To Love the Brooding Baron

SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

Sitting up from her relaxed position across the sofa, Arabella clamped her book shut, pushed out a frustrated breath, and dropped the leather-bound volume to the floor. The loud, singular thud died a sudden and hollow death.

Shakespeare, it seemed, was mocking her.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day.

Four days. It had been four days since the dinner at Lord Northcott’s, and he’d yet to keep his promise to visit her. She knew she needed to have patience, but it was growing very difficult.

Her mother cleared her throat. She sat on the sofa opposite Arabella, reading the morning newspaper, a bowl of marzipan on her lap. Her paper was lowered, and she watched Arabella with a raised brow. “King John?”

“What?” Arabella asked, stunned.

“Your reeenactment.” Her mother nodded to the book on the floor. “King John. Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.”

A laugh exploded from Arabella’s lips. Retrieving her book, she walked over to her mother and showed her the cover. “Macbeth.”

“At least I got the author correct.” Her mother winked before reaching into her bowl of marzipan. Marzipan was to her mother as Shakespeare was to Arabella: a necessity to treat the soul.

The parlor door opened, and Arabella looked over her shoulder to find Smith entering. “Lord Northcott and Mr. Bradbury, ma’am.”

Arabella spun on her heels, her dark green skirts whipping around her ankles.

He was here!

“Well, that certainly was interesting,” her mother said, coming to stand beside her.

Heat flooded Arabella’s cheeks, and it took a considerable effort to meet her mother’s curious gaze. For once, she wasn’t entirely certain what to say. She’d never felt such a pull, such a desire to be noticed by a man. It was all so overwhelming and confusing how it had come about. He’d spent an entire Season dancing with her, and she’d felt no such nerves then.

“Take a breath,” her mother whispered, rubbing a hand up and down Arabella’s back as the gentlemen entered the room.

Lord Northcott appeared first, closely followed by Mr. Bradbury, whose bright and boisterous grin quickly commanded the attention of the room.

“I hope you did not put away your marzipan on my account,” Mr. Bradbury said, moving past Lord Northcott and squeezing her mother’s outstretched hands.

Arabella gave a giggle-snort, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

Her mother didn’t so much as blink at Mr. Bradbury’s accurate assumption.

“I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about,” her mother replied.

Mr. Bradbury quirked his lips before stepping around her mother and dropping onto the sofa. His hand slid across the blue-and-cream-striped cushion until it disappeared beneath an awkwardly slanted, blue velvet pillow and retrieved her mother’s hidden bowl.

He settled the bowl in his lap and waggled his brow before taking a triumphant bite. “As I said, no need to hide your treat because of me. We have known each other long enough.”

Arabella’s mother shook her head and shot him a look that only a mother could. “One would think after all that time I would have instilled in you a few more manners.”

Mr. Bradbury shot her a boyish grin. “My apologies.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “May I please have some of your marzipan?”

A smile stole across her mother’s lips. “You may, but I shall hold the bowl.”

Amusement gave way to another giggle as Arabella turned toward Lord Northcott, excited and nervous to have some time with him.

She found him watching her, only this time it was with an urgency that nearly took her breath away. His dark, hooded eyes tracked her every step, taking in every detail of her appearance as she approached as if he needed to look upon her. It wasn’t like him, showing such emotions.

Her entire body warmed, and her heart picked up its pace. “Did you also come for some of my mother’s marzipan?” she asked, wanting to almost laugh at the way her voice and hands were shaking.

He shook his head. “I made a promise to you,” he replied, his expression serious, yet there was a hint of a smile in his tone, causing shivers to run up her spine.

“I’m glad you kept it.” Her smile grew, and her heart raced when his eyes dipped down to her lips.

He swallowed and quickly gripped his hands behind his back as he glanced over her shoulder.

Was he just as nervous about all this as she was?

Following his gaze, she wasn’t surprised to find her mother discreetly watching them. Heat flashed up Arabella’s neck and into her cheeks, and she was grateful when Mr. Bradbury pulled her mother into a conversation.

“Walk with me?” she asked Lord Northcott, thinking a man as guarded as he was might wish for some privacy.

For a moment, she thought he’d turn her down, but then he glanced toward the gloomy, gray-filled window, its glass speckled with that day’s rain. “And go where?” he asked.

She studied him. Was he teasing her?

A corner of his lips twitched upward.

He was teasing her. Her heart did an excited flip. Two could play at that game.

“The world’s mine oyster,” Arabella said, holding her arms outward. “Though in truth, I was thinking the card table.” She nodded toward the back of the room.

