“She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Over the next few days, Briar avoided Nicholas. Complete absence from his presence was the better alternative than being hanged for his murder.
Therefore, when she’d received an invitation from him to tour the museum with his aunt and cousins, she declined without even mentioning it to her sisters or uncle. Even when Temperance had invited her to tea, Briar refused. In fact, the only time she spent with her friend had been at the park for archery.
Sadly, Temperance, who tried harder than any person in the world, was so dreadful at hitting the target that she’d been asked by the head of the women’s archery society to leave. Permanently.
Briar, in a show of solidarity, had refused to return as well. And whenever she found herself missing the activity, she blamed Nicholas for that, too.
Her occupation of finding him a bride, however, did not stop. In fact, she dove into it headfirst, compiling a list of the least alluring female clients in the agency’s registry. Those with poor complexions, greasy hair, and missing teeth made the top of the list, along with those old enough to be his grandmother.
Then, after her pen-and-paper rant, she returned to genuinely perusing the applicants to find matches for Daniel and Temperance.
Walking into Ainsley’s office on the off chance that they had any new clients, she found both her sisters present—Ainsley behind her desk and Jacinda in front of it, waving the Post as if it were a victory flag.
Jacinda turned with a smile, unsettling a lock of auburn hair, her turquoise eyes shining. “Briar, you are just in time to hear the news. You will never guess what has happened. Miss Throckmeyer—the very one I’d tried to match with Rydstrom—has eloped. And with her father’s steward! Can you believe it?”
“I cannot.” Briar pasted on a smile, but she wasn’t at all happy. Miss Throckmeyer, of the £40,000 dowry, was the only chance Briar had of recovering from her terrace debacle with Lord Holt. She’d still hoped to secure him as a client, dangling Miss Throckmeyer’s fortune like a carrot in front of a horse.
“What scandal! It couldn’t be better news for us.”
“Since Miss Throckmeyer was the only heiress we had left as a client”—Ainsley slid a pointed look toward Briar—“I don’t see how this benefits us.”
Before Jacinda could answer, Briar spoke up for herself. “There hasn’t been a single mention of my blunder in the paper for over a week. And I’ve been making excellent progress with finding a match for Temperance.”
Not to mention the half-dozen elderly women she had in mind for the Earl of Edgemont. But she would keep that to herself, along with her more earnest efforts for Daniel Prescott.
“I also saw that you acquired two new clients. Mrs. Teasdale and her son, Lancelot, which I sincerely hope is an endearment and not his actual name. That is, if the man exists at all.” Ainsley lifted the two pages that had been left on a shelf in the closet—Briar’s only office space. “Apparently, Mrs. Teasdale claims to have three properties and a fortune of twenty thousand pounds and yet has nothing better to do than sit in our parlor and knit. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Teasdale is likely off her rocker.”
Of course, any client Briar acquired wouldn’t be good enough, no matter what. “She may be a bit eccentric, but I like her.”
Jacinda came closer and patted Briar’s shoulder. “Oh, don’t mind Ainsley. She had another tête-à-tête with our handsome gaming hell neighbor. According to Mrs. Darden, our sister sent Mr. Sterling a written reprimand about the litter on the pavement outside his establishment.”
“It is an eyesore. I had every right to complain.”
“Instead of a written response, however, Mr. Sterling stormed across the street, barely dressed, and tore the missive in half, letting it fall to the steps.”
Ainsley sat rigid in her chair, a slow flush climbing her neck above her sensible fichu. “Either Mrs. Darden or your sister has embellished the details. The truth is, Mr. Sterling was dressed, though without a cravat. I advised him that, if he should choose to approach our establishment again, he should be properly attired.”
“To which he responded by removing his coat and slinging it over his shoulder before storming back across the street. And ever since, Ainsley has been acting as if her cup is full of pickle brine.” An impish grin lifted Jacinda’s cheeks as she turned her attention back to Briar and tapped her finger on the Post. “This scandal is truly the best thing that could have happened.”
“Until someone realizes that Miss Throckmeyer was our client,” Ainsley muttered.
“Our sister,” Jacinda said with a sigh, hooking her arm through Briar’s. “Such a storm cloud on a lovely day.”
Against her will, a bubble of laughter rose in Briar and whatever irritation she felt toward Ainsley faded. At least for the time being. She would direct all of her ire toward Nicholas, who deserved it most.
“That was the only reason I popped by this morning. Crispin is at Tattersall’s hoping to bid on an even-tempered mare for his sister. According to him, the Marquess of Knightswold will be introducing a few new thoroughbreds and nearly every gentleman in town will be there.”
