A Visit from Sir Nicholas Read online

  Elizabeth shrugged in an offhand manner. “It wasn’t at all difficult. She is quite charming.”

  “She is an excellent actress, but she has been extremely apprehensive about tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” His brow rose. “This is a rather intimidating gathering. You and I may not realize it because these are people we have known much of our lives, but Teddy is the only one in the entire room without a title or, barring that, great wealth. The only guest here who was not born to rank and privilege is Mr. Cadwallender, and even he is now Sir Ephraim.”

  Elizabeth pulled her brows together. “I am not intimidating.”

  “No?” He stepped toward her. “Do you have any idea what kind of reputation you have today, Elizabeth?”

  “No,” she said sharply. “But as long as it is not frivolous and feather brained, I don’t know that I particularly care.”

  “You should.” He clasped his hands behind his back and circled her slowly. “I have been back for little more than a week and I have already heard comments about Lady Langley, who not only carried on bravely after her husband’s death but has brilliantly managed his affairs, continued her charitable works, and is considered well versed in matters ranging from architecture to politics.”

  “Really?” She stared in disbelief. “They say that?”

  “Indeed they do.” He nodded and continued his circle. “In point of fact, the gentlemen at my uncle’s club consider you intelligent, charming, quite lovely, and eminently eligible. In spite of the fact that there is not the slightest hint of impropriety about you, you have no end of suitable, as well as optimistic, escorts. Am I right?”

  “Perhaps.” She tried and failed to hide a grin. “Probably.”

  “You have social status, wealth, and independence, and your beauty has only improved with age.” He stopped in front of her. “So you see why, through no intentions of your own, you could be somewhat intimidating.”

  “I suppose I could. I had never thought of it that way, and I’m not entirely sure if the idea of being intimidating to anyone, let alone Theodora Godwin, is flattering or rather upsetting.” She shook her head. “Although one wouldn’t think a woman like Miss Godwin—Teddy—used to performing in front of vast numbers of people would be intimidated by much of anything at all.”

  Nicholas gazed down at her, his dark eyes thoughtful. “People have all sorts of fears one would never suspect simply by looking at them.”

  “Perhaps.” She drew a deep breath. “As I said, I found her charming, and I can certainly see why you’re taken with her.”

  “I am not taken with her.” His lips curved upward. “But my uncle may well be.”

  “It wouldn’t matter to me if you were, you know.” Even as she said the words she realized it would matter. And realized as well it wasn’t simply a question of fidelity.

  “I never for a moment thought it would.” His expression sobered. “Teddy and I met in America at a time when I was longing for home and she was torn over a love affair. She is my friend, Elizabeth, and has never been more than that.”

  “I see.” She felt like a complete and utter fool. A jealous fool at that.

  “You feel a bit foolish now, don’t you?” A superior note sounded in his voice. The man was right and he knew it.

  She wanted to smack him. Or break a vase.

  “For jumping to conclusions?”

  Perhaps over his head.

  “I did a moment ago.” She narrowed her gaze. “But now I don’t feel the least bit foolish. If I did not know better, and quite frankly I don’t, I would think that everything you’ve said this evening to or about Teddy has been for the express purpose of trying to make me jealous.”

  His eyes widened, and he gasped in an overly dramatic manner. “I would never do such a thing.”

  “You would do anything that gets you what you want.” She aimed her finger at him. “It won’t work, you know.”

  He frowned. “It won’t?”

  “It most certainly will not.” She poked her finger at his chest and glared up at him. “Nicky.”

  “I thought it was working rather well.”

  “You cannot have everything your own way.”

  “Oh, but I can.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Everything.”

  His mouth met hers in a gentle kiss, his lips warm and firm against her own. A kiss of discovery perhaps, or recognition. Tender and sweet and not nearly enough.

