“One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.”
Jane Austen, Emma
“You and I are hardly cousins. And it is Miss Bourne to you.” She offered a haughty sniff. Then, tucking a wisp of corn silk hair behind her ear, she turned away to select an arrow from the quiver, leaving Nicholas peculiarly disappointed.
Where was the unforgettable young woman he’d met last year who would have had far more things to say? Who wouldn’t have hesitated to level him with her opinions, either on his conduct or his countenance? Who would have conjured a ludicrous scenario out of thin air, convinced of its possibility?
He hated to think that something or someone had altered that wholly vivacious, charming, and unabashedly ingenuous carriage appropriator, and turned her into a standard society debutante—pretty but far too bland.
“Well then, Miss Bourne, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Though it may shock you to realize that I once met a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to you. Ranted on and on about a pair of lucky slippers, if I recall.”
She went still. Staring straight ahead, her hand gripped the string, elbow cocked. “You haven’t mentioned that to anyone else, have you?”
“And risk having Aunt Lavinia hear that I’d had a tipsy and unchaperoned debutante in my carriage? I’d never hear the end of it.”
Briar expelled a breath and sent the arrow flying. It struck the straw target soundly, and she didn’t hesitate to slip another arrow from the quiver and continue.
“We’d have been forced into marriage,” she said in a stage whisper, facing an audience of manicured shrubs. “Likely have our third child by the time Mrs. Prescott stopped mentioning the scandal at family dinners. Our oldest son would be constantly warned against following the example of his father’s debauched past. Our daughter would be an angel but spoiled beyond offering any true guidance. And our youngest son, though still in the cradle, would have your dark eyes, but everyone would know he was going to be a trial on his mother’s nerves.”
And there she is.
He grinned, feeling an uncanny tingle of pleasure to know that London had not changed her after all. Nevertheless . . . “While I admire your ability to invent these outlandish scenarios, I do wish they’d find a target other than my own head.”
“It cannot be helped,” she said without the barest apology and sent another arrow flying. “I’ve given my imagination free rein to invent at will. I know that, someday, it will come up with some brilliant idea that will make me an excellent matchmaker.”
Had there actually been a time when she’d suppressed her imagination? Highly doubtful. “The last time we met, you were not yet a matchmaker.”
“Correction—I was very much. It’s just that I was the only one who knew it.”
“And now?”
She hesitated, the plump flesh of her bottom lip curling inward as she issued an uncertain hum. “I have a potential opportunity to change my circumstance.”
So that hadn’t changed either. Which was odd, because she’d been so determined to make her mark on the unmarried population of London.
He studied her with renewed curiosity, noticing every alteration. As opposed to that dim, foggy morning, sunlight made her complexion glow, the apples of her cheeks tinged with a lovely carnation pink. Her hair seemed more lustrous, too, a pale golden silk, curling at her nape and brow. Her lips were still a velvety rose-petal red, and absently, he wondered how many suitors she had at the moment.
Then he shook himself free of the errant thought. It did not matter, of course, for he would never be one of them.
She drew back the bowstring, her movements graceful, the toned sinew of her slender arm on display beneath short capped sleeves. When they’d met before, she hadn’t offered so much lovely skin for him to admire. If she had, he might not have been able to put her out of his mind. Because now he was imagining how those arms would feel wrapped around his neck, those high, pert breasts crushed against his chest.
The tips of his fingers tingled with the desire to skim them down from sleeve to wrist. Though instead of giving in to his baser impulse, he merely allowed his gaze to take the journey, admiring every delectable inch of her.
Dimly, he noted that she was nearly out of arrows. Moving beside her, he took up the abandoned quiver from the ground, and slung it over his shoulder, offering her one.
She looked down at it and pressed her lips together once more. So full of indecision today. He wondered what was occupying her thoughts.
“A potential opportunity suggests that you have not yet decided to seize it. Perhaps you’re not ready to become a matchmaker.” He quirked a grin, wanting to rile her, and was rewarded by a flash in those cornflower blue eyes.
With her gloved hand, she reached out and took hold of the shaft. Strangely, he felt the tug within him as she pulled it from his grasp.
“It is in my blood. Of course, I am ready and perfectly capable of taking on any challenge.”
“Not according to the gossip column in the Post.”
She swallowed, her voice strained. “How do you know it was me? Any one of us at the agency could have made that error.”
“Not entirely reassuring news to your clients.” He chuckled.
“That should not matter to you. Unless . . .” She gasped, whirling to face him, winged brows lifted in hope. “Are you already thinking of applying to our agency?”
He didn’t know what she meant by already, but he chose not to ask. “I do not want a bride. Though if I did, I would find one on my own from the slew of women eager for my hand.”
“Arrogance is not an attractive quality.”
