A Visit From Sir Nicholas (17 page)

"I suspect you would dare to ask or do almost anything," she said mildly. He stared at her for a long, frustrating moment. What on earth had happened here? He had the upper hand, held all the cards as it were, yet she was firmly in control of this exchange between them. Worse yet, he could tell by the look in her eyes that she well knew it.

He drew a deep, calming breath. "And do you dare to answer?"

She laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time today, and the sound and the memories rippled through his blood. "I do indeed, Sir Nicholas. And even though your query is completely improper, highly personal, and really none of your concern, I will confess there is no one gentleman that I especially favor at the moment, although admittedly there are a few who would wish to take up that position in my life." Relief flooded through him. "I can understand that."

"Oh?" She sipped her drink and considered him over the rim of her glass.

"You are a wealthy widow with formidable family and social connections. In addition, you are extremely clever, and the years have been most kind. I myself find you even lovelier, if possible, than when you were a girl."

"You flatter me, Sir Nicholas." She tilted her head and studied him as if he were a puzzle she could not quite figure out. "I do not recall that you were especially free with flattery in your youth. I don't remember you as being quite this charming."

He laughed. "Have I changed that much then?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "Granted, it has been a very long time, but I remember you being far more serious in manner than you are now. It may be simply the passage of years and a maturity of character perhaps, but you strike me as a man very much in command of his world and at ease with your place in it. There is an air of confidence about you now that did not exist before. I do not remember you being as—I don't know exactly." She thought for a moment.

"Content perhaps?"

He nodded. "Perhaps. I have accomplished much of what I set out to do in life, reconciled my past, or rather my family's past, and I find I am indeed at peace, if you will."

"How lovely for you," she murmured and moved away.

"And are you at peace?"

"What an odd question to ask."

"Not really. If you would prefer not to answer, I can certainly—"

"I am content with my life." Her words were measured, as though she was puzzling them out even as she answered. "Though I did not exactly choose this path, one never expects to find oneself a widow with two children after a mere seven years of marriage—"

"No, of course not."

She turned to him and her gaze met his. "But I must admit that now I quite cherish my independence and my freedom."

"And you resent me for taking them away." It was as much a question as a statement. She arched a brow. "Wouldn't you in my position?"

"Without question." He chuckled. "And I would probably be doing exactly as you are now."

"That is?"

He grinned. "Devising a means of escape."

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "Excellent, Sir Nicholas, most perceptive. But I have already thought of a means of escape, as you put it." She swirled the brandy in her glass and met his gaze directly. "According to my brother, my finances would no longer be under your management, or his for that matter, if I marry someone," amusement sparkled in her eye, "
suitable
."

"Rather an extreme measure when you could well be free of me entirely by Christmas," he said wryly.

"Indeed it is, especially as I have no desire to marry again."

"Why not?" He forced a casual note to his voice. "I had understood you and Charles were quite happy together."

"We were," she said a shade too quickly. Was she trying to convince him? Or herself?

At once Nick wondered if Jonathon was wrong; if indeed Elizabeth knew of her husband's indiscretions. His stomach twisted for her. Surely not. She would not keep such a thing to herself. Or maybe her pride dictated that that's exactly what she would have done. His uncle was right. One never knew what transpired in the privacy of a marriage.

"Quite happy indeed." She caught his gaze, and there was a look of challenge in her eye, as if she dared him to think otherwise. "Nonetheless, I am not looking for a husband." He drew his brows together. "Why not?"

Her tone was light, but she obviously chose her words with care. "I have had one husband and I'm not entirely sure one is not more than enough. I have experienced marriage and, even as perfect as it was, I see no need to do so again."

"I see."

"Do you?" She raised her chin and her eyes flashed. "I like the freedom afforded a widow in this world, Sir Nicholas. I like being able to do as I please with whomever I please. You may well control my finances for a time or forever, but you shall not control my life."

"I have no desire to do so."

"What do you desire, Sir Nicholas? What do you want from me?"

The question hung in the air between them.

I desire you. I want the life we should have had. I wish to have you in my bed for the rest of my
days. And in my heart forever.

He drew a deep breath. Now was not the time to tell her that the years had changed nothing for him. That he had lied when he had pushed her away so long ago. That the moment he'd seen her again he'd realized that losing her—no—giving her up had been the greatest mistake of his life. He set his glass down and forced a light note to his voice. "At the moment, I want you to call me Nicholas."

She shook her head. "That would be most inappropriate."

"Why?" His restraint snapped, and he stepped closer to her. "Blast it all, Elizabeth, why won't you call me Nicholas?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Does it bother you that I don't?"

"Yes, damn it all, it does." He glared at her.

"Excellent." She smiled sweetly. "Calling you by your given name would be most improper and would imply a relationship we do not share."

He clenched his jaw. "You used to call me Nicholas."

"I used to be nineteen and very, very foolish."

"I don't remember you as foolish."

"Memories are selective,
Sir Nicholas
. I remember myself as being foolish enough to think… to feel…" She waved impatiently. "That's neither here nor there. It's not the least bit important now."

"I think it is." He moved nearer.

"Well, you are wrong." She was within arm's reach, and she glared up at him. What would she do if he pulled her into his arms? "Everything that passes between us is important. "

"Once, perhaps, but not now. Now it is simply an insignificant moment in a long-forgotten past."

"And have you forgotten?" If he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her with the pent-up passion of a decade?

"Yes," she snapped, but she made no effort to move away.

"All of it?" His gaze shifted to her lips, full and firm and irresistible. "Everything?"

"There was nothing of significance to forget and nothing important enough to remember," she said staunchly. "You are standing entirely too close, Sir Nicholas."

