7. Chapter 7 #2
He’d sworn to never utter a word of that terrible day over seven years ago, one promise he’d never break. Searching his mind, he tried to come up with a reasonable answer that would appease Nate’s curiosity.
“We’d probably be at each other’s throats every day. You know how hard it is for us to stay amicable. Besides, her father is a Whig and mine a Tory.”
Nate snorted. “You say that last one as if it were truly an issue. You may hide it from the rest of London, but we all know where your loyalties are in politics.”
Thankfully, they were nearing the stables because Algenon struggled to find a rebuttal. Nate was right. Once the barony fell to him, he’d be parting with tradition.
“Concerning your other objection,” Nate continued. “You would not find yourself in Javenia’s black books as much if her heart wasn’t being broken every time you chased after a pretty face.”
Algenon puffed out his chest. “I do not chase after them. They chase after me.”
“So you say, but perhaps they’d leave you alone if you didn’t pet their vanity with syrupy flattery.” A smirk pulled at Nate’s lips, his head held high, probably in triumph at the jab.
Algenon chose not to fight it. Let Nate make assumptions. Maybe if they all believed him the villain, he’d not have to explain why he could never cross his father.
“I’ll not have any woman believe herself less than the goddess she is.”
Nate’s nose scrunched as if he smelled something rancid. “And that, my friend, is the sweet rot we’ve all come to expect, and exactly why Javenia—”
A crunching sound filled the air as Lord Falcross’s conveyance exited the carriage house. His driver expertly maneuvered the coach and four out onto the gravel drive and to the front of the house. Their appearance must have stunned Nate into silence.
Algenon could understand. How much had the viscount spent to find four bay horses of the same height and build with no white markings?
The reddish sheen of their coats glistened in the sun.
The bright yellow traveling coach with the Falcross crest prominently displayed on the doors completed the extravagant picture.
The large oak doors of Blackthorn opened and Algenon knew he’d taken too long on his ride. His father would expect him to see their guests off.
“Come on then,” he said to Nate as he urged his mount into a trot.
He thought he heard a petulant do we have to but ignored it. If he had to endure Miss Weston’s insincere goodbyes, the least Nate could do was prop a fellow up. What were friends for, after all?
When they reached the house, they dismounted and handed their horses off to a groom. Lord Falcross and Miss Weston stood to the side of the carriage speaking to Lady Roberts while his father hung back. His gaze narrowed at Algenon as he approached.
He was here, wasn’t he? Why did his father have to disapprove of everything he did?
“Sir Nathaniel,” Miss Weston purred when they reached them. “How kind of you to come see us off.” She smiled softly at him, dipping her head slightly and batting her lashes.
Bile rose in Algenon’s throat as his friend cast him a subtle look that clearly said, ‘I told you so.’ It was not a good omen if the woman was already flirting with his friend… his married friend, no less.
He swallowed down the sour taste in his mouth, but it only made his stomach churn. If she ruined his friends’ marriages by casting doubt in their wives’ minds, they would never forgive him. Who was he kidding? He’d never forgive himself.
The only way such an arrangement might work was if he distanced himself from everyone he held dear. The hopelessness of such a plan made his heart sink to his toes.
He’d never survive.
His eyes darted to his father when Miss Weston took her time looking Nate up and down.
Surely his father’s astute nature would not allow him to connect his family with someone who would besmirch his precious title.
Unfortunately, Lord Roberts was bidding Lord Falcross farewell and not paying Miss Weston the least bit of attention.
Blast the man.
Algenon stepped forward to put a stop to Nate’s embarrassment. “Miss Weston.”
Her gaze snapped to him as if she’d just noticed he was also in attendance. It was certainly lowering. Was he so below her notice that a married man was more interesting? Or was it the challenge?
“Mr. Roberts.” She reached out her hand and he clasped the ends of her fingers.
“Your visit was diverting.” Usually he’d offer an invitation to come again, but he could not bring the words to his lips, so instead he said, “I do hope your journey is… uneventful.” And that her carriage would be set on by highwaymen who carried her off to live the heathen life she obviously desired.
He clenched his teeth and bowed over her fingers.
When he straightened, she was frowning. She probably expected him to kiss her hand, but he’d not touch her any more than was absolutely necessary.
The chatter of female voices rose from the direction of the garden behind him. He recognized his sisters’ distinct tones, but when other familiar voices answered them, his mind went blank and his body hummed with excitement.
He glanced over his shoulder to confirm what he already knew. His gaze locked with Javenia’s for only a moment, when a pair of hands settled on his shoulders. Surprised, he turned his face forward, his cheek connecting with a pair of warm lips.