Chapter 12
Nicholas barreled into Theo’s office as soon as he arrived home, relief flooding him at the familiar sight of his brother hunched over a pile of correspondence.
“I need to spar,” he burst out, panting as he hovered in front of the desk. “If I don’t burn off some energy before bed, I’ll never sleep.”
Theo folded a letter and dropped it onto the polished wooden surface of his desk. “You’re upset.”
“No, I’m not.” The answer was automatic and, judging from Theo’s smirk, hardly believable. Nicholas groaned. “Fine. Yes, I’m upset. I’ve discovered that I’m attracted to Sophie.”
Theo cocked his head. “And why is that so upsetting?”
“Because I’m not supposed to be!” He fisted his hands. “Are you going to help distract me or not?”
Theo gestured to the chair nearest to him. “It doesn’t have to be a problem. There’s no reason you can’t court her in earnest.”
Nicholas scoffed. “You know as well as I do how Mother would react if I married an earl’s daughter in some big society wedding. That would be far too much attention on me for her liking.”
To Nicholas’s utter astonishment, Theo rolled his eyes.
“Mother would recover,” he said. “Ignore her. If you wish to pursue Sophie then do it.”
“It isn’t that easy,” Nicholas gritted out. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. You’re the viscount. The golden boy. I’m the one who has to hide his goddamn face under a beard and lay low for the sake of the family honor.”
Theo frowned. “Nicholas, I—”
“Sorry. Ignore that. I’m being dramatic.
I need the stuffing beaten out of me.” He didn’t want to discuss emotions or their mother.
If Theo tried to make him do so, he might scream.
“So, will you indulge me, or do I have to walk the streets until I find someone willing to engage in a bout of fisticuffs?”
Theo rose slowly. “We can spar, but I do think we should talk about this.”
“Not now.” Or he couldn’t be held accountable for what he might do. At this instant, it was all he could manage not to get back in his carriage, return to the Duke of Arundel’s ballroom, and warn off Baron Sylvestor and that young pup Garfield.
“All right.” Theo rounded the desk. “But I refuse to drop the matter.”
“It seems like no one will drop anything lately,” Nicholas muttered, thinking of Kate’s insistence that he attend her ball.
It was as if they wanted to ruin his relationship with his mother. Yes, she was overly dramatic about the possible consequences of her prior actions, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t cut her sons out of her life if they threatened to reveal her secret.
She was his mother. He didn’t want to lose her.
But he was also so tired of always being careful.
He and Theo walked down the corridor and up the stairs. At the top, Theo went to his bedroom to change while Nicholas retreated to his own. He undressed quickly and pulled on a pair of loose trousers and a shirt.
His hand wraps had been washed, rolled, and neatly packed away after their last session, and he withdrew them and secured them around his hands, where they would provide much-needed padding.
He didn’t delude himself into believing he could defeat Theo. His brother was better than him. Perhaps not stronger but much more skilled.
He left his chamber and headed to the boxing room.
The door was open, and light flickered from within.
Theo sat inside, wrapping his own hands.
The candles on each wall were lit, and the space was stuffy—probably because the door had been shut all day, and it had been, once again, unseasonably warm.
“Keep your strikes to half power,” Theo said, glancing up as Nicholas closed the door. “If I have to explain to my wife why I have a black eye, she won’t be pleased.”
Nicholas nodded. “I will.”
He wanted to burn off the restlessness riding him, but he wouldn’t injure his brother to do so. His frustration wouldn’t get the better of him.
When Theo finished tying off his wraps, he got to his feet, and they circled each other.
Belatedly, Nicholas wished he’d thought to bounce on his toes a few times or punch the air so he was better prepared.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t, and now his muscles were tight, and despite his nervous energy, he wasn’t mentally prepared to take on his brother.
He struck first, knowing that a swift action was the only chance he had at getting one up on Theo, even if he wasn’t ready for it. Theo evaded the attack easily and responded far more effectively.
Within minutes, Nicholas regretted insisting on this.
He was struggling to catch his breath, hauling in air like a dying man, and his torso ached where Theo had landed punches. His twin had held back, but even a half-strength punch still made an impact.
