Chapter 14 #2
Nicholas tried to recall what had possessed him to go along with Theo and Sophie as he joined the other guests in the small space outside the formal dining room prior to dinner.
He didn’t think he’d ever considered this to be a good idea, but he’d been caught up in other people’s enthusiasm, and now, here he was.
He spotted Sophie across the room and smiled. At least he wasn’t here alone.
He strode toward her, taking her in from head to toe, disturbingly relieved to find that she’d arrived safely. It wasn’t as if he’d expected their carriage to be set upon by highwaymen, but until he’d laid eyes on her, worry had gnawed at him.
A woman in a scandalously low-cut dress with heavily rouged lips stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Mr. Blackwell,” she purred, her bright red lips forming a pretty moue. “It’s so good to see you again.”
It took a moment for him to recognize her, but when he did, he blanched.
Hell.
It was Lady Somerset. He’d made the mistake of bedding her several years ago, only to discover later that she’d lied to him and her husband was very much alive.
He didn’t dally with married women unless their husbands were truly awful, in which case the poor things deserved a little pleasure in their lives.
Lord Somerset wasn’t awful. Far from it.
Suffice it to say, Nicholas had not been pleased by Lady Somerset’s deception.
“Lady Somerset.” He swallowed, his throat tight. Shit. How was he supposed to get out of this awkward situation? “How is your husband?”
She pouted. “Dreadfully dull, as usual.” She motioned lazily toward the far wall, where her short, stout husband was conversing with Lord Wembley’s son. “I told him he ought to remain in London, but he insisted on accompanying me.”
Probably because he knew she had every intention of lifting her skirts for another man as soon as he was out of sight.
“It will be nice to catch up with him,” Nicholas lied.
“Are you here alone?” Lady Somerset asked, touching his arm.
He jerked away. “I—”
Lady Wembley’s booming voice announced that it was time to enter the dining room. Nicholas tilted his head toward the heavens and thanked his lucky stars.
He slipped away from Lady Somerset before she could claim him as an escort. The dining room was cavernous, with candelabras lining the walls and three chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the largest so massive that he was surprised it hadn’t fallen.
The seating had been assigned, and Nicholas was, fortunately, opposite Sophie and Lady Carlisle.
“How was your trip?” he asked as they took their seats.
“Far too long,” Sophie replied, one side of her mouth hooked up. “I wasn’t expecting such an arduous journey. I really ought to have found out how far away Lincolnshire was before accepting the invitation.”
Nicholas’s lips twitched with amusement. “It’s quite a distance.”
Personally, he’d ridden on horseback while his carriage transported his luggage. He’d made better time than he otherwise would have and had enjoyed the experience more.
An older gentleman sat beside Sophie. Nicholas wasn’t familiar with him, but as Sophie looked toward the head of the table, the man glanced down at her décolletage.
Nicholas glared at the man until he finally noticed and tore his gaze from Sophie’s chest. He had the decency to look abashed, but that wasn’t enough for Nicholas.
Especially when he suspected that the lady on the man’s other side was his wife.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, feigning politeness.
The man cleared his throat. “I’m Mr. Ernest Bigsby. My holdings adjoin the Nunhaven Estate.”
Ah, so he was a country squire rather than a member of the aristocracy.
Nicholas looked pointedly at the woman, and Bigsby awkwardly added, “This is my wife, Mrs. Sarah Bigsby.”
“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Mr. Nicholas Blackwell.”
Bigsby paled. “Any relation to Viscount Blackwell?”
“His brother.”
Thankfully, that seemed enough to persuade Bigsby that he was better off not eyeballing Sophie, and he kept his gaze firmly off her as servants brought out the first course—a type of bird so tiny, it was hardly worth eating.
Nicholas chatted with Sophie about the weather and the inns they’d stayed at on their journey, ignoring the curious glances he received from Lady Carlisle.
When dinner concluded, the men were shown into a study for cigars and brandy. Nicholas sat in the corner and sipped his drink, hoping that someone would suggest playing cards soon. Socializing was always more enjoyable when accompanied by games.
He never expected Baron Sylvestor to flop onto the chair opposite him, grinning widely. “Blackwell, am I to understand you’ve been courting Lady Sophie Carlisle for a month now and haven’t secured a betrothal yet? For shame! Perhaps you ought to give up and let the better man win.”
Nicholas stiffened and fought against the urge to show how much the baron’s words stuck in his craw. The man was teasing, but for some reason, the barbs struck true.
It’s not a real courtship. Of course it isn’t operating on a particular timeline. You don’t want to marry.
Except with the Baron’s smirking face right there in front of him, it was difficult to remember that.
“You haven’t wooed her into accepting a proposal either.” He feigned nonchalance. “So we shall have to see who she considers the better man.”
It was a prick to his ego. He’d have to live with those words and the knowledge that Sylvestor would consider himself superior to Nicholas when he inevitably married Sophie while Nicholas stepped aside.
“Touché.” The baron raised his glass. “To the better man.”
Nicholas drank deeply.
A couple of hours later, he retired to his chamber. He was assigned a room in a section of the guest wing with other single men and married couples. The unmarried women were farther away, presumably to protect their virtue.
When he opened his bedchamber door, he stumbled to a halt, the air rushing from his lungs.
Lady Somerset was lounging on his bed, wearing the same dress she’d been in at dinner, with the skirt hiked up to reveal shapely calves and the tops of her creamy thighs.
Once, the sight might have stirred him, but now it just made him feel ill.
Fortunately, Lord Somerset had still been in the study when Nicholas had left, so he wouldn’t have noticed her absence, but he could return to their quarters at any time and discover her missing.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, shutting the door so that no one would see her in here.
She tugged her skirt higher to show another inch of her flesh. “I thought we could enjoy ourselves, since we had such fun last time.”
“Last time, I didn’t know you were married!” His chest heaved as he struggled to get his temper under control. “Not only am I uninterested, but we’re under the same roof as your husband. Are you mad?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “He won’t care.”
“That is a blatant lie. We should never have fucked in the first place. You deceived me. Now that I know the truth, I don’t want you anywhere near me. Get out of my room, and don’t even consider attempting something like this again.”
She slung her legs off the side of the bed and rose with a disdainful sniff. “Your gauche little miss won’t be able to please you like a refined woman such as I. When you change your mind, you’d better be prepared to beg.”
“Lady Sophie is worth ten of you,” he snapped, making sure to maintain a healthy distance between them as she stalked to the door. “Get out.”
He didn’t dare relax until she was through the door and he was able to lock it behind her. What on earth had made her believe she might be welcome in his private chamber?