“It is only arrogance if I believed the prize they sought was this ancient rhinoceros.” He turned his head to offer the best angle of his nose. “But the sentiment has more to do with my wealth and titles—I even have extra to pass along to my heirs. A trial really.”
She slid him a rueful glance before angling toward the target and setting the nock to the bowstring. “Dear me! Not a title and a fortune! How utterly dreadful for you. Pray tell, why haven’t you married one of those women?”
“As a general rule, I should like to trust the person who would run my household, rear my children, and inherit all my worldly goods. But in my experience, women are a rather untrustworthy lot.”
And he was being kind, considering his history with the Miss Smithsons of the world.
Releasing another arrow, she stared distractedly toward the target as if lost in thought. “It is a commendable characteristic for a man to think of his future children’s well-being.”
“I was merely speaking in hypotheticals.”
“Yes, of course. It is a language I understand quite well.” She pivoted slightly, tilting her head to scrutinize his countenance, a mysterious light glinting in the depths of her eyes. “But it wouldn’t hurt for you to think about marriage and children. After all, you haven’t many years ahead of you.”
If it wasn’t for her sugar-coated smile, he might have thought she was serious and thinking of him as a potential client. Yet, since he knew how she enjoyed wild flights of fancy, he smirked back at her. The only marriages he was interested in were those of his cousins, or more pressingly, Daniel’s.
“So, tell me, how did a born matchmaker become such an excellent marksman? Training for Cupid’s army?”
“Lessons. Practice. Years of pent-up frustration. There are few activities deemed suitable for a debutante’s life. And even fewer if you have an overprotective family. It wasn’t until my uncle introduced my sisters and me to the Duchess of Holliford that our social education was refined.” Stripping another arrow from his grasp, she proceeded to use it like a tutor’s pointer over a study list on an imaginary blackboard. “Should a gentleman require entertainment—but of a blander variety than you are used to, no doubt—I can also play piano and sing. If he has a taste for art, I could paint a watercolor, embroider a tapestry, or cover a screen. I have practiced with a dancing master. Learned how to pour tea with a graceful turn of the wrist. And can converse on several topics bound to keep a dinner partner enthralled.”
“Quite a list of accomplishments.”
She inclined her head regally, playfully holding the arrow like a scepter.
“But still, nothing that would qualify you as a matchmaker.”
At once, she squinted at him, her deep golden lashes crowding together. “Don’t you have a parade of sin to attend, somewhere else, and far away from me?”
“The jugglers were tired, so I sent them home,” he said with a grin, enjoying this little reunion of theirs.
Even so, it wouldn’t be long before they were interrupted. It was time to get to the main reason why he’d waited to find Briar alone this morning—to help him find a wife for Daniel.
The way Nicholas saw things, he needed someone with inside information. Someone who had a proverbial finger on the pulse of the marriage mart. Not only that, but someone who had a close tie to the family—Briar’s friendship with Temperance, for instance—was more likely to desire a solid union. And he would be hard pressed to find anyone more motivated than Briar.
All in all, she was the best option for expedience, lack of experience aside. “However, in regard to your accomplishments, I noticed that you did not list your chosen profession as one of them.”
“I haven’t had much practice, that’s all. Nevertheless, I have studied under the incomparable tutelage of Miss Emma Woodhouse and I’m eager to use the knowledge I’ve gained.”
He felt the flesh of his brow pucker in confusion. “I’ve heard that name before, but I cannot quite place where.”
Briar shifted and looked down toward a knobby elm root protruding from the clipped grass. The silver threaded toe of her slipper peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirts and struck softly, as if in a tentative test of its foundation. “Perhaps through Temperance, for I know she has read all three volumes of Emma as well.”
“Wait a moment. Are you speaking of a character in a romantic novel?” A laugh rumbled out of him, unexpected and hearty.
Her incredulous gaze whipped up to spear his. “It is the matchmaker’s bible, after all.”
“You cannot learn all your skills through a work of fiction and expect to impact those who live outside the pages.”
“And what do you know about making matches? Aren’t you more interested in avoiding them?”
“I know a great deal about attraction—not merely physical, but what draws people together elementally.”
“Oh, yes, the spark!” She nodded encouragingly, eyes bright. “That’s what happens when the Fates bring people together.”
He shook his head. “Sparks are blinding and fleeting. It’s best to avoid those at all costs. What you need is someone to teach you how to observe men and women. How they see each other. How to discover what they are truly saying when they fill out their applications. After all, you said yourself that you took lessons to become skilled. Why should this be any different?”
“Are you offering to become my tutor?” This time she laughed and lowered her bow.
“I’m certainly more skilled than a character in a book. And by the time I’ve taught you a fair amount, you’ll have produced so many matches that no one will think about yesterday’s embarrassing incident.” As the words left him, he was surprised that they sounded as if he was, indeed, volunteering.