He held on for a few more minutes before conceding. He’d achieved his goal. He had absolutely no energy left and would probably fall asleep as soon as he hit the bed. Continuing would have only injured his pride—not to mention his body.
As they stripped off their now sweaty wraps, Theo kept shooting him strange looks.
“What is it?” Nicholas demanded when he couldn’t stay silent any longer.
Theo straightened, his wraps balled up between his hands. “A while ago, you urged me to consider remarrying. It would mean a lot to me if you’d think about marrying too. You and Sophie could be happy together.”
Nicholas groaned. Not this again. “Even if we pretend there’s a chance that Mother wouldn’t lose her mind and that there would be absolutely no possibility it would cause strife in the family with Sophie being Kate’s best friend, I get things wrong. It’s what I do. And I don’t want to hurt Sophie.”
Theo’s face fell. “Nicholas—”
“Don’t even try to deny it. I’ve created so many messes by being irresponsible and acting without thinking.”
Theo’s lips firmed, but he didn’t contradict Nicholas.
He couldn’t.
“You should have more faith in yourself,” he said eventually.
Nicholas ignored the squeeze in his chest. “I know what I am. It is what it is.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.”
“Stop.”
Nicholas walked away. He couldn’t listen to this anymore.
What on earth had possessed Nicholas last night?
Sophie gazed out her bedchamber window, not really seeing anything as she recalled the way he’d stormed across the balcony toward her and practically shoved her back into the ballroom.
His behavior had been very strange. She didn’t understand it.
A carriage stopped outside Carlisle House, and she considered the pretty black horses, their sleek coats shining in the sun.
Perhaps she should go for a ride. It was a fine day, and fresh air often helped to get her thoughts in order.
After all, she’d already tried working through her complicated emotions at the piano to no avail.
A knock at the door behind her made her turn. She strode over and pulled it open. Albert stood on the other side, holding out a calling card.
“You have a visitor,” he said, passing her the card.
For a few seconds, her heart lifted. Perhaps Nicholas had come to explain what was going on. Not knowing disquieted her because she feared she had done something to make him uncomfortable.
But when she read the name on the card, it wasn’t Nicholas’s.
She sighed. “Please show Mr. Garfield into the drawing room, arrange for tea and biscuits, and fetch Betsy. I’ll be there presently.”
Alfred bowed and departed. Sophie checked that her clothes were acceptable for greeting guests and donned a pair of gloves. It was warm enough that she’d prefer not to, but she didn’t want to strain the bounds of propriety.
By the time she made it to the drawing room, Betsy was already ensconced in the corner, and Mr. Garfield sat on one of the chaises in front of the fireplace.
He rose as she entered, and then he bowed, flashing her a bright smile that didn’t ring true. “Good morning, my lady.”
He moved toward her, and she felt pinned to the spot, uncertain how to respond. No doubt her mother would be here soon, but until then, she was on her own.
“You look as radiant as the sun outside.”
She cringed. Flattery was all well and good, but there was such a thing as too much. Especially when it came across as being false. “Thank you.”
He motioned to the window. “Since the weather is favorable, I thought it might be nice to walk in Hyde Park. Would you like to accompany me?”
At that moment, Lady Carlisle swept into the room with a maid toting a tea tray behind her. She must have caught the tail end of the conversation because she beamed and exclaimed, “The weather is indeed lovely. I’m sure Lady Sophie would be delighted to join you.”
Sophie pursed her lips to hide her frustration. There was no getting out of it now.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch a parasol for the sun.” When she burned, she turned the most brilliant shade of red. It was best to avoid that whenever possible.
“Of course,” Mr. Garfield said as if he understood entirely. “Women with such delicate complexions as yourself must guard them carefully.”
Sophie wanted to pull a face. If her mother hadn’t been there, she might have done so. As it was, she did her best to mask irritation and took Betsy upstairs to collect the parasol and change into a pair of walking shoes.
As she came down the stairs, she found her mother and Mr. Garfield waiting at the bottom. A light rapping sound came from the front door, and Albert hurried to answer. When he opened it, Sophie could see from her vantage point midway up the stairs that the caller was Baron Sylvestor.
Albert announced the baron’s presence and stood aside so that they could all see one another. Lady Carlisle looked back and forth from Mr. Garfield to the baron, her eyes growing wider with every passing second. Clearly, she was unprepared to field visits from two suitors simultaneously.
