The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) (25 page)

Nick chuckled at her dry tone. Sarah shook her head in amazement. "You should have seen it, Nick. We walked into Madame Valentine Meurice's pied-a-terre in Mount Street, and within a minute the gossips had swarmed like yellow jackets. I was shocked, and the girls were taken aback by it. Even Aurora."

After a moment's pause, during which her invitingly plump lips pursed, she got to the reason behind her invasion of his study. "A Mrs. Wallingford was most illuminating. She informed me that despite a few hints you have given in the past, most people in Society believed you to be a bachelor. Then Lady Pratt came to town and spread the word of my existence and arrival at Glencoltran."

He nodded. "I expected she would do that."

Sarah visibly braced herself, then said, "I think you should know... well, the girls were standing there and I'm not much of a liar and... well... I told the truth to the London ladies."

"Which truth?"

She rolled her eyes in frustration. "About why I'm here."

"Charlotte's wedding?" he responded, choosing to be obtuse.

"The annulment!"

Keeping his manner offhand, he murmured, "Oh, that."

She stared at him, her lovely eyes wide, shocked into silence. Nick wished he had that kind of luck with his sisters.

Finally, she spoke in a strangled tone.
"Oh, that?
Really, Lord Weston. Is the state of our marriage of such little consequence to you that it rates only an 'Oh, that?'"

"You misunderstand." Standing, he extended his hand. "Come for a walk in the garden with me and allow me to explain, lass. The sun is shining, and I've a desire for fresh air after a morning at my desk."

"If that's the case, you'll need to go farther than your garden," she grumbled as she rose. "This is the smelliest city I've every visited."

Nick grabbed her hand, rolled a squeaky-caster chair out of the way, then tugged her toward the french window that led out into the small garden behind the townhouse. He kept her close as he turned the latch and pushed open the door.

Cool air brushed his face, but whether it smelled or not he couldn't tell. His senses were wrapped up in Sarah's fresh, clean scent. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, to nuzzle her neck and other interesting places.

Patience, man,
he told himself. In formulating his seduction plan, he'd decided to make at least five Pillow Book entries before attempting anything more than a casual touch.

Still, he couldn't quite stop himself from leaning closer and inhaling deeply. When she flicked her gaze up and caught him at it, he schooled his expression into one of perfect innocence. "You have a good point about London air."

She shot him a suspicious glower and Nick smothered a grin. Vexation looked good on his wife. It put sparkle in her eyes and a glow on her skin and starch in her spine that challenged a man, made him want to bend her to his will. Nick was smart enough to keep that particular observation to himself.

He led her past a sundial toward the gurgling marble fountain at the center of the garden. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. Offering her half of them, he took a seat on an iron-and-wood bench, motioned for her to join him, and began flicking the coins toward the fountain one by one. "Our annulment petition will be a matter of public record, Sarah. People are bound to find out about it. I never expected otherwise. However, the legal step we have put into motion is not a divorce. It won't be a social liability to either you or the girls, so I see no reason not to be up-front about it."

"Me, either," Sarah said, nodding in agreement even as suspicion filtered through her voice. "However, I'm surprised to hear you say it. Our marriage is our private business."

"We'd like to think so, but the truth is, nothing is private in Society." He showed her how to hold the coin to improve loft, then added, "Indeed, I'm tired of it, Sarah. For years my life was nothing but falsehoods, deceptions, and subterfuge. My patience for such business has worn thin. Therefore, unless I'm offered a compelling need for lies and secrecy—such as our investigation into this bombing plot—I intend to be truthful in both word and deed. In
all
aspects of my life." He paused until she met his gaze, then added, "You can trust me on that."

Sarah shot a shilling at the fish spewing water. "Can I?"

"Aye, lass. Believe it."

She offered him a smile that was part wistful, part chiding, then changed the subject. "Who is Mrs. Wallingford? Everyone at Madame Meurice's treated her with deference."

Nick silently debated whether to allow her the conversational escape, then decided to let her have her way. For now. "She's Clarence Wallingford's wife. He's an M.P. from Stockton who has Salisbury's ear. She's no wallpaper wife like many politicians' spouses, and her influence is undeniable."

"Political influence?"

"Yes." A coin pinged off the fountain rim and fell back into the grass. Nick frowned at the miss.

"That's difficult to imagine. When she wasn't occupied by grilling me, she was busy vacillating over a choice between stuffed birds or butterflies for her new hat."

He gave Sarah a sidelong glance. "She settled on the birds, didn't she?"

"How did you know?"

"Mrs. Wallingford always wears birds."

"That's why Aurora rolled her eyes when I recommended the butterflies," Sarah said with a grin as her guinea flew into the marble fish's mouth. "See, it's just like I told you earlier. I'd best get some guidance or I'll end up harming your sisters instead of helping them."

"It would be my pleasure to serve as your instructor in any number of areas, my dear."

She shot him a narrow, suspicious look.

The picture of innocence, he offered her another coin. She gave him a long, judgmental stare before accepting it. As she took aim, Nick guilelessly continued. "I should help you to understand the overlapping social circles of the fashionable world before you gad about town to any great extent. Certainly before you attend your first function. In the case of Prince Edward's set, it's imperative. You are exactly the sort of woman who will appeal to that group, Sarah. You are beautiful, witty, accomplished, and most important of all, already wed."

She'd begun to preen from his compliments, but the last comment put a look of confusion in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"In the eyes of the Marlborough House set, being married makes you eligible to become a mistress."

Her eyes rounded with alarm. "What?"

"Ordinarily, the fact you've yet to give me an heir would protect you, but I have... oh, let's call it a history... with a few of those men, and they'd likely take an unholy pleasure in the prospect of providing the seed for the fifth Marquess of Weston."