  She slipped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her tighter against him, and all restraint between them vanished. She pressed her lips harder against his in a kiss fueled by the denial of a decade. His mouth was demanding, insistent, plundering, and she met him in kind. Her lips parted, and her tongue met his in a frenzy of taste and passion, and still it was not enough.

  She wanted to touch him, taste him, run her fingers over his naked body. His hands splayed across her back and she wanted to feel those hands on her body without layers of clothing between them. She wanted his mouth on her breasts and his bare legs entwined with her own and the sensation of him buried deep inside her.

  Her blood pounded in her ears and she could feel the thud of his own heart racing in tempo with hers.

  He wrenched his lips from hers and stared down at her, his dark eyes a smoldering reflection of her own need. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

  “Absolutely not.” She swallowed hard.

  “We are about to go in to dinner.”

  “I know I am especially hungry.”

  He stared at her, indecision warring with desire on his face. “Damnation, Elizabeth.”

  “Damnation indeed.” She sighed and pulled his head back to hers. He tasted of champagne and desire and never-forgotten memories. And merely kissing him was at once wonderful and completely insufficient.

  He drew his lips from hers and trailed kisses along the line of her jaw. His voice was low and labored. “We really should return to the others.”

  “Someone will certainly miss us otherwise.” She gasped and tilted her head, concerned with nothing more than the feel of his lips on her neck. “But you wished to show me something.”

  “The mistletoe,” he murmured against her skin.

  She glanced upward, his lips drifting to the base of her throat, and she moaned. “I…I see no mistletoe.”

  “No? My mistake.” His one hand was still wrapped around her waist. “And my apologies.” His other hand skimmed her side, then lightly cupped her breast. Her nipple tightened beneath the layers of silk and corset.

  She gasped. “Accepted.”

  He ran his mouth along the curve of her neck and nibbled on her shoulder, which was left exposed by the low cut of her fashionable gown, and she sent a quick prayer heavenward in thanks for the dictates of fashion.

  “Do I take this to mean that you have given my proposal due consideration?” Not that she cared at this particular moment.

  “I have thought of very little else.” His fingers toyed with the neckline of her bodice.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “What of my conditions?”

  “We shall discuss them later.”

  “Very well.” She wanted nothing more than to melt into a small, hot puddle at his feet and pull him down with her. “I should wish to add fidelity.”

  “Fidelity, yes.” His lips replaced his fingers, and she thought she would surely die of sheer sensation at any moment.

  “I would prefer that we remain discreet as well.” She could barely get the words out. “I should hate to ruin my reputation.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all if you ruined my reputation,” he murmured.

  “And honesty.” Even through the layers of her skirt and crinolines she could feel his arousal, and she pressed herself hard against him. “I should like honesty between us.”

  “Honesty…yes…very good…without a doubt.”

  “Nicholas, could we not…here…now?”

  He stilled against her and drew a dee
p, shuddering breath. “No.”

  “No?” Her voice rose. “Why not?”

  He raised his head and looked at her. His voice was wry. “I shall not allow you to have your way with me here. As if I were a common tart.”

  “But I’ve always liked tarts,” she said without thinking. “Jam tarts and fruit tarts and—” She stared at him. “And toffee and plum pudding as well.”

  He snorted.

  She grinned. A moment later laughter bubbled through her. He joined her and pulled her close against him once again.

  Nicholas rested his chin on the top of her head and blew a long breath. “What are we going to do about that craving for sweets of yours?”

  “Indulge,” she said with a sigh and reluctantly pushed out of his arms.

  He chuckled. “I’ve always been fond of indulgences.”

  “And ships as well.” She smoothed her skirts, patted her hair, and struggled to return her breathing to a semblance of normal. Although she suspected that with Nicholas around, her breathing, and everything else, would rarely be normal again.

  “Ships are simply an indulgence on a grander scale.” He laughed, took her elbow, and started toward the door.