Sophie glided down the stairs and over to Baron Sylvestor, who wore black trousers and a pale blue shirt that matched his eyes and molded to his trim torso.
“Good morning, my lord,” she greeted him with a smile. Perhaps it had been slightly rude of her to bypass Mr. Garfield, but if she was going to spend time with either of these men, she’d prefer it to be the baron. “We were just about to leave for a walk in Hyde Park.”
The rustle of silk indicated that her mother had joined her. “Perhaps we may all walk together.”
That sounded like a terrible idea, but unless either gentlemen decided to leave, Sophie didn’t think there was any avoiding it.
The baron’s gaze flitted from Sophie to Lady Carlisle to Mr. Garfield, who was approaching from behind them. His eyes narrowed in calculation, but then he nodded. “What a superb idea. It’s just the day for a jaunt in the park.”
Mr. Garfield scowled, clearly displeased with this turn of events. “Will we all fit in a carriage?”
Lady Carlisle tittered as if he’d said something funny. “We can travel in convoy. I’ll accompany the baron, since he’s a latecomer, and Lady Sophie can ride with Mr. Garfield.”
It wasn’t the outcome Sophie would have preferred, but she understood that her mother was trying to observe the rules of propriety as much as possible.
Her mother stepped outside, and Baron Sylvestor escorted her down the stairs to his carriage. Mr. Garfield claimed Sophie’s arm, and his chest puffed out as he followed suit. He helped her into his carriage, which was the one she had seen arriving earlier.
They didn’t talk much during the drive to the park. Mr. Garfield didn’t try to open a conversation, apparently simmering in irritation because of the baron’s interruption, and she didn’t bother either.
Perhaps she ought to have been open to getting to know him better, but between her own lack of interest and her concern about his motives, it was easier not to.
When they disembarked at Hyde Park, Mr. Garfield did his best to secure her arm before the baron could, but she deftly evaded him and walked alongside the baron instead.
“Have you and Lady Carlisle decided what date you will be leaving for the Wembley’s’ house party?” Baron Sylvestor asked as he guided her around a curve in the path. The river ran to their left, and many other groups of people were strolling together in the sun.
“I haven’t discussed the matter with my mother yet,” Sophie confessed, “but I suspect she has the details under control.”
When it came to things like this, she usually did.
“A house party?” Mr. Garfield asked from Sophie’s right, where he was escorting Lady Carlisle. “A bit early for that, isn’t it?”
The baron shrugged. “Lady Wembley can be somewhat of an eccentric, and with the weather as it is, I can understand her reasoning for holding it early.”
Mr. Garfield grumbled something. It was clear he hadn’t heard of the house party, and Sophie couldn’t help being a little bit pleased that he wouldn’t be there. It would be difficult enough to balance her false courtship with Nicholas and her real courtship with the baron.
“I prefer London to the country anyway,” Mr. Garfield muttered, yet again proving that Sophie’s disinterest in him was earned. His petulant attitude was immature, especially when she’d given him no reason to think they might be well matched.
She peeked at the baron. His countenance was sunny and carefree, but there was a tension in his frame that belied it. He was probably just as annoyed by Mr. Garfield’s presence as Mr. Garfield was by his, but the baron had the maturity not to show it. That was an attractive trait.
“Both have their appeal,” the baron said amicably.
Mr. Garfield grunted noncommittally. “Lady Sophie, I’ve noticed that you spend a reasonable amount of time with Mr. Blackwell. Is there an understanding between you?”
Sophie stopped in her tracks. If the baron hadn’t been so fleet of foot, he might have dragged her off balance as he continued on. As it was, he stumbled and had to right himself.
“I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t believe Mr. Garfield’s nerve. It was one thing to ask such a question in private, but here in a public location, in front of another suitor, it was beyond the pale.
“As I understand it,” her mother said slowly, glancing between them as if expecting someone to lose their temper at any moment, “no formal understanding exists between Lady Sophie and any gentleman. Is that correct, darling?”
“It is,” Sophie gritted out.
Mr. Garfield looked pleased. “Then perhaps one may be made elsewhere.”
Sophie’s stomach dropped. Like hell was she marrying Mr. Garfield.