Chapter 10
What on earth did Sophie want with him this time?
Nicholas pondered the possibilities as he knocked on the front entrance to Carlisle House and waited for it to open.
Thus far, he’d walked with her in the park and escorted her to the musicale. Had his performance as a doting suitor been unsatisfactory?
His gut knotted. It had better not have been. It was true that he’d never courted a young lady before, so it would be understandable if he’d forgotten something important, but he hated the thought that he might have let Sophie down or not done enough to please her.
Why? As to that, he was clueless.
Perhaps it was simply that he liked to be good at things, but considering how often he made a misstep or got something wrong, that didn’t seem likely.
Ugh, this false courtship was unsettling him in the strangest of ways.
The door glided inward, and Albert, the cheerful, ruddy-cheeked butler, smiled at him. “How may I help you, sir?”
Nicholas handed him a calling card. “I have an appointment with Lady Sophie.”
Albert took the card and read it unnecessarily. He knew who Nicholas was, of course. “Lady Sophie is in the drawing room.”
Nicholas nodded. “I can see myself in.”
Albert bowed and stepped aside to let him pass. “As you wish, sir.”
As soon as Nicholas entered the foyer, the tinkling melody of piano music reached his ears. He followed the sound toward the drawing room and paused in the doorway.
Sophie hadn’t noticed his presence yet. Her head was tilted down as she played, her brow furrowed with concentration, and she swayed slightly from side to side, a lock of her vivid hair curling around the nape of her neck like a scarlet invitation to stroke the creamy skin.
The sun streamed through the window, burnishing her in shades of gold and dappling her with light and shadows. His chest tightened.
She finished playing and looked up at him. “Thank you for coming.”
He folded his hands in front of himself, ignoring the way one of them twitched as if dying to discover if her hair and skin were as soft as they looked.
Damn.
He’d always been something of a rogue, but he hadn’t expected this new attraction to Sophie, and it was deuced inconvenient.
“You’re welcome. You played beautifully.” As he was beginning to suspect she always did. He splayed his hands out. “I have presented myself, as requested. How can I be of service to Lady Sophie Carlisle today?”
A muffled laugh jolted him, and he clutched his chest, snapping around. His face heated as he spotted the maid in the corner, who’d covered her mouth and was trying to sink into the chaise. He’d been so preoccupied with Sophie that he’d failed to realize they weren’t alone.
In hindsight, that had been foolish. Men were never permitted to be alone with unmarried young ladies—especially not men like him.
He cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his shirt. Thank God none of his friends saw him jump like that or they’d have teased him mercilessly.
Sophie turned to the maid. “Betsy, will you call for tea, please?” She stood and motioned to a pair of chaises positioned opposite each other in front of an ornate fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Blackwell?”
Nicholas crossed to the two chaises and dropped onto one, slinging an arm along the back and lounging in a way that would have made his mother scold him. The display of nonchalance was just that: a display. He’d prefer if she didn’t realize that her summons had unnerved him.
Sophie sat on the other chaise, bouncing her knee and nibbling on her lower lip. “Yesterday, Mother and I were invited to a house party.”
“Oh.” He angled his chin up, failing to understand what this had to do with him. “Is that unusual?”
After all, many aristocratic families attended house parties while not in London.
Footsteps scuffed the floor as the maid returned, but she stayed in the far corner, and Sophie didn’t so much as glance at her.
“This house party will occur during the season,” Sophie explained, resting one palm on her bouncing knee as if to still it.
“It will be hosted by Lady Wembley and held at their Lincolnshire estate. I am given to understand that one of the gentlemen I am considering as a future husband will be present.”
Intrigued, Nicholas straightened. “A house party during the season?”
Sophie waved her hand airily. “Something to do with unfavorable weather later in the year. The point is that I will have the opportunity to spend more time with Baron Sylvestor.”
Baron Sylvestor.
The name settled heavily onto Nicholas’s shoulders.
This, then, was one of the men that Sophie considered worthy of her hand in marriage.
Sylvestor wasn’t a bad choice, he supposed. He was young but not painfully so, good-natured, and one of the few members of the ton that no one found objectionable.
So why was Nicholas’s stomach roiling as if he’d eaten spoiled milk?
“I see.” He practically forced the words from his tight throat. “So, with this opportunity, there is no further need for us to continue our charade?”