  The last thing Elizabeth wanted right now was to return to the others and pretend nothing whatsoever had just happened between them. Pretend there was not this aching need building inside her to have this man in her bed. Regardless, it could not be helped. In spite of the desire triggered by his kiss, Nicholas was right. Again. This was not the proper place or time to consummate their bargain. She had waited ten years for this man, she could certainly wait a few hours more. Surely, when he escorted her home after dinner…

  “Tell me, Sir Nicholas, did we just reach an accord as to our arrangement.”

  “Absolutely not, Lady Langley.” He grinned down at her. “Absolutely not.”

  “In many ways I think Scrooge was nothing more than an astute businessman,” Jonathon said in an idle manner. He glanced across the table at Nick, and a wicked spark shone in his eye.

  “Lord Helmsley, how can you possibly say such a thing?” The debutante sitting beside Jonathon gasped in shocked dismay. She was pleasant enough in a very young, very sweet, very naïve way, and for the life of him, Nick could not remember her name.

  Juliana, seated next to Nick, turned away from an animated discussion with her husband and another guest, a gleam similar to her brother’s in her eye. “His lordship says something along the very same lines every year as Christmas approaches.” Anticipation sounded in her voice. “Usually when he judges the dinner conversation at his end of the table to be not as amusing as he thinks it should.”

  Jonathon chuckled and took a sip of his wine.

  “Still, it is, as always, an interesting question.” Elizabeth studied Nick from her place beside her brother. “What do you think, Sir Nicholas?”

  Nick chose his words with care. “I think Scrooge was extraordinarily lucky.”

  “Really?” Elizabeth studied him. “Why?”

  “He had the opportunity few of us do in this life,” Nick said thoughtfully. “To make amends for his mistakes. For a second chance at happiness, as it were.”

  “Very good,” Jonathon murmured.

  “How lovely.” Miss Sweet Young Debutante sighed.

  “Yet he could have simply avoided his mistakes in the first place,” Juliana said pointedly.

  “Indeed he could have, but how many of us do? I know of any number of people, myself included, who have made serious mistakes in judgment in their youth. Mistakes that have affected their entire lives.” His gaze met Elizabeth’s. “Even if the reasons behind their actions seemed at that particular point in time to be not only wise but indeed noble.”

  Elizabeth raised a brow. “Noble?”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary to sacrifice one’s own desires in the best interest of someone else.”

  “I don’t think Scrooge sacrificed anything in the best interest of anyone else. I think his only concern was his own interests.” Juliana shook her head firmly. “He gave up Belle, the one love of his life if one reads beyond Mr. Dickens’s words, for the sake of his own pursuits and nothing more than that.”

  “Although, according to the story,” Nick said smoothly, “it could well be argued he gave her up because, however right or wrong he may have been in the matter, he did not feel he was financially able to wed. Many consider that position wise in this day and age. If you look at it that way, sacrificing his own desires for her welfare,” he shrugged, “could indeed be viewed as noble.”

  “Rubbish.” Juliana huffed. “He sacrificed her for the sake of his own ambition.”

  “Ambition is a demanding mistress,” Nick said in an offhand manner.

  “Even so.” Elizabeth leaned forward slightly. “Couldn’t he have pursued his ambition without losing his soul?”

  “Did he lose his soul, I wonder?” Jonathon said.

  “Yes, I think he did.” Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “In spite of his success in business, he was not a happy man. Mr. Dickens makes that perfectly clear. Scrooge did not even indulge”—a blush warmed her cheeks at the word, and Nicholas bit back a grin—“himself with his wealth. His supper on Christmas Eve was taken in a tavern followed by gruel before a meager fire. His rooms were cheap and shabby, his furnishings mean and sparse.”

  “Surely you’re not saying happiness can be purchased?” Jonathon raised a brow.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she isn’t,” Juliana scoffed. “But comfort can, and it’s far easier to be happy if one is comfortable than if one is miserable.”

  “Still, that’s not the point of it.” Elizabeth thought for a moment. “What he had or didn’t have or the manner in which he spent, or rather hoarded, his money, his material assets as such are not significant. Why, the Cratchits had nothing yet were obviously happy in spite of their poverty.”