He hesitated before nodding his approval and held out his arm to her. She tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm, and they walked in silence toward the card table conveniently situated behind the sofa. They’d walked together like this many times over the Season, but somehow this time felt different. She was much more aware of him, like how he was using the corded muscles in his forearm to pull her even closer to him.

“The Merry Wives of Windsor,” he murmured, completely catching her by surprise.

He was playing her game. She squeezed her fingers around his arm and smiled up at him with a lightness that filled her heart and lungs.

This feeling, this spark, had to be what her father wanted her to find.

They sat across from the other at the card table.

“I know you do not gamble,” she said, reaching for the stack of cards at the center of the table, “but I hope you will find the game I have in mind innocent enough.”

“And what game is that?” he asked, watching her hands as she shuffled the deck.

“I’m certain it will become your favorite.” She grinned as he warily met her gaze. “I think we should play battle, only the person who flips over the highest card also wins the chance to ask the other a question.”

His eyes narrowed before looking away. She didn’t know why he was always so guarded, but she had hoped he’d begun to trust her.

“Our doubts are traitors,”she began, wishing to regain his attention. “And make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.”

For an endless moment, she held her breath.

“Measure for Measure,” he replied, meeting and holding her gaze. “I will play your games, but I cannot promise I will answer all your questions.”

Her heart sank. She would have to do more to prove to him she was worthy of his trust.

Dividing the cards equally between them, she straightened her stack, which remained face down. “Ready?” she asked, finding Lord Northcott had done the same with his stack.

He nodded, and they both flipped over their top cards. Hers was a seven of clubs and his a ten of hearts.

Zounds!Of course, he would win first.

“What is your first question?” she asked, watching him collect his newly won cards.

He set them in an orderly pile next to his larger stack of cards. “Do you plan to have any more secret adventures before your brother returns?”

She blinked and opened her mouth, but no words came out, feeling almost called out by his choice of question. And then the corner of his lips twitched. Was he teasing her again?

The so-called Brooding Baron was proving to be far more charming than people believed.

Biting the insides of her cheeks to hide her amusement, she leaned over the table as if she were about to impart some great secret.

He leaned forward as well, his eyes darting toward her mother and Mr. Bradbury.

“The answer is—” She paused, wanting to draw him in even further before she teased him. Only it was she who was taken in when she caught the most alluring and distracting scent of leather and warm spice.

“Miss Latham?” His tone was soft, but it was enough to return her to her senses.

She shook her head, breaking the spell that had overtaken her.

“My apologies,” she said. “And my answer is no. Though if I am ever given the chance to see inside Sadler’s Wells Theatre, I can make no such promise.”

Lord Northcott’s soft smile vanished into a thin line.

The infamous theater sat just outside London and was only open during the summer months. It’d been a dream of hers since she was a girl of sixteen and her father first mentioned a stage made of water. She’d thus far been denied that dream because the crowds that frequented that theater were often unruly, requiring the theater to provide escorts for its higher-paying patrons.

“Do not worry yourself,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “I am fairly certain my luck will change once Emerson and Olivia are home. My closest friend may prove to be the perfect chink to break through my brother’s overprotective armor.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and he shook his head. “No doubt.”

Her heart warmed at seeing another small crack in his armor.

“Shall we draw again?” she asked, unable to keep a smile from her lips.

He nodded, and they flipped over their top cards once again. The knave of clubs against the six of diamonds. She’d won!

Collecting her winnings, she looked to him only half apologetically. “Are you ready for my question?”

He nodded slowly, his entire body tense and rigid in his seat.

“What is something you enjoy?” she asked, struggling to stifle the smile at his apparent relief in her choice of question.

She was practicing patience in order to gain his trust. Eventually she would ask him if he’d visited his sister.

“Reading,” he replied after a moment’s thought.

“What do you read?” she asked, glad to hear they had that in common. She could picture evenings by the fire where they’d read to one another ... perhaps with his arms wrapped around her.

Her body overheated at the thought.

“That is two questions,” he replied.

“I gave you a more detailed answer,” she argued.

“You gave that willingly. I am only following your rules of the game.”

She began to argue but was cut off by Mr. Bradbury, who had approached the card table.

“Did you say game?”

Arabella inwardly groaned. This was why she struggled with patience. You ran the risk of missing out on opportunities.

Mr. Bradbury surveyed the different stacks of cards between them. “You are playing a game without me.” He pulled out an empty chair and took a seat. “What are we playing?”