When, precisely, had he made that decision?
And yet . . . it wasn’t a terrible idea. Perhaps by offering his own knowledge, he might guarantee a good, solid match for Daniel. Someone who could wipe away the memory of Miss Smithson once and for all.
Her amusement faded and she grew quiet for a moment, considering. “And you would just . . . give this information to me freely?”
“Nothing worth having comes without a price, love. Think of the fate of poor Prometheus when he gave fire to man. He was punished by Zeus every day for the rest of his life, chained up, his liver a ready feast for an eagle.”
“Lucky for you, I know how to make fire, and I have no desire for your liver or any other part of you.”
He held up a finger. “Ah, but you do desire to make matches. For that, you’ll need my instruction.”
“Tell me, Lord Edgemont—”
“Nicholas.”
She expelled a huff and continued. “Tell me, my lord, if you already know so much about men and women, then why are you interested in helping me? Surely, you could find a match for both of your cousins without my assistance.”
“The truth of the matter is that you have far more access to debutantes, and I should prefer to keep it that way. Once a titled gentleman with a fortune begins making appearances at too many polite societal events, the eager swarm of husband hunters follows.”
He could not imagine a worse fate.
She tilted her head in scrutiny, her lips curving in a slow, beguiling grin. “And even though you profess a disinterest in marriage, you’re still taking steps to ensure the nuptial bliss of your family. When it comes to them, you’re quite tenderhearted, aren’t you? And here I thought you wouldn’t have any redeeming qualities.”
“How very kind of you to notice,” he said dryly.
“I am in earnest,” she declared and proceeded to tick items off with her fingers as if she were making a list. “Thus far, you’ve demonstrated a selfless regard for your family’s contentment. You’ve been chivalrous, at least once, when you rescued a debutante without interfering with her person. Always a plus. You’ve professed to having a fortune and innumerable titles. And you even care for the children you do not yet have. Unless . . . of course, you do have illegitimate offspring.”
“I do not have any bastards. I’ve made certain of that, though I don’t see how—”
“How do you make sure of it?”
For an instant, her question interrupted his train of thought. He wasn’t prepared for the full potency of her undivided attention, or how it quickened his pulse. Gazing at her eager countenance, he was tempted to tell her everything she wanted to know.
Then reason took over, warning him that one question from her would likely lead to another. And besides, she did not need to know that he always used French letters and never spent his seed inside any of his paramours. Or that, after previous experience, he’d learned never to take the chance. No, indeed. He did not want to have that conversation with anyone.
Instead, he redirected, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Pray, why were you listing my more favorable attributes just now?”
“Because I’m going to find you a bride.” She shrugged her shoulders as if the matter were of little consequence.
Ah. Another one of her scenarios. “As I said before, if I wanted a bride, I would have one. You’ve essentially promised me air to breathe when it isn’t even yours to control.”
“It would be if I were smothering you with your own cravat.” She smiled sweetly, her dark humor adding another element to her overall appeal.
A ghost of warning whispered in his ear to be careful of such thoughts. Naive debutantes were not on a rake’s menu.
“Besides,” she continued, “finding a bride for you will be excellent practice.”
“Only in failure.”
“You say that now, but just wait until you meet her. She’ll be completely irresistible.”
The jangling of that ghost caused a shiver to coarse through him. “There isn’t such a creature.”
Reaching out, she pulled a forgotten arrow from his grasp, the shaft leaving a trail of tingles over his palm. “The challenge you’re presenting only gives me additional incentive to find her.”
“Additional?”
She looked down, her finger grazing the feather’s edge. “Well, I don’t suppose I would be violating any privacies by telling you—and I’ll have to tell Temperance anyway—so, I’ll just come straight out with it.” She drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I’ve accepted a challenge to find a bride for the most irredeemable rake in London, which happens to be you. There. All settled.”
Nicholas stared at her, stunned. It wasn’t often that he was taken by surprise, and yet Briar Bourne had a knack for it.
“It’s best to have everything in the open, since we’re in the midst of striking a bargain,” she continued. “And we are striking a bargain, are we not? Your lessons for my assistance in matching your cousin, and I’ll throw in a bride for you absolutely free of charge.”
His head was spinning. “So then, you knew who I was when you accepted this challenge?”
“I had no idea that you were . . . well, you. An oversight on my part. All I knew at the time was your name. And since the Earl of Edgemont is Temperance’s cousin, I believed you couldn’t have been all bad.”
“Oh, but I am, love,” he warned, and watched her gaze dip to his mouth. When her cheeks colored, he felt the warmth of it rush through his veins. “By the by, how much did this challenger promise to pay you?”
She sniffed. “It was about far more than money. So if you’re thinking of buying your way out of this, it won’t work. I’m quite determined.”
