“Probably.” Ethan set his wine down on the table between them. “They don’t go into Town very often, but they are the center of Society here in the county. This is a good opportunity for you to meet some of our neighbors.”
“Oh, yes!” She clapped her hands together and jumped up. Ethan grinned, reached out, and pulled his wife into his arms.
“Oh, Ethan, it will be so much fun,” she murmured as she settled herself into his lap. She wasted no time wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his lips to her mouth, and kissing him with a passion that took his breath away. He returned the gesture wholeheartedly, willing to let the night take its inevitable course.
It wasn’t until much later, Francesca warm and naked in his arms under the billowy canopy of white silk draperies surrounding her bed, that he realized he’d forgotten to mention the most crucial aspect of the Nitterling’s ball to her: the men.
Though she may not yet realize it, she was fair game. Unmarried women were generally off-limits for dalliances, but married women and widows were a young buck’s prime hunting ground. Francesca was young, beautiful, and new to Yorkshire. As his wife, there were any number of young rakes who’d like the privilege of boasting that they’d been intimate with the wife of the Marquess of Winterbourne and survived.
Ethan studied his wife. Her eyes were closed and her hand was curled into a loose fist and poised under her jaw. In the waning glow of the firelight, he could still see the blush on her cream skin from their earlier lovemaking. Her cocoa lashes lay heavily against her cheeks, giving her the added appearance of innocence. How he wished he could keep her innocent forever.
But it wasn’t possible, and he knew it. He could no more protect her from the advances of the rakes at Nitterling’s ball than he could protect his own heart from seizing up every time he even thought of where he would be if he lost her.
If she betrayed him.
He rolled onto his back and pulled her to him. She sighed in her sleep and latched her arms around him. He would have to trust her. Trust that she loved him as much as she seemed to. Trust that she wasn’t Victoria. Trust that his heart was safe in her hands.
“SHE’S LOVELY,” NITTERLINGsaid, settling into a chintz armchair in his small but neat library at Bellerive. He motioned for Ethan to take a seat himself.
Ethan chose a paisley settle across from the earl. “I know.”
Nitterling laughed heartily. “I see marriage hasn’t changed you much.”
Ethan shrugged and leaned back on the settle. “I’m beginning to feel the effects.”
“I’ll bet you are,” Nitterling said.
Ethan frowned. The moment he and Francesca had arrived, she’d been led in one direction while Nitterling pulled him in the other. Ethan had looked back just in time to see the young Viscount Templeton, Nitterling’s son and heir, swoop down on Francesca, digging his talons into her arm.
“She’s Viscount Brigham’s daughter, if I’m not mistaken.” Nitterling rose and poured himself a glass of brandy.
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t have thought you were Brigham’s ideal for a son. I’d heard rumors about marriage negotiations between Brigham and the Dandridges.” He lifted the decanter of brandy. “Brandy?”
Ethan shook his head. “Brigham’s not all politics. He’s a good man. Wants to see his children happy more than anything else.”
“A rare quality in a man these days.” Nitterling returned to the chintz armchair, resting his arm on its back. “He can afford to be generous at this point, though. He still has two remaining offspring to ply as political snares. And”—Nitterling set his drink on a nearby side table—“he’d be a fool if he objected to a connection with one of the richest, most powerful men in England.” Nitterling pointed a long finger at Ethan. “Take an interest in the House of Lords next Season, and the viscount will probably die of sheer happiness.”
Ethan chuckled. This was why he liked Nitterling. The earl had a way of seeing through people, cutting through the fancy clothes and looking into their very marrow. Unraveling schemes and machinations were child’s play to the earl, and it was one reason he’d been such an invaluable asset to the Foreign Office over the years.
“Have you heard from Grenville?” Ethan asked, turning the conversation to the topic he’d come to discuss.
Nitterling didn’t look surprised at the abrupt shift in subject. “Didn’t think you’d come just to dance,” he remarked, leaning on the armchair again. “As a matter of fact, had a letter from the Secretary just a few days ago. Mentioned your brother was in France.”
“It seems some of our British arms have gone astray.”
As capable as Alex was, it still made Ethan nervous to think of his brother in volatile France. But he’d never admit his fears, though he knew Nitterling had similar doubts.
“Mmm. Misplaced and vanishing armaments have become quite a problem of late.”
“I agree.” Ethan leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Anything in it?”
Nitterling’s face remained stoic. “I don’t have any proof. I can’t name names.”
“But you agree there’s someone in power behind the operation? How else could it have succeeded for so long?”
Nitterling rounded the armchair, deliberately taking his time to sit down. “As I said, I have no names. But—” He sat back and steepled his fingers.