Briar perked up at this information, a plan forming in her mind. If the gentlemen were all at Tattersall’s, then this might be the perfect day to visit Temperance. And with her friend’s assistance, they could discuss this latest list and see which candidates might be best suited to Daniel. After all, Briar didn’t need to run everything by Nicholas. All that mattered was that she upheld her end of the bargain. And, after the last lesson, she wasn’t keen on receiving any more. “Then perhaps you could drop me off at Temperance’s on the way?”
* * *
“I apologize, Miss Bourne, but Miss Prescott is next door with her mother. It seems that Lady Penrose’s spaniel has a new litter of puppies.”
Nicholas jolted to attention as Delham’s monotone traveled from the foyer and into the study. His gaze swiveled to the open door.
The melody of Briar’s airy voice reached him then, and without hesitation, he set the quill into the stand and left his desk with the speed of a bloodhound after a rabbit.
“Oh, bother. My sister’s carriage has just trundled away.”
“If you like, miss, I could send word next door.”
“But I should hate to take Temperance away from new puppies, and I couldn’t possibly invite myself over. I think perhaps I shall hail a cab and—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Nicholas cut in, striding into the foyer. “Delham, could you please send word to the kitchens to prepare a tray for Miss Bourne and bring it to my study?”
She jolted with a swift, startled glance before her attention snapped back to the butler, her shoulders straight, chin high. Clearly, she was still cross with him.
“I do not plan to linger,” she said to Delham, smoothing her hands down pleats of pale yellow. But he paid no heed and bowed smartly before leaving them to stand alone.
Slowly, she turned to face Nicholas, her eyes the color of cornflower petals after a hard frost. She was breathtaking in her ire, eyes glinting, skin glowing in the soft buttery light sifting in through the transom window. And Nicholas nearly forgot that he was angry, too.
Then the swift reminder that she’d been on the terrace with Holt came back with full force.
“How is your hunt for spouses proceeding?” he asked, adopting a tone of nonchalance as he gestured for her to precede him into the study.
“Swimmingly. I found the perfect wife for you—a fishmonger’s widow. She doesn’t have any teeth and only four fingers on her right hand, but she is the only one I could find who matched your temperament.”
In opposition to the dark mood that had beleaguered him these past few days, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as she stormed off ahead of him. “I meant for my cousins.”
“I have a new list, though it is not as plentiful as the first.”
“Considering the news this morning of Miss Throckmeyer’s elopement, your luck—as you like to say—at the agency is bound to change.” Normally one to avoid reading the society pages, he’d recently begun scanning them for any mention of the Bournes. Solely out of curiosity about the status of the agency, of course. He certainly wasn’t trying to discover if Briar had attended any other events.
“Very true, and don’t forget that I was well received at Almack’s last week.” The mocking lilt in her voice was clearly meant to goad him.
He pretended that his blood hadn’t shot up twenty degrees and he wasn’t fuming. “Is that so? And just how well received were you on the terrace? Did you happen to learn anything new?”
“A great many things, indeed,” she said, eyes flashing fire now as she refused to take the seat he offered. “But you were wrong. For your information, Holt didn’t kiss me.”
Nicholas expelled a tight breath, days of frustration and foul temper slipping out of his lungs like steam under pressure. “Well, that’s . . .”
“I kissed him.”
“. . . good.” Abruptly the heat and annoyance returned. “You did what?”
She lifted her arms and removed the pins from her bonnet with cross, quick tugs, and when it was off, stabbed the pins through it again. “I believe you heard me. He hadn’t intended to kiss me at all, but only to speak about an application. But you—you corruptor of thoughts—had me convinced otherwise. So I took matters into my own hands.”
“You kissed him.”
She issued a rueful laugh. “Oh yes, indeed. I think I even shocked him, taking him by the lapels the way I did. We nearly tumbled together to the stones.”
Nicholas gritted his teeth. He tried to force the image from his mind, not wanting to think about her mouth on another man. Not wanting to think about her breath mingling with Holt’s. Or her lips brushing back and forth in her cup of chocolate kiss.
That was his kiss. Not Holt’s.
“And now,” she continued, her voice rising above the low growl that rumbled in his throat, “after being so brazen, he wants nothing to do with the agency. Because of you, I lost a potential client. So your lessons, as you call them, are not improving my skills at all. You’re no better at matchmaking than I am. And, just so you know, I am resoundingly angry at you!”
“Good. That makes two of us.”
She stalked toward him, poking him in the chest with the brim of her hat. “Why did you really have me join Holt on the terrace?”
