Chapter Nine
Nicholas was rather proud of his curricle.
The pair of matched bays moved with the simple grace of long-practiced partners, the polished brass gleamed in the sun, and the wheels had been reinforced last summer with a bit of ingenuity that made the whole rig feel smoother than silk on cobblestones.
Even so, the true triumph of the afternoon wasn’t the vehicle.
It was the presence of the woman seated beside him.
Lady Beatrix.
Stiff as a frostbitten fencepost.
Nicholas could charm a crowd, sway a committee, and appease a difficult duke. It should not be this difficult to survive a look from Lady Beatrix.
She sat with perfect posture, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes trained somewhere in the middle distance, not quite watching the other carriages in Hyde Park and certainly not looking at him.
She was dressed perfectly, as always. Her pelisse was a soft green, trimmed in ivory silk piping that caught the morning light and played up the gold in her hair.
Beneath it, a sprigged muslin gown hinted at pale green, the fabric light enough to shift with the breeze and tempt the imagination.
Her bonnet, a wide-brimmed confection of cream straw and palest rose ribbon, shielded her face just enough to give her an air of genteel aloofness—but not enough to hide the delicate curve of her jaw or the flash of sea-green eyes when she deigned to glance his way.
Every detail about her had been assembled with intention.
Immaculate. Untouchable. And seated beside him, ankles crossed, as if she could not wait for the drive to end.
Nicholas flicked the reins with an idle hand, guiding the team through a winding track near the Serpentine. The pretty summer afternoon had drawn out the usual parade of Society—new gowns fluttering, hats nodding, gentlemen posturing.
Lady Beatrix didn’t flinch or preen or even attempt to acknowledge a single one of them.
He allowed himself a slow smile.
The Duke of Winston had taken him off guard when he’d announced the courtship, to be certain, but once Nicholas had recovered from the initial surprise and his father’s edicts, he’d recognized the opportunity for what it was.
A formal attachment to Lady Beatrix played directly into his plans, after all. It was the future he’d been angling toward, albeit more swiftly than scheduled. He’d intended to let her come around on her own, to draw her toward him with the slow-burn of innuendo and pointed provocations.
Now, he’d simply do all that…with her father’s blessing.
Not a bad hand to play.
Still.
She was not speaking to him.
Which was somewhat inconvenient, as he found her conversation preferable to most of London’s, even when it was laced with barbs. Especially when it was laced with barbs.
“I believe that old codger in the blue coat just attempted to bow while seated,” he said, with the sort of thoughtful air one might use when spotting a rare bird. “Remarkable flexibility for a man in his dotage.”
Silence.
Nicholas turned his head slowly, as if trying to confirm her presence. “Lady Beatrix?”
Nothing.
“I say, have you been replaced by a wax replica? Blink once if not.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
Ah, progress.
“I did wonder whether you might choose to leap from the carriage at the first curve,” he continued mildly. “I’m gratified that you resisted the urge. Though if you’re simply waiting for a more dramatic drop—say, near the bridge—I’d appreciate fair warning. I’ll need to tighten the reins.”
Her gaze slid toward him at last, though her mouth remained resolutely shut.
Nicholas smiled. “There she is.”
“I am here against my will,” she said finally.
“A fact that wounds me deeply,” he returned. “But I must say, you hide it beautifully. Only a hint of murderous tension in your jaw.”
She gave him a look that might’ve set his coat alight. “Do not mistake my silence for submission.”
“Never,” he said with absolute sincerity. “I only hoped to hear your opinion on the parade of coxcombs ahead. Do you prefer lavender jackets or the puce monstrosity Lord Kerrigan wore last night?”
“I prefer not to discuss Lord Kerrigan’s monstrosity with you.”
Nicholas clicked his tongue softly. “Now that’s uncharitable. I was offering you a rare chance to eviscerate Society’s worst offenders.”
Her lips twitched…barely. But enough.
