Chapter 2 #2
Raising his hand in a quick wave to his companions, Nicholas climbed into the carriage. He settled on the comfortably padded seat and closed his eyes.
His mind circled back to the subject of marriage. Everyone seemed to be doing it lately. Several of his friends had recently acquired wives, and the addition of Kate to their household only drove the point home.
An image of Sophie flashed across the insides of his eyelids, her sparkling blue eyes that were always mirthful and the red hair that betrayed the wildness of her spirit no matter how she tried to tame it.
Why wasn’t Sophie married yet?
She ought to be.
She wasn’t a fair English rose, but she possessed a vivacity that couldn’t be denied. Whoever claimed her as his wife would be a lucky bastard. He knew she’d had offers, but she’d turned them down.
Why?
Was she holding out for someone or something in particular?
Perhaps she wanted a title or a man with a certain level of wealth. She didn’t strike him as the type to care about such things, though.
So, what, then, was holding her back?
He mused on the matter until he arrived back at Blackwell House. As he climbed out of the carriage, he chided himself for thinking so much on something that was of no consequence to him.
What did it matter that Sophie hadn’t married? It changed nothing as far as he was concerned. He was simply curious for no good reason.
“That’ll get you nothing but trouble,” he muttered to himself as he took the stairs into the house two at a time.
Inside, he summoned a maid to request that a bath be prepared and headed to his bedroom.
Barlow, the valet he shared with Theo, helped him undress. His nose wrinkled as he stripped Nicholas’s shirt from him. “You’ve been riding, sir? You smell like a stable.”
Nicholas nodded, one side of his mouth twitching. “A casual race with a few friends.”
“With no thought to your poor wardrobe,” Barlow tutted.
“I trust my talented valet to rectify the situation.”
Barlow huffed but otherwise didn’t respond.
Footmen carried in buckets of hot water and filled the tub as Barlow finished undressing Nicholas and setting out a fresh ensemble for him to change into. When the tub was full, Nicholas sank into the hot water with a sigh of bliss and rested his head against the rim.
He lay there, enjoying the way the water eased the tension in his muscles. When it started to cool, he washed off the horsey smell that Barlow had complained about and replaced it with lavender and sweet orange.
He toweled dry, and then Barlow helped him dress, and he emerged into the corridor, uncertain what to do with himself. It wasn’t time for supper yet, and he didn’t feel like leaving the house.
He wandered until he stumbled across Kate in a drawing room. She was bent over a sketchbook, her hands smudged and a wrinkle of concentration between her brows.
She straightened and closed the sketchbook as he approached. “Nicholas.” Her pretty face broke into a smile. “It’s good to see you. Did you speak with Sophie earlier, by any chance?”
He tilted his head. “I did. Why is that?”
“She left rather suddenly.” Her lips pressed together for a moment, then released. “It’s probably nothing to be concerned about. It was just uncharacteristic of her.”
Recalling his brief conversation with Sophie, he shrugged. “She wasn’t distressed, as far as I could tell. Perhaps she just wanted to make the most of the weather. She mentioned that she’d like to go riding.”
Kate’s expression eased. “Hopefully you’re right. She’s been subdued lately, and I’m worried about her.”
He frowned. “She seemed her usual self to me.”
Of course, Kate spent more time with Sophie than he did, but he liked to think he’d have noticed if something was amiss.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” But Kate didn’t look convinced.
Light footsteps tapped along the corridor outside, and Nicholas braced himself, recognizing the pattern of footfalls.
“Where have you been?” Lady Blackwell, the dowager viscountess, demanded imperiously.
Nicholas turned slowly toward her, noting that she was once again dressed in the dark shade of purple typical of those in mourning. She’d lost her husband years ago but tended to wear purple, gray, or black regardless of how much time had passed since his death.
“At Hensley,” he replied, his tone light.
She raised her chin. “I hope it wasn’t a race day.”
He bit the inside of his cheek so as not to say something he’d regret. “No, Mother. It wasn’t.”
When he’d first become interested in horse racing, she’d taken him aside and stressed how upsetting it would be for her if he became famous in racing circles and ended up somehow revealing her deception. She’d cried and shouted about how her life would be ruined.
Not wanting a repeat, Nicholas had sworn that he’d hire a professional jockey to race Blackheart rather than doing so himself. Arguing the point simply hadn’t been worth it.
“Good.” Her hand fluttered over her chest. “You know you need to be careful.”
He smiled through clenched teeth. “I’m not likely to ever forget it. I’m quite certain that fear has driven you to build the possible consequences out of proportion in your mind, but I do know your opinion, and I’ll behave accordingly.”
As if her whims didn’t already dictate most of his actions.
She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring, and his gut curled in dread. Oh, no. She was going to throw another tantrum.
“Mother, I’m being careful,” he assured her. “I always am.”
“Are you?” Her voice was so shrill, it hurt his ears. “Because I don’t think you are. Need I remind you of how easily society casts aside women who make a single misstep? As a man, you cannot possibly understand.”
He inclined his head because yes, that was true. He wasn’t a woman and didn’t share their limitations. However, he didn’t think he was entirely wrong either.
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten how quickly the ton moves on from a scandal?” he suggested.
Her face crumpled. “Please, Nicholas. Don’t push this. For my sake.”
He sighed. “I’ve already said that I won’t.”
Although he had to wonder: Why did he have to put his life on hold to protect hers?