in his loyal and perhaps misguided effort to save someone who did not want to be saved.

He wasn’t sure whether he and Sophia were still enemies, but if she was hurt in all this... well, Nicholas would never forgive himself.