Before Nicholas knew what he was doing or saying, he took hold of her wrist, then took the hat and tossed it toward the desk. “Because I do despicable things and you need to understand that. I’m not kind or polite. I’m selfish and I have no intention of changing. And I never have foolishly romantic dreams about growing old with someone like in one of your scenarios.”
“Well, I disagree.” She huffed, her pulse thrashing beneath the pads of his fingers. “Obviously you once had such a dream or else you wouldn’t have been married before. And just to spite you I’m going to find your bride before our bargain has concluded. Oh, and she will be clever, too. So much so that she’ll lead you to the altar by your nose before you even know what’s happened. She’ll—”
Nicholas stopped her tirade with his mouth. He didn’t want to hear any more. All he wanted was to silence her and release all this pent-up anger.
He plundered her mouth, claiming her lips in a rough, wet slide. She answered his onslaught by rising up on her toes. Gliding her free hand over his shoulder, her fingertips gripped his nape, tugging him closer. And he knew he wasn’t the only one who needed this.
They punished each other with firm presses and little nips of teeth, growls vibrating in his throat and in hers. He wanted to feast on her anger, swallow it whole. He wanted everything she had. “Give me your tongue, damn it all.”
She panted, her breath coasting over his lips. “You told me that I should learn to hold back.”
“Not with me.”
Never with me, he thought, opening her mouth with his and stealing inside the dewy heat. Her lips parted, her tongue shyly seeking his, a brush and retreat.
This was still new to her, he reminded himself, and gently coaxed her tongue back into his mouth, asking her to trust him. You’ll like this, I promise. And yet, at the first tentative slide, he was the one who was lost in pleasure.
He gloried in the lush, slick coiling of flesh against flesh. She issued a soft, surprised mewl and gripped him tighter. Her spine bowed, the soft curves of her body pressing against his. Then she licked into his mouth as he was doing to hers, their kiss hungry, needy. She purred wantonly as if discovering something she enjoyed more than sipping chocolate. And he liked that thought more than he should.
Still he wanted more. He wanted to completely obliterate the memory of Holt from her mind. The younger lord may have been more handsome, but Nicholas had experience on his side. So he kissed her breathless, relishing the yield of her body against his.
Until she broke the kiss.
“Hands,” she rasped.
And only then did he realize that while he held one of her wrists, his other hand curled possessively over the curve of her hip, his fingertips flexing into soft muslin over her supple flesh.
He deliberated for an instant, thinking that he’d rather pull her closer and let her feel the effect she had on him than release her. And when he noted that her lips were temptingly plump, her eyes a dark wanton blue, he knew he could coax her back into their kiss.
Unfortunately, he also knew that the door was still open and there would be a servant coming in with a tea tray at any moment. Thus, with regret, he released her. But he was unable to step away before pressing his lips to hers once more, briefly. “There. That was your fourth lesson—an angry kiss. It is effective in letting off steam.”
Her breaths matched his, pant for pant, her hand gradually sliding away from his nape. “I was sure I would be furious with you . . . all the days of my life. How did you even know . . . I would permit you to kiss me?” she asked as if mystified by her own response.
“I didn’t,” he said honestly. Knowing that wouldn’t be enough of an explanation, he went on. “Men and women exhibit anger and desire in similar fashions. We crowd closer, either in an effort to intimidate or to claim. Our breath quickens, blood rushes hotter, cheeks flush, and eyes darken. Our sense of awareness heightens, too. Every subtle scent, or even a tilt of the head tells us if we should be wary of attack, or if we are about to engage in a far more pleasurable activity. I took a chance on the latter.”
Then her softly hooded eyes sharpened. “Do not crow in triumph too quickly. I am still cross with you. Asking me to kiss another man was a betrayal of our bargain and of my trust. You likely don’t know this, but my own mother allowed her heart to be broken by my father’s betrayal. And while I may have a good many of her traits, I do not share that one. I will not tolerate another game of yours, Nicholas. Never do it again.”
He inclined his head, in full agreement. His actions had been wrong in countless ways. “A most deserved scolding.”
Apparently, she thought he was mocking her because she squared her shoulders. “Should I hide the way I feel? Act like a puppet in your control? Is that what you intended when we made our bargain?”
“No, love. Always tell me when I’ve done anything to offend you so that I do not repeat my error. I prefer to know your every thought, unfiltered.”
He moved closer and cupped her face, losing himself in the cornflower blue striations in her eyes. She offered an imperceptible nod. They’d reached an understanding, then.
The pad of his thumb slowly swept over her lips and she shivered. Peculiarly, the vulnerable sensation tumbled through him as well, cascading down his limbs, and intensifying the unwelcome rise of guilt that now replaced the jealous fury, which had gone quiet.