He had been thinking of doing just that. “If it isn’t about money then what do you stand to gain?”
“Put simply, if I do not succeed in this, then I will serve tea and file applications until the day I become so crippled with age that I can barely shuffle down the hall. My hands will curl into knobby claws, shaking from all the years of careful pouring. Of course, I would surely expire by the time I reached your age, just a winnowed husk of the person I might have been.” She sighed. “So you can clearly see that I have nothing left to lose.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or to beat his forehead against the brick wall between his and Lord Penrose’s garden. “Somewhere along the way, I’ve given you the impression I’m apt to change my mind at any given moment. That isn’t true. So I’ll say this plainly . . . I. Do. Not. Want. A. Bride.”
She grinned patiently as if he were a child. “Love isn’t something you can predict.”
No doubt she was under the delusion that love was a wondrous thing. He would let her discover the truth on her own. “Why don’t you focus all that determination on making matches for my cousins, hmm?”
“Oh, I will. I promise not to rest until I find each of you your ideal counterparts. It isn’t in me to give up.” She twirled the arrow between her fingers. “When do we start? Right this instant?”
“Now wait,” he said, holding up his hand, “we have yet to come to an agreement. You’ve just added a new element to our bargain and the scales are tipping largely in your favor. After all, you’ll still keep Temperance’s subscription, which I’ve already been funding, and you’re about to gain another client with Daniel. But secretly. I cannot have his name listed in your registry. If he ever discovered that I hired someone to find him a bride, I’m sure that would only lengthen the duration of his melancholy. He is of a romantic nature—a concept, I’m certain, that is familiar to you. He would only be happy by believing he met his bride by happenstance.”
She agreed with a resolute nod. “He will never know otherwise.”
“So this leaves us to barter over the price of my tutelage.” Turning possibilities in his mind, he grazed his knuckles across the edge of his jawline.
He wasn’t aware of the gesture until he watched her gaze follow, her pupils slowly expanding, turning to spills of inky black surrounded by a ring of blue. She likely had no idea that her simple glance revealed a certain degree of interest, an innocent curiosity. Doubtless, if he mentioned how the rake in him had learned to notice such things, she would blush and stammer. She might even balk and abandon her ludicrous challenge.
And suddenly, the kernel of an idea formed.
Perhaps there was a way to dissuade her from her futile attempts to find him a bride, torturing him with endless scenarios about happiness and felicity in marriage. There was only so much a man could take.
“The way I see it,” he continued, “providing you with my accumulated knowledge is the most valuable asset. Therefore, I deserve something more tangible in return. After all, I have years of experience, love. Thousands of things I could teach you. So, for every lesson, I should like a kiss as payment.”
Her gaze dipped to his mouth once more. “Wh-why would you want a . . . kiss from me? You’ve already stated that you have an endless list of women vying for you.”
“A little token for my troubles. Besides, I recall how fascinating you were as a voyeur, and I’m curious about how you would be as a participant.”
She pointed at him with the arrow, her cheeks a brighter pink. “You’re a wicked man.”
“True. Though, I could have asked for something else. A kiss isn’t much, especially from someone as determined as you. And you’ll be the one receiving the accolades from making the matches. Not to mention, the respect of your sisters, and future clients for years to come.” He stepped closer, drawing the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, her gaze flitting downward once more. “Of course, you could always give up on that challenge, instead.”
Her breath caught, her nostrils flaring like a perfumer drawing in a scent. Still, she held her ground and pressed her lips together as if to guard them. “I’m not about to give you a thousand kisses. Think of the scandal, and neither of us could afford the consequences. I’m just about to start living, I don’t want it ripped away from me.”
“And yet, you are tempted. I can see it in the way your eyes have turned to the darker blue of a summer sky every time you glance at my mouth.”
“I only did that to see if someone as ancient as you still had teeth.”
He grinned, feeling a tug low in his gut that was in direct opposition to his intention. Instead of using the kiss as a means to shock her, he was starting to warm to the idea. “I’m offering everything you want and for just a small price.”
“Drat you, horrible man. You’re making it impossible for me to refuse.”
He chuckled, and didn’t bother to point out that she hadn’t even attempted to barter with something else. “Then say, ‘Yes, Nicholas.’”
Hearing the voices of his aunt and Temperance, he looked over his shoulder to the empty terrace doorway. They would arrive at any moment.
Eyes wide, she glanced to the open doors and back to him. “Surely you wouldn’t . . . kiss me here? Now?”
No, but he wanted to. Suddenly he was feeling exhilarated, more alive than he had in months. Perhaps even years. “I only want your answer. But the offer will not stand once my aunt and cousin have joined us.”
Briar was breathing fast, her eyes darting from the doors to his face, to his mouth. She wet her lips. And then at the last possible instant, she whispered the words he wanted to hear.
“Yes, Nicholas.”