Chapter Twenty-Two
When Nicolas had agreed to talk, he hadn’t realized his invitation meant sharing a meal with Lydia’s family.
He’d intended to arrive after the evening repast, and still, Lydia dragged him to the dining parlor five seconds after the butler ushered him into the foyer, declaring, “You are just in time to join us for dinner.”
Since the fish and roasted root vegetables were cold, he suspected Lydia and her parents had manipulated the situation and waited for him.
He wouldn’t put it past them. They were also arrogant enough to assume he’d be thrilled to join them.
A misjudgment on their part. But they’d never understood him or taken his feelings into consideration.
The baron wore his typical scowl, and as usual, the baroness had the personality of a misanthropic cat. Meanwhile, Lydia cast sideway glances meant to seduce but instead they made him want to flee from Thorn House.
Since Nicolas’s stomach soured, he couldn’t eat much. Not that it mattered since Lydia barely ever ate. Or laughed. Or showed any sort of passion—unless she was in a snit. Therefore, her light, flirtatious behavior was entirely out of character.
After a meal that seemed to last an eternity, Lydia folded her serviette and placed it beside her plate.
“Nicolas, let us take a walk,” she said. “Momma and Papa, if we take a chaperone, may we?”
Nicolas inwardly cringed. A walk meant more time with Lydia when he wanted to return to Greenpark House immediately. And yet, time away from her parents afforded him the opportunity to tell Lydia once again their relationship was over. As stressful as this was, closure would be good for them both.
Before he had time to overthink the matter, his hat was plunked on his head, his gloves were in his hands, and he was pushed out the front door.
Twinkling stars lit up the black sky, and the breeze cooled the damp sweat that coated Nicolas’s body.
He had perspired like a madman while inside the dining parlor.
More than likely, Baron Small had the fire in the hearth burning so that he could roast Nicolas into pliancy.
It seemed like something Lydia’s overbearing father would do because, surely, those roaring flames weren’t because the evening was cold.
The weather was, in fact, perfect, although the stroll with the aggressively flirtatious Lydia was anything but.
Her lady’s maid trailed behind them as Lydia mooned over Nicolas.
She hadn’t even sent him these affectionate glances when they’d been engaged—not even the couple of times they’d made love.
Once upon a time, making love to Lydia, as passionless as she was, had been enough.
Not anymore and never again. Since he’d always been discriminate with his lovemaking, what had made him think that bedding Lydia before marriage was worth the risk?
At least he’d used a sheath; he wasn’t that daring.
But what had ever made him think that marrying the spoiled brat was his path to happiness?
Hell’s bells. He needed to focus on the task at hand—telling Lydia once again that when she’d broken their engagement, he’d accepted it and moved on. Of course, when she’d sliced his heart in two, he had not anticipated that another woman would glue it back together.
Yes, he would give his heart away again. That is, if Josephine Martin would have him. Surprised by his decision, he mused on the idea. Yes. He would do it. He would ask her to be his wife. A foreign giddiness bubbled through his blood until an affected voice quelled his elation.
“My sweet Dimps, did you miss me?” Lydia asked, linking her elbow with his.
Suddenly, he understood why a trapped bear might gnaw off its paw to free itself. Currently, he’d amputate his arm to escape Lydia’s grip.
Maybe that was a slight exaggeration. But only a wee tiny one since waves of panic coursed through him.
Why hadn’t he put his foot down and refused this walk?
They could have sat in the parlor. Hell, he could have stepped into the foyer for a few minutes, told her that they did not suit any longer, and been on his way.
“Well, I am sure you missed me,” she said. “You do love me so.”
Hell no, he most certainly did not. He needed to stop this nonsense. “I once thought I did. But you broke my heart, Lydia. I had no choice but to get over you so that I could attend to my family responsibilities.”
Her bottom lip stuck out. “Your family can be beastly. Did you see your sister poking me in the chest in front of half of London?”
At first, the scene shocked him, but after further consideration, he was pleased Bridget had stood up for him. “She was simply trying to protect me,” he said. “And there were only a few witnesses.”
“Well, she made an utter fool of herself,” Lydia said. “She always makes a spectacle of herself. No decent man will ever marry her.”
“Careful, Lydia. She is my sister. I love her. And she does not give a rat’s arse about marriage right now.”