“No!” Sophie’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “That isn’t what I meant to imply. In fact, I—”
The arrival of another maid with a tray of tea cut her off. Her lips thinned, and she kept them clamped firmly together while the maid set the tray on the table. Only when they were alone again—save for Sophie’s personal maid—did she release a pent-up breath.
“I am concerned that the baron may be otherwise occupied by hunting and the like, in which case, he mightn’t notice me, much less…
.” She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink, and Nicholas couldn’t help but wonder how she might have finished that sentence.
“I need someone to influence him so he won’t overlook me again. ”
Again? Had he done so before?
She poured tea and prepared his the way he liked it. He was oddly pleased that she’d remembered his preference.
“You’re a pretty, lively girl,” he told her, enchanted by the deepening of the pink in her cheeks. “You hardly need help attracting attention when you set your mind to it.”
She beamed as she offered him a teacup. “Thank you, I—” She broke off, her eyes narrowing and her smile morphing into a scowl, as if realizing belatedly that he’d sidestepped her obviously pointed remark. “It would mean a lot to me if you would attend too.”
He grimaced. Clearly, avoiding the issue wasn’t an option. She had no qualms with being direct when necessary.
Really, she ought simply to do just that with her potential suitors, and the whole situation would likely be resolved in no time.
“I don’t have an invitation,” he pointed out.
“Mother could acquire one for you.” She raised her teacup to her lips and sipped. “I truly do think it would make a difference.”
Nicholas set his teacup down, reluctant to engage in this conversation. He wanted to help her, but the arrangement they’d made already pushed him to the very limits of what he was comfortable with.
If he were to accompany her to the house party, there was little chance he’d be able to lie low as he usually did when surrounded by members of the ton he wasn’t close to. He didn’t want to attract undue attention. Besides, his mother would have his head if she found out.
“You wouldn’t need to spend all of your time with me,” she went on, as if that might be what was giving him pause. The ridiculous woman. He’d gladly wile away hours in her company. “You could take your horse and go on long rides with the gentlemen or play games.”
Her tone was pleading, and if he hadn’t had such good reasons not to attend, it might have broken him. The thought of disappointing her didn’t sit well with him, but he couldn’t risk giving in.
His gut flip-flopped like a landed fish as he gazed into her big blue eyes. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” With that, he rose and bowed to her. “Good day, Lady Sophie.”
Her lips parted and her jaw dropped, but he swept out of the room before she gathered herself enough to respond. It was cowardly, but he feared that if he didn’t leave, she’d talk him around.
Nicholas didn’t have many family members, and he wouldn’t lose one of the few he had because he was unable to say no to a woman who would soon not be his to worry about.
Not that she was his now.
God, she had him tangled in knots, and she didn’t even know it.
He took the carriage home and went directly to Theo’s office. His brother was bent over a ledger, a quill in his hand, but he looked up as Nicholas entered.
Theo’s smile faltered, and he set his quill down. “What’s wrong?”
Nicholas slumped into a spare chair and sighed. “Lady Sophie just asked me to attend a house party at the Wembleys’ country home.”
Theo made a surprised sound and raised an eyebrow. “Whyever would she do that? And did you agree?”
Nicholas stared at him. Had his brother gone mad? “Of course I didn’t agree! Mother would lose her mind. She’s already tense about Kate’s ball.”
“Ah, yes.” Theo ran his hand through his hair, his features pinched. “The one you’re refusing to attend.”
With a scoff, Nicholas said, “As if I could respond any other way. Mother would be so upset, she might never speak to us again.”
Theo rose to his feet, went to the sideboard and poured two fingers of brandy. He passed one glass to Nicholas and returned to his chair with the other, watching Nicholas over the rim, his dark eyes exactly the same as Nicholas’s own but somehow shrewder.
“Put aside the matter of the ball for now,” Theo said as he swirled his drink.
“If you were to attend a house party without me there, I fail to see how it would be any different to the other engagements we participate in. Provided that we don’t stand side by side or dress in such a way that others can’t differentiate between us, no one is likely to make the connection. ”
Nicholas tossed back the brandy. It burned down the inside of his throat. Logically, he understood that Theo had a point, but that didn’t mean their mother wouldn’t be upset. Her moods rarely had anything to do with logic.
“But Mother—”