"I am not standing nearly close enough."

"Do you intend to kiss me?" Her voice was firm but sounded a shade breathless nonetheless.

"I'm not entirely sure what my intentions are, Elizabeth." Her scent wafted around him, subtle with a touch of spice and vaguely reminiscent of Christmas.

"Lady Langley, if you please."

"I do please," he murmured, "or so I've been told."

"S/r
Nicholas
, I am shocked." Even so, she seemed to lean ever so slightly toward him.

"Do you remember the last time we kissed?" Or was it that everything about Christmas was vaguely reminiscent of Elizabeth?

She drew her brows together. "Have we kissed?"

"Once or twice."

"You must have me confused with someone else. I don't remember kissing you at all." He could read the lie in her eyes.

"You don't remember your lips meeting mine?" His gaze shifted to her lips. "Your life's breath mingling with my own?"

"No." Her voice was firm, but she wet her lips in a nervous manner, as if his words had sapped the moisture from them. His stomach tightened.

"Or the way in which I took you in my arms?" He noted the rise and fall of her chest with her quickened breath. "And how you fit against me as if we were made one for the other?"

"No." Her gaze never wavered from his and he stared into her green eyes, now shadowed with memories she could deny but could not forget.

"Or the way a current of desire surged between us so strong we were left weak and breathless." The same desire that surged between them now like an arc or endless electricity. Dangerous and exciting and irresistible.

"No." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"I remember, Elizabeth." It took every modicum of self-control he possessed not to reach out now and pull her into his arms. "I remember it all."

"Well I do not, because there is nothing of significance to remember." She swallowed hard. "And I warn you, if you attempt to kiss me now, I shall—"

"You shall kiss me back."

"I most certainly will not."

"That would be a very great shame. I remember the way you kissed me back. The way you clung to me as if to life itself. The way you—"

"Stop it at once." She drew a shuddered breath and stepped out of his reach. She turned away and gripped the back of a chair as if needing support merely to stand. "Why are you doing this to me?" He willed a note of cool reserve to his voice. "Doing what, Elizabeth?"

"You know full well what you're doing. You're trying to force me to recall something that it serves no purpose to remember. Something that really exists," she shook her head, "only in your imagination."

"My imagination is not that good." He stepped to the table, picked up his glass, ignored the slight tremor in his hand, and downed the rest of his liquor. "I know I hurt you once, and for that you have my apologies."

She whirled around to face him. "A bit late for apologies, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." He refilled his glass. "I had reasons for doing what I did."

"Yes, I know. How was that again?" She narrowed her eyes. "Ah yes, you said my money and my family connections were tempting but that I was far too frivolous for you. You also said I would be amusing in the manner of such things between men and women. Most amusing, I believe."

"I see you remember that," he said mildly.

"Vaguely!"

"It sounded quite specific to me."

"What I do remember
specifically
is being very silly and very young and being intrigued by the idea of the life of adventures you were about to embark upon. And… and… throwing myself at you in a most absurd and pathetic manner." She wrapped her arms around herself, anger etched in every line of her body. "I was a complete and utter fool, and I do remember that quite clearly. And nothing more than that."

"There was a great deal more than that. A great deal more to us than that." She jerked her chin up and glared. "There was no
us
."

"There would have been and indeed should have been. You were not the fool." His gaze trapped hers. "I was."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

"I should never have let you go. I made a mistake, Elizabeth, one I did not fully realize the enormity of until I saw you again." He stared at her for a long moment and wondered, as he had over and over today, how he could ever have let her go. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and make everything between them right. And never let her go again. But at this moment, that too would be a mistake. "I shall not make another."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I have spent the last ten years achieving everything I set out to achieve. I acquired everything I have ever wanted in life with one notable exception." He drained the rest of his drink, placed the glass firmly on the table, then looked at her. "You."

"You seek to acquire me? Me?" She stared in disbelief. "Like a ship or a company?"

"I would not put it so crudely as that."

"You just did!"

He shrugged. "My apologies. Again."

"They are not accepted! Not for your behavior tonight. Not for ten years ago. Not today, not ever. Now." She jerked her head toward the door. "Do be so kind as to leave my house. Immediately."

"You're quite right. The hour is late and our business for the moment is completed. Indeed, I still have a few other matters to attend to this evening."

"What other matters?" Suspicion sounded in her voice.

"Correspondence, for the most part. I have long found my mind clearest for such work late at night after the"—he cleared his throat— "temptations of the day are laid to rest."

"Good evening, Sir Nicholas," she said through clenched teeth.

"Good evening, Lady Langley." He turned toward the door, then turned back. "Oh, I would like to establish a regular schedule for the inspection of your daily accounts. I should think half-past-two would be an agreeable time."

"Do you actually intend to inspect my accounts on a daily basis?"

"I most certainly do." He cast her a pleasant smile. "And I should very much like to meet your sons tomorrow as well."

"Why?"

"I have been charged with the responsibility of the management of their inheritance even if, at the moment, you are serving in that capacity."

"Only under your watchful eye." Disgust sounded in her voice.

"Be that as it may, an introduction seems only proper."

"They are children, Sir Nicholas."

"One is a viscount and the other is his heir. Regardless of their youth, they deserve to meet those to whom their financial futures are entrusted."

"They have met me." She fairly spit the words at him. "I am their mother."

"And you will be their mother always. However," he shook his head in a regretful manner, "whether you will always administer their affairs remains to be seen."

"Is that a threat, Sir Nicholas?"

"Probably not, but," he flashed her a wicked smile, "one never knows. Until tomorrow then." Once more he started for the door.