Now she bristled. "Why, I wouldn't—"

"Of course not," he said soothingly, and sent the last of his coins sailing, spinning toward the fountain. "But they don't know that, and they'll most certainly make a run at you. You'll find the waters easier to navigate if you learn ahead of time who are the porpoises and who are the sharks."

"Oh, I can recognize sharks, Lord Weston," she drawled, then made a show of looking for a dorsal fin on his back. As Nick laughed, she added, "Speaking of which, upon our arrival yesterday you neglected to give me something. I didn't realize it until last night."

"Calling cards." He nodded. "They should be delivered this morning. I apologize for the oversight."

"I'm not referring to calling cards. I'm speaking of the key to the door between our rooms."

"Oh."

She waited expectantly. When he failed to elaborate, she tried again. "You'll note I didn't make a fuss over the proximity of our chambers. I understand this is a townhouse and not a sprawling country house or castle and that chambers must be at a premium with your sisters in residence. The room itself is lovely, as are the mistress's dressing room and the sitting room you and I are to share. However, I do require privacy, Nick, so I want that key."

Inwardly, he winced. She obviously had yet to learn the floor above the master suite contained fourteen guest rooms. Maybe he'd get lucky and be away when she discovered that little fact.

Nick had expected a protest from her yesterday when she learned which room she'd been given. He should have known she wouldn't let it go unchallenged.

This particular request both surprised and intrigued him. Did she truly believe a locked door could keep a man of his skills and experience out if he wanted in? Or was she sending a message to him about the Pillow Book? Was it a test of some sort? Was she throwing down the gauntlet, so to speak?

He eyed her thoughtfully, noted the determination in her gaze.
Ah, yes.
There
was
a message in this request. Sarah had taken up the game.

It was all Nick could do not to let out a gleeful cheer. This was exactly what he'd hoped would happen when he chose to seduce his wife with the written word. He'd suspected that an outright, open seduction might frighten his virginal virago. The privacy of the Pillow Book was just the right approach.

Taking her hand, he played the gallant and pressed a courtly kiss to the back of her hand. "Of course, lass. I'll see that you have the key before tea,"

Never let it be said Nick Ross shied away from gauntlets.

* * *

Standing outside her bedroom door that night after dinner, Sarah took a deep, bracing breath. Her heart was racing and her palms were damp. She felt bold and brazen and more than a little bit wicked. This evening before going downstairs to dinner, she'd tucked Nick's book beneath her pillow.

Sarah tested the doorknob. Locked.

Her stomach took a dive. He had not invaded her room to write in the Pillow Book.

"Well, good," she told herself as she slid the key into the lock, turned it, and heard the bolt release with a crisp snick. Except, she didn't feel that it was good. She felt... well... disappointed. That shamed her.

Sarah despised women who told a man they wanted one thing when in truth they hoped for another. How many times had she watched women utilize such dishonest, manipulative tactics and sworn she'd never do the same? How was a man to know what a woman truly desired if she lied about those desires all the time?

"But I'm not lying," she murmured as she fled into her room. She was confused. That was different. She honestly didn't know what she wanted.

Then she glanced at the bed and her heart leapt.
Well, maybe I do know part of what I want, anyway.
The book lay propped against her pillow. Her mouth immediately went dry. Maybe Nick had two keys to the lock. Maybe he didn't need a key at all. After all, the man had been an espionage agent. And hadn't she known that when she'd asked for the key?
You challenged him, Sarah.

"What sort of game are you playing?" she asked herself.

It's not a game. It's a war. What you must decide is whether you want to win or to lose.

With no idea of the answer to that question, Sarah lick reached for the Pillow Book, a thrill of anticipation humming through her veins.

My dearest Sarah,

As I take up my pen to write, I wonder what thoughts flow through your mind on this, your first night in London. Are you thinking of the plans you have set in motion for Charlotte's wedding? Are you remembering those silly biddies you encountered in the hat shop this morning?

Dare I hope you are thinking of me?

I am thinking of you.

I am dreaming of you.

Daydreams. Night dreams. Of late, I have dreamed of your eyes.

So beautiful. Amber with flecks of gold. Autumn eyes. Whisky eyes. Siren eyes. They call to a man, beckon him to submerge himself in their intoxicating depths. I go gladly.

I am swept away, held spellbound by the many emotions I see swirling around me. Humor and wit. Intelligence. Compassion. Passion.

Passion.

Passion.

My blood catches fire.

Look into your dreams, lass. See me. See how I want you. Close your eyes and feel the touch of my lips against your temple, your brow. Your long, sable-soft lashes brush my mouth. Do they tickle me? Tease me? Please me?

Please. Let me please you.

Tonight, I believe I'll dream of your mouth.

Until next time, Nick

"Do
you
think they are engaging in the Sport of Venus?" Aurora asked Melanie the following afternoon, watching from the upstairs bedroom as their brother left the house, whistling. "I don't. Nicholas doesn't have that heavy-lidded, relaxed look that Jake Delaney so often has following a night with Gillian. Nicholas looks... tense."

"You may be right." Melanie turned away from the window and faced her sister. "I don't know what is wrong with him. Charlotte said she was up late last night and overheard him telling his valet he'd be at either Brooks or the Turf Club in case one of us needed him. Why, I ask you, is he playing at being a man-about-town instead of slaying at home and wooing his wife?"

"It's a sad thing," Aurora agreed, answering a knock at her bedchamber door. Charlotte swept into the room and took a seat at the dressing table. Aurora continued, "I had such hopes when Nicholas installed Sarah in the master suite. But then she tells all of London that they're annulling the marriage, and as if that weren't enough, you'll never guess what Hermione Lassiter whispered in my ear at Madame Meurice's yesterday."