  “Poor, dear, dear Tiny Tim.” Miss Sweet Young Debutante sighed.

  “The point is,” Elizabeth continued, “that there was no joy in Scrooge’s life. He was alone. He had no family save his nephew, and he was not overly cordial to him, no friends, indeed no one to mourn at his passing. I think a man like Scrooge, completely alone, with no affection, has no joy. No raison d’etre, as it were. So yes,” Elizabeth settled back in her chair, “I do think he lost his soul. Or more accurately, tossed it away.”

  “And the ghosts of Christmas returned it to him,” Juliana said firmly. “Or rather gave him the opportunity to reclaim it by understanding and accepting the true meaning and spirit of Christmas. Generosity towards others being paramount.”

  “Generosity not simply of material goods,” Elizabeth added. “Not only sending the prize turkey to the Cratchits or raising Mr. Cratchits’s salary, but a generosity of spirit. Opening his heart. Keeping Christmas all year long. And in that regained his soul.”

  “Excellent, Lizzie.” Jonathon grinned.

  “Very good,” Nick murmured.

  A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. Her gaze met his and lingered, and there was far more than simple triumph in her eyes. There was a distinct invitation and a definite promise. It was all Nick could do to keep from leaping to his feet and reaching across the table to take her in his arms. Drag her onto the table and press his lips to hers, mold her body against his. Sweep aside the candles and crystal and food-laden plates to feel the satin heat of her skin against his and the thud of her heart against his own. Tear the clothes from her body and make her his own here and now in the midst of poached fish and roasted meat. Lick the wines splashed across her hard, delicate nipples and savor the sauces spilled upon—

  “What of you, Sir Nicholas?”

  Nick started. “What?”

  “I was asking if you have celebrated Christmas these past ten years?” Juliana said.

  “Christmas?” Nick said slowly.

  Christmas was the last thing on his mind at this particular moment, although the idea of s
ugarplums and toffee and tarts and other Christmas treats was tempting. He drew a calming breath and glanced at Elizabeth. An altogether too knowing look sparked in her eyes. She couldn’t possibly know what he had been thinking, could she?

  He forced a pleasant smile. “It seems the height of sacrilege to admit it among this festive assembly, but I have not particularly celebrated Christmas at all. I confess it has often been simply another day for me.”

  “Just like Scrooge,” Miss Sweet Young Debutante murmured.

  “And what of your employees?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Is it simply another day for them too?”

  “No, my lady, it is not.” Nick met her gaze with the solid, resolute stare that had made grown men quiver and immediately reconsider their positions. He was oddly pleased that she didn’t so much as twitch. “Only those men in my employ whose jobs require a continuous presence work on Christmas Day, and they are compensated extremely well. Each and every employee receives a bonus at Christmas as well. A practice, I might add, that is not widespread among employers, but I have found that workers who are well treated are more productive and are extremely loyal. In many ways, they are my responsibility, a sort of family, if you will. I consider them such and treat them accordingly.

  “Furthermore, I have certain moral standards I adhere to. I do not permit the hiring of children. The widow of any man killed while in my employ receives a substantial pension. And I donate generously to charities here and in America.” He turned toward Miss Sweet Young Debutante. “So you see, my dear, there is really little comparison between myself and Scrooge.”

  Miss Sweet Young Debutante’s eyes widened. “But he didn’t mark Christmas in any way, and neither do you.”

  Juliana snorted.

  “I have marked it in benefits to my employees and goodwill toward those less fortunate. As for myself, I have not celebrated in the past, but I anticipate that will change now that I have returned home.” Nick glanced around the table. “Christmas is a time to gather with family and friends, and it is at this time of year that being apart from them is especially difficult. My only real family is my uncle, and he resides here in London, as do those I count as friends. And I confess, I do regret the long years spent away.”