He shouldn’t have asked her to kiss Holt, or any other man for that matter.
Except for himself, of course. His conscience did not rear at him at all when her lips were on his own. In fact, he was tempted to keep them there for a while longer. Yet, before he could lower his head, the clink and rattle of dishes drifted in through the open door.
Looking over her shoulder, he straightened and dropped his hand. Then, for good measure, he moved behind his desk, and sank into his chair.
The maid entered the room and left the tea tray on the escritoire without any conversation aside from Briar thanking her. Then they were alone once more, which was exactly what he wanted. They still had unfinished business to discuss.
For the past few days, she hadn’t responded to a single missive, but only returned them directly—tickets to the museum and Vauxhall Gardens included. Both respectable places to visit during an afternoon. He even took great care to gain permission from her uncle, who was willing to grant chaperonage to Aunt Lavinia.
“So, tell me, Miss Bourne, are you through punishing me by declining my invitations?”
“Punishing you?” A small puff of laughter escaped her. “I suppose I was in a way. And you still owe me recompense.”
The tilted tips of her lashes winked in the sunlight and caught the corner of a sly grin. And suddenly he knew he was forgiven.
An inexplicable surge of warmth filled his chest, his heart pounding sure and steady. “What shall it be? Do you intend to commandeer my carriage again?”
Grinning, she fussed over the tray. “Tempting, but no. Splash of milk, no sugar?”
He nodded, surprised that she could have known. Then he remembered their tea on the terrace.
Throughout his life, he’d drunk thousands of cups, prepared by himself and by others, and yet he’d never noticed until this moment how intimate it was when someone else poured for him.
He watched as she removed her gloves and set them aside. Her arms were now bare from capped sleeve to delicately boned hands. Every movement was all ease and grace, the brush of fingertips over porcelain, the turn of her wrist. The noisy world beyond the window faded away beneath the soft whisper of steamy liquid filling the cup, the soundless stirring of the spoon, and the subtle aromas of tea and fresh linen. And all of it, he just realized, was disconcertingly, pleasingly homey.
After adding a nip of sugar to her own cup, she brought them both to the desk. Then taking the chair opposite his, she continued their conversation, ignorant of the peculiar thoughts running inside his mind.
“To make up for your horrid behavior, I want a wholly unrestricted conversation.”
He took a sip of tea, puzzling over why it even tasted different, the flavor enhanced to a rich, earthy elixir, smooth on his palate and far too easy to swallow. Briar Bourne made an excellent cup of tea. “In my company, you are always free to speak on any topic.”
“Then I want to know about your wife.”
“Except for that one,” he amended and set his cup down crisply in the saucer.
Across from him, she said nothing but sipped her tea with unnerving patience in her steady gaze.
Damn it all to hell. “Why would you want to know about her?”
“Because she is the one woman you decided to marry. And, I hope you can forgive me, if the memory is too painful, but I’m curious what it was that drew you to her and made you fall in love.”
He swallowed down a wry laugh. “If your ultimate goal is to find a woman with her particular and most cunning characteristics in order to entice me into marriage, then you’re wasting your time.”
This, of course, did nothing to deter Briar. “How did you meet her?”
“She was a friend of my brother’s wife and visited the house often after they married,” he explained, swallowing down a rise of bitterness. “Not having reached my majority and under the guardianship of my brother after our father died, I lived there as well.”
“So you saw her often and a companionship grew between you?” She paused seeming to mull this over. “Was she pretty?”
“Yes, and I was naive enough that I could not see beyond her raven hair and flashing violet eyes. A foolish young man, barely out of university, I did not even know there were women like her, so free and vivacious. And when Marceline wanted something, no obstacle was too great, no means of manipulation off limits.”
Briar sighed, clearly misunderstanding, her eyes filled with flying Cupids and heart-shaped arrows. “Was she so in love that she was willing to do anything to have you?”
He looked toward the open window, wanting to avoid the memory that was still too close at hand, even after all these years. “You are partly right. She was willing to do anything, even to suffer the floundering attentions of a gangly younger brother in order to have a place in the earl’s family.”
In the earl’s house. In the earl’s bed . . .
“You speak as though you don’t believe she loved you,” Briar said, her tone listing downward. “Oh, Nicholas, that is a terrible burden to carry inside your heart. Don’t you see? This is precisely the reason you should marry again. And I vow to find you someone who will leave you in no doubt of her affections.”
He turned to tell her that it wasn’t possible. That the years had changed him and he was no longer a foolish young man. But seeing the hopeful eagerness in her expression, he didn’t have the heart to crush her dreams.