He leaned back slightly, giving her space. “In truth, I asked only because I value your judgment.”
She lifted her chin. “You’re mocking me.”
“Only a little. And never when it matters. I wonder at the last time you had a good laugh.”
Her brow knitted, but she said nothing.
They rode in silence for a bit longer, the noise of the park filtering around them…the clip of hooves, the trill of laughter, the call of a flower vendor hawking daisies near the corner.
Then Nicholas tried another angle. A more serious subject. Something he was certain would pique her interest.
“I read something curious in the papers yesterday,” he said casually. “The East India Company’s latest trade bill. There’s been debate in the Lords about restricting new holdings in the South Pacific.”
Still no response. But she was listening. He could see the way her fingers had stilled, her head tilted by a fraction.
“Of course,” he continued, as if he hadn’t noticed, “there’s the argument that limiting expansion protects native interests. Others argue it hampers national progress. I can’t decide which argument I find more disingenuous.”
A long pause.
Then she cleared her throat. “It’s not about native interests. Not truly. It’s about optics. Appearing benevolent.”
He smiled slowly. “Indeed?”
She turned to him fully now, eyes sharp. “The Company never hesitates when it comes to seizing control of foreign assets, nor do the Crown’s ministers. But the moment there’s criticism abroad, suddenly it becomes a matter of ethics. It’s hypocrisy.”
Nicholas let out a quiet breath of satisfaction. “And here I was afraid you’d remain silent the entire ride.”
Her head snapped to face forward again. “I should remain silent. You’ve manipulated the situation. You do not care about my opinion.”
“On the contrary, yes, I do. Not to mention that I invited you for a pleasant turn in the park.”
“After conspiring with my father.”
“Who cornered me as thoroughly as he did you.”
“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes.
Nicholas gave her a sidelong glance. “You think I enjoy being summoned by dukes like an errand boy?”
She snorted—actually snorted—and he considered that a victory of the highest order.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he added more softly. “I meant what I told him. I am interested.”
That caught her attention. She blinked once, eyes narrowing. “Interested. In marrying me?”
“In courting you,” he said, voice light. “One should never skip the middle steps. That’s where all the best bits are.”
“Courtship implies an eventual end.”
“Does it?” He smiled again, and this time it wasn’t teasing. “Then I suppose I’d best make the middle last. And the last, perhaps the middle?”
For the first time since she’d stepped into the curricle, she seemed at a loss. She turned away, her gaze tracking a family on foot with two small children tossing bread to ducks.
Nicholas didn’t press. He kept the horses steady, allowing the quiet to bloom again.
After a long moment, Lady Beatrix spoke. “What do you mean by that?”
“I respectfully decline to answer.”
She eyed him warily. “Fine then. Answer this. Why do you want to court me? Knowing I am opposed to it.”
Ah. Now they were getting somewhere.
He considered the question carefully. She would never accept a pat answer. No, this called for truth. It was a dangerous moment, to be honest, but anything less would insult her. “Because you’re the most exceptional young woman in all of England.”
She turned her head toward him again, her gaze sharpening as if she found his words both fascinating and deeply suspect.
He quickly realized…waiting had served him well in Parliament. Here, it would ruin him.
“You don’t flatter,” he swiftly continued. “You don’t dissemble. You don’t perform for Society the way the others do. When you speak, I know it’s real. And very few things in my life are. I am a politician, after all.”
She stared at him, something uncertain flickering in her eyes.
He offered her a small smile. “Also, I find you maddeningly beautiful. But I assumed it was too soon to say so.”
Lady Beatrix looked away again, with a slight jerk of her head. She lifted her chin, but her scowl had not faded.
This time he remained silent. Pressing now would tip her from consideration into retreat.
They turned the corner near the lake, the wind lifting the edge of her bonnet ribbon, stirring a few stray strands of golden hair.
She smoothed her gloves but didn’t speak.
Nicholas didn’t mind.
He had all the time in the world. That had merely been his opening volley.