As the owner of a gaming hell, Nick felt it prudent to know his patrons. When Lord Fitchley had applied for membership a year ago, Nick had, as usual, investigated him, and before he’d set his plan in motion for Fitchley’s ruin, he’d reviewed that file.
Emmett Fitchley was nearly fifty years old, possessed of an old and respectable baronage, legendary for his good luck at the racetrack, and unmarried. But there were rumors, encouraged by the baron himself, of a longstanding betrothal to a wealthy heiress. Her name was never mentioned, but rumor held that she was young and unsophisticated. Fitchley hinted she’d been sent abroad to acquire some polish before their wedding, explaining why he continued to carry on as rakishly as ever.
Tonight, Nick felt a dark suspicion that heiress was Emilia Greeneborough.
The Earl of Harlow had never applied to the Vega Club. Nick had little knowledge of the man or his family, let alone their fortunes. But the Fitchley Nick knew would not have spent years waiting for a girl with only a few thousand pounds. He suspected there was a fortune waiting for Emilia.
Just over six months from now, echoed her voice in his head.
In half a year, she would be a wealthy woman, who would no longer need to teach French verbs and embroidery to young ladies like Charlotte. She would be able to take Lucinda and go anywhere in the world, forever free of Fitchley and her uncle—and uncouth cardsharps like Nicholas Dashwood.
What was he going to do about that?
Nothing, he decided; not yet. He had other business to tend to first.
Silently he pulled on his shirt and breeches, then cautiously opened the door. The inn was silent and dark. Three steps across the corridor, he opened the door of Emilia’s room, then went back into his own room and carefully gathered her up, blanket and all. She barely woke; her eyelids fluttered open only when he laid her on her own bed.
“Shh,” he breathed. “You’re in your room, should Charlotte or Lucinda come looking for you.”
She surprised him by looping an arm around his neck. “Thank you,” she murmured, and kissed him once more before she drifted back to sleep.
It hadn’t been a passionate kiss. It had been... sweet. Trusting. Given in gratitude and... affection. Nick stayed where he was for a moment, listening to her even breathing, and inhaling the scent of honeysuckle.
He could fall for this woman.
“Always,” he whispered.
Gently he tucked the blanket around her. Nick retrieved her clothing and put it on the end of her bed, then closed her door quietly and went back into his own room, where he finished dressing. There was no way he could sleep now. Pulling on his greatcoat, he went out to patrol the inn property, no longer worried about being followed but far too restless and disquieted to sleep.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Emilia woke the next morning in her own bed, absolutely naked and wrapped in the blanket that smelled of Nick, her clothing from the day before neatly folded at her feet. A warm glow spread through her, and she closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the blanket for a moment, inhaling the faint lingering scent of him, trying to cling to the memory before the bright light of day could dash it away.
She knew, in her heart, that she had crossed a critical line. She wasn’t sorry—on the contrary, she imagined doing it again. Going to bed with Nick tonight. Waking up in his arms. Hearing his low voice wish her good morning, feeling his hands on her skin. Just thinking of it made her heart skip a beat and her toes curl.
But it was a fatal blow to her position. Part of her job—themainstayof her job—was to teach her young ladies to be respectable. Seducing her employer was as far from respectable as a governess could stray. Resigning her post had been the right thing to do, but Emilia knew there was no way she could resume it. She would have to leave his household, for Charlotte’s and Lucy’s sakes—and Nick’s, no matter what he said. Even viscounts had to observe some proprieties.
She lay staring at the ceiling. It would carve a hole in her heart to leave. The only comfort was that Lucy was in safe hands now; Nick would protect her from Fitchley, and she would have Charlotte for company. And Emilia... Perhaps, once she came into her inheritance, she could return and visit. She would miss Lucy dreadfully... and Charlotte... and Nick. Oh, Nick.
Throat tight, she threw off the blanket and got out of bed.Think about that later,she told herself. Lucy would need her more than ever while they were in Dorset; Emilia couldn’t possibly abandon her now. When they returned to London, she promised herself, she would tell Nick—perhaps she could help him locate a new governess. She began dressing, pushing the melancholy thoughts from her mind. Until they returned to London, she meant to savor her stolen bit of happiness.
In Southampton, they stopped for another night. Nick took them down to the waterfront, where they watched the ships coming and going and ate fried oysters from a street vendor. That night she shared a room with Lucy and Charlotte, but Nick gave her a simmering glance as she shepherded the girls up to bed, and she almost fell on the stairs, light-headed with how much she yearned to go to him.
They reached Beaufort Hall the following morning. Knowing it was approaching, Emilia had made up games to occupy the girls, but as they drew near, Lucy became quieter and quieter, peeking out the window until she turned away from it with a little shiver. Emilia put an arm around her, and Lucy burrowed into her side.
From a distance, Beaufort Hall was an impressive sight. Three tall stories of pale stone rose above the grounds, chimneys bristling from the mansard roof. The house was nearly as deep as it was wide, with graceful stone stairs from the garden leading to a pair of French windows, visible from the elm-lined gravel drive that swept around to the grander main entrance. Today, the sun glittered off the tall sash windows and turned the façade the color of well-aged linen.
Only as one came closer did the vision of elegance fade away. Several of the windows had been boarded up; shutters shielded the rest, giving the house a blank, unfriendly look. Vines clogged the loggia, and the drive grew rutted and unkempt the closer they came. By the time they reached the entrance, Emilia had remembered in vivid detail why she had been so desperate to leave.
Nick had already ridden ahead and dismounted. He came to open the carriage door and help them down. Emilia noted he was especially gentle with Lucy, who clung to Emilia’s hand and stared at the house with open anxiety.
“It’s not the worst I’ve ever seen,” Nick said.
“Not at all,” exclaimed Charlotte, sounding awed as she tipped back her head to take it in.
Lucy gulped.
“You haven’t been inside,” replied Emilia.