“We were playing battle,” Arabella replied, not hiding the frustration in her tone.

Mr. Bradbury eyed her skeptically. “You know, if you want to attract a husband next Season, you would do well to do a lot less of this”—he pulled a ridiculous looking face and flapped his fingers in the form of a mouth—“and a lot more of this.” He smiled sweetly, pressed his hands together, and fluttered his eyes.

She swatted his shoulder—hard—and he reeled back in mock outrage.

“For someone who is so terrified of marriage,” Arabella said, folding her arms, “you have a lot of advice on the subject.”

“She has you there, Bradbury,” Lord Northcott said.

“What’s this?” Bradbury turned a surprised scowl on Lord Northcott. “I let you into the brotherhood and you turn your back on me?”

“I’m not turning my back,” Lord Northcott replied. “But Miss Latham is smart enough to know her own mind. If a man cannot accept her for who she is”—he turned to look at her—“then he is not worth her time.”

His words stole her breath as he continued to hold her eyes with his intense gaze. Was he offering to be that man?

“What are you two doing?” Mr. Bradbury asked with a heavy dose of suspicion, severing their connection. He looked back and forth between them, his scowl growing.

Lord Northcott cleared his throat and turned to look at his friend. “Did you want to play?”

Mr. Bradbury didn’t immediately respond, though his scowl lessened. “Battle, you said?”

“Yes,” Arabella replied. “Only the winner gets to ask the other player a question.”

“That is boring.” Mr. Bradbury reached over and drew a small stack of cards off each of theirs and set them in front of him. “Let’s change it to coin.”

“No,” Arabella replied, not wanting Lord Northcott to withdraw from the game. “It’s more fun this way.”

Mr. Bradbury scoffed. “You and I have different definitions of fun.”

Ignoring his grumbling, Arabella reached for her stack, then waited for the others to do the same before flipping over her top card.

Mr. Bradbury won with the king of diamonds.

“So what now?” he asked. “Do I ask a question to the both of you, or do I just pick one of you?”

“Just pick one,” Arabella replied, anxious to get to the next hand. She wouldn’t be able to ask Lord Northcott the more personal questions she’d been hoping to, but she could still learn more about him.

“That still makes it difficult. I do not find either one of you that interesting.” Mr. Bradbury tapped his chin in thought. “Oh, I know.” He turned toward Arabella. “Tell me about this cousin of yours, Sebastian Latham. Why have I never met him before?”

Arrabella’s lips twitched, but she managed to hold back her laugh. She’d been wondering when the timing would be right to inform Mr. Bradbury he’d lost his wager, and he had unknowingly provided the perfect opportunity for her.

“Sebastian was not my cousin,” she replied, glancing toward Lord Northcott to see if he wanted to be part of her reveal.

He sat stiff in his chair, but a subtle spark beneath his dark eyes told her he was enjoying this part of the game.

She met Mr. Bradbury’s gaze with a wide, smug smile. “It was me.”

Bradbury laughed. “Very funny.” He looked to Lord Northcott. “Can you believe this?”

“It was her,” he said.

Bradbury’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he looked between her and Lord Northcott. “What? How did you—Why on earth would you—” He stopped short, realization washing over him as he stared open-mouthed at Arabella. “Emerson’s study.” He swallowed, cursing under his breath. “Why would you ever take my words seriously?”

“I shall remember that in the future,” she said, finding an unholy delight in tormenting him.

He moaned and dropped his head into the palms of his hands. “Your brother is going to murder me.”

“No, he is not,” Arabella said. “We are not going to tell him—or my mother—about any of this.” She paused and looked to Lord Northcott. “Anything that happened that day is now in the past, never to be revisited.”

His eyes thanked her.

“Agreed,” Mr. Bradbury said, letting out a breath as his body sagged into his chair with relief.

“But you still owe me for winning that bet,” Arabella added, bobbing her brow. She’d be a fool not to try for something.

“Like what?” Bradbury asked with a hesitant tone as he sat up straighter.

“Take me to the Sadler’s Wells Theatre,” she said, risking a glance at Lord Northcott, whose lips twitched as he subtly shook his head.

“No,” Mr. Bradbury said with the added emphasis of a pointed finger in her direction. “That place is questionable at best. Your brother would kill me if I took you without his permission.”

Arabella shrugged; it had been a long shot. “Then I would like a driving lesson in Hyde Park.” At least that would get her out of doors.

And with any luck, Mr. Bradbury would ask Lord Northcott to come along.