Lydia fanned her cheeks. “When did you start using indecent language? You have been spending too much time with Viscount Davenport. You know, they say he is the worst rake in all of London.”
That title might go to Griffendale by a hair’s breadth, but Nicolas was not going to talk shite about his old chums with a bluenose.
“When we marry, I shall be highly displeased if you spend time with Jonathon,” she said.
Nicolas inwardly rolled his eyes. “Lydia, we are not marrying. Do you remember? You canceled the wedding.” Not to mention, her declarations made Nicolas want to take up permanent residence with the Davenports and their alluring house guest.
Lydia huffed. “If only George had not been so irresponsible and climbed onto that horse.” Her thin lips puckered—now that he thought about it, he’d never favored kissing those cold, passionless lips.
Besides, she sounded like a petulant child.
“Then you wouldn’t have had to leave me in a foreign place. ”
Nicolas had grieved the loss of his brother and fought through the gray clouds threatening to overtake him.
Every damn day he fought. Every single blasted day, he awoke and forced himself to see colors.
Had Lydia ever considered his broken heart?
How much he still hurt? How he had lost almost everything he cared about at the same time?
“I begged you to come with me, Lydia.”
She harrumphed.
Anger obliterated his reason. “Think on this. If George were still alive, then I would not be the future earl.”
“True,” she said with a shrug as she guided him onto a side street.
Apparently, she was too daft and self-centered to understand sarcasm. Despite having the intellectual advantage, Nicolas had no desire to continue this conversation. He halted, then turned her in the direction they’d come.
She fought his gentle nudge, digging her heels into the cobbles.
Nicolas cast his gaze in the direction he wanted her to travel, which was pointless because she didn’t budge. Realizing they were alone, his heart skipped erratically as he scanned the area. When in the blazes had their chaperone disappeared? He was certain she’d been right behind them.
“If you think to court Lady Davenport’s cousin, you should know, she is not who she says she is,” Lydia said.
How could she possibly know of his feelings? No one but Josie knew. Did they? Hell and damnation. Was he wearing his affection on his sleeve?
“Lady Davenport lied,” Lydia declared with that smugness he’d never favored.
Did Lydia know of their wager? He’d given up hope of saving his family, but he did not want Lady Davenport or Josie humiliated at the upcoming ball.
Lydia lifted her nose and delicately sniffed in that telltale way she showed superiority. “Charity’s mother is friends with Lady Davenport and she has never heard of this Josephine.”
Nicolas had not given it much thought, and Agatha had not mentioned it, but yesterday Miss Charity Monroe had been at the modiste’s with Lydia.
“There is something quite suspicious about Josephine,” Lydia said. “I know she is not a lady. I heard your sister ask her to teach her to punch. Ladies do not punch. I will find out who she is and expose her.”
Blasted Bridget and her obsession with learning to fight. And since when did Lydia use clues to solve a dilemma?
Nicolas glared at Lydia, not that she knew that in the dark. “Leave Josephine out of this.” At least, his tone attested to his anger.
Lydia scoffed. “So, you do have feelings for her?”
What in the blazes was he to say to that?
“You are my fiancée, Nicolas Wentworth. I am to be the Countess of Shiredale, and I will not be humiliated or thrown to the side like an old boot. I will find out who she is. To protect you, of course. Because I love you, and I am certain she is after your title and wealth.” Before he could back away, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
Instead of bellowing, Yes, I have feelings for Josephine Martin. She makes me feel alive. Or growling out, Love me. Pfft! he confessed the humiliating truth. “My family is no longer wealthy, Lydia, and soon the world will know. Is that what you want? To be an indigent countess?”
“No longer wealthy?” she asked. “’Tis not what Papa says. He said you’ve had a stroke of good fortune.”
So, this was why her arms were wrapped around him, and she was insisting they marry.
“No,” he said. “Quite the opposite.” Once she knew the truth, she would unhand him and run back to Thorn House so quickly that he’d struggle to keep pace with her. Good riddance.
He snorted. “Your Papa is mistaken. Now, let us return to Thorn House.”
“Papa is never wrong,” Lydia said. “You’ve simply fallen under that…that imposter’s spell. I saw the